Bittersweet Deception

by Liz Fielding

  Kate jerked her head back, breaking the insidious contact before it entirely sapped her will to resist and she was begging him to do anything he wanted. She stepped sharply back, turned and put the length of the kitchen between them before she spoke. ‘I don’t need reminding of anything,’ she said. ‘If you have something to say to me that concerns my work, I’ll listen. If not, perhaps you’ll be good enough to leave me in peace.’

  ‘Kate?’ He had followed her and she spun around, startled at the closeness of his voice in her ear. But his expression was cloaked, anger and smouldering desire concealed behind a bland mask that gave away nothing, except perhaps for a disquieting glint in his eyes.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded, aggression covering the imperative of her own desire.

  ‘On the subject of work.’ He waited for her response.

  ‘Work?’ It was the last thing she had expected. ‘What about work?’

  ‘I understand from Tisha that you agreed to cook for any dinner parties she decided to hold during your stay here.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kate affirmed. ‘I did. Has she made some plans?’

  ‘No. But I’ve decided to invite an old friend to dinner.’

  ‘Just one?’

  ‘One is quite enough. Next Saturday—the night before we open the hall. We’ll eat in the dining-hall. She’ll enjoy that.’

  With one hand he offered seduction, with the other he ordered dinner for another girl. She wondered which of his glamorous companions was being honoured by a visit to the ancestral home. The sharp green jab of jealousy was unexpected, ridiculous in the circumstances, but no less painful.

  ‘And will she be staying for breakfast?’

  He smiled, very slightly. ‘I hardly think that’s any of your business, Kate but no. She lives near enough for me to take her home.’

  ‘How convenient. No stains on the sheets to shock the staff.’ Under his ominious calm she managed to get a grip on her emotions. ‘Have you any preference for the menu?’

  ‘None whatever. I’ll leave that entirely to you.’ He turned to leave, but paused in the doorway. ‘Except that Annabel hates fish.’ Annabel Courtney. An old friend indeed. He had been squiring her for as long as she could remember. There had been numerous rumours of something more permanent, but nothing ever came of it.

  ‘No oysters, then?’ she murmured, and jumped as the kitchen door banged shut behind him.

  * * *

  Jay retired to his study to work with instructions that he was not to be disturbed, rarely appearing for meals, preferring to eat from a tray at his desk. Unfortunately, Kate thought as she responded in Nancy’s absence to yet another demand for coffee, it was a one-way transaction. On Thursday evening, however, he called her into the study.

  He was writing at his desk, isolated in a yellow circle of light thrown by a tall lamp at his elbow. The only other illumination in the room was from a log fire burning in the hearth, its flames reflecting in the tall windows opposite

  ‘You wanted to see me, Jay?’

  As he looked up she thought he looked tired. ‘Hello, Kate. Sit down.’ He threw a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles on to the desk in front of him and rubbed his eyes. ‘How are things going?’

  ‘No problems,’ she said briskly, lowering herself into a chair in front of the desk, determined to keep the interview on a strictly impersonal level. It was the first time they had exchanged more than the barest civilities since their angry exchange in the kitchen. She told herself she preferred it that way.

  ‘Good.’ He sat back and stared at her for a moment, a slight frown creasing his forehead.

  Discomfited by his scrutiny, Kate made a move. ‘If there’s nothing else I do need to get on.’

  ‘You seem to be working very long hours.’

  ‘Only now, while I’m getting the systems into place. Once things are running it will be a lot easier. You’ve been working long hours too.’

  ‘There’s no comparison. You have no personal stake in the Conservatory, Kate, whereas I am about to invest several million pounds in a new venture. A few hours ensuring that the figures are correct is a sound investment of my time.’

  ‘Surely you have accountants to do that for you?’

  ‘Yes, I have accountants. Talented, hard-working, all of them. But it’s my money. It makes my eye that little bit keener.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, a little ruefully. ‘The balancing act between profit and loss is a precarious one. It has a magic way of concentrating the mind.’

  ‘Business was tough? Is that why you took Tisha’s offer?’

  ‘Partly,’ she said, and left it at that.

  He didn’t enquire further, but rose, stretched, then moved across to the sideboard and poured himself a scotch. He turned to her. ‘What will you have?’

  ‘Nothing, thank you. I really do have a lot of work, Jay.’

  ‘This is work, I promise. But I’d rather sit by the fire with you and discuss it over a drink. I’ve been stuck behind that desk all day. Consider it an alternative tea-break.’ He offered her a smile. ‘I’m quite sure you deserve it.’

  She kept her eyes cast down, apparently absorbed in the rich detail of the carpet. ‘If you put it that way, I’ll have a small gin with a lot of tonic.’

  He poured the drink and carried it across to a pair of old high-backed leather chairs that flanked the stone hearth. ‘Come and sit over here, it’s more comfortable.’ Reluctantly she moved to the chair and perched on the edge of the seat, took the proffered glass and sipped.

  He sat opposite her and stretched his long legs towards the fire. ‘I love log fires. I really miss this when I’m in London.’

  ‘The nights are still chilly,’ she agreed, and could have bitten off her tongue for sounding so ridiculously prim.

  He glanced across at her. ‘Relax, Kate. I’m not going to jump on you.’

  ‘That will make a change.’ She caught herself. Keep to business, she reminded herself. ‘What exactly do you want to discuss?’ she asked.

  ‘Last-minute details. Even the smallest ventures need a little care if they are to succeed.’ His eyes flickered over her rigid body. ‘When you sit back and relax, we’ll begin.’ He took a long draught of whisky and stretched out a foot to prod the logs, which flared into life, throwing a sudden heat on to her face. She continued to sit stubbornly upright for a while, but he made no further attempt to talk to her and it became apparent that he meant precisely what he said. Feeling rather silly, she shifted slightly, allowed her limbs to relax against the old leather and stretched her toes towards the fire. It was…pleasant.

  He gave no indication that he had noticed her capitulation and for a while she wondered if he had forgotten that she was there. The movement of the flames was oddly hypnotic, their warmth making her limbs heavy, languorous.

  When he spoke she physically jumped. ‘I’d like to try a dummy run in the Conservatory tomorrow afternoon,’ he said. He drained his glass and glanced across at her, but his face was devoid of any expression that might give her a clue to his thoughts. ‘Can you manage it?’

  If I don’t sleep for the next twenty-four hours, she thought, mentally chiding herself for allowing him to lull her into so false a sense of security. On top of the distraction of his dinner with Annabel Courtney, training a group of local sixth-form girls to wait at tables and the slow wind-up to the sheer physical effort involved in the preparation of food in quantity, this was clearly meant to be the last straw. ‘It’s an excellent idea,’ she said.

  He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘I’m full of good ideas.’

  ‘Where will you get your customers from?’

  He shrugged. ‘My publicity people have been drumming up a little interest with their contacts. I’ve been bombarded with requests for a preview from the local press, and one or two of the national papers are prepared to give us some coverage too. If I give them the grand tour and you provide the afternoon tea we should be home and dry.’

  ‘Will the television peopl
e be coming?’

  Jay’s face became still. ‘Why do you ask?’ His voice was low and even, but his eyes were watchful, suspicious almost.

  ‘I just wondered. It seems likely, since you’re in the medium. Or would the opening of any other country house warrant quite such flattering interest?’

  ‘Why do you want to know?’ he asked again.

  ‘I ought to get my hair done,’ she said, somewhat flippantly, since she didn’t have a moment to spare.

  ‘Ah!’ The sound was a long velvet sigh. He stood up and took her glass, refilling it without bothering to ask if she wanted another. ‘If you fancy yourself as a TV cook, my dear, you’re not going the right way about it.’

  ‘Oh? And what is the right way?’

  His eyes were dark and unreadable in the shifting firelight. ‘Come to my room tonight, Kate, and I’ll show you.’ He held out her glass and she took it, her insides flipping over as their fingers touched.

  Kate took a quick drink, anything to hide the sudden hunger kindled by his words, the simple need to stretch out her hand and touch him. If he ever guessed how hard she had to fight the burning attraction that the mere sight of him engendered he would take everything he wanted. Take it and leave her an empty husk. At least when David had broken their engagement she had retained the cold comfort of her self-respect.

  With a tremendous effort of will she managed to look puzzled. ‘Surely that would be breaking the house rules?’

  ‘It’s my house. They’re my rules.’

  She swallowed. ‘A television series was suggested to me quite recently, as a matter of fact. On that occasion I was invited to a party to discuss it. But I have a feeling that the end result was supposed to be the same.’ She looked straight at him. ‘It’s a very odd way to do business.’

  ‘It has a long provenance, Kate, dating from the time the first cavewoman found it was the easiest way to get a meal.’

  ‘I imagine she was the one with her back on the rock and she had to do the cooking. Not entirely a one-way transaction.’

  ‘But a great deal easier than catching a woolly mammoth. Who was it?’

  ‘Who…?’

  ‘Who tried to tempt you into bed with a TV series? I warn you, not everyone in the business is the soul of probity.’

  ‘Do you mean,’ she asked, with every appearance of horror, ‘that he might not have been quite serious?’

  His eyes flickered over her. ‘I’m sure he was very serious about the bed part. I rather doubt you would ever have seen the inside of a television studio.’

  ‘You shock me, Jay. How fortunate that I couldn’t take the man up on his offer. Sam…’ Sam had been dancing that night, a small solo in her school show. She wouldn’t have missed it, even if she had believed in the television series.

  He abruptly turned away. ‘It isn’t necessary to explain.’ His eyes had lost their warmth. Lost all expression. ‘May I take it that you can cope tomorrow?’

  She placed her glass, barely touched, on the table beside her and rose somewhat shakily to her feet and walked to the door. The truce was apparently over. ‘You may. But if you have any idea of the numbers involved it would be a help.’

  He didn’t turn around. ‘You won’t know how many people to expect on Sunday. It will make it more realistic.’

  * * *

  The journalists and film crews arrived just after lunch on Friday and Jay showed them around the house before delivering them to the head gardener for a tour of the grounds.

  ‘Is everything ready?’ His appearance in the kitchen caused a quiver amongst the excited seventeen-year-olds who had been given the afternoon off school for the occasion at Jay’s special request. Normally they would only work on Sunday afternoons. She nodded. ‘We’re ready.’

  She was buttering the umpteenth batch of teacakes when the door opened and she was confronted with a camera and a microphone.

  An interviewer, vaguely familiar, chatted for a few minutes, asking her about herself and her job, while she continued to work. She was too busy to feel nervous and it was only later, when Tisha asked her if she wished to watch the local evening magazine programme, that she felt a sudden qualm about how she had performed. She immediately dismissed her nerves as ridiculous. They wouldn’t use the footage from the kitchen when there was so much else to show.

  There were establishing shots of the outside of Fullerton Hall and Jay, completely at home before the cameras, telling a little of its history.

  Kate leaned forward when the camera panned the Conservatory, pleased to see how attractive the new green linen looked against the white wrought iron. Then she drew in a sharp breath as she saw herself chatting quite casually about how everything was freshly made, piling the teacakes on to a plate.

  ‘Very professional, Kate,’ Jay said, a cutting edge to his voice. ‘I think we’ll be overrun on Sunday. Everyone will want to meet the cook. It’s rather a pity the kitchen is out of bounds. I recorded the programme—would you like a copy to keep? You never know when it might come in useful.’

  ‘Thank you, Jay.’ She took the barb buried in the offer and hurled it back. ‘I’m sure Sam would love to see it.’

  * * *

  On Saturday afternoon Jay wandered into the kitchen and stood for a while watching her prepare the food for his intimate little dinner party. She tried to ignore him, devoting her entire attention to the preparation of her choux pastry.

  He watched her for a while in silence, then said, ‘How’s Sam?’ She continued to stir the mixture in the saucepan. ‘Did he get his cheque safely?’

  Kate gave him a sideways glance. ‘I imagine so. Although what business it is of yours I don’t know.’

  ‘He didn’t ring to say thank you?’ he persisted. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t trust herself to. ‘No. Well, if you sponge off young women, good manners aren’t going to have a very high priority in your life, I suppose.’

  ‘What’s your excuse, Jay?’ she asked, without taking her eyes off the careful blending of her ingredients.

  ‘I had a deprived childhood.’

  ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word.’ Kate removed the saucepan from the hob and added an egg, beating it with a practised action that was as automatic as breathing.

  ‘Don’t I?’

  She gave an angry little shrug, thinking of Sam, all she had lost. But she kept it to herself. She added another egg to the mixture and carried on beating. ‘I imagine if it hadn’t arrived I would have heard by now,’ she said. In a way it was a great deal easier when he was being deliberately unpleasant. That way she knew exactly where she stood. She raised her lashes and regarded him steadily. ‘I’ve no doubt that he’ll thank me very nicely when he sees me.’ A third egg was added and, if the beating had become a little ragged, only she noticed.

  ‘No doubt,’ he said, his voice pregnant with meaning. ‘Kate…?’

  ‘Yes?’ She surprised a perplexed expression that deepened the lines grooved into his cheeks.

  He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’ With that he removed himself from the kitchen.

  Half an hour later the phone rang. ‘A call for you,’ Jay said, brusquely. It was her editor.

  ‘Kate, darling? Who on earth was that who answered the phone? He was barely civil.’

  ‘It’s not a very good time, Lorna. We’re all up to our eyes—’

  ‘Sorry, sweetie. I won’t keep you. I just wanted you to know how much we all loved your “Letter From a Country Kitchen”.’

  ‘Oh, good.’ She had been so busy that she hadn’t had time to wonder.

  ‘Very original.’ She paused. ‘Could you produce it weekly, instead of fortnightly? I could run it again this week.’

  Kate stifled a little stab of something close to guilt. ‘I’ll try, Lorna. Look, I must go. Something’s about to boil over.’ She hung up. She was torn between delight at this unexpected success and something close to panic. Suppose Lorna had realised who Jay was when he answered the phone. It was hardly fair…
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  The phone rang again and she picked it up. ‘I’m not your answering service, Kate,’ Jay said coldly, before she could speak. ‘It’s Mike Howard. Tell him you’re busy! I need the phone.’ She stared at the receiver. This was the man she had been worried about being fair to? Lorna could have her copy as soon as she found a moment to write it. And when Mike Howard asked her out for a meal one day the following week, she said yes with an immediacy that must have flattered him.

  Afterwards she regretted it. It was just an added complication to a life already in chaos, but she had too much to do without worrying about her motives in accepting his invitation. He was pleasant enough. An evening out would probably do her good.

  By nine-thirty the dinner had been served. Only the dessert remained, and Nancy came to the kitchen with the disquieting request from Jay that Kate should take it up to the dining-room herself. It hadn’t been enough that she had cooked for this woman, he wanted her to see them together. She pulled a face. Maybe it would teach her to keep a civil tongue in her head.

  She changed her white wraparound overall for a fresh one, checked her hair in the mirror and, taking a deep breath, picked up the tray and carried it into the magnificent dining-room. Tonight it wasn’t a showroom in a stately home. It had been brought to life with the sparkle of crystal and silver and hothouse flowers, its vastness banished to the shadows by soft candlelight.

  Two intimate figures were illuminated by the soft light. Jay, his hands holding the long fingers of Annabel Courtney, glanced up at her as she entered, in a manner calculated to irritate.