This afternoon she was dressed entirely in purple, from her belted purple wool coat with sheared beaver collar and cuffs to purple leather boots over purple trousers. Adding an extra dash of intense color were red woolen gloves and a red cashmere scarf, which was blowing about in the wind as she walked.
The woman’s name was Priscilla Marney, and she had grown up in nearby Scarborough, although these days she lived in Harrogate, where she ran a successful business of her own creation.
She thought of that business as she strode out, worrying that she had left her small staff to cope without her on a busy Saturday. Still, she had not seen Jonathan the last time he was here in Yorkshire, and later she had bitterly regretted not making an effort to get together with him.
Yesterday, when he had phoned her out of the blue, he had been most persuasive, and she had given in immediately, unable to resist him, which was usually the case.
Jonathan Ainsley.
How long had they known each other? She pondered this for a moment or two.
It was something like forty years; that seemed impossible to her, but she knew it was true. She found herself frowning in surprise as she acknowledged this; she had, in fact, known him most of her life. How remarkable that was, now that she thought about it.
They had met as children when her mother had gone to work as a summer secretary to Emma Harte during those warm-weather months when Mrs. Harte lived at Heron’s Nest. Once the school holidays began, Mrs. Harte brought her brood of grandchildren to stay at her holiday home in Scarborough. Here she trained them to look after themselves in every way possible.
“Emma’s Boot Camp.” That was what most of them called it, and each of them confided in her that their grandmother was tough, demanding, or overly stern with them. Each one had a different point of view, but they all loved Grandy, as they called her, and in the most unconditional way.
Priscilla had had a schoolgirl crush on Jonathan in those days, and he had reciprocated her feelings, so much so she had lost her virginity to him when she was fourteen and he not much older. They had discovered sex together, and they had gone at it hammer and tongs; that was the way he described it, anyway. They thought they were wonderful.
In the ensuing years they saw each other off and on, and slept together off and on; he had been married to Arabella Sutton and divorced from her and had not married again; she had been married twice. Her first husband, Conner Mallone, had been killed by a bus in Manchester, where he had gone on business; she was separated from her second, Roger Duffield. At least at the moment.
Roger was currently begging her to take him back; she was resisting his overtures. She had not been happy with him, and she had recently come to believe she was better off on her own. Her daughter by Conner, Samantha, who was now in her twenties, agreed with her, was encouraging her to “be your own woman,” as she put it.
Priscilla was well aware that there was no future with Jonathan, but old habits die hard, and she enjoyed meeting him in secret to have sex here at Heron’s Nest, where they had first made love. It gave her a kick, and she was aware it turned him on. And there was another thing they both appreciated—the fact that theirs was the longest sexual relationship either of them had ever had with another person.
A few steps away from the house, Priscilla took out her mobile and dialed Jonathan’s. He answered with a curt “Hello?”
“It’s me. I’m only a moment away from the back gate.”
“I just opened the kitchen door. I’m upstairs,” he said and clicked off.
After stepping into the kitchen, Priscilla locked the door behind her and moved to the front hall. Here the light was dim, almost gloomy, but she did not dare put on a lamp. The caretaker lived not too far away, and Jonathan was constantly worried she would notice the lights if they were on in the house, which was locked up for the winter.
Taking a small flashlight out of her pocket, Priscilla turned it on and made her way up the winding staircase. When she reached the landing, she saw Jonathan hovering in the corridor, and a sunny smile broke across her face.
Smiling himself, he came to meet her, regarded her intently for a brief moment, and then pulled her into his arms and gave her a big bear hug. He clung to her for a moment or two, and she to him.
“It’s great to see you, Pris darling, and you look wonderful.” As he spoke he held her away from him and scrutinized her once again. It was true, she was in marvelous form, and beautifully groomed and dressed. He liked chic women.
“Thank you, and so do you, Jonny. Positively blooming. I’ve always told you Hong Kong agrees with you.”
He made no response, took hold of her arm and led her down the corridor, asking, “You can have dinner with me later, can’t you?”
“Oh, gosh, Jonny, I don’t know—” She broke off, shaking her head. “My staff are all alone, and we’re quite busy.”
“Can’t you give them a call?” He pushed open the door of his room and took her inside.
“Yes.”
“Then do it now … so we can be relaxed about things,” he said, eyeing her suggestively, then winking.
She did as he asked, using her mobile, and moments later was talking to her office. “Everything’s under control, Priscilla,” her assistant told her. “There’s no reason for you to be here. We can manage.”
When she gave Jonathan this news, a pleased expression leapt onto his face; he grinned at her and exclaimed, “And guess where I’m going to take you? The Grand Hotel in Scarborough.”
“Good Lord! What kind of an idea is that? And how’s the food these days?” she asked, shaking her head.
“I don’t know about the food. But who cares really? I want to take you there for old times’ sake. Remember how we used to sneak down there for fancy teas? We weren’t supposed to go to the hotel alone, and it was great breaking the rules, wasn’t it?”
“Indeed it was, and especially when we came back and broke even more rules here.” She glanced at the bed, her face flushing.
Jonathan followed the direction of her gaze, and a knowing look crossed his face. “Anxious, are we?” he asked, an amused glint in his eyes.
“I’m always anxious for you, just as you are for me,” she replied in a low voice. “And why wouldn’t we be? It’s been quite a while since we’ve seen each other.” She moved toward him, put her arms around him, brought her face close to his, and kissed him on the mouth.
He responded most ardently and found himself instantly aroused, as he generally was with Priscilla. He wondered if this reaction was because she was the first woman he had ever had. It didn’t matter, because he had no time to ponder. None at all. He wanted her under him on that narrow bed. He wanted to do all the things he had done to her when they were teenagers, their hormones roaring and so hot they had practically ripped each other’s clothes off.
As he had undressed her so many years ago, he did so once more, helping her with her coat, her sweater, and her boots. A few moments later he was shedding his own clothes and joining her on the bed, where she was waiting for him.
Stretching himself out alongside her, he leaned over and kissed her cheek, held her close to him. After a while, as his hand slid down to stroke her stomach, he whispered in her ear, “I remember how you flinched when I did this for the first time.” His hand rested between her legs, and he began to touch her gently. “But I soon had you moaning, begging me not to stop, didn’t I? As you will do in a moment, won’t you, Prissy?”
“Oh, yes, yes, you know I will,” she gasped as he continued to arouse her. Now he bent over her again and kissed her breast, sucked on it, and she found herself growing even more excited, the heat rising in her as passion flared. At one moment she thought, I’m in my fifties. How can I feel like this? So hot and wet and aching for him. Because I’m fourteen again, she suddenly thought, and opened her eyes and looked directly into his face as he got on top of her and brought her to him, his hands under her buttocks.
“Does this feel as good as i
t did when I was a mere lad?” he asked, gliding inside her.
“Oh, yes, Jonathan … yes …”
They sat in the bar of the Grand Hotel in Scarborough, sipping dry martinis and reminiscing about their youth. They didn’t always have a chance to share a drink and dinner when they’d been together; they often had to rush off to keep other commitments. And so on this icy January Saturday evening, they were pleased they were able to have the luxury of a drink, a meal, and no pressure to leave each other after their intense and passionate lovemaking.
They spoke for a while about themselves, their unique relationship, and their lives in general, and then quite suddenly Priscilla said, “Your cousins were childhood sweethearts, and so were Shane and Paula.”
Momentarily startled by this reference to the family, Jonathan said in a slightly bitter tone, “The Harte women always get what they want, no matter what that is.” His mouth narrowed into a tight line, his eyes hardened.
Priscilla glanced at him quickly, frowning. “You sound odd, Jonny, what’s the matter? Didn’t you approve of Emily marrying her cousin Winston Harte?”
Not wanting to betray his true feelings to Priscilla, which he almost had, he forced a cheerful laugh, said in a steady voice, “It didn’t matter to me, Pris, and actually that seems to be a family trait, doesn’t it? Several of my cousins have married each other.” He shrugged, and, making a tremendous effort, he smiled warmly, added in the nicest voice he could summon, “And fortunately they all seem happy enough. Grandy would be pleased if she knew.”
“Talking of weddings, are you going to be at Gideon’s next Saturday?” she asked curiously.
“Afraid not, old thing, I have to meet my French partner and his wife in Paris next weekend. Business takes up a lot of my time, you know. But I shall be returning to Yorkshire, and I was hoping there would be another chance for us to get together.”
Her black eyes shone with happiness as she gazed back at him. “Oh, yes, Jonny, I’d love that. When are you returning?”
“On the Sunday night or Monday morning.”
“Should we have a rendezvous at the house again?” she asked eagerly, gripping his hand. “I always love it when we’re at Heron’s Nest together … it’s so exciting in the dark, taking chances because we never know if the caretaker will come by. But mostly it’s delicious because of you and us and our youth. We recapture those days at Heron’s Nest.”
“I know exactly what you mean.” He leaned into her, whispered against her hair, “And you’re such a naughty girl, Pris, much naughtier and more experienced than you were then … . Oh, yes, a lovely naughty girl.”
She felt herself blushing and said softly, “And you’re very wicked. A wicked, wicked man, but I do love what you do to me.”
Sitting up straighter, Jonathan murmured, “Let’s not meet at the house next time. It is a bit dangerous, as you pointed out. And talking of houses, would you like to come to mine? In Thirsk? It’s almost finished.”
“Oh, that would be wonderful!” she gushed, a smile spreading across her face, which seemed to shine with eager anticipation.
“Then you shall come. On Wednesday. Let’s make it Wednesday to be sure I’m back from France. Come early evening, and we’ll have dinner after our little romp, and perhaps you’d like to stay the night?” A brow lifted, and he stared at her intently
Priscilla sat back in the chair, returning his protracted gaze. She couldn’t believe her luck; he was inviting her to his home, asking her to stay the night. This was a whole new twist in their relationship. Might it go even further? She stared at him greedily, taking everything in, his handsome face, those bright, intelligent eyes. And the clothes. So expertly tailored. That cashmere sports jacket and those dark, finely made gabardine slacks. Expensive, she thought. Everything about him is expensive. Big time. He was big time. He had a big life. Might she not share it with him?
“Well, Prissy, will you stay the night? Or can’t you?”
“Jonny, of course I can! I’d love to. Absolutely love to.”
“I’m sorry I can’t make the wedding,” he said unexpectedly. “But I won’t be in Yorkshire, as I said. Anyway, I don’t really like morning weddings, I prefer those that take place in the afternoon.”
“Oh, but you’ve got it wrong, Jonathan. Gideon and Evan are getting married in the afternoon. At two o’clock.”
“Gosh, how could I have made such a mistake? Still, I will be in Paris.”
“And you’ll miss the reception at Pennistone Royal,” she pointed out. “That’s a pity And you’ll miss the party after the lunch.”
“That I will,” he replied and smiled inwardly; now he knew for a fact that the reception and luncheon were to be held at his grandmother’s pile of stones and not at his father’s house. She knew a lot, Pris did. He must ply her with a few more drinks and lots of sex and see what else he could glean.
12
“Great-Aunt Edwina!” Linnet cried, rushing across the Stone Hall at the sight of the oldest and most important member of the Harte family. “Thank you for getting here so early.”
As she came to a standstill in front of Edwina, Linnet grasped her hand and then leaned into her, kissed her on the cheek.
“I thought it would be a good idea to really get a head start, so that we could have that chat you suggested. Alone,” Edwina said, giving Linnet a long, knowing look.
Smiling, putting her hand under Edwina’s elbow, Linnet escorted her to the fireplace, saying as she did, “You look wonderful in your trouser suit, Great-Aunt, and I love that bordeaux color. It really suits you.”
Edwina, looking pleased, said, “Thank you, my dear. It happens to be the only casual thing I own other than a few jumpers … and you did say it was a casual evening.”
“Yes, I did. And you look perfect. Now, would you like something to drink?”
“A drop of champagne, if you have some handy.” Linnet grinned at her and hurried over to the drinks table, exclaiming, “Of course we do. Pol Roger, how does that sound?”
“Very nice, thank you.” Edwina had seated herself on a chair near the fireplace, and now she turned around, focused her attention on Linnet, who was busy pouring the champagne. Neat and smart, Edwina thought, she always looks so well put together. Tonight Linnet was wearing a white silk shirt with long, full sleeves, black silk trousers, and a black wool cardigan draped over her shoulders. Several long strands of pearls hung around her neck. Fake, Edwina decided, but she knew the pearl earrings were the real thing, since she had given them to Linnet as a present just before her wedding. Yes, she was a very smart girl. In every way.
Linnet came back to the fireside carrying two flutes of champagne, and she handed one to Edwina. They clinked glasses, and Linnet sat down opposite her great-aunt.
After taking a sip of the champagne, Edwina said, “Now then, my dear, let’s get to the point. What’s all this about?”
“Basically it’s about Jonathan Ainsley, as I told you on the phone. Jack Figg called me this morning to say that he’s in Yorkshire. At his house in Thirsk. His sudden arrival just before Evan’s wedding is making Jack nervous. Jack thinks Jonathan is a loose cannon out to make trouble.”
“He may very well be,” Edwina said, her eyes narrowing slightly, and then she pursed her lips before adding, “However, Jonathan’s not going to do anything too foolish. He’s a bully, and all bullies are cowards, don’t you know?” She raised a brow quizzically.
“Yes, I do. Obviously he wouldn’t do anything himself, because he is a coward. He’d hire somebody else to do it …” Linnet paused, took a deep breath, and plunged in, explaining in a serious voice, “Jack found out he was going to disrupt my wedding by sending in a bunch of yobbos. Who knows what they’d been instructed to do. I didn’t know anything about it until later, of course. Jack hadn’t wanted to frighten me.”
“And Jack thinks Jonathan might try the same thing next Saturday? Is that what you’re saying?” Edwina asked, now sounding troubled.
“I think you are right, Linnet,” Edwina declared, and, giving her a very direct look, she continued, “Although I suppose all he could really do is be rude and rather nasty.” She shook her head. “Never liked him. He was a strange boy, really, up to no good most of the time, and don’t think my mother didn’t know. Emma had his number all along; that’s why she rearranged her will the way she did.”
Linnet leaned forward, her intelligent green eyes fixed on Edwina. “What did Grandy actually think of him?”
“She said he was treacherous, and she was rarely wrong about people. So, let us come up with a plan of action before Robin arrives. Now, Linnet, if Lackland Priory is not a suitable place for Owen and his family to stay, what do you suggest? Where can they go?”
“Allington Hall. Emily and Winston will be happy to have them; after all, their son is marrying Owen’s daughter. And if they can have only Owen and Marietta as their houseguests, the adoptees can stay with Robin. Or, come to think of it, Great-Aunt Edwina, why not with you at Niddersley?”
“Good Lord, Linnet, I don’t know about that! And by adoptees I suppose you are referring to Evan’s two sisters, who are apparently adopted.”
“You’re right, I am, and I must tell you something confidentially … . I didn’t take to the one I met the other day. Angharad. She’s the youngest. And a bit odd, in my opinion.”
“Angharad. That’s a mouthful of a name,” Edwina muttered.
“It’s a Welsh name.”
“Oh, yes, I know.” A smile suddenly illuminated Edwina’s wrinkled face, and her wise old eyes became brighter. “Glynnis Hughes loved Welsh names. She was very Welsh, you know, very much into Celtic lore and all that kind of thing. I was close to her at one point in our lives. I liked her, and I suppose—” Edwina broke off, shook her head. “I suppose I was the one who helped to facilitate their love affair.”
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