Shelley and Stephen had been looking through a wallpaper pattern book when, glancing at the clock on the office wall, Shelley gave a start and said swiftly, 'I must go, Stephen, or I'll be late for the appointment with Mr. Longford.'
'Good Lord-I forgot! Three o'clock you're to be there; you'll have to hurry. He struck me as a man who'd expect strict punctuality.'
Shelley merely gave an absent nod to that and walked briskly from the office towards the lift. As her car was not too far away she was soon on her way, leaving the traffic behind and driving towards the glorious county of Gloucestershire. She had mixed feelings now but knew there was no going back. Mr. Longford would expect her to be there, to go over the house with him on what at this stage would be but a preliminary examination of the property, although she would of course be making suggestions and noting his reactions to them.
She arrived at a quarter to three, parked her car in the drive and began to stroll around the house, strange sensations sending cold shivers along her spine. The house was even more neglected now than when Mr. Hawks lived here so his successors had obviously done little or nothing to it. To make it seem even more forlorn and lost it had plainly been empty for several months, or even perhaps a year. The garden was in a terrible mess, overgrown with weeds and tangled rose shoots with vicious-looking thorns. Only the dancing little stream was clear, its waters sparkling in the spring sunshine; she stopped, and bent to trail a hand in the water… and then she straightened swiftly and spun around on hearing the voice… that voice with its most attractive depth of tone.
'Miss Scott?' Nick's face was blank for a fleeting moment as she looked into it. 'Good Lord-you! I thought it was a strange coincidence, my having to meet a Miss Scott here….' His voice trailed away but his eyes were alert, examining her as if he would take in every line, every contour, every tremulous movement of her lovely mouth. She was as white as her blouse, staring disbelievingly at him, telling herself that this could not be true. And foolishly she stammered, 'Mr. Longford-You ought to be-be Mr. Longford.' Of course she knew that Stephen had somehow mixed the names of the two new clients and yet she shook her head and muttered again, 'Mr. Longford-It was him I came here to meet.' Her hand was wet and unconsciously she slid it down her skirt.
'Mr. Longford-' He stopped abruptly. 'Who's he?'
'Another client-there's been a-a mix-up in the names. My employer's a bit absent-minded sometimes.' She felt foolish, inadequate, and she wanted to run away, into the mass of overgrown bushes that had once been a neat, well-cared for shrubbery. But of course she did no such thing; she just stood there wishing she had not obeyed the force that had led her to change her mind.
'You use your maiden name, then?' The harshness came through and she wondered at it. She nodded her head.
'I thought it best,' was all she answered to that.
Nick continued his scrutiny for a moment and then, with a sardonic inflection that had not been there in the old days, 'You're older, and you've filled out a bit.'
Her blue eyes glinted.
'So are you older, and so have you filled out a bit.'
He laughed then and said, 'So you took up interior designing for a living.'
Shelley did not answer that, but murmured instead, 'I believe you've bought this house… after all.' Why had she added those two last words, she wondered in vexation.
'For my future wife and myself, yes.' He paused a moment. 'It's rather ironical, don't you think that it happens to be you who are going to renovate it for us?'
She was still pale, but much more composed now as she lifted her face and looked straightly into his eyes.
'Ironical that we two should meet here like this,' she agreed, but went on to add, 'However, it'll be someone else who will be doing the job. I came merely as a sort of-consultant. If you tell me what you want I can pass it on to Miss Wandford.'
The dark steely eyes narrowed perceptively.
'Is it customary for your firm to work like this?' he wanted to know.
She paused, but quickly made up her mind.
'As a matter-of-fact, no. It's just that I have changed my mind, naturally, about doing the work for you.' The emphasis on the last word came through quite plainly and Nick's lips quirked.
'I take it that if it hadn't been for the mix-up in the names you'd not have come in the first place?'
'Your conclusion is correct; I'd have grasped the fact that it was you who had bought Allswick Manor.' Because his was not a common name, she could have added but felt it was unnecessary.
'Come,' he decided at length, 'and let us go over the house.'
Shelley hesitated.
'Perhaps,' she suggested with a frown, 'we ought to leave it-what I mean is, now that I'm not to be doing the work it seems a waste of time-'
'Not at all,' he broke in authoritatively. 'I haven't any intention of this being an abortive visit.' All arrogance and mastery! Shelley examined his face, noted the mature lines, the sprinklings of grey at his temples, the firmness of a mouth that was yet as sensuous as she had once known it. The flexed jawline, the dark, metallic eyes with their long lashes and straight black brows above… all these she remembered so well. He was perhaps rather more handsome in his maturity, and although she had retaliated by declaring he had put on weight she now admitted to herself that he did not carry much excess weight at all on that lithe, athletic body.
She shrugged and led the way, but at the front door she stopped to look enquiringly at him.
'Yes, I have the key,' he reassured her. 'There is only one so I didn't give it to your Mr. Fanchot. I'll get another one made and give it to you.'
'To my employer.' Shelley followed him into the musty-smelling hall and left the heavy oaken door wide open behind her. What a strange situation! She and Nick so cool and collected, so casual with one another. She could not help recalling passionate nights, tenderness mingling with mastery, kisses as savage as they were gentle. Vibrations sent blood to her temples so that they seemed to ache for a fleeting moment. 'The house has been sadly neglected.' Her voice was faintly hoarse, the result of an inexplicable dryness in her throat. She wondered why he had come alone but was glad. She had no wish to come face-to-face with the future Mrs. Nickolas Montpelier.
'Even more neglected than before,' he agreed, head lifted as he examined the ceiling which was of the French rococo period. Much later than the original, it represented a style of decoration popular in the first half of the eighteenth century. Oaken beams had been removed in order that this lovely ceiling could be introduced. Shelley remembered it so well; she had liked it even while regretting the loss of the lovely beams.
She and Nick wandered from room to room, Shelley making notes in shorthand as Nick rattled off his requirements with what she felt was quite unnecessary speed. If she hadn't learnt shorthand she would not have been able to keep up with him. He seemed almost to be ignoring her; aloof and superior, the valued client looking on her almost as a servant.
No emotion, no mention of anything that had gone before….
Shelley was piqued… and she was hurt, too, in a way she could not understand.
They were on the property for over an hour and the sun was slanting by the time they were leaving, Nick in a white Mercedes and Shelley in her Beetle, a ten-year-old car which she could easily have replaced if she wasn't so attached to it. But the contrast was starkly apparent-Nick, the wealthy owner of vineyards and hotels in Greece in addition to the fortune left him by his English father, and his ex-wife who had never tried to claim a penny from him because she was too proud. Nick had not offered anything because he obviously considered her to be the one to blame. He had never learnt the truth… and plainly he had never wanted to learn it.
'I'll get in touch with your boss,' he informed her casually as he slid into his car. 'While the interior's being done work will also be under way on the outside-and on the garden.'
'I shan't be interested,' she could not help retorting. 'It will be Miss Wandford who will be in charge here.'
In the act of closing the car door he looked hard at her, an unfathomable expression on his dark set face.
'We shall see,' was his quiet comment and the next moment the big car was purring almost noiselessly along the drive.
***
'But he knows I don't want to do it!' Shelley was speaking to herself after Stephen had left the office. 'It's spite! And I'd never have believed that of him!'
She was fuming as the aftermath of what Stephen had just said-that Mr. Montpelier was insistent that she and no one else should take charge at Allswick Manor.
Stephen was taking her out to dinner and so she left the office early in order to do some chores before she made herself ready for the evening out. He called for her and they took a taxi, Stephen leaving his car outside her front door because there were no parking facilities near the restaurant in Soho where they were intending to dine.
She said, as they sat with their aperitifs, 'I still don't want that job, Stephen.'
He sighed impatiently and frowned at her.
'You've said that already, several times, yet you won't give me any reason. It's crazy! You've never done this before.'
'I have given you a reason,' she argued. 'I don't like the man.'
'That's not a good enough reason. We've had dozens of clients you haven't liked.'
'None I dislike as much as this one.'
Another impatient sigh escaped her companion before he said, 'You must have some explanation for this dislike, Shelley. He seemed all right to me-a little haughty, perhaps, but we've had worse.'
She hesitated a moment, half inclined to tell Stephen who their new client really was, but after reflection she decided against it, although she could not have explained why, since Stephen already knew so much about her marriage and divorce. He was speaking, telling her that if she refused to do the job they'd probably lose the business.
'I can't believe that,' she frowned. 'Monica's as good as I am-'
'We both know very well that she isn't,' he interrupted quietly, his eyes fixed on her face as if he would probe until he had the answer to the question that was puzzling him. 'This man's heard of your reputation, your expertise-'
'I don't believe that,' she almost snapped, knowing as she did that it was spite and spite alone that was making Nick insist on having her. He was going to punish her by making her work on the house they had both wanted so badly, punish her by the knowledge that another woman was soon to be its mistress. Spite, and still she could not quite take it in. Nick had never been petty like that, yet he was certainly being petty now.
'You'll have to believe it, for he said so. I've already told you that,' he added with an edge of impatience to his voice.
She drew a breath and sipped her drink. It seemed that she would have to do the work or they would lose it to another firm.
Resignedly she said at last, 'All right, Stephen, but I shall be glad when it's finished.'
'It'll be up to you how long it takes. When you've done your costing I can let him have the estimate, and then it's no concern of his if we rush the job.'
Rush the job. Shelley frowned. She had always prided herself on taking the utmost care, on never rushing through anything no matter how urgent the client said it was. But with the Manor-well, she thought she would certainly waste no time, as the sooner she finished with her ex-husband the better.
***
She went over the following day, booking in at an hotel so that she needn't drive back to London that evening. With notebook and pen she went from room to room, painstakingly using her imagination in order to create something of real beauty.
But this was different from the beauty she had at first envisaged and anything suggested either by Nick or herself so long ago was-in the main-rejected in favour of something quite different. Many fixtures had to stay the same, of course, as for instance the beamed ceiling of the dining room, and the satin wall-covering in the drawing room. These needed a thorough cleaning but that was all. As to furnishings-well, Shelley knew she would have to consult Nick's fiancée in order to discover her preferences. Shelley sincerely hoped they were vastly different from what she herself and Nick had once planned.
It was growing dark when at last she slid into her car and drove to the Angel, a first class hotel where she had a bedroom with bathroom-very luxurious and paid for by the firm. Stephen never expected any of his staff to take anything but the best accommodations when they were away from home.
Shelley had booked dinner for eight o'clock but now thought she would rather have it in her room; she never cared much for dining alone, with everyone staring, as if they expected her to make an excuse for being there at all!
Funny, a man could dine alone and no one bothered.
She rang for room service and was informed apologetically that as three of the staff were off ill it could be half an hour before she was served, or perhaps an hour. She sighed into the receiver and told the person at the other end not to bother. She would dine in the restaurant.
Instantly she entered she saw him, sitting there in a corner with a dimmed light above him and a candle flickering on to the cutlery and glass. There was a bottle of wine beside his table, in a cooler. Shelley was just about to turn and leave when the head waiter came to conduct her to her table. She had to pass where Nick was sitting and he looked up, dark eyes widening.
'Shelley.' Quiet the voice but compelling. 'You must join me-'
'No, thank you.'
'I'd like to discuss these renovations with you.' He glanced at the waiter. 'The lady will sit here,' he said imperiously. 'You will please lay another cover.'
Fuming, she sat down rather than cause a scene.
'You must know I have no wish to have a meal with you,' she seethed.
'Don't be childish,' he admonished. 'You know we have much to talk about.' He picked up the bottle and filled his wineglass then glanced around. Immediately another glass was placed unobtrusively before Shelley and Nick poured wine into it. She made no protest but said curiously, 'How do you come to be here-Mr. Montpelier?'
His fine lips twitched at the way she had addressed him. She expected him again to tell her not to be childish but instead he said matter-of-factly, 'I was at the house this morning, and this afternoon I've been to an exhibition of paintings. I've bought three-rather large ones which will be stored for me until they can be delivered to the house.'
'And you decided to stay here tonight?'
He nodded his dark head. 'There's a sale of antique furniture tomorrow in the Guildhall-'
'You intend having antique furniture-every where?'
'In most of the rooms. Some things will be brought from my home, of course, but I'm buying some as well.'
'We were going to have….' She tailed off, colouring up.
'To have antique furniture? Of course we were; it's the only kind which will suit the house.' He paused, puzzled. 'Surely you were not contemplating putting in modern furniture?'
She looked at him across the table.
'I was intending to consult your-your-fiancée.'
'Of course, and that is to be expected. Delia will want to be consulted all the time.'
'But you haven't consulted her over the pictures,' she could not help reminding him, and when this was ignored she went on to add, 'Nor, apparently, are you intending to consult her about this antique furniture you're thinking of buying tomorrow.'
'She likes antique furniture,' was all Nick said to that and as the waiter was handing Shelley the menu there was silence between them until she had told him what she wanted. It came quickly and again there was a small silence until broken by Nick, who said curiously, eyes travelling from her face to her firm round breasts outlined by the neat fitting bodice of her dress, 'How is it that you've never remarried?'
'I haven't found the right one….' She looked at him, at his dark, handsome face with its clear-cut features and dark metallic eyes. He had the straight classical nose of the Greeks, the firm aggressive chin. Time had added more arrogance, increased the air of superiority, made more obvious his high breeding. Her lashes fluttered beneath his searching stare and she felt colour drift into her cheeks.
'Haven't found the right one,' he murmured as if to himself. 'What is your ideal man like, Shelley? Obviously that one who caused all the trouble didn't come up to your high standards after all.'
She swallowed hard, amazed and angry to know that her eyes were moist.
'I think,' she managed in a voice amazingly steady, 'that we shall change the subject. I believe it was to discuss the house that made you ask me to join you. You've been there this morning, you said?'
He nodded but he did not seem to be all that interested in what she was saying; in fact, he appeared to be miles away… thinking about what…?
'Yes, I have. I've some suggestions to give you.'
'Suggestions to give?' she repeated, emphasising the last word. 'Or do you mean orders to issue?'
His eyes glinted but there was a curve of sardonic amusement on his lips. 'The added years have given you a sting, it seems,' said Nick suavely.
She found herself smiling, but without humour. 'I'm very different from what I was then,' she said, aware of a strange sense of satisfaction that the past had been introduced. His complete evasion of any reference had piqued her. She realised that she wanted to be remembered even though he now loved someone else. She owned that it was a kind of dog-in-the-manger attitude, yet not by any means unnatural. It gave her a sense of inferiority to think she was of so little consequence that Nick had completely forgotten all that had gone before.
'A little different,' corrected Nick with an all examining glance. 'Certainly not very different.'
She lowered her lashes, conscious of fluttering along her spine, of a quickening of her heartbeats.
'Can we get back to the house?' she suggested and heard a low laugh escape him.
'I make you nervous,' he stated and she glanced at him with the light of swift denial in her lovely, widely-spaced eyes. 'Oh, yes, I do, Shelley,' he added with a hint of satire. 'But I suppose it must be a little disconcerting for a woman to come face-to-face with the man who once knew all about her, who had given her her first taste of what-er-love was all about!'
She coloured hotly, flashing him a wrathful glance.
'There was no need for that!' she seethed. 'Can we keep this conversation on business, please?'
'All right.' Nick helped himself to a bread roil. 'Delia will be at the house tomorrow afternoon, with me. She wants to plan the bedroom.'
More colour! Damn the man! He was doing it on purpose. Shelley said in a calm voice, 'There are six bedrooms, as you know.'
'It's the main one she's interested in mostly. We want, somehow, to make two en-suite bathrooms, and a dressing room. Also, there's the colour scheme to be worked out-but that'll be between you and Miss Unwin. I'm not interested so long as it's attractive.' His face was straight, but all the same, Shelley felt sure he was laughing at her, deriving amusement at her expense. He paused in thought. 'Maybe I shall be interested in the colour scheme after all.'
'What time will she be there?' Shelley's voice was curt.
'About three. She's driving down from Cheshire.'
'She lives in Cheshire?'
'That's right.'
How had they met? wondered Shelley, then tried to remove the wretched girl from her thoughts. Wretched? She might be very nice…. Shelley put down her knife and fork, aware that her appetite had gone. She felt depressed, wanting to go to her room and yet knowing she would not sleep for hours yet.
'What's wrong?' demanded Nick rather in the old familiar way. 'You look as if you'd lost a pound and found a penny.'
That brought a smile to her lips and, somehow, dissolved her depression.
'It was nothing.'
'But you've no appetite anymore.' Nick's glance had gone to her plate.
'It was too much; they always do give you too much in these restaurants.'
'You travel a lot, for your firm?'
'A fair bit, yes.'
'Tell me about it. How did you start, and when?'
To her surprise she found herself enlightening him; he listened for some time, interrupting only when she spoke of her mother's marrying again and going to live abroad. The dark eyes glinted strangely and unfathomably and for the very first time Shelley wondered if her mother had had any conversation with him after she, Shelley, had run from him. But she did not ask and Nick did not come forth with anything. She told him of her little home, of her interests other than her job.
'I collect antique snuff boxes,' she began and saw his eyes widen.
'That's an expensive hobby, surely?'
She nodded her head; the muted glow from above brought lights to the swaying hair and Nick seemed fleetingly to be fascinated by the changing colours-gold and bronze and honey-brown.
'It is expensive, and means I can't collect many. In any case, the boxes are hard to find.' Her voice was low and serious; her mind was on a particularly lovely box she had seen here, in the High Street, in an antique shop. She had toyed with the idea of buying it but common sense had prevailed. Two hundred pounds could be spent in a more useful way than that.
'We're straying even yet again from business,' was his observation after a moment had passed. 'About the drawing room-we shall want a polisher on that floor-'
'I had planned fitted carpet,' broke in Shelley hastily. The floor was beautiful-or at least it would be once it was polished. She and Nick had both been eager to have Persian rugs scattered about…. 'Everyone has fitted carpet these days,' she was quick to add as he opened his mouth.
'Nevertheless, Delia and I want a polished floor with rugs. We thought that Persian rugs would look rather good.' The merest pause and then, smoothly, 'Surely you can picture what I have in mind?'
Something hurt in her throat and she swallowed convulsively.
'Yes-I s-suppose so,' she murmured, feeling flat again. What on earth was the matter with her? True, it was rather trying, this task which had been given her, but why get emotional over it? Yet undoubtedly she was getting emotional, and even at this early stage, so what would she be like by the time the job was finished? Suddenly she knew she could not go on and said determinedly, 'You'll have to have one of the others to do this work for you. I'm not willing to carry on.'
Nick's knife and fork were suddenly idle in his hands; his eyes were riveted on her, narrowed and almost threatening.
'I've asked for you and it's you I want.' Curt the tone and just as determined as hers had been.
'You've done it on purpose,' she accused. 'If we hadn't met on that first day then you'd have been quite satisfied with someone else.'
'I agree, but we did meet-and I want you to do this work for me.'
'I'm refusing! You don't seem to understand.'
'If you refuse then I shall take my money elsewhere.'
She bit her lip till it hurt, aware of his unwavering stare.
'Does it give you any satisfaction to insist on my doing the work for you?' she questioned presently.
'I was told by your employer that you are the most gifted of his staff and so it was natural that I wanted you.'
She lifted her eyes to meet his.
'Did you suspect, on hearing the name: Scott, that it might be me?' He was shaking his head even before she finished speaking.
'No, because Scott is a fairly common name. In any case,' he added with a hint of harshness, 'I never expected you to resume your maiden name.'
'There seemed no point in my keeping your name.'
He frowned and said in a slightly more friendly tone of voice, 'Let us forget this argument and enjoy our meal. Tell me some more of what you've been doing.'
