Forsaking All Reason

by Jenny Cartwright

  ‘But why would Guy Rexford want to buy Garston’s, Dad?’ intruded Jane with a worried frown. She had never seen her father like this before, and it hurt her to see his usually cheerful face looking vulnerable and exposed.

  ‘Guy Rexford does exactly as he pleases in the world of engineering,’ said her father greyly. ‘Rexford Holdings has swallowed up much bigger firms than ours in recent years. I think he’s probably after my research and development team.’ He sighed leadenly. ‘And what Rexford wants he gets. Or that’s the story everybody tells.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Jane, looking sympathetically at her father. From what little she’d seen of Guy Rexford, she could well believe it was true. ‘So he could just…just throw you out? After everything you’ve done for the firm? Daddy, it’s been in your family for generations! You live and breathe that smelly factory!’

  Her father gave one of his deep, rumbling chuckles. ‘It’s not that drastic, Jane, my love. I doubt he’ll throw me on the scrap-heap. He’ll just tie my hands a bit. Never fear, I shall still spend the greater part of my life in that smelly factory, as you so charmingly call it. And if he does force me out he’ll make a very wealthy man of me in the process.’

  ‘But you’d hate sitting at home being rich!’ wailed Jane.

  Wendy Garston smiled comfortingly at her husband. ‘Now be fair, Sidney. You don’t know that he’ll do anything at all. It’s only speculation…’

  ‘It was until this evening, my love. When I invited him to come along I was testing the water. If he hadn’t had any designs on us he wouldn’t have turned up at all. Instead of which, he marches in here as late as you please, stays five minutes and then swans off. It speaks for itself.’

  ‘So his coming here tonight was symbolic?’ asked Jane, praying that her own unfortunate encounter with him wouldn’t affect anything. Then she set down her cocoa and went across to hug her father. ‘Never mind, Daddy, darling. Even if he ruins your life, Mummy and I will do everything we can, every minute of the day, to let you know how happy we are to be terribly, disgustingly rich. Won’t we, Mum?’

  It was just the right thing to have said. Her parents’ faces broke into broad smiles, and the mood of gloom evaporated, leaving the little family relaxed and at ease to pick over the bones of the other guests.

  Two mornings in a row spent on the top of a rickety step-ladder changing light bulbs was about as much as Jane could bear. Especially as she’d had to retrieve the old ones from the bin, wearing rubber gloves, and had then had to wash them and make sure they were bonedry before connecting them to the electricity supply.

  She saved the hall till last, mainly because it was so forbiddingly dark without any light at all. In fact she’d had to prop the front door wide open in order to be able to see what she was doing. A gusty breeze charged in and rattled the steps.

  ‘Still looking for that peanut?’ came a voice that already she would know anywhere.

  She ducked her head out from the centre of the huge chandelier, and shook her shoulder-length hair back from her face. What on earth was he doing here? ‘I’m changing the light bulbs,’ she said a little obviously, holding out one of the candle-flame-shaped bulbs for inspection.

  It should have given her an advantage, looking down on him. But of course it didn’t. He was leaning against the door, his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket, and one foot crossed over the other at the ankle.

  ‘You do surprise me…’ There was a dry bluntness in his voice right now which almost bordered on the humorous. She eyed him suspiciously.

  ‘Didn’t you notice how strong the lighting was last night?’ she asked lamely, tucking the bulb in her jeans pocket and then taking it out again. ‘We got the wattage wrong.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  ‘So…um…Look, if you want my father, I’m afraid he’s not home. He’s at work.’

  ‘I don’t want your father.’

  ‘Oh. Mother’s around somewhere. In the kitchen, I think.’ She put the bulb back in the box on top of the steps, wiped her hands on her jeans, then began to come down the ladder.

  But before she had taken more than a couple of steps he had crossed the flagged floor and caught hold of her at the waist, swinging her down on to the floor beside him.

  He left his hands in place. ‘I don’t want to see your mother.’

  Flustered, she pushed his hands away. Very slowly and very deliberately he put them back.

  It was a horrible feeling having Guy Rexford’s big square hands sitting lightly on the curve of her waist. She was wearing a huge, fuchsia sweatshirt with her T-shirt and jeans, but despite the layers of clothing she was more than conscious of the weight of his hands on her flesh. And the awful thing was that the feeling was exciting. Very exciting. It tied a tangled knot in her stomach and made her feel as if breathing was an art she had only recently learned. And yet this was the man who was about to ruin everything her father lived for. She felt sick with herself.

  ‘Please take your hands off me,’ she said shakily.

  He did. He lifted his splayed hands away from her waist and let them drop to his sides.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ she asked furiously.

  ‘Because I wanted to.’

  ‘Oh.’ Jane glowered at him from under her thick straight fringe. He looked back at her unflinchingly. It made her feel dreadfully flummoxed.

  In their brief verbal exchanges to date she hadn’t exactly given a very good account of herself. Peering down at her own bosom had been bad enough, especially as he had made it seem as if she was practically inviting him into her bed. And now, when she needed to say exactly the right thing—the thing which would let him know in no uncertain terms that she wasn’t that sort of girl, while at the same time preserving the peace for her father’s sake—well, now her mind was a complete blank. And he was no help at all. He just stood there, in the only patch of light in the entire hall, and waited for her to speak. All she could think was that his eyes looked greyer in daylight.

  She cleared her throat. ‘I don’t think that’s a very good reason for…um…for…’ She let out a quivering sigh. Oh, dear. Supposing she offended him and he bought Garston’s out of spite?

  ‘Molesting you? But I didn’t, Jane Garston. You’re jumping the gun. I merely helped you down from the step-ladder.’

  ‘And put your hands on my…my middle when I’d already taken them away.’

  One of those very black eyebrows moved very slightly upwards. ‘I wanted to see if you meant it,’ he said. ‘Now that I know that you did, I shan’t do it again without being invited.’ Again that dangerous edge was back in his voice.

  ‘Then you won’t do it again,’ she said decisively, arching her brows. ‘Now, how can I help you, Mr Rexford? Did you leave something behind last night?’

  He inclined his head gravely to one side. ‘Yes. You.’

  ‘Me!’

  He allowed a small smile to curve his mouth, but his eyes remained neutral. ‘I’ve come to court you, Jane Garston. I shall begin by taking you out to lunch.’

  Jane’s heart started to hammer madly, and her mouth became inexplicably dry. What an extraordinary thing to say! And yet it hadn’t sounded the least bit odd, coming from him. That voice of his—even when saying the most mundane things—promised such devastation that even a comment like that came almost as an anticlimax.

  ‘Why do you call me Jane Garston?’ she said at length, a small frown furrowing her brow. She honestly couldn’t think of anything else to say that wouldn’t sound completely stupid. She certainly couldn’t bring herself to refer to his assertion that he had come to court her.

  ‘It’s your name,’ he returned levelly. And then he turned and walked briskly to a small door on his left, opened it, and stooped slightly to pass through. Within seconds he had emerged with a burnt-orange anorak in his hands.

  ‘Catch,’ he said, and tossed it to her.

  ‘How did you know that was the cloakroom? And how did you know that jacket was mine?’


  He shrugged, and smiled enigmatically. ‘Now run along and tell your mother you’ll be having lunch with me. You’ll be back in an hour and a half.’

  She ran the ridged edge of the zip between her fingers and then nipped one of the notches hard between her forefinger and thumb. ‘I haven’t said I’ll come,’ she said crossly.

  ‘Hurry,’ he replied. ‘I’m short of time as it is…’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Go on. You don’t want to keep me waiting, now do you?’

  And to her dismay she found herself turning biddably towards the kitchen to find her mother. What should she do? If she’d met him at one of her friends’ parties she’d have been thrilled to be noticed by him. She certainly would have jumped at the chance of a date with him— well, assuming he’d been introduced and everything and she knew something about him, that was. He was so…well, so attractive. And that remote, self-contained manner of his, while decidedly frightening, was undeniably intriguing. But she hadn’t met him like that. She’d met him because he was interested in the family firm. No doubt his plan was to ply her with drinks and pump her for information. The realisation made Jane giggle softly to herself. He wouldn’t get very far on that score! She didn’t know anything about engineering.

  ‘Off out, darling?’ her mother asked, looking up from her perusal of the newspaper.

  ‘How did you—? Oh, the coat…Sorry. My brain’s not working properly.’

  ‘Well, make it work if you’re planning to drive your car!’

  ‘I’m not. Mum, the thing is, Guy Rexford’s just appeared and asked me to have lunch with him.’

  Her mother’s spectacles had slipped down to the end of her nose. She peered over them. ‘Has he? How exciting, darling.’

  Jane pulled a face. ‘Why did you say that?’

  ‘Well, he’s very handsome and very eligible. And you’ve obviously decided to accept, or you wouldn’t have your coat with you, now would you? So run along and have a good time…’

  Jane took a deep breath. She wanted to explain to her mother…And yet how could she explain the churning excitement which his fraudulent declaration had stirred in her stomach? It was all too complicated. On the whole, she decided it would be a lot easier just to go with him, and explain things later. After all, he wouldn’t ask her again when he realised how useless she was going to be as a mole.

  When she got back to the hall it was to find that the light bulbs had all been replaced, and the step-ladder was neatly propped against the wall under the stairs.

  ‘No one will trip over it there,’ he said, and offered her his arm in a strangely old-fashioned way. Reluctantly she took it, glad that she now had her anorak as well as the sweatshirt and T-shirt, not to mention his jacket sleeve and shirt, as a barrier between them. She balled her small fist loosely rather than let her hand lie on his sleeve, and walked nervously through the door at his side. He reached back to pull it closed.

  ‘I take it you don’t want to leave the door open now the lights are working again?’ he said.

  Jane screwed up her face. ‘You seem to know everything, without ever being told,’ she complained.

  ‘I simply keep my eyes and ears open,’ he said. ‘It’s enough.’

  Outside the air was damp and fresh. Their feet crunched on the gravel driveway as they made their way to the box-hedge which screened the parking area from the house. Jane found herself wondering where he would take her. ‘I’m not very clean,’ she said conversationally, and then tore her hand away from his arm to cover her mouth. ‘That sounded awful,’ she moaned apologetically.

  Guy looked down on her, his eyes as enigmatic as ever and his mouth its usual straight line. ‘Such things are relative. I don’t doubt you showered this morning.’

  ‘Well, yes. Of course. But the thing is—well, what I meant was, I’ve been up that step-ladder all morning and I’m only wearing jeans and a sweatshirt.’

  ‘I’d noticed. Don’t worry. I shan’t shame you by taking you somewhere exclusive, Jane Garston.’

  ‘Oh.’

  They rounded the hedge and Jane got her first sight of his gleaming black Lotus. It was beautifully streamlined and very, very impressive.

  He opened the passenger door. ‘Get in,’ he said.

  She got into the low-slung seat and fumbled with her seatbelt while he came round and swung himself in behind the wheel.

  ‘Direct me to a good pub,’ he said as he pulled out of the driveway. ‘I don’t know the area.’

  ‘Good grief!’ she exclaimed impulsively, forgetting her intention not to risk offending him. ‘You do surprise me. What’s the matter…is there something wrong with those famous eyes of yours? Did you drive here blindfold? I thought you of all people would have noticed one on the way here, and memorised the menu pinned up outside as you flashed by at a hundred miles an hour!’

  And then Guy Rexford did the most surprising thing he had done so far. He smiled broadly, revealing strong even white teeth and then he tipped his head back and laughed richly.

  The sound seemed confined by the enclosed car. It seemed to fill the space around her with its deep, resonant notes. It made her skin hug her very tight, and her mouth feel dry and useless again. Because it made him sound human…And that was more frightening than anything.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IRONICALLY, Guy drove straight into the car park of a country inn without taking any directions at all from her. Admittedly they had to pass it before they got to the main road, and it had a sign outside indicating that hot lunches were available. Even so…

  ‘I wasn’t going to suggest this place,’ she said obscurely.

  He looked down into her eyes, his face uncannily managing to suggest disapproval again, though there was no obvious expression there. ‘I know. You thought it might be too ordinary. But I haven’t much time to spare today, as I’ve already mentioned.’

  ‘Oh.’ He was right. She had dismissed the Three Bells as being too ordinary for a man like him, though she and her mother often had lunch there. ‘Well, I did think it might be a bit…you know…not quite your style.’

  ‘What made you think I’d turn up my nose at it, Jane?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know. You just give off the aura of someone with impossibly high standards.’

  ‘How clever of you.’

  ‘Ah! So I was right.’

  ‘Not exactly. I do have high standards, it’s true. But I always make them suit the purpose. In my view, a good pub lunch is usually simple and unpretentious, and is most likely to be found in a simple and unpretentious pub. Caviare sandwiches right now I do not want.’

  ‘Well, yes, but there’s a place with a French chef where they do little—’

  ‘If the French chef’s doing no more than providing good pub fare then he’s either not much of a chef or he’s wasting his talents. Don’t you agree?’

  She sighed heavily, then flapped her hands. ‘Look…I…I didn’t know a simple meal could turn into an intellectual debate. If I had I certainly wouldn’t have come. I’m not the academic type. So if you want to wipe the floor with me, go right ahead. It should prove easy.’

  ‘You’re not trying to tell me that you’re the doormat type, are you, Jane Garston?’

  ‘Doormats are used for wiping shoes—not floors,’ she returned snappily.

  He chuckled. ‘Ah. I stand corrected. It seems you have just metaphorically wiped the floor with me.’

  ‘Good. I’d feel so much better for that if only I believed it was true. Now can we go in and order? I’m starving.’

  ‘OK. This place looks fine,’ he said, getting out.

  ‘Actually, it is quite good,’ she confirmed reluctantly, trying not to meet his eye, and struggling to dispel her irritation. Why should she be so convinced that he despised her? What reason had she given him, after all?

  She let her gaze settle about shoulder level. His suit was black with a blue pinstripe, and was superbly wellcut. It was soberly single-breasted. He wo
re it without a waistcoat, revealing an expanse of fine white linen shirt on either side of his narrow, dark tie. Actually, the tie was unusually narrow. It wasn’t that it. didn’t look good—it did. But it certainly wasn’t the obvious tie to wear with a business suit. She found it unnerving, just that tiny sartorial break with convention seemed to be enough to suggest that he was a man who would break any rule he chose.

  ‘Come on, Jane Garston,’ he said crisply. ‘Lead the way. You know which is the best bar.’

  ‘I’m honoured,’ she returned, relieved to feel her usual good humour beginning to seep back at this apparent vote of confidence. She pushed open the door to the lounge where a fire burned brightly.

  Once in, however, he took charge, leading the way to the table nearest the window, and flagging a barmaid to come and clear it for them. The service was instantly forthcoming.

  Pushing his chair back from the table he stretched out his long legs. ‘I’ll have trout,’ he said decisively, closing the menu and dismissing the barmaid.

  ‘So will I,’ rejoined Jane.

  He smiled. ‘So I was right. The trout is good here?’

  ‘Now how can you possibly know that?’ she returned challengingly.

  He shrugged his broad shoulders carelessly. ‘The lady next to the door is eating it. It looks good. And you’ve eaten here before, and you’ve ordered it, so I presume it must taste good too.’

  Jane put her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, Mr Rexford, this business of your knowing everything without being told is getting a little wearing. And I doubt I’ve spent as much as twenty minutes in your presence so far. If you keep it up for the whole hour and a half I think I shall scream.’ She pursed her lips.

  ‘You can call me Guy,’ he said levelly.

  ‘You didn’t respond to what I said.’

  ‘Isn’t the fish good here?’

  ‘Yes. As it happens, it’s very good. But that wasn’t the point I was making.’