A Paper Marriage (4 page)

`There's money in this account to meet this amount?' she questioned.

`Not yet,' he admitted. Though, before her last ray of hope should disappear, `But there will be...' he paused '...by the time you get to your father's bank.'

`You're-sure?' she asked hesitantly.

Jonah Marriott eyed her steadily. `Trust me, Lydie,' he said quietly-and, strangely, she did.

`Thank you,' she said, and held out her right hand.

`Goodbye,' he said, and, with that wonderful smile she had remembered all these years, `Let's hope it's not another seven years before we meet again.'

She smiled too, and could still feel the warm firm pressure of his right hand on hers as she waltzed out of the Marriott building and into the street. She remembered his blue eyes and...

She pushed him from her mind and concentrated on what to do first. She had half a notion to ring her mother and tell her the outcome of her visit to Jonah Marriott. Lydie then thought of the cheque that was burning a hole in her bag. She had been going to take it straight to her father, to tell him everything was all right now. To tell him that Jonah Marriott had paid in full, with interest, the money he had owed him for so long. But, with Jonah saying that the funds would be there by the time she got to her father's bank-presumably all that was needed was for Jonah to pick up a phone and give his instructions-would it not be far better for her to bank the money now and tell her father afterwards?

Lydie decided there and then-thanking Jonah for the suggestion-that she would bank the money before she went home. Yes, that was much the better idea. As things stood she had plenty of time to get home, hand the cheque over to her father and for him to take the cheque personally to his bank. But who knew what traffic hold-ups there might be on the road. Much better-thank you, Jonah-to bank the cheque first and then go home.

Having found a branch of the bank which her father used, it was a small matter to have her father's account located, the money paid in, and to receive the bank's receipt in return.

Oh, Jonah. Her head said she should be cross with him for his tardiness in paying what was owed. But she couldn't be cross. In fact, on that drive back to Beamhurst Court, she was hard put to it not to smile the whole time.

The house was secure and, although with not so much land as they had once owned, it was still in the hands of the Pearsons. While her father was unlikely to start in business on his own account again, he no longer, as Jonah had put it, needed to bail her brother out ever again either. Her mother had hinted that her father had been looking into the possibility of some consultancy work.

Surely all his years of expertise were not to be wasted.

Optimistically certain that everything would be all right from now on, Lydie drew up outside the home she so loved and almost danced inside as she went looking for her parents. Had today turned out well or hadn't it? She understood now why, when she'd asked Jonah not to tell her father she had been to see him, Jonah had replied, `I won't-but I think he'll know.' Of course her father would know. The minute she told her proud father that his overdraft was cleared he would want to know where the money had come from. Jonah would not have to tell her father-she would. She could hardly wait to see his joy.

`Here you both are!' she said on opening the drawing room door and seeing her parents there her father looking a shadow of his former self.

Her mother gave her a quick expectant look, but it was her father who asked, `How was your great-aunt Alice?

'Actually, Dad, I lied,' Lydie confessed. `I haven't been to see Aunt Alice.'

He gave her a severe look. `For someone who has lied to her father you're looking tremendously pleased with yourself,' he remarked. `I trust it was a lie for the good of mankind?'

`Not exactly,' she replied, and quickly opening her bag she took out the receipt for the money she had paid into his bank account. `I went to see Jonah Marriott.'

`You went-to see Jonah Marriott?' he asked in surprise. He took the folded receipt she held out, opened it out, read the very little that was written there, but which meant so much, and his face darkened ominously. `What is this?' he demanded, as though unable to believe that an amount of fifty-five thousand pounds had been paid into his account.

`Your overdraft is cleared, Dad.' She explained that which he seemed to have difficulty in taking in.

`Cleared!' he echoed, it passing him by completely just then that she knew about his financial problems, and his tone of voice such that, had she not known better, Lydie would have thought it was the calm before the storm.

`I went to see Jonah Marriott, as I said. He gave me a cheque for the money he owed you. I paid it into your bank on my-' She didn't get to finish.

`You did what?' her father roared, and Lydie stared at him in astonishment. Her mild-mannered father never roared!

`You n-needed the money,' she mumbled anxiously-this wasn't at all how she had imagined it. `Jonah Marriott owed you fifty thousand pounds-I went and asked him for it. He added five...'

`You went and asked him for fifty thousand pounds?' her father shouted. `Have you no pride?"

'He owed it to you. He...'

`He did not,' her father cut her off furiously.

`He-didn't?' Lydie gasped, looking over to her mother, who had told her that he did, but who was now more interested in looking at the curtains than in meeting her eyes.

`He does not owe me anything!' her father bellowed. `Not a penny!' Lydie flinched as she turned her head to stare uncomprehendingly at the man who, prior to that moment, had never raised his voice to her in his life. `Oh, what have you done, Lydie?' he asked, suddenly defeated, and she felt then that she would rather he shouted at her than that he should sound so utterly beaten. `Any money Jonah Marriott borrowed from me was paid back, with good interest, more than three years ago.'

`HE PAID you back!' Lydie gasped. And, reeling from what her father had just revealed, `But Mother said-' Lydie broke off, her stricken gaze going from her mortified father to her mother.

This time her mother did meet her eyes, defiantly. But it was Wilmot Pearson who found his voice first, and, transferring his look to his wife, `What did you tell her?' he demanded angrily.

`Somebody had to do something!' she returned hostilely, entirely unrepentant.

`But you knew Jonah Marriott had repaid that loan-repaid it ahead of time. I told you. I clearly remember telling-'

`Mother! You knew?' Lydie chipped in, horrified. `You knew all the time that that money had been repaid-yet you let me go and ask Jonah for money!' Oh, how she had asked him. No, Please will you lend us some money? but `This isn't a social call' she had told him shortly, and had gone from there to suggest he didn't have any decency and that it was about time he paid that loan back-when all the time he already had. And she had thought he looked a bit surprised! No wonder! `Mother, how could you?'

Her mother did not care to be taken to task, and was at her arrogant worst when she retorted, `Far better to owe Jonah Marriott money than the bank. At least this way we get to keep the house.'

`Don't be so sure about that!' Wilmot Pearson chipped in heavily-and uproar broke out between her parents for several minutes; he determined he would sell the house to pay Jonah Marriott and her mother said her father would be living elsewhere on his own if he did, and that Beamhurst was to be preserved to be passed down to Oliver. It was painful to Lydie to hear them, but when her mother, retorting that at least they wouldn't be opening the doors to the bailiffs come Monday morning, seemed to be getting the better of the argument, her father turned and vented his frustration out on his daughter.

'He-Jonah-he gave you a cheque, just like that, did he? You told him you wanted that "loan" I made him back-and he paid up without a murmur?"

'He-um-said he had never forgotten how you helped him out that time. He was grateful to you, I think,' Lydie answered, starting to wish that her mother had never phoned her last Tuesday.

`So he gave you fifty-five thousand pounds out of gratitude and without a word that he had already settled that debt? How the devil do you suppose I'm going to pay him back?' her father exploded, and in high temper, `Why ever didn't you bring that cheque home to me first?' he demanded. `Why in the world did you bank it without first consulting me?'

Lydie felt she would have brought the cheque to her father, had not Jonah Marriott put the idea of banking it first into her head. And suddenly she began to get the feeling that, one way and another, she had been well and truly manipulated here. First by her mother, very definitely by her mother, and secondly by Jonah Marriott himself.

`Well?' Her father interrupted her thoughts.

`It seemed the best way to do it,' she answered lamely. `If there had been any sort of a traffic snarl-up I could have been too late for the bank here. And I knew-' thank you, Mother `-that the bank wanted their money by today.'

`And they've got it-and it's for certain they'll hang on to it!' he stated agitatedly. `There's absolutely no chance they'll let me have it back again.' He sighed heavily. 'I'd better go and see Jonah.'

`I'll go!' Lydie said straight away, as she knew she must.

`You,' her father erupted, `have done enough! You can stay here with your mother and dream up your next scheme.'

That comment was extremely unfair, in Lydie's opinion, but she understood his pride must be hurting like the very devil. `Please let me go?' she pleaded. He hesitated for the merest moment, and Lydie rushed on quickly, `You're not the only one with any pride,' she added-and all at once her father seemed to fold.

He looked at her, his normally quite reserved daughter who, up until then, had caused him very little grief. `None of this has been very easy for you either, has it?' he queried, more in the calm tone she was familiar with. And, relenting, if reluctantly, 'We'll go and see him together,' he conceded.

That wasn't what Lydie wanted either. 'I'll go and ring him,' she offered.

`Not go and see him?"

'I'll probably have to make an appointment first.' In this instance of eating extra- large portions of humble pie, it seemed more diplomatic to try and get an appointment first rather than to go barging straight into his office.

`We'll make the call from my study,' Wilmot Pearson declared, and, giving his wife a frosty look in passing, for which, since her home was for the moment secure, she cared not a jot, he and Lydie went from the drawing room and to his study.

She was glad that her father allowed her to make the call and did not insist on doing that himself, but her insides were on the churn again as she dialled the Marriott Electronics number.

Again when she asked to speak with Mr. Jonah Marriott she was put through to his PA. `Hello, it's Lydie Pearson...'

`Oh, good afternoon,' the PA answered pleasantly, before Lydie could continue. `I missed seeing you this morning.' And Lydie realised that plainly Jonah must have made some comment to his PA about her visit-probably something along the lines of Don't ever let that woman come in here again-she's too expensive. Lydie hoped he hadn't revealed the full content of her visit to his confidential assistant. 'I'm afraid Mr. Marrriott's at a meeting. If you would like to leave a message?'

Blocked. `I should like to see him some time. Later this afternoon if that's possible.'

`He's flying to Paris tonight, but...'

Something akin to jealousy gave Lydie a small thump at the thought that he would be dallying the weekend in Paris. Ridiculous, she scoffed. But she began to realise she had inherited a little of her mother's arrogance in that she would beg for nothing. `I'll give him a call next week. It's not important,' Lydie butted in pleasantly, wished the PA an affable goodbye, and turned to relay the conversation to her waiting father. `Try not to worry, Dad,' she added quietly. Having been set up by her mother, she was not feeling all that friendly towards her, but attempted anyway to make things better between her parents. `And try not to be too cross with Mother; she only did what she did to help.'

Wilmot Pearson looked as if he might have a lot to say about that, but settled for a mild, `I know.'

The atmosphere in the house was not good for the rest of the day, however, and Lydie took herself off for a walk with a very great deal on her mind. She still felt crimson around the ears when she thought of the way she had gone to Jonah Marriott's office and demanded fifty thousand pounds!

Oh, heavens! But-why on earth had he given it to her? Not only that, but he had made sure his cheque was banked and not returned to him with a polite note from her father. `There's money in this account to meet this amount?' she had asked him. `There will be ... by the time you get to your father's bank,' he had said, as in Make haste and get there-and she had fallen for it!

Lydie carried on walking, not knowing where she was emotionally. With that money in the bank her father had some respite from his worries and he sorely needed that respite. Against that, though, since it was she who had asked for, and taken, that money, regardless of where she had deposited it, she was beginning to realise that the debt was not her father's but hers; solely hers.

Feeling quite sick as she accepted that realisation, all she could do was to wonder where in creation she was going to find fifty-five thousand pounds with which to repay him? That question haunted her for the remainder of her walk.

She returned home knowing that adding together the second-hand value of her car, the pearls her parents had given her for her twenty-first birthday and her small inheritance-if she could get into it-she would be lucky if she was able to raise as much as ten thousand pounds!

She went to bed that night knowing that Jonah Marriott's hope that it would not be another seven years before they met again must have been said tongue in cheek. He must have known she would be on the phone wanting to see him the moment she discovered his loan from her father had been repaid long since. Jonah Marriott, without a doubt, had told his PA to inform her when she rang that he could not see her.

Why he would do that, Lydie wasn't very sure, and conceded that very probably he'd given his PA no such instruction. It was just one Lydie Pearson feeling very much out of sorts where he was concerned. Him and his `Obviously your father doesn't know you've come here.' It was obvious to her, now, that Jonah knew her father would have soon stopped her visit had he the merest inkling of what she was doing.

Lydie spent a wakeful night with J. Marriott Esquire occupying too much space in her head for comfort. Over-sexed swine! She hoped he was enjoying himself in Paris-whoever she was.

The atmosphere in her home was no better when she went down to breakfast on Saturday morning. Lydie saw a whole day of monosyllabic conversation and of watching frosty glances go back and forth.

`I think I'll go and see Aunt Alice. Truthfully,' she added at her father's sharp look.

`While you're there for goodness' sake check what she intends to wear to the wedding next Saturday,' her mother instructed peevishly. `She's just as likely to turn up in that disgraceful old gardening hat and wellingtons!'

Lydie was glad to escape the house, and drove to Penleigh Corbett and the small semi-detached house which her mother's aunt, to her mother's embarrassment, rented from the local council.

To Lydie's dismay, though, the sprightly eighty-four-year-old was looking much less sprightly than when she had last seen her, for all she beamed a welcome. `Come in, come in!' she cried. `I didn't expect to see you before next week.'

They were drinking coffee fifteen minutes later when, feeling quite perturbed by her great-aunt's pallor, Lydie enquired casually, `Do you see your doctor at all?" 'Dr Stokes? She's always popping in.'

`What for?' Lydie asked in alarm.

`Nothing in particular. She just likes my chocolate cake.'

Lydie had to stamp down hard on her need to know more than that. Great-Aunt Alice was anti people discussing their ailments. `Are you taking any medication?' Lydie asked tentatively.

`Do you know anybody over eighty who isn't?' Alice Gough bounced back. `How's your mother? Has she come to terms yet with the fact dear Oliver wants to take a wife?"

'You're wicked,' Lydie accused.

`Only the good die young,' Alice Gough chuckled, and took Lydie on a tour of her garden. They had lunch of bread, cheese and tomatoes, though Lydie observed that the elderly lady ate very little.

Lydie visited with her great-aunt for some while, then, thinking she was probably wanting her afternoon nap, said she would make tracks back to Beamhurst Court. `Come back with me!' she said on impulse-her mother would kill her. `You could stay until after the wedding, and-'

`Your mother would love that!"

'Oh, do come,' Lydie appealed.

`I've got too much to do here,' Alice Gough refused stubbornly.

`You don't-' Lydie broke off. She had been going to say You don't look well. She changed it to, `You're a little pale, Aunty. Are you sure you're all right?"

'At my age I'm entitled to creak a bit!' And with that Lydie had to be satisfied.

`I'll come over early next Saturday,' she said as her great-aunt came out to her car with her.

`Tell your mother I'll leave my gardening gloves at home,' Alice Gough answered completely poker faced.

Lydie had to laugh. `Wicked, did I say?' And she drove away.

The nearer she got to Beamhurst Court, though, the more her spirits started to dip. She was worried about her great-aunt, she was worried about the cold war escalating between her parents, and she was worried, quite desperately worried, about where in the world she was going to find fiftyfive thousand pounds with which to pay Jonah Marriott.

And, having thought about him-not that he and that wretched money were ever very far from the front of her mind-she could not stop thinking about him-in Paris. She hoped it kept fine for him. That made her laugh at herself-she was getting as sour as her mother.

`Aunty doesn't look so well,' Lydie reported to her mother.

`What's the matter with her?"

'She didn't say, but...'

`She wouldn't! Typical!' Hilary Pearson sniffed. `Some man called Charles Hillier has been on the phone for you.' `Charlie. He's Donna's brother. Did he say why he phoned?"

'I told him to ring back.'

Poor Charlie; he was as shy as she had been one time. But while to a large extent she had grown out of her shyness, Charlie never had. He had probably been terrified of her mother. Lydie went up to her room and dialled his number. `I'm sorry I was out when you rang,' she apologised. She was very fond of Charlie. He was never going to set her world on fire, but she thought of him as a close friend.

`Did I ring your mother at a bad time?' he asked nervously.

'No-she's a little busy. My brother's getting married next Saturday.' Lydie covered the likelihood that her mother had been rude to Charlie if he had been in stammering mode.

'Ah. Right,' he said, and went on to say he had planned to ask her to go to the theatre with him tonight, and had been shaken when he'd rung Donna to hear that she had already left Donna's home. `You're helping with the wedding, I expect,' he went on. `Would you have any free time? I've got the tickets and everything. I thought we'd have a meal afterwards and you could stay the night here, if you like. That is... You've probably got something else arranged?' he ended diffidently.

'I'd love to go to the theatre with you,' Lydie accepted. `Would it put you out if I stayed?"

'Your bed's already made up,' he said happily back, and she could almost see his face beaming.

Lydie went to tell her mother that she was going to the theatre with Charlie Hillier and would not be back until mid-morning the next day. `You're spending the night with him?"