Lydie felt she would have brought the cheque to her father, had not Jonah Marriott put the idea of banking it first into her head. And suddenly she began to get the feeling that, one way and another, she had been well and truly manipulated here. First by her mother, very definitely by her mother, and secondly by Jonah Marriott himself.
`Well?' Her father interrupted her thoughts.
`It seemed the best way to do it,' she answered lamely. `If there had been any sort of a traffic snarl-up I could have been too late for the bank here. And I knew-' thank you, Mother `-that the bank wanted their money by today.'
`And they've got it-and it's for certain they'll hang on to it!' he stated agitatedly. `There's absolutely no chance they'll let me have it back again.' He sighed heavily. 'I'd better go and see Jonah.'
`I'll go!' Lydie said straight away, as she knew she must.
`You,' her father erupted, `have done enough! You can stay here with your mother and dream up your next scheme.'
That comment was extremely unfair, in Lydie's opinion, but she understood his pride must be hurting like the very devil. `Please let me go?' she pleaded. He hesitated for the merest moment, and Lydie rushed on quickly, `You're not the only one with any pride,' she added-and all at once her father seemed to fold.
He looked at her, his normally quite reserved daughter who, up until then, had caused him very little grief. `None of this has been very easy for you either, has it?' he queried, more in the calm tone she was familiar with. And, relenting, if reluctantly, 'We'll go and see him together,' he conceded.
That wasn't what Lydie wanted either. 'I'll go and ring him,' she offered.
`Not go and see him?"
'I'll probably have to make an appointment first.' In this instance of eating extra-large portions of humble pie, it seemed more diplomatic to try and get an appointment first rather than to go barging straight into his office.
`We'll make the call from my study,' Wilmot Pearson declared, and, giving his wife a frosty look in passing, for which, since her home was for the moment secure, she cared not a jot, he and Lydie went from the drawing room and to his study.
She was glad that her father allowed her to make the call and did not insist on doing that himself, but her insides were on the churn again as she dialled the Marriott Electronics number.
Again when she asked to speak with Mr Jonah Marriott she was put through to his PA. `Hello, it's Lydie Pearson...'
`Oh, good afternoon,' the PA answered pleasantly, before Lydie could continue. `I missed seeing you this morning.' And Lydie realised that plainly Jonah must have made some comment to his PA about her visit-probably something along the lines of Don't ever let that woman come in here again-she's too expensive. Lydie hoped he hadn't revealed the full content of her visit to his confidential assistant. 'I'm afraid Mr Marrriott's at a meeting. If you would like to leave a message?'
Blocked. `I should like to see him some time. Later this afternoon if that's possible.'
`He's flying to Paris tonight, but...'
Something akin to jealousy gave Lydie a small thump at the thought that he would be dallying the weekend in Paris. Ridiculous, she scoffed. But she began to realise she had inherited a little of her mother's arrogance in that she would beg for nothing. `I'll give him a call next week. It's not important,' Lydie butted in pleasantly, wished the PA an affable goodbye, and turned to relay the conversation to her waiting father. `Try not to worry, Dad,' she added quietly. Having been set up by her mother, she was not feeling all that friendly towards her, but attempted anyway to make things better between her parents. `And try not to be too cross with Mother; she only did what she did to help.'
Wilmot Pearson looked as if he might have a lot to say about that, but settled for a mild, `I know.'
The atmosphere in the house was not good for the rest of the day, however, and Lydie took herself off for a walk with a very great deal on her mind. She still felt crimson around the ears when she thought of the way she had gone to Jonah Marriott's office and demanded fifty thousand pounds!
Oh, heavens! But-why on earth had he given it to her? Not only that, but he had made sure his cheque was banked and not returned to him with a polite note from her father. `There's money in this account to meet this amount?' she had asked him. `There will be ... by the time you get to your father's bank,' he had said, as in Make haste and get there-and she had fallen for it!
Lydie carried on walking, not knowing where she was emotionally. With that money in the bank her father had some respite from his worriesand he sorely needed that respite. Against that, though, since it was she who had asked for, and taken, that money, regardless of where she had deposited it, she was beginning to realise that the debt was not her father's but hers; solely hers.
Feeling quite sick as she accepted that realisation, all she could do was to wonder where in creation she was going to find fifty-five thousand pounds with which to repay him? That question haunted her for the remainder of her walk.
She returned home knowing that adding together the second-hand value of her car, the pearls her parents had given her for her twenty-first birthday and her small inheritance-if she could get into it-she would be lucky if she was able to raise as much as ten thousand pounds!
She went to bed that night knowing that Jonah Marriott's hope that it would not be another seven years before they met again must have been said tongue in cheek. He must have known she would be on the phone wanting to see him the moment she discovered his loan from her father had been repaid long since. Jonah Marriott, without a doubt, had told his PA to inform her when she rang that he could not see her.
Why he would do that, Lydie wasn't very sure, and conceded that very probably he'd given his PA no such instruction. It was just one Lydie Pearson feeling very much out of sorts where he was concerned. Him and his `Obviously your father doesn't know you've come here.' It was obvious to her, now, that Jonah knew her father would have soon stopped her visit had he the merest inkling of what she was doing.
Lydie spent a wakeful night with J. Marriott Esquire occupying too much space in her head for comfort. Over-sexed swine! She hoped he was enjoying himself in Paris-whoever she was.
The atmosphere in her home was no better when she went down to breakfast on Saturday morning. Lydie saw a whole day of monosyllabic conversation and of watching frosty glances go back and forth.
`I think I'll go and see Aunt Alice. Truthfully,' she added at her father's sharp look.
`While you're there for goodness' sake check what she intends to wear to the wedding next Saturday,' her mother instructed peevishly. `She's just as likely to turn up in that disgraceful old gardening hat and wellingtons!'
Lydie was glad to escape the house, and drove to Penleigh Corbett and the small semi-detached house which her mother's aunt, to her mother's embarrassment, rented from the local council.
To Lydie's dismay, though, the sprightly eighty-four-year-old was looking much less sprightly than when she had last seen her, for all she beamed a welcome. `Come in, come in!' she cried. `I didn't expect to see you before next week.'
They were drinking coffee fifteen minutes later when, feeling quite perturbed by her great-aunt's pallor, Lydie enquired casually, `Do you see your doctor at all?"
'Dr Stokes? She's always popping in.'
`What for?' Lydie asked in alarm.
`Nothing in particular. She just likes my chocolate cake.'
Lydie had to stamp down hard on her need to know more than that. Great-Aunt Alice was anti people discussing their ailments. `Are you taking any medication?' Lydie asked tentatively.
`Do you know anybody over eighty who isn't?' Alice Gough bounced back. `How's your mother? Has she come to terms yet with the fact dear Oliver wants to take a wife?"
'You're wicked,' Lydie accused.
`Only the good die young,' Alice Gough chuckled, and took Lydie on a tour of her garden. They had lunch of bread, cheese and tomatoes, though Lydie observed that the elderly lady ate very little.
Lydie visited with her great-aunt for some while, then, thinking she was probably wanting her afternoon nap, said she would make tracks back to Beamhurst Court. `Come back with me!' she said on impulse-her mother would kill her. `You could stay until after the wedding, and-'
`Your mother would love that!"
'Oh, do come,' Lydie appealed.
`I've got too much to do here,' Alice Gough refused stubbornly.
`You don't-' Lydie broke off. She had been going to say You don't look well. She changed it to, `You're a little pale, Aunty. Are you sure you're all right?"
'At my age I'm entitled to creak a bit!' And with that Lydie had to be satisfied.
`I'll come over early next Saturday,' she said as her great-aunt came out to her car with her.
`Tell your mother I'll leave my gardening gloves at home,' Alice Gough answered completely po-faced.
Lydie had to laugh. `Wicked, did I say?' And she drove away.
The nearer she got to Beamhurst Court, though, the more her spirits started to dip. She was worried about her great-aunt, she was worried about the cold war escalating between her parents, and she was worried, quite desperately worried, about where in the world she was going to find fiftyfive thousand pounds with which to pay Jonah Marriott.
And, having thought about him-not that he and that wretched money were ever very far from the front of her mind-she could not stop thinking about him-in Paris. She hoped it kept fine for him. That made her laugh at herself-she was getting as sour as her mother.
`Aunty doesn't look so well,' Lydie reported to her mother.
`What's the matter with her?"
'She didn't say, but...'
`She wouldn't! Typical!' Hilary Pearson sniffed. `Some man called Charles Hillier has been on the phone for you.'
`Charlie. He's Donna's brother. Did he say why he phoned?"
'I told him to ring back.'
Poor Charlie; he was as shy as she had been one time. But while to a large extent she had grown out of her shyness, Charlie never had. He had probably been terrified of her mother. Lydie went up to her room and dialled his number. `I'm sorry I was out when you rang,' she apologised. She was very fond of Charlie. He was never going to set her world on fire, but she thought of him as a close friend.
`Did I ring your mother at a bad time?' he asked nervously.
'No-she's a little busy. My brother's getting married next Saturday.' Lydie covered the likelihood that her mother had been rude to Charlie if he had been in stammering mode.
'Ah. Right,' he said, and went on to say he had planned to ask her to go to the theatre with him tonight, and had been shaken when he'd rung Donna to hear that she had already left Donna's home. `You're helping with the wedding, I expect,' he went on. `Would you have any free time? I've got the tickets and everything. I thought we'd have a meal afterwards and you could stay the night here, if you like. That is... You've probably got something else arranged?' he ended diffidently.
'I'd love to go to the theatre with you,' Lydie accepted. `Would it put you out if I stayed?"
'Your bed's already made up,' he said happily back, and she could almost see his face beaming.
Lydie went to tell her mother that she was going to the theatre with Charlie Hillier and would not be back until mid-morning the next day.
`You're spending the night with him?"
'He has a flat in London. It could be quite late when we finish. It seems more sensible to stay than to drive home afterwards.'
`You're having an affair with him?' her mother shook her by accusing.
`Mother!' Honestly! Charlie wouldn't know how to go about an affair. Come to think of it, Lydie mused whimsically, neither would she. `Charlie's just a friend. More like a brother than anything. And nothing more than that.'
Lydie went back upstairs and put a few things into an overnight bag. Charlie had overcome his shyness one time to attempt to kiss her, but had confessed, when they'd both ended up mightily embarrassed, that he had kissed her more because he thought he ought to than anything else. From then on a few ground rules had been established and they had progressed to be good friends who, on the odd, purely spontaneous moment, would sometimes kiss cheeks in greeting or parting. She had stayed at his flat several times with Donna and young Thomas before baby Sofia had come along. But over the last year Lydie had a couple of times comfortably spent the night in his spare bedroom after a late night in London.
The play Charlie took her to was a lighthearted, enjoyable affair. `Shall we get a drink?' he asked at interval time.
For herself, she wasn't bothered, but felt that Charlie probably wanted one. `A gin and tonic sounds a good idea,' she accepted, and went with him to mingle with the crowd making their slow way to the bar.
They eventually entered the bar, where she decided to wait to one side while Charlie got the drinks. But Lydie had taken only a step or two when all of a sudden, with her heart giving the oddest little flip, she came face to face with none other than Jonah Marriott!
He stopped dead, his wonderful blue eyes on the riot of colour that flared to her face. `I thought you were in Paris!' she blurted out, surprised at seeing him so unexpectedly causing the words to rush from her before she could stop them.
`I came back,' he replied smoothly.
She could do without his smart remarks. It was obvious he had come back! `I need to see you,' she said tautly-by no chance did she intend to discuss her business where they stood. But suddenly she spotted something akin to devilment in his eyes and knew then that if he answered with something smart-That's what they all say-she was going to hit him, regardless of where they were.
He did not say what she expected, but instead drawled, `Monday, same time, same place,' and they both moved on.
She felt unnerved, unsettled, and wished it were Monday, when she would march into his office and demand to know why he had given her a cheque for fifty-five thousand pounds! She was glad when Charlie returned with their drinks.
But Lydie started to feel worse than ever when she abruptly realised that to demand why of Jonah wasn't relevant. What was relevant was to make some arrangement with him to pay him back. Her spirits sank-how? With that question unanswered, she flicked a glance around-her gaze halting when she spotted Jonah. He was not looking at her but over in their direction, at the tall manly back of her dark-haired escort. Her glance slid from Jonah to the stunning, last word in perfection blonde he was escorting. And she'd thought her spirits couldn't get any lower!
Not wanting Jonah to catch her looking in his direction, Lydie tore her eyes away from the sophisticated blonde. `How's business?' she asked Charlie.
`We've got a new woman at the office-she started a couple of weeks ago,' he said, and went red.
`Charlie Hillier!' Lydie teased. `You're smitten.'
He laughed self-consciously, and she smiled affectionately at him. `Well, she is rather nice.'
`Are you going to ask her out?'
He looked horrified. `Heck, no! I hardly know her!'
Dear Charlie. He had been a frequent visitor to his sister's home, but Lydie had known him a year before they had begun to graduate from more than an exchanged hello and goodbye.
She did not see Jonah again that night, and had a late supper with Charlie and went to bed. They shared toast and eggs for breakfast, and Lydie drove home to Beamhurst Court with her head on the fidget with thoughts of her great-aunt, her parents and a man who appeared to enjoy escorting sophisticated blondes to the theatre. Had he taken the blonde with him to Paris?
She awoke on Monday in a state of anxiety. `Couldn't sleep?' her father asked when she went down to an early breakfast.
She didn't know about couldn't sleep-he did not look as if he had slept at all! She looked at his weary face and knew she should tell him that she was going to see Jonah Marriott, but somehow she could not. `I thought, with Mother wanting Aunt Alice to look smart on Saturday, that I'd better make an effort and get myself a new outfit,' Lydie announced. An
d, seeing that her father looked about to remind her of a very important phone call they had to make, `I thought,' she hurried on, `that while I'm in London I'd call in at the Marriott building and make an appointment for us to see Jonah. He was abroad somewhere last week, so I suppose he's still got a lot of catching up to do and will be too busy to see me today.' She was lying to her father again, and hated doing so, but this, seeing Jonah, she felt most strongly, was something she had to do on her own.
But her father was nobody's fool. `How did you manage to get an appointment with him last Friday? He would have been catching up then too.'
`On Friday I thought he owed you money. I didn't bother to make an appointment. I just sort of barged my way in.
A Paper Marriage Page 4