Persuade Me

by Juliet Archer

  ‘Actually, we don’t need to go to his talk at all,’ Lady Dalrymple whined from the mangy embrace of an ancient fur coat. ‘Just call him down to have a little chat and sign my book, there’s a good gel.’ She waved her hand dismissively, enveloping them all in a heady waft of moth repellent.

  It was the second time in as many weeks that someone had used this line to try and persuade Anna to do something. She was on the verge of saying, as she had with William, ‘But I’m not a good girl,’ when Ben appeared, grinning broadly.

  ‘Problem solved, I believe.’ He winked at Anna and Amanda, then turned to Walter and Lady Dalrymple. ‘Dr Wentworth would be delighted if you’d be his guests tonight. Would you like to follow me?’

  Walter raised one of his perfectly arched – and no doubt painfully plucked – eyebrows in Anna’s direction. ‘As always, my name opens more doors than one could ever imagine,’ he said modestly. He trapped Lady Dalrymple’s furry arm in his and strutted off after Ben like a hunter parading his prize catch.

  Amanda rolled her eyes. ‘Isn’t he ridiculous? Does Rick realise what he’s letting himself in for?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Anna said quietly, ‘I think he does.’

  The other girl gave her a curious look. ‘So they’re friends?’

  ‘Acquaintances. They met briefly when Rick was in Bath before – or so I heard.’ Anna bit her lip – too much information. Why let on that she knew either of these men any better than Amanda did?

  Thankfully, Amanda was too busy glancing at her watch and gasping in dismay. ‘It’s nearly time for the talk! I so want to hear it again, do you mind if–’

  Anna interrupted her with, ‘You go and get Rick out of Lonsdale and take him into Elwin. I’ll man the desk until seven-thirty – and for another fifteen minutes or so, in case there are any latecomers.’ An apologetic smile. ‘Oh, and I meant to put a carafe of water on the speaker’s table. Would you–?’

  ‘No probs. Thanks, Anna!’

  Amanda hurried off, leaving Anna to reflect on a nightmare scenario – her father and Rick in the same room for almost an hour. Of course, Walter would be on his best behaviour in front of Lady Dalrymple, but that might be provocation enough.

  A further thirty or so people to greet and direct to the Elwin room – then there was nothing left for her to do except lock the front door and make her way up the stairs. At the top, she hesitated. Better to go into Murch – where there’d be only twenty people staring at her – rather than the main room. She opened the door a little way, edged round it – and Rick’s presence hit her like a huge swamping wave. His voice, deep and dark as the November night, the words drowned out by the drumming in her ears … His hands, confident and charismatic, speaking a vivid language all of their own … His face–

  She pressed her back against the wall and closed her eyes. She could still see him; was this how it would be when he’d gone – his face haunting her, just like last time?

  Desperate for a distraction, she opened her eyes again and sucked in her breath. From here the speaker’s table was in full view. Lady Dalrymple sat at the far end, coat tethered safely to a nearby chair, gazing at Rick with rapt attention and hugging a copy of his book to her breast. Next to her, Walter seemed torn between admiring the backs of his hands and rather ostentatiously consulting his watch. Then came Ben – a man at ease with himself and the world, his face alight as if on the verge of laughter. Beside him, Tim from Molland’s was surveying the audience, no doubt enjoying the prospect of a good evening’s book sales.

  Eyes back to Rick – and the realisation, ripping through her like an electric shock, that he was looking straight at her. She felt colour flood her cheeks; he hesitated, seemed to lose his train of thought for a moment, then switched his gaze away and continued with his talk. She listened, hearing only the rise and fall of his black-velvet voice, and the thought crashed into her mind like a stone through a window–

  She would risk another ten years of regret to spend tonight with this man.

  Time to wrap up and hand over to Jim – or was it Tim? – for a final few words, followed by prolonged applause from the audience. Rick gave a nod and a smile of acknowledgement, then turned and grabbed a copy of Sex in the Sea from the top of the pile behind him. Back at the lectern, as the applause started to die down, he rifled through his notes – found the page he wanted, slipped it in the front of the book and let out a long, controlled breath.

  He cleared his throat and held up his hand for silence. ‘Before we move on to the book signing, I just wanted to say thank you to all the BRLSI volunteers who’ve turned out tonight at such short notice. And I’d like to give the person in charge, Anna Elliot, a small token of my appreciation. Is she here?’ He made a show of looking round until he reached the door of the ante-room. She was still there, thank God, but pink-cheeked and reluctant, coming forward only when the audience began clapping again.

  He met her half-way, shook her hand and presented her with the book. ‘Just in case you haven’t got one already.’ He said it lightly but loudly; the audience laughed, and he made it an excuse to keep hold of her hand a little longer. His eyes burned into hers, willing her to see something much, much more in this apparently pointless gift of a second copy of his book.

  She wouldn’t meet his gaze, however; as she murmured her thanks, her face – and probably only he could detect it – dimmed with disappointment. Then she pulled her hand back, turned and walked away. The book looked as though it might fall unheeded from her grasp, which wasn’t the plan at all …

  A tug at his sleeve – Lady Dalrymple, thrusting a book at him and babbling about barnacles. Rick forced a smile, took it from her and retreated to the speaker’s table. This was reality – and for the moment he’d have to put his dream on hold. Except that he could do his best to get the signing over in record time, couldn’t he? So, starting with Lady Dalrymple, he sat signing book after book as quickly as possible, keeping conversation to a minimum; just as well Guy wasn’t here – he’d have had a fit.

  After a while, however, he became aware of a little altercation at the other end of the table. Lady Dalrymple, now incarcerated in the most hideous and no doubt ridiculously expensive fur coat, was refusing to part with a paltry fifteen pounds for what his publishers described as ‘a quality hardback with fifty-six colour photos’.

  ‘It’s my own copy, I brought it with me!’ she shrilled at the blonde from Molland’s, while beside her Anna’s father spluttered, ‘Disgraceful!’ and, ‘Don’t you know who this is?’ every three seconds.

  Pen poised to sign yet another fly page, Rick hesitated. Should he bail the mean old bag out, or let her be arrested for shoplifting?

  And then he heard Anna’s voice, low and calm and soothing. ‘It’s all right, Amanda, I happen to know that Lady Dalrymple bought this some time ago.’ He watched in horror as she left her copy of Sex in the Sea on the table and took Lady Dalrymple’s, leafing quickly through it. She paused midway and pointed at something. ‘Look at those tea stains, she can’t have got those on it tonight, can she?’

  Amanda gave a begrudging shake of her head, while Rick held his breath. One crisis averted – but what if Anna’s book ended up in the wrong hands? He had a sudden vision of Lady Dalrymple avidly reading its contents before bearing down on him like a giant furball.

  Talking of which – oh shit, the ghastly woman had picked the book up and was about to open it. He leapt to his feet, muttered an apology to the people waiting in line and reached the other end of the table in two strides.

  ‘Lady Dalrymple,’ he began, rescuing the book none too gently from her clutches, ‘since you’re so interested in barnacles, could I send you an academic paper I’m writing on their settlement behaviour in different flow environments? I’d really appreciate your views.’

  The distraction worked. She fluttered her eyelashes and instructed him to mail it to her at The Royal Crescent Hotel where, she assured him, she would be staying at least until Christmas. Then she
swept triumphantly off, the 8th Baronet of Kellynch clinging to her arm like one of her beloved barnacles.

  So far, so good. But when Rick handed the book back to Anna, she took it with even less enthusiasm than before. He said in an urgent whisper, ‘Read what’s inside!’ and she replied tersely, ‘I already have.’ A cold finger of fear snaked down his back until she added, ‘I bought a copy after your talk at Molland’s, remember?’

  ‘I don’t mean the book,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve written you a letter.’

  Without another word, without even a glance, he returned to his seat and kept his eyes fixed firmly on the books he was signing. No way did he want to look up and second-guess her response from the expression on her face. He would know soon enough, and only then would he allow himself to think about the consequences.

  ‘I’ve written you a letter.’ That drumming in her ears again – and now a tight band round her chest, a dryness in her throat. A letter – for what? To profess his love, or assure her that he’d moved on?

  She stumbled towards Lonsdale, driven by some masochistic impulse to collect her thoughts in the same place she’d suggested to him. As she entered the room, she instinctively glanced over at the plesiosaur – the 200-million-year-old sea dragon, as he’d called it. Life, preserved in plaster. Was it so different from her life – lived in all its fullness for such a short time, a starburst of feelings that she’d never experienced before or since, preserved in a handful of memories?

  And now those feelings were about to be revived. Because, whatever the letter actually said, it would bring his voice into this room to talk about the past. And he knew only too well that she wouldn’t ignore it; after all, she’d never been able to resist the written word.

  Was this a second chance or a final goodbye? She hesitated, then sat down exactly where he had been sitting. His coat still hung over the chair next to her, his umbrella lay where she’d left it. She put his book down on the table and opened it. A piece of paper stared up at her, the words dashing across the page in a bold, open scrawl that expressed the very essence of the man who’d written them.

  Steeling herself, she let his voice into the room.

  I once wrote you a letter and you never replied, which makes me wonder if you ever received it. This time it’s a more personal delivery – and I need a reply, even if it’s not the one I want.

  I’m listening to you – I can hear every word, however softly you speak – and I’m half-agony, half-hope. You’re saying that men are realists – that, when the woman they love is no longer available, they move on. Well, believe me, I tried – and I thought I had. But seeing you again, after so many years, just proved how little I knew …

  You told me to trust myself. So here I am back in Bath, putting everything on the line for a second chance with you. Is that what you want, too? Whatever your answer, remember this: I may not deserve you – when I think of how I’ve behaved, I know I’ve shown little self-control and even less forgiveness – but I’ve never stopped loving you.

  You’re talking about heartless men … But I have a heart, and it’s the same one you almost broke ten years ago, and it belongs to you, and only you, even more than it did then. And yes, I’m a realist: if you no longer love me, I will accept it. But don’t say that only a woman can keep on loving someone who’s no longer part of her life! Because I will keep on loving you until there are no stars in the sky.

  Tell me tonight how you feel. If there’s any chance of you loving me back, then I’ll wait for you as I should have waited before. If not, say the word and I’ll leave you in peace. But I’ll never forget you, or what we had, or what might have been.

  Rick

  She read the letter over and over, afraid she might have mistaken his meaning. Gradually, however, she fought off her daze of disbelief. As she closed the book and took it downstairs, she felt amazingly calm.

  It must look, she thought, like any other copy of Sex in the Sea – yet it had just changed the course of two people’s lives.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  The book signing was over at last. Rick managed to foil a few lingerers’ attempts to engage him in conversation and went into the Lonsdale room to fetch his things.

  To his surprise Ben was there, on his mobile. He waited until the other man had finished the call, then said anxiously, ‘What’s up? I thought you’d gone to the pub ages ago.’

  ‘That was Charles – he’s only just arrived. Apparently he bumped into an old university friend on his way here and went for a quick half.’ A wry smile. ‘All I can say is – it wasn’t quick and, judging by the way he was slurring his words, it certainly wasn’t a half.’

  ‘Whereas you must be dying of thirst – good job you had that coffee earlier.’

  ‘Yeah, and it kept me awake during your talk! No, seriously, I was riveted. Anna was right – you really believe that stuff about “a mate for the rest of your life”, don’t you?’

  Rick pulled on his coat, then picked up the umbrella and cradled it in his hands. He kept his voice low, as if frightened of breaking a spell. ‘Is she still here? Have you spoken to her since – since my talk?’

  ‘Haven’t even seen her, let alone spoken to her – but she must be around somewhere.’ Ben chuckled. ‘She and I had a very interesting conversation earlier about the differences between men and women – I’ll tell you about it in the pub. If Charles can’t walk in a straight line, we’ll have to get a taxi – but you’re seeing someone first, aren’t you? Maybe we could get a taxi together, then Charles and I can wait while you–’

  ‘Not really, it might take a while,’ Rick said hurriedly. ‘And anyway, she lives in the other direction from the pub.’

  ‘Ah, she.’ Ben rolled his eyes. ‘In that case, there’s a pretty good chance you won’t be coming to the pub at all.’ He grinned and headed for the door.

  Rick felt his stomach knot as he followed Ben out of the room and down the stairs. In a matter of seconds, he would have his answer. One word from her – one look, even – would tell him all he needed to know. As Ben veered off to the Gents, he strolled into the reception area and tried to appear composed; but his heart was racing, and his eyes were restless as they scanned the thinning crowd …

  There she was, standing by the desk with her back to him. Not ready with her answer, as he’d hoped; in fact, her words and looks were directed at someone else – Charles sodding Musgrove, of all people.

  ‘And I’m not coming to the pub,’ she was saying. ‘I’ve got other plans.’

  Rick cleared his throat. ‘Anna.’

  She whirled round – and Charles looked over as well, with a beery smile and a drunken little wave. It was easy to ignore him; but far more difficult, even with a scientist’s powers of observation, to read the expression in those startled grey eyes.

  Ben appeared at his side, slapped him on the shoulder and said, ‘See you later, at the pub?’

  ‘Yes,’ Rick said, automatically. But the grey eyes were sparkling now, like a sunlit sea. Did that mean …? ‘Maybe,’ he said; then added recklessly, ‘Maybe not.’

  She smiled; and he smiled back, because now he knew everything was going to be just fine. Absolutely-bloody-wonderful, in fact.

  ‘Come on, Charles,’ Ben said, ‘I don’t think we’re wanted.’ But there was amusement in his voice rather than offence.

  With an effort, Rick switched his gaze away from Anna. ‘Sorry, Ben,’ he said. ‘I’ll definitely see you in the morning, before I go to Sophie’s.’

  And that was the most he could commit to, he decided, as he saw the two men safely outside. Because he had a feeling that an awful lot was going to happen between now and tomorrow morning.

  There were other people around, looking at the art exhibition on their way out – but he didn’t care. And neither, it seemed, did she. As he strode towards her, she ran into his arms.

  It was what he’d wanted, deep down, for ten long years: to hold her close and feel the beat of her heart.


  Wrapped up in each other, they climbed the stairs to her flat with hurried steps. At the top, she reluctantly let him go, opened the front door and felt for the switch. Before she could flood the room with light, however, his lips brushed her neck just below one ear. Her hand stilled. Wordlessly, she spun round and–

  The fierceness of his kiss made her gasp. It was like being back on the boat, when she’d realised that everything before had been a masterclass in restraint. This time, during the long tense weeks since their first meeting, the restraint had been far greater. And, she thought with a deep, drawn-out ache of anticipation, so would be the release.

  They broke apart, struggled out of their coats, kicked off their boots. With clumsy, impatient movements, she at last flicked on the light, coaxed the front door shut and pushed the snib home. She smiled to herself as she saw his umbrella lying discarded – evidently forgotten, in the haste to revive older memories …

  As she helped him shrug off his jacket and sweater, she noticed that her hands were shaking. It was, she decided, the thrill of knowing what would happen next. Savouring that knowledge, she allowed her fingers to slow and skim his taut, bronzed chest. At her touch, his eyes closed and the breath sighed out of him.

  She unfastened his jeans, then paused. ‘Rick?’

  He dragged his eyes open and tilted her face up to his. ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s just …’ Despite the assurances in his letter, she needed to hear him say the words. ‘How long are you planning to be around?’

  He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his mouth gently traced the line of her neck, right to the curve of her shoulder, while his hands pulled her dress down … and down. ‘Oh, I reckon it’ll be …’ he kissed the soft swell of her breast, ‘an eternity or two. Long enough to bring up a family and grow old together.’

  ‘That,’ she said, when she’d remembered how to breathe, ‘sounds perfect.’

  More kisses, while her dress and his jeans fell to the floor. As cool air met hot skin, she trembled – and, instantly, he cocooned her in his warmth. The seconds ticked by; but there were no kisses or caresses, only the sense that he’d somehow withdrawn.