Diamond Cut Diamond

by Jane Donnelly

  Jeremy gasped, 'Your father wouldn't send him to fetch , you, would he?'

  'No,' she said. But he had.

  'Well, he has,' said Jeremy. 'I'll have to let him in, he'll be waking half the street, he's probably woken the Soskins already.'

  For a moment Charlotte was paralysed, then furious, because this was intolerable. She got out of bed, standing still fighting nausea, then looking around for her dress. Saul came into the living room ahead of Jeremy, he must have walked past him in the hall or on the stairs. He seemed to tower over Jeremy, although in fact they were about the same height. Jeremy was blustering, 'What the hell is this?' but Saul took no notice of him. He looked at Charlotte, standing just inside the doorway of the bedroom, and said, 'Get dressed.'

  'You can't come barging in here!' Jeremy's voice was shrill.

  Charlotte pulled her dress over her head and came into the living room where her shoes lay beside the sofa, and all the time she was growing colder, icily sober, filled with the conviction that something was terribly wrong. Jeremy was still talking, she wasn't listening to Jeremy. She slipped into her shoes and faced Saul and asked, 'What's happened?'

  'Your father's had a heart attack.'

  'I don't believe you.' That was a stupid thing to say. Nobody would tell you a thing like that unless it was true. She turned blindly to pick up her handbag and Jeremy said, 'I'll take you,' but she shook her head. 'No, you mustn't come.'

  He kissed her cold cheek and she felt Saul grip her arm, pulling her away. 'Ring me,' said Jeremy, and she nodded and thought, Why? you can't help.

  She stumbled on the stairs. She might have fallen, but Saul held her still, opening the car door and letting her slump into the passenger seat. It was like hitting the windscreen had been, a numbing, paralysing blow. As he got into his seat, behind the wheel, she whispered, 'Is it true?' and he looked at her, without any expression at all, -but his voice was brutal.

  'There's no other reason why I should be getting you out of your lover's bed in the middle of the night.'

  She wasn't sleeping with Jeremy, but it didn't matter. .She swallowed, tried to speak and couldn't, and tried again, 'How—bad?'

  'Bad enough.'

  This seemed like a ghost town, with not a soul in sight, everything cold and lonely. She couldn't look at Saul, and each word came separately, each needing an effort. 'Is—he—dead?'

  'If he were,' said Saul, 'there'd be no point in my fetching you.'

  That was something. He was alive, and while there was life… She whispered, 'Please get me to him.' Then she sat huddled, shivering, and after a few moments she managed to ask, 'When did it happen?'

  'Just after your phone call. When you told him you weren't coming back home, that you were marrying your actor.'

  She had known that would shock her father, but she had never realised that a shock might do him physical harm and she protested wildly, 'But he's never ill. He plays golf, squash.'

  'I doubt if he's played much squash lately,' said Saul. 'Didn't you know that either, that his heart was weak?'

  She knew that Dr Buckston was always urging him to take things easier, but she thought he gave that advice to all his middle-aged patients in these harassing times. She asked, 'How long have you known?'

  'Since we met in Antwerp.'

  'He told you.' She could feel tears burning behind her eyes, but she would do no weeping in front of this man and her voice was rough with unshed tears. 'He told you about the business, he told you he had heart trouble. Maybe that was why he didn't need to tell me anything, because he'd found someone else to confide in.' What had happened tonight was her fault, because she hadn't known. 'Somebody should have told me,' she wanted to scream, but it sounded like a whimper.

  Saul said, 'You should have known.'

  'How?' In the last few days she had realised that her father was looking older, but until then she was sure there had been no signs.

  'By thinking of somebody else for a change besides yourself,' he said savagely. 'The man's been in hell. God, you make me sick!'

  Charlotte didn't care what he said to her. A man who would talk this way to a girl whose father might be dying had no pity, and she looked at the hard lines of his profile and hated him. She wouldn't have run to Jeremy tonight if this intruder hadn't been in her home. She wouldn't have said she was marrying Jeremy if her father hadn't thought Saul might want to marry her. She thought, if my father dies I'll never have to look at you again; then she turned away and said no more, and prayed and prayed.

  She should have realised her father would be in hospital, where the best care and treatment could be provided, but she had expected to be taken home. It wasn't the hospital Saul had brought her to after the accident. She had never been inside a hospital in her life till then, and now it was twice within hours. Her father was in there, and she had helped to put him there, and if she was given the chance she would take care of him.

  She opened her door, as they drew up in the car park, running ahead of Saul into the hospital. Aunt Lucy sat in the foyer, Dr Buckston beside her. Her eyelids were swollen with tears and Charlotte took hold of her hands, gripping them tightly, before she turned to the doctor. He said the blessed words, 'He should pull through this time,' and that was a prayer answered. 'But he's a sick man.'

  The tears on Aunt Lucy's face were relief and grief. She was clinging to Charlotte, and Charlotte felt her childhood slipping away and knew that she had to be the comforter. 'We can nurse him, can't we?' she said. 'We still have him. We'll make him follow doctor's orders.' She forced herself to sound calm and steady, her eyes meeting the doctor's. 'Why didn't you tell me he had a weak heart?'

  'I didn't know,' Aunt Lucy wept.

  'Nobody knew,' said the doctor. 'He didn't want you worrying, Charlotte. I think he's always been over-protective about you because you look like your mother and she was delicate. He always had to take care of her, and even then he lost her.'

  Charlotte said, 'I'm not delicate. Can I see him?'

  'He's been asking for you. Just look in on him and reassure him and then we'd better take this lady home.' He patted Aunt Lucy's hand, and she sat huddled in her seat, a handkerchief to her eyes, while he led the way down a corridor. Saul was walking with them and Charlotte said sharply, 'Why are you coming?'

  'It's all right,' said the doctor. 'Your father wants to see Mr Laurenson as well.'

  Her father's bed was near the door; there were other beds. Little round discs were attached to his chest and wired to a machine beside a small screen, and Charlotte wanted to fling her arms around him, to give him her youth and her strength. She hated herself for having hurt him in any way, and when he saw her and smiled faintly she smiled back although the unshed tears were blinding her.

  'It'll be all right,' he whispered.

  'I know,' she said. 'You'll be home soon. Oh, you frightened us!'

  'Sorry about that.' His gaze moved to Saul, standing just behind her. 'I can't remember much about it, but I'm glad you weren't alone, I'm glad Saul was with you.'

  He thought they had been at home together when he was struck down, so he didn't recall the phone call, and that was to the good. She stooped and kissed his cheek and said. 'You must sleep now.'

  'And you must all go home. You'll take care of her, won't you?' Again his eyes met Saul's, and he said, 'Of course.'

  'Stay with them,' said Colin Dunscombe weakly. 'They'll need a man about the house.'

  As soon as she got home Charlotte put Aunt Lucy to bed, dosing her with the tranquillisers that Dr Buckston had provided. She protested that she had never taken a sleeping pill in her life, but Charlotte said, 'Tonight we do. Get yours down now.'

  Aunt Lucy swallowed her two pills with the half glass of milk that Charlotte was holding out to her, then Charlotte took her upstairs, seeing her into her bedroom and kissing her goodnight.

  Saul had brought them home. He was still downstairs in the kitchen, and he was probably going to sleep in the guestroom, because she c
ould hardly suggest he went back to his hotel at this hour.

  She picked up the tiny packet of pills from the kitchen table and put them on the dresser shelf, and he asked, 'Aren't you taking yours?'

  'No.' Waking or sleeping she needed to keep her wits about her. He had boiled a kettle and was stirring a cup of instant coffee. 'Coffee?' he asked.

  'No, thank you.' She hoped she would sleep, but she knew she wouldn't if she drank any coffee. Saul was making himself at home, the man about the house. She said, 'Please don't consider yourself bound by that ridiculous promise to my father about taking care of me. I can look after myself.'

  'I'm sure,' he said, and went on stirring the black coffee, asking conversationally, 'By the way, what's wrong with the man you're marrying?'

  She said coldly, 'Absolutely nothing.'

  'Well, the news hit your father hard.' He didn't need to remind her of that, and her resentment against him rose dangerously, making her reckless, so that when he asked, 'Why did you break it to him like that?' she said, 'To show him that I've made my own choice. He seemed to think I might be in the running with you.'

  He echoed, 'In the running?'

  'As you've decided it's time you settled down. As you're wife-hunting. My father, you see, has this funny idea that I'm irresistible.' She wanted him to sneer at that so that she could hit back. She wanted a chance to tell him her opinion of him, but he said shortly, 'That isn't his only mistake. The last thing I want is a wife.'

  'Oh!' She turned scarlet. Saul must have said something. Perhaps it was to do with buying a house round here, a home, and her father, desperate to find her a protector, had decided a wife went with a home.

  'I shouldn't mention Jeremy Wylde to him again for a while if I were you,' said Saul, and Charlotte knew that she must not. Part of the nursing and care for her father would be to keep him quiet and content, and his mind would only be easy if he believed that she and Saul Laurenson were growing closer.

  She looked at Saul with a mixture of appeal and horror, and he shrugged as though he read her mind, and said, 'If it will keep him happy over the next few weeks I'll pretend we're getting on like a house on fire.'

  His smile was sardonic because he knew that nothing was less likely. 'But if you'd prefer a running battle,' he added, 'that's all right by me.'

  'No. No, he wants us to be—friends.' He wanted them to be married lovers, and she shivered, and Saul drank several gulps of coffee, then put down the cup and asked, 'May I use the room I had on Monday?'

  'Yes.'

  He passed her, going to the door, and stood looking down at her, and she tried to stare back at him without flinching, willing him to go, to just get out. Saul smiled again, a slow smile. 'Not to worry,' he said, 'I don't think you're irresistible any more than I think you need looking after. I think that the only soft thing about you is your skin.'

  He ran a fingertip down her cheek and Charlotte turned to stone, cold to the bone. But after he had closed the door behind him her cheek began to burn, and she rubbed hard but she couldn't rub away the memory of his touch. Not even when her cheek was pressed against the pillow and she was trying to sleep.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Aunt Lucy was still sleeping soundly when Charlotte looked into her bedroom just after seven o'clock next morning. The drug was still working, and she needed all the rest she could get, so Charlotte closed the door softly and crept away. She herself had hardly slept at all, and her one thought now was to phone the hospital for the latest bulletin on her father.

  If the phone had rung in the night she thought her own heart would have stopped before she could answer it, but there had been no calls, so her father was still holding his own, and she went downstairs to the hall phone. She was carrying Georgy and when she put him down he trotted off towards the kitchen and the barking retrievers. By this time, on an ordinary day, Aunt Lucy would have been bustling around in the kitchen. The house was strangely still this morning.

  As Charlotte picked up the phone Saul said, 'I have rung. He had a fairly good night.' That could mean anything, and she would ring herself in a few minutes and see if she could get more information. Saul was shaved and dressed, she was still in her dressing gown herself, and she said, 'You get up early.'

  'I don't need much sleep.' He had come out of her father's office, but she didn't care about that, all she wanted to know was, 'Is he going to live?'

  'I'm no doctor.'

  'No, of course you're not, how would you know? I just want somebody to tell me he is.' She had to keep her self-control, there were things to be done, so she asked, 'Would you mind if we talked business?'

  That must sound cold-blooded, but unless she started thinking about something else she could go to pieces. 'Not at all,' he said, and she went ahead of him into the kitchen, filled the kettle and lit the gas, hardly conscious of what her hands were doing, any more than she was of the dogs leaping around her.

  'I would like you to explain,' she said in a high light voice, 'how the firm managed to get to the edge of bankruptcy when everything looks all right?'

  Saul had seated himself at the table. It was quite a domestic scene, he ready to leave for the office, she still in her dressing gown, as though they had shared the same bed and would now be sitting down together to breakfast. It was all unreal. Charlotte thought wildly, perhaps it is a nightmare and if I put my hand in that flame my skin won't burn.

  Behind her he said, 'The business has been losing money for years and your father had to cut into capital. Then, when the capital had gone, and he learned that he had a heart condition, he began speculating, shares and horses. He wanted to provide for you, to leave you comfortably off.' He didn't think she was worth such a sacrifice, and neither did she, and if she had known what was happening she would have stopped it.

  She didn't look at Saul. She stood with her back to the table, waiting for the kettle to boil, arms folded and fingers gripping. 'He wasn't lucky?' she said.

  'You could say that. Not in his investments nor his daughter.'

  'So you bought us out? And as we were on the rocks I'm sure you got us cheap. Do we have any money?'

  'I doubt it. There were debts to be met.'

  'Well, well.' So they were broke, but it hardly seemed to matter. The kettle screamed and she went through the motions of making tea, slowly, as though this was a demonstration, and behind her Saul said, 'Do you understand what I'm telling you?'

  She fetched milk from the fridge, and poured it into two of the three cups that Aunt Lucy had put here last night when she laid the table for breakfast. That would be before Charlotte's father collapsed. 'Oh God,' prayed Charlotte, 'let my father come home.'

  She said, 'Sure I understand, but hearing we're poor seems much less important than whether my father will come home again. I suppose—' the thought struck her as she was pouring the tea and suddenly her hand was unsteady, 'I suppose we do have a home? I mean, was this part of his capital?'

  'The house and grounds are mortgaged to the hilt,' said Saul.

  Charlotte put down the teapot quickly. A great weight seemed to have descended on her. She knew now how her father had felt, standing at her bedroom window last night, shoulders and head bowed. She asked, 'To you?'

  'No.'

  'That means we'll have to get out, because we can't meet big mortgage repayments. We probably couldn't manage the upkeep anyway—rates, electricity.' Her hair felt heavy as a helmet and she pushed it back from her forehead and winced. She had thought she was lucky not going through the windscreen, and she was, but more bad luck was waiting for her than she would have believed possible. If they had no home, no money, where was she going to take her father?

  She said, 'The furniture?' She looked through the door leading into the hall and the other rooms. 'Does that still belong to us? Nothing's gone. You can't take out a mort-gage on furniture, can you?'

  'No,' he said, 'but—'

  'But someone could buy it and not have taken it away yet?'

  'Yes.'r />
  'You?' He nodded. 'How was that done?'

  'A valuer, an agreed price.'

  Her father had been selling everything for her sake. Gambling to make her future secure and losing everything. He had been such a fool, and all because he loved her. She said shakily, 'I suppose the final gamble was me, that I'd find myself a rich husband. No wonder he couldn't have me falling in love with a hard-up actor!' She threw back her head and almost laughed, and wondered if she was going out of her mind. 'If he'd told me sooner that I should be fortune-hunting I might have managed it, you know, because I'm a good-looker. Not much else. The packaging's good, but you were right about the I.Q. and you were right that I should have known that he was ailing and so was the business. Only I didn't. And now we've got nothing, or next to nothing. You haven't bought the lot, have you? There must be a few pieces left. Would you care to walk round with me and tell me what belongs to you so, that——'

  The phone began to ring, silencing her as though a hand had been clapped over her mouth. When she found her voice again there was no hysteria in it. It was almost a whisper, 'Please, would you answer that?'

  She followed Saul into the hall. He gave the number and then held out the phone to her and said, 'Jeremy Wylde.'

  'Oh, darling!' She almost fell on it. 'Oh, I thought you were the hospital. He's ill, he's very ill, but they said he had a fairly good night.' Jeremy said how sorry he was, and was there anything he could do, and she wanted to tell him about Dunscombes and the house and that she didn't know which way to turn, but Saul Laurenson was listening, so she said, 'I'll ring you later.'

  'I love you,' said Jeremy.

  'Oh, I love you,' she told him, 'and I'll ring you back.' She put down the phone and looked at Saul and said, 'I'm sorry I started ranting just now. I do realise it's going to be tough, but I'll cope somehow so long as he's going to be all right.' She began to plan. 'I must find out exactly what the overheads are and then I'll get organised. We could do bed-and-breakfast, perhaps evening meals too, Aunt Lucy and I. She's a superb cook and I'm a good one. I'll spread out what's left of the furniture and go round the auctions.'