by Jane Corrie
she would need, and with luck the money in which to do so.
She frowned as she recalled that she would have to approach Matt for the money to buy the house. It wasn't a vast sum as houses go, but a little more than one might be expected to pay for a cottage in the country. Not that it was not worth the price asked; she knew she was getting a bargain, for the cottage was set in half an acre of wooded grounds, and as the price of land was high, the asking price was to her way of thinking very reasonable, and there was also the fact that a quick sale was wanted, hence the realistic price.
The grounds alone had decided her before she even stepped into the house. It was what she had wanted all those years ago, and she had a strange feeling that it had been waiting for her.
Her one fear was that someone else would beat her to it, and snap it up while she was waiting for Matt's answer.
unreasonable Her frown deepened; what if he proved
, and made her wait the full three months for her money? She swallowed. In spite of his friendly inquiries after her health each week, she sensed the old mockery lurking in the background that one slip of the tongue from her would unleash.
Slowly she shook her head. She couldn't rely on Matt. He wouldn't understand how much a home like this would mean to her—and if he did, would he care? Gloomily she thought not, for he was a
globe-trotter, the flat was probably the only home he had, but he didn't spend much time in it, did he?
She had often wondered whether he had still got a home in America, or had any relations there. There was so little she knew about him, and most of it would remain a closed book as far as she was concerned.
Giving herself a mental shake, she went back to the problem on hand. She couldn't see the cottage remaining long on the market and it would certainly be sold within three months.
Thanking providence that there was one person who could help her out of her dilemma, she rang Mr Lawn that evening, explaining the position and asking him to loan her the necessary money to buy the cottage.
As she had known, the answer was an unhesitating 'Of course', and a gentle scolding on the subject that if she had wanted to live in the country, she ought to know she was quite welcome to make her home with them.
Gratefully thanking him, she gave him the name and address of the cottage, adding happily, 'As you see, it's only ten miles from Pedlar's Lodge, so you'll be seeing quite a lot of me anyway.'
This news highly delighted him, and he asked for the agent's name and address, so that he could get things rolling straight away for her.
Kent's eyes were misty as she replaced the receiver. It was good to have someone like 'Uncle
John' in the wings, as it were. She also knew that his pleasure on hearing that she would be living so close to them was genuine. Kent was Oliver's only friend now, the only one he recognised as such, anyway, so Oliver would be happy too.
Having decided what she would do when the year was up, and where she would live, Kent felt happier than she had done for months. She was even able to sound cheerful when talking to Matt on the phone when he rang on Christmas Eve.
'You'll be with the Lawns, I presume?' he asked, and Kent wondered why he sounded caustic. Confirming his question, she asked what he would be doing.
His answer was a laconic, 'Working, as usual. There'll be one or two parties around, I guess, but nothing special.'
No redheads, he means, Kent thought sourly. 'What's the drill at the Lawns' ?' he asked abruptly.
Kent frowned at the receiver. 'I beg your pardon?' she said hesitantly, not understanding the question.
'What do they do? Make a big thing out of it, like inviting folk in for drinks—have a dance, maybe?'
Kent was beginning to get the trend of his thoughts and the reasoning behind them. She was still Mrs King, and this was his way of reminding her to watch her step.
'No,' she replied crossly, wishing she could have answered affirmatively. 'It will be a quiet celebration!, just Mr Lawn, Oliver and I.'
'Good,' he said tersely, then asked, `got my present yet?'
Again Kent stared at the receiver in her hand and wondered if she had heard alright. 'Er ... no,' she said slowly. 'Have you sent me one?' thinking a little too late how idiotic the question must sound to him.
A low chuckle broke out on the other end of the line. 'You sure sound surprised,' he drawled. `Joe Brown's probably keeping it for you on ice until tonight.'
Kent didn't know quite what to make of this, and she wasn't too sure that he wasn't teasing her just to get a rise out of her. The present would probably turn out to be a lot of extra work for her.
—thank you,' she said quietly, 'for whatever it is,' she added, sounding as doubtful as she felt.
This produced another of his low chuckles, and Kent was convinced it was extra work.
'You can thank me properly when I come home,' he said meaningly. 'Early in the new year. I'll give you plenty of notice for you to work up a suitable response! '
Putting the receiver back in a daze, Kent stood staring at the office floor. What on earth did he mean? Why was he coming back? The job wasn't due to be completed until March, so surely he would stay until it was.
Later that day, Mr Brown handed her a brown
paper parcel, and giving one of his rare smiles commented dryly, 'I ought to tell you not to open it until the morning, but as it's from your husband, I doubt if you'll wait that long.'
After the customary drink of sherry offered to all and sundry on the staff, and the gay well-wishing for a happy holiday period, Kent made her way back to the flat, hardly being able to wait until she could see what Matt had sent her. Her fingers dug into the soft parcel wrappings, the touch told her that whatever it was, it was not work—something to wear?
Feverishly pushing aside the last piece of tissue, she gasped as she held up the shimmering folds of a Spanish shawl. It was beautiful, the translucent green reminded her of the sea with the sun sparkling on it.
Pressing her cheek close to the soft material, she felt the tears gathering in her eyes. 'Thank you, darling,' she whispered. 'I'll treasure it always.'
She was not given much time to dwell on the day's extraordinary events, as Mr Lawn collected her shortly afterwards, taking her to Pedlar's Lodge.
After Christmas, however, she gave the subject much thought, and regretted not sending Matt a present, although to be honest, she had hardly expected him to send her one and put her in this position. She had sent him a card, though, and she could always get him something and give it to him when she saw him.
This thought started her heart pounding, and as
much as she tried not to dwell on what he had said about her thanking him properly, his words filled her being.
And the reason he was coming home? She licked her dry lips. Could it be that he would try and persuade her against the annulment? She couldn't think of any other reason why he had chosen to come home a month before the year was up, and hope flared within her like a ray of sunshine.
Was it possible that he cared for her? She closed her eyes; with all her heart she wished it were so. And however much she tried to quell the thought of this highly unlikely happening, it persisted. She would find herself dreaming during the day at work; how she would be there in the flat waiting for him; the sort of meal she would prepare for him, something extra special, and fervently wished she knew what kind of food he liked.
She felt a little guilty that she had not told him about the cottage, but cheered herself up with the thought that it would come as a surprise to him, a nice one she hoped.
The message she was waiting for came the next week. Matt didn't ring through but sent her a message enclosed with a batch of work he wanted done at the office. It was not a long missive, in fact, apart from stating that she was to expect him on the tenth, it said little else.
One week's time, Kent thought dreamily, remembering his remarks about giving her time to
work up a suitable response. Then her lips s
oftened. She didn't need any time; the response was already there, had been for what seemed like years to her.
Two days before his expected arrival, Kent's dream bubble exploded with a shattering bang, and her hopes were crushed by the contents of a long brown envelope. Staring numbly at the cold precise terminology of the annulment proceedings, she dully noted the date the proceedings had been filed.
Three weeks ago—before Christmas! The fact hammered in her brain. The present! she thought hysterically—why had he bothered? Was it a way of saying he was sorry?
Her nerveless fingers dropped the document; of course it was ! She Wanted to burn the shawl, she never wanted to set eyes on it again—or Matt King, come to that. A wave of utter hopelessness washed over her, and as much as she wanted to run from the misery surrounding her, she had to see it through.
Uncle John must be paid back as soon as possible. If she ran out on Matt it could be months before she got her inheritance, for he'd find some way to make her wait for it.
So that was why he was coming back; to sign the annulment papers! Her fingers gripped the, edge of the dining table. She had thought—dared to hope ...
Feeling the tears well up, she blinked them away determinedly. What a fool she had been! How he would have revelled in her disappointment—only
he would never know, and that at least was some consolation to her bruised heart.
Her chin lifted. Yes, she would stay with the firm until the.given time. It wasn't long, and she had the cottage, hadn't she?
A half-sob escaped her as she thought of the plans she had made, and how she would surprise Matt with it. Then sitting down shakily, she tried to gather her wits. She would stay with the firm, but she could not, would not, face Matt—not now, not ever!
That he had chosen to make a weekend visit provided Kent with the excuse she so badly needed. She would go, to the cottage—she now had the keys. Only there would she find the peace she craved.
Her thoughts ran on. His ring! She tore it off her finger and placed it on the table, and that, she told herself, was where she would leave it for Matt to find ,when he walked in on Friday evening.
A. little calmer now, she thought she ought to leave a note with it, something gay on the lines of thanking him for the use of.
He wouldn't, she told herself, find anything odd in- the fact that she had absented herself from -his vicinity. Hadn't she told him she was afraid of him? Oh, he would understand all right! Probably be relieved.
Then she frowned. She must remember to thank him again for the present. She wouldn't throw it back at him as she dearly wanted to do, or scream
at him that she didn't need any consolation gift from him, and, wouldn't it suit the redhead better ! The two days dragged by for Kent. She now knew what time Matt was arriving. Gail Eden had told her to expect him around eight, adding that he said not to prepare a meal for him, as he'd be spending most of the evening in the office catching up on the backlog of work.
The message was given languidly, and as she watched the girl depart with swinging hips, Kent was sure she knew exactly how things were between Matt and her.
Her fingers curled into a ball. Well, come Monday morning everyone would know; she would make a point of telling them. She was sick of the subterfuge.
Turning her thoughts elsewhere, she concentrated on the coming weekend at the cottage, noting on a piece of paper things she would need. The fact that she would have to sleep on the bedroom floor did not cause her any worry. She would buy a sleeping bag, they were said to be very warm.
She would not tell Uncle John where she would be spending the weekend either, or he would insist she slept at Pedlar's Lodge. Kent needed solitude badly, and she wouldn't get it if he knew her plans. Kindness was something she couldn't take right now. She had to come to terms with life, and she wanted to do it her own way.
CHAPTER TWELVE
AT four-thirty sharp, Kent made her way to the flat. There was only one thing on her mind, to pack and make a run for it. For all she knew Matt might have to decide to take an earlier flight, and she couldn't bear the thought of seeing him.
Mr Brown, taking the lift with her, smiled in his doleful way at her. 'I expect you're looking forward to this weekend,' he commented kindly. 'We'd like to ask you both to take a meal some time with us, but I somehow think it will be a case of two's company.'
Kent tried to answer cheerfully; with all her heart she wanted to tell him the truth about Matt and her. Mr Brown had been so kind, and so had his wife, and they were both in for a nasty jolt later.
If Matt had not been so anxious to get rid of her, they could have kept the deception up until it was time for her to leave the office, and she wouldn't have been around when the news came out.
Why had he been in such a hurry? The redhead? She gulped hastily at the thought, and bidding Mr Brown a nice weekend, entered the flat.
Closing the door firmly behind her, Kent leant back against it. Had Matt fallen in love at last? As she recalled the way he had placed an arm about the girl's shoulders, and his obvious pleasure in her company, it rather looked as if he had.
Slowly walking to her bedroom, she straightened her slim shoulders. It was no concern of hers, she could dwell as much as she wanted on the past once she was at the cottage, but right now she had more important things to do, such as writing that note to Matt. There was the packing to do, and making sure she had everything she wanted, for what she forgot, she would have to do without. Shopping was another item that needed careful planning. Provisions, for instance, not that she envisaged having much of an appetite, but she would have to get something in.
Carrying what she needed was going to be another problem for her, since Kent did not fancy taking public transport loaded down with her supplies. The groceries she could leave until she actually got to the cottage. The village shop was not too far away, and as for the other things She frowned, wishing she had held on to her father's car, but at the time it didn't appear it would have been of much use to her, as by then she had learnt the terms of her father's will, and of the trip to Bolivia.
Suddenly she gave herself a mental shake. She could hire a car! Really, she just wasn't thinking straight these days ! There were plenty of firms in
the city, and bound to be one within range of the flat.
Hunting for her licence, she gave a sigh of relief on finding it was still valid. It had been a close thing though, only a fortnight to run. She would have to renew it shortly, as she would need a car when she moved in to the cottage.
Driving out of London was a severe test on Kent's nerves. She hadn't driven for a year, and although very competent, she hadn't chosen a good time to ease herself back to the wheel, or a good place either, she thought ruefully as a taxi skilfully cut her out of her place in a long stream of traffic. It was a case of everyone for himself, and may the one with the best nerve win! All the others could hope for was survival.
It appeared to Kent that everything on four wheels was making for the same destination as her-self. It was, of course, the weekend rush, but even so, she had not realised the density of the traffic involved.
With a sigh of heartfelt relief, she turned off the A and was soon driving down country lanes towards the small village near the cottage. Although it was past normal closing time, the lights were on in the tiny shop, and she was able to purchase several of the items on her list, all the essential ones, anyway. Meat she would have to go further for, but she knew she wouldn't be bothering on this trip.
She was almost out of the shop when she remembered she had not got one very important item, matches! She had managed to purchase an oil lamp, for there was no electricity as yet laid on in the cottage, but the lamp would have been useless without matches.
The wood fire she had promised herself, too, for there was still a nip in the air, and she would have to have some heating arrangement. There was also the question of boiling some water for tea, and for cooking whatever she felt she could eat, and it would have to
be something in the barbecue line, as the fire would be her only source of heat.
As she started up on the last lap of the journey, Kent told herself she was lucky the fireplace hadn't been boarded up, and an electric fire or gas fire installed, in which case she would have been sunk. She had never known what it was like to sit by an open fireplace. Her old home had been centrally heated, and she found she was looking forward to the event with almost childish anticipation. She had no worry over fuel, as the wooded area in the cottage grounds would provide all she needed, and all she had to do was collect suitable pieces of wood for kindling.
An hour later she had her fire, and sat curled up on the flagged stone floor in front of it, watching the flames shooting up into the soot-blackened chimney breast. Her earlier anticipation had been justified, and with a deep sense of pleasure she watched the orange sparks dancing on the logs, and the bright
blue plumes that appeared every now and again, as if to give a touch of mystery to the bright kaleidoscope unfolding before her.
Glancing at her watch a little while later, she saw that it was eight o'clock, and her gaze went back quickly to the fire. Why had she to look at her watch at that particular time? Time was something she could forget for a little while—was he there now? Had he read her letter?
'Stop it! ' she cried out aloud. 'Forget him! He's not for you.'
Scrambling to her feet, she made herself busy by starting to prepare a meal for herself—if toast could be called a meal; but she hadn't had anything since midday, and it might take her mind off her troubles.
