Persuade Me

by Juliet Archer

  Sophie Croft shook her head. ‘Unfortunately he’s a very busy man. But he’s doing another talk here a week on Friday – she can meet him there, if there are any tickets left.’

  Walter gave one of his most condescending smiles. ‘I’m afraid Lady Dalrymple is extremely busy herself. I doubt she’ll be able to fit it in, but I’ll let her know.’ He paused, then said brightly, ‘I could always see if she’s available to open your garden centre? Now that would be a real coup – she is a dowager viscountess, after all.’

  ‘Such a tempting offer, isn’t it, Ed?’ There it was again – that thinly veiled insolence! She went on, ‘But one we’ll have to refuse. Who do you think people would rather meet – a young, handsome celebrity with something relevant to say about the world we live in, or an old dear whose only claim to fame is being part of an antiquated system of privileges that she hasn’t had to lift a finger for?’

  And off they marched, leaving Walter momentarily stunned. He soon recovered, however; and, as he resumed his slow, lonely journey back to the hotel, he was glad that he’d never allowed the Crofts anywhere near Dottie Dalrymple. It would have been catastrophic, positively catastrophic.

  He had no doubt that Sophie Croft was already regretting her little outburst. She must realise, surely, that she’d just thrown away the chance of a lifetime? He’d give her until this evening to come begging for an introduction to Lady Dalrymple; and he’d make it quite clear that, if she was lucky enough to get an appointment, she was to leave all the talking to him.

  Sophie didn’t give Lady Dalrymple another thought, her mind far more happily occupied with the prospect of seeing Sir Walter’s least favourite daughter. She and Ed arrived at the Pump Room Restaurant in good time; but it was nearer quarter to one when Anna arrived, out of breath and slightly dishevelled.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ she said, dropping one of her gloves and scrabbling under the table to rescue it. ‘Just as I was going out, my godmother rang to invite me to lunch. When I said I couldn’t make it, she gave me the third degree – who was I meeting, where, what time and so on. In the end, I had to be quite abrupt to get her off the phone.’

  She looked so horrified at her own behaviour that Sophie laughed. ‘Don’t worry, just sit down and relax.’

  ‘That was a nice surprise yesterday afternoon, seeing you at the hotel,’ Ed put in. ‘For me, anyway.’

  Anna let out a heartfelt sigh as she flopped on to her chair. ‘Me too. And it delayed tea with my father and his entourage for a little while longer.’

  ‘Ed told me you seemed to have one of your own,’ Sophie said, pretending to study her menu.

  ‘One what?’

  ‘An entourage. A very attentive one.’

  ‘Oh, you mean William.’ Anna sounded offhand but, out of the corner of her eye, Sophie saw her blush.

  ‘Someone special?’ she asked hopefully, mindful of the Rick effect yesterday morning. Far better for Anna to find someone more reliable.

  But Anna shook her head and promptly changed the subject. ‘How’s the garden centre coming along?’

  ‘We’re on target for the opening, thank God. Now we just have to hope my brother is.’

  ‘Your brother?’ The blush deepened.

  If blushes were anything to go by, Sophie thought, poor William was no competition for Rick. ‘Yes,’ she said, in mock exasperation, ‘he’s suddenly decided to stay in Bath the night before. Which means I’ll spend most of Saturday morning wondering if he’ll remember to turn up.’

  The colour went from Anna’s face as fast as it had come. ‘Oh! Did he – did he say why he’ll be in Bath?’

  Sophie gave her an appraising look. ‘It’s another talk, arranged by the bookshop that hosted his event last Friday.’

  She was going to leave it at that, but Ed added, ‘That’s the official version. Then there’s the unofficial version – a bit of bedroom activity.’

  Anna’s eyes were huge and unblinking as she looked at each of them in turn. ‘You mean he’s spending the night with a woman?’ Her small hands gripped the menu, knuckles as white as the tablecloth.

  ‘Definitely,’ Ed said, grinning wickedly. ‘Knowing Rick, he’ll be – ow!’

  Sophie didn’t particularly enjoy kicking her husband under the table, but it was the safest way to shut him up. Because he’d inadvertently provided her with an opportunity to warn Anna off Rick – and she didn’t want him to spoil everything.

  ‘Yes, I think he met someone at the book signing in Bristol.’ She gave Ed another kick, just in case he contradicted her. ‘Let’s order, shall we? What are you having, Anna?’

  ‘I-I don’t know yet.’ Anna stared down at her menu. Sophie had the uncomfortable feeling that she was close to tears and, for the first time in her life, she wished her brother far away. Still, with any luck, once he was back in Australia it would be ‘out of sight, out of mind’ for Anna; until then, Sophie resolved to keep the conversation a Rick-free zone.

  Eventually, they were ready to order. They all opted for the roast lamb and, while they waited, Sophie started outlining their plans for the garden centre. Anna seemed to collect herself, managing a smile as she told them about her father calling there a few years ago and finding Mr Farley, the previous owner, peeing on his compost heap. According to Walter, the man didn’t bat an eyelid and even had the effrontery to try and sell him a ‘pee bale’ for Kellynch! Needless to say, once he heard that Mr Farley had been selling them to stately homes the length and breadth of Somerset, Walter ordered several on the spot. When it became apparent that only male urine would do, being less acidic, the last remaining male member of the household staff – Clifford, the gardener-handyman – ended up performing this duty single-handed, so to speak, on Kellynch’s own compost. Poor old Clifford had never spoken to Mr Farley since.

  Sophie and Ed laughed and Ed said, eyes twinkling, that he was a firm believer in compost peeing too, and perhaps he’d put on a demonstration at the opening of the garden centre. But then, just when things seemed to be going well, a man and a woman stopped at their table – and Sophie came face to face with Rick’s rival.

  Trust Minty, Anna thought angrily. If she couldn’t have William and Anna at the same table for lunch, then she’d settle for them being in the same restaurant at the same time. Or maybe, after seeing her talking to Rick last night, Minty just wanted to make sure they weren’t enjoying a cosy little lunch together. Huh, as if that was likely, when Rick was making plans for a return visit to Bath that obviously didn’t include her …

  Meanwhile Minty was in full flow, informing the Crofts – and everyone else in the room, whether they liked it or not – that William was the future 9th Baronet of Kellynch. ‘Already like a son to Sir Walter,’ she added, ‘and we’re all expecting him to become a son-in-law one day. Isn’t that right, Anna?’

  Anna pretended to misunderstand her. ‘That’s if Lisa will have him,’ she said tersely.

  William gave her a quizzical look before shaking hands with Sophie. ‘Araminta forgot to mention my other credentials.’ He switched on a dazzling smile and a frank, wide-eyed gaze. ‘I advise businesses and high net-worth individuals on their investments. So, once your garden centre’s up and running, I’d be delighted to offer my services.’ He placed a couple of his cards on the table.

  Sophie laughed. ‘Given the amount we’ve had to borrow, I can’t see us having any money to invest for the next decade at least. But thanks anyway.’

  ‘Araminta tells me the opening is a week on Saturday,’ William went on, his smile even broader. ‘I may well pop along and see how many punters show up.’

  ‘Feel free – Anna, you’re coming too, aren’t you?’

  Sophie sounded so enthusiastic that Anna couldn’t bear to disappoint her. She mumbled a ‘yes’, then allowed her mind to wander to Rick, and the ‘someone’ he’d met in Bristol. No wonder he’d been furious when she’d challenged him last night about trust …

  Minty’s voice scolded her back
to the present. ‘Now, Mr and Mrs Croft, you haven’t moved into The Lodge yet, have you? Because I’d like to show William round tomorrow. He’s very anxious to buy a little house near Kellynch – and you couldn’t get much nearer than The Lodge!’

  Ed frowned. ‘Hang on – are you suggesting that Sir Walter is going to cancel our tenancy agreement?’

  ‘Good gracious, I’m not suggesting anything of the sort.’ Minty raised her eyebrows, as if struck by a new thought. ‘Of course, Sir Walter did enter into that agreement before William arrived on the scene.’ A delicate pause. ‘And I’d hope that, if William made him an offer he couldn’t refuse, you’d allow him to benefit from it as soon as possible.’

  Anna stared at William. She could think of a number of reasons why he’d want to be near Kellynch – winning Lisa over and extracting Walter from Cleo’s clutches being the main ones. But, assuming he was successful with Lisa, she couldn’t imagine her sister being content to live in The Lodge. For a start, where would all her clothes go?

  Sophie was saying icily, ‘If that happens, we’ll consider our options under the terms of our agreement. In the meantime, we’d like to try and enjoy our lunch.’

  With a gracious nod, Minty bent and kissed Anna swiftly on the cheek, then summoned a waitress to show them to their table. William lingered, shaking hands yet again with Sophie and Ed and stooping to kiss Anna. She half-turned away, but his lips homed in as if branding her as his property. And she had no doubt that his, ‘See you later, darling,’ was calculated to convey a closeness between them that, in her mind, simply didn’t exist.

  But what did that matter, now that Rick was coming to Bath – to see someone else?

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Later that day, Rick phoned his sister for the second time. ‘Hi there. Everything OK?’

  ‘Wonderful, we’re just having a rest in our suite before dinner – that has such a nice ring about it, doesn’t it? Ed’s even reading The Scarlet Pimpernel – fancies himself as Sir Percy Blakeney, obviously. How was your signing?’

  He groaned. ‘A queue three deep. There’s an article about me in today’s Sunday Times – apparently I’m just a sad git who needs the love of a good woman – so the good women of Leeds were out in force. I knew it was a mistake to give that tosser an interview.’

  He could hear her trying not to laugh. ‘Oh, I don’t know – his article sounds pretty accurate to me.’

  ‘Thanks a bunch. So, how was your day?’

  ‘Fine – except, talking of tossers, guess what Sir Walter’s up to? Cancelling our tenancy agreement for The Lodge!’ He heard Ed’s voice rumbling in the background, then Sophie’s impatient, ‘I know he hasn’t told us as much, but I wouldn’t be in the least surprised.’ She spoke into the phone again. ‘The heir to the title – William somebody – has turned up, looking for somewhere to live on Sir Walter’s doorstep. If he likes The Lodge, I imagine that’ll be it – which will be a total pain. It doesn’t make as much sense to rent the greenhouses at Kellynch if we can’t live there – and we can’t stay on in the cottage at Uppercross, because our landlord has new tenants lined up. So we may end up living above the shop after all, which will mean redecorating – in the run-up to Christmas, just when we need to be working all the hours God sends!’

  She paused for breath, and he said quickly, ‘Did Anna tell you this – yesterday, after I’d gone?’

  ‘No, it was Lady Russell – she and this William character were in the same restaurant as us today, obviously on a mission to ruin our lunch.’ A loud sigh of irritation. ‘I just can’t stop thinking about it, so annoying.’

  ‘But is Anna … part of the plan?’ He silently cursed the catch in his voice.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Is she … oh, I don’t know … are she and this – this man likely to live there together?’ It could be her ideal scenario, he thought bitterly, despite her protestations last night about the jerk not being her boyfriend. Living back at Kellynch, surrounding herself with memories of her mother – without being under the same roof as her father. Women could make the most ridiculous decisions if they wanted something badly enough; just look at Shelley, running off with a complete stranger because he said he wanted marriage and children.

  ‘What’s it to you?’ Sophie countered.

  He wished he’d never asked the question. Sophie hadn’t given him the emphatic denial he’d hoped for; and he had the distinct feeling that, for some reason, she was on her guard. Which would suggest that he’d stumbled on the truth …

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, bleakly. ‘Nothing at all.’

  Anna rarely bothered with a Sunday paper – there was enough reading matter in Saturday’s Times to last her all weekend. In any case, she could usually rely on Jenny to bring any articles of interest into work the next day. This Sunday, however, it was different; she’d barely returned from lunch and a listless tour of the shops when Jenny knocked at her door.

  ‘Couldn’t wait until tomorrow.’ She rushed in, thrust a flapping sheet of newsprint at Anna and veered off into the kitchen. ‘Shall I make us a coffee while you read it? I’m dying to know what you think – to me, it sounds nothing like the man we met.’

  ‘What are you on about?’ Anna straightened out the page she’d been given, but saw only book reviews.

  ‘It’s an article about Rick Wentworth,’ Jenny called above the hiss of the kettle. ‘Not very complimentary – oh, you haven’t got much milk left. We’ve got loads, I’ll pop down and get you some.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Anna said miserably, turning the page over and staring at the large colour photo of Rick caught in an off moment – eyes dark slits of accusation, mouth a taut line. The words above it, ‘Rick Wentworth Under the Microscope’, suggested a no-holds-barred interview. She went over to the table and pulled out a chair. If this article was going to reveal all about his love life, she’d need to be sitting down.

  A deep intake of breath – and she began to read.

  “My perfect mate is a sea dragon,” were Dr Rick Wentworth’s parting words after our lunch together. And, unfortunately for any unattached female readers, I don’t think he was joking.

  On the face of it, this man has everything going for him – film star looks, a body to match and not one but three successful careers. For years he’s been a leading expert on sea dragons, a highly specialised field of marine biology and one that conveniently requires him to be based near some of the best beaches in the world. Next, he added TV to his CV, which turned out to be an excuse to stride half-naked round the coast of Australia in pursuit of endangered species. Most recently, he’s joined the ranks of celebrity authors with Sex in the Sea, a glossy door stopper about strange goings-on under water that has the women of Britain queuing up for him to sign their copies.

  There may be plenty of sex in the sea, but I have a feeling there’s been a distinct lack of it in Wentworth’s life since he arrived on our shores last month. It’s the most likely explanation for the man’s sheer grumpiness. When I asked him what his book was about, he told me to read the blurb on the back. When I asked what he was writing next, he said, ‘Nothing’. But if this is just part of his natural charm – well, no wonder his former girlfriend, Australian supermodel Shelley McCourt, looked round for better company as soon as he’d set off for the airport.

  A mug of coffee appeared at Anna’s elbow and she looked up, startled. ‘Oh – thanks.’ She hadn’t even heard Jenny come back into the flat.

  ‘Where are you up to?’ Jenny adjusted her specs and leaned over to look, as Anna pointed silently at the third paragraph. ‘Hmm, I thought that bit was totally unnecessary – sounded like sour grapes on the journalist’s part. I know we’ve only met Rick briefly, but I can tell he’s a far better man than this guy makes out.’

  ‘But why give an interview if you haven’t got anything to say?’ Anna said slowly.

  ‘I expect it’s all planned way in advance. And if it was just after Lou’s accident, no one could
blame him for being grumpy.’

  ‘Isn’t that part of being a celebrity, though? Whatever you feel like inside, you’re expected to put on a brave face in public.’

  ‘True.’ Jenny cocked her head on one side. ‘Anyway, I bet it’s all backfired.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, if this journalist – what’s his name?’

  Anna glanced at the article, carefully avoiding the photo of Rick. ‘Duncan Taylor.’

  ‘Ah yes. If Duncan Taylor wants to turn people against Rick, he doesn’t seem to have realised that most women find a troubled, misunderstood man irresistible. They each think they’re the answer to his prayers. Mark my words, there’ll be bigger queues than ever at his next few signings.’

  Anna folded the page in half, with Rick’s grim face safely on the inside, and handed it back to Jenny. ‘I won’t read the rest, I’ve got a bit of a headache. By the way, is there any mention of Lou – or anyone else for that matter?’

  Jenny squinted at her. ‘You do look a bit washed out. Want to come and have something to eat with us tonight?’

  ‘No, I’ve got some work to do. But thanks.’ And just answer my question, she pleaded silently.

  A gusty sigh. ‘Pity, Tom would have liked your company. As soon as we’ve had our meal, I’m off out – Christina’s invited me round to taste her sloe gin. Needless to say, I’m not taking the car.’ Jenny grinned and went out of the flat.