by Lucy Gordon
‘How?’ he asked simply.
In her annoyance she’d forgotten that she was stranded. She glared.
‘It’s three miles to Crimea Street,’ he pointed out. ‘Are you going to walk it? In those heels? Or are you going to call them to rescue you? They’ll love that.’
‘Yes, and I’ll never hear the end of it,’ she sighed. ‘Ah, well, I don’t seem to have any choice.’
‘Unless I give you a tow?’ Seeing her suspicious look, he said, ‘It’s a genuine offer. I can’t just leave you here.’
‘Me being such a poor, helpless damsel in distress, you mean?’
His lips twitched. ‘Well, there must be something of the damsel in distress about you, or you wouldn’t have bought this ridiculous car.’
‘Very funny. Thank you for your offer of help, but I’ll manage without it. Good day to you.’
‘Come off your high horse. Come to think of it, a horse would probably have served you better than this contraption. I’ll fetch my car and connect them.’ Starting to move off, he turned to add, ‘Don’t go away.’
She opened her mouth to reply, had second thoughts and closed it again. It was annoying that she couldn’t help laughing at his jibe, but that was the fact. She was still smiling when he returned in an expensive vehicle that made her eyes open wide.
‘Oh, wow! Are you sure you want that thing seen with my old jalopy?’ she asked.
‘I’ll try to endure it.’ He worked swiftly to connect the cars, then opened his door and indicated for her to get into the passenger seat.
She had to admire the smooth, purring movement of his vehicle, which spoke of expense and loving care, suggesting that this man had an affinity with cars. Since she loved them herself, she could feel some sympathy, even a faint amused appreciation of how she must look to him. He’d implied that she reminded him of a daughter, and she wondered how many daughters he actually had.
‘I’m Roscoe Havering, by the way,’ he said.
‘Pippa Jenson-well, Philippa, actually.’
‘Pippa’s better: more like you.’
‘I’m not even going to ask what is “like me”. You have no idea.’
‘Cheeky. Very young.’
‘I’m not that young.’
‘Twenty-twenty-one-’ he hazarded.
‘Twenty-seven,’ she laughed.
It was as well that traffic lights had forced him to halt because he turned quickly to stare at her in surprise. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘I am.’ She gave him a wicked smile. ‘Sorry!’
‘How can I believe you?’ he said, starting up again. ‘You look more like a student.’
‘No, I’m a solicitor, a staid and serious representative of the law.’ She assumed a deep voice. ‘Strong men quake at my approach. Some of them flee to hide in the hills.’
He laughed. ‘I think I’ll get you home first. I won’t ask who you work for. Obviously, you have your own practice which is driving everyone else into bankruptcy.’
‘No, I’m with Farley & Son.’
She saw his eyebrows rise a little and his mouth twist into a shape that meant, ‘Hmm!’
‘Do you know them?’
‘Quite well. I’ve used them in the past. They’ve got a big reputation. You must be impressive if they’ve taken you on. Aren’t we nearing Crimea Street now?’
‘Next one on the left.’
They saw the garage as soon as they turned into the street. The little business that Pippa’s great-grandfather, Joe Parsons, had set up ninety years earlier had flourished and grown. It was now three times the size, and her brothers, Brian and Frank, had bought houses on the same street so that they could live close to their work.
They were just preparing to shut up shop when the little convoy rolled into view. At once they came out onto the pavement and stood watching with brotherly irony.
‘Again!’ Frank declared. ‘Why aren’t I surprised?’
‘Because you’re an old stick-in-the-mud,’ Pippa informed him, kissing his cheek, then Brian’s. ‘And clearly you didn’t mend it properly. This is Roscoe Havering, who came to my rescue.’
‘Good of you,’ Brian said, shaking Roscoe’s hand. ‘Of course a better idea would have been to dump her in the nearest river, but I dare say that didn’t occur to you.’
‘Actually, it did,’ Roscoe observed. ‘But I resisted the temptation.’
The brothers laughed genially. They were both in their forties, heavily built and cheerful.
A few moments under the bonnet was enough to make Frank say, ‘This’ll take until tomorrow. And look, I’m afraid we can’t invite you in. The family’s away and we’ve sort of planned…well…’
‘A night on the tiles,’ Pippa chuckled. ‘You devils! I’ll bet Crimea Street is going to rock.’
‘You’d better believe it!’
‘OK, I’ll come back tomorrow.’
‘Don’t you live here?’ Roscoe asked.
‘No, I’ve got my own little place a few miles away.’
‘Where exactly?’
She gave him the address in the heart of London.
‘I’ll take you,’ he said. ‘Get in.’
Relieved, she did so, first retrieving two heavy bags from the back of her car.
‘Thanks,’ she said as she clicked the seat belt and slammed the door. ‘I’ve got a heavy night’s work ahead of me and I’ve got to give it everything.’
‘No hungry man wanting his supper cooked?’
‘Nope. I live alone. Free, independent, no distractions.’
‘Except visiting your friends,’ he observed.
‘They’re my brothers-oh, you mean in the graveyard. I suppose you thought I looked very odd.’
‘No, you looked as if you were enjoying the company. It was nice.’
‘I always did enjoy my grandparents’ company. I adored them both. Especially Gran. I loved talking to her, and I guess I just can’t stop.’
‘Why should you want to?’
‘Most people would say because she’s dead.’
‘But she isn’t dead to you, and that’s what matters. Besides, I don’t think you worry too much about what other people say.’
‘Well, I ought to. I’m a lawyer.’
‘Ah, yes. Staid and serious.’
She made a comical face. ‘I do my best.’
Outwardly, he showed nothing, but inside his expression was wry. Twenty-seven. Was he expected to believe that? Twenty-four, tops. And even that was stretching it. If she really worked for Farley she was probably little more than a pupil, but that was fine. She could still be useful to him.
A plan was forming in his mind. The details had to be fine-tuned but meeting her was like the working out of destiny. Somewhere, a kindly fate had planned this meeting and he was going to make the most of it.
‘It’s just there,’ Pippa said, pointing through the window to a tall, expensive-looking apartment block.
‘There doesn’t seem anywhere to park,’ he groaned.
‘No need. Just slow down a little and I’ll hop out. Just here where the lights are red.’
She reached for her bags, flashed him a dazzling smile and got out swiftly.
‘Thank you,’ she called, backing off.
He would have called her to wait but the lights changed and he had to move on.
Pippa hurried into the building and took the elevator to the third floor. Once in her apartment, she tossed the bags away and began to strip off.
‘Shower, shower,’ she muttered. ‘Just let me get under the shower!’
When she was naked she hurried into the bathroom and got under the water, sighing with satisfaction. After relishing the cascade for a few minutes, she got out and dried herself off, thinking of the evening’s work that lay ahead. She felt ready for it now.
But then something caught her eye. One of her bags lay open on its side, the contents spilling out, and she could see at once that one vital object was missing.
‘O
h, heavens!’ she groaned. ‘It must have fallen out in his car and he drove off with it.’
The sound of the doorbell revived her hope. Roscoe Havering. He’s found it, brought it back to me. Thank heavens!
Pulling a large towelling robe around her, she ran to the door. ‘I’m so glad to see you-’
Then she stopped, stunned by the sight of the young man who stood there, his air a mixture of pleading and defiance.
‘Oh, no,’ she breathed. ‘You promised not to do this again.’
CHAPTER TWO
FOR most of the journey Roscoe wore a frown. Things were falling into place nicely. Not that this was a surprise. He was an organised man, skilled at controlling his surroundings and making things happen as he wanted, but even he could hardly have arranged matters as neatly as this.
So his frown didn’t imply problems, simply that there were still details to be sorted before he’d fixed everything to suit himself, and he was giving that desirable outcome the concentration it deserved.
Now he could see the large, comfortable house that had once been his home. These days it housed only his mother and younger brother Charlie, although Roscoe had kept his room and usually slept there a couple of nights a week to keep a protective eye on both of them. His mother was looking anxiously out of the window and came to the door as soon as she saw him. She was approaching sixty, nervously thin but still with the remnants of good looks.
‘Is it all right?’ she asked. ‘Have you sorted it?’
He kissed her. ‘Sorted what?’
‘About Charlie. Have you arranged everything?’
For just the briefest moment he tensed, then smiled.
‘Mother, it’s too soon to arrange everything, but I’m working on it. Don’t worry.’
‘Oh, but I must worry. He’s so frail and vulnerable.’
Luckily she wasn’t looking directly at him, or she’d have seen the cynical twist of his mouth. Roscoe had an unsentimental, clear-eyed view of his younger brother. He knew Charlie’s volatility, his ramshackle behaviour, his headlong craziness and his selfishness. All these he saw through a filter of brotherly affection, but he never fooled himself. Frail and vulnerable? No way!
But he knew his mother’s perception was different and he always avoided hurting her, so he simply said, ‘Leave it to me. You know you can trust me.’
‘But you will make them drop those stupid charges, won’t you? You’ll make those horrid people admit that he’s innocent.’
‘Mother, he’s not exactly innocent. He more or less admitted-’
‘Oh, but he didn’t know what he was saying. He was confused.’
‘He’s not a child. He’s a young man of twenty-four.’
‘He’s a child in his heart, and he needs his big brother to defend him.’
‘I’m doing my best. Just leave it to me.’
‘Oh, yes, you always protect him, don’t you? You’re such a good brother. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
‘Well, you don’t have to,’ he said gently. ‘So it’s all right.’
‘Now come indoors and have your supper.’
‘Fine, I’ll just get my things.’
But, as he leaned into the car, he froze suddenly.
‘Oh, Lord!’ he groaned, seizing something from the floor at the back. ‘How did that get there?’ He straightened up, holding a large envelope. ‘It must have fallen out of one of her bags and she rushed off without noticing. Perhaps I can call her.’
He pulled out the contents, all papers, and went through them looking for her phone number. He didn’t find it, but he did notice that these were serious papers. She’d spoken of a heavy night’s work ahead, and would probably need them.
‘I’m sorry,’ he sighed. ‘Can you hold supper? I’ll be back in an hour.’
He was gone before his mother could complain.
‘Jimmy, you promised to leave me alone.’ As Pippa spoke she was backing off, one hand clutching the robe across her breast, the other held up defensively. ‘We agreed it was over.’
‘No, you said it was over,’ he protested. ‘I never said it. I couldn’t say it, feeling the way I do. Oh, Pippa, I miss you so much, if you only knew. But you do know in your heart, don’t you? I couldn’t be so crazy about you if you didn’t feel just a little something for me.’
‘I do feel something for you,’ she sighed.
‘There, I knew it!’
‘But it’s not what you want. It’s mostly pity and a sort of guilt that I let things go so far. Honestly, Jimmy, I didn’t mean to. I thought we were just having a good time with no strings. If I’d known you were getting so serious I’d have discouraged you earlier.’
‘But you didn’t,’ the young man pleaded. ‘Doesn’t that prove you feel something for me?’
‘Yes, it means I feel like a kindly aunt, and that’s not what you want.’
His face fell and she knew a pang over her heart. He was a nice boy, and he’d appeared on the scene just in time to discourage the one before him. She’d been grateful, and after that they’d shared many a laugh, some dinner engagements and a few kisses.
Then things had got out of hand. He’d grown serious, wanting to take her away for a weekend. Her refusal had increased his ardour. He’d spoken of his respect, and proposed marriage. Her rejection had cast him into despair.
‘Couldn’t we give it another try?’ he begged now. ‘You tell me what it is about me that annoys you and I’ll be careful never to do that.’
Reluctantly, Pippa decided that only firmness would be any use now.
‘When you talk like that it annoys me,’ she said. ‘When you haunt me, and telephone at all hours, sending me flowers which I don’t want, bombarding me with text messages asking what I’m wearing, then I get very annoyed.
‘You’re a nice boy, Jimmy, but you’re not for me. I’m sorry if I led you to believe otherwise. I didn’t mean to. Now, please go.’
Something in his eyes made her pull the edges of her robe closer, clutching them firmly. His anguish was being replaced by the determination of a man who would no longer accept no for an answer.
‘Please go,’ she said, stepping back.
‘Not without a kiss. You can grant me that, can’t you?’
‘I think not. Goodbye.’
Pippa tried to close the door but he forestalled her. Now his breathing was coming heavily, the arms that closed around her were strong, and she was no longer sure she could deal with him.
‘Let me go, Jimmy.’
‘Not until I’m ready.’
‘Did you hear me? I said let me go and I meant it. Stop that. Jimmy, no!’
On the journey back to Pippa’s apartment Roscoe was frowning again, but this time in confusion. On the one hand there was her appearance-young, dainty, vivacious. On the other hand there were the papers with their plethora of facts and figures that only a skilled, serious mind could understand. He tried to fit the two sides together, and couldn’t.
This time he found a parking space and entered the building, going to study the list of residents by the elevator.
‘Can I help?’ A middle-aged man was passing by.
‘I’m looking for Miss Jenson’s address.’
‘Blimey, another one. They pass through here like an army. Mind you, even she doesn’t usually have two in one evening.’
‘Indeed,’ Roscoe said carefully.
‘I tell you, it’s pathetic. They come here with their flowers and their gifts, begging her, pleading with her, but it’s no use. When she’s bored with them she dumps them. I’ve tried to warn some of them but will they listen? You’d expect a man to have more dignity, wouldn’t you?’
‘You would indeed,’ Roscoe said, still guarding his words.
‘But they say she’s magic and they can’t help themselves.’
‘You spoke of two.’
‘Yes, the other one hasn’t been here long so you’d better go carefully. Good-looking young fellow. Shouldn’t think yo
u’d stand a chance. She’s got a pick of them, you know. Best of luck, though.’
He passed on out of the front door, leaving Roscoe wondering what he’d wandered into. But what he’d just heard was good news in that it made Pippa likely to be more useful to him, and nothing else mattered. He located the apartment and got into the elevator.
As soon as the doors parted he heard the noise coming from just around the corner, out of sight, a male voice crying out, ‘You can’t be so cruel-’
Then Pippa’s voice. ‘Can’t I? Get out now or I’ll show you how cruel I can be. I’m told I have very sharp knees.’
‘But I only-ow!’
‘Now go. And don’t come back.’
Roscoe turned the corner just in time to see the young man stagger back, clutching himself, then collapse to the ground. Through the open door he could see a woman, or perhaps a goddess. She was completely naked, leaving no detail of her glorious figure to the imagination. The hourglass shape, the curved hips, the tiny waist, the breasts slightly too large, although his view of them was partly obscured by her glorious hair, not pinned back now but cascading down in a riot of curls.
After a moment he realised that the vision was Pippa, but not the light-hearted girl he’d met earlier. This was a very angry woman, standing triumphant over her defeated foe who was writhing on the ground. Literally.
The vision vanished at once, not in a puff of smoke but in a hasty movement to make herself decent by pulling on a robe as soon as she saw Roscoe. Only the fury on her face remained.
With the robe safely concealing her, she came to the door and addressed the young man. ‘I’m sorry, Jimmy, but I warned you. Don’t come back here, ever.’
Jimmy’s face was sullen as he hauled himself to his feet, all good nature gone. ‘You haven’t heard the last of this,’ he spat. ‘Jezebel!’
Incredibly, a smile flickered over her beautiful features. ‘Oh, come on, you can do better than that. Who was Jezebel, after all? Now, if you’d said Mata Hari I’d have been insulted-or maybe flattered, one of the two.’
‘Mata who?’
‘Oh, go and look it up!’ she said with the exasperation of a schoolmistress. ‘But go!’
