Running Away

by Rosina Lesley

  ‘No, thank you.’ He looked at her from under his brows and turned abruptly to the window. Now it was September the evenings were darker much earlier, and the twilit garden looked gloomy and uninviting under a fine mist of rain. Catherine remained standing herself and waited for him to start. Finally he turned back to her.

  ‘Andrew told me he came to see you this morning.’

  ‘Yes. He phoned me after he’d spoken to you.’ Catherine nodded calmly.

  ‘Oh?’ James’s eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Well, you know then that I was concerned to learn what you had to tell him.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Dammit, Cat, why didn’t you tell me?’ Suddenly he was the old James, his hands coming out of his pockets as he leant forward on her desk.

  ‘I didn’t know there was anything to tell, James. Surely Andrew told you that? It only came out in conversation.’ Catherine paused, uncertainly. ‘Did he tell you how I came to mention it?’

  ‘He said you’d been telling him about your visit home,’ said James. ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Well, no, I suppose not.’ Catherine said mendaciously, feeling weak with relief. ‘But you weren’t interested in my visit home, were you? And I hardly think I should have mentioned seeing Diana to you. I would have thought it tactless.’

  ‘Even after we were talking about my divorce last night?’

  ‘Hardly talking about it, were we?’

  ‘It affected the whole evening though.’ He put his hands back in his pockets and gave her a measured look.

  ‘Maybe.’ She turned away. ‘What else did you want to say?’

  ‘Thank you.’ The words dropped like pebbles into a pool.

  ‘What?’ She turned back to face him, astonished.

  ‘Thank you. You’ve probably saved Concept and the Hall. And, incidentally, your cottage.’

  Catherine blushed. ‘I haven’t really. It was a complete accident. Surely someone from home or the company would have told you eventually?’

  ‘It could have been too late by then. Nobody at the company would know what was going on.’

  ‘Everyone at the golf club knew they were a couple.’

  ‘And who would think to ring and tell me?’

  ‘Isn’t anybody at Concept a member of the golf club?’

  ‘Not that I know of. I was the only one.’ James turned away, and like Andrew had that morning, began to pace up and down. ‘I just keep thinking, supposing you hadn’t gone, supposing you hadn’t mentioned it to Andrew. God, Catherine,’ he turned back to her, grabbing her shoulders. ‘You don’t know what that would have meant.’

  Trying to ignore the burning of his hands through the material of her blouse, she said, ‘But if Eddington’s meant to take over Concept they would have to pay you for it, wouldn’t they? Then you could still keep the Hall?’

  He smiled and dropped his hands. ‘It’s not as simple as that, unfortunately. You see, if Colin Eddington gets his hands on Diana’s shares, which he will, he only has to acquire another fairly small block in order to have a controlling interest. No money for us, at all.’

  ‘And could he acquire another block?’

  ‘I think we’ll find that he already has. I knew there’d been some movement in our shares, a few ex-employees had sold theirs off. Luckily, Andrew and I hold most of the remainder, but that only amounts to 40 per cent.’

  ‘How much does Diana have?’ Catherine found that her legs were shaky and sat down in the armchair.

  ‘She had 25 per cent. Her father had money in the company, you see. That was how I met her.’ James sat on the edge of the desk, swinging an elegant leg. ‘The other 35 per cent was spread among long-serving employees. And, as I said, we know some of those have been sold off.’

  ‘But why should Eddington’s want to get hold of Concept?’ Catherine’s forehead wrinkled.

  ‘Because it would remove competition, because we’re better than they are, because there are one or two extremely important developments in the pipeline ... oh, any number of reasons.’ He smiled wearily. ‘It looks as though there’s been a touch of the old industrial espionage as well.’

  ‘Oh, James, I’m sorry.’ Catherine spoke involuntarily. ‘And just when you thought it could run itself and you could come up here.’

  ‘Now you see why I said thank you.’ He stood up. ‘I know it was unintentional, but that doesn’t make any difference.’ He turned back to the window. ‘I also came to apologise.’

  ‘Again?’ It was out before Catherine had time to think, and she could have bitten her tongue out.

  ‘Yes, again.’ He sounded tired. ‘Not only do I keep forcing my attentions on you, but by way of repayment you manage to save my business. Doesn’t make sense, does it?’

  Her heart feeling as though it was being squeezed, Catherine went over to him and put her hands on his shoulders.

  ‘Don’t, James. It doesn’t matter. Don’t be grateful. I didn’t do it intentionally, I had no idea, so you mustn’t let it matter. Please.’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be grateful?’ His voice was tense. ‘Are you afraid I might show my gratitude in an unacceptable manner?’

  That was just what she was afraid of, but she didn’t dare say so. Stepping back and dropping her hands, she laughed shakily.

  ‘No, of course not. Just go away and do what you have to do and let’s forget I had anything to do with it.’

  ‘Supposing I want to?’ His back was still towards her.

  ‘Want to what?’

  ‘Show my gratitude.’ He turned round now and she saw with trepidation that his eyes were glittering.

  ‘Then you can buy me a bunch of flowers or a box of chocolates.’ said Catherine, trying to sound matter of fact.

  ‘For pity’s sake.’ James ground out, his hands curling into fists. ‘Cat, I want to kiss you. And every time I bloody well kiss you, something goes wrong. Couldn’t we call a truce just for once?’

  Catherine stared at him, her eyes huge in a face gone suddenly pale.

  ‘Don’t look at me like that.’ He groaned. ‘Am I that terrifying?’

  ‘No.’ she managed to whisper. ‘Not ... terrifying ...’

  ‘Then kiss me.’ He came towards her, speaking softly. ‘Cat?’

  She stood up, slowly, on wobbly legs, and swallowed, her eyes fixed on his face. Carefully, she reached up and pulled his face down to hers, touching his lips gently with her own. As she did so, his arms came round her and, with the ease of familiarity, the kiss deepened.

  Eventually, he stood back, holding her loosely in the circle of his arms.

  ‘Thank you.’ He bent forward to rest his forehead against hers. ‘Can we be friends now?’

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ said Catherine through a constricted throat.

  ‘Well, I certainly don’t want us to end up like we did last night.’ His breath was warm on her cheek.

  ‘Quarrelling?’ she asked.

  ‘You informed me that we didn’t like each other very much, if you remember.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was that just because we fight so much?’

  ‘I suppose so.’ Catherine was finding the immobile proximity a bit hard to handle and made a move to break away, but James kept her effortlessly where she was.

  ‘Don’t fidget,’ he said. ‘Getting back to the conversation, just because we fight doesn’t mean we don’t like one another.’

  ‘No, I know. Just that we don’t see eye to eye on things. Most things.’ Catherine tried to look up at him.

  ‘Mentally, maybe. But, physically?’ His voice had dropped to a whisper.

  Catherine’s heart was by now almost as loud as her shallow breathing.

  ‘I – I know we seem to – er – we – well, our – oh, hell, James.’ Catherine wailed.

  His chuckle was cut off as his lips once again came down on hers and her last coherent thought was that he’d got under her guard again , even after admitting that their relationship was merely physical.r />
  However, to her surprise, he lifted his head and stood back.

  ‘This time, I shall be sensible. I am now going, and I shall see you when I get back from Sussex.’ He smiled and stroked her cheek. ‘Don’t look so surprised. Haven’t I been sensible before? When you gave me dinner here, for instance?’

  Catherine nodded, unable to speak.

  ‘Well, then.’ He dropped his hand and made for the door. ‘Shall I ring you? Or would you rather I didn’t?’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ said Catherine, envisaging hours waiting for the phone to ring and being disappointed when it didn’t, or worse, when it did and wasn’t James. ‘If there’s anything to report, Andrew can tell me.’

  ‘No phone calls, then. Just as well, I expect to be fairly tied up.’ He opened the front door and bent to kiss her cheek. ‘See you soon then, love. And thank you once again.’

  Catherine watched him down the path and out in to the lane and then closed the door. He hadn’t called her “love” for years, not since she was about 19. Now she really did know where she stood, didn’t she? Strangely, now she had everything clear, had heard from his own lips that their attraction was only physical and realised that any affection he had for her was based on their relationship when she was little more than a child, she felt a good deal better. At least she could plan ahead. She knew that he could and would keep the dangerous side of his character under control, unless she should indicate that she wanted something else and, if she didn’t want to see him, he would respect that. At least, she thought he would. Perhaps, in that case, she could go on living here, only coming into contact with him on occasions, perhaps through Andrew.

  Taking a deep and steadying breath, she went into the kitchen in search of supper.

  Chapter Eight

  ANDREW CALLED FOR CATHERINE at 7.30 p.m. on the dot the following evening and kept up a bright flow of chatter all the way to the Hall, where he had organised dinner to be served in what had once been his study but was now a small television room, even though all of the rooms and suites had their own with satellite connection and DVD players. The food was equally good and the atmosphere somewhat more relaxed than it had been two nights previously, but Catherine was aware the whole time of James’s unseen presence. Andrew told her that he had gone off early that morning and asked if Catherine had spoken to him before he left.

  ‘He came round last night,’ said Catherine, her eyes on her plate.

  ‘Oh?’ Andrew’s non-committal answer demanded more.

  ‘He phoned first.’ Catherine looked up. ‘And we were both terribly civilised. I think it cleared the air.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Andrew spooned up the last of his asparagus soup with a thoughtful air.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Catherine leant her elbows on the table and fixed him with an enquiring stare.

  ‘I spoke to James this morning. He didn’t give me the impression that any air had been cleared.’

  ‘You knew I’d seen him? Why did you ask then?’ Catherine was indignant.

  ‘No, he didn’t say he’d seen you.’ Andrew kept his eyes on his empty plate.

  ‘Well, what did he say?’

  ‘He said “I’ll have to sort Catherine out when I get back.” That’s all.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Catherine mused on this while the waiter removed their soup plates. ‘What do you suppose he meant by that?’

  ‘Well, not knowing he’d seen you, I assumed he meant he would come and see you to say thank you. I did think it was remiss of him not to have done so already, but you say he had, so I don’t know what he meant. Perhaps he meant he would send you a bunch of flowers, or something.’

  Catherine laughed. ‘That’s what I told him to do.’

  ‘Did you?’ Andrew looked up, surprised. ‘I don’t know, you modern girls.’

  ‘Oh, we’re not much different from the old sort, you know, not when it comes down to basics,’ Catherine sighed.

  Catherine was back home by half past nine and, with nothing else to do, worked until her eyes would barely stay open. Last night she had slept very little, or so it seemed every time she woke, but tonight she was too tired to stay awake.

  The days fell into what Catherine thought of as the pre-James routine, with the exception of frequent interruptions by Andrew, who was not only delighted to have someone to talk to about Henrietta, but was obviously very interested in what was happening with Concept Communications and his nephew in Sussex. Twice, Catherine had to restrain him from packing his bags and catching the next train, reassuring him that if he was needed, no doubt James would call him.

  James had telephoned Andrew, once when he first arrived and again a few days later, but a week went by after that with no contact at all. Catherine privately thought he should have kept more closely in touch with the old man, especially as he was so closely involved, and began to worry in case things were even more complicated than James had anticipated, when in late September James telephoned again, saying that he thought he had managed to avert the disaster, but would have to stay on to make sure everything was settling down, then he would have to go straight to the conference he was due to attend in Germany, so wouldn’t get back until sometime in October. Andrew, reporting this to Catherine one evening over a drink at The Acorn, was inclined to be peevish at what he saw as James’s somewhat cavalier attitude and Catherine, who privately agreed with him, on her own behalf as well, did her best to soothe him.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said Andrew, when they had replenished their glasses from the bottle of wine between them, ‘How about that visit to London? You remember I said you ought to come up with me?’

  Catherine laughed. ‘I can’t afford visits to London, Andrew. Anyway, Felicity thinks she’ll get a completion date on the flat very soon, so I shall have to go up and help her move.’

  ‘Well, then, that’s perfect. Surbiton, didn’t you say? We’ll arrange it when you go up to help and I’ll meet you at the hotel in London. My treat – I think of you as my granddaughter now.’ He beamed at her with pleasure.

  ‘We’ll see. But I don’t know about it being your treat.’ Catherine smiled back at him. She had grown extremely fond of the old man, who gave her the comfortable feeling of having a family again, which, as he said, he almost was. If only she wasn’t still beset by waves of longing for his nephew, life would be quite pleasant once again, if not exactly exciting. But the uneventful tenor of her days had resulted in the novel nearing completion, and one of the magazines who published her short stories showing definite interest in serialising it. The fiction editor had also arranged an introduction to a publisher, so as far as work went, the future was looking, even to Catherine’s cautious eyes, quite rosy.

  It was one evening towards the end of September when Felicity rang.

  ‘Next Thursday, Cat. Isn’t it great?’

  ‘Completion? Wow, that’s quick, Flicka.’ Catherine pushed aside the keyboard.

  ‘I know. Works wonders when you do it yourself. Anyway, I’ve got the Wednesday, Thursday and Friday off, so if you’re still coming up to help pack ...’

  ‘Of course. I’d better arrange a van to bring my stuff down here, I suppose.’

  ‘Can’t it all come down to Sussex? Then we can do it at our leisure down there.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Doesn’t make sense, really, to carry it all the way down there and then have to move it again. Besides, I wasn’t planning on coming down with you, just helping pack at the flat.’ Catherine felt she did not want to appear in Sussex if James was still there. He might think she was following him.

  Felicity heaved an exasperated sigh. ‘Look, James has already left for Germany, if that’s what you’re worrying about.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Catherine sheepishly. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Without giving anything away, sister mine, I do now work for Diana’s solicitors, don’t I?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Of course. I suppose I can’t ask what happened, can I?’ Catherine wheedled.

/>   ‘You can ask all you like, but I shan’t tell you anything,’ giggled Felicity. ‘Oh, what it is to have power.’

  ‘Brat,’ laughed Catherine. ‘All right, then, I’ll be up on Wednesday morning.’

  October arrived and changed the Indian summer of the past fortnight to the damp mists of autumn. Catherine drove up cautiously through a wet dawn cursing the lack of a rearview mirror in the hired van, arriving at the Surbiton flat with a blinding headache.

  ‘What you need,’ said Felicity, nattily attired in very old tight jeans, a paint-spattered shirt and brand new, even bigger glasses, ‘is a large mug of tea, a couple of paracetamol and a good sisterly chat.’

  ‘Bliss,’ groaned Catherine, leaning back in the armchair and closing her eyes. ‘I’ll forego the sisterly chat for a bit, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘Only until I come back with the tea,’ warned Felicity, and was gone, with a toss of her blonde ponytail.

  Catherine looked round the living room. All the pictures were off the walls, stacked together in a pile, the china was standing on the dining table waiting to be packed, and a stack of tea chests lurked ominously in the corner. This flat had never felt like home, but all the same, Catherine felt slightly sorry for it now, in its denuded state.

  Felicity reappeared with the tea.

  ‘You’re having the suite and the table, aren’t you?’ Catherine sat forward, clasping her hands round the mug.

  ‘If that’s all right with you?’ Felicity raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t know if you wanted any of the stuff from the kitchen, by the way. My house comes with all fitted appliances.’

  Felicity had bought a smart little two-bedroom cottage in a new development, taking advantage of all the special offers that the builders were using as incentives to buy in the current depressed housing market.

  ‘No, I’m quite happy with everything in the cottage, thanks.’ Catherine leant back again.

  ‘So you’ve decided to stay?’

  ‘Well, for the time being anyway. Andrew’s in no hurry for me to buy the lease, and I think I’ll just wait and see how the land lies when the rent becomes due in January.’