A Bid for Love & A Chance of Happiness

by J. B. Sherrard

  "I'm so excited, it's absurd," Pippa told Mark a few minutes later when she called to tell them the latest developments.

  "Don't overdo it, Pip. The time to get excited is on Saturday," he said with boring practicality. "Take it easy."

  "I can't!" Which was something Karen understood rather more readily.

  With one thing and another, it looked as if Friday was going to be quite a day. In fact, Pippa was so keyed up she couldn't fall asleep that night. Everything was whirling through her mind. Where would they have dinner? What would happen? How should she dress for Fabian? What should she wear to meet the consortium? Would they like her? And it wasn't just her. Diana was in a state, as were most of the staff at Hubert's other galleries. Over the next couple of days the atmosphere at all the shops reminded Pippa of the end of term at school. It was certainly the end of an era. Hubert had been out at meetings nearly all week, and on Thursday afternoon he walked jubilantly into the Knightsbridge gallery to announce that everything had been signed and sealed.

  "You must all treat me with tremendous respect for the next twenty-four hours," he joked. "But you haven't seen the last of me. I shall be around from time to time in my capacity as consultant, don't you worry!"

  "Our very own Arthur Negus!" Diana quipped.

  "Indeed." Then Hubert looked thoughtful. He cleared his throat. "I'll be saying a few words to all the staff tomorrow, but I'd like to thank you both for all your help and support in the past. I know we've had our ups and downs from time to time, but I wouldn't have had it any other way. You've been wonderful."

  "Just stop it, Hubert!" Diana said. "You'll make my mascara run." She gave him a kiss on the cheek. "It won't be the same without you, you know."

  Pippa sensed that in the whole of her life nothing was ever going to be quite the same again. Just after six o'clock, Fabian called her and arranged to pick her up at seven-thirty the following evening.

  "Now you promise you won't cancel?" he repeated.

  "I promise."

  "No backing out, now."

  "I never break a promise."

  "Excellent!"

  She woke up in the morning bright and early and, wearing her smartest navy blue suit, arrived at the showroom positively radiant. Even Hubert commented on her bounciness.

  "The consortium will adore you!" Hubert told her.

  "All I ask is that they don't fire me!" Pippa joked.

  "I don't think you need worry about that. By the way, they've arranged a buffet lunch at The Al Fresco for one o'clock. We'll all walk round there together."

  When they arrived at the restaurant, there was already quite a gathering. Hubert's entire workforce from the chain of shops were assembled, including cleaning staff and van drivers. The members of the consortium were far fewer than she had expected and looked more like city types than antique dealers. The chairman of the consortium, with his handlebar moustache, looked somehow familiar, but it was only when Pippa was introduced to him that she remembered where they had met.

  "Charles, this is Philippa Gibson from the Knightsbridge showroom," said Hubert.

  "Joint Charities do. Never forget a face!" said Sir Charles. "You were escorted by Fabian Naughton, our Managing Director, if I remember correctly."

  "Er, you mean—" Pippa began, feeling quite idiotic. "B—but I had no idea."

  "One of life's many surprises," Hubert interjected, and both he and Sir Charles laughed.

  "Oh," Pippa murmured, but she was not amused. What on earth had been going on? And why hadn't Fabian told her that this was in the air? They were meant to be friends. They were meant to trust each other. Had he no respect for her whatsoever? Or had it simply been his intention to make a complete fool of her? It was not only hurtful, it also seemed incomprehensible that Hubert should have sold to any consortium of which Fabian was a member. And yet Hubert seemed perfectly sanguine about it—even light-hearted.

  "I thought you'd approve," Hubert said, sensing her disapproval. "After all, you were the first to try to persuade me that Fabian wasn't such a bad sort. I didn't think both you and Charles could be so wrong about him!"

  "Where is Fabian, anyway?" Sir Charles asked, looking round the room.

  "I've no idea," Pippa said curtly. And, from her tone, it sounded as if she didn't care. "Would you excuse me?" And before Sir Charles or Hubert could say anything, she had left.

  They could all laugh as much as they liked, she thought as she collected her coat. She was just putting it on when Diana came running over to her. "Why are you leaving?" Diana asked. "Do you know who the new managing director is?" Pippa enquired bitterly. But from Diana's guilty expression it was patently clear that she did. "You might have told me!"

  "I didn't tell you because I was given strict instructions not to," Diana explained helplessly.

  "Who gave the instructions?"

  "Fabian Naughton. He is the boss."

  "He may be your boss but he's not mine. You can tell him and his blasted consortium that I resign. And I mean that most sincerely," she added.

  "Oh, no." Diana groaned.

  "Oh, yes!" said Pippa tersely, and walked out of the restaurant.

  It was good to be in the fresh air but, although she had nowhere to go, she was too annoyed and hurt to feel lost. Angrily, she strode down the street, lost in thought and staring at the pavement. Suddenly the violent sound of a car screeching to a halt, followed by the strident honking of a horn, brought her to her senses.

  "Pippa!" Fabian jumped out of his car and ran towards her.

  "Go away!" she hissed.

  "It was meant to be a surprise. I thought you'd be pleased. You're meant to be happy!"

  "Well, I'm not! Why on earth didn't you tell me? Don't you trust me? You've made me look a right fool."

  "For heaven's sake!" But before he could say anything else a queue of cars that couldn't pass his stationary Porsche were hooting impatiently. "Don't go!" he begged her. "Hang on a sec!" He hopped into his car and parked it hastily on a double yellow line a few yards up the road. He ran back to Pippa.

  "Darling!" said Fabian.

  "Don't 'darling' me," she snapped angrily. "All that business about lunch today. You knew all along."

  "Of course I did. I wanted you to agree to dinner."

  "Well, you can forget dinner. And you can forget your job. I resign!" Pippa said with a gleam of satisfaction and felt better immediately.

  But he took no notice of her resignation at all. "You know, Pippa, my dearest, I'm beginning to think you don't have a sense of humour."

  "I wouldn't bet on it," Pippa said triumphantly. "I think your parking ticket's hysterical!"

  He looked round as a traffic warden placed the ticket under his windscreen wiper. "Very funny," he said sarcastically. "You obviously don't have a sense of humour either," Pippa observed, trying not to laugh.

  Fabian looked at her with amusement. "Then perhaps we're very well matched." And he laughed.

  Suddenly the anger and tension between them vanished and they both stood there laughing.

  "This is the time, but not the place," Fabian said mysteriously. "Let's go," he took her by the hand and they ran to the car. Seconds later, they were roaring through Knightsbridge in the best tradition of Hollywood get-aways. Minutes later, he stopped the car on the gravel by the Serpentine in Hyde Park.

  Fabian turned to her. "I love you so much."

  "I love you, too."

  "Oh, Pippa…"

  They were so hungry for each other they didn't notice the handbrake and the gearstick which prodded them both like guardians of morality. The force of his body against hers was all she wanted. The hot passion of his lips on hers was like life itself, and they kissed for longer than she'd ever believed was humanly possible.

  "I want you so badly. I need you so much."

  "Kiss me again," she murmured.

  More and more she knew he was all that mattered. She would need him always.

  "Shall we take a walk?" he asked when finally
they were forced to come up for air.

  They walked hand in hand by the Serpentine, saying little, for they had said it all.

  "Darling," Fabian said as they watched the ducks. "I take it you won't be resigning after all."

  "No," she said softly.

  "That's good, because I forgot to tell you, you'll be getting a company car as soon as I take over."

  "Fabian!"

  "Well, I can't have you breaking down. You never know who might rescue you!" They smiled at each other. "There are a few other perks that might interest you, too. How does the idea of a company house appeal? Of course, it would come with a company husband and there might be company children later."

  She didn't hesitate for a moment. "I think it sounds absolutely fantastic."

  "I thought you might, so I've brought the company ring." He pulled a small blue jewellery box out of his pocket and deftly flipped the lid open. Inside was a most gorgeous platinum and diamond solitaire.

  "May I?" he said, removing the ring.

  "You may!"

  "Perfect," he said, as he placed it on her finger. "But then, so are we," he added, shrugging his shoulders.

  And, for once, Pippa couldn't argue with him!

  A Chance of Happiness

  by

  DINEY DELANCEY

  Chapter One

  Petra Hinton struggled along the windswept promenade, her briefcase in one hand, a carrier of shopping heavy in the other. The sea, angry and grey, exploded into white surf as it pounded the retaining wall only yards away from where she was walking. The sky was the colour of slate and scudding rain clouds came hurrying in from the sea.

  Pausing only to change the shopping and the briefcase, each to the other hand, Petra lowered her head against the wind and the first flurries of rain and hastened on to her home in one of the narrow streets which ran at right angles to the promenade.

  She had just bought a ground-floor flat in one of the grey flat-fronted houses that lined the road. It was small but it was comfortable and Petra, owning her own home for the very first time, was delighted with it.

  As soon as she had turned off the promenade she was sheltered from the worst of the wind, but even so she was glad to reach the house. With relief she let herself in, closing the outer door behind her. Once inside, she set down her parcels in the hall and looked on the table to see if she had any post. There was nothing for her, but a letter for each of the other residents. Mr. Campbell lived on the first floor, and by rights his letter shouldn't have been there. He had a separate entrance up a flight of steps at the side of the house and his mail was usually delivered direct. Mrs. Arden lived in the basement, her front door opening off the hall next to Petra's own. She had not yet met Mrs. Arden, but understood she was an elderly lady who went out seldom, so Petra slipped the letter through the basement letter-box to save the old lady from having to come up for it.

  As she opened her own front door the telephone began to ring. Petra dumped her bags on the table and sinking into an armchair lifted the receiver. It was Tom.

  "Petra? I missed you in the staff-room this afternoon, didn't you have tea?"

  "Hello, Tom. No, I had some shopping to do, so I slipped away as soon as my lecture was finished. Did you want me for something special?"

  Tom laughed. "Of course! I always want you for something special! Actually, I wanted to suggest we went to see the new James Bond—are you doing anything this evening?"

  Petra looked across at her bulging briefcase and sighed. "I'm sorry, Tom, I really can't tonight. I've so much work to do, and with the end of term coming up I must break the back of it this weekend."

  Tom groaned. "Not the whole weekend, Petra," he complained. "At least take tomorrow evening off, we don't have to go to the cinema if you don't want to, we could have a quiet drink, or a meal somewhere."

  Petra weakened. It did sound tempting. "Phone me again tomorrow," she said, "and see how I'm getting on. You're probably right, I'll need a break."

  "Good," said Tom with satisfaction in his voice, "I will, and we can decide what we want to do then. Don't work too hard."

  Petra laughed ruefully. "I'll try not to. See you tomorrow, I expect. Thanks for ringing, Tom."

  "I'll phone tomorrow." Tom's voice softened. '"Bye, love."

  Petra replaced the receiver and sighed. If she was really honest with herself it wasn't only pressure of work to finish by Monday; it was also because she had moved into her own home so recently it still gave her immense pleasure simply to be in it.

  She looked round at the little living-room, its windows looking out over the garden. There was a glass door leading on to a wrought iron balcony, for although Petra had the ground-floor flat, the ground fell away steeply from the back of the house so that it was the basement flat that was at garden level.

  Darkness was crowding the windows now and Petra got up and drew her new curtains to shut out the early December night. Then she lit the gas fire, made herself a cup of coffee and a cheese sandwich and settled down at the table to tackle the work she had brought home.

  As she sat reading and correcting her students' papers she looked younger than her twenty-eight years. For work she wore her long fair hair tied back loosely with a scarf at the nape of her neck. It kept it tidy without being severe; but as soon as she came in, she always released her hair, preferring it free. Unrestrained, it fell round her face in a golden cascade as she bent over her papers.

  Her dark blue eyes, now concentrating on an essay from one of her students, were wide-set under delicate brows a shade darker than her hair, and her skin smooth and soft across her cheeks and forehead still carried the bloom of youth. Her mouth, now pursed in wry amusement at some of the conclusions offered by the student whose work she read, was full and inviting, ever quick to curve into a smile which lit her whole face. Only a firm chin gave a hint of another facet of her character, her determination and independence, and Petra was endowed with her full quota of both.

  She worked steadily all evening, gradually reducing the pile of unread papers at her side. The history department of the Grayston-on-Sea Teacher Training College was not large, there were only two full-time lecturers, and as one of these, although her particular interests were archaeology and very early history, Petra was also required to take her students through to more modern periods. The end of her first term in the job found her conscientious and hardworking as ever, but extremely tired; a cumulative tiredness which had built up as the term progressed. Even as she worked she found herself nodding, and jerked awake realising she had not taken in a word of the essay she was reading. Wearily she pushed the pile away.

  "It's no good," she remarked aloud, "I must go to bed. I'll have to finish these in the morning." She left the work on the table and warm and comfortable after a hot bath, crept thankfully into bed to sleep the sleep of exhaustion.

  Her slumbers were shattered by a pounding on her front door. For a moment the banging invaded her dreams and then she dragged herself from sleep as she realised she wasn't dreaming, but that someone was indeed hammering on her door.

  In the darkness she groped for her clock and discovered from its luminous dial that it was twenty to four. Twenty to four! Who on earth could be knocking on her door at that time in the morning?

  Still a little fuddled with sleep, she switched on the light, and stumbled from her bed. Reaching for her dressing-gown, she made her way to the door. Her father had insisted she put a chain on the front door when she first bought the flat and she was glad now she had followed his advice. Obviously there must be an emergency of some kind for someone to arrive at her door in the small hours of the morning, but even so Petra would have hesitated to answer the door without some precaution. She opened the door the extent the chain allowed.

  "Who's there?" she demanded through the crack. "What on earth do you want at this time of night?"

  There was a faint light in the hall though the hall light itself was not on and in the half-light Petra tried to recognise her
visitor. A quavering voice replied to her question.

  "Could you get me a loaf of bread when you go out?"

  For a moment Petra was speechless, then she closed the door a little and released the chain. Opening the door wider, she allowed the light from her own flat to fall on the visitor's face. An old woman stood on the threshold, dressed in a long nightgown, an overcoat and brown carpet slippers. Her hair, wispy and grey, stood round her head in an untidy halo, and her eyes, red-rimmed, peered out from a hollow-cheeked and wrinkled face.

  "I beg your pardon?" Petra said incredulously.

  "Could you get me a loaf of bread when you go out? Sliced." She extended a scrawny hand. The fingers, left exposed by the grubby blue mittens were red and claw-like; and in them was clutched a pound note.

  Still a little bemused, Petra took the money. "Do you know what the time is?" she asked a little less aggressively.

  "Don't worry, dear," replied the old lady, "any time will do." And so saying she turned away and moving unsteadily, went through the front door of the basement flat, closing it behind her.

  Petra stared after her for a moment and then looked down at the crumpled pound note. Cold darkness crowded round the yellow wedge of light coming from her flat, and she shivered. She shut the door and crept back to the welcoming warmth of her bed.

  In the morning Petra might have disbelieved the whole peculiar episode, imagined she had dreamt it all, if it hadn't been for the pound note lying on her bedside table. Intrigued now by this slight knowledge of her neighbour, she didn't sit down to her work immediately after breakfast as she had planned, but putting on her coat, slipped out. The rain and wind of the previous night had died away leaving a crisp cold day, with the winter sun pale and yellow giving an illusory warmth.

  Enjoying the sharpness of the air and the brave sunlight, Petra hurried down to the corner shop and bought a sliced loaf. She paid for it with the pound note and then carrying the bread and the change returned to the house and tapped on the front door of the basement flat.