Carly remembered the navy kid gloves she had been wearing. Today she was in silk gloves, the kid ones had probably been her best, and mislaying one could be a real loss. But it wasn't here, and Carly was almost sure that was just an excuse. Mrs Corby had popped in again because she had enjoyed sitting chatting.
Goodness knows, she did no harm. She was lonely, that was the trouble, and here was young vibrant life, young women earning a living, customers coming and going. She sat in the bamboo armchair and watched everything, as though it was part of a delightful play, and she was such a sweet old lady, and so clearly a woman of breeding and taste, that her nod of approval swayed more than one customer.
Carly chuckled as the door closed on a girl who had bought a party dress, 'You clinched that sale for us. She might have gone out without that if you hadn't said it was very pretty.'
'But it was,' said Mrs Corby.
'Well, I'm certainly glad you like our stuff,' said Carly. 'If you'd shaken your head she'd never have taken it. Do you have any daughters or granddaughters?'
'No.' A shadow fell over Mrs Corby's face—come to that, it could be Miss Corby—and Carly resolved to ask no more questions. But she answered them and so did Ruth. Ruth showed her a snapshot of William and said he was going to marry Carly when he grew up, he was quite determined on that; and Mrs Corby looked at Carly's hand and said, 'I noticed yesterday that you don't wear a ring, but of course you do have a special young man?'
'Not special,' said Carly. Special was not the word for Barney, nor for any of her men friends.
'I find that very hard to believe.' Mrs Corby sounded surprised and Ruth, said, smiling,
'It's her own fault. She could take her pick.'
'I just wish I could!' Carly was joking, but it had an element of truth. She could have been special to most of the men who had dated her, but she was too hard to please, too wary. Getting involved with the wrong man could drop you into a little hell. That was a lesson she had learned that she never talked about to anyone, not even to Ruth.
She said, 'I wonder, would you like to come to tea with us on Sunday?' and Mrs Corby's face lit up with pleasure.
'How kind of you! I should have liked that immensely, but—well it's my birthday on Sunday and I'm having a little party. Perhaps, instead, I could invite you?' She looked from one girl to the other, but her gaze stayed with Carly, and Ruth said hesitantly,
'Sunday's William's day. I always like to keep Sundays for him.'
Mrs Corby's eyes were still fixed on Carly as though she hadn't heard Ruth's excuse, and Carly knew exactly how it would be. All Mrs Corby's friends would be elderly. They would sip sherry and reminisce about the old days, and Carly would be quite out of place, but Mrs Corby's glance held real appeal and Carly said warmly, 'I'd low to.' She could look in and say hello and leave quite soon, but it would have been hurtful to refuse.
'Happy birthday,' she said, and turned to a display of large three-cornered kerchiefs that could be used as headscarves or shoulder-covering shawls. She had edged them with braid or lace or fringe, and she unlooped a pale lilac one, with a fringe edging, and said, 'Wear this at your party. It's a birthday present.'
'Thank you, my dear.' The old lady's eyes misted. 'That's very generous of you, but it can't be good for the profits if you're constantly giving things away.'
'Oh, but I'm not,' said Carly. 'Only to very special people on very special days. I promise you I'm a -toughie.'
Mrs Corby looked hard at her. She had put on a mock scowl, to get a smile, but Mrs Corby looked at her straight and unsmiling, with a piercing directness that made Carly blink. Then she said, 'Yes, I believe you are,' and oddly she sounded pleased . . .
'Goodness knows what you've let yourself m for,' said Ruth later. 'But I shouldn't think it's going to be your sort of scene. And you've got to get all the way to Cheltenham—I'd thought she was local.'
Mrs Corby had written her address for them, the number, the street, and 'Cheltenham', which was about twenty miles away. The party started at seven o'clock, so that was Sunday evening gone, although if Mrs Corby had come to tea Carly would have been happy for her to stay until bedtime.
'Can I have the van?' she asked.
The elderly Mini van was their business transport, although Carly had some very nice cars arriving to take her out in the evenings. Perhaps she should have asked Mrs Corby if she could bring a friend, then at least her transport would have been provided. But offhand she couldn't think of any man she knew who would want to go to Mrs Corby's birthday party. They would treat it as a joke—like Ruth said, it wasn't Carly's scene. But Carly had been invited, and nobody was going to ridicule Mrs Corby if she could help it, so she would have to go alone.
She dressed carefully, choosing a demure number in sprigged muslin, with high neck and long sleeves. If the full skirt had been longer it too might have looked like something out of Mrs Corby's trousseau. She didn't always wear her own creations. She had a wardrobe varying from plain classic to fun fashion, but Ruth said, 'Grandma should like that,' and William looked up, from a picture he was crayoning of a many-legged beast with fire coming out of its mouth, to ask, 'Whose grandma?'
'Mine,' said Carly, after, getting down on her knees and reaching for a yellow crayon and brightening the 'fire'.
'Where did you get her from?'
'She just walked in.' William's eyes widened as he looked towards the door. He was still at an age of wishes-coming-true and she could see him wishing for a grandmother and said, 'You can share her if you like. I expect she walked in looking for you as well.'
She was sure that Mrs Corby wouldn't mind William adopting her. That could be another birthday present for a lonely old lady, a home at which she was welcome any time, and William said when could he see her. 'I'll ask her tonight,' Carly promised, and she grinned at Ruth, 'Suppose there's an old fat millionaire at the party, will he do?'
'Of course,' said Ruth. 'Just so long as he can write his name on a lovely fat cheque.'
Carly had checked the road map so that she knew the direction in which she was heading, and she was frowning thoughtfully for some minutes before she reached the square. There was nothing run-down about this area. These were fine Georgian houses. Most of them had brass plates on doors and rows of bells, but if Mrs Corby had an apartment here she was still living in some elegance. The cars parked in the roadway all looked several cuts above Carly's van, and Carly drove slowly, checking house numbers, finding '46' and going on driving, to stop round the first corner and park by a long wall.
Then she sat, considering. The front door had been closing as she'd passed, but she had glimpsed a chandelier and the magnificent stucco work of the ceiling, and heard music and laughter. That was no quiet little birthday party for a lonely old lady, counting the pennies.
Of course it had been pure assumption on Carly's part that Mrs Corby was lonely, or poor. She had never said she was, and Carly was delighted to find her living in such a beautiful house. From the looks of it nobody need 'adopt' her, although she had seemed nice enough to take the idea in good part, and come to tea and let William believe they had a special relationship.
Ruth was going to smile about this, Carly's lonely old lady living in this style.
Carly got out of the van and walked back, reaching the house just behind another couple, who had parked across the road. The woman's dark fur coat matched her smooth dark hair, the man was silver-haired, and wearing a camel coat, and Carly shivered in her muslin dress, although when the front door opened warmth seemed to flow out.
The hall was breathtaking. Everything—walls, pictures, carpets—looked rich and colourful. A Georgian gem, like the pictures in beautiful home magazines.
She realised that someone was waiting for her name, a middle-aged man in dark jacket and pinstriped trousers, and thought—the old family retainer; and bit her lip, holding back a smile. 'Carly Brown,' she said.
'Would you come this way?'
The couple ahead of her were b
eing greeted by others in the hall, as though they all knew each other well, and Carly trotted along behind Jeeves, or whatever his name was, into the drawing room.
She saw Mrs Corby at once, although it was a big room and almost full. Mrs Corby was sitting on a, gilt armchair, and as Carly stepped forward, still following the dark jacket and pin-striped trousers, Mrs Corby leaned forward, holding out a hand.
Her rings flashed and Carly thought, she never took off her gloves. If she had done I'd have realised she was loaded. Oh, my gosh, the shawl!
Mrs. Corby was wearing a dress of deep violet silk, with Carly's lilac shawl pinned with an amethyst brooch, and Carly was touched, because that really was a gracious gesture. If Carly had been abashed by all this grandeur it would have restored her self-confidence.
Actually she was not overawed. It was a long time since she had envied anyone anything. A long time ago she had wished she was one of the children with homes and parents, but the orphanage hadn't been so bad. It had taught her self-reliance, and she went forward, smiling, although she knew that almost everyone in the room was watching her.
'I'm so glad you could come.' Mrs Corby squeezed her hand and inclined a cheek, and Carly bent and kissed it. She tasted of rose petals and with her hair groomed into deep soft waves and her skin warm and glowing she was quite beautiful. 'This is Roland,' she said, 'he knows all about you.'
I'll bet he doesn't, thought Carly, and found herself looking into a pair of bright blue eyes and an open friendly face with a super tan, and beautiful teeth. Husky and stunningly good-looking, he was the kind of man you always hope to meet at a party. 'Now see; that Carly enjoys herself,' said Mrs Corby.
His voice too, when he said, 'It'll be my pleasure,' was just deep enough to be sexy, and just amused enough to make you feel he would be good company. He took Carly's arm, as though he was used to propelling girls around, and suggested, 'Can I offer you food? There's rather a good buffet.'
He certainly could. She had eaten before she came out, but she was sure this buffet would be spectacular, and she went with him past the other guests who were still looking at her, and obviously wondering about her. 'They're not going anywhere,' said Roland. 'I'll introduce you on the way back,' and Carly laughed,
'Don't worry. Even when they hear my name they won't have the slightest idea who I am.'
The walls of the dining room were deep blue with a great shimmering chandelier, and a buffet glittering jewel-like on a long, long table. I do wish Ruth had come, Carly thought. This is so pretty. I wish I could take some of it home for William.
Roland produced two glasses of champagne and asked what she fancied, and she said, 'What I need is a few minutes to get my breath back. I thought I was coming to a gathering of a few old friends in a little bedsitter. I thought Mrs Corby was a poor old lady, living by herself.'
He chuckled, laughter wrinkles deepening beside his eyes, 'Not quite, no. Also her name is Madame Corbe.'
'Oh dear.' The champagne bubbles tickled her nose. It was delicious, but she must remember she was driving the van back. 'I don't get much right, do I?'
'Oh yes, you do.' He was looking at her with complete approval, telling her, 'Aunt Aimee's been speaking very highly of you.'
'That's nice. Is she your aunt?'
'Not exactly. My grandfather was her cousin. I'm from the English branch, she is the French branch.' So that explained the accent Carly had thought she'd noticed.
He put down his glass and picked up a plate. 'Now,' he said, hovering above the assorted salads, 'how about this?'
As she settled herself on a small footstool, with her plate full of canapés, Roland standing beside her, the woman who had come into the house just ahead of her and was heading for the buffet, asked him, 'Where's Liam?'
'He'll be along,' said Roland, and explained to Carly, 'My brother.'
'There are two of you?' She made her voice gleeful, she knew that Roland was attracted to her and it was mutual; and she wouldn't be surprised if it developed. He looked horrified.
'Nat at all. Liam's nothing like me. We're both bachelors, but that's the only thing we've got in common, and I'm much better looking.'
He was joking, although he was the most attractive man in the room so far as Carly could see. 'Of course you are,' she said. 'You're so lovely that two of you could be too much of a good thing.'
'So are you.' The raillery had almost left his voice, and she said,
'Well, thank you.'
'Aunt Aimee's been talking about you ever since you took her in and gave her that cup of tea.'
'It was a small enough thing to do.'
Roland sat down beside her stool, on the deep dark blue carpet, so that they were almost face to face. 'Tonight I'm very grateful to her,' he said, 'for asking you along.'
'I'm grateful too,' said Carly, selecting her next mouthful from her plate and speaking in muffled tones, 'because this is a delicious party.'
'My brother Liam,' said Roland, 'isn't as good-looking as me, and I have a much nicer nature, but usually—I can't think why—he gets the gorgeous birds. But tonight I've got the winner.'
She had no doubt at all that Roland had had any number of winners, but this nonsense he was talking was fun, and she couldn't remember ever enjoying an evening more. Roland—whose surname was Sherrard —never left her. He introduced her all round, and although she knew none of them and none of them knew her, her striking looks and easy manner made her instantly acceptable. Sometimes she was asked what she did for a living and she said, 'I make clothes, to my own designs,' which might even bring in a few customers, because several of the women were interested enough to enquire about the boutique.
Roland ran his aunt's estates. He, told Carly that when they were out in the walled garden behind the house. 'Would you like to see the garden?' he suggested,-and of course she said yes:
The house was so spacious that she expected wide lawns, which was stupid because this was a terraced house, and they stepped out into this Small walled paved garden, a profusion of flowers and shrubs, with rough stone steps leading to a higher level, and statues and large urns, and she exclaimed, 'It's perfect! Everything about this place is magical.'
There was no one else here, and she went just ahead of him up the steps to the statue standing on a plinth at the far end, head and shoulders of a bewhiskered gentleman. 'Is he family?' she asked. 'He couldn't be brother Liam, could he?'
She was fooling. Anyone could see that he was early Victorian, and Roland burst out laughing, 'Not even without the Whiskers.'
'I'm glad about that. He looks bad-tempered.' In the moonlight the beetling brows seemed scowling.
'So's Liam,' said Roland cheerfully. 'I keep telling you, I'm the good-tempered, good-looking Sherrard.'
'So you do,' she said, 'and so you are, I'm sure.' She patted his arm, and knew he would kiss her if she stood still and silent for a moment. 'Is he anyone in particular?' she asked.
'Five generations back,' said Roland. Five? She couldn't go back one. 'Maitre Louis Mathieu, the terror of the footpads. The bright boys in our family have usually gone in for the law. Liam's a barrister.'
'And what are you?'
'You mean how do I make a living?' Carly could make a guess at what he was—a cheerful charmer, who seemed a very nice man. What did he do? she meant. 'I run Aunt Aimee's estates in Brittany,' he said. 'We're here on holiday, going back in a few days, which doesn't leave a lot of time, so what are you doing tomorrow night?'
It was a pity she would: be losing 'him so soon, but tomorrow night sounded a good idea. 'Would you believe washing my hair?' she asked.
'It smells beautifully clean to me.' Roland put an arm around her and nuzzled the top of her head. 'So may I take you and your hair out to dinner?'
'Thank you,' she said, 'I'd like that.' She didn't think Madame Corbe would mind, because she smiled when she saw Roland still enthusiastically escorting Carly. She had left her chair -and was walking around the drawing room among her guests
and she smiled across at them, Roland with an arm around Carly, when there was a flurry near the door leading into the hall.
A man and a girl came in and everybody turned towards them, and Carly heard them saying Liam's name, as though they had been waiting for him, although it was Madame Corbe's birthday and so far as Carly could see the party had lacked nothing up to now.
The girl looked ravishing enough to be an actress, in a sea-green floating dress, her pale skin quite flawless, her eyes huge with long black lashes in a heart-shaped face. She had a piping little-girl voice, trilling hellos, and hurrying across to Madame Corbe. The girl was effusive, but Madame Corbe didn't offer her cheek to be kissed as she had when she'd greeted Carly, and Carly thought, there isn't much love lost there, perhaps she's too gushing.
She stood back as Roland joined his brother, asking about the delay, which Liam explained with a shrug, 'Business, you know how it is,' and decided that Roland might have been joking, but it was true that he was better looking than Liam. Liam was taller, as broad in the shoulders but thinner, with a dark hawkish face.
There was no resemblance at all, except that they were both smiling and both had excellent teeth. Liam was the clever one—'The bright boys in our family have usually gone in for the law,' -Roland had said— and Carly thought, he looks as though he thinks he knows all the answers. She felt none of the instant rapport she had felt with Roland. On the contrary, there was something disturbing about Liam Sherrard, even when you were only standing on the sidelines looking at him, and Carly found herself edging, farther away, suddenly wanting to merge into the crowd. Then she heard Roland call, 'Carly!' and went through the guests towards the little family group.
'You haven't met Carly, have you?' said Madame Corbe, and Carly met Liam Sherrard's eyes. She had expected the impersonal stare and token smile of a stranger, but as he looked straight at her the smile stiffened on her lips as' though she had turned to stone. The end of a lovely evening, she thought, and the end of a lovely friendship. He knows....
Flash Point Page 2