‘Ex-army personnel?’ Kate guessed.
‘That’s right. Trained men, many of them personally known to me, and plenty of contacts within the army for vetting those who aren’t. There’s a supply of men coming out of uniform all the time, looking for a job. And it’s a growing market, with so many celebrities and millionaires around.’
‘You’re right,’ Kate said. ‘In my business – PR – we’re coming across more and more of them. You hardly used to see a bodyguard, but now everyone seems to have them. What a good idea!’
‘Thank you. I’m hoping at least that it will make my fortune.’ He gave an apologetic smile.
‘And then she’ll marry you?’
He gave her a quizzical look. ‘Well, that’s the hope. Bit of a hopeless hope, all things considered.’
‘But why? I mean, why won’t she marry you?’ Kate asked on the burst. ‘I’d marry you like a shot.’
He laughed. ‘You do blurt out the first thing that comes into your head, don’t you?’
‘Oh, I know,’ Kate said, blushing. ‘It’s a terrible habit of mine – comes of having five sisters who share absolutely everything. Conversation without the filter.’
‘It’s refreshing,’ he said. ‘Most people are so guarded, you never get near what they really think. You have to guess, and if you get it wrong – it’s a minefield!’
‘It’s a minefield saying what’s in your head, too.’
‘That’s true. Especially in a country community like this. But your secret’s safe with me. You can say what you like to me, and be sure I won’t pass it on.’
‘Army discretion?’ Kate hazarded. He nodded, smiling. ‘What about Ed?’ She felt a ridiculous thrill in getting his name into the conversation. ‘He doesn’t look like a man who’d pass things on.’
‘No, he’s no gossip – one of the things I like about him. But of course people pass things on to him.’
Kate wasn’t sure if there was a warning for her in that, and if there was, what it might refer to.
Every now and then there was a sort of ‘general post’ and people changed seats for fresh conversation. In one of these Kate was corralled in a corner by the fireplace with a coffee cup in one hand, a brandy glass in the other, and Phil Kingdon blocking her escape. Close up, she saw that the skin of his face was strangely shiny as though he used moisturizer, and the smell of his aftershave was competing with another fragrance, perhaps deodorant or some kind of man-cologne. It made her want to sneeze. There was something trap-like about his mouth, and his eyes were grey and dead-looking, like boiled fish eyes. She didn’t like him.
‘So, having a good time?’ he asked her.
‘This afternoon, or in general?’ she parried.
‘Well, I can see you are this afternoon. It must be nice to get away from that slum of a cottage, even though it’s only for a couple of hours. Must be uncomfortable and lonely for you there.’
‘Oh, I don’t notice it. I’m so busy, time just flies.’ She didn’t know where his line of conversation was tending, but just in case he was thinking of asking her out, she wanted to lay in an excuse beforehand. ‘And I’m too tired at the end of the day to do anything but flop into bed.’
He took a sip of coffee. ‘What are you going to do with it when you’ve finished?’
‘I’m not sure yet,’ she said warily. She had been here long enough to gather that selling houses as holiday cottages was not universally smiled upon.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, you can’t be thinking of staying on and living there,’ he said positively.
This was an unexpected line. ‘Why not?’ she asked.
‘You’d miss London, the bright lights, and so on,’ he said, waving a hand to express all that London meant. ‘There’s nothing to do here. You’d hate it.’
‘It’s a lovely place,’ she objected.
‘Oh, it’s all right at the moment, when it’s warm and summer’s coming, but you’d never stand the winters here. They’re long, and very cold. Endless rain, freezing winds, and when the snow comes down you’re cut off. You’d be utterly miserable.’
Why all this care for my welfare? she wondered. ‘A lot of people do live here,’ she pointed out.
‘People who’ve lived here all their lives,’ he said. ‘And Little’s can never be made comfortable, not the sort of comfort you’re used to. It’s a farm-worker’s cottage, and it’ll never be more than that, whatever you do to it. You’d do better to sell it.’
‘Well, it’s one possibility,’ she said cautiously. ‘As I said, I haven’t decided yet.’
He looked away across the room. It was a relief not to have his eyes on her, and she relaxed a smidgen. ‘You may have difficulty in finding a buyer,’ he said, without emphasis.
‘The estate agent didn’t seem to think so,’ she said, matching his indifferent voice.
‘Oh, they’re bound to say that, to get you to buy it. I expect you paid too much for it, too.’
‘I’d have thought you’d know exactly what I paid for it,’ she said, with a hint of annoyance. No-one likes to be told they’ve been sold a pup.
Now he looked at her again, and smiled. It was not a pretty sight. ‘I’m not trying to interfere in your business – just offering you helpful advice, from someone who lives here and knows about these sort of things. I’m just saying, Little’s isn’t a pretty cottage, the sort visitors like. And there’s a bit of a glut on the market, so prices are low, even when you can shift them at all.’ He seemed to think a moment. ‘Look here, when you decide to sell, come to me. I’ll help you.’
‘You will?’
‘I know everyone around these parts. I’ll help you find a buyer.’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said, wondering if they had irony in this part of the world.
‘Not at all. My pleasure.’ Apparently not. ‘There’s no point in paying an estate agent’s bloated commission just for putting a couple of ads in the paper. These people don’t know the lie of the land the way I do. I can find you a local working person looking for a home. And if I were you,’ he added with a serious look, ‘I’d sell sooner rather than later. Prices are still going down. Don’t wait until the end of summer and the bad weather. Get out while you can, whether you’ve finished your renovations or not. Let the purchaser finish it off. Don’t throw good money after bad – that’s my advice.’
‘Well, thank you. I’ll take that on board,’ Kate said, and managed this time to escape, though she had to almost duck under his arm to do it. Now what was all that about? she wondered. Had she misjudged him? Was he really trying to be helpful? Perhaps he couldn’t help the way he looked – it would be galling to be misunderstood all the time when you were trying to be nice. Or was it in fact just basic old anti-Townie hatred raising its ugly head? Trying to get rid of her – Exmoor for Exmoorians, foreigners out?
He did make sense about the estate agent’s commission, though. When the time came to sell – and she felt a small pang at the thought of that – she might do well to swallow her instinctive dislike of him and ask his help, see what he could do for her. If he found her a buyer, well and good; if not, she still had the estate agent to fall back on. She couldn’t lose either way.
Some time later, when she had popped out to the loo, she was returning to the drawing room when a movement caught her eye, and she saw, down the side passage that led to the kitchen, Kingdon and Camilla standing talking. Kingdon had his arm resting against a door jamb above his head, which made him look rather threatening as he leaned over Camilla’s slim form.
Camilla was protesting. ‘But it was your idea in the first place!’ She sounded quite indignant. ‘You suggested it!’
‘For God’s sake, woman!’ Phil said explosively, making a movement of impatience which brought his arm down from the door jamb and had him half turning from her and towards Kate. Kate hurried on so that they should not see her, feeling slightly shocked that he should talk to Camilla like that, when he was an employee of th
e estate, no matter how important.
She decided she really didn’t like him, and wondered that Camilla should allow him such licence. But of course, she had not hung around to hear any more – maybe Camilla was tearing him off a strip for his rudeness at this very moment. She hoped so, anyway.
When people started to stir and go, Kate was sitting on a sofa with Jack. He had plonked himself down next to her some time ago, resting his arm along the back of it behind her in the classic first-date-at-the-cinema ploy, and sure enough by now it was hanging heavily over her shoulder. Fortunately, he wasn’t making any further amorous moves on her: she’d have felt awkward about that, in front of all these friends, and his stepmother. And Ed. Most of all Ed, though she managed not to ask herself why.
Jack had been drinking a great deal, and though he was not drunk in any obvious way, he seemed to have become rather somnolent, sinking bonelessly into the sofa, talking in a low voice to Annie Culverhouse, who was sitting catty-corner to him in the next armchair, about local matters, and entirely forgetting to flirt, entertain or be outrageous. The wolf in sheep’s clothing. It was rather a relief. It made Kate feel like one of the family, and she looked round this big, shabby, people-filled room with liking, remembering Sundays back home in Dublin in the past, before the first of them had left the nest.
Idly – as the conversation did not really include her – she thought what she would do with the room if it were hers. Clean it, for a start: wax and polish the panelling, mend the cracked and broken bits of the ceiling moulding – repaint the ceiling, for that matter. It was almost brown with generations of smoke: she couldn’t imagine how long ago it was last painted. And then—
Ed appeared in front of her, and she realized that people were getting up to leave, saying their goodbyes and thanks.
‘I’ll run Kate home,’ Ed said, addressing it mainly to Jack.
He struggled to extricate himself from the cushions. ‘Nice try, bro, but no chance. I’m doing it,’ he said.
‘You’ve had too much to drink,’ Ed told him firmly.
‘Don and I can drop her off,’ Annie said.
‘You’re the other way,’ Ed said.
‘It’s quite all right, I can walk from here,’ Kate said, feeling a bit like a parcel.
Ed looked at her. ‘It isn’t safe to walk about these lanes at night. There are no pavements, you know, and the way local people drive – especially when they’ve had a few …’ He gave Jack a quelling look. ‘I’d feel happier if I drove you.’
Kate was about to protest again, and then shut her mouth. What am I thinking? Trying to avoid being in a car alone with Ed, even if it’s only for a few minutes? ‘Thank you,’ she said meekly.
She went to thank Camilla, who was – she was glad to see – deep in conversation with the Brigadier. Camilla stood up and air-kissed her, and said, ‘Drop in any time – we don’t stand on ceremony here – do we, Harry?’
‘Not very often,’ he replied, with that twinkling smile at Kate.
‘In fact,’ Camilla went on, ‘you do seem to have had a civilizing effect on Ed. I wish you didn’t have to go – he’ll probably attack as soon as we’re alone.’ She thought a moment. ‘What are you doing next weekend?’
‘Nothing that I know of,’ Kate said, with a lift of the heart. Was she about to be invited to Sunday lunch again?
‘Well, I’m getting a house-party together. Dinner Saturday night, the show at Cothelstone on Sunday, and Buscombe on the Bank Holiday Monday.’
‘Buscombe – you mean the point to point meeting?’ Kate said. She had sometimes been to it when she was a child – Buscombe was not far from Exford.
‘Yes,’ Camilla said. ‘Ed’s entered for something, and Jocasta will be in the junior open. Would you like to come?’
‘To the point-to-point? Yes, very much.’
‘No, I meant for the weekend,’ Camilla said impatiently.
‘You mean – to stay? But I live so close.’
‘Well, you don’t want to be driving back and forth. It breaks up the party, and it’s so dreary to have to watch what you drink. It’s much better if you stay over. There are plenty of bedrooms. So that’s settled, then? Good. Come at teatime on Saturday and stay until Tuesday morning.’
Kate managed some thanks, though her mind was already busy wondering whether her wardrobe would stand the strain; and also what sort of tensions and social difficulties she would encounter, staying under the same roof not only of Camilla and Jack but Ed as well, and presumably a host of friends into the bargain.
And now Ed was waiting to drive her home, jiggling his car keys on his forefinger as if impatient to be off. She hurried to him. ‘Sorry,’ she said.
‘What for?’ He sounded surprised.
‘Keeping you waiting.’
‘Oh, not at all. Did you have a coat?’
‘Just a jacket. Yes, that’s it.’ She let him help her into it, and followed him to the front door. ‘Your stepmother just invited me for next weekend,’ she said as he held the door for her. ‘To stay,’ she added, so there should be no misunderstanding.
‘Yes, I thought she might,’ Ed said. They stepped out into the dark. It was surprisingly cold, and she shivered in reaction. ‘She seems to have taken a shine to you, inviting you to lunch the instant she met you.’
She wondered whether he could really think that, and looked back at him. He seemed grimly amused. She felt there was nothing to be gained by havering. ‘She thought I might distract you from her.’
‘Yes, I thought that was it,’ he said. ‘She made a point of seating us together at lunch.’ He didn’t sound upset about it. She wished she could keep looking at him to judge his feelings, but she was picking her way in almost complete dark over uneven ground towards the car and had to watch her step.
‘Did it work?’ she asked boldly.
‘You are quite a distracting person,’ he said. Now she absolutely had to look at him. She stopped and turned. He was closer behind her than she had expected, and she found herself looking up at him almost vertically, their bodies only inches apart. He looked down at her, and she felt vertigo – though that may simply have been the angle of her neck. The moment and the silence that went with it seemed to go on for a long time; then he put out a hand to steady her, touching her elbow. He said, quite neutrally, ‘She may find it didn’t work as well as she hoped.’
‘Why?’ she asked faintly.
He used the touch on her elbow to turn her. The car was only a step away. He reached past her to open the passenger side door.
‘Because I’ll have her to myself when I get home from dropping you off,’ he answered.
She felt a jab of disappointment, and got into the car.
They drove in silence along the dark lane. She racked her brain for something to say – can’t waste this opportunity! – but found herself unusually tongue-tied. His presence, so close to her and in such a confined space, was robbing her of normal intelligence. She felt the heat and power of him next to her, looked at his big, strong hands on the wheel and shivered, imagining them – no, no, no! Don’t go there!
When he halted at the crossroads, she took the opportunity, under the guise of scanning the road, to look at his face. His profile, she thought, was even better than his full face: profiles are designed by nature to be grave rather than smiling. She realized suddenly that she knew nothing about him. It seemed he wasn’t married – there had been no wife at the house, nor any mention of one – but had he ever been? She couldn’t imagine someone like him remaining single to this advanced age. She wished she could ask him, but she couldn’t – she really couldn’t, even with her famed blurting-it-all-outness. Difficult divorce, she thought: surely that must be it. The ex’s fault – hence his grimness. Broken heart – no longer trusted women.
But if the whole County was all over Jack, why weren’t they even more all over Ed, the elder, after all, and the better looking (in her opinion)? He had said he didn’t have the knack of getting on
with people: did he actively drive them away?
The car moved off, turning right, and he said, ‘You and Jack – is it serious?’
Well, that was blunt all right, she thought. Did he want it to be serious or not? Even as she wondered what the right answer would be, she had come out with the truth. ‘It hasn’t had time to be serious. I’ve only had two meals with him – or three if you count lunch today.’
‘Do you count it?’
‘Well, it was a family meal, wasn’t it, not a date.’
‘But you like him?’
‘He’s very likeable,’ she said, wondering if that sounded evasive. She felt evasive. She might well have taken things further with Jack, had she not met Ed. Now she was wondering how committed to the younger brother she would find herself to be.
Ed seemed to give vent to a small sigh. ‘He is. Everyone likes him.’
There was nothing she could easily respond to in that. She racked her brain for something safe to say. Finally she managed, rather feebly, ‘So you’re competing in the point-to-point next weekend?’
‘Yes,’ he said. Then, ‘Oh, we didn’t get to go to the stables. I said I’d show you. You should have reminded me.’
‘Everyone was talking too much,’ she said.
‘Yes, that’s true. Well, another time.’ He glanced sideways at her. ‘Next weekend, for sure, if not before.’
‘Before?’ she queried with hope in her heart.
‘You’re going riding with Jocasta, aren’t you? She can show you.’
‘Oh. Yes. Of course,’ she said, hope sinking again.
The following silence lasted all the way to her door. He stopped, and sat for a moment, staring at nothing, while she tried to make herself move, open the door, say, ‘Thanks for the lift,’ in a normal, casual voice. Then, still not looking at her, he said hesitantly, ‘About Jack …’
‘Yes?’ she encouraged him cautiously.
‘Everyone likes him. He’s very easy to get on with. But he’s something of a flirt.’
‘I was warned about that before I ever met him.’
Kate's Progress Page 15