Running Away

by Rosina Lesley

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Catherine smiled reassuringly. ‘I’m just suffering the pangs of blighted affection once again. Honestly, I should know better, shouldn’t I? I should have stuck to my guns and not let him near me when he appeared that day in the village. They say you should always trust first impressions.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Felicity doubtfully.

  ‘Now, you go inside and I’ll wait out here for the taxi.’ Catherine gave her sister a kiss and pushed her inside, walking down the drive to the road, where she had said she would wait for the taxi. She didn’t have long to wait.

  ‘Miss Long? For Fallowfield?’ The driver came round to open the door for her, just as another car drew up behind them. Catherine got in, glancing to see if she knew the occupants of the other car, and was just in time to see them getting out. She did know them. They were James and Diana Grant.

  Chapter Nine

  IF CATHERINE HAD THOUGHT she had been miserable before, it was nothing to what she was going through now. A mixture of desperation, shock and shame, rejection and grief threatened to overwhelm her completely. She pretended to be asleep when Felicity came home, not as late as she had expected, but then, Felicity would have seen James and Diana arrive and would be worried that she had. She decided to pretend that she hadn’t.

  Over and over again she asked herself how she could have been so stupid as to trust James Grant. She had accepted that what he felt for her wasn’t love, but half of her, over this period of separation, had been prepared to accept that, and perhaps try and build something from it. She hadn’t realised that her mind had been working that way, but now she saw that it had, saw it when all her hopes had been delicately ground underfoot by Diana’s elegant shoe. She should have known that the business was too important to him, should have known that if the only way he could save it was to win Diana back then he would go all out to do just that. And she should know how persuasive he could be. How much more persuasive when you already knew what it felt like to be made love to by that strong, brown body, how would Diana resist him? Well, the simple answer was, she hadn’t. And tormented by nightmarish visions that just would not be banished, Catherine drifted, towards dawn, into a feverish sleep.

  She decided to leave for London earlier than planned, and woke Felicity with a cup of tea just after ten o’clock.

  ‘I’m off, Flick,’ she said, setting the mug down on the bedside table. ‘I’ve rung the hotel and left a message for Andrew that I’ll be there in time for lunch.’

  Felicity struggled to a sitting position and peered short-sightedly through a curtain of blonde hair.

  ‘If you think that’s best, Cat.’ She looked doubtful. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’

  ‘Positive,’ said Catherine with a brightness she was far from feeling. ‘I’m a big girl now, little sister. And feeling a bit of a fool doesn’t make me the best of company, so I shall fade discreetly into the background.’

  Felicity shook her head. ‘You’re not a fool, you know, Cat.’

  ‘Don’t be nice to me, Flick, or I might cry.’ Catherine swallowed hard and bent to kiss her sister. ‘I’ll ring you when I get home.’

  The little town was quiet as she drove out towards London. As she passed Concept Communications she couldn’t help a quick glance and almost swerved off the road as she recognised the low black car parked in front. Don’t be silly, she argued with herself, trying to calm her racing heartbeat. Just because it looks just like the car James used to own when you lived here four years ago doesn’t mean that it’s his. You’ve never seen his current car. He could have a bright red sports model by now. But she knew in her heart that it was James. James consolidating his position at the company as presumably he had with his ex-wife the previous night. Telling herself that it was impossible to drive through self-pitying tears, Catherine fumbled for a tissue in her jacket pocket and sniffed hard, putting her foot firmly on the accelerator.

  She reached London well before midday and was able to park the van in the underground car park belonging to the hotel. At the reception desk she asked for Andrew, who appeared only two or three minutes after the desk clerk had phoned him.

  ‘Right, come along. You’re in the room next to mine, and you’re going to get changed, then we’re going to have a proper Sunday lunch.’ He peered at her. ‘You look as though you could do with a bit of feeding up. Feeling all right, are you?’

  Catherine smiled brightly. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘A bit tired, that’s all. Moving’s tiring work.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Andrew looked sideways at her disbelievingly, but said no more. Arriving at the door of her room, he opened it for her and ushered her in. ‘There you are. You have a good wallow, and I’ll see you when you’re ready. Just give me a knock.’

  ‘Which side are you?’ asked Catherine, thinking that with her luck, she would be bound to go to the wrong room.

  ‘There, look, right next door.’ Andrew patted her arm. ‘See you later.’

  The room was typical hotel pink satin and dark wood, the bathroom small but adequate, and Catherine enjoyed a bath scented with complimentary bath oil, and washed her hair with the matching shampoo. The hairdryer provided wasn’t particularly powerful, but bending forward and brushing her hair rhythmically as the warm air wafted through it was surprisingly relaxing, and by the time Catherine had dressed in one of her former business suits and applied slightly more make-up than usual to camouflage the ravages of the previous few hours, she felt almost human again.

  Andrew kept up a flow of bright chatter all the way through lunch, asking her how Felicity had settled in, and what the house was like, and whether the town had changed. Eventually, by the time they reached the coffee stage, he was running dry, and at last, silence fell.

  ‘Well,’ he said finally, looking up from stirring his coffee. They had removed to the lounge for this, the restaurant being a busy place catering for non-residents as well as hotel guests. ‘Now you’re going to tell me what else has happened over the last few days, aren’t you? What’s made you look like something the cat’s dragged in?’

  Catherine bridled. ‘I thought I looked all right,’ she said defensively.

  ‘Oh, yes, you look pretty enough. A bit severe in that suit – not your normal sort of thing, is it – but you look nice enough. You just look as though you’ve been through World War Three.’ Andrew leant back in his chair. ‘Tell Uncle Andrew.’

  Catherine took a deep breath. ‘While I was there, two separate people told me that James had moved in with Diana again over the past few weeks and that Colin Eddington wasn’t around any more. Then, I was invited to a party on Saturday night – last night – and Diana and James arrived together.’ She pressed her lips together to stop them from trembling and picked up her coffee cup.

  ‘And did you speak to them? Didn’t James explain?’ Andrew asked quietly, but Catherine could tell he, too, was shaken.

  ‘No. I was leaving just as they arrived. They didn’t see me.’

  ‘You don’t think he’s just been trying to persuade her not to let Eddington have her shares?’

  ‘He didn’t have to move back in to do that, did he?’ asked Catherine scornfully.

  ‘Do you know he did move in? Definitely?’

  ‘That’s what I was told. Twice.’

  Andrew sighed. ‘Well, it looks very much as though he’s saved Concept.’

  ‘Yes. It does.’

  ‘And sacrificed you.’ Andrew looked across at her worriedly. ‘Did he know how you felt about him, my dear?’

  ‘He knew I didn’t trust him.’ Catherine lifted her chin defiantly. ‘And I was right, wasn’t I?’

  ‘But you’re in love with him, aren’t you?’ Andrew said kindly.

  ‘Yes.’ Catherine felt quite relieved that it was out in the open. ‘I think I always was. All those years ago, and then when we met again I realised I’d never stopped. I never formed any proper relationships with men, you know, when we moved to Surbiton. James spoilt me for everyone.�
� She looked down to her hands twisting themselves together in her lap. ‘I really thought, even if he didn’t love me, perhaps there was something there. He didn’t seem to be treating me like a ... well – a ...’ Catherine stopped helplessly.

  ‘One-night stand?’ offered Andrew.

  ‘Yes, sort of.’ Catherine sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Andrew. I shouldn’t have been affected by it, I know.’

  ‘I don’t see why not,’ said Andrew indignantly. ‘I think it’s a pretty shabby way to treat you after it was your information that saved the company.’

  ‘We don’t know that it has been saved yet, do we?’

  ‘If it comes to that, we don’t know that James and Diana are together again, either,’ said Andrew with some asperity.

  ‘Andrew, do you know who divorced who?’ Catherine looked up at him.

  ‘Oh, yes, dear. James divorced Diana. No, that’s not quite right. It was James’s decision, because of Diana’s repeated adultery. But the actual divorce was one of these simple things that they do these days. Much too easy, if you ask me.’ Andrew snorted disparagingly.

  ‘So James could easily regret divorcing Diana?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Andrew looked surprised. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so. He suggested it years before they actually did. No, he wanted to all right.’

  Catherine sighed. ‘Well, maybe this is just for the good of the company, then.’

  ‘Maybe there’s more to it than either of us realise,’ said Andrew, patting her hand. ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions.’

  Andrew took her to an exhibition after lunch, but neither of them seemed to have much interest in it, so they returned to the hotel for afternoon tea, and Andrew suggested she should make use of the leisure facilities in the basement.

  ‘A pool?’ she said. ‘But I didn’t bring a costume.’

  ‘Oh, they’ll have some down there. Put one on the tab,’ said Andrew carelessly.

  ‘Oh, Andrew, I can’t. You’re already paying my hotel bill.’ Catherine shook her head firmly.

  ‘Because it’s for my benefit, that’s all. If it makes you any happier, you can buy your swimsuit. Or not bother to swim.’

  ‘No, I’ll go. I’d love a swim,’ Catherine said wistfully. The sea at home hadn’t tempted her at all this summer, but the thought of a nice, warm pool ...

  ‘Well, we’ll have one at the Hall soon. You’ll be able to ... Oh.’ Andrew looked ashamed of himself. ‘I’m sorry, dear. That was tactless.’

  Catherine smiled and kissed his cheek. ‘I’ll go and have that swim,’ she said.

  ‘You don’t mind if I don’t join you? I find I get a bit tired these days.’ And to tell the truth, Catherine thought, he certainly did look tired.

  ‘No, you go and have a snooze and I’ll give you a knock later. We won’t need dinner after that huge lunch, will we?’

  ‘No, maybe just a light supper about ten. That suit you?’

  Privately, Catherine thought she wouldn’t be able to eat another thing all day, but she nodded and went off towards the basement leisure centre.

  She bought herself a very plain but beautifully cut black swimsuit, and enjoyed half an hour swimming backwards and forwards in a leisurely breaststroke. Only one or two other guests turned up to share the pool with her, and then only for ten minutes at a time. Feeling very much refreshed, Catherine returned to her room, rang Andrew to say she was back, and settled down to get dressed and watch television for an hour or so.

  At nine-thirty, Andrew rang to say he wasn’t hungry, did she mind, and should they pop down and just have a nightcap instead.

  ‘Are you sure, Andrew? You sound tired.’ Catherine swung her legs off the bed.

  ‘Yes, I feel like a nice whisky,’ he chuckled. ‘Come and enjoy it with me.’

  They had a couple, in fact, and then Catherine insisted they go back to their rooms. Andrew looked not only tired, but rather pale and drawn, and she decided she had better think of some way of suggesting tactfully that they return home in the morning, rather than wait until Tuesday.

  She had just, in fact, turned the light out, herself pleasantly tired after the day’s exertions, when she heard voices outside her door and a moment later, a discreet knock. Puzzled, she threw her housecoat round her shoulders and went to open the door.

  ‘Miss Long?’ A middle- aged man with a worried expression and the standard hotel uniform of tail coat and striped trousers stood outside. ‘I wonder if you could help us, please? Mr Hamilton just rang the desk to ask for a doctor, and it would appear now that he has suffered a slight heart attack, according to our resident nurse, who came straight up here.’

  Catherine felt the wave of shock strike her like a physical blow.

  ‘Can I come in?’ she whispered.

  ‘Please do ...’ She was ushered into Andrew’s room, the mirror image of her own, to see a woman in a white uniform bending over a recumbent form doing strange things with what looked like an oxygen cylinder.

  The next half an hour was a confused impression of quiet urgency. Catherine sat on the sidelines, occasionally holding Andrew’s hand, while the doctor examined him and then explained to Catherine that although it wasn’t too serious, he would have to be admitted to hospital, and would she like to travel with him in the ambulance.

  ‘I’ll just go and get dressed,’ said Catherine, reluctantly letting go of Andrew’s limp hand.

  In her own room she hurriedly threw on the jumper and trousers she had travelled in that morning, then suddenly remembered James. Her heart jumped. She would have to let him know. Now.

  Lifting the receiver she asked for the number of Cranmore Hall, assuming that someone there would have a contact number for him in case of emergency.

  ‘Cranmore Hall.’ Catherine recognised the superior tones of the night manager.

  ‘Mr Barnes? Oh, good. Listen, Mr Hamilton’s been taken ill in London – this is Catherine Long, by the way – and I’m trying to get in touch with Mr Grant. Do you happen to have a number for him?’

  ‘Why he’s right here beside me, Miss Long. I’ll pass you over.’

  ‘Cat?’ James’s voice was sharp, peremptory. ‘Where are you? What’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s Andrew, James. He’s been taken ill – his heart, they think, and he’s going to hospital. I’m going in the ambulance with him.’ Catherine was annoyed to find that she was shaking. Reaction, she told herself.

  James asked tersely which hotel and which hospital and, without another word, rang off, leaving Catherine once more on the brink of tears. Pull yourself together, she told herself sharply. You’ll be no good to Andrew like this, and with those admirable sentiments, she grabbed her jacket and bag and left the room.

  At the hospital, Andrew was admitted to intensive care, and Catherine had to sit outside with a plastic cup of indifferent coffee while it was decided exactly what had happened and what was going to happen. She had endured a certain amount of speculative glances from the staff, who were obviously under the impression that there was something other than friendship between her and the old man, which made her want to get up and shout angrily that he was almost her grandfather, until she realised how silly it sounded and found herself giggling weakly. Shock, she told herself. Perhaps she was having a nervous breakdown after all the traumas of the weekend. And groaning, she rested her head in her hands.

  ‘Cat?’

  Catherine leapt about a foot in the air.

  ‘James?’ she whispered, her heart hammering.

  ‘Yes, it’s me.’ He reached out and pulled her to her feet, holding on to her arms. ‘Now, what’s going on?’

  Trying to control the tears that were threatening to take over completely now, Catherine told him. Letting her go, he strode off towards the nursing station and she subsided once more onto the bench. A few minutes later, he was back.

  ‘He’s had a minor heart attack, and there’s absolutely nothing we can do tonight. I’m coming back in the morning, but meanwhile, I might as well t
ake over his room at the hotel. Come along.’ And he turned and made off towards the lift along the silent, brightly lit corridor.

  Wondering why he was so angry, Catherine followed him, not daring to say a word. Outside, his car had not so much been parked as abandoned, and he opened the door on the passenger side, leaving her to climb in herself. Throughout the drive to the hotel they said nothing, and when they arrived, James only spoke to ask her which was his uncle’s room number, then left her while he went to explain the situation to the desk clerk. Still in silence, they went up in the lift together and Catherine led the way to the two rooms.

  ‘Oh, so you weren’t exactly sharing a room, then?’ James said, as she got out her key.

  ‘What?’ she turned to him, her eyes wide with shock.

  ‘You heard. Wasn’t I good enough for you? Did you have to get in with Andrew as well? What were you hoping for? A little something in the will?’ His voice was scathing, his expression thunderous as he stood over her in the dimly lit hallway. Without realising just what she was doing, Catherine swung back her arm and slapped him hard across the cheek watching in horror as the bright red mark sprang to life where her hand had struck. Neither of them spoke. Then Catherine jammed the key in her lock and almost fell into her room, slamming the door behind her, her breath coming in harsh sobs.

  How much later it was that the knocking penetrated the storm of weeping that had overtaken her, she couldn’t tell. The room was still in darkness, she was still wearing her jacket, her bag still clung tenaciously to her arm. And through it all she heard the gentle knocking.

  Eventually, she levered herself upright and got wearily to her feet.

  ‘Who is it?’ she said in a blurred voice.

  ‘James.’

  ‘Go away,’ she said, closing her eyes as the tears welled up again.

  ‘Cat, I want to talk to you.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to you.’

  ‘Well, I shall wake the entire hotel then, because I’m not going away until you open the door.’

  He would too, thought Catherine resignedly as she opened the door a crack.