‘No. Have a look at the rest of the flat, then we’ll have this talk of ours before Tim gets here.’ He looked at his watch. ‘He can’t be too much longer.’ But while James was showing her the gadgets in his kitchen the phone rang.
‘Tim? What’s up? You sound rough.’ James listened closely, his face inscrutable. ‘In that case,’ he said at last, ‘take some pills and stay in bed to get in shape for work tomorrow. I’ll hand you over to Harriet.’
‘Hey,’ she said, heart sinking. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I rang the flat but Dido said you’d left. I tried your phone, but no luck. Did you forget to charge it?’ demanded Tim.
‘I must have. Sorry.’
‘Anyway, now I’ve tracked you down I’m grovelling. I feel like death. I had a drink or three with the others when I got home last night. Bad move. I told Jed I had a migraine, but for your ears only it’s the father of all hangovers. Sorry, angel. I just can’t make it today.’
‘OK. Drink plenty of water, and get some sleep,’ she said, resigned. ‘Take care. I’ll ring you tonight.’
‘Shall I call a cab, or can I persuade you to stay to lunch?’ James asked.
Harriet thought about it. ‘I’ll stay. But just for lunch.’
‘Not for the orgy afterwards?’ he said affably.
‘Or maybe I’ll stick with the cab,’ she said, glaring at him.
He held up a hand. ‘Let me give you lunch first.’
They sat at the table with the view to eat cold roast guinea fowl, served with a green salad and hunks of coarse, crusty bread.
‘I kept it simple. This is the food I’d originally planned for my own lunch,’ James told her, and filled their wineglasses. ‘And it’s just a New Zealand Sauvignon, not champagne.’
Harriet shot him a rueful look as she buttered her bread. ‘This is funny, really. Tim not turning up, I mean. It’s usually me.’
James’ eyes gleamed. ‘Come clean, Harriet. Tim’s migraine is really a hangover, right?’
Harriet grinned. ‘Afraid so. I suppose he thought big brother would be angry if he told the truth.’
‘Most people get hung-over sometime. Why should I be angry?’
‘Because I turned up at last and he didn’t. Tim feels guilty.’
‘So do I.’
‘Why?’
He looked her in the eye. ‘Because I’m enjoying the unexpected treat of lunching alone with you. A stupid thing to admit, because you’ll probably go rushing off right away.’
Harriet shook her head. ‘We’re supposed to talk,’ she reminded him. ‘It’s my reason for coming here.’
‘Right up to the moment I opened my door to you I was sure you wouldn’t,’ he told her.
‘So was I,’ she said frankly. ‘But I promised Tim.’
‘Why else?’ he said, resigned, and refilled their glasses. ‘You haven’t told me yet what you think of the apartment.’
‘It’s not exactly cosy,’ she said warily.
‘It’s not meant to be. It’s a showcase, designed to demonstrate to prospective clients exactly what can be achieved with this kind of conversion. But go on,’ he added. ‘Tell me the worst.’
‘It’s not my cup of tea,’ she said, turning to look at him. ‘I admire it enormously as a concept. But it’s too hard-edged for me. I couldn’t live in it.’
‘Tim would move in tomorrow.’
‘So he’s told me—ad nauseam.’
James laughed as he got up to take their plates. ‘It’s reassuring to know that you two don’t agree on everything.’ He put cheese and fruit on the table and sat down again. ‘Right, then, Harriet. Let’s talk furniture. I suggest you simply list what you want from End House, and I’ll buy the rest from you.’
Harriet’s eyes widened. ‘For your bar manager?’
‘No, he’ll move his own things in. Have you decided what you want?’
‘Just the Georgian chest and the china cabinet and its contents, and the brass bed,’ she said, keeping her eyes on the orange she was peeling.
‘The armoire and the lacquer fire screen would look perfect in my flat at Edenhurst, so I’ll keep them myself,’ said James, ‘and I’ll let Stacy and Greg have the rest. Is that agreeable to you?’
‘It’s a brilliant idea!’ Harriet smiled at him warmly. ‘My grandmother would be very pleased.’
‘Are you?’
She nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘I’ll give you a fair price—’
‘Have everything valued first and then tell me what the professional thinks is a fair price,’ she said firmly.
His eyes narrowed dangerously. ‘Are you afraid I’ll cheat you?’
‘Of course not,’ she said impatiently. ‘I’m afraid you’ll pay me over the odds, out of charity, like the offer for End House.’
‘I’m a businessman. I don’t deal in charity. My offer was exactly what the house is worth,’ said James brusquely. ‘And if you doubt my word about the furniture get the valuation done yourself.’
CHAPTER FIVE
HARRIET looked at James in dismay for a moment, then abandoned her orange and stood up.
‘You’re offended. I’m sorry. I was trying to say I don’t expect any special treatment because—’
‘Of what happened between us at End House?’ he demanded, jumping to his feet. ‘You think I’m finding a way to pay you money for that? It was something to forget, you told me, not something to pay for.’
‘You know I didn’t mean that,’ Harriet said furiously. ‘I meant my connection to Tim!’
‘My brother,’ said James, stalking round the table, ‘is nothing to do with it.’
‘Of course he is. I wouldn’t be here otherwise,’ she snapped, and stood her ground.
‘You think I don’t know that?’ He stopped dead, inches away from her.
They stood erect and bristling, glittering tawny eyes boring down into resentful dark ones. Then James sighed, and gave her a wry smile.
‘This is ridiculous. I just want you to have the best price possible, Harriet.’
‘So that Tim and I can set up house together?’
He frowned. ‘You said that wasn’t in the cards yet.’
‘It’s not.’
‘Good.’
Harriet raised a suspicious eyebrow. ‘Why is it good?’
James took her by the hand and led her over to one of the curved white sofas. ‘Let’s sit down for a moment, Harriet, while we discuss certain inescapable facts of life.’
She tensed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘We both love Tim,’ he stated.
‘Yes.’
‘But you do realise that he’s the eternal Peter Pan?’
‘Of course I do,’ said Harriet, relaxing slightly. ‘After all, he’s only twenty-three.’
‘So are you.’
‘The female of the species matures faster than the male.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I’ve no intention of trying to make Tim settle down yet. I just want a place of my own for a while. Particularly after last night.’
‘What happened?’
Harriet explained, keeping her eyes on St Paul’s in the distance, then turned to him wrathfully. ‘You may well sit there grinning, but I’d only just changed the bed.’
‘The last straw!’ he agreed.
‘It was the ultimate embarrassment as well.’
‘I can imagine. The act of love is not a spectator sport.’
‘We didn’t stop to watch!’ Suddenly Harriet’s sense of humour revived. ‘Tim thought it was hilarious,’ she admitted, and they laughed together for a moment.
‘I’m sorry I barked at you about the money, Harriet,’ said James eventually. ‘But when it comes to pushing buttons you’re no slouch yourself.’
‘I know. Sorry.’
‘I promise I’ll send you an itemised copy of Adam Dysart’s valuation.’
‘Thank you.’ She held out her hand. ‘Shall we shake on it?’
James took the hand in his, but i
nstead of shaking it he raised it to his lips, and Harriet leapt up as though he’d scorched her.
‘Hell, Harriet,’ he growled, ‘will you stop it?’
She flushed. ‘Sorry. I’m just—tired. We spent hours tidying up after the party.’
‘If your friend entertains on a regular basis I see why you want a place of your own,’ he said dryly. ‘I’ll make some coffee.’
‘Thank you.’
While they drank it Harriet gave James a brief account of her work as assistant to the junior director of a City head-hunting firm, smiling as she told him that Giles Kemble had been reluctant to let her have that particular week off for her trip to Upcote.
‘Giles lives in a flat with a view of the London Eye. He thought I was raving mad to bury myself in the country on my own for even a day, let alone a week.’
‘You ran away long before the week was up,’ James reminded her.
Her chin lifted. ‘I did not run away. Once the sale of End House was settled there was nothing to keep me there.’
‘Of course you ran away. You were afraid I’d come back to take up where we left off.’
‘Certainly not,’ she lied. ‘I knew you wouldn’t do that.’
‘I wish I shared your conviction.’ His eyes held hers. ‘I wanted to, Harriet. But I didn’t, for obvious reasons. Not that you would have let me in. Last night you made it clear that you’d rather not set eyes on me again.’
‘I’m sorry if I was rude.’ She bit her lip. ‘Although Tim wouldn’t have noticed anything unusual. He thinks I dislike you.’
James raised an eyebrow. ‘And do you?’
She glowered at him. ‘As was pretty obvious during the storm I don’t any more, otherwise it—that—would never have happened.’
‘It happened,’ he said deliberately, ‘because after spending even a short time with you in Upcote I discovered that Tim’s little friend had matured into a woman who appeals to me so much I lost my head that night. But don’t worry, Harriet. As agreed, we just put it behind us, forget it ever happened, and Tim doesn’t get hurt.’
Her feelings didn’t matter, obviously. ‘Right,’ said Harriet briskly. ‘That’s it, then.’
He got up. ‘I’ll call you a cab.’
She thanked him stiffly, kicking herself for not suggesting it first.
While James was on the phone Harriet stood at one of the windows to gaze at the view, wondering why on earth she felt like crying. ‘Thank you for my lunch,’ she said politely when he brought her umbrella.
‘Thank you for staying to share it. Let me know when you find a new flat and I’ll arrange to have your things sent there.’
Harriet’s instinct was to insist on paying for her own haulage, but something in his face decided her not to go there. Besides, she needed a favour. ‘James, could you possibly store my things in some corner at Edenhurst for a while? I’d like to rent something furnished until I find exactly what I want.’
‘Sensible lady.’
‘Not always.’
His jaw clenched. ‘The fault was mine.’
‘It takes two.’
‘In your case more sinned against than sinning.’
‘We didn’t really sin very much.’
His eyes held hers. ‘Sins start in the mind, Harriet.’
She smiled bleakly. ‘In our case the best place for them.’
When the taxi arrived James escorted Harriet to the lift, pressed the button and stood well back, as though he had no intention of touching her again in this life. ‘I’ll hold onto your furniture for as long as you want, but I’ll let you know the valuation as soon as I get it. Goodbye, Harriet. Take great care of yourself.’
‘Goodbye.’ Harriet stepped into the lift, feeling as if a chapter in her life had ended when the doors closed to block James Devereux’s face from view.
The following month was a period Harriet looked back on afterwards with wonder that she actually made it to Italy. She had no contact with James other than communications through solicitors, and a letter from some minion with a list of valuations from the Dysart Auction House for the rest of the furniture, along with a cheque for the items James had bought. Harriet paid the cheque into her bank during a lunch hour, wrote a brief letter of thanks on her computer and heard nothing more from James Edward Devereux.
Her usual source of information on the subject was unavailable because Harriet had to warn Tim to stay well away for a while, due to the streaming cold she woke up with the day after her lunch with James. And with no hope of time off straight on top of a week’s holiday she was forced to soldier on at work. Giles Kemble had never been ill in his life, and had no qualms about risking Harriet’s germs. In an effort to avoid passing them on to Dido, Harriet went to bed the minute she got back to Bayswater every night, and persuaded her friend to go out as much as possible to avoid infection.
After plying the invalid with hot soup and fresh lemonade to wash down a new wonder cold cure she’d found, Dido reluctantly went out with friends, consoled by the fact that Harriet’s flat-hunting had to be put on hold for a while. ‘I’ll miss you terribly when you go,’ she said mournfully.
‘I’m not exactly emigrating,’ said Harriet, coughing. ‘We’ll see each other just the same.’
‘But not so much. I won’t see Tim so much, either,’ said Dido, refusing to be comforted. ‘You look awful. I’d better stay.’
Harriet vetoed that firmly. ‘You really don’t want this cold. In a heatwave it’s bad news, believe me.’
Tim rang at regular intervals, as did Alan Green and Paddy Moran, the ‘other men’ James Devereux had disapproved of so strongly. But there were no phone calls from James, which, she tried hard to convince herself, was a good thing. But when she closed her eyes she could still feel his body against hers, the scent and touch and taste of him. And not for the first time railed against a fate that had landed her in such an impossible situation.
By the end of the week Harriet’s cold had improved enough for her to spend social time with Dido. Tim was busy with the French artist whose pictures were about to be shown at the gallery, and he begged for a rain check when offered supper with two females to wait on him hand and foot.
The two females went out on the town instead. When they got back, a little earlier than usual in deference to the convalescent, Harriet was making for bed when Dido suddenly remembered James Devereux’s flat.
‘You were in bed when I got in that night,’ she reminded Harriet. ‘Then you went down with your cold, and never said a dicky-bird about the apartment Tim’s always banging on about.’
‘It’s just as amazing as he said, very twenty-first century,’ said Harriet, yawning widely.
‘You don’t sound terribly keen,’ commented Dido.
‘It’s not my kind of thing at all. Everything in the place is white, glass or steel—no carpets, no curtains, and just two blobs of colour on the walls.’
‘Are those the paintings Tim talked about?’
‘Incessantly.’ Harriet chuckled. ‘But to be fair they look exactly right. It’s no place to hang a Constable.’
‘And not your kind of place at all, obviously.’ Dido regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Funny, really. Tim would move in there tomorrow, given the chance.’
‘He won’t get it. James is unlikely to vacate his flat just because Tim fancies it.’
‘You seem a tad friendlier towards him these days, though,’ said Dido.
‘It’s a move towards better relations between us,’ said Harriet firmly.
Dido looked unconvinced. ‘Now I’ve actually met the man in the spectacular flesh I think you’d better take care the relations don’t get closer than they should be, my girl. Tim could get hurt.’
Harriet’s eyes flashed. ‘You know, Dido, you’d be surprised what enormous lengths I go to just to make sure that nothing’s allowed to hurt Tim, ever,’ she said tartly, and went off to bed.
Flat-hunting was a process Harriet found frustrating. Whenever she found so
mething even remotely suitable Dido, invited on viewings with Tim to keep her in the loop, invariably dismissed it as impossible. But eventually Harriet found a sixth-floor studio flat with City views in Clerkenwell, well within walking distance of the agency where she spent her working day.
Tim helped Harriet with the move, and next day flew off to Italy to stay in the Tuscan farmhouse James had bought years before. Wishing she could have gone with him as planned, Harriet spent the following week putting her new flat to rights in the evenings, and by day worked even harder than usual to make up for her forthcoming absence. And for the first time in their working relationship Giles Kemble astonished her by rewarding her with an early dinner in an expensive restaurant not far from her new flat. Harriet was about to leave the restaurant with Giles when her heart leapt as she saw James arriving with a trio of men. He shot a look at her companion, gave her a frosty, unsmiling nod and, suddenly stricken with acute indigestion, Harriet thanked Giles and trudged home to the flat to pack.
When Dido arrived later she looked unconvinced when Harriet insisted nothing was wrong. She helped with the packing, insisted on staying the night, and next morning even accompanied Harriet on the underground for the journey to Heathrow. When Harriet finally boarded the plane for Pisa later she settled back in her seat with a sigh of pure relief as the plane took off, determined to let nothing spoil the holiday she’d been looking forward to since winter.
When James Devereux had first set eyes on it La Fattoria had been on the verge of crumbling into ruin, but its rose-tinted stone walls and high square tower endeared the ancient farmhouse to him on sight. He went straight ahead with the purchase and immediately began the expensive, painstaking process of restoration, which was slow, due to business commitments that kept him from making all the supervising trips to Italy he would have liked. The restoration was only half finished when he met Madeleine, but her take on an Italian holiday was a five-star hotel in Positano. Whenever James proposed a visit to show her La Fattoria there was always some fashion shoot or social occasion that made it impossible for her to go. And by the time La Fattoria was ready for occupation, complete with swimming pool, the marriage was over and James spent his holidays there with Tim, or with friends, or alone.
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