‘The sun may come out and someone who knows the house already won’t mind,’ Clara said brightly, bustling about putting on the kettle and pushing a plate of newly baked brownies in her direction. ‘You must feel the cold after sitting so long in a warm car. The draughts here are dreadful, as you no doubt remember from when you spent the night here. Would you like coffee or tea? We’ve a little time before the agent comes.’ Clara glanced at the wooden clock on the wall. ‘He said he’d be here at eleven.’
Lorna consulted her notes. ‘So, Philip Carson from Carson’s is coming this morning and Angela Walsh from Kingdon and Pearson, this afternoon.’ Clara had rung her with the names of those she considered – after discreet enquiries; she emphasised the word ‘discreet’ – the two best agents for the area. Lorna had looked them up on the Internet and found that they had quite a few large properties in the county on the market already. The houses she had seen advertised had large modern kitchens with smart alcoves to eat in, and sleek cupboards and work tops. This poor shabby kitchen with its narrow cupboards and the wooden draining boards either side of the old sink, seemed very dated indeed.
Clara, usually so full of conversation, appeared subdued. Having bustled about with coffee and milk she then set to, wiping all conceivable surfaces down with a damp cloth, although everywhere looked as clean as was possible for somewhere that needed a complete make-over.
‘It looks good, you must have worked very hard,’ Lorna tried to reassure her, supposing that Clara was afraid that the estate agent would think the place uncared for, and think badly of her because of it.
‘It’s the best I can do,’ Clara said, with another swipe at the sink.
‘What is it then?’ She was surprised at Clara’s agitation. ‘Is something wrong?’ Had something happened that she had not told her? Was Philip Carson a sex maniac, or Angela Walsh a kleptomaniac? When she’d first broached the subject with her, Clara had seemed to imply that there was not a reliable estate agent in the whole district. Or, and the thought made her blush, did she know about her and Nathan? Heard him joking about it with Gloria?
‘Nothing… it’s just sad the house must go and Fergus is gone.’ Clara said lamely, not meeting her gaze.
‘Your cottage is well hidden and not too close to the house, so whoever buys it shouldn’t intrude.’ That must be what was worrying her. The study where Nathan had seduced her was quite a way from the kitchen and the thick walls would cut out any sounds, so unless Nathan had mentioned it, she couldn’t know about it. Her guilt was making her anxious, that was all. ‘You even have your own bit of drive,’ she went on, hoping to soothe Clara’s anxiety.
‘Yes, I’m glad about that,’ Clara said. Then, hearing a car drawing up outside, she said, ‘That must be Philip Carson now.’ She darted to the door, snatching up the dripping umbrella from its stand on the way.
Poor Clara, this must be more difficult for her than she’d thought. Ravenscourt was like her home and held so many memories of Fergus. It would be hard for her to see it go. She suspected that Gloria had probably talked to her about her idea of Nathan buying it, but it was hardly surprising that she was nervous that a new owner would ruin the house and intrude on her settled life.
A car door slammed and a man’s voice answered Clara’s greeting. In a moment he was in the kitchen, divesting himself of his coat. He came towards her with his hand outstretched. ‘Ah, Mrs Sanderson, Philip Carson.’
She had not expected someone quite so young. He was pleasant looking in a fresh, boyish sort of way, his brown hair short and tidy. He was dressed in a suit and tie, as neat as if he had been cut out of a fashion magazine. He turned down Clara’s offer of coffee and bounced about the room, Tigger-like, eyes everywhere, saying how cosy it all was and how the room reminded him of his grandmother’s kitchen.
‘Sad it’s such a bad day, I’ll leave looking outside until last.’ He smiled. ‘It certainly is a big house and as soon as the spring comes, buyers will be out in droves looking for a country house.’
Lorna showed him round, explaining that today she just needed a valuation. Clara seemed reluctant to come with them, though she did at least answer his questions about the ancient heating and the water system.
It was almost lunchtime when Philip left, assuring Lorna he would send her his valuation as soon as he’d worked it out, saying, ‘It’s a lovely house but sadly in very bad condition,’ as its epitaph. ‘I’m starving, did you get some lunch in, or shall we go to the nearest pub before the next agent comes?’
‘Oh, I…um’ Clara wrung her hands, not looking at her.
‘It doesn’t matter if you didn’t get anything in, we’ll just go to the pub and get some soup or something. Angela’s not coming until three, we’ve plenty of time.’ It would be good to get into the bustling cosiness of a pub. The house felt bleak and unloved – rather as she did.
‘We’ve been asked out to lunch,’ Clara said in a rush, ‘I’m sorry. They found out and insisted that we go.’ She regarded Lorna defiantly.
‘Who? Gloria and Rosalind?’ Had they come down and were waiting for them in the pub? It seemed unlikely, they were not the sort to hide out somewhere, they would have come straight here to be in on it under the guise of supporting her.
‘No, Sonia Harwood, she insisted on you going over for lunch. I said you would probably not have time, but. . .’
‘But how does she know I’m here?’ Lorna asked. ‘I didn’t want anyone to know, I haven’t even told Gloria and Rosalind. I just wanted to get a couple of experts in and hear their verdict on my own so I can think about it without being bombarded by other people’s opinions.’
‘I’m sorry, Sonia is very hospitable and when she heard you were coming she insisted you came to lunch. She wanted to see you and, knowing how cold and damp this house is, warm you up. I did say you probably hadn’t the time and just wanted to get advice from an agent.’
‘I thought the name was familiar. Carson’s belongs to one of Sonia’s admirers,’ Lorna remembered. ‘I know everyone means well, but I wish they’d leave me alone,’ she finished, feeling rather tired by it all.
‘They are the best agents round here,’ Clara bleated.
Lorna wondered if Nathan would be at this lunch. She remembered his call and how he’d asked her to let him know when she came down again, and she hadn’t contacted him for the same reason that she hadn’t told Gloria and Rosalind. It would be embarrassing when he heard she’d come here without telling him, but she couldn’t help it, perhaps he would understand.
Seeing her expression, Clara said in her own defence, ‘Sonia insisted you come to lunch. It was impossible to refuse her.’
‘Well you should have at least asked me first if I wanted to go.’
‘You wouldn’t have gone then,’ Clara said, her mouth tight.
‘No, and I’m not going now. I’ll ring them and say I haven’t time. Please could I have their number?’ She went towards the bread bin to use the telephone they’d hidden behind there over Christmas. There was the sound of another car arriving; the slam of the door, running feet, and a wet Nathan shot into the kitchen. He saw her hovering by the telephone, the receiver in her hand. He smiled.
‘Hello Lorna, sorry to disturb your call, finish it and…’
‘It’s all right, it’s too late. I was about to ring your mother and say I can’t come to lunch.’
He frowned. ‘Have you another date?’
It was all such a muddle. ‘No, it doesn’t matter,’ she said wearily, knowing she’d have been pleased to see him in other circumstances, but not like this, lunching with his mother and all wrapped up with her anxiety over Ravenscourt.
‘It’s such a pig of a day and it’s so good to see you. I’ve come to take you to Mulberry Farm for lunch. I promise I’ll get you back here in plenty of time for the next agent.’ The rain ran off his wax jacket and dripped from his hair and down his face. He had a slight air of defiance about him yet she could glimpse a touch of amusement in
his eyes, and she blushed, certain he was laughing at her, remembering that flannel nightdress. ‘It won’t be ham, it’s steak and kidney pie and my mother’s pastry is the best.’
Her heart did a triple flip and she cursed it. Her body seemed to have gone soft, yielding as if all her bones had melted away. ‘I… I can’t come,’ she said firmly.
‘Of course you can. Everyone knows everyone else’s business in the country so you mustn’t blame Clara for spreading the word. Besides, I’d hoped you’d ring me and tell me you were coming here,’ he said.
‘This wasn’t meant to be a social visit, I just need to get a valuation.’
‘You’ve time for both if we leave now so you can have time to enjoy the pie,’ he said, taking a few steps closer to her. Her body warmed, thinking he might touch her, even greet her with a kiss.
Clara had put on her coat and fetched Lorna’s, which she handed to her. ‘This is not fair. I feel as if I’m being high jacked,’ Lorna grumbled, but she pulled on her coat and picked up her bag.
He laughed. ‘No, ‘course you’re not. My mother has just invited you to lunch. She was so grateful you found her watch and wants to thank you personally.’ His eyes shone with suppressed laughter and she felt infused with heat, relieved that Clara was busy shutting doors and checking the ancient boiler before leaving the house and wasn’t watching them.
‘Also I want to show you the pictures of Ravenscourt, I’d like your opinion. Your cakes have a star role, they were delicious and I’d like to include them on my list, if you’re willing.’ His smile was warm. She glanced away; he wouldn’t slay her with charm. In fact, she thought, it might be best to keep their relationship strictly neutral while the fate of Ravenscourt (perhaps that of the cakes) was being decided.
‘Thank you,’ she said, hoping she sounded professional, ‘I’ll send you the list of our range, we’re doing quite well, though we’ve had a slight drop in sales now Christmas is over and so many people have put themselves on diets, but we’re working on some more healthy recipes with less fat and sugar.’
‘Good idea, But I expect your sales will soon go up again when people get sick of lettuce and water, especially in the winter,’ he said, taking her arm and shielding her from the rain as he led her to the car. He opened the door for her and she reluctantly got in.
When they were settled, with Clara in the back, and had started on their way he said quietly, ‘I wish I’d known the reason you left your husbands at Ravenscourt for Christmas.’ He glanced at her. ‘Gloria told me all about the problems the three of you are going through with your marriages. I’m so sorry. I quite understand why you did it.’
She kept silent, not able to look at him in case he guessed the turmoil in her heart. He went on, ‘Gloria said she’d always have fond memories for the house, as it changed your lives forever and gave you a chance to move on. I hope it had the same outlook for you, Lorna.’ His voice was gentle but she could not look at him. The moment seemed too intimate and she was embarrassed with Clara sitting behind them. His kiss had given her strength, filled her body with warmth and hope, but perhaps she expected too much from it; she must just remember it as a wonderful memory.
‘Yes, it cleared up some things,’ she felt she had to say something.
‘I must say,’ Nathan said, with a broad smile, that of all the things Ravenscourt could be turned into, I never thought of it as a depository for dissolute husbands.’
‘Don’t mock,’ His teasing grated on her. ‘We were desperate not to lose our children, and they couldn’t bear to see their fathers behaving as they were. It sounds mad, but it worked, Ivan is trying to be a better father and husband and Adrian is with his sister in Scotland, hopefully getting dried out, But I don’t expect you to understand.’
‘But I do,’ he said, his voice softening now; his face touched with sorrow. ‘I’ve been through divorce too and the breaking up of a family and its one of the most painful, destructive things. I’m sorry, it was a sick joke, forgive me.’
‘I suppose everyone round here who doesn’t know the true facts, think we are the wives from hell – especially those who met them at your mother’s party,’ she said.
‘No,’ he said, ‘they don't, if anything, the men seemed reticent to talk about it. Only we know, don’t we Clara,’ he eyed her in the driving mirror as she sat silently in the back seat, ‘and we won’t tell anyone.’
‘No, I wish I’d done the same to my husband, only he’d disappeared before I could,’ Clara said darkly.
Nathan laughed. ‘Nearly there, now,’ he said, slowing down.
Lorna watched his hand changing gear. It was a nice hand, long-fingered, elegant and slightly damp from the rain. The gold wedding ring glinted on his finger. Did he still mourn the wife he’d lost; keep her memory safe by wearing it? She had got rid of hers immediately, feeling it mocked her for her failure.
For one mad moment she had the urge to slip her hand on top of his, but she restrained herself, clamping her hands between her knees to prevent such foolishness.
30
No Such Thing As A Free Lunch
A wave of shyness came over her as Nathan pulled up outside Mulberry Farm and parked close to the house. If only it was just her and Nathan in some cosy pub and she could share her anxieties about Ravenscourt with him without having to do battle with other people’s views, or listen, she thought, to his mother’s strident opinions.
He opened the door and she went into a large hall, which contained some pieces of good furniture, including a table with an extravagant floral display. She wondered if it was one of Beth’s arrangements and hoped nothing would roll off and cause ructions as she walked past. It was warm and welcoming and there was a rich aroma of cooking, tempting her appetite. The trap bated by steak and kidney pie, she thought cynically, as Nathan took her coat and said how glad he was that she was here at last.
The front door opened again, throwing in a wet gust, and Nathan went to help Jane Purdy tackle her umbrella and close the front door.
Lorna half expected Gloria and Rosalind to jump out from behind somewhere, singing, ‘Di da, here we are.’ She pictured Gloria beaming with goodness, having come up with a plan to turn Ravenscourt into a cooking school or something equally far-fetched with Nathan as the chief chef.
Trying to calm her awkwardness at being here she looked about her. Through two small arches cut into the wall in the centre of the house near the stairs she could see glimpses of other, expensively done-up rooms.
Nathan led them into the sitting room, which featured more beams, an inglenook fireplace and a host of photographs, many of an older man who, from the look of him, must be Nathan’s late father.
‘Lorna, it‘s good to see you again,’ Sonia gushed, appearing from somewhere and kissing her effusively. She was wearing the raspberry pink cashmere, which looked very good on her, Lorna conceded, ridiculously pleased that Nathan had bought it for his mother and not for Beth, who, though not his wife, was surely close to him?
‘Such a dispiriting time of the year, don’t you think? So, having you here has cheered me up.’ Sonia smiled delightedly at her. ‘Oh, and I forgot, thank you so much for finding my watch. I was distraught when I realised I’d lost it. Desmond, my late husband, had it especially designed for me.’
There was a sudden silence in the room, and it seemed dreadfully hot with the log fire dancing in the ornate grate.
‘Champagne?’ Nathan smiled at her, it was an intimate smile, his eyes sparkling with humour. He leaned over her, steadying her glass with one hand, while re-filling it with the other, his fingers over hers as she clutched the stem of her glass, the warm proximity of him made her blush, remembering that kiss. She moved away quickly, glancing around the room to see if anyone had noticed her agitation…
Beth, with her familiar clipboard – perhaps she even took it to bed with her – came into the room, throwing her a rather fake smile, before accosting Nathan with some query. She hadn’t seen Beth since her c
arefully constructed still life had collapsed before her, and her exaggerated fervour in interesting Nathan in whatever was on her clipboard, made Lorna suspect that she had still not forgiven her, or, and this was a foolish thought, that she wanted to stake her claim to him.
To her relief, Jane Purdy came and sat in a chair beside her, and asked her how things were.
‘Adrian is living with his sister in Scotland and attending a rehab centre near her, so Gloria is getting on with her own life.’ And mine as well, she thought, acidly, thinking of Gloria’s new energised persona who, she feared, had turned her sights on to Nathan – not that she’d blame her – having him as a lodger in her not very large house where they would easily fall over each other, or … on top of each other.
‘And Ivan?’ Jane asked.
‘I think he’s done the best of the three. His time at Ravenscourt seemed to shock him out of his selfish behaviour and he’s gone back to Rosalind, and has given up his charity work … for the moment anyway, realising at last that charity begins at home.’
‘That’s good news,’ Jane said, ‘and Rosalind’s happy?’
‘Yes, she is, she only really wanted him, but as he was when things were good between them, not as he’d become. She’s giving him another chance and so far,’ she crossed fingers and held them up, ‘it seems to be working.’
‘And you?’ Jane regarded her kindly. ‘How are you getting on?’
‘Fine, thanks, going to be a granny soon, I can’t believe it.’ Lorna was not going to go into Marcus’s latest theory that Stephen’s fling with the sulky Odile had lost its fire. Even if he did dump her, there was bound to be a line of other sexy women willing to seduce an old man for a visa and outings to smart places.
‘We must eat, or Lorna will be late back for the estate agent.’ Nathan announced, opening the door of the room and leading them out.
Difficult Husbands Page 24
