Burning colour flooded her face as she made for the bathroom and locked the door behind her. She brushed her teeth and washed her face with a violence that made it even redder, and took as long as she could over the process. At last she unlocked the door, brushed past James on the landing and went into the bedroom to dress before hurrying downstairs. When James joined her in the kitchen she gave him no chance to speak.
‘I’d like you to leave now, please.’
He shook his head, eyes hard. ‘Not before you tell me the truth at last.’
For a moment Harriet was tempted. After all, did it really matter so much any more? And if it caused trouble between James Crawford and her father did she care? What a fool she’d been. Making love with James at long last had been the rapture she’d always known it would be, but for him it had merely been the most effective form of persuasion.
‘You exerted your considerable sexual talent just for that?’ she said without emotion. ‘Or was getting me into bed at long last the final touch to your payback programme?’
James’s eyes blazed with cold distaste. ‘No, it was not. And if that’s how your mind works these days it doesn’t matter a damn why you sent me packing back then—I’m just grateful you did.’ He strode to the door but closed it softly behind him in a far bigger statement than slamming it shut.
Sheer pride made Harriet stay on at the cottage until the Monday. The weather, at least, was perfect. She was able to sunbathe all she wanted, but no matter how high the temperature rose she couldn’t face the thought of swimming. She ate sensibly and went for regular walks each day. She even went as far as the village shop, and found the exercise energised her. She was pleased with herself. She was no maiden falling into a decline over a man. She’d been there, done that once already over the same man. But last time she’d been in the depths of despair because she’d been forced to hurt James. This time the shoe was on the other foot, and God, how it hurt!
Her phone kept her from feeling lonely. Moira rang to report that Dominic had come to see Lily, and she’d allowed him to stay the night. Aubrey Wilde rang to ask when she was coming back, so did Miriam, and Julia called with a reminder about the photo shoot. Charlotte Brewster contacted Harriet to confirm dates for the TV filming sessions in River House, and the cookery shot on schedule later, and said the bed retailers wanted to repaint the veranda bedroom in their trademark shade of pomegranate. Since Charlotte had negotiated a higher fee for this Harriet was all for it. She got in touch with Lydia and asked her to inform the partners that she would be back on Tuesday to meet with two of her clients on schedule, then rang to ask after Annabel, and learned that both Sophie and her daughter were in tearing spirits because Pilar was arriving next day. From James there was only silence.
The day before she left Cliff Cottage Harriet cleaned every inch of it to make sure Mrs Pugh would have no complaints after she departed, and reported her hard work when Moira rang with the news that Lily had gone back to London with Dominic.
‘Did you find out what was wrong?’
‘The poor darling thought she was pregnant, but it was a false alarm.’
‘Why wouldn’t she tell her mother?’
‘Who knows? She only told me about it once she knew she wasn’t. Dominic promptly asked, and received, Marcus’s permission to marry Lily, and produced a ring on the spot, so all’s well that ends well.’ Moira sighed. ‘I’m glad I only had brothers! Talking of which, James bit my head off when I asked him how you were enjoying your break at the cottage.’ She hesitated. ‘Did you two have some kind of disagreement?’
‘Good heavens, no,’ lied Harriet brightly, and began discussing possible dates with Moira for the lunch they’d postponed.
Harriet woke up early on the Monday morning to rain, which suited her mood as she ate some breakfast. Afterwards, she transferred her belongings to the car and locked the house carefully behind her, took a last look at the view, then slid behind the wheel and turned on the ignition. Nothing happened. With a groan of pure frustration she tried again, and then again, and at last, cursing the mechanic at home who was supposed to have put the car right only a few days ago, rang the garage attached to the village stores. To her infinite gratitude she was promised help right away, and within minutes a pickup arrived with a cheery young man who put his head under the bonnet of her car and soon diagnosed the problem.
‘It’s the starter motor. You’ll need a new one, miss, but I’ll have to send off for one, which would take a couple of days.’
She smiled at him ruefully. ‘Then can I leave it with you? I’ll come back at the weekend to collect it. In the meantime, can you give me some information about trains? I must get home today.’
With a cheery efficiency Harriet deeply appreciated, the mechanic, who introduced himself as Evan Johns, son of the proprietor of both stores and garage, gave her the times of trains from Haverfordwest, and even offered to drive her there.
‘This is so kind of you,’ said Harriet when they were on their way.
‘No problem. I can catch up with my list when I get back—I rang my dad to explain.’
Harriet was on the station platform in Haverfordwest, waiting for her train when Moira rang.
‘Sorry to keep hassling you, Harriet, but if you haven’t started out yet could you bring the Michael Connelly novel Marcus left behind last time?’
When Harriet explained why she wouldn’t be able to do that Moira sympathised and insisted on picking her up from the train in Shrewsbury.
‘I can’t let you do that! I’ll get a taxi.’
‘Certainly not; it would cost a fortune. It’s a pleasant drive and now all the excitement’s over my time is my own, so I’ll be there, waiting for you.’
But to Harriet’s consternation it was James, in formal city suit, who met her from the train.
‘My sister sends her apologies but there’s an emergency with the Old Rectory plumbing and Marcus is in court today,’ he informed her, taking her bags.
‘She shouldn’t have asked you to come for me,’ said Harriet, dismayed. ‘I told her I could take a taxi.’
‘I had business in the area,’ he said coldly. ‘It’s not a problem.’
Not for him, maybe, but a car journey alone with James Crawford in the present circumstances was the last thing Harriet wanted. ‘It’s very kind of you,’ she said tightly as he stowed her luggage.
‘Not at all.’ He shot a glance at her as he tossed his jacket on the back seat. ‘How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you.’
‘Did you do any more swimming?’
‘No.’
‘Very sensible.’
Silence fell. Harriet, grateful for dark glasses, stared through the windscreen, and though not normally a speed fan, willed him to drive faster to get this over with.
‘You heard about Lily?’ James asked after a while.
‘Yes.’
He shot a searching glance at her. ‘It struck me that there could be similar worries for you after our night together.’
Harriet’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. ‘There won’t,’ she said baldly, and fervently hoped she was right. Her one fleeting experience of contraceptive pills in college had been so unpleasant she had never taken them again.
‘Good,’ he said, equally terse.
Harriet endured the rest of the endless journey in silence. It felt like hours before James finally turned up the River House drive to the Lodge.
‘Thank you so much.’ She smiled coolly as he took her bags from the car. ‘I’m sure you’re in a hurry to be off so I won’t ask you to come in.’
‘Don’t be stupid,’ he said impatiently. ‘Having collected you from the blasted train, I can spare a moment to carry your luggage inside.’
Stony-faced, Harriet unlocked the door and went inside, dismayed to find that the Lodge sitting room felt small and claustrophobic after the not much bigger Cliff Cottage. How stupid was that? But then she was stupid, according to James. ‘Thank you,’ s
he said brusquely as he stood holding the bags.
‘I’ll just take these upstairs for you—’
‘No,’ said Harriet involuntarily. ‘I’ll unpack them down here. Easier for laundry.’
He put them down. ‘In that case I’ll take myself off.’
‘Goodbye, and thank you again for the lift.’
He looked down at her, his face grim. ‘Before I go, let’s get something clear. I was brought up to honour my obligations, so if you find you are expecting my child, I’ll do the right thing.’
Harriet stared at him, speechless for a moment. ‘How very noble of you,’ she said at last. ‘But even if something so unlikely should happen, the right thing won’t be necessary.’
His eyes glittered with such cold ferocity she had to fight to stand her ground. ‘Because I’m still not socially acceptable for Miss Wilde of River House?’
Harriet suddenly lost her temper. ‘Oh for God’s sake, get rid of the chip on your shoulder, James Crawford. I meant that in the unlikely event that I marry anyone, ever, it won’t be someone forced into it to “do the right thing”.’
‘Who mentioned marriage?’ he snarled and strode out of the house to gun the Aston Martin down the drive to the road.
CHAPTER TWELVE
ENRAGED by James’s parting shot, Harriet was too furious to walk up to the house to report in. Her father was probably out, anyway, and Margaret would have finished for the day long since. But a look in the kitchen confirmed that before leaving Margaret had stocked Harriet’s fridge and bread bin. For some reason this was the last straw. Harriet laid her head on her arms on the counter and gave way to a flood of bitter tears which, far from giving relief, only made her feel worse when they finally stopped. She splashed her face with cold water, then fetched her bags and decanted most of her laundry straight into the washing machine. The new nightwear James had taken off in such a hurry was thrust in a plastic bag and binned.
Harriet had a quick shower, did her face and hair, and checked the garage. When she saw her father’s car there she went into the house via the back door.
‘Hello,’ she called as she went inside. ‘Anybody home?’
Aubrey Wilde came hurrying into the kitchen, smartly dressed as usual. ‘Harriet! You look really well. You obviously enjoyed your little holiday.’
‘I did, very much. I thought I’d just report in before I eat.’
‘Good, good. Come along to the drawing room. Now you’re here, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
Antennae quivering when her father took her hand to enter the drawing room, Harriet smiled politely at the woman who rose from the sofa at their entry. She was tall, with a slim athletic figure and expensively cut ash-blonde hair framing a handsome suntanned face. ‘Harriet,’ said her father, ‘I’d like you to meet Madeleine Fox.’
Mrs Fox! Harriet freed her hand to hold it out. ‘How do you do?’
Madeleine took the hand in a strong grip and shook it briefly. ‘It’s good to meet you at last. Aubrey’s told me so much about you.’
Surprise news to Harriet. ‘Do you live locally?’
‘I moved into Fossedyke Court a few months ago.’ Madeleine smiled. ‘I still feel like the new kid on the block here, but Aubrey’s been very kind in making me feel welcome at the golf club.’
‘She plays off eight,’ Aubrey told Harriet with pride.
‘Quite a compliment from a scratch player,’ Madeleine returned, smiling at him, and turned to Harriet. ‘You have a beautiful home.’
Praise indeed from someone who lived in a Jacobean manor house. ‘It’s lovely,’ agreed Harriet, ‘but quite a responsibility.’
‘So is mine. But I’ve inherited it so I’ve just got to get on with it. My boys would prefer me to live in something more modern and easy, but they both work in London, so I rattle around there on my own.’
No Mr Fox, then.
‘When exactly is Julia coming down, Harriet?’ asked Aubrey.
‘On Sunday, ready for the shoot on Monday. Have you organised somewhere to stay?’
‘Madeleine’s offered to put me up.’ He flushed slightly. ‘But that’s on Monday. I thought we’d get Sophie over so we can all have dinner together on Sunday. I’ve spoken to Margaret and she’ll do the meal.’
‘Aubrey says you’ve been to West Wales. You obviously had good weather,’ said Madeleine.
‘I was lucky with that. It was good to have a break, but I get back to work tomorrow.’ Harriet looked at her father. ‘Do you want me to get in touch with Sophie about the meal?’
‘No, dear, I already have.’
‘I’ll say goodnight, then.’
‘Good to meet you, Harriet,’ said Madeleine Fox. ‘See you on Sunday.’
So Mrs Fox was joining the party. Harriet went back to the Lodge in a thoughtful mood. Her father had been a widower for a long time, but, as far as she knew, had never brought a woman here before. Margaret would have known if he had. If he’d had liaisons, which a man like him must have done, they’d been conducted somewhere else. Madeleine Fox was the first woman to dine at River House. Did that mean her father would like her to move into it with him? If so, it would be the end of Harriet’s sojourn at the Lodge. She would find somewhere in town.
After a quick word with Moira, who apologised for failing to meet her at Shrewsbury, Harriet kept the peace by ringing Miriam to say she was back, then finally ate some soup and went early to bed, if not early to sleep. Not that she had expected to sleep after the unexpected, unbearable journey home with James.
Next day Nick Corbett rang her at the office.
‘I was just checking to see if you were back,’ he said. ‘Head all better now?’
‘Yes, thanks. A few days by the sea did the head, and me, the world of good.’
‘Are you free for dinner tonight?’
Oh, yes, she was free. Free as a bird. ‘Yes, Nick.’
‘Let’s do something different. If you park behind the office I’ll pick you up there. Seven-thirty?’
‘Fine.’
Harriet returned to work feeling rather better. Nick was cheerful company, and right now she needed cheerful.
To enhance her sun-kissed look later she wore white linen trousers and camel silk sweater, and let her hair loose. She parked the car in the appointed place, and found Nick waiting for her, equally casual in jeans and the inevitable polo shirt.
‘You look gorgeous,’ he said, and kissed her cheek. ‘You should always wear your hair like that.’
She shook her head. ‘My clients would never take me seriously. Some of them had trouble in switching their accounts to a woman as it was when my predecessor left the firm. Where are we going?’
Nick gave her his most winning smile. ‘I was too late to book anywhere so I ordered in. I thought a quiet evening at my place would be good.’
This was an invitation Harriet had so far steadfastly refused. But tonight the alternative was to go back to the Lodge with only herself for company, so she smiled in agreement.
Nick’s flat was in one of the buildings near the market hall, with tall ceilings and big windows overlooking the town centre. ‘They made such a good job of the renovation in this building it’s worth the catastrophic price I paid for the flat,’ he said as he showed her into his living room. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘I’m driving, as usual, so something soft and harmless, please,’ she said, a request that obviously disappointed Nick.
He was animated company as usual as he brought her up to date with the latest gossip. The risotto was good, so was the inevitable tiramisu which followed it, and while Harriet kept to grapefruit juice topped up with lemonade Nick drank the expensive wine he’d obviously chosen with care.
He refused her help to clear away the meal, and came back with a coffee tray. ‘So tell me, are the rumours true?’ he asked.
‘Rumours?’
‘I heard on the grapevine that your father’s getting married again.’ His eyes gleamed as
he joined her on his expensive leather chesterfield. ‘He’s been seeing a lot of the elegant Madeleine Fox lately. Are the rumours true?’
‘I’m sure you’ll soon know if they are,’ she assured him, her pleasure in the evening, never more than lukewarm, instantly dispelled.
‘If they do tie the knot he’ll move into that fabulous manor house of hers, of course. And you’ll be left alone, Harriet.’ He moved closer. ‘You don’t have to be. I’d be only too delighted to keep you company at River House.’
Harriet stared at him blankly. ‘What do you mean, exactly?’
He smiled eagerly. ‘We’ve been seeing a lot of each other lately, so I think we should get married as soon as possible. My mother is always telling me it’s time I had a wife, and you’re the perfect choice, Harriet—’
‘Why?’
Nick thrust a hand through his floppy fair hair, smile fading. ‘What do you mean, why?’
‘What makes me the perfect wife, Nick?’
‘You’re clever, attractive, and we get on well together.’ He pulled her into his arms. ‘And I bet we’d be dynamite in bed together too.’ His groping hands were hot and damp through the silk sweater as he kissed her, but when he thrust his tongue in her mouth Harriet pushed him away and forced a cough.
‘Sorry,’ she croaked artistically. ‘Can I have some water, please?’
Nick raced off to the kitchen and came back with a brimming glass. Harriet drank deeply, and then smiled ruefully at her host. ‘I do apologise.’
‘No problem,’ he said shortly, though there obviously was from his point of view. There was a problem from hers, too, she realised, depressed. After James, kissing any other man was out of the question. Always had been.
‘I really am sorry, Nick. I’m still not a hundred per cent.’ Harriet put a dramatic hand to her head as though it ached. ‘I think I’d better get myself home to bed.’
‘I hoped you’d share mine tonight,’ he said with one of his winning smiles.
‘Yes, I gathered that. Sorry, Nick.’
‘You could at least tell me what you think of my proposal before you go!’
Harriet looked at him levelly. ‘You tell me something first, Nick. If my home was a flat here in town instead of River House, would you feel the same enthusiasm for me?’
A Wicked Persuasion Page 14