But Katie was already recovering. Of course he had not read her mind. No one could do that. It was just that the last few days had been stressful. She had been remembering Mike. Normally she kept that particular episode well to the bottom of her mind, where it belonged. It was sheer superstition to think this man could dredge it up. It had to be because she loathed him.
She pulled herself together. ‘It’s nothing.’
He did something clever to the torch and the beam widened and became less intense. Katie could not see him clearly but she could feel the way he was looking at her. Her pulse started to gallop.
‘Nothing at all,’ she said again, sharply.
To his own intense astonishment, Haydon found himself wishing she would confide in him. He said in a gentler tone, ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘You couldn’t upset me,’ Katie flashed.
So she was back on the warpath again, Haydon thought. It was disconcerting to have his brief sympathy thrown back in his face. He had not often felt sympathy for a woman before, and its warmth surprised him. So Katie’s reaction left him half annoyed, half relieved. Still, it licensed him to teach her the lesson he had promised himself.
He said dulcetly, ‘Are you the sort of woman who prefers to look at the stars alone?’
He saw that made her flinch and was glad.
Katie said in a hard voice, ‘I’m the sort of woman who doesn’t have to have a man holding her hand every moment of the day, certainly.’
For some reason her reply infuriated Haydon. He did not allow it to show. ‘I’m sure you don’t,’ he said with spurious admiration.
Katie saw through it, of course. ‘Don’t you sneer at me,’ she snapped.
‘Oh, I don’t.’ He was drawling again. ‘I think you’re very ingenious.’
There was more to that remark than appeared on the surface, she knew. She could not guess what it was. But it did not take much to work out that the man was obscurely angry.
Katie was no coward. ‘Why do you say that?’ she demanded.
‘A night like this? It can’t have been easy to get rid of the boyfriend.’
Katie gasped. He took no notice.
‘But it’s no good letting sentiment get in the way of a good life strategy, is it?’ Suddenly, his voice cut like a knife. ‘You know, I don’t know why anyone ever thought men were the dominant sex. Women are so much more—shall we call it focused? “Ruthless” sounds so hard.’
Katie blinked. At first she had suspected that the attack was being directed at her just because she was the only woman who happened to be there. She wondered why he was so bitter and who had caused it. But, as the hail of words continued, she forgot her curiosity in sheer rage.
She took a step forward. It brought her out of the friendly shadows but she was beyond noticing. She leaned forward over the parapet until they were nearly nose to nose.
‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that,’ she said furiously.
His face was so close she could see every one of the lines round his eyes. His expression mocked her.
‘Don’t tell me. You’re different!’
‘I don’t intend to tell you one single thing,’ said Katie, almost spitting in her rage.
‘No need,’ he said sardonically. ‘It was a real education to listen to you.’
Katie was taken aback. ‘Listen to me?’
‘You’re an artist looking for a hand-out. Right?’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘You think the rich man next door might deliver. Once you’ve reformed his taste, of course.’
Katie winced. Some of the steam went out of her. She knew Simon should have shut up in the bistro.
‘I didn’t mean—’ she disclaimed.
‘Oh, I think you did. And, quite rightly, you decided the boyfriend would get in the way. So you heaved him out.’
Katie shook her head. ‘You’re bats,’ she said, her calm restored.
He ignored it. ‘Mind you, I recommend the direct approach,’ he said in a kindly tone. ‘Pop round with a few pictures, that sort of thing. More likely to succeed than feminine wiles, believe me.’
Katie was so indignant she nearly leaped over the gap between the balconies to slap the patronising expression off his face. A red mist gathered before her eyes. She grasped the parapet to steady herself.
‘Listen to me,’ she hissed. ‘I am not interested in Simon Jonas, your employer or you.’
He gave a snort of unconvinced laughter. Katie glared.
‘You know,’ she said conversationally, ‘you’ve got one of the nastiest minds I’ve ever come across. What’s more, you’re a horrible gardener. And you’re not much better at security either.’
‘What?’ He sounded quite blank.
Katie said with great superiority, ‘If I really had been a burglar, my accomplice would have cleared out the downstairs rooms by now. I could have distracted you so easily. Couldn’t I?’
The silence was positively incandescent. He was not going to admit it but they both knew it was true. Katie began to feel slightly better.
She turned on her heel and stalked back to the dormer window. But she could not resist a parting shot. ‘I should certainly consider a change of career if I were you. Before the big cheese sacks you.’
Haydon steamed into his office with a face like a thundercloud. Not a good meeting, decided his secretary. She would give him some time to recover his temper before she took in his messages.
He buzzed her at once, though.
‘I want you to get me a number, Heather,’ Haydon said. Normally the friendliest of bosses, he sounded curt.
Heather sighed with sympathy. She had been Haydon’s confidential secretary for ten years and she knew the cause of the present crisis. She had the number of the former Mrs Tremayne all ready on her notepad.
‘Yes?’ she said.
But he astonished her. ‘There’s a man called Simon something. He used to be a tenant at the Elderflower Arts Complex. He teaches at one of the art colleges. I want to talk to him today.’
‘Very well,’ said Heather faintly. It sounded like a time-consuming research project. ‘Is there anyone else you want to talk to in the meantime?’
‘What?’ He sounded impatient. ‘No, no. That’s the priority. ’
‘It may take me some time,’ she warned him.
‘Oh. Well, I suppose I could call Carla,’ he said without enthusiasm. ‘I’ve got to talk to her some time.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Heather, relieved to be back on track.
She put him through. Carla was not best pleased at the message he had left on her machine.
‘Who told you I’ve had an offer for my Tremayne shares?’ she demanded.
Haydon said crisply, ‘Your buyer was boasting. It wasn’t hard to guess who was the seller.’
His reaction annoyed Carla even more.
‘You think you’re so clever.’
Normally Haydon would have denied it, made placatory noises, soothed her into a compromise. Today he said without ceremony, ‘Try checking the rules. They’re the same for you as everyone else.’
‘What?’ It was a screech.
Haydon was unmoved. ‘Tremayne is still not a public company, Carla. If you sell the shares outside the existing shareholders, the buyer will find they are not worth having. He can’t vote, he can’t earn anything on them and he’ll have hell’s own job selling them on. He might just sue you. If I don’t myself.’
There was a stunned silence.
‘I don’t know what’s got into you,’ said Carla, displeased.
Haydon smiled grimly. ‘Maybe I’m tired of being manipulated.’
Carla breathed hard. Silent fury came down the line. What on earth did I ever see in her? Haydon thought.
‘Think about it,’ he said.
He put the phone down.
Heather came in.
‘His name is Simon Jonas,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t there but I left a message for him to call me back.’
It was clear
that this was not what Haydon wanted. But he was never unreasonable. He shrugged.
‘OK. Anything else?’
Heather hesitated. ‘Miss Lennox from the PR firm,’ she said delicately. ‘Something about a scratch to her car?’
Quite suddenly, Haydon began to laugh. ‘Guilty as charged,’ he said. ‘Tell her to have it fixed and bill me. My private account, not Tremayne’s.’
Heather’s eyes widened. Haydon had detached a number of ambitious women with marriage in mind before, but she had never heard that he had trashed their cars. She did not say so. Her whole demeanour said it for her.
‘Don’t tell me,’ he said. ‘You don’t know what’s got into me. That makes three of us.’
His eyes were dancing. Even though she had not the faintest idea what he was talking about, Heather smiled back. Really, he was the perfect boss, she thought fondly.
She would have been astonished if she had known Katie Marriott’s view of her perfect boss.
‘Honestly, it almost spoils living here,’ Katie said irritably.
‘And why is that?’ demanded Andrea, amused. She had come round for an evening of video and cauliflower cheese.
Katie looked up from the sauce she was stirring.
‘Well, every time I go outside, I’m afraid next door’s gardener will spring out of nowhere and say something sarcastic.’
Andrea had no patience with such tremors. ‘Grove says sarcastic things all the time. You don’t take any notice of that.’
Katie’s mouth set stubbornly. ‘Grove is different.’
Andrea leaned on the countertop and helped herself to a handful of grated cheese.
‘Boy, oh, boy, he certainly is,’ she murmured mischievously.
But she had reminded Katie of another problem.
‘Now he wants me to go in at half-term to plan the end of term exhibition.’
Andrea grimaced. ‘What a creep.’ She inspected the sauce professionally. ‘Make sure the cheese is all melted, then you can pour it over the cauliflower and shove it under the grill,’ she instructed. ‘Tell him to boil his head.’
‘Easier said than done,’ said Katie drily.
She poured the sauce over the dish of cooked cauliflower and scattered grated cheese across the top. Andrea watched her broodingly.
‘What you need,’ she announced, ‘is a Cesare Borgia.’
In the act of sliding the dish under the grill, Katie choked.
‘A poisoner?’
‘A patron.’
Katie’s expression darkened. ‘No, I don’t,’ she said sharply.
She recalled the man’s scorn last night. It had not been deserved but all the same it had got her on the raw.
‘All right. All right. Keep your hair on.’ Andrea was mildly surprised. ‘Pass on Cesare Borgia. What about a new job?’
‘What sort of reference do you think Grove would give me?’ Katie said ruefully. She lodged the dish into place and straightened.
‘You’ve got a point there,’ Andrea admitted.
‘The ideal solution,’ said Katie, ‘would be to start selling my work.’
She told Andrea about Simon’s offer.
Andrea was interested. ‘Sounds good.’
Katie sighed. ‘It would be if I’d got enough good work. Even Simon knows I haven’t.’
‘So what does he advise?’
Katie’s mouth quivered on the edge of a laugh. ‘More passion,’ she said, in a carefully neutral tone.
‘Good grief,’ said Andrea blankly.
Katie could not help herself. She burst out laughing.
Andrea was still struggling with the concept. ‘What sort of passion? Does he fancy you or something?’
‘No, nothing like that. He just thinks I ought to engage more with my work. He was suggesting portraits,’ she added, struck, ‘and oddly one of my neighbours offered to sit for me only this morning.’
Andrea looked hopeful. ‘The tasty article next door?’
Katie just prevented herself from shuddering.
‘Not at all. She lives on the other side and keeps cats.’
The neighbour in question had planted herself firmly in Katie’s way when Katie had been on her way to school. She had been a startling sight. She’d been wearing an orange velvet robe with a high collar that rose several inches above her wispy grey hair. Its skirt trailed a couple of yards along the pavement behind her. Underneath she had appeared to be wearing a torn cerise petticoat and unmatching satin shoes. She’d been carrying a green plastic watering can with an enormous spout. She flourished this in Katie’s direction like a medieval weapon of war and demanded her life history.
Katie, whose artist’s eye had already been fascinated by the neighbour’s violent colour preferences, was enchanted. She delivered the required account of herself. It had not been well received until she’d admitted to being a painter.
‘Edelstein,’ said the neighbour, beaming. ‘Amber Edelstein.’ She held out a wrinkled hand. ‘Used to do a bit of modelling,’ she announced. ‘Wouldn’t mind sitting again if I didn’t have to go too far.’ She waved the watering can meaningly.
Dazed, Katie shook hands. ‘Um—really?’ she said, feeling helpless.
‘Good line to my spine. They always said that. I could wiggle it so every notch showed.’
For an electric moment Katie thought Miss Edelstein was going to slip off her robe and demonstrate.
‘Form,’ said Miss Edelstein knowledgeably. ‘All artists need to study form. Human body most complicated form there is.’ She came down to practicalities. ‘Can’t fit you in this week.’
Katie looked at her watch and realised that she was going to be late. ‘I’m sure you’re very busy,’ she said, escaping before giggles overcame her. If Simon met Miss Edelstein, she thought, he would positively demand a portrait for the show.
She described the encounter to an awed Andrea.
‘Wow.’ She shook her head. ‘I thought you were supposed to have moved upmarket here. But the neighbours are barking.’
Katie bubbled over. Andrea joined her. Eventually they both mopped their eyes with pieces of kitchen roll.
‘What will you do when she turns up?’
‘She can knock on my door,’ said Katie drily. ‘But she won’t get me painting her. I’m barricading myself in behind my school work.’
‘Not hard,’ agreed Andrea. ‘Did I tell you, I’ve got the third years’ project to finish tonight? I can’t be too late.’
‘Nor me. We can eat in front of the video, if you like.’
They spent an enjoyable three hours watching a slick romance. As the credits began to roll, Andrea rose and stretched with satisfaction.
‘I really love a happy ending,’ she said.
Katie picked up their coffee mugs. ‘So unlike life.’
‘Don’t say that,’ protested Andrea. ‘We can all hope.’
Katie made a face. ‘Better not. Then you don’t get disappointed.’
‘You’re a cynic,’ Andrea accused her.
Katie did not deny it. But, when her friend had gathered up her things and left, Katie leaned on the windowsill and let her thoughts wander in a way she would never have admitted to Andrea. Or even, later, to herself.
It was twilight and the scents of a summer night soaked the air: roses, the heady scent of warm wallflowers, the freshness of growing things. It was a night to dream. A night for love, she thought.
She jumped upright as she realised what she was thinking. A night for love? Love? What was happening to her? When had she ever thought such soppy stuff before?
‘Too much romance,’ Katie told herself firmly. ‘Midweek videos are a snare for the unwary. Still, the lower fifth’s History of Art preparation should take care of that.’
It took a long time. By the time she’d finished she was hot and festering. A cool shower, she thought. She was turning pleasurably under the stream of water when she became aware of a thunderous knocking on the front door.
She
leaped out and seized a towel. The knocking came again, harder.
Halfway down the stairs, she stopped. It had to be the man next door. Only he would sound so imperious. Perhaps the towel was not such a good idea after all.
Katie backtracked rapidly and pulled on a long tee shirt. The knocking had become a rhythmic battery. She rushed downstairs and flung open the door.
But it was not the man. It was a vision in harem pants that looked as if they had been made from old net curtains and an embroidered Indian jacket in shades of jade and peacock-blue. She had a vermilion bandanna and six-inch heels.
‘There you are,’ Miss Edelstein said briskly. ‘I want you to get my cat.’
Katie was taken aback. ‘The cat will come home when it’s hungry,’ she said kindly, but quite finally.
And she retreated. Miss Edelstein inserted her highheeled pump between the door and its frame. On the point of telling her to remove it, Katie hesitated. She looked closer. For the first time Katie realised Miss Edelstein looked old. Her mouth worked and her eyes were scared.
‘She’s only a kitten,’ she said. ‘She ran out and got stuck on the roof.’
The words ‘fire brigade’ were on the tip of Katie’s tongue. She was even reaching for the telephone in the hallway. But then she remembered her mother.
It had been raining then. And it had been morning, not a hot dark night like this. And her mother was thirty years younger than Amber Edelstein. But this was how she had looked.
She had stood in the middle of the road, watching Katie’s father walk away. She’d hardly seemed aware of the tears running down her pale cheeks. Neighbours, brought out of their houses by the altercation, had sidled away, embarrassed by the distraught woman.
Katie had been embarrassed too. But she’d been sixteen, and sidling away had not been an option. Her mother could not have been left alone. And now nor could Amber Edelstein.
Sighing, she replaced the phone. She put an awkward hand on Miss Edelstein’s thin shoulder.
‘Show me,’ she said.
Miss Edelstein was right. The kitten—it could not be more than ten or eleven weeks old—was well and truly stuck on the roof of the hut in the square’s garden.
Catching Katie Page 9