Читать книгу To Tame the Playboy: The Playboy of Pengarroth Hall / A Night with the Society Playboy / Playboy Boss, Pregnancy of Passion - Элли Блейк, Ally Blake - Страница 14

IN HER kitchen on the Saturday evening ten days later, Fleur stood rather precariously on her short stepladder and started to paint the ceiling, wielding the large brush back and forth vigorously.

Having used up some of her holiday, plus more time since, in spring-cleaning the flat, she’d come to the conclusion that the kitchen had gone beyond needing a mere clean-up—it needed redecorating. And, once she’d made up her mind that that was what she was going to do, she’d lost no time in buying everything that was needed. She’d decided that this time the walls would be the palest green—which would suit the oak cabinets—with the skirtings and other woodwork gloss white. And when she’d completed the job, she thought, straining her head back and looking upwards at the rather challenging area to be done, she’d have a great time purchasing some new stuff—towels and tea towels, and maybe replacing some of her china as well. All to blend in. She felt the definite need to inject something new, something original, something to kick-start the new year.

She’d been welcomed back to work with open arms by her colleagues, who’d all said how well she looked and teased her that she’d put on weight, and soon it felt to Fleur that Pengarroth Hall and her time there was becoming a distant memory. But lives were built on memories, she thought now, and she had so many locked away into hers…things she would never, ever forget.

Bending to dip her brush carefully into the paint pot, her thoughts were of Sebastian—as they seemed so often to be—and she was glad she’d not heard anything from him since his phone call. Time was already passing so rapidly, and it was only time which would help her to push him further and further away from her, so that he stopped being the first thing on her mind each morning when she woke and the last thought each night before going to sleep. But it wasn’t just him, Sebastian Conway, she tried to convince herself. It was Pengarroth Hall and its atmosphere, it was Pat and Beryl’s friendship, and the clear, melting Cornish air. As her thoughts ran on, she grimaced slightly as she remembered Rudolph Malone’s visit. His appearance on the scene had been the one thing—apart from Sebastian’s reaction to it—to mar the perfect holiday. Then she shrugged. Who cared, anyway? She’d never come face to face with that silly man again.

She was about three-quarters of the way through the area to be painted when the doorbell sounded, and its unexpected intrusion almost made Fleur drop the brush. She paused, frowning. Who would call on her without ringing first? she asked herself. And at nearly nine o’clock on a Saturday night? She put down the brush and began to climb down from the ladder cautiously but, before she could get to the door, the bell rang again—twice in quick succession.

‘OK, OK, hang on a minute…’ she called. ‘I’m just coming.’

As she went into the hall, she glanced at herself in the long mirror—heavens, what a sight she looked! She was wearing the oversized and stained decorator’s apron—an old one of her father’s—which she always used, and had tied her hair up in a knot with a tatty scarf to keep it in place and to protect her hair from any white splashes. The only make-up she had on was a big smudge of ceiling white on one cheek—which was also on her hands, she noticed, rubbing them down the apron hurriedly.

Going forward quickly, she peered into the security peephole—and gasped in surprise and a certain degree of horror. Sebastian, she thought—what on earth?

She opened the door and they both stood there for a moment without saying a word, Sebastian looking at her up and down, a curious expression on his face.

‘Oh—I’ve obviously come at a bad time,’ he began, and Fleur cut in at once, standing aside. Well, how could she be offhand or unwelcoming—even if she was in no fit state to receive guests?

‘It’s all right, Sebastian, come in,’ she said quickly. ‘Though you’ll have to take me as you find me,’ she added.

He entered, but stood there, just taking in her appearance for several seconds and there was absolutely nothing Fleur could do to make herself look anything other than grubby and unattractive. But, as he stared down at her, Sebastian’s only thought was how utterly seductive she looked…There was something so appealing in the hastily drawn-back hair, the untidy scarf, the careless dabs of white on her skin. He could as easily have swept her up into his arms and covered her mouth with kisses as on those other times when, immaculately turned out, she had stirred his desire. He couldn’t help fleetingly remembering the time she’d stood at the top of the staircase looking like a society darling—he knew which picture he would want to keep close to his heart.

‘I won’t ask you what you’re up to, because I can see for myself,’ he said casually, following her into the sitting room. ‘I didn’t realize you were a painter and decorator.’

‘It’s my kitchen,’ she explained. ‘I decided that it was some time since it had had a makeover—and a new year seems appropriate to change things a bit, don’t you think?’

He was wearing well-cut trousers, a purple shirt, open at the neck, and an expensive long dark coat—and, not for the first time, Fleur found herself admiring the casual elegance which seemed to personify the man. But she was also aware of the tiny flecks of grey beginning to show a little more in his hair. Today he did look the seven years older than her, she thought impulsively.

There was a distinct sense of awkwardness between them—they both felt it—and Fleur went on hurriedly, ‘So…you’re obviously back in London now, Sebastian…When do you expect to return to Pengarroth Hall? And do sit down,’ she added, indicating one of the armchairs. ‘Can I offer you a drink—something to eat?’ Help, she thought, what have I said? It wouldn’t be easy to produce anything in her kitchen at the moment.

He didn’t sit, but came towards her slowly and for a moment Fleur thought he was going to take her in his arms…then…

‘Fleur…’ The word was almost choked out, and involuntarily she put out a hand.

‘What…what is it, Sebastian?’

There was a long pause while he struggled to utter the words. ‘It’s Benson…he died two days ago.’ He waited before going on. ‘ We…we buried him in the grounds yesterday.’

‘Oh, no—Benson!’ Fleur covered her face in her hands, hot tears springing to her eyes. ‘What…?’

‘Of course, none of us should have been surprised,’ Sebastian said quietly. ‘He was a very old dog, but I can barely remember a time when he wasn’t there. He…he seemed to be his usual self in the morning,’ he went on, ‘then suddenly he couldn’t get up from the floor and just looked at us as if he was trying to tell us what was the matter. But, before we could even call the vet, he lay his head down on my knees and…and was gone. In a couple of minutes. At least we were all there to say goodbye.’ Sebastian swallowed hard before going on. ‘But it’s hit us all badly—Pat’s been in tears ever since, and Frank’s going around with a perpetual scowl on his face.’

It was obvious that Sebastian was terribly upset—and trying hard not to sound too sentimental—and, without thinking what she was doing, Fleur went across and put her arms around his neck, burying her head in his shoulder.

‘Poor, dear Benson,’ she whispered. ‘I wish I’d been there as well, I wish I’d been there to hold him.’

‘Yes, I wish you had,’ Sebastian said. ‘Benson loved you, Fleur, we could all tell. That was why he wouldn’t come back home with you on that walk. He wanted you to stay out there with him in the woods.’

A stifled sob left Fleur’s lips at his words, and she looked up into Sebastian’s face. ‘That dog would never have known anything but love and comfort,’ she said, ‘and, from what you say, he didn’t suffer, did he? Not even at the end?’

‘No. We don’t think so,’ Sebastian replied.

‘So…he was lucky, wasn’t he—lucky to have all of you for his whole life. There are many animals who don’t have that kind of luck.’

They stood there still locked together, and Sebastian said, ‘I’m sorry to have intruded on you like this, but I just couldn’t bring myself to ring you with the news…I wanted to tell you, face to face…because I knew you’d be upset, too.’

Fleur tried hard to stem her tears, and Sebastian put his hand in his pocket and gave her his handkerchief.

‘Here,’ he said, ‘have another one. I told you I had plenty.’

In spite of everything, they both managed to smile at his words. Fleur took the handkerchief and blew her nose and wiped her eyes, sighing heavily. ‘Oh, dear,’ she said. ‘I don’t feel like doing any more painting tonight. In fact, I don’t feel like doing anything at all.’ She blew her nose again. ‘I hate bad news,’ she said.

‘I know, and I’m sorry,’ Sebastian said quickly, pulling her into him even more closely. ‘I just wanted someone to be miserable with, and you were the first one I thought of. Sorry.’

‘Is that a compliment?’ Fleur asked, beginning to recover, and thinking that she’d shed more tears since knowing Sebastian than she’d allowed herself in half a lifetime. It had to be those tablets, she thought. She’d take the last few, and that would be it. It was not like her to give way so easily…She’d always been taught that undue emotion portrayed a weakness of character.

‘I hope you will take it as such,’ he replied. ‘I haven’t even told Mia yet.’

Fleur looked at him quickly. Well, it was a compliment, she thought, to have been put first in these circumstances, and it made her feel ridiculously important…and…special. She went over to the small cabinet in which she kept her modest supply of alcohol.

‘I think we both need a drink,’ she said, looking across at him. ‘I do have some whisky, Sebastian, or would you prefer wine?’

‘What I’d really appreciate is a good strong cup of tea,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘If you can actually produce one—in the present state of your kitchen, I mean?’

Fleur smiled quickly. ‘Yes, I can definitely manage a cup of tea,’ she said lightly, ‘and there’s an unopened packet of chocolate digestives to go with it, as well. But I’d better clean myself up a bit first.’

He followed her into the kitchen and looked around him speculatively. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘you’re halfway through the ceiling—and you’re making a good job of it too—it seems a shame to leave it.’ He shrugged off his coat, and looked down at her. ‘Let me finish it for you while you make the tea.’

‘Oh, honestly, Sebastian…I don’t want to put you to any trouble. I can do it tomorrow…’

‘No, we’ll finish it now,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s not good to leave your post in the middle of a job. If you’ll let me have the use of that somewhat roomy apron, I can do it in half an hour. And I think the tea can wait.’ He grinned down at her. ‘Come on, no arguments. It’ll do me good to do something positive.’

Fleur understood exactly where he was coming from with that remark and, without another word, she untied the massive apron and handed it to him. ‘This is certainly more your size than mine,’ she said. ‘And I must admit that my neck was beginning to ache, looking upwards all the time. It was taking longer than I thought it would.’

‘So it’s just as well that I turned up,’ he said reasonably. ‘It’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good. Isn’t that what they say?’

Fleur watched as he set to with the brush, and was impressed with how quickly he was covering the area. ‘If I’d known you were going to arrive, I would have waited so that you could have done it all,’ she joked.

‘I should have let you know,’ he said apologetically, glancing down at her briefly, ‘but it was only as I was nearing town that I made up my mind to try my luck and see if you were in.’ He dipped the brush into the pot again and resumed painting.

‘How…how did you know where I lived, anyway?’ Fleur asked curiously.

‘All your details were written down on the pad in the kitchen—you obviously gave them to Pat, because they were in her handwriting,’ he said casually.

‘Oh, yes—of course,’ Fleur said. ‘I remember now. She wants us to keep in touch—which is what I want too, of course.’

In less than forty minutes the job was complete, and Sebastian surveyed his handiwork critically. ‘I think that’ll do,’ he said, ‘and if you see any bits I’ve missed—white on white is always difficult, especially in artificial light—I’ll drop back and touch it up.’ He put the lid firmly back on the pot and went across to the sink to wash the brush and, as Fleur watched him for a second, she thought how surreal it was that he should be here, painting her ceiling, when she hadn’t expected to see him ever again—or, at least, not for a very long time.

He finished what he was doing and turned, looking down at her as he took off the apron. ‘I’ve gone off the idea of tea,’ he said. ‘A glass of your whisky would be much appreciated—if it’s still on offer.’

Fleur smiled up at him. ‘Of course it is,’ she said, ‘and then I’ll prepare us some supper—unless you’re going on somewhere?’

He shook his head briefly. ‘No, I’ve got no plans,’ he said.

‘Then I’ll wave my magic wand and get us something to eat—though it won’t be up to Pat’s standard, I’m afraid,’ she said, going over to the drinks cabinet, and Sebastian sat down in the armchair with his whisky while Fleur went into the kitchen.

‘I’m doing us cheese omelettes—or you could have ham,’ she called. ‘Which do you want?’

‘Cheese will be fine,’ he replied. Then, ‘Can I help?’

She smiled to herself. ‘No, I think I can manage this all by myself,’ she said, ‘but I’ll let you make the coffee later.’

It was surprising how quickly they’d both managed to step back from thinking about poor, dear Benson, Fleur thought, reminding herself again how blessed routine and activity helped to dull pain—at least temporarily. It would take Sebastian—and the others—some time to come to terms with not having the lovely animal around, but at least for the moment Sebastian seemed less upset, though she had to swallow a lump in her own throat as she remembered the dog’s soulful eyes looking up at her. And she couldn’t help feeling an enormous sense of privilege that she had been chosen to be told the news. Even before Mia.

It was getting on for eleven o’clock by the time they sat down, with a tray each on their laps, and enjoyed the soft, buttery omelettes and thinly sliced brown bread.

‘I think Pat would say you have done us proud,’ Sebastian said as he mopped up the last of his supper with a piece of crust, then put down his knife and fork. ‘That was actually quite fantastic,’ he added. ‘And I hadn’t eaten since lunch.’

‘It probably seemed fantastic because you were hungry,’ Fleur said, ‘and so was I.’ She took his tray, then went back into the kitchen to put the kettle on. And almost at once he was by her side, standing behind her, with his hands lightly on her waist, before sliding them gently to rest on her hips—for just a moment…She had difficulty in not shivering in pleasure at his touch. Instinctively, she turned away and indicated the coffee things on the shelf.