'I wonder by my troth what thou and I did till we loved—' she read, and although she knew the lines by heart tonight their meaning seemed fresh and new. She thought, loving someone could become the meaning of your life, the reason for being so that everything else that happened to you was a spin-off.
'What's the book?' Saul asked, and she frowned.
'Poetry.'
'No need to sound so defensive.' She bet he thought poetry was a waste of time, she bet he didn't spend much time reading it, and she nodded towards his paper.
'How are the stocks and shares?'
'Doing nicely, thank you.'
'But of course. Do you believe in the law of averages?' He waited, one eyebrow raised, and she went on, 'Because going by that you're going to start losing before long. Nobody wins for ever. Doesn't that frighten you?'
'You know,' he said gravely, 'it keeps me awake at nights.' No, it didn't. He never considered it. He believed he shaped his own destiny, and Charlotte thought he did too and she resented what seemed to be his effortless success.
I do not have a nice nature, she thought, because I would dearly love to see you fall off your high horse, and a few cracks appearing in that self-sufficiency that Roger Fairley admires so much.
'I'm going to make myself a cup of cocoa,' Aunt Lucy announced. 'Can I get either of you a drink?'
Saul poured himself a whisky, Charlotte said she would settle for cocoa, and as Aunt Lucy went to prepare it Saul looked up from his glass and asked, 'What is this job you've found yourself?'
'It's in a gift shop.' Charlotte had never worked in a shop, but Monique Morris, the owner, was a friend who knew that Charlotte could be relied on to look stunning and was a likeable girl. Whether she would stay smiling, if her feet hurt and customers turned awkward, remained to be seen; but Monique was ready to take her on a trial month, starting whenever she chose. The salary wasn't high, but it was the best offer Charlotte had had.
Another friend, who ran a riding school, would have welcomed her down at the stables but couldn't afford another wage, and that was the general situation. 'And I'm working in a bar on Saturday nights,' she added. 'At the Stage Door in Chipping Queanton.'
'I hope you can stand the pace,' he drawled, and she said briefly, 'I'll have to. Somebody's got to bring home the bacon.'
In fact she was looking forward to starting both jobs. It would be money coming in and it would leave her no time to brood. With the nurse and Aunt Lucy looking after her father everything ought to work out. She was determined on one thing. She wasn't limping home beaten no matter what happened, having Saul Laurenson telling her again that she was spoiled and gutless.
'You'll be able to keep an eye on your fiancé,' he said, sipping the whisky as though he was savouring it. The Stage Door was the pub that the theatre crowd used, very near the theatre, and of course she would be seeing Jeremy there on Saturday evenings; he had put in a word for her, helping her to get the job. She said coldly, 'I don't need to keep an eye on him. We trust each other, we're enough for each other. I suppose you're still seeing my old pal Jo-Ann?' Jo-Ann phoned through here, leaving messages for Saul, but Charlotte wouldn't have brought it up if he hadn't made that crack about Jeremy.
She went on, 'Now there is a girl a man would have to keep an eye on, she's always played the field. Still, as you have too that makes you a pair, doesn't it? And as you're so filthy rich you've got to be the one she's been looking for since she was sixteen.'
She was surprised at her own bitchiness, because she wasn't joking. She was angry, although she laughed. Saul must have touched a raw nerve, saying that about Jeremy, and she went to help Aunt Lucy boil the milk for the cocoa, and drank hers in the kitchen.
The day her father was due out of hospital the weather broke. It didn't really matter, he wasn't going to be out in it, but it would have been pleasant if he could have come home in sunshine. They had brought a single bed down into the garden room, which was actually a parlour, part of the house, not an annexe, and everything was comfortable and welcoming.
Nurse Betty Smith, who had looked in the previous day, had declared herself more than satisfied; and with her own bedroom upstairs, linked to an alarm buzzer beside her patient's bed.
Nurse Betty was a small bird-like woman, recommended by Dr Buckston, and Charlotte had ventured, hesitantly, 'He's quite a big man and he may need lifting. Are you—I mean, you can't weigh more than eight stone yourself.'
'Eight six,' Nurse Betty had chirped. 'And my last patient was fourteen stone.' Her eyes fell on Aunt Lucy, and Charlotte's lips twitched because Nurse Betty looked ready to prove her powers of leverage by hoisting Aunt Lucy off the ground.
Fortunately she didn't, and they later took a glass of sherry together and Aunt Lucy declared that she seemed a nice sensible body.
Next morning the nurse went with Charlotte and Saul to bring Colin Dunscombe home. He walked from the car leaning on Charlotte's arm. She had taken along a wheelchair in the boot of the car, but he waved that away and made a slow and steady progress to the end of the hall and the room that was waiting for him.
Charlotte was happy. The worries were still waiting, but her father was back and it was as though the sun was shining for the first time in days. In fact it was raining for the first time in days, but she went singing about the house, her spirits buoyant.
Jeremy rang and she told him the journey from the hospital had been fine. 'He has to rest, of course, that's the thing, and Nurse Betty's on guard and I keep putting my head in and giving him a grin, and he's grinning back, and it's going to be all right, it really is.' She gave a big happy sigh. 'Shall I see you tonight?'
'Sure,' said Jeremy, 'if you want to.'
'Oh, I want!'
He laughed, 'Right, then. Same place, same time?'
'The patio? And why not?'
'I love you,' he said, and she carolled, 'And I love you.'
Putting down the phone, she ran up the stairs. Georgy had been fastened in her bedroom, to keep him from coming across Nurse Betty Smith and having a canine nervous breakdown, but now perhaps he could be transferred to the kitchen. At the top of the stairs Charlotte collided with Saul and beamed on him and said, 'Isn't it a beautiful day?' He looked at a window on which the rain was pattering and she grinned, 'Well, the gardens need it. Anyhow, it isn't going to last. We'll have the sun shining again in no time.'
'No, we won't,' he said, 'we're in for a storm.' Literally speaking he was probably right because, in spite of the rain, the air was heavy. But Charlotte felt suddenly apprehensive, as though his words had a double meaning, carrying a threat. She shrugged and went on her way into the bedroom to fetch Georgy, but she had stopped singing…
Charlotte spent the evening with her father. Nurse Betty spent it with Aunt Lucy, and Charlotte and her father had their meal alone. Aunt Lucy produced a dainty tray and, although he had little appetite, Colin Dunscombe emptied the bowl of soup and said how good it was to be back to home cooking.
Charlotte wasn't hungry either. Her father was home again and that was wonderful, but she was wondering now how long she could keep up the pretence that she and Saul had a special understanding, or indeed any understanding at all. It was one thing to walk arm in arm into a hospital ward, and a very different matter pretending, from morning till night, that they were close, when the distance between them was wide and unbridgeable.
Saul wasn't here now. He Had gone off in his car late in the afternoon, and when her father asked where he was Charlotte had replied automatically, 'I wouldn't know,' then smiled and said, 'Business, probably.'
Probably off to meet Jo-Ann, she thought. Or somebody else, I wouldn't know; and she promised herself that very soon she was going to tell her father the truth.
They listened to his favourite music, playing quietly. The nurse helped him into bed just after eight o'clock but said it was all right, Charlotte could stay until he was ready to go to sleep. So she curled up in an armchair and to a background of muted Brahms
they sometimes talked, sometimes were silent. Nothing was said that might have disturbed him, she watched that, it was all soothing stuff.
She closed her eyes and heard herself sigh softly, and wondered how long it would be before she would dare to say Jeremy's name, and why she should feel so alone when she would be running to meet him in a few hours' time.
Jeremy wouldn't let her down, he did love her. It was Saul's cynicism that sometimes put doubts into her mind. Saul didn't believe in love. Saul didn't believe in anything, except taking what you wanted and paying for it, and wouldn't that be lovely for Jo-Ann, who had always believed in settling for the highest bidder?
'Hello,' said her father, as Saul walked in, and Charlotte's heart jerked with a real physical pain for a moment. Sexual electricity, that's what it was. He gave her pins and needles, and she uncoiled from the chair and sat bolt upright.
He smiled at her father, then at her. 'Hello, darling,' he said to her, and stroked her hair lightly. It was a casual gesture, but it carried a suggestion of intimacy that she resented, although it was for her father's benefit. She wanted to ask, 'Did you and whoever she was decide on an early night?' Instead she tried to smile, and found she was smoothing her hair down with both hands as though he had tousled it into wild disorder.
After Saul came her father brightened up. The men talked for a while about Dunscombes' future, while Charlotte watched closely for any sign of distress, but Colin Dunscombe seemed to be finding this reassuring. And the house situation, that was going through the lawyers. And the furniture, Charlotte would get in a valuer. He hadn't discussed any of this with Charlotte since he came home, but now she said quietly, 'Oh yes, I'll be doing that.'
She had been shocked when Saul produced the bills of sale a few days ago to realise how much had already changed hands, on the valuation of his adviser. She would be choosing the expert who came along next time.
'Another thing I've been wondering,' said Colin Dunscombe. 'The nurse, how is her salary being paid?' He was asking Saul, and Charlotte said abruptly, 'I sold my pearls.' They had been an eighteenth birthday present and she had taken them to a retail jeweller friend who had given her a generous price, but a shadow fell on her father's face, so she said, 'Maybe I'll buy them back some time. If not, so what, you can't eat a string of pearls.' Then she took a deep breath. 'Do we still have the other jewellery? The family heirlooms? Mother's aquamarine collar?'
Ever since she knew they were bankrupt she had been afraid to ask that because, of all their possessions, she would have liked to keep some of the jewellery that her mother and grandmother and great-grandmother had worn. Her father shook his head, and when she looked at Saul he shook his head too, disclaiming involvement, so she said inanely, 'Ah well, easy come, easy go.'
A little later she left the men. It was coming up to Aunt Lucy's bedtime and Charlotte sat chatting to Nurse Betty until it was time for the nurse to settle her patient for the night.
Then Charlotte went up to her own room. Eleven o'clock was the time that Jeremy came. That allowed for last-minute delays after the evening performance finished, and gave him time to drive from Chipping Queanton. He hadn't phoned, so he was coming, although it was a wretched night.
There was always the summerhouse to provide a little shelter from the rain, but sitting here, watching the minutes tick by, meeting Jeremy in secret like this suddenly seemed ridiculous. Her father wasn't going to be wandering around, so tonight she was bringing Jeremy into the house. Not upstairs, she didn't want to give Aunt Lucy palpitations, but into the drawing room.
Considering she had been so full of sweetness this morning her mood now was surprisingly aggressive. She hardly recognised herself these days, but if Saul was downstairs she would say, 'Just off to meet my lover. Don't lock up, I'm bringing him back.' The only way she could have described her mood was 'spoiling for a fight', and that wasn't like her at all.
She was quite disappointed to find the ground floor in darkness, and when she stepped outside she hesitated about going back into the house to find a torch because it was pitch black out here. Instead she stood for a minute, waiting for her eyes to acclimatise.
It was raining too, a few heavy drops that could be the end or the beginning of a downpour, but the cool air was welcome, and the rain on her face was refreshing. She walked slowly at first across the lawns, but as soon as she could see where she was going the trees took shape and she quickened her step so that she was almost running when she reached the patio.
Jeremy was waiting. A tall dark shadow, out here in the rain, not even in the shelter, and Charlotte ran full tilt into his arms. 'Oh, bless you,' she whispered, eyes closed, face pressed against him, 'I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't come. Oh, love, do I need you? Oh, it's been—' He stopped her mouth with a kiss and all her frustration and anger melted, and it was such bliss that she could have stood like this for ever. But when the kiss deepened her senses quickened. Jeremy had never kissed her this way before, sending such sensations through every nerve that her whole body clamoured, kissing her as though he would kiss the life out of her. She was on fire, and her fingers tightened in his hair, clinging to him, wrapping him in her flame.
The hair was wrong. The wrong texture. Jeremy's hair was fine and silky, and this was not Jeremy, and she jerked back and yelped, 'Let go of me!'
It was Saul, of course. She had taken it for granted he was Jeremy, this place and this time. She hadn't stopped to check, she had just run to him. She shrieked, 'I thought you were Jeremy! He should have been here. What are you doing here?'
Rain was pouring down. The heavens must have opened in the last couple of minutes, but she hadn't noticed till now that water was streaming over her like a waterfall. She gulped and gasped, 'You had no right to do that!'
'When a woman throws herself at me I reckon that gives me the right,' and she knew he was laughing although she could hardly see him for rage and rain.
'I thought you were Jeremy.' He must know that. He must have been strolling out here, she supposed, and the filthy weather had stopped Jeremy coming, but Saul knew she would never have flung herself into his arms.
He drawled, 'In no way am I Jeremy, but if you're that desperate I could act as stand-in.' The terrifying thing was that Jeremy's kisses had never got to her like that kiss, and she spat, 'You're revolting!'
'And I thought I was being obliging.'
He laughed then and she backed away, nearly stumbling over the stone hound, making a dash for the house. In her bedroom she stripped off her wet clothes and rubbed her hair furiously, beside herself with righteous anger. And scared sick, because she had had the narrowest of escapes. She could so easily have let him make love to her, right out there in the rain on the patio. Only a hair's breadth had saved her, and now her self-disgust was torturing her, so that she crept downstairs and poured herself a very stiff whisky, and got it down, coughing and choking, and let it blot out everything and drug her to sleep…
She woke with the suggestion of a thick head, but by daylight the confusion of the night seemed less traumatic. That's what it had been, a confusion, a mix-up. A genuine mistake on her part, although Saul had been ready enough to take advantage of it, and she would be ice cold when she saw him again. He would never get near enough to touch her again, because he was such an expert lover that he was lethal. All that practice with all those girls whose names he couldn't remember, and he wasn't adding her to their number;.
She was downstairs early, but Saul had already left the house, and she spent the morning helping her father answer personal mail that had been arriving for him. After lunch she went along to the shop, where she would be starting work next week, and checked that the offer still stood. Then, on impulse, she decided to call on Jeremy.
As the weather worsened he had probably decided against an open-air rendezvous last night, and who could blame him? Or something had turned up, something connected with work, probably. She would have phoned him later in the day but, with an hour or two
to spare, she parked as near as she could to his flat.
The door opening on the road was ajar and she went up the stairs. She tapped on the flat door and it swung inwards and she called, 'Anybody in?' as she walked in.
The living room was empty. 'Hello!' she called, and from the bedroom came the sound of a scuffle, and giggles. Peter must have somebody in there. She had picked the wrong time to come calling, so she croaked, 'Sorry,' and turned to creep away.
'Go on, answer her!' the girl's voice was shrill. 'If you don't open that door I will!' and Charlotte froze, staring at the door, and then it opened and Jeremy stood there, barelegged in a dressing gown.
Behind him was a flash of bright red hair and a pasty-pale face. Lesley! Lesley and Jeremy! His mouth opened and closed and Charlotte heard herself say, 'I know, you're rehearsing her lines with her.' She addressed herself to Lesley. 'He told me how you're always forgetting your lines—well, this should be quite a performance.'
Then, somehow, she got out of the room and down the stairs and along the street to where her car was parked. She sat in the car for a little while, waiting for delayed shock to strike and her hands to start shaking. But it didn't. It would, of course, but now she still felt strangely calm.
Saul was right again. Saul; who never made a mistake, had said that with all the money gone Jeremy could stop loving her; but Saul wasn't going to know that for sure. She was going to hang on to the few tatters of pride she had left.
The heartache of losing Jeremy would come, and it would hurt dreadfully, but her immediate concern just now was a desperate determination to stop Saul knowing or guessing what she had just seen.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The phone was ringing when Charlotte walked into the hall and as she picked it up Jeremy said, 'Hello? Charlotte?'
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