Sweet Surrender (The Dysarts)

by Catherine George

  ‘I suppose now,’ he said huskily, ‘you’re going to change your mind about seeing me again.’

  If she were sensible, yes. But knowing that Alasdair wanted her added an element of risk Kate was far too human not to enjoy. She pretended to think it over, then shrugged carelessly. ‘I haven’t anything planned for Saturday, so I might as well come. But I’ll have to get back early.’

  Saturday dawned fine, with no sign of snow. Well aware that she had the blessing of the entire Dysart family behind her, Kate drove off to Pennington during the morning, knowing that even if the worst happened, and she were obliged to stay the night in Alasdair’s house, none of them would worry in the slightest—Adam least of all. Kate grinned to herself as she sped along the A48. Little did they know that Alasdair was as prone to basic urges as the next man where she was concerned. It had done her morale no end of good to know that only the sheer physical difficulty of making love in his Maserati had prevented him from trying to take things a lot further during the episode in the layby. Which meant that he might expect more than that in more favourable circumstances.

  It was not a thought that worried her. She liked Alasdair’s lovemaking. Liked it all the more in some perverse way because it was easier to enjoy now that she was no longer crazy about him. But, astonishingly passionate though he’d been the other night, she was sure that the slightest hint of protest from her would have been enough to call a halt, even if they’d been somewhere more private. Like his house in Gloucester. A prospect she rather fancied, if only out of curiosity to see where he lived.

  Thoughts of Alasdair’s home led her to wondering about Jack Spencer’s. His house was in bad repair, by the sound of it, if it needed doing up. But in his line of business no doubt he’d bought it for a song, relying on his own skill to save him expensive labour costs.

  When she got to Pennington Kate found Alasdair’s unmistakable Maserati already in the auction house car park, and its owner in the office with Adam in a conversation which broke off abruptly at the sight of her, his eyes igniting with a heat Kate responded to with a friendly smile.

  ‘Morning, Alasdair,’ she said cheerfully, and frowned at her brother’s dark-circled eyes in sympathy. ‘Oh, dear. Bad night?’

  Adam smiled wryly. ‘My turn for the two o’clock feed. The little demon took ages to get back to sleep afterwards.’

  ‘The joys of fatherhood,’ she said with mock sympathy.

  ‘I’m not complaining—at least not much,’ he said, and grinned at Alasdair. ‘You should try it.’

  ‘I hope to, one day,’ Alasdair assured him, and turned to Kate. ‘On Adam’s recommendation I booked lunch at a French restaurant down the road.’

  ‘Wonderful. School dinners will take some getting used to when I go back!’ She smiled at Adam. ‘Why not join us?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’m saving myself for dinner tonight. Mother’s looking after Hal, and I’m taking Gabriel out for the first time since the son and heir arrived. By the way,’ he added, ‘your friend called in this morning, Kate. I gave him a sneak preview of the furniture in next week’s auction.’

  ‘Jack Spencer?’ she said, surprised. ‘Did he see anything he fancied?’

  ‘Quite a bit,’ Adam grinned at Alasdair. ‘I showed him some of your stuff, but no luck.’

  Alasdair shrugged. ‘Depends on taste, I suppose.’

  ‘What kind of thing was he after?’ asked Kate, amused by the idea of Jack Spencer turning up his nose at Alasdair’s cast-offs.

  ‘He was very keen on a little mahogany side table, circa 1800—asked me to look out for pieces of the same period. He fancied a Cartier brooch, too.’

  ‘Time we were off, Kate,’ said Alasdair abruptly, and held the door open for her. ‘See you, Adam.’

  ‘You were in a hurry,’ commented Kate as they walked down the Parade towards the restaurant.

  ‘I was keen to get you to myself,’ he informed her. ‘Full marks to Adam for his tact in refusing to come with us.’

  ‘You lunched with him at the Chesterton, which is more than I’m getting,’ she pointed out. ‘Not, of course, that I object to your choice for today.’

  ‘Glad to hear it. Though we can eat at the Chesterton if you prefer.’

  ‘No way. Too expensive. I had coffee there the other day with Jack.’

  ‘Ah, yes. The builder with expensive tastes.’

  Kate looked up at him in amusement. Alasdair was wearing a steel-grey moleskin suit the colour of his eyes, which were wintry as he strode along at a pace too fast for comfort for his companion.

  ‘Slow down, Alasdair,’ she protested. ‘It’s only just after midday.’

  ‘Sorry,’ he said shortly, and matched his stride to hers.

  She frowned. ‘Why were you getting steamed up about Jack’s taste in furniture?’

  ‘Not furniture. Women. Or one woman, to be exact. Who is the Cartier brooch intended for, I wonder?’ Alasdair stopped dead under one of the leafless trees in the middle of the broad pavement. He seized her hands, oblivious of passers-by. ‘Tell me the truth. Are you serious about this man, Kate?’

  She stared at him angrily. ‘Not that it’s any business of yours, Alasdair, but the answer’s no. I’m not committed to anyone else, either. Now, for heaven’s sake let me go. We’re attracting attention.’

  Alasdair kept one of her hands in his as they made for the restaurant. ‘So what’s wrong with commitment?’

  ‘Nothing. For those who care for it.’

  ‘But you don’t. Why?’

  Kate eyed him with exasperation. ‘Let’s change the subject or I won’t enjoy my lunch.’

  She didn’t enjoy her lunch anyway, because the first person they saw, sitting alone at a table the waiter led them past, was Jack Spencer.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JACK looked up from the newspaper he was reading and jumped to his feet, his pleasure immediate at the sight of her.

  ‘Why, hello, Kate. Adam didn’t say you’d be here when he recommended this place.’

  ‘Hello yourself, Jack. Adam mentioned that you’d been in Dysart’s this morning.’ Kate smiled at him brightly, resolving to do her brother an injury the first opportunity she got. ‘Let me introduce you. Alasdair Drummond—Jack Spencer.’

  Alasdair shook the other man’s hand with such cold courtesy that, after a brief enquiry to Jack about the new baby, Kate said goodbye and accompanied Alasdair to the table he’d booked for the lunch she no longer wanted.

  ‘Does Adam get a commission on the number of customers he introduces here?’ muttered Alasdair, holding her chair for her.

  ‘It’s a subject I’ll take up with him as soon as I get home,’ promised Kate, amused when Alasdair seated her very deliberately with her back to Jack Spencer.

  ‘Does your friend live in Pennington?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where, then?’

  ‘I don’t know, exactly. I haven’t known him long. And, unlike you,’ she said, scowling at him, ‘I don’t subject my friends to inquisitions.’

  Kate studied her menu in pointed, brooding silence, then asked for mineral water.

  ‘You should have come by train and enjoyed a glass of wine,’ said Alasdair.

  ‘I don’t drink wine,’ she said shortly. ‘I’m not very hungry either, Alasdair. Could I just have soup, please?’

  ‘Anything you like,’ he said promptly, the ice melting in his eyes. ‘What would you like to do after lunch?’

  ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘I’ll think of something while we eat,’ he promised.

  Halfway through their meal Alasdair told her to look round. ‘Your friend is leaving.’

  Kate turned in her chair, smiled in answer to Jack’s farewell wave, then returned to her soup with more enthusiasm.

  ‘You can relax now,’ said Alasdair, and gave her a wry look. ‘Your friend was a lot more delighted at the sight of you than I would have been in the same circumstances.’

  ‘Beca
use I was with you?’ Kate shrugged. ‘He’s just a friend, Alasdair.’

  ‘And is that how you refer to me?’

  She smiled sweetly. ‘If you mean in conversation with Jack—or anyone else—I have to confess that I don’t refer to you at all.’

  Alasdair sighed in mock sorrow. ‘You certainly know how to deflate a man’s ego, Kate.’

  She laughed suddenly. ‘Sorry, Alasdair. Our farewell lunch hasn’t been much of a success, has it?’

  ‘Farewell?’ he said, frowning.

  She nodded. ‘School starts on Monday. I’m driving back to Foychurch tomorrow.’

  ‘It’s not on another planet,’ he pointed out. ‘I’ve got a week or so to go yet before I actually take over at the Healthshield plant. After the distances I travelled in the States, the journey to Foychurch for an evening is nothing.’

  Kate eyed him narrowly. ‘What is all this, Alasdair? You’ve managed perfectly well without my company all these years. Why this sudden yen for it now?’

  He was silent for a moment, then smiled wryly. ‘I could say I’m feeling low because my grandmother died, that I don’t know anyone in Gloucester any more, that my friends are based in Edinburgh or the US. All of which is true enough.’ His eyes held hers. ‘But even if I were surrounded by people clamouring for my company, now that I’ve caught up with you again I prefer to spend time with you, Kate. Is that so hard to believe?’

  ‘Of course it is,’ she said impatiently.

  ‘Then I must find a way to convince you. So, if you’ve finished playing with that soup, let’s have some coffee, and afterwards we’ll go shopping.’

  Kate’s eyebrows rose. ‘Shopping?’

  He smiled. ‘For food. Lunch was such a dismal failure I’m inviting you home to tea, Miss Dysart. Choose what you want to eat first, then we’ll drive to my place in Gloucester and you can give me some advice on interior decoration. After which you can leave for home as early as you want. And if you’re worried that I’ll expect to take up where I left off in the car the other night, I promise, hand on heart, to restrain myself. So will you come?’

  The plates had been removed and coffee provided before Kate answered him. ‘All right. As long as you don’t take consent for anything other than curiosity to see your house,’ she said bluntly.

  ‘You used to trust me once,’ he reminded her.

  She gave him a bleak little smile. ‘Sad to say, I harbour less illusions these days. Even about you.’

  Certain that the Maserati would outstrip her modest little car, no matter how hard Alasdair tried to hold back, Kate asked for directions to his house before following him to the outskirts of Gloucester. Relieved that she hadn’t been obliged to negotiate the town itself, she wasn’t long behind Adam when she finally arrived in a cul-de-sac that brought her to End House, the name carved on stone gateposts. She turned through them into a short drive which led past herbaceous borders, and parked beside the Maserati on the neatly raked gravel which encircled the lawn in front of the house.

  When Alasdair came to help her out Kate asked for time to look at the outside before going in.

  ‘The main part is late eighteenth century,’ he told her, ‘but the double frontage is early Victorian. These huge bay windows would have been the latest fashion when they were added.’

  Alasdair unlocked a wide oak door to reveal an inner white-painted door with stained glass panels. He opened it with a flourish, and switched on lights to reveal a long hallway with a beautiful wood floor and a staircase which curved up at the far end. Alasdair led her past tantalising glimpses of rooms through half-open doors, straight to a big kitchen with a stone-flagged floor and an original black-leaded range in perfect keeping with the pine dresser which took up one entire wall.

  ‘The range still works, but isn’t in use any more,’ he explained, switching on a kettle. ‘Hence the electric cooker alongside it.’

  ‘What a great kitchen!’ said Kate, admiring an assortment of windsor chairs grouped round a large scrubbed-top table. ‘You won’t change anything in here, surely?’

  ‘Only the colour of the walls. Through that door there’s a larder that houses my brand new dishwasher, laundry equipment and man-size fridge-freezer.’ He grinned as he took a teapot and cups from the dresser. ‘I like my creature comforts.’ While Kate examined her surroundings he made tea, put some pastries on a large plate, then with a mocking bow took a blue ceramic vase of daffodils from a window ledge and placed it in the centre of the table. ‘Can’t let myself be outdone by your builder friend.’

  Kate’s eyes narrowed at the pejorative hint in his tone. ‘I wouldn’t have put you down as a snob, Alasdair.’

  To her astonishment he looked discomfited. ‘I’m not. I couldn’t care less what the guy does for a living. My gripe comes from the fact that he’s your “friend”.’

  ‘But not the only one,’ she reminded him tartly. ‘I can also notch up an accountant and a teacher. Though Phil Dent is slightly up the scale from me in your eyes, I suppose, because he teaches at an expensive boys’ school.’

  Alasdair put down a milk jug with a force that spilt some of its contents on the table. ‘For the last time, Kate I do not look down on your profession. At any level. I’m sure that you, and all your colleagues, do a fantastic and vital job. But you know as well as I do that you hadn’t the least intention of teaching when you were at Trinity. Have you forgotten that I was the one you confided in? All those dreams about being part of some record-breaking research programme—’

  ‘I was a starry-eyed kid,’ said Kate dismissively, and poured tea.

  ‘So you were.’ He smiled, and put a miniature coffee tart on her plate like a peace offering.

  She eyed it absently for a moment, then looked up at him. ‘Shortly before you left to take on the big wide world, Alasdair, I experienced a kind of epiphany. I discovered I no longer cared tuppence that someone had beaten me to it about the discovery of DNA and so on. Dreamtime was over.’ She shrugged. ‘Reality was as respectable a degree as possible, followed by a teacher-training course.’

  ‘Your degree was a hell of a sight more than respectable.’

  She picked up the tart. ‘Can we please talk about something else?’

  ‘Paint,’ he said promptly.

  Kate chuckled. ‘Safe subject!’

  ‘What colour should I have in here? I’d thought maybe some kind of blue.’

  She shook her head. ‘Too cold against this floor. You need something warm, like terracotta—even red.’

  Alasdair eyed his kitchen walls for a moment, then nodded. ‘You’re right. I’ll show you some colour cards later. If you’ve finished your tea, do you fancy a tour?’

  Kate jumped up with alacrity. ‘Lead on.’

  Because Alasdair had dispensed with some of the house’s contents she had expected a forlorn air to the rooms he showed her, but the small sitting room was cosy, with leather chairs and velvet cushions, and in the drawing room there were big sofas with plain cream covers. In the square bay window, with its view of the garden, there was a gilded bergere sofa that would have brought a gleam to Tom Dysart’s eye.

  Kate raised her eyebrows. ‘This is all a surprise, Alasdair—I thought you’d evicted the furniture?’

  He shook his head. ‘Only the pieces I didn’t like. And a fair amount of clutter. While my parents were here we went through the house together. As you see, I’ve kept a few pictures and pieces of silver and so on, but with my mother’s approval out went a chaise covered with horsehair which pricked like blazes, and tables and cabinets and whatnots of every description. The dining room had a gigantic mahogany sideboard with a mirror which only stopped short of the ceiling, while upstairs you couldn’t move for wardrobes and chests.’

  ‘But what will you use instead?’ asked Kate, following him up the curving staircase.

  ‘I’ve kept this wardrobe for myself until I get some cupboards built.’ Alasdair ushered her into what was obviously the master bedroom, where a lar
ge bed kept company with an equally large wardrobe. ‘Fortunately I was able to hang on to the bed, because my grandfather was built on the same scale as me.’ He waved a hand at a door across the room. ‘I’ll get a shower fitted in the dressing room in there, modernise the main bathroom, and add another to one of the other bedrooms while I’m at it. My forebears may have considered one bathroom sufficient for the entire household, but from a resale point of view that’s not on.’

  ‘Are you doing the house up just to sell it, then?’

  Alasdair shrugged. ‘I’ll have to see how things work out.’

  ‘This is a lovely house,’ Kate assured him, as he showed her the rest of it. ‘You wouldn’t have much trouble in selling it.’

  ‘But it’s a lot of house to live in alone. It’s meant for a large family, which is something, oddly enough, that it’s never achieved. My mother was an only child, which is how I came to inherit it.’

  ‘She didn’t want to live here?’

  He shook his head. ‘Neither of my parents has the least desire to leave Edinburgh. In the beginning my mother brought me down here in the school holidays, but when I was old enough I came on my own. I went fishing with my grandfather, helped my grandmother with the garden, and the nearest neighbours had a grandson I hobnobbed with very happily. I always felt at home here.’

  ‘I can understand why,’ Kate assured him.

  Alasdair took her by the hand and led her downstairs. ‘Enough nostalgia. Now you’ve had a quick survey, let’s think about paint again.’

  In the kitchen Kate asked for paper, and sat down at the table to sketch a room plan. ‘You’ve got to live here,’ she reminded him, studying shade cards. ‘I tend to choose primary colours, but maybe you’d prefer something more muted.’