Rick twisted his mouth into a smile and left the box. He’d been haunted by the Grey Lady all right; but she was flesh and blood rather than a ghost.
At first, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the couple in the box opposite, following every contact between them, almost or actual, with a sort of macabre compulsion. However, he could detect nothing more than the odd brush of hands – apparently accidental as they consulted the programme – and an occasional exchange of words, initiated by the man. Just as well; if there’d been anything else, he’d have been over there in a flash and lining himself up for a charge of grievous bodily harm. Not the sort of publicity Guy probably had in that plan of his …
Eventually, reassured that Anna seemed far more absorbed in the play than in the jerk next to her, he’d switched his gaze to the stage. Ironically, what was happening there only served to remind him of her: three bloody sisters – and the middle one feeling like she’d thrown her life away, at eighteen, on the wrong man.
But now his instinct was to find Anna again, and recapture that feeling of happiness tinged with misery. Or was it misery tinged with happiness? Not that it mattered. All he knew was that he had to be with her, and pain or pleasure was pretty irrelevant.
Forging his way down the stairs, pushing through the crush of people, he saw her before she saw him. She was standing where they’d met earlier, midway between the two staircases – hemmed in by both sisters, the father and The Godmother. The jerk wasn’t with her, thank God.
It was the first time he’d seen the three sisters together and he couldn’t help comparing them. Despite their different colouring, Mona and Lisa wore the same vibrant make-up and bored expressions. Both good-looking women but, in his opinion, overrated – like their namesake on display in the Louvre. Next to them, Anna was a unique and infinitely more subtle work of art, with a value beyond price. And how desperately he wanted a private viewing …
She still hadn’t noticed him; in fact, she seemed to be having a heated discussion with The Godmother. For once, though, he was grateful to be recognised by complete strangers. Heads turned, women squealed and gasped, ‘Rick Wentworth!’ – and Anna looked up at last. He held her gaze, vaguely aware of The Godmother’s Medusa-like stare.
‘Rick darling, over here!’ Mona shrilled in a far-too-loud voice, leaving no one in any doubt that they were on first-name terms.
He saw Anna press her fingers to her temples, as if trying to ward off a headache. Perfectly understandable – ten years ago, he’d threatened two of the people there with violence if their paths ever crossed again. Not explicitly, of course; ‘I won’t be responsible for my actions,’ had been the gist, minus expletives.
The Russell woman certainly looked as though the feeling was still mutual. But, to his amazement, the father’s ridiculously wrinkle-free face stiffened in a rictus grin. Bemused, Rick found himself going up to the man he’d once wanted to castrate – assuming that someone hadn’t already beaten him to it – and, God forbid, shaking his hand. It wasn’t a pleasant experience – rather like attempting to catch a jellyfish – and, thankfully, it was over in a split second. Then, taking her father’s lead, Lisa leaned forward and brushed his cheek coldly with her lips; at which point Mona, not to be outdone, kissed him full on the mouth. No kisses forthcoming from anyone else, however. The Godmother turned pointedly away, while Anna–
Where was Anna?
Her father was speaking in that pompous voice of his, each vowel mutilated beyond recognition. ‘… a very dear friend of mine, Lady Dalrymple – a dowager viscountess, in case you didn’t know.’ He addressed the floor, as if he couldn’t bear to look at Rick any longer than was absolutely necessary. ‘She’s here tonight, but don’t embarrass her by introducing yourself. It’s best if you make an appointment through me.’
‘An appointment?’ Rick repeated, blankly. Where had Anna gone? To meet the jerk? Bit of a coincidence that they were both missing …
‘To sign her book, that’s all,’ the father said, dismissively. ‘Nothing you can’t handle, I’m sure.’
This time, the words sank in, and the condescension behind them was unmistakable. ‘I hope it’s just a case of making my mark,’ Rick said, through clenched teeth. ‘Writing my name could be more of a problem – simple, uneducated peasant that I am.’ And he spun on his heel and went, before he did something he wouldn’t really regret at all.
The bell rang; five minutes until curtain up. Anna, waiting at the entrance to the box where Rick had been sitting, bit her lip; he must come soon, surely? Then she heard his footsteps approaching and tried to decipher his mood – man in a hurry, or man in a strop? One look at him confirmed it was both, and his face darkened even more when he saw her. She put her hand out, tentatively, but he stepped back out of reach.
‘Where the hell did you get to?’ His eyes flashed his resentment. ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere, and now the sodding play’s about to start.’
‘Rick, please can we talk–’
‘We’re talking now, aren’t we?’
‘I meant later.’ She hesitated. ‘I thought we could go for a drink somewhere–’
‘Won’t your boyfriend object?’
‘Who?’
‘The man who interrupted us in Lyme Regis. The man who interrupted us last night. The man who – with his sidekick, your delightful godmother – interrupted us downstairs. See some sort of pattern emerging?’
‘Oh, you mean William.’ She smiled, eager to set the record straight. ‘He’s just a friend – a family friend, actually. Ages ago, my mother and I spent a month with him and his mother in Lyme. And I hadn’t seen him since – until that morning when I was having breakfast with you. Turns out Lyme is as much a special place for him as it is for me. So we–’
‘Spare me the details.’ His face shuttered. ‘Have you got a painting of Lyme at home, too? Not relegated to the living room, of course, like that other one. Above your bed, perhaps? Oh yes, a special place for “a special place”!’
She stared up at him. ‘You’re jealous, aren’t you? Jealous of William!’
He glared back. ‘Have I got reason to be?’
It was almost funny; how could he think … ‘No, you haven’t, but that’s not the point. You can’t trust me, or anyone else, because – because you can’t trust yourself!’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘Work it out for yourself. And when you’ve done that, then maybe we can talk about the future.’
He looked straight at her, but his eyes were empty. ‘We had a future ten years ago, and you threw it away,’ he said quietly. ‘Let’s just leave it at that.’
Without another word, he turned and walked off.
Chapter Forty-Nine
‘Oh, Annie …’ Rick woke on a sharp, shuddering breath and sat bolt upright, his mind groping to piece everything together …
Hadn’t she followed him out of the theatre, stolen up behind him and slipped her arms round his waist? He’d looked down at those small pale hands, covered them possessively with his own, then turned and gathered her to him, whispering brokenly, ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ The silver-grey wool dress was so soft and warm he could have stayed there forever … But then he noticed it was raining, and he’d forgotten to bring his umbrella. So he took off his jacket, wrapped it carefully round her, bent his head and kissed her. And it was like being on the boat with her all over again – kissing without needing to hold back …
The next thing he knew, they were here – in this room – and he was peeling off her damp dress … Except that it was more like his bedroom in Australia, and he was telling her that her dress would dry in no time if he spread it on the veranda. She laughed and asked what she could wear while it dried, and he said simply, ‘Me.’
Now, in the grey morning light of an English autumn, he risked a glance at the stark white pillow beside him. Empty, as he’d feared it would be; and smooth, to show she’d never been here at all. Because this ha
d just been a dream, an achingly vivid dream. And the worst thing was – yesterday he’d had the distinct feeling that he could have made it a beautiful reality. She’d sought him out, looked at him in that old familiar way, made him think – oh, lots of things, but mainly that she wasn’t interested in anyone else.
Then, during the interval, he’d lost it. Big time.
He wanted to blame her father, or The Godmother. They hadn’t changed in ten bloody years, despite the father’s token attempt at civility. But he hadn’t changed either, had he? Same old knee-jerk reaction, defiance before discretion, letting what other people thought of him get under his skin …
You can’t trust me, or anyone else, because you can’t trust yourself.
Of course he trusted himself, and he trusted others. At work, he was always giving post-grads more responsibility if he thought they were up to it. With personal relationships it was different, he had to admit; he’d never let himself get close to a woman since Anna. So in that sense she was right: he couldn’t trust himself.
And yet here he was, wanting a second chance with her, telling her that he was always open to persuasion; but that meant he had to be prepared to take a risk.
First, though, he had to communicate a slight change of plan to his sister. He reached for his mobile, selected her number and counted the rings – three, four, five. ‘Sophie?’
‘What’s wrong?’ Half-asleep, she still managed to sound anxious about him.
He sighed down the phone. ‘Why do you think something’s wrong?’
‘It’s very early, you must have something on your mind.’
‘And you’re on holiday – sorry, I forgot.’
She chuckled. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get my revenge. A few extras on the hotel bill, maybe. Anyway, you’d better tell me what’s bothering you.’
‘It’s no big deal. Guy told me last night that Molland’s are arranging another event in Bath. It’s a week on Friday, in the evening, so I won’t be coming to you until the Saturday morning. I’ll make sure I’m in good time for the opening ceremony, of course.’
‘You could still come to us on Friday night, couldn’t you? The event won’t finish that late.’
‘No, I – I need to sort something out here.’
Her tone hardened. ‘Something female, I take it?’
‘What a nasty, suspicious mind you’ve got. But you’re spot on.’
‘I hope you’re not hitting on some poor girl just before you go back to Australia.’ In the background, he heard Ed telling her to leave her brother alone. ‘That’s Ed, siding with you as usual,’ she went on, adding waspishly, ‘Did you stay awake at the theatre?’
‘I did – but I’d have been better off asleep,’ he said heavily. ‘And I pissed Guy off because I left at the interval.’ His apologetic text claiming illness had apparently been less than convincing. ‘Look, I need to go, Dave and I are leaving shortly. I’ll phone you later, when I get to Leeds.’
And he had someone else to phone later, too; but there was no point in sharing that with Sophie. At least – not yet.
‘You seem to be screwing everything up at the moment,’ Mona announced later that morning, as she flounced into Anna’s flat. Henrietta followed, slanting a sympathetic look at Anna.
Anna shut the door reluctantly behind them. She might have enjoyed this unexpected visit if Mona was in a better mood; or, more likely, if Henrietta had come on her own. ‘I have no idea what you mean. Do you want a coffee?’
‘We’re not staying.’ Mona flung herself on the sofa and narrowed her eyes at Anna, while Henrietta hovered between them. ‘Let me get this straight. Sophie Croft told you yesterday morning that Rick was going away today, but you didn’t think to mention it until last night, when it was too late?’
‘Too late for what?’ Henrietta put in.
Mona ignored her. ‘It’s not as if you’ve got a chance with him yourself, we’ve been through that already. So why spoil someone else’s chances?’ She jerked her head in Henrietta’s direction.
‘What – were you planning to set me and Rick up on a date?’ Henrietta’s eyes widened. ‘Thank God you didn’t. I’ve decided I’m very happy with Kyle for the moment – and, if I ever want anyone else, then I’ll do the asking, all by myself. Anyway,’ she added with a shrug, ‘a girl would be mad to get involved with Rick when he’s only here a couple more weeks. You’d just be getting to know him, then – whoosh! Off he goes to Australia and you never hear from him again. Broken-heart territory, pure and simple.’
Anna swallowed. Henrietta’s down-to-earth take on the situation made it sound so hopeless. Just suppose she went to the opening of the Crofts’ garden centre and the impossible happened – she got back with Rick. Wouldn’t it simply be history repeating itself – a few days of complete and utter bliss, then big decision time? And now, despite her regrets, would she actually drop everything and follow him to the other side of the world? She felt sick at the thought that maybe, when it came to the crunch, she wouldn’t …
Mona examined her nails. ‘Actually, I’m not that impressed by Rick Wentworth any more. Seems to have a massive chip on his shoulder – he was quite rude to Walter during the interval last night.’
‘Oh? I must have missed that.’ Anna forced some indifference into her voice.
‘Yes, you took ages in the Ladies, or wherever you went. Were you ill or something?’ She pressed on without waiting for an answer. ‘Anyway, Walter was just trying to fix up for Rick to go and see Lady Dalrymple, to sign her copy of Sex in the Sea. But Rick said he was treating him like a peasant and stormed off. Unfortunately, Lady Dalrymple’s still desperate to meet him – which is the only reason why Walter was looking for him after the play. And then you conveniently remembered that he was going away first thing this morning, so it was all pretty pointless anyway.’ Mona checked her watch. ‘I’m wasting valuable time, let’s hit the shops.’ She swept towards the door, throwing a careless, ‘Don’t suppose you’re coming?’ over her shoulder.
Anna shook her head. ‘Sorry, I’ve been invited out for lunch.’
‘Ooh, anyone we know?’ Henrietta said. ‘Is it William what’s-his-name?’
On her way out of the door, Mona turned and rolled her eyes. ‘That’s another example of you screwing up. I made more headway with William during the second half of that dreadful play than you’ve made in two weeks!’
Anna said nothing. Last night she’d felt only relief when Mona had taken her place beside William. She’d spent the rest of the evening sitting with Lisa and Cleo in the box beneath Rick’s, wondering about all sorts of things. Such as – had he returned to his seat, and how could he possibly be jealous of William?
‘Don’t you want to know what I found out?’ Mona prompted.
She shrugged. ‘If you want to tell me.’
‘He’s absolutely mortified about the Brandi Berette episode – but he feels that, in a funny sort of way, it’s given him an invaluable insight into Walter’s infatuation with Cleo. He’s come to Bath to get Lisa back – she’s not making it easy for him, but he says he enjoys a challenge. And he also wants to get rid of Cleo – in fact, he told me he spent the whole of the interval last night interrogating her in the pub next door. I must admit, I did wonder where they’d got to.’ Mona gave a little smirk of triumph. ‘And he can’t figure you out at all. He thinks you’re weird.’
‘Good.’ Anna smiled across at Henrietta. ‘Because I’m having lunch with the Crofts, not William.’
Henrietta’s interest evaporated. ‘Oh. Right.’
‘Are you sure they didn’t invite me as well?’ Mona said sulkily. ‘Very strange.’
‘Not really – as you live so near, they could invite you out any time, couldn’t they?’ Anna couldn’t resist adding, with a mischievous grin, ‘If they really wanted to.’
Chapter Fifty
Walter toiled back up towards the Royal Crescent, pausing every few minutes as if to admire the view. In reality he was a little –
only a little – out of breath from his walk round The Circus; and, he had to admit, rather bored with his own company. He missed Cleo strolling beside him, linking her arm through his, commenting on the fashion gaffes and physical deformities of passers-by. Of course, she invariably ended with a shrewd observation about his superiority on both counts, but that wasn’t the point.
Apart from their visit to the theatre, he’d hardly seen her – and it wasn’t as if she was off somewhere with Lisa. No, over the last week she seemed to have discovered some mysterious life away from them both, a life of early-morning outings and secretive shopping expeditions that they weren’t invited to share. Take today – she’d told him last night that she’d be going to Holy Communion at the Abbey, to cleanse herself of ‘eempure zoughts’. He’d instantly offered himself in the role of father confessor; but, eyes bright with tears, she’d explained that she daren’t lay herself bare to him, of all people. That had been enough to trigger some impure thoughts of his own … It seemed, however, that there was no risk of Cleo expecting him to turn thought into action; she’d become strangely reticent on the subject of them having a bath together in search of his sacral chakra.
And another thing – earlier, he’d checked with the hotel and found that Holy Communion at the Abbey was at eight o’clock, and could last no more than an hour because the next service was at nine fifteen. It was now after twelve. Surely Cleo hadn’t spent the entire morning on her knees?
‘’Morning, Sir Walter.’
He started and peered at the woman who’d greeted him, as though she was merely one of countless acquaintances he had in Bath – when in fact he’d recognised her voice immediately. ‘Mr and Mrs Croft! Where are you off to?’
‘We’re having lunch with Anna,’ the husband replied, extending his paw-like hand.
Walter shook it gingerly. ‘Anna?’
‘Your daughter,’ Sophie Croft put in. ‘Such a lovely girl, she must take after her mother.’
He had a sneaking feeling that the woman was matching her brother for insolence, but he didn’t want to alienate this couple until he’d got what he wanted. So he stared down his nose at them and said languidly, ‘Anna does look like my wife – which I find very distressing, even now. Except that Irina was one of the St Petersburg Petrovs, a leading Russian émigré family, and always behaved like a true aristocrat.’ He sidestepped memories of her more outspoken moments and continued, ‘Which reminds me – a dear friend of mine, Lady Dalrymple, would like to meet your brother. She’s staying at the hotel, so it’s simply a question of him making an appointment to call on her before he leaves the country.’
Persuade Me Page 24
