Читать книгу The Mistress of His Manor - Catherine George - Страница 8

JOANNA cleared away in thoughtful mood. So he was March Aubrey. While he thought she was Joanna Sutton. Which she had been—at one time. But to explain would mean taking March into confidences about her adoptive parents. Far too personal with someone she’d known such a short time. Perhaps she should go back to Arnborough Hall Nurseries and make a few discreet enquiries before she got too involved. Because involved she was likely to be if she went on seeing March Aubrey on a regular basis. She hadn’t been kissed like that in a long time. Or ever.

Jo gave a sigh of relief later as she slid into the beautiful sleigh bed which had been part of Kate’s legacy from her aunt who, though single all her life, had probably not, according to Kate, been a maiden aunt. Definitely not, thought Jo, stretching. A bed like this was made for lovers. Which was why she made sure no male guest ever laid eyes on it. But the sudden thought of sharing the bed with March Aubrey was so unsettling she arrived at Logan Development next morning with shadows under her eyes.

‘The gardener kept you out late last night?’ said her father affably.

‘No,’ she said with truth.

‘Did you have a good meal?’

‘Yes.’ Also truthful. ‘How’s Kate this morning?’

Jack’s eyes, rimmed with darker marks of fatigue than hers, met hers unhappily. ‘She’s very tired. A man feels so bloody helpless at times like this—not to mention guilty. Which,’ he added hastily, ‘is hardly something to discuss with my daughter.’

‘Jack,’ she said gently. ‘Stop worrying. Loads of women have babies in their forties these days.’

‘I know, but because it’s my woman it doesn’t help.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘All right. Let’s get to work. What’s first up in the diary?’

The diary was full and the day was hectic. Jo was glad. It helped keep her mind off March. But only temporarily. When she got home a van marked with the logo of Arnborough Hall Nurseries was parked near her house. A young man emerged from it, eyeing her hopefully as he held out a giant sheaf of flowers.

‘Miss Joanna Sutton?’

‘Yes.’ More or less.

‘These are for you.’

‘How lovely. Thank you.’ Jo let herself into the house as the van drove away, eager to read the card tucked into the blooms.

With my thanks. Until Saturday. March.

As if she needed reminding. Jo eyed the extravagant bouquet in disapproval, hoping March had been given a discount at the nurseries for something so pricey. It was also a long way for delivery, which added to the expense. She must make it plain on Saturday that extravagant gestures like this were unnecessary. A text to say thank you for the meal would have done. Jo arranged the flowers in a tall ceramic pot, set the spectacular result on the floor under the parlour window, and then sent a text of thanks to March, before hurrying upstairs to exchange her office suit for jeans and sweatshirt. After that it was straight back out to drive to Mill House and play with Kitty, then take over bathtime duty while their parents enjoyed a peaceful predinner drink together.

‘Mummy’s going to buy a baby soon,’ announced Kitty, when Jo was helping her into her pyjamas.

Oh, boy. As far as Jo knew the subject hadn’t been mentioned to Kitty before. ‘How wonderful,’ she said brightly, lifting her onto her lap. ‘You’ll like having a baby brother or sister.’

‘Mmm.’ Kitty sighed as she snuggled close. ‘But I can’t choose.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Jo carefully, smoothing the dark curls. ‘Either one will be lovely.’

‘That’s what Daddy said. Will you read me a story?’

‘Of course I will. The one about the little bear?’

‘I wish I’d gone with you on Sunday,’ said Kate later, over supper. ‘But it’s such a trek to Arnborough. I’ve never been to the new garden centre there—nor, oddly enough, to the Hall itself. Is it worth a visit, Jo?’

‘Definitely. Fabulous old house, dreamy gardens—you’d love it. I’m going back myself some time, to see the bits I missed. I got there too late to see everything.’

‘Because she took so long to choose your pansies,’ Jack told his wife. ‘We were about to send out a search party by the time she got back.’

‘I wasn’t that long,’ protested Jo, laughing. ‘And you must admit they were first-class plants, Kate. They look fabulous in those stone troughs.’

‘Don’t they just! Grandpa put them in for me.’ Kate shot a look at her daughter. ‘So, are you seeing this gardener of yours again?’

‘Yes. Saturday. I’ve made a reservation at Molly’s.’

‘So Molly gets to meet him before we do,’ commented Jack. ‘You’d better bring him here some time, too, so we can look him over.’

‘No,’ said Jo flatly.

‘Why not?’ asked Kate mildly. ‘Are you ashamed of us?’

‘No, of course not.’ Jo got up to collect plates. ‘You’re just not up to it right now, Kate. Besides, if he comes here and sees this place, and the penny drops about Logan Development and so on, it could embarrass him.’

‘Or,’ said Jack with edge, ‘he might think he’s landed in the honey pot.’

Jo glared at him. ‘Always a possibility. Either way, I won’t be inviting him home to meet the family any time soon. Thanks just the same.’

Jo couldn’t get her father’s words out of her head when she was in bed that night. March, who lived in a ‘sort of flat’, had been impressed enough by her place. Heaven knew how he’d react to huge, spacious Mill House, which Jack had restored so magnificently that articles on it featured in magazines. Jo sighed. She wanted March to like her for herself, not for any expectations he might think she had. She’d been down that road before. She tossed and turned restlessly as she remembered how quick he’d been to veto a return visit to the Arnborough Arms. He obviously didn’t want her back on his home ground, either.

It was a trying week. Jack’s honey pot syndrome occupied her so much that at one stage Jo even considered ringing March to cancel. But then she’d have to explain why. To her surprise—and mounting disappointment—she heard nothing from March all week. When he finally rang her on the Friday evening she tensed, sure he was about to pre-empt her and do the cancelling himself.

‘How are you, Joanna?’ he asked.

‘A bit weary. End of the week and all that. How about you?’

‘Very tired of grass. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’

‘On what?’

‘For waiting until now to ring you. Are you impressed by my restraint?’

‘Yes,’ she said, laughing, suddenly so happy to hear that deep, drawling voice she didn’t care why he liked her as long as he did. ‘Deeply impressed.’

‘Did you miss me?’

‘Yes.’

There was silence for a moment. ‘I wonder,’ he said slowly, ‘if you realise how that makes me feel.’

‘Pleased, I hope.’

‘Massive understatement.’

‘That’s nice. I booked with Molly by the way,’ she added. ‘Seven-thirty for eight.’

‘Good. I’ll be with you at seven.’

‘Do you have more grass to cut before you come?’

‘No, thank God. Hand weeding tomorrow.’

‘No day off after all that grass?’

‘Not a chance. Nor do I want one. The time would drag too much until I see you again. What will you do with your Saturday morning?’

‘Kate has insisted that Jack play a round of golf with Grandpa tomorrow, to de-stress, so to make sure he does that I’ll keep her company and play with Kitty—who now knows about the baby. I think she hankers after a little sister.’

He chuckled. ‘How about you?’

‘I just want a healthy baby and my mother in good shape.’

‘Amen to that! Goodnight, Joanna.’

‘Goodnight, March.’

Next day Jo played with Kitty for most of the morning, as planned, then ate the sandwich lunch Kate made for them. When Jack and her grandfather arrived, Jo put up with more teasing about her date, then drove off to do some food shopping, and took a detour on the way home to have a word with Molly. The restaurant was ideally situated, halfway along a sidestreet of exclusive shops, with a solitary initial ‘M‘ in gold on the glass door. Having timed her visit until well after the lunchtime rush, Jo smiled at the handsome man who came hurrying to greet her.

‘Molly in the back?’

‘As always.’ Angelo kissed her on both cheeks. ‘You are very beautiful today, Joanna.’

‘Thank you, Angelo. So are you.’

He grinned and kissed his fingers to her as she went through to the spotless kitchen, where Molly Carter was directing her minions through preparations for the evening’s menu like a general readying troops for battle. She looked up with a broad smile.

‘Hi! So who are you bringing here tonight, then, love? Is it a celebration? Don’t tell me you’re marrying one of the twins!’

Jo shook her head, grinning. ‘I’d have to marry both of them, and I don’t think that’s allowed. It’s not a celebration tonight. Just dinner for two.’

‘I know that!’ said Molly impatiently. ‘But is your date a man?’

‘Yes.’

‘Good. Do I know him?’

‘I shouldn’t think so. I don’t know him that well myself.’

Molly checked the stock one of her crew was making, then looked up at Jo, her eyes narrowed. ‘Nice?’

‘Very. So I want something special. What have you got?’

‘All my food is special,’ retorted Molly. ‘But the sea bass is exceptional, and the saddle of lamb had such a good slug of gin in the marinade the meat will melt in the mouth.’ She frowned. ‘Why don’t you cook a meal for him yourself? Lord knows I taught you well enough.’

‘I did that last week. Beef Wellington.’

‘Showy, but reliable. Did he like it?’

‘He certainly ate a lot of it.’ Jo hesitated. ‘The thing is, Moll, he thinks my name is Sutton, and for now I want him to keep thinking that. So has Angelo booked me down as Logan?’

Molly eyed her quizzically. ‘What are you playing at, my girl?’

‘I’d just rather my date didn’t know I was Jack’s daughter—for a while, anyway.’

‘Ah! You want to be loved for yourself, not Daddy’s cash. All right. I’ll brief Angelo and ask him to reserve one of the parking spaces outside. Now, tell me, how’s Kate?’

By the time the doorbell rang that evening, prompt to the minute at seven, Jo had changed her dress once, her earrings twice, and persuaded herself that she would be happy in the redsoled black shoes which added five inches to her height and a touch of glamour to last year’s little black dress. She took in a deep breath, then opened it to smile at March, who was even browner of face than before, but with hair newly trimmed, and impressive in a formal dark suit.

‘Good evening, Miss Sutton.’ He gave her a comprehensive look from head to toe and bent to kiss her on both cheeks. ‘You look delectable.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, and closed the door. ‘I really must thank you again for the flowers. They were very extravagant, but I won’t scold you this time.’

He frowned as he followed her into the parlour. ‘You don’t like flowers?’

‘Of course I do, but you shouldn’t have gone to such expense. A text to say thank you would have been quite enough.’

He looked down his nose at her with hauteur, which was not, she saw with dismay, meant as a joke. ‘Enough for you, possibly, but not for me. I was simply expressing my appreciation.’

‘Oh, dear, I’ve offended you again.’

‘Yes.’ He moved closer, the hauteur heating to a predatory gleam. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

She backed away. ‘If I kiss you better I’ll ruin all my hard work!’

‘Which would be a shame.’ He ran a finger down her cheek. ‘Apply the necessary balm later. When I bring you home.’

‘I’ll consider it. Would you like a drink?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ll save myself for a glass of wine over dinner. Does your friend Molly keep a good cellar?’

‘Her front-of-house man sees to that side of the business. The restaurant has quite a name for its wine list.’

‘Then, if my lady is ready, shall we?’ March smiled at her, and Jo smiled back, amazed, now, that she had even thought of cancelling their evening.

Outside, March handed Jo into an E-type Jaguar so far from its first youth it was almost a museum piece.

‘You’ve had this a long time?’ she commented as they headed for town.

‘Since I was old enough to drive.’ He patted the steering wheel. ‘Temperamental sometimes, but I love her just the same. Now, give me directions, please.’

March was impressed when he saw the reserved sign in a parking place right outside the restaurant.

‘So you’ll be able to keep an eye on her all evening,’ teased Jo as March helped her out.

‘Certainly not. I shall be keeping my eye—both eyes—on you,’ he assured her as they entered to a warm welcome from Angelo.

‘Joanna, cara!’ He gave her his usual double kiss.

‘Hi, Angelo, this is March Aubrey.’

‘Good to meet you,’ said March, holding out his hand.

‘Piacere,’ said Angelo, shaking it enthusiastically. ‘Welcome.’ He led them to one of the twin bay windows, and seated Joanna with a flourish at the last unoccupied table in the buzzing restaurant.

‘I shall send someone to give you menus, but do not order drinks. Champagne waits ready chilled for you. On the house, with Molly’s compliments,’ he added.

‘How lovely—do thank her for us,’ said Joanna.

‘VIP treatment,’ commented March, impressed, as Angelo went off to summon a waiter.

‘Partly because I used to work here,’ Jo informed him. ‘And partly to impress the first-time customer who’s paying tonight.’

‘Is that still worrying you, Joanna?’

‘No. So stop looking down your nose at me.’

He grinned and sat back as a waitress put a carafe of water on the table, slid menus in front of them and then gave way to a waiter bearing champagne in an ice bucket. March looked on with approval as the man held the cork and twisted the bottle, and achieved a perfect wisp of smoke instead of a loud pop.

‘What do you recommend, Joanna?’ asked March, when they were left to study the menus.

‘I’ve never eaten any meal here that was less than delicious,’ she told him, fervently hoping that tonight would be no exception.

Eventually they both chose crab soufflé tarts to start, followed by the gin-tenderised lamb, and as they sat back to enjoy their champagne Angelo appeared with an amuse bouche—a liqueur glass of iced tomato consommé.

‘Enjoy your meal,’ he said, and retreated to his post to keep an expert eye on the crowded room.

‘That packed quite a punch,’ remarked March, eying the empty glass with respect. ‘A hint of vodka?’

Jo nodded. ‘And a pinch of cayenne—maybe even chilli.’

‘Augurs well for the rest of the meal.’ March raised his champagne glass in toast. ‘What shall we drink to?’

‘Friendship,’ she said firmly.

He smiled and touched his glass to hers. ‘Close friendship.’

To Jo’s relief the meal was everything she had hoped for. When Molly joined them at the end of it, bearing petit fours to accompany their coffee, March rose to thank her for the champagne, and said, with complete sincerity, that the only meal he’d enjoyed as much in recent memory had been Joanna’s Beef Wellington.

‘Why, thank you,’ said Molly, her face flushed with pleasure. ‘I taught her well, didn’t I?’

Molly stayed chatting for a while, then left to talk with the other diners on her way back to her domain.

‘You see now why I refused pudding,’ said Joanna, eyeing the selection of petits fours.

‘She’s quite a surprise,’ said March, watching Molly’s progress.

‘Because she’s small and blonde?’

‘No, because she’s so young.’

‘Molly must be thirty-three or so now. But she’s always had tunnel vision about owning her own restaurant.’ Joanna smiled. ‘Her success was never in doubt, according to Jack.’

‘He was right. Is a full house the norm here for a Saturday night?’

‘It’s the norm most nights—and Christmas is frantic. Molly does a sideline in seasonal corporate parties and so on, but she would never let me help out at those.’ Jo pulled a face. ‘She kept me firmly in the kitchen, so I refined my cooking skills instead of getting my bottom pinched. Though things rarely get out of hand. Molly’s a terror if anyone hits on one of her girls—or boys, if it comes to that.’

March smiled. ‘And what role does Angelo play?’

‘Peace-keeper. He’s the arch-soother of ruffled feathers—including hers. And don’t be fooled by the movie star looks. He’s got a great head for business, plus an encyclopaedic knowledge of wine. He’s also her partner in private.’

“And that works?’

‘Like a charm. Even Molly admits he’s the one person who can handle her.’

March glanced over to the bar, where Angelo was laughing with some departing customers. ‘You’re right about the looks.’

‘He’s also really loving and funny. They suit each other.’ Jo smiled at him. ‘Shall we have more coffee at home?’

March rose with alacrity. ‘I’ll just settle up.’

As she chatted to Angelo, Jo couldn’t help noticing that March paid the not inconsiderable amount, including a sizeable tip for the staff, in cash, instead of the usual credit card. Not that she would spoil things by mentioning it.

On the way home she couldn’t help wondering if he meant to seize her the moment they were through her door, demanding balm for the wound she’d dealt to his pride earlier. But March merely took her key to unlock her door, then followed her to the kitchen to watch while she made coffee.

‘That was a superb meal,’ he commented. ‘Your friend Molly’s right up there with the best in chef terms. And yet you say she worked for your father before she struck out on her own?’

‘Yes. Jack took her on straight out of catering college. She says she honed her skills on him.’

March hefted the tray to follow her to the parlour, but before he could start doing sums about Molly and her father Jo preempted him with a question of her own.

‘Do you have any siblings, March?’

He took the coffee she offered him and sat down. ‘One sister a couple of years my junior, married to a film producer, and a brother several years younger,’ he added, sobering.

‘Is he a gardener, too?’

‘No.’

Jo waited, but when he said nothing more she drank her coffee in silence, trying not to feel offended.

‘He was in a car accident when he was in college,’ said March at last.

‘Was he badly hurt?’

‘Severe concussion, broken jaw and a mangled leg. The driver got off with a few cuts and bruises, loss of licence and a charge of dangerous driving. He was lucky to get away with a heavy fine instead of a custodial sentence.’

Jo eyed him with compassion. ‘That must have been terrible for you.’

‘I don’t want another phone call like the one I received that night,’ he agreed fervently. ‘When my father and I got to the hospital my brother was delirious, muttering wildly about some friend through the metal clamp holding his jaw together. The driver had been sedated, so I couldn’t check with him, but the police assured me that no one else had been in the car. By the time he was better Rufus had no recall of the accident at all, so I didn’t bring the subject up again.’

‘What happened afterwards?’ asked Jo, her heart thumping.

‘Rufus had been doing a Fine Art course, so the neurologist encouraged him to paint as therapy. It worked. When he was well enough my sister took him off to Italy to convalesce, and Rufus decided to resume his studies there instead of returning to Oxford. He’s very talented. But for him that entire night, the events that led up to it, and most of his stay in hospital still remain a complete blank.’ March thrust a hand through his hair, frowning as he saw the look on her face. ‘I’m sorry, Joanna. I didn’t mean to put a damper on our evening.’

‘Did you search for this friend you mentioned? Do you think he was to blame?’

‘No. I simply thought if I could set Rufus’ mind at rest about the friend it would help him recover.’

She braced herself. ‘What was the name he kept repeating?’

‘Joe Logan.’

Although she’d known, deep down, what his answer would be, the words struck her like a blow to the heart.

March eyed her with concern. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m afraid that’s me.’ She met his eyes bravely. ‘I’m Jo Logan.’

‘What?’ March stared blankly.

‘I’m Jo Logan,’ she repeated unhappily.

‘You said your name was Sutton!’

‘No, I didn’t. You saw that in my school book. Sutton was the name of my adoptive parents. When I was thirteen they died, and I came to live with Kate. When she married Jack Logan I took his name.’

March’s eyes suddenly hardened. ‘So you knew Charles Peel, the driver?’

Jo nodded miserably. ‘Oh, yes, I knew Charlie. He was my boyfriend at the time. I was supposed to be in the car that night, too, but I wouldn’t set foot in it because Charlie was well over the limit. As usual. I did everything I could to make him see sense, even fought him physically for the keys, but we had such a blazing row he pushed me away and roared off in a rage to pick up a friend. I knew his friend as Red…’ Jo halted, biting her lip.