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His financial ability had made the move viable only when his father had died and he had come into a fund which he had been able to assign during her lifetime to his money-loving wife. The fact that Taye’s father had no illusions about her mother’s spendthrift ways was borne out by the fact that he had made sure that the fund was paid out to her monthly and not in the lump sum she had demanded.
Taye had been fourteen, her brother Hadleigh five years younger when, nine years ago now, their father had packed his bags and left. She loved him, she missed him, and she had been unhappy to see him go. But perhaps they would all be free of the daily rows and constant carping. Perhaps with him no longer there, the rows would stop.
Wrong! Without her father there for her mother to vent her spleen on, Taye had become her mother’s target. Though if being daily harangued by Greta Trafford for some over-exaggerated misdemeanour kept the sharpness of her tongue from Taye’s nine-year-old brother, then Taye had supposed she could put up with it. What would happen to Hadleigh, though, when she eventually went off to university Taye had not wanted to dwell on.
Then she had discovered that she need not have worried about it, because when she reached the age of sixteen she discovered that her mother had other plans for her.
‘University!’ she had exclaimed when Taye had begun talking of staying on at school, and of taking her ‘A’ levels. ‘You can forget that, young lady. You can leave school as soon as you can, get a job and start bringing some money in.’
‘But—it’s all planned!’ Taye remembered protesting.
‘I’ve just unplanned it!’ Greta Trafford had snapped viperously.
‘But Daddy said…’
‘Daddy isn’t here! Daddy,’ her mother mocked, ‘was delighted to shelve his responsibilities. Daddy—’
‘But—’
‘Don’t you interrupt me!’ Greta Trafford threatened. ‘And you can “but” all you want. You’re still not going.’
And that Taye had had to accept. But while she had struggled to get over her disappointment and upset at the loss of her dream, she’d known she was going to have to hide how she was feeling from her father. He had been so keen for her to go to university that all she could do was to let him think that she had gone off the idea.
She might have had to accept her mother’s assertion that there was no money to spare, but what Taye would not accept was that her father had shelved his responsibilities. He had maybe given up the occupation that had provided them with a very high standard of living, so that his income was nowhere near what it had been. But now working on a farm and living in a tiny cottage that went with the job, his needs small, she knew that in addition to the fund he had assigned for their upkeep, he still sent money to his former home when he could.
It was not enough. Nor was it ever going to be enough. Even when he had been a high earner it had not been enough. Money went through her mother’s hands like water. She did not know the meaning of the word thrift. If she saw something she wanted, then nothing would do but that she must have it—regardless of which member of her family ultimately paid.
As bidden, Taye had left school and, having inherited her father’s head for figures, she had got a job with a firm of accountants. Her mother had insisted that she hand over her salary to her each month. But by then Taye had started to think for herself. There were things Hadleigh needed for his school work, his school trips, and he was growing faster than they could keep up with. Taye held back as much of her salary as she could get away with, and it was she who kept him kitted out in shoes and any other major essential.
Taye had been ready to leave home years before the actual crunch came. It was only for the sake of Hadleigh that she had stayed, for he had been a shy, gentle boy.
Taye had reached nineteen and Hadleigh fourteen when Hadleigh, after a row where their mother had gone in for her favourite pastime of deviating from the truth, with the first signs of asserting himself had told Taye, ‘You should leave home, Taye.’ And when she had shaken her head, ‘I’ll be all right,’ he had assured her. ‘And it won’t be for much longer. I shall go to university—and I won’t come back.’
Perhaps a trace of his words had still been lingering in Taye’s head when she journeyed home from work one Friday a year later. She had anticipated that Hadleigh would be grinning from ear to ear at the brand-new bicycle she had saved hard for and had arranged to be delivered on his fifteenth birthday. But she had arrived home to discover her mother had somehow managed to exchange the bicycle she had chosen for a much inferior second-hand one—and had pocketed the difference.
‘How could you?’ Taye had gasped, totally appalled.
‘How could I not?’ her mother had replied airily. ‘The bicycle I got him is perfectly adequate.’
‘I wanted him to have something new, something special!’ Taye had protested. ‘You had no right…’
‘No right! Don’t you talk to me about rights! What about my rights?’
‘It wasn’t your money, it was mine. It was dishonest of you to—’
‘Dishonest!’ Her mother’s voice had risen an octave—which was always a signal for Taye to back down. Only this time she would not back down. She was incensed at what her money-grubbing mother had done.
So, ‘Yes, dishonest,’ she had challenged, and it had gone on and on from there, with Taye for once in her life refusing to buckle under the tirade of venom her mother hurled at her.
And, seeing that for the first time she was not going to get the better of her daughter, Greta Trafford had resorted to telling her to follow in her father’s footsteps and to pack her bags and leave.
And Taye, like her father, had suddenly had enough. ‘I will,’ she had retorted, and did. Though it was true she did almost weaken when she went in to say goodbye to Hadleigh. ‘Will you be all right?’ she asked him.
‘You bet,’ he said, and gave her a brave grin, and, having witnessed most of the row before he’d disappeared, ‘You can’t stay. Not now,’ he had told her.
Taye had gone to London and had been fortunate to find a room to rent, and more fortunate to soon find a job. A job in finance that she became particularly good at. When her salary improved, she found a better, if still poky, bed-sit.
She had by then written to both Hadleigh and her mother, telling them where she was now living. She also wrote to her father, playing down the row that had seen her leave home. Her mother was the first to reply—the electricity bill was more than she had expected. Since Taye had used some of the electricity—even though she had been at home contributing when she had used it—her mother would be obliged to receive her cheque at her earliest convenience.
Her mother’s ‘requests’ for money continued over the next three years. Which was why—having many times shared a lunch table with Paula Neale in the firm’s canteen, and having commented that she would not mind moving from ‘bed-sit land’—when Paula one day said she had half a flat to let if she was interested, and mentioned the rent required, instead of leaping at the chance, Taye had to consider it very carefully.
Could she really afford it? Could she not? She was twenty-three, for goodness’ sake, Hadleigh coming up to eighteen. And their mother had this time promised he should go to university. Was she to wait until he was at university, Taye wondered, or dared she take the plunge now? It had been late February then, and Hadleigh would go to university in October. Taye—while keeping her fingers crossed that nothing calamitous in the way of unforeseen expenditure was heading her way—plunged.
And here she was now and it was calamitous—though this time that calamity did not stem from her mother but was because, unless she could find someone to share, Taye could see she was in a whole heap of financial trouble. But, so far, no one except for one Magnus Ashthorpe had shown an interest. And, as an interested party, he was the one party she did not want.
All that week Taye hurried home ready to greet the influx of potential flat-share candidates. Julian Coombs, the son of the owner of Julian Coombs Comestibles, where she worked, asked her out, but she declined. She had been out with Julian a few times. He was nice, pleasant and uncomplicated. But she did not want to be absent should anyone see her card in the newsagent’s window and call.
But she might just as well have gone out with Julian because each evening she retired to her bed having seen not one single solitary applicant.
She toyed with the idea of inviting Hadleigh to come and stay at the weekend. But he worked most weekends waiting at tables in a smart restaurant about five miles from Pemberton. It was, he said, within easy cycling distance of Pemberton, the village on the outskirts of Hertfordshire where he and their mother lived. And, besides Hadleigh not wishing to miss a chance to earn a little money for himself, Pemberton was not the easiest place to get back to by public transport on a Sunday.
So Taye stayed home and almost took root by the dining room window. Much good did it do. Plenty of people passed by but, apart from other residents in the building, no one came near the door.
And early on Monday evening Taye knew that it was decision time. By now the newsagent would have taken her card out of his window, and she could see no point in advertising again. Clearly the rent required was more than most people wanted to pay. In the nine days since she had placed that card in the newsagent’s she had received only one reply. So far as she could see, with the rent due on quarter day in a few weeks’ time she had to either give up the apartment—and heaven alone knew what she was going to do if they demanded a quarter’s rent in lieu of notice—or she had to consider sharing the flat with a male of the species; a male who, for that matter, she was not even sure she could like.
Oh, she didn’t want to leave, she didn’t! How could she give up the apartment? It was tranquil here, peaceful here. And with the advantage of the small enclosed garden—a wonderful place to sit out in on warm summer evenings, perhaps with a glass of wine, perhaps chatting to one of her fellow flat dwellers. Perhaps, at weekends, to sit under the old apple tree halfway down the garden. There was a glitzy tinsel Christmassy kind of star lodged in that tree—it had been there, Paula had told her, since January, when a gust of wind had blown it there from who knew where. And Taye loved that too. She was in London, but it felt just like being in the country.
On impulse she went into the kitchen and found the piece of paper with Magnus Ashthorpe’s phone number on it. She should have thrown it away, but with no other applicant in sight she rather supposed it must be meant that she had not scrapped it. Not that she intended to ring him. She would see what sort of a reference this Mrs Sturgess gave him.
‘Hello?’ answered what sounded like a mature and genteel voice when she had dialled.
‘Is that Mrs Sturgess?’ Taye enquired.
‘Claudia Sturgess speaking,’ that lady confirmed.
‘Oh, good evening. I’m sorry to bother you,’ Taye said in a rush, ‘but a man named Magnus Ashthorpe said I might contact you with regard to a reference.’
‘Oh, yes, Magnus—er—Ashthorpe,’ Claudia Sturgess answered, and suddenly seemed in the best of humours. ‘What would you like to know about him?’
‘Well, he has applied to rent some accommodation,’ Taye replied, it somehow sticking in her throat to confess it was shared accommodation—which she freely admitted was ridiculous. How was she to find out whether or not he was some potential mass murderer if she didn’t give the right information and ask the right questions? Giving herself a mental shake, Taye decided she had been reading too many thrillers just lately, and jumped in, ‘I wonder how long you have known him and if you consider him trustworthy?’
‘Oh, my dear, I’ve known him for years! Went to school with his mother,’ Mrs Sturgess informed her with what sounded like a cross between a giggle and a chuckle. ‘May I know your name?’ she in turn enquired.
‘Taye Trafford.’ Taye saw no reason to not tell her. But, hurrying on, ‘Do you think he would make a—um—good tenant?’
‘First class, Miss Trafford,’ Mrs Sturgess replied without the smallest hesitation. ‘Or is it Mrs?’
‘Miss,’ Taye replied. ‘You—can vouch for him, then?’
‘Absolutely. He’s one of the nicest men I know,’ she went on glowingly. ‘In fact, having had him living with me one time, I’d go as far as to say that if he doesn’t get the accommodation you have on offer, I would welcome him back here to live.’ Taye reckoned you could not have a better reference than that. ‘Where is this accommodation?’ Claudia Sturgess wanted to know. ‘London?’ she guessed.
‘Yes,’ Taye confirmed. ‘He, in your opinion, is trustworthy, then?’
‘Totally,’ Mrs Sturgess replied, all lightness gone from her tone, her voice at once most sincere. ‘He is one of the most trustworthy men I have ever come across. I would trust him with my life.’
‘Thank you very much,’ Taye said, and, realising that she could not have a better reference than that, she thanked her politely again and put down the phone.
Yet, having been sincerely assured by this woman who had been at school with his mother that Magnus Ashthorpe was totally trustworthy, still Taye hesitated. Even though she knew that mixed flat-shares went on all over the place, she somehow felt reluctant to have him so close. And, if she didn’t make that call to him, well, it was not as if he was desperate for somewhere to rent, was it? By the sound of it, Mrs Sturgess, his mother’s friend, would have him back living with her like a shot. Presumably, though, he did not want to return there.
Taye thought of her own mother’s friend, the hardbitten Larissa Gilbert. Would she want to go and live with the thin-lipped Larissa? No way.
The decision seemed to be made.
Taye picked up the phone and dialed, half hoping Magnus Ashthorpe had his mobile switched off. He hadn’t, but he was already taking a call. She waited a long five minutes and then, aware that she had no option unless she was to go on the apartment-hunting trail herself—the much smaller apartment hunt; she could not bear the thought of returning to a bed-sit—she had to make that call.
She redialled—it was picked up at the fourth ring. ‘Pen…’ he began, and then changed it to, ‘Hello.’
She guessed his previous caller was probably someone called Penny, and he thought it was she ringing back from his previous call. Sorry to disappoint. ‘Hello,’ Taye replied, and began to feel more comfortable to know he had got a woman-friend. ‘It’s Taye Trafford.’ He said nothing. Not one solitary word. And she swiftly recalled how he had barely spoken when he had come to view the apartment. Perhaps that was what Mrs Sturgess liked about him—that he was not forever chattering on. ‘About the flat-share,’ Taye resumed.
‘Yes?’
She found his monosyllabic reply annoying and started to have second thoughts. ‘There isn’t a garage,’ she drew out of nowhere, even at the eleventh hour, as it were, attempting, when she really needed him, to put him off. ‘Well, there is, but the owner is abroad and has a lot of his belongings stored in it.’
‘That won’t be a problem.’
‘You don’t have a car?’
‘I find public transport quite useful,’ he replied, and, assuming too much in her opinion, ‘I’ll move in tomorrow,’ he announced.
Her mouth fell open in shock. Of all the… ‘I’ll try to get off work early—’ she began, and was interrupted for her pains.
‘You work?’ he questioned shortly. ‘You have a job?’
She did not care for his tone. ‘Of course I have a job!’ she exclaimed. They were on the brink of a row—and he hadn’t even moved in yet! ‘It’s how I pay the rent!’ she added pithily.
‘Huh!’ he grunted. It sounded a derogatory grunt to her. But before she could ask him what the Dickens that ‘huh’ meant, something else struck her.
‘You can pay rent in advance?’ she queried, everything in her going against asking him for the money but realism having to be faced. ‘I shall need the whole quarter’s rent before quarter day, the twenty-fourth of June.’
‘I’ll give you the cash when I see you tomorrow,’ he replied crisply.
‘A cheque will do as well,’ she calmed down a little to inform him—she could bank his cheque on Wednesday, that would still give it plenty of time to clear before quarter day.
‘If that’s it—’ he began.
‘One other thing,’ she butted in quickly. Again he was silent, and she felt forced to continue. ‘Er—naturally I’d expect you to respect my privacy.’
‘You mean when you bring your men-friends home?’ he questioned tersely. What was it with this man? She had not meant that. Thank goodness there was a lock on the bathroom door. ‘Naturally,’ he went on when she seemed stumped for an answer, ‘you’ll afford me the same privacy?’
‘When you bring your women-friends back?’ she queried tautly.
‘Until tomorrow,’ he said, and cut the call.
Slowly Taye replaced her telephone. Somehow she just could not see the arrangement working. But, for better or worse, it seemed she had just got herself a tenant.
CHAPTER TWO
MAGNUS ASHTHORPE moved into the garden flat on Tuesday evening. On Wednesday Taye banked the cash he had given her. It exasperated her that he had given her cash. It was almost as if Magnus Ashthorpe did not have a bank account! But, since he seemed to think she would feel happier with the cash than with a cheque, she supposed she should not complain. It was just that thirteen weeks of half the rent in cash was such an awful lot of money to be carrying around.
He had been up and about before her that morning—and she was an early riser. Surprisingly, with the stranger sleeping in the next room, she had slept much better than she had envisaged. She had gone to bed wary and wondering if she should prop a chair under the door handle. Then she recalled the glowing reference Claudia Sturgess had given him, her ‘I’ve known him for years’, her ‘He’s one of the nicest men I know’, her comment that she would trust him with her life—and Taye, as it were, bit the bullet, and decided that to place a chair under her bedroom door handle was no way to start out.
By Friday she had started to relax at having a male flat-share. Given that he was rather taciturn of manner, he was quiet and clean. And, apart from the fact that his eyesight appeared a shade faulty when it came to clearing up a few toast crumbs from the work surfaces, Taye felt she had not done too badly to take her one and only applicant. Another point in his favour—he was seldom ever there. He arose early, went out early, and came home late. He was, she decided, one very busy painter.
She frequently worked late herself, but, having accepted a dinner invitation with Julian Coombs that evening, Taye hurried home from her office to shower and change. She found her flat-share had beaten her to it.
For once, having let himself in with the spare keys Paula had left behind, he was home early. Taye could hear the shower running as she went in and walked by the bathroom. It was not a problem; he did not spend anywhere near the length of time in there that Paula had.
Taye went into her bedroom and, Julian having mentioned the smart establishment where they would be dining, extracted a smart dress from her wardrobe. Up until the age of fourteen she had been used to the best of clothes. Habits formed up until the time her father had left home were ingrained deeper than she had known, and she had discovered that she would rather wait until she could afford something with a touch of quality than buy two of something inferior. That was not to say that if a cheaper item looked good, she might not buy it.
She glanced at her watch just as she heard the bathroom door open. Oh, good! Taye left her room in time to see a robe-clad Magnus Ashthorpe leaving the bathroom.
She almost disappeared back into her room but, Get used to it, she instructed herself, he lives here. ‘Finished in there?’ she asked brightly.
‘It’s all yours,’ he answered, and went to his room, leaving her to it.
A quick shower, a light application of make-up and Taye was seated before her dressing table mirror wondering whether to wear her straight white-blonde hair up or down. Down, she decided. It was Friday night; she had worked hard all week. Time to party.
Well, she qualified, Julian being more earnest than frolicsome, time to unwind. Dressed in a straight dress of heavy silk with fragile shoulder straps, Taye left her room.
To her surprise she found Magnus taking his ease in the sitting room, reading his evening paper. A small ‘Oh!’ escaped her before she could stop it. He must have heard it because, unspeaking, he lowered his paper, and she somehow felt obliged to explain, ‘I didn’t expect you to still be here.’
‘Here is where I live,’ he reminded her coolly, and while she felt a touch embarrassed, and a touch annoyed at one and the same time, she saw his glance skim over her silky shoulders, bare apart from the thin straps of her dress, down over her slender but curving in the right places form, then dropping to what Paula had called her ‘glorious legs’. Clearly, though, he was not impressed by what he saw, because his expression seemed to tighten when bluntly he challenged, ‘You have a date?’
Any embarrassment she had felt disappeared as her annoyance surged. As if it had anything to do with him if she had a date or not!
But this was no way to go on. She was stuck with him until the end of September at least. With difficulty she swallowed down her ire, her glance flicking over his fresh shirt and lounge suit. ‘You don’t actually appear dressed for staying in,’ she replied. She smiled. He stared at her upturned mouth, his gaze lingering for a second before suddenly his grey eyes moved up to her lovely blue eyes. His eyes hardened; he did not smile.
With no idea what to make of him she went into the kitchen to wait until Julian called. She knew quite a few men whom she thought she could regard as friends. They were an eclectic mix at Julian Coombs Comestibles and she got on well with all of them. But this man, this Magnus Ashthorpe, was something else again! He might be totally trustworthy, and Claudia Sturgess might think he would make a first-class tenant but, Taye owned, changing her mind about not having done too badly to have him as a fellow tenant, right now she was finding him extremely hard work.
Thankfully Julian arrived ten minutes before the appointed time, so she did not have to hang about in the kitchen over-long. She went to the intercom to check that it was Julian ringing the bell, and while releasing the outer door catch she turned to her flat-share and civilly informed him that she did not think she would be late.
Like he cared! He looked unblinking back at her. And suddenly she was remembering their conversation about privacy. ‘Er—will you be bringing anyone back?’ she enquired nicely—like she cared!
For a moment she thought he was going to let her whistle for an answer. But then, dryly, he replied, ‘We’ll go to hers.’
Her lips twitched. What was it about this man? He had not intended to amuse her with his ‘go to hers’ but, when she did not particularly like him half of the time, he seemed to have the oddest ability to make her want to laugh.
Julian tapping lightly on the door did away with any further speculation. She went and let him in and, as a courtesy—one of them should make an effort to make this flat-share work—she took Julian into the sitting room and introduced him to Magnus.
