Promise to Obey

by Whitelaw, Stella

  Promise to Obey

  STELLA WHITELAW

  To

  My beautiful Rosie who dozed in the filing tray,

  keeping me company while I wrote this book.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  As always, overwhelming thanks to Dr David Thomas. I bombarded him with questions, every one of which was answered in detail and with patience. If there are any medical mistakes, then they are entirely mine.

  The staff of the Tourist Office at Worthing and at Brighton for helpful information.

  And again, the libraries at both Oxted and Worthing for endless assistance and encouragement.

  And to the editorial team at Robert Hale who are always so friendly and kind. It’s a pleasure to work with you all.

  Won’t you come into the garden?

  I would like my roses to see you.

  Richard Brinsley Sheridan

  1751-1816

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Epigraph

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  By the Same Author

  Copyright

  ONE

  ‘Hello? Is there anybody there? I think someone is supposed to be meeting me.’

  Jessica Harlow’s voice carried along the empty platform. Dried leaves scattered like little insects. Dead geraniums drooped in flowerpots, like exhausted dancers at the end of a long ballet.

  Jessica came out of Eastly Station and stood on the forecourt, still wondering if anyone was going to meet her. She was already regretting her decision to accept a three-month private nursing contract at Upton Hall. This place was out in the wilds, masses of trees, and it was beginning to rain.

  She stood under the inadequate ironwork porch of the station entrance, peering through the fine drizzle at the bleak view, wondering where she was. It was all hills and woodland, hedges and fields. It was part of the South Downs but even that meant very little. She was a town girl, born and bred in North London. This green countryside was alien. She could barely recognize a rabbit. They had long ears, didn’t they, and hopped about, Beatrix Potter style?

  It was a forlorn view and she was getting wet and cold. Her shoes were poor protection and her toes were squelching. There was an anorak in her case but it would be foolish to open it in this weather. Everything inside would get wet.

  There wasn’t even anyone she could ask for the whereabouts of Upton Hall. The station was unmanned with only a machine for tickets. There was no one to help with her wheelie case and travel bag, no bus stop, no taxi. Surely they didn’t expect her to walk? Which way, left or right?

  ‘I might as well give up and take the next train back,’ she said aloud. ‘If there is ever a next train from this godforsaken hole.’

  She huddled into her damp clothes. Her smart navy suit and high heels were glistening with raindrops. Her fine tawny hair was already clinging to her cheeks like a wet curtain. She could feel the fringe catching on her eyelashes. She was going to make a fine impression in this state.

  There was a discreet cough from somewhere. ‘Please don’t do that,’ said an amused voice, deep and resonant. ‘I’ve come out in this damned awful weather to meet you and my mother will be furious if I don’t return with you in tow.’

  It was not easy to take in the meaning of the words. She was adrift, like someone on a treadmill, pumping toxic fumes. There was no way out.

  Jessica turned to find a tall stranger standing a few yards away in the rain, not suitably dressed either, checked blue shirt soaked, jeans creased, dark hair plastered to his head. He was regarding her with cool courtesy but Jessica refused to be cowed. He was good-looking and probably knew it. His jawline was firm and dominant. He was someone who was used to getting his own way.

  ‘You are Miss Harlow? There can’t be two young female passengers alighting at Eastly Station today. We get about one a month in a good year. That’s our allocation. Southern Railways don’t make their profit out of us.’

  ‘I’m Jessica Harlow,’ she said. ‘I’m here to nurse Lady Grace Coleman of Upton Hall after her hip replacement operation.’

  ‘My mother.’ The tall man moved closer and held out his hand. ‘I’m Lucas Coleman, son of Lady Grace. Glad to meet you. And father of the two children you are also going to keep an eye on. You’re going to save the day for us.’

  ‘The children, yes. Not usually my domain,’ said Jessica, shaking his hand. ‘But I can do that. Keep an eye on them if you are away.’

  ‘I’m often away,’ said Lucas Coleman, enigmatically.

  I bet you are, thought Jessica. A playboy, if ever I saw one. He looked like a dissipated layabout, someone who lived off his mother, who never did a day’s work. She probably kept him to run errands and meet visitors at the station. ‘Can we go now?’ she went on. ‘I’m getting soaked. Do we have to walk?’

  ‘Heavens no,’ said Lucas Coleman, abruptly. ‘We are quite civilized out here. We’ve moved on a bit from the horse and cart days.’

  Jessica hadn’t noticed the car. It was behind him, parked at some distance against a hedge, a low slung machine in glistening metallic blue. Too low to get into with any dignity. Still, it was a vehicle of sorts. She pretended to be interested, put on her enquiring face.

  ‘Great looking car,’ she said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘A Porsche Boxster, Spyder class, very fast, very reliable. Lovely vehicle. Are you interested in cars?’

  ‘No,’ said Jessica. ‘They are merely a means of getting about.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Lucas smoothly. ‘There’s far too much importance attached to status cars these days. But I do like this one. It’s fast and suits my purpose.’

  He opened the door for her and Jessica lowered herself into the low-slung seat. The dashboard was like an aircraft cockpit with dials and knobs and blinking screens. She struggled to find a seatbelt further down in the depths. She heard Lucas Coleman heaving her case and bag into the boot. The rain was becoming a blanket. She couldn’t see anything through the rivulets of water on the windscreen.

  This was going to be a disaster. Jessica could already feel that everything was going wrong. She should not have accepted the offer but she had three months to fill before she took up a new hospital appointment in Sheffield. This represented her mortgage repayments and other commitments. She had to keep earning money and the terms on offer were good ones. Lucas Coleman wanted someone to take care of his mother, Lady Grace, when she came out of hospital.

  Lucas folded himself into the driver’s seat and fastened his seatbelt. Jessica had a chance to look at him more closely. Not that she cared about men anymore, not after Fraser Burton. Fraser had shattered her fragile confidence, and he had done it unforgivably in public, but the experience had made her become a stronger woman. Not many men could do that. It was an evening she wanted to forget.

  Lucas had a good-looking face but it was rigid with a lack of emotion. She wondered what had happened to cause this reserve. At this rate she would never know. There was no way she was going to dig beneath that cold exterior. She’d let him drive her to Upton Hall and then she need never see him again.

  ‘And the children?’ she began. ‘How old are they? What are they like? You didn’t say much about them in your letter.’

  ‘Lily is five and Daniel is seven, going on eight. He’l
l have his birthday in a few weeks’ time.’ It was a blunt statement.

  ‘We must have a party,’ said Jessica, exhausted already at the thought of jelly and games, party hats and crowds of noisy children.

  ‘I doubt it.’

  What an odd answer. Didn’t most children have parties on their birthdays? Every child deserved a birthday party.

  ‘We could go to McDonald’s. Is there a McDonald’s nearby, at Brighton or Worthing? They do great parties. They lay on everything. Daniel would enjoy it.’

  ‘No, thank you, Miss Harlow. We’ll talk about this later.’

  Jessica shrank back into the low seat. What kind of father was he? All children wanted a party on their birthday.

  It was a long and winding drive, leaves brushing the top of the car, rain streaking the windscreen. Jessica had no idea where they were. He could be driving her to the end of some remote moor, a forgotten quarry or desolate headland. She was absolutely in his hands. There was no knowing if he was who he said he was, or where he was taking her.

  She thought of the book she was reading. A crime novel with an abduction and a victim who was never found. A little unsettling.

  Jessica felt a surge of panic. Panic was a recent thing. An unrealistic fear. It was all part of the aftermath of the faithless Fraser. The man had almost destroyed her but she was fighting back. She was clinging tight to the seatbelt now as if they were on the point of crashing over Beachy Head.

  ‘There’s no need to be so tense, Miss Harlow,’ said Lucas Coleman. ‘I can drive this beast. I know what I’m doing. We are not going to land upside-down in a ditch. You’re safe in my hands.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Jessica, trying to relax. Her skirt was damp, clinging to her legs like a wet sandwich. ‘It’s been a difficult day, such a long train journey. So many changes. I’m feeling really tired.’

  ‘Shall I play you some music? To soothe your shattered nerves? How about Rod Stewart in his most nostalgic mode? The Great American Songbook. It Had to be You. It’s one of my favourites.’

  He slid in the CD and pressed the starter button. The soft opening notes and rasping voice of the maestro were a perfect contrast. Jessica felt her breathing slow down in time to the music. Maybe she could survive these three months after all. It was not forever. The time would fly by if she kept busy. A hip replacement patient could not be that difficult and she could easily manage two small children.

  ‘Cheer up, Miss Harlow. We’ll soon be there,’ he said. ‘Upton Hall is only a few more miles, to the right, behind the trees. This damned rain.’

  ‘I’ll believe it when I see it.’

  ‘My mother may be a dragon but she doesn’t bite.’

  ‘I do bite.’

  ‘Then you may have met your match with my mother, Lady Grace. She’s a fighter. She gives as good as she gets, just like you.’

  Was there a glimmer of laughter in his voice or had she imagined it?

  Jessica was beginning to wish she had stayed at home or turned back after one bleak look at Eastly Station. This fancy sports car was no consolation, nor was its cool looking owner. It was starting to rain in earnest, the windscreen wipers hardly coping. The hills were swathed in fog like a creepy Johnny Depp film.

  She felt Lucas shiver in his wet clothes. He switched on a heater.

  ‘Why are you soaked?’ she asked. ‘Didn’t you know it was raining?’

  ‘I was late meeting you, so I didn’t stop to get a raincoat. Then I found the petrol was low so I had to make a detour to fill her up. I didn’t want to run out of petrol with a special passenger on board. You wouldn’t have believed such a tall story, would you? Running out of petrol in a leafy lane?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Jessica. ‘I’ve heard it all before.’

  ‘I was very late in last night, early hours, so I hadn’t checked.’

  Late in? Party? Out clubbing? Girlfriend or girlfriends? Jessica sighed. She guessed that any one of those might be true, probably all three. He looked the kind of man with a string of doting women friends and he’d said nothing about a wife. She wouldn’t be joining the queue. She had learned her lesson. No more men for her after Fraser. From now on it was going to be work and more work.

  She watched his hands on the steering wheel. They were strong and capable hands with long tapering fingers, nails cut short. The smooth hands of an artist. He’d never done a day’s work in his life, that was obvious. She wouldn’t waste any sympathy on him, even if he was trying to be pleasant.

  ‘Thank you for meeting me,’ she said, in an effort to bridge the gap, but not using his name. Her wet clothes were clammy and uncomfortable. She needed to be dry and warm. ‘I appreciate your kindness.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, his silvery grey eyes still cold and blank. ‘You won’t see much of me, day or night. I’m a creature of uncertain habits.’

  He was putting her straight, right from the start. Lucas Coleman was out of bounds. She needn’t harbour any romantic thoughts about the heir to Upton Hall. She was, after all, the hired help. The temporary hired help.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Jessica, deliberately repeating his phrase. ‘I won’t get in your way. I shall be far too busy with your family. It looks as if I shall have my hands full with two children and a convalescent.’

  She turned away, staring out of the window at the passing countryside. It was a blur of trees and branches, swaying in the wind. What on earth had she let herself in for? It was going to be a battle of staying power.

  ‘Miss Harlow,’ said Lucas Coleman, eyes fixed on the road ahead. ‘Let’s get this sorted. You are only employed to work here, to help the family though a difficult period. There is no ulterior motive.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

  ‘I don’t have any designs on you. Even though you are quite pretty. If a drowned rat can look pretty.’

  TWO

  Lucas Coleman drove the last two miles from the station with occasional small talk that passed for conversation. Jessica was cold and wet and not listening. She appreciated that the man was trying to put her at her ease, but she could only wonder what on earth had possessed her to come out here to the wilds of the country. There was nothing but fields and hills in the pallid light. Civilization was receding fast.

  ‘Do you drive?’ he was asking.

  ‘Yes, of course. Doesn’t everyone?’

  ‘While you are with us, you can have use of my mother’s car. It’s a vintage Vanden Plas Austin Princess, and she’s very proud of it. In fact, I think she loves it more than she loves her family. It’s got little picnic trays in the back that let down, with a place to stand your drink. Very posh.’

  ‘Useful for picnics,’ said Jessica drily.

  ‘Automatic gears.’

  ‘I can change gears.’

  ‘I’m sure you can. Automatic takes a little getting used to. I’ve stalled it a couple of times. A bit tricky to start.’

  ‘It’s surprising that your mother lets you drive it then.’

  ‘She didn’t know,’ he said.

  Jessica was beginning to think she had brought all the wrong clothes. It looked like Wellingtons, jerseys and anorak weather. The windscreen wipers were working overtime. Upton Hall would probably be unheated and her bedroom like ice. She should have brought winceyette pyjamas, bed socks and a hot water bottle.

  ‘Does it rain every day down here?’

  ‘This is the wet season,’ he said, as if they lived in Asia.

  ‘I hope you are not expecting me to wear uniform all the time,’ she said.

  ‘No, of course, not. The kids would think they were in hospital. Just wear your own clothes. Be comfortable and warm. Lots of layers.’

  The sounded ominous as if he was warning her that Upton Hall could be a chilly house. Well, she would soon change that. This fit and healthy looking man could flex his muscles chopping wood for a fire. She’d soon find him a couple of trees. There were plenty around.

  ‘What about my hour
s of work,’ Jessica went on, relentlessly. ‘Your letter didn’t say anything about my time off.’

  ‘Didn’t it? How very remiss. I should prefer it if you were with the children every weekend, both Saturday and Sunday, but you can certainly take time off during the week. They are both at school and the school bus picks them up at the end of the road. But there is always Lady Grace to look after. I don’t want her left alone for any length of time, not so soon after her operation.’

  ‘Patients usually recover quickly from a hip replacement. They need to keep moving. It’s not like the old days with endless bed rest.’ It didn’t sound as if she would have any time off. Jessica wished she had asked earlier.

  ‘As you think fit and proper,’ said Lucas, a renewed coolness entering his voice. ‘But I would remind you that you are employed to look after my mother and whole days off to go gallivanting to the shops are out of the question.’

  ‘I wasn’t planning to go gallivanting.’

  ‘Then we can work something out.’

  ‘Surely you could be around too, occasionally?’ said Jessica, with a note of sharpness. ‘There are times when you could look after the children and your mother and I could have an afternoon off. A few hours perhaps?’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ he said curtly, closing the subject. ‘We’re nearly there. Look out for tall chimneys through the trees. This is Upton Hall.’

  All Jessica could see were trees. They were driving through an avenue of close trees, the canopy of dripping leaves overhead like a cathedral roof. Her spirits fell. She didn’t even know what kind of trees they were. This was going to be disastrous. She could feel the despair growing. She was already homesick for her little London flat and wanted more than anything to turn round and go back to its safety. Then she remembered that she had let it to a friend of a friend for the whole three months, banking the rent. There was no going back.

  ‘Upton Hall,’ he said, with a degree of pride and utter masculinity. ‘The home of the Colemans for over a hundred years.’