by Susan Lewis
Finally he let her go, and reached up and touched her face. She felt embarrassed, and didn’t know what to say. And he smiled at her confusion.
“I think you’d better go in,” he said, handing her her bag, “before we both do something we might regret.”
She took it from him, and without speaking got out of the car. When she turned back he was no longer looking at her, and it took every ounce of willpower she had to turn and walk away.
THIRTY-TWO
Catching a brief glimpse of Kate as she rushed through the outer office, Margaret Stanley, Features Editor of Gracious Living magazine, leapt to her feet and ran to the door.
“Kate! Kate!”
Kate was already at the door and she groaned as she heard Margaret’s voice. She had hoped to escape without actually seeing the editor. She looked quickly at her watch and tried not to groan again. Nick would probably already be outside waiting for her by now. Still, she had no choice so she forced up the corners of her mouth and turned back again.
“Margaret,” she beamed. “I thought you weren’t in today.”
“Really?” said Margaret. “Who on earth told you that?” She looked a little perplexed. Then her face brightened again. “Still, anyway, it doesn’t matter. Helen tells me you’re off to Cliveden again today.”
Kate threw a look at Margaret’s secretary who was sitting at her desk by the window, making herself suddenly very busy with the telephone and a notepad.
“I just wanted to let you know that I was quite impressed with your article so I am sending a photographer down.”
“But I gave you all their bumph,” said Kate.
“Yes, but I want some shots of the staff. And perhaps you having tea, or walking beside the swimming pool or around the grounds.”
“Me!” said Kate. “Since when have I started to feature in my own articles?”
“Since now,” said Margaret, a little loftily. “I particularly liked your bit about feeling the presence of the past. You know, surrounded by people, even in an empty room, and their escorting you through time. So, as I said, I’ve sent a photographer to meet you there.”
“But I’m not working for the magazine today.”
“You are now,” Margaret grinned, but as usual the smile didn’t get quite as far as her eyes.
“But I’m taking someone with me.”
“That won’t matter, surely?”
“Actually, it will.”
“Oh, don’t be silly. It won’t take long, you’ll be finished by lunchtime and then you can have the rest of the day to yourself.”
“We won’t get there until lunchtime,” Kate pointed out, not bothering to disguise her annoyance.
“You won’t if you continue to hang around here.”
Kate glared at Margaret for a moment, but knew there was no point in arguing. “Who’s the photographer?”
“Jillian. Jillian Jones.”
“Oh no!” Kate groaned.
Margaret’s eyebrows lifted so high, they succeeded in pulling her head backwards and adding another chin to the two she already had. “She’s the best, Katherine, I thought you would have been pleased. Besides, I thought you two got along well together.”
“We do, normally. But did you really have to send her today?”
“Fraid so,” said Margaret. “She’s already on her way, so off you go, dear. Have a good time,” and before Kate could protest further Margaret disappeared back into her office.
“Off you go, dear. Have a good time,” Kate mimicked. “Why doesn’t someone write her another script?”
Helen giggled. “Sorry,” she said. “But when she asked me where you were today I thought that if I said you were spending the day at Cliveden with a friend, I’d be getting you off the hook. I had no idea. Sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“If you don’t mind,” said Helen, tearing a piece of paper from the pad in front of her, “would you give this message to Jillian. Someone called just after she’d left.”
Kate took the scrap of paper and shoved it into her pocket. “Jillian. Bloody Jillian. Of all people, it had to be her.”
“But I thought you liked her. You two are always talking about the good times you have when you’re out together.”
“When it’s just the two of us, yes, but not today.”
Helen rested her chin on her hands and looked interested. “Not today? And can one ask, why in particular not today? Not hiding something from us, are you, Kate? Or should I say someone?”
Kate grinned and walked over to Helen’s desk. She leaned forward and tapped her finger on Helen’s nose as she spoke. “As a matter of fact, I am. I had high hopes for today, until now.”
“Going to tell me who he is?”
“Nope!”
“Go on. Jillian will tell us anyway.”
“I know,” said Kate. “That’s partly why I’m so bloody annoyed about it. But only partly.”
“And the other part?”
“Is the biggest part. Jillian herself!”
“But what’s the matter with Jullian?”
“Nothing – that’s the matter with Jullian. She’s beautiful. And tall and blonde, and slim and kind and sexy and irresistible and . . . Shall I go on?”
“I think you’ve made your point,” Helen laughed. “Someone special then, this, uh, friend?”
Kate looked at her watch again. “Talk to you later, and tell Margaret I’m claiming expenses for the day. The whole day!” and she ran out of the office.
Helen shook her head, and went back to what she was doing. Libel, journalists, expenses and Margaret Stanley, they were the bane of her life.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have company,” Kate said, looking straight ahead. “At least for part of the day anyway.” They were speeding along the motorway, towards Taplow.
Nick looked over at her, his eyes wary. “Don’t tell me you’ve invited your father.”
Kate turned to face him. “No,” she said, surprised at his tone of voice. “No, I haven’t as a matter of fact. Why? Would it matter if I had?”
“No,” he said. And then: “Yes, actually. Yes, it would.”
“Why?”
“What do you mean why?”
“What I said.”
“Because it would.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Nick. “Who have you invited, then? If it’s not your father?”
Kate looked out of the window again. “Actually, I haven’t invited anyone. She’s been thrust upon us. Margaret has decided to send a photographer down so I’ll have to spend some time with her.”
“Oh.”
“Do you mind?”
“No.”
“As long as it’s not my father?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
“You don’t.”
“Then explain.”
Nick glanced up at the rear view mirror and then indicated to pull out into the fast lane. “All right, I’ll explain. I didn’t want your father to come because I thought we were spending the day together. Just the two of us. Does that explanation satisfy you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“But we won’t be just the two of us now anyway.”
“The photographer. How quickly can we get rid of him?”
“Her.”
“Her.”
Kate shrugged. “It shouldn’t take too long.”
“What you mean is, it won’t take too long.”
Kate grinned. “Oooh, I love it when you’re masterful. Particularly when you haven’t shaved.”
Nick threw her a look and manoeuvred the car back into the centre lane.
They were passing Heathrow Airport.
“Look!”
Nick hit the brakes, and tried to pull over. But then he saw what she was pointing at, and carried on.
“Concorde!” He shook his head. “I should have known.”
“Sorry,” she said, a little red
in the face. “Funny, isn’t it. I don’t know how long it’s been flying now, but I still get excited when I see it.”
“You and several million others,” said Nick, slowing down for the plane spotters in front.
“But you must admit, it is quite something. Actually seeing Concorde reminds me. I had a telephone call from Ashley this morning.”
“How is she?”
“Oh she’s fine, or at least she says she is. But you know I couldn’t help thinking that there was something on her mind. For one thing, it was seven o’clock when she called, which means it must have been the early hours of the morning in New York.”
“Perhaps she wanted to take advantage of the cheap rate.”
“Mmm, maybe.”
“Well,” he prompted, “what did she say?”
“That’s just it, nothing really. She asked how I was, and she asked about you too.”
“Me?”
“Yes, why not?”
His smile was thoughtful. “What did you say?”
“I said that you were awfully well, and that you might be going to New York in a couple of weeks’ time. By the way, she said you must stay with her, unless of course you have other plans.” She looked at him, waiting for his answer.
Nick just grinned.
“Anyway,” Kate went on, “I asked how she was, and she said she had just come in from some ball or something. It sounded frightfully grand. And when I asked who she had gone with she changed the subject. Then I asked how work was going, you know she’s right in the thick of this crucial presentation, but she didn’t seem to want to talk about that much either. And then I asked her about Conrad, and she almost bit my head off.”
“Those two never did see eye to eye, as I remember.”
“No.” said Kate, thoughtfully. “No, they didn’t, did they? Anyway, she obviously didn’t want to talk about him. And then she rang off.”
“She was probably a bit tired, that’s all.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. But you will look her up when you go to New York, won’t you?”
“I expect so. In fact I might even stay with her,” and Kate didn’t miss the twinkle in his eyes as he turned to look at her.
When they reached Taplow, Kate directed him to Cliveden. As they turned into the long drive, she sat back to let the scenery and aura of the place flow over her once again. And Nick had to admit that he felt it too. There was something about Cliveden, almost the minute you entered the grounds, that seemed to embrace you with a sense of warmth and welcome.
He turned to look at Kate, and thought how lovely she looked, sitting there beside him, enchanted by everything around her.
They turned into the Main Avenue, and Nick pulled the car to a stop. They sat a moment, marvelling at the intricacy and romance of the Fountain of Love.
“And now look up,” said Kate.
Nick turned to see the house resting proudly at the end of the avenue of limes. Despite its austerity, it seemed to be waiting, as if it had been waiting patiently, for a long time, just for them.
He started to drive slowly towards it.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Kate. “Apparently everyone who cares feels the same way. It’s as if the house is yours, isn’t it? As if it is there, just for you.”
Nick looked at her in surprise, and she smiled.
“Over there,” she said, as they entered the courtyard, “behind the wall, is a swimming pool, with the most beautiful little summer house you’ve ever seen at one end. Beside it is a croquet lawn. And the clock tower,” she went on, “was built for the Duchess of Sutherland in 1861.”
Nick nodded. “For some reason it reminds me of the old nursery rhyme. Who built it?”
“Henry Clutton.”
He looked at her, impressed. “You’ve done your homework.”
“Of course,” she said. “Now pull up over there, in front of the west wing.”
No sooner had he switched off the engine than a footman was standing beside Kate’s door, ready to open it and show them into the house.
The butler was waiting for them inside the Grand Hall, and Kate greeted him like an old friend. Then, after she had introduced Nick, he asked if they would like to take tea.
Nick looked at Kate, and almost burst out laughing when she asked for it to be served in the Boudoir. But the butler seemed to be prepared for this, and led the way to a small, at least by Cliveden standards, blue room, at the corner of the house. Nick loved the room on sight; he felt as though he had been invited into someone’s home, rather than a hotel drawing room. Kate’s face was beaming, and she pointed him to the window.
What he saw as he looked out took his breath away. The parterre was quite staggering in its splendour, with the most intricate and immaculately manicured hedges he had ever seen running down each side. Kate came to stand beside him. “The balustrade in front comes from the Villa Borghese in Rome.”
He slipped an arm round her shoulder. “It’s all so, well, humbling.”
“Isn’t it?” she said. “After we’ve had tea, I’ll take you back out into the Grand Hall, and show you the portraits. You’ll love Nancy Astor, she’s so beautiful. And I’ll tell you the story of the second Duke of Buckingham, who eloped with the Countess of Shrewsbury and came here to live in 1668. Their portraits are hanging there too.”
Nick lifted his hand, and stroked her hair. She was like a child in her enthusiasm for the place.
“Kate! You’re here at last. I thought you’d got lost. How are you? It’s so good to see you.”
Kate turned round to see Jillian coming across the room towards them, looking taller and more striking then ever, arms open ready to embrace her. Kate hugged her and laughed when Jillian let her go and told her in a very proprietorial voice that the footman was on his way with tea. “He’s a bit slow, dear, but you know how it is. So difficult to get the staff these days,” and she sat down on the settee.
Kate covered her face with her hand and turned away as she saw the footman standing at the door with the tray.
“Will that be all, madam?” the footman asked Jillian as he put the tray on the table in front of her.
“For now,” said Jillian, as cool as you like. “I’ll ring if there’s anything else.”
“Thank you, madam. And next time, madam, I’ll try to be a little quicker.” He stopped at the door and looked back at Kate. “The Sally Anne will be leaving at four,” he said.
“Oh, yes, yes, thank you,” Kate stammered. “Thank you.” And he went away. “Jillian!” she burst out when she was sure he had gone.
“Sorry,” said Jillian. “I just couldn’t resist it. You don’t think he minded, do you?”
Kate laughed. “Probably not. No sugar for me.”
Jillian handed her a cup and turned to Nick. “You haven’t introduced us, Kate,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on Nick. She stood up, holding out her hand. “Jillian Jones,” she said. “And you’re Nicholas Gough, I recognised you immediately. Kate’s told me all about you.”
“She has?” said Nick. Kate turned away, fighting a sudden urge to strangle Jillian.
Nick took Jillian’s hand and shook it. “No sugar for me either thanks.” He wandered over to a small table beside the fireplace and picked up a silver framed picture of Nancy Astor.
Jillian caught Kate’s eye. “He’s divine!” she mouthed, and then sat down again to pour his tea. Kate didn’t miss the dazzling smile she gave him as she handed it to him.
“Thanks.” He turned to Kate. “The Sally Anne?”
“Oh yes. It’s the small Edwardian boat that belongs to the house. It takes you up and down the river. For guests only, but I asked the butler if we could go, as a special treat.”
“It seems you scored quite a hit last time you were here,” Jillian remarked, sitting back and relaxing with her cup of tea.
“It was mutual, I can assure you,” said Kate, walking round the settee. “Where would you like to start?”
But
Jillian wasn’t listening, she was still watching Nick, though he seemed to be unaware of it. “Weren’t you in Romeo and Juliet at the Old Vic a little while ago?”
Nick looked surprised. “Yes, I was.”
“Now don’t tell me, you were,” she put her hand to her head while she thought, “you were Benvolio.”
Nick was impressed. “That’s right. You saw it?”
“I certainly did. And before that you were in something else at the National, weren’t you? Was it The Shoemaker’s Holiday?”
Nick shook his head. “No. I was in Shaw’s Man and Superman. And then Lady Windermere’s Fan.”
“Of course, Man and Superman. You were Octavius Robinson. Do you know, I went to see it twice.”
“You did? You actually sat through Don Juan in Hell more than once?”
Jillian giggled and Kate wished she wouldn’t. “I have to confess, the second time round I skipped the Don Juan bit. Not that I didn’t think it was good. In fact it was brilliant, but it’s very heavy. I suppose I just wasn’t feeling in a heavy mood that night.”
“I had no idea,” said Kate, going to sit beside Nick, “that you were such an avid theatre-goer, Jillian.”
“Are you kidding? I go at least three times a month. I love the theatre.” She turned back to Nick again. “What are you doing at the moment?”
“We’ve just finished Twelfth Night.”
“Oh yes, at the London? I missed it. Couldn’t get tickets. I should have come to you, Kate. But why didn’t you say something?”
“As I said,” Kate answered a little more sourly than she intended, “I didn’t know you were so interested.”
“What’s coming up?” said Jillian, seemingly unperturbed by Kate’s tone. “More Shakespeare?”
Nick smiled. “Not for the moment.”
“Then what?”
This time he chuckled. “Oh, you know what we actors are, never like to talk about things until they’re signed and sealed.”
“Then I’ll have to squeeze it out of Kate when I next see her. Don’t want to miss it, especially now that I’ve actually met you.”
“You don’t mean to tell me I’ve actually got a fan?”
