Читать книгу Wanted: White Wedding - NATASHA OAKLEY, Natasha Oakley - Страница 11

‘IS YOUR granddaughter here?’ Daniel asked, shaking the rain from his coat. ‘I’d like a word with her if I may?’

‘Through there.’ Margaret nodded towards the door to the dining room. ‘I don’t think you’re Freya’s favourite person right now.’

‘I don’t imagine I am. May I—?’

‘Go through,’ she said with a smile, giving every appearance of thoroughly enjoying herself. ‘I’ll put on the kettle. Call if you need rescuing.’

Daniel walked down the hallway, but he didn’t venture further than the doorway. Freya was there. Wrapping china and seemingly absorbed in her task.

He stood with one hand on the doorjamb, searching for the words he knew he needed to say—and trying to whip up some anger towards Mia for having placed him in this embarrassing situation.

But he knew this was about him. He’d spent long enough over the past few months talking about personal responsibility to know he’d no one to blame but himself for the way he’d spoken to Freya.

He’d done it because he could, he supposed. Because he’d needed someone to blame. Someone to take out his anger and frustration on.

Only…

Only—and this was the damnable part—he’d seen the slight widening of her blue eyes and caught the hurt in them. A fleeting expression. Swiftly controlled. But he’d seen it—and it felt as he imagined he would feel if he kicked a puppy.

There were enough people round and about who were ready to stick the knife into Freya Anthony, and he didn’t intend to be one of them. She was here now. That was wonderful, as far as Margaret was concerned, and if she was happy he had no business making it hard for her granddaughter to stay.

Which meant he had to put things right.

Try to. This wasn’t going to be easy. The slight tilt of her head told him Freya knew he was there, but that she’d no intention of meeting him halfway.

And why should she? He thrust his right hand deep in his jeans pocket. ‘I owe you an apology.’

Freya looked up momentarily from the bubble-wrap she was cutting. ‘Yes, you do.’ She reached for the top saucer from a pile to her left and placed it carefully in the centre of the bubble-wrap.

‘What I said to you…’

One perfectly shaped eyebrow flicked upwards.

‘…was…was out of line, and I apologise. I was unfair…and…’

‘Rude?’ she offered, her voice like a shiver.

Yes, damn it! He’d been rude. Completely unreasonable. Daniel pulled his hand out of his pocket and thrust it through his hair. ‘I took my anger out on you and I’m sorry. I had no right to do that.’

He’d done it. Made his apology. The best he could do without going into his relationship with his daughter.

‘No.’

His mind stuttered. No, his apology wasn’t accepted? Or no—

‘No right,’ she clarified, her fingers moving for a second saucer. ‘Would you pass me the sticky tape, please?’

Daniel walked further into the room and picked it up from the far end of the dining table. Stepping closer to her, he caught the waft of her perfume, light and citrus. Saw the pulse beating at the base of her neck…

And suddenly it mattered, really mattered, that she should believe him. He’d hurt her, and he had the uncanny sense that far too many people had done that.

He kept hold of the sticky tape as she reached for it and forced her to look up at him. ‘I’d like to have shouted at Mia, and since I couldn’t I took out my anger on you. Made you my whipping boy, if you like.’ His mouth twisted into a wry smile as he saw the flicker of understanding. ‘I really am sorry for the way I spoke to you.’

There was a moment’s hesitation, then, ‘I know that.’

Just three words, but her voice had lost its hard edge, and the underlying huskiness of it seemed to hold him frozen. A small tug on the roll of sticky tape pulled him back to the present. He swallowed, watching as she ripped off a few centimetres and taped it across the top of the pile.

‘I can understand why you were angry. I just don’t think I deserved—’

‘No, you didn’t.’ She really didn’t.

She moistened her lips. ‘What happened to…Mia? Did you get her back to school?’

Freya’s concern merely added to his confusion about her. People asked about his daughter all the time, but none of them managed to imbue it with real concern. Why would she care? By all accounts empathy wasn’t one of her strong suits, and she’d not been anywhere near Margaret all the time he’d lived in Fellingham. She had to know her grandmother had desperately wanted her to.

‘Do you mind my asking?’

‘No. No, not at all. I drove her straight there.’ Daniel watched as Freya carefully folded over the end of the Sellotape and replaced it on the dining table.

He’d love to know what had made Freya visit now. She didn’t look like someone who’d want to spend days on end packing up someone else’s possessions. Maybe Sophy was right in thinking she had nowhere else to go?

Her hands moved to cocoon another teacup in bubble-wrap. She made even that mundane task seem faintly exotic. As was her dress ring. Whilst the thumb ring she wore was more bohemian. And she had tiny wrists that reminded him of Anna’s.

But that was where the similarities stopped. He looked up at Freya’s oval face, with her perfectly shaped eyebrows and carefully accentuated lip colour. The two women couldn’t have been more different.

His Anna had been a woman without artifice, whereas Freya couldn’t have exerted more care over her appearance. She was beautiful, but he fancied she’d look more beautiful first thing in the morning—before she’d hidden herself away behind her make-up.

He stopped. Maybe she was hiding. Maybe that was exactly what she was doing. Maybe Freya Anthony was less spoiled and more scared.

God only knew why that bothered him so much. She was nothing to him. But…

There’d been something unpleasant about the gossip swirling around the village over the last few days. Something in it he didn’t like.

‘The school picked up on her absence very quickly,’ Freya remarked, placing the saucers into a cardboard box by the wall. ‘That was good.’

Daniel put his hands deep in his jeans pockets and determinedly focused on her question. ‘They register her at the start of each lesson.’ She glanced up at him and he added, ‘Unusual, I know, but Mia skips off so often we’ve got a fairly established routine going now.’

‘Is she being bullied?’

‘Nothing like that.’ If only it were that simple. ‘There’s no real reason. At least not one she’s prepared to tell us about. We’ve got an excellent Educational Welfare Officer assigned to us now, but nothing anyone says to Mia seems to make any difference. She can’t see the point of school and that’s that.’

‘Tea?’ Margaret said, coming in behind him with a tray.

Daniel turned to take the tray from her, and she sat herself down in the nearest chair with something like a sigh. ‘My hip…The sooner I get that operation the better.’

‘If you’d go private,’ Freya said, rolling the bubble-wrap back on the roll and standing it in the corner, ‘you wouldn’t have to wait. I keep telling you that.’

‘I’m not paying.’

‘You wouldn’t have to. I would.’

Daniel set the tray on the table as another preconception bit the dust. From everything he’d heard he hadn’t expected there to be any kind of emotional connection between Margaret and her granddaughter…but there undoubtedly was.

How come? Freya Anthony had shaken the Fellingham dust from her shoes a long time ago, and hadn’t looked back. Before that she’d been nothing but trouble. But what he was watching wasn’t a new reconciliation. There was familiarity in the way they talked to each other. Love.

‘I’ve paid into the National Health Service for nearly fifty years, and I don’t see why I should have to pay extra now.’

Freya sat down opposite Margaret, but her blue eyes flicked over in his direction as she picked up the milk jug. ‘I assume you take milk?’

‘I do. Thank you.’

She poured some in the bone china teacup, and then lifted the matching teapot, steadying the lid with her finger. ‘We’ve been arguing about this for months, and I don’t think we’re ever going to agree.’

‘No, we aren’t!’

‘It’s crazy to go on in pain when there’s an alternative.’ She passed across her grandmother’s tea. ‘Just think—when you’ve had your operation you might not feel the same need to move from here—’

‘No one will want this place after I’m gone,’ Margaret said, setting the cup down in front of her and reaching for the sugar bowl. ‘This is a family home. I should have sold it a long time ago.’

‘I don’t see why.’

‘Let someone else worry about the garden, for one thing. And your dad is quite right in saying I need to take steps now to avoid paying inheritance tax.’

‘You wouldn’t be paying it! Dad would. It would come out of your estate.’

‘But I don’t want my money going to the government.’ Margaret set her spoon down in the saucer and turned her attention to him. ‘Daniel, what have you done with Mia? There was no need for you to rush here this evening. I hope you didn’t feel you couldn’t cancel?’

Actually, it hadn’t occurred to him. His sole thought had been to apologise to Freya.

‘She’s in the car.’ He brushed a hand across his face, reluctant to confess even that much. He’d got a fifteen-year-old daughter he didn’t trust to leave at home even for half an hour. What did that say about him?

His life was a mess. Other parents seemed to be turning out well-balanced young people, whereas he was heading towards a fully-fledged delinquent. What did Freya make of that?

Of him? For reasons he couldn’t fathom he was suddenly interested in that. There was something particularly astute about the expression in her eyes when she looked at him. It made him feel she was weighing everything he said. Making a judgement. Probably finding him wanting.

‘Oh, Daniel, bring her in. It’s too cold for her to be sitting out there, even if she’s got her…whatever that thing is they all seem to be plugged into.’

Opposite, Freya smiled, her blue eyes holding a sudden sparkle. ‘I suspect you mean an MP3 player.’

‘Something like that,’ Margaret agreed. ‘Freya, be a darling and go and get her a glass of diet cola. She must be so fed up, sitting out there.’

‘She’s—’

‘She’s going to be frozen, Daniel. Just bring her in.’

Freya smiled and pushed her chair away from the table. She’d heard that tone in her grandmother’s voice many times before, and it really did brook no argument. Even her dad had done as he was told when faced with that voice.

It was a shame she hadn’t used it more often. If she’d been able to stay longer than that one summer holiday perhaps she’d have made different choices. Passed some exams.

For the umpteenth time that day she wondered what was motivating Mia. Her relationship with her dad was clearly fractured, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was all his fault.

‘A nice man doing his best.’ That was what her grandmother had said when she’d recounted the incident earlier.

And she honestly hadn’t expected him to apologise. At least not in any sincere way. That changed things. Maybe she really had stumbled on a man with integrity?

She found a two-litre bottle of diet cola on the floor of the larder and poured some into a tall glass, carrying it back to the dining room. ‘I found it.’

‘Good. We can’t leave Mia sitting out there. She’ll be texting someone she shouldn’t.’

‘A little like me, then,’ Freya said, setting it down on the tray.

‘Except there wasn’t texting when you were her age. You made your trouble in other ways.’

She’d certainly done that. But she’d had her reasons. When a person deliberately set out to push the self-destruct button there usually were reasons for it. So what were Mia’s?

Freya turned her head as she heard father and daughter returning, taking in his bleak expression and her sulky one.

‘Come and have a drink,’ Margaret said as soon as they appeared.

Dry, Mia really was a very attractive girl. Her hair, which had looked a dirty honey shade earlier, was a dramatic strawberry blonde colour. She’d have been quite stunning if she’d smiled.

In case they didn’t already know she was here under sufferance, Mia scarcely acknowledged that Margaret had spoken to her. Daniel ripped an exasperated hand through his hair and frowned at his daughter.

From this side of the fence it was almost comical to watch. Almost. It would never be quite that, because Freya knew what it felt like to carry a hard knot of anger inside. To feel lonely and frightened and so angry you didn’t know what to do with yourself.

‘Have you finished your tea?’ Margaret asked.

Freya looked down at her empty cup. ‘Yes.’

‘Perhaps you’d take Daniel to look at the chiffonier and the table? I’ll sit here and keep Mia company.’

‘They’re in the morning room,’ Freya said, standing up.

Daniel quickly drained the last of his tea and set the cup back in the saucer. He glanced at his daughter. ‘I won’t be long.’

Mia hunched a shoulder and picked up her cola. This time Freya couldn’t stop the tiny smile, then turned to look at Daniel and caught the quick flash of anger in his eyes. If Mia was looking to provoke a reaction from her father she’d succeeded.

A second glance at his daughter confirmed that she was completely aware of that. Whether or not Daniel was the root cause of Mia’s anger, he was certainly the focus of it. ‘If you want any more cola, I’ve left the bottle on the side in the kitchen.’

‘Thank you.’ Daniel spoke for her.

Freya turned her head and smiled. ‘I assume you know where you’re going?’

He nodded, and walked in the direction she’d pointed. Freya glanced back. With her dad out of the room Mia’s whole belligerent air had vanished. She just looked sad. And quite a bit younger.

Margaret smiled at Freya across the top Mia’s head. A look of complete understanding passed between them.

‘Would you mind pouring me a second cup of tea, Mia?’ Margaret asked. ‘This hip of mine makes it difficult to get out of the chair.’

Freya followed Daniel out into the Minton-tiled hallway, with its stunning mahogany staircase sweeping upwards. She glanced across at him, wondering what had happened in their relationship to make it so strained. It might be arrogant, but she somehow felt that if she just had half an hour with Mia she might be able to help.

But it was none of her business. And Daniel was at least working on it. He lifted his hand to rub his temple, and Freya caught sight of his wedding ring.

Where was Mia’s mother in all this? Her grandma hadn’t mentioned her and she hadn’t liked to ask. Just ‘a nice man doing his best’. That was all she’d said.

‘Margaret’s really good with her,’ Daniel observed.

‘With Mia?’

He nodded. ‘This is one of the few places I can bring her.’

‘Well, one way or another she’s had practice.’

‘You?’

Freya walked past him into the morning room. ‘Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking that. I imagine you’ve heard at least five versions of my youthful misdemeanours.’

‘One or two.’

It shouldn’t hurt to hear what she already knew. But it did. Nevertheless, she liked him better for not lying to her. ‘That’s the trouble with Fellingham,’ she said breezily. ‘Nothing ever happens here, so they have to re-hash old stories. You’d think they might have found something else to talk about after this much time.’

‘Your arrival re-sparked interest.’

‘I just bet. Let me know if I’m under suspicion for murder. Or whether it’s just abduction of minors—’

‘I’ve apologised for that!’

Freya brushed an irritated hand across her face. ‘True. My turn to apologise.’

‘You can’t have been much older than Mia when you left here.’

She took her hand away and caught the full force of his expression. Daniel really had the most incredible eyes. They seemed to offer a warmth and an acceptance she hadn’t seen in the longest time.

‘How old were you when you left?’

‘Seventeen.’

Daniel nodded. ‘Mia’s fifteen. Not so very different in age, then.’

‘Two years is a long time when you’re a teenager,’ Freya said quickly, wanting to make it absolutely clear that she didn’t think Mia’s life was on the same trajectory as hers had been. ‘Fifteen to seventeen weren’t good years for me, and I didn’t make it easy for anyone to like me.’

Funny how you could encapsulate so much angst into a simple sentence. Thinking back now, she could see how she’d managed to antagonise pretty much everyone.

The consequence was that they weren’t pleased to see her back. Everywhere she went she felt the whispers, the looks, and the constant speculation about what she wanted in coming back.

‘Margaret’s really glad you’re here,’ he said, as though he was able to read her mind.

She looked up at him and found he was watching her. For some inexplicable reason she wanted to cry. She bit on the side of her mouth in an effort to control the prickle of tears behind her eyes.

How did he know what she’d been thinking? If she wasn’t careful she’d be pouring out every secret she’d ever had. Maybe she didn’t have to. Maybe those dark brown eyes could see into her soul and read them all for himself?

‘Half your trouble is because of that. Margaret was so excited when she knew you were coming that she mentioned it to one or two people…’ He let his words taper off.

Freya’s breath caught on an unexpected laugh. ‘Yes, I know.’ She hadn’t quite believed she’d arrive until she’d actually stood on the doorstep.

‘And you need to remember you’re not seventeen any more,’ he said, his voice soothing like velvet.

No, she wasn’t. Right now she didn’t feel seventeen at all. Whatever it was Daniel Ramsay had, he should bottle it. It would make him a fortune. Even a cynic like her was dissolving at his feet in a pool of hormones.

God help his poor wife. Daniel would have more opportunity than most to stray. Maybe he did. Maybe that went some way to explaining Mia’s anger?

Only that couldn’t be right.

His hand moved to touch the chiffonier. ‘Margaret wants to sell this?’

Freya nodded.

‘Honestly, she’d do better to hang on to it for a few years. Dark wood isn’t as popular as it was a few years back. It’s all fashion. It’ll have its time again.’

Daniel couldn’t be that kind of man. If he was, her grandma would hardly describe him as ‘doing his best’. And he was still wearing his wedding ring.

Freya pulled her eyes away from the unexpectedly sensual movement of his fingers running along the wood grain. ‘It won’t fit where she wants to go, so she doesn’t have much of a choice.’

He pulled a face. ‘I can’t see sheltered housing suiting her.’

‘Neither can I. But now they’re building some in the village she’s become quite keen…and I suppose it makes sense long-term. I don’t mind, if it’s what she really wants.’

He nodded and turned back to the chiffonier. ‘This isn’t going to make much more than five hundred. It’s early nineteenth century, not particularly unusual, and big. Most houses just can’t take a piece of furniture like this.’

‘And it’s ugly.’ Freya moved away to stand nearer the door. She felt better with more space between them. One thing she’d learnt was that danger was best avoided. And, with a finely tuned instinct for survival, she knew Daniel Ramsay was dangerous.

‘The barleytwist side columns are nice, but that’s really all it’s got going for it. I’d put a reserve of about four hundred on it but, I don’t think it’ll go much higher than that.’

‘Anywhere?’

His eyes narrowed infinitesimally. ‘If I thought she would get more elsewhere I’d tell her. Margaret’s a friend, and my auction house isn’t particularly looking for things to sell. With all the antiques programmes on TV recently, business is booming.’

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘Yes, you did.’ Daniel cut her off, and his eyes held hers. He didn’t even blink.

There was a beat of silence. He really was a mind-reader. ‘Actually—yes, I probably did.’

Daniel thrust his hands deep into his jeans pockets. ‘Is there any particular reason you think I’d do something underhand? Was it something I said or just a chemical reaction?’

‘I don’t know anything about you,’ she said quickly.

‘But you don’t like me?’

Freya moved across to the dining table, pushed up into the corner of the room, and started to lift down the boxes stacked on it. ‘I don’t have to like you. I just need to be certain my grandmother isn’t being taken for a ride.’

‘And you think I’d do that?’

‘I think your business needs a good injection of capital, and I think you want quality pieces passing through your auction house even if the owners would get a better price elsewhere.’

The silence was longer this time. ‘You don’t take any prisoners, do you?’

She shrugged. ‘What’s the point? The sooner we get finished here, the sooner you can take Mia home. What do you think of this?’

Daniel moved back to look at the bulbous legs of the table. ‘Do you have the extra leaves?’

She nodded, feeling unexpectedly mean. ‘Three. Behind the door over there.’

‘What does it measure when fully extended?’

‘Three hundred and ten centimetres.’ Daniel crossed over to look at the other pieces of the table and she added, ‘There’s a scratch on one of the leaves. I can’t remember which one now. I think the back one.’

He looked for a moment. ‘It’s quite deep, but that won’t affect the value much. This will most likely go to a dealer who’ll be able to sort that.’ Daniel turned back to her. ‘I’d no idea Margaret had this. It’s lovely. Why doesn’t she use it?’

‘She did. When I was younger. We used to have big Sunday lunches.’

Daniel’s eyes softened again, making her want to run away and hide. What did he imagine he was seeing when he looked at her? There was no way on earth he could know how much she’d loved those Sundays. Loved the huge knickerbocker glorys her grandma had made especially for her.

‘She’s not used it for years, so there’s no point hanging on to it,’ she said brusquely.

He nodded. ‘It’s worth something in the region of three thousand pounds. I’d certainly want to see a reserve of at least two thousand on it. Is there anything else you want me to look at while I’m here?’

‘There’s a clock in the hallway. She doesn’t really want to sell that, but if she does end up in Cymbeline Court it’ll never fit.’ Freya led the way back into the hall and stood in front of it. ‘I quite like this, actually.’

‘It’s lovely.’

Freya looked over her shoulder. ‘Don’t you need to look at it more closely?’

‘It’s a New Jersey Federal mahogany longcase clock, and it’s a gem. I’ve looked at it before.’ Daniel gave a wry smile.

‘Every time I come here. Honesty compels me to admit this might be something you’d do well to sell elsewhere. We haven’t had a clock of this quality in our saleroom for months. I’ll look into it.’

‘So how much is it worth?’

‘Conservatively, about twenty thousand.’

‘Why so much more than the table? There seem to be loads of clocks about.’

He walked forward and stroked his fingers down the side of the case, as though he were touching something precious. ‘This one is attributable to a known cabinet maker. William Dawes worked in Elizabethtown into the first decade of the 1800s. This clock was probably made at the turn of the century.’

‘So it’s American? How the heck do you know that?’

Daniel smiled. ‘Look.’ He pointed up at the clock face. ‘In a European clock you’d expect to see a brass dial, but metal was hard to come by in America so they used iron and painted it white.’

‘Ah. So, how do you know it’s by this William Dawes?’

‘It’s got “William Dawes, Hackensack” on the face. That’s a good clue.’

He was laughing at her. Again. A sexy glint lighting his dark brown eyes. It made her feel flustered.

What was the matter with her today? Her whole survival plan was based around control. Control was everything.

But there was something about his brown eyes which ripped through her defences. Made her wish…

Damn it!

She turned away. He was married. And she wasn’t interested in a man who was prepared to lie to someone they’d promised to love.

‘Are you done?’ Margaret called from the dining room.

‘Are we?’

Freya turned back to him. ‘Everything else is small. I can bring them to you when we’re more organised. The bigger things we’re going to need to have collected.’