Persuade Me Page 16

  A deep breath. ‘I’m so sorry this happened, Charles, and I-I must take most – all of the responsibility.’ He lifted his head and met Charles’s weary gaze. ‘For what it’s worth, I want to give Lou – give all of you – any support I can. I’ve got a car, and a driver – why don’t I take Henrietta home and tell your parents?’

  Charles’s eyes seemed to lose a little of their haunted look. ‘That would be one weight off my mind. But then – who stays here with me, Mona or Anna?’

  A week ago, when he’d believed that Anna was having an affair with Charles, he would have almost choked on the thought of leaving them here together. But now he heard himself say loudly and clearly, as if announcing it to the whole world, ‘I think Anna should stay. Lou told me she would trust Anna with her life.’

  Light footsteps behind him. He turned to see who it was – and his eyes locked with Anna’s.

  Anna went over to the drinks machine and selected a bottle of water. In less tragic circumstances, she would have treasured Rick’s words. They marked an about-turn from his earlier suspicions, a bridge half-built between them, a bitter-sweet peace offering by an old love.

  It was just … well, she felt they were said purely to secure the best possible outcome for Lou. And yet, who could blame him for that?

  She turned to the two men. ‘I can certainly stay for the next day or so,’ she said evenly. ‘Then I’ve got lectures on Monday, from eleven onwards – but I could rearrange some things in the second half of the week.’

  Charles gave her a tremulous smile. ‘I’ll probably have Mum or Dad with me by that time. But it’ll be great to have you around tonight and tomorrow, in case Lou wakes up or,’ a telling pause, ‘in case she doesn’t.’ He added, with a ragged sigh, ‘She’s fallen off her fair share of horses over the years, but she was always wearing a hard hat.’

  Rick stood up. ‘Here are Mona and Henrietta. We might as well tell them the plan, then the three of us can get going.’

  Anna glanced round and saw the others approaching. She’d left them in the Ladies, where Mona had obviously been retouching her make-up and restyling her hair; Henrietta, on the other hand, looked a total wreck.

  Mona’s eyes widened as she saw their serious faces. ‘Bad news?’

  ‘No news,’ Charles said dully. ‘But Rick’s offered to take you and Henrietta home and tell Mum and Dad in person. He thinks Anna’s the best person to stay here.’

  Mona scowled. ‘Anna? How come? She’s not even family, and Lou’s never thought of her as a particular friend. Anyway, she wouldn’t have a clue how to handle the press – whereas, with the sort of circles I move in, it’s second nature to me.’ She flashed Rick a brilliant smile. ‘I agree Henrietta shouldn’t stay – she’s emotionally unstable – but I’m not leaving my husband’s side. I supported him through a traumatic time in A&E last Saturday, and I’ll do exactly the same this weekend.’

  Rick’s expression was impossible to read. ‘Let’s hope it doesn’t become a regular weekly event.’ He swung round to Charles. ‘Is it OK with you if I take Anna home instead?’

  Charles covered his face with his hands and mumbled, ‘Whatever.’

  Rick turned to Anna. ‘And is it OK with you?’

  She looked down at the floor, her heart still racing from his words ‘take Anna home’ and all that they’d once conveyed, in the pine-tree scent of a French garden. Everything was different now; but, even so, she found herself filled with a strange anticipation … Would he drop Henrietta off first? If he did, they’d have over an hour in the car together; not quite alone, although she imagined his driver would have been selected for his discretion. Would they pass the time with a strained question-and-answer session; or would they talk as naturally as they had in the old days? Except – and here anticipation turned to dread – he might want to confide in her about his feelings for Lou …

  Oh shit, what the hell did that matter when Lou was lying there seriously injured?

  So she merely said, ‘Of course,’ kissed Mona on the cheek, gave Charles a reassuring hug and slipped her arm through Henrietta’s.

  Then she looked over at Rick. ‘Ready when you are.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Sir Walter Elliot lay face down on the crisp white linen sheet and abandoned himself once again to old and not entirely forgotten sensations.

  Ah, the exquisite pleasure of a woman’s touch! Irina had massaged his shoulders whenever he demanded, but she usually took advantage of the situation to ask him awkward questions about their finances; hardly conducive to relaxation. Whereas Cleo’s only agenda seemed to be his well-being, in mind as well as body.

  Of course, the massages had been going on for some weeks now; almost from the beginning Cleo had used ylang-ylang oil, which she described as a stimulant. And in her strong, warm, capable hands, it certainly was. Naturally, only he was aware of its effects, since he remained face down and partly clothed throughout. Since they’d arrived in Bath, however, Cleo had proposed a change to this routine in the form of a bath massage. At first, after a witty little aside about having baths in Bath, Walter could see nothing but drawbacks in exposing himself – literally – to this new experience. But gradually, as her hands worked their miracles on his back, her words worked with equal skill on his mind. And soon he became obsessed with that higher level of youthfulness which Cleo promised a bath massage would bring – something to do with her working on his sacral chakra, whatever that was.

  At this point, perversely, Cleo postponed the longed-for moment. When he asked her why, she simply said in that mysterious way of hers – so utterly French – ‘Ah, Sir Voltaire, for everyzing zere is ze right time and ze right place.’

  Hearing her address him as ‘Sir Voltaire’ always gave him an agreeable little frisson. He recalled vaguely that there were one or two books in his library by someone called Voltaire; obviously an intellectual heavyweight since Irina used to quote him frequently. What was her favourite saying again? ‘Love is a canvas furnished by Nature and embroidered by imagination.’ He’d never quite understood that one.

  But then Irina had been a highly educated woman. Initially, that had been part of her appeal; as the years passed, however, he’d found it more and more intimidating – he never knew what she was going to come out with next. He was sure it was one of her casual little remarks, another quotation no doubt, that had caused the rift with Dottie Dalrymple. Something about prejudice being opinion without judgement, which he feared dear Dottie had taken personally.

  Cleo, on the other hand, had the uncanny gift of articulating his innermost thoughts! What had she said the other day? ‘You weel ’ave ze pick of ze ladies, zey weel all be fighting over you. Such an ’andsome man wiz a title and in eez prime – irresistible!’

  It was true that he attracted attention wherever he went in Bath. Modesty – and that slightly-less-than-perfect eyesight – prevented him from knowing the details, but he had no doubt that he was on the receiving end of many admiring glances. Hardly surprising when he looked around – for such a fine city, the place had a real shortage of elegant men. Yes, he must appear to the women of Bath like an oasis shimmering in the desert.

  And it was especially gratifying to find that he was attracting the attention of one of them in particular – old Dottie Dalrymple herself. It had been a touching reconciliation, even if she’d initially mistaken him for someone else. And it was already bearing fruit: she’d invited them all – including Anna – for drinks one night next week, in her suite. Just a few steps along the garden path, but a giant leap in terms of his rehabilitation with her.

  So, all things considered, life here was divine. He felt like a god, worshipped for simply being himself – Sir Walter Elliot, 8th Baronet of Kellynch. And gods could make anything happen, couldn’t they? They could even father sons with mere mortals … although he still preferred to think of such possibilities as more of a concept than a reality. Reality could be horribly disappointing.

  As if readi
ng his mind yet again, Cleo paused in the middle of her long rhythmic strokes down his back and said softly, ‘Eet weel be soon, ze bath massage, I zink. And of course eet weel be ze bath for me, too.’

  Walter’s heart gave an alarming little flutter; but whether this was from an understandable interest in seeing Cleo without her white coat or the prospect of coming face to face with reality, he had no idea. ‘What do you mean?’ he croaked.

  ‘I weel join you in ze bath, au naturel. ’Ow else can I attend to ze sacral chakra?’

  ‘But what about Lisa? She might wonder–’

  ‘I will book ’er a full afternoon of treatments – I do not zink she weel spare us a zought.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Walter stirred uneasily. ‘It’s just – well, I’m still not sure that a man in my position–’

  ‘Au contraire, cher Sir Voltaire,’ she purred, resuming that delicious stroking, ‘eet eez as you yourself ’ave said – noblesse oblige.’

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  On the journey back to Lyme Regis, conversation in the Jaguar was minimal until they arrived at the Cobb View Hotel. Then there were practicalities to discuss: Rick decided to wait in the car with Dave while Anna and Henrietta went to pack and check out. He took the opportunity to phone Guy and tell him to cancel the next day’s event at Bournemouth. When Guy asked why, he gave the reason as ‘personal’ and refused to elaborate.

  Half-an-hour later, Anna and Henrietta returned and they set off again. Henrietta seemed a little better; at any rate, she started talking to Anna in the back of the car and even reminded Dave of the best route to Uppercross, despite the satnav’s confident directions.

  Then, out of the blue, she said earnestly, ‘Rick, please don’t blame yourself. I’ve been going over and over it all in my mind and, believe me, you couldn’t have prevented what happened. When Lou’s determined to do something, you can’t reason with her – she just does it.’

  Rick felt the blood drain from his face. Now the chain of cause and effect was crystal clear. He hadn’t just let Lou fall, he’d driven her to jump in the first place. On the walk at Uppercross, leaving aside those ill-advised kisses, hadn’t he praised her for being resistant to pressure, compared her to a nut? Oh, she was a nut all right. And so was he …

  ‘Rick?’ Henrietta prompted, obviously expecting some response. ‘Are you OK?’

  Such a stupid, stupid question that it didn’t deserve to be answered.

  ‘Leave it, Henrietta, maybe he can’t talk about it just yet.’ This from Anna, slipping easily into the role of peacemaker.

  Except she hadn’t preserved the peace very well that time between him and her up-his-own-arse father, had she? She’d added just enough fuel to the fire to send it exploding out of control.

  Didn’t she realise that this whole sodding mess was her fault, too?

  Anna wasn’t sure exactly what was eating away at Rick: guilt, frustration, genuine feelings for Lou – or a potent combination of all three.

  And now they were pulling up outside the Great House. Should she offer to break the news to Barbara and Roger, or give him a chance to recover some of his self-esteem, as she’d done on the Cobb?

  Before she could say anything, however, he was out of the car and marching up to the front door. Inside the house the dogs erupted into noisy barking, then subsided to low growls at Roger’s reprimand. Lights came on and Barbara appeared; Henrietta burst into tears and rushed from the car into her mother’s arms.

  By the time Anna followed with Henrietta’s case, they were all in the kitchen – even a wide-awake Ollie in his Spiderman pyjamas.

  ‘And I hold myself responsible,’ Rick was saying quietly. ‘If I’d been paying attention, it wouldn’t have happened. As it is–’

  ‘I’ve told him it’s not his fault!’ Henrietta wailed, looking up from Barbara’s shoulder. ‘Mum, you know what she’s like–’

  ‘Shhh, that’s enough.’ Barbara stroked Henrietta’s hair and gave Rick a wan smile. ‘You’re a lovely, lovely man, standing by her like this. She must mean an awful lot to you.’

  Rick flushed and said nothing.

  Roger said shakily, ‘You say you’ve heard nothing more from Charles? I’ll give him a ring, see what’s what, then I’ll go straight down to Dorchester.’ He glanced at Anna. ‘Do you want a drink, my dear, or something to eat?’

  She hesitated and looked across at Rick, but he was staring at the floor. She suspected that he was anxious to be back at the hospital, so she said, ‘No thank you, we’d better get on our way. You’ll let me know as soon as you hear anything, won’t you?’

  Barbara and Roger quietly assured her that they would. She gave them and Henrietta a hug, then knelt in front of Ollie. ‘Mummy and Daddy want you to be specially good while they’re away. Do you think you can do that?’

  He nodded brightly, clasped his arms fiercely round her neck and whispered, ‘Isn’t that the shark wrestler? Will he tell me about his adventures?’

  She whispered back, ‘He’s not feeling like talking just now, maybe next time.’

  A kiss on the little boy’s warm downy cheek, then she was out of the kitchen and walking quickly to the car, tears pricking her eyes. She couldn’t remember when she’d last seen the Musgroves so subdued. She was vaguely aware of Rick only a few steps behind her, but she didn’t turn round. As before, she got into the back of the car and he got into the front.

  They’d hardly pulled away from the house when he said bleakly, ‘God, that was awful.’

  She waited, in case the comment was addressed to Dave, not her; after all, since he’d arrived in England Rick must have spent more time with him than with anyone. But Dave was too busy adjusting something on the dashboard, so it was up to her to give reassurance.

  ‘It could have been worse,’ she said slowly. ‘At least they want you to be involved. Some parents would have–’ She stopped, realising too late just where her good intentions were leading her.

  ‘Told me to stay away, because I wasn’t fit for their daughter to wipe her feet on?’ His voice was dangerously soft.

  After that, she made no further attempt at conversation, except to give Dave her postcode for the satnav.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Saturday night in Bath, and the road into the city was buzzing. They headed for the centre, a labyrinth of lights and one-way systems. As soon as they turned into a street of tall terraced houses, Anna said, ‘There won’t be anywhere to park, so you can just drop me here.’

  An unfortunate choice of words – maybe in retaliation for his earlier dig at her father? But Rick thought not; she’d never been one for scoring points.

  He weighed up his options: do as she suggested and drive straight back to Dorchester? Or see her to her front door, make sure she was all right, then stretch his legs? That way, he could give Dave a decent break – time to find a parking space and get himself something to eat.

  As the car came to a halt in the middle of the street, Rick made up his mind. He jumped out, retrieved Anna’s small case from the boot and tapped on Dave’s window. In an instant, it was all arranged: Dave would take a break – he reckoned half-an-hour would do it – then phone Rick and find out where to pick him up.

  Anna looked as though she might object; but after a few seconds she got out of the car, thanked Dave for the lift and set off along the street. Rick followed in silence, debating whether he’d done the right thing. At the far end she stopped and held out her hand for the case. Instead of passing it to her and walking off, he heard himself say, ‘I’ll bring it inside for you.’ She hesitated, then withdrew her hand, rummaged in her bag and produced a key.

  While she unlocked the front door, he studied the house where she lived. In the patchy outside lighting, it seemed well cared for; and adapted for wheelchair access, judging by the ramp and grab rail. His next impressions were of a good-sized hall, its plain walls relieved by stained-glass pictures; the tangy aroma of dinner cooking; a snatch of canned laughter from a dis
tant TV. A ten-second trailer for other people’s lives.

  Anna led him up several flights of stairs to the top floor. On the tiny landing, they stood close together while she unlocked another door. Then, without any discussion – as if by mutual consent – he entered her private space.

  As she flicked on the light, shrugged off her coat and moved away, he stopped and looked around. He was in a square living room, all cream and white and saved from being clinical by touches of vibrant colour – sofa and curtains of deep earthy terracotta, beaded cushions of sparkling sea green, a rug in a chaotic but pleasing pattern of burnt orange and turquoise, a big bold painting and a couple of small watercolours. Three – no, four doors opened off it: kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, he guessed, and – where she was hanging her coat – a full-length cupboard.

  He put down the case, struggling with the realisation that this flat reflected the woman who lived there: small, and neat, and perfectly self-contained. Yet once, for almost three whole days, they’d revelled in their need for each other – and hers had been just as urgent as his. Need? What a short, understated word for something so amazing, so all-consuming. Never – before or since – had he touched those heights, that beautiful sense of belonging, that place – emotional and spiritual, as well as physical – where he could simply be with a woman.

  He let out a long, steadying breath. ‘Where do you want your case?’

  She came out of the first door on the right – the kitchen, judging by the glimpse of rustic tiles – and replied, ‘In the bedroom – here, I’ll take it.’

  Just as she reached down for the handle, he did the same. For one brief, electric moment their fingers touched, and he felt his heart start to pound. No, this was insane. With Lou’s future in the balance, the last thing he should be doing was stirring up the past.

  He grabbed the case first and pulled it away.

  ‘Where’s the bedroom?’ Not that he needed to ask – there were just two doors left to choose from – but it seemed only polite. And that was how he had to be with this woman – polite and distant.