When Stella looked at her blankly, the maid, who was not a lot younger than her, gestured with a nod. ‘That door, Miss Stella. Enjoy your evening.’
Stella was left to watch Hilly disappear into a room she could only imagine must be the winter dining room. She felt as though she’d been silently, invisibly slapped by her fellow workmates who only hours earlier had thawed and made her feel welcome; even Mrs Boyd had sounded chatty. Now suddenly she felt on the outer. She took a breath to steady her nerves and walked towards the door Hilly had indicated.
Winter drawing room, she mocked in her mind but without allowing herself to hesitate, she knocked.
Her knock was answered by Grace in a fresh set of clothes and her face gleaming as though a flannel had fiercely scrubbed away the day’s fun.
‘Stella,’ she gasped, genuine delight in her voice as she swung open the door and turned to the others. ‘Stella’s here.’
Stella stepped inside and the family looked up from what appeared to her a still-life snapshot. Beatrice Ainsworth, attired immaculately in a velvet green dress, was seated straight-backed in an armchair with a crystal glass of what was likely a gin and tonic if the half slice of lemon was an indication. Seated opposite, or rather draped opposite, still appearing thoroughly bored with her life, was Georgina, holding a small crystal glass. She wore a frock as liquid in shape and just as dark as the sherry she was presumably sipping on. But Stella’s gaze was helplessly drawn to Rafe, staring at her from where he stood by the grand white marble fireplace that was streaked through with grey and forming the perfect backdrop to show off his tall, fine figure enclosed in a dark suit. Surprisingly, a fire was lit, but she felt only the heat of her host’s gaze and she sensed once again that he was using it to communicate to her that their first meeting was no one else’s business.
He was less formally dressed than for his night in London. Nevertheless he looked as dashing. Tonight he was out of his practical plus fours and attired for dinner in a suit of midnight blue, without waistcoat, but cut with the new fashion of a double-breasted jacket and turn-down collar rather than the detachable, stiff version. There was no denying that Rafe Ainsworth was a paragon of fashion. He was wearing glasses, though. Small, round and horn-rimmed, they gave him a professorial air that made Stella want to smile.
‘H-hello again, Stella,’ he stammered. ‘I’m glad you could join us.’
She blinked. She’d not heard him stammer before. ‘Er, thank you all for inviting me,’ she said.
‘It was Dougie’s idea, I have to admit,’ Beatrice said, although Stella heard: We didn’t want you but he did.
Georgina sighed. ‘Yes, we’re not used to having servants eat with us.’
‘Stella isn’t a servant, is she, Daddy?’ Grace asked from where she toured the perimeter of the drawing room with her tumbler of what looked to be lemon barley water.
‘She is, actually, but you’re too dim to understand because you’ve played hopscotch today and think you’re now best friends,’ Georgina cut back. Stella held her breath in surprise, realising the young woman obviously felt she was in safe enough company to display her ugly behaviour.
‘Well,’ Stella said, achieving a benign smile she was proud of. ‘I don’t feel like a servant to anyone, to be honest. I do, however, see myself as one of your staff and if you’d rather I —’
‘Nonsense,’ Rafe said in a mild, almost frightened tone. ‘Manners, Georgie.’ He looked back at Stella. ‘You are most welcome and my invitation is genuine. I think it’s a fine opportunity for us all to make you feel more at home here at Harp’s End. Don’t you agree, Bee dear?’
‘Whatever you want, Dougie. Have a seat, Stella. What would you like to drink?’
‘Er, I’m happy with a sherry, thank you.’
‘Dougie, would you —’
‘Yes, I’m onto it,’ Rafe said, pushing the spectacles further up his nose.
Stella closed her open-mouthed study of his oddly taciturn way. She looked away, taking in the brocades and velvets that dominated this room while trying to make sense of his manner as he dropped the crystal stopper of the sherry decanter onto the silver tray, making his wife jump with alarm.
‘Sorry, everyone,’ he murmured with a sheepish expression as Grace giggled and Georgina glared at her father with disdain.
‘Gosh, Dad, you’re such a berk,’ Georgie remarked, rolling her eyes.
Stella couldn’t imagine how the effortlessly suave ways of the man she’d met in the dance hall, who glided down hills in a long, sure stride, was the same slightly bumbling person holding out a glass of sherry to her now.
‘Stella,’ he offered, not meeting her gaze, she noted.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured and took the glass.
‘Well, chin-chin, everyone,’ he said and moved back to the fireplace. Only now as everyone tipped their glasses did she see him fix her again with a penetrating gaze. It cut past his curious glasses to make her feel as though she were the only person in the room.
‘I must say, Doug, it’s nice to see you out of your hill walking gear. You do look so fine in an evening suit,’ Beatrice said.
‘Especially against Mummy’s Aubusson rug,’ Grace said in the background, now playing with her doll and a ball of wool. Her father cast her a grin and even Stella smiled inwardly at the unintentionally dry statement.
Georgie soon cooled the fun. ‘Mummy, perhaps you should just let Dad remain tweedy and boffinish. If you’re going to dress him like this, people have an expectation.’
Her mother looked surprised. ‘Darling, dress your father? I wouldn’t presume. He goes to his tailor at Savile Row and miraculously manages to look dashing like this when I agree he can often appear dishevelled. Thank heavens for Gieves & Hawkes, I say.’
‘Dishevelled?’ Georgina slid her gaze back to her father, who was wearing the most innocent of expressions. ‘You look like a tramp a lot of the time, especially out there on the bloody Weald.’
‘Don’t curse, darling. It’s vulgar,’ Beatrice said.
Beatrice’s admonishment was as limp as a damp day, Stella thought, and it seemed to her as though everything that rolled off the teenager’s tongue was designed to shock. Stella was appalled at Georgina’s harsh words towards her father, who simply chuckled as though hearing a silent joke that only he shared. She took immediate offence to the young woman’s cutting manner and deliberately changed the subject.
‘You were missed today for lessons, Georgina,’ she said.
‘Mrs Boyd said she’d passed on the message,’ her student replied, without even looking at her.
‘That’s not the point, though, is it?’ Stella pressed as she smiled kindly, recalling this was her smile she reserved for difficult customers at the store. ‘Your parents have employed me to help you with your education. I’m not sure that putting shopping first is the best way to go about improving your French.’ She glanced briefly at Rafe, whom she could swear winked at her.
‘Oh, this is so tiresome,’ Georgina said, putting down her glass a little too loudly.
‘Georgina . . .’ her father began.
‘No, Daddy, you don’t know what day it is most of the time while you go chasing your butterflies and stalking odd birds and . . . and . . . painting your silly watercolours. But this is my holiday and I don’t really want to be cooped up inside with Stella and her colloquial French. There, that’s the truth,’ she snarled, swinging her shoulder-length hair and standing up.
Stella was waiting for Georgina Ainsworth to stamp her foot too. ‘Mrs Ainsworth, if we’ve made arrangements for lessons, then unless there is an emergency, it is polite at the very least for Georgina to turn up for them.’ She was surprised how commanding she sounded and dared not look towards Rafe, although she could feel his gaze on her. ‘I would love a free day to roam the gorgeous Kent countryside but you are paying me very well to teach your daughters and I want to make sure that I fulfill your expectations. I can’t of course if the student goes shoppi
ng instead.’ She watched Beatrice flutter her eyelids as if deeply wearied of the topic. Stella turned to Georgina. ‘No more excuses please, Georgina; I will leave your timetable with Mrs Boyd and a copy with your mother and perhaps there need be no further misunderstandings.’
‘Y-yes, let’s see to that, Bee,’ Rafe stammered, reaching for a Scotch that Stella only noticed now. She also noticed him put it to his lips but not taste it. ‘I think that’s fair enough.’
‘Oh, do shut up, Daddy. You’re not helping,’ Georgie whined. ‘Mummy, are you really going to allow a stranger to boss us around?’
Beatrice Ainsworth gave a pained glance to her husband but he was moving away to play cat’s cradle with his youngest daughter and it was written on Beatrice’s face that she understood she was going to have to sort it out. ‘Georgie, do stop complaining, or I’ll get one of my headaches. Now, darling, it is fair that you attend lessons because we’re paying for them. You told me that your lesson had been postponed until tomorrow so we could stay on in Brighton. I had no idea you’d telephoned Mrs Boyd. Is that the call you made when we were having tea at the Grand?’
Stella shifted her glance to the daughter again, delighted that Georgina had been caught out, but keeping her expression neutral.
Georgina cut her tutor a look of pure loathing.
‘Nine-thirty sharp we begin tomorrow and we’ll be done by eleven. You’ll soon see I am not trying to make your life difficult, Georgina,’ Stella tried again.
‘But you are!’ the girl snapped and ran to the door, leaving the room filled with tension. ‘I’ll take my meal upstairs. Gracie, tell Mrs Boyd, will you?’ She flounced out but only after throwing a scowl at her mother. ‘You’re no help, Mummy!’ And then she was gone. The carpeted stairs mercifully dulled her footsteps although they did hear a distant door slam.
‘Why is Georgie always so mean?’ Grace wondered, taking her father’s hand.
‘She’s a teenager,’ he replied, looking sideways towards Stella, who caught his glance. She didn’t believe his rationale either.
‘Heavens, that girl is so dramatic. I think I might have been like that when I was younger,’ Beatrice admitted with a chuckle. She swallowed the gin and tonic. ‘Are we having another gimlet? More lemon this time, darling.’
‘Will do.’
Distantly a phone rang. Stella remembered seeing it in the main hall.
‘Oh, who can that be?’
‘It’s always for Daddy,’ Grace chirruped from somewhere behind one of the curtains where she had been humming to herself.
With Rafe watching her from behind his wife, Stella couldn’t help but notice that now he had the freedom to take off his glasses and smile softly at her. And suddenly there he was, the Rafe she had met in London – calm, confident, suave. She couldn’t reconcile the bumbling Dougie Ainsworth with the sure-footed, confident man who was now reaching for the soda syphon.
‘I apologise for our daughter’s behaviour, Stella. She won’t be late again for your lesson,’ he said.
Beatrice looked up. ‘Grace, go and check on your sister and see if she can’t be persuaded to join us for dinner.’
Stella wanted to tell them to let Georgina stew but she held her tongue and sipped her sherry and tried not to blush at the way Rafe’s gaze was heating her in places she’d prefer him not to. He sprayed the soda and Beatrice shrieked as a sharp squirt of fizzing water drenched her back. Grace convulsed into helpless laughter and Rafe was around the armchair like a springing cat.
‘Oh, my dear. I am so, so sorry,’ he said, earnestly. ‘I thought I was pointing the spout the right way, but I —’
Beatrice looked horror-struck and vaguely catatonic with an open mouth as the cold water seeped uncomfortably through her velvet dress. Mrs Boyd, who had presumably heard the scream, had barged in and was trying to work out what had occurred.
Stella helped out. ‘Er, Mrs Ainsworth was accidentally sprayed by the soda; I’m afraid she’s very damp,’ she offered.
Mrs Boyd immediately moved to her mistress and helped her to stand up. Beatrice was squirming and squalling while Stella tried to suppress her amusement.
‘I’m so sorry, darling,’ Rafe bleated.
‘Oh, do be quiet, Doug,’ she complained. ‘You’re only making it worse. Grace! Stop your laughing and go speak with your sister!’
Stella cut a glance towards the instantly quietened Grace and the girl scampered off.
‘Let’s get you out of these wet clothes, Mrs Ainsworth.’ Mrs Boyd offered an arm to her employer as though she were an invalid. ‘Miss Myles?’
‘Yes?’ Stella stood and looked at the housekeeper.
‘That was a Miss Farnsworth calling,’ Boyd said sternly, almost as an accusation. ‘I told her you were with the family and she said she will call tomorrow if she can, probably quite late, though.’
‘Thank you.’ Stella watched the two women walk to the door, unsure of what to do next. ‘Mrs Ainsworth . . . ?’
Beatrice waved a hand. ‘Amuse yourselves. I shall be back in ten minutes.’
The door was closed behind them and Stella turned slowly now to fix her other employer with an accusatory stare. She said nothing immediately, taking a few moments to gauge his mood as he stood warming himself by the fire and she sensed his sheepishness.
‘You did that on purpose,’ she finally breathed, still filled with astonishment.
‘For good reason.’
‘Good reason? You deliberately sprayed your wife —’
He gave her a soft look of exasperation, pushing at the air before him and she immediately dropped her voice.
‘Why?’
‘I needed a chance to talk with you alone.’ Rafe’s voice was now so low she had to sit forward to hear him speaking just above the gentle crackle of the fire.
‘Bloody hell,’ she gasped in a whisper and this amused him hugely.
‘A woman who swears properly. That’s refreshing around here.’
‘I’ve good reason. What was that all about?’
‘Stella, I wanted to thank you for keeping mum about our original meeting,’ he said.
‘You didn’t have to go to such lengths.’
He nodded as though he wanted to explain more but something prevented him from doing so. ‘Even so, I appreciate your discretion.’
‘Presumably you have good reason for you and I to be seen as meeting for the first time today?’
‘I do. However, while it is not my intention to put you into any difficult position, it couldn’t be avoided. You will have to trust me on this.’
‘But why should your wife mind if —’
‘Stella, my wife is . . .’ He shook his head. ‘She is extremely protective of whatever it is that she prizes.’
‘I’m not sure I understand you, Mr Ainsworth.’
‘Rafe,’ he murmured.
‘In a dance hall, you’re Rafe . . . even in the taxi afterwards. But not here. Not even by your own admission are you Rafe here. Why is that?’
‘I told you I have —’
‘Three names, yes,’ she hissed under her breath. ‘But why would you share with me your preferred name that the women of your childhood used but you don’t share it with the women of your adult life?’
He looked back at her with a pained expression that was so poignant in that moment that she shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. You do not have to answer that. It truly is none of my business.’
‘You did make it your business, though.’
Stella blushed, remembering how demanding she had been that first night. ‘But I have new perspective now,’ she countered, and they glanced at the door, perhaps both thinking of the women behind it. ‘You are no longer a stranger from a dance hall whom I didn’t expect to meet again. You are Mr Ainsworth, my employer, and I’m grateful for this short-term contract and would do nothing to jeopardise it, or how your family regards you.’ She lifted a shoulder as if to say that nothing more needed to be said. ‘However, what you
do when you are away from your family is indeed your own affair and I don’t plan on making it my concern, so you can continue to count on my discretion.’ The way he was looking at her was making her cheeks burn warmer than they should on this cool evening and deep in her heart she knew she was trying to convince herself of her indifference. ‘What I’m trying to say is that you appear to have a private side that is unknown to the people you love, and it is no intention of mine to add any awkwardness to those . . . um . . . secrets.’ That last word was spoken cautiously as it sounded sinister but contrary to her expectation, all she got from him was a burst of soft amusement.
‘Thank you, Stella.’
She bristled. ‘I didn’t imagine what I said was amusing?’
‘You’re very hooked on the notion that I have an alternate life to hide from my family.’
‘Well, if I’ve read you wrong, then I apologise. Mr Ainsworth, maybe it’s best under the circumstances if I don’t share the family meal this evening. Really, it’s not —’
‘Nonsense! Why?’
Stella let out a slow breath. ‘Because I feel uncomfortable.’
‘I’m sorry. Is that all my fault?’
‘You keep apologising. There’s no need . . . really.’ She hesitated but Stella felt determined to make him understand and not laugh at her. ‘But you shouldn’t have to do what you did simply to have a quiet word with me. That alone makes me feel as though we are engaged in something clandestine, when all of this has come about because of a chance encounter.’
‘I keep apologising because my family makes it necessary. My wife treats you with indifference while our youngest is the opposite and already so in love with you she could wish you were her big sister. Meanwhile Georgina is unforgivably discourteous and I will have Beatrice speak to her about her poor manners towards you.’
‘I’m not sure that’s wise; she detests me enough already.’
‘No, I loathe her attitude to people, while her high opinion of herself and her own standing needs adjustment.’
Stella gave a sad half smile and nodded silently to signal that she couldn’t deny his sentiments.
The Last Dance Page 13
