by Anne Weale
At the hotel, they had coffee in the main lounge. The building was new but the lounge had been decorated in the style of a country house library with the walls either panelled with wood or lined with rows of old leatherbound books.
Sarah was thinking what a restful atmosphere this created when Naomi walked in, accompanied by a man in his fifties. Sarah recognised him as a prominent local businessman.
Naomi spotted her. After a moment of visible surprise, she said something to her companion and brought him over.
‘Hello...I didn’t expect to find you here. Royce, this is my partner, Sarah Anderson.’
He offered his hand. ‘My pleasure, Ms Anderson.’
Wondering what he was doing with Naomi, she shook hands and smiled. Turning to Neal, she said, ‘Mr Baring is the chairman of our major industry and a prominent member of the town council.’ Turning to him, she added, ‘Mr Kennedy comes from London. He’s a well-known journalist.’
Wringing the younger man’s hand, Royce Baring said, ‘I thought I recognised your face. You write for The Journal—yes? My mother has more faith in you than in her own doctor. She sends me clippings from your column when you deal with what she considers my health problems.’
Neal laughed. ‘You look very fit to me.’
‘I try to keep in shape, yes.’ He turned to Sarah. ‘I met your partner at a very dull civic reception. I was chatting her up when she started trying to convince me that what my business needs is a website. We arranged to have lunch and discuss the matter more fully.’ The twinkle in his eyes made it clear that it wasn’t Naomi’s professional expertise he was chiefly interested in.
Sarah remembered hearing that he was divorced and had a succession of good-looking girlfriends.
She said pleasantly, ‘Every business needs a presence on the Internet, Mr Baring. It’s where the action is.’
He chuckled. To Neal, he said, ‘What brings you to these backwoods, Kennedy? Business or pleasure?’
Neal said, ‘Pleasure,’ and smiled at Sarah.
‘In that case, we won’t intrude. Nice meeting you.’ Baring took Naomi’s arm and steered her to an empty sofa in a distant corner of the large room.
They had both risen to greet the others. As they sat down, Neal said, ‘I like your friend, but I’m not so sure about him. Looks a bit of a wolf to me.’
‘You could be right, but Naomi can cope with wolves. She’s also a brilliant saleswoman. Before we went into business together, she’d done all kinds of selling from seasonal demos in big stores to slogging round the county persuading farmers to buy fire extinguishers.’
‘How did you meet?’
‘At an exercise class for pregnant mums. Naomi was married, but it didn’t last long. She brought up her daughter pretty well single-handed. You wouldn’t think it to look at her but she’s a grandmother. Her daughter Alice had a baby last year.’
As she spoke, Sarah half-regretted adding that information. It underlined the fact that she could also be a grandmother. Which might not be off-putting to someone of Royce Baring’s age, but must give Neal cause to think.
But it seemed Neal had something else on his mind. He said, ‘It’s not half past twelve yet. I booked a table for one-thirty. Let’s go up to my room.’
As they left the lounge, Sarah wondered if Naomi had noticed their departure and, when they reappeared in the restaurant in an hour’s time, would draw the inevitable conclusion that they had been to bed. Not that it would come as a surprise since Sarah had already made it clear the affair had started in Nepal. She regretted that now. For reasons she couldn’t analyse, she would have preferred to keep their relationship private.
Going up in the lift, Neal said, ‘I spoke to my mother this morning. She and Dad have a date next weekend, but the following weekend is clear, if that’s OK for you?’
‘All our weekends are clear,’ she said wryly.
‘It shouldn’t be like that. You should be meeting people... getting about...having fun.’ He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers. ‘I want to give you a good time...make up for all that you’ve missed.’
Seconds after closing the door of his room, he took her in his arms and began the sweet, slow build-up to a crescendo of passion that left Sarah exhausted and contented.
‘Let’s not go down,’ he murmured, close to her ear. ‘Let’s have something sent up. It’s going to seem a long two weeks before I see you again.’
‘We shan’t be able to do this in your parents’ house,’ she said drowsily.
He stroked some stray locks of hair from her damp forehead. ‘You won’t be staying in their house. You’ll be in my flat. I have it all worked out. I shall doctor your mother’s nightcap and, when she’s out for the count, I’ll come and have my way with you.’
In a different way, his teasing made her as happy as his love-making. She had missed out on all foolish, tender jokes which were an essential part of a close relationship.
Neal drove back to London with an easier mind. It was clear to him now why Sarah had tried to brush him off on the telephone. He could even understand her motive. But what she saw as insuperable obstacles, he saw as minor difficulties.
He couldn’t deny that it would have been a lot simpler if she had been free, as he was, to come and go as she pleased. But she wasn’t, and he could cope with that.
If anyone was going to be a problem, it was more likely to be the son than the elderly mother. From what Sarah had told him about Matthew, Neal took him to be a bit of a loafer, one of those bright but inherently lazy characters who, if the grants were forthcoming, would happily go on taking postgraduate courses and avoiding the moment when they had to buckle down to the grind of earning an unsubsidised living.
Times were tough, but not that tough, he thought, shifting into fifth gear to cruise down the south-bound motorway. If Matthew was as bright as Sarah claimed, he could have found himself a job before now. Taking off for a year was fine at nineteen, but twenty-nine was too old for that sort of lark. The guy should be taking the weight off his mother’s shoulders, not jaunting around South America without any serious purpose.
The following morning Naomi came to Sarah’s house for their weekly conference. Most of the time they kept in touch electronically, often exchanging ten or twenty e-mails a day.
‘You didn’t tell me you had your sights on Royce Baring’s company?’ said Sarah, as she closed her office door.
‘I didn’t...until I met him. Then it struck me that if we could nobble him, everyone else in the Yellow Pages for this area would be easy-peasy.’
‘I would think, if he wanted a website, he would go to one of the bigger operatives, not a couple of backroom girls.’
‘That ain’t necessarily so.’ Naomi rummaged in her bag for the phial of sweeteners she used in tea and coffee. They always started their chat session with a mug of decaff. ‘I’ve put the wind up Royce, telling him about all the cowboys there are in this business. Also he fancies me. I quite fancy him as a matter of fact. What did you think of him?’
‘He has a lot of charm. Neal thought he looked like a wolf.’
‘You know what they say...it takes one to know one. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw your Neal.’
‘Why...what do you mean?’
‘You told me he was gorgeous, but I took that with a pinch of salt. Women in love always think their man is gorgeous, even if he’s dead ordinary. The photo didn’t do him justice—Neal really is that elusive ten-out-of-ten. I don’t want to throw cold water, but I think you need to be totally realistic. Enjoy it while it lasts, but don’t kid yourself it’s for ever.’
Although she had always known it was part of Naomi’s credo to say what she thought, even if her opinions were not always welcome, Sarah was shaken.
‘I am realistic. I didn’t expect to see him again after we said goodbye in Nepal. When he rang me from London, I more or less told him it was over. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. He came here to arrange for me and Mum t
o visit his family.’
‘I’m not saying he isn’t mad about you, but mad may be the operative word. Men do go mad over women...and then, suddenly, their blood cools and they come to their senses. I don’t want to see you hurt, Sarah. You’ve had enough hurts in your life.’
‘Did Royce Baring make any comment...about the difference in our ages?’
‘No, but he felt his virility challenged. When you see him with the other town councillors, with their jowls and their bulging midriffs, Royce looks like a racehorse in a field of bullocks. But he doesn’t look nearly as good standing next to your guy. That’s why he whipped us away. He could feel his charisma being eclipsed.’
‘Are you going to have an affair with him?’ Sarah asked.
‘Need you ask? He’s good company. He’s attractive. He’ll give me a good time. I shall try very hard to convince him that I would be perfect as Mrs Royce Baring the second. But I know I’m not going to succeed. He will only marry again when he can’t pull attractive women. Given his income, that might never come to pass.’
She drank some coffee, eyeing Sarah over the rim of the mug. ‘It’s no good pulling that face. That is the way the world is. Men, especially rich men, go on being attractive for ever. Women don’t. In only a few more years, you and I will be past our sell-by date. So let’s make hay while the sun shines but not kid ourselves that the harvest won’t come to an end.’
The secret depression induced by Naomi’s homily was still weighing on Sarah when she and her mother travelled by train to London.
Mrs Anderson took a child-like pleasure in the journey. She watched the passing scenery as intently as if it were some exotic landscape never glimpsed before. She enjoyed every mouthful of her lunch served by an attentive steward to whom she had artlessly confided that it was her first journey south.
When the train glided into one of London’s main-line stations, she could hardly contain her excitement. At Neal’s insistence, Sarah had rung him on her mobile to let him know the number of their carriage. The rest of the passengers had hardly disembarked before he was there, taking charge of the tricky business of helping her mother to negotiate the steps to platform level. He had already opened a folding wheelchair and had a porter waiting to handle their luggage while he wheeled Mrs Anderson through the bustling concourse and helped her into a taxi.
To Sarah, unaccustomed to having a man in charge, it was unbelievably effortless. Her downcast spirits began to rise, although she was still apprehensive about what his family would think of her.
As the taxi took them through the busy streets of the metropolis, Neal sat on the fold-down seat facing her mother, pointing out various landmarks. When, occasionally, he glanced at Sarah, there was a warmth in his eyes that made her wonder if Naomi’s forecast could be wrong; if, somehow, against all reason, it was going to work out. Then, catching sight of a young man with wild hair and a knapsack slung over his shoulder, she remembered her son and the flash of optimism faded. What was Matthew going to think? What if he and Neal disliked each other on sight?
When the taxi drew up outside an imposing house in what seemed to Sarah a most elegant part of London, Neal said, ‘You’ll meet the rest of the family later. Right now I expect you’d like to freshen up and unpack.’
The lift he had mentioned whisked them from the hall to the upper floors. As soon as he had shown Mrs Anderson her room, he led Sarah along a short corridor to another bedroom. There he put her case down, closed the door and took her in his arms.
‘Have you missed me?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted.
‘Me too. Let’s go to bed.’
‘We can’t—’ she began, aghast, before she realised he was teasing.
‘Perhaps not...but later...definitely!’ His arms tightened, he pressed her against him, his kiss a promise of other kisses to come.
In one of the wild, wanton moments that he could arouse in her, she was struck by an urgent longing to be loved...here and now. Sliding her arms round his neck, she ground her hips against his, knowing the effect it would have.
For a moment, but only a moment, it was she who was calling the shots. Then Neal answered her challenge. She found herself walked swiftly backwards until she could feel the edge of the divan against her legs.
He broke off the kiss to mutter a thick, ‘God, I want you,’ against the curve of her throat.
Then he recovered control. She knew the effort it cost him because, when she opened her eyes, his were still fierce slits of desire. But an instant later that had changed. He had his emotions in check, only the knot of muscle at the angle of his jaw betraying that letting her go was not what his inner self wanted.
Without the support of his arms, Sarah plumped down on the bed, feeling as if she had almost been caught by a whirlwind.
‘I’ll be back in about half an hour.’ His voice still husky, Neal left.
Meeting his family proved less of an ordeal than she had imagined. In the ordinary way, she wouldn’t have worried about it. It was only because of her relationship with Neal, and uncertainty about how her mother would cope with an unfamiliar environment and an embarrassment of strangers, that Sarah had butterflies inside her when Neal took them down to his parents’ part of the house.
As it turned out, they both had engagements that afternoon and wouldn’t be back until later. So the visitors had time to adjust to their new surroundings before meeting the people who had created them.
The huge room on the ground floor had several of the features Sarah had admired in the lounge of the hotel where Neal had stayed while visiting her. The walls were lined with books and pictures. The floor was laid with time-mellowed Eastern rugs. There were pot-plants and fresh flowers everywhere, many comfortable places to sit and a generally homely atmosphere combined with indications that the people who lived here were much better off and more sophisticated than the Andersons.
At one end of the room, tall windows screened for privacy by long folds of plain white net overlooked the street and another row of similar houses on the other side of it. At the other, glass doors led into a large conservatory beyond which could be seen a long narrow walled London garden with several mature trees.
A woman in an overall brought in a tea tray. Neal dealt with the pouring out as if there were nothing unusual about a man performing this service. Sarah could see that her mother found it astonishing. To her, men were the breadwinners and, when at home, were waited on by women. Even though Sarah had long been the family breadwinner, she knew that, when Matthew came back, her mother would defer to him more than to her and exert herself more for him.
They had finished tea and Neal was sitting next to Mrs Anderson, talking her through a large book of beautiful photographs of Kathmandu, when the door opened and a tall, slim woman came in. She was wearing trousers, a cashmere sweater and a jacket with a large clip on the lapel. Her dark hair, worn in a chignon, had a dramatic white streak.
‘Sarah!’ With hands outstretched, she crossed the room to where Sarah had turned from a painting she had been studying. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t be here when you arrived. I’ve been so looking forward to meeting you.’ She took both of Sarah’s hands and squeezed them with firm, warm fingers.
When Neal introduced Mrs Anderson, his mother’s manner was equally welcoming. But Sarah had the feeling that here was someone extremely clever and shrewd who would always be a gracious hostess but, if she found them wanting, would, with the utmost diplomacy, make that clear to her son.
Presently her husband joined them. He had features in common with his son, but the closest resemblance was between Neal and his grandfather who came in a little later to join them for pre-dinner drinks.
Still upright and keen of eye, the senior Mr Kennedy was a vision of what Neal would be like in extreme old age when time had wasted his strength and suppleness but left him with the fine bone structure that made his grandparent still a formidable presence.
‘So you are the girl my grandson met in mid-air,
’ he said, after taking her arm and drawing her aside.
To him, she realised, she must look a girl. If only she were...
‘Let’s go and sit over there,’ he said, indicating the sofa with its back to the street windows. ‘Unfortunately I’m rather deaf and talking to more than one person at a time is difficult for me. I hear you’re a Web designer. I spend a lot of time on the Internet. I’ve given up real world travel in favour of virtual globe-trotting. Tell me, what do you think about...?’
They were still deep in conversation when Neal came to replenish their glasses of white wine.
‘I needn’t ask what you two are gossiping about,’ he said, smiling down at them.
His grandfather used the arm of the sofa to lever himself to his feet. ‘I mustn’t monopolise you, Sarah. I’ll go and talk to your mother and give you and Neal a chance to exchange a few words before we have dinner.’
Taking his place, Neal said, ‘I knew you two would hit it off. Are you feeling more relaxed now?’
‘Didn’t I look relaxed earlier?’
‘Outwardly—yes. But when people know each other well, they sense what’s under the surface. When you first came down, you were a bundle of tension.’
At this point the woman in the overall came in and said, ‘Dinner’s ready when you are, Dr Kennedy.’
‘We’ll come at once, Mrs Haig.’ Neal’s mother indicated that everyone should follow her across the hall to a room with dark red walls.
The dining table was a round one. Sarah sat between Neal and his father, with her mother between him and his father.
The meal was unpretentious home cooking, with Mrs Haig placing the serving dishes in the centre of the table and everyone passing them round.
The first course was garlic mushrooms served in small brown ramekins, followed by fresh salmon steaks with baked potatoes and other vegetables. The pudding was baked apples with fromage frais.