The Art of Romance

by Margaret Carr

  She swung her legs out of the car then crossed to the back door of the farmhouse. A plump woman with a collie dog sniffing around her heels answered Alison’s knock.

  ‘Bless you. no.’ She laughed at Alison’s query. ‘Mr Kyle lives up at the hall.’ She then proceeded to give Alison directions.

  Back in the car Alison retraced the track until she came once more to the edge of the wood. Here she let herself through yet another gate and along a much wider track. Once through the wood the road widened yet again, the trees thinned and there before her stood the most beautiful house Alison had ever seen.

  Late Elizabethan, its low eaves and mullion windows gave it a cosy look despite its size. Solid oak beams and red brick walls disappeared in places beneath heavy ivy and wisteria, offering centuries of security, or so it seemed to Alison as she sat there entranced. A mass of rhododendron sheltered a stone arch and gave access for Alison’s Mini to the front drive.

  She parked the car to the right of the solid oak door. A metal bell pull that looked and sounded as though it had been pinched from a Dracula movie tolled ominously when she pulled it. She bit down on an urge to giggle. Well, at least he’s at home, she thought, noticing the other car parked to one side of the archway.

  As the seconds passed, a cold feeling began to climb slowly up Alison’s back. She took a deep breath and turned to face the grey Jaguar. Please, she prayed, there are many grey Jaguars in the world, let this be a different one.

  The door was opened by a large man with a grim expression, dressed in a polo-necked jumper and sweat pants.

  ‘What can I do for you, miss?’

  Alison only just disguised a gulp.

  ‘I would like to see Mr Kyle, please.’

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘Then you had better come in and wait while I see if I can find him.’

  This is getting more absurd by the minute, Alison thought, as she watched the figure disappear through a green baize door at the back of the hall.

  She looked around her, admiring the oak panelling and curved, uncarpeted stone staircase. A long bench and two wide carved chairs stood before an enormous fireplace. Flowers filled the hearth and she wondered idly who it was who provided the feminine touch in this beautiful home.

  ‘You like what you see. Miss Wareham?’

  The words made her jump back from the portrait she had been studying.

  ‘Yes, very much. Who is it?’ Turning aside Alison struggled for control. One glance at the gold and diamond tie-pin was sufficient to tell her that her prayers had most definitely not been answered.

  ‘Would you believe my great-grandmother?’

  His blue eyes were laughing at her discomfort and she squeaked as her grinding teeth nipped her tongue.

  ‘I’m surprised, she looks so gentle. Not much family resemblance, is there?’

  ‘And this visit surprises me, Miss Wareham. To what do I owe the pleasure?’

  He proceeded to show her into a long, book-lined room with several easy chairs scattered around an oblong table that had seen better days. Old ink stains, carved initials and other scars edged its waxed surface. He closed the door behind them and indicated that she should take a seat.

  Much to Alison’s annoyance he didn’t sit down but leaned back against the table throwing her into disadvantage. Silence stretched between them sending her nerves quivering like overstretched wires. Avoiding direct eye contact Alison stood up and wandered across to one of the three deep casement windows giving views of a sunken garden.

  ‘You have a beautiful home. Mr Kyle. Have you always lived here?’

  His answer came from just behind her and she realised he had followed her across the room.

  ‘If you mean has it come down through the family, then the answer is yes. Am I to believe then that you came all the way over here simply to study my genealogy?’

  He was making fun of her and she seethed inside. Drawing herself up to her full height she turned slowly to face him.

  ‘I have come to apologise for my behaviour the day you visited my office. I’m afraid I was not aware of your standing on the board at that point. Madam Nicolopoulou has been contacted and an apology sent. The contract now awaits your attention.

  ‘I do most sincerely apologise for any inconvenience I may have caused. Now if you will excuse me.’

  ‘I think not.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘If I were to accept that apology in the manner in which it was given I’d drop dead on the spot.’

  Alison lowered her eyes to his tie-pin.

  ‘So you won’t accept my apology?’

  ‘I didn’t say that. Perhaps I would be more convinced if you were to prove you meant it. Then, of course, there was that fiasco this morning. How do I know you won’t try to run me over the first opportunity you get?’

  ‘I didn’t recognise you.’ She shrugged. ‘You looked different the last time we met.’

  ‘I had been working when Francine, Madam Nicolopoulou, rang me. I do not like to be disturbed when I’m working. I dropped what I was doing and came straight into town because if I had not, the wretched woman would have continued to nag me.’

  ‘Oh.’

  A silence hung with tension dissipated itself around the room.

  ‘I was on the point of having lunch when you called,’ he said after a while. ‘Would you care to share it with me, then maybe we can work out some terms agreeable to both.’

  Get out of that one, Alison, she fumed.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, and followed him from the room.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘I had to promise to treat him to dinner on Friday evening. Can you believe the cheek of the man?’

  Sharon smiled.

  ‘He’ll empty your bank balance, mind. He’s used to eating at only the best places.’

  ‘I thought I might take him to McDonald’s. What do you think?’

  Sharon shrieked with laughter.

  * * *

  The doorbell rang at precisely eight o’clock that Friday evening. Alison was putting the last touches to her make-up and in the hurry to scramble into her dress caught her pearl necklace in one of the tiny hooks.

  The doorbell rang again. Muttering angry threats she gave a desperate tug and the necklace broke scattering pearls over a wide area. There was a definite shrill of impatience when the doorbell rang for the third time.

  Alison flew down the stairs and flung open the door. This was not the appearance she had hoped to make. His eyebrows rose in surprise as they surveyed each other.

  ‘I’ve broken my necklace. You had better come up.’

  She turned and fled back up the stairs leaving him to close the door.

  Mounting the narrow stairs on the balls of his feet he followed her. At the top he turned into the living area. Admiring the way she had made the most of the tiny space, he placed the boxed flower he carried on to a small side table and was standing at the window looking down into the mews when Alison returned.

  She had replaced the pearls with a simple opal pendant and gold stud earrings.

  ‘I brought you a corsage,’ he said. ‘May I secure it for you?’

  Alison watched as he released the creamy orchid from its wrapping. The pin was already supplied and as he bent to the task of fixing it to the shoulder of her dress she could smell the soft fragrance of his after-shave and somewhere in the region of her chest she could feel an unfamiliar bumping as her heart created rhythms it had never played before.

  ‘I’m afraid this evening will be very downmarket for you. I know few restaurants above that which my expense account will cover.’

  She felt her cheeks flame with shame at her own rudeness, yet she had spoken in self-defence for hadn’t the thought of finding Maurice Kyle attractive been even more shameful?

  A slight twist lifted the corner of his mouth.

  ‘I have already booked our table and the meal is on me. Your company is all the payment I require.’


  Alison opened her mouth to protest but he was already draping her coat over her shoulders and urging her towards the stairs. Her thoughts were chaotic as he held open the door of the Jaguar that sat on the cobbles. He was the perfect escort.

  ‘Why so tense, Alison?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said turning her head to stare out of the window at the passing lights.

  ‘I hope these pretty feet don’t mind a short walk because even I can’t conjure up a parking place within a hundred yards of our destination.’

  ‘And here I thought you had lackeys at these places who spring to attention when you arrive at the front entrance and park the car for you,’ she goaded him.

  He glanced across swiftly, a thin frown between his brows.

  ‘Well, of course, if you want to go up-market you had only to say so. For myself I have booked us a more discreet eating place.’

  ‘Please, this will be fine. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry.’

  ‘My, my,’ he said turning around in his seat to watch as he reversed. ‘You do ask for it, don’t you? Here you are, not yet finished making your first apology and already making a second.’

  ‘You mean you aren’t going to accept my apology under any conditions?’

  ‘I mean,’ he said, helping her from the car and locking the doors, ‘that sometime this evening I am going to expect an explanation for all this antagonism.’

  With that ominous threat hanging over her, Alison accompanied him along the pavement into a small French restaurant whose simple décor and dozen or so tables spaced well apart whispered exclusive.

  The service was immediate and smooth. So much so that Alison was barely aware of the waiter’s presence. Time passed swiftly through small talk and a wonderful meal of onion soup, garlic prawns and tender steak in a cream and wine sauce. As she finished her wine and sat back to await her coffee, she felt warm and replete.

  ‘You have a love of antiques, I believe.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Her startled glance flew straight to his face.

  ‘I noticed you had some very nice pictures and furniture in your flat.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I do.’

  ‘And you enjoy good food,’ he remarked with a twinkle in his eye.

  ‘Why, yes, thank you. I’ve enjoyed the meal very much.’

  ‘Harkers’ pay you well then. I take it?’

  Suspicion surged.

  ‘Harkers’ pay me very well, thank you, and I earn every penny of it.’

  ‘Meaning I don’t?’ His dark gaze held hers, challenging her to deny it.

  He has done it again she realised through her confusion. He’s set a trap and I have fallen right into it.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘No, you didn’t, did you? So it’s not the money you resent so much as my lifestyle.’

  The coffee had been served, now she stared down into her cup.

  ‘I don’t believe people in your position can fully comprehend the damage you cause without thinking. Your confidence in your safe, secure life ignores the weaknesses in others less secure. I had friends like you once and I discovered the hard way just how shallow that friendship could be.’

  He sat back in his seat, his expression contemplative.

  Then he said, his voice cool and detached, ‘I wasn’t offering friendship, shallow or otherwise. You’re not the jealous type or the kind of person I suspect holds grudges. I hope you have more intelligence than to believe all you read about me in the Press. Yet I can’t believe that it is simply a case of upset over a few angry words.’

  Her chin came up and their eyes locked.

  ‘Why not?’

  A thin smile tucked up a corner of his mouth.

  ‘I don’t know but I intend to find out.’

  * * *

  Later that night as she lay in bed filtering through their conversation, it crossed her mind that her anger and resentment towards the man were drawn from fear. She felt attracted to him and that frightened her. It would be best all round if she kept right out of his way. Her instinct was warning her that he meant trouble.

  Waking next morning with the weekend before her, she set about her usual routine of cleaning the already spotless flat, seeing to any laundry, dry cleaning and shopping. Across the mews an elderly neighbour with her miniature French poodle set off for the nearest park. Sunlight played on colourful window boxes from a clear blue sky.

  Below her, in the garage rented out to a would-be film star, a radio turned up to its full decibels persuaded her that Frank Sinatra still lived. Smiling to herself she collected her basket and purse.

  She had left the window open to let in the fresh air when she heard the voices from the garage below. It froze her foot on the top stair.

  It she stayed very still no-one would know she was there. The doorbell rang. It rang again and she heard more conversation. The third time it rang it was long and insistent, still she didn’t move. The radio had been turned down now as they talked, now it blared forth once more and she sighed, freeing her heart to resume its pumping.

  She closed her eyes. It was all coming back, the fear, the hiding. Why? What gave him the power to tear her life apart again? It was eight years and a new life since her father’s trial; friends who turned their backs: the hounding of the Press; her home sold; all monies frozen. Employment opportunities disappeared at the mention of her name.

  Publishing offers came her way from scandal sheets but she ignored them, seeking only to hide from the shame. William Harker, an old friend of her mother, took her into his home and gave her a job.

  She crept down the stairs and eased open the door. The lane was empty. Stepping out she closed the door gently behind her.

  ‘Hoy!’ The shout ricocheted around the empty mews. ‘You had a visitor, Didn’t you hear him?’

  Alison shook her head, waved and kept walking.

  The young man shrugged his shoulders and moved back into the garage.

  At the entrance to the lane she swung left heading for the market. After a while she began to feel uncomfortable. She met a friend and stopped to chat, staring off into the crowds around them as she did so.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ her friend asked.

  ‘No, I’m sorry, I just feel as if I was being watched or something.’

  ‘You ought to be careful. You get all sorts of weirdos hanging around these days. Why, just the other day …’

  Coming towards her for a moment she thought she caught a glimpse of a grey Jaguar. It was on the other side of the road and a heavy line of traffic next to her blocked it from view. She gave herself a mental shake and turned back to her friend.

  Returning home she found her neighbour standing next to a plastic table grooming her dog, Mitzi.

  ‘Hello, dear. That noisy young man in your garage has gone and left the key for you.’

  ‘For me? Why would he want to do that?’

  ‘I don’t know, dear, but he said someone had left something there for you to collect.’

  ‘Well, why didn’t they give it to you?’

  She stroked the little dog.

  ‘Perhaps they were frightened of dogs. Mitzi can be quite ferocious, you know.’

  Alison smiled and accepted the key. She let herself into the flat and sorted out her shopping before looking long and hard at the key. Slowly she made her way back down the stairs and into the garage.

  An ancient MG lay in pieces across the floor, a workbench scattered with tools and cans occupied the back wall. Overalls, an old trilby and a canvas duffel hung on pegs alongside where she stood.

  Puzzled, she moved farther forward. What could there possibly be here for her? Then she saw the large, white envelope propped against the body of the car. There was only her name emblazoned across the white square in big, black letters. ANGELA WITHERSTON.

  The envelope contained pictures, recent photographs of her climbing down from a bus, out shopping and standing outside the doorway of Harkers’.

  CHA
PTER FOUR

  ‘Maurice is ready to proceed with the Nicolopoulou contract and has asked for your assistance,’ William informed her on Monday morning. ‘You have been invited to stay at the Sussex house while the work is in progress.

  ‘I hope you are professional enough to ignore earlier misunderstandings with Maurice and concentrate on the job in hand. We’ve been trusted to undertake this work and I know you won’t disappoint me.’

  The blonde curtain of hair fell across her cheek as she murmured, ‘Of course.’

  William smiled across the desk.

  ‘When do I go?’

  ‘Next Monday, but its been suggested that you go down on the Saturday to get settled in and look the work over.’

  Alison gave him a smile she did not feel and left the office. It would take her the following two days to go through the contract, gather all the necessary details and check the orders for materials for the job.

  At home she would have to tidy things away and pack her bags. To be kept busy for the next few days, then a change of scene was probably the best thing to take her mind from the pictures left in the garage.

  * * *

  Lack of sleep had her snapping at Sharon until the other woman asked what was wrong.

  Jumping with guilt Alison put it down to the strain of working with Maurice Kyle.

  Sharon shook her head.

  ‘Other jobs haven’t bothered you like this. You’re usually so calm.’

  ‘I’m a bit twitchy. I admit. I just hope the woman doesn’t hold any grudges because I tried to assign her a different designer.’

  ‘Or possibly because this one is a friend of you-know-who.’

  Alison lay down the papers she had been studying. Picking up a gold and green enamelled pen she twisted it around in her fingers.

  ‘I just feel spooked, uncomfortable. I thought I was being followed the other day, then I received a strange message.’

  She replaced the pen and rubbed the top of her arms to comfort herself.

  Sharon was wide-eyed.

  ‘Do you think it’s a stalker?’

  ‘No.’ Alison gave an unhappy laugh. ‘I doubt it very much. It’s just making me jittery, sorry.’