by Liz Fielding
‘I’m so sorry that I’ll be away for her wedding,’ Fliss said.
‘I’m quite sure she understands that your honeymoon must come before such pleasures,’ he sympathised gravely. ‘But Veronica will be there. She’ll make an excellent deputy.’
The new Lady Carteret laughed at that. ‘Ronnie’s never been anyone’s deputy, Fergus. She’s always been number one.’
‘Not in this relationship.’ He was well aware that Annette Grant was standing a few feet from them. ‘We share top billing.’
Fliss beamed. ‘How absolutely perfect,’ she declared.
‘We think so.’
They moved on, and he took two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, handing one to Veronica. ‘The entire sixth form?’ she enquired finally. ‘All those pouting seventeen-year-olds and you expect me to believe that you didn’t notice?’
‘Believe it,’ he said. ‘I worked very hard at not noticing; there is no more dangerous combination than gym slips and lipstick. Besides, the headmistress wanted a donation for the new science block, so she used it as an excuse to whisk me away for a glass of sherry.’
‘Did she get her donation?’
‘Rather more easily than she expected, I suspect. I was desperate to escape. I sent Poppy in my place the following year.’
‘Spoilsport.’
But she didn’t have a chance to tease him further before they were inundated with friends who hadn’t seen Veronica for months and who clearly wanted to catch up on her life. And her new man.
He shook hands, smiled politely, and found to his relief that the men were more interested in his views on the stockmarket than in how long he had known Veronica.
‘Annette tells me that you met in the rain,’ one elderly dowager said, rather loudly, during a lull. ‘Taking shelter, were you?’
‘No, Aunt May, we met on a train,’ Veronica said, stooping to speak clearly into the old lady’s ear.
‘Dratted thing,’ she said, fiddling with her hearing aid. Then, ‘You should never shelter under trees, you know. Dangerous things, trees. Especially elms.’
‘There aren’t many elms left,’ Fergus pointed out. ‘We had to fell dozens in the park—’
‘And a good thing, too. Treacherous things, elms. The branch of one missed me by inches once. I’d crept out to spoon with Bertie in the woods when I should have been in bed, and it just dropped, without warning. They do that, you know. It could have killed me.’ Then she chuckled. ‘That would have left Bertie with some explaining to do, eh!’
‘You see, Ronnie?’ Suzie said with a knowing smile. ‘I told you trees were nasty, dangerous things.’ She helped herself to another glass of champagne from a passing waiter. ‘So, tell me about this tree you met under.’
‘May’s the expert on trees,’ Veronica reminded her. ‘Why don’t you ask her about it?’
Suzie merely sipped her drink and looked smug. ‘Never mind, I’ll get to the bottom of it before the day’s over.’
‘There’s nothing to get to the bottom of. I told you, we met on a train.’
‘Over breakfast. I remember.’
‘Then we met again by chance,’ Fergus intervened and glanced at Veronica, leaving her to fill in the details. Just in case she had already said something.
‘At the museum,’ she obliged.
‘The museum! Oh, come on, Ronnie! Even in Melchester you must have better things to do than hang around museums.’
‘It was a cocktail party,’ Fergus pointed out. ‘We know how to enjoy ourselves in Melchester. Even in museums.’ Having been given a lead, he was quite capable of improvising. ‘It was for the opening of the new Kavanagh Room, Suzie. There’s a display of the most interesting potsherds. You must see it when you come down to visit Veronica.’ Veronica was avoiding his eye, Fergus thought, because she was trying very hard not to laugh. He thought he would enjoy seeing her laugh.
‘What the devil are potsherds?’ Suzie demanded.
‘Bits of pot,’ Veronica said, taking up the story. ‘They were dug up by Fergus’s mother. You remember, Suzie, when you were showing off your perfect recall this morning, you mentioned that Mrs Kavanagh was an archaeologist?’
‘So I did.’ Suzie was looking at them like a woman who knows she’s having her leg pulled, but can’t quite put her finger on how.
‘Then we saw one another again at a concert.’ Fergus steered the inquisition smoothly on, before Suzie started to ask questions that might leave Veronica floundering.
‘Bumping into one another was getting to be quite a habit, then?’
‘Melchester is a small city.’
‘Even so.’
‘Even so,’ Fergus agreed, ‘our tastes do seem to have a pleasurable synchronicity.’ Veronica gazed at the chandeliers, biting on her lower lip. Suzie simply stared at him. ‘And when, in the course of conversation, we discovered that we both had tickets for a new play … What was it, now, Veronica? Something by Oscar Wilde …’
‘An Ideal Husband,’ she said quickly.
‘Of course. An Ideal Husband. It’s on a pre-London tour. Worth seeing, wouldn’t you say?’ He glanced at Veronica. Any minute now and she would lose control. He rather relished the idea of seeing her throw back her head and laugh out loud at something he had said.
But she cleared her throat, straightened her face. ‘Definitely worth seeing,’ she agreed.
‘Anyway, when we discovered we had tickets for the same play, we decided it was time to start caring for the environment.’ Suzie continued to stare at him. ‘Stop wasting petrol and use one car,’ he explained.
‘Very laudable. But you know the logical extension to that argument, don’t you?’ They waited, well aware that they were about to be enlightened. ‘Double up on everything,’ she continued. ‘Including the bed.’
‘Really? I hadn’t thought of that.’ He turned to Veronica, his face straight. ‘Had you thought of that, Veronica?’
She looked thoughtful. ‘No. That one slipped by me. Worth considering, though.’
‘Oh, sure,’ Suzie said, unconvinced, as she was meant to be.
‘What was that you said about leaving early?’ he asked, as the swell of guests moved on and for a moment they were alone. ‘Your friend Suzie has promised me the third degree. So far she’s barely reached the second, and your mother was cut short at the church, but somehow I fancy Dora will be a lot harder to fool.’ Her eyes were sparkling with amusement. ‘It’s not funny, Veronica. You won’t be able to distract my little sister with a kipper.’
‘I won’t need a kipper. Keep this up and we’ll have people asking when we’re going to set the date for our own wedding.’
‘What a pity I didn’t think to get a ring. If we pretended to be engaged, no one would bother us for years.’
‘It would be a little sudden, don’t you think?’
‘Not if you’re a Kavanagh,’ he assured her. ‘We’re known for the suddenness of our attachments.’
‘So I’ve heard. I’d better warn you, Suzie already knows a great deal about you.’
‘I rather thought she might be a gossip queen.’
‘And we’d have to be seen together on a regular basis.’
‘I wouldn’t consider that a hardship.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Neither would I.’ And then she blushed. ‘But perhaps we should keep that as a contingency plan for the future.’ There was going to be a future, then? He was tempted to ask her, but she was regarding him from beneath her lashes in a manner that drove everything else from his mind. ‘If we announce it now, everyone will get excited and expect us to set a date for the wedding—’
‘Date for the wedding?’ Lady May, who had been standing several feet away, making her way through a tray full of canapés while she continued to twiddle with her hearing aid, suddenly beamed at them. ‘It’s working,’ she said, as they turned at her loud exclamation. ‘Annette didn’t tell me that you’re getting married, Veronica.’ Her voice had the cut-glass carrying
power of a stage duchess, and the loud buzz of conversation died as she complained, ‘But then nobody ever tells me anything.’
CHAPTER SIX
INTO the sudden silence, when Annette Grant, along with most of those present, turned as one to look at them, the sounding of a gong and the solemn announcement that they should take their places for luncheon came as a welcome relief.
For a moment it had looked as if Veronica’s mother was about to confront them, but she’d clearly thought better of it, and instead turned to her companion with a distant smile, as if this were something she wasn’t ready to talk about. But it was simply a breathing space. They both knew it.
‘Well,’ Fergus said, as the noise of conversation swelled louder than ever as the guests sought their seats. ‘That should give everyone something to talk about over lunch.’
‘Fergus, I’m so—’
‘Just remember, Veronica,’ he said gravely, before she could apologise. ‘Absolutely no balloons.’
‘Balloons?’ She stared at him for a moment. ‘This is not funny—’
He smiled anyway. ‘Oh, I don’t know. It does have a certain entertainment value. And just think how much worse it could have been.’
‘Worse?’ she began, then realising that several people had turned as her voice rose, she stopped. Gathered herself. ‘How?’ she demanded through clenched teeth.
‘I could have been the fake Italian count.’ For a moment she stared at him. ‘Or Gerry.’
‘Fergus, this is no joking matter—’
‘Then why are you laughing?’
‘I’m not,’ she protested. But she was. She was trying very hard not to, but he could see it there, in her eyes. In the tiny creases at the corners of her mouth. Trying to get out. She was having to work very hard not to let it.
‘Come on, let’s face the music. We’re on table three,’ he said. ‘“Miss Veronica Grant and partner”. Tell me,’ he asked, keeping her talking as they crossed the room, so that she wouldn’t be quite so conscious of the ripple of interest that followed their progress, ‘what would you have done if I hadn’t co-operated in this little charade?’
She grabbed at the welcome change of subject. ‘I was working on my excuse for the non-appearance of “and partner” when I saw you get on the train,’ she confessed.
‘Some urgent business meeting, no doubt?’
‘Absolutely vital to the stability of international trade.’
‘New York?’
‘Too close. Three hours by Concorde. Hardly any excuse at all.’
‘Hong Kong, then?’
‘Safer.’
‘But not so much fun.’
She wasn’t certain about fun. All she knew was that this “little charade” was becoming more dangerous by the minute. ‘This is certainly more exciting,’ she admitted.
Good choice of words. He hadn’t been so excited about anything or anyone for a long time. ‘But convincing, do you think?’
‘You’ve certainly convinced Aunt May. And just about everyone here.’
‘Including Suzie?’
‘Ah, Suzie …’ And she finally let loose the laughter that she had been holding back, a silvery ripple of sound that made heads turn. It made his heart leap to hear it. ‘Suzie is totally convinced that we’re lovers—your kiss did that.’
‘Well, that’s good. Isn’t it?’
Oh, yes, it was good. Very good. Two unattached people hell-bent on avoiding matrimony might have a lot of fun, she thought. ‘And Aunt May has just answered any question she might have been saving up.’
‘Except the date,’ Fergus reminded her. ‘But we can leave your mother to sort that one out over lunch.’ He tucked her arm beneath his. ‘Meanwhile, we can enjoy ourselves. Let’s go and find our table before Lady May turns her hearing aid on us again.’
He pulled back a chair for her and she sat down, introducing him to those guests he had not already met. The food arrived, the wine was excellent, and everyone tactfully avoided any mention of their future plans. Instead, he listened to the woman on his right, who was keen to talk about Dora’s charity work, acknowledged an acquaintance from some Mansion House dinner, and discussed the chances of one of his horses winning at Newmarket the following week with a woman who clearly knew her stuff.
Then he looked up and saw that Annette Grant was regarding her daughter, a small frown creasing her well-preserved brow. She wasn’t quite convinced, he sensed. It was all too sudden. Too unlikely that her career-minded daughter would suddenly go weak at the knees for romance. Well, he’d just have to try harder to convince the lady. He slid his arm along the back of Veronica’s chair and leaned closer.
‘Where are all these suitors I’m supposed to be fending off?’ he murmured as she turned to him.
‘Your presence is enough to keep them at bay, and Aunt May’s public announcement of our forthcoming nuptials should finish the job. Maybe I should take you up on that offer of a long-term engagement.’ She’d spoken without thinking, he knew. But now they were both thinking, and for a moment they were silent in the face of the possibilities conjured up across the wedding favours and the wreckage of the lunch table.
Then the bride’s father rose to his feet and Veronica turned to listen. Fergus didn’t hear him, or the bridegroom or the best man. Instead, he simply took pleasure in watching Veronica, enjoying the purity of her profile, the sudden laughter that fanned the delicate skin around her eyes, the appearance of an unexpected dimple at the corner of her mouth. A permanent engagement. Now there was a thought.
Then the newly-weds took to the floor to begin the dancing and Annette Grant rose too. But not to dance. She had waited all through a very long lunch for answers, and now she was going to get them. But not yet, he thought, as she made her way slowly through the ballroom, constantly stopped by friends who were no doubt eager to congratulate her, eager for details. Not yet.
‘Are you ready for that dance, Veronica?’ he asked her.
‘Can you dance?’ she asked.
‘I doubt if I can compete with the Italian count, but I think I can manage to steer you gently around the ballroom without stepping on your toes. Once around the floor and then a quick dash for the exit, I think you said.’
She laughed, as he had hoped she would. ‘After Aunt May’s announcement, the quicker the better. But you’re right, not before we’ve danced just once, so that everyone can have a good look at you.’
‘In that case, let’s ditch the hat.’
‘Oh, yes …’ She reached for the pin, but he forestalled her.
‘Here, let me do that.’ And he leaned across her and removed the pin, before lifting the hat clear of her head. ‘You shouldn’t ever cover your hair,’ he said, tucking a delicate strand of platinum-pale hair back into place. A small, possessive gesture; he could almost feel Annette Grant’s frustration as she was delayed by friends.
They would have to own up soon enough, but for now, in the eyes of the world, the lady was his and he planned to make the most of it. He stood up and, dropping her hat onto his chair, took her hand and clasped it as she rose to her feet, leading her to the dance floor where he eased her gently into his arms, holding her for a moment before they began to move slowly in time to the music.
Holding her, he discovered, put every one of his senses on overtime. Her hair, just below the level of his eyes, shone like white gold. Her scent was faint, elusive. He’d once read that dancing was the vertical expression of a horizontal desire, and now the touch of her skin as her slender hand lay in his, the silk-covered movement of her body beneath his palm, sparked just that kind of response in him. In that moment he ached to possess her as she had, in a few short hours, somehow come to possess him.
And when she lifted her head and smiled up at him he found he could recall the taste of her mouth, warm and honeyed and full of a promise all the sweeter for being unexpected. He finally understood the instant attraction that had fired both Poppy and Dora when they had encountered the men in thei
r life. The way Poppy had defied convention to move in with Richard the day they had met … The way Dora had risked everything for John …
There had been no uncertainty, no soul-searching for them. They had known. He knew. Just as he knew it would be a mistake to say anything, do anything.
His sisters had fallen instantly in love with men who had responded with equal fervour. He sensed that Veronica, confident and mature as she was in her professional life, would find it hard to surrender to the unreasoning power of love at first sight, would find it difficult to trust emotion over logic. And he wondered how much of that diffidence could be laid at the feet of George Glendale, now apparently married to someone else.
‘Say something,’ he said, his own voice huskier than he remembered.
She looked up at him. ‘What?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to hear your voice.’
‘Fergus …’
‘That’s nice, too.’ But Veronica had stopped dancing, and as he looked up he could see why.
‘Is this true?’ Annette Grant, dancing with the hapless Gerry, had manoeuvred her way towards them and now blocked them. Her face was smiling benevolently at them, but her voice, low though it was, was tight with anger.
It was not a moment for hesitation; it was time to act, and Fergus did just that. With one arm around Veronica’s shoulders and one around her mother’s, he eased them both towards the tropical water garden. ‘Why don’t we all go and have a drink?’ he suggested. ‘You will excuse us, Gerry?’ The man disappeared with grateful alacrity.
‘Mother,’ Veronica began soothingly as they left the ballroom, ‘I can explain.’
But her mother was in no mood to be soothed. ‘Have you any idea what I’ve been through in the last two hours? The congratulations, the questions? Questions, I might add, to which I have no answers—’
‘A bottle of Bolly, I think,’ he said, before Veronica could offer any. She threw him a startled glance as her mother sank on to one of the elegant wooden seats beside the waterfall. ‘Veronica, I wonder, would you like to check if Dora has turned up?’