RUNNING AWAY
Rosina Lesley
Published by Xcite Books Ltd – 2011
ISBN 9781908192523
Copyright © Rosina Lesley 2011
The right of Rosina Lesley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be copied, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Xcite Books, Suite 11769, 2nd Floor, 145-157 St John Street, London EC1V 4PY
The story contained within this book is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Other romance titles from Xcite Books
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter One
‘CATHERINE ?’
She moved out of the shadow of the willow and away from the stone wall.
‘James.’ She was actually looking down at him, something she had never done before and something he was no doubt not used to, for impatiently, he climbed the few remaining yards between them to stand in front of her, his grey eyes disconcerting her as they had always done.
‘What are you doing here?’ he asked finally.
‘I live here. What about you?’ Catherine swallowed a giggle at the baldness of the conversation. No platitudes, no small talk, just straight to the nitty-gritty. Typical James.
‘I’m at the Hall.’
‘The Hall?’ Her surprise made her back off to get a better look at him. ‘You’re staying there?’
‘In a manner of speaking.’ His lips twitched.
‘Well?’ she prompted, irritated. ‘Stop playing games.’
‘I’ve just taken it over from my uncle.’ He surveyed her interestedly, hands thrust into trouser pockets, as her jaw dropped in astonishment.
‘You?’ she gasped. ‘It’s you?’
‘What exactly does that mean – “it’s you?”’ James Grant took his hands out of his pockets, suddenly looking dangerous and formidable in the elegant dark suiting so incongruous in this tiny seaside village in late summer.
‘It’s you that’s taken over.’ Catherine looked away from the penetrating clear eyes, unwilling at this stage to say any more, certainly until she’d had time to think about this staggering piece of news. James said nothing more, merely replacing his hands in his pockets and staring thoughtfully at her bent head. At last, the silence got the better of Catherine.
‘Well, I must be off. No doubt I’ll see you about the place, won’t I?’
She looked up, nervously, and hated herself for it.
‘No doubt.’ His lips twitched again. ‘I would have thought, under the circumstances, it would have been normal for old friends to have made a point of seeing one another.’
Catherine swallowed hard. ‘Er – yes. I suppose so.’
‘But you clearly don’t want to.’ It was a statement, not a question, and Catherine could only gaze at him helplessly, not knowing how to answer.
‘Well, if you change your mind, I’d be very pleased if you would join me for a drink this evening.’
‘At the Hall?’
‘Of course at the Hall. I’ll be there all evening, if, as I’ve said, you change your mind.’ A small smile touched his lips and he turned away. Catherine stood, irresolute, watching him go back down the hill towards the Hall, then, as he turned the corner out of sight, ran back to the gate and let herself into the cottage, going straight to the telephone.
‘607908,’ said a disembodied voice.
‘Flicka? It’s me.’
‘Cat, hello. What do you want?’
‘Oh, delightful.’ Catherine laughed. ‘No “How nice to hear from you, Cat, how are you?”’
‘Oh, sorry.’ Catherine’s sister giggled. ‘But you only phoned yesterday.’
‘Well, I’m allowed to phone again, aren’t I? I might miss you.’
‘You’re the one that moved away, Cat, not me.’
‘Yes, all right, all right, I know. Anyway, I just had to tell you – you’ll never guess who I’ve just seen.’
‘Father Christmas?’ suggested Felicity.
‘James Grant.’
‘What?’ Her sister’s voice rose to a squeak. ‘What is he doing down there?’
‘You know I told you that the owner of the Hall had just handed it over to his nephew, and we heard that he wants to make all sorts of ghastly changes?’
‘Yes? James is down there to install computer systems? Is that it?’
‘No, darling, James is the nephew.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ said Felicity flatly.
‘Neither did I. I just couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw him strolling down the hill just now.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Not a lot. Fairly intimidating – you know how he is, and suggested we meet for a drink this evening.’
‘Well, that seems fairly natural if you bump into someone unexpectedly that you haven’t seen for ages.’
Catherine sighed. ‘That’s what he said – but he didn’t even bother to find out if I was free. He just told me.’
‘What – just “Meet me for a drink, 7.30”? Surely not. You must have answered him.’
‘Well – it wasn’t quite like that, actually. He said he was sure I didn’t want to meet him, but just in case I did ...’
‘There you are then. Oh, Cat, you are an idiot. Why you and he could never get on for more than five minutes at a time I never did know.’
No, thought Catherine, and you never will. Aloud, she said, ‘Well, perhaps I will. Perhaps I ought to give him a chance. I wonder if he’s going to move down here permanently?’
‘I hope not, for your sake,’ laughed Felicity. ‘Otherwise I shall have you packing up and arriving on my doorstep one night.’
‘Hey, it’s still my doorstep too, you know,’ Catherine protested.
‘All right, darling, I know – only joking.’ Felicity sighed. ‘Anyway, I must cut you short, Graham’s due any minute and I’m still in my bra and pants.’
Catherine grinned. ‘I don’t suppose he’d mind.’
‘Catherine!’ Felicity was shocked. ‘You save that for your writing. I’m off. Ring me if you have any more momentous news.’
Catherine sighed as she put down the phone and wandered in the direction of the garden, pausing in pleasure as she looked at the enclosed, rather overgrown space, drowsy with bees and heavy with perfume, reflecting that Henry James’s sentiments – that summer afternoon were two of the most beautiful words in the English language – were probably hers too. But perhaps it might be nice to have someone to share it with, especially when something happened that needed talking over. Catherine retraced her steps to the kitchen to put on the kettle, and finally remembered why she had left the cottage when she had suddenly come face to face with James Grant. She had run out of tea.
She reached the village store at a run with minutes to spare.
‘Just closin’, we was.’ Mrs Beddowes wheezed her way to the till with Catherine’s money. ‘You want to keep an eye on the time, Miss.’
‘Sorry, Mrs Beddowes. I bumped into someone I knew and it held me up.’
‘Oh yes?’ The little eyes sharpened in the plump face. Mrs Beddowes was interested – avidly – in everything that a
nybody in the village did or said. ‘On holiday, was they?’
‘No. That’s what I thought. But it seems he’s taken over The Hall from his uncle.’
‘That Mr Grant?’ Mrs Beddowes’ voice became a shade more breathless. ‘He’s a friend o’ yourn, then?’
‘I suppose so. An old family friend.’ Catherine picked up her tea.
‘Well, then. I s’pose you’ll know all ’is plans then?’ Mrs Beddowes leaned as far as her bulk would allow across the counter, conspiratorially.
‘Oh, no ...’ Catherine began backing away. ‘I didn’t even know he was coming.’
‘Hmm.’ Mrs Beddowes pursed her lips unbelievingly. Catherine tried an ingratiating smile and fled, before her inquisitor could say any more.
It appeared James was no more welcomed by the villagers than herself, if Mrs Beddowes’ attitude could be taken as a barometer, but that could be just a natural disinclination to encourage incomers. Knowing James, however, his attitude could well serve to reinforce their opinion unless he had changed radically since they knew one another. Still, she thought, opening the gate of Garth Cottage for the second time in 20 minutes, she would go down for that drink later on, and judge for herself.
Just over two hours later, under a multicoloured sky, Catherine walked down the lane to the Hall. She had replaced her jeans and T-shirt with a floaty summer dress and her canvas shoes with flat leather sandals, catching her red hair on top of her head. She didn’t want James to think she had gone to any trouble for him, but all the same, she needed to be armoured against his critical scrutiny. High heels would have helped, if she had any, but since she had been living down here, they hadn’t seemed to fit her lifestyle.
She turned into the steeply sloping drive of the Hall, reflecting that a flight of steps for pedestrians wouldn’t go amiss. Perhaps that was one of the changes James would make? She had heard rumours, as she had told Felicity, that unwelcome changes were afoot, and being Catherine, had instantly ranged herself on the side of those resisting change, but maybe James would change things for the better. Perhaps, as she had said earlier, she should give him a chance.
To her surprise, the huge front door stood open. Hesitantly, Catherine stepped inside. The entrance hall was a monument to decaying grandeur, but for what looked like a reception desk, cleverly built to look almost part of the room, in one corner. Catherine gazed upon it with slightly puzzled approval.
‘I’m glad you like it,’ said a voice behind her. She turned, almost guiltily, feeling an embarrassing flush mount her cheeks.
‘It’s – er – very nice.’ She cursed herself at James’s raised eyebrows and quirking lips.
‘But I don’t quite understand,’ she rushed on. ‘It almost looks like a hotel.’
‘Almost.’ He smiled down at her, ‘Didn’t you know? I thought everyone in the village did. I’m turning the Hall into a country club.’
‘Oh.’ The word came out on a long breath. So this was why the villagers were so against James.
He frowned. ‘Do I take it that you’re against the idea too?’
Catherine shook her head. ‘I don’t know enough about it, I’m afraid,’ she said, aware that she was hedging.
‘That’s not like the Cat I knew.’ James’s frown lifted. ‘Diving in on behalf of lost causes seems more your style, not admitting you don’t know all the facts.’
‘If you’re going to turn this into a fight, James–’ began Catherine.
‘What would you like to drink?’ he interrupted, taking her elbow and propelling her across the hall into what once must have been a drawing room but now had the addition of a discreet bar in one corner.
The bar proved to be a surprise. Facing the sea, it led out on to a covered terrace and was well furnished with comfortable chairs grouped around small tables, while luxuriant indoor plants created intimate corners, already softly lit by subdued wall lights. Catherine surveyed the room with pleasure.
‘What would you like to drink?’ he repeated, leading her to the bar.
‘White wine, please,’ she said, moving imperceptibly so that his hand fell away.
‘Any preference? French? German?’
‘Dry French, please.’ Catherine smiled at the barman, a young man she had seen frequently around the village, who stared back in frank admiration.
‘Well, Cat. Isn’t this a surprise?’ James turned towards her, leaning one elbow on the bar counter. Still wearing his dark business suit, he looked less out of place here than he had this afternoon, even though the few guests in the bar were hardly dressed as formally as he.
‘Catherine, ’ Catherine corrected. ‘And, yes, it certainly is.’
‘Sorry – Catherine.’ His amusement showed as he placed undue emphasis on the name. ‘So tell me, how come you’re living here? I heard you and Felicity were still in Surrey?’
‘Felicity still is. I’m here because my grandmother died. I came down to look after her. Felicity’s working now, and can cope with the upkeep of the flat, so I retired and came down here.’ Catherine accepted her white wine from the admiring barman with a smile. ‘What about you? Why has your uncle handed you the reins? Unlikely for a computer expert, isn’t it?’
James shrugged and picked up a brandy glass. ‘I’m a business man first and foremost. The consultancy runs itself now, and my uncle had neither the money nor the energy to spend on renovating this place and wanted to retire. He asked me what I would do with it, as it will be mine anyway one day, so I outlined my plans. He didn’t know how to do it, so he decided to hand over to me now.’
‘Do you know anything about the business?’ Catherine asked curiously.
‘As a client, plenty.’ James’s lips twisted in a wry smile, and the grey eyes warmed momentarily. ‘And there are experts in every field. I’ve hired the best consultants in hotel management and design, added my own ideas and – well, here we are.’
Catherine risked another look at him as he looked down into his glass. There were a few silver threads in the straight dark hair that hadn’t been there a few years ago, and the brown face was thinner, deeper grooves worn between nose and mouth, more lines round the eyes. She sighed and contemplated her own glass. The same could be said of her, she supposed, except that you could hardly say her face was thinner – or any other part of her, come to that. A small sigh escaped her.
‘And why the sigh?’ James’s voice was soft and she experienced a strange sensation somewhere in the region of her solar plexus that had nothing to do with the wine.
‘Would you like to sit on the terrace?’ He straightened up. ‘The sunset is spectacular.’
He probably orders it, Catherine thought, trailing in his wake as he led the way to white wicker chairs by the glassed-in balustrade.
‘So Felicity’s working, is she? Doesn’t time fly. I wouldn’t have thought she was old enough.’
‘We left Sussex when she went to college and that’s nearly three years ago.’ Catherine looked at him defiantly, awaiting his response.
‘So you did.’ He twirled his brandy glass between his fingers, his thoughtful gaze resting on her flushed face. ‘Running away, I thought. Weren’t you?’
‘Certainly not. From what?’ Catherine snapped.
‘Come on, Cat, we both know the answer to that one.’ James leant back and crossed his legs, the movement causing Catherine to look sharply away.
‘I sold the cottage so that we could buy a flat near to where Felicity went to college. It worked out cheaper than having to support her in digs.’
‘And was far more expensive than a cottage in West Sussex.’ James was not smiling now. ‘Panic measures, Cat. And you know it.’
‘All right, if you know so much about it, why should it have been panic measures? Why did I run away?’ Catherine raised an eyebrow, outwardly calm.
‘Because the situation between us had become untenable – for you, at least. And don’t say “What situation?”’ he went on, as she opened her mouth angrily to interrupt. �
�That would be merely foolish, because we both know what happened and neither of us have faulty memories – and, let’s face it, we would need exceedingly bad memories to forget that.’
Catherine closed her mouth with a snap and transferred her gaze to the sea and James’s spectacular sunset. In fact, it was almost over now, orange and purple and turquoise falling over the edge of the world, leaving deep blue velvet in its wake.
‘Why wasn’t the situation untenable for you too?’ she asked, when the silence had stretched to the point beyond endurance.
‘Oh, it was. But I think I could have resolved it without running away.’ James leant forward and turned her face towards him with a long finger. ‘Couldn’t I?’
‘By having me on the side while remaining married to your unsuspecting wife?’ Catherine bit out venomously.
James let his hand drop, his face closing. ‘Things never got that far, surely?’
Catherine’s stomach knotted in mortification, but she plunged on. ‘By explaining kindly that I was a momentary aberration, then? Not to be taken seriously?’
‘Not that either.’ James sighed. ‘You always did act and speak before you thought, didn’t you?’
Catherine pushed back her chair and stood up.
‘Sit down, Cat.’ James stood up and pressed firm, but not unkind hands on her shoulders, regarding her thoughtfully when she resisted. ‘We were deeply attracted to one another – right from the moment we met, as far as I remember, and we both resisted it until it took us over. Then you ran away. Now we’ve met again, under very different circumstances, so let’s start afresh, shall we?’
Catherine stood, her eyes locked with his, her brain in suspended animation.
‘All right.’ She dropped her eyes and sat down, picking up her wine.
James remained standing, looking down at her for a long moment. Finally, he turned towards the darkening sea. ‘You know,’ he said conversationally, ‘I never thought I’d see you again.’
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