When she brought it into the living room a little while later, he handed her a glass of red wine. ‘Can’t eat pasta without it, hope you don’t mind me opening your last bottle. I’ll replace it, I promise.’
She did mind – she wanted a clear head for work this afternoon – but she found herself clinking glasses and drinking a toast to ‘the future’.
As she served out the food, she couldn’t resist saying, ‘Congratulations. From what I saw last night, you actually have got a future – with our family, I mean. Amazing, considering what happened.’
He put down his glass, leaned across the table and tilted her chin with his fingertip. ‘Please don’t judge me – you don’t know my side of the story.’
She blushed and looked away from that intent gaze. ‘True. But what I do know makes me doubt whether I can ever trust you.’
‘Anna.’ He waited until she looked back at him. ‘I’ve trusted you since I was fourteen, and I’m confident you’ll come to trust me over time – otherwise I wouldn’t be here. So I’m going to share something that mustn’t go any further than these four walls.’ He settled back in his chair and sipped his wine, confident of her full attention. ‘How much do you know about Cléopatra Clé?’
Anna frowned. ‘Hardly anything. She’s a masseuse, she and Lisa got friendly at the gym and Walter’s become more and more besotted with her, I can’t imagine why.’
‘Whereas I can, she’s another Brandi Berette.’ He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘How do you think Brandi became a rich divorcee? That woman was Viagra on legs, in the right circumstances she’d get you to sign your life away.’ He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to banish an unpleasant memory. ‘Anyway, I’m doing some research on Cleo, finding out who she really is and what she’s up to. I can’t say much more at this stage, but I can assure you I’m working very hard to protect your interests.’
Anna toyed with her pasta. ‘That’s very thoughtful of you, William, but there’s really no need. Walter’s so proud of his heritage that he’d never sign Kellynch away in a moment of passion.’ She looked up at him with a wry smile. ‘Assuming he even gets that far – he may enjoy the thought but, believe me, he’s unlikely to be up to the deed itself. So don’t worry – you’re not going to lose out.’
Did she imagine it, or were his eyes suddenly hostile? ‘What do you mean?’ he said, softly.
‘Oh, come on – if Walter has a son, bang goes your chance of being Sir William Elliot, 9th Baronet. I realise having the title gives you no direct financial gain – it can’t be sold, or at least not legally – but it must come in handy when you want to impress. Whether it’s Mr Pargeter at the Cobb View Hotel, or potential investment clients, everyone seems to think that a title makes you more trustworthy. Except me, obviously.’
His eyes creased in a disarming grin. ‘Such a shame, because you’re the one person I want to impress. Guess I’ll just have to come up with a different strategy.’ He didn’t elaborate, but tucked into his pasta with relish.
As they ate, Anna thought over what William had said. Walter might not have ready cash, but he had two things of value: the title and Kellynch. As things stood, only William could inherit the title – but Kellynch was Walter’s to dispose of as he wished. Even in its current run-down state, it would be worth several million pounds to the right buyer.
William interrupted her thoughts. ‘Let me put a couple of scenarios to you. One is that Walter simply carries on doing whatever he’s doing – or thinking of doing – with Cleo. From what you say, there’s no danger of any children coming along or Walter handing Kellynch over to her.’ A pause, while Anna nodded in agreement. He went on, ‘So, apart from him lavishing money he hasn’t got on massages and rooms at The Royal Crescent, there’d be no lasting harm done.’ He poured them both some more wine. ‘But another scenario is – what if she persuaded him to marry her?’
‘Impossible,’ Anna said. And it was – wasn’t it?
‘In what way?’
‘He just wouldn’t. How could he marry her after – after–’
‘After Irina?’ William raised one eyebrow. ‘I might just as well ask myself why a woman like you is still single.’
Anna got abruptly to her feet and took her plate into the kitchen.
His voice followed her. ‘The answer in both cases is “Difficult to understand, but it happens.” Leaving your love life aside for the moment, I don’t see how Cleo can lose by marrying Walter. She’ll make sure there’s a crippling prenup agreement in the event of a divorce, but otherwise she’ll have plenty of opportunity to change his mind about selling Kellynch to the highest bidder. And there’s the added bonus that, if she miraculously has a son and the DNA tests prove it’s his, the child’s well and truly legitimate.’
Anna silently fetched his coat – not forgetting his scarf – and handed it to him.
‘You may not like what I’m saying, Anna, but it’s not beyond the realms of possibility. Just think – a heritage that’s been built up over centuries, poured down the drain in a matter of months.’
‘I will think about it, but right now I need to prepare for my lectures tomorrow.’ She forced a smile. ‘Sorry, I know I’m being rude.’
He stood up, put on his coat and scarf and knocked back the last of his wine. Then he reached out and cupped her face in his hands. ‘No, you’re just being honest, very refreshing. And thank you for lunch – wonderful food and even better company. To show my appreciation, let me take you out to dinner on Friday night.’
She stepped quickly away. ‘I’m out with Jenny – a talk and a book signing at Molland’s.’
‘Which will be finished by quarter to eight, I saw the flyer on your notice board in the kitchen.’ He paused, as if considering something; then his face brightened. ‘Look, I’d love to meet Jenny and Tom – why don’t I take them out on Friday too? While you’re at the signing, I could pick up Tom – he must have a folding wheelchair that’ll fit in the Bentley – then come to Molland’s for you and Jenny.’ He moved towards the door. ‘Shall we call on them now and see what they say?’
She found it so easy to say yes, put the door on the snib and go downstairs to introduce him to Jenny and Tom. For a start, it got him out of her flat. And she felt much more relaxed about dinner for four than dinner for two. And finally, it would fill a void – because there was no chance of spending the rest of Friday evening with Rick; no chance at all.
Chapter Forty-One
When Rick turned up at Frenchay Hospital in Bristol on Thursday afternoon, he was surprised to find Roger waiting for him in Reception.
‘Something you need to know,’ Roger said gruffly, ‘and Lou’s not in a fit state to tell you herself.’
Rick swallowed. ‘What’s happened? Has she had a relapse?’
‘Good God, no – sorry, I should have chosen my words more carefully.’ Roger passed his hand wearily across his forehead. ‘She may just be going through a phase, part of the recovery process, but …’
‘But what?’
The other man sighed. ‘She doesn’t want you to visit any more.’
Silence; then a guarded, ‘Why?’
‘It upsets her, reminds her of the accident, that sort of thing.’
‘Is that all?’
Roger frowned. ‘Isn’t that enough?’
‘What I mean is – is there another reason?’ He paused. ‘Like James Benwick?’
‘Ah, so you know.’ A relieved smile. ‘That makes things easier.’
Even though it was what Rick had expected, even hoped, something flipped in his brain. Easier? Who for? He’d been through twelve days of hell – guilt, remorse, worry, frustration; sleepless nights, agonising waits, dreading each call on his mobile in case it was Roger or Barbara with bad news. Fending off people’s comments at events – usually sympathetic, but not always; giving any media reports a wide berth, to avoid raising his blood pressure.
And now his services were no longer required. What if he’d actually been i
n love with Lou – did they have any idea how he’d be feeling now?
He took a long steadying breath. The main person to consider in all this was Lou. She’d been through more than any of them, and she was going to be all right.
‘It does make things easier, doesn’t it?’ he said at last. ‘Still, now that I’m here, can I see her for a minute?’
He followed Roger into the lift, up a couple of floors, along a corridor and, finally, into a little room where Lou was sitting in an armchair, looking through a sheaf of papers. He sat on the chair next to her, while Roger hovered in the doorway.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How are you doing?’
‘Good, thanks.’ Her speech was still slow, but he noticed that her mouth was less lopsided than on Sunday. ‘This is much nearer for Mum and Dad, and Henrietta comes every evening.’ A pause. ‘Yesterday she brought Anna and Mona with her – I’d forgotten how awful Mona is.’ She smiled, and for a second or two she was the old Lou. ‘James sent me some beautiful poems this morning. Do you want to read them?’
‘No, but I’m glad you like them.’
She stared across at him and her eyes filled with tears. ‘I wish you’d written me a poem or something.’
He shifted uneasily in his seat. ‘I’m not a poetry sort of guy.’
‘What sort of a guy are you, Rick?’
That was a very good question, and one he didn’t know how to answer at this precise moment. So he merely said, with an apologetic grin, ‘Not the right sort for you, but I hope James is. Goodbye, Lou.’ And he raised her hand briefly to his lips.
A few minutes later he walked out of Frenchay Hospital, his step far lighter than when he’d walked in.
Chapter Forty-Two
Mona’s text came late on Thursday evening, just as Anna was getting ready for bed: ‘Know why you haven’t heard from James B? Ring me.’
Anna almost didn’t bother; she’d never expected James to call her, and she sensed that Mona was just looking to score points. But any news about James might also involve Lou, and Rick. So, with great reluctance, she phoned Mona.
‘Thought you wouldn’t be able to resist!’ her sister said, triumphantly. ‘But first things first. Henrietta and I are coming to Bath for the weekend – we’re trying to get into The Royal Crescent, but it doesn’t look too hopeful. You won’t see much of us, I’m afraid – I’ve told Walter we can’t make tea with Lady Dalrymple.’
‘Lucky you.’ The previous day, Anna had come home to a handwritten invitation – hand-delivered, she suspected, by the ever-attentive William. It requested the pleasure of her company in the Garden Villa Suite at The Royal Crescent on Saturday afternoon, followed by the theatre at night. Lady Dalrymple had apparently taken three boxes containing eight seats: herself, the four Elliots, Henrietta, William and Cleo. If it hadn’t been Chekhov’s Three Sisters, she would have given it a miss …
‘… at the theatre, though,’ Mona was saying, ‘because we’ll be very visible – always a reason to buy a decent dress – and of course I want to meet William. The rest of the time Henrietta and I’ll be either at the shops or in the spa – I can’t wait!’
Anna made what she hoped were enthusiastic noises. She knew better than to ask about James directly – Mona would use delaying tactics to great effect – so she moved the conversation on to marginally safer ground. ‘How did Ollie’s concert go last night?’
‘Oh, it was bearable, I suppose. He should have done the solo, of course – that teacher doesn’t seem to realise who I am! Instead it was the son of one of the school governors, very average – and you should have seen what the mother was wearing!’
As Mona paused for breath, Anna said, ‘I’m sure Ollie will have his chance, if he wants it.’ Then, before Mona could retaliate, ‘What’s the latest on Lou?’
‘Ah.’ Anna could almost hear her sister settling herself more comfortably. ‘That’s partly why I’m bringing Henrietta to Bath. I’ve been telling Charles right from the start that Rick and Lou would never last – and today’s just proved it.’ She took a gulp of something – wine, no doubt – and continued, ‘You know James Benwick’s been visiting, and on Sunday Rick bumped into him? Well, that seems to have made Lou’s mind up and she told him today that she didn’t want him to visit any more.’
‘Who – James?’
‘No, you idiot, Rick. And now Barbara says Lou and James are madly in love and he’s written more poetry in the past week than he did in the twelve years he was with Julie. Having read one or two of the latest efforts on his website, all I can say is – no wonder she left him.’
‘How – how is Rick?’
A scornful laugh. ‘Bloody relieved, I imagine. But you’re at his book signing tomorrow night, aren’t you? You can find out for yourself.’
Anna closed her eyes; she wouldn’t be doing anything where Rick was concerned until she was sure … ‘But is it really over – or is Lou just playing hard to get?’
‘That’d be a first, wouldn’t it? No, it’s over, Roger was there when Rick said goodbye to her. He said himself that he wasn’t the right man for her.’ Mona added, in that bossy tone that Anna knew so well, ‘So, you find out the lie of the land with him, then I can decide the best approach for Henrietta. Maybe a cosy little lunch on Sunday where they can help each other de-stress after the trauma of the last two weeks – I don’t suppose you can recommend anywhere nice and romantic? No, probably not.’
Anna bit her lip; couldn’t Mona see that her interfering would do more harm than good? ‘But I don’t think he’ll stay in Bath after the signing, he’s more likely to go straight to Uppercross and spend some time with his sister.’
‘Oh, didn’t you know? The Crofts are coming to Bath for the weekend – Rick’s treat for their wedding anniversary or something – so they’re meeting up with him there.’
Anna sat through the rest of the call in a daze. So much to think about: such as why on earth Lou would want James instead of Rick … and whether she could believe Mona’s assurances that Rick was OK …
But, most important of all, how he’d react when she came face to face with him tomorrow night.
Chapter Forty-Three
Typical – at half-past six, just as Dave dropped Rick at the top of Milsom Street, it started to rain. But he brushed aside Dave’s offer to pick him up later and insisted he had the night off. He wanted to give his plan every chance of succeeding.
An umbrella would come in handy, and it seemed that luck was on his side; because, as he walked down the street to Molland’s, he passed a shoe shop. Like most shops these days, it had diversified into other things; five minutes later, he’d bought a telescopic black umbrella – which he immediately put to good use. Outside the bookshop, however, he wasted several minutes trying to fold it neatly enough to fit inside its silly little sleeve. In the end he gave up and stuffed the sleeve into his coat pocket.
Inside, a tall blonde girl – he didn’t quite catch her name – ushered him up a narrow twisting staircase to the top floor. There were already twenty or so people there; no Anna yet. He gave the audience a vague smile, handed his damp coat to the blonde and propped his umbrella against a nearby table. The girl made him a cup of excellent black coffee and went through the format: introduction by the shop manager, talk from Rick for twenty minutes or so, then signing the books – she indicated the table piled high with copies of Sex in the Sea.
He nodded and responded with ‘Yes’ and ‘Fine’, watching every new arrival out of the corner of his eye. All women, but no Anna among them. Maybe she hadn’t got a ticket at all; or maybe she’d torn it up after he’d stormed out of her flat. Shit, he’d been so confident she’d come tonight, in spite of everything.
Three minutes to seven, and there were only two seats spare at the back. The manager approached, cleared his throat, introduced himself as Tim – or was it Jim? Just then, two women hurried in; one a stranger with short red spiky hair, and the other – the other more familiar than his own heartbeat
.
At last she was here and, even though she wouldn’t meet his gaze, he felt his spirits soar. Now he could put his plan into action.
‘If he keeps on staring in our direction,’ Jenny murmured beside her, ‘I think I might faint – in the hope that he’ll rush over and give me the kiss of life.’
Anna risked glancing up; but now Rick’s attention was on the manager as he introduced the event. She had to admit that he looked a lot better than when she’d last seen him, pacing the floor of her flat; if he was distraught at being dumped for the second time in almost as many weeks, it certainly didn’t show … And he must have got caught in the rain because his hair was curling at the ends, as it used to if he’d been swimming. When he started his talk, he took off his jacket and she worried that he was feeling feverish; although it was warm – there weren’t usually so many people crammed into this room … But no one else seemed to share her concern. When he eased open the top two buttons of his shirt, a little expectant sigh rippled through the audience – making him stop short, with an embarrassed smile. So if he wasn’t feverish he was certainly nervous; and yet giving lectures and talks must be second nature to him, as it was to her.
She made an effort to rein in her thoughts and listen. He was talking about the French angel fish, something about it being fiercely territorial during the spawning cycle. Then he moved on to describe – in graphic detail, much to the audience’s delight – the antics of the deep sea angler fish: how the male tracked his chosen mate and literally joined himself to her, their skin fusing and their bodies sharing a common blood supply. Not surprisingly, he talked at length about sea horses and sea dragons, their courtship and mating rituals, and the strange role reversal where the male looked after the fertilised eggs: the sea dragon carried them embedded on his tail, the sea horse in a special pouch on the front of his abdomen. An impromptu demonstration – involving his jacket and some plastic balls left over from a children’s event – went down particularly well.
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