A Bid for Love

by J. B. Sherrard

  "Going, going… S—"

  "Eight 'undred and feefty pounds," a French voice said from behind Pippa. She was in no position to bid more and everyone turned round to see the new bidder who was standing right at the back of the marquee.

  "Eight hundred and fifty pounds. I say it once. Eight hundred and fifty pounds. Going, going… sold to the gentleman in the brown tweed suit!"

  Fabian smiled ingenuously at Pippa, clearly proud of his fake accent. She could happily have throttled him but she turned away, feeling her blood pressure bubbling. It was clear he would show her no mercy, but Pippa knew she owed it to Hubert to stay until the bitter end. And bitter it was for, although Fabian didn't succeed in buying everything Pippa wanted, he did manage to force her to her maximum limits, after which other buyers acquired the lots.

  "Not your day, is it?" said a middle-aged woman sitting next to her as Pippa lost her final lot to Fabian.

  "You can say that again."

  "Who is the man in the brown tweed suit?" the woman asked.

  "A London dealer."

  "Handsome young devil. I thought he was French."

  "I won't tell you what I think he is," Pippa said ruefully.

  In a sense, Pippa was relieved that auction was over. It would be awkward explaining what had happened to Hubert, but it was hardly her fault. All Pippa wanted to do now was to leave Aspley Manor, and she hoped she would never visit the place again in her life. She also hoped she would never set eyes on Fabian Naughton again. Certainly, at the moment, she didn't trust herself to be anywhere near the wretched man!

  She strode briskly to her car and angrily started it up. Just being out of the grounds would be enough to make her feel better. Cars were already queuing down to the main gate and she joined the line, listening to her radio which kept her mind off the day's fiasco.

  As she made her way back to London, she began to calm down and, when the news came on the radio with its usual share of disaster and tragedy, she managed to put her own minor irritations in perspective. She decided that, Fabian Naughton aside, things weren't so terrible and that life was worth the occasional struggle.

  Unfortunately, her little Mini thought otherwise for. as Pippa slowed down at a roundabout, there was an unpleasant rattling and grating, and the gearbox seized up. Then the car stalled, and frantically she tried to start it but couldn't. In desperation, she switched her hazard warning lights on, but no one seemed to care. The cars behind overtook her and there was such a constant stream she wondered whether she would ever be able to open her door. Eventually, the traffic eased and she got out with a view to pushing the car into the side of the road.

  Although the car was small, it was as intransigent as a stubborn mule. The frustrations of the day that had just started to wane returned with a vengeance and she hopped back into the car, angrily yanking at the gearstick in an attempt to make it work. But all that happened was that the top of the confounded gearstick came away in her hand. And then, quite uncharacteristically, she muttered an expletive and gritted her teeth, wondering what on earth she was going to do next.

  Chapter Three

  More than anything, Pippa felt betrayed. The car she adored had let her down. It seemed so disloyal. After all, she cleaned it regularly. She had it serviced twice a year. She never forgot to top up the tyres, radiator and oil. Never once had she pranged it and, on a day when everything else had been ghastly, the car had to add insult to injury and break down. That was gratitude!

  The relentless click of the hazard warning lights was making her head pound and she felt she had to get out of the car, just to clear her mind. She knew roughly where she was but it was still the middle of nowhere and miles, no doubt, from the nearest telephone or garage.

  Now that she would actually have welcomed some passing traffic which might have brought a good Samaritan, the road was absolutely quiet. Walking was the only option and, as she couldn't remember passing a call-box, she decided to carry on in the direction of Oxford, which was a mere fifteen miles, according to the sign. The wind was light but, with the temperature only a couple of degrees above zero, she felt chilled to the bone. She tried to walk quickly but her shoes were uncomfortable, having been designed more for antique shops than country roads, so she had to proceed very slowly. It all seemed so unfair.

  Pippa tried to convince herself that it wasn't as bad as it seemed but, even looking at her predicament dispassionately, she could see there was nothing to be pleased about. If she could have blamed someone she might have felt rather better, but not even Fabian Naughton could be held responsible for the idiosyncracies of her motorcar. Nevertheless, she did blame him for having put the mockers on her day in the first place!

  She trudged on and on, feeling like Dr. Who in search of the Tardis. Never had she wanted to see a phone box so badly. Ten minutes later, she wondered whether the red kiosk far in the distance was a mirage. Fortunately, it wasn't and not only did it work, it even had a local "Yellow Pages", so she was able to ring a garage and explain her problem. The man at the end of the phone was suitably sympathetic and assured her that, if she returned to the car, a breakdown truck would be with her as soon as possible. He warned her that it might take a little while, which presumably meant a long while.

  Knowing that the end of her ordeal was in sight made the walk back seem not quite so bad, and she did her best to keep her spirits up. She always remembered her grandmother's wise saying that nothing was ever as bad as it seemed, and worrying never did any good because things sorted themselves out regardless. It wasn't a bad philosophy and it had served Grandma well for eighty-one years. And since Pippa had bought the car with her grandmother's legacy, she was particularly determined to heed her advice in this situation. Grandma would also have told her to learn from this experience and Pippa had decided henceforth that she would always keep a pair of sensible shoes in the car. Her feet were killing her.

  Way ahead, she could see the little Mini flashing like a sparsely illuminated Christmas tree. She couldn't be absolutely certain, but it looked as if another car had drawn up behind. It certainly wasn't the breakdown truck and, as she came nearer, she saw it was a red sports car—a very familiar red sports car. Her heart sank. The last person she wanted to see at the moment was Fabian Naughton. She wondered whether she should delay her return to the car until the mechanic arrived, but she was cold and had been looking forward to sheltering in the car. Deciding that Fabian Naughton was marginally preferable to suffering hypothermia, she carried on walking.

  He jumped out of his car as she came closer. "Trouble," he asked, "or were you picking strawberries?"

  Pippa said nothing. She was in no mood for his witticisms and, far from picking strawberries, was much more inclined to blow him a raspberry—except she was too cold.

  "What's the problem?"

  "It's the gearbox. I think it's gone. I've called a garage and they're coming."

  "Would you like me to try and get it going?"

  "You can try, but the gears are locked."

  "Keys, please, Philippa," Fabian said with a grin.

  Pippa handed him the keys and he tried to engage the gears, but to no avail.

  "It's well and truly broken. Have you ever thought of driving an automatic?" he enquired ingenuously, but Pippa knew he was casting aspersions on her driving.

  She decided to ignore him.

  "Look, I'll wait till they get here," he offered generously.

  "Really, there's no need. I'm perfectly all right."

  "You look absolutely frozen. I've got a Thermos of tea. I always keep one in the car when I go on a long journey, just in case. Let me get it, I insist."

  And before she could say anything, he had jumped out of her car and was foraging in his for the Thermos. The last thing Pippa wanted was kindness and generosity from him. He was the focus of her irritation, and being kind to her made him even more irritating.

  "Voila!" he said, presenting her with a cup of steaming tea from an elegant stainless steel f
lask.

  She did her best to accept it gracefully but she felt humiliated, just as she had all day at the auction. He always seemed to have the upper hand and Pippa found it particularly galling—especially as she found the tea so welcome.

  "Would you like to sit in the car?"

  "I'll sit in mine, if you don't mind," she said churlishly.

  "Be like that! See if I care!" he said lightly, making her feel even worse.

  "I'm sorry, I'm just not in the mood for polite conversation."

  "Been one of those days, I suppose," he said sympathetically.

  "Largely due to you—yes!" And with that, Pippa opened her car door and sat down.

  His concern and generosity were all part of the humiliation, she was quite convinced. It wasn't enough for him to sabotage her bidding at the auction, that was perfectly clear. He wanted to see her indebted to him as well! She could imagine him lounging in his Porsche, chuckling to himself as he listened to the quadraphonic music system. He really had been victorious today. He was probably already dreaming up some frightfully witty way of drawing the whole thing to Hubert's attention at their next encounter.

  Pippa looked at her watch. It was already half-an-hour since she had called the garage. She prayed they would hurry up, but realistically she knew they could take a couple of hours. The only part of the car that worked was the radio so she listened to it, unconcerned about the drain on the battery She hoped that Fabian Naughton would abandon her, but his car remained parked behind hers and she could see him in her mirror banging his hands rhythmically on the steering wheel. At least somebody was having a good time!

  To make her even more annoyed, she sensed his gaze on her all the time, and she was sure he spotted her looking back at him. She couldn't be sure but she thought he was smiling. Despite herself, she looked in her mirror again and he waved. Pippa shut her eyes, took a deep breath and counted to ten to calm herself down. It didn't have much effect. And to her irritation her eyes seemed to be drawn to the mirror like a magnet. With determination, she moved the mirror to a completely different angle so that she couldn't see into it at all. If Fabian Naughton was watching her as closely as she sensed, he would doubtless be amused.

  The cold was seeping into her bones and her teeth were beginning to chatter. In fact, she was getting so cold she couldn't even feel angry. Her body and her mind seemed totally numb. An hour had passed since her phone call to the garage and still they hadn't arrived. She was listening to the radio with her eyes shut when there was a knock on her window. She looked up, expecting to see the mechanic, but it was Fabian Naughton with his Thermos. She opened her window and the cold air made her teeth chatter even more.

  "More tea? You're freezing, Philippa. I insist you come and sit in my car. The heating's on—it's like a sauna bath."

  "I'm perfectly all right," Pippa maintained.

  "For heaven's sake… Look, I know you don't like me but I won't let you freeze to death. I'll tell you what—you sit in my car and I'll sit in yours. The garage could be ages."

  Pippa couldn't even argue with him, she was so cold. To accept warmth and a hot drink from him would be an ignominious defeat, but now it was a question of survival and that meant she would have to swallow her pride. Gallantly, he helped her out of her car and, like a well-trained chauffeur, rushed to open the door of his Porsche. The car was warm and she sank into the comfortable seat. Like an obedient waiter, he poured her another cup of tea from the Thermos and then withdrew to her car as agreed. Pippa drank her tea gratefully. She hadn't appreciated quite how cold she had been until she started to warm up. But sitting in the warm luxury of his car while he presumably froze in hers did seem a mite unfair—even if he was one of the most annoying men she had ever met. Half of her wanted to invite him to sit in his own car with her. the other said freezing in the little Mini was a suitable punishment for the diabolical way he had treated her earlier in the day. Pippa wondered whether she was being small-minded and, having reached the conclusion that she ought to show some decency, was just about to ask him to join her in the Porsche with her when the breakdown truck arrived.

  By the time she had managed to find the handle to let herself out of the car, Fabian Naughton was already explaining the problem to the mechanic, a young man in blue overalls whose face was smeared with oil. He, too, tried to disengage the gears but he swiftly recognised that a new gearbox would probably be required.

  "D'you want us to do it—not that we'll be able to do anything tonight?" he asked.

  "I think you'd better. Obviously I'd like an estimate, but you'd better take it in. You couldn't possibly give me a lift to a station, could you?" Pippa asked.

  "I'll run you back to London with pleasure, Philippa," Fabian interjected before the mechanic could say anything.

  "You'll be back ten times faster than British Rail," the mechanic said, sealing her fate. "Lovely cars those," he added, looking at the Porsche with admiration, and handed her one of the garage's cards. "Give us a call tomorrow." Then he backed the truck to the Mini and winched it up.

  Pippa thought the little Mini looked curiously forlorn with its nose in the air and only its back wheels on the ground. And she felt much the same.

  "You don't mind sharing the car with me in the circumstances, do you?" Fabian asked her.

  "I don't have much choice," Pippa said bitterly.

  "Don't be like that. Let's call a truce. Let's pretend that the auction never happened and that I'm simply a knight in shining armour coming to the rescue of a damsel in distress."

  Pippa said nothing. She was damned if she would ever forgive him for humiliating her at the auction, but she realised that he was actually being quite kind towards her and she would be in difficulty if he threw her out of the car.

  "Tell you what," Fabian began, "we won't talk shop at all. We'll talk about other things or listen to music all the way back to town. I can't say fairer than that. A deal?"

  "Yes," Pippa agreed softly.

  "Well, let's go then. Any objection to Dionne Warwick?"

  "No."

  And so they listened to Dionne Warwick as Fabian drove the car proficiently, if not speedily, towards London. Pippa shut her eyes, hoping she might doze off and then awake to find the whole day had been a nightmare. But life wasn't quite as easy as that and she remained awake, although Fabian thought she was asleep so he didn't bother her. With her eyes shut, Pippa was trying to work out how she was going to explain the day's fiasco to Hubert. The auction was bad enough, but to be rescued by Naughton was really rubbing salt into the wound.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a police car hurtling past them with its siren blaring. She looked round and Fabian, realising she was awake, turned down the music and started chatting.

  "Thought they were after us for a moment! Mind you, I could probably give them a good run for their money. There aren't many cop cars faster than this."

  "What's the top speed?" Pippa asked.

  "I think it'll do a hundred and fifty, but I've only taken it to a hundred. That's quite fast enough for me."

  Pippa looked at the speedometer and was reassured to see that he was doing a totally legal seventy miles per hour.

  "It's all right. I did the hundred miles an hour on the Continent. I'm a very law-abiding citizen. Apart from that, I value my life too highly. I've seen too many people ruin their lives and destroy themselves. There are enough people who come into this world without any chance at all without the more privileged throwing everything away through sheer stupidity."

  His words were eminently sensible, but she was surprised that a chap like Fabian Naughton had given life very much thought at all. So many people born with a silver spoon would never have considered the less fortunate.

  "Sorry, I'm beginning to preach." He glanced at her apologetically.

  "Carry on, by all means," Pippa said, genuinely interested in what he had to say.

  "I'd bore you to distraction with my views on life. I wouldn't do it to you. I mean, we h
ardly know each other."

  Instinctively, Pippa felt there was more to this man than met the eye. Behind his glib lines and infuriating behaviour, she had glimpsed—for a split second—something reassuringly human, almost vulnerable about him, which both impressed and intrigued her. And yet it was as if he was almost afraid to speak his innermost thoughts because they might conflict with the carefree image he generally projected.

  "So tell me," Fabian said, adroitly changing the subject, "would you like me to drop you at the gallery or at your home?"

  "You can drop me anywhere really, as long as there's a Tube."

  "Fabian Naughton always provides a door-to-door service," he informed her. "Where's home?"

  "Notting Hill Gate."

  "Where exactly?"

  "Helmsley Terrace."

  "Helmsley Terrace…" His voice was incredulous.

  "You know somebody who lives there?"

  "Not any more. It's a long time ago. Just a bit of a coincidence, that's all." But from the way he spoke, it didn't sound as if it was a happy coincidence, and he clearly didn't want to be drawn on the subject. "Do you live with your mum and dad?"

  "No." Pippa decided not to tell him her parents were dead. She didn't think she could stand sympathy from him on top of everything else. "I have a little studio flat," she explained. "There's scarcely room to swing a cat, but it serves its purpose. Where do you live?" she enquired.

  "Pimlico. I've got a flat there. It's quite convenient, but I spend most of my weekends in the country. I'm really a country boy at heart and I love riding. Do you ride?"

  "I can but I don't. I fell off years ago and it rather put me off."

  "I know what you mean, but it's just a question of confidence and knowing your beast. You'd look really good on a horse, and I mean that in the nicest possible way!"