Catherine gaped at him, unable to say a word. He stood a few feet from her, hands, as usual, in pockets.
‘Not speaking to me then?’
‘Wh–what?’ stammered Catherine.
‘Speaking to me. Are you? I gathered you weren’t.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said Catherine.
‘You wouldn’t answer the door.’
‘Answer – what are you talking about?’
‘And you didn’t reply to my note.’ James shrugged. ‘It seemed pretty conclusive.’
‘I don’t understand.’ Catherine frowned.
‘I knocked on your door,’ said James patiently. ‘The light was on. It was on Saturday too. But you weren’t answering the door or the phone – and you have been careful not to give me your mobile number, haven’t you? And you didn’t reply to my note. Ergo, you didn’t want to speak to me, or, as you said, ever see me again.’ He began to turn away. ‘You obviously meant it.’
‘James.’ The low wall was between them, but she had to stop him. ‘I didn’t get your note.’
‘I didn’t trust the postman, Cat. I put it through the door myself.’
‘But I didn’t get it. I wasn’t there.’ Catherine’s voice was rising and James turned back to look at her.
‘Then why was the light on?’
‘I left it on by accident,’ said Catherine, then became aware of an interested audience at her back. Colouring, she swallowed the last of her orange juice and swung her legs over the wall, ending up sprawled inelegantly in James’s arms.
‘Well,’ he said, setting her on her feet, ‘I would be flattered at your haste to join me if I didn’t think you were indulging in your favourite habit of running away – this time from the interested bystanders.’ He stood back, amusement on his face, and thrust his hands back in his pockets.
‘Why are you always putting me in the wrong?’ Catherine brushed herself down and tried to regain her equanimity.
He looked surprised. ‘I rather thought the boot was on the other foot.’
‘I always seem to be embarrassing myself in front of you.’
‘That’s not my fault, is it? You seem to have a habit of getting things wrong because you form your opinions too hastily.’
‘So my sister tells me,’ said Catherine, ‘but this time it was you.’
‘It was me? What do you mean?’
‘I wasn’t in the house. You assumed I wasn’t talking to you, but I didn’t know anything about your attempts to talk to me because I wasn’t there.’ She turned and began to walk back towards Garth Cottage. James fell into step beside her. ‘I left soon after you did on Friday night. I must have forgotten to turn off the light; I found it on when I arrived home an hour or so ago.’
‘You’ve been away since Friday?’ He stopped and turned to face her.
‘Yes. I told you I was going.’
‘I know, but I didn’t think you’d go that quickly.’
Catherine looked away. ‘I – um – had to.’
‘I can see that.’ He sighed. ‘You certainly stick to a tried-and-tested routine, don’t you?’ He shook his head and turned to walk on.
‘All right, James, I was running away. I know I was. But after what you’d said–’
‘I tried to apologise.’
‘I know, it wasn’t just that.’
‘Oh?’
‘I came back to see Andrew.’ She looked at him sideways. He paused and glanced at her. ‘About the cottage.’
‘Really? So you don’t want to go after all?’
Catherine took a deep breath. ‘I wanted to come to some agreement with him.’ She stopped as they came to where their ways parted. ‘Why did you write me a note?’
‘Why do you think? To apologise, as usual. You didn’t find it?’
‘I didn’t look. I noticed a pile of letters, I expect it was underneath. When did you leave it?’
‘Later Friday night. I thought we needed to talk.’
Knowing what she knew now, Catherine took a hopeful guess at what about. Encouraged, she said, ‘Well, why don’t we go back now and find it, and if you’re not doing anything, we could talk now.’
James looked at her, an arrested expression on his face. ‘I’m not doing anything,’ he said finally.
She took a deep breath. ‘Er – I’ve got a chicken casserole in the oven – if you’d like – that is–’
James smiled. ‘Yes, I’d like.’
Catherine breathed again. Now all she had to do was keep her head, not lose her temper and she’d be fine.
They walked slowly up the hill to Garth Cottage. As they reached the gate, Catherine said, ‘Are you sure no one’s expecting you? At the Hall?’
He smiled. ‘No one’s expecting me. Andrew’s away.’
‘I guessed that. I tried to see him.’ Catherine was fitting the key in the lock.
‘And get his phone number.’
She looked round sharply.
‘I was standing by our office manager when she answered the phone. That’s why I came looking for you.’
‘Looking for me?’
‘Surprised?’ He pushed the door open for her to go in ahead of him and scooped up the pile of letters on the floor. ‘There.’ He put them in her hand.
Catherine took them into the kitchen, leafing through them until she came to the bottom of the pile and a single folded sheet of stiff paper. She looked up to see that he had followed her and was leaning in the kitchen doorway.
‘Read it then.’
Was she mistaken, or was there a hint of tension in the hooded expression? She looked down and opened the sheet of paper.
“Cat,” it read, “as usual, I apologise. I believe we have to talk. Please ring me. James.” And there followed the telephone number of the Hall.
She looked up. James hadn’t moved.
‘Apology accepted,’ she said. ‘Is this another fresh start?’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe.’
Catherine frowned. ‘You’re not making this very easy.’
‘Have you ever made anything easy? It seems to me you’ve managed to complicate our relationship right from the start.’
‘How can you say that?’
‘Easily. You have.’
Catherine took a deep breath. ‘Look, James, let’s stop this. You sent an apology, I accepted it and agreed to talk. I’ve also offered you dinner. Let’s stop arguing.’
‘Fine.’ James moved into the kitchen. ‘Can I help?’
‘Open the wine?’ She offered a hesitant smile. ‘White in the fridge, red on the dresser. The corkscrew’s in the drawer underneath.’
For a few minutes there was silence while James opened the wine and Catherine checked on the casserole. The thought flitted through her mind that it was lucky she’d cooked the whole chicken – was she perhaps subconsciously expecting this to happen? Wanting, more likely, she corrected herself prosaically.
‘Where are we eating?’ James’s voice broke in on her thoughts.
‘In here, if you don’t mind.’ She indicated the old pine table.
James nodded. ‘Cutlery?’
Catherine took knives and forks from a drawer beside her while James rummaged and found tablemats. Catherine produced glasses and, within a few minutes, they were seated at the table. Catherine dished up platefuls of chicken casserole and rice.
‘So.’ Catherine took an experimental mouthful. ‘What is it we have to talk about?’
James didn’t answer for a moment. Then, ‘Where did you go this weekend?’
‘Home, ’ said Catherine, surprised.
‘To Felicity?’
‘Yes.’
James nodded. ‘Andrew went to London.’
‘Did he? For a particular reason?’
‘He goes up if he gets depressed. Stays in a good hotel, sees some shows and then comes home and moans about London. It seems to do him good.’
‘What was he depressed about?’ asked Catherine, already
knowing the answer.
‘Need you ask?’ James raised an eyebrow. ‘This is very good, by the way.’
‘Thank you.’ Catherine took another mouthful. ‘I’m sorry if I depressed Andrew.’
‘He thinks it’s his fault.’ James laid down his fork. ‘We both know it isn’t, don’t we?’
‘Is this what you wanted to talk about?’
‘It is now. On Friday it wasn’t.’
Catherine sighed. ‘Look, James. I invited you here in good faith, water under the bridge and all that. Don’t start playing games.’
He inclined his head with a slight smile.
‘Well, I’ll tell you what I want to talk about.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I was going to offer to buy the lease of Garth Cottage from Andrew. Unless it is actually yours? In which case, I shall understand if you don’t want to sell.’
‘Andrew wants you here.’ James was non-committal.
‘You don’t.’ She made it a statement.
‘It makes no difference what I want. Andrew still owns the property – all of it. He merely assigned control to me for the duration of his lifetime. After that, it’s mine anyway.’
‘So will he sell me the lease? I can’t stay here on any other terms.’
James sat back in his chair. ‘Do you want to stay?’
‘Yes.’ Catherine held his gaze, determined to stand her ground.
‘Even with me here?’
‘Will you be here all the time?’
James laughed. ‘So – I do make a difference. I thought so.’
‘No.’ Catherine felt colour rising up her neck. ‘I love this cottage, and the village. I’ve always thought of it as home. I want to stay.’
James looked at her for a moment longer then picked up his fork. ‘You don’t fancy a job as a cook, do you?’
Catherine gaped.
‘I told you, this is very good. Our chef could do with you helping out. He has definite leanings towards nouvelle cuisine and most of our guests don’t appreciate that.’
Recognising the attempt to turn the conversation into lighter channels, Catherine thankfully followed his lead and, when they’d finished the chicken, suggested they move into the living room for cheese and biscuits.
‘Good job I haven’t got to drive,’ commented James, topping up both their glasses.
Catherine laughed. ‘Me too. I seem to have consumed vast amounts of alcohol since I met you last Wednesday.’
‘All attributable to me?’ He sat opposite her.
‘In one way or another.’
He grinned. ‘Do I need to be blotted out?’
‘No, I’ve just been more – um – sociable than normal, that’s all.’
‘Well, I know you had a drink with me at the Hall – you must come again, by the way – and then on Thursday with Andrew, but how have you been sociable because of me since then? We haven’t seen each other.’
Catherine felt her face grow hot again.
‘No, but I went home ...’ She faltered to a stop.
‘Because of me and Friday evening?’ he suggested.
She nodded. ‘So I was sociable. Flick was pleased to have me back.’ She wasn’t going to say anything about Sussex yet.
‘Flick! Flicka – that’s what you called her, didn’t you?’ He laughed. ‘And what a little imp she was. All blonde hair, blue eyes and legs. I bet she’s a beauty now.’
‘She is.’
‘Surely you’re not worried about her?’ He cocked his head on one side. ‘She must be nearly 20.’
‘And better able to take care of herself than I was at that age.’
‘Come on, Cat. You were looking after her at that age, let alone yourself.’
‘I was at home, with everyone I knew. There were no predators around me.’
‘Not until I came along, eh?’ His voice was soft.
She took a hasty sip of wine. ‘I didn’t mean that. Anyway, I’d known you for years.’
He smiled, but said nothing.
‘So, when will Andrew be back?’ The silence had lasted too long and Catherine’s voice was nervously high.
‘Saturday, I should think.’ James leant forward and put down his glass. Catherine eyed him warily.
He stood up. ‘I must go. May I return the compliment tomorrow? Come and dine at the Hall.’
Surprised, she looked up at him, tall, dark and strangely, not forbidding any more.
‘I’d like that.’ She too stood. ‘Do your guests dress for dinner?’
He laughed and rested his hands on her shoulders. ‘Yes, my love, they do. But don’t worry, you will no doubt look beautiful whatever you wear.’
Catherine froze as his mouth came down gently on her own. It was the merest pressure, then he was moving away from her, a rueful expression on his face.
‘Much as I would like to, I won’t stay and ruin everything.’ He bowed his head briefly. ‘Thank you for a – well, a delightful and most unexpected evening, Cat.’ He turned to the door. ‘Tomorrow at eight?’
‘Tomorrow at eight,’ she repeated, and followed him to the front door, where he turned, and once more feathered her lips with his own.
‘I could get used to this,’ he said, with a wry smile, and was gone.
Catherine stood in a trance for several moments after she had shut the door. She turned slowly away and almost jumped out of her skin as the phone began to ring.
‘Cat?’ Felicity’s voice sounded peeved. ‘Why haven’t you rung me? You said you would.’
‘Oh, darling, I’m sorry. It’s just that things haven’t gone according to plan. How did things go for you? Did the people come to see the flat?’
Felicity’s voice changed. ‘Yes, they did. And guess what, Cat? They made an offer!’
‘What?’ In these days, an offer to buy from the first viewer was incredible.
‘Yes, isn’t it fantastic? And Paul was quite right. Because we put it on at a higher price, they offered what we really wanted.’
‘I can’t believe it. When do they want to move?’
‘As soon as possible. Isn’t it fabulous?’
After a few more agreements on how fantastic, fabulous and wonderful the whole scenario was, Felicity finally came back to Catherine.
‘So what did you mean? Things didn’t go according to plan?’
‘Just that. Andrew’s gone to London for a week.’
‘Oh no!’ wailed Felicity, no doubt seeing her own plans disappearing like mist on a summer morning.
‘Don’t worry,’ soothed Catherine. ‘I gave James dinner instead.’
‘What?’
‘I gave James dinner.’
‘James?’ Felicity’s voice rose. ‘What happened? Cat? Is he there? What happened ?’
‘Nothing happened. We were both very diplomatic, we both apologised, he thinks Andrew will sell me the lease,’ Catherine crossed her fingers, ‘and he asked me to dinner tomorrow at the Hall.’
‘Oh, Cat. What will you wear?’ Felicity immediately seized on the most important consideration.
Catherine laughed. ‘Sackcloth and ashes?’
‘Oh, Cat. Have you anything left down there? Or did you bring everything home?’
‘Yup. Everything.’
‘Then you’ll have to go and buy something. Now, don’t argue–’
‘I wasn’t.’ Catherine grinned.
‘What?’ Catherine could almost hear the squeal of brakes.
‘I’m going to buy something new, I’d already decided. I haven’t bought anything for ages.’
‘Oh.’ There was a short silence. ‘Well, make sure it’s a knockout.’
‘I will,’ Catherine agreed. ‘Oh, and Flick?’
‘Yes?’
‘James thinks you must be a beauty by now.’
Felicity’s snort could be heard all over London, thought Catherine, chuckling.
‘Well, just you tell him I can’t hold a candle to you, big sister,’ said Felicity firmly, and when she rung off, Catherine wonder
ed why her eyes were wet.
The following morning, Catherine awoke as usual to birdsong. To her surprise, when she went to the window the sun was shining, and somewhere inside her was a bubble of happiness that threatened to break out in a rash of uncharacteristic behaviour. An early breakfast left her ready to go into town by nine o’clock, and by ten she was already immersed in a tour of all the dress shops and department stores.
By midday, exhausted, she had made her choice, and a bag containing the most expensive dress she had ever owned lay on the back seat of the car as she drove slowly back to Garth Cottage, and by a quarter to eight, she was wearing it.
With a last look in the mirror, she picked up her bag and jacket and left the house.
Chapter Six
AS CATHERINE WALKED INTO the great hall, James turned from the reception desk and stood still. Catherine hesitated, trying to read his face, then walked slowly forward. He came to meet her.
‘Well, Miss Long. May I say how beautiful you look tonight?’
Catherine smiled and turned for him to help her off with her jacket.
‘You may,’ she said, and stood back to let him get a good view of her full magnificence.
His eyes widened slightly. ‘That is some dress, Cat.’ He took her hand. ‘Or perhaps it’s just the lady inside.’
Catherine felt a warm glow spreading upwards as she let him lead her towards the bar. He hung her jacket inside a cupboard on the way, and then settled her at a table on the terrace where a dewy silver bucket rested on a trolley in a bed of ice.
‘Champagne,’ he said, lifting it out, smiling at her amazed expression.
‘To celebrate our better understanding.’
Catherine watched him open the bottle, not losing a drop and felt a vague murmur of disquiet. He still hadn’t told her about his divorce. Did he really never intend to? Was he hoping for that purely physical fling she had mentioned to Felicity, still keeping up the fa ç ade of a married man so that she would never expect anything more?
‘So serious, Cat?’ He was holding out a tall champagne flute, the bubbles catching the last of the sunset and twinkling like stars.
She shook off the uneasiness and took the glass from him, smiling. Perhaps she should just forget everything else and enjoy this evening for what it was, as James obviously intended to do.
Running Away Page 8