Desirable Property

by Catherine George

  Verity hesitated, then nodded. Ben stowed his jacket and tie in the Morgan, then strolled with her across the road and down the path marked by the sign. It was narrow, between hedges, and for some distance they could only walk in single file, then the path forked, one way leading down to a stream, the other along the edge of a ploughed field. By mutual consent they made for the stream. It was very hot in the sunlight. The heavy rain of the day before had done little to lower the temperature, and when they found a shady tree a little way along the bank Verity was glad to stop and sit on one of the exposed roots, taking off her jacket, and untying the scarf that restrained her hair. Ben remained standing, leaning back against the trunk of the tree, watching the play of sunlight through the leaves on the girl's tanned skin as she gathered up a handful of pebbles and began pitching them into the gurgling water.

  'May I continue now?' he asked.

  Verity kept her eyes on the water. 'If you must.'

  'How long have you known Gussie?' he began abruptly.

  'Since we were in boarding school. We were never very close, but at one time she slept in the bed next to mine, and later on we shared a room.'

  'Then possibly you already knew of me before we met so unfortuitously last week?' Ben's voice was wry.

  'Oh yes, I'd heard of you.' Verity gave him a mocking look over her shoulder. 'Gussie used to go on at length. She was—well—rather informative.'

  Ben came down beside Verity and sat where he could see her face. 'How do you mean, informative?'

  Verity bit her lip. 'Look, Mr Dysart, I really don't want to get involved—please, don't say any more. I had enough from Gussie last Saturday. You've no need to add anything, really.'

  'I'd like to know more,' he said relentlessly, and something peremptory in the very quietness of his voice demanded an answer.

  'Well, I gather that when you were both young it was even then a fairly hectic relationship.' Verity was unable to control the curl of distaste on her mouth. 'You'd been on leave just before Gussie came back to school for the last summer term, and, well, she was fairly explicit about—about—'

  'Our precise relationship?'

  To Verity's surprise the distaste in Ben's voice matched her own. His strong, brown hands were busy breaking up twigs, the snapping sounds sharp in the quiet. Irrelevantly she noticed both hands were scarred, and on the fourth finger of his left hand he wore a worn gold signet ring. She nodded wordlessly in answer.

  'I was under the impression Gussie was going to marry me when she came back from that place in Switzerland. They were going to turn her into the perfect wife. For me, as I understood it.' His voice remained colourless as he went on. 'I was—besotted, I suppose—and she was a very lovely creature at that age. I was old enough to know better, but I lost my head. Perhaps you know all the details.'

  Verity looked away. 'I don't remember exactly what she told me. I think she intended marrying you at that stage, but then she went off to Switzerland to finishing school, I went to Reading University and we lost touch. We don't move in the same circles much at home. For some reason she did ask me to her wedding—I can remember feeling surprised to see Peter Middleton's name on the invitation instead of yours.'

  Ben gave a short laugh. 'I was a younger son, remember, a mere Lieutenant, and at that time not considered at all eligible. I was quite comfortably off, but that wasn't nearly enough for Gussie. She wanted wealth and luxury, and Middleton was exactly the chap for that. I really wasn't any competition.' His face hardened. 'Now my brother is dead things are different, of course. My eligibility has risen astronomically.'

  Verity said thoughtfully, 'Gussie said you'd had a row over divorce—she was in rather a state when I arrived on Saturday.'

  Ben flung his handful of twigs into the stream. 'Yes. I imagine she was.' He turned to her. 'Perhaps I should elucidate. When I said I was besotted over Gussie, that was a long time ago. I've been all over the world and done a lot of things since then, even fought a war. The callow youth who made a fool of himself over an immature girl no longer exists. I grant you Gussie is still physically as tempting as ever; more so even, now that she's older. It's a pity her intellect hasn't matured to match her body.'

  Verity's brows drew together thoughtfully. This man's point of view seemed completely at odds with Gussie's outpourings.

  'Why are you frowning?' asked Ben.

  She hesitated. 'As you more or less insisted on telling me all this, am I allowed to ask one question?'

  'As many as you like.' The sudden gleam of his smile put her back on her guard.

  'Why did you go to see Gussie last Saturday—the first time, I mean?' Verity gave him an ironic smile. 'I'm fairly clear about your reasons for the second visit.'

  'She invited me to a pre-lunch drinks party—a few old friends, Peter would be so pleased to see me again, and so on.'

  'When did she ask you?'

  'Saturday morning. Gussie said it was an impromptu party, spur of the moment sort of thing. There seemed no particular reason to refuse, so I went. And, of course, there was Gussie all alone; no party. My instinct was to turn tail and bolt, but like a fool I gave in to her persuasions—and stayed.' Ben laughed with grim self-derision. 'After a couple of drinks Gussie, well, she started coming on a bit strong. She asked me to stay the night, as Peter was away. Her idea was that I should creep back after dark, like a criminal. She finally put the wind up me when she started babbling about how she would get a divorce and we could get married. I was in the process of explaining that a few kisses for auld lang syne were one thing, but the offer of the rest was no longer open, when the clock struck three and she threw me out because she was expecting a girlfriend.'

  'Oh, bad luck,' murmured Verity with mock sympathy. 'You came down the drive like a bat out of hell—I almost - expected you to vanish in a puff of smoke.'

  'I was—somewhat aerated,' he said dryly.

  Verity regarded him with narrowed eyes. 'Why did you go back?'

  Ben met her look head on, his mouth twisting with distaste.

  'The landlord of the Bell, Stan Mayhew, is an old pal of mine. I stopped to have a drink with him, being in no mood to go back to Temple Priors. Instead of restoring my common sense the succession of swift shorts I consumed only made things worse.' He looked away. 'You look so cool and judicious sitting there, like a latter day Portia, you may find man's baser instincts hard to understand, but to be honest I thought, in my drunken idiocy, that I might as well go back to Gussie and avail myself of what had been more than readily offered—husband or no husband.'

  'I feel I ought to apologise for getting in the way!' Verity's voice quivered with amusement at the thought of the thwarted lover.

  Ben snorted. 'Frankly the mere sight of you acted like a douche of cold water. Sanity and sobriety were restored simultaneously in one fell swoop. I shall always be in your debt!'

  'I can truthfully say it was nothing,' said Verity dryly. After a moment's reflection she said slowly, 'Your story doesn't tally with Gussie's, though. Her version is that you were the one wanting her to get a divorce, but she couldn't because Mr Middleton Senior had helped her father financially, and had her promise to stay with Peter as collateral.'

  'That's news to me,' he said curtly. 'My version is the truth. Whatever cock and bull story Gussie invented was fiction. Which one of us do you believe?'

  Verity thought it over, her eyes on the sunlit ripples of the stream. She rose to her feet after a while, looking candidly at Ben as he followed suit.

  'I don't have to believe either of you implicitly,' she said calmly, ignoring the hostile look that settled over his features. 'I always take Gussie with a pinch of salt, of course, from previous experience. You I don't know at all, so I'll reserve judgment.'

  Ben made no comment as he followed her along the footpath, both of them making for the car in silence, and there was no further conversation until they were on the road heading for Ilmington.

  'Just for the record,' said Ben conversational
ly, 'my parents would dearly like me to marry and provide an heir. Although a lot of the old taboos don't apply any more, they would be somewhat distressed if the bride I chose was obliged to divorce her husband to be eligible for the post. The idea isn't one that appeals greatly to me, either.'

  Verity shook her head, sighing. 'Poor Gussie!'

  'Why "poor Gussie"?'

  'She genuinely doesn't see why she can't have you both—Peter for security and you for kicks.'

  'Thanks.' The look Ben shot at her was appalled. 'I know I behaved like a crass idiot on Saturday. I admit it freely. But in extenuation remember that I was once very fond of Gussie, and she's a very persistent and persuasive lady when she wants something. I hope she now thinks of me as a lost cause. Two-timing a man with his wife has never been a practice of mine.'

  Verity said nothing, wishing privately she'd never met Gussie Middleton or Ben Dysart.

  'You know, Miss Marsh,' said Ben reflectively after a while. 'I get the impression you're bored.' His jaw tightened as she made no effort to deny it.

  'As I seem to have said at least a dozen times, Mr Dysart, none of this is any concern of mine. I don't want to get involved,' she said with a finality which put an end to any further personal exchanges, the remainder of the afternoon being restricted solely to business.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Verity found the rest of the week wearing. The heat continued with unusual tenacity for a British summer, and so did the civil, but cool atmosphere between herself and Ben Dysart. She went to the office early each morning to work in peace before the tension of a day spent in his polite but hostile company. He obviously bitterly regretted confiding in her, at the same time as feeling offence at her refusal to believe in his integrity as far as Gussie was concerned. Verity grew more weary as each day passed, and both Henrietta and Jenny grew concerned, not particularly over the shadows beneath her eyes, but over her very unusual lack of appetite.

  On the Friday morning Verity arrived in her office late, feeling much more cheerful. Only one day, then Ben Dysart could be passed on to someone else. She would be free. For once he was before her, busy with his crossword. He looked at her in surprise as he sprang to his feet.

  'Good morning. You look very bright and breezy this morning—any special reason?'

  'No,' lied Verity, her eyes sparkling. 'Just the thought of the weekend, that's all—'

  He raised his eyebrows in polite surprise. 'I thought you were working this weekend.'

  She coloured slightly, and applied herself to the morning's mail. 'Well yes, but the weekend is different, somehow.'

  Ben leaned against the wall, his hands in the pockets of his beige linen slacks, his face darker than ever against his white shirt. 'Would it have anything to do with the fact that you're getting shot of me today?'

  Verity refused to meet his eyes. 'Of course not. Now, shall we get on? Someone's already interested in the property near Chipping Camden, Mr Randall tells me, apparently they want to see it today with a view to running it as a guesthouse.'

  Personalities were forgotten as they both became absorbed in routine, neither of them noticing when the door opened an hour or so later. Verity looked up with an absent smile, expecting Sally with their coffee, to find Mrs Augusta Middleton standing in the doorway, her blue eyes round with astonishment at the sight of the two people sitting close together behind the desk. Ben rose to his feet politely, and Verity smiled more brightly, her heart sinking.

  'Why hello Gussie. Come in if you can find room.'

  Gussie ignored her completely, looking at Ben with smouldering reproach. 'What on earth are you doing here Ben?'

  'Trying to learn something about land management, Gussie,' he said blandly. 'May I offer you my chair?'

  Gussie flashed a look from Ben to Verity, suspicion in every line of her pretty face.

  'He's learning from you? Isn't there someone more senior in the firm, better-qualified I mean, to teach him?'

  'I do what I'm told, Gussie.' Verity bit back her annoyance with an effort. 'My boss said show Mr Dysart the ropes, so that's exactly what I'm doing.'

  Gussie lost interest. She turned to Ben accusingly. 'I've rung you up several times. You can't always be out!'

  His face was expressionless. 'Now you can see where I've been.'

  'Every day?' The idea was obviously unpalatable. Gussie looked more suitably attired for the Cote d'Azur than a morning's shopping in Stratford. Her pale pink trousers fitted her curves closely, her pink halter top displaying a startling amount of bare skin. Huge pink-framed sunglasses were pushed up on her expensively tangled gilt hair, and each upper arm was adorned with a gold slave bracelet to match the gold hoops in her ears. In her neat, crisp shirt-dress Verity felt like a drab sparrow in the company of a bird of paradise.

  'I have a lot of time to make up,' said Ben gravely, and pulled out his chair. 'Do sit down, Gussie.'

  She shook her head petulantly. 'I can only stay a minute.' She turned to Verity, her smile suddenly returning. 'I say, darling, I hear along the grapevine that the Wentworths are selling their place near the Golf Club. Any idea what they're asking?'

  'About three times the price of Tern Cottage, at least, Gussie,' said Verity. 'Have you received all the paperwork on the cottage, by the way?'

  'Yes, darling—what super photographs you took. You make it sound like paradise by your description, too. Do you think it will sell quickly? Peter's dead keen on the Wentworth house—he can raise the price I'm sure, and you know how he is about his golf.'

  Verity shot a questioning glance at Ben, who cut in smoothly, 'I believe you have a purchaser already, Gussie. I'm sure I'm not letting any professional cats out of the bag when I say my father will be contacting Lockhart & Welch today with a formal offer at the price your husband is asking.'

  Gussie looked stunned. 'Your father? Why on earth does he want it?'

  'The land beyond the river belongs to Temple Priors—Tern Cottage would round off the estate very nicely and provide a home for the new manager.'

  Verity felt a quiver of amusement at the blank look on the other girl's face.

  'But you said you were—you can't mean—Ben! Do you want Tern Cottage?' Gussie asked incredulously.

  'Not particularly.' Ben avoided Verity's eye and smiled at Gussie. 'But Father thought it a good idea, and I suppose it's not a bad idea to have a place of my own. Don't say you refuse to sell it to us.'

  'Couldn't if I wanted to, darling. Middleton Pere actually owns it. It's only nominally Peter's.' She smiled brightly. 'I don't care who buys it as long as I can have the Wentworth house.' She perched on the desk, looking mockingly at Verity. 'Pity you couldn't afford Tern Cottage as you're so mad on it, Vee darling.'

  'Great pity,' agreed Verity cheerfully. 'Now, lovely though it is to see you I really must press on, Gussie.'

  In an instant Gussie slid off the desk and thrust her arm through Ben's, looking up at him with a pleading pout. 'Come and have lunch with me, darling.' She gave an artful little look over her shoulder at Verity. 'Teacher here can spare her pupil for a while, surely?'

  'Take him with my blessing,' said Verity with relief, avoiding the simmering look Ben shot at her over the feathery blonde head leaning close to his shoulder.

  'Good of you,' he said without inflection.

  'Cheerio, have a nice lunch.' Verity waved them off with great good humour as the door closed behind them, her nostrils wrinkling at the traces of Gussie's heavy perfume lingering in the air. It spoiled Verity's concentration and after a while she opened the door again to let in some air and went in search of coffee, deciding to drink it with three of the other surveyors who were congregated in one office. She endured a good-natured bout of chaffing for a few minutes on her role as instructor to the gentry, giving as good as she got, and arrived back in her office still smiling, pleased to have it to herself for a change. Her good humour dissipated somewhat after lunch, when she returned to find a message waiting for her on her desk. Mr Dysart had
rung to say he saw no point in returning for the rest of the afternoon, as he felt he had already trespassed sufficiently on Miss Marsh's time, but wished to convey his thanks for her invaluable help all week.

  Verity felt oddly put out. So much for Benedict Dysart's story about Gussie belonging to the past. One little flutter of her eyelashes and he'd gone off to lunch with her like a shot, no doubt with a great deal more than lunch in mind to pass the rest of the afternoon. Verity checked her thoughts irritably. Whatever they were doing, Gussie and Ben were absolutely no business of hers. Without-trying to analyse the bleak little feeling of disappointment that hung over her, Verity sensibly gave her full attention to her work with the aim of getting home in good time for her evening with Niall.

  All week Verity had been too listless to accept any invitations out for a drink or a game of tennis, wanting nothing more than to lie limply in the garden each evening until the light faded. This Saturday she and Niall had an invitation to a party and tonight they were going to watch Henrietta as a serving maid in Twelfth Night. Both prospects pleased, and Niall was obviously delighted to find her so animated as they drove home after the show later that night. Niall Gordon was a fair, amiable young man with a thick blond beard, fond of rugby and squash, and very good at his job. Their conversation inevitably turned to the property market when she invited him in for a drink, though Verity was evasive when he tried to pump her about Tern Cottage, for a number of reasons.

  'A little bird tells me you've had Ben Dysart in with you learning new tricks now he's left the service.' His fair-complexioned face was teasing as he took his glass from her.

  'Yes. Do you know him?'

  'Know of him, rather. Bit of a glamour boy isn't he?'

  Verity frowned at him in surprise as she sat down. 'He doesn't strike me that way. Rather more the strong silent type I would have said—I don't think I'd like to pick a fight with him, somehow.'

  Niall laughed. 'Oh, I don't know. You're not precisely the ultra-feminine helpless type, are you?'