Kate's Progress

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘It’s an SL five hundred,’ Ed said automatically. He sounded distant, and she saw he was frowning. He slipped down from the saddle, so Kate followed suit, and was a little surprised when he thrust Gracie’s reins into her hands and walked away.

  ‘Whose is it?’ she said, but he didn’t seem to have heard her. She walked after him, leading the horses, who dragged a little. This is the wrong way – stables are in that direction.

  Before Ed reached the car, the driver’s door swung open and a three-inch heel and a long, long leg emerged, followed sinuously by a body that unfurled itself into a tall woman in a tight-skirted, pinstriped suit over a white silk blouse, a woman with a high-cheekboned face, perfectly made-up, and thick, glossy black hair done up in a chignon behind. Everything about her exuded wealth, power, and being at the peak of the social mountain.

  ‘Edward, darling,’ she said in an American accent, holding out both hands. ‘Surprised to see me?’

  ‘Very surprised,’ he said woodenly. ‘What are you doing here?’

  He didn’t move to take her hands, so she grabbed his instead, pulled him to her, and kissed him on both cheeks and then lightly on the lips. Foolishly, Kate felt herself bristle.

  ‘I thought you were in New York,’ he said, freeing himself.

  ‘I was, but they had a particular job that needed doing in London so I took the opportunity of a little vacation. I knew it was your bank holiday this weekend, so I thought I’d find you down here.’

  ‘You didn’t think of telephoning first? We have a houseful.’

  ‘Great, you know I love parties! I checked with your office and they said you’d taken most of the week off, so you’re obviously taking a vacation too. So I thought I’d drive down and surprise you. What a place! It was really hard to find. Talk about back of beyond!’

  ‘Well, I don’t know where we’ll put you,’ Ed said, a little fretfully.

  She gave him a reproachful smile. ‘Sweetheart, I’ll throw in with you, what did you think? I don’t mind being a little cramped. God,’ she added with a laugh, ‘I’m used to it in England – except in my own apartment. As you know.’

  Her eyes slid past him to Kate, and gave her a quick appraisal that was like being stripped and sanded down. It didn’t seem as if Kate had impressed her much. She raised and pressed her plip key and the boot sprang open like a crocodile’s mouth, revealing some very expensive-looking grey leather luggage packed inside. She gave Kate the sort of full but utterly professional smile you give a waiter or bellhop. ‘Have my bags taken up to Mr Blackmore’s room, when you’ve finished with the horses,’ she said.

  Ed’s ears went a bit red. ‘This is a friend, Addison. Allow me to introduce you. Kate, this is Addison Bruckmeyer; Addison, Kate Jennings.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ Addison said. ‘Edward’s never mentioned you. He and I were very close in London. Very close.’

  Kate mumbled something awkwardly about being ‘new on the scene’. She was in a mild state of shock.

  In a magnificent gesture, Addison reached behind her head, removed a single clip, gave one shake and released her hair to tumble in spectacular fashion about her shoulders. It was black as ink and as glossy as a shampoo ad, and made her eyes look as green as a cat’s. It was a mesmerizing piece of theatre. Kate had never seen it done better – and she’d been in PR, hanging around models and actresses.

  ‘Now, you will be a sweetie and take the horses away, won’t you?’ Addison continued. ‘Edward and I have such a lot to catch up on.’ She slipped her hand through his arm and drew him close. ‘And find someone to take my bags up afterwards. You are a lamb!’

  She turned towards the house, drawing Ed with her. He gave one glance back over his shoulder, but whether of entreaty or apology or whatever else, she couldn’t tell, because it was too brief. Addison was as tall as him, and evidently very strong. Kate watched her lithe figure, with its mane of shiny Indian-black hair, and thought Ed didn’t have much of a chance.

  If he even wanted a chance.

  She was pretty sure she had the answer to most of her questions about Banker Lady now.

  Eighteen

  She went home feeling low, in two minds whether to go back at all. She couldn’t pit her shrimpy little flat-chested bod against Venus as sculpted by a Greek master, her current jobless status against Addison’s obviously glittering career, her one pleasant pub lunch with Ed against months of being ‘very close’. It wasn’t a fair fight. In fact, she had no reason to believe it was a fight at all. When had Ed ever given her the idea he’d welcome the chance to get closer to her? It was all on her side. She’d do better to get out now, before she had her heart broken again – and this time by someone who wasn’t meaning to, who was no ultimately forgettable Mr Shallow, like Mark.

  She let herself in through her front door, and knew something was wrong even before her eyes registered it. Beyond her knocked-through arch she could see that the back door was open – perhaps it was the difference in the light and air pressure that had immediately alerted her senses. Closer to hand there was something black on the newly-papered bit of living room wall.

  Her eyes shifted focus, and the hair stood up on her scalp as she realized it was a bird. A crow, to be precise. A big, dead crow, with something white on its chest. She moved reluctantly closer. The dead bird had been nailed by its outspread wings to the wall, and a note was fixed to its chest with a drawing-pin. It was written in capitals in black felt pen.

  GET OUT NOW

  WHILE YOU STILL CAN

  The bird had been dead a long time. Its eyes were gone and it smelled terrible. Her stomach rose and she had to run outside. She didn’t throw up, but it was a close call. When she had recovered control, she turned back and looked at the door. The old lock-plate was lying on the floor in the kitchen, along with the keeper, simply burst off the door and frame by sufficient pressure from the outside.

  Saturday afternoon, she thought. Sport on the telly. Anyone who was in would have been glued to the footy or the motor racing with their accompanying background racket and howling, overexcited commentators. One well-judged thump on her back door could hardly compete with that. And whoever it was could have approached down the track and not have to pass anyone else’s doors or windows, and be in and out in little more than a minute.

  If they knew she wasn’t in. But they could have knocked first, she supposed. And her car wasn’t there. They might even have seen her leave. She felt cold and sick again at the thought that they might have been watching her, unseen, waiting for their moment.

  Someone wanted her out. How badly did they want it? And why? What lengths would they be prepared to go to?

  Mechanically she collected a bucket and a claw-hammer, put on rubber gloves, went back into the living room and, holding her breath, removed the crow from the wall. She took it outside, went across the track and threw it as far as she could into the heather. The natural operations of nature would dispose of it from there. Going back in, she got out her tool box and went to see what she could do about the back door. The lock plate and keeper were undamaged – the inadequate too-short screws and the old wood had simply given way. She positioned it in an undamaged place, chiselled out a new groove for the keeper, found some longer screws, and refixed it. Then she fixed the two bolts, one at the top and one at the bottom, and did the same for the front door.

  And then she went upstairs and had a much-needed bath. She stared at the ceiling through the steam and thought. There was still time to pack a bag and get over to The Hall if she wanted to. But did she want to?

  On the other hand, did she want to stay here? Her presence might protect her property. Both attacks had happened when she was out. On the other hand, if whoever it was came back when she was in, might they escalate the action and hurt her? At the very least, did she want to be here alone, waiting and wondering?

  She needed time to think what to do. Someone wanted her out, and the simplest thing would be to go. But that was giving in
to it, and something in her stiffened its jaw and said that wasn’t going to happen. It was her place, she had the right to be here, no-one was going to drive her away. But what could she do? She had no idea.

  She remembered Jack making her promise to tell him if anything else happened, saying he would get to the bottom of it. She didn’t know what he could do either, but at least if she consulted him it would be two brains instead of one. And perhaps he had local knowledge that would help.

  It was another good reason to go to The Hall. And it would be rude to Camilla to drop out at the last minute. Jocasta would be disappointed, especially if she didn’t ride in the point-to-point after all the build-up. And being over there would give her two days and three nights in safety to think out what to do. About everything.

  She decided she would go.

  Jack met her in the hall as she arrived. ‘My God, have you seen her?’ he exploded. ‘Built like a goddess. Hair like Superman’s, so black it’s blue. Can she even be real? I wanted to touch her to make sure, but I was afraid she’d break my arm. What a dame! I take my hat off to old Ed. He can’t be such a dunce with women after all, if he landed a hot property like that.’

  ‘I saw her,’ Kate said. It was all she managed to get in.

  Jack was off again. ‘I told you I’d heard there was someone in London, didn’t I? But even I didn’t guess anywhere near the truth. She’s a bigshot in Friedman Bauer, the hedge fund management firm, and they don’t get any bigger than that. Makes Ed’s firm look like a Corgi toy in a Formula One race! They were living together in London, did you know? She had this fabulous riverside flat near Tower Bridge. And I thought he was staying in B&Bs!’

  Kate’s heart sank a little further. If they’d been living together … That was why she’d assumed she’d be sleeping with him, of course. And he didn’t exactly struggle against it … Well, who could blame him? If she was a hotshot hedge fund operator, or whatever you called them, she’d be loaded as well. Not that she’d ever accuse him of being mercenary, of course, but when you added everything together the package was irresistible. And a far cry from the languid, pastel, drawling County females she imagined had been playing for him, who resembled the lost Flavia too much.

  Far cry too from Kate, who didn’t even have that going for her.

  ‘I met her earlier today,’ she said, firmly enough to be heard. ‘She took me for a stablehand at first.’

  Jack grinned at that. ‘She does rather tend to steamroller,’ he said. ‘She trod on Mrs B’s toes by calling her “the help” and demanding some kind of fat-free spread we’d never heard of, and then telling her no-one over fifteen ought to be eating butter. She had a lot to say, one way or another, on the English diet!’ He took her bag from her and plunked it on the floor, drew her arm through his and said, ‘We’re having tea on the terrace. Come and have some before the vultures get the lot. You can see your room later. I want you to meet my kid.’

  They passed through the dark house, and Kate heard Addison’s voice long before they passed out into the sunlight. She hadn’t seen the terrace before. Like everything else at The Hall it was a little the worse for wear, with the paving stones cracked, bits of coping missing from the balustrade, and the furniture worn and faded by the elements. Quite a large party was gathered there, sitting on benches or lounging in wicker armchairs and sofas. The dogs were there too, and got up and rushed at Kate as soon as she appeared.

  Addison’s voice broke off in the middle of her sentence and she said, ‘Oh, those dogs! Don’t get them all worked up again. They’ve only just settled down, and I don’t want them slobbering all over me like they did before.’

  Kate, fielding their paws and kisses, felt guilty, like a grubby kid. She could see that Addison wouldn’t want mud or slobber on her clothes, but Kate didn’t own anything that would mind it. She straightened up, pushing them down, and Addison said with a social smile, ‘It’s Kate, isn’t it? We met before. I’m still trying to figure everyone out. Now, you’re not a relative, are you?’

  ‘Friend,’ Kate said.

  ‘Oh, right, I remember. You’re a friend of Jocasta’s.’

  Jack pinched Kate’s arm in amusement, and she swallowed any possible retort, pointless in any case as Jocasta had come over in the wake of the dogs and taken her other arm. Well at least someone’s glad I’m here. Actually, with the dogs’ rapture and two family members affectionately attached to her, she ought to be feeling quite secure. But Addison was sitting thigh-to-thigh with Ed on a sofa-for-two, and wearing a scarlet jersey dress that clung to every magnificent curve and contrasted stunningly with the blue-black hair and the long, brown legs ending in matching scarlet platform heels.

  ‘Let me introduce you to everyone,’ Jack said.

  Kate was glad to see Eric and Susie Orde among the guests, because the other three couples were unknown to her: all in their early thirties, smartly dressed, obviously well-to-do. They were introduced as Charlie and Beth, Greg and Sasha and Dan and Matty. The Brigadier was there, and another lone man in his late thirties, introduced as Jeremy, who was obviously there on account of Camilla, to judge by the way he gazed at her and glared at the Brigadier.

  Finally there was a woman with a rather thin face and large blue eyes that looked shadowed and tired. She had the sort of pale fair hair you can’t do anything with, dead straight, flat and slippery, and as much trouble in its own way as Kate’s frizz. Jack did not indicate her from across the terrace as he did the others, but took Kate all the way over to meet her. She was Felicity, his ex.

  Kate was surprised by her, having expected someone much tougher-looking, made-up and competent, a multitasking, life-work-balancing, omni-capable single mum. Felicity looked fragile. She was also surprised by the warm smile she got in greeting, along with a cordial handshake and the words, ‘I’m pleased to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from Jocasta.’

  ‘And this,’ Jack interrupted in a voice brimming with pride, ‘is Theo.’

  The boy was tall for his age, thin as a rail, and ravishingly beautiful, with his mother’s large blue eyes and Jack’s toffee-coloured hair, but straight and silky like Felicity’s. He regarded Kate solemnly and carefully for a moment, and then decided she was all right, and said, ‘Daddy says you rescued Chewy, and you were very brave.’ His voice was light and crisp, his accent exquisite.

  ‘I wouldn’t say brave. More lucky, really.’

  He nodded, and then, probably remembering instructions, said awkwardly, ‘Thank you.’

  Jocasta was dragging her away to another sofa to sit with her, and Theo came too, saying, ‘I wish we could have him to live with us all the time, but he’s too big. I like it when we come here and I can play with him.’

  ‘You used to live here, didn’t you?’ Kate said.

  ‘I think so. I don’t really remember.’ He sat on the other side of her and said confidentially, ‘I’m being a Roman centurion in the school play, because I’m tall.’

  ‘That’ll be fun,’ Kate said. ‘Will you have a helmet?’

  He nodded. ‘Our mothers are supposed to make them. And bress plates, and swords out of cardboard. Mum says it’s an imposition. Does imposition mean a cheek?’

  ‘Pretty much. Like a grown-up cheek.’

  He nodded. ‘But Mum says the other mummies will do it anyway because they complete with each other on every occasion.’ He looked to see if she understood and added helpfully, ‘That means she’ll have to do it, too.’

  Jack called across from where he was still talking to Felicity, ‘Kate hasn’t had any tea yet!’

  Jocasta grabbed her arm. ‘Come and get some. There’s a really good cake.’

  The two children hustled her to the cloth-covered trestle table at the end of the terrace where the tea was laid out. There was still a reasonable amount left, though it had evidently been descended upon by the hordes. Kate poured herself a cup of tea and put some little sandwiches, a scone and piece of cake on a plate. Both children asked if they could h
ave more cake, and while she didn’t see why she should be the arbiter, she also didn’t see any reason to deny them when no-one else was bothered, so she supervised the cutting of slices and the placing of them on plates, and the three of them went back to their sofa. No-one else was looking their way – everyone was deep in conversation – so she sat with the children, and the cloud of dogs that magically appeared, ate her tea, listened to their chatter, and accepted the apparent division of the company. She was only younger than Jack by a few years, but it seemed that she was counted in the children’s section, not the adult’s.

  Still, after all the worrying she had gone through about approaching thirty, it was at least a change to feel too young for something.

  Jack hadn’t completely forgotten her. When everyone got up to go and change for dinner, he came and fetched her and said he would show her to her room.

  ‘Flick’s settling Theo in upstairs,’ he said. ‘What did you think of her?’

  ‘She’s beautiful,’ Kate said.

  Jack looked pleased. ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘She’s not what I expected. I was expecting someone more—’ She hesitated, feeling around for the right word. ‘Robust,’ she said in the end. ‘You know, the sort of woman who manages everything so well it looks effortless.’

  ‘Well, she does,’ he said, puzzled.

  ‘But she doesn’t look like that, that’s all.’

  They climbed the stairs. ‘Ed said I ought to make her stay.’ He gave her a standard evil look. ‘I think he’s trying to keep me away from you, protect the maiden from the moustachio-twirling villain. What do you think?’

  ‘I think someone ought to find out if she wants to stay, rather than talking about making her.’

  ‘Oh, don’t, you sound so po-faced! Of course it would be her choice. Don’t let’s have any more of that boring equality guff. We’ve already had half an hour of Princess Pocahontas going on about glass ceilings and how they don’t apply to her because she’s so different … yada-yada-yada.’