The Art of Romance

by Margaret Carr

  ‘I must get back to work, but thank you for your efforts on my behalf. If you could let me have your friend’s name and address, I’ll contact him.’

  He scowled after her with barely a nod of the head.

  * * *

  That evening, Alison chewed over thoughts of how she was going to avoid going down to dinner. She must keep out of her father’s way at all costs. What his reaction would be if he bumped into her, she could only guess. Doors shut along the passage and voices in whisper passed her room.

  Desperate to find a way out, she decided just to pretend ill. Lifting the phone that was connected to the kitchen she made her excuses to Elle, who promptly arranged to bring a tray along and, yes, she would give her apologies to Francine.

  Ten minutes later there was a sharp rap on the door that startled Alison from her daydreaming. Before she could reply, the door was thrust open and Maurice strode into the room.

  ‘What’s the matter? Are you really ill or is it just last night catching up with you?’ His glance swept the room and came back to her face. ‘You don’t look ill.’

  ‘Will you please leave? You were not invited into my room and I owe you no explanations at all. Now please go or do I have to start screaming?’

  His eyes narrowed as he stared at her.

  ‘Why are you hiding up here?’

  Alison counted to three then picked up the nearest thing to hand which happened to be her travelling alarm clock and flung it at him, but it only bounced from the already closed door.

  Picking up the clock from where it had fallen, Alison thanked her lucky stars it was enclosed in a small padded case and had suffered no injuries. There was a small table beneath the window and Alison sat down on a chair she had dragged from across the room and pulled out some work she should have completed that afternoon.

  Elle arrived with a beautifully-dressed tray on which was chicken soup, mini breads warm from the oven, a pat of butter, slices of cold meat and a dish of Elie’s own apple and mango chutney. The French woman delivered the tray and left without a word for which Alison was extremely grateful.

  Well, Alison told herself as she packed away her work later that evening and made ready for bed, this excuse isn’t going to stand up for however long these guests decided to stay, plus the chance of bumping into them during the day.

  Perhaps she could exchange with Sharon and stay down at the pub.

  * * *

  Alison’s plans of the night before were abruptly shattered when she met Sharon in the morning.

  ‘They didn’t have a room spare for the office work, so I’ve agreed to sleep in the sunhouse at the bottom of the garden, just like the fairies,’ she giggled. ‘And we can use my room for the office.’

  Alison tried to hide her disappointment. At least she thought she would be safe in the east wing from everyone but Maurice, and he wasn’t her main worry right at the moment.

  It was her father’s reaction to her presence and his reasons for being here that filled her mind as she moved among the workmen taking note of any new materials being used and making sure there were order forms and invoices.

  When Maurice had mentioned the London job last night her heart had skipped with excitement, but she had hidden it from him because she no longer relied on anyone.

  All the friends, some from early nursery days, she had turned to for help during her father’s trial had all deserted her, some abruptly, some gradually, some guiltily, but she had stood alone in those dark days with only the odd acquaintance hanging on for the free publicity.

  If Maurice coughed up with the name and address of this friend then she knew she would look him up.

  They re-arranged Sharon’s bedroom as best they could to accommodate the extra table and boxes of files, laptops and printers. The bed was covered with piles of pattern books swatches and colour charts.

  Alison was perched precariously at the end of the bed, unsuccessfully trying to fit a brighter bulb into the socket. Deciding that it would be brighter still if she were to take the shade off altogether, she struggled to untwist the brittle ring that held the shade in place. It was at this point that Maurice entered the room and stood dumbfounded at the sight that confronted him.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, woman, get down,’ he snapped at Alison.

  His hands encircled her waist and dragged her from the bed.

  Alison thought Maurice was going to explode. His mouth had tightened, drawing his cheeks hard against the high cheekbones.

  ‘I thought I told you to establish an office here, not a junk room.’

  Alison’s chin prodded forward.

  ‘We’re making the best of a bad job. There were no spare rooms here, so Sharon volunteered to give up her bedroom for our use. I was trying to get us more light when you interrupted so rudely.’

  He scowled down at her, then holding out his hand said, ‘Here, give me that bulb.’ As he raised his hand to exchange the bulb the loosened lightshade fell on to his head, blinding him momentarily.

  Alison fell into peals of laughter as Maurice flung the shade across the room. Biting her lip she watched him fitting the new bulb. With his back to her, Alison couldn’t see his face but noticed his shoulders shaking. When he turned around he couldn’t hide the laughter bubbling from him. Sharon, too, was laughing in the doorway of the bathroom.

  * * *

  Alison left the pub just after six and made her way across the carpark to the van they had hired to bring all the stuff from the house down to the pub.

  As she unlocked the van, a black BMW entered the carpark and slid to a stop two places down from the van. She was in the van, door shut, key in the ignition when the passenger door opened and her father climbed in.

  ‘I thought it was you,’ he said, turning to face her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Horror, followed by anger, held her frozen in place. His once handsome face had melted into baggy eyes and flabby jowls, his hair once thick and wavy was thinner with definite signs of disguised baldness. There was still strength in his five-foot-ten, heavily-muscled body and steel in the gaze that swept over her now.

  ‘Well, well, little Angela, what brings you to the attentions of our Francine, I wonder.’

  ‘Work,’ she ground out between her teeth. ‘I thought it might be you when I received those photographs. Though why you should wish to contact me I can’t imagine, unless it was just to let me know that you were a free man again.’

  ‘I have been a free man for some time,’ he replied pulling the door shut. ‘The others have gone on ahead and I thought I would take this opportunity for us to have a little talk. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you have been side-stepping me. I made enquiries about you as soon as I knew I would be coming back to England.’

  ‘Have you been having me followed?’ she demanded, remembering all the times she had felt uncomfortable as though she was being watched.

  He shrugged.

  ‘I wanted to know what had happened to you.’

  ‘Not from parental responsibility, I’m sure. So what are you here for? What do you want?’

  ‘Want? Why should I want anything? I’m here at Francine’s invitation. My companion, Maria, and I will leave for France when Francine flies on to Greece.’

  ‘Then what do you want me for?’

  ‘To make sure you tell no-one of our relationship.’

  ‘I’m hardly likely to brag about having a criminal for a father.’

  His mouth spread wide, etching dimples into his cheeks.

  ‘I’m so pleased that is settled. Perhaps if you succeed in hooking Etienne we will see more of you in France. We don’t need to be family. We can be just good friends.’

  He climbed out of the car before Alison could find a voice to answer. Her anger knotted itself in her throat until she felt physically sick.

  As for trying to seduce the wealthy Etienne, that was typical of the way her father thought.

  Etienne was a friend, nothing more. She was answerable
to no-one and that was the way she wanted it to be.

  * * *

  Back at the house she bumped straight into Maurice who started to talk to her, but she could take no more questioning tonight and ignoring him, ran to the west wing and her room. He followed her and banged on her bedroom door, but she refused to answer and waited breathlessly until she heard him stamp away down the hall.

  The following morning she was up and dressed and in the east wing before the workmen arrived on the scene. The work was progressing well. Now Sharon was here, Alison wondered what her chances were of returning to London. After all, Sharon was capable of coping with most of the paper work, and with Maurice in charge, Alison convinced herself she was practically redundant.

  There were always hiccups of course; when deliveries were delayed and workers standing around doing nothing, which sent prices soaring, or building damage that surveyors had failed to pick up on, wrong deliveries that had to be returned, a million and one things.

  Just for once, Alison thought angrily, why shouldn’t Maurice Kyle be made to sort out his own contracts?

  They were all in the drawing-room that evening having pre-dinner drinks when Maurice handed her a sherry.

  ‘I see you’re still simmering from whatever happened to you last evening. People have been giving you a wide berth all day. What the devil’s wrong?’

  She didn’t dare deny it for even Sharon had avoided her.

  ‘I need to get back to London. I do have a life away from this firm, you know,’ she snapped.

  He was scowling down into her face.

  ‘I don’t believe that for a minute. Everyone in the firm, from George on up, all sing of your devotion to the company.’

  ‘Things change,’ she said, turning away from him.

  They moved into dinner and Etienne came to her rescue, regaling her throughout the meal with silly stories. As was her habit. Alison was on the point of leaving the drawing-room after finishing her coffee when Maria delayed her. She came straight to the point.

  ‘Your father tells me you are not happy with the situation here. I hope you will do nothing to spoil this holiday for him. It would be a pity if Etienne were to discover you were the daughter of the man who defrauded so many people of their savings.’

  Alison felt the colour drain from her face, and she turned cold from the shock. This woman knew. Her glance flew swiftly around the room. Victor had his back to her, talking to Maurice and Maurice was looking directly at her. Her eyes widened in horror then she turned and fled.

  He caught up with her outside her room. Taking her arm he swung her round to face him.

  ‘I refuse to believe you are in competition for Victor’s favours, so what did Maria say to scare you to death?’

  ‘It’s none of your business. Now let me go.’

  ‘I’m making it my business. You are in my employ and I need you in full control of your faculties if your work is not to suffer.’

  ‘You have just finished telling me not an hour ago what a paragon I am to the company so you should realise, Mr Kyle, that nothing will be allowed to make my work suffer. Now if you don’t mind, I am extremely tired.’

  He sighed and his hand fell to his side.

  Alison let herself into her room and on shaking legs crossed to the bed. She woke shivering just after midnight. Putting on the lamp on the bedside table she glanced at her watch. Swinging her legs to the floor, she rubbed her arms before picking up the phone and calling William.

  The conversation was short. After divesting her clothes and having a welcoming hot shower she returned to her bed and fell asleep.

  * * *

  Next morning she packed her belongings and after breakfast drove down to the pub to see Sharon.

  ‘I’ve never known you leave a job half done before,’ was Sharon’s surprised comment.

  ‘I’m needed elsewhere. Keep a hold on things here for me. I just …’

  ‘Need a break, yes, I can see that,’ Sharon chipped in.

  Next she sought out Etienne and repeated the excuse of commitment elsewhere. He frowned and taking her by the hand led her into a small room at the back of the house. Pulling two chairs close together they sat facing one another.

  ‘I am your friend, no?’

  ‘Yes,’ Alison said with a half smile on her lips.

  ‘I would like to be much more, you know this.’

  When the smile left her face, he shook his head. His expression took on the look of an abandoned dog when he leaned forward and looked up at her. ‘This cannot be, I know,’ he said, straightening. ‘So, I am still your friend. Now, you can tell me what is wrong?’

  Alison shook her head. Without warning she felt her eyes sting. It had been such a long time since she had cried that at first the pain was overlooked. She needed a friend, someone she could trust. The word trust was like sawdust in her mouth and on the point of spitting it out in a rejection she became conscious of the tears on her cheeks.

  Etienne rose from his seat and taking hold of her shoulders brought her to her feet and into his arms. He kissed both her wet cheeks and held her close. After a while Alison eased herself away and sat once more in the chair and mopped her face.

  Etienne sat down again and took her hands in his own.

  ‘Now tell me.’

  The curtain of hair fell away from her eyes and her chin tilted forward. She would tell him the truth and if he betrayed her then she would live through it as she had done before.

  She took a deep breath.

  ‘Victor Brewer is Vernon Witherston. my father.’

  There was an empty silence for several minutes until comprehension slid slowly across Etienne’s face.

  ‘Witherston, wasn’t that the man who was given ten years for insurance fraud in this country? Half a million pounds he was reputed to have stolen. And Victor Brewer is this man?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But he has been a friend of Francine for two to three years now.’

  ‘He only did seven years. I didn’t know he was out until I saw him here.’

  Alison closed her eyes to shut out the sight of Etienne’s face, when he said, ‘This man is your father?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘So now you know why I must leave.’

  ‘No, no,’ he cried, jumping from the chair and taking hold of her arm. ‘We are not responsible for what our fathers do, but we must warn our friends of this man’s true identity.’

  ‘I can’t, don’t you see?’ She pulled her arm free. ‘When they know I’m his daughter, it will ruin everything for me as it did before. Please, if you really are my friend, you will say nothing.’

  His face was a picture of hurt and confusion.

  ‘Alison, I am always your friend. If you are this man’s daughter, why does he not acknowledge you as such?’

  ‘Because he knows I would betray him. I hate him for what he has done, for what he makes me feel.’

  ‘Alison …’

  ‘Goodbye, Etienne,’ she whispered, and ran from the room.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The sky was overcast and the wind that gusted around the street corners was bitterly cold, as only a day in the British summer could be. Alison huddled down into her lightweight jacket and strode out along the pavement. It was ten days since her return to London and she had heard from no-one.

  Unwilling to go back to her flat in case Etienne or Maurice tracked her down, she had taken refuge with William. If anyone had tried to phone she knew William would have shielded her.

  Today she was on her way to a gallery in Kensington where a picture was to be auctioned and bought for a client. When she arrived, she inspected the small water colour by a well-known Italian artist, and checked it against her programme and the figure her client had allowed her.

  Glancing around the room she caught sight of several familiar faces. They were notable dealers, but her client had been generous with the guide price.

  The bidding started off rather sluggishly, but t
hen the first telephone bid came in and things began to hot up. Alison waited her time. When bids from the floor slowed down Alison put in her first bid.

  Soon there was just hers and two telephone bids battling it out. Alison thought she had it when one after the other the telephone bids fell out, but before the auctioneer could drop his gavel a third telephone bid was called.

  Alison could have choked with disappointment when this third bidder went over the price her client was prepared to pay. She felt like throwing in her own money just to get the better of this new adversary and win the prize. Smiling at this ridiculous urge, she suddenly froze.

  For a dreadful moment she thought she had seen Maurice Kyle’s head as he swung through the crowd. The room was emptying rapidly as people headed for the pay desk or out into the cold afternoon.

  Alison was familiar with the gallery and hurried to a back entrance where heavy items were loading. A narrow back street led her out on to the road.

  On the point of leaving the side street, she noticed with a sudden shock the grey Jaguar standing by the main doorway of the gallery. As she waited. Maurice left the building and climbed into the car and drove off.

  That evening, William told her that Maurice had called into the office and demanded to know where she was.

  William had played ignorant and asked what had happened. Maurice told him that she had left in a panic after something one of the guests had said to her. He had scowled darkly at William.

  Then he had found out what it was that had frightened her and couldn’t believe it. He wanted to hear it from her own lips. William had dug deeper but Maurice would reveal nothing more.

  ‘Etienne must have told him,’ Alison said with a sigh.

  Her head hung forward, the curtain of hair shielding her eyes. William reached across the table.

  ‘There now, we don’t know that. But even if he did you can’t blame him, for he must have been in a devil of a quandary when you left wanting to warn his aunt yet not wanting to be disloyal to you.’

  ‘I saw Maurice at the sale. He was looking for me. I take it he has gone back to Sussex.’

  * * *

  The following day she moved back into her flat. She had the weekend to settle in then on the Monday morning she returned to work.