THE RELUCTANT BRIDE (17 page)

Frank
seemed unable to speak but he nodded.

Rod
smiled. “On my terms though. There are going to be a lot of
changes

Frank
nodded again.

“
You're
being very charitable,” Gabriella said when he had gone.

“
I
don't think we'll have any more trouble with Frank. In face, he'll
probably be one of our greatest allies from now on.”

“
Should
I have said anything during the meeting?”

“
Did
you want to?”

“
Not
particularly. You're much better at that sort of thing. You seem to
have the ability to get people on your side.”

He
smiled a rueful smile. “A pity it doesn't work with you.”

Had
he but known, it was working very well. Rod in action, first with
Torvill and Kemp and then at the meeting, had aroused a glow of warm
admiration that she was finding difficult to conceal. She backed
away. “I must go. I've some letters to dictate.”

“
By
the way, are you free tonight?”

“
Why?”

“
I
thought you might like to go and see White Gables.”

Her
eyes widened.

“
I've
arranged to meet Mrs Priddy there at seven thirty.”

“
Mrs
Priddy?”

“
Ben's
old housekeeper. She's looking for another job but in the meantime
Brewster is paying her a retainer to keep an eye on things. She's a
nice woman, a widow in her mid-fifties. One daughter, I think, but
she's working abroad somewhere, so she's alone here. I haven't said
anything to her but I thought, if you like her, we might think of
keeping her on, partly as housekeeper but chiefly as a companion for
your mother.”

“
That's
– very thoughtful of you.”

“
I
do have occasional human impulses, you know.”

She
looked away from the dark eyes that teased her, wishing that he would
stop being nice. She could deal with him so much more easily when
they were at loggerheads, yet more and more, as circumstances threw
them together, she was seeing aspects of his character that disarmed
her. She would have to take care. He was still Rod, still a sensual
philanderer without a scrap of integrity where women were concerned.
And if she ever let him get beneath her guard she would be sunk.

“
I
can be ready at seven,” she said, already moving to the door.

At
Gabriella's request they left Rod's car at the gates of White Gables
and walked down the long drive. The tulips that had been planted so
many years before by Mrs Stevens were in bloom and the buds on the
cherry trees were fat and pink. She stopped at a gap in the trees and
stared across at the pond which summer after summer herons from the
nearby country park had raided for fish.

Rod
placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Coming back like this
must feel quite strange.”

She
nodded.

Mrs
Priddy opened the door to them. She was a sturdily built woman with a
broad smiling face surmounted by a crop of light brown curls. Her
grey eyes held a friendly warmth.

“
Welcome
to White Gables, Miss Stevens. Mr Nicholson told me you used to live
here.”

“
Most
of my life,” said Gabriella.

“
Then
you'll want to look round on your own. I'll be making a pot of tea.

Gabriella
turned to Rod. “Do you mind? Just for a few minutes?”

“
Of
course not. I'll go and help Mrs Priddy.”

She
went slowly up the broad staircase, her hand trailing the smooth
mahogany bannister. As a child she had slid down this bannister when
she had thought herself unobserved. In her bedroom the walls still
wore the same lemon striped paper that she had chosen twelve years
ago. Only the curtains had been changed.

She
had cried so wretchedly here. First when she had read the letter her
father had left for her and later when she and her mother had had to
say their final goodbyes to the house.

Her
mother's bedroom and the dressing room which led from it had been
redecorated in a more masculine style. A set of regimental prints
hung over the fireplace and a table that used to stand in the small
library had been brought up and placed before the window. This had
been Ben's room. She could almost hear that rasping voice, smell the
tobacco he smoked. Strange that her life should have come full
circle, bringing her back to White Gables, and she wondered how long
ago the notion had first entered his head and if it had pleased him
to imagine her here again after his death.

She
had come to the room that her father had used as an office. He had
chosen the east facing room on the first floor so that he could look
up from his work and gaze out across the woods of Chidley to the
river. Reluctantly she opened the door.

Except
for a few cardboard boxes in one corner the room was empty, and
somehow its emptiness allowed the past to crowd in without hindrance.
She closed her eyes, seeing her father at his desk, papers strewn
before him, one hand ruffling through his thick dark hair, making it
stand on end. He would be talking into the telephone in French or
German or any of the half dozen other languages he had picked up
during his travels. He spoke them all ungrammatically but with
confidence and people always understood him. His call finished, he
would turn and see her, small and adoring in the doorway, and with a
whoosh he would sweep her to his shoulders, laughing as she shrieked
in mock terror, and jog her along the landing and down the stairs to
tea. She could remember the feel of that thick hair, like a horse's
mane between her fingers, remember the brightness of his smile and
the dark laughing eyes and the way he would light up the day for her.

Later,
when she was older, the pleasures they shared were quieter ones. He
had taught her the world of poetry, reciting from the nineteenth
century Romantic Poets who were his favourites in his deep beautiful
voice that carried a hint of Irish brogue. He was a handsome man,
everyone said so, with his ruddy strongly-cut features, his laughing
black eyes and that way of making one feel the only person who
mattered.

But
neither she nor her mother had married. One day he had abandoned them
with as little concern as if they had been casual acquaintances. And
they had not seen him since.

“
Gabriella?”
Rod opened the door quietly. “I thought I'd come and find you,
you've been so long.”

She
couldn't face him and there was an ache in her throat that made it
impossible to speak, but when he came and gently took her in his arms
she let him hold her.

“
All
these tears,” he murmured. “I shall have to re-stock on
handkerchiefs.”

“
Sorry.”

“
What
is it, Gabriella? What's upset you?”

She
gave a long shuddering sigh. “I was remembering my father.”

He
said nothing but pulled her closer to him, his hand coming up to
stroke her hair while he made soothing noises against her wet cheek.
And Gabriella was grateful for the comfort he offered. Tomorrow she
would have to re-erect her defences against this man who paralleled
so closely the father who had betrayed her. Tonight she wanted
nothing more than to stay within his embrace and let the hurt that
she had bottled up for so many years seep away in silent tears.

“
We
must go down,” Rod whispered at last. “Unless you want
Mrs Priddy in here as well.”

She
knuckled her eyes, feeling the burning heat of them, and nodded
obediently.

Mrs
Priddy, tactfully ignoring the evidence of Gabriella's blotched
cheeks, bustled about with the teapot and insisted they try a slice
of the cake she had baked that afternoon.

“
Have
you found another job yet?” asked Rod.

She
sighed. “A couple of elderly gentlemen but I didn't really take
to either of them. Besides, neither has a garden to speak of.”

Gabriella
raised her eyes from her cup. “You like gardens?”

Mrs
Priddy beamed. “I'd spend all day in a garden if I could. I
even enjoy weeding.”

“
You'd
have a lot in common with my mother.”

“
Is
she coming to live here with you?”

“
Yes.”

“
The
lucky lady,” said Mrs Priddy. “I hope the garden gives
her as much pleasure as it's given me.”

She
was a nice woman, Gabriella decided. She would speak to her mother
and arrange a meeting between them.

****