Her chin lifted. ‘Yes.’
‘Ah. Not just a builder, but a well-known developer and conservationist.’
‘Yes.’
His eyes speared hers. ‘You obviously didn’t want me to know that your father is a wealthy man.’
Jo flushed guiltily. ‘Do you blame me? It was my main attraction for Charlie. And for some of the male students on my business course.’
March eyed her in a silence that grew so prolonged and unbearable Jo was ready to scream by the time he broke it. ‘So you were afraid a mere jobbing gardener like myself might also get ideas about the little rich girl?’ he drawled, the words like shards of ice. He got to his feet, looking down his nose at her with such hostility she shrivelled inside. ‘We haven’t known each other long, but in my supreme vanity I thought you might have trusted me more than that. Have no fear. I’m not interested in your father’s wealth—nor in you any more, if that’s what you think of me,’ he added bitterly. ‘Goodbye.’
Goodbye? Jo listened in numb disbelief as March walked out of the room and out of the house. At the growl of his car engine, mortified colour rose in her face. So that was that, then. Finding out that she was Jo Logan had damped down March Aubrey’s ardour pretty sharply. And, to top that, her reason for keeping her wealthy background secret had enraged him so much he had transformed into an implacable, arrogant stranger right before her eyes.
Jo got up early next morning, feeling like death warmed up. Her bathroom mirror confirmed that she looked like it. After a shower followed by hot coffee there was slight improvement, but Sunday lunch at Mill House was a prospect she just couldn’t face for once.
‘I’ve got the sniffles, Kate,’ she fibbed. ‘So I won’t come round for lunch. A cold is the last thing you need right now.’
‘Oh, darling, what bad luck. How did it go last night?’
‘Very well,’ lied Jo. ‘My date was impressed. Molly was on top form.’
‘Good. But I hate to think of you alone and sneezing today,’ said Kate, sounding worried.
‘I’m not that bad. In fact I might take my germs on a drive to Arnborough Hall again, and take in what I missed last time.’
‘And catch up with your hot gardener while you’re at it?’
When she reached the garden centre Jo wandered around the various displays of alpines and winter-flowering plants, had a look at the rose bushes and beautiful pot plants on sale, and wondered where the grafting house was. Not that she could imagine barging into it if she found out. If she met March by accident, fine. But even if she did he might look down his nose in that daunting way of his and tell her to get lost. The mere thought sent Jo hurrying from the garden centre to pay for another look round Arnborough Hall, where she found the same woman on duty in the Great Hall.
‘Ah, hello again,’ said the steward, smiling. ‘You’re back to see what you missed last time!’
Jo nodded. ‘As you see, I came early today.’
‘I’m afraid you’ve just missed a tour again, so you can either wait for the next in an hour, or go it alone.’
Jo had no interest in a tour. She went straight to the long gallery and the Victorian portraits, for a second look at the strangely familiar Baron. He’d been painted in formal evening dress, his red-gold hair and side whiskers luxuriant. The feeling of familiarity grew stronger as she went on to the teenage sons flanking him in smaller frames. Her eyes narrowed ominously as the penny finally dropped. She hadn’t known Red very well, because Charlie had kept them apart from each other as much as possible. But she remembered him well enough to see that he was a dead ringer for the younger of the two haughty young men in the portraits.
Jo’s heart sank as she faced the truth. If Red—Rufus—was in some way connected with the family, then obviously so was March. Though he looked nothing like these fair Anglo-Saxons. Maybe he was a half-brother, or illegitimate or something. Which would explain his job. Then her heart literally stopped for a moment in front a modern portrait of a beautiful young woman in formal evening dress, with a diamond tiara in her black hair and a smile in her very familiar eyes.
Jo turned as a voice spoke behind her.
‘Lady Arnborough was the mother of the present Baron,’ a steward told her.
‘Really?’ She cleared her throat. ‘How interesting. Is there a portrait of her son anywhere?’
‘Not as such. There are only photographic studies of the present generation.’ The man ushered her towards an alcove, then left her to study the display at her leisure.
A formal posed wedding photograph of Lord and Lady Arnborough took pride of place above a trio of camera portraits taken when each of the subjects was eighteen, according to the captions. First the Honourable March Aubrey Clement, the heir, image of his mother. Then came the Honourable Henrietta Frances Clement, to the left below him, her features cast in the same mould, and alongside her the Honourable Rufus Randall Clement, with the fair colouring and features of his father, though with more sensitivity in his face than his handsome, forceful sire. Below the formal portraits a series of informal snapshots showed the Clement youngsters playing tennis, cricket, riding, picnicking, painting—and, in the heir’s case, gardening.
Jo stood rooted to the spot as angry humiliation was swamped by a wave of bitter disappointment. She could have fallen in love with her hot gardener, but no chance of that with the high and mighty Lord Arnborough. She managed to thank the steward, then hurried downstairs and out through the vestibule, thankful that the friendly woman at the door to the Great Hall was too busy to notice as she escaped. Jo stormed along the paths between the lawns, and once through the gatehouse took to her heels. She sprinted down the winding road and on past the Arnborough Arms as though the devil were after her. But her long, headlong flight failed to shake off the resentment and embarrassment boiling away inside her. To think that March had actually had the gall to be annoyed because she’d kept her real name from him. What a laugh! Lord Arnborough, it appeared, had fancied a spot of incognito dalliance with one of the lower classes.
Jo forced herself to wait long enough to calm down before beginning the drive home. No point in following Charlie Peel’s example. But unlike him she was cold sober. Well, not cold, more like red hot. But sober. After an interval of deep breathing exercises she was about to get in the car when her phone rang. And she did go cold when she saw the caller.
‘Grandpa?’
‘Jack’s taken Kate to the hospital, darling. I’m taking care of Kitty. Are you at home?’
‘No. I’m at Arnborough Hall, but I’m starting back right now. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’
‘Good, but don’t rush. Drive carefully. Kitty’s fine.’
‘I’m on my way.’
It was a nightmare drive. Heavy rain added to Jo’s stress factor after a mile or two, forcing her to drive carefully instead of rushing back to Mill House at top speed. The baby was three weeks early. Oh, God, she prayed, please take care of Kate. And the baby.
The rain had stopped by the time she turned down the long drive to Mill House. Kitty shot out to meet her, with Grandpa in pursuit.
‘Jo—Jo,’ cried the child as Jo leapt from the car. ‘Mummy’s gone to buy the baby.’
Jo’s angst towards March was suddenly irrelevant. ‘How very exciting,’ she said, and picked the little girl up to hug her. ‘And how are you, Grandpa?’
Tom smiled manfully. ‘Fine, but since Jack went in the ambulance with Kate—’
‘Ambulance?’ Jo followed him into the hall and set Kitty down.
‘Jack rang for one, afraid Kate might need attention on the journey. But now you’re here can you cope if I go to the hospital and give Jack a lift home?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Yes, of course.’ Jo’s empty stomach tightened. ‘What shall we do, Kitty-cat?’
‘Draw pictures.’
‘Right. Off you go then, Grandpa.’ Jo smiled at him lovingly. ‘Keep me posted.’
‘I’ll report as soon as I get th
ere,’ he promised.
The afternoon was the longest of Jo’s life. Her grandfather rang as promised, to say that things were proceeding normally and he was staying on at the hospital as moral support for Jack.
‘How is he?’
‘In a bit of a state! By the way, Kate asked me to ring Anna. Can you do that?’
‘Yes, of course. But ring me again soon.’
Kitty eventually got bored with drawing, and asked to see one of her cartoon films. Anything but Bambi, thought Jo with a shudder. Once the child was settled, she went to Jack’s study to ring Kate’s closest friend, Anna Maitland. She promised to ring again the moment there was any news, then went back to the kitchen and took Kitty on her lap to snuggle down together in the big armchair kept there for the purpose. When the film ended Kitty’s lip trembled as she turned tearful eyes on her sister.
‘I wish Mummy was here.’
So did Jo. ‘I know, pet. But you’ll have to make do with me instead tonight.’
Tom rang soon afterwards, to say things were proceeding as before, and that Jack had left the labour ward long enough to swallow some coffee before rushing back to Kate. ‘I’ll ring you again soon,’ Tom promised.
Jo enlisted Kitty’s help to make supper, then sat with the child as she ate, trying to console herself with the reminder that Kate had done this twice before. But the thought of her mother in agonising labour was unbearable. If this is the end result, thought Jo in anguish, no consuming passion for me.
Afterwards, it took a lot of cajoling from Jo to get Kitty into a bath and put her to bed.
‘Want Mummy,’ wailed the child piteously as Jo sat on the bed with her.
‘I know, darling, so do I,’ said Jo, surprising her little sister.
‘But you’re a big girl!’
‘Even big girls need their Mummies sometimes,’ Jo assured her.
Amazed by such weakness from a girl as big as her sister, Kitty agreed to listen to one of her longer stories, and to Jo’s infinite relief fell asleep before the end of it.
Jo was on her way downstairs to make herself some much needed tea when her phone rang again. ‘Grandpa?’ she said eagerly.
‘Afraid not, Joanna. It’s March. Dan told me he’d seen you running past the pub earlier, on your way to the car park. Did you come to see me?’
In his dreams! ‘Absolutely not. I can’t talk now. My mother’s in hospital and I’m waiting for news.’
‘The baby?’
‘Yes.’
‘In that case I’ll get off the line at once and call you tomorrow.’
‘Please don’t put yourself to the trouble—Lord Arnborough.’ Jo snapped her phone shut and hurried back to Kitty, who’d begun to wail.
Tom rang twice during the endless evening, but only to report that Kate was still in labour. It was midnight when the phone rang again, and at last it was Jack—hoarse and triumphant.
‘Darling, you’ve got a little brother, all seven pounds of him, and your wonderful, marvellous mother is exhausted, but she’s come through it safely. Thank God—’
His voice cracked on the last, and Jo heaved in a shaky breath, wanting to cry her eyes out with relief. ‘Oh Jack, I’m so relieved. Are you coming home now?’
‘As soon as Kate is settled for the night. Have you had a rough time with Kitty?’
‘She’s been wanting her mummy.’ Jo’s voice thickened. ‘So have I.’
‘For God’s sake don’t cry, or I will, too. And Dad’s had enough on his plate tonight without that!’
Jo managed a chuckle. ‘Poor Grandpa.’
When the men got home there was much kissing and hugging and reports on Kate’s well-being. Jo rang Anna Maitland very briefly, while Jack went up to check on his sleeping daughter, then whipped up a midnight feast of soup and toast and mugs of tea.
‘It should be champagne,’ said Jack, yawning, ‘but if I even sniff the cork I’ll keel over.’
‘So what’s he like, this new brother of mine?’ demanded Jo. ‘Does he have any hair? Is he like Kitty?’
‘At the moment he’s bald, with a chubby red face, and he looks like himself!’
Tom laughed. ‘Has he got a name yet?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Jack casually. ‘We’ve had names ready for months. Margaret Joanna for a girl, and Thomas John for a boy.’
Jo’s throat thickened at the look on her grandfather’s face. ‘Perfect,’ she said huskily.
She was settling down in her old room before she allowed herself to think of the phone call from March. Or Lord Arnborough, she reminded herself acidly. A good thing she’d found out now, before things went any further. March was a man she could have grown to care for in an adult way very different from the fleeting teenage infatuation she’d felt for Charlie. But he’d walked out on her anyway, so there was no possibility of that—whatever his name was…
Jo woke with a start as Kitty burst in the room next morning with big news. Her excitement about the new baby was intense. She was going to see him later, with Daddy, and did Jo know that you didn’t buy babies? God sent them to you in the hospital. But she wished the baby was a girl.
‘God had already sent Mummy two girls, darling,’ she pointed out. ‘He wanted her to have a boy this time.’
‘I told Daddy to ask for a girl next time.’ Kitty sighed. ‘But he said there wasn’t going to be a next time.’
Amen to that, thought Jo with feeling, and jumped out of bed. ‘Come on, Kitty-cat—time to get dressed. Hazel will be here soon—you can tell her all about the baby.’
Hazel Carter, mother of Molly and a great favourite of Kitty’s, had worked for the Logans for years, and still preferred to help Kate with the running of Mill House rather than wait on tables in her daughter’s restaurant.
‘Thank God for Hazel,’ said a very haggard Jack at the breakfast table. ‘If she just sees to Kitty for a day or two—that’s all I ask. To hell with the house.’
‘When she gets here, go back to bed for a bit,’ advised Jo. ‘I’ll go home to change, then drive into the office to spread the news and keep things ticking over. But I’m taking a long lunch hour, boss—to visit Kate.’
Jack got up to hug her. ‘Thank you, Jo. Though you must be tired too. Knock off early today.’
‘I’ll see how I get on.’ She kissed Kitty’s butter-smeared cheek. ‘See you later, poppet.’
Jo’s morning passed with constant interruption. Once she’d announced the arrival of Thomas John Logan, she had visits from staff eager to pass on their congratulations. By the time Jo was ready to leave for the hospital she was in possession of a huge bouquet of flowers, several cuddly toys and, from her female colleagues, a pile of magazines and a basket of French toiletries.
‘Goodness,’ said Kate, once Jo had left off hugging her to look in the crib beside the bed. ‘What a haul!’
‘And none of it from me.’ Jo smiled down at the pink sleeping face. ‘Gosh, he’s chunky.’ She looked up at Kate, who looked tired and pale, but otherwise better than Jo had expected. ‘Was it a battle to produce him, Kate?’
‘It wasn’t a walk in the park, certainly, but he’s worth it.’ Kate smiled indulgently. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t make Jack admit it, but I think he’s secretly delighted to have a son.’
Jo shook her head vehemently. ‘He’s just delighted that you’re both safe, believe me. Kitty, however, would have preferred a sister.’
Kate laughed. ‘She’ll be fine once she actually sees the baby. Jack’s bringing her in with Grandpa this afternoon. How is Tom, by the way?’
‘He was very tired last night—but, Kate, you should have seen his face when Jack told him the baby’s name!’
‘But his grandson’s not to be Tommy. He must be Tom, too. By the way,’ added Kate, ‘Hazel’s happy to move in with us for as long as I want, which is good.’
‘What can I do to help?’
‘Just see that things run smoothly at the firm, darling, so Jack can spend more time at home for a bit.’
‘I’ll be only too glad to,’ Jo assured her, then bent to kiss her mother. ‘You’d better take a nap before your next visitors arrive. How long will you be here?’
‘I might be home tomorrow.’
When Jo had finished for the night she drove straight to Mill House, to find Jack and Tom enjoying a drink in the kitchen while Hazel prepared dinner. Kitty ran to her sister joyfully, full of her visit to Mummy and little Tom.
‘He’s so little, Jo!’
‘He’ll soon grow.’ Jo smiled warmly at Hazel. ‘Thank you for moving in.’
‘I’m only too glad to. It’s a change from living on my own.’ She eyed Jo closely. ‘You look as if a good rest wouldn’t do you any harm, dear. Are you staying for dinner?’
‘Actually, if you’ve got everything in hand, Hazel, I’d rather go back to Park Crescent. Is that all right, Jack?’
He nodded. ‘Of course. Do you want to come in with me tonight, to see Kate?’
She shook her head. ‘Tell her I’ll pop in tomorrow lunchtime again.’
‘Make sure you eat something,’ said her father severely. ‘Have you got any food at your place?’
‘How about some of this chicken casserole?’ said Hazel. ‘I made loads.’
‘Hazel, you are a godsend,’ said Jo thankfully.
‘Want you to stay here,’ said Kitty, scowling.
‘Jo needs to go home to her house and rest tonight,’ said Jack firmly.
‘But I want her to read a story!’
‘I can do that,’ said Tom promptly, and Kitty stared at him in astonishment.
‘Can you read, Grandpa?’
‘Oh, yes. Even the big words,’ he assured her, ignoring the smothered mirth from the others.
‘In that case,’ said Jo, grinning, ‘I’ll take off and get some ironing done before supper.’
When she got home a message was waiting on her answermachine.
‘Joanna, it’s March. I haven’t rung today in case you needed your line free for emergencies, but I’m anxious for news of your mother. I doubt that you’ll ring me back, so I’ll try again later.’
The Mistress of His Manor Page 5
