Old Desires

by Liz Fielding

  If she phoned and cancelled their dinner arrangement he would simply come around and find out what was wrong. Even if she could put him off for this evening, there was no guarantee that he wouldn’t come after her.

  She would have to convince him, face to face, that she had changed her mind. It wouldn’t be easy. It would be the hardest thing she had ever done. But it was the only way. She would die rather than tell him the truth, not after this morning, when she had encouraged him so wantonly that her body now burned for shame. He must never know that he was her half-brother.

  *

  He arrived at seven, prompt to the minute, and when, white-faced under the extra blusher she had applied to give herself some colour, Holly opened the door, he stood for a moment and just looked at her.

  She had forced herself to dress up, put on the soft black chiffon dress that she loved. She wanted him to see her at her best. And she had made herself up for him. When she had finished, he might hate her, but this way he would never suspect her misery.

  He was holding a single red rose and after a moment he offered it to her. She took it, her fingers trembling so much that the leaves quivered like aspen.

  He put down a bottle of champagne on the hall table and held her hands between his. ‘Am I causing that?’ he asked.

  ‘You?’ Her voice came out as a squeak. ‘Good gracious, no. I think I’m getting a cold.’ And she shivered convulsively in apparent confirmation.

  His forehead creased in the slightest frown. ‘Did you get so cold last night?’

  ‘I …I suppose I must have.’ He had dressed for the occasion, gloriously formal in a dinner-jacket, the black broadcloth moulded to his shoulders in perfection, the white shirt-front plain, as she would have expected.

  ‘Well, champagne is the perfect cure. Shall we open it now?’ He led the way to the dining-room and bent to extract two glasses from the cupboard.

  ‘How wonderful!’ She swallowed hard, then put on the brightest smile she could, before he straightened and saw the betraying misery in her eyes. ‘I’ve had some wonderful news, so a celebration is quite in order.’

  ‘Oh?’ He discarded the foil and glanced up at her, catching the oddness in her manner. ‘And what is that? Sold a painting?’ The pulse in her temple was hammering quite dreadfully and she put up her fingers to try to steady it.

  ‘I’ll tell you over dinner. Are you going to open that champagne before it gets warm?’ He twisted the bottle sharply and the cork erupted from the neck of the bottle. The wine spilled over into the glasses and he handed one to her.

  She was not making a good job of this. She would have to try much harder. ‘Dinner is almost ready,’ she said quickly, putting the wine down untasted. I’d better check the kitchen.’

  ‘Holly.’ His voice stopped her. ‘If you’ve had second thoughts, I’d rather you just said so now. Things got a bit out of hand this morning, but there’s no rush.’ Seeing the stricken look on her face, he swore softly and then pulled her into his arms. She stiffened instantly, remained rigid as he placed a kiss on her forehead.

  He let her go and stepped back, leaving a clear foot between them. But he wasn’t angry. In fact his face was so full of sympathy that for a moment she thought he understood, had worked it out for himself. But he didn’t, hadn’t.

  Instead he reached into his pocket and took out a small velvet box that lay between them in the palm of his hand.

  ‘What is it?’

  He flipped it open to reveal a solitaire diamond that caught the light and sparked with fire. ‘It occurred to me that after what happened to Mary I should make my own commitment one hundred percent clear.’ He took the diamond from its velvet nest and took her left hand. ‘I thought perhaps we should get this over with first,’ he said, ‘because I’ve always thought it to be the height of bad taste to ask a girl to marry you when you’re in bed with her.’ The room seemed to shift and she thought she might faint. Her mouth opened to stop him, but her throat wouldn’t work. ‘Will you marry me, Holly Carpenter?’

  It was so much worse than anything she could have imagined when she was rehearsing what she would say all the long afternoon. The silence stretched out between them, the circle of the ring an inch from the tip of her finger. Then he tossed it up, caught it, dropped it back in his pocket and said, ‘You don’t have to answer straight away. But I thought you should know what my intentions are.’

  Now. She must do it now. ‘I can’t marry you, Joshua.’ She saw the brief shaft of pain cross his eyes and moved to touch his arm, without realising what she was doing.

  ‘Brutal, but honest,’ he said, withdrawing his arm from her touch.

  Honest! Oh Joshua, her heart wept. I don’t want to hurt you; I love you, can’t you see that?

  ‘I’m sorry. You are the only man in the world I would ever consider…’ This wasn’t right. She had to be brutal, although hardly honest. ‘But I can’t. I’m not going to marry anyone. Just like my mother.’ She tried a small laugh, as if this were somehow amusing. It stayed on her lips, quite unable to cover the distance to her eyes.

  Joshua did not, apparently, find it funny. His eyes narrowed as he took in the hectic flush of her cheeks, her determined gaiety. ‘Will you at least tell me why?’ he asked.

  ‘I told you I had some good news. Wonderful news.’ He flinched, but she had to convince him. If he thought she was so stupidly heartless, he would be able to forget her all the more easily. ‘Do you remember,’ she began, ‘when I told you I had visited a sculptor in Florence? That I was thinking of trying something new?’

  ‘I remember.’ His voice fell stony hard into her heart, but she had to continue. Had to destroy every vestige of feeling he might have for her.

  ‘Well, I had a phone call from him today. This afternoon. He wants me to go to Italy for a year and study with him.’ Joshua said nothing. ‘It’s the most amazing opportunity. I can hardly believe my luck.’

  Dark brows drew together in a frown. ‘He phoned you?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, chattering foolishly. ‘That’s why I’m so glad you’re here, because, you see, I’ve changed my mind about Highfield. I’m going to sell it after all.’ Did her voice shake a little? She forced the words out. ‘It needs a family, don’t you think? It’s far too big for me and who knows when I’ll come back to England? If ever.’ His face remained impassive. ‘But not the land,’ she said quickly. ‘I want to give the land to the Foundation. Can you handle all that for me?’

  ‘You’re really going?’ He was finding it hard to believe and she couldn’t blame him.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, with forced brightness. ‘I know you’ll understand. I would be an absolute fool to miss this opportunity. You have to seize the moment and I’ll never get a chance like this again.’ She tried to ignore the puzzled expression in his eyes.

  ‘I’m beginning to understand,’ he said, his voice sleety now, and she began to relax. If he despised her, so much the better. ‘And when did this — sculptor call?’

  ‘This afternoon,’ she said quickly. ‘About four o’clock.’

  ‘I see. Then we must celebrate your good fortune.’ He handed her the discarded glass of champagne and watched as she gulped at the wine, her throat parched, aching with the strain of lying and tears that she could not shed until he had gone. ‘Tell me, Holly,’ he said, topping it up. ‘This Italian, how did he know where to get in touch with you?’

  Lies were hateful things. They always caught you out, especially with someone as clever as Joshua. ‘David told him,’ she said.

  ‘David?’ She expected him to be upset, but now his jaw tightened and the pulse at his temple was hammering angrily. ‘I see. You must have given him David’s number?’

  ‘At his office,’ she said, quickly, desperate to get this over with.

  ‘And good old David gave him your number. Well, my dear Holly, to fortune.’ He drained his glass and set it down rather hard on the sideboard. He glanced at the table, laid for two with fine china an
d cutlery, a bowl of flowers filling the room with the heart breaking scent of early roses. ‘You will excuse me if I don’t, after all, stay for dinner? I’m going to get drunk now and I prefer to fall into my own bed.’ His eyes held hers for a moment. ‘Yours, I take it, is no longer on offer?’

  He didn’t wait for her reply.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THERE was a sickening spin of wheels on the gravel and then the sound of Joshua’s Rolls rocketing down the drive. For a moment Holly stood as motionless as the little stone statue of Aphrodite in the garden. Then she just made it to the bathroom before she was violently sick.

  After a while she made herself move. She had to clear away the dinner spoiling in the oven. Nothing must remain to provoke any suspicion that she had left the house in distress because Mrs Austin would certainly report anything odd to Joshua, whether he wanted to hear it or not.

  Through a film of tears, her hands shaking, she managed to scrape out the pots and put them in the dishwasher.

  She worked, cleaned the surfaces, scrubbed the sink. It became the most important thing in the world and as long as she concentrated on that she didn’t have to think. When the kitchen looked as if it was an illustration from some glossy magazine she at last allowed herself to stop. She was breathing too fast, but she still hadn’t finished.

  There was the dining-room to be tidied, the silver to be put away. It was all so clear in her mind what she had to do. But the crystal flutes that had held the champagne stood together on the table and almost undid her.

  She reached out and picked up the rose he had brought her and touched it to her lips. She couldn’t understand why Mary had pressed the violets, how she could have borne to see them, to touch them. She didn’t need a keepsake. She would never forget Joshua, would never forget the warmth of his arms about her, his mouth on hers, it would be a torment for the rest of her life and she dropped the rose in the bin with the champagne bottle and the discarded dinner and let the lid fall back. With that, a kind of grim darkness settled on her.

  Only one thing remained to do and that was to leave a note for Mrs Austin, telling her to take the food left in the freezer and the cupboards, and then all the loose ends were tidied away. A few people might raise an eyebrow at her sudden change of plans, but no one would think about it for long.

  She took the few belongings she had brought with her, climbed into the sleek black Lotus and drove away into the night.

  Just beyond Salisbury she stopped. She couldn’t drive any further because for some reason she couldn’t see properly. It was a while before she realised it was because she was crying. She sat in the car for a long time, too weak with exhaustion to move, to do anything. Eventually the sun rose and a refreshment stall occupying the same lay-by came to life.

  She was still wearing the black chiffon dress, streaked with the evidence of her frantic cleaning. It attracted a few stares from lorry drivers stopping for bacon sandwiches and tea, but she didn’t care. She sipped a cup of scalding coffee and then got back in her car and drove home. Her real home, where she had always lived. Where she had lived with her own true mother and father who had loved her and cared for her and never done anything to hurt her. And David took one look at her and for once in his life chose discretion.

  *

  Life resumed. She couldn’t work. Every time she sat before a piece of paper the features of Joshua Kent, his face an expressionless mask, imposed themselves before her. Instead she expended a surfeit of nervous energy in an orgy of redecoration, her bedroom first, then David’s.

  She organised the replacement of the guttering and other long outstanding repairs. Even put some insulation into the loft.

  Marcus wrote to her. Joshua had gone away, he said, and left him to handle all the details of Highfield. The house, with the garden and studio, had sold immediately and he forwarded the contract for her signature. There was no name shown for the purchaser and, suddenly anxious, she telephoned him from the payphone in the post office.

  ‘Marcus, I have to trust you. But I want Highfield to be used as a proper family home.’ He reassured her. ‘I don’t have the full details of names, but I didn’t want any further delay. Joshua told me that you were going to Italy almost immediately and I wanted it all cleared up before you left.’

  The land was being transferred to the Foundation and he asked her if she had time to come to a special ceremony to hand it over, but she declined. ‘I’ll be gone in a few days,’ she lied and he didn’t make any further effort to persuade her. She signed the contract and sent it back. It was the second hardest thing she had ever done in her life.

  A few days later she had an invitation to the summer exhibition at her college. Her head of department had scrawled a note on the back: ‘Everyone is dying to show off their triumphs to you, so please come. Love, Harvey.’ She was welcomed enthusiastically by her former students and admired unreservedly everything they had done.

  One or two of the older women remarked that she had lost some weight and asked if she was looking after herself.

  Before she had to think of a suitable answer Harvey spotted her and dragged her off to his office.

  ‘I hoped you’d come tonight, it saves me a journey. I’ve got a job for you.’

  ‘I don’t think I want to come back at the moment,’ she said, suddenly panicking at the thought.

  He looked at her a little oddly. ‘No, it isn’t teaching. I’d have you like a shot, you know that, but things are still pretty tight. But I’ve been asked by a friend if I know anyone who could do a caricature. A really good one. Some High Court judge is retiring and his staff want to give it to him as a present.’

  ‘Rather an odd present,’ she said candidly.

  He seemed a little disconcerted by this remark. ‘I don’t know. More original than a clock. Naturally you immediately came to mind and I showed him some of your stuff and he asked me if I’d talk to you. Will you do it?’

  It seemed very important to him, but she shook her head. ‘I can’t, Harvey. I don’t do them any more. You’ll have to find someone else.’

  ‘They’re a bit short of time.’

  She felt as if she was being pushed into doing something she had no appetite for and resisted. ‘But I don’t know the man. You can’t do a good caricature unless you know someone.’ He leapt at this with relief. ‘No problem. I explained that, but apparently the old boy is giving a dinner party for his staff at his country home this Saturday and you could go along as a guest of one of the clerks. Stay for the weekend. What do you say?’

  ‘I’m sorry. ‘

  ‘Well, if you change your mind, let me know before the weekend.’

  When she got home David was waiting for her. He had walked around her on tiptoe since her return, taking care over every word, never daring to query her sudden reappearance, but clearly he had something on his mind. First he rushed off to make her a drink, then hovered with the offer of a sandwich. ‘No thanks. Why don’t you just tell me what you want, then we can both relax.’

  He grinned awkwardly, relieved that she would at least listen. ‘I’ve a favour to ask.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘there’s a surprise.’

  He swallowed and pressed on. ‘I’ve met this girl.’

  ‘Yes?’ She guessed what was coming, but had no desire to make it easy for him.

  ‘I thought she might spend the weekend here.’

  ‘What you do in your room, David, is your own affair. You know that.’

  ‘I was rather hoping … first time and all that.’ She was amused to see that he could actually blush. The feeling was so unexpected that she actually smiled.

  ‘You think a landlady on the premises might have a somewhat inhibiting effect? Hasn’t she got a place of her own?’

  ‘She shares with a couple of other girls.’ He scented victory. ‘Come on, Holly, be a sport.’

  She sighed. ‘When is this scene of depravity to take place?’

  ‘I’ve asked her over for Saturday.�
��

  ‘Then your problems are at an end. I have an invitation that, for pity’s sake, I must accept, but I think it’s time you considered finding yourself a bachelor apartment.’

  *

  She insisted on taking her own car and followed her ‘date’ down into the Surrey countryside early on Saturday afternoon. James was a pleasant young man, quite good-looking in a softer, gentler mould than Joshua. He introduced her formally to their host.

  ‘Sir, may I present Miss Holly Carpenter? Holly, the Hon Mr Justice Hedley.’ The judge took her hand and held it for a moment. Despite a lean and vigorous figure, his soft brown hair scarcely dusted with grey, his fingers shook slightly and she wondered if perhaps he was retiring because of bad health.

  ‘Miss Carpenter,’ he said at last. ‘Welcome to my home. May I call you Holly?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Thank you. Come and have some tea and tell me about yourself.’ She had expected the drawing-room to be full of people arriving for the evening, but they were on their own.

  Even her escort had disappeared.

  ‘I understand that you are an artist of some talent, Holly.’

  She hadn’t expected him to know anything about her; in fact, she was a little surprised that he was paying her any attention at all. ‘An artist,’ she affirmed. ‘The question of talent is for others to pronounce upon. Shall I pour the tea?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. No sugar for me.’ She handed him a cup and poured some for herself and then sat opposite him, taking this opportunity to study the deep character lines of his face. There was a strength forged of some inner pain. A true likeness would not be a comfortable thing to live with, she decided.

  ‘We seem to be a little early, sir. When do the rest of your guests arrive?’

  ‘I’m afraid there are no other guests, my dear. You have been brought here under false pretences and I understand only after a great deal of manoeuvring by your friends.’

  The cup paused halfway to her mouth and she replaced it very carefully on the saucer and set it on the table.