Their first course arrived, and with tasting and praising they seemed to arrive at a more comfortable place. They began to talk as friends do, not asking each other questions, but discussing neutral topics, remembering meals they had had in the past, good and bad, which led on to favourite pubs and favourite parts of the country, music they liked and books they’d read.
And quite naturally, it seemed, he began to talk to her about his wife again, remembering happy times they’d had together.
‘You told me you should never have got married,’ she reminded him.
‘I say that sort of thing,’ he admitted. ‘I think probably we shouldn’t have got married when we did. You see, neither of us had had a chance to go out with other people. We’d known each other all our lives, played together as children. So after a couple of years of marriage there was nothing new to discover. If we’d had a break from each other early on …’
‘You think you were suited after all?’
‘No-one understands me better than Flick,’ he said rather bleakly. ‘We’re from the same background. She knows what makes me tick.’
‘So what about the blonde in the bar?’ Kate asked. ‘My sources tell me she’s rather more your type.’
‘My type? What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘That she’s the sort of female you are frequently seen with.’
‘People should mind their own businesses,’ he said sharply. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh, all right,’ he climbed down with a rueful smile. ‘I suppose I have been sewing wild oats for the last couple of years.’
‘And oats have to be sewn where oats will grow,’ Kate suggested.
‘You have a wicked tongue on you, young lady,’ he said severely.
‘Do you miss her?’ she asked quickly.
‘Do I miss Flick? Yes, I suppose I do. You can’t spend all that time with someone and not miss them. Someone who knows your past, shares all the same memories. But it’s Theo I feel really bad about. I know what it’s like to lose a parent. In my case it was my mother, but my father was never the same after she died, so I sort of lost him too.’
‘And Ed tried to be a father to you, but was just too young.’
‘Poor old Ed,’ Jack said with a smile. ‘Pudding? Coffee?’
‘I couldn’t possibly manage pudding, thank you. Coffee would be nice.’
He summoned the waiter with a flick of the eyebrow, ordered coffee, tried to press a brandy on her and failed, and settled down again with his elbows on the table.
It seemed to be Kate’s chance of asking something she had wanted to know for a while, and since Ed had been the last topic of conversation, it wouldn’t look too particular to ask now.
‘What about Ed?’ she opened. ‘He’s a good-looking bloke – why isn’t he married? Wasn’t he ever? No-one ever says anything about an ex-wife.’
‘Yes, he was married, but it’s not a subject that’s ever brought up. Ed wouldn’t allow it.’
‘Oh. Bad divorce?’ she hazarded.
He looked serious for once. ‘Far from it. I’ll tell you the story, but for God’s sake never mention it in front of Ed, and don’t tell anyone I told you. He’d skin me alive if he knew I’d talked to you about it. Ed got married the year after our father brought Camilla home. I think he minded about her even more than I did, I suppose because he could just about remember our mother. Or perhaps because he’s more serious about everything. So maybe it meant that he was – I don’t know—’
‘Looking for love?’
‘Perhaps. Or maybe just susceptible. Anyway, he met Flavia at a hunt ball, and they fell madly in love. He was totally nuts about her. I couldn’t see the attraction – she was beautiful, OK, but she always struck me as cold. Still, you don’t know how people are when they’re alone together, do you?’
‘No,’ Kate said thoughtfully.
‘Well, everyone said they were a perfect couple, anyway. She was in the stud book, went to the right school, knew everybody. Her father owned land in Dorset – she was only at the ball because she was staying with a friend in the Quantocks. He had to put in a lot of miles to court her. But they married after only six weeks, so he didn’t have to travel long.’
‘And were they happy?’ she asked. Her voice came out a touch husky, and she sipped her coffee to cover herself.
He didn’t seem to notice. ‘Oh yes. It was like something from a film – the prince and princess in the fairy story, happy ever after. Like I say, they were madly in love. And then one night she was driving home from Taunton and met a car coming round the bend in one of those narrow lanes. It was going too fast to brake or even swerve, smashed into her head on. She was killed outright. Turned out the driver was drunk.’
‘My God, how terrible! I suppose that’s why he’s—’
‘So down on drink-driving, yes. Even worse, she was pregnant. Only three months – the baby didn’t survive. They hadn’t told anyone. She’d gone to Taunton for the first routine scan and they were going to announce it when she got back if all was well.’
Kate couldn’t think of anything to say. It was so dreadful – to have lost his wife and his child at the same time, and in that needless way. No wonder he was so grave and unsmiling.
‘And then, just six months later, Dad died, and all the troubles of the world came down on his shoulders, and that was that.’
Kate frowned, trying to remember dates. ‘So how long ago was that?’
‘Ten years.’
‘But – that’s a long time,’ Kate said. ‘Oughtn’t he to be getting over it now? Surely there must have been other women since?’
‘Oh, I should think every unmarried female in Somerset has thrown herself at him. A lot of the married ones, too. No-one seems to have stuck. Maybe they’re all too much the same, too County-thoroughbred – remind him of Flavia. I don’t know. I’m just guessing.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘Of course, it’s possible he has got over it and his gloomy act is just a habit now – because lately there’s been a rumour that there’s someone in London, some high-powered businesswoman, works for a merchant bank or something. Well, he’s up there three days a week, sometimes four, who knows what he gets up to? But it would make sense: whoever she was, she’d be as unlike Flavia as possible.’
Oh, Kate thought. And then she told herself that it would have been stupid to think a perfectly beautiful man like Ed wouldn’t have a woman somewhere. Yes, a banker-woman in a power suit would look very good on his arm, and explain why he went to London when he said he’d sooner be at home. It must be like a tug of war for him: London, his firm and Wonder Woman on the one hand, his ancestral acres and his duty to his family on the other. Except – why didn’t he bring Wonder Woman home and show her off, enjoy her and the acres at the same time?
‘How long?’ she asked, cleared her throat and began again. ‘Has he been seeing her long?’
‘Who knows?’ Jack said lightly. ‘Ed never tells anyone anything about himself. But the rumours have been around for months, so maybe it’s serious. It’d be nice to see the poor old blighter married – as long as she makes him happy. He deserves a bit of fun. Not that one can exactly imagine him cutting loose. There are some people who seem to be born aged forty in a stiff collar and tie. But you never know.’
‘You never do,’ she agreed, somewhat glumly. But she could never have stood a chance with him anyway, so who was she kidding?
‘And I don’t know why we’re wasting our precious time together talking about my brother. We should be talking about Us.’ He reached across the table and gathered her hand, and gazed soulfully into her eyes.
‘I thought we’d agreed there wasn’t any Us.’
‘There could be,’ he insisted. ‘One should never rule anything out. There’s this whole weekend coming up, when you’ll be under my roof and helpless to escape my evil wiles.’
‘Perhaps I’d better lock my door.’
‘None of the locks on any of the doors have worked in my lifetime. I think all the keys
were melted down for scrap during the war.’
‘Then I shall just have to submit and think of England.’
He grinned. ‘I’ll try to live up to your patriotism. By the way, what’s this I hear about you riding Henna in the races on Monday?’
‘How did you hear about that? Weren’t you in the office today?’
‘I was, Miss Time-and-motion-inspector. And so was Ed – came in to look at the books, having just finished his ride with you. He told me about it. Asked if I was intending to ride.’
‘And are you? I’ll stand down in a second – she’s your horse.’
‘She’s Camilla’s officially, but don’t let that worry you.’
‘You told me you might ride,’ she pointed out.
‘But I didn’t mean it. She’s not really up to my weight. Put on a bit of padding since I last competed on her.’ He slapped his stomach comfortably. ‘And she never really went well for me – she’s more of a lady’s horse. No, you have her and welcome. Ed says he’s going to help you do a bit of practice.’
‘Yes. He’s very kind to spend so much time on me.’
‘Oh, not kind,’ Jack said, and for a dizzy moment she thought he was going to say Ed liked her. But he went on, ‘It’s his famous sense of responsibility. He’d be afraid you’d fall and hurt yourself if you didn’t practise, and then he’d feel guilty.’
‘Well, I shouldn’t like to add to his burden of guilt,’ Kate said. ‘Perhaps I should pull out.’
‘No, you do it. You’ll be all right. No-one’s hurt themselves seriously at Buscombe in years. And I don’t think we’ve ever had a death.’
‘How you comfort me!’ she said drily.
All good things, even expensive lunches, come to an end, and the time came when they couldn’t justify sitting there any longer.
‘Anyway, I ought to head back to the office,’ Jack said. ‘Just in case Ed’s been asking for me.’
‘And I suppose I’d better get back and finish painting my door.’
His jolly mood deserted him in a rush. ‘I’m so sorry that happened. It’s the last thing I would have wanted.’
‘It’s all right,’ she comforted him. ‘It was probably just a one-off. And I have a very nice, tall and burly next-door-neighbour to call on if anything goes bump in the night.’
He shuddered. ‘God, don’t say that. Look, lock your door at night – front and back. Don’t get all sloppy and leave it open, like it was today.’
‘I will,’ she said. Though she found herself thinking that none of the windows locked. Perhaps a trip to B&Q was indicated. And actually, it didn’t help her peace of mind that he was taking the paint incident so seriously.
He went on, ‘And if anything else happens – which God forbid – or if there’s anything that worries you, anything odd or suspicious, call me. You’ve got my mobile number, haven’t you? Ring me and I’ll come right away. Will you promise?’
‘I promise. You’re too kind.’
‘That’s what friends are for, aren’t they?’ he said, taking her hand under his arm as they stepped out into the sunshine and the car park. ‘And we are friends.’
‘We are.’
‘Although,’ he paused, turning to face her and looking down with a wicked smile, ‘that isn’t necessarily set in stone.’
‘Now, now, no backsliding. That’s the champagne talking.’
‘It is not,’ he said indignantly. ‘You are, need I remind you, an utterly gorgeous girl, and I’m a pretty fabulous guy myself, so it would make perfect sense for us to join forces. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to date properly?’
He was nice – much nicer than he had first appeared, and nicer than his reputation. And they had fun together, and it would be easy – and very nice – to have a fling with him. But she was sure now it could never be more than a fling; and some secret, and really stupid, part of her didn’t want Ed to see her as Jack’s girlfriend. It could make no difference, she knew that, but she didn’t want him to think of her that way.
She kept it light. ‘What about Coco’s?’ she said.
‘Forget Coco’s. I already have.’
Kate laughed. ‘That poor girl.’
‘So, what do you say?’ he insisted. ‘What about Us?’
She pressed his hand and looked up at him with great seriousness. ‘We’ll always have Paris,’ she said.
Jack dropped her off at her door, and she let herself in with no particular anxiety, but her scalp prickled when she saw a square white envelope lying on the floor by the front door. She picked it up with flinching fingers, as if it might bite. There was nothing written on the outside, and for a moment she thought about throwing it away unopened, but in the end curiosity got the better of her. That was where Bluebeard’s wife went wrong as well, she told herself.
Inside was a single piece of paper, on which was written in large felt-tip letters:
YOUVE BEEN WARNED
GET OUT
Hands trembling, she went into the kitchen, found the matches, held it over the sink and burned it, watching the black flakes fall like sinister snow, and washing them away with a blast from the cold tap. Only when there was no more trace of the thing, did she let out her breath and draw in a fresh, deep one. She thought about ringing Jack, but she had monopolized enough of his day – she didn’t want to get him into trouble. And the large amount of alcohol she had consumed was cushioning her a bit. In spite of that, she found a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. I will not be intimidated.
And on the principle that the best thing for any emotional state is good solid work, she went out and gave the front door another undercoat, so that she could no longer see the words underneath. She knew she had drunk too much to hang paper successfully, so she made a start on sanding down internal window frames, which was boringly repetitive but somehow soothing.
At least she had something really good to look forward to tomorrow. She made herself think of that whenever other things intruded.
Sixteen
Camilla’s bedroom was startlingly modern after the rest of the house, with a low six-foot bed built-in to a unit of shelves and cupboards all in pale oak. There were sunken halogen lights, fitted carpet, two big armchairs in the window angled for the view, and everything was in harmonious shades of sand, shell and cream. Kate was surprised that there was no wardrobe, until Camilla led her through into a huge dressing room fitted out in the most modern and luxurious style. She couldn’t help exclaiming, ‘It’s like something out of Hollywood!’
Camilla looked pleased. ‘There’s no reason to live like a peasant even if one is in the country,’ she said. ‘Flick designed it for me.’
‘Is that what she does?’
‘Yes, she has her own interior design company, and a shop in Dunster.’ She sighed. ‘I miss her. I liked it when she lived here. It gets so dull around here with no-one to talk to.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Believe it or not, I even miss Jocasta sometimes, when she’s at school.’
Proudly she showed Kate round. There were drawers for everything: special tilt-down shoe-drawers, drawers lined in cedar solely for sweaters, silk-lined handbag drawers, a slide-out rack for storing long boots; and then the wardrobes, lining a whole wall, mirror-fronted, the mirrors hinged so they could be angled to give you a back or side view. There was a large comfy couch and two upright chairs, and a movable pole-rack on which you could hang your choice and see if it worked before going to all the fag of putting it on.
And every wardrobe section was filled with exquisite clothes, all carefully arranged – full length here, trousers there, suits in one place, dresses another – and then colour-sorted, and everything hanging clear and crease-free on its own padded hanger. Kate thought of her wardrobe back at the flat, stuffed higgledy-piggledy, often several items to a hanger, everything mixed up together so that finding anything involved dragging stuff out and chucking it on the bed. And when you did find what you wanted, it usually needed ironing. Camilla might not take much i
nterest in housekeeping, as the tatty, chaotic drawing room attested, but she was evidently willing to take endless pains over something she cared about. The order in here was awesome. Kate knew she was in the presence of true genius.
She also began to have an idea of where all Camilla’s money went.
Now Camilla was sitting on the couch, covertly looking at herself in several of the mirrors, and otherwise watching as Kate tried on the riding clothes. She had been wondering how she would feel about borrowing a stranger’s gear, but it had obviously been put away freshly dry-cleaned, so it was practically like new. She was glad she had thought to put on her least tatty underwear, just in case. Even so, she felt like hunching up and crossing her arms over her chest when she got down to it.
Fortunately, Camilla’s attention was taken by the red marks left by the seams of her jeans. ‘Oh, goodness, look at your poor legs,’ she said. ‘You really do need some proper riding clothes. Do they hurt?’
‘Only when something presses on them,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid your riding clothes are going to be too big.’ She saw her hostess bristle a little, and added quickly, ‘I mean, too long. You’re taller than me.’
Camilla was mollified. ‘I don’t think that’ll matter with the breeches – they’re stretch. But you are very flat-chested,’ she added with a complacent glance at herself in the mirror. ‘My jacket will probably hang on you.’
Both these statements proved prophetic. The breeches were comfortable, and the length of the leg would be hidden inside the boot. The jacket looked as if it were wearing Kate rather than the other way round.
‘Well, it doesn’t matter,’ said Camilla. ‘You’ll just have to go without. It’s summer, no-one will mind.’
The boots Kate had anticipated would be a problem, but though Camilla was taller she had small feet, and with an extra-thick pair of socks they would just about do. ‘It’s not as if you’ll be walking in them.’
‘We hope not,’ Kate said wryly, turning back and forth to look at herself in the mirror. Not bad, she thought. There were occasions when not being busty worked to one’s advantage. She looked slim, and sporty – athletic. ‘You’re very kind to lend me your things – and your horse. I understand Henna’s yours really.’
Kate's Progress Page 20
