Читать книгу Her Hand in Marriage - Jessica Steele - Страница 5

ROMILLIE awoke early on Saturday morning, hardly able to believe the happenings of the previous evening. Naylor Cardell had thought her selfish and with little thought for anyone but herself. As if she cared what he thought! And he expected her to give him a call! He’d had that! She had no intention of ringing him ever!

She had not seen him again after she had walked away, so presumably he had viewed all he wanted in the art gallery. When she and her mother had been ready to leave Lewis Selby had enquired if they would care to join him somewhere for a bite of supper. Romillie had waited for her mother to reply, but hadn’t been surprised when she declined the invitation.

‘I think we’ll be on our way.’

‘You’ve enjoyed the evening?’ Lewis had asked, escorting them to where they had parked the car.

‘Much more than I thought I would,’ Eleanor had replied, and had given him such a sweet smile.

Romillie and her mother had discussed various paintings on the way home. But Romillie had been hard put to know how to reply when her mother got round to mentioning some of the people they had met, in particular one Naylor Cardell.

‘What did you think of him?’ she had asked.

Arrogant, curt, bossy, wanted taking down a peg or five, sprang to mind. ‘I should imagine he’ll make a very good successor to Lewis,’ was what she did say, which in fairness—given that she knew little about the business—she thought he probably would.

‘You seemed to be getting on well with him,’ Eleanor commented. ‘I glanced over to you a couple of times and you seemed to be chatting well away there—he was making you smile and laugh a lot, I noticed.’

Somehow, with her mother having had such a happy evening, it had not seemed fair to put a blight on it by confessing that, while her laugh had been genuine, her smiles—as well as his—had been bogus.

It warmed her though, that while she had kept her eye on her mother from time to time, to check she was coping all right on her first outing in a long, long while, her mother, it seemed, had likewise been keeping a motherly and protective eye on her daughter.

Over the next few days Romillie was able to observe that there was a growing dramatic change in her parent of late. She was generally much, much brighter than she had been. And on Wednesday when Romillie went in from work, she actually heard her singing as she pottered about the kitchen.

The reason for that, Romillie began to see, was because Lewis Selby had called that afternoon. ‘Is that an extra cup and saucer I see?’ Romillie asked lightly of the two cups and saucers on the draining board.

‘Lewis popped in,’ her mother replied.

Romillie had done nothing about phoning Naylor Cardell, but all at once she began to wonder if she should. She had an idea that Lewis Selby was in no hurry to complete closing up the house next door and putting it on the market. But his business there must surely finish soon.

From her own observations she had seen how knowing Lewis had done her mother nothing but good. Since knowing him she had come on in leaps and bounds.

She guessed he had an understanding of her mother that only someone who had been through the pulverising divorce he had been through could have. Instinctively Romillie knew that he would guard her mother. Which made her wonder how her mother would feel when Lewis did not come around any more.

But—Naylor Cardell…? Oh, for crying out loud, it was only dinner, for goodness’ sake! But he would be there too—now, that was the maggot in the apple.

Frustratedly, irritatedly, she chewed over having to meet the wretched man again. Could she, in the interests of getting her parent into the swing of socialising again, put up with him for a few hours?

With a heartfelt sigh Romillie reluctantly came to the conclusion that in an attempt to wean her mother away from her reclusive existence—whether Lewis Selby featured in her future or not—she had better make that phone call.

Though first she had to get her mother to agree to the foursome—it just did not bear thinking about, Romillie considered, that she should dine à deux, just her and Naylor Cardell there. Though from what she could remember of his obvious dislike of her that was never going to happen anyway.

She was still seeking a way to broach the subject when they were having their meal that night and she became aware that her mother was looking solemnly at her. ‘Have I gravy on my chin?’ Romillie asked puzzled.

‘You’re not—man-wary, are you, darling?’ Eleanor questioned in a rush.

‘No, of course not.’ Romillie protested.

But could see she was not believed when her mother pressed on worriedly, ‘You haven’t let the way your father is, the way he behaved in our marriage, put you off men in any way?’ she persisted.

If it had, and while she might privately be concerned in case she developed some of her father’s lax traits, there was no way Romillie was going to give her mother something else to worry about.

‘What brought this on?’ she asked with a laugh.

‘You,’ Eleanor replied, not laughing. ‘You never go out with a man more than a few times. And just when I was beginning to think you were going steady with Jeff Davidson you broke up with him.’

‘I’m perfectly happy as I am!’ Romillie protested.

But Eleanor was suddenly far more determined than she had been for a very long while. ‘I know you’ve had to spend a lot of time with me, and I regret that more than you know. But I’m okay again now, and I want to stand on my own feet. So I want you to promise me that instead of being negative the next time some agreeable man asks you out, you’ll say yes.’

This was quite a speech from her mother. ‘If it will stop you worrying—yes, yes, yes,’ Romillie cheerfully agreed, happily aware that she never went anywhere where she might meet one such.

‘Good,’ her mother responded. ‘Lewis told me this afternoon that Naylor Cardell had mentioned having dinner with you.’

‘That’s unfair!’ Romillie cried, trying to look outraged, but delighted to see a sudden gleam of wickedness in her mother’s eyes. Agreeable? Naylor Cardell!

‘You’ve just promised.’ She refused to let her back down.

And at that moment Romillie knew she had the opening she had been looking for—forget the ‘agreeable’ bit. But she tried to keep it very casual as she brought out, ‘I will if you will.’

‘I’m not with you?’

‘Lewis Selby asked you to have dinner with him,’ Romillie reminded her.

‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ her mother straight away exclaimed.

‘You could if we went in a foursome.’

Eleanor looked at her in amazement. ‘A foursome!’ She thought about it, and then decided, ‘You don’t want me with you. And what on earth would Naylor say?’

Romillie already had the answer to that—either your mother comes or I don’t. ‘That’s the deal,’ she said, and refused to budge.

‘But that will mean asking Lewis,’ she protested.

‘I’ll get Naylor to ask him.’

‘How did this all get so complicated?’ her mother prevaricated.

‘It’s not complicated. Lewis and Naylor, you and me, or nothing.’

‘But Lewis hasn’t asked me out again,’ Eleanor stated. Though, as if the idea was starting to sound not quite so unthinkable as it had, she suddenly looked as though she quite liked the idea. Even if she did insist, ‘I’ll come, but only if Lewis rings and asks me.’ With that she began to clear their dinner plates seeming a shade foxed all at once as she commented, ‘All I thought to do was to find out if you have a hang up about men—and suddenly it looks as if I’m to get my best dress out of mothballs.’

Romillie did not look forward to making that phone call, and got up the next morning with the fact that she was going to have to hanging over her like a dark cloud. But, since she did not want to make the call from her workstation, she went out to her car mid-morning and from there rang the number on Naylor Cardell’s business card.

‘May I speak with Mr Cardell?’ she asked the female who answered, and realised that the number gave her access straight through to his PA. She half hoped the PA would block the call or say he was not in.

But no such luck. ‘Who shall I say is calling?’ she enquired pleasantly.

‘Romillie Fairfax,’ she replied, and waited, wanting to terminate the call before she started.

‘Yes?’ clipped Naylor Cardell, not very enamoured to have his work interrupted.

‘We can make Saturday,’ she told him briefly, her tones not enamoured of him either.

‘Right,’ he said, and that was all.

But, fearing he was about to bang down his phone, Romillie hurriedly burst into speech. ‘But my mother will only agree if Lewis contacts her and asks her personally.’

‘I’ll see to it!’ Naylor clipped, without so much as a pause—and that was an end to the time he wasted on her.

That urge she had felt before, to set about him, was there again. She did not know what it was about him but Romillie experienced a quite dreadful desire to punch Naylor Cardell’s head. She half wished he had changed his mind and said that he wasn’t free on Saturday, and that dinner was off.

But, on leaving her car and going back to work, Romillie realised that to wish that would only make her as selfish as the dratted man thought she was. Not that she was concerned about his opinion. It was her mother that mattered.

But Naylor Cardell had ‘seen to it’, as he had said he would, and when Romillie went home at lunchtime it was to discover that Lewis had already been in telephone contact with her mother.

‘I said we would meet them in town to save them driving down here, but Lewis wouldn’t hear of it,’ Eleanor revealed. ‘He and Naylor will pick us up around seven—but I expect you already know that from Naylor.’

By half past six on Saturday evening, Romillie was starting to have grave doubts about the venture. Her mother was looking more and more uptight by the minute.

Which only went to make Romillie wonder if she should have left things well alone and let her mother come to a decision in her own time about whether or not she wanted to go out in male company.

At five to seven, with her parent growing more and more fidgety, Romillie was feeling very much that she had been wrong to collude with Naylor Cardell the way that she had. In fact, she was of a mind to go out and apologise to Lewis—and Naylor if she had to—and to tell them they would not be coming to dine with them after all.

Impossibly, however, when her mother had been pacing about for the last ten minutes, no sooner had Lewis arrived and said a quiet, ‘Hello, Eleanor,’ than her mother’s nerves about the evening seem to instantly fall away.

Looking completely relaxed with each other, they were already engaged in pleasantries when Naylor unfolded his long length from behind the steering wheel of the car and came to join them.

‘Romillie,’ he said.

‘Naylor,’ she replied.

And that would have been it as far as she was concerned—except that both her mother and Lewis seemed to be of the opinion that Naylor was her date, and insisted that she sit up front with him.

‘Had a good week?’ she enquired, after racking her brains for something to talk to him about as they drove along.

‘Can’t complain,’ he replied briefly. A minute ticked by, and then two. ‘You?’ he enquired.

Grief, this was like trying to harvest a field of wheat with a pair of blunt scissors! ‘Average,’ she managed, and began to be sure that the evening was going to be a complete disaster.

Strangely, it wasn’t. Not totally. Whoever had chosen the restaurant Naylor and Lewis took them to they had, Romillie saw, chosen well. There was plush carpeting, crisp linen, and room between the well-spaced tables for private conversation. If, that was, they could find anything to talk about.

But she had to give Naylor Cardell credit that, the idea of the four of them dining together being hers and not his, he did not leave it to her to keep the conversational ball rolling. As they started on their meal, he did away with desultory conversation and appeared to show an interest in her. She knew that it was purely for her mother’s benefit, but felt the oddest sensation inside when he looked across at her for long moments and seemed quite taken with her. She saw his glance flick over her just below shoulder-length long dark hair, stray over her unblemished complexion, before his striking blue eyes connected with her velvety brown ones.

‘Eleanor, I know, is a well-known artist of exceptional talent,’ he began engagingly. ‘Tell me, Romillie, have you inherited your mother’s gift?’

‘Er—I’ve tried, but I’m quite, quite hopeless,’ she stated honestly, endeavouring to hide the fact that his charm offensive had taken her unawares.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that, darling.’ Her mother joined in the conversation, amazingly, after the way she had been prior to seeing Lewis that evening, now thoroughly relaxed.

‘I think you must be seeing my poor efforts through a mother’s indulgent eyes,’ Romillie laughed, and, feeling unexpectedly relaxed herself all at once, fell silent for a while as Lewis joined in and the discussion centred around art, including talk of the exhibition all four of them had attended.

They were on to the next course when there was a lull in the conversation and Naylor again seemed to remember that, in the interests of furthering the budding friendship of Lewis and Eleanor, he should be showing more of an interest in Eleanor’s daughter.

‘What sort of work do you do, Romillie?’ he asked. ‘You never said.’

‘I work in a dental practice,’ she replied, realising she was honour-bound to play along.

‘You’re a dental surgeon?’

‘Nothing so grand,’ she answered, finding a smile. ‘I’m just a receptionist.’

‘As long as you enjoy it,’ he responded, and asked, ‘Have you been there long?’

‘About a year,’ she replied, and realised he was playing his interested man-friend part well when he did not leave it there.

‘What did you do before that?’ he enquired pleasantly.

Nothing, actually. But for no known reason, while she was sure she was not the smallest bit bothered about his opinion of her, Romillie discovered that—when he must work very hard—she didn’t wish that he should add lazy to his belief that she was selfish.

‘I—er…’ she stumbled—and was astonished that when she had spent the last five years doing what she could to protect her mother, her mother, plainly knowing her well enough to read her discomfiture, suddenly took on the role of protecting her!

‘Romillie was about to start university in the hope of one day being a forensic scientist, but she gave up her university place to stay at home and—keep me company when I became unwell,’ Eleanor butted in.

‘Mum…’ Romillie murmured. ‘You don’t have to…’

But Eleanor, her protective instinct dormant for so long, had woken up with a vengeance, clearly not wanting her daughter’s ‘escort’ to think her offspring had spent years in total idleness. ‘I was—very—down, and would have been lost without Rom,’ she went on to explain.

Romillie had never heard her mother talk like this, and, aware that Naylor’s glance had switched from her mother and on to her, started to feel a little embarrassed. ‘Mum, please,’ she protested.

‘It’s true, darling,’ Eleanor said affectionately. ‘You’ve had to be strong for both of us.’

Thankfully Lewis entered the conversation just then, to gently enquire, ‘How are you progressing now, Eleanor?’

‘Getting there,’ she replied, favouring him with a warm smile. ‘With my daughter’s help, I’m getting there. Romillie has taken this job well below her capabilities because it’s near enough to home that she can return in her lunch hour—or be with me inside fifteen minutes if I start to get a little bit panicky.’

Romillie by that time was feeling dreadfully torn—as well as embarrassed. On the one hand it was so good to hear her mother—if a little hesitantly—opening up. But on the other, recalling how only last Wednesday her parent had wondered if she had been put off men, Romillie could not help but think was she now trying to show Naylor, lest Romillie show him her ‘negative’ side, that her daughter really did have a caring, positive side. Oh, grief!

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.