A Bid for Love

by J. B. Sherrard

  Pippa made herself a coffee and tried to sort out her feelings and her options. She immediately discounted the possibility of simple friendship because whatever chemical or biological forces were at work between them would never permit it. She could try to forget him but she knew she would always wonder what would have happened if she had gone to him. And yet, to begin a serious relationship was not satisfactory either for there was an unpredictability in Fabian Naughton that could lead to anything. And, furthermore, she knew so little about him, apart from the fact that he was very attractive, very determined, very imaginative, and very rich—but with a social conscience.

  The truth was that he was as irresistible as Pandora's Box and conceivably as dangerous. Of course, there was always a chance of their relationship working gloriously. But didn't every mouse think it could steal the cheese from the trap without capture? Pippa had to find out more about him, and the one person who could tell her was Lesley Bayer. She picked up the phone and called her immediately.

  "Do I detect great interest?" Lesley enquired.

  "I won't deny it. It's all getting very heavy but I need to know more about him."

  "Actually, I'd been meaning to call you, for two reasons. One, because I've found out a few things about Fabian, and two, I'm having a lunch party next Sunday to which you are cordially invited. By the way, Fabian isn't coming because he's riding at the weekend."

  "I'd love to come," Pippa told her, thinking it would be a pleasant way to spend the day after her birthday. "Anyway, what have you found out about Fabian?"

  "Well, I had lunch with Adam last week and Fabian came up in conversation, you'll be astonished to know. Well, there haven't been that many big romances in the last few years. He was quite a lad when he was in his early twenties. He had one big ding-dong a few years back with someone called Georgette but it didn't work out. Do you know about his sister Vicky?"

  "I didn't think he had one."

  "He doesn't any more. Apparently she was a heroin addict—except nobody knew until it was too late."

  Pippa's blood ran cold. "When we were at the gala, somebody mentioned Vicky and said they thought she would have approved of the do. It all makes sense!" Pippa said, beginning to gain a clearer impression of Fabian.

  "That's right. She was a couple of years younger than Fabian and very beautiful. They were very close but not even he knew what was going on. She moved to Notting Hill—somewhere near you, I suppose—with an American guy, who was actually her pusher, but they got some bad dope which killed them both. I get the impression Fabian's never forgiven himself for not doing anything. He's very into drug abuse and things like that, and he does a lot of charity work."

  "That explains a lot!" Pippa said thoughtfully. No wonder Fabian knew the neighbourhood and no wonder it seemed to haunt him.

  "There's one other thing that's rather more amusing, bid you know your boss set him up at an auction a couple of years ago?"

  "Yes, I know."

  "Well, Fabian says it was the best thing that ever happened. It made him learn his stuff! He's worked very hard, you know. Adam says he's an authority on English furniture. Probably knows more than us!"

  "I don't think Hubert has any idea. He thinks Fabian's a complete buffoon," Pippa explained.

  "I wouldn't underestimate Fabian at all. He's quite a force to be reckoned with."

  "Oh, I know."

  "Has he been in touch?" Lesley probed.

  "Mmm," Pippa said cagily.

  "Tell me everything!" Lesley said. "I've told you all I know."

  It was only fair to recount the events of the last couple of weeks, Pippa thought, and by the time she had finished telling the tale, she was gradually beginning to understand how she felt about him. She could not dismiss Fabian from her life—even if that was the practical thing to do as far as Hubert was concerned. What was a job worth when her future was at stake? By suspending her for a week, Hubert had shown her precisely how important she was to his business—especially as he was likely to sell it in the near future. It was a fact of life in business that no one was indispensable, but in matters of the heart it was rather different. Of course, that still didn't answer one important question. Was Fabian Naughton the right man? If he had been a car she would have taken him for a test drive. Sadly, it wasn't so easy with human beings.

  "Why does it all have to be so difficult?" Pippa asked Karen and Mark later that evening. "I mean, people fall in love every day of the week, all over the world. They don't have all these problems, surely?"

  "They do if they start making them for themselves," Mark said unsympathetically. "Forget him, Pippa. You're only going to get hurt. If you've got to have an affair, why not have one with Alex or somebody a little more suitable?"

  "Fabian might very well be suitable. I don't know yet, that's all."

  "Well, don't say I didn't warn you," Mark said, making her feel even worse.

  "I'm not a child, Mark. I'm going to be twenty-three in a week or so."

  "I know. I'm sorry, Pip. I'm just worried about you. All this Fabian Naughton bloke seems to have done is cause trouble. You've argued with Hubert. You're arguing with me. Is he worth it?"

  "I think he probably is."

  "But she won't know unless she finds out," Karen said, coming to Pippa's defence.

  "Well, for goodness' sake take it slowly," Mark pleaded.

  "I will," Pippa assured him.

  "When are you going back to work?"

  "I'm not sure. I'd better give Hubert a ring."

  "Well, try not to put his back up."

  In fact, when Pippa spoke to Hubert later that evening, there was no problem at all. To her astonishment, he actually praised Fabian for having the decency to apologise to him.

  "He's got more gumption than I credited him with," Hubert concluded. And that was high praise indeed! "See you in the morning, my dear."

  All in all, things were beginning to look a little less black, Pippa decided and she awoke on Monday morning excited at the prospect of returning to work, and of Fabian's call. And she was pleased that he had the sensitivity to call her at home rather than at work that evening.

  "I don't want to do anything hasty—for both our sakes," Pippa explained. "Let's just take it easy and get to know each other."

  He heaved a sigh of relief. "That's fair enough. So what happens next? Shall we meet for tea or something?"

  "That's a nice idea."

  "Well, let's do it in style and go to the Savoy. They do a nice tea there. Just name the day—except Tuesday, Wednesday or Friday, because I'm absolutely up to my neck most of this week."

  "How about Thursday?" Pippa suggested.

  "Brilliant! Shall we say five?"

  That week, Hubert wanted her to list and describe every item of stock at the Knightsbridge and Chelsea galleries so that anyone buying the business could see precisely what there was. It was a particularly laborious task, but it killed time most effectively and it was Thursday before she knew it. She left the Chelsea gallery as soon as she could and hurried to the Savoy, arriving shortly after five o'clock. Fabian met her in the lobby and, since they were no longer on kissing terms, they shook hands with amused formality.

  "Kissing's very unhygienic anyway," Fabian observed, almost po-faced except for a glint in his eye.

  "Absolutely!" Pippa agreed and they both laughed before settling into an embarrassed silence, neither of them quite sure what to say.

  She tried to look away from him but his eyes attracted hers almost magnetically and he smiled softly.

  "Shall I be mother?" he asked with a wry grin as the tea and scones arrived.

  "By all means."

  "So what would you like to know about me?" he asked after he had poured the tea.

  "Er, I don't know. I suppose whatever you want to tell me." Somehow it didn't seem right to be having this sort of conversation with him.

  "I could tell you everything, but you'd probably be bored to tears by confessions of a rich kid followed b
y confessions of an art-school dropout, and then confessions of an antique dealer. What can I say? Some of it's been nice, and some of it's been not so nice. Adam told me Lesley's been giving you a run-down, so you know most of it. Don't get me wrong: I don't mind. I'm flattered you were interested enough to ask." He hesitated for a moment. "And I'm not hypersensitive about my sister any more. It was heart-breaking at the time, but life has to go on. I've even come to terms with re-visiting Helmsley Terrace, which is where poor Vicky used to live. She's not a taboo subject, in case you were wondering."

  "Nor are my mum and dad," Pippa said, anxious that they should not feel inhibited with each other.

  The conversation should have continued on this personal level, but they both feared they were being too intimate for a meeting that was designed to take things slowly. Fabian changed the subject to the decor of the hotel, which led to stilted anecdotes of hotels they had both known. With the pianist playing soft romantic songs in the background, Pippa did her best to relax, but somehow she couldn't and she felt decidedly on edge. And it wasn't because she didn't like Fabian. It was more as if there was an invisible barrier between them which was preventing them from reaching out to each other. The spontaneity which she remembered so well from the night of the gala had vanished. They were speaking to each other like strangers, tentatively becoming acquainted. There was no animosity but at the same time there was none of the special spark that had flickered through their relationship until now. They were treating each other with kid gloves. They were taking things slowly, which was what she had wanted, but the truth was she didn't like it. Whereas Fabian had once made her feel scintillating and vivacious, she now felt boring and flat. And if she thought she was boring he would undoubtedly consider her so. Half of her wanted to stay with him in the hope that the barriers between them would magically vanish and the other half wanted to run as far away from him as possible.

  "Shall I order another pot of tea?" Fabian asked with undue gravity. The question wasn't as simple as it sounded. He really wanted to know whether she wished to continue with this strained meeting and possibly even their relationship.

  "I don't know. Would you like more tea?" She needed to know how he was feeling, but he wasn't giving anything away.

  "I don't mind," he said with a slight shrug of his shoulders. "It's up to you entirely." His eyes gave no clues to his preference.

  One pot of tea seemed to hold the key to their future and she knew that by saying no she could extricate herself from this situation entirely. She would probably never see him again. Life would return to normal. But the memory of the burning passion she had felt for him was still vivid in her mind and she couldn't bear the thought of extinguishing it for ever.

  "Yes, I would like another cup," she said firmly.

  "I'll order one then." He sounded quite neutral so that she couldn't tell if he was pleased or displeased with her decision, and he summoned the waiter.

  Pippa wondered whether she was going to lose him in any case and, doing her utmost to appear unconcerned, helped herself to a pastry. Fabian smiled at her and started talking about some wonderful gateaux he had enjoyed in France. It was all so polite but still so impersonal. She wondered whether they would ever relax with each other again—even if they had the opportunity.

  By the time the second pot of tea arrived, Pippa was beginning to wish that she had left after the first. It seemed that whatever she did, as far as Fabian Naughton was concerned, was wrong. She could tell from his attitude that he was not happy with her or their situation and she was convinced he was deciding whether or not to see her again. He looked at his watch and then gulped his tea down.

  "It's nearly six-thirty. I really must be going," he said.

  "Yes, I must, too," Pippa said, although she had nowhere in particular to go.

  "It's been good to see you." He paused for a moment. "Maybe we can get together again sometime." The way he said it was so casual it sounded more like a brush-off than an invitation.

  "I'd like that very much," said Pippa, laying her cards on the table.

  "I'll give you a call," he said without much enthusiasm, and then signalled to the waiter for the bill.

  They parted as formally as they had met, shaking hands—except that the handshake lingered for a fraction longer and she sensed the buzz of attraction flowing like an electric current between them. It was the only indication that they still meant anything to each other.

  They went their separate ways, Pippa towards Charing Cross and Fabian in the direction of the Aldwych. As she walked along, she couldn't resist turning round to look after him. She could just make him out in the distance and she hoped he might look round, but he didn't. She continued watching him until he was a small speck in the distance, and it occurred to her that she might never see him again except perhaps by chance.

  It had all gone so wrong, she mused. Tea at the Savoy should have been fun. It should have been an easy interlude. They should have enjoyed each other's company. They should have been relaxed. It had nearly worked but, ironically, as soon as the conversation had become personal, they had both become wary. For some reason they couldn't speak to each other normally. It seemed that they could either talk intimately or not at all. As she had thought it was not possible for her to have anything resembling a simple friendship with Fabian. They were destined to be lovers or strangers and there was no halfway mark. And, sadly, it seemed that Fabian wanted to be a stranger. But why such a change of heart, especially in view of her candid and sincere wish to see him again?

  The only reason Pippa could think of for Fabian becoming so cool was that he wasn't as enchanted with her as he had originally been. Perhaps he found her boring and tiresome. After all, they had both admitted that they hardly knew each other and he was just as entitled to change his mind as she was. It seemed so unfair that the more she came to know him the more she liked him and yet the reverse appeared to be true for him.

  She went to sleep that night with a heavy heart, for she realised the time had come to forget him—not that it would be easy, and dreaming about him didn't make it any easier. She awoke depressed and irritated that Fabian should have come into her life, turned it upside down and then dumped her—for she was sure that was his intention. What hurt even more was his timing. It was her birthday on Saturday and she knew the one day of the year she really ought to enjoy would now be rather less pleasant than she had anticipated.

  "Happy Birthday to you!" Diana sang as Pippa walked into the gallery. She presented her with a bottle of champagne. "I thought we'd better start celebrating today," Diana explained.

  "Absolutely! But you shouldn't have bothered." Pippa said, putting on a brave face, for she was in no mood for celebrations.

  "What, and miss an excuse for a bottle of bubbly? Oh, and by the way, keep lunch free because Hubert's taking us out! I thought we'd have this as an aperitif!"

  "How lovely! I wasn't expecting that. I thought he'd still be pretty annoyed with me."

  "I don't get that impression at all."

  And certainly, during lunch, it was as if the recent unpleasantness over Fabian Naughton had never taken place. Hubert was on great form and gave her a present which he insisted she keep for the following day. Diana also surprised Pippa with a strawberry cream sponge which they all devoured back at the gallery. Their kindness and generosity helped to keep her mind off Fabian, but when she returned home she couldn't help feeling rather depressed, and she found herself calling Mark and Karen once more.

  "Well, if Mr. Wonderful isn't going to take you out, we will!" Karen promised.

  "I don't think there's much chance of that."

  "You never know," Karen said. "And if there's a great reconciliation, we'll quite understand. Do you feel like Japanese? We could go to that place in Bayswater."

  "Super. I'd really like that."

  "We'll speak to you tomorrow."

  When Pippa woke up on her birthday morning, she wasn't quite as depressed as she had anticipated.
The postman brought a collection of cards, although a greeting from Fabian was noticeably absent, but she was determined not to mope. And then the entryphone buzzed.

  "Hello," said Pippa.

  "Flowers for Miss Gibson," said a voice at the other end.

  "For me?" said Pippa stupidly.

  "If you're Miss Gibson," said the voice.

  "I'll be down in a second." She raced downstairs and the florist handed her a magnificent bouquet.

  There was a card in a small envelope on the front and she opened it feeling wonderfully happy until she read it. And then she didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

  Chapter Seven

  Happy Birthday and many happy returns. Have a wonderful day.

  Love, Alex.

  How typical of him to remember, Pippa thought. She wondered if she had been unfair to him. He was a good kind man who had never done anything to hurt her. Just because he wasn't as superficially exciting as Fabian Naughton didn't mean he wasn't a better human being. Did it matter that her heart didn't race when she was in his company or that her body didn't tingle with excitement at the slightest bodily contact with him? He was handsome, eligible, as well as available, and she liked him a lot. She had even loved him once, although that may only have been a childish infatuation.

  Perhaps, after all, they were meant for each other. Although she had summarily dismissed that possibility after their last date, a lot had changed since then. The chances of her having a serious relationship with Fabian had been dashed. Even if things had worked out well at the Savoy, it was quite possible that they would have soured later. True, Alex might never excite her quite as much as Fabian, but she was sure he would never hurt her, which was something Fabian was already doing. And yet the thought of love without intense passion was singularly depressing.