Knowing now that he was deliberately teasing her, she took a deep breath, and, making an effort to pull herself together, asked as steadily as possible, ‘Such as what?’
He reeled off a list. ‘Dates and figs and nuts in their shells; balloons and streamers and paper hats; money in the Christmas pudding…’ His face the picture of innocence, he added, ‘And of course exciting games to play…’
Pretending not to have heard the latter, she objected, ‘There won’t be any money in a bought Christmas pudding.’
‘There will in this one,’ he corrected her.
‘Sneaky!’
‘And, added to all that, I have a present for you.’
‘What kind of present?’ she demanded warily.
‘I think you’d better wait and see. If I told you now it would spoil the surprise.’
‘I’m not sure I like surprises.’
‘You’ll like mine,’ he assured her. ‘Now, what about a sherry before the meal?’
Still unsure, the previous night only too fresh in her mind, she debated refusing, then thought better of it. After all it was Christmas Day and, wary now, she wasn’t likely to make the same mistake twice.
When she offered no objection, he filled two fine tulip-shaped glasses and handed her one before taking a seat opposite.
For a while they sat in front of the blazing fire and sipped in silence. Then, glancing at his watch, he remarked, ‘Speaking of dinner, I hope you’ve worked up enough appetite to do it justice?’
‘I certainly have,’ she assured him, composed now, and determined to ignore any future attempt to bait her.
‘In that case I’ll add the finishing touches.’
‘What would you like me to do?’
‘You’ve done your share. Now you can just sit there and look beautiful.’
She pulled a face. ‘It would be a jolly sight more useful if I laid the table.’
Shaking his head, he told her, ‘It’s not necessary. I can do that while—’
The chirruping of a mobile phone cut through his words.
Just for a split second he looked disconcerted, before an expressionless mask slipped into place.
Her smoke-grey eyes accusing, Anna said, ‘When I asked if you had a mobile, you told me you’d left it in the car.’
His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘I guess it must have been in my coat after all.’
Appearing cool and unruffled now, he crossed to where his jacket was hanging and took a phone from an inside pocket.
‘Hello?… Oh, that’s all right. After the snow I didn’t really expect you… Good… I’m glad to hear it… No, not particularly… Well, we’ll have to wait and see what the weather does… No, don’t worry about it… Thanks. The same to you. See you. Take care, now.’
He returned the phone to his jacket pocket, then, without any explanation, set about finishing off the meal, leaving Anna to wonder who his unknown caller might have been.
It was obviously someone who had intended to come to the Manor, but been put off by the snow.
His manner had been intimate and affectionate, so more than likely it had been a woman friend. Perhaps the live-in lover she had speculated about? Maybe, unable to travel with him for some reason, she had followed on later?
Yet last night Gideon had talked as if he expected to be spending his first Christmas back in England alone. And if he was hoping to be joined by some woman, why had he wanted her to stay?
It just didn’t add up. Unless he was the kind of man who would try to fill any short gap in his life with any available woman…
‘Penny for them.’
She looked up to find that everything was ready and Gideon was waiting to pull out her chair and serve the food.
‘Have you never heard of inflation?’ She made a determined attempt to sound light-hearted as she moved to join him.
The table had a suitably festive air, with a gold candle at either end and, as a centre-piece, a posy of holly and mistletoe threaded with red ribbon.
While they ate a leisurely meal and finished off with coffee, he kept her entertained with anecdotes about his travels and, when she expressed interest, his life in California.
Rather to her surprise the only woman he mentioned throughout was his housekeeper, whom he described as a cheerful and motherly Puerto Rican.
In the end, finding she was unable to help herself, Anna asked, ‘No live-in lover?’
He raised an eyebrow at her, and she was annoyed to find herself blushing.
‘Well, you asked me that,’ she pointed out, trying hard not to sound defensive.
‘So I did,’ he agreed lazily, reaching to refill their coffee cups. ‘Well, my answer’s the same as yours. No. I’ve had lovers, of course, but I’ve always steered clear of cohabitation. I imagine it would require a great deal of tolerance, unless the two people involved really loved each other.’
She had decided he was going to leave it at that, when he went on, ‘There’s only one woman I would have been willing to live with. In fact, we might have been married by now, had she been free…’
Anna was struggling to cope with a stab of pain like a knife-thrust when he went on, ‘But though Eva was separated from her husband for a year before I met her, she’s a Catholic and doesn’t believe in divorce.’
He relapsed into silence.
While she finished her coffee, Anna watched his preoccupied face and wondered if he was still thinking of the other woman.
When she put down her empty cup, he roused himself to ask politely, ‘More coffee?’
‘No, thank you,’ she answered with equal politeness.
Then, determined to banish Eva’s ghost, she gave a bright smile and credit where it was due. ‘The entire meal was delicious. I’ve really enjoyed it.’
‘We aim to please,’ he responded easily, adding, ‘Shall we move to the more comfortable chairs?’
She got to her feet.
Dropping a casual arm around her shoulders, he escorted her back to the fire. Just that light, almost impersonal touch made her pulses leap.
When she was seated in front of the glowing hearth, Gideon stirred the Yule log with his toe, making it blaze and crackle, and, leaning a shoulder against the stone surround of the fireplace, stared into the leaping flames.
There was a short, brooding silence; then, with the air of a man who has determined to take a certain course of action and wants to get on with it, he asked, ‘Now, I hope you’re ready for the surprise I promised you?’
Though he spoke equably, there was the faintest edge to his voice, the merest hint of a hidden purpose, but it was enough to send a warning tingle down her spine.
What was he up to? she wondered uneasily. Was this yet another elaborate game?
She had almost succeeded in convincing herself that it was, when some sixth sense insisted that this was no game. Whatever he was planning to spring on her, his motives were deadly serious.
He watched the mixed emotions chase one another across her face, before she answered, ‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’
‘You don’t sound terribly enthusiastic.’
‘As I remarked earlier, I’m not sure I like surprises.’
‘And as I told you, I believe you’ll like this one.’
When she said nothing further, he enquired blandly, ‘Aren’t you going to ask me what it is?’
Strangely unwilling, she took her courage in both hands and, apprehension making her sound somewhat ungracious, said, ‘All right. What is it?’
Looking amused by her reluctance, he crossed to the dresser and from one of the drawers took a large, flat envelope made of thick parchment.
‘This.’ He handed it to her, then, taking his own seat, waited for her to open it.
With the caution of someone expecting a trap, she did so, and, having extracted a single sheet of paper, sat staring down at it speechlessly.
Addressed to ‘My Lady Eleanor’, and bearing the date September 1621, it was a love lette
r—or, rather, a declaration of love, tender and passionate and moving, written in a clear and very beautiful seventeenth-century script.
It was signed simply ‘Michael S.’ The capital letters in the name were elongated and sloping forwards.
Looking up at last, Anna said, her voice scarcely above a whisper, ‘It’s absolutely beautiful.’
‘I thought you’d like it. As I told you previously, I’ve no real knowledge of manuscripts, but this seemed eminently suitable as a gift for someone with your interests.’
Taken aback, she protested, ‘But you can’t mean me to keep it?’
‘Of course I mean you to keep it.’
‘Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because if it’s genuine, and I’m almost certain it is—’
‘Tell me why you think it’s genuine,’ he broke in.
‘I should say both the paper and the ink are in keeping with the period, and the signature, with those long, sloping letters, seems to be authentic—’
‘Then you’ve seen the same signature before?’
‘Yes, on another surviving manuscript. It’s very distinctive…’
‘And if it is authentic?’
‘Then the letter was almost certainly written by Michael Solhurst, a soldier poet who was a contemporary of Donne and Shakespeare.’
When Gideon merely waited, she added bluntly, ‘That makes it worth a considerable sum of money. Even if it’s a copy, which I don’t think it is, it would still fetch quite a bit.’
His green eyes holding a look she couldn’t decipher, he said flatly, ‘It isn’t a copy.’
‘Do you know the provenance?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, if it’s part of Sir Ian’s collection—’
‘It isn’t. It comes from the family archives. It was sent to Lady Eleanor Strange.’
Anna caught her breath, and, her eyes shining, asked, ‘Can you tell me what happened? Did she return his love?’
‘Yes, apparently she did. But, despite her pleas, her father refused to agree to their marriage. He had a more advantageous union in mind for his eldest daughter—her own cousin Charles. Eleanor, however, was strong-willed, and despite being confined to her room, and given only bread and water, she refused to marry Charles, declaring she’d rather die an old maid. Which, eventually, was what happened.’
Anna sighed.
‘I can see you’d have liked a more romantic ending,’ Gideon observed.
‘In a way that is romantic.’
‘Unrequited love? Yes, I suppose it is… Well, now I’ve told you about Eleanor, maybe you can tell me about Michael Solhurst?’
‘Apart from his metaphysical poetry, and a few surviving letters, there’s comparatively little known about his life. There’s even some doubt as to when he was born, but he died in 1633 and, if the historians are correct, without having married.’
‘Then, for the sake of romance, we’ll assume that he remained true to Eleanor.’ It was said without mockery.
Putting the letter back into the envelope with care, Anna passed it to Gideon. ‘Thank you. I feel privileged to have seen it.’
‘Sure you wouldn’t like to keep it?’ he queried.
‘I’d love to,’ she said honestly, ‘but I can’t.’
‘You could use it to start a new collection for when you open another shop—’
‘If it was mine there’s no way I’d sell it,’ she broke in almost fiercely.
He looked genuinely startled. ‘I thought the whole idea was to sell and make a profit?’
‘Well, of course it is,’ she admitted. ‘But I’m afraid I’m a collector at heart. At times I’ve found it hard to part with something that’s really special, something I would dearly have loved to keep.’
Leaning back in his chair, stretching long legs to the blaze, he asked casually, ‘Such as?’
‘One of the things I was forced to sell in the end was a very beautiful letter, apparently written by John Donne to one of his parishioners.’
Gideon said nothing, but, happening to glance up, she saw that his face was hard and set, and even with the firelight gleaming in them his green eyes were glacial.
Thrown by that look, she found herself stammering, ‘Wh-what’s the matter? Is there something wrong?’
‘What could be wrong?’
‘I don’t know,’ she answered helplessly. ‘You looked so…angry.’
He made no comment, merely asking, ‘What happened to the rest of your stock?’
‘The whole lot was bought by an agent for a private collector,’ she said flatly.
‘Did you get what it was worth?’
She shook her head. ‘Knowing I had little option, he turned the screw, and finally I was forced to sell at a considerable loss.’
Lifting her chin, she added, ‘But at least it enabled me to pay off the bank loan I’d taken out and settle my remaining debts.’
‘So after—what was it?—a year’s work and effort, you walked away with nothing?’
‘Rather less than nothing,’ she told him evenly. ‘What small amount of capital I started with was swallowed up.’
Staring into the fire, Gideon listened to the last in silence, his face serious and withdrawn, giving no hint of what he was thinking.
As the silence stretched, and wanting to lighten the gloom, Anna added with determined brightness, ‘But that’s all in the past. Over and done with. It’s Christmas Day and you promised me some fun.’
He looked up. ‘So I did.’ Getting to his feet, the Michael Solhurst letter in his hand, he remarked, ‘But I’d better put this away first… Unless you’ve changed your mind about keeping it?’
Shaking her head, she admitted with truth, ‘I’d love to. But I can’t.’
He put the letter carefully away in the dresser drawer, and, a smile replacing his former gravity, said, ‘Right, let the fun commence.’
She returned his smile, pleased with her small success, until the glint in his eyes made her wonder a shade uneasily what her impetuous reminder had let her in for.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AS THOUGH reading her thoughts, he grinned and suggested, ‘Suppose we start the ball rolling with the one thing I consider essential to round off a Christmas meal?’
‘What’s that?’ she asked, hoping he didn’t say brandy.
‘A jar of crystallised ginger.’ Raising an eyebrow at her, he asked, ‘Surprised?’
Eyes wide, she exclaimed, ‘Staggered!’
‘Think you can stand the excitement?’
‘I’ll do my best,’ she assured him.
From the cupboard he produced a cream and brown porcelain jar with a dragon on it, and taking off the lid, asked, ‘I hope you like crystallised ginger?’
‘Adore it.’
‘That’s good. I knew from the age of eight that I could never love a woman who didn’t like crystallised ginger.’
A teaspoon in his hand, he came to stand by her chair and, selecting a piece of the luscious golden sweetmeat coated in syrup, instructed, ‘Open wide.’
When she obeyed, he popped it into her mouth. A little of the syrup dribbled off the spoon and ran down her bottom lip.
He leaned forward, and with the tip of his tongue licked it away as delicately as a cat, effectively taking her breath, destroying her composure, and creating a sudden tension.
Damn him! she thought helplessly, convinced that the whole thing had been engineered just to throw her.
If only she could make herself immune to his sexual attraction, but it seemed impossible to combat the barrage of reactions he could release by such blatant teasing.
His expression ironic, he watched her struggle to regain her outward poise while she chewed and swallowed the sweet and spicy delicacy.
Then, having helped himself to a piece and put the jar on the table, he asked, ‘Ready for the next bit of excitement?’
Without waiting for an answer, he brought an oblong Cel
lophane package from the dresser, and, taking a seat opposite, passed it to her.
Pictured on the lid was a pair of Victorian sweethearts, surrounded by love knots and demurely holding hands. Inside were two clearly expensive green and gold gift crackers labelled ‘His’ and ‘Hers’.
‘Yours first,’ Gideon said.
Like grown-up children, they took an end each and pulled. It snapped with a satisfying crack, spilling into her lap an ‘Inspirational Motto’, a party hat in the form of a narrow red and gold crown, and a jeweller’s box.
Unrolling the motto, she read aloud, “‘Don’t be afraid to reach out and take whatever life offers you; there may be no second chance.’”
Gideon nodded as though satisfied. ‘Singularly appropriate, wouldn’t you say?’
Steadfastly ignoring that, she tried on the crown. It proved to be much too large, and settled round her forehead like a gleaming headband.
She was about to take it off again when Gideon said, ‘It looks great. Wear it like that.’
‘I can just imagine what I look like,’ she commented drily.
He lifted an interrogative brow. ‘What?’
‘A hippy? Flower power and all that?’
‘With those cheekbones, it makes you look more like the bride of Hiawatha.’
Something about the way he was gazing at her made her hurriedly transfer her attention to the box. Having peeped inside, she handed it to him, wishing him with determined brightness, ‘Happy Christmas.’
He opened it, and as though they were husband and wife, said, ‘Cufflinks… Thank you, darling.’ Leaning forward, he kissed her lightly on the lips, raising the sexual tension another notch. ‘Tomorrow I must wear a shirt and show them off.’
Thrown by his unexpected endearment and his kiss, she sat like a statue until, picking up the second cracker, he asked, ‘Ready?’
Once again they took an end each and pulled.
The contents of his were similar—a motto, a crown, and a small box.
With an air of gratification, he read his motto. “‘Go all out for what you want, and you’ll be certain to get it.’”
When she made no comment, he smiled a little and remarked, ‘Equally appropriate, I hope.’
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