Chapter Fourteen
INEVITABLY, HETTY FELT acutely embarrassed at the thought of seeing Connor the next morning. Everything that had happened or not happened had been her fault. Being assertive, taking the initiative, was all very well in theory. In practice it could land you with a whole chicken-farm of egg on your face.
She opened the kitchen door wondering what on earth she could say to him, having decided that a simple ‘Hello’ would have to do. To her relief she was spared saying anything because he was on the phone.
She put the kettle on, trying to listen in without appearing to, but as his end of the conversation consisted mostly of grunts and uh-hus she could make little of it. She looked up when he put the phone down.
His expression was serious and gentle and made her heart sink. ‘Hetty? I’ve got something to tell you.’
Her mouth went dry and she felt the blood leave her face. ‘Not Samuel?’
He smiled a little. ‘No, it’s good news, in some ways, but I’ve got to go away.’ He smiled a little more. ‘Of course, you might be thrilled.’
She was relieved enough to smile back. ‘I might.’ But she knew she wasn’t. ‘Where are you going, and how long for?’
‘Not sure how long. But I’ve managed to get another contract where I was before. It won’t be much fun, but it’s very well-paid. It should pay a couple of instalments.’
‘When do you have to leave?’
‘As soon as I’ve got some things together. I’ll take a taxi to the airport.’
‘That sounds very extravagant.’
‘They can afford it.’
‘What about your car? Wouldn’t you rather take it?’
He shook his head. ‘It’ll be safer here – unless you have any particular reason to be annoyed with me?’ He gave her a little teasing smile she could only just respond to.
‘Will you be back quite soon? Or will you be gone for a long time?’ The thought of facing the anxiety of the loan on her own was suddenly devastating.
‘Of course I’ll be back.’
‘Do you know when?’ She forced the wifely anxiety out of her voice. ‘I only need to know in case I have to find another pianist for the ruby wedding.’
‘I can’t be very precise, but I should be back well before then. If it takes that long the country deserves to remain a desert.’
Hetty realized she had no idea what Connor did for a living; while this probably wasn’t the time to ask, she felt she needed to know. ‘What is it that you do, exactly?’
‘I’m a civil engineer. I help to sort out the problems caused by years of bad ecology.’
She nodded. ‘I see. Would you like me to make you some breakfast? If you need to pack?’
He flashed her the kind of charming smile he usually reserved for Caroline. ‘That would be kind.’ Then he whooshed out of the kitchen like a comic-book hero. Hetty could almost see the go-faster lines streaming after him.
She found eggs and bacon, some mushrooms and tomatoes, and set about making him the best breakfast she could manage. She realized it was the first time she’d cooked for him, if you didn’t count hot toddies, and for some mixed-up, unfeminist reason, she wanted to make a good job of it. She had everything sizzling away, and was waiting for the right moment to start the eggs, when he appeared in the kitchen again, almost unrecognizable in a suit.
Hetty cracked two eggs into a saucer and managed to add them to the pan without breaking the yolks. Just now, busyness was protecting her from having to confront either Connor or the fact that he was leaving her. She warmed the old enamel coffee pot. Filter coffee would require her to keep her back to him for ages.
Eventually she had to present him with a plate of eggs and bacon, toast and coffee. She was about to wash up the frying-pan when he ordered her to sit down.
‘I’ve got a few things to tell you about. Sit there, eat some toast, and listen.’
She pulled out a chair and sat on it, but ignored the toast. ‘Fire away.’
‘Sorry to be so brusque, but there’s not much time.’ He referred to the sort of watch guaranteed to keep going on the top of Everest or a thousand leagues under the sea. Hetty had never seen it before. ‘The taxi’ll be here in under an hour.’
‘Don’t let me hold you up.’
Connor scowled. Hetty was trying to keep her expression bland, hide any hint that the moment he left she might become very upset. She didn’t feel she was making a good enough job of it.
‘I want you to promise me not to do anything dreadful while I’m away.’
She was affronted. She was the guardian of his inheritance and it didn’t give much scope for dreadfulness. Some devil nudged her into being provocative. ‘Like what? Running off with Peter?’
He was not provoked. He took another bite of toast and spoke to her through it. ‘No. That sounds a very sensible idea. He’s a good man, he’ll make you very happy. If bored out of your skull.’ He finished his mouthful. ‘I meant, to do with the house.’
Hetty, reeling from the blow he had just delivered with such insouciance, forgot to be bland. ‘What do you mean, to do with the house? You’re the one who plans to pull it down!’
‘I mean, don’t sell off any more antiques or anything.’
She gulped, appalled and indignant that she had been found out. ‘I don’t know what you . . .’ She couldn’t stammer out the rest of the lie.
‘Yes you do. Oh, I don’t mind about you selling off half the crocks at the car-boot sale, we needed the space, and that Clarice Cliff vase was hideous. But there’s nothing else around that I won’t miss, and I don’t want you selling off any more of my birthright.’
Hetty picked up his coffee mug and took a scalding gulp. It was hideously strong. ‘You know perfectly well, I was raising money to keep the house going. For Samuel’s sake.’
‘I know.’ Connor’s teeth crashed together on a wholemeal crust. ‘And I said, I don’t mind. But I really don’t want to come home to any more unpleasant surprises.’
‘And would me running off with Peter be pleasant or unpleasant?’
He should have been shocked into paroxysms of jealousy, but wasn’t. ‘It would be rather a pity. He’s very dull.’
‘I thought you said it would be sensible.’
‘It would. But is “sensible” enough to last you the rest of your life?’
She wanted to ask him if he was offering anything better, but knew she didn’t have the right.
He put a hand on hers. ‘I’m really sorry that we haven’t got time to sort out what happened – or didn’t happen – last night. But it’s not something you can do in’ – another glance at the fantastic watch – ‘under three quarters of an hour. So just promise me, nothing awful with the house, and’ – the corner of his mouth lifted – ‘nothing irrevocable with Peter? You’ll break his heart and he’ll break my shins.’
‘Why on earth would he think it was your fault?’
‘We’ve been living in the same house. The whole damn village would say it was my fault if you lost a filling, let alone turned down their pet eligible bachelor. Let’s face it, if the church tower was struck by lightning, they’d point the finger at me.’
‘The Brewsters like you.’
‘They’re the only ones who’ve made any attempt to get to know me.’
Hetty attempted a smile. ‘I tried quite hard to get to know you, with no great success.’
He sighed. ‘Only you could make that sort of pun at this sort of moment. That’s why . . .’ He stopped.
‘Why what?’
He looked at her, half in sorrow, half in sheer bewilderment. Then he lifted his hand to her cheek and cradled it. She leant into it, loving the warmth, the feel of his fingers, which nestled in the hollow behind her ear. A faint smell of Imperial Leather rose from his wrist and she knew she would never smell it again without feeling sad.
‘I’m coming back, Hetty. We’re going to sort everything out. But please, promise, nothing dreadful while I’m out of the way?’
She promised in a voice that croaked and was barely audible.
His chair screeched on the stone flags as he sprung to his feet. ‘I must finish packing.’
He was packed and back in the kitchen before Hetty had had time to clear the table.
‘That was quick. Are you sure you’ve got everything?’
‘Yup. It doesn’t take long to pack when you’re used to it. I’d better leave you some numbers.’ He took a sheet off an A4 pad, flicked through his Filofax until he reached the right page, and started writing. ‘These are just in case of an emergency. It’s not always easy to get through –’
‘I know.’
‘– And I don’t know which of these numbers I’ll be at. The people on the other end don’t speak much English, but you’ll just have to do your best.’
‘What language do they speak?’
‘Russian’s the official language, but it might be anything.’
‘Oh.’
‘And it’s best to ring about midnight, then the lines are less busy.’ At last, he finished writing. ‘Anything about Samuel, ring me. I’m not saying I’ll cross three continents to get to his funeral, but if he’s likely to be still alive when I get there, I’ll come. Understand?’
‘I do, but the village would be terribly shocked if you didn’t come to the funeral.’
‘Stuff the village. It’s Samuel who matters.’
‘You’re not telling me this because Samuel’s worse, are you?’
‘Oh no. It’s just, he is old and frail, and I’m going a long way away.’
Hetty’s throat closed and she gave him a little smile in reply.
‘Keep up the singing, won’t you?’
Hetty, who felt she would never so much as hum again, nodded.
‘Good girl. Now I’m going to ring the hospital and leave a message for Samuel. Call me if the taxi comes.’
Obedient little creature that she’d recently become, she did.
Connor delivered a hard, rasping kiss to her cheek just before he swept out of the door, his laptop under his arm. Hetty murmured her goodbyes somewhere in the region of his armpit, and then she was alone, feeling more devastated than she had when her mother had dumped her there, and Alistair had filled her thoughts. She rubbed her cheek where he had kissed her and wondered if he’d ever learn to shave properly.
But by the time she’d dealt with congealing bacon fat, eggshells and coffee grounds, she felt better. Connor had gone away on business, he hadn’t betrayed her. And who was he to her anyway? Someone who threatened this beautiful house and got in the way of all her plans.
Conan the Barbarian – the man who had demonstrated so frustratingly that he was anything but barbaric in some respects – she put firmly out of her mind. She was just about to take the dogs out when the phone rang.
She had a split second of hope that Connor was ringing to say it was all a mistake and he was coming home, and then she picked up the receiver and knew it wasn’t Connor.
‘Hetty? James Taylor here.’
The architect. Face and name connected just in time for Hetty to be effusive. ‘James! How lovely to hear from you.’
‘Not all that lovely, actually. I’ve got some rather unsettling news.’
‘What?’
‘I’ve looked up everything I can think of, checked every register of every county you might have been in before the boundary changes, but I can’t find Courtbridge House on any list.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It isn’t listed. I can’t think how it slipped through the net. I can only suppose everyone thought this area was covered by someone else. It is rather in a backwater.’
‘You mean, there’s nothing to stop Connor pulling the place down?’
‘Not at the moment, no. But the good thing is, you could get it listed yourself, or, at least, I could arrange it for you. Then he couldn’t. Is Connor likely to be out any day soon? I could come round and we could talk about it?’
Hetty screwed her eyes shut and bit her lip. ‘Umm – can I get back to you on that? I’d need to do some thinking.’
‘Sure. Have you got my number?’
‘Give it to me again, just in case.’ She found a tiny space on the piece of cardboard which was stuck under the phone and jotted it down. ‘It’s awfully kind of you to go to so much trouble.’
‘It was a pleasure. A house like that deserves a lot of trouble.’
Hetty refrained from commenting that it had caused more than enough trouble already.
When they’d said their goodbyes and rung off, Hetty picked up the receiver again and rang Phyllis. She told her she had to go out urgently and could she let herself in? Then she found her car keys, and took the dogs to visit Caroline.
‘Hi! Fancy coming with me to walk the dogs?’
Caroline was wearing a cream knitted garment that wrapped around her in a mysterious but surprisingly sexy way. ‘You know I never walk anywhere if I can help it, and certainly not for pleasure. Aren’t you on house-duty today?’ She watched resignedly as Talisker and Islay trotted down her hall and into her kitchen.
‘Phyllis is doing it, and there’s no problem exactly, but I hadn’t seen you for a while and thought you might like a walk.’
‘Come into the kitchen and tell me all about it. Do you like my thingy?’ She tugged at the garment, which dipped and clung in all the right places. ‘It was quite expensive, but such good value. You can wear it in so many ways. When Jack says, “Not another new dress?” I can say, “What, this old thing? It’s just my cardie.”
‘It’s wonderful.’ Hetty pulled out a stool and sat at Caroline’s antique refectory table, which took up one end of her enormous kitchen. ‘Connor’s gone away.’
‘Good news or bad?’
‘Oh good, definitely. It means he won’t be around to interfere with things. You know what a pain he can be.’
Caroline, who had been making coffee, spun round. ‘Sweetheart, you’re not carrying a little torch are you? I mean, I know I’m the only one around here who seems to notice how fantastically sexy he is, but you do sound a little – sad.’
‘Do I? Tired maybe, but not sad. He’s terribly domineering, a totally unreconstructed alpha-male. Not even just not “new” but Cro-Magnon.’
‘I thought he did all the shopping and cooking?’
‘He’s a foodie, and a pig. Doesn’t trust anyone else to cook the pasta al dente.’
’And you’re in love with him.’
‘What! Don’t be ridiculous. Where on earth did you get that idea?’
‘Something you said, darling.’
‘Nonsense! I never said anything like that at all.’
‘You did actually, but not on purpose. Love, I’m so sorry. Is he going to come back?’
‘Yes, but really, Caro, I know you’re desperately romantic, and it would just suit your ideas about what people should do, but I promise you . . .’ her words got slower and slower as she realized she was lying, ‘. . . I’m not in love with him. At least,’ she added for truth’s sake, ‘not very much.’
Caroline sat down opposite her, abandoning the coffee and a first-class opportunity to say ‘I told you so.’ ‘Does he feel the same way about you?’
Hetty was horrified. It was bad enough discovering her own feelings without having to think about Connor’s. ‘For God’s sake! Of course, not! Talk about sleeping with the enemy!’
‘And if he did have a soft spot for me, how on earth would I know about it?’
‘He’s definitely got a soft spot for you. But calm down. I’m only asking.’ She inspected an ancient knot-hole in her table. ‘You haven’t had unprotected sex, have you?’
‘Really! Do you ask your Brownies such personal questions?’
‘No. Have you?’
‘No! All right?’
‘That’s a relief. You won’t get pregnant then?’
‘No.’ Hetty found herself close to tears. She would have found it far easier to tell Caroline about it if she had had sex, protected or otherwise. But what had happened between her and Connor last night seemed too personal, far more intimate than if they’d simply made love.
Caroline came round the table, sat next to Hetty and put her arm round her. ‘Does he know – have any hint – what you feel about him?’
Hetty shrugged. ‘He might. He might not.’
‘Well, has he kissed you?’
Hetty nodded.
‘More?’
She nodded again.
‘All the way?’
She shook her head vehemently.
‘Sorry to pry, but I need to know . . .’ She paused, making Hetty wonder why, and what torture she would inflict to find out. ‘How the hell did you keep your hands off him?’
Hetty, feeling somewhat better, turned to her friend. ‘When’s Jack coming back? It seems to me he’s been away too long.’
Caroline sighed. ‘Me too, darling.’
‘But you don’t want a nice brisk walk to take your mind off it?’
‘No. My mind’s perfectly happy as it is. I might take a nice bad book and a box of chocs on to the sofa with me later, but now I’ve got a stunning catalogue to go through. Fabulous clothes, a bit pricey, but absolutely darling. Can’t tempt you to join me? We can have a spot of lunch later.’
‘Fresh air and exercise is what keeps me going,’ said Hetty. ‘Not expensive catalogues and lunch. I’ll leave you to your sybaritic existence. Come on, dogs, Caroline wants to rot her mind in peace.’
‘That’s most unfair. I may watch Countdown later!’
Hetty reflected that Caroline was one of those rare souls who managed to get an awful lot done, most of it for other people, without appearing to be busy. Usually, with most people, it was the other way round.
She marched through the woods around the village, sensing the coming spring with every step. She went further and faster than she would have done if she’d had Caroline with her, though she would have enjoyed her company.
But even in that short visit, Caroline had managed to cheer her up, even if she had forced her to face up to the uncomfortable knowledge that she had fallen in love with Connor. If it hadn’t been for her recent débâcle with Alistair, she would have admitted it to herself earlier. As it was, she tried to kid herself it wasn’t so. Quite how she managed to do that so well, she couldn’t guess.
Up till now she’d almost managed to convince herself that what she felt for him was lust, that it was just his bulk and dash that attracted her. After all, it could hardly be his chivalrous manners and charming compliments that made her weak at the knees. But Caroline had brought it home to her that, for her, desire only followed where her heart led.
Hetty parked her car, let the dogs out of the back and walked into the kitchen, her cheeks flushed with the cold and the exercise. Phyllis was busy relabelling jars of marmalade she had brought from home so they said more than just MARM and the year, and she could sell them to the public. She tutted as the dogs pattered their muddy feet on to the kitchen floor.
‘You really should train those dogs to wait until they’ve had their feet wiped,’ she said.
‘I know. But they’re not my dogs and I’m not much good with them.’
‘Yes you are. Too indulgent, of course, but you could learn. With a little application. By the way, there was a telephone call for you.’
Hetty turned, her heartbeat quickened. ‘Oh?’
‘Yes. That architect who came round. James Taylor.’
‘Oh, him again.’
‘He left rather a peculiar message.’ Hetty waited, but Phyllis wasn’t to be hurried. ‘First of all, he left a different number to the one he gave you. Then when I asked him what he was calling about, he said to tell you that it would be better if you could let him know sooner rather than later if you want him to list the house.’ Oh, James! Why couldn’t you have just left the number? ‘Naturally,’ Phyllis went on, ‘I asked him what on earth he was talking about. And he told me the house, Courtbridge House,’ she glared at Hetty as if the whole thing was her fault, ‘wasn’t listed. And that anyone could do anything they liked to it.’