by Anne Weale
She would have had time to dart quickly into her room, but something held her where she was, like a night-roaming rabbit paralysed by the headlamps of an oncoming car.
He turned and came up the last flight, surprisingly light on his feet for such a big man.
‘The bathroom’s all yours,’ she said, conscious that the towel was as short as a micro skirt.
Reid’s gaze travelled down to her bare feet and back up to her face. She remembered him saying she turned him on every time she looked at him. She knew he was turned on now.
Did he think she had changed her mind...had lingered in the bathroom until she heard him coming up?
She recovered the power to move, but as she turned, he said, ‘Wait...’
CHAPTER FIVE
IT HAD a peremptory ring, suggesting that, if she didn’t, she would regret it.
Part of her resented that tone. Another, more amenable side of her nature reminded her she had snapped at him earlier. She could hardly expect to be wooed with soft words after flaring at him like a termagant.
‘The bare boards in your room may have splinters. If you haven’t brought any slippers, you’d better borrow mine. They’ll be too big but better than nothing.’
He opened the door of his room, went inside and almost at once reappeared with a pair of the paper mules which were often among the freebies in luxurious hotels.
‘But what about you?’ she said, as he placed them on the floor in front of her.
‘My soles are harder than yours. Goodnight.’ Seconds later she was staring at his closed door.
When she tapped on it next morning, there was no reply. She tapped again. Silence. She opened the door and looked in. The room was empty.
Unless he had plumped up the pillow and smoothed the undersheet, which didn’t seem very likely, he had slept more soundly than she had.
She went downstairs and found him already at breakfast in a small room at the back of the building. He rose as she joined him. ‘Good morning. Sleep well?’
‘Not very.’
‘Oh... why was that?’
‘I had a guilty conscience.’
‘What about?’
‘I bit your head off last night... when we were walking back. It wasn’t justified. I’m sorry.’
Reid moved his chair further away from the table, sat down and beckoned her to him.
Not sure what he had in mind, she obeyed the gesture. He pulled her onto his lap. ‘How about taking a leaf out of Sam’s book?’
The night before the little boy had accidentally clouted his sister. Before she could start to wail, he had quickly said, ‘Sorry, Emma,’ and given her a kiss.
Fran was surprised Reid had noticed. Smiling, she said, ‘Sorry, Reid,’ and planted a kiss on his temple, the place where her nephew had kissed his sister.
But it didn’t end there. He took over, kissing her on the mouth in a way that sent her insides into a high-speed skid.
‘Here you are, Mr Kennard.’
When the landlady brought his cooked breakfast, Fran would have leapt off his lap, but he wouldn’t let her. Breaking off the kiss, apparently unembarrassed, he said, ‘Thank you, Mrs Field. That looks excellent. This is old-fashioned bacon, Fran. Not the factory-farmed stuff. Are you going to have some?’
No longer held, Fran stood up. ‘Yes, please. But only one rasher and one egg for me, Mrs Field.’
‘Right you are. Coming up.’ Beaming, the landlord’s wife bustled back to her kitchen.
‘Why are you blushing?’ said Reid, as Fran took her place opposite. ‘I’m sure she’s noticed your ring. She’s probably wondering why we’re in separate rooms. Was that Shelley’s idea? Or yours?’
‘Shelley asked,’ Fran admitted. ‘I also made it clear we would be paying the bill. Even at Mrs Field’s rates, she and John can’t afford it. Their resources are stretched to the limit.’
‘I wonder if they need advice on the financial side of things? It’s extraordinary how many people don’t make the best use of their funds,’ Reid said thoughtfully. ‘Do you think John would be offended if I brought up the subject and asked a few leading questions?’
‘I should think he’d be very pleased to have some expert advice. I know he’s not keen on the book-keeping side of the business. Neither of them is. It has to be dealt with, but they both prefer hands-on horticulture.’
After breakfast they returned to the cottage for another couple of hours there before driving on to spend a night with Gran.
After Shelley had made coffee for them, Reid asked if John would mind giving him a guided tour of the whole nursery. Sam went with them and Shelley put Emma in her playpen.
‘She doesn’t mind being caged when Sam’s not around but howls to be free if he is.’
When she was sure the men were well out of earshot, Fran said, ‘What do you think of him? What did John say about him?’
‘If I weren’t happily married, I’d be fighting you for him,’ said her sister. ‘John likes him too.’
‘Do you think Gran will?’
‘Of course. Wouldn’t anyone? What I want to know is when, where and how it happened. Can I try on that gorgeous ring?’
‘Of course.’ Fran passed it across. She had already rehearsed answers to all the questions her sister might ask which would skirt round the truth without requiring any seriously black lies.
‘Reid wants to get married right away. Do you think that’s madness?’ she asked.
‘If you’ve made up your minds, why wait?’ was Shelley’s response. ‘If it’s going to come unstuck, waiting won’t make any difference. John and I knew the day we met that we were right for each other. We had to wait almost a year because there were practical obstacles. That doesn’t apply with you and Reid. This is a fabulous ring. He must be a millionaire...or as near as.’
Fran made no comment. To her relief, her sister hadn’t, as yet, made the connection between Reid’s wealth and the sudden upturn in their mother’s circumstances. With luck, she never would.
‘Did you give John some advice?’ she asked Reid, as they were leaving the village, heading for the northbound motorway.
‘Not yet. His basic problem is lack of cash. Sensibly, he doesn’t want to take on large loans, but he can’t make a lot of progress without new equipment. Perhaps I can steer some venture capital in his direction. Did you have a good gas with your sister?’
‘Yes. We squabbled a lot in our teens but now we get on very well.’
At lunchtime they stopped for a snack at a roadhouse but didn’t eat much because Fran knew that Gran would expect them to do full justice to her north-country cooking.
Mrs Webb lived in a bungalow bought for her by her late son-in-law at the height of his prosperity when the small terrace house she had lived in since she was married was due to be pulled down to make way for a new development.
The bungalow had an unused garage she had left open so that Reid could drive straight in. He had scarcely switched off the engine before she was there to greet them with a warm embrace for her granddaughter and a handshake accompanied by a beady-eyed scrutiny for Reid.
‘I could get a stiff neck looking up at you, lad.’ She was only five feet two, her portly figure held firmly in place by a corselet under a floral dress from her favourite mail order company. ‘Come in and sit yourself down so that we’re more on a level. Kettle’s on and I’ve made some Fat Rascals; they’re one of my Yorkshire specialities,’ she told him. Then, looking at her granddaughter, ‘She’s too thin. I don’t think she eats properly, except when she’s staying with me.’
‘She ate very well last night...we both did,’ he told her. ‘Your other granddaughter is an excellent cook.’
‘Of course she is, lad, I taught her. You won’t need to go to the expense of having a wedding cake made. Outrageous the prices they charge for a three-tier cake these days. I’ll bake it and ice it myself and no one will know the difference.’
‘It’s sweet of you to offer, Gran, but we
aren’t having that sort of wedding,’ said Fran, as they entered the house.
Her grandmother stopped short and stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Reid wants us to get married very quickly and quietly... in a register office.’
‘Oh, he does, does he?’ Mrs Webb cast him a baleful look before marching into her kitchen. ‘You two go into the front room, I won’t be more than a minute.’
What, from the habit of years, she still termed her front room, was actually a large lounge with picture windows veiled by lace-edged net curtains whose whiteness was a matter of deep satisfaction to her.
‘As it’s your idea, it’s up to you to persuade her that it’s a good one,’ Fran told Reid in a whisper.
Amazingly he did. From the moment he went to the kitchen to carry a laden tray for her, until half an hour later when he let himself be persuaded to eat a third Fat Rascal, Reid exerted a combination of charm and psychological insight that it was awesome to watch.
By the time tea was cleared away, he had Gran eating out of his hand. But she had some tricks of her own.
‘While we’re doing the washing up, do me a favour, would you, lad? The post box is just down the road. Turn right from the gate. I meant to pop down with this letter. It won’t go tonight but it will go first thing tomorrow.’
Having got rid of him, and Fran wouldn’t put it past her to have written the letter for precisely that purpose, she said, ‘Your mother told me he was nice. Daphne’s no judge of character but for once she was right. I took to him straight away. He’ll suit you a dam sight better than that other young fellow.’
Fran gave the old lady a sharp look. ‘What other young fellow?’
‘You might be able to pull the wool over your mother’s and your sister’s eyes, but you can’t fool me,’ said her grandmother. ‘I always knew you had a yen for the chauffeur’s son. Never could see what you saw in him. But there you are, teenage girls do have these silly crushes. I did myself, more’s the pity. I hoped you’d grow out of yours, and you have, thank goodness. This big lad will suit you much better than that weedy Julian. All brains and no balls, he was.’
Fran was torn between wanting to laugh at Gran’s typically pithy character assassination and a lingering instinct to protest that it wasn’t true. Julian had more than brains to recommend him. But she didn’t in case Gran suspected her of agreeing to marry Reid on the rebound.
‘I had no idea you guessed how I felt about Julian.’
‘There’s an old saying “The onlooker sees most of the game”,’ said Gran. ‘You’re very like I was at your age, except you’ve had more advantages. At fourteen you were in love with love, the same way I was. Like a fool, I married my first love and lived to regret it. Yours married someone else, leaving you free to find someone a lot more suitable.’
‘You’ve only just met him. How do you know he’s more suitable?’
‘When you get to my age you can recognise a good ’un...or a bad ‘un,’ said the old lady. ‘I’m not saying the chauffeur’s lad was a bad ’un. I dare say he’ll do very well...end up a professor most likely. But he wasn’t man enough to keep you in order.’
‘I don’t want to be kept in order, Gran. Marriage should be a partnership between equals.’
‘That’s as may be.’ Mrs Webb put the last saucer in the plastic rack on the draining board. ‘I was married for thirty years to a man who was weaker than I was. I knew it, he knew it and it made trouble between us. You won’t have that problem with Reid.’
‘I hope I won’t have any problems with Reid.’
‘You’re bound to have some. Two strong-minded people can’t set up house together without a few wrangles. Up to now you’ve had it all your own way. Your dad gave you everything you asked for. Your mother never said boo to a goose. It’s a wonder they didn’t spoil you. I reckon you can thank me for that... me and the teachers at that school I made them send you to. You’ve turned out well, you and Shelley, but you need someone stronger than her John. Someone a bit more exciting.’
‘There’s nothing very thrilling about banking,’ said Fran. ‘I think it’s a dull occupation.’
‘No duller than being a mathematician like Julian.’ As Fran finished drying the dishes, Mrs Webb lifted the plate rack to wipe the drainer. ‘Though I will agree Reid doesn’t look like a banker. He strikes me as more like those fellows who sail round the world in yachts, or run safari parks in Africa. I can’t see him behind a desk. Is he happy at it?’
‘I suppose so. I haven’t asked him.’
Mrs Webb looked scandalised. ‘You’re wearing his ring and you don’t know whether he’s happy at his work? It’s high time you did, girl. That’s your mission in life from now on...making sure he’s a happy man.’
‘Presumably if he wasn’t he wouldn’t be doing it. Your ideas about marriage are a bit old-fashioned, Gran. These days making it work isn’t all down to the woman.’
‘Never was, love,’ Gran said firmly. ‘A good marriage is two people wanting the best for each other and moving heaven and earth to make damn sure they get it.’
‘I know Reid wants several children. We both do.’
‘Children don’t make a marriage. They’re on loan to you for a few years, then they go off and make their own lives. It’s the two of you, loving each other, that’s the important part.’
This was the edge of a minefield. Anxious to skirt it, Fran said, ‘How did you know how I loved Julian? No one else did, not even Shelley.’
‘No, you hid it from everyone but your old gran...and just as well, the way matters turned out. Julian would have felt awkward having you at the wedding if he’d known the way you felt about him. I was proud of you that day, Franny. You put on a brave face and never let anyone know how unhappy you felt. Still, it was all for the best. You—’ She broke off as Reid walked past the window and came in by the back door.
The upper part of the window was open. Had he heard what was being said? Would he want to know the cause of her unhappiness?
His face gave nothing away. He said, ‘Your garden is very well kept, Mrs Webb. Do you do it yourself?’
‘You may be a wizard at high finance, Reid, but you obviously have no idea what jobbing gardeners charge these days. I can’t bend as well as I could, but I’ll go on doing my own garden until they cart me off to an old people’s home. And I’ll have to be in a bad way before I let them do that,’ she added tartly.
The bungalow had three bedrooms. That night Reid slept in the spare double room and Fran in the very small single. She lay awake, thinking about him with his head only inches from hers on the other side of the wall behind the headboard.
Very soon their heads would be side by side on adjoining pillows, or even sharing the same pillow. She found it easier to visualise Julian and Alice doing that than herself and Reid.
The discovery that Gran had always known about her feelings for Julian had been upsetting. What Gran didn’t know and, hopefully, never would was that although Fran had renounced those feelings and tried never to think of him, sometimes thoughts, such as the one she had just had, slipped through her guard. And when they did she knew that loving someone was far, far harder to stop than habits like biting one’s nails or smoking, neither of which she had ever done herself but which she’d seen other people struggle to overcome. Perhaps the only cure for an old love was a new love.
But even if she could love Reid, he didn’t want that. Learning to love him would only lead to greater unhappiness.
At breakfast next morning, Gran said, ‘As you’re denying my granddaughter her big day, I hope you’re intending to give her a slap-up honeymoon.’
Reid was spreading some of her home-made marmalade on a piece of toast. Smiling at her, he said, ‘I wouldn’t deny Francesca anything that she really wanted, Mrs. Webb. She agreed that a quiet wedding would be more appropriate and less stressful for her mother after being recently widowed.’
‘There’s that to it, I suppose,’ Mrs Webb co
nceded grudgingly. ‘But I do enjoy a nice wedding and I shan’t be here by the time little Emma gets wed.’
‘I should think you probably will be, Gran. Great-Granny was still around in her nineties, wasn’t she?’
‘Aye, and she’d had a hard life. Where do you think you might go...for your honeymoon, I mean?’
‘We haven’t discussed it yet. We’ll talk about it today,’ said Reid, effectively closing any further immediate discussion.
As Fran had noticed before, he was good at erecting trespass-proof fences around matters he felt were not in the public domain. It was a useful technique, especially with people like Gran whose interest, though well-meant, could sometimes be intrusive. But would some of his innermost thoughts always remain closed off, even from his wife?
‘Where would you like to honeymoon?’ he asked, when they were on their way again. ‘A favourite place you’d like to go back to? Somewhere neither of us has been before?’
Fran cast her mind over the places she’d visited with her mother and with friends. She’d enjoyed them at the time but none of them beckoned her back. Wherever they went, for a couple who weren’t in love a honeymoon was bound to be something of an ordeal. Of course people who weren’t in love but fancied each other like mad went on holiday together and had a great time. But usually the female partner had a lot more experience than she had.
After a pause, she said, ‘I think I’d like you to surprise me.’
‘Really?’ He took his eyes off the road for a second to give her a searching look. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘I’m sure you’re capable of organising a magical mystery honeymoon,’ she said airily.
‘No problem,’ he agreed. ‘That’s something else settled, then...at least as far as you’re concerned. I’ll try not to disappoint you.’
Had they been a normal couple, it would have been her cue to say, ‘Darling, wherever we go will be bliss because we’ll be together.’
