by Penny Jordan
Of course, she could see now quite plainly what had happened. Her solicitor had never recommended her for this job. No, it had all been Mrs Mayers’ idea. No doubt she had read about the case, known about her through her son’s involvement, and, feeling sorry for her, had made it her business to find out as much about her as she could. It was typical of the kind of thing she would do; she was that type of person—compassionate, impulsive, always wanting to help her fellow human beings. The direct opposite of her son, in fact.
Lark was sitting curled up in the windowseat of her bedroom, her face turned towards the view of the garden, but in reality she was oblivious to it when Mrs Mayers knocked quietly and came in.
‘Lark, you mustn’t feel uncomfortable about meeting James,’ she began without preamble. ‘The court case was dismissed. It’s in the past now.’
‘As far as you’re concerned,’ Lark replied huskily. She turned her head and looked at her employer. ‘You must see that I can’t stay here now. I…I’m sure I’m only echoing what J—what your son must have already said to you. He can’t want me working for you. I know you were trying to be kind. I can understand exactly what happened, and it was very kind of you to go to such trouble to find me and offer me the job, but we both know that your son doesn’t approve…’
If she had been looking directly at her, Lark would have seen a most curious expression cross her employer’s face, but she wasn’t. She was staring down at her own hands, willing them not to tremble.
She had been so happy here…so free from the burdens of the court case, and yet all the time she had felt as though she were allowing herself to drift into a false sense of security. At the back of her mind had been the knowledge that Mrs Mayers’ son could so easily destroy her newfound serenity, and that had been before she had known exactly who he was.
‘I’ll pack my things tonight, and leave first thing in the morning.’ Lark swallowed the huge lump in her throat. The last thing she wanted now was to burst into tears, but that was exactly what she felt like doing.
‘Oh, Lark, do you really hate him so much?’
Lark stared at her, her words only sinking in slowly, and when they had she crimsoned with mortification. How churlish and childish Mrs Mayers must think her!
‘No, it isn’t that.’
‘Then, my dear, what is it? Why must you leave? I thought we were getting on so well together, and you must know how much I’ve already come to rely on you.’
Lark was confused. She had expected Mrs Mayers to agree with her that she ought to leave, not to try and persuade her to stay.
‘I…’
‘Please think again. If it’s James that bothers you, remember we’ll be leaving for Boston soon, and he isn’t exactly a regular visitor at the best of times.’
Lark quickly picked up on the slightly forlorn note in her employer’s voice; she was making her feel extremely guilty, making her feel, in fact, as though she was running away, deserting her almost.
‘I don’t want to cause trouble between you,’ she heard herself saying uncertainly, when she should have been saying that it was impossible for her to stay.
‘Trouble?’ Mrs Mayers frowned questioningly.
‘Yes. Your son…’ She paused uncertainly, amazed to see Mrs Mayers grimace in wry amusement.
‘He does have a name, my dear, and I promise you it won’t poison you if you try and say it. He isn’t an ogre, you know.’
‘He can’t want me working for you,’ Lark insisted, unable to respond to that.
‘Why on earth not?’ Mrs Mayers was quite obviously astonished, which confused Lark more than ever. ‘If the reason you want to leave is because you think James doesn’t approve, it’s the silliest reason I ever heard of,’ she told Lark roundly. ‘I might listen to my son’s advice when I think I need it, Lark, but when it comes to making a judgement of character, I’m perfectly capable of coming to my own decisions. And besides,’ she hesitated, and then gave a faint sigh, ‘Lark, I think I can understand why you feel the way you do, but try not to confuse the barrister with the man. James was only doing his job. He had been retained by the company who employed your cousin. Obviously they wanted to make sure that no one else would feel tempted to copy him. Too many companies are losing too much money through computer fraud. Once James realised…’
‘Please, I don’t want to talk about it,’ Lark interrupted her.
She was close to the edge of losing her self-control, of being dragged back into those dark days that she had just begin to think were now genuinely behind her. The memory of the nights she had lain awake, refusing to allow herself to sleep because her dreams were so haunted, shadowed her face. She was aware of her employer’s own uncertainty, too wrapped up in her unhappy thoughts to see the faint frown creasing the older woman’s forehead.
‘Look, Lark, just promise me that you won’t do anything hasty…that you’ll stay with me for at least another month. By that time we’ll be in Boston. I promise you, you have nothing to fear from James.’
What could she do? She owed it to Mrs Mayers to give her her word that she would stay with her for at least that short period of time, and so, reluctantly, she did so.
‘Please come down and have dinner with us.’
She saw the refusal forming in Lark’s eyes and said quietly, ‘You can’t run away from life for ever, Lark. I discovered that when my husband and son died. If you still want to leave me in a month’s time, then I’ll have to let you go. We’ve only known each other a very short time, but already I’ve become very fond of you. You’re so obviously innocent that I can only marvel that the case ever reached court at all.’
‘It reached court because no one else seems to share your opinion,’ Lark couldn’t stop the bitterness from creeping into her voice.
‘Lark, you’re wrong,’ Mrs Mayers protested, and then broke off as both of them heard the grandfather clock strike. ‘There isn’t time for us to go into this now, but I promise you that, even if James did disapprove of my employing you, he knows as well as I do that the decision is mine.’
Even if he did? Mrs Mayers was trying to be tactful, but Lark knew the truth. There was no ‘even’ about it. He did disapprove. He must. After the way he had looked at her as he walked into the court room, after the way he had bombarded her with questions designed to totally destroy her, how could he help disapproving of his mother’s employment of someone he had believed to be guilty of a major crime, morally if not legally?
But she had given Mrs Mayers her word that she would stay, and so, instead of packing, she showered and changed into the plain black wool dress that was the nearest thing she had to an evening outfit. The neat white collar emphasised the slender length of her throat, the fine wool high-lighting, to Lark’s eyes, how much weight she had lost. She was still too thin, despite Cora’s delicious meals.
Black suited her; it was perfect with her creamy skin and red hair. The dress covered her from head to toe, and yet, when she checked her appearance in the mirror, she frowned to see how very striking she looked; since her teenage days, her appearance had gone against her. Quite early on her aunt had warned her that the male sex nearly always made the wrong assumptions about girls with red hair. When Lark hadn’t understood, she had explained more plainly, leaving Lark feeling both bewildered and hurt. Men associated red hair with the kind of girls of whom her aunt did not approve, and it was for that reason that, as a teenager, she had made Lark wear her hair in a very short and unflattering style. It was only when she had gone to university that she had grown it; initially because she had neither the time nor the cash to spare for hairdressers, and then later because she had realised that shoulder-length hair suited her and was more adaptable.
Charlotte Vail, Mrs Mayers’ god-daughter, had called to say that she wasn’t arriving until after dinner, so that meant there would just be the three of them for the meal.
Lark delayed going down for as long as she could, but then her conscience reminded her of how kind Mrs M
ayers had been to her and how frail her health was, and so, putting aside her own feelings, she opened her bedroom door and went downstairs.
Mrs Mayers had already told her they were having pre-dinner drinks in the drawing-room, but she still hovered uncertainly outside the half-open door, reluctant to go inside and confront the reality of James Wolfe again.
She heard Mrs Mayers speaking and held her breath, not wanting to eavesdrop and not wanting to interrupt, either. A second later she was wishing that she had, when she heard Mrs Mayers saying firmly, ‘No, James, I don’t think you should say anything. The poor child is absolutely terrified of you. Leave it for a little while.’
So she was right. He had objected to Mrs Mayers employing her, but his mother was persuading him not to say anything.
Lark’s initial reaction was to walk in and give in her notice there and then, but that would hurt Mrs Mayers—someone who had shown her the utmost kindness—and that wouldn’t be fair. Besides, Mrs Mayers needed her…genuinely needed her.
She clung desperately to that thought as she walked into the room, deliberately avoiding looking directly at James.
When she did look at him, it came as a shock to realise that he had changed and was now wearing a formal dinner-suit, the fine weight of the trousers making them cling slightly to the muscular strength of his thighs as he stood up in polite acknowledgement of her arrival. He must still have a room here in this house. Did he commute daily from Oxfordshire, or did he have his own accommodation in the city? Probably not, if he maintained a wardrobe here at his mother’s.
These and other equally muddled thoughts suppressed a little of her tension. She heard James asking her what she wanted to drink, and must have made some kind of reply, because several minutes later he was handing her a glass of pale liquid which she realised was sherry. An extremely dry and expensive sherry, she realised.
As she reached out to take it from him, his fingers brushed hers. The shocking sensation that ran through her caused her to give an audible gasp; she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, already knowing the mocking look that would be in his eyes. Her reaction to him must be some kind of reverse dislike, and it was just her imagination that made her think that there was danger in allowing herself to dwell too deeply on the significance of such sensations.
‘And how do you like working for my mother, Miss Cummings?’
The polite, detached question was his way of tormenting her, she was sure of it. She responded disjointedly, hating him for putting her in a position where she was forced to converse with him as though they had never met before, as though she was, in actual fact, a new employee of his mother’s whom he had never met before.
‘Lark has been most marvellously helpful in getting the ball organised,’ Mrs Mayers enthused.
Lark saw James frown. ‘I thought Charlotte was going to help you with that.’
He looked very formidable when he frowned, and Lark wasn’t surprised to hear the distinctly cajoling note in his mother’s voice as she appealed.
‘Oh, James, you know what Charlotte’s like. I don’t think she realised how much work was involved. She means well, but she’s very young.’
Lark who had thought his disapproval stemmed from his dislike and distrust of her as a substitute for Charlotte, was stunned to hear him saying curtly, ‘She’s twenty-two, Mother, exactly the same age as Lark, and yet I don’t hear you describing Lark as “very young”. The trouble with Charlotte is that she’s been spoiled…’
‘Yes, I’m afraid she has. I suppose it’s unavoidable, really. Charlotte’s mother died when she was two,’ Mrs Mayers explained to Lark. ‘Her father dotes on her, but I’m afraid a succession of expensive boarding-schools is not exactly the best background for a child to grow up against. What are you going to see tonight, James? I’m afraid I’ve forgotten.’
‘I don’t know. Charlotte arranged everything.’
Lark was glad when it was time to go in for dinner. She put down her sherry untouched.
‘Not to your taste, Lark?’ James asked her.
She couldn’t help flushing. Was there anything that escaped him?
‘It’s fine,’ she told him, tilting her chin and looking directly at him for the first time since she had entered the room. His eyes were really the most amazing colour: silver, and then grey, shifting between light and dark in the space of a handful of seconds, and then back again in a way that was so fascinating that she forgot what she had been saying. He had thick, black lashes, short and stubby, emphasising his masculinity. His eyes lightened as he began to smile, and then she realised how long she had been staring, and she burst into a husky flood of speech that for some reason made his smile deepen.
‘Come on, you two,’ Mrs Mayers chided them. ‘Cora has made a soufflé, and she’ll be furious if we keep it waiting.’
Lark had expected to be ignored over dinner, while mother and son conversed, but to her surprise, not only Mrs Mayers but James as well drew her into their conversation. Was he trying to trap her into some kind of verbal indiscretion? she wondered, answering his small-talk with monosyllables, quickly returning her attention to her plate.
Once she thought she glimpsed the beginnings of anger in his eyes, as though somehow her reluctance to talk to him had annoyed him.
Mrs Mayers was just suggesting that they adjourn to the drawing-room for coffee when her god-daughter arrived.
Charlotte Vail was one of the most beautiful girls Lark had ever seen: petite and dark, with her hair cut in an expensive and immaculate straight bob, her clothes shrieking Knightsbridge, the string of pearls around her slender throat reflecting the creamy glow of her fair skin.
She greeted both her godmother and James effusively, but for Lark she had only a tiny, cold smile, delivered with an air of condescension that made Lark grit her teeth, knowing that she had been quite firmly and deliberately put in her place.
Charlotte Vail had made it extremely clear that she did not consider her godmother’s personal assistant to be on the same elevated social plane as herself.
Normally Lark would have been more amused than offended, but because James Wolfe was a party to Charlotte’s snub, she discovered that she was flushing with a mixture of anger and humiliation.
If she had resented James’s attempts to draw her into the conversation over dinner, that resentment had been nothing compared with what she had to endure when Charlotte deliberately and almost maliciously excluded her by discussing with her godmother and James her wide variety of friends and acquaintances, none of whom, quite naturally, were known to Lark.
The only comment she addressed to Lark was a pseudo-innocent enquiry into her past and how she had come to work for Mrs Mayers. To Lark’s surprise, it was James who came to her rescue, saying smoothly that Lark had been personally recommended to his mother.
‘Oh, I see. I thought for a moment you must be one of James’s good works.’
Lark saw James frown but, before he could speak, Mrs Mayers stood up and said quickly, ‘Good heavens, I hadn’t realised it was that time! If you don’t leave soon, James, you’re going to be late. You do still have your key, don’t you? Because Lark and I will both be in bed by the time you come back.’
Lark tried not to react to the discovery that she and James Wolfe were sharing the same roof for the night. She was still smarting from Charlotte’s crack about ‘good works’. For all her air of innocence, she was pretty sure that the other girl had known exactly how insulting she was being. Did she also know Lark’s own circumstances? Surely it wasn’t ethical for barristers to discuss the personalities involved in their cases, rather in the same way that doctors did not discuss their patients, but she wasn’t sure enough of her ground to know exactly what the ethics of the legal world were. She watched as Charlotte kissed Mrs Mayers and then tucked her arm possessively through James’s and batted her eyelashes at him.
‘You know you’re perfectly welcome to spend the night at my place, darling…’
�
��And have your father come chasing after me with his twelve-bore? I don’t think so,’ James responded drily.
What exactly was the relationship between them? Lark wondered later, after Mrs Mayers had pleaded tiredness and gone to bed. The older woman had looked tired, worryingly so. She was by no means as well as she liked to pretend. She did need her, Lark acknowledged, and Lark herself felt she could hardly repay her kindness by handing in her notice now, even though her instincts urged her to put just as much distance as she could between herself and James Wolfe; always supposing he allowed her to remain working for his mother.
Mrs Mayers had not seemed to have any doubts whatsoever that James had no intention of interfering with her arrangements. Lark wished she could be as sanguine.
She wrestled with the problem for another half an hour; Cora appeared and asked if she would like a pot of coffee before she herself went to bed.
Lark liked the housekeeper, and appreciated the thoughtfulness she had been shown. As soon as she had realised that Lark worked on in the evenings after Mrs Mayers had gone to bed, Cora had started producing a light supper tray, which she normally brought to the study just before she went to bed.
Lark repaid her kindness by returning the tray to the kitchen and washing and putting away everything she had used.
There was absolutely no way she was going to be able to sleep, so she might as well do some work. Ten minutes later, armed with a pot of coffee and some of Cora’s home-made ginger-bread, Lark sat down behind the desk and started to work.
Some time later she pushed aside the list she was studying in disgust. It was no use trying to deceive herself, she was not concentrating on what she was doing. The clock outside on the stairs had struck the hour twice since she had started to work, and on both occasions she had lifted her head and wondered exactly when James would come back.