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‘Nothing at all? Then what are you going to do now?’
‘Go home and do a bit of gardening, probably. The desk looks happy here. It was a good choice. Goodnight, Mr Hazard.’
He looked at her in silence for a moment, something indefinably different in his manner. ‘Now we’ve established that I’m not the twins’ father and you’re not David Conway’s wife,’ he said at last, smiling crookedly, ‘would you consider staying for a while to share my supper with me?’
Hester, taken aback for a moment, looked at him thoughtfully. She found that she liked the idea. And there was no reason why she shouldn’t accept She went out with various male friends in Chastlecombe, in the purely platonic way that was all she had to offer. On the other hand, if she said yes to Patrick Hazard—who was, without doubt, the most interesting and attractive man she’d met since Richard—it was possible he might misunderstand the situation now he knew she was a widow. Others had before him, taking her attitude as a challenge.
‘You’re taking such a long time to decide,’ he said at last, a wry twist to his mouth, ‘I take it the answer’s no.’
Hester’s curiosity got the better of her. She wanted to know more about this man, why he’d chosen to live here far away from the city lights she felt sure were his usual habitat, what he did for a living. She smiled and shook her head. ‘Thank you, I’d like to very much.’
‘Wonderful!’ The green eyes lit with a dazzling smile. ‘Then come this way, Mrs Conway. Let me show you my kitchen—which is the only place to eat, I’m afraid. Or would you like a tour of the house first?’
I would, very much. This is not a house I’ve ever heard of. I thought I knew most of the interesting places in the Chastlecombe area, but Long Wivutts came as a surprise.’
‘The name attracted me before I’d even seen the place.’ Patrick led the way across the hall into a sitting room with beautiful panelling, and triple-light latticed windows looking out over the tangled wilderness of the garden. ‘I’m told it comes from the size of stone tiles they use on the roofs round here. There are twenty-six sizes, would you believe? All of them with marvellous names like Middle Becks and Short Bachelors. They’re pretty difficult to replace now, apparently, though Wilf—the man who’s going to help me with the garden—has somehow acquired replacements from some derelict cottage.’ He grinned. ‘I had the feeling it wouldn’t be tactful to enquire about their provenance.’
Hester chuckled. ‘Very wise! This is a lovely room—just look at the size of that fireplace. With some chintz-covered sofas and a Persian carpet, maybe, plus a picture or two and some plain, heavy curtains... Sorry. You’ve probably got it all planned already.’
‘Not really. Any suggestions would be welcome.’ He led her out into the hall and into a room obviously meant for dining, and then beyond it to a little parlour at the back of the house, both of them as empty as the sitting room. Only the kitchen, which was so large it had obviously been two rooms at one time, was furnished. Late sunlight poured through the windows, washing over a plain round table and four balloonback Victorian chairs. A bowl of fruit, a basket of eggs and a large bread-crock sat on a counter which ran the length of gleaming oak-fronted cupboards—as new as the cooker and refrigerator, but so severely plain they blended harmoniously with the venerable stone flags underfoot.
‘This is perfect,’ said Hester with enthusiasm. ‘You’ve caught exactly the right note with the cupboards. Only, in winter I advise a rug or two on this floor—I speak from experience. Mine’s the same, and it can be very cold.’
‘I must confess the previous owners had got as far as doing up the kitchen and one of the bathrooms,’ he admitted. ‘I’d like any advice you have to spare. My sister, as must be obvious, isn’t at her best at the moment. And when the baby arrives she’ll have too much to do to have much time for me. She gave me the table and chairs—too small for Ashdown House. But she’s worried about not giving more of a helping hand here. I told her I’m big enough and old enough to look after myself. She’s older than me—still thinks of me as the little brother.’
Hester smiled. It was hard to imagine Patrick Hazard as a kid brother. ‘If you do need advice and I can supply it, I’ll be happy to. But, for the time being, if you’ll show me what you had in mind for a meal I’ll put it together—if you like.’
‘I just meant you to share the meal, not prepare it for me!’ he said swiftly.
‘Just tell me what you had in mind and I can make a start.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘I’m hungry. So if I lend a hand we’ll eat all the sooner.’
He bowed in defeat, then opened the refrigerator and took out the ingredients for a very respectable cold meal—salad greens, tomatoes, cheese, half a ham. He looked at her levelly. ‘You know, this is very good of you. I had expected to spend a solitary evening.’
So had Hester, who was more charmed by the prospect of dinner with Patrick Hazard than she cared to admit. And the informality of helping with the meal only added to the charm. While she set eggs to boil and washed salad greens her host laid the table, then took a bottle of champagne from the refrigerator.
‘I thought we might celebrate my first dinner guest with this,’ he announced.
Hester hesitated, then smiled ruefully. ‘Mr Hazard, I dislike wine of any kind. Vintage champagne would be utterly wasted on me.’
“Then we’ll drink something else,’ he said promptly. ‘But only if you call me Patrick.’
She nodded, smiling. ‘I’m Hester.’
‘I know.’
They looked at each other for a moment, then Hester took the pan of eggs from the hob and ran cold water over them at the sink. ‘I shall be perfectly happy with a glass of this, straight from the tap,’ she said over her shoulder.
‘Does your dislike of wine extend to alcohol in general?’
‘I enjoy a Pimm’s as a rare summer treat, and I keep brandy in the house for emergencies. But wine I really dislike.’ She looked up from peeling the eggs. ‘When I was a student I was afraid to admit it—bad for the image—so I drank it and suffered the consequences. I’m a bit wiser now.’
‘Which must be a generally held opinion locally since you were asked to be a magistrate.’ He took a loaf of bread from the crock and began slicing it. ‘Though you can’t have been on the bench for long.’
‘Just over a year now, but I still feel like a beginner. I did all the usual courses, naturally, and I shall go on doing others in the future. For legal instruction I rely on people like John Brigham—he’s the barrister who usually acts as clerk of the court.’ Hester halved the eggs and took out the yolks. ‘Are those handsome cupboards empty, or have you anything I can use to make a dressing and so on?’
Patrick Hazard’s store cupboards were surprisingly well-stocked. With hot pepper sauce to devil the eggs, and balsamic vinegar and olive oil to dress the salad, the meal they sat down to a little while later was simple, but very much to Hester’s taste. It was completed with a large, ice-filled goblet of bottled Cotswold spring water, which her host produced in preference to the alternative straight from the tap.
‘I got some of that in for Lydia,’ he said, pouring himself a beer. He raised his glass to her in toast. ‘To my unexpected but very welcome guest. I’m only sorry the dinner isn’t more in keeping with the occasion.’
Hester shook her head as she helped herself to ham. ‘This is exactly my kind of meal. I wouldn’t have done nearly as well at home. I tend to get tired by Saturday night. If I’m not going out I usually don’t bother too much about dinner.’
Patrick offered the basket of bread. ‘Hester, since circumstance has thrown us so unexpectedly together, I own to curiosity. Will you allow me to ask questions?’
She took a slice and buttered it thoughtfully. ‘About myself?’
‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll respond in kind, if you like. Fair?’
‘Fair,’ she agreed, equally curious to learn about Patrick. ‘What would you like to know?’
‘Anything you care to tell me. For a start, are you a native of Chastlecombe?’
‘No. If it hadn’t been for a certain baby I might never have come to the place, other than as a tourist. I got a job at Queens High School as a replacement for the history teacher while she was away on maternity leave.’ Hester drank some of her water. ‘Richard Conway was on the board of governors. He was in his early forties, and a confirmed bachelor. I was late twenties and, I thought, a career educationist. Wrong on both counts.’
She smiled crookedly. ‘We were married the day after the school closed for the summer holidays. And instead of applying for another teaching post I went into the business with Richard. David was still in college then. So I involved myself in the shop and the buying, leaving Richard free to do what he did best—create beautiful furniture.’
Patrick regarded her steadily, then leaned over to refill her glass. ‘What happened to him, Hester?’
‘He died of a sudden, massive heart attack while we were on holiday in France, celebrating our first anniversary.’
Patrick let out a deep breath. ‘Poor young bride,’ he said very quietly.
Hester looked away. ‘Afterwards Richard’s family were very good to me. They persuaded me to stay in the business, so I did.’
Patrick got up and took their plates, then returned with the fruit bowl and pushed the platter of cheese towards her.
Hester accepted a crisp green apple. ‘Your turn, then, Patrick. You’re a lawyer, of course?’
He nodded. ‘Guilty. How did you know?’
‘Your bow to the bench was a bit of a giveaway.’
‘Reflex action. Though I’ve retired from actually practising law.’
‘Retired?’ She eyed him curiously. ‘Aren’t you a bit young for that?’
‘I’ve taken up another career,’ he said blandly. ‘But I used to be a city lawyer, working in the London office of a New York-based firm, earning a quite outrageous salary. UK law governs project and corporate deals in Europe and Asia, and global-minded American law firms tend to hire UK lawyers to stay on top of the competition. And as the icing on the cake I shared a flat with the gorgeous Alicia, who earned a six-figure salary in advertising.’
Hester listened in awe. It all sounded a long way from the laid-back lifestyle of Chastlecombe.
‘On one of my trips to the Washington office I took Alicia with me and introduced her to an American colleague, Jay Benedict the Third.’ He smiled crookedly. ‘Big mistake. Jay earned more than I did, and his daddy’s rich, too. Jay’s also an ex-college quarterback, half a head taller than me—all shoulders and flashing white smile. And a brilliant lawyer, the swine.’
Hester let out an involuntary giggle.
Patrick grinned. ‘I gave them my blessing through clenched teeth, flew back to London and proceeded to expand the office and make an even bigger packet for myself. Then one day I took a good look at myself and didn’t much like what I saw. After some soulsearching I resigned and became a defence lawyer with a firm where I did as much legal aid work as the more remunerative stuff. I trust,’ he added, ‘that you are now full of respect for my U-turn?’
‘Deeply impressed,’ agreed Hester. ‘So why did you retire?’
‘I’m coming to that. Let’s have some coffee?’
When they were settled in the study, Patrick went on. ‘So now, dear reader, we come to the really interesting bit. After Alicia’s desertion I worked twice as hard, but the playing no longer appealed. So in the long winter evenings I began to write a book—a novel about a hot-shot, materialistic lawyer and the various cases, lost and won, that bring him, with help from the woman he loves, to a final, shattering epiphany. The realisation that there’s more to life than possessions. Corny, I know. But it worked. It comes out here next month, and it’s already been auctioned off in the States. And there’s a pretty good chance of film rights.’
‘In that case,’ said Hester, with a smile, ‘you should soon be able to run to some furniture for this place.’
‘From Conway’s, of course?’ he said swiftly.
Hester coloured to the roots of her hair, angry because she felt so hurt. She looked at her watch and got up. ‘It’s late. I must go.’
Patrick jumped to his feet and caught her hands. ‘I was joking, Hester. Please stay.’
She shook her head, feeling suddenly tired. ‘I won’t, thank you. I’m entertaining a guest for Sunday lunch tomorrow. I’ll need an early start.’
Ignoring her attempts to withdraw them, Patrick kept hold of her hands. ‘Hester,’ he said urgently. ‘I never thought for a moment that you were drumming up trade. Damn,’ he added bitterly, ‘I’m not usually so maladroit.’
She stared down at their clasped hands, unwilling to indulge in a struggle she was unlikely to win. ‘Thank you for the meal,’ she said at last, and the grasp on her hands relaxed.
‘Any thanks involved are due to you, not me,’ he said quietly. ‘It was very good of you to drive out here with the desk.’
Hester looked up, meeting his frowning green gaze very directly. ‘I often make deliveries. Even on Saturday evenings. It’s all part of the Conway service. Now, I really must go.
Outside, the wild, tangled garden was bleached free of colour in a twilight scented with warm earth and new-mown grass.
Patrick breathed in deeply. ‘I would like to be your friend, Hester.’ His voice was crisp and incisive, almost startling in the stillness. ‘It seems a shame to let one ill-considered flippancy prevent that. Unless the idea of friendship with me is anathema to you, of course.’
It wasn’t in the slightest. And taking umbrage with a potential customer was a touch immature for a thirty-something widowed lady, thought Hester, recovering her sense of humour. She smiled at Patrick with sudden, deliberate warmth.
‘It’s not. I’m sorry. I was touchy.’ And, to prove she had recovered, her smile deepened. ‘But I’m not proud. Joking or not, if you do need any furniture you know where to come.’
‘I may take you up on that.’ His smile was just visible as a show of white in his sun-bronzed face. ‘Can’t I persuade you to tour the house again, give me advice about what I need?’
‘Could we leave that for another day—?’ She stopped, flushing.
‘Certainly—when?’ asked Patrick promptly. ‘Not tomorrow, I know. Is your lunch guest male or female?’
‘Male,’ said Hester, oddly flattered. ‘A regular arrangement. We alternate. Sometimes I cook lunch for him, sometimes he takes me out.’
‘Would he object if I did this?’ He bent suddenly and kissed her surprised mouth. ‘Which means I’ve really scuppered myself now,’ he said, stepping back. ‘So I may as well go the whole hog and admit that last night I was furious with myself for feeling attracted to another man’s wife—one who was playing around with Galbraith all night, to add to my joys.’
‘Oh, I see,’ she said in sudden comprehension. ‘That’s why you were eyeing me with such disapproval.’
‘I’m surprised you noticed. You kept your distance.’
‘I thought the pregnant lady with you was your wife. And I’d been on the bench when her sons were in court. Of course I kept away from you—both of you!’
‘Is Galbraith a close friend?’ he asked bluntly.
‘I wonder what you mean by close?’ she said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Tim’s just a friend. Like all my menfriends, he keeps to the rules.’
‘Whose rules?’
‘Mine.’
‘Tell me what they are and I’ll keep to the letter of your law, I promise. Though I admit to a dislike of the sound of “all”. Are there that many?’
‘Three, if you’re counting. One’s a widower, another’s recovering from a divorce and Tim harbours a much-publicised allergy to marriage.’
Patrick moved closer to peer down into her face. ‘If I want to be your friend do you expect me to be one of this crowd of yours?’
‘I don’t expect anything of you,’ she retorted. ‘Until yesterday I didn’t know you existed.’
He laughed suddenly. ‘How true. All right, let’s start again. If I stick to your rules like glue will you let me take you out to a proper dinner one night next week?’
She looked at him for a moment, then nodded. ‘Yes, thank you. I will.’
‘Then come back in and let me make you some more coffee. You can’t go home yet. It’s early.’
When she eyed him doubtfully Patrick grinned and held up his right hand. ‘I swear to behave like a monk, so come back inside. Please.’
It was late before Hester left to drive home, mainly because Patrick had kept his word and made no more attempts to touch her—while at the same time, in some unspoken way, managing to make it quite clear he would have liked to. It was flattering, and added zest and an underlying element of spice to their conversation. Patrick’s kiss had been sudden but not threatening, and while she’d felt no response to it she had a feeling that, if he’d persisted, she might have.
He was a very attractive man. Not handsome in a movie-star way, but his colouring, clever face and clipped, assured voice combined to form a very potent form of charm. Alone among the men she’d known since Richard, he touched a chord inside her. A matter of wavelength rather than physical chemistry. Even on such short acquaintance she felt very much in tune with him. And knew, without being told, that he felt the same towards her.
While they despatched a new pot of coffee Patrick talked about his London flat, loaned, for the time being, to house-hunting friends.
‘I had thought of transferring some of the furniture down here until I have time to decide what this house would like, but in the circumstances I had to leave everything there for my temporary tenants and content myself with the bare rudiments in my bucolic retreat,’ he said, looking relaxed and, to Hester, physically elegant in a way peculiarly his own—as if every part of him was put together with such precision he could move in any way he chose and never look awkward or ungraceful.
Very different from Richard.
‘Do you intend to keep your London flat?’ she asked.
‘Definitely. I’ve never lived in the country before. I might find it hard to settle down here.’
‘While I’m a real country cousin,’ said Hester lightly.
‘And happy to stay that way?’
‘Yes. I lead a busy, pleasant life here.’ She looked towards the desk. ‘Are you writing another novel?’
‘I certainly am, which is why I need a desk so badly. I keep losing the various books of reference I’m using for research.’ Patrick smiled at her. ‘I enjoy writing, but I’m not the world’s most efficient researcher. I get too absorbed in the text and forget to make notes.’
