by Lulu Taylor
‘But … it’s your money, isn’t it? That’s what Ethan hinted at.’
‘Oh yes.’
‘And you and he are a couple.’
‘Yes. Not married or anything. Boyfriend and girlfriend.’ Why did I want to make that point? she wondered.
‘Mmm.’ Max said nothing more but returned to his sausage and eggs, and then changed the subject.
Ethan still wasn’t up when she’d finished her breakfast, so Octavia pulled on her boots, wrapped herself in a shawl and went outside. The countryside was ravishing, a palette of soft lavenders, blues, greys and chalky greens. She couldn’t remember seeing anywhere quite so beautiful before.
She walked down to the bottom of the garden and stood by a small stream that burbled by, breathing in the clean, pure air and savouring the silence.
Suddenly, to her surprise, Max appeared beside her, arriving without a sound. She’d left him at the breakfast table with his head bent over the business pages of the paper while he munched on toast and marmalade, and now here he was, in a dark blue waxed jacket and black gumboots.
He put a hand on her arm, his gaze fixed out at a spot above the nearest hill. She felt it heavy and warm through her sleeve, and her skin seemed to burn where the pressure of his hand touched it. ‘Look,’ he breathed. ‘Can you see?’
She followed his gaze and squinted into the pale blue sky. ‘No,’ she whispered back.
‘There.’
Then she saw the graceful soaring shape of a bird as it caught an air current and glided effortlessly, without a beat of its wings.
‘Do you know what that is?’ Max kept his voice quiet, although it was unlikely the bird would be disturbed by them at such a distance.
‘Yes,’ Octavia replied, gazing at it. ‘It’s a golden eagle. Very rare. About six hundred left in this country. But nearly all of Britain’s breeding pairs are found in Scotland, aren’t they?’
Max looked at her, obviously surprised. Then he laughed. ‘Yes, you’re right. How did you know that? You’re the first of my non-Scottish visitors to recognise it.’
Octavia was pleased to see that he was impressed by her knowledge. ‘I saw golden eagles in America, when we holidayed there. And I found some books about birds in the library at home in England and I picked up quite a bit.’ She looked about, scanning the skies. ‘I wondered if I might see some kestrels out here actually. Have you noticed many?’
‘Oh yes,’ Max said, ‘you’ll see plenty. And buzzards, and goshawks and sparrowhawks. And owls, too, if you’re up late enough.’ He looked at her, interested. ‘Shall we go and see what we can spot?’
The next minute they were wandering out over the open field together, talking easily as they looked up in the skies and over hedgerows to see what might be found. Octavia spotted a kestrel first, pointing it out to Max. ‘Look at the way its wings beat so fast as it hovers,’ she said. ‘It’s obviously found some prey, it’ll dive in a minute … look! There it goes! A nice juicy mouse, I expect.’
‘You make a mouse sound quite appetising,’ Max said teasingly. ‘Perhaps we should get Hilda in the kitchen to cook one up and try it ourselves.’
‘Roast dormouse was a Roman delicacy,’ Octavia remarked, enjoying the way she was able to undermine any ideas Max had about what a London socialite might know. ‘They liked it drenched in honey.’
They walked on together, both now quite relaxed in one another’s company. When she climbed over a stile, Max offered her his hand and Octavia took it. At once, she was startled by the unexpected jolt of pleasure that went through her as she touched him. She stared at him, and he looked back, his blue eyes no longer icy as she’d seen them before, but warm, friendly, even … even …
She pulled in a sharp breath. A feeling of dizziness suddenly threatened to overwhelm her, though she had no idea why.
‘Are you all right?’ Max said, concerned, as she swayed slightly. He put out his other hand and gripped her arm. The dizziness grew worse, and she had the distinct impression that in another moment she might fall into his arms. A loud electronic chirrup broke the spell.
‘Ah.’ Max pulled a face. ‘My phone. Sorry.’ He took it out, then started in surprise. ‘My God, is that the time? The guests are at the house apparently. We’d better get back. I completely lost track of everything.’ He grinned up at her. ‘That’s enough bird-watching for today. Perhaps we can go out again tomorrow?’
‘I’d like that,’ she said breathlessly, feeling her head clear. She jumped down off the stile and they made their way back, striding across the shaggy grassland towards the house.
Max, Ethan and the other guests went out shooting for the day. The four guns were all hale, bluff, well-rounded businessmen, ready to enjoy some country sports. Octavia wasn’t interested in joining the shoot. Instead, she spent some quiet time in the house, reading and sipping cups of tea. This, she realised, was exactly what she needed: an escape from London and her hectic social life to a slower, quieter pace where she could stop and breathe.
After lunch, she went out and climbed to the top of a nearby hill. There she surveyed the beautiful view and tried to get a signal on her phone. A text came through from Roddy.
Iseult still sedated. Seems to be recovering from op. No more news for now.
So there really was no point in her being in London. There was nothing she could do to help Iseult until she was brought back to consciousness.
Octavia got ready for dinner that night feeling relaxed and reinvigorated after a long bath.
‘Come on,’ Ethan said impatiently. ‘Aren’t you ready yet?’
‘Don’t rush me. We’re not late. They said cocktails at eight.’
‘It’s five past!’
‘That’s absolutely fine.’ Octavia gazed at him in the mirror as she pushed an earring through her lobe. ‘Calm down.’ She finished her make-up while Ethan sighed impatiently, then straightened her Zac Posen dress, slipped on her Gina heels and followed him downstairs.
As soon as they walked into the dining room she realised that she was far more dressed up than any other woman there. The wives of the other guns were in safe black evening dresses with discreet touches of sparkle. Octavia stood out conspicuously in her cream and silver frock, her long blonde hair falling in soft waves over her shoulders. She noticed a few furtively admiring glances from the male guests as she went over to the cocktail table, where Max was mixing drinks for the guests.
‘Ah, Octavia,’ he said as she approached. ‘What’ll it be? Gin and tonic? Whisky and soda? Or something soft?’ He looked up at her, smiling, and the moment they locked eyes, she knew that he recognised her. His smile faded, his mouth dropped open and he stared at her with an expression of horror and bewilderment creeping over his face. Then a second later he recovered himself, turning away to the drinks again. ‘I know,’ he said in a voice that sounded normal but that she noticed was harder than before, ‘have a vodka and tonic. I’m sure you like those. Ice? Lemon?’
She mumbled her thanks, feeling the heat crawling over her face. When he looked up to hand her the drink, his blue eyes were as icy and hard as the cubes clinking in her vodka.
Oh, God. I knew it! He hates me. Octavia felt depressed. She’d enjoyed their walk together that morning, and the way she’d responded to him. That was obviously all over now. Then her spine stiffened. Well, sod him. He doesn’t know the first thing about me. So let him hate me. I don’t care.
Dinner was not as enjoyable as she’d hoped, even though the men on either side of her were pleasant company and obviously appreciative of her charms. She was too irritated by Ethan, who was acting like a little boy with a crush, concentrating solely on Sir Max and hanging on his every word like an awe-struck fan. But, she realised, what was really upsetting her was the fact that her friendship with Max that had seemed so promising that morning was now finished. She picked up her glass of ice-cold white wine and drained it. The butler stepped forward at once and refilled it, and she took another gulp. She pushed aw
ay the plate of smoked Scottish salmon only half-touched, and instead alternated drinking her wine with making loud, over-cheerful remarks to her neighbour. Once she looked up and caught Max’s eyes on her. She’d been expecting to see a chilly expression laced with that hard arrogance she’d seen in them before, but instead she saw confusion. It seemed as though he wasn’t sure who he was seeing – that glamorous beauty he’d scolded in London, or the fresh-faced girl from the morning walk who’d known all about falcons, eagles and the plumage of kestrels. He hardly appeared to be hearing Ethan, who was chattering away beside him, obviously eager to impress. When he saw her catch his gaze, he looked swiftly away and did not look back.
Why did he have to recognise me? she thought dully, disappointment swooping through her. It’s all ruined now. Though she wasn’t quite sure what had been ruined. Perhaps it was the chance of Max joining the board – he never would now, she was sure of it. After all, he thought she was a vapid brat with a coke habit. He’d have less than no time for her now.
The second course was served: roasted woodcock with game chips, bread sauce and sautéed cabbage. A fine Château Pichon Lalande was poured out to go with it. Octavia drank more than she ate, and soon her head was swimming and she realised she was very tipsy. She began to slur her words and repeat herself, then giggle and apologise as she dropped a fork, and then her napkin, ducking down to get it and emerging flushed and breathless with a loud ‘Whoops! Don’t worry, got it!’
Ethan shot her a furious glance, but she simply smiled back and took another large gulp of her wine. She pouted at him over one bare shoulder. They all think I’m so naughty. Well, maybe I will be. Maybe it’ll be fun to cut loose up here. But the effect of her vampish look was spoiled as she swayed forward and knocked over her wine glass with an elbow. The fine crystal hit a silver candelabrum and shattered, a large stain of red wine soaking into the white linen tablecloth.
‘Sorry, sorry,’ she stuttered.
‘No need to apologise,’ Max said smoothly, looking at her for an instant and then away again. He gestured to the butler and immediately everything was cleared away.
Ethan appeared at her side. He bent down and said through clenched teeth, ‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ He stood up and said to the assembled company, ‘I hope you’ll excuse Octavia, she’s very tired and thinks it might be best if she went to bed.’
‘No I bloody don’t!’ she said loudly, as Ethan gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet. ‘I think it might be best if I got another glass of wine … if you don’t mind …’
The table had fallen quiet and everyone was watching her uncomfortably. The butler made to pour her a fresh glass.
‘No thanks, she’s had plenty,’ Ethan said firmly. He whispered, ‘Upstairs now.’
She was furious with him. ‘Let go of me!’ she hissed, and stumbled as he manoeuvred her out from behind the table.
‘Say goodnight, Octavia,’ Ethan said in a warning tone that belied the big smile he still had plastered over his face.
Her last glimpse before Ethan steered her out of the room was of Max’s face. It was set like stone.
Bugger it all. Why is he so bloody hard to please? she thought to herself, aware of a great depression sinking on her. Then she let Ethan take her upstairs and put her to bed.
The next morning, Ethan was furious with her for making a scene and getting drunk.
‘You’ve put the whole thing in jeopardy,’ he snapped. ‘I’m going to have to work bloody hard to convince Sir Max to join the board of Butterfly now, after your little performance last night. What the hell were you thinking of?’
Her head was thudding, her eyes were dry and she couldn’t be bothered to tell him that it had been pretty unlikely from the start that Max would even dream of it. The realisation of what he thought of her now filled her with gloom. And she’d no doubt made it a whole lot worse with her alcohol-fuelled behaviour the night before.
It’s everything, she thought wistfully, rolling away from Ethan and refusing to talk to him. Flora, Iseult, the stress of taking over Noble’s … the last thing I need is someone like Max against me too.
Ethan was still cross and went down to breakfast without her, so she ordered up toast and coffee and stayed in her room, hoping that her absence didn’t seem too rude. Well, she probably couldn’t make a worse impression than she already had. When she felt up to it, she pulled on her walking clothes and escaped to wander the surrounding fields and hills again, leaving Ethan to sweettalk Max as best he could. On the way back to the house, she managed to slip crossing a stream and filled both her boots with cold, muddy water. She squelched crossly back to the house.
As she went through the gate into the garden, she saw Max walking towards her, his hands in the pockets of his shabby old trousers. ‘Hello,’ he called. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
‘Oh, bollocks,’ said Octavia under her breath. ‘Just what I need.’ Somehow she’d been hoping she could avoid her host until she could get away from here in the evening. ‘Hello.’
He came up to her. ‘Have you been for a walk?’ He was still stern-faced, his eyes cool.
‘Yes,’ she said, adding silently, What did you think I’d been doing? Skiing?
‘How are you feeling?’
She glanced down, embarrassed, and felt some of her bolshie attitude melt away. She’d been pointlessly rude the night before, made a fool of herself and broken some no doubt expensive glassware. ‘Um … I’m fine, thanks. Listen … I’m sorry. About getting trashed at dinner. I should have eaten a bit more and drunk a bit less.’
‘That’s all right. Honestly. My dinner parties are rarely so eventful.’ He smiled, although his eyes were still frosty. ‘Listen, can I have a word with you? Come and sit down.’
They went over to a stone bench flecked with moss that faced out towards the magnificent hills. In the next field was the helicopter, bright red and conspicuous against the soft green background. They sat at either end of the bench, Max throwing his arm casually along the back of it. He fixed her with his intense blue gaze. ‘I know who you are now,’ he said at last. ‘Ethan hadn’t explained that his partner was one of the Beaufort twins until last night, but it all makes sense now. I’ve seen you in the gossip columns … and …’ There was a pause then he said, ‘and we’ve met before, haven’t we?’
Octavia froze. ‘Yes,’ she said at last.
‘I didn’t recognise you without all your finery. Not until you walked into the room last night, looking like a million dollars. You made the room stand still. Like a girl who belongs in a nightclub in London, with a fashionable crowd of bright young things.’
She turned to look at him. Had he just paid her a compliment? But his expression was still grave, and he went on, his voice toneless.
‘It’s hard to believe that the girl at dinner last night was the same one I went walking with yesterday morning. Will you tell me something honestly? Have you been taking drugs while you’ve been here?’
‘What?’ She was outraged. ‘No! For your information, I don’t do drugs – as you’d know if you’d ever bothered to listen to me.’
His expression was one of disbelief. ‘But I saw you in that club. Your friends were wasted. Everyone was clearly on chemical highs.’
‘Yes, but I wasn’t,’ she said furiously. ‘And I got drunk last night, that’s all. Haven’t you ever had too much to drink now and then? What the hell makes you think I’m on drugs?’
‘Look, I’m only worried about you, Octavia. I know what it’s like to get in with a bad crowd, start dabbling in things you shouldn’t – I know how easily you can be sucked in.’
‘Will you stop making assumptions about me?’ Octavia cried hotly.
‘You’re getting angry,’ he said, a teasing note in his voice that only served to make her even more cross. ‘It’s lucky there aren’t any jugs of water nearby, I suppose, or you’d throw one over me.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Listen,’ she said in a
low, menacing voice. ‘You don’t know anything about me. I’m not on drugs. Not now, not ever. Not that I need your permission, thanks very much. I’ll do whatever I please and I don’t give a damn whether you’re happy about it or not.’ All her embarrassment and upset was turning into fiery rage, and it was almost a relief to let rip. ‘Where the hell do you get off, with this holier-than-thou act anyway?’
He raised his eyebrows, his smile fading. ‘I see. You’re right. I don’t know anything about you. In fact, I feel like I know less about you now than I did when you arrived.’ His mouth hardened. ‘And that makes me pretty sure I don’t want to invest in your company. That boyfriend of yours is telling me some queer tales. I think the two of you might be a bit of a risk.’
‘That’s exactly what I thought you’d say. Thank you for not disappointing me. I was worried for five minutes yesterday that you might actually turn out to be all right.’ Octavia stood up and put her hands on her hips. ‘You know what? We don’t need your investment. Because I don’t think much of your character! You’ve jumped to conclusions about me without giving me a chance, completely wrong ones. You were perfectly friendly to me before you let your own prejudice blind you. Well, you can get stuffed. I’d like to go home now, if you don’t mind.’
‘Certainly.’ Max gave her a cool look. ‘I’ll ask my pilot to take you back to London right away, if that’s what you want.’
‘I do,’ Octavia snapped. ‘I’ll go and pack.’
She began to march away towards the house, but absurd squelching noises came from her boots, as though she were walking on quacking ducks. She tutted in annoyance. It was completely undermining her dignified exit, and she was even more outraged to hear Max’s laughter as she stomped awkwardly away.
64
The man behind the desk really was very good-looking, thought Vicky, even though he was fixing her with an expression that seemed to be a mixture of hostility and concern. The story she’d told him had obviously affected him, but he seemed to be battling to remain disinterested. ‘Have you ever heard of something called client confidentiality?’ he asked in sharp American-accented tones. ‘I’m not at liberty to talk about any of this with you. I’m sorry. I wish I could help.’