Persuade Me (3 page)

‘I should bloody well hope so,’ Lisa muttered. ‘If we have to go to Bath and not London, then I’m certainly not slumming it.’

Anna went over in her mind what she’d just heard – blocking out the unkind reference to Jenny, knowing from experience that retaliation was pointless. The Royal Crescent was only a short walk from Bennett Street, but her work would take her several miles in the opposite direction, and her social life even further away, metaphorically speaking … She felt her shoulders relax; in reality there’d be little chance of their paths crossing and, with any luck, Walter and Lisa would be too busy enjoying their five-star surroundings to parade themselves around Bath like C-list celebrities.

Minty leaned forward and glared at Walter. ‘The rent from The Lodge and a few greenhouses won’t go very far at The Royal Crescent. Quite frankly, I’m astonished that you’re even considering living in Bath when you’ll still be paying for the upkeep of this enormous house.’

Walter ignored her and fixed his cold blue eyes on Anna. ‘We will, of course, expect to see you occasionally. Although I find it incomprehensible that a daughter of mine wishes to waste her life being a university lecturer, I’m not above offering her a helping hand with her career. I imagine the head of your department will be honoured to receive an invitation to dinner from Sir Walter Elliot, 8th Baronet.’

Anna smiled sweetly at him. ‘As she’s a committed socialist, I imagine she’ll be anything but.’ She had no intention of letting her father disrupt the measured pace of her life in Bath. It had been years since she’d let his bullying – there was no other word for it – affect her. Still, might as well show some interest; and, after all, forewarned was forearmed. She said, ‘When do you–’

Lisa cut in with, ‘Here’s Cleo now, coming up the drive. She’ll have to do me first, I’ve an appointment with my stylist at one. Party at Pen’s tonight, and my hair’s a complete and utter mess.’ She gave her perfectly groomed mane a petulant flick; then added, in Anna’s direction, ‘They won’t mind if you tag along. You can do the driving, I’ll be having a few drinks.’

Just as Anna opened her mouth to object, Walter intervened. ‘I’m afraid she’s wanted at Uppercross, darling. Mona’s not well and it’s Harvest Festival tomorrow morning at St Stephen’s, someone has to take the boys and Charles is off fishing as usual.’ He half-turned to Anna. ‘And you really need to go there this afternoon and make their harvest baskets. The boys want a dinosaur theme, nothing too taxing.’

Anna weighed up her options. Stay at Kellynch and have Lisa throw a tantrum if she refused to act as her chauffeur, or go to Uppercross and witness Mona’s wall-to-wall misery? But Mona had two redeeming features: her children – Oliver, seven, and Harry, almost three. And there’d be no chance of Rick Wentworth visiting his sister; according to his website, he was starting his book tour in London and had two solid days of signings arranged.

She looked straight at her father. ‘I’ll go where I’m wanted, then. And I might as well go now.’

No one voiced the slightest objection, so she got abruptly to her feet and left the room. On her way to the front door, she paused to stare mutinously at the two full-length portraits that dominated the hall: her parents, in the second year of their marriage. On the left, Walter preened in front of a banner carrying the Elliot coat of arms, one hand resting reverently on
Burke’s Peerage
; the 106th edition, of course – an anachronism added many years later. On the right stood Irina, stunning in a coral-pink evening dress, a diamond tiara in her dark hair and more diamonds at her throat. The expression in those grey eyes was enigmatic; Anna suspected a mixture of disenchantment with Walter and relief at being apart, if only in an oil painting.

‘I’ll never –
ever
– understand why you ended up with him. Except – well, sometimes I wonder if you were an even bigger snob than he is.’

She must have said the words out loud, because here was Minty beside her, resting a heavy hand on her shoulder and saying quietly, ‘As I told you after she died, your mother made a mistake that she regretted all her days. She was very young when she met Walter, and she couldn’t wait to marry him and settle down at Kellynch.’ A heartfelt sigh. ‘She wouldn’t contemplate divorce, so she lived for her children – especially you. But that youthful haste cost her dear. That’s why–’ She stopped.

Anna stiffened. ‘That’s why you talked me out of …’ it had been a taboo subject for so long that she stumbled over the words, ‘out of going to Australia, with Rick Wentworth.’

Minty pursed her lips. ‘Your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to make the same mistake and put your life, your many talents, on hold for a man who didn’t deserve you.’

‘Were you and Walter the best people to judge?’

The bitterness in Anna’s voice suggested this was a purely rhetorical question, but Minty chose to answer it.

‘Absolutely. You were completely under his spell, remember? And your cousin Natasha backed us up–’

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘But Anna, if he’s back in England he may come looking for you!’

‘Fat chance, when there’s been no communication between us for ten years.’

A slight pause; then Minty said, ‘Exactly. If you’d really been the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, wouldn’t he have been in touch?’

Anna stifled a small stirring of sadness. ‘Yes. Yes, he would.’

Chapter Three

In the back seat of the black Jaguar, Rick slumped against the cool leather upholstery and enjoyed his first scowl of the day. What a prospect – another twenty or so events like this, up and down the country. He felt drained; was it the long flight, or the effort of signing books for three hours at a stretch?

He became vaguely aware of his publicist’s irritatingly chirpy voice. ‘… Great boost to sales having you over here. I mean, look at today – hundreds of women in some sort of frenzy. If that’s going to happen each time, you’ll need bodyguards.’

‘Dream on, Guy. I’m hardly an A-list celebrity.’

‘At this rate, you soon will be.’

‘When that happens, mate, you’ll be paying for this chauffeur-driven Jag.’

Guy gave the lazy, lopsided grin that masked a will of iron, as Rick was already learning. ‘Forgive me for saying this, but you’re going to great lengths to behave like an A-list celebrity, even if you’re not. Why the flash car? Why the driver? Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad I don’t have to ferry you round the country in my old BMW – but it’s an expensive way of doing a book tour.’

‘That’s my business.’ Rick tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

If Guy recognised the hint to leave him in peace, he certainly didn’t take it. ‘It’s a pity we can’t get Shelley over, the tabloids would wet themselves to get an interview with the two of you together.’

Rick opened his eyes and kept his face expressionless; no need for Guy to know that his last phone call with Shelley had ended with her hanging up on him. ‘I’d hoped to be more than just tabloid fodder – although it’s hardly surprising since the publishers decided on that idiotic book title.
Sex in the Sea
gives people completely the wrong idea.’

‘But it’s a lot snappier than the original
Risk and Reproduction: modern challenges for marine life
. And it’s all about appealing to a whole new market.’

‘Yeah, the chattering classes. They’ll never get past that ridiculous front cover.’

‘More to the point, they’ll fork out the money for your impressive physique to adorn their coffee tables.’

Rick couldn’t help laughing. ‘Only in photo form, thank God. I’d charge a hell of a lot more to be there in person.’

‘So, now that I’ve got you in a good mood again, what shall we do tonight? Dinner at your hotel, then that party I told you about?’

Rick sighed. This was networking, pure and simple, dressed up as socialising; but it had to be done, for the sake of book sales. He was saved from answering, however, by the annoyingly cheerful trill of a mobile.

‘Excuse me a moment,’ Guy said, glancing at the number. His voice dropped an octave as he talked to the unknown caller in fluent French. A love interest, Rick thought, although it was too early for him to tell whether male or female; his first impression of Guy was that he was an ex-public school type, which meant that his sexual preferences were anyone’s guess.

Embarrassingly, he could understand almost every word, because he had once spoken the language on a daily basis. It was the summer he’d worked at a sailing club in Brittany, and met the girl he’d denied knowing when Shelley challenged him about the dreams.

Which was technically correct, since her name was Anna; he’d only called her Annie when they were–

But now he was determined to forget her. He’d even bought some self-help books at Melbourne airport and practised the techniques on the plane. By the time he’d landed at Heathrow, he’d cracked it. Easy. Shelley had actually done him a favour, exposing that secret corner of his past …

‘Sorry,’ Guy said, when he’d finished the call. ‘New girlfriend, Marie-Claude, very keen. So, dinner first – then the party?’

All of a sudden, the last thing Rick felt like was being sociable; he pretended to consult his mobile. ‘Afraid not, my sister’s sent me a message. She needs to see me urgently, so I’ll pick up a few things from the hotel and get on my way.’

For the first time since they’d met, Rick saw Guy frown. ‘But you’ve got to be at Charing Cross Road for three o’clock tomorrow, quite a trek from Suffolk.’

‘That’s Dave the driver’s problem, not mine. And it’s Somerset, not Suffolk.’ Rick closed his eyes again to discourage further conversation. As soon as he’d got rid of Guy, he’d ring Sophie; he hoped she’d be staying in for the evening, but it didn’t matter if she wasn’t. All he wanted was to unwind for a few hours, in a place where no one was watching his every move. Not much to ask, was it?

It all worked out perfectly. Sophie was ecstatic at the prospect of seeing him a few days ahead of schedule. She and Ed had planned a quiet dinner at home, but the meal could easily stretch to three. Or four – what about his driver? Rick said no, Dave would sort himself out food-wise, but if she could book him a bed at some local pub … As for him, the prodigal brother, he’d rather keep a low profile – so could she put him up at her cottage for the night? The sofa would be fine, even the floor.

She could offer something better than that, although not much. It turned out that she had a small second bedroom with a single bed and a lumpy mattress, a far cry from his plush hotel in London.

But he drank too much to notice and had too good a time to care.

Just before eleven the next morning, after a slap-up breakfast and more laughter, he set off for London. He felt relaxed, almost happy; when Dave arrived with the car, he got into the front seat beside him – ready to chat, even cracking a joke.

The Jag cruised along the main street. It was empty – except for a woman with two little boys half-running towards the church, obviously late for the service. She was holding the smaller one’s hand and clutching something to her, while the other boy skipped along in front carrying a most peculiar object, a little makeshift cardboard dragon. The next minute, predictably, he dropped it. It split open – or was that thing with brown spines sticking up some sort of lid? – and disgorged its contents far and wide. Three bright green apples tumbled into the gutter, plums scattered and squashed under the boy’s dancing feet, a banana landed awkwardly in a pile of damp leaves.

The car drew near. Rick heard the inevitable wail as the boy realised what had happened and looked to his mother for a miracle. The woman ignored the spilled, spoiled fruit and bent to offer comfort. Rick’s mouth twisted into an unpleasant smile. How touching. His own mother would have boxed his ears and walked on …

Then, as the woman straightened up, came a stab of recognition. The hair was longer than before, the face paler and thinner, but the resemblance was uncanny. What he was looking at now, and what he’d filed away to forget, matched. Perfectly.

So much for the self-help. All the memories came flooding back; not erased, as he’d thought – or wanted to think – but safely stored, and expertly retouched.

Dave slowed the car, as if debating whether to stop and help.

Rick found his voice. ‘Drive on. Drive
on
.’

Chapter Four

Jenny ignored Anna’s protests and poured her a generous glass of red wine. ‘From the sound of your weekend, you
need
this. And I’ll need the rest of the bottle to calm myself down. Who did you say your father’s shagging?’

Sunday evening and, as promised, Anna was having dinner with Jenny and Tom. They were in the kitchen – shabbier and more cluttered than the dining room, but far warmer. And it allowed Jenny to direct the cooking and the conversation at the same time. She was the better cook but, since his accident, she encouraged Tom to do as much as possible round the house. Anna felt a surge of admiration for them both. She knew Jenny’s relentless optimism and Tom’s quiet acceptance were masks, but she’d rarely seen them slip.

She pretended to be affronted by Jenny’s question. ‘I never said he was shagging her, I just couldn’t understand why they went into his bedroom and locked the door. I mean, it’s only a massage.’

Tom stopped mashing the potatoes and grinned. ‘There are massages – and there are
massages
, if you know what I mean.’

‘No, we don’t – are you going to enlighten us?’ Jenny gave Anna a sly wink.

‘Certainly not, use your imagination.’ He turned his wheelchair expertly towards Anna. ‘But give me this woman’s contact details when
she
’s not looking.’

‘Quick, take them now, you know she’s blind as a bat without her specs,’ Anna said in a stage whisper. She rummaged in her bag and handed Tom a brightly coloured leaflet, which Jenny – as expected – snatched away with a crow of triumph.

‘Ha, looks like Barbie on the front cover, let me just put my specs on …’ Jenny perched her spectacles on her nose and did a double take. ‘Good grief, it
is
Barbie! Wearing her Mad Scientist outfit, except the white coat’s so tight that most of her buttons have popped off, and it’s so short that she’s obviously forgotten the matching trousers. “Cléopatra Clé, the Science of Healing, the Hands of Love, the Key to a Better Life.” Bloody Nora!’

‘I need a Better Life,’ Tom said. ‘And Barbie’s a vast improvement on my usual masseuse, Frumpie, with her Hands of Torture.’

Jenny’s throaty laugh filled the kitchen. ‘How dare you! Just don’t expect Frumpie to help you into bed later on, you can spend the night in your chair.’ She threw the leaflet down on the table in mock disgust. ‘So, your father’s taking
noblesse oblige
to a new level, is he? Actually, a rather old level, that sort of thing’s gone on for centuries. You know, lord of the manor tumbling the servant girls.’

‘No, it can’t be that, he’s never been very interested in sex.’ Anna frowned as she recalled a low-voiced conversation between her mother and Minty years ago, all about Walter’s Little Problem in That Department. She and Mona had giggled about it afterwards and Lisa had told them they were pathetically immature.

Jenny sniffed. ‘Don’t you believe it, sunshine – if you’re looking for the ladle, Tom, it’s on the draining board.’ She gave Anna a shrewd look. ‘And did you meet this surgically enhanced miracle worker?’

‘I did. She arrived just as I was leaving Kellynch for Uppercross. Walter rushed out to see her, with Minty hot on his trail – you know she can’t bear the thought of him throwing his money away on what she calls frivolities. So there we all were, watching Cleopatra squeeze herself out of this tiny sports car. A delightful little welcome party – Walter almost slobbering, Minty scowling, Lisa pushing to the front of the queue as usual–’

‘And you in the background, not missing a thing,’ Tom put in, smiling. ‘What did you make of her?’

‘She’s a fake.’

Jenny almost choked on her wine. ‘That’s very direct, for you. What makes you think–’

‘It’s not just her fake tan and her fake boobs. She’s got a fake French accent as well. I spoke French to her and she didn’t seem to understand a word. I could even accept
that
, she probably just wants to sound glamorous as well as look it. But there’s something else I can’t quite put my finger on … And how can he even look at a creature like that after Mummy, it makes me want to–’ She broke off in frustration.

‘So, after you’d recovered from Walter’s shock announcement about coming to Bath next weekend, you went to Uppercross to mop Mona’s brow,’ Jenny said, swiftly changing the subject. ‘What had the poor thing done? Broken a nail?’

Anna gave a wan smile. ‘The usual.’

‘Oh. How bad this time?’

She shrugged, stared at her untouched wine and pushed the glass away.

For a while, the only sounds were the ticking of the clock and the scrape of metal against china as Tom served lamb stew, mashed potato and broccoli on to the plates.

Jenny said, ‘And the boys?’

‘Great.’ Anna smiled, in spite of herself. ‘Ollie loves his new teacher and Harry’s settled well at nursery. We had a lovely time on Saturday afternoon making harvest baskets out of shoeboxes. They’re both mad about dinosaurs and I had to make the boxes look like a stegosaurus or something, can you imagine? It took me ages! Then would you believe it, on the way to the Harvest Festival Ollie dropped his and all the fruit fell out. But I salvaged some, and Harry offered him an apple from his basket, it was so sweet.’

‘What about Charles?’

‘I hardly saw him. He went over to the Great House as soon as I arrived and didn’t come back until late. Then today he was up at the lake until lunch time. I took the boys there after church, but of course he couldn’t say much in front of them.’ She bit her lip. ‘He’s asked me to go back next weekend, it’s Roger’s birthday on Saturday and there’s a party at night. They’ve got a babysitter but he wants another pair of eyes at the party, in case Mona–’

‘Don’t make a rod for your own back,’ Tom said, setting a plate in front of her.

‘I hardly do a thing for them, it’s the Musgroves who help out most of the time. I wish Walter and Lisa would do more, but until Mona’s last birthday they didn’t seem to realise there was a problem–’

‘Your father never seems to realise
anything
,’ Jenny put in. ‘He certainly doesn’t seem to realise that Charles and Mona only got married because she was pregnant and Charles felt he had to do the decent thing. But Walter prances about pretending the Musgroves are embarrassingly grateful to be part of the Elliot dynasty and refusing to accept that it’s a marriage made in hell.’

‘I just feel sorry for the children,’ Anna said quietly. Then, with forced cheerfulness, ‘Mmmm, this looks delicious.’ She picked up her fork and ploughed her way through a meal that may as well have been sawdust.