by Janet Tanner
‘Of course, if you don’t mind flying in a little plane I’d be delighted,’ he said, sipping his coffee, and she thought again: how like his great grandfather he is! So equable, so smoothly in control, so charming, yet somehow leaving one in not the slightest doubt that beneath that charm is undeniable strength. If only Guy had inherited more of those qualities! But somehow most of them had skipped a generation. The pang of regret she experienced made her feel oddly disloyal to her son and when a moment later David asked: ‘Does Dad know you are coming?’ she answered quite sharply.
‘No, he doesn’t, but I am sure he won’t object. I shall not impose on him. I’ll have Irene telephone and book me into a hotel. The Grand Spa, perhaps – that is within striking distance of both your father’s house and the city, and I adore the views over the Avon Gorge. All in all it makes leaving London that little less painful.’
‘I’m sure there is no need for you to stay in an hotel at all,’ David said. ‘Dad has three bedrooms, after all. That’s one each.’
Alicia shook her head.
‘No, David, I would much prefer to be independent. Besides, your father has no live-in servants and I don’t find the prospect of having to get my own breakfast a very appealing one.’
‘I’ll get your breakfast, Grandmother, if that is all that is worrying you.’
‘It is not. You and your father will go off to the works and I shall be left to cope with that dreadful uncouth daily woman of his. I have not forgotten the last time I stayed with your father – she banged around until she had given me a migraine and then attacked me with the vacuum cleaner.’
‘Attacked you?’
‘As good as. She pushed the thing at me as if she expected me to lift my feet up so she could clean underneath them! And she was exceedingly rude when I admonished her. She said she was only employed for three hours and what wasn’t done in the time wouldn’t be done at all and would Mr Bailey be very pleased to find crumbs under his favourite chair.’
David laughed. ‘Mrs Freeman is all right, Grandmother. Her bark is worse than her bite.’
‘Mrs Freeman? You address her as Mrs Freeman?’ Alicia gave her head a small shake of disapproval. ‘No wonder she is so disrespectful. And as for her bark being worse than her bite – I certainly would not employ anyone who so much as yapped!’
‘Then perhaps it is as well you aren’t staying in Dad’s house. He wouldn’t want you upsetting Mrs Freeman. He says he is lucky to have her.’ He stretched his long legs, deftly avoiding the priceless Aubusson rug with his brown leather cowboy boots which were, Alicia noted with satisfaction, polished to a high gloss. ‘Of course it’s not quite what you were used to in the old days, I suppose.’
‘You could say that,’ Alicia returned drily, remembering the army of servants who had run Chewton Leigh when Gilbert and Blanche had been master and mistress, and she and Sarah and the others had been children. There had been no nonsense then such as maids refusing to do more than their hours and certainly no impertinence or insubordination. She wondered briefly how Sarah managed with the servant problem at Chewton Leigh these days and reflected that she did not envy her. When Adam and Sarah had bought the house after it became too much for Blanche alone she had been hurt and angry – Chewton Leigh was after all her home. But when she had left Somerset to live in London she had decided that it had been all for the best. She no longer wanted to live in the country – let Sarah and Adam have Chewton Leigh and all its attendant problems. In the intervening years she had given it scarcely a thought; now when she did she felt nothing but relief that it was Sarah, not she, who had to bully gardeners, chivvy maintenance men and cope with a whole regiment of Mrs Freemans. Poor Sarah! As if it were not enough to have the cares of the business, to have the house to worry about as well …
‘Well David,’ she said now, ‘Perhaps it’s wrong of me to sit here chatting when I shall be seeing plenty of you in the next few days. I don’t want to keep you waiting. Have another coffee and one of those delicious Chocolate Oliver biscuits while I ask Irene to pack a case for me. Then I can be ready to go with you just as soon as you wish to leave.’
She rose and the slight frailty which had worried Irene earlier had miraculously disappeared now. Her shoulders were straight, her carriage erect, and there was a touch of natural colour beneath her rouge.
‘Grandmother …’
She paused in the doorway looking back at him. ‘Yes, David?’
‘Tell me to mind my own business if you like, but why have you decided to come down to Bristol out of the blue?’
Momentarily she hesitated. Should she tell him at least something of the reason? There was after all no question of him ‘ minding his own business’ as he put it. This was his business – more, almost, than it was hers, since whilst it was her past, it was his future.
But the habit of secrecy was too strong and in any case she did not as yet know the whole story herself – whether there was any truth in what Sarah had told her and if there was, what lay behind Guy’s decision. Best to keep her own counsel for the moment. And besides … she smiled faintly, David might no longer be the little boy who had once loved nothing better than sliding down the ornate and very steep banister here in her London house but he was still very young, inexperienced in the ways of business and of the world. There would be no point in confiding her worries. There was nothing he could do.
He was still looking at her questioningly but she replied to him without so much as a flicker.
‘I feel like a change of scenery and company, David. Isn’t that a good enough reason?’
For a moment his eyes narrowed. Then his brow cleared and he smiled back at her.
‘Of course, Grandmother. It’s the best reason in the world.’
Chapter Forty-Five
Kirsty Rowlands applied a touch of mascara to her eyelashes, filled in the outline of her generous mouth with pearly pink lipstick and moved a little further away from the mirror, surveying her reflection with a critical eye.
Not bad. Not bad at all. The mascara made her blue eyes look large and sparkly beneath her deep fringe and the lipstick emphasised the width of her smile. She moved back further still from the mirror, twirling to get a full length view of her suit – sky blue boucle with a cropped collarless jacket and neat knee-skimming skirt – and nodded with grudging satisfaction. Yes – a definite improvement on her usual uniform of jeans and oversized sweater – at least for the purpose she had in mind.
‘Good grief, the girl’s got legs!’ a voice from the doorway exclaimed. ‘What’s this in aid of, Kirsty, hon?’
‘I want to look halfway decent for once in my life.’ Kirsty twisted to glance over her shoulder at Martha Kallinski, the bouncy American girl with whom she shared a flat. ‘What do you think – will I do?’
‘Depends what for.’
‘Seduction.’ She said it lightly but Martha heard the serious undertone. She leaned against the doorpost, hands stuck into the waistband of her jeans beneath the voluminous smock she wore, and pulled a face at the back of Kirsty’s head.
‘Seduction! And who the hell are you setting out to seduce? Not your tutor in the hope of getting better grades, I hope?’
‘Certainly not!’
‘Who then?’
‘Oh Martha, it’s a very long story.’
‘I’m in no hurry.’
‘No, but I am.’
‘Just tell me the name of the lucky fella.’
‘His name is Guy Bailey. He’s a sort of cousin of mine.’
‘Guy Bailey? Not the Guy Bailey who runs the aircraft companies?’
‘Yes.’
Martha whistled softly. ‘What are you after? I didn’t have you marked down for the materialistic sort.’
‘I’m not. It’s not like that at all.’ Kirsty glanced at her watch. ‘I can’t stop to explain now, Martha. I really do have to go.’
She took another look at herself in the mirror, flicked her fingers through the shoulder-length fa
ll of nut-brown hair and crossed to the door. Martha moved aside to let her pass, sighing and shaking her head.
‘Just watch it, kid. Take care.’
‘I will.’ But Kirsty sounded a good deal more confident than she was actually feeling. As she let herself out of the flat and ran down the stairs to the street she shivered and knew that it was not just the gust of cold March air that chilled her but the prospect of her meeting with Guy.
She did not like the man – she never had. There was something about him she could only describe as reptilian – though he was rather on the large side for a snake. A python, Kirsty thought, that’s what he reminds me of – a python who has just swallowed his supper, sleek and fat and full – and yet still on the look-out for more. But it was that very quality she hoped to play on – the greedy self-indulgent side of him which she sensed was there co-existing with the ruthless businessman. He liked her, she knew. There was no mistaking the naked lust that glinted in his eyes when he looked at her. Perhaps if she could play him along a little, massage his ego, dangle a promise or two in front of his rather fleshy nose, she might be able to discover exactly what was going on at Morse Bailey, if not actually do something about it.
Sarah would be furious of course if she knew what Kirsty was up to. She had made it clear that under no circumstances did she expect her granddaughter to involve herself with Guy Bailey. But Kirsty knew just how worried Sarah was – and knew too that her meeting with Alicia had not been a success. If Granny was seriously concerned about the future of the companies then there was cause for alarm, Kirsty thought. Granny did not take fright easily – she had been around the world of big business too long for that. And loving her as she did Kirsty was determined not to simply stand aside and do nothing. Granny might be experienced and still very much in command – she was also not getting any younger. Worrying would do her no good at all.
I shall do what I can to sort things out, Kirsty thought, and Granny never need know I had anything to do with it. But even while her conscious mind formed the bold thought she was shivering inwardly again as she wondered just how far she would have to go to achieve her aims.
Guy Bailey’s house stood on the edge of the Downs, tall terraced Regency elegance with magnificent views across the Avon Gorge. On either side the dwellings had been made into flats but Guy, because he sometimes entertained at home, had retained the house in its entirety although he lived alone. Outside Kirsty paused for a moment wondering even now if she should turn back, then giving herself a small shake. Stupid not to go on now when her mind was made up to it. And besides, today was Saturday. She knew enough about Guy to know that Saturday afternoon was the best, perhaps the only, time to be sure of catching him at home. Give up today and it would mean waiting another week. Give up today – and perhaps it would be too late. The vote Granny was so concerned about might very well take place at the next full meeting of the board – delay and risk losing the opportunity to make at least some small alteration to the stakes …
Kirsty ran up the steps and rang the bell. She heard it jangle somewhere in the magnificent house, echoing up to the high ceilings. For a moment there was silence and she wondered with a sinking heart if today of all days Guy had broken his routine and gone out. Then she heard footsteps on the tiled floor within and the heavy lock turning. She took a deep breath and arranged her face in a smile of greeting. Then as the door swung open she experienced a small stab of surprise.
Not Guy but a young man, perhaps twenty or twenty-one years of age, good looking, dark, with piercing blue eyes. Momentarily she could not think who he was or what he could be doing here, then recognition dawned.
‘David!’ she said, surprise at the change in his appearance and dismay that she had not found Guy alone evident in her voice.
‘I’m sorry …’ He smiled but the blue eyes were puzzled. ‘ I’m afraid I don’t …’
‘Kirsty,’ she said.
‘Kirsty!’ His eyes ran over her, appraising. ‘Good lord, you’ve changed! I didn’t recognise you.’
She laughed. ‘ I’m not surprised. The last time we met I think I was in pigtails.’
‘Not pigtails – a pony tail. And jodhpurs. You’d been riding, I seem to remember.’
‘Probably. Mummy used to make me ride pretty often. As for having changed, I’m not the only one. I’d never have known you either except that seeing this is your father’s house I didn’t think it could be anyone else.’
‘Hmm.’ He suddenly remembered himself. ‘Sorry, Kirsty, how rude of me! Would you like to come in?’
He opened the door and she followed him through the vaulted hall and into the drawing-room which was starkly furnished in dark leather. The pictures on the walls were original cartoons and hunting scenes, there were no vases of flowers to lend a touch of colour. It was very much a man’s room. A nerve jumped in her throat.
‘Actually I called to see your father.’
‘The old man? Sorry, you’re out of luck. He’s out at the moment and I don’t know how long he will be. Would you like to wait? We could have a coffee or something.’
‘Well – I don’t want to put you to any trouble …’ She glanced at the papers spread out on the low table which he had obviously been working on when she had rung the doorbell. ‘I’m interrupting you, aren’t I?’
He smiled. ‘ Quite a welcome interruption. I’ve been buried in all this stuff for hours. I’ve joined the company – did you know? I’ve just come back to Head Office from Australia and there are reams of information I have to familiarise myself with. But I can only take in so much at a time and I was just thinking I’d have a break and a coffee. So why not share it with me?’
‘All right. Thank you.’
‘Let’s go through to the kitchen.’
He led the way back along the hall. The kitchen was down two steps on another level – again a typical man’s kitchen with used crockery piled in the sink but no feminine clutter. ‘If I can find some clean cups …’ He opened cupboards, peering inside. ‘Sit down, Kirsty.’
She perched herself on a stool trying to jerk her skirt down to a decent level over her long legs.
‘Dad has gone out with Grandmother,’ he said, spooning instant coffee into mugs. ‘She’s staying in Bristol for a few days. I brought her down with me when I came.’
‘Alicia is staying here?’ The dismay was there again in her voice. All her plans, it seemed, were going awry – now she had not only David but also the redoubtable Alicia to contend with.
‘Not staying here exactly. It’s not luxurious enough for her, I’m afraid. She’s taken a suite at the Grand Spa.’
‘I see.’ Kirsty’s eyes grew thoughtful. ‘Does she often come to Bristol? I didn’t think …’
‘Not often, no. In fact I was pretty surprised when she said she’d like to come down with me – especially in my cramped little kite. She seldom leaves London these days. Do you take milk with your coffee?’
‘Just a splash.’ Her mind was racing. Did Alicia’s visit have anything to do with the problems at Morse Bailey – a direct result perhaps of Sarah contacting her? And if so what did it mean?
‘What are you doing these days, Kirsty?’ David asked, putting the mug of coffee down on the ledge beside her. ‘I’m at art college here in Bristol – studying graphic design.’
One of his eyebrows quirked. ‘You don’t look like most of the students I know!’
Colour rose in her cheeks. She glanced down, acutely aware of her long nylon clad legs and high heeled shoes.
‘Well, I …’
‘Do you often come to see my father?’ he asked shrewdly.
‘No …’ Kirsty fought an almost irresistible urge to get up and run, away from this cold house which could never in a million years be termed a home, away from the extremely attractive stranger who was David, and whom she felt suddenly horribly sure could see right through her. But to leave now would not only be to admit defeat it would also make her look very foolish. Kirsty did no
t like looking foolish. There was nothing for it, she decided, but to stay and brazen things out.
‘I think he will be as surprised to see me as you were,’ she admitted. ‘ It was just that there was something I wanted to talk to him about.’
David took a drink of coffee to give himself time to think. There was something going on here that he did not understand. First his grandmother had asked him to fly her down to Bristol – an almost unheard-of request – and been rather mysterious about her reasons. He had taken that on board, although it had puzzled him. His grandmother had always been a person who enjoyed her secrets. But now here was Sarah’s granddaughter, obviously ill at ease, also seeking an audience with his father, uninvited and clearly unexpected. David glanced at her over the rim of his coffee cup. In the years since he had last seen her Kirsty had become a very attractive young lady. Under other circumstances he might very well have chatted her up and perhaps asked if he might see her again. He still felt an urge to do just that – and if he began questioning her he might spoil any chance of success on that score. But all his instincts were telling him that something odd was going on – something he knew nothing about – and curiosity and not a little concern were getting the better of his reluctance to spoil what might turn out to be a very pleasant interlude.
Making up his mind he set down his mug and looked at her directly.
‘Has it anything to do with the business, Kirsty?’ he asked. ‘If so perhaps I can help. As I told you I am working for Morse Bailey now. I’m not an authority yet, far from it, but I am anxious to learn. And if Dad is going to be a long while perhaps I can give him a message.’
As he spoke he saw the high spots of colour in her cheeks deepen and saw too the look of wary indecision in her eyes. ‘Well?’ he said.
What do I do? Kirsty was thinking. Clearly I am not going to be able to see Guy alone – if I am going to do anything to help Granny I have to find another line of attack. And David seemed very nice – totally unlike his father. Whereas Guy only made her want to squirm there was something about David which inspired trust. It was unlikely of course that he knew what was going on and if he did he was probably too young and inexperienced in the ways of business to be able to do anything to help even if he wanted to. But it would be good to have an ally or simply someone to talk to, someone of more or less her own age, someone who might just conceivably understand … Kirsty drew a deep breath.
