Persuade Me (25 page)

Ben was still studying the plesiosaur. ‘Thanks,’ he said, taking the coffee from her. As she turned to go, he added, ‘By the way, I’ve spotted the deliberate mistake.’

She gave him a quizzical look. ‘You mean with the plesiosaur?’

‘That’s right.’ He lowered his voice. ‘The forelimbs and the hindlimbs are the wrong way round. Let’s ask the expert over there if he’s noticed anything.’

‘He seems absorbed in his notes, it would be a shame to disturb him.’

‘True. Maybe his talk isn’t as slick as he’d like.’ He sipped his coffee. ‘He said you’d heard it – what did you think?’

The question caught her by surprise. She heard herself say softly, ‘I loved it. I’d been expecting just a rehash of his book, but he made it much more personal. He spoke about monogamy – how rare it is under the sea, but how relevant it still is to the human race, despite the barriers of sexual liberation and increased longevity. So what if, for many of us, “a mate for life” is no longer possible? It’s believing in “a mate for the rest of your life” that matters.’

Ben chuckled. ‘Sounds like a good chat-up line.’

She gave a faint smile. ‘No, I think he really believes it.’

‘Oh, I’m sure he does. So does James, with Lou – and he certainly did before, with Julie.’ He pursed his lips. ‘That’s what I can’t understand – how could James switch his loyalties that soon?’

And Anna, recalling Rick getting together with Lou on that awful walk just after his break-up with Shelley, said more loudly than she’d intended, ‘Because men are realists. When the woman they love is no longer available, they move on.’ Out of the corner of her eye she saw Rick’s head lift, as though he was listening. She felt her face grow hot and turned away.

Ben was saying good-naturedly, ‘And women aren’t? What about the archetypal gold digger? You couldn’t get more of a realist than that.’

Another faint smile. ‘You’re right, of course. But that’s financial realism and, until comparatively recently, wasn’t it driven by the fact that most women weren’t financially independent?’ She watched him drink his coffee, enjoying the unexpected debate – but fully aware that it was the other man in the room who was shaping her thoughts. ‘I’m talking about a different sort of realism – emotional, for want of a better word. My theory is that a man needs the woman he loves to be part of his everyday life. If she can’t be, he finds someone who can.’

‘So women are more emotionally independent? Some men would take that one step further and call them heartless. Not me, of course, I’m far too happily married.’ Ben gave a shout of laughter. ‘In the natural world, though, the female of almost every species is deadlier than the male. And then there’s the literary world – where good old James can give you all the examples of heartless women you could ever wish for!’

All this time, Rick hadn’t made a sound. Now she heard him shuffle some papers, his seat creak slightly as he shifted about, coins clink as he felt in his jacket pocket. He must be locating a pen, she thought, to make a few changes to his talk.

She kept her voice low, anxious not to distract him. ‘Hardly surprising – has James ever read anything written by a woman? Whereas I have, of course, and I can retaliate with plenty of examples of heartless men! Yes, biology and literature have a lot to answer for.’ She hesitated, fumbling to give expression to something that she’d left unspoken for ten years. ‘It’s just that … oh, I know this is a sweeping generalisation … and, don’t worry, it doesn’t make us any happier, quite the reverse … but I think women are different from men because – because we can keep on loving someone who’s no longer part of our life.’

Ben nodded thoughtfully; before he could say anything in response, however, Amanda burst into the room.

‘Anna, can you come and help?’ she gasped, eyes wide with alarm. ‘There’s a horrible man downstairs, with a funny little woman, and he says they don’t need tickets for Rick’s talk because he’s Baron Lynch and she’s Lady Drimple. But I’ve never heard of them – have you?’

Chapter Fifty-Five

As Anna left the room, Rick put down his pen and stared after her. Was he doing the right thing? He shook his head impatiently; he was doing the only thing possible, and if this didn’t work–

‘Nearly done?’ Ben eased himself on to the chair next to Rick’s and finished his coffee in one gulp.

‘Just a couple more minutes.’ Rick placed his hand casually over the page; what he’d written was intended to be read by one person only – and it certainly wasn’t Ben. He added the last few lines, signed his name, slipped the page in with his other notes and dropped his pen back in his pocket. Then – deep breath – ‘Can you do me a favour?’

Ben grinned. ‘Only if you tell me what’s wrong with that plesiosaur.’

‘The forelimbs and the hindlimbs are the wrong way round,’ Rick said, without looking at the skeleton.

‘Those were my words exactly! Were you listening in on my conversation with Anna?’

Rick ignored the question and went on, ‘And there’s something else – the two forelimbs are identical copies of each other.’

Ben looked across the room for confirmation, then laughed. ‘OK, OK, you win! What’s the favour?’

‘Go and tell Anna that Baron Lynch and Lady Drimple can be my guests–’

‘So you know them?’ Ben put in. ‘I thought they must be a couple of characters from the local pantomime.’

‘You’re not far wrong.’ A grim smile. ‘Sit them at the speaker’s table – my publicist can’t make it tonight, so no one else will be sitting there apart from you and the bookshop guy. Just make sure they’re at the other end from me.’

‘And here’s me thinking you’re choosy about your guests,’ Ben grumbled. ‘Ah well, I’d better go and tell Anna the good news.’ With an exaggerated sigh, he got to his feet and went out of the room.

Once he was alone, Rick let his shoulders slump and his eyes close. ‘At least it’ll soon be over, one way or another,’ he muttered.

And he wasn’t referring to the talk.

For the third time, teeth clenched in exasperation, Anna said to her father, ‘If you haven’t got a ticket, there’s nothing I can do.’

‘Actually, we don’t
need
to go to his talk at all,’ Lady Dalrymple whined from the mangy embrace of an ancient fur coat. ‘Just call him down to have a little chat and sign my book, there’s a good gel.’ She waved her hand dismissively, enveloping them all in a heady waft of moth repellent.

It was the second time in as many weeks that someone had used this line to try and persuade Anna to do something. She was on the verge of saying, as she had with William, ‘But I’m not a good girl,’ when Ben appeared, grinning broadly.

‘Problem solved, I believe.’ He winked at Anna and Amanda, then turned to Walter and Lady Dalrymple. ‘Dr Wentworth would be delighted if you’d be his guests tonight. Would you like to follow me?’

Walter raised one of his perfectly arched – and no doubt painfully plucked – eyebrows in Anna’s direction. ‘As always, my name opens more doors than one could ever imagine,’ he said modestly. He trapped Lady Dalrymple’s furry arm in his and strutted off after Ben like a hunter parading his prize catch.

Amanda rolled her eyes. ‘Isn’t he ridiculous? Does Rick realise what he’s letting himself in for?’

‘Oh yes,’ Anna said quietly, ‘I think he does.’

The other girl gave her a curious look. ‘So they’re friends?’

‘Acquaintances. They met briefly when Rick was in Bath before – or so I heard.’ Anna bit her lip – too much information. Why let on that she knew either of these men any better than Amanda did?

Thankfully, Amanda was too busy glancing at her watch and gasping in dismay. ‘It’s nearly time for the talk! I
so
want to hear it again, do you mind if–’

Anna interrupted her with, ‘You go and get Rick out of Lonsdale and take him into Elwin. I’ll man the desk until seven-thirty – and for another fifteen minutes or so, in case there are any latecomers.’ An apologetic smile. ‘Oh, and I meant to put a carafe of water on the speaker’s table. Would you–?’

‘No probs. Thanks, Anna!’

Amanda hurried off, leaving Anna to reflect on a nightmare scenario – her father and Rick in the same room for almost an hour. Of course, Walter would be on his best behaviour in front of Lady Dalrymple, but that might be provocation enough.

A further thirty or so people to greet and direct to the Elwin room – then there was nothing left for her to do except lock the front door and make her way up the stairs. At the top, she hesitated. Better to go into Murch – where there’d be only twenty people staring at her – rather than the main room. She opened the door a little way, edged round it – and Rick’s presence hit her like a huge swamping wave. His voice, deep and dark as the November night, the words drowned out by the drumming in her ears … His hands, confident and charismatic, speaking a vivid language all of their own … His face–

She pressed her back against the wall and closed her eyes. She could still see him; was this how it would be when he’d gone – his face haunting her, just like last time?

Desperate for a distraction, she opened her eyes again and sucked in her breath. From here the speaker’s table was in full view. Lady Dalrymple sat at the far end, coat tethered safely to a nearby chair, gazing at Rick with rapt attention and hugging a copy of his book to her breast. Next to her, Walter seemed torn between admiring the backs of his hands and rather ostentatiously consulting his watch. Then came Ben – a man at ease with himself and the world, his face alight as if on the verge of laughter. Beside him, Tim from Molland’s was surveying the audience, no doubt enjoying the prospect of a good evening’s book sales.

Eyes back to Rick – and the realisation, ripping through her like an electric shock, that he was looking straight at her. She felt colour flood her cheeks; he hesitated, seemed to lose his train of thought for a moment, then switched his gaze away and continued with his talk. She listened, hearing only the rise and fall of his black-velvet voice, and the thought crashed into her mind like a stone through a window–

She would risk another ten years of regret to spend tonight with this man.

Time to wrap up and hand over to Jim – or was it Tim? – for a final few words, followed by prolonged applause from the audience. Rick gave a nod and a smile of acknowledgement, then turned and grabbed a copy of
Sex in the Sea
from the top of the pile behind him. Back at the lectern, as the applause started to die down, he rifled through his notes – found the page he wanted, slipped it in the front of the book and let out a long, controlled breath.

He cleared his throat and held up his hand for silence. ‘Before we move on to the book signing, I just wanted to say thank you to all the BRLSI volunteers who’ve turned out tonight at such short notice. And I’d like to give the person in charge, Anna Elliot, a small token of my appreciation. Is she here?’ He made a show of looking round until he reached the door of the ante-room. She was still there, thank God, but pink-cheeked and reluctant, coming forward only when the audience began clapping again.

He met her half-way, shook her hand and presented her with the book. ‘Just in case you haven’t got one already.’ He said it lightly but loudly; the audience laughed, and he made it an excuse to keep hold of her hand a little longer. His eyes burned into hers, willing her to see something much, much more in this apparently pointless gift of a second copy of his book.

She wouldn’t meet his gaze, however; as she murmured her thanks, her face – and probably only he could detect it – dimmed with disappointment. Then she pulled her hand back, turned and walked away. The book looked as though it might fall unheeded from her grasp, which wasn’t the plan at all …

A tug at his sleeve – Lady Dalrymple, thrusting a book at him and babbling about barnacles. Rick forced a smile, took it from her and retreated to the speaker’s table. This was reality – and for the moment he’d have to put his dream on hold. Except that he could do his best to get the signing over in record time, couldn’t he? So, starting with Lady Dalrymple, he sat signing book after book as quickly as possible, keeping conversation to a minimum; just as well Guy wasn’t here – he’d have had a fit.

After a while, however, he became aware of a little altercation at the other end of the table. Lady Dalrymple, now incarcerated in the most hideous and no doubt ridiculously expensive fur coat, was refusing to part with a paltry fifteen pounds for what his publishers described as ‘a quality hardback with fifty-six colour photos’.

‘It’s my own copy, I brought it with me!’ she shrilled at the blonde from Molland’s, while beside her Anna’s father spluttered, ‘Disgraceful!’ and, ‘Don’t you know who this is?’ every three seconds.

Pen poised to sign yet another fly page, Rick hesitated. Should he bail the mean old bag out, or let her be arrested for shoplifting?

And then he heard Anna’s voice, low and calm and soothing. ‘It’s all right, Amanda, I happen to know that Lady Dalrymple bought this some time ago.’ He watched in horror as she left her copy of
Sex in the Sea
on the table and took Lady Dalrymple’s, leafing quickly through it. She paused midway and pointed at something. ‘Look at those tea stains, she can’t have got those on it tonight, can she?’

Amanda gave a begrudging shake of her head, while Rick held his breath. One crisis averted – but what if Anna’s book ended up in the wrong hands? He had a sudden vision of Lady Dalrymple avidly reading its contents before bearing down on him like a giant furball.

Talking of which – oh shit, the ghastly woman had picked the book up and was about to open it. He leapt to his feet, muttered an apology to the people waiting in line and reached the other end of the table in two strides.

‘Lady Dalrymple,’ he began, rescuing the book none too gently from her clutches, ‘since you’re so interested in barnacles, could I send you an academic paper I’m writing on their settlement behaviour in different flow environments? I’d really appreciate your views.’

The distraction worked. She fluttered her eyelashes and instructed him to mail it to her at The Royal Crescent Hotel where, she assured him, she would be staying at least until Christmas. Then she swept triumphantly off, the 8th Baronet of Kellynch clinging to her arm like one of her beloved barnacles.

So far, so good. But when Rick handed the book back to Anna, she took it with even less enthusiasm than before. He said in an urgent whisper, ‘Read what’s inside!’ and she replied tersely, ‘I already have.’ A cold finger of fear snaked down his back until she added, ‘I bought a copy after your talk at Molland’s, remember?’

‘I don’t mean the book,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve written you a letter.’

Without another word, without even a glance, he returned to his seat and kept his eyes fixed firmly on the books he was signing. No way did he want to look up and second-guess her response from the expression on her face. He would know soon enough, and only then would he allow himself to think about the consequences.

‘I’ve written you a letter.’ That drumming in her ears again – and now a tight band round her chest, a dryness in her throat. A letter – for what? To profess his love, or assure her that he’d moved on?

She stumbled towards Lonsdale, driven by some masochistic impulse to collect her thoughts in the same place she’d suggested to him. As she entered the room, she instinctively glanced over at the plesiosaur – the 200-million-year-old sea dragon, as he’d called it. Life, preserved in plaster. Was it so different from her life – lived in all its fullness for such a short time, a starburst of feelings that she’d never experienced before or since, preserved in a handful of memories?

And now those feelings were about to be revived. Because, whatever the letter actually said, it would bring his voice into this room to talk about the past. And he knew only too well that she wouldn’t ignore it; after all, she’d never been able to resist the written word.

Was this a second chance or a final goodbye? She hesitated, then sat down exactly where he had been sitting. His coat still hung over the chair next to her, his umbrella lay where she’d left it. She put his book down on the table and opened it. A piece of paper stared up at her, the words dashing across the page in a bold, open scrawl that expressed the very essence of the man who’d written them.

Steeling herself, she let his voice into the room.

I once wrote you a letter and you never replied, which makes me wonder if you ever received it. This time it’s a more personal delivery – and I need a reply, even if it’s not the one I want.

I’m listening to you – I can hear every word, however softly you speak – and I’m half-agony, half-hope. You’re saying that men are realists – that, when the woman they love is no longer available, they move on. Well, believe me, I tried – and I thought I had. But seeing you again, after so many years, just proved how little I knew …

You told me to trust myself. So here I am back in Bath, putting everything on the line for a second chance with you. Is that what you want, too? Whatever your answer, remember this: I may not deserve you – when I think of how I’ve behaved, I know I’ve shown little self-control and even less forgiveness – but I’ve never stopped loving you.

You’re talking about heartless men … But I have a heart, and it’s the same one you almost broke ten years ago, and it belongs to you, and only you, even more than it did then. And yes, I’m a realist: if you no longer love me, I will accept it. But don’t say that only a woman can keep on loving someone who’s no longer part of her life! Because I will keep on loving you until there are no stars in the sky.

Tell me tonight how you feel. If there’s any chance of you loving me back, then I’ll wait for you as I should have waited before. If not, say the word and I’ll leave you in peace. But I’ll never forget you, or what we had, or what might have been.

Rick

She read the letter over and over, afraid she might have mistaken his meaning. Gradually, however, she fought off her daze of disbelief. As she closed the book and took it downstairs, she felt amazingly calm.

It must look, she thought, like any other copy of
Sex in the Sea
– yet it had just changed the course of two people’s lives.