The Proprietor's Daughter

by Lewis Orde

  “The moment you left the room, I told your father that I would like his opinion of the houses I was going to show you. I brought the brochures in from the car, and asked which one he thought you would like best. He was tickled pink that I would give him such a courtesy.”

  Katherine was filled with admiration. “John Saxon, you are a very smooth operator.”

  The children’s excitement peaked when they saw Saxon’s Rolls Royce Silver Shadow. “My grandpa’s got a Bentley,” Henry told William when the chauffeur opened the rear door, “but it’s very old, and not as nice as this.”

  “I’m quite sure it’s not,” William answered.

  Katherine sat in the rear with the children. Saxon sat in the front. As the Rolls pulled away, Katherine looked back at the house. Her father stood in the doorway, waving.

  They saw two houses that morning. Neither fitted the bill. Katherine rejected the first because it was not large enough; she wanted completely separate living quarters for Edna and Jimmy Phillips. Henry and Joanne turned up their noses at the second house because the garden was all carefully cultivated flower beds and no lawn. At one-thirty, Saxon suggested they break for lunch. He had William drive to Regent’s Park, where they sat down at an outdoor restaurant.

  “Would you like a boat ride?” Saxon asked Henry and Joanne when lunch was finished. They accepted eagerly, and Saxon nodded at William. The chauffeur led the children toward the building where rowboats could be hired. Saxon fetched a plaid blanket from the car, then he and Katherine sat at the edge of the lake.

  “They like you,” Katherine said. “You really got off on the right foot when you gave them the watches.”

  “Right now they like William. He’s rowing the boat.”

  Katherine heard Henry shouting. The boat was passing close to the bank where she and Saxon sat. Both children were waving, and the adults waved back. William, warm beneath the bright August sun, had his uniform jacket open; his face was glistening with the first beads of sweat.

  “You know, Katherine, looking at all these houses might just be an exercise in futility.”

  “Am I that fussy, that choosy?”

  “No. I just don’t think there’s any need for you to look. I already know the house where you and the children will be happiest. My house, in Henley-on-Thames.”

  “That’s very sweet, John, but it’s far too soon after Franz for me to even think about marrying someone else.”

  Saxon managed a weak smile. “I’ll take that as a very reluctant rejection, with an invitation to try later.”

  “That’s exactly how I meant it. In the meantime, thank you for being here.”

  William threw in the towel after twenty-five minutes, less than halfway through the hour for which he had hired the boat. His jacket was off, and his shirt was soaked with perspiration. Saxon told him to return to Marble Arch; for the remainder of the day, he would drive the car himself.

  “Thank you for the boat ride,” Henry and Joanne said.

  “You’re welcome,” answered the disheveled chauffeur, before making his way to the park gate and a taxi.

  “We could have run him home,” Katherine pointed out. “Especially after he was so good with the children.”

  “A man that sweaty belongs in a taxi, not in a Rolls Royce.”

  Katherine laughed. “Snob.”

  Saxon checked his watch. “It’s three o’clock, too late to look at any more houses today. Let’s get back in the car; we’ll go for a ride.”

  Henry and Joanne sat in the back. Katherine took the front passenger seat, wondering what surprise Saxon was hiding up his sleeve. He drove for several miles, beyond the northwest suburbs of London. At a sign that read, “Private Road, Keep Out,” he stopped the Rolls and turned around to his small passengers.

  “All right, who wants to learn to drive?”

  “Are you mad?” Katherine asked.

  “Certainly not. My company’s building an estate of luxury homes on this land. The private road belongs to us.”

  Henry was first. He sat on Saxon’s lap, small hands gripping the steering wheel. Saxon’s feet worked the accelerator and brake, and his hands were never more than a fraction of an inch away from Henry’s, always ready to grab the wheel in case of an emergency. They drove at a steady twenty miles an hour along the private road, between the shells of luxury homes that Saxon’s company was erecting. At the end of the road, Saxon swung the car around, stopped, and said, “All change.” Joanne took her brother’s place on Saxon’s lap, her even smaller hands locked onto the wheel. This time, Katherine noticed, Saxon held the wheel as well. Something else she noticed . . . the car was filled with her children’s shrieks of laughter. When was the last time she had heard them enjoying themselves so much?

  They all returned to Roland’s home just before six. Henry and Joanne burst into the drawing room where Roland sat. “We went for a ride on a boat in Regent’s Park!” Henry told his grandfather. “Then Joanne and I learned to drive a Rolls Royce!”

  Roland raised his eyes to Katherine and Saxon, who had followed the children in. “In between all this excitement, did you find time to see any houses?”

  “A couple,” Katherine answered.

  “Anything you liked?”

  “Not really. We’ll look at the remainder tomorrow.”

  “Now, what’s this about my grandchildren learning to drive?”

  “They took turns sitting on my lap and holding the wheel,” Saxon explained. “Rest assured that we were on a very empty and very private road.”

  “It’s your Rolls Royce,” Roland said with a laugh. “Have you made plans for tonight?”

  “We were going out for dinner; that was all,” Saxon replied.

  “I’m dining with a friend, Sally Roberts. At Kendall’s in Mount Street. Play a little roulette or blackjack afterward. Would you and Katherine care to join us?”

  “We’d be very pleased to do so.”

  At six-thirty, Saxon left the house to return to Marble Arch and change for the evening. He promised to meet Katherine, her father, and Sally at Kendall’s for dinner at eight o’clock.

  “You can drive me into town now,” Roland said to Katherine. “Save taking a taxi, or asking Sally to pick me up.”

  “That’s not the reason you asked John and me to join you for dinner. You want to see how he plays the tables, don’t you?”

  “I do?”

  “I know you, Daddy. You judge a man’s character by the manner in which he gambles.”

  Roland laughed. It was perfectly true, a trait he had acquired many years before. How a man wagered was how he lived. An overly cautious gambler — never ask him to take a risk in anything. A reckless gambler — don’t even get into a car with him. Roland had gained admiration for a lot of people after watching them at the tables, and he had lost it for just as many.

  *

  John Saxon was neither overly cautious nor reckless. After eating in Kendall’s small but first-class restaurant, he and Roland moved to a blackjack table. Each man bought two hundred pounds’ worth of chips. Roland kept one eye on his own cards, and one eye on Saxon. The property developer’s mode of play was simple. He was not rash with his money, betting only five pounds. When he won, he doubled the bet to ten, keeping it there until he lost. Then he backed down to five, staying there until he won again. After half an hour, Roland, betting haphazardly for the fun of it, had lost all his money, while Saxon was just short of doubling his original stake.

  Roland returned to the table where Katherine sat with Sally. In response to his daughter’s inquisitive glance, Roland grimaced and jerked a thumb toward the cashier’s cage, where Saxon was busy exchanging chips for money. Katherine laughed delightedly. Saxon had won, and her father had lost!

  They returned to Sally’s apartment in Curzon Street for coffee. Saxon left shortly afterward, telling Katherine that he would call for her at ten the following morning, when they would continue their house-hunting. Through the living-room window,
Katherine watched the Silver Shadow glide away, then she turned to her father.

  “Well, how did he play?”

  “Better than your father,” Sally broke in, laughing.

  “I was only playing for the sheer hell of it,” Roland said. “John was playing to win. He believes in streaks. When he wins he increases his stake, betting that he’s in for a good streak. When he loses, he lowers his stake, because he believes that losing, too, will go in a streak. Even then, he doesn’t get carried away. Win or lose, he bets sensibly. Certainly well within his pocket.”

  “Which makes him . . .?” Katherine asked.

  “Someone who grinds down his opponents, while keeping plenty in reserve in case he needs a big push. He’s a very shrewd man, because he also knows when to walk away. He’ll accept a small victory instead of risking what he’s won already for a larger triumph. He is not a man,” Roland said approvingly, “I would relish facing across a boardroom table.”

  It was almost midnight when Roland and Katherine left Sally’s home. Katherine sat in the Porsche, watching fondly in the mirror as her father kissed Sally good night. When Roland climbed into the car and closed the door, Katherine asked, “When are you going to stop messing around and marry Sally?”

  Roland chuckled. “Why should we ruin a good relationship?”

  “You’d enhance it, not ruin it.” She turned the key to start the engine. “John proposed to me today. I told him that it was too soon after Franz to even think of such a thing.”

  “Was that the only reason?”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Is it just the time factor, or aren’t you sure about John?”

  Twenty yards ahead, a traffic light turned amber. Katherine geared down and floored the accelerator pedal, speeding through the intersection as the light changed to red. “I feel like I’m getting to know him all over again.”

  “It’s one thing to have an affair with someone when you know that your marriage provides a safety net, but it’s something else entirely to look on that same person as a possible mate.”

  Katherine felt no need to reply; her father’s concise summation had made a response redundant. She drove silently for two miles, every so often glancing at her passenger. Was it her imagination, or was Roland avidly watching the Porsche’s dials and gauges — making believe that he was driving? She pulled into the side of the road, turned off the engine, and set the brake.

  “Want to drive?”

  “Don’t be silly. I haven’t driven since the day you were born . . . the day your mother died.”

  “That’s not what I asked you.” Katherine climbed out of the driver’s seat, walked around to the passenger side, and opened the door. “You still have a license, don’t you?”

  “Of course. It’s good until my seventieth birthday.”

  “So you’re legal. Come on, there’s no traffic on the road.”

  “All right.” Roland switched positions and settled behind the wheel, pushing back the seat to compensate for his height. “What do I do now?”

  “Start the engine.”

  Roland did. He flipped the gas pedal, watching, with almost childish enthusiasm, the tachometer needle rise and fall.

  “People are sleeping,” Katherine cautioned. Roland stopped revving the engine. He shifted into first and let out the clutch. The car jerked forward and stopped. The engine stalled.

  “Take off the handbrake.”

  Roland felt his face beginning to burn. Clutch engaged, he selected first again, and released the brake. Slowly, he let out the clutch. The Porsche moved forward smoothly. As confidence returned, Roland turned the wheel and pulled out.

  “Check what’s coming!” Katherine screamed.

  She was too late. A horn blasted in Roland’s ear. Lights flashed. Tires squealed. Miraculously, there was no collision. Roland jammed his foot on the brake and stalled the Porsche’s engine again. The white Rover, into whose path he had pulled out, was now stopped on the other side of the road, twenty yards away. Two of its wheels were up on the curb, and its two occupants were glaring ferociously at the silver sports car.

  Simultaneously, father and daughter saw the lights on top of the white Rover and the reflective orange lettering on its side. “Damn!” Roland said. Katherine said nothing. She was too busy laughing. The first time in twenty-eight years that her father had tried to drive, and he had forced a police car off the road. She was still laughing when the two police officers cited her father for driving without due care and attention.

  “I think I’d better drive the rest of the way,” Katherine told Roland when the police had left. “You’ll only get into more trouble.” They swapped seats. Katherine pulled herself closer to the wheel. “Boy . . . I just can’t wait to tell Sally.”

  Roland, embarrassed into blushing crimson, shrank down into the passenger seat. “Why don’t you take a full-page ad in the Eagle while you’re at it?”

  “Don’t give me any ideas.” Before pulling away, Katherine leaned across the car and hugged Roland. “You might be the world’s worst driver, but you’re still the world’s best father.”

  *

  John Saxon collected Katherine and the children at ten o’clock the following morning. Saxon drove himself, having given William the day off. The first three houses did little for Katherine. She went through each one quickly, eager to be on to the next.

  The fourth and final house, which Katherine viewed after lunch, was an empty Edwardian residence in Frognal, on the edge of the Heath, and set in its own roomy grounds. Followed by Saxon, the children, and the estate agent, Katherine inspected the ground floor, which included a large reception hall, cloakroom, three reception rooms, playroom, breakfast room, kitchen, and laundry room. Four spacious bedrooms and two bathrooms filled the second floor. The third floor, with two more bedrooms and another bathroom, could be converted into a self-contained apartment. Although the house had been fully modernized, with gas central heating and insulated windows, its three fireplaces on the ground floor were still functional. That appealed to Katherine’s traditional side; she loved nothing more than the smell of burning wood on a crisp winter’s night.

  Finally, she checked the grounds. The front garden was all neatly trimmed hedges and colorful rosebushes and trees. The massive back garden was nothing but lustrous green lawn, with a pond and fountain in the center. Henry and Joanne loved the house. So did Katherine. Especially when she saw the name worked into the high wrought-iron front gate; somehow, she had missed seeing that before. Kate’s Haven, the house was called.

  “Who was Kate?” she asked Saxon.

  “The lady who’s selling the house. She lived here for thirty years before moving to the coast.”

  “This is the house I want to buy. It makes me feel like I’ve come home.”

  “Your father will be glad.”

  “Why?”

  “He liked this one as well. It was his idea that I leave it until the very last.”

  Later that afternoon, Katherine returned to the house with her father. Standing in the front garden she spread her arms and proclaimed: “This is it. Kate’s Haven. Home, sweet home.”

  There was a tremendous amount of decorating to be done, but one thing the builders would not touch would be that front gate.

  *

  Katherine’s offer on Kate’s Haven was accepted, and she made plans to move in at the end of September. She would have to put up with builders and their mess for several weeks after taking possession, but she was quite prepared for that. It was part of the price of having a home of her own again.

  Excitedly, she toured stores, ordering furniture and fittings for each room. Hand-crafted kitchen cabinets in English oak, a dining-room set, easy chairs, couches, occasional tables, beds, dressers . . . everything from a cast-iron oven to a complete range of Le Creuset cookware, because that was what had been used in the old house, and she’d liked it. Katherine was starting a household from scratch, and there wasn’t a single item she did not ne
ed.

  John Saxon accompanied her on some of the shopping expeditions. Afterward they would go out for dinner or a drink, but Katherine never suggested that they return to Saxon’s Marble Arch home, nor did he ever press her to do so. Their relationship was that of two friends catching up with one another over a meal; very similar, in fact, to the manner in which she continued her association with Raymond Barnhill, with whom she lunched whenever their schedules coincided.

  Her feelings for the two men, though, were worlds apart. Barnhill was a chum, a professional colleague, really, with whom she had shared some exciting moments. Saxon was so much more. Other than Franz, he was the only man to have aroused such a mixture of feelings within her, animal hunger and loving tenderness, twisted together and inseparable. On the night before the closing of the new house, Katherine decided she had mourned for long enough. It was time to still that hunger, and, in turn, receive some tenderness and love.

  After eating dinner, Katherine accompanied Saxon back to Marble Arch. He opened the door of his town house. For a full minute, Katherine remained standing in the entrance hall, becoming accustomed all over again to the surroundings. The curving staircase, the patterned Wilton, the open door of the dining room with its broad twin-pedestal table.

  “Déjà vu?” Saxon asked.

  “With one difference. I didn’t have to invent any excuses tonight. No fake assignments, no make-believe meetings. I just said I’d be late, that I was seeing you for dinner.” She removed her lightweight gabardine coat and draped it on the clothes stand in the corner of the hall. Beneath the coat she wore a bright red light wool dress, belted emphatically at her slim waist.

  “Welcome back,” Saxon whispered. He held her in his arms and gave her a long, bruising kiss. Her mouth opened, her tongue darted out. She dug her fingers into his back, and ground her entire body against the length of him.

  At last, Saxon broke from the kiss. Holding her hand, he took a couple of steps toward the curving staircase and the upper part of the house. Katherine pulled back. “I don’t want a four-poster bed. I want an Aubusson rug, with Nelson and Wellington playing Peeping Tom.”