Текст книги "Bad Grace "

Автор книги: Annabel Chant

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Twenty Eight

Him

As soon as I’d concluded my business with Leo Sparkes, I headed over to the Castle. I was still smarting from the conversation in the car earlier, and I wondered, once again, why I was still pursuing this business with Grace – why I was still pursuing this business at all. It all stemmed back to Aimee, and I knew I was cursed to carry on indefinitely or, at least, until I found redemption – like that was ever going to happen. Aimee was still everywhere, in everything I did.

Even though I knew in my heart it was best I kept away from Grace, for the moment at least, I hadn’t been able to help myself. I’d really thought I was getting somewhere with her, there in the café. I’d done my best to hold back, in the hopes that she might give me some sort of indication of her feelings, and I’d actually thought she was beginning to like me.

Then, she’d come straight out with it in the car. She’d only got in touch with me for my help – because I was the only one who could help her. And why did she think that? Because of that damn fool card I’d given her. It was my own fault for being so hopelessly inept, and now there was nothing I could do but suck it up.

And that boyfriend of hers. What the hell had he been doing with himself? The man – if he could be called one – was a mess. The whole apartment was a state – reeked of curry, with beer cans all over the coffee table and some video game playing on the flat screen. He was lost without her, that much was obvious, but his belligerent attitude hadn’t exactly gone down well with some of my men.

Mother was waiting on the steps of the Castle as I pulled up. I wondered how long she’d been standing there. It was gone seven and the sun was low behind the turrets, the steps in shade.

I got out of the car quickly. ‘Mother – where’s your cardigan? Who let you come out here like this?’

‘Let me?’ She turned her cheek up to me to be kissed. ‘I know you think I’m gaga, darling, but I’m still Mistress of this estate, and don’t you forget it. Not your precious Ronnie,’ she added in a stage whisper.

‘Ronnie’s just overseeing things,’ I said. ‘I can’t expect you to run the place when I’m not around. Not with…’ I trailed off, not wanting to upset her with further mention of her mental state. ‘Not with Father the way he is. How is he?’ I added, feeling duty-bound to enquire after the old man’s health.

‘Come and see him,’ she said. ‘He’s quite bright today.’

I allowed her to lead me away from the steps and round to the East wing of the old pile. We went in through the back, into the quarters they lived in now. The main house had too many stairs, was just far too big for the pair of them now. I’d moved them out when my father had become ill, and Mother had started to lose her way…and her marbles. She’d been found in the library, crying and saying she’d never seen the place before. It might even have been true – Father was precious about his privacy – but it wasn’t something the staff felt able to cope with on a regular basis, which it quickly became.

‘There you are, Ma’am!’

It was Mary, their maid. A qualified nurse, she looked after them when the primary staff were on duty elsewhere. Tonight, they’d be needed in the West Wing – a place where only the core staff were allowed. Mary didn’t have that privilege, but she was trustworthy enough and looked after the pair of them better than they liked to let on.

‘I’m sorry, Sir,’ she said, sounding put-upon. ‘If I’d known you were coming, I’d have known where to find her.’

‘I told you he was coming,’ said my mother, disapprovingly.

‘Yes,’ said Mary, giving me an upside-down smile. ‘But you say that every day.’

‘Well…’ I looked at my watch. ‘No harm done. Where is the old duffer?’

‘Naughty!’ My mother giggled. ‘He’s in bed, of course.’

‘He rarely gets up now,’ said Mary, lowering her voice. ‘He’s gone downhill a bit.’

    Twenty Nine

Him

I went through the drawing room, a high-ceilinged, elegant room, with the table now laid for dinner, into the tower room. It was even more beautiful, turreted to one side, with a bank of curved windows overlooking the garden. In a hospital bed, facing them, lay my father, Quinlan Fforbes, ex-MP, hotel magnate, and all-round bastard. He looked much the same as always, apart from the cannula attached to his nose.

As I entered, he looked over at me and his face took on its usual foul-tempered look.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘It’s you, is it?’

‘Hello, Father.’ I went over to the window. The grounds were all lovely but I liked this part best. It was more like a cottage garden, and it afforded me some of my happiest memories of this place, when I’d sneaked off as a child round here, to play with the children of the servants.

‘How are you?’ I said, still looking out the window.

‘Never mind me,’ he said, punctuating his words with a long hacking cough. ‘How’s business? How’s…’ He broke off to cough again. ‘…The club?’

‘Still going,’ I said. It was all he still cared about. If I’d told him everything else he’d begun had gone bust, I don’t think he’d have given a toss. It was all about the club. ‘It’s good.’

‘And how’s…’ He motioned towards the main house. ‘Your racket? Still going, too?’

‘It’s not a racket, Father.’ I went over and sat in the armchair next to him. ‘I had a situation, a few days ago. A tape of Giles Flint’s daughter.’ I shuddered again, at the memory.

‘Giles’s daughter?’ He looked furious. ‘My God, boy. You really are a fuckwit. What the hell were you doing, getting involved with…’

He broke off, his cough getting the better of him.

‘I was going,’ I said, calmly. ‘To say it’s sorted. I sorted it.’

His coughing subsided slightly and he leaned towards me. ‘Don’t embarrass me,’ he said, through his coughs. ‘Stay away from Giles – you hear me?’

‘I’ll associate with whomsoever I choose,’ I said, standing up to leave. ‘Goodbye, Father.’

As I turned to go, he called me back.

‘Nathaniel!’

It was such a rare thing, to hear him speak my name, that I turned back in spite of myself. ‘Father?’

‘You always were a loser. I’ll see that empire of mine crumble into dust in your hands, I know it.’

‘You’re entitled to your opinion,’ I said, with a brief nod. ‘And over my dead body.’

I turned and left, the sound of his hacking cough fading away behind me.

Ronnie was waiting for me in the entrance hall when I arrived.

‘My love.’ She came up to me her arms open, and I let her kiss me briefly.

Her lips were painted a brilliant scarlet, and I wiped at my cheek, leaving a smear on the cuff of my shirt. I looked down at it ruefully. She was ever the Domme, these days. She had no reason to dress the part tonight, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. For some reason, it still stung.

‘They told me you’d arrived.’ She stood back, inspecting me carefully. ‘I hear we’ve a new one tonight?’

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Is Mrs…whatever-her-name-is still due?’

‘I received the confirmation yesterday, from Mr whatever-his-name-is,’ she said, walking through towards the West Wing. ‘Really, Nat. If you can’t even remember their names, do you still need to be doing this?’

‘Mrs Wilkington-Smythe,’ I said, as we made our way through the corridors. ‘I know her name. It’s just so ridiculously…’

‘Upper-class?’

‘Pretentious.’

The West Wing was as dark as the East wing was light. I peered into one of the playrooms before heading into my office. ‘Put her in there,’ I said. ‘It’s convenient.’

‘She’s not the only one.’ She took out a notebook and ruffled through the pages. ‘There are quite a few, actually.’

I shrugged. ‘It’s a Friday night,’ I said. ‘There’d be quite a few out there, if not.’

‘There will be anyway.’ She put her hands to my face and, looking deep into my eyes with a smile, squeezed my cheeks. ‘People are allowed to make mistakes, you know.’

‘Not this one,’ I said, shortly.

She watched me, waiting for me to speak but, instead, I turned away and switched on the computer.

‘Is there something special about this one, then?’ she said, finally.

‘She’s just...’ I kept my eyes on the computer screen. ‘Someone I met.’

‘Someone you intercepted,’ she said, making the necessary translation. ‘It’s been a while since any of us have had one of those.’

The clock showed it was almost half seven. If Grace had been ready when Stephens picked her up, she’d be here any minute.

‘Which, I’m sure you’ll agree,’ I said, standing up. ‘Can only be a good thing.’

I gave her a tight smile, and headed back to the entrance hall.

    Thirty

Her

I’d had a shower and was in my dressing gown, making a cup of tea, when Liv came in from work. She more or less fell through the front door, practically crackling with excitement.

‘It was him, Grace,’ she said, flomping down at the kitchen table. ‘And I know who he is now.’

‘So do I,’ I said. I’d come down – slightly – from the excitement of the meeting with Jimmy, and I’d been dwelling on Nathaniel Forbes, and his erratic behaviour, ever since I got in. The man was a walking contradiction.

‘You don’t seem that interested,’ she said, sounding disappointed. ‘I was looking forward to telling you. I thought you’d be amazed.’

‘I’ve never heard of him,’ I said, absently getting out a cup for Liv.

I was running through our time in the café again. When I’d realised what he’d done about Phil and his friends, I was sure he was interested, but then all he’d asked me about was what I’d wanted the night before. Why did he send me such mixed signals? Why was he going all-out to protect me, if he didn’t like me? And he didn’t. He’d made that quite apparent in the car.

‘How can you never have heard of Nathaniel Fforbes?’ said Liv. ‘He’s heir to the Fforbes hotel chain, amongst other things.’

‘He’s not.’ I put the teabags in the cups, hardly noticing what I was doing. ‘His name has only one F. The Fforbes you’re talking about has two.’

‘Ah, but he is,’ she said. ‘And he’s practically celebrity royalty.’

‘I’m not interested in celebrities,’ I replied, over the noise of the kettle screaming. Trust Liv to have a whistling kettle. ‘I didn’t think you were, either.’

‘Well, I’m not,’ she said, rummaging in the Mary Poppins bag. The last time she’d done it, she’d pulled out the paper with Leo’s story in it, so I held my breath, feeling anxious.

When she pulled out a magazine and held it out to me, I hesitated.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s a copy of About Town.’

‘That’s nice.’ I poured the water into the cups.

‘Have a look, then. Page twelve – Ascot.’

I took the magazine reluctantly, and thumbed through to the page she’d said, and there he was, looking right back at me. Nathaniel Fforbes. So why…?

‘Read it.’

‘Nathaniel Fforbes enjoying the sunshine with the Honourable Ladies Sasha Tetheridge and Eunice Crumpton,’ I read out, half under my breath.

I was amazed how much it cut me. They were both pretty and looked far more his type. Far more upper-class. No wonder he wasn’t interested in me. He could have any girl he wanted. He’d hardly be likely to settle for someone like me, with no pedigree and the only title associated with her WAG. I felt common and cheap, suddenly, and the burst of excitement Jimmy’s belief had ignited in me was extinguished like it had never been. It was then that I realised I’d been hoping it would impress him.

I brought the cups over to the table, and sat down heavily.

‘He’s minted, Grace.’ Liv took her cup and looked at me, consideringly. ‘He’d be a far better bet than your Leo.’

‘It’s not about money.’ I stirred my tea moodily. ‘I think I’m going to be all right for money.’

‘Ooh.’ Liv took a sip of tea. ‘Come on then, tell all.’

I told her about Jimmy, and what he’d said. She nearly spilt her tea when I told her about the bidding war.

‘That’s fantastic, Grace.’ She laughed wickedly. ‘And a spit in the eye for Kitty.’

‘Don’t be mean.’ I couldn’t help laughing at Liv’s evident delight, but it made me feel guilty. I remembered Kitty’s phone call and how, so easily, it could’ve been me.

I stood up, but Liv hadn’t finished yet. ‘So you’re really not interested in the Fforbesmeister?’

‘Why would I be?’ I said, startled. For a moment, I’d thought she’d said Filth Monger. ‘He blanked me in Max’s office.’

‘It wasn’t just you.’ Liv looked puzzled. ‘It was both of us and he didn’t. I thought he was charming.’

I went to speak, before remembering I still hadn’t told her what had happened between us. Without that, the inadequacy of his greeting was impossible to explain.

‘If you say so,’ I said, not feeling up to going into it all. ‘I need to get ready. I’m going out.’

‘Ooh, where? Anywhere nice?’

‘If you must know I’m meeting up with him.’

‘With who? Leo?’

I shook my head.

‘Not…’ She gave a gasp of excitement, and pointed to the magazine.

I nodded.

‘No!’ Her eyes were like saucers. ‘Oh my God, Grace. Tell all!’

‘There’s nothing to tell,’ I said. ‘I told you, he’s not interested.’

‘So why…?’

‘It’s complicated.’ I drained the last of my tea. ‘He’s not interested, trust me.’

    Thirty One

Her

The car arrived to pick me up just after dinner. Liv had made a salad, but I’d hardly touched mine. I’d barely been eating anyway, over the past week, and now I was too nervous. Stephens opened the car door for me, and I ducked inside, wondering what I was letting myself in for. It was a Bentley again, long and sleek. I did up my seatbelt and put my hands in my lap, feeling awkward. I wondered if Stephens knew why he was driving me, and what he’d think if he did.

As the signs indicated we were leaving London for the quieter roads of Berkshire, my heart began to race. What if something happened to me? How did I know I could trust this…Filth Monger? At least I’d told Liv, after a fashion, where I was going. I hadn’t gone into any details. I couldn’t – I didn’t know them myself.

I hadn’t known what to wear, even. I didn’t have any idea what he had planned. After anguishing silently for twenty-odd minutes, I’d settled on a little black number, with strappy sandals to match and a pashmina. I’d put my hair back in a bun, but strands were already escaping and I was constantly having to push them out of my eyes as we sped through the evening streets to who-knew-where to do who-knew-what.

Finally, the car pulled in through two massive pillars onto a tree-lined avenue. Ahead of us, I could just make out some sort of mansion, its façade darkened by the low sun behind it. The shadows of one line of trees ran across the gravel of the driveway, long and ominous, and my heart quickened even more. Where the hell had he brought me?

As the car reached the building, I noticed lanterns on wrought iron posts. They were alight, but only just visible in the dimming light. Stephen pulled up in front of a set of broad, stone steps, flanked by more pillars, and came round to let me out.

I followed him up the steps to an enormous pair of doors, with further lanterns on either side. He pulled on a rope and a bell rang, at which point he backed away and nodded to me.

‘Ma’am,’ he said, and went back to the car, leaving me standing there, anxious and alone.

I wasn’t standing there long. The door opened almost immediately. It was a woman – some sort of maid, I think, because she dropped a quick curtsey, then stood back to let me in.

Beyond her was an enormous entrance hall, with vaulted ceilings and staircases sweeping up from either side, and in the middle of it stood Nathaniel and a woman. She was older than him – at least forty She was tall and slender, with black hair swept back in two high curls, either side of her face, and the rest curled in at the nape of her neck. It was a fifties style, and she wore a long, white fifties-style dress to match. She also had her arm draped over Nathaniel’s shoulder.

‘Welcome to the Castle, Miss Anderton,’ he said. He went to say something else but, just as he opened his mouth, his phone rang. He held it up and looked at the screen.

‘It’s Giles,’ he said to the woman, and to me; ‘I’m sorry. I have to take this.’ And he was gone. He dashed across to a door to the side of the entrance hall, and disappeared into a room.

‘Don’t mind him,’ said the woman, sauntering over to me with a serene smile. ‘He’s always busy.’

On closer inspection, she was older than forty. More like fifty. Maybe even older than that. It was hard to tell, because she wore a lot of make-up, and had naturally good bone structure – high cheekbones and a strong, slim jaw.

‘So you’re here as one of Nathaniel’s…projects, are you?’ she said, with another smile.

My God, I thought to myself. Is this really happening?

‘I…that is…’ I faltered. Then, in a rush, I blurted; ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise he’d tell his mother.’

She jolted slightly, and blinked. ‘Nat and I,’ she said, finally. ‘Keep very few secrets.’

At that moment, Nathaniel reappeared from the doorway, and came back over. ‘Thank you, Ronnie. Grace, this is Ronnie,’ he said, by way of introduction.

‘His wife,’ said Ronnie, in icy tones.

At her words, it was as if the whole world shrank down into one point in my brain. I must’ve literally swayed on my feet because Nathaniel put his arm out to steady me.

‘As she said, my wife,’ he said, and swept me towards another door, this time on the other side of the entrance hall. ‘Thank you, Ronnie. I’ll…take it from here.’

The door led to a corridor, dark and wood-panelled, with a thick moss-green carpet. Pictures hung all the way along it. Pictures of what, I had no idea. I was in too much of a state of shock.

‘Your wife?’ I said, still trying to process the words as we walked along it.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Last time I checked.’

‘I thought she was your mother.’ I flushed, remembering her reaction. Why could I not have thought before opening my mouth? Dear God, no wonder he’s not interested in me.

‘Ah,’ he said, ushering me into another corridor, at right angles with the first and carpeted in red. ‘I thought I detected a certain degree of friction. Ronnie’s not usually so…’ He paused, as if searching for the right words. ‘…hostile to my guests.’

‘Well,’ I said, feeling indignant suddenly. ‘You must have a very easy-going relationship, that’s all I can say.’

‘She gets what she wants out of it,’ he said. ‘It’s not what you think. Ronnie and I…well…I’ll explain some other time and, in a way, she is my mother.’

He turned to look at me, and I just looked back, uncomprehending.

‘Let’s just say,’ he said, stopping at a door and opening it. ‘If you knew my parents, you’d understand.’

He stood back to let me in and switched on the light. It was an office, wood-panelled like the corridor, with a few chairs, an oak desk and a computer. The windows were covered with thick velvet drapes. Bizarrely, there was another large curtain on the wall near the computer. It must have been about three feet long, stopping at my waist, and I wondered if the shock had thrown my geography off. I’d been sure there was another room there, which meant it must be an internal window, but why would anyone want a window looking into another room?

‘Sit down,’ he said, indicating one of the chairs.

I sat down, putting my hands in my lap again. This wasn’t going as expected, at all, not that I’d known what to expect. Whatever I’d been imagining, this hadn’t even figured.

‘So, you know why you’re here, don’t you?’ He sat in the chair by the computer and looked at me in that searching way he had. He seemed less sure of himself than usual, almost as if being in this location had somehow sapped him of some of his character.

‘I…I think so.’

‘You want to take back your fantasies.’ He shrugged. ‘Your words, not mine, Miss Anderton.’

‘I…suppose so.’

As I sat there, I suddenly became aware of noises from out in the corridor. It was the sound of people – a lot of people – passing by. Judging by the tones of the voices, it was mainly men, but also some women.

‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ he said quickly. ‘It’s never too late.’

‘No, I…’

‘I get the feeling you’re less sure of yourself now that it’s a possibility,’ he said, standing up. ‘Come on, let’s get you home.’

‘No,’ I said, hearing the firmness stamped into the word myself. ‘I’m sorry. I just thought it’d be less…well…clinical than this.’

‘What did you think it’d be, then?’ He paced around the room. ‘This is the business end, Miss Anderton. We need to discuss terms and requirements. When a film’s made, the production company don’t turn up in pirate costumes, swashing their buckles.’

He stopped and looked down at me. I looked back up at him to find him smiling.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know where that came from. Swashing their buckles.’ He gave a self-conscious laugh, before sitting down again. ‘What I’m trying to say is that we need to establish what it is you want exactly. I can’t judge how best to realise your fantasy, if I don’t know what your fantasy is.’

I looked at him in horror. He couldn’t be expecting me to say aloud, to a man I barely knew, my deepest, darkest secrets. Surely not?

He regarded me coolly, before standing up again.

‘All right,’ he said. ‘What about if I show you some other people’s fantasies? Would that be helpful?’

I stared at him again, feeling overwhelmed. Finally, I nodded.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere.’