Anything but Vanilla... (11 page)

Barring any outrageous incident, it seemed likely that her Earl Grey granita, bracketed by their favourite cover girl flirting with an unknown but attractive man, would make it onto the cover of next week’s
Celebrity
.

She knew she should be ecstatic about that—it was more than she’d dared hope for—but, with Alexander still grinning as he headed for the tennis court, she couldn’t bring herself to feel as happy about it as she ought to be.

* * *

‘Fabulous, Sorrel,’ Nick said, dropping by once everyone had gone. ‘Thanks for a wonderful event.’

‘It seemed to go well. We were lucky with the weather.’

‘Well, I can’t deny that helped. Alexander...’ he said, turning, as Alexander handed her a couple of cups and a spoon that had been missed. ‘I thought I saw you, earlier, but assumed I must be hallucinating.’

‘I flew in a couple of days ago.’

‘Actually, I was referring to the fact that you’re moonlighting for Sorrel.’

‘Blue moonlighting,’ he said.

‘As in “once in a blue moon”,’ Sorrel chipped in, seeing Nick’s confusion.

Unsure what to make of that, he said, ‘Well, thanks again, Sorrel. I’ll be in touch very soon. It’s my niece’s eighteenth birthday in a couple of months and she’s dropped heavy hints that she expects Rosie to put in an appearance at her party.’

‘No problem. Just let me know when so that I can put it in the diary.’

‘I’ll phone you next week. Are you going to be around for long, Alexander?’

‘A week or two.’

‘Well, give me a call if you have time so that we can catch up.’

‘Is there anything I can do?’ he asked, when Nick had gone.

She shook her head. The students were a well-drilled team and everything was already cleaned down and packed away, ready to be picked up by Sean.

‘You’ve been brilliant. I am very grateful. Truly.’ She tucked the cups and spoons into their crates inside the ice-cream bar. ‘Thanks for finding these. The staff are good at spotting stuff tucked away in the weirdest places, but it’s always tougher keeping track when the event is outside.’

‘I can imagine. So,’ he said, ‘what’s the score? Who won?’

‘Won?’

‘What went first, the champagne sorbet or the cucumber ice cream?’

‘Relax, the trust will get its rent. The sorbet had it by a country mile. We were down to the last scoop.’

‘Perfectly judged, then. What happens to the ice-cream bar now?’

‘Sean and Basil will come with a trailer and take it back to the estate.’

‘Sean?’ And there it was again. That same, slightly possessive tone.

‘Sean McElroy. My brother-in-law,’ she said, quickly, trying to ignore the little frisson of pleasure that rippled through her.

Bad, bad, bad...

‘So he would be married to Elle? Father to Tara, Marji and Fenny?’ He looked up as someone approached them. ‘Yes?’

‘I want a word with Miss Amery.’

‘Graeme?’ For the second time that day her heart catapulted around her chest at the sound of a voice. The first time it had soared. This time the reaction was confused. She should be delighted that he’d taken the trouble to come and see how the event had gone. Instead there was a jag of irritation that he should decide to choose today. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Last night...’ He made the smallest gesture with a well-manicured hand, a suggestion that what he had to say was for her ears only. That the help should take a hint and leave.

The ‘help’ ignored him and stayed put.

‘Last night?’ she repeated.

‘You seemed keyed up, edgy, not at all yourself.’

‘Really?’ Why could that be? Because she’d invited herself into his bed and he’d chosen not to hear, perhaps? Because this was a relationship that he controlled and that until Alexander West had turned up, turned her on, she had been content to allow him to control. Because it was safe.

‘When you didn’t come back for dinner I was concerned.’

‘Were you?’ He hadn’t been concerned enough to come looking for her. ‘I walked along the river. I was safe enough with the dogs.’

‘It wasn’t your safety I was concerned about, but your state of mind,’ he said. ‘To be frank I’m concerned that you’re going to do something foolish.’

‘Why?’ Alexander asked.

Graeme gave him a cold ‘are you still here?’ look, then said, ‘We’ll have tea here—’

‘You’ve missed tea,’ Alexander said. ‘Shame. The cucumber sandwiches were a hit. Why do you think Sorrel would do something foolish?’

‘Come along, Sorrel.’ He used pretty much the same tone as she’d use to call one of the dogs to heel.

‘Only I would have said that Sorrel Amery is one of the most level-headed women I know,’ Alexander continued as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘I’ve seen her deal with a crisis with humour, compassion and a lot of hard work.’

‘Who are you?’ Graeme demanded.

‘May I introduce Alexander West, Graeme? Ria’s friend,’ she added, quickly, before he said anything outrageous about her. ‘He very kindly volunteered to step into Basil’s shoes today. Alexander, Graeme Laing is my financial advisor.’

Graeme dismissed the introduction with an impatient don’t-waste-my-time gesture. ‘Where is Basil? Is he unwell? He was fit enough yesterday evening.’

‘He’s absolutely fine. He and Grandma are running the ice-cream parlour for me today.’

‘For you?’

‘I’ve rented it for a month while we sort things out. I need the facilities.’

‘But that’s ridiculous! Basil should be here.’ He sighed. ‘This is exactly what I was talking about. You’ve become emotionally involved, Sorrel. You have to distance yourself from that woman.’

‘I can’t do that. I need her.’

‘Of course you don’t! I’ve explained what you’re going to do...’ His voice was rising and, realising that he was attracting attention, he said, ‘We need to talk this through in a quiet atmosphere. I’ll go and reserve a table on the rose-garden terrace.’

Alexander said, ‘Now, Sorrel.’

She reached back, a hand on his arm to indicate that she’d heard him. Sun-warmed, sinewy, it felt vital and alive beneath her palm, but she forced herself to focus on Graeme. She had to explain. She needed his support. Needed him to be onside.

‘Distance is the last thing I want,’ she said. ‘I’m passionate about my business.’ There had been plenty of time to think as she’d walked across the common, along the river bank in the gathering dusk with only the dogs for company. ‘I want it to grow. Not just this,’ she said, making a broad gesture with her free hand, taking in the sweeping parkland of Cranbrook Park, guests lingering after the event that had just taken place. ‘I want everyone to be able to have a little piece of what we do. I want Ria to be my partner.’

She’d continued thinking as she’d soaked in the bath and then she’d spent a large part of the night drafting a proposal to put to Ria. A proposal that Graeme would understand—if he would just look beyond his prejudice and see the potential.

‘I’m going to commission Geli to create a retro design for Knickerbocker Gloria and, once we’ve made it the best ice-cream parlour ever, I’m going to franchise it.’

‘Franchise it? Are you mad? Have you any idea what that would entail?’

‘I did some research last night and I got in touch with—’

‘Sorrel.’

She turned to Alexander and he took her hand from his arm and held it in his. ‘Now,’ he said.

‘Now?’ she repeated, distractedly.

‘I said I’d tell you when.’ He raised one of those expressive eyebrows and the penny dropped. Two hours of her time. He’d tell her when.

Could he have chosen a worse time? Couldn’t he see that this was important, not just for her, but for Ria?

She glared at him and then turned to Graeme. The contrast between the two men couldn’t be more striking.

Graeme looked as if he’d just stepped out of an ad in the pages of one of those upmarket men’s magazines. Whipcord slender, exquisitely tailored from head to toe, hair cut to within a millimetre, the faintest whiff of some fabulously expensive aftershave and an expression suggesting he’d sucked on a sour lemon.

Alexander had a touch of lipstick on his cheek, a smear of what looked like strawberry-shortcake ice on his sleeve and an expression that suggested he was enjoying himself.

Right at that moment she wanted to smack them both.

‘I’m sorry to spoil your plans, Mr Laing,’ Alexander said, before she could do anything, ‘but Miss Amery and I have unfinished business and she’s promised me a couple of hours of her time.’

‘What business?’ he demanded.

‘Don’t worry, Graeme,’ she said, furious with him, furious with Alexander and, aware that she’d made a complete hash of it, not exactly thrilled with herself. ‘It’s got absolutely nothing to do with money.’

ELEVEN

Don’t wreck the perfect ice-cream moment by feeling guilty.

—Rosie’s ‘Little Book of Ice Cream’

Neither of them said a word until they reached the car park, where Sorrel snatched back her hand.

‘Thanks for that.’

‘He wasn’t hearing you, Sorrel.’

‘I know.’ He wasn’t hearing her about a lot of things. Or maybe she was the one not getting the message. ‘It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have blurted it out like that, but it’s what happens when you spend all night building castles in the air instead of getting a solid eight hours.’ When you were distracted by desire and Mr Right was suddenly Mr Totally Wrong. ‘My timing was off.’

‘I may have caught him on a bad day, but Graeme Laing doesn’t look like a castles-in-the-air kind of man to me. I doubt there’s ever going to be a right time to sell him that deal.’

‘No,’ she said, leaping to his defence. ‘You don’t understand. He requires solid foundations, a business plan, a well-constructed spreadsheet to support the figures.’ And even then he was hard to convince. She’d floated several carefully worked-out ideas by him during the last year and he’d shot them all down as ‘impractical’, or ‘too soon’. She was never going to win him over by flinging something at him without careful preparation. ‘He’s not a man to talk things through on a walk by the river, throwing sticks for the dogs,’ she added, more to herself than him.

‘He’s not a dog person, either?’

‘What? Oh, no.’ At least not excitable mongrels. If Graeme had a dog it would be as sleek and well groomed as he was. An Irish Setter, perhaps.

‘Does he have any redeeming features?’

‘He was brilliant when I was starting out, needed advice, support, finance. It’s just...’

‘He was talking to you as if you were a wilful child, Sorrel.’

‘No... Maybe. A bit.’ A lot. It was almost as if he didn’t want her to expand. Wanted to keep her where she was. Which was ridiculous. He’d done so much to help her. ‘I know how he thinks and I should have waited until I could lay out my business plan in a calm manner instead of jumping in with both feet.’

He looked down at her cream suede ballet pumps with flower trim. ‘They are very pretty feet.’

She felt her face warm, her skin tingle. Two hours...

‘Maybe he’s not a foot man.’ He looked up, his eyes full of questions.

She swallowed. ‘The subject has never come up.’ As far as she knew he’d never noticed her shoes. Floundering, she said, ‘He’s been very kind to me.’ In company he was usually as courteous to service personnel as he was to captains of industry, but she couldn’t help wondering how different his response to Alexander would have been if, instead of introducing him as Ria’s friend, she’d introduced him as
‘...one of the WPG Wests...’
‘He just has a bit of a blind spot about Ria. He can’t see beyond the tie-dyed muslin and the bangles.’

‘And her lack of responsibility when it comes to her accounts.’

‘That, too. I keep hoping that he’ll get it, see that the advantages outweigh the problems, but you can’t change people can you?’

‘No.’

‘No,’ she repeated.

She would always need security, while Ria would always seize the day, choosing life over her accounts, and Alexander would always need to be exploring some distant jungle, searching for new—old—ways to heal the sick. As for Graeme, he would always expect her to keep her emotions in check. Which hadn’t been a problem until yesterday. Wasn’t a problem...

‘How did you get to Cranbrook?’ she asked, not wanting to go there. ‘Please tell me that you didn’t walk.’

‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Would you feel really guilty?’

‘Why would I feel guilty? It’s not that far from town. I was more concerned about the catastrophic effect that you, in shorts, would have had on road safety.’

He grinned. ‘Are you suggesting that my legs are a traffic hazard, Miss Amery?’

‘Lethal. The local Highways Department would have to put up warning signs if you were planning on staying for more than a few days.’

‘Then it’s a good job that I picked up my car this morning,’ he said, sliding his hand into his pocket, producing a set of keys and unlocking the door of a muscular sports car. Apparently she wasn’t the only one with a taste for nineteen-sixties vintage.

‘This is yours?’ she asked, running her hand over the sleek gunmetal grey curve of the Aston Martin’s sun-warmed bonnet. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘It belonged to my father.’ Catching the past tense, something in his voice that warned her that his father hadn’t simply passed the car on when he’d bought a later model, she looked up. ‘He died fourteen years ago,’ he said, answering the unasked question.

‘I’m sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘He had the kind of heart attack that most people survive. He’d treated himself to a yacht for his birthday and was having a little extra-marital offshore dalliance to celebrate. The woman involved, unsurprisingly, had hysterics. By the time she’d pulled herself together, worked out how the ship-to-shore radio worked and the coastguard had arrived, it was too late.’

‘Alexander...’ She was lost for words. ‘How dreadful.’

‘Are you referring to the fact that he was cheating or her inability to do CPR?’

‘What? Neither!’ She shook her head, not hearing the cynicism, only a world of hurt buried deep behind a careless shrug. ‘Both. But to die so needlessly...’

‘I have no doubt he gave St Peter hell,’ he said, apparently unmoved by the tragedy. ‘Particularly in view of the fact that he was the CEO of a company that manufactures the best-selling heart drugs on the market, a fact the newspapers made much of at the time.’

‘I’m sure St Peter has heard it all before,’ she said. ‘I was more concerned about the effect on the woman with him. On your mother. On you.’

‘I barely knew him. Or her. My parents split up when I was eight, at which point I was sent to boarding school.’

‘But...’

‘He was cheating on his fourth wife when he died. She couldn’t have been surprised,’ he said, ‘since she’d hooked him the same way.’

He sounded distant, detached, and yet he’d kept his father’s car, and she suspected the watch he wore had been his, too.

‘My mother remarried within a year of the divorce,’ he continued, anticipating her next question. ‘Her second husband is a diplomat and they travel a lot. They were in South America the last time I heard from her.’

Distant, detached, uninvolved...

Her instinct was to throw her arms around him and give him a hug. It was what her mother would have done. It was what Ria would have done, but her own emotional response had been in lockdown for so long that she didn’t know how to break through the body-language barrier he’d thrown up to ward off any expression of pity.

‘You’re a travelling family,’ she said, because she had to say something.

‘We travel. We were never a family.’ He shook his head once, as if to clear away the memory. ‘Shall we go?’ he asked, abruptly. ‘I’ll follow you.’

‘Right.’

Heart sinking at having triggered bad memories, she walked to her van. By the time she’d backed out he was waiting for her to take the lead, and as she drew alongside him she lowered the window and said, ‘If we get separated by traffic head for Longbourne.’

She half expected him to suggest she’d be better off having tea with her financial advisor, which was undoubtedly true. The only danger Graeme represented was his prejudice against anything to do with Ria.

‘Longbourne?’ he repeated. No excuses, just surprise. ‘I thought you lived at Haughton Manor.’

‘That’s my big sister. Sean is the estate manager and Scoop! rents an office in a converted stable block. No concessions for family,’ she added. And then it hit her. ‘It was your father who had the affair with Ria?’

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

‘That’s why you feel responsible. Was she the woman on the boat?’

He shook his head. ‘It happened years ago, when my parents were still married. She was an intern working at WPG. Young, lovely, full of life, I imagine, and, from everything I know about him, exactly the kind of girl to catch my father’s eye.’

‘He married her?’ she asked, stunned.

‘Oh, no. She wasn’t a keeper. She was too young, too innocent, too besotted to play that game.’

Too young for it to end well, obviously.

‘What happened?’

‘It’s Ria’s story. You’ll have to ask her.’ He was rescued by a toot from an impatient guest. ‘We’re blocking the car park.’

She glanced over her shoulder, raised a hand in apology and then said, ‘If we get separated, drive straight through the village, past the common and you’ll find Gable End about a hundred yards past the village pond on the right hand side.’ Then, since the name was faded almost out of sight, ‘White trim. Pink roses round the door.’

‘It sounds idyllic,’ he said, clearly wishing he’d let her walk away with Graeme.

‘No comment, but if we’re lucky there’ll be a beer in the fridge.’

* * *

Alexander followed Sorrel through the posts of a gate that sagged drunkenly against the overgrown bushes crowding the entrance.

Blousy pink roses rambled over a porch, scattering petals like confetti and lending a certain fairy-tale quality to the scene, but closer inspection revealed that the paintwork was peeling on the pie-crust trim. If this really were a fairy tale, the faded sign on the gate would read
‘Beware all ye who enter here...’

He’d do well to heed it. He should never have gone to Cranbrook Park. Except that he’d enjoyed being part of it, enjoyed being with Sorrel, watching her at work, teasing her a little. Being close to her.

She’d touched something deep inside him, releasing memories, a private hurt that he’d locked away. There was only one other person he’d talked to so openly about his parents, but then Ria knew his history, shared his pain.

This was different. A dangerous pleasure.

Beware...

Sorrel drove around the side of the house. Here the modern world had touched what must have once been stables; the door opened electronically as she approached and she parked beside the ice-cream van he’d seen on the website. He pulled up in the yard and went to take a closer look.

‘This is Rosie? She’s in great condition.’

‘She gets a lot of love and attention,’ she said, smiling as she ran a hand over the van’s bonnet, the same loving gesture with which she stroked the Aston’s bonnet and then, as if aware that she was being sentimental, she looked back at him. ‘You might think ice cream is frivolous, not worth bothering about, but her arrival changed our lives.’

‘That sounds like quite a story,’ he said, hoping to steer her away from what had happened to Ria.

‘It is, but here’s the deal. I’ll tell you mine if you’ll tell me yours.’ She didn’t wait for his answer but headed around the side of the house. ‘Brace yourself.’ As she opened the side gate, a dog hurled itself at them. Sorrel sidestepped. He caught the full force.

‘Down, Midge! Geli, will you control this animal?’

‘He’s fine,’ he said, folding himself up to make friends with a cross-breed whose appearance suggested a passionate encounter between a Border Collie and a poodle. The result was a shaggy coat that looked as if someone had tried—unsuccessfully—to give it a perm.

He ran his hand over the creature’s head, then stood up. ‘Come on, girl.’

Behind him, Sorrel muttered, ‘Unbelievable,’ as Midge trotted obediently at his side. By the time they reached the back door he had three dogs at his heels.

‘Uh-oh...’

‘Is there a problem?’

‘If the sun’s shining and the door is shut it means there’s no one home,’ she said, producing a key. Inside, the only sign of life was a cat curled up in an armchair in the corner of the kind of kitchen that had gone out of fashion half a century or more ago. The kind of kitchen that a family could live in although, in a house this size, it would once have been the domain of the domestic staff.

Sorrel peeled a note off the fridge door.

‘“Gran too tired to cook so we’ve gone to the pub,”’ she read, opening the fridge and handing him a beer. ‘I should have thought.’

‘You’ve had a lot on your mind,’ he said, replacing the beer and taking a bottle of water. ‘I’m driving.’

‘You could always walk back along the towpath,’ she suggested. ‘It can’t be more than three miles to Ria’s. No distance at all for you.’

‘Less, but I only flopped there last night because it was too late to do anything else. I have an apartment in the gothic pile,’ he said, tipping up the bottle and draining half of it in one swallow. ‘So, here’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.’ Midge leaned against his leg, whining in ecstasy as he scratched her ear. ‘Can you cook?’

‘Cook?’ she repeated, clearly anticipating that they would follow her family’s example but, having snatched her from under the nose of a man who didn’t have the courtesy to listen to her, he wasn’t eager to share Sorrel with a pub full of people. He wanted her all to himself.

‘I was promised home cooking,’ he reminded her.

‘Promises and piecrusts...’ She looked up at him, half serious, half teasing, and he wanted to kiss her so badly that it hurt.

Beware...

Too late.

It had been too late when he’d walked into Jefferson’s and bought himself a pair of shorts and a polo shirt. When he’d agreed to sub-let Ria’s ice cream parlour to her for a month. When he’d kissed her.

It had been too late from the moment she’d turned around and looked at him.

‘Promises and piecrusts?’

‘Made to be broken and in this instance it’s for your own good,’ she said, laughing now. ‘Honestly.’

One of the other dogs sidled up and put his front paws on his foot, laid his head on his knee, nudging Midge out of the way, claiming his hand.

‘You can’t cook?’

‘I can use a can opener and I have been known to burn the occasional slice of toast.’ She shrugged. ‘Sorry, but building a business has taken all my time.’

She was leaning back against a kitchen table big enough for a dozen people to sit around, cucumber fresh in the pale green dress that fitted closely to her figure then billowed out around her legs, masking the chilli that he knew lurked beneath that cool exterior. All he had to do was reach out, pull the pins holding up her hair and let it tumble about her shoulders...