A Bid for Love

by J. B. Sherrard

"Well, I might very well have to get a horse if they can't fix the car."

  "That's another thing about horses, their gearboxes never go!" Fabian assured her. "I can see I'll have to take you riding."

  Pippa was just about to say that she would like that when she suddenly remembered that she didn't like Fabian Naughton at all. Or rather, she didn't like the Fabian Naughton she had encountered at the auction, but the one driving her home had been charming, amusing and interesting. She suddenly felt curiously uneasy, and she wondered whether he was playing some strange game simply to lure her into a sense of false security as part of his continuing revenge against Hubert.

  She was sure he sensed her silent misgivings and, to combat the sudden silence that had enveloped them, he turned the cassette player up. Miss Warwick's song was asking, "Why did you have to be a heart-breaker'" Every now and then Fabian whistled an accompaniment. It was a song he clearly knew well and Pippa wondered how many distraught women had played it with him in mind. From the very first moment she saw him at Aspley—before she had known anything about him—she had recognised him as a dangerously attractive young man. Added to his physical desirability, he also had charm as well as a decidedly hard streak, which some people might have found appealing. And if Hubert was correct about Fabian's background, he was heir to a fortune, too. One way and the other Pippa had little doubt that Fabian Naughton was a man to treat with the utmost caution.

  They sped along the motorway and were soon in Hillingdon.

  "Philippa, you wouldn't mind if we made a quick pit-stop, would you?" Fabian asked euphemistically. "We could have a drink, too, if you like," and then added, "I'm parched." It made little difference whether Pippa liked or not.

  They stopped at a large pub and, since she wasn't driving, Pippa was persuaded to have a cognac to warm herself up. Abstemiously, Fabian ordered Perrier, and Pippa wondered whether it was because he wouldn't drink and drive or whether he simply wanted to stay sober while she possibly became drunk. Almost as if he was reading her mind, Fabian explained that he rarely drank and certainly never when he was driving.

  "I'm not really into alcohol that much. I like the occasional pint of beer and glass of wine with a good meal, but that's about it. And I never drink and drive because my threshold is pretty low. I mean, two glasses of Perrier and I'll be under the table. I couldn't risk that. Who knows, you might take advantage of me!"

  "I'm not that sort of girl," Pippa assured him.

  "Shame!" He smiled broadly. "D'you feel like some peanuts or anything?"

  "I wouldn't mind."

  "I'll go and get some." He went to the bar and while he was waiting to be served he turned to Pippa and winked.

  There was something about him that worried her. He was being too nice, too charming. Out of politeness, she managed to force a weak smile back. She felt like a gladiator in the presence of a benevolent lion. She just wondered how long it would be before this particular lion became hungry or bored. Something else was worrying her. too. It wasn't serious but she wasn't quite sure how to handle it. He was calling her Philippa and she had been calling him Mr. Naughton. If she continued calling him Mr. Naughton he might consider her unfriendly and thus provoke his harsh streak. But if she called him Fabian he might take it as an indication of friendliness which she also didn't want to encourage. The solution for the time being was not to call him anything, but that wasn't always easy.

  "Miss me?" he asked as he returned with a couple of packets of peanuts and crisps.

  "I coped!" Pippa admitted wryly.

  He sat down next to her and offered her some peanuts. "More protein in this little packet than in a T-bone steak," he informed her.

  "Frankly, I'd prefer a steak any day. You don't fancy stopping for dinner, do you?"

  "That's very kind of you, but I'm due at my brother and sister-in-law's this evening," said Pippa, fabricating a plausible and diplomatic excuse on the spur of the moment. "They're expecting me around eight."

  "Well, maybe another time. I do owe you a decent meal after our last outing."

  "Coming to my rescue's more than made up for it, I assure you."

  "In that case, maybe you should buy me dinner!" He raised his eyebrows. "Tell me, what does your brother do?"

  "Mark's an accountant. He's with one of the big City firms."

  "Sounds sensible enough. Is he older than you?"

  "Yes, by three years."

  "So that makes him nineteen," Fabian said in an outrageous attempt at flattery.

  "I'm nearly twenty-three—if that's what you want to know," Pippa informed him candidly.

  "I'm much too polite to ask a lady her age! I'm twenty-seven—in case you were wondering."

  Casually he put his arm along the back of the seat, and Pippa was very aware of his proximity. It could just have been a casual gesture but he didn't seem relaxed, and she felt he wasn't quite certain whether she would welcome his arm around her.

  "Have you time for another drink?"

  "If you don't mind, I think I really ought to be getting back. I've got to change and get over to my brother's." She was sure the question was really designed to see whether she wanted him to touch her and her answer established that she didn't.

  Fabian Naughton wasn't used to being rejected and, having gulped down the last drop of Perrier water, he said abruptly, "Let's hit the road, then."

  They went out to the car and she expected him to open the door for her, but he jumped in first and then leaned over to open her door from the inside.

  "Next stop Notting Hill Gate—unless you'd like me to drop you at your brother's."

  That was the last thing Pippa wanted. She knew for a fact that Mark and Karen, his wife, were going to the theatre tonight, and if Fabian dropped her on their doorstep it would be a real nuisance since they lived in Chiswick.

  "No, I must go back to the flat first and change. Anyway, they're not far away."

  "Do you see a lot of them?" Fabian asked.

  "Quite a bit. Karen, Mark's wife, went to school with me, so we're all pretty close."

  "That's nice," Fabian said with a slight wistfulness.

  Then he switched on the car radio and they listened to the John Dunn show as they drove down the A40 towards the centre of town.

  "Third on the left, if I remember correctly," Fabian said flatly as he drove through Notting Hill.

  Whatever his association with Helmsley Terrace, it was clearly not a happy one and, had she known him better, Pippa would have asked him what had happened. As it was, she felt she could only speculate. Perhaps he had had a girl friend who'd jilted him there. Maybe it went back to his childhood and had been the scene of something traumatic. Whatever it was, it had obviously made a deep impression. Once again she had caught a glimpse of his latent sensitivity and vulnerability and it aroused her curiosity about him, for the more time she spent with him the less she felt she knew him.

  "Which number?" Fabian asked as he turned into Helmsley Terrace, a street lined with large white Victorian houses in various states of disrepair.

  "Forty-six. Halfway down—"

  "On the left." Fabian finished her sentence for her. He had a very good knowledge of the street, that was for sure. He drew up outside her house and switched the engine off, saying, "Allow me to see you to the door."

  In normal circumstances, Pippa would have invited him in for a drink, but there had been nothing normal about her encounter with Fabian Naughton from the very beginning. Instinctively, she felt she should risk being rude in order to keep him at bay. It occurred to her that Mark and Karen could act as an excuse once again. She looked at her watch and hoped he would take the hint. "Gosh! It's a quarter to eight! I must fly."

  "You sure you don't want me to give you a lift to your brother's?" Fabian asked.

  "It's very kind of you, but they're within walking distance." If you have extremely long legs. Pippa added silently, trying to justify her fib.

  Fabian escorted her to the front door and stood attentive
ly behind her as she unlocked and opened it, which she considered gallant beyond the call of duty.

  "Well, thank you for keeping me company on the journey back," he said with a smile.

  "No—thank you. You've been very kind indeed. I would have been in the most terrible trouble if you hadn't stopped. I really do appreciate it."

  "All part of the service," he said, and shrugged his shoulders modestly.

  Pippa was quite sure that he was aware that she had not invited him in, and there was a definite tension between them. He was standing on the doorstep expectantly and Pippa realised that she would have to take the bull by the horns.

  "Would you forgive my not asking you in? I'm late for Mark and Karen already."

  "I'd forgive you anything," said Fabian, moving swiftly towards her. "The question is, will you forgive me?" And before she could say anything, he'd slipped his arm around her back and was kissing her passionately on the lips.

  The sheer element of surprise and the force of his passion completely startled her. His skin was rough against hers but not in the least unpleasant. The subtle scent of his aftershave sent a tingle of delight rippling through her. His eyes gazed into hers almost hypnotically so that she couldn't tear herself away. And then it was over—as if it had never happened.

  He suddenly let go and, with a guilty look, he simply said, "Goodbye, Philippa!" And shutting the door behind him, he left, leaving her stunned.

  It took Pippa a couple of moments to collect herself. She wasn't even absolutely certain that it had happened. But could she have imagined it? Reassuringly, his presence was with her still—the scent of his aftershave, the taste of his sweet breath, the memory of his body against hers. But what astonished her more than anything was that the sensations had been so pleasant.

  Slightly dazed, though with a curious sense of well-being, Pippa climbed the stairs to her top-floor flat. The whole episode was running through her mind like a continuous film. When she walked into the flat, the first thing she did was to look out of the window and see if he had gone. Fabian Naughton had made his point, and she doubted that he would linger. But she was wrong. The car was there although, strangely, the driver was not.

  If life was like television commercials, she thought, he would suddenly return armed with a bouquet of red roses. She remained glued to the window for a couple of minutes until she caught sight of him. But he wasn't armed with flowers. His hands were in his pockets and there was no mistaking his mood of dejection. In fact, he didn't even look in the direction of her flat. He simply climbed into his car and, revving the car with unnecessary gusto, roared off down the road like the proverbial bat out of hell.

  Chapter Four

  The events of the day had left Pippa totally exhausted and she sank into a hot bath to relax, but her mind would not switch off. So much had happened that she felt emotionally shell-shocked. Even before the car had betrayed her, the day's events had been exhausting. Bidding at an auction required tremendous concentration and was not unlike running a race, she decided. When the lot was described, it was the equivalent of Starter's Orders, and every time the bidding commenced the adrenalin would course through her veins. Unlike a race, however, it wasn't always possible to see the competition because absent bidders often placed their bids before the auction started or phoned in from across the globe while the sale was in progress. If anything, a day's bidding was like running the hundred metres fifty times, blindfolded. Of course, it could be tremendously exciting and the strains of competing were more than rewarded by the satisfaction of winning. But Pippa had competed all day and lost consistently, which had made it all the more gruelling.

  Although today had been bad, Pippa was looking forward to tomorrow even less. Not only would she hear the worst about the car, which was bound to cost a small fortune to repair, she would also have to explain the fiasco of the auction to Hubert, who might or might not understand. Pippa knew that Fabian Naughton's revenge had been directed against Hubert through her, but nevertheless she felt that she had failed her employer. She was also unsure whether to tell Hubert how Fabian Naughton had come to her rescue. The last thing she wanted was to be accused of fraternising with the enemy but if she didn't tell Hubert she was sure he would find out from somebody else.

  No doubt Fabian Naughton would be regaling his cronies with the tale of his revenge, and it was more than likely that word would reach Hubert sooner or later. Knowing how people loved to distort the truth, Pippa knew she would be much better telling her side of the story before the gossips blew everything up out of all proportion.

  The more she thought about it, the more she realised that everything depended on Fabian Naughton. If he chose to kiss and tell, people would automatically assume things had gone very much further than they had. And that sort of false reputation she could well do without, because every antique dealer in the business would probably want to try his luck. Pippa shuddered at the prospect. The simple truth was that he had kissed her for about ten seconds! What was all the fuss about? And, as she considered the matter, she realised it wasn't the kiss that worried her; it was the fact that she had been kissed by the enemy and had actually rather enjoyed it.

  If she was absolutely honest with herself, there was no doubt in her mind at all that Fabian's kiss had been positively intoxicating. No one had ever made her feel that way. Even Glen, her boy friend at college, had never aroused such feelings within her. But then Glen had been as different from Fabian Naughton as was humanly possible. For a start he had been short, dark and handsome. He was also a complete nutter. They had met at the college drama club one soggy Monday evening in Marylebone where they had both gone to audition for a part in "Cinderella". She had realised there was something slightly unusual about him when he informed her that he was only interested in being one of the ugly sisters.

  "It'd be boring if I was Prince Charming all the time," he explained with a twinkle in his eye.

  His fairy Godmother made his wish come true and Pippa was given the part of the Wicked Stepmother. Over the next few weeks they spent a couple of evenings a week rehearsing and they ail had a really good time. After rehearsals, the whole group would go out to the college bar and the fun continued.

  "Of course, we could always have a laugh in between rehearsals," Glen suggested to Pippa one evening. "How about joining me in a lasagne tomorrow night? I'm sure we'd both fit in!"

  It seemed a reasonable suggestion and so began an amusing but apparently serious relationship. As she recalled, he kissed her for the first time the following Saturday and, though it had been pleasant, it was nothing like the electric experience she had encountered with Fabian Naughton. But then there were probably things Glen did more successfully than Fabian—like juggling, for Glen could master six oranges simultaneously. He even taught Pippa how to juggle with three, which he claimed was a necessary skill in case she ever needed to run away and join a circus. Although they hadn't made any promises to each other, there was no other man in Pippa's life and she was very hurt to discover, quite by accident, that Glen was also juggling two other girls—one at his home in Leeds and another in the English department. As Pippa had no intention of becoming part of a harem, she parted from Glen, clocking it up to experience.

  What exactly it was about Fabian Naughton that excited her she couldn't define. Whatever it was she liked, she knew there was very much more to dislike. And yet there was also something mysterious about him. He was much deeper than she expected and much more sensitive in his own peculiar way than she would ever have given him credit for. Things he said, things he hinted at, intrigued her. What was his connection with Helmsley Terrace, for example? What had upset him and caused him to roar down the road like a getaway driver?

  Of course, Pippa knew that it was none of her business, and she also knew that curiosity had killed the cat. But Fabian Naughton had become tantalising, like a fruit machine to an inveterate gambler, and for Pippa the stakes could be high. He could break her heart; he could ruin her career as well
as wrecking her relationship with Hubert. And, no doubt, when he'd wiped her out, his smile would flash on and off obliviously just like the lights on a one-armed bandit. One thing Pippa did know was that gamblers hardly ever won in the long-term. But "hardly ever" didn't mean "never". There was always a slim chance of success.

  Despite the fatigue of the day, Pippa couldn't fall asleep. Too many things were flitting through her mind, including what she was going to say to Hubert. She would tell him—and anyone else who wished to know—that Fabian Naughton had rescued her and that he had kissed her quite unexpectedly when he'd dropped her at her flat. She would simply state the fact. She needn't say that she had enjoyed herself. She could even make a joke of the whole thing and say it was like one of those commercials where men give women flowers for no apparent reason except that they like the scent of their deodorant. As for Fabian Naughton, she would find out as much as she could about him. It was clear from the auction that he was well-known in the trade, so a few discreet phone calls might help to put her in the picture. She could think of half a dozen people who would be able to fill her in on Fabian Naughton and so, with a plan of attack formulated in her mind, Pippa finally fell asleep.

  The confidence with which she had fallen asleep had largely vanished by the time she awoke the following morning. The speeches she had rehearsed in her mind for Hubert were completely jumbled and she realised she would have to play the whole thing by ear. There was also the problem of the car to sort out and, as she had her coffee, she wondered if it would actually be as easy to find out about Fabian Naughton as she expected. It occurred to her that if she started making enquiries about him somebody would surely let him know, and that could create quite the wrong impression. Perhaps it was best to let sleeping dogs—and antique dealers—lie.

  When she arrived at the showroom, Diana informed her that Hubert would be out all morning, which meant that the moment of truth would be delayed. ,