Seeds of April

by Celia Scott

'Don't look so scandalised, Miss Kenmore,' he said, 'I'm not offering you a whole bottle. Just a friendly glass of champagne while you prepare dinner.'

  'Well… yes. Thank you.' She turned her attention to making a roux for the soup, casting a sidelong look at her employer from under her long lashes. What had got into him? He didn't usually behave like this. If it was possible she could have sworn he was nervous.

  'Here you are.' He handed her a long narrow glass of wine. 'I'll have one as well, I think.' He poured a second glass and raised it in a toast. 'Here's to… to the dinner. Which I'm sure will be delicious as always.'

  Philippa took a sip of champagne, which tickled her nose delightfully. 'About dinner, Mr Everett,' she said, trying to restore a businesslike atmosphere, 'you said you wanted caviare to begin, but I'm making some cream of asparagus soup, just in case. And do you want the steak served on toast with pate? I see there's pate in the fridge.'

  Damon Everett looked discomfited, and looked down to examine the champagne that bubbled in his glass. 'About my guest—' he began.

  'Incidentally,' Philippa cut in, 'you did specify a rich sweet, so I made a gateau Saint-Honore. It's rather a lot for two, but you can finish it later in the week. It'll keep in the fridge.'

  'I'd better change,' he said suddenly, putting his glass of champagne on the table and bolting out of the kitchen.

  This most uncharacteristic behaviour puzzled Philippa. He seemed under some kind of emotional strain. But it had nothing to do with her, she reasoned, so she went back to making her soup.

  She set the dining room table. She knew where things were kept now, and could manage this without a search for utensils. She laid two places close together at the polished oak table. As usual she took pleasure in handling the heavy Georgian silver that Damon Everett possessed. A fire was burning in the large fireplace, which set off the chill of the April evening. The flames vied with the setting sun, which glowed on the oak panelling and turned the shallow silver bowl of yellow crocuses in the centre of the table to dazzling gold. This room, like the kitchen, was spotless. Philippa wondered how many cleaning women he employed to keep the house so sparkling. She had never seen a servant about the place.

  The soup was simmering, the salad waiting to be tossed, the toast ready to be spread with pate. Once his guest arrived she could boil the potatoes and dinner would be under way. She was sipping her wine, enjoying the festive feeling champagne always gave her, when Damon Everett returned. He was now wearing a wine velvet smoking jacket. The deep red colour gave his dark-skinned face an exotic look, and made his eyes seem brighter.

  He went to the glass of champagne he had left on the kitchen table and emptied it down the sink.

  'Flat,' he explained, when she looked askance. 'Anyway, I don't want any more champagne. I thought a red Burgundy to go with the steaks. I've got a bottle of Chambertin open to breathe. Will Chambertin do?'

  Wine was not in Philippa's province. She took care of the food, and left the wine to the client.

  'I'm sure it'll be fine, Mr Everett.' She couldn't make out what was the matter with him this evening. 'Does your guest like Chambertin?'

  'I don't know. I don't know what wine she likes.'

  So his guest was a woman. She must be quite a special date to make him so nervous. He was most unlike his usual urbane self. He's positively human, Philippa thought; it's nice to know the imperturbable Damon Everett has nerves like the rest of us.

  'Well, Miss Kenmore,' he took a deep breath and fixed his eyes on hers, 'I think it's time to serve the caviare.'

  'But, Mr Everett, your guest hasn't arrived yet.'

  'She has.'

  'I didn't hear the bell.'

  'Miss Kenmore, you're my guest this evening.' He stared fixedly into her astonished face.

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'No one else is coming. So I hope you'll have dinner with me.'

  Philippa stared up at him.

  'But, Mr Everett, if your party has fallen through you should have called me to cancel. I would have understood.'

  'Well, I didn't call,' he barked at her, 'so will you dine with me? I want to discuss a… a project… with you.'

  'We don't have to have dinner to discuss business,' Philippa protested. 'You could have phoned me.'

  'I'm offering you a meal, Miss Kenmore. Whether you join me or not I'd appreciate it if you'd start serving,' he said, resuming his imperious manner. 'I'm very hungry.'

  Without another word Philippa switched on the electric ring under the potatoes. 'I'll give you your caviare now, sir,' she said icily.

  'And you'll join me? Come, Miss Kenmore, I'm not accustomed to begging.' When she didn't reply he added, 'Pax, Miss Kenmore?' His stern face looking suddenly like a small boy's.

  She fiddled with the dish of hardboiled eggs that accompanied the first course. 'Very well, Mr Everett,' she finally agreed. 'But I don't want to be paid for tonight's work.'

  'If you insist.'

  'I do.' She raised her delicately moulded chin defiantly.

  'Now that's settled can we please eat? I missed lunch today.'

  It felt odd to be sitting at the long dining table. Philippa had removed her apron while Damon lit the white candles in the branched silver candelabrum, and now she sat beside him eating caviare.

  'You haven't given yourself much,' he remarked.

  'It's plenty, thank you,' she answered primly, then confessed, 'I don't like it very much.'

  'You don't like caviare?' He seemed amazed.

  'It reminds me of salty sago pudding, and I hate sago pudding.'

  'What a confession for a Cordon Bleu!' he said loftily.

  'Oh, I have very plebeian tastes, Mr Everett. My favourite meal is egg and chips, followed by treacle pudding.' Airily she left to get the soup. Supercilious prig! Let him digest that, she thought.

  The remainder of the meal passed without incident. The thick steaks were juicy and tender, and the accompanying mushrooms perfect, and she'd been right about the lemon dressing on the salad. As for the gateau Saint-Honore, it was frankly superb. Philippa unashamedly had two helpings. She hardly touched her wine, though, even though it slid into her mouth like velvet. She wanted her wits about her this evening.

  She served coffee, which they drank still seated at the table. It was dark outside the windows now, and Damon drew the red velvet curtains and threw another log on the fire. He always had coffee served in large cups of dark blue china rimmed with gold. A demitasse would look like a thimble in his big hand. He offered her a liqueur, which she refused, and after pouring himself a brandy, said:

  'I'm going away soon, Miss Kenmore, and I'll be gone for quite some time.'

  'I'll miss catering for you, Mr Everett. Perhaps you'll mention my name to some of your friends…'

  He ignored her interruption and went on. 'I've been watching you these past weeks, and I've decided you're an extremely capable young woman.'

  'Thank you.'

  'Don't interrupt.' Philippa bit her lip with annoyance and poured more coffee.

  'As I said, I've been watching you, and I've decided to approach you regarding a… a venture… I'm about to embark on.'

  She waited, but he didn't continue, so she ventured an encouraging, 'Yes?'

  'I'm going to open a chain of hotels in Crete this summer,' he went on. 'I intend to supervise the operation…'

  'How interesting.'

  'Please be quiet!' He didn't raise his voice, but this was said with such intensity that she was stunned to silence. 'I'm leaving for Crete in approximately two weeks, but there's one small hitch.'

  'Indeed?' What on earth has this to do with me? she wondered.

  'Yes. Now, Crete is rather an old-fashioned island, and I have a fourteen-year-old niece, my ward Athena. She's away at school, but she's joining me in Crete for the summer. My associates feel, and I agree with them, that while I'm in Crete with a fourteen-year-old girl in my care, it would be preferable if I… if I were married.' Again he fell silent, hi
s blue eyes never left her face.

  'I understand,' Philippa said helpfully.

  'I wonder if you do,' he said. 'I intend to get myself a wife.'

  'And you want me to cater for the wedding breakfast?' Philippa cut in. 'Well, it would depend on the number of guests, and the amount of time…'

  'Shut up, Philippa!' It was the first time he had called her by her first name, and he sounded so ferocious she was quite scared.

  'I'm asking you to come to Crete as my wife.' Her large amber-tinted eyes grew enormous. 'It would be strictly a business arrangement, of course. I would ask you to help with the entertaining that I'll be doing…'

  'Y-you mean cook for you?' she gasped.

  'Don't be idiotic,' his tone was cutting, 'I have staff for that. No, I Want you for my hostess, and to keep an eye on Athena, be a companion to the girl.'

  'Bu-but why me?' Philippa still found it hard to grasp that he'd asked her to marry him.

  'I've told you, you strike me as an eminently capable young woman. The job requires someone down-to-earth.'

  'You think of marriage as a job?'

  'In this case it would be a job, a business agreement. And you'd be getting a bargain, I think.'

  'A bargain? To be married to you?' His conceit was monumental!

  He fixed her with his laser-beam glare. 'Try not to be deliberately stupid, Philippa. The bargain would be the trip to Crete, a lot of free time, plus a new wardrobe. I'll supply suitable clothes of course. I call that a bargain, don't you?'

  She ignored this and said, 'You say you want a companion for your niece?'

  'For Athena, yes.'

  'Then why not hire one? I don't see why you have to go to the extreme of getting married.'

  For some unaccountable reason colour slowly flooded his face and his usually steady eyes wavered. 'I told you, Crete is a very… er… conservative place. It would be… be difficult, to say the least.' He tilted his glass and examined his brandy intently. 'There would be gossip… talk.'

  'I find that hard to believe, Mr Everett.' She willed him to look at her. 'Even in a place like Crete.'

  'Nevertheless—' Again his eyes left hers. 'And there's another reason…' She waited patiently for him to continue.

  'Yes?'

  'Athena is an orphan. She needs… she needs stability. A hired companion wouldn't be good for her; she had that last year. She needs to feel… that she's part of a family.'

  'A fake family! That won't be good for her, surely?'

  'I know my niece better than you,' he sounded shifty. 'Besides, there's still the question of propriety. I tell you it's essential I have a legal wife while I'm working in Crete.' He looked at her obliquely. 'I've thought this out very carefully, I assure you.'

  'What about later on?' Philippa countered. 'When the Greek job is finished and you… we… return to England? What then?'

  'An amicable divorce.'

  'Very stable for your niece,' she observed drily.

  'Athena will adjust. She's a very resilient child. And by then, I hope the two of you will be friends. She can continue seeing you from time to time if you both wish. She doesn't have to be hurt.'

  'Divorce hurts everyone,' said Philippa, her mouth grim.

  'Not our sort of divorce,' he replied loftily. 'Ours will be a business arrangement. My lawyer will draw up a contract for you to sign. I'll naturally reimburse you for any loss of income during your stay in Crete. I'm assuming, of course, that you're not already attached to some young man?'

  'I'm quite free.'

  'I thought as much,' he said smugly. He thinks I'm too dull to have a man in my life, I suppose, Philippa thought sourly, looking daggers at him.

  'I think you're absolutely mad!' she said. 'We don't even like each other.' In the quiet that followed she could hear the ash falling from the logs in the fireplace.

  'But that's precisely why I thought of you,' he answered finally. 'The last thing I want is an emotional entanglement. This way it's strictly business and no one gets hurt.' He took a sip of brandy, the enormous balloon glass looking fragile in his strong hand. 'Don't make your mind up right away. Phone me in a couple of days with your decision.'

  He helped her clear the cups into the kitchen. Insisted she take the remainder of the gateau Saint-Honore with her, bundled her out to her car, and watched her drive away, his tall figure silhouetted against the bright kitchen doorway.

  Philippa drove home through the dark, her headlights sweeping across the tangle of trees that grew along the edge of the common. Bitterly she went over the events of the evening. Trust Damon Everett to make even a proposal of marriage sound insulting! No woman enjoys being told that she could never become an emotional entanglement, not even when it is the last thing she wants herself. He annoyed her so—being charming one minute, and rude the next. She never knew where she stood with the wretched man. In her irritation she pressed down on the accelerator and drove home over the speed limit.

  When she opened the door of the flat a smell of burning greeted her. The ironing board was still standing in the living room with a red-hot iron scorching a hole in it. Grim-lipped, she unplugged it, and using an oven mitt, carried the iron into the kitchen. The board was ruined. Martha had obviously ironed her dress.

  Shaking with anger and fear—fire was a terror of Philippa's—she got ready for bed, but was far too tense to sleep, so she tried to concentrate on a novel until she had calmed down. She heard Martha's key in the lock long after midnight, and that young lady bounced into the bedroom and started stepping out of her pink dress, leaving it in a heap on the floor.

  'Hi, Tusker. What's the funny smell?'

  'The funny smell is the smell of burning, Martha. I assume you ironed your dress before you left tonight.' Martha's dark brown eyes went blank with guilt.

  'So?'

  'So you left the iron on. It's lucky I came in when I did. You could have burnt the place down.' Philippa waited for an apology, but Martha's face became cantankerous.

  'If you'd ironed my dress for me, Tusker, it wouldn't have happened!'

  'Are you seriously suggesting it's my fault that you nearly burnt us to a crisp?' Philippa asked coldly.

  'No. But Eric arrived and I was in such a rush I forgot. Anyone can forget, Tusker. Don't nag!'

  'I bloody well will nag!' Philippa exploded with an uncharacteristic display of temper. 'Particularly when it's something as serious as fire. You must learn to be more careful. It's not the first time this has happened.'

  'Oh, all right! You've made your point, now shut up!' Martha flounced into the bathroom and started to remove her make-up.

  With a sigh Philippa put aside her book. This had been a trying day. She was tired, and she had plenty to occupy her thoughts without having to cope with another of her sister's moods.

  Martha, wielding her toothbrush, poked her head through the doorway to say, 'Are you committed to any heavy-duty dinners this weekend, Tusker?'

  Philippa was instantly alert. This kind of question from Martha usually meant a heavy-duty favour.

  'Why?'

  'Because I forgot to mention that I've invited some people over for dinner on Saturday.'

  'How many people?'

  'About twelve.'

  'Twelve?' Philippa shot bolt upright in her bed.

  'Well… fourteen, actually,' said Martha, 'and I invited Eric too. Is it a problem?'

  'A problem? Are you out of your mind? Saturday's the day after tomorrow…'

  'Which gives you tomorrow to shop,' Martha said complacently. 'I promised them spaghetti pescatora made from your own pasta.'

  Philippa's tawny eyes grew frantic. She pushed a slim hand through her silky blonde hair and started to twist it in her agitation.

  'Why didn't you tell me earlier, Martha? I'm catering a cocktail party tomorrow, and I won't have time. Good pescatora takes forever to prepare, you know that!'

  'Well, you could make an early start on Saturday. I invited everybody for seven, so it should giv
e you time. You could make an easy dessert.'

  'Easy dessert!' Philippa exploded, 'I could wring your neck! I'll need help. Keep Saturday free—you can do the shopping.'

  'But, Tusker, I promised to play tennis with Eric if the weather's nice!'

  'Pray for rain,' her sister answered grimly.

  'Don't be difficult,' Martha whined. 'You're not doing anything on Saturday, I'll bet. Knowing you, you were probably going to spend your time reading some boring old cookbook.'

  'I'd hoped to get a bit of rest this weekend, as a matter of fact.' Philippa looked at the bedside clock. 'Catch up on my sleep.'

  'Well, have an early night after you've cooked the dinner.'

  Philippa raised a surprised eyebrow. 'Do our guests plan to leave early, then?'

  'Er… no… but you won't be missed if you go to bed.'

  'Thanks very much, Martha,' snapped Philippa, hurt. Martha returned to the bathroom to finish brushing her teeth, talking through the process.

  'Don't look so cross, Tusker. I mean, let's face it, they're my friends, not yours.'

  'I'm needed to prepare the feast, but not to attend, is that it?'

  Martha rinsed her mouth noisily and came back into the bedroom. 'Let's face it, Phil, you won't be missed.' She noticed Philippa's face and went on testily, 'Tusker, be realistic! My friends are… well… trendy. You don't have anything in common with them.' She turned her back on Philippa and settled herself for sleep.

  Without planning it Philippa heard herself say, 'Your trendy friends will have to make do with cold ham and salad, Martha. I won't have time to prepare anything more elaborate. I plan to spend most of Saturday shopping for my trousseau.'

  Nothing happened for a moment, then Martha turned round to face her sister, her brown eyes hard as pebbles.

  'Impossible!' she said finally.

  'Why impossible?'

  'Well, you never go out with anyone.'

  'I don't tell you everything I do.'

  Martha's face was a mask of suspicion. 'Who are you marrying?'

  'His name is Damon—Damon Everett.'

  'You don't mean the Damon Everett who's in all the papers?' Martha squealed.

  'Yes. Mr Everett… er… Damon has been getting a lot of publicity just lately,' Philippa agreed.