Her Hand in Marriage

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But she did not believe for a moment that Naylor was aware of her embarrassment, or was endeavouring to take the attention off her when, quite pleasantly he glanced over to her mother and enquired, ‘And how about your own work, Eleanor?’

‘I hadn’t picked up my brushes in I don’t know how long, but I’ve recently done a few small pieces, nothing major,’ she responded, and Romillie drew a relieved breath to have the limelight taken off her. ‘But I do believe I’m getting the itch to get back to it again,’ her mother, to Romillie’s delight, stated.

‘You wouldn’t like to make a portrait of me your first assignment, I suppose?’ Lewis asked. And, when Eleanor turned to him as if ready to refuse, ‘Mind, you’d have to make me look good,’ he added, and laughed with Eleanor when she laughed. And Lewis explained, ‘Apparently all past chairmen have to be hanged in the boardroom. Many say not before time,’ he joked.

All in all, given that she had been overwhelmingly embarrassed by her mother singing her praises, Romillie thought the evening had been most successful. Her mother had smiled and laughed with Lewis, and in fact, as Romillie sat beside Naylor Cardell on the journey home, she could not remember the last time she had seen her mother so buoyant.

Naylor pulled his car up on the drive of her home, and out of courtesy both men got out of the car. The evening, in Romillie’s view, should have ended there. So she did not thank Naylor Cardell when he chose to extend it. Though it was plain that his interest was not in her—not that she wanted it to be, for heaven’s sake—because it was to her mother that he addressed his question.

‘I wonder, Eleanor,’ he said as the four of them stood on the drive, ‘if you would be kind enough to show me some of your work?’

She looked about to politely turn down the request. Then she looked from him to her daughter, and Romillie had to endure that feeling of embarrassment again. For it seemed to her that while it might appear obvious to anyone else that since—if she accepted—her mother had been commissioned to paint a portrait of his company’s chairman, it was likely someone on the board would want to see something of her work, Romillie saw it differently. From her mother’s point of view one very agreeable man was taking an interest in her man-wary daughter. It was time for a mother to wake up and do something about it. In this small case—since Naylor obviously wanted to prolong the evening—agree.

‘I haven’t got very much I can show you in the way of work I used to do, but there are a few paintings scattered about in my studio—as well as several I didn’t want to sell. Come in,’ she invited. ‘My studio’s on the south-west facing side of the house.’

As they went along the hall, pausing to study one rather lovely landscape Eleanor had painted many years previously, Romillie, very much needing to be on her own, decided she was not needed on this part of the tour.

‘I’ll make some coffee,’ she mumbled to anyone interested to hear, and headed for the kitchen.

Had she hoped to have some peace from this situation that was more or less of her own making, she soon discovered it was not to be. She had not so much as lifted down the coffee jar when she heard a sound nearby, and turned her head to find that Naylor Cardell had joined her.

‘Want any help?’ he enquired, his good-looking face giving away nothing of what he was thinking or feeling.

Romillie shook her head. ‘No thanks.’ She turned to face him, and releasing a pent-up breath, ‘We should never have done it,’ she stated flatly.

‘Oh, come on!’ Naylor argued. Though he conceded, ‘We probably wouldn’t have, had I not provoked you by calling you selfish. And for that I do apologise—’

‘Oh, grief, don’t!’ Romillie butted in to protest, remembering again the way her mother had been singing her praises. ‘I know we meant well by trying to get my mother and Lewis to get to know each other more outside the home—’ that, after all, had been what this ‘foursome’ had been about ‘—but now my mother thinks you and I are—um—interested in each other.’

‘A natural assumption, surely?’

‘She probably thinks you’ve sloped away specifically to see me.’

‘Given that our aim is to have Lewis and Eleanor break down a few walls, is that such a bad impression to give?’ he enquired urbanely.

Romillie sighed. ‘It will be when I don’t see you again.’

‘Sorry to be obtuse,’ Naylor commented, seeming to fill their not so small kitchen, ‘but I can’t see what you’re getting at.’

She thought him anything but obtuse. Indeed, to be in the position he was at Tritel Incorporated in his mid-thirties, showed he must be as sharp as a tack.

Then she suddenly saw something else. ‘You knew I was embarrassed, didn’t you? At dinner, when my mother was busy setting you right about my selfish streak?’

‘It occurred to me you weren’t feeling too comfortable,’ he admitted.

Romillie stared at him. Somehow she had never thought of him as sensitive. But he had to be to have picked up how she was feeling. Not only that, but in that sensitivity he had taken the conversation away from her and given her chance to recover by asking her mother about her work.

‘You’re nicer than I first thought,’ Romillie admitted slowly.

‘Steady,’ he warned. Theirs was not the sort of relationship where either had been complimentary to the other. But then he smiled, a most wonderful smile, and all of a sudden Romillie’s heart seemed to quicken up its beat.

It was a totally new experience for her, and she looked away from him, feeling oddly tongue-tied. ‘I know my mother was only thinking of me,’ she said hurriedly when she found her voice. ‘But that’s purely because—’ Romillie came to an abrupt halt. Good heavens, Naylor Cardell might have shown himself to be nicer than she had thought, but there was no need to go overboard and tell him…

‘Because?’ Naylor pressed when she did not go on.

‘Nothing,’ she said. And then realised that the next chairman of Tritel Incorporated did not believe in ‘nothing’ answers.

‘So tell me,’ he insisted.

‘I’d better make a start on this coffee.’

‘Eleanor was only thinking of you when she was telling me how special you are because…?’

Romillie looked at him, unsmiling. To hold out any longer seemed to her to be making a far bigger issue of it than it was. And anyway, she would not be seeing him again. Just another half an hour or so more of his company and that would be it.

‘My mother seems to think I’m a bit anti-men,’ she said in a rush.

His lips twitched. ‘It shows,’ he drawled, and she knew he was thinking of their first unfriendly encounter.

‘Oh, shut up!’ she exclaimed, but her lips twitched too.

‘Don’t leave it there,’ he commanded.

‘You’re confusing me!’

‘Your mother thinks you’re anti-men, so she impressed on me how lovely you are because…’

‘I’m getting embarrassed again,’ Romillie erupted. But probably because of that, suddenly wanting it all said, she went rushing on, ‘I don’t know—perhaps she believes you are the new man in my life—’

‘What happened to the old one?’ he cut in, in her opinion too sharp by half.

She went on as if he had not spoken. ‘My mother wants you to know more about the real me before the hang-up she worries I might have about men kicks in, and…’

‘You have a hang-up about men?’ Naylor queried, those striking blue eyes holding her fast, his expression serious.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You’re—how old?’

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ she wanted to know.

‘Ever been engaged?’

‘Grief—I’m not interested in marriage!’ she exclaimed indignantly. Hadn’t she seen enough of marriage in this very house to know she would rather die an old maid than take the marriage route?

‘Your parents are divorced, I believe?’ he queried.

But if he had any more questions lined up—tough.

‘Sorry, Naylor. Would you mind if I got up from the analyst’s couch?’ And, not waiting for an answer, ‘It was no problem for me to tell you what I have, because I know that after tonight I’m never going to see you again. But that’s it! One “date” does not entitle you to an in-depth personal history.’

‘And your mother wonders what it is about you that so puts men off, so she decided to let your “latest beau” know how lovely you really are?’

Latest beau! She’d like to bury a hatchet in his head! Romillie’s dislike of him was back in full force. ‘I’ve never been dumped yet!’ she flared hostilely.

‘That’s usually your prerogative?’

‘Clear off, Cardell!’ she fumed.

Naylor looked back at her, those keen blue eyes taking in her hostility. Then, giving her a hard, thoughtful stare, ‘Black, no sugar,’ he ordered, and left her.

Romillie set about making coffee, never more glad that he had gone. He could find his own way to the studio; she’d had it with him.

She had expected them back well before the coffee was ready, but when they were not she went in search of them. Perhaps her mother meant her to take a tray into the studio? She hadn’t thought so, but…

Romillie entered the studio, thinking she could easily collect a tray, but was immediately struck by the fact that, while Naylor was up one end of the studio, her mother and Lewis were down at the other. And, what was more, they were standing close, and were so engrossed in the picture they were studying, and looked so much ‘a couple’ somehow, that it just did not seem right to break in.

She took a few silent steps nearer to the man she was now certain she had no liking for and noticed he had been looking at her mother’s more recent work, in particular a painting of one section of the rear garden.

Then suddenly, as Naylor put that picture down and picked up another, so Romillie recalled what other recent pictures were up that end. In a rush, she went quickly to him. But she was already too late!

She’d opened her mouth to protest when, reaching Naylor, she saw him standing gazing fascinated at the nude sketch her mother had made of her. It was a three-quarter side-on sketch, showing the lovely curve of her back as she bent slightly over, her behind, and the long length of leg from hip, thigh, calf and toe. The sketch showed her tiny waist and moved up to the full globe of her right breast and part of her left breast. Above her unadorned shoulder and the long length of neck her mother had captured in her face a most becoming honest and true smile, a smile that seemed to shine out through her eyes too.

‘That picture’s not for sale!’ Romillie found her voice to tell him huskily, while at the same time wanting to snatch it from his hands.

Naylor studied the sketch for a moment to two longer, taking in the complete beauty Eleanor Mannion-Fairfax had captured. Unhurriedly, then he turned to Romillie. If he had observed that her cheeks had a hint of warm pink about them he gave no sign, but, his eyes telling her nothing, ‘Strangely enough,’ he drawled, ‘I wasn’t thinking of buying.’

How she kept civil to him after that, Romillie never knew. But as Naylor put the picture down, and Eleanor and Lewis suddenly seemed to notice they had company and came over, Romillie somehow retained enough good manners to not let anyone else feel uncomfortable.

But she was glad to see Naylor go. As anticipated, he did not ask to see her again. She would have been astonished—and pleased to turn him down—had he done so.

But the man disturbed her. She acknowledged that. He was in her head again when she awoke on Sunday morning. She half regretted that she had suggested the foursome at all. But then, recalling the way her mother and Lewis were with each other, nothing showy, but quiet and sort of—together, she could only know that at whatever cost to her personally it had been the right thing to do.

Not that she could say it had cost her that much. Just more intimate than she would have wanted tête-à-tête in the kitchen with Naylor Cardell, that was all. They had soon established that they weren’t going to see each other again—and he was as pleased about that as she was.

It was a mystery to her why Naylor should still be in her head when she went into work on Monday. She ousted him when the first person she saw was Jeff Davidson. ‘You’re still coming with me to Alex Yardley’s retirement dinner on Saturday, I hope?’ he asked, laying on the charm.

Romillie had in part forgotten that Friday would be Mr Yardley’s last day in the practice, and had forgotten totally that, although the invitation was for ‘and guest’, she and Jeff had been going to go together.

‘Sorry,’ she apologised. And, knowing it would be discourteous not to attend, ‘I’m bringing someone else.’

He did not like that. ‘The new boyfriend, I suppose?’ he questioned, not very pleasantly.

Actually, she had been thinking of asking her mother if she would like to come. ‘If he’s free,’ she replied.

‘If he’s free?’ Jeff queried, and with a calculating look in his eyes, ‘There isn’t anybody else, is there? You’ve made him up!’ he accused.

‘He seemed real enough to me over the weekend,’ she replied, and had Naylor back in her head again. She had to smile to herself, though—he’d be delighted to know he was her new boyfriend.

Romillie asked her mother how she felt about going to the dinner on Saturday. But as she had expected, although Eleanor had made a start on socialising again, she was not keen on mixing with a load of strangers whom she had never met before.

‘Why not ask Naylor?’ she suggested. ‘I’m sure he’d be only too pleased to be your date.’

Oh, heavens. Romillie did so hope her mother was not worrying that she had such a ‘thing’ about men that she was going to push her in the male direction at every chance.

‘I’ll give it some thought,’ she replied, a little fib permissible in the circumstances, she felt. ‘Talking of thoughts, have you thought any more about painting Lewis’s portrait?’

Eleanor smiled at her, and confessed, ‘I have to say I have.’

‘And?’

‘Oh, I don’t know, Rom. I’m pulled to do it a lot of the time. Sometimes I feel really keen to have a shot at it. But at others I feel sure I’ll make a complete hash of it.’

It was plain from that that her mother’s former confidence in her ability had not fully returned. ‘How about accepting the commission on the basis that if you mess it up, or Lewis does not like it, you reserve the right not to sell it to him?’

Eleanor considered the idea. ‘But what about the time he’ll waste coming here? I shall need at least two or three sittings!’

Romillie had to smile. ‘Mother, dear,’ she teased gently, ‘I’ve an idea Lewis won’t consider it time wasted whether there’s a portrait for him to hang in the boardroom at the end of it or not.’

Her mother went a delicate shade of pink. ‘Oh, you,’ she said, but did allow herself a quiet smile.

Romillie had supposed her mother would discuss the portrait with Lewis when he came down again, but when on Thursday evening he had not been down to Tarnleigh at all, her mother revealed that he’d got a lot going on in his office that week.

‘I wonder,’ Eleanor began, stopped, and then started off again. ‘Do you fancy acting as my agent, Rom?’

Romillie had no idea what an artist’s agent did, but, ‘What would you like me to do?’ she asked.

‘Would you like to get in touch with Lewis and—um—arrange for his first sitting? That is,’ she added hurriedly, ‘if he still wants me to do it.’

By the sound of it, her mother was nervous of broaching the subject to Lewis, and, aware as Romillie was of her mother’s quite exceptional ability at her artist’s easel, she could feel herself getting quite uptight. She knew they had Archer Fairfax to thank that her mother’s confidence had been so badly fractured.

Talk at the surgery the next morning was all about the retirement dinner the following evening. Jeff Davidson, clearly not believing she had found anyone to replace him in her life, had halted her to quiz her every day since Monday as to whom she was bringing as her guest. But it was not until Brenda, Mr Yardley’s dental nurse, who was organising the event, asked her for her guest’s name for a place card that Romillie realised she had been a bit tardy.