Persuade Me (19 page)

‘I
will
think about it, but right now I need to prepare for my lectures tomorrow.’ She forced a smile. ‘Sorry, I know I’m being rude.’

He stood up, put on his coat and scarf and knocked back the last of his wine. Then he reached out and cupped her face in his hands. ‘No, you’re just being honest, very refreshing. And thank you for lunch – wonderful food and even better company. To show my appreciation, let me take you out to dinner on Friday night.’

She stepped quickly away. ‘I’m out with Jenny – a talk and a book signing at Molland’s.’

‘Which will be finished by quarter to eight, I saw the flyer on your notice board in the kitchen.’ He paused, as if considering something; then his face brightened. ‘Look, I’d love to meet Jenny and Tom – why don’t I take them out on Friday too? While you’re at the signing, I could pick up Tom – he must have a folding wheelchair that’ll fit in the Bentley – then come to Molland’s for you and Jenny.’ He moved towards the door. ‘Shall we call on them now and see what they say?’

She found it so easy to say yes, put the door on the snib and go downstairs to introduce him to Jenny and Tom. For a start, it got him out of her flat. And she felt much more relaxed about dinner for four than dinner for two. And finally, it would fill a void – because there was no chance of spending the rest of Friday evening with Rick; no chance at all.

Chapter Forty-One

When Rick turned up at Frenchay Hospital in Bristol on Thursday afternoon, he was surprised to find Roger waiting for him in Reception.

‘Something you need to know,’ Roger said gruffly, ‘and Lou’s not in a fit state to tell you herself.’

Rick swallowed. ‘What’s happened? Has she had a relapse?’

‘Good God, no – sorry, I should have chosen my words more carefully.’ Roger passed his hand wearily across his forehead. ‘She may just be going through a phase, part of the recovery process, but …’

‘But what?’

The other man sighed. ‘She doesn’t want you to visit any more.’

Silence; then a guarded, ‘Why?’

‘It upsets her, reminds her of the accident, that sort of thing.’

‘Is that all?’

Roger frowned. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

‘What I mean is – is there another reason?’ He paused. ‘Like James Benwick?’

‘Ah, so you know.’ A relieved smile. ‘That makes things easier.’

Even though it was what Rick had expected, even hoped, something flipped in his brain. Easier? Who for? He’d been through twelve days of hell – guilt, remorse, worry, frustration; sleepless nights, agonising waits, dreading each call on his mobile in case it was Roger or Barbara with bad news. Fending off people’s comments at events – usually sympathetic, but not always; giving any media reports a wide berth, to avoid raising his blood pressure.

And now his services were no longer required. What if he’d actually been in love with Lou – did they have
any
idea how he’d be feeling now?

He took a long steadying breath. The main person to consider in all this was Lou. She’d been through more than any of them, and she was going to be all right.

‘It does make things easier, doesn’t it?’ he said at last. ‘Still, now that I’m here, can I see her for a minute?’

He followed Roger into the lift, up a couple of floors, along a corridor and, finally, into a little room where Lou was sitting in an armchair, looking through a sheaf of papers. He sat on the chair next to her, while Roger hovered in the doorway.

‘Hi,’ he said. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Good, thanks.’ Her speech was still slow, but he noticed that her mouth was less lopsided than on Sunday. ‘This is much nearer for Mum and Dad, and Henrietta comes every evening.’ A pause. ‘Yesterday she brought Anna and Mona with her – I’d forgotten how awful Mona is.’ She smiled, and for a second or two she was the old Lou. ‘James sent me some beautiful poems this morning. Do you want to read them?’

‘No, but I’m glad you like them.’

She stared across at him and her eyes filled with tears. ‘I wish you’d written me a poem or something.’

He shifted uneasily in his seat. ‘I’m not a poetry sort of guy.’

‘What sort of a guy are you, Rick?’

That was a very good question, and one he didn’t know how to answer at this precise moment. So he merely said, with an apologetic grin, ‘Not the right sort for you, but I hope James is. Goodbye, Lou.’ And he raised her hand briefly to his lips.

A few minutes later he walked out of Frenchay Hospital, his step far lighter than when he’d walked in.

Chapter Forty-Two

Mona’s text came late on Thursday evening, just as Anna was getting ready for bed: ‘Know why you haven’t heard from James B? Ring me.’

Anna almost didn’t bother; she’d never expected James to call her, and she sensed that Mona was just looking to score points. But any news about James might also involve Lou, and Rick. So, with great reluctance, she phoned Mona.

‘Thought you wouldn’t be able to resist!’ her sister said, triumphantly. ‘But first things first. Henrietta and I are coming to Bath for the weekend – we’re trying to get into The Royal Crescent, but it doesn’t look too hopeful. You won’t see much of us, I’m afraid – I’ve told Walter we can’t make tea with Lady Dalrymple.’

‘Lucky you.’ The previous day, Anna had come home to a handwritten invitation – hand-delivered, she suspected, by the ever-attentive William. It requested the pleasure of her company in the Garden Villa Suite at The Royal Crescent on Saturday afternoon, followed by the theatre at night. Lady Dalrymple had apparently taken three boxes containing eight seats: herself, the four Elliots, Henrietta, William and Cleo. If it hadn’t been Chekhov’s
Three Sisters
, she would have given it a miss …

‘… at the theatre, though,’ Mona was saying, ‘because we’ll be
very
visible – always a reason to buy a decent dress – and of course I want to meet William. The rest of the time Henrietta and I’ll be either at the shops or in the spa – I can’t wait!’

Anna made what she hoped were enthusiastic noises. She knew better than to ask about James directly – Mona would use delaying tactics to great effect – so she moved the conversation on to marginally safer ground. ‘How did Ollie’s concert go last night?’

‘Oh, it was bearable, I suppose.
He
should have done the solo, of course – that teacher doesn’t seem to realise who I am! Instead it was the son of one of the school governors, very average – and you should have
seen
what the mother was wearing!’

As Mona paused for breath, Anna said, ‘I’m sure Ollie will have his chance, if he wants it.’ Then, before Mona could retaliate, ‘What’s the latest on Lou?’

‘Ah.’ Anna could almost hear her sister settling herself more comfortably. ‘That’s partly why I’m bringing Henrietta to Bath. I’ve been telling Charles right from the start that Rick and Lou would never last – and today’s just proved it.’ She took a gulp of something – wine, no doubt – and continued, ‘You know James Benwick’s been visiting, and on Sunday Rick bumped into him? Well, that seems to have made Lou’s mind up and she told him today that she didn’t want him to visit any more.’

‘Who – James?’

‘No, you idiot, Rick. And now Barbara says Lou and James are madly in love and he’s written more poetry in the past week than he did in the twelve years he was with Julie. Having read one or two of the latest efforts on his website, all I can say is – no wonder she left him.’

‘How – how is Rick?’

A scornful laugh. ‘Bloody relieved, I imagine. But you’re at his book signing tomorrow night, aren’t you? You can find out for yourself.’

Anna closed her eyes; she wouldn’t be doing anything where Rick was concerned until she was sure … ‘But is it really over – or is Lou just playing hard to get?’

‘That’d be a first, wouldn’t it? No, it’s over, Roger was there when Rick said goodbye to her. He said himself that he wasn’t the right man for her.’ Mona added, in that bossy tone that Anna knew so well, ‘So, you find out the lie of the land with him, then I can decide the best approach for Henrietta. Maybe a cosy little lunch on Sunday where they can help each other de-stress after the trauma of the last two weeks – I don’t suppose you can recommend anywhere nice and romantic? No, probably not.’

Anna bit her lip; couldn’t Mona see that her interfering would do more harm than good? ‘But I don’t think he’ll stay in Bath after the signing, he’s more likely to go straight to Uppercross and spend some time with his sister.’

‘Oh, didn’t you know? The Crofts are coming to Bath for the weekend – Rick’s treat for their wedding anniversary or something – so they’re meeting up with him there.’

Anna sat through the rest of the call in a daze. So much to think about: such as why on earth Lou would want James instead of Rick … and whether she could believe Mona’s assurances that Rick was OK …

But, most important of all, how he’d react when she came face to face with him tomorrow night.

Chapter Forty-Three

Typical – at half-past six, just as Dave dropped Rick at the top of Milsom Street, it started to rain. But he brushed aside Dave’s offer to pick him up later and insisted he had the night off. He wanted to give his plan every chance of succeeding.

An umbrella would come in handy, and it seemed that luck was on his side; because, as he walked down the street to Molland’s, he passed a shoe shop. Like most shops these days, it had diversified into other things; five minutes later, he’d bought a telescopic black umbrella – which he immediately put to good use. Outside the bookshop, however, he wasted several minutes trying to fold it neatly enough to fit inside its silly little sleeve. In the end he gave up and stuffed the sleeve into his coat pocket.

Inside, a tall blonde girl – he didn’t quite catch her name – ushered him up a narrow twisting staircase to the top floor. There were already twenty or so people there; no Anna yet. He gave the audience a vague smile, handed his damp coat to the blonde and propped his umbrella against a nearby table. The girl made him a cup of excellent black coffee and went through the format: introduction by the shop manager, talk from Rick for twenty minutes or so, then signing the books – she indicated the table piled high with copies of
Sex in the Sea
.

He nodded and responded with ‘Yes’ and ‘Fine’, watching every new arrival out of the corner of his eye. All women, but no Anna among them. Maybe she hadn’t got a ticket at all; or maybe she’d torn it up after he’d stormed out of her flat. Shit, he’d been so confident she’d come tonight, in spite of everything.

Three minutes to seven, and there were only two seats spare at the back. The manager approached, cleared his throat, introduced himself as Tim – or was it Jim? Just then, two women hurried in; one a stranger with short red spiky hair, and the other – the other more familiar than his own heartbeat.

At last she was here and, even though she wouldn’t meet his gaze, he felt his spirits soar. Now he could put his plan into action.

‘If he keeps on staring in our direction,’ Jenny murmured beside her, ‘I think I might faint – in the hope that he’ll rush over and give me the kiss of life.’

Anna risked glancing up; but now Rick’s attention was on the manager as he introduced the event. She had to admit that he looked a lot better than when she’d last seen him, pacing the floor of her flat; if he was distraught at being dumped for the second time in almost as many weeks, it certainly didn’t show … And he must have got caught in the rain because his hair was curling at the ends, as it used to if he’d been swimming. When he started his talk, he took off his jacket and she worried that he was feeling feverish; although it
was
warm – there weren’t usually so many people crammed into this room … But no one else seemed to share her concern. When he eased open the top two buttons of his shirt, a little expectant sigh rippled through the audience – making him stop short, with an embarrassed smile. So if he wasn’t feverish he was certainly nervous; and yet giving lectures and talks must be second nature to him, as it was to her.

She made an effort to rein in her thoughts and listen. He was talking about the French angel fish, something about it being fiercely territorial during the spawning cycle. Then he moved on to describe – in graphic detail, much to the audience’s delight – the antics of the deep sea angler fish: how the male tracked his chosen mate and literally joined himself to her, their skin fusing and their bodies sharing a common blood supply. Not surprisingly, he talked at length about sea horses and sea dragons, their courtship and mating rituals, and the strange role reversal where the male looked after the fertilised eggs: the sea dragon carried them embedded on his tail, the sea horse in a special pouch on the front of his abdomen. An impromptu demonstration – involving his jacket and some plastic balls left over from a children’s event – went down particularly well.

Finally he paused, glanced at his watch and adopted a summing-up tone. ‘The species I’ve talked about tonight are all mentioned in my book. And they’ve got something else in common that’s very unusual under the sea – they practise monogamy.’ Another embarrassed smile. ‘Monogamy’s an interesting concept for people today, isn’t it? In the past, it was synonymous with “a mate for life” – which is becoming increasingly rare in our society, with its liberated attitudes to sex and marriage and, of course, increased life expectancy. And yet …’ He hesitated, as though searching for the right words, then gazed into the distance and said, ‘I don’t know about you, but monogamy’s something that I’m used to defining in purely physical terms, probably because I’m a biologist. One sexual partner at a time, that sort of thing.’ Another pause, while he studied the floor. ‘Recently, though, I’ve begun to realise that it can be much, much more. And so, for what it’s worth, my personal message to you –’ a fleeting look around the room, before he fixed his gaze on something in the distance again – ‘is that, as humans, we must never give up hope. “A mate for life” needn’t be a limiting biological fact, an impossible dream because of how we’ve behaved in the past. Why not redefine it as “a mate for the rest of your life” and keep the dream alive? That’s what I’m telling myself tonight – it’s never too late to have a second chance to live my dream.’

The blood drained from Anna’s face. She stared at him and – along with every other woman in the room, it seemed – held her breath for his next words. When he spoke, however, it was just to mutter, ‘Thank you, thank you for listening.’ The audience breathed a collective ‘aahh’ – adoration, Anna wondered, or disappointment at the lack of any further confessions? Then the applause started. It didn’t last long, because one or two women broke ranks and soon there was a disorderly queue clamouring for him to sign books.

Anna’s heart was pounding as she took her place at the end of the line and responded automatically to Jenny’s chatter. Never mind if half the audience were within hearing distance – she would ask Rick what his dream was, and hope for the answer she wanted.

When it came to the crunch, Rick couldn’t bring himself to say what he’d planned – not in front of all these people. It was for her ears only, just as he needed to keep private the elation or despair that would follow.

And now the book signing was taking ages, because everyone wanted to chat. That was the trouble with revealing your personal thoughts – people felt they had to reciprocate. So he had potentially thirty life histories to contend with, when there was only one that interested him. But he would be patient and wait …

Eventually it was the turn of her redheaded friend. She thrust a book at him, pushed a pair of glasses on to her nose and said eagerly, ‘Wonderful talk, you had us eating out of the palm of your hand, especially at the end. Mind, you could have read extracts from the phone book and it would probably have had the same effect!’ He found himself laughing with her. ‘My name’s Jenny Smith,’ she went on. ‘I’m here with Anna – you know Anna Elliot, don’t you?’

He nodded, wondering how much Anna had told her.

Not a lot, judging by the way she got straight down to business. ‘If you can sign it “To Jenny and Tom”, that’ll be great.’ A deep sigh. ‘I wish I could believe in second chances, you know. But Tom – that’s my husband – was paralysed in a car accident five years ago and, well, it’s hard to keep hoping that he’ll walk again.’ She blinked rapidly, took the book with a trembling smile and moved away.

Great. Here he was, trotting out platitudes about hope and second chances – and there was Jenny, coping day after day with a person whose life had been shattered. He felt such a fraud …

There was only one person left in the queue, and it was the one person he’d been waiting for. And the way she was looking into his eyes made him want to just grab her across the table and kiss away the need for any words at all. And the longer she stood there staring at him, the more certain he was that in five minutes or so, when they were out of here, he’d be doing exactly that …

As if she could read his thoughts, she blushed, looked down and fidgeted with the book she’d bought; his book, in those small, delicate hands. ‘I wanted to ask you about your talk,’ she said at last, and she sounded strangely, wonderfully breathless. ‘It – it wasn’t at all what I expected.’

He said in a low voice, so only she could hear, ‘I remember you saying that about something quite different.’

She blushed more deeply and didn’t reply; gently, he took the book out of her hands and placed it on the table. That had the desired result and she looked up at him again; but her eyes were watchful.

‘Tell you what,’ he said, boldly, ‘how about you save the interrogation until I walk you home?’ He reached under the table for the umbrella. ‘Don’t worry about the rain, I’ve come prepared. This should keep us both dry, provided we stay close.’

She seemed to be trying not to laugh. He glanced down at the umbrella; huh, so much for his attempt at being romantic – the thing looked like a deranged crow.

‘Here.’ She took it from him, gave it a brisk shake and secured the flapping wings with a little belt that he hadn’t even noticed. As she handed it back, he caught her fingers in his and felt desire spiral through him.

He took a deep breath and blanked out everyone else. ‘Anna, I–’

But then a man’s voice cut in with ‘Sorry I’m late, darling!’ A self-satisfied voice, horribly familiar, just as intrusive as it had been at Lyme; and that same smug face, leaning in close. ‘Had to show Cleo how to work the TV in her room
again
. Honestly, at times she’s as thick as two short planks.’

Anna started, as if waking from a trance. The umbrella, suddenly redundant, clattered on to the table. And Rick knew that he had more chance of walking on the moon than walking her home.

The man tugged at her arm. ‘We have to find Jenny. Tom’s waiting in the car outside, and our table’s booked for eight, remember?’ He picked up the copy of
Sex in the Sea
. ‘Signed and paid for? Right, let’s go!’

‘No, William, wait.’ She wrenched the book from him and held it out to Rick. ‘Please sign my book. Write whatever you were going to say. Please, Rick.’

The expression in her eyes was so soft and pleading that he almost believed her; but of course he was a fool – a naïve fool who talked about dreams and second chances as if they really existed! He opened the book at the title page, gripped the pen between index finger and thumb and signed two words with an aggressive flourish – ‘Rick Wentworth’. Nothing more, nothing less.

He didn’t wait for the ink to dry, just closed the book with a snap. Then he snatched up his umbrella and jacket and marched off to find his coat.