A Family of His Own

by Liz Fielding

He looked up from the plan.

  ‘Did she actually turn you down?’

  ‘To my face? Oh, please. She used the standard get-out of having to talk it over with her colleagues. Said I’d get their formal answer in due course. I told her not to bother. That I’d caused quite enough ecological damage to the planet filling in all her wretched application forms, producing the business plan, without having any more trees on my conscience.’

  ‘Just because she seemed unsympathetic, Kay, doesn’t mean she won’t lend you the money. She might just have needed someone with more authority to approve the risk since all you have to back your application is enthusiasm and grit. Believe me, if they know what they’re doing they won’t undervalue those.’

  She groaned, dropped her head to the table and banged it a couple of times. ‘I’ve blown it, haven’t I?’

  ‘It’s a steep learning curve. Try another bank.’

  ‘What’s the point? It’s my own fault. I’ve been messing about, hanging on to the safety bar of my job at the shop instead of going for it. If I don’t have wholehearted faith in my own business,’ she asked, ‘why should they?’

  ‘You’re going for it now.’ Then, ‘Wayne could use your van in the afternoons for the time being, couldn’t he? You won’t be needing it while you’re working in my garden. That’s a start.’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose he could.’ Then, with more enthusiasm, ‘And he could have it on Thursday mornings, too.’

  ‘Thursday mornings?’

  ‘It’s pension day,’ she explained. ‘The post office is mobbed and they won’t be able to cope…’ He didn’t quite manage to hide a smile. It wasn’t an unkind smile, but she got the message. ‘Oh, thistles! I’m never going to be a tycoon, running my own landscape gardening company, am I?’

  ‘Do you want to be? A tycoon?’

  She thought about it for a moment. ‘It would be great never to have to worry about money. But that’s what tycoons do, isn’t it?’

  ‘Pretty much.’

  ‘In that case, no. Not a tycoon. I just want Polly to be secure.’

  His smile faded. ‘That’s a fine ambition. Hold on to it.’ Then, ‘Maybe you’ll qualify for one of those grants your legal adviser was talking about. There’s a young-persons business grant, isn’t there?’

  ‘I’m not young.’

  ‘That’s a matter of opinion. I think you’ll find you’re young enough to qualify for one of those schemes. It might be your best bet.’

  She sat back. ‘You seem to know a lot about this, Mr Ravenscar. Tell me, what did you do before you took off into the wild yonder to organise vaccination programmes?’

  ‘You’ve got me bang to rights, Miss Lovell. I was a business adviser.’

  ‘Not like…’ She stopped herself. ‘No, forget I said that. Please. Forget I was stupid enough to think such a thing. Apart from anything else, if you were like her, you wouldn’t have been able to buy Linden Lodge.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Forget I even asked. It was rude. Intrusive—’

  ‘And all a matter of public record.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘All you have to do is type my name into a website search engine and press the magic button.’

  She thought about it for a moment then shook her head. ‘No. That would feel like snooping.’

  ‘You think so? Someone must have been checking up on me to know exactly what I was doing. I’m sure there’s been plenty of gossip over the parcels in the post office. Tons of tittle-tattle over the tea bags.’

  ‘No…’ But she blushed. ‘Well, maybe just a bit. People are wondering what you’re going to do, that’s all. Stay. Sell…’

  ‘And what have you told them?’

  ‘That I’m too busy with the garden to interrogate you on your plans. Even supposing you gave me the chance. A more sensitive soul might begin to think you were avoiding me.’

  ‘I didn’t want you to think I was checking up on you.’

  ‘You didn’t want me to have another go at you about the summer house,’ she countered.

  ‘Do you always say exactly what you think?’

  It was kind of him to suggest she thought before she spoke… ‘I find it avoids misunderstandings. Obfuscation.’

  ‘And how often do you get to use that word in casual conversation?’ he asked. ‘For that feat alone, you deserve to be enlightened.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Now fades the last long streak of snow,

  Now burgeons every maze of quick

  About the flowering squares, and thick

  By ashen roots the violets blow.”

  Alfred, Lord Tennyson

  ‘ENLIGHTEN away,’ Kay invited.

  OK, he was taking avoiding action. Again. But she’d already put him on notice that he couldn’t duck the issue forever and she’d be lying to herself as well as to him if she denied that she was curious about everything he’d ever done.

  Besides, talking about himself was good, surely? Even without the benefit of couch and psychologist. Not that he was in any hurry to enlighten her—or unburden himself.

  She made no attempt to hurry him along, however, but sipped her coffee and waited.

  ‘I wrote a software program when I was still at university,’ he began at last. ‘I was broke, hungry, the overdraft was mounting. You know how it is.’ Then, perhaps realising that she didn’t, he shrugged. ‘My family did what they could, but they didn’t have any cash to spare. Basically, I was on my own.’

  ‘You didn’t fancy pulling pints at the local, or stacking supermarket shelves?’

  ‘Have you ever tried to get one of those jobs in a university town?’

  Again it occurred to him that she hadn’t, but she said quickly, ‘Ten applicants for every job, huh?’

  ‘And the rest. So I used what brains I had and wrote a decent little encryption program for which I was paid a few hundred pounds by a development company. It kept the wolf from the door and I was grateful for it. Then I discovered how much they were marketing it for and I thought I’d been ripped off. It was then that I discovered the agreement I’d signed for the money had given them all rights. Worldwide. Forever.’

  ‘But that’s dreadful. Couldn’t you do anything?’

  ‘No one had forced me to sign it. They’d laid the cheque on the desk and I signed without even reading the thing properly. All I could complain about was that they didn’t advise me to talk to a lawyer first and why should they? It wasn’t their job to do that. It was my responsibility.’

  ‘Nevertheless it stinks.’

  ‘Well, maybe, but the harder the lesson the faster it sticks and in the long run they did me a favour.’

  ‘That’s a very laid-back attitude.’

  Maybe she looked sceptical because he said, ‘There’s an old saying: if someone rips you off once, shame on them—if they do it twice, shame on you. I soon discovered that I wasn’t the only student who’d been turned over by a smart businessman and, since I already knew I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life sitting at a VDU writing computer programs, I switched to business administration. By the time I graduated, I already had my company up and running.’

  ‘On the basis that if you can’t beat them, join them?’ She wasn’t impressed.

  ‘On the basis that you can beat them. You just have to have someone looking out for you. My company was formed to protect the innocents. A one-stop shop for advice, to find capital to develop their ideas for those who wanted to do it themselves and check out the contracts for those who just wanted to sell their ideas and move on to something else.’ He smiled. ‘There were already people who did that, of course. They’re called lawyers: daunting to a lot of young people. And expensive. My young geniuses had ideas, but no money, so I shared their risk and took my fee from a small percentage of future royalties. I slept on the office floor for the best part of a year, but even a very small percentage of millions soon begins to mount up.’

  ‘What happened to your co
mpany when…?’ She stopped.

  ‘When Sara died and I stopped giving a damn?’ he asked. Then, with a shrug, ‘It’s still doing its job, but my profits are channelled into a charitable trust these days.’

  ‘You give a damn. You just don’t like people to know about it. It’s your charitable trust, your money financing the aid projects you’ve been covering, isn’t it?’ She didn’t wait for him to answer. ‘I shouldn’t complain, should I? I’m well off by comparison with the people you help.’

  ‘Yes, you are. But you’re not complaining, you’re chafing with frustration because you have a dream and you can’t see how to make it work just now. But you won’t give up. You’re not a quitter.’

  ‘You’d better believe that,’ she said, a subtle reminder that he might have changed the subject this time, but she wasn’t going to let him get away with it indefinitely. A reminder to herself that she’d promised to help him. And instead he was the one going out of his way to make her feel better. ‘Once I take something on, I never give up.’

  ‘It won’t be easy, Kay,’ he warned, not realising that she had changed the subject…in her head, in her heart. ‘The thing to remember is that when you make your dream come true, it happens for other people, too. People like Wayne who need someone like you to believe in them. Your success will bring a positive good.’

  ‘It might have done if I hadn’t made a total fool of myself.’ She finished her coffee. ‘Thanks for letting me whine, but I think I should go home now and do something useful.’

  The compost heap had never had so much attention.

  ‘You’re too hard on yourself. Let’s stay here and have lunch instead.’

  ‘Lunch?’

  ‘Plot a strategy for your success.’ He picked up the menu from the table and read off the dishes of the day.

  ‘They all sound great, but honestly, I can’t eat a big lunch and then spend the afternoon bent double in your borders, speaking of which, if we don’t go now I’m going to be…’ No, no, no! She had to stop thinking about herself. She was supposed to be helping him. Good food, conversation were all part of the treatment. Something she could vouch for from personal experience.

  ‘Going to be…?’ he prompted.

  ‘Late,’ she said. Then, leaning forward conspiratorially, ‘The thing is, I’ve got this slave-driver client,’ she said. ‘If I’m not there on the dot of one-fifteen to put in my two hours of toil and sweat he’ll…’ She stopped.

  What on earth was she thinking?

  ‘He’ll what?’ He was almost smiling. No, he was smiling, somewhere behind his eyes. His mouth hadn’t joined in yet, that was all.

  ‘Nothing. He’s the best client I ever had. Never stands over me to make sure I’m not slacking in the borders. Never wastes good weeding time expecting me to listen to his woes and then complains that I haven’t done anywhere near enough to justify the vast amount he’s paying me.’

  ‘But has this great client ever given you the afternoon off to go out to lunch?’

  ‘What kind of businesswoman takes the afternoon off just because she’s been invited out to lunch, Mr Ravenscar?’

  ‘The kind that is being given advice for free.’ He sat back. Until then she hadn’t realised quite how close he’d got as he’d told his story, as she’d listened. ‘You could make up the time over the weekend if it worries you. Bring Polly along and I’ll watch her make daisy chains while you toil and sweat.’

  She brightened. ‘Well, I suppose I could do that. There’s just one condition.’

  ‘Condition? I ask you to lunch. I bend over backwards to make it easy for you to accept, even going so far as to changing our terms of engagement. And you want to impose conditions?’

  ‘No. You’re right. It’s ridiculous. Out of the question. So,’ she said, not pausing, leaving him no opportunity to ask what “out of the question” condition she had in mind. ‘Lunch would be good. Something light, though. Perhaps a sandwich?’

  The waitress passed them carrying a baguette filled to overflowing with crispy bacon, lettuce and tomato and with a side-serving of fries. Her gaze followed it like a hungry puppy.

  When she looked back he was grinning. ‘That’s your idea of something light?’

  ‘On the other hand,’ she said, ‘maybe pasta would be a wiser choice.’

  ‘I’ll join you.’ The waitress appeared magically to take their order, and when that was done he looked at her and said, ‘OK, it’s your turn.’

  ‘My turn?’ She really must break herself of the habit of repeating his last words. ‘My turn to do what?’

  ‘Tell me the turning point of your life.’ He paused for half a beat, then he said, ‘What happened to Polly’s father?’

  Oh, great. She’d followed the trail he’d laid the way a pheasant followed brandy-soaked raisins. And she’d dropped right into the trap.

  ‘Why do you want to know about him?’

  ‘I don’t. I want to know about you.’ Dominic picked up her hand, brushed his thumb gently over her ring finger. ‘Were you married to him?’

  Kay laughed. The sound was shocking and she stopped immediately, shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’ She used the excuse of retrieving a stray lock of hair to reclaim her hand. It was too tender a gesture… ‘No, we weren’t married.’

  She left it at that. This was change-the-subject time. But this time he said nothing. Just sat back and waited.

  She’d dreaded this moment. Had known it would come, sooner or later, and she’d promised herself that she wouldn’t run away from it again, hopeful that, if she opened up to him, told him the whole sorry story, he’d trust her enough to do the same and talk through his grief.

  It meant exposing herself utterly. Was she prepared to take the risk? He might turn away from her in disgust, revulsion.

  Then there’d be no more of those smiles that so rarely migrated from his eyes. But when they did… No more silly jokes. Just…nothing.

  Could she bear that?

  She thought about the way he’d kissed her cheek such a short while ago, wished her luck. She’d floated into the bank on a cloud of something very like euphoria. She’d never experienced it before so she couldn’t be sure: all she knew was that, for a moment, anything seemed possible.

  Well, she’d been shot down quickly enough. Maybe it was just her day to have her self-esteem, her dreams—and until that moment she hadn’t realised just how big her dreams had been—trampled into the carpet. Maybe she should get it over with all at once.

  ‘We weren’t married,’ she repeated. ‘We were both still at school.’ She saw his eyebrows shoot up and said quickly, ‘I was eighteen.’

  Only just eighteen, but long past the age of consent and certainly the only virgin in her year. Not that that was any excuse.

  ‘I was in the sixth form,’ she said. ‘I was the girl who’d risen above the worst possible start in life to win a scholarship to a public school and be offered a prized place at Oxford. All I had to do was fulfil my promise, produce the right exam results the following summer. Piece of cake. I was the archetypal teacher’s pet.’ She pulled a face, not quite meeting his eyes as she mocked herself. ‘There’s another old saying, isn’t there? About pride going before a fall?’

  ‘There’s no accounting for hormones,’ he said, evenly. After that first startled reaction, he’d kept his expression under tight control. She hadn’t the first idea what he was thinking.

  ‘You can rely on them to let you down every time. Especially when a golden youth turns on the charm.’

  She was playing with the coffee spoon, spinning it nervously in her fingers, wishing he would say something. He was good at changing the subject. She willed him to change it now.

  ‘What was his name?’

  There was to be no reprieve. All she could do was plough on. ‘Alexander,’ she said. ‘Everyone called him Sasha, though. His grandmother was Russian.’

  ‘A bit of a poser, then.’

  Her head came up in bewilderment. T
hen, seeing his wry expression, she laughed. ‘Have you any idea what you’re saying? This boy was a god. Adonis personified.’

  ‘I’m familiar with the type,’ he said.

  The laughter died. ‘Yes, well, he was way out of my league. I was the class swot, the kind of girl his sort never looked at. An outsider with not a designer label to my name. No money, no “family”, no Scottish estate,’ she said, making quote marks to illustrate her point.

  ‘No Scottish estate? Well, I can see that’s tough.’ He didn’t sound sympathetic; in fact he sounded angry for some reason, and that made her mad.

  ‘Tough? You have no idea. My mother didn’t want me and, even supposing she knew who my father was, he was notable only by his absence. All I had was a series of foster mothers, some good, some average, some hateful. My only asset was my brain.’ She sat back, feeling rather foolish at her outburst. Staring at the spoon, still now between her fingers. ‘And even that took a day off when Sash decided to turn his charm on me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t understand. I thought…’ He let it go. It was obvious to both of them what he’d thought. That she was some precious little snob who’d looked down on her parents for not being rich like everyone else’s. ‘You must have been terribly lonely.’

  His voice was gentle and she looked up then. Dared to face what was in his eyes. He made no attempt to hide his compassion.

  And she found herself struggling against tears. Clamping her jaw down hard. Swallowing the lump in her throat.

  ‘Yes, well,’ she said, with a gesture that brushed the question of loneliness aside. ‘If I’d been part of the in-group, one of those street-smart girls who were eighteen going on thirty, who watched the folly of others and dissected it for their own amusement, I’d have understood what was going on. In my innocence, it never occurred to me that he was just working his way through the girls in our year, honouring each of us in turn with an opportunity to experience his magic.’

  Dominic said something under his breath, but when she looked up, waited, he shook his head.

  ‘It was a game. They all understood that. Took it as a bit of fun, part of growing up. I thought he actually meant the things he said. Afterwards, when I told him that I was pregnant, he just sighed and said that he should have stuck to his first instincts and left well alone, but the other girls had said it wasn’t fair to leave me out just because I was a geek. He was doing me a favour, for heaven’s sake. He’d thought I was bright. Told me to deal with it.’