"I'll show you the way," she said and led him up to one of the guestrooms in the staff wing.
He paused at the door, turning back to her and said, "Now you won't forget me, will you?"
This sally drew an unwilling smile from Petra and Nicholas smiled too.
"No," she replied. "I'll be back between six and half past."
By the time Petra returned to collect her guest she had been home and changed into a more sophisticated dress. The Principal's reception was not a formal affair, but Petra had been warned by Miss Danvers that the women tended to dress up for the occasion.
As she had bathed and changed, the sole content of her thought was Nicholas Romilly. How did he equate with the arrogant, cold-hearted Peregrine Arden? There must be an explanation, for though the man was the same, his behaviour was entirely inconsistent. She wondered if he would mention Mrs. Arden and their previous encounter. He could have done so earlier, but apart from a veiled reference to it when they were introduced, he had made no move to explain or justify himself.
'He may be a brilliant lecturer and archaeologist,' she thought, 'but that doesn't mean he has no responsibilities as a son. Even if he's away for months at a time, particularly if he's away for months at a time, he should see that his mother is provided for and cared for.'
Petra had reached the same verdict as before, but this time she wasn't quite as confident that there could be no valid excuse; her judgment was tinged with uncertainty and it worried her. At the back of her mind were his words, "You know nothing of the situation," and though she had decided there was nothing she could know which would excuse the conditions in which Mrs. Arden lived, the words nagged her and she wondered if she had been quite fair. Still, she had to make the evening tolerable for both of them and she resolved that she wouldn't refer to Mrs. Arden, if he didn't.
Wearing a clinging dress of midnight blue, scooped low at the neck hinting at what it concealed rather than revealing anything, and with her hair a golden sheen about her face, she knocked on Professor Romilly's door.
"Ready, Professor?" she enquired as he opened it to her.
"Yes, indeed." He paused for a moment as his eyes swept over her with undisguised approval, and then said, "Do you think, Miss Hinton, that as we're to spend the next hour or so together we could manage Christian names?"
Taken off guard, Petra said, "Of course, if you like."
"I do like," said Nicholas and before she could move he leaned forward and, bending his head, kissed her on the cheek. "Good evening, Petra."
Her hand flew involuntarily to her cheek and she stepped back, needing a deep breath before she could reply, "Good evening, Nicholas."
"Better," he said with a grin. "Now, lead me into the lion's den."
Nicholas mixed easily at the reception to which the fourth year students, the staff and other visiting speakers had been invited. He was charming and relaxed, talking easily with everyone, and Petra decided she could slip away once he was established and join Tom who was waving to her from across the room.
But as she moved from Nicholas' side, he put out a hand to stay her and asked her opinion on his answer to a particular question.
"Don't go off and leave me," he murmured as Miss Danvers approached. "You're supposed to be looking after me, remember?"
"You are perfectly well able to look after yourself," snapped Petra, but she remained at his side while he listened with complete attention to Miss Danvers' congratulations on the success of his lecture.
"You've lit a fire of enthusiasm today," she cried. "Several of the students have been asking about joining the dig in the summer vacation."
"If they can get themselves there, I'll be delighted to see them," said Nicholas cheerfully, "but don't let them think it's all treasure hunting. It's extremely hard work and at times back-breaking and boring."
"Don't worry, Professor, it'll only be the dedicated ones who make the effort, but it would be a marvellous experience for them."
"I agree entirely," said Nicholas. "There's nothing like practical field work to give insight into the whole subject. Don't you agree, Petra?"
Petra, whose attention was about to be claimed by the approaching Tom, turned back to the conversation and having had the question repeated, agreed.
"Have you ever been involved in a dig, Petra?" Nicholas asked, refusing to let Tom detach her from him.
"Yes, in Northumberland. A Roman villa."
Tom, realising he couldn't take Petra out of the circle of conversation, joined it, and Petra was forced to introduce him to Nicholas.
"I think we met once before briefly, didn't we?" Nicholas asked innocently as they shook hands.
"We weren't actually introduced," said Tom coldly as he remembered the scene in the hall outside Petra's flat.
"No, of course not," went on Nicholas smoothly. "You were busy at the time, I recall."
There was a glint of malicious amusement in his eyes as he saw the colour flood Petra's face, and she in turn glowered at him, furious that she had never been able to control her blushes whether induced by anger or embarrassment.
Tom, however, was not easily deterred and he said lightly, "A group of us are planning to go out to dinner once this do is over. Petra's invited, of course. Perhaps you'd like to join us too, Professor?"
Nicholas smiled with regret. "Thank you, no. I already have a table booked for dinner and Petra's very kindly consented to keep me company—after all Miss Danvers did say she was mine for today—" and seeing Petra was opening her mouth to protest he went on smoothly, "And we still have so much to discuss—haven't we, Petra?" His eyes, suddenly hard and dark as they had been when she had met him as Peregrine Arden challenged her, dared her to admit that he had not already asked her out to dinner.
For a long moment she was on the point of taking up the challenge and turning him down, but she was still intrigued by his dual identity and so she said to Tom, "I'm sorry, Tom."
Tom's eyes glittered angrily for a moment. He was as certain as he could be that no such arrangement had been made and he could feel Petra was drawn to this tall man who seemed able to dictate her actions all of a sudden; but he controlled his anger with the thought that he could see Petra every day and so was able to say, "I'm sorry too, Petra. See you tomorrow. Don't forget my lecture at ten, will you?" He gave them a tight-lipped smile and returned to the group he had been with earlier.
Petra found she was clutching her handbag tightly, her knuckles clenched white round the handle. She felt angry with both men. Both of them assumed that they could command her attendance at the dinner-table without so much as a request, and she was on the point of turning back to Nicholas and saying she had changed her mind when he spoke again.
"Can we go soon? I really do want to talk to you in peace. We do have a mutual concern, remember?"
Petra sighed. "Perhaps we should give it another ten minutes," she said, "then I think we could slip away."
"Then let's have another drink before we leave," and taking her arm, Nicholas piloted her across to the table where some of the students were dispensing drinks.
As he handed her a glass, Petra managed to free her arm from his grasp, yet even when he was no longer holding her, she seemed to feel the grip of his fingers on her flesh, a tingling patch on her skin.
"Now, where do you suggest we go to eat?" he said as they moved back into the crowd.
"I thought you'd booked a table?" said Petra raising her eyes to his in surprise.
"I'd got as far as thinking about it," Nicholas conceded with a twinkle. "But I must admit I was going to consult you on the subject as I don't know the town."
Petra was at a loss for a moment, not quite knowing what to suggest.
"Where will your friends go, do you think?" asked Nicholas.
Petra shrugged. "I don't know. Angelo's probably. They can dance there, too."
"Then," said Nicholas with decision, "I suggest we choose somewhere else!"
When they emerged from the colleg
e buildings, they were almost swept off their feet by the gale howling in from the sea. It was bitterly cold and the wind knifed through them. Petra clutched her coat about her and her hair streamed into her face.
"This way," said Nicholas and once more taking her arm, he hurried her across to the car park where his car was waiting. Once they were both safely inside, he glanced across at her in the darkness and said, "That's some gale out there." The car rocked violently as he spoke, shaken by a sudden gust of wind.
Petra said, "It can blow up very quickly in this part of the world. There are some nights when the windows rattle so hard I'm afraid they'll blow in."
"Sounds as if you're in for a rattling night." Nicholas smiled as he started the engine. "Now, where do we go?"
Sincerely hoping she had guessed correctly about Tom's crowd choosing Angelo's, Petra directed him to another restaurant, Papillon, further along the coast road. As they drove along the promenade, windswept and deserted, they saw the pounding surf flung high above the road, sparklets gleaming in the light of the street lamps.
When they reached the restaurant they were given a quiet table in a corner.
It wasn't until they were eating their main course that Nicholas broached the subject of Mrs. Arden.
"I want to talk to you about—my mother." There was an almost imperceptible pause before he said the last two words, and Petra looked across at him, wondering if she really wanted to hear his excuses, whatever they might be.
He put down his knife and fork and said quietly, "Even a condemned man may speak in his own defence."
The ever ready colour suffused Petra's cheeks. "You aren't a condemned man," she said testily.
"Aren't I?" Nicholas' dark eyes held hers for a long moment, seeming to search her soul. "Haven't you already condemned me as a cold-hearted son who neglects his mother, when, whatever his feelings about her, he has the moral duty to see she is cared for?"
He had so neatly summed up exactly what Petra did think about him, that she found herself unable to return his Steady look and lowered her gaze to the table.
"Will you listen?" He spoke softly and yet his question demanded an answer.
Petra looked up at him again and managed a faint smile. "Of course," she said.
"Good," said Nicholas with satisfaction. "In that case I'll tell you all about it over coffee. In the meantime, tell me about your Northumbrian dig. Was that the one led by Roger Garfield?"
Petra nodded and for the rest of the meal they talked, she realised much later, almost entirely about her. Nicholas was at his most charming, and Petra responded like a flower uncurling its petals to the sun.
When at last the coffee arrived, Nicholas sat back in his chair while Petra poured a cup for each of them, then without further preamble he told her about his mother.
"When she married my father it was her second marriage. Her first ended in divorce several years earlier, she'd been married very young after a whirlwind romance and I suppose they just grew out of each other, if you see what I mean."
Petra nodded.
"Well, some considerable time later, I was born and on my mother's insistence was christened Peregrine Nicholas. In this, as in every other way, my father let her do as she wished. He was very fond of her and I suppose was afraid of losing her. He did all he could to make her happy, but it didn't work. She hadn't wanted a baby at her age in the first place and begrudged the time and effort necessary to look after a child. My father was a solicitor and worked very hard, often bringing work from the office to do at home. Gradually the rift between them widened, and when I was four, she walked out, ran off with a man called Jack Arden. I didn't see her again until the other day, the day you and I met in her flat."
Petra stared at him, unable to speak and feeling sick inside. She had thought he was arrogant, when all the time it was her own sanctimonious arrogance which hadn't allowed him at least the benefit of the doubt, at least the chance of an explanation. In her own overbearing way she had marched in, passed judgment before she was in full possession of the facts and condemned Nicholas. How right he'd been to use that word.
Shame at her own behaviour overwhelmed her; she needed to apologise, to ask his forgiveness, but she didn't know where to start. But Nicholas hadn't finished.
"Some time later, my father divorced her and he too married again. My stepmother, whom I regard as my mother, gave me all the love, care and attention I had missed from my real mother. She and my father and I were a happy and loving family, as close as any other. My father died recently, but my stepmother and I are still as close as ever. You can imagine the shock when I was informed by a social worker that my natural mother was living in dreadful conditions in a basement in a seaside town. A strange coincidence, too, that I had recently accepted your invitation to speak in the same place."
Nicholas paused again, looking across the table where Petra sat pale-faced as if turned to marble, and for a moment there was silence. Then Petra buried her face in her hands, afraid the tears of mortification would overflow down her cheeks.
"Oh, Nicholas," she whispered, "I'm so sorry. Of all the arrogant, domineering, overbearing…"
"Who?" Nicholas interrupted with a grin. "Me?"
"No, of course not." Petra jerked her head up to face him once more. "Me. Can you forgive me for all I said to you that time, all that abuse I hurled at your head?"
Nicholas reached across the table and took hold of both her hands. "When you look at me out of those enormous blue eyes of yours," he said simply, "I can forgive you anything."
Petra felt his grip tighten on her hands and smiled at him tremulously.
Nicholas smiled too and then said briskly, "Now, let's have some more coffee, this lot is stone cold, and then I'll tell you what I propose doing about Mrs. Arden."
He ordered fresh coffee and then sat back watching Petra.
Still finding it difficult to come to terms with his story, Petra said, "But why Peregrine? I mean why does she call you Peregrine?"
"I believe she always did—as I said, it was her choice of name. My father never liked it, and when she left us he began calling me Nicholas. I must say I'm quite relieved. Imagine having to answer to Peregrine for the whole of your life!"
"No wonder I couldn't find you in any of the phone books," mused Petra. "I was looking for a Peregrine Arden. How on earth did the social worker find you?"
"Quite simply, I believe. My mother, Mrs. Arden, knew the address. It was where she had lived herself when she was married to my father. I expect they caught her on a lucid day and she told them."
The coffee arrived and Petra was glad to pour it out. It gave her something to do, but even as she did so she found her hands were shaking and the cups chattered on their saucers.
Nicholas appeared not to notice, for which she was grateful; she herself couldn't decide which had given her the shakes, her humiliation and subsequent apology or the strength of his hands and the level gaze in his eyes when Nicholas had accepted that apology.
"Anyway," he continued, "I've arranged for her to go into a home where she can be looked after properly. I know she thinks she can cope where she is, but she can't really."
"And are you going to pay for all this?" Petra asked in amazement.
"Of course," said Nicholas lightly. "You aren't going to tell me I shouldn't be supporting my mother now, are you? There's no pleasing some people!"
"In the circumstances, I'd have said it was more than generous," said Petra. "You don't owe her anything."
"She gave me my life," pointed out Nicholas with a grin. "It's had its ups and downs, but I'm grateful for it, you know."
"Oh, be serious," said Petra.
"I'm quite serious," he replied gravely. "I've discussed it all with my mother—my stepmother," he corrected himself easily, "and we both feel she should be cared for."
"Does she know yet? About moving, I mean?" Petra wanted the subject turned back to the more practical side, away from the motives and reasons for Nicholas' a
ctions. She recognised now that she was incompetent to comment upon those, and wished with all her heart she had refrained from doing so before. Nicholas might have forgiven her, but it would be a long time before she forgave herself.
"Yes, we've told her, though whether she's really taken it in I can't say. I'm coming down to move her on Saturday. We're lucky to have found a place so quickly."
Nicholas settled the bill and once more they braved the elements outside. There had been no drop in the wind, if anything its strength had increased, and they were glad to reach the car.
As they drove along the promenade towards the road where Petra lived, the waves were actually breaking over the sea wall, driven by the fury of the gale. Spray engulfed the car more than once as the water was flung high above the wall and cascaded on to the road, draining back over the edge only to be gathered in by the next wave and pounded to pieces once more.
"It's a high tide," remarked Nicholas as they turned into the comparative shelter of Petra's street.
"I've seen it breaking on the wall before, but never as badly as this," Petra said. "It's the wind that's driving it on."
Nicholas went into the house with Petra and waited while she opened the door, then he took her hand and said with a smile, "I'm glad you were mine for the day."
Petra looked up at him silhouetted against the light, and said in a voice that was not her own, "So am I, Nicholas."
His fingers tightened their grip for a moment and Petra found herself being drawn inexorably into his arms, until she rested against him, her head on his chest and every line of her body pressed against his. For a moment they stood so, each sheltered in the arms of the other, he with his cheek against her hair and then he relaxed his hold.
She raised her face to look at him, and there was a moment when she thought he wasn't going to kiss her. Then his eyes darkened and his mouth came down on hers, his lips bruising and demanding as he crushed her against him once more. Petra clung to him, her head spinning, her lips parted to devour his kisses and to offer him her own. She had never known such passion in herself, she had never recognised such need in another, but finding both now she was carried away on a tide of desire which would have denied him nothing.
A Chance of Happiness Page 4