Ellie, sitting bolt upright in bed, stopped yelling at him and just prayed he hadn’t done anything that couldn’t be undone.
‘Well, I was having a drink with Gavin – you know, seeing if he’d let anything slip – and he said he was escorting Carlysle to a very private drinks party tomorrow given by old Lady Broughton. You know the one? Seriously wealthy, always on about rainforests and saving the planet?’
‘I know exactly who you mean and personally I rather like the sound of her,’ she snapped frostily, objecting to Jed’s dismissal of a very hardworking, if eccentric, aristocrat.
‘Oh, she’s a lovely old duck and at this moment she couldn’t be lovelier because Carlysle is one of the celebs she’s rounding up to add kudos to her latest environmental campaign. And Gavin thought it would be a good idea for Carlysle’s image if I mentioned she was one of its strongest supporters.’
‘And where does Stirling come into this?’
‘He’s agreed to be there. So you’re coming with me.’
‘I can’t just pitch up,’ she objected feebly. ‘I haven’t been invited.’
‘Not a problem. I promised Gavin I’d bring you.’
She barely heard the rest of what Jed was telling her. Her brain raced. Tomorrow? That soon…? Dear God.
Chapter Five
‘Jed? He isn’t going to come,’ Ellie whispered urgently in his ear.
Together they scanned the crowded drawing room of Lady Sarah Broughton’s exotically furnished town house and reluctantly had to admit that at almost eight o’clock it wasn’t looking promising.
Jed tried to look disappointed. But two excellent stories had come his way, so for him it had not been entirely a waste of time. Two cabinet ministers making steady progress through Lady Broughton’s finest whiskey had been just drunk enough to reveal the Home Secretary’s marriage was on the rocks, while on the other side of the room, the bestselling author of steamy sex novels was being sternly lectured by a leading feminist politician on her responsibility to her readers to make them see being a rich man’s plaything was not a realistic ambition.
‘You must resist such clichés.’ Ellie heard her admonish the writer. ‘We expect more from our role models.’
‘I will, I will,’ nodded the writer who was used to being criticised and often reflected on how little she cared while sitting in her million pound beachside house.
‘Never mind,’ Jed whispered. Ellie’s face spoke volumes. ‘We’ll find another way. Chin up.’
Ellie simply felt sick with disappointment. The vision of outwitting Theo Stirling that had propelled her through the day, pumping up her courage, had vanished. Now it looked as though she had fallen at the first fence.
To observers more interested in who they might get better acquainted with later than the fate of a couple of rainforests on the other side of the world, her entrance at Lady Broughton’s nearly an hour before had not gone unnoticed. Or at least the red jacket she had changed into before she left the office, with a V neck so perfectly tailored it required nothing else under it, had done its work.
Brook Wetherby, anchorman of a talk show admired for its guest list even if Brook himself was not, immediately claimed it was high on his list of ambitions to be interviewed by her, a claim he expounded at some length and with increasing intimacy until finally, knowing it was the only way to manoeuvre herself away from the alcove he’d trapped her in, Ellie agreed to have lunch to discuss it.
‘Dinner?’ Brook suggested with an unmistakeable agenda. ‘End of the day, relax, unwind a bit. In fact I know a very nice little place, just around the corner from my flat.’
‘And I know what would be even nicer,’ she said pleasantly. ‘Lunch at that new place near my office. You’ll love it, bit noisy, but everyone who’s anyone goes there.’
It was not what the great man had in mind, but he laughed heartily and said he was sure he could change her mind. Ellie laughed even more heartily back and said it was unlikely.
Only one pair of eyes regarded the exchange not with curiosity but carefully. Debra Carlysle, holding court in the centre of the room, had not been persuaded to attend this soiree only to find, however briefly, that she wasn’t the main attraction.
‘Gavin’s fault,’ muttered Jed joining Ellie. ‘He swore they were both going to be here. And Carlysle is charming but horribly discreet. You’d think she’d never met the guy. Come on, let’s get out of here. Oh hell, look out, here comes Lady B.’
‘My dears,’ said the small birdlike figure of Lady Broughton, descending on them while trying without much success to pull an Indian-inspired fringed shawl round her shoulders. ‘Have you got to go? I’ve had no time to talk to you and I’m such a fan of your column, Mr Bayley. Dreadful rubbish but completely compulsive.’
Ellie nearly burst out laughing at the expression on Jed’s face. Giving him time to recover from such a confused compliment, she smilingly held out her hand to Lady Broughton, saying: ‘We must think about leaving. Thank you so much for a wonderful evening — this really is a superb idea of yours.’
Lady Broughton was no proof against such genuine admiration and smiled warmly back. ‘I’m so glad you think so. One always gets in such a muddle with these people,’ she continued, waving her arm vaguely in the direction of the collection of household names behind her. ‘One doesn’t always know if they will gel, or even worse, like those two,’ she nodded at the warring author and feminist, ‘just be furious with each other. I suppose I should intervene.’
‘Oh, why bother?’ grinned Ellie. ‘Just think how much more useful they’ll be trying to outdo each other in supporting your campaign.’
Lady Broughton laughed delightedly and patted Ellie’s hand.
‘Oh my dear, you’re so right. Frightful, aren’t they? I can’t say I blame Theo – my godson you know – for avoiding these occasions, but he always arrives for a few minutes before the end.’
Ellie stiffened. ‘Theo?’ she repeated. ‘Theo Stirling? Your godson?’
‘That’s right. I was at school with his mother. Have you met her? Ria? No? Oh you should. Oh, goodness, there he is. Do come and meet him.’
Ellie wheeled round and found herself gazing at the tall, lean frame of the man she had last seen when she was just fourteen years old. Her fingers tightened around her glass.
Theo Stirling’s arrival was being greeted with warmth by one of the politicians, a warmly clasped hand from someone else, a proprietorial one held imperiously out by Debra Carlysle, and with obvious affection from Lady Broughton, which was clearly reciprocated judging by the bearlike hug he bestowed on his godmother.
Ellie, rapidly beginning to recover her composure, noted cynically that several other guests had delayed their departure after seeing him walk in.
He was talking now to the wife of the president of an American bank, and beginning to move through the room, greeting acquaintances, laughing over his shoulder at something the novelist said as he passed. From her stance by the window, Ellie had time to assess how the years had dealt with him. As she took in the tailored cashmere jacket, the thick almost black hair that was perhaps a couple of inches longer than it should be and flecked with grey, the features perhaps more harsh than handsome, Ellie knew, to her annoyance, that he had been treated well.
What they didn’t know, she muttered to herself – or if they suspected, they didn’t let on – was what he was really capable of under the charming exterior, the ready smile being cast to left and right.
Drawing him near, Lady Broughton beckoned to Theo to bend down so that she could whisper to him, her head nodded in Ellie’s direction. Hastily Ellie turned so as not to be seen staring and came face to face with a middle aged man who had been stalking her round the room since she arrived: a man with slicked back receding grey hair and last seen in public that very afternoon presiding sternly over a courtroom in the Law Courts, passing a hefty jail sentence on a fraudulent banker. There he had been obliged to wear a wig and whatever he said, and she
couldn’t recall what, had made headlines on the six o’clock news. Now he was wearing a pin stripe suit, a pink shirt with a white collar and a smile that made her toes curl.
‘It’s Eleanor Carter isn’t it?’ He said already offering his hand. ‘I saw that piece on John Carpenter.’ The Honourable Mr Justice Cranleigh, encouraged by the unexpected warmth of her smile, didn’t miss his chance. ‘Quite forensic, I thought. You asked better questions than most counsel who come before me. Could I get my secretary to arrange lunch sometime? Oh do call me Lionel, please?’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Theo’s hands lightly resting on Lady Sarah’s shoulders, head bent, listening carefully and then he slowly straightened up and stared directly at her.
‘That would be wonderful,’ she smiled far too brightly at Lionel Cranleigh. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’
‘Wonderful,’ he beamed. ‘Ah,’ he said as Lady Sarah approached. ‘Stirling.’ He held out his hand. ‘Good to see you. How’s your father? My regards to him. And you,’ he turned back to Ellie and, clearly believing an acceptance to lunch had moved them in the space of a few minutes from a handshake to something more familiar, he leaned in and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
‘Great.’ She managed in a strangled voice.
‘And this is someone else you must meet, Theo,’ Lady Broughton was saying, drawing him inexorably forward. ‘Eleanor is definitely one of us,’ she told him conspiratorially.
The next few seconds passed in a blur. Ellie felt rather than saw Theo’s hand take hers, a brief clasp, then Lady Broughton’s attention was claimed by the feminist MP, desperate to steal a march on the novelist by offering to do something for her vote-catching campaign. With a broad wink at Ellie, Lady Broughton went off to secure the support of at least one branch of the Labour party.
Left alone, Theo made no attempt to speak to her. He simply glanced idly around the room, leaning casually against the wall, one hand thrust into his trouser pocket, the other clasping a drink.
‘I don’t want to talk to you,’ she said at last. ‘Anymore than you want to talk to me but-’
‘Well, at least we agree on that,’ he interrupted, simultaneously smiling and raising a hand in acknowledgement to Brook Wetherby.
‘But,’ she repeated with emphasis wondering if it were possible to loathe anyone quite as much, ‘it’s in both our interests to do this interview,’ she replied, waving her fingers at the Judge who was exiting the room with a final smile at her.
‘I’m certain it isn’t,’ Theo said. ‘You must know that. We have nothing to say to one another. You must know that too.’
Jed, Oliver and her father could all have told Theo Stirling what that expression that had suddenly crept into Ellie’s eyes meant but, indifferent to it, he continued to let his bored gaze travel around the room.
‘In which case,’ she said. ‘I have no option but to let my colleague write about your forthcoming marriage and the terrible damage you did to my family.’
He turned his head and stared at her. ‘My what?’
‘You heard me,’ she said. ‘I mean what I say.’
She felt rather than saw him move. She found her glass being removed, a firm grip grabbed her under her elbow and she was being propelled through the crowded drawing room towards the door.
‘What are you doing?’ Ellie hissed, she smiled and waved at a startled Jed.
‘Taking you somewhere to discuss the interview,’ Theo Stirling said. ‘What else?’
‘Let go,’ she said calmly as they reached the street. ‘I dislike being manhandled. And besides, I’ve left my wrap in there and it’s freezing.’
‘Fine,’ he stopped. ‘But if you think I’ll discuss anything with you in the middle of the street, you’re very much mistaken. Do you want to talk or not? Up to you. I’m busy. I’m taking Sarah to dinner later and I dislike keeping anyone waiting. My apartment is just along here. Oh stop looking like that. It’s not that cold, and I don’t have designs on you. I think your retinue of admirers tonight must have gone to your head.’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ she shrugged off his arm. ‘I’m not twelve,’
She itched to slap him. But there must be a compromise to reach here or otherwise why would he want to talk at all? She could deal with this. She had to.
‘And,’ she glanced at her watch. ‘I haven’t got much time either. Now, shall we?’
The vast room he led her into at the very top of the building overlooking Hyde Park was reached in a private lift. They rode up in silence, just as they had walked a yard apart all the way down South Audley Street without exchanging a word. The doors opened onto the carpeted corridor of an apartment that made her eyes widen. Where Lady Broughton favoured a strong sense of the ornate, mostly inspired by the decorative style of the belle époque, the owner of this apartment clearly had an innate sense of style and colour that would not have been out of place in anyone’s drawing room who had inherited furniture rather than bought it.
‘So now what?’ She stood in the centre of the room. He pressed a button on the wall.
‘Ah, Finlay,’ said Theo as a white-coated manservant softly entered the room. ‘My plans have been changed. Can you make sure I’m not disturbed until I say so.’
With a small bow and an impassive but significant glance at Ellie, Finlay withdrew.
‘Here,’ said Theo, holding out a glass of chilled white wine to a now silent Ellie.
She took the glass. Beyond the glass doors, a terrace revealed a magical kaleidoscope of colours of London after dark. On another occasion with someone else, she would have openly admired it, taken a long lingering look.
‘I think,’ she said turning back to him. ‘We should get this out of way,’ was all she managed before disaster overtook her.
Turning to face him she found him closer than she thought and instinctively took a step back. At the same moment she felt the sharp edge of a carved wooden plinth displaying a complex arrangement of white camellias press into her back, which promptly rocked unsteadily as she collided with it, toppling over to send a cascade of icy cold water down her back, taking in most of her jacket and her skirt and leaving the vase that had once housed the delicate arrangement strewn in several pieces across the highly polished floor.
As the shock of water hit her, Ellie just closed her eyes and reasoned that if the good Lord decided to take her there and then, she would not protest. Without even looking she knew that not only was her back sopping wet, but the front of her red crepe jacket was now drenched in a perfectly chilled and very chilly white Sancerre and the vase was beyond repair.
‘No,’ Theo said with a heavy sigh. ‘Don’t try and pick it up. You’re in enough of a mess as it is.’
‘Look, I’m so terribly sorry,’ said Ellie, scarlet with embarrassment. ‘I’ll replace the vase and...’
‘I doubt you could,’ Theo gave a heavy sigh. ‘Please don’t,’ he said as she stooped to gather up the shards of a vase that had, as she looked at the fragments, clearly been around for a couple of centuries. ‘I’m glad you’re not hurt. Wet, obviously. Use the room at the far end of the corridor. To get out of those things. Of course you must. Don’t be so stupid. You’re drenched. I’ll get Finlay to organise getting them dry.’
Scarlet with embarrassment, she followed him to the end of the hall, where he threw open a door and stood aside for her to go in.
‘The bathroom is through there.’ He indicated the other side of the bedroom. ‘You’ll find a robe in the closet. Just leave your damp things in there. Don’t worry, I’ll have you driven home.’ With that he pulled the door closed and left her.
Ellie looked around. Despite heavily swagged dark blue silk curtains and a pale grey carpet, the room had a decidedly masculine air. A Georgian mahogany dressing table, a writing desk, several silver framed photographs and two deep armchairs flanked a king size double bed above which hung a set of equestrian engravings. She pushed open the door to the bathroom, all
pale grey tiles and rows of white wood closets, and began to strip off her clothes.
Never in her entire life had she felt quite so stupid. Being soaked in a stranger’s flat, was one thing, but having to be grateful to any member of Theo Stirling’s family, was miserable beyond endurance. In the closet she found a navy blue towelling robe and slipped it on.
‘You’re going to wake up in a minute,’ she said to her reflection in the mirror tying the belt tightly around herself. She opened the door onto the corridor and took a deep breath. ‘You’re just in a nightmare,’ she comforted herself. ‘All this is a bad dream.’
‘Brandy?’ Theo raised the decanter as she rejoined him. ‘To get over the shock?’
‘Ugh.’ Ellie wrinkled her nose. ‘I can’t stand the stuff. Tastes just like cough mixture to me. Not that I think that’s what yours would taste like,’ she amended hastily.
She thought he almost smiled.
‘Look,’ she began. ‘This isn’t very dignified and I would rather just call a cab and go.’
‘Of course,’ he agreed. ‘But my driver is taking you. Why do you want to interview me so badly?’ He asked abruptly as he turned back. ‘Frankly in your position, I would steer clear of anyone called Stirling.’
‘Believe me I wouldn’t go near any of you willingly.’
‘Then why?’
‘Jed – Jed Bayley,’ she said. ‘He has a society column at Focus. He heard you were going to be back in Willets Green. That you were planning to stay for some time.’
‘And?’
She swallowed. ‘He said you and Carlysle are about to marry. For Jed that’s a great story.’
‘And that concerns you how?’
‘It doesn’t. Not for a heartbeat. The editor thought you must be back in the country for a better reason than that. He thought it would be more appropriate for me to do the interview.’
‘You could have refused.’
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