All the time he looked out of the window, neither contradicting nor encouraging. Eventually Viola stopped the car outside his door. She swung round to face him.
‘Well?’ she said.
Haydon brought his attention back. ‘Well, what?’ he said wearily.
‘What are you going to do about it?’
He looked bored. ‘Your therapist, thank God, is no concern of mine.’
She was disconcerted. ‘What?’
‘This taradiddle. Didn’t you say it was your therapist’s idea?’
Viola bit her lip. ‘Of course not.’
Haydon raised his eyebrows. They were startlingly dark. When raised they soared upwards until they nearly touched his hairline. One besotted girlfriend had said they made him look like a samurai warrior.
Viola thought he just looked like a devil, a mocking, indifferent devil. She began to wonder whether her careful strategy had been so clever after all.
But she was an intelligent woman and she had been in the world of negotiations for a long time. If there was one thing she knew, it was how not to be discouraged by the first setback. She had always known that getting Haydon Tremayne to the altar would not be easy.
She pulled herself together and said quietly, ‘I told you what Madame Piroska said because that’s what I think too. She put everything in perspective for me.’
‘Then I’m glad for you,’ Haydon said politely.
He undid his seat belt and got out of the car. Viola sat watching him as he tipped the seat forward. For all its compactness, his case was not easy to get past the obstacle of designer seats and headrests. The sports car was not really intended to carry anything in the back except the odd makeup bag, he thought drily. Viola frowned.
‘Haydon, you can’t run away from this.’
He finally extracted the case. He did not reply. But he closed the car door with a finality that was an answer all on its own. Viola discarded her seat belt and whipped out of the car. She faced him across the roof.
‘Look,’ she said rapidly, ‘we’ve had some fun. But we’re not kids. We both need some stability in our lives. And we get on well—very well.’
It was hard to sound sexy at ten o’clock on a brilliant summer morning, with a car in between you and the object of your attentions. Especially when the man in question was not trying to hide his derision. But Viola gave it her best shot. She even lowered her lashes to give him a long, smouldering look. It was supposed to remind him of exactly how well they had got on.
It did not have the desired effect. Derision became outright amusement. Viola abandoned the tactic.
She said sharply, ‘You can’t keep me on a string for ever.’
The amusement was wiped away on the instant. His eyes hardened. ‘Is that what I’m doing?’
‘You know it is.’ She leaned forward, one fist on top of the car roof. ‘I never know where I am. You—’ She broke off.
A ramshackle van had drawn up behind them with a squeal of unoiled brakes. Viola glared at it impatiently.
‘Oh, this is impossible,’ she exclaimed. ‘Let’s go indoors and get some coffee, for heaven’s sake.’
She turned towards the front door.
Haydon said without expression, ‘I think not.’
Viola swung round. She looked as if she didn’t believe her ears. Haydon gave her a faint, weary smile and the angry protest died on her lips.
He picked up his case and came round the front of the car.
‘It was good of you to meet me,’ he said. He did not even try to sound as if he meant it.
Behind them two girls in tattered jeans started unloading the van. They did not do it quietly. Haydon winced.
‘But now I’m going to crash out. If I can.’
Viola did not like that. ‘Haydon—’
‘No coffee,’ he said with finality. ‘Look,’ he said, struggling to be honest, ‘I’m sorry if anything I’ve done has misled you. The truth is, marriage is not for me. No amount of talking will change that.’
Viola swallowed. Two spots of colour burned high in her cheekbones. She did not say anything.
There was a loud crash, followed by peals of girlish laughter. It was the last straw. Furious, Haydon swung round.
A collapsed artist’s easel lay drunkenly against the privet hedge next door. The two girls caught sight of his expression and their laughter died.
‘This is a residential square,’ he flung at them in icy tones.
They got their breath back.
‘Well, excuse us for breathing,’ one of them said.
She was a short girl with wild frizzy hair and a pugnacious expression. Her companion murmured something conciliatory. The companion had long legs and a swirl of auburn hair but Haydon was immune. His eyes skated over both equally with glacial indifference.
He was curt. ‘Then breathe quietly.’
The companion became rapidly less conciliating. She took a step forward.
‘I have a right to move my stuff.’ Her voice was shaky but she looked him straight in the eye.
No one had ever looked at Haydon like that, especially not a woman. Even before he made his first million women had been intrigued by him. These days they either fawned on him or—occasionally—tried to pretend to ignore his tall, distinguished attraction. Even now, the frizzy-haired girl had a distinctly speculative look.
But the other one—Haydon could not remember any girl looking at him with dislike before. Particularly not when she was shaking with anger and nerves at the time. For a moment he was taken aback.
Her hands clenched into fists. ‘I’m sorry if we disturbed you.’ She did not sound as if she meant it. ‘Moving isn’t a quiet business.’
Haydon was blank. ‘Moving? You mean—?’ He gestured at the articles on the pavement with disbelief. They looked as if they had been salvaged from a junk yard. ‘You’re moving that? In here?’
The girl flushed but her chin came up. It was a particularly pretty pointed chin, he noticed irrelevantly.
‘And why not?’
Viola said pleadingly, ‘Darling—’
Haydon ignored that. He stared at the girl, his eyes hard. ‘Are you squatters?’
‘Of course not. I’m house-sitting for the Mackenzies.’ Her voice wobbled all over the place. This time though it was due to pure fury, Haydon thought.
He found he liked the light of battle in the girl’s eyes. It infuriated him.
‘Prove it,’ he snapped.
‘Darling—’
‘Mrs Harding interviewed me.’ The girl flung it at him like a javelin.
‘Oh.’ Lisa Harding was Bob Mackenzie’s sister. Haydon knew her slightly.
The girl could see she had scored a winning point. She allowed herself a smile which bordered on gloating. ‘Would you like to see my references?’ she taunted.
Haydon’s eyes narrowed to slits. Light of battle was one thing. Triumph he did not like.
‘I’ll discuss that with Mrs Harding,’ he said.
‘Darling,’ said Viola again, her tone a command. ‘This is no time to get sidetracked.’
She moved, scarlet heels tapping on the glittering pavement, and aligned herself beside him. She looked the two girls up and down. She was very self-possessed.
‘You can’t leave that thing here.’ She did not even look at the battered van but it was clear what she meant.
‘Watch me,’ said the girl with the auburn hair.
Viola gave a faint smile, her superiority undented.
‘I’m sure you wouldn’t want it towed away.’
The girl snorted. ‘You can’t have a car towed away because it lets down the tone of the neighbourhood.’
Viola said briskly, ‘You would be surprised what I can do if I set my mind to it. Now tidy up your bits and pieces and move that thing.’
She turned away as if there was no more to be said. The auburn-haired girl did not agree.
She said with deceptive mildness, ‘Are you threatening me?’
Viola was taken aback. For the first time she looked uncertain. She turned to Haydon, laying her scarlet-tipped fingers on his arm beseechingly.
Even in his present jet lagged state it was an appeal to which he had to respond. He had been watching the sharp little exchange as if he was in a dream. Now he roused himself.
‘Miss Lennox is right. This is an area where the parking is reserved for residents,’ he said. ‘The police can remove anyone else.’
The girl bit her lip. She did not like it but she was clearly trying to contain her anger. ‘We won’t be here long. We’re only unloading.’
Suddenly all the tiredness was back. Haydon could feel himself swaying. He jerked himself upright and said more coldly than he meant, ‘Well, try to keep it civilised.’
The girl picked up a big piece of hardboard with a garish picture on one side of it and took a hasty step forward.
‘You mean like not throwing things?’ she asked sweetly tossing it at the other girl. Viola gave a small, ladylike scream. The other girl caught the picture, but only just.
All tiredness left Haydon abruptly. ‘That was a very childish thing to do.’
The girl’s eyes glittered. The tilt of that chin was now positively militant. She glared at Haydon.
‘Yes, wasn’t it?’ she agreed.
She picked up the easel. It was more unwieldy than the picture and rocked in her hands.
‘They say we should all release our childhood repressions,’ the girl said thoughtfully. She looked very young and determined. And not at all in control of the easel.
‘My car,’ screeched Viola, diving forward.
Haydon had a sudden, inexplicable desire to laugh. He turned his head away.
‘What would Madame Piroska have to say about that?’ he muttered.
But Viola was not listening. She had lost her air of superiority in simple alarm.
‘If you scratch my car, I’ll sue you till the pips squeak,’ she shouted.
The girl tossed back her auburn hair and cast her a look of unutterable scorn. Viola’s alarm escalated to panic.
‘You c-can’t,’ she stuttered.
The girl smiled. ‘You’d be surprised what I can do if I set my mind to it,’ she retorted with satisfaction.
Viola was pale. ‘That’s pure vandalism.’
Even the girl’s companion seemed a bit disconcerted.
‘Katie,’ she protested.
Haydon took charge.
‘This is nonsense. And you know it.’
He removed the easel from the girl’s hand with efficient ease. She glared, her eyes hot.
She said in a low, shaking voice, ‘Don’t you tell me what I know and don’t know.’
Haydon’s brows twitched together. The girl had been shaking with nerves at the start of the encounter. Now she was hell bent on war. It was amusing—and very odd. He knew that if he had not been so tired he would have got to the bottom of it. But those sleepless hours were catching up with him.
He said dismissively, ‘Then don’t behave like a fool.’ And turned away.
The girl stamped in temper. It was a hard stamp and it sent the easel rocking. Before Haydon knew what was happening, the thing had swung up in his hand and banged hard against the passenger door. There was a nasty silence as they all stared at the long, irregular scratch.
Viola let out a wail.
‘That’s torn it,’ said the frizzy-haired girl.
Furious with himself, Haydon cast the easel away from him. It fell squashily into the hedge.
‘If you have damaged my easel, you will replace it,’ announced the auburn-haired one. She was clearly on a roll.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Haydon. He was no longer amused.
She showed her teeth in a smile that was an open challenge.
‘Just trying to keep things civilised,’ she mocked.
Their eyes locked. Haydon did not trust himself to speak. He turned on his heel and stormed into the house. Behind him the girl laughed.
He was so irritated that he forgot that he had refused Viola entry. With one last angry glance at her maltreated car, she strode into the house after him. Then Mrs Bates appeared in the hallway. Haydon’s irritation reached new heights. He turned.
‘I told you, Viola. No coffee. No heart-to-heart. Just go away,’ he said with great firmness.
‘But—’
He held the front door open for her. ‘Goodbye, Viola.’
‘Wow,’ said Andrea as they stormed off. ‘You really told him. I’ve never seen you like that.’
Katie leaned against the lamppost. Not just her hands, her whole body was shaking.
‘Nor have I,’ she said uncertainly. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
Andrea pursed her lips. ‘Don’t you?’
‘No.’ Katie was honestly puzzled. ‘Do you?’
‘I’d say your hormones just met a worthy opponent,’ Andrea said cheerfully.
‘What?’ Katie was horrified.
Andrea laughed aloud.
They took everything inside. Eventually a fair amount of it was stashed in the hall while Katie decided what to do with it, but at least it was not littering the pavement any more. Katie began a systematic search for instant coffee.
Andrea looked round the chromium and white kitchen and words failed her.
‘It’s more like a laboratory than a kitchen,’ said Katie gloomily. ‘What’s more, the machines all look alike. I tried to wash a blouse in the cooker last night.’
Andrea shook her head. ‘The size of it,’ she said at last. ‘It’s a football pitch.’
Katie looked over her shoulder from the third cupboard door she had opened. ‘I’ll get plenty of exercise racing from the fridge to the stove,’ she agreed with a grin.
Andrea was awed. ‘If this place doesn’t teach you to cook, nothing will.’
‘Nothing will,’ Katie said firmly. The cupboard was full of gold-edged china. She shut the door and moved on. ‘If God had meant us to cook he wouldn’t have invented takeaway pizza.’
‘I wish I thought you didn’t mean that.’
Andrea taught Home Economics at the same school as Katie taught art and spent her spare time writing what she claimed to be the ultimate cookbook. In theory, Katie was illustrating it. But it had rapidly emerged that Katie did not know a sauce Béarnaise from a rice pudding. From time to time Andrea invited her home and did her best to remedy her education. But, as they both acknowledged, it was an uphill struggle.
Now Katie said cheerfully, ‘While I can work the microwave, I shan’t need anything else.’
Andrea shuddered.
‘As long as I can tell it from the burglar alarm, that is.’
‘Burglar alarm!’ Andrea was startled. She looked round as if she expected one of the silent machines to bite. ‘Is this stuff gold-plated or something?’
Katie shook her head. ‘It’s the area. Oh, they’ve got some antique furniture and a couple of good pictures. But mainly it’s because this is the sort of road that professional burglars like. Well, you saw what those two were like out there. There’s even a millionaire next door.’
‘Really? How do you know?’
‘Mrs Harding told me. Ah!’ She emerged from the seventh cupboard with a jar in her hand. ‘Coffee at last. Unless you want to hold out for freshly ground beans? There are bound to be some somewhere.’
‘Black, no sugar,’ said Andrea. Hard-working schoolteachers could not afford to be coffee snobs. She leaned on the counter as Katie plugged in the kettle. ‘Do you suppose that was him just now?’
‘Who? The millionaire?’ Katie turned back, startled by this novel thought. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t think so. The millionaire is quite old, I think. And antisocial.’
Andrea nodded. She was disappointed, but she was a realist. ‘He might have come on like Napoleon but he certainly wasn’t old.’
‘Nor antisocial,’ said Katie with irony. ‘Not with a blonde like that in tow.’
A
ndrea sighed. ‘She was a knockout, wasn’t she?’ Her tone was wistful.
Katie gave her a sharp glance. She knew Andrea was sensitive about her lack of height and her untameable hair.
‘Probably got ingrowing toenails,’ she said briskly. ‘And a heart like Cruella De Vil.’
Andrea laughed suddenly. ‘And you,’ she said, ‘have got a heart like chocolate fudge.’
Katie opened her eyes wide, disconcerted. ‘Me?’
‘You. I wouldn’t know what to do if I was a knockout blonde. But it’s nice of you to comfort me. That kettle has boiled by the way.’
Katie found mugs and spooned coffee granules into them. Andrea leaned her elbows on the counter.
‘You know, it’s odd,’ she mused. ‘You’re so gorgeous yourself. And yet you seem to know exactly what it’s like to be plain and difficult. I think that must be why the kids like you so much.’
Katie’s hands did not falter. ‘The kids like me,’ she said without excitement, ‘because they get to make a filthy mess in my class and they can bop around to Lucifer’s Eleven at the same time. Teenage heaven.’
She poured boiling water on the granules. Andrea took her mug.
‘And who brought the tapes of Lucifer’s Eleven in to school in the first place?’
Katie relaxed. She gave her wicked grin. ‘I like them.’
‘Your eardrums are depraved. I’m surprised Douglas hasn’t confiscated them.’
Katie tensed imperceptibly. ‘My eardrums?’
‘The tapes. I suppose he’s too relieved there’s one afternoon a week when the escape committee have a truce.’
Katie nodded. They taught at a big school with a lot of children from deprived families. Truancy was a problem.
‘I guess.’
‘In fact, Douglas must love you.’
Katie jumped. She disguised it by pretending that her coffee was too hot, but she was not sure Andrea was deceived. Douglas Grove’s attentions were becoming an embarrassment, especially as he was the headmaster. She did not know how much her colleagues had noticed. She did not want to give any reason to confirm whatever rumours there might be.
So she said lightly, ‘Me and Liam Brooker. He’s teaching the upper fourth salsa in their gym lesson.’
Catching Katie Page 2