Millie’s pleasure was momentarily abated by the thought that another of Haxby’s lovers had also worn the same dress. The words lamb to the slaughter crossed her mind. He would hardly seduce her in a restaurant full of people but the idea that these same people – the staff at least – would be used to him courting many other young women in public was too painful to contemplate. And afterwards, when they returned to their rooms … Millie tried not to think of it.
With a matching scarf around her shoulders, as some security against the low cut of the neckline, and her hair brushed to a luscious shine, she eventually made her way downstairs to the restaurant, to find Haxby waiting.
Looking devastatingly handsome in a black tuxedo, he drew admiring glances from many of the women present. Oblivious to the equally admiring glances she received from the men, Millie joined him.
“Well …” he said, as he helped her to her seat, “I’m seldom rendered speechless, but for once I don’t know what to say.” As she sat down, and he pushed her chair under her, she felt his mouth against her hair, sending a thrill through her whole body. “You look exquisite,” he whispered. “Like a bride, in fact.”
Millie blushed, but any awkwardness she felt in replying was, thankfully, taken up with the process of ordering dinner.
“And champagne, I think,” Haxby said to the waiter, closing his menu after they had chosen.
“My father brought me here once for afternoon tea,” said Millie, just for something to say.
“Everyone should have tea at the Ritz at least once in their lifetime,” said Haxby. “My mother used to bring me, whenever we visited Britain.”
“You weren’t brought up here?”
“No, my family were old colonials. I was born in the West Indies. Then my father became an ambassador, and we moved around a lot.”
“Is that why you seldom stay in one place for long now?”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” said Haxby. “There isn’t anywhere I can really call home.”
“Yet your loyalties are to Britain.”
“Of course. One never forgets the mother country. When I’m too old for travelling, I fancy I’ll move to Kent. Keep a few goats.” Millie laughed at the idea of Haxby as a farmer. “Oh, you may mock, young Millie, but a man has to have something to keep him going into his old age.”
“You don’t think you’ll ever marry then?” Millie regretted asking the moment she said it.
“I’d make a terrible husband,” he replied. “After all, what woman would want to spend her whole life travelling? They want a home, children, with a grocer on the corner.”
“Your mother travelled … from what you say.”
“My mother was – is - an exceptional woman, and there are very few like her.”
“Where is she now? Still travelling?”
“No, she owns a farm in Kent. Keeps a few goats.” He smiled. “Honestly. That’s why I know it’s where I’ll retire.”
“Meanwhile you just want excitement and glamour.”
“Oh glamour isn’t worth having. It’s too transient and the public’s idea of it changes from year to year. But excitement, yes, most certainly. My biggest fear is boredom.”
Millie was tempted to ask him why on earth he was sitting in the Ritz with her. Instead she lapsed into silence for a while as they ate their starter. “Mr Haxby…”
“I think we can dispense with that now. Call me Jim.”
She could not explain to him that it was the last thing she wanted to call him. Had he not told her that women called him that when they became intimate with him? To do so would be to admit that she wanted to be on those terms with him. To feel his arms around her, and to know how it felt to …
“Do you really care about clearing my father’s name? Or is this whole thing just your way of getting me into your bed?” The question came out far more savagely than Millie intended. It was the only way she could armour herself against his searching eyes, which appeared to be looking right through the thin material she wore.
“Now what brought that on?” To Millie’s surprise he laughed. It made her feel even worse, because he clearly saw her as a thing of amusement.
“It was Mrs Turner telling me how often she’d taken care of the ladies you bring to the Ritz. Really, I wonder that so few of them possess the correct attire.”
Haxby threw down his knife and fork, causing several other diners to look over at them. He hissed across the table, “Millie, despite what you obviously think, I am not in the habit of bringing women here to seduce them. I work for a government agency. I have often had call to bring new female agents here, and coach them in how to behave in such surroundings. It’s a fact of our work that those women willing to take on the danger are not always able to fit into any society. Do you understand?” He said the last words as though speaking to a ten-year old.
“Yes,” she said, her head bowed in shame.
“I assure you that I have no intention of seducing you, now or at any other time.”
He might just as well have slapped her in the face. To learn that his intentions were entirely honourable would have been one thing. It would have removed some of the strain of being alone with him. But to learn that he in no way found her desirable, or ever would, filled her with despair.
How she managed to eat the food the waiter placed in front of her, she did not know. At the back of her mind was the idea that it would be sinful to waste such expensive food. She ate mechanically, because it was something to do that prevented her from having to speak to him.
They were eating dessert when a man arrived and joined them at their table.
“This is Mister Barraclough. He’s a private detective,” Haxby informed Millie. His manner had returned to normal, as if the previous exchange had not taken place. “Barraclough, this is Miss Millicent Woodridge.”
Barraclough was a coarse looking man, who looked as uncomfortable in the Ritz as Millie felt. His stiff collar had left a red mark on his neck, which he kept rubbing. He was a man who clearly had little time for pleasantries, merely nodding at Millie. “We found Vasily, but unfortunately he gave us the slip,” Barraclough explained. “Ran into a music hall, and got lost amongst the crowd.”
“So you’ve no idea where he is now?” said Haxby.
“Oh yes, we’ve managed to track him to a house in Wimbledon. I’ve just come along to ask what you want to do next. Don’t worry, one of my men is still watching.”
“What have you managed to find out about him?”
Barraclough took out a shabby notebook and began reading from its pages. “He’s only worked for Chlomsky for a few weeks. Was hired by some agency abroad, when Chlomsky’s own valet got himself run over by a car.”
“Was it an accident?” asked Millie, her mind turning to ideas she could not yet fathom.
“There’s no way we’ll ever find out, Miss. It happened at the Embassy, which as you know, is sovereign land. They keep things to themselves.”
Haxby called the waiter for the bill, and said, “I’ll come along presently, Barraclough. Get back there and make sure you don’t lose him again.” He turned to Millie and said, “I’ll see you to your room.”
“Am I not coming with you? I thought you wanted me to identify him.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary now. Besides, I don’t want to put you in any danger.”
Millie was about to say that it was hardly worth her making the trip to London, but thought better of it. Clearly Haxby was disappointed with her. She wondered if he had meant to seduce her, as a means of amusement to make the time pass more quickly, and he was angry that she had seen through his plans.
“Will you let me know what happens?” asked Millie, when she reached her bedroom door. She stopped and turned to face him. Haxby was a few feet behind her, having fallen into a contemplative silence. “With Vasily, I mean.”
“Of course. I’ll come and see you when I get back. If you’re sure I won’t be compromising you.”
; “I’m a big girl,” said Millie, not entirely sure that was true. With him she felt like a silly schoolgirl. He was so self-assured, so arrogant in many ways. “I can look after myself.”
“Can you, Millie?” he asked, his eyes searching hers. He pulled her into his arms, the heat from his hands searing through her thin dress. Then his lips were on hers, and he crushed her to him. All the fight went out of her as she succumbed to his touch. “Making love to you would be very easy,” he murmured against her throat. It should have made her come to her senses. She should have slapped his face and punished him for his arrogance. Instead she put her head against his shoulder, her lips trying to form an invitation she could not put into words. Little did she know that the invite was already written in her body, and the way it yielded to him. She wanted him to go on kissing her, and for the fingers that stroked her spine to keep working their magic. “I have to go,” he said, kissing her again, then abruptly pushing her away. “I’ll come to you later.”
It was only after a few minutes alone in her hotel room that Millie came to her senses. What had he said? That making love to her would be easy? Was that what he thought of her? Her face burned with shame over her own behaviour. For a few moments she had lost her senses, and had he come into her room with her at that time, she had no doubt she would have given in to his desires. She felt grateful that he had to leave. It gave her time to regain her strength.
Feeling she had no choice but to leave before he returned, Millie quickly changed her clothes and snatched up the simple bag of items she had brought with her. She hoped that he would take care of paying for the room, though doubtless he would feel he had a bad return on his investment.
“How can you have behaved so stupidly?” she said to her reflection in the mirror. “Falling for his line about training women agents!” It was no doubt the line he gave to all the women he seduced. That and the fact he did not really require her help in finding Vasily. He had seen an opportunity and taken it. That was all.
Where to go, that was the problem. She felt too ashamed to return to Mrs Oakengate at the Fazebys, even if she could get a train. The late hour at which she arrived back would damn her in their eyes, and even if she were to stress there had been no untoward behaviour on her part, it was possible they would believe that Haxby had used her and cast her out straight away. Respectable girls did not return home in the early hours of the morning. At the back of her mind lay the truth that respectable girls did not go off to London with practical strangers, and end up spending the night, so either way she would have to face their disapproval.
She thought of the little town to the north of London, where she had lived with her father. They had some friends there, people who, even after his death, looked upon her kindly. There was a boarding house in the market square, and she had some money in the bank, not having much cause to spend the wage Mrs Oakengate paid her. Suddenly the thought of returning home consumed her. After her father’s death, she had been relieved to move away. Now she missed her home. She remembered Alex Markham’s offer to help her financially. Perhaps, she thought, she should not be so proud. Not that she would give in and marry him.
She knew now that she would never marry. Her heart and soul were with Haxby, despite the fact that he only saw her as a conquest. Nowhere on earth would she find a man who excited her as he did, or with whom she would fall as deeply in love. Better to be alone than settle for second best, either by being Haxby’s mistress, or by marrying another man.
Not for the first time, Millie missed her father. When they had each other, life seemed easy. Now she was struck by how completely alone she was, and she fought to stop the tears that had been building up for several days. She sighed impatiently, annoyed with herself for acting like such a weak-willed girl. She promised herself that when she returned home to her own town, she would once again find the strength she used to have. But first she had to leave the Ritz.
It did not occur to her, until she was in the lift, how hard it would be to walk away from Haxby. She had thought that once she was resolved to go, her decision would make it easier. But every step away from him was like a dagger in her heart. And not just from him, but from the situation regarding the Parker-Trents. Her loyalty to her father tore her in two. On the one hand, she failed him in not clearing his name. On the other hand, if she stayed, then she might shame his memory in other ways. She would not be the daughter he had raised; a girl with a sense of dignity and decorum, who would not succumb to the charms of a roué, no matter how fascinating and handsome he was.
She had walked along several streets, in the night air, before she realised that there was a third choice. She could return to the hotel, but refuse Haxby’s advances, insisting he merely tell her what he had found out about Vasily, and his part in her father’s downfall. She remembered his sensual touch, and her resolve failed her briefly. Then she turned and began walking back to the Ritz. She was a human being, not an animal, prone to baser instincts. She would face Haxby, as an adult with a mind of her own and not a silly schoolgirl who ran away at the idea of being seduced. She would clear her father’s name, whilst still honouring his memory.
Her resolve became a blur as an arm reached out to her from the darkness, viciously grabbing her around the neck and pressing a sweet, sickly smelling cloth to her lips. She was vaguely aware of a familiar voice shouting, at which point everything fell into blackness.
Chapter Eight
The first thing of which Millie became aware was the morning sun streaming through bright curtains. Her second discovery, on trying to move her arms, was that she was not restrained in any way. All that covered her was a soft eiderdown. Finally, when she tried to move the rest of her body, a searing pain filled her head. It was then she realised that a bandage bound her forehead.
Still, sleepy, she dozed slightly, opening her eyes when she heard voices.
“She doesn’t look like the others.”
“She’s not like the others.” She knew the second voice. It was Haxby. Her mind became a whirl of confusion, and she kept her eyes closed so he would not realise she could hear him. Had he abducted her? No, that did not make sense. She had been at his mercy all the time they were on the train, then again at the Ritz. Why would he need to abduct her from a late night street? Unless he wanted to be sure no one could connect him to her abduction. He had an alibi in that he left the hotel at around ten o’clock to go with Barraclough.
No, none of it made sense, and it hurt her, both physically and emotionally to think of the consequences of it being true.
“If you’re lying there wondering if I kidnapped you, the answer is no,” he said. Millie opened her eyes and looked up at him. He seemed taller than ever, towering above the bed. Next to him stood a woman of indiscriminate age. Nearly as tall as Haxby and with grey hair coiled on her head, and wearing an old-fashioned morning dress, she might have been seventy, yet her eyes held the energy of a twenty year old; bright and intelligent, and, Millie guessed, missing very little.
Millie tried to get up, only to fall back, as dizziness overwhelmed her. “Be careful,” Haxby said, gently, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You hit your head on a pillar box when you fell.”
“What happened?” She tentatively touched her forehead, and met a large and very painful bump.
“Vasily managed to get out of the house we were watching without being seen. Luckily I was on my way back to the Ritz when I saw him attack you.”
“But why?”
“Enough questions for now,” said the woman. “You’ll tire yourself out, child. James Thomas Haxby, the very least you can after turning up at my home in the early hours is to introduce me properly.”
“Of course. Where are my manners? Mother, this is Millie … Miss Millicent Woodridge … Millie, this is my mother, Helen Haxby.”
Millie tried to raise her hand, but once again was overcome with weakness.
“Don’t worry about the formalities, child,” said Helen, leaning over and patting Milli
e’s arm. “I’m very glad to meet you. Now, Jim, let the girl rest, while you come downstairs and tell me what on earth is going on.”
“I’d rather like to stay with Millie, mother.”
“I’m sure you would, but I’m still old-fashioned enough to believe that a young lady should never be alone in her bedroom with a man. You should certainly not be alone with this particular young lady, anyway.” With that, she left the room, with Haxby following meekly behind. Millie thought she heard him mutter something about ‘Why not her?’ Millie could have told him. Despite Helen’s kindness, which probably came down to no more than good breeding, she no doubt disapproved of her son being associated with the daughter of a traitor.
She would have liked to go downstairs with them, to learn for herself what was happening, and why Vasily had tried to snatch her, but finding herself once again thrown into despair about her status, she preferred to pull the eiderdown over her head and shut the cruel world out.
Millie eventually joined them downstairs in the evening. Whatever Helen Haxby’s private misgivings might have been, she hid them well, treating Millie like an honoured guest.
“Are you comfortable, child? Would you prefer a chair nearer to the fire?”
“I’m quite well, thank you,” said Millie, lost in the corner of a large overstuffed sofa. Haxby sat next to her, closer than her fevered emotions could cope with.
For some reason, Millie had imagined Helen Haxby’s home to be a smallholding, with geese and chickens in the back yard. The reality was a Georgian manor of immense proportions. She had been given a quick tour of the house and grounds. The land that James described as a ‘farm’ probably ran to several hundred acres.
“Will you tell me what happened now?” she said to Haxby, as she sipped a cup of tea and nibbled on the slice of buttered toast that Helen had insisted on making for her. “Why did Vasily try to abduct me?”
“I was hoping that you could tell me that,” said Haxby. “I thought it might be because he thought Hortense Parker Trent had managed to tell you something, but you’ve had plenty of opportunities to impart that information to others since her death.”
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