Persuade Me (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-Four

The following Friday morning, Anna stood by the window in her room at the Department of Russian Studies, staring out at the scene below. Bronze leaves stuck to wet paths like a child’s collage. Black umbrellas – lecturers and a few of the more organised students, from the look of it – scuttled beetle-like between buildings. Cars swished along the road, not a single black Jaguar among them. And even if there was, it wouldn’t be the one she had in mind.
That
was no doubt parked outside Southampton General Hospital, where Lou had been taken last Sunday with a suspected skull fracture.

A knock at the door made her jump, even though she was expecting it.

‘Only me.’ Jenny came in, put two mugs of coffee on the desk, slumped on to the nearest chair and smothered a yawn. ‘Am I glad this week’s almost over! Arranging next year’s placements in Russia is stressing me out – I don’t want to see another student ever again.’ A rueful smile. ‘Well, not until Monday, the little darlings.’

‘It’s certainly been a long week.’ Anna sat down at her desk and cradled one of the mugs in her hands. ‘Thanks, this’ll warm me up before I head off. My afternoon tutorial’s cancelled so I thought I’d work from home, especially as Barbara said she might ring and I don’t seem to have my mobile with me.’

Jenny gave her a sympathetic look. ‘Any more news of Lou?’

‘Nothing since Wednesday.’

‘So they’re still saying that the operation to drain the blood from her brain was a success?’

‘Oh yes. It’s amazing, she can walk – with help – and talk, although her mouth’s droopy and her speech is slurred. They’re giving her intensive physio and speech therapy.’ A pause. ‘Henrietta says she’s not her normal self, too quiet, but it could have been so much worse.’ Anna forced a brighter note into her voice. ‘I told you that Charles and Mona were due to go home yesterday, didn’t I? Now that Barbara’s at the hospital, there didn’t seem much point in them all staying. Anyway, Henrietta and Roger are too busy with the stables and the estate to look after the boys properly.’

‘And Rick Wentworth’s in Southampton too?’

‘He visits whenever he can, apparently.’

‘What about his book signings?’

‘Henrietta said he nearly fell out with his publisher because he wanted to cancel them all.’ When she’d heard this, Anna had wondered what to make of it; did it indicate the depth of his feelings for Lou, or simply his current state of mind? She added briskly, ‘In the end, though, he only missed two.’

‘So he’s still coming to Bath next Friday evening?’

‘I expect so.’ Was that couldn’t-care-less tone convincing?

‘All this waiting must have been awful for him as well as the family.’ Jenny sipped her coffee thoughtfully. ‘And then he’s had the press to contend with. One paper even implied he might have pushed Lou – where could they have got that idea?’

‘I don’t know,’ Anna said, making a mental note to find out exactly who Mona had been talking to.

Jenny frowned. ‘It’s weird to think that her personality may have changed. I’ve read about that sort of thing, of course, but never actually known anyone affected by it.’

Anna shrugged. ‘It’s too early to tell if it’s permanent. Perhaps being quiet is a natural part of the recovery process.’

‘Well, all I can say is – if I had Rick Wentworth waiting at my bedside, I’d do my damnedest to recover as quickly as possible.’ Jenny’s voice hardened. ‘And how’s your delightful father?’

‘As delightful as ever.’ Anna finished her coffee and started packing her briefcase. ‘I’ve just been summoned to dinner tomorrow night at The Royal Crescent Hotel. He’s got someone special coming.’

‘You mean other than you?’

‘Very funny. Anyway, I’ve said I’ll go. After all, I’ve managed to avoid actually seeing him since he came to Bath – the phone calls have been bad enough.’ A sigh as she recalled the one earlier in the week, when she’d turned down drinks with Lady Dalrymple. She’d explained that she’d already arranged a night out with Jenny and Tom and their crowd; that had made him splutter something about her needing to get her priorities right.

‘And you’ve no idea who the “someone special” is? You could be in for an even worse evening than usual.’

‘Probably.’ Anna crammed another folder into the already bulging briefcase. Apart from dinner on Saturday night, she planned to spend the entire weekend working; far more productive than wondering what was happening in Southampton. ‘It’ll be Lady Dalrymple, he’s been bleating on and on about her ever since he got here. They fell out years ago, but she’s staying at the hotel – practically lives there – so they’re back on speaking terms.’

Jenny stared. ‘Lady What? Dalrymple? Never heard of her. Am I meant to be impressed?’

‘Definitely. She’s a viscountess – a dowager viscountess, of course, now that her husband’s dead – so Walter’s in ecstasies.’

‘If you’re not careful, he’ll be living at that hotel too. Keeping up with the Dalrymples, whatever it costs.’

‘Not if Minty can help it,’ Anna said. ‘I suppose I should be grateful that she’s always poking her nose in our affairs, whether we like it or not.’ And, with thoughts of one particular example of her godmother’s interference uppermost in her mind, she continued haltingly, ‘I never told you about the only time Minty and I really fell out … I was just eighteen and, until then, I didn’t even think to question her – we’d always been so close, especially after Mummy died … But I’d met this guy when I was staying at my cousin’s in France, and things got serious, and he was going off to – somewhere, and he wanted me to go with him. Which meant shelving Oxford and all that Mummy had planned for me … And, although that’s a decision I’d never have made lightly, it was taken out of my hands when Walter and Minty turned up unexpectedly. Walter ranted on and on – which wouldn’t have made the slightest difference – but then Minty weighed in … By the time she’d finished, my whole perspective had changed. I’d been the victim of nothing more than a holiday romance – those were her exact words – and no
reasonable
man would expect me to give up my place at Oxford. And then the killer blow – what would my mother have thought?’ She turned away and stared out of the rain-streaked window.

‘What do you think now?’ Jenny said softly. ‘Did you do the right thing?’

Anna shrugged, still unable to speak. After a while, she felt firm hands on her shoulders and heard Jenny say, ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I guess you don’t want to talk about it?’

She shook her head miserably.

‘But you know where I am if you ever want to.’

The clunk of the mugs as Jenny picked them up, the click of the door as she left the room – and Anna was alone with her thoughts once again.

Chapter Thirty-Five

It had been a long hard week and, Rick suspected, it was about to get worse.

He and Guy were having lunch in Brighton with Duncan Taylor, a freelance journalist. Apparently Guy owed him a favour and the payback involved Rick giving Duncan an exclusive interview. So here they were, going through the charade of a ‘frank and revealing conversation’; but Rick had no intention of making it easy.

‘What’s
Sex in the Sea
about?’ was Duncan’s first question.

Rick scowled at him. ‘Haven’t you done your research and read it?’

‘Of course, but the readers like it summed up in your own words.’

‘Just use the blurb on the back of the book.’

Duncan paused, then changed tack. ‘What are you writing next?’

‘Nothing. I don’t want to write this sort of stuff any more.’

The other man pounced. ‘Why is that, do you think?’ he said, stroking his unkempt beard. ‘Scarred by the experience of becoming a coffee-table celebrity?’

Silence, while Rick carried on eating his lunch.

Guy put down his fork with an exasperated sigh. ‘To answer your first question, Duncan, Rick would say that the book’s a powerful statement about how far some creatures go in order to procreate, and a timely reminder of what we humans take for granted in that department. Rick’s other key message is that life under the sea is precarious enough – but, when you add to this our generally irresponsible attitude to fishing and pollution, you have an ecological disaster waiting to happen. As for what he’s writing next, sales of
Sex in the Sea
have been so fantastic that we’re already in discussions about a sequel. It’s called “Parents of the Deep” and it’ll show the extraordinary ways in which some sea creatures rear their young. Put Rick on the cover again, this time holding a child’s hand, and it’ll sell like the proverbial hot cakes.’

Rick let this bullshit flow uninterrupted. He wasn’t contracted for a second book and Guy was exaggerating when he said that they were in discussions. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to return to writing scientific papers and presenting them in the rarefied air of academic conferences – only if and when he felt like it. But he had to admit that ‘Parents of the Deep’ could be an interesting project.

His mind wandered to Barbara and Roger and the loving concern for their daughter that he’d seen on their faces – God, no, he couldn’t bear to revisit the past week. He let himself dwell instead on Ollie and Harry Musgrove, back in the care of a self-absorbed, manipulative mother and a father who wouldn’t stand up to her. Huh, they could certainly feature in ‘Parents of the Deep’. Mona would be
Vampyroteuthis infernalis
, literally the vampire squid from hell, a blue-blooded cephalopod living in the deepest parts of the ocean; or, in her case, a twilight world of her own making. And Charles? Ah, yes –
Osedax
, the zombie sea worm; enough said.

No! That was grossly unfair. Even when Rick was thinking the worst of him, Charles had been unfailingly pleasant. He deserved sympathy, not sarcasm; especially as he’d lost the woman he’d really loved.

And inevitably, like the pull of the tide, Rick’s thoughts turned to Anna. She’d captivated him right from the start – even though physically she wasn’t his usual type. Of course, he hadn’t bargained for her other attractions, such as a tender heart, quicksilver mind and quiet sense of humour; and he’d completely underestimated the sexual chemistry …

He remembered that moment of pure irony, after it was all over between them, when he’d finally understood her physical appeal. Diving at Kangaroo Island, off Australia’s south coast, he’d caught his first glimpse of a sea dragon in the wild. Small, delicate, exquisitely beautiful, moving with measured grace, it reminded him of Anna. For some time afterwards, he felt a tightness in his chest every time he studied the creatures, as if she was haunting – or taunting – him.

He dragged his thoughts back to the present. The sea dragon was an obvious candidate for ‘Parents of the Deep’, since the female delegated all parenting duties, even egg hatching, to the male. In contrast, he was sure that Anna would make a loving mother. He recalled that first unexpected sighting of her in Uppercross, when she stopped to comfort the dark-haired little boy he’d mistakenly thought was her son. For one crazy moment he imagined another boy in Ollie’s place: slightly older, tall for his age – blond like his father or dark like his mother? The child they might have had, made from a love that was somehow still so real …

He scraped his chair back and rose abruptly from the table. ‘I need some fresh air.’ He shot Guy an angry look. ‘Call me when you’ve finished giving my interview.’

‘Hold on a minute.’ Obviously still hungry for something frank and revealing, Duncan put a heavy hand on Rick’s arm. ‘This is a question that only you can answer. What do all these observations of sea creatures tell you about yourself and your fellow man?’

Rick twisted his mouth into a grim smile, shook off Duncan’s hand and threw caution to the winds. ‘That I generally prefer hanging out with bottom dwellers than with human beings. That the rules of male-female relationships are much more straightforward under the sea. And that my perfect mate is a sea dragon.’

Chapter Thirty-Six

Anna walked briskly towards the Royal Crescent – partly because she wanted to arrive early and pre-empt any comments from her father about her timekeeping, and partly to keep warm. She’d decided to wear the coral dress that she’d bought for the wedding of an old Oxford friend. But that had been in the summer; now, even under her wool coat, the flimsy fabric was no proof against the chill of an October night.

Then, in spite of the cold, she stopped. In the golden glow of old-fashioned streetlights, the elegant sweep of Georgian houses unfurled before her like the stunning backdrop to an empty stage, waiting for the show to begin. Even the prospect of an evening with Walter and Lisa couldn’t subdue a little thrill of excitement. It wasn’t every day that she had an invitation to dinner at a world-famous hotel, was it?

Moments later she was inside number sixteen. A welcoming smile from the doorman, a polite enquiry, and she was following a member of staff through the reception area and out into softly lit private gardens. She stared across at a row of renovated outbuildings – ‘originally coach houses for Royal Crescent residents, madam – the first two are now our spa, The Bath House, and our restaurant, known as The Dower House’. The man led her towards the building next to the restaurant – ‘The Pavilion, madam, where Sir Walter and his guests are staying’ – and she stepped into an entrance hall almost the size of her flat.

To her right, on a red leather sofa, sat Lisa – in a dazzling white off-the-shoulder creation that showed her golden limbs to perfection and left Anna feeling pale and uninteresting. She was on her mobile, deep in conversation – if that wasn’t a contradiction in terms. ‘Oh God, yes,’ she was saying, ‘we’ll be getting the meal over as soon as possible … Nine-thirty I would think, so let’s meet there at ten … No, just the three of us. See you later.’

Anna didn’t know whether to be relieved that dinner would be finished in a couple of hours, or worried that she was included in Lisa’s plans for the evening.

Lisa snapped her phone shut and greeted Anna with unusual enthusiasm. ‘Come and see my suite, it’s absolutely divine!’ She almost dragged Anna through the nearest door and gave her a guided tour of a beautifully furnished bedroom, bathroom and conservatory-style sitting room. As they stopped to admire every antique bureau and original painting, this took longer than Anna expected.

‘Just like being at home,’ Lisa said complacently, ‘but the service is far better. Nothing’s too much trouble.’

Knowing the scale of Lisa’s demands, Anna couldn’t help but be impressed.

‘Cleo’s got a room down the hall, very handy if I need her,’ Lisa went on. ‘And Walter’s in the Beau Nash suite, named after the famous Regency fashionista, you know,
so
appropriate. Come on, I’ll show you.’

Anna followed her sister, wondering whether to point out that Lisa must be thinking of Beau Brummell, because Beau Nash pre-dated the Regency period by several decades. But she didn’t. And she could have added that Walter had better take note since, despite helping to make Bath the most fashionable resort in eighteenth-century England, Beau Nash had died in poverty as a result of his extravagances. But she didn’t. Lisa had never had much time for accuracy, historical or otherwise.

They returned to the entrance hall and crossed to the door opposite; when Lisa tried to open it, however, it was locked.

‘I’ve got Anna here, she’s dying to see your suite,’ she called out imperiously.

Muffled voices from inside. Then Cleo’s throaty laugh and Walter’s pompous tones, ‘It’ll have to be another time, I’m getting dressed. Meet you at the restaurant.’

Lisa gave a little shrug and moved away.

‘Don’t you think that’s weird?’ Anna said, as she and Lisa left The Pavilion and turned along the path to their right.

‘What – that he wants some privacy to get dressed?’ Lisa gave a languid wave to someone across the garden.

‘No – the fact that Cleo’s part of that privacy.’

A laugh of tinkling condescension. ‘You really don’t get it, do you? She’s his masseuse – naturally she sees him with no clothes on, but it doesn’t
mean
anything. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at your ignorance – the nearest you ever got to a massage was being flogged with birch twigs in that Russian bath house.’

They were at The Dower House and Lisa was about to step through the doorway, when Anna caught hold of her arm. ‘Listen, does Cleo lock the door when she gives
you
a massage?’

Lisa lowered her voice to a contemptuous hiss. ‘No need, I don’t care who comes in and sees me naked. But Walter’s a different generation, although I know it’s sometimes hard to believe.’ She shook off Anna’s hand, her face contorted with rage. ‘And for God’s sake don’t make a scene – remember where you are!’

A split second later, however, she composed her features in a serene mask and glided swan-like into another spacious entrance hall. She paused expectantly, and the waiters flocked. Anna’s coat was whisked away as if by magic, and she found herself swept into the main dining room in Lisa’s wake, ushered towards the conservatory area and seated at a table for five, opposite a rather unnerving expanse of mirror.

‘Not there!’ Lisa said, eyes narrowing. ‘She can go on the end, then the four of us will be in our usual places.’

Lisa must be referring to herself, Walter, Cleo and the ‘someone special’ – who, by the sound of it, was a frequent dining companion; obviously Lady Dalrymple, as she was staying in the same hotel. Anna exchanged a smile with the nearest waiter and moved to the chair at the end of the table.

While Lisa stood fidgeting with her mobile, Anna took the opportunity to look around. Classy furnishings in neutral tones of soft beige and olive green, white damask tablecloths, sparkling silver and crystal – it was a style of restaurant to which she was totally unaccustomed. Walter and Lisa, on the other hand, would feel completely at home – in fact, with its subdued lighting and that huge mirror overlooking the table, this place might have been designed for Walter.

Just then a man’s voice interrupted her thoughts – a voice she’d heard only a week ago but never expected to encounter here.

‘Lisa darling, you look sensational!’ She watched William Elliot-Dunne hold her sister close, saw his lips brush hers, intimate and teasing, for several seconds. Eventually, he seemed to recollect where he was and escorted her to one of the chairs under the mirror. Then, as if he sensed Anna’s stare, he turned and looked down at her, eyes wide in disbelief. ‘Anna! Nobody told me you’d be here.’

‘Same,’ she said tersely.

He lifted up her hand and she felt the heat of his lips on her skin. ‘You look even more beautiful than your mother,’ he murmured, so that only she could hear.

She blushed and shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly.’

As he pulled out the chair on Anna’s left, Lisa said sharply, ‘Not there, Bill darling, that’s for Cleo. You’re over here, beside me.’

Another kiss on the hand, a rueful grin – and he was off to sit next to Lisa, full of apologetic charm. When Walter and Cleo arrived, Anna found herself marooned as Lisa and Cleo monopolised the two men. Not that it mattered; their conversation might as well have been in Japanese, revolving as it did around fashion labels and beauty treatments and people she didn’t know.

But she learned a couple of things. First, she needn’t have worried that she was part of Lisa’s plans for three later as it became obvious that Lisa, Cleo and ‘Bill darling’ went out together most nights. And second, watching William Elliot-Dunne at work was like watching a puppet show: he was the master puppeteer, pulling everyone’s strings.

Except hers, of course.