‘I presume those are for Bill’s benefit?’ I asked.
Amanda grinned. ‘You bet! He’s been working really hard recently, so I thought I’d give him a treat. He might even stop thinking about that blessed computer of his for a bit.’
‘If he prefers the computer to you when you’re in those it’ll be grounds for divorce,’ I said, eyeing her purchases wistfully and thinking of having a look in the lingerie shop window myself. But there was no point gazing at stuff I didn’t need (although I can’t say that has ever put me off before), more importantly, had no one to see me in - I had no idea when Arnaud was going to be able to fit a trip ninety miles up the Ml into his busy itinerary and, what should be the primary consideration, which would certainly send my overdraft up to implosion point. I was sure when Mr Brown had offered me that increased overdraft to buy ‘new clothes’ for my new job he hadn’t meant flimsies. Well, maybe he had, I didn’t know him well enough to hazard a guess, but I still couldn’t afford it.
To make sure I was well away from temptation I decided to take a box of brochures over to the other office thinking that I could have a sandwich and a wander around while I was there. The Market Burrough branch was about fifteen miles away and run by Stephen’s father’s original negotiator, Maurice Young, who was long past his retirement date, but refused obstinately to retire on the grounds that he had nothing better to do. A more ruthless businessman than Stephen would have put Maurice out to grass long ago and merged the two offices, but as he said to me with a rueful smile, they didn’t actually lose money and sometimes Maurice came up trumps in an entirely unexpected way. The brochures for a small Georgian gem I was delivering were a case in point. He’d sold it to its elderly owner forty-three years ago, and she’d been so charmed at dealing with the same man again that she’d refused all the blandishments of the bigger chains and given us sole agency.
I carried in the boxes of brochures and stopped for a few minutes to chat. Maurice was a charming old boy, telling me how nice it was going to be having a pretty young thing visiting him from time to time, and generally making the sort of remarks which if he’d been in America would have had a sexual-harassment suit slapped on him before he could say, ‘Delighted to see you.’ He was of the old school that believes firmly that it’s a gentleman’s duty to flirt with every female who crosses his path and I didn’t mind at all. It was rather nice to be made to feel you were the sole cause of whatever spring there might be in the step of that particular sixty-seven-year-old. I collected the files Stephen needed, we never asked Maurice to fax anything unless strictly necessary - the repairman had had to come back three times on the last occasion - and dumped them in the boot of my car before going in search of my sandwich.
I was wondering if the badly over-renovated pub in the high street was one of those places a woman feels comfortable in on her own, or if I ought to get a newspaper first so I could make it quite clear I wasn’t looking for a pick-up, when I saw a familiar man walking down the street towards me, talking to two others. I did a double-take. Surely I was seeing things.
‘Hello Martin,’ I said in a funny high voice, quickly running over what I was wearing, not too bad in fact, and hoping I hadn’t done anything like press my face up against a grubby window since I last looked in a mirror. ‘Are you here to see Maurice as well?’
Stephen’s senior negotiator slowed down, looking at me without pleasure. He didn’t seem to like me, and I didn’t know why, unless he objected on principle to women who were taller than himself. I hadn’t done anything to annoy him, well, I thought I hadn’t. I bitten back any comments about dictator complexes and done the last-minute work he’d thrown at me without (much) complaint, but he still continued to treat me as if I was terminally inefficient, not an attitude I appreciate. But needs must. I smiled at him broadly as I spoke. He nodded slightly in my direction, said, ‘Susie,’ and was carrying on, without breaking his stride, when I exclaimed loudly, ‘Oh, hello! It’s Luke, isn’t it? How nice to see you again. What a coincidence.’
I’d half convinced myself my memories of Luke Dillon were highly over coloured, no one could possibly be that good-looking. Well, maybe they were slightly exaggerated, but they weren’t that far off. The sunlight wasn’t as flattering as the rose-tinted light from the pink lining in the marquee, but the now visible lines around his mouth gave him, in my biased opinion, some added character. And like most women who grew up on a diet of Georgette Heyer, I’m a complete sucker for a man who looks just a bit dissipated. He looked as if he’d been born to wear a beaten-up leather jacket and jeans, I thought, my hormones going into overdrive
‘How are you?’ he asked politely, obviously not recognising me.
‘Susie Gardener,’ I prompted, and then, as he seemed to need further help, ‘We met at Rose and Jeremy’s wedding.’
‘Of course,’ he said, in a tone that made it clear he was little wiser. While, unlike Martin, he was basically too good-mannered to even think of looking at his watch with an impatient sigh, it was apparent from his blank expression and the way his eyes shifted over my shoulder that he wasn’t in any hurry to renew his acquaintance with me. He did, however, appear to be eager to go in the pub and get to know a pint. Bang went my chances of something to eat. I could have risked Luke Dillon thinking that I was pursuing him, especially if it got a result - a girl can always hope, but no way was I prepared to have Martin Prescott going back to the office and telling them all in his snide way that I was such a sad, desperate act I had to resort to following men into pubs.
‘I mustn’t keep you,’ I said, as Luke eyed the door to the pub again in a longing manner, and I was chagrined to see that he looked distinctly relieved.
Then the third member of the party said, ‘I’m not surprised that Luke doesn’t recognise you out of that terrible bridesmaid’s dress. I wouldn’t blame you if you refused to ever speak to Rose again.’ He put his hand out as Luke at last began to look at me with some degree of recognition. ‘I’m Nigel Flaxman, we haven’t met, but I have heard of you before.’
I took his hand. He had the bluest eyes that I’d ever seen in my life, the colour even more intense against the tanned darkness of his skin. I’d have suspected coloured contacts except there was something about him that suggested he wouldn’t be bothered with anything so frivolous as eye enhancers. I’d been too busy gawping at his friend to do more than briefly glance at him at the wedding, but now I realised he was a good bit older than Luke. His greying hair was still thick and he had the trim figure of the naturally slight and small-boned, but there were lines around his eyes and mouth which said he had to be well into his forties. He twitched the lapel of an immaculately cut blue pin-striped suit into place and said, ‘What are you doing up here?’
‘I’ve just started working for Stephen Bailey-Stewart.’
‘Really? Why didn’t you say Susie was working with you, Martin?’ Martin glowered at me, while Nigel said with a smile, ‘We’re just popping in here to grab a bite to eat, why don’t you join us? It would be a pleasure to meet you properly.’
Martin shifted in a way that suggested an inarticulate protest. I expected his idea of a fun lunch didn’t include me. Nigel turned to him and said, ‘Susie and I have an old friend in common, the new Mrs Ashton.’
Martin looked at me as if he hadn’t expected me to have such important connections and mumbled something like, ‘Right, do join us, Susie.’ He still didn’t look particularly enthusiastic about the idea, but Nigel’s tone had made it quite clear that it was he who was calling the shots here and if he wanted to natter about Rose to me over a pint then he would.
I muttered with great insincerity that I couldn’t possibly impose on their lunch, and allowed my protests to be overruled with only the minimum of protest. Within minutes Martin was despatched to fetch our drinks while I was being installed on a banquette, or I would have been if I’d obeyed orders and not nipped off to the ladies to do a surreptitious makeover. Sharing a table with a man who is
prettier than you are is not good for your confidence. The pub was crowded but somehow Nigel, probably by sheer force of personality, had managed to get us a platter of sandwiches made in the time it took me to redo mascara and lipstick. I cast a professional eye over our plates and decided the sandwiches were nothing like as good as the ones I used to make. Luke downed his lager in a few long gulps, and started to look more alert. I realised we’d been dealing with a man in the throes of a full-blown hangover, so it wasn’t really surprising that he hadn’t recognised me. It had probably hurt to see.
Nigel had been establishing how I’d come to be working for Stephen via a few crisp, short questions, all of which demanded a proper answer. This was uncommonly like the interrogation techniques used by lawyers in old Hollywood films; I hoped I was being classified as a friendly witness. He regarded a dry edge to his sandwich with critical displeasure and began to break it off, murmuring, ‘So you’ve burnt your bridges and moved up here. How very courageous of you. I expect Rose is thrilled about it.’
‘She doesn’t know yet. They’re doing a grand honeymoon tour of the States visiting Jeremy’s various American cousins, and should be back at the weekend,’ I said as I virtuously sipped my mineral water. I’d have killed for a glass of wine, but given Martins still-sour mood because I’d joined them I thought it would be more politic not to give him an excuse to say that any mistakes I made that afternoon were due to drinking in working hours.
Nigel’s mouth curved slightly as he said, ‘I must confess, I wonder whether Rose arranged for you to have this job for her own benefit or for yours.’
‘It’s occurred to me too,’ I admitted, ‘but since I benefit either way it doesn’t really worry me.’
‘How very philosophical of you,’ he said, looking at me with approval. Martin raised his head from where he’d been staring sulkily into his pint, distinctly put out he was being excluded from the conversation. ‘Stephen said the other day he was looking forward to meeting Jeremy Ashton’s wife. If he’s never met her, how come she gave your name to him?’ he demanded suspiciously, as if I’d just made the faux pas that conclusively proved I was an imposter.
‘She didn’t actually do it herself, but she’d heard he needed an assistant and got Hamish to make contact with him,’ I explained.
‘Hamish?’ queried Nigel sharply. His fingers mauled the crust into crumbs. ‘Is that Hamish Laing?’ he asked slowly, eyes fixed on my face.
‘Yes,’ I said, surprised at his tone.
‘Well, well, well. Of course, he was best man at the wedding, wasn’t he? And you were chief bridesmaid. How very fitting. Are you a particular friend of his?’ There was a quite unmistakable emphasis on the ‘particular’.
‘Good heavens no!’ I said quickly. Fortunately, it was no hardship to be so honest, even while a basic bolshiness in me resented being asked a question like that by someone I hardly knew, but I wouldn’t have dared say anything else. I certainly wasn’t brave enough to stand up to the degrees of permafrost that had abruptly settled in Nigel’s eyes as I mentioned Hamish’s name. I felt a quite inordinate pang of relief as he smiled slowly at my words, and wondered what lay behind such blatant dislike.
‘Are you sure?’ Luke asked slyly, apparently almost entirely restored to life by a second lager. A little smile curved around his lips. ‘I saw you in deep conversation with him at the wedding.’
He’d been watching me? I thought, with a disproportionate shudder of delight, then realised with a little pang that what with Hamish’s height and me in billowing pink silk we were hardly an unnoticeable couple. ‘I hardly know him,’ I said truthfully. ‘I’ve only seen him once since the wedding, when Stephen asked him to help me move into the cottage.’
Luke picked up his glass and examined it as if he was checking there was really nothing but drops in the bottom of it. ‘Oh, does he live around here?’ he asked idly.
‘I suppose so, all I know is that he works in Leicester,’ I said.
Luke shrugged, putting his glass back on the table with a regretful look, and said, ‘Rather him than me. I suppose someone has to work in provincial cities, but if I had to I’d insist it was one with a bit more glamour, like . . . Edinburgh.’
‘I don’t think the Scots would appreciate hearing you describe their capital city as provincial,’ Nigel said dryly. ‘I particularly wouldn’t recommend doing it on Burns Night.’ He tore another piece off his sandwich, examined it and put it to one side. ‘I presume as you were in pole position behind Rose, you two are still best friends. Do you still discuss everything?’
I sipped my water slowly, wondering what he was getting at. ‘Most things,’ I replied evenly, and looked at him. ‘She didn’t tell me much about you though, I was abroad when she knew you,’ I added, wondering if he was worried Rose had been massively indiscreet.
That must have been it, for he smiled and said, ‘I was glad to be able to see her get married, it’s a long time since we last met.’
‘She seemed to be quite surprised to see you,’ I said carefully.
‘I’m amazed she even noticed us in that crush,’ said Nigel.
Luke laughed. ‘Come on, Nigel! She couldn’t help it, we nearly mowed her down in the porch.’ He glanced sideways at me, eyes glinting. ‘I have to confess, we were a little bit naughty about that, or I was. I knew Rose would have invited us if she’d known Nigel was back from the States and I was going to ring her, but I forgot... So we came anyway.’ He smiled at me beguilingly, expecting instant forgiveness. He was absolutely right. I would forgive a man who looked at me like that a lot more than merely gatecrashing a friend’s wedding.
I’d been watching him closely while he was talking about Rose and, to my relief, whatever feelings she might be harbouring about him, he didn’t appear to show any undue sensitivity about seeing her while she’d been busily getting married to another. Though, to be frank, close observation of my brothers has convinced me men aren’t particularly hot on showing sensitivity about matters of the heart anyway. Their greatest sign of emotion is to down a pint rather quickly, and that certainly doesn’t mean anything in itself.
‘And risked Rose demanding I was immediately thrown out,’ Nigel said with a touch of grimness in his voice. ‘Rose and I weren’t very friendly for a while, that’s why I didn’t contact her myself.’ Those amazing-coloured eyes were fixed on my face, seemingly awaiting my reaction. I nodded to show that I understood. ‘So I was pleased she let us stay and I had the opportunity to mend a few fences.’
I couldn’t help feeling a letter might have done just as well. The truth was probably he hadn’t been able to resist going along to see who his former girl was hitching herself up to.
‘Well, she was delighted to see you,’ I said mendaciously, and turned to Luke. ‘Didn’t you say you’ve got a house up here? Do you know Jeremy too?’
‘Only slightly.’ He grimaced slightly, ‘I don’t move in those circles. Hunting and shooting isn’t my style.’ No, I couldn’t imagine Luke on a horse or striding across a ploughed field potting pigeons myself. His skin was too perfect, he looked like he’d never been windblown in his life. He seemed to belong somewhere glamorously decadent, Happy Valley in Kenya or Cairo before the war perhaps, lounging around with the sort of women who kept cheetahs on jewelled leads and wore shoes with diamond heels.
‘Have you lived here for long?’ I asked curiously, wondering how such an exotic creative had landed up in this rural place.
He shook his head. ‘My grandparents lived here and I used to visit as a child, of course, but I only decided I should have a base up here about a year ago - that’s how I met Martin. He showed me around several places.’
‘And didn’t buy any of them!’ Martin interrupted.
‘I promise I’ll buy the next one through you,’ Luke said and turned his attention back to me, looking at me as if I was the only person in the world he wanted to speak to. I was sure it was a natural gift he’d been born with, but even so, it didn’t da
mpen the warm pleasure inside me. ‘I’m really only an extended weekender. I freelance, so I’ve got some scope when it comes to arranging my time, but I like to come up here regularly so I can keep an eye on my grandmother, who’s getting very frail. You know, pop in and make sure that the gutters are kept clear, all the little things she doesn’t notice any more.’
What a nice person he was, I thought as Nigel asked, ‘Another water, Susie? Or will you be daring enough to have a lemonade shandy this time?’
‘I’d better go, there’s a lot to be done this afternoon,’ I said with real regret. I would have liked longer to try making an impression on Luke, even though I had a feeling that my only chance of making the sort of impression I wanted to on Luke would be to tie him to a chair and hypnotise him. So you could have knocked me over with a feather (a very large feather in my case) when on my return from the ladies I stopped to say goodbye to everyone and Luke looked up with that incredible smile of his and said, ‘It’s been nice seeing you again, Susie. Shall we meet for a drink sometime?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said instantly, biting my lip just in time to stop myself blurting out, ‘When? Where? Can we make it tonight?’
‘How do I get hold of you? At the office? Or have you managed to memorise your new number at your cottage yet?’
I scribbled it down, though I was so fizzy with pleasure that I had to make two attempts to get the numbers in the right order. I could still feel the imprint of Luke’s goodbye kiss on my cheek five minutes later as I drove, somewhat distractedly, out of town. Funny, Nigel had kissed me too - and I’d felt nothing, I thought with a grin. How had he and Rose got together? He wasn’t the sort of man she usually went out with. She liked her men malleable, so she could run rings around them without being checked. I couldn’t imagine anyone daring to do that with Nigel, he looked far too in control of himself, and of those around him. Maybe that was why they’d split up unamicably, because he wouldn’t put up with her games. Despite an easy charm, he’d struck me as one of the coldest men I’d ever met in my life, and that wasn’t just because I’d been comparing him to the smouldering appeal of his friend - which was another odd pairing, when you came to think of it. Nigel was so much older than Luke, and a lot tougher. If I hadn’t been absolutely convinced down to the marrow of my bones that it wasn’t so, I might almost have thought the pair of them were gay, they seemed to know each other so well, but even if I sometimes doubt the accuracy of my own antennae, I have absolute confidence in Rose’s. If there had been any question of it she’d have told me directly, rather than dropping those infuriatingly elliptical hints about Luke. She took the pursuit of men much too seriously to allow me to waste my time in that way. And if she didn’t like what I was pursuing, too bad. The only man she had any business to stop me going near was Jeremy. I had to brake sharply to avoid a couple of old women who were gossiping their way slowly across the road and decided to start concentrating on driving and not indulging in rose-tinted daydreams.
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