She had to keep telling herself that her father would live and she would work and it was going to be all right. 'What did you buy?' she asked. 'What is left?'
Saul said, 'I've a proposition you might consider,' and she stiffened. 'I like this house,' he said. 'I'd consider paying off the mortgage, and taking on the running expenses. I should want to choose my rooms, but I wouldn't be using them for more than a few weeks in the year. You and your family could go on living here and the house could stay the way it is.'
Only yesterday she had run from the house because he was in it, and now he was suggesting that he should buy it and they should become his lodgers or his guests, and she was so desperate that she was grateful. Her father could come back here, and she could deal with the problems before her calmly, with the biggest problem of all solved. She said huskily, 'That sounds wonderful. It's very kind of you. If my father can get well anywhere it would be here.'
'It isn't kindness,' he said, and she thought, No, it wouldn't be, so what would you want in payment?
He went back to the kitchen, a tall athletic man walking through what was soon to be his own property. So long as he doesn't consider I am, thought Charlotte. To keep her family under this roof she would pay almost any price, but all she. had to pay with was herself. A few days ago she could never have envisaged a situation like this, but now as she followed him she thought, I've no right to pride. When he tells me his price, if that's what he wants, I'll grit my teeth and pay.
She sat down at the kitchen table, pulled a cup of tea towards her and said, 'Well, I'm glad you like the house.'
'I always did,' he said. 'I came up here once in the old days. Your father bought some saddles from me and I brought them up. I always remembered the house.' He grinned, 'I was living in a van at the time,' and Charlotte wondered if he had resented and envied her father.
When the two men met again years later, and Saul Laurenson learned that Colin Dunscombe was facing ruin, the change in their fortunes might have gratified him. He could be getting a kick out of owning the business, and now the house. There wasn't much left around here that he didn't own, and she said, 'If you let us go on living here, how much—I mean, what would you ?'
She floundered, and he looked straight into her eyes and it was as though he took possession of her without touching. 'We'll discuss it later,' he said, and Charlotte stumbled to her feet, reaching for the teapot, pouring another cup and muttering about taking it up to Aunt Lucy.
Aunt Lucy woke sluggishly. She blinked at Charlotte, then remembered, and her face puckered as she struggled to sit up. 'He had a good night,' said Charlotte. 'I'm going to see him this morning.' She had just phoned the hospital again and they had told her his condition was satisfactory. She wouldn't really know until she saw him, but she was putting on a show of confidence for Aunt Lucy's sake.
Aunt Lucy looked older too this morning. Her round face seemed to have caved in, and there were shadows round her eyes as she looked reproachfully at Charlotte. 'You shouldn't have gone off like that. He was worried about you, what with the accident.' Charlotte's pallor, and the bruise still scarring her forehead, brought a gentler note to Aunt Lucy's voice. 'You should have been resting, not gadding about. He was asking for you in the ambulance.'
Charlotte said miserably, 'I went to say thank you for the roses.'
'Yes,' said Aunt Lucy, 'well, that can't be helped now, can it? But what we should have done if Mr Laurenson hadn't been there—' Words failed her. 'And at the hospital,' she said, 'when he started asking for you again, Mr Laurenson said he'd come back here and fetch you.'
She thought Charlotte was home by then, that she would have slipped in and gone up to her room, not realising the house was empty. She didn't know about the phone call. There was a great deal more she didn't know, and this was no time to tell her.
Charlotte said, 'Saul's staying on here,' and Aunt Lucy smiled for the first time and began to drink her tea.
I wonder if I could model, Charlotte thought as she dressed. She had always been told she could. When she had modelled Dunscombe jewellery the advertisements had been produced by an agency who had said they could get her other work,-but even if that was a genuine offer professional modelling was fiercely competitive. Even if she was lucky she would have to be mobile and available, and it might be months before she could leave her father, just like that.
So she would have to find work locally, and she had no doubt that she could because she was prepared to turn her hand to anything legal. She would have to ask around. She had friends who owned shops, hotels, garden centres, a riding school. Maybe Jeremy could suggest something; she had to tell him what was happening here.
She dialled his number on the hall phone and he answered at once. 'I was just going to ring you,' he said. 'Would you like me to come over? I don't like to think of you being on your own.'
She would have liked that, but she said, 'I'm going to the hospital at ten and then I don't know what I'll be doing. It seems my father's sold out.'
Jeremy was puzzled. 'You mean the shop, the works?'
'Yes.'
'But you didn't know anything about that, did you?'
'Nobody did.' She couldn't help sounding bitter. 'Except Saul Laurenson, and some lawyers, I suppose.'
Jeremy said, 'Well, obviously it was getting too much for him. This heart attack proves it was time he retired.'
'It wasn't by choice. We've gone broke, bust. Even the house is mortgaged.'
'You're joking!'
Charlotte shook her head as though he could see her, and heard the stairs creaking under Aunt Lucy's weight, and said, 'It's no joke and I need a job.'
'I can't believe it!' Jeremy sounded as if he was gasping for air, and Charlotte heard herself say, quite lightly, 'Well, that's the way of it. I have to go now, love,' and she rang off and waited for Aunt Lucy to reach the bottom of the stairs.
Aunt Lucy flung herself into the household chores, cooking breakfast although Charlotte protested that she couldn't possibly face bacon and eggs. 'Mr Laurenson will,' said Aunt Lucy. 'A man needs a proper meal to start the day. Your father likes his breakfast.' She placed four slices of bacon in the pan and Charlotte went out to the stables, before the aroma of frying could reach her and her queasy stomach, and saddled Kelly.
As she galloped she wondered if Kelly still belonged to her. If Saul had come up here selling saddles presumably he appreciated good horseflesh when he saw it. If he had been in the market for antique furniture her father might have put a price on Kelly too.
Well, that was one sale that wouldn't go through. She was keeping Kelly, if she had to ask Mary from the riding school to give him stabling. She went fast over the fields, her hair blowing across her face, into her eyes. Her eyes were stinging, tears filling them, and she let herself weep until she turned for home. Then there were no more tears and those she had wept dried on her cheeks.
Maudie and Tom had arrived by the time she got back. Neither had heard the ambulance in the night and they were both in the kitchen, groggy with shock. 'Who'd have thought it?' old Tom, biting on his empty pipe, was saying dolorously. 'Who'd have thought it? Nearly twenty years I could give him.'
Maudie was recalling an uncle of hers, who had looked the picture of health and dropped dead, and Aunt Lucy said sharply, 'He isn't dead, he's going to be all right.'
'Of course he is,' said Maudie. 'Mind you, he'll never be the same again.' Then they saw Charlotte and began to tell her about the wonders of modern medicine and that her father would be home in no time.
Saul went with her to the hospital. She would rather have gone alone, but his car was outside the door and hers was in the garage, and he said, 'Shall we go?' just as she was about to say she was off.
They did no talking on the way, but when Charlotte gave her name and the nurse at the desk said that the doctor would like a word with her she turned to Saul alarm. It had to be bad news, there had been nothing else. She might have asked if she could go in to see her fa
ther alone, but she was glad enough to have Saul with her when she went into the little office.
Behind a desk a bespectacled thin-faced man gave them a professional smile and indicated chairs and said, 'Now, Miss Dunscombe, you do understand that your father is a sick man.' Get on with it, thought Charlotte. Tell me what you have to tell me. 'But so far his progress has been steady,' the doctor went on, and she realised that she was still standing and clutching Saul's arm, so she let go and sat down.
'Dr Buckston says that you can provide facilities for home nursing,' said the doctor. 'That would mean a trained nurse in residence at first.'
Saul said, 'Yes.'
'When?' asked Charlotte.
'He'll be in here for at least a week, nearer ten days I should say, and that of course is presuming that progress is maintained.'
This wasn't bad news. Maybe the worst was over and she could start hoping. She listened intently to every word… no worries, no upsets, familiar surroundings…
'Yes,' she said, 'yes. May we see him?'
It was 'we' now. Saul Laurenson was going to help her get her father home, and he had said 'Yes' to the trained nurse, so she could set her father's mind at rest about the house.
It was a brief stay. To Charlotte he looked almost as ill as he had last night, but when he saw Saul was with her he smiled, and Charlotte said, 'Saul's told me about everything. He wants to take over the house. He wants—' she swallowed, 'he wants us all to live there.'
When she got outside she said, 'Perhaps I should have put that differently, about us all living together.'
Saul grinned. 'Wait until he gets stronger, then you can remind him that you're marrying your actor and you can tell him that I'm not a marrying man.'
She wondered how long it would be before her father was strong enough to hear these things, then she thought how pleased Aunt Lucy would be to know he was coming home, and she asked, 'Do you have a family? Parents?'
'No,' he said. 'Shall I take you back to the house?'
'Please. Are you coming back?'
'I'm going to Dunscombes, to put the staff in the picture.'
'Nobody's done that.' Nobody had or she would have known. It had all been hush-hush, and it was going to come as a shock to the men and women who worked there.
'Your father and I were going to explain the changes together,' said Saul.
'The takeover, you mean.'
'Yes.'
'Then you'd better take me along, hadn't you? The last of the Dunscombes.'
She was going to hate this, but her father was coming home, the worst hadn't happened, and now she could face anything. Also she wanted to hear what Saul had to say, what he proposed doing with the business she had thought was safe as the Bank of England but which had been running at a loss for years.
When they turned into Dunscombes' car park a little crowd surrounded them as Charlotte was recognised. The works and office staff had done ho work this morning. Since the news reached them that CD. had gone down with a heart attack in the night, and that Dunscombes could be closing, the employees had been making phone calls—to the house, to the hospital, to the firm's solicitors.
A solicitor was here now, confirming that a change in management was imminent but that he could make no further comment at the moment. He had an appointment to be here and he was waiting in the office.
It had all been anxious speculation, and as Charlotte got out of the car a dozen men, most of them in working overalls, and two girls, descended on her. All of them wanting to know how was her father, and what was happening?
She knew every one of them as well as she knew her own family. The youngest man was Benjy, who had come here from school six years ago and had always had a crush on her. He was a pattern maker and had worked with her on her designs. The oldest was Jan, Polish, thick-set, with big hands that cut and polished the precious stones with meticulous finesse. 'You could trust Jan with an emerald,' Charlotte's father had said. A soft stone, an easy stone to spoil, and for some reason that ran through her head now, while she wondered how she was going to tell them that perhaps they should not have trusted her father.
She said, 'He's very ill. I don't think he'll be working again for a long time. This is Mr Laurenson, he's—well, he's taking over.'
A hush fell. Charlotte hoped that Saul would do the explaining, and he said, 'If you'd come with me,' and led the way from the car park through the back entrance into the salon. They all trooped after him, and as he headed for Colin Dunscombe's office at the front of the shop he said to the senior salesman, 'As soon as you're through with these two ladies,' two women were wandering around, peering into the cases, 'perhaps you and your staff would put up the Closed sign and join us.'
The office was a good-sized room, lush with red flock wallpaper, red Wilton carpet and crystal chandelier. The desk, chairs and cabinets were in Sheraton style, and on the desk were two studio portraits, one of Charlotte, me other of her mother, although strangers always took them for sisters, perhaps twins, both wearing the same gold-filigree-and-aquamarine collar and earrings.
Two men were already in the room: Mr Haden, the firm's lawyer, soberly clad and grave enough for a funeral, and a younger, smarter-looking man. The younger man had been sitting in Colin Dunscombe's chair and he jumped up when Saul walked in. Saul waved him back again, and remained standing as the room filled with a subdued and apprehensive audience.
They were all looking anxiously at each other, at Saul, at Charlotte; and when the sales staff joined them even the murmuring stopped and you could have heard a pin drop.
Charlotte stood by the door, her back to the wall, and she thought, Saul's the only relaxed one here. Even the man who was sitting in her father's chair, because Saul had said that was all right, was turning a pen over and over between his- fingers. But Saul sat on the edge of the desk, as casually as though he was chatting with a friend, and when he spoke his voice was quiet and reassuring. But carrying. Nobody was going to miss a word, and Charlotte wondered if that came from addressing board and shareholders' meetings, or whether it went right back to when he had a stall on the market, and bit her lip because he was talking about last night and her father, and she had to stop her lips trembling.
'Colin Dunscombe was going to bring me along to introduce me to you all,' Saul was saying, 'but it will be some time before he's well enough, so I have to introduce myself.'
'Are you taking over the business?' That was Mr Pendleton, the senior salesman, who knew there was no hope of another job at his age if Dunscombes closed down.
When Saul said he was Mr Pendleton, at least, was glad to hear it.
'You're not from round here, are you?' asked the accounts clerk, and when Saul smiled at her she gave a delighted little giggle.
'I was,' he told her, 'until fifteen years ago. I used to have stalls on some of the markets, Stratford, Moreton, selling saddlery and tack.'
Several of them remembered him then and Charlotte thought, It's turning into a reunion. 'Fifteen years ago,' he said, 'I went to Australia. Six months ago I met Mr Dunscombe and he told me he was selling out.'
He hadn't told his staff. There was resentment about that, muttering, but Saul said, 'You must have known orders haven't been coming in, and there've been more how-muchers than buyers in the salon,' and then he had them nodding.
Either he knew the jewellery trade or he had done his homework. His talk was professionally knowledgeable, dealing with problems and prospects. He praised the work they did here. There would always be room for superb craftsmanship. Of course they were proud of their salon, with every good reason, and there was no reason why it shouldn't continue as a showplace.
But he proposed bringing the manufacturing side up to date, so that production was increased, sometimes using semi-precious or man-made stones instead of gems, making prices competitive for a much wider market. He had interests in stores and shops where the goods could go on display in half a dozen countries.
Charlotte watched, feeling like
an outsider. He was more than impressive, he had the charisma and confidence of a man who had never failed. He was selling himself to his staff, who had no choice about accepting him because whether they liked it or not he was the boss now, but he would have them eating out of his hand before long. She could understand how reassuring it must be to have someone like Saul Laurenson telling you you were on to a winner, after you had spent most of the morning facing the prospect of unemployment.
She doubted if her father had generated much enthusiasm in his staff lately, and he had never been a Saul Laurenson. Saul was the new breed, the hard men who were the natural inheritors. He was telling them that anyone who wanted to leave the firm would get generous redundancy payments, and she was sure that even Jan— who was past the national retirement age although his hands were still rock-steady—would stay on. Saul didn't actually say, 'Are you with me?' but if he had she would have expected them all to chorus, 'Yes!'
Her voice might have been the only 'No,' and she had less choice than any of them.
The man sitting in her father's chair was Roger Fairley. Saul introduced him as, 'My manager,' which meant he was going to be their manager, and asked if there were any questions, any problems.
You must be joking, thought Charlotte. Have I got problems? Would it be in order for me to ask, 'Is Mr Laurenson expecting me to sleep with him in payment for keeping the old home going?' Her muscles locked and again came that feeling of being trapped and she had to get out of here.
As she slipped through the door from the office into the salon only Saul saw her go. Everyone else was either looking at him, or at Roger Fairley who, in answer to a question, had opened a portfolio and was telling them about Saul's successful business ventures.
If she went across to the theatre she might catch Jeremy, and as she came out of the car park into the road she almost collided with one of his colleagues, an actress about the same age as herself, called Lesley Coltan. She had straight smooth-falling bright red hair, and a complexion so pale that she looked sickly. Jeremy used to make fun of her because more than once she had fluffed her lines, and she almost stammered now, 'I say, I'm so sorry, I mean about your father. Jeremy told me. Isn't it awful? How is he?'
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