The Mistress of His Manor (4 page)

‘Enjoy your meal,’ he said, and retreated to his post to keep an expert eye on the crowded room.

‘That packed quite a punch,’ remarked March, eying the empty glass with respect. ‘A hint of vodka?’

Jo nodded. ‘And a pinch of cayenne—maybe even chilli.’

‘Augurs well for the rest of the meal.’ March raised his champagne glass in toast. ‘What shall we drink to?’

‘Friendship,’ she said firmly.

He smiled and touched his glass to hers.
‘Close
friendship.’

To Jo’s relief the meal was everything she had hoped for. When Molly joined them at the end of it, bearing
petit fours
to accompany their coffee, March rose to thank her for the champagne, and said, with complete sincerity, that the only meal he’d enjoyed as much in recent memory had been Joanna’s Beef Wellington.

‘Why, thank you,’ said Molly, her face flushed with pleasure. ‘I taught her well, didn’t I?’

Molly stayed chatting for a while, then left to talk with the other diners on her way back to her domain.

‘You see now why I refused pudding,’ said Joanna, eyeing the selection of
petits fours.

‘She’s quite a surprise,’ said March, watching Molly’s progress.

‘Because she’s small and blonde?’

‘No, because she’s so young.’

‘Molly must be thirty-three or so now. But she’s always had tunnel vision about owning her own restaurant.’ Joanna smiled. ‘Her success was never in doubt, according to Jack.’

‘He was right. Is a full house the norm here for a Saturday night?’

‘It’s the norm most nights—and Christmas is frantic. Molly does a sideline in seasonal corporate parties and so on, but she would never let me help out at those.’ Jo pulled a face. ‘She kept me firmly in the kitchen, so I refined my cooking skills instead of getting my bottom pinched. Though things rarely get out of hand. Molly’s a terror if anyone hits on one of her girls—or boys, if it comes to that.’

March smiled. ‘And what role does Angelo play?’

‘Peace-keeper. He’s the arch-soother of ruffled feathers—including hers. And don’t be fooled by the movie star looks. He’s got a great head for business, plus an encyclopaedic knowledge of wine. He’s also her partner in private.’

“And that works?’

‘Like a charm. Even Molly admits he’s the one person who can handle her.’

March glanced over to the bar, where Angelo was laughing with some departing customers. ‘You’re right about the looks.’

‘He’s also really loving and funny. They suit each other.’ Jo smiled at him. ‘Shall we have more coffee at home?’

March rose with alacrity. ‘I’ll just settle up.’

As she chatted to Angelo, Jo couldn’t help noticing that March paid the not inconsiderable amount, including a sizeable
tip for the staff, in cash, instead of the usual credit card. Not that she would spoil things by mentioning it.

On the way home she couldn’t help wondering if he meant to seize her the moment they were through her door, demanding balm for the wound she’d dealt to his pride earlier. But March merely took her key to unlock her door, then followed her to the kitchen to watch while she made coffee.

‘That was a superb meal,’ he commented. ‘Your friend Molly’s right up there with the best in chef terms. And yet you say she worked for your father before she struck out on her own?’

‘Yes. Jack took her on straight out of catering college. She says she honed her skills on him.’

March hefted the tray to follow her to the parlour, but before he could start doing sums about Molly and her father Jo preempted him with a question of her own.

‘Do you have any siblings, March?’

He took the coffee she offered him and sat down. ‘One sister a couple of years my junior, married to a film producer, and a brother several years younger,’ he added, sobering.

‘Is he a gardener, too?’

‘No.’

Jo waited, but when he said nothing more she drank her coffee in silence, trying not to feel offended.

‘He was in a car accident when he was in college,’ said March at last.

‘Was he badly hurt?’

‘Severe concussion, broken jaw and a mangled leg. The driver got off with a few cuts and bruises, loss of licence and a charge of dangerous driving. He was lucky to get away with a heavy fine instead of a custodial sentence.’

Jo eyed him with compassion. ‘That must have been terrible for you.’

‘I don’t want another phone call like the one I received that night,’ he agreed fervently. ‘When my father and I got to the
hospital my brother was delirious, muttering wildly about some friend through the metal clamp holding his jaw together. The driver had been sedated, so I couldn’t check with him, but the police assured me that no one else had been in the car. By the time he was better Rufus had no recall of the accident at all, so I didn’t bring the subject up again.’

‘What happened afterwards?’ asked Jo, her heart thumping.

‘Rufus had been doing a Fine Art course, so the neurologist encouraged him to paint as therapy. It worked. When he was well enough my sister took him off to Italy to convalesce, and Rufus decided to resume his studies there instead of returning to Oxford. He’s very talented. But for him that entire night, the events that led up to it, and most of his stay in hospital still remain a complete blank.’ March thrust a hand through his hair, frowning as he saw the look on her face. ‘I’m sorry, Joanna. I didn’t mean to put a damper on our evening.’

‘Did you search for this friend you mentioned? Do you think he was to blame?’

‘No. I simply thought if I could set Rufus’ mind at rest about the friend it would help him recover.’

She braced herself. ‘What was the name he kept repeating?’

‘Joe Logan.’

Although she’d known, deep down, what his answer would be, the words struck her like a blow to the heart.

March eyed her with concern. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m afraid that’s me.’ She met his eyes bravely. ‘I’m Jo Logan.’

‘
What
?’ March stared blankly.

‘I’m Jo Logan,’ she repeated unhappily.

‘You said your name was Sutton!’

‘No, I didn’t. You saw that in my school book. Sutton was the name of my adoptive parents. When I was thirteen they died, and I came to live with Kate. When she married Jack Logan I took his name.’

March’s eyes suddenly hardened. ‘So you knew Charles Peel, the driver?’

Jo nodded miserably. ‘Oh, yes, I knew Charlie. He was my boyfriend at the time. I was supposed to be in the car that night, too, but I wouldn’t set foot in it because Charlie was well over the limit. As usual. I did everything I could to make him see sense, even fought him physically for the keys, but we had such a blazing row he pushed me away and roared off in a rage to pick up a friend. I knew his friend as Red…’ Jo halted, biting her lip.

‘T
HAT
was the name my brother went by at Oxford.’ March shook his head as though to clear it. ‘You, of all people, are Jo Logan? My God! It never occurred to me that the missing link was a girl.’ He took in a deep breath, his eyes suddenly arctic. ‘After the accident I went to see the driver. But Charles Peel categorically denied knowing any man called Joe Logan—which was true, of course. You are not a man.’

‘I don’t blame you for feeling angry,’ she said unhappily.

‘I’m not angry, exactly. I just wish it hadn’t been you,’ he said harshly. ‘In the end the police decided not to press charges, and young Peel was utterly frantic with anxiety about my brother, and so desperately guilt-ridden and penitent we felt he’d been punished enough.’

Jo smiled cynically. ‘Charlie always did really great penitence.’

March frowned as he resumed his place on the sofa. ‘That’s very cold.’

‘I speak from experience.’ She gave a mirthless little laugh. ‘If you’d tracked me down I would have given you a rather different take on the accident. I wondered why Charlie asked if anyone had been in touch with me. He tried to convince me that he’d turned over a new leaf. He even cried and swore he was on the wagon for keeps. But he’d done the dramatic penitent act before, so I didn’t believe him.’ Jo took in a deep breath. ‘I
haunted the hospital for a while, for information on how Red—your brother—was doing. I knew I couldn’t get in to see him, but one of the girls on my staircase in college had a relation in Admissions there, who made enquiries for me and reported back. I was desperate to go home, but there was no way I could leave Oxford until I knew Red had been discharged.’ She paused to look at March. ‘Though I have no idea why he was muttering my name. I didn’t know him very well. We weren’t even in the same college.’

He shrugged. ‘He seemed convinced you’d been in the car and injured, even killed. I suppose I should have asked later, but I was so damned relieved when he started getting better I couldn’t risk prodding his memory into life in case it put him back to square one. And of course
I
knew there’d been no one else in the car.’

She shivered. ‘I suffered agonies of guilt afterwards because I’d failed to get Charlie’s keys away from him,’

‘Were you in love with him?’ asked March, surprising her.

Jo thought it over. ‘It’s hard to believe now,’ she said wearily, ‘but I thought I was at the time.’ Her mouth turned down. ‘I was straight out of a girls’ school. Charlie was quite a bit older. If you met him you know he was rather good-looking. My head was turned when he singled me out. At first I thought his drinking was the usual student stuff, but it soon became obvious that Charlie was well on the way to becoming an alcoholic.’

‘Were you lovers?’

Jo flushed. ‘Not a word I would use. We did sleep together once or twice, but it was the first time for me and not—not very successful. All my fault, according to Charlie.’

March mouth tightened. ‘The idiot’s drink problem was to blame, not you. What happened to him afterwards?’

‘I refused to return his calls after the accident, so he wrote to me eventually, saying he’d dried out in some clinic. He was starting work at Peel Plastics, a small company owned by his
father. Charlie loathed the idea, but knew he had no hope of graduating after what had happened.’ Jo’s eyes dulled. ‘Neither had I. He’d put an end to all possibility of that for me as well as himself.’

‘And you wanted to graduate?’

‘Of course I did! It was what I’d worked so hard for at school, and Jack and Kate were so proud when I got to Oxford.’ Her mouth twisted in disgust. ‘But I blew the whole thing. Someone made of sterner stuff than me would have stopped blaming Charlie, I suppose, and knuckled down to get a degree. But the whole Oxford experience was ruined for me—academically and every other way.’

March nodded slowly. ‘It’s dawned on me at last why you looked familiar the first time I spotted you. I must have seen you outside the hospital.’

‘Very probably. I was there often enough.’

He frowned. ‘When I referred to you as Miss Sutton, why the hell didn’t you put me right there and then?’

Jo’s colour rose. ‘I had my reasons.’

He was silent for a while, eyeing her closely. ‘Your name is Logan and your father is Jack. Would he, by any chance, be the moving force behind Logan Development?’

Her chin lifted. ‘Yes.’

‘Ah. Not just a builder, but a well-known developer and conservationist.’

‘Yes.’

His eyes speared hers. ‘You obviously didn’t want me to know that your father is a wealthy man.’

Jo flushed guiltily. ‘Do you blame me? It was my main attraction for Charlie. And for some of the male students on my business course.’

March eyed her in a silence that grew so prolonged and unbearable Jo was ready to scream by the time he broke it. ‘So you were afraid a mere jobbing gardener like myself might also
get ideas about the little rich girl?’ he drawled, the words like shards of ice. He got to his feet, looking down his nose at her with such hostility she shrivelled inside. ‘We haven’t known each other long, but in my supreme vanity I thought you might have trusted me more than that. Have no fear. I’m not interested in your father’s wealth—nor in you any more, if that’s what you think of me,’ he added bitterly. ‘Goodbye.’

Goodbye? Jo listened in numb disbelief as March walked out of the room and out of the house. At the growl of his car engine, mortified colour rose in her face. So that was that, then. Finding out that she was Jo Logan had damped down March Aubrey’s ardour pretty sharply. And, to top that, her reason for keeping her wealthy background secret had enraged him so much he had transformed into an implacable, arrogant stranger right before her eyes.

Jo got up early next morning, feeling like death warmed up. Her bathroom mirror confirmed that she looked like it. After a shower followed by hot coffee there was slight improvement, but Sunday lunch at Mill House was a prospect she just couldn’t face for once.

‘I’ve got the sniffles, Kate,’ she fibbed. ‘So I won’t come round for lunch. A cold is the last thing you need right now.’

‘Oh, darling, what bad luck. How did it go last night?’

‘Very well,’ lied Jo. ‘My date was impressed. Molly was on top form.’

‘Good. But I hate to think of you alone and sneezing today,’ said Kate, sounding worried.

‘I’m not that bad. In fact I might take my germs on a drive to Arnborough Hall again, and take in what I missed last time.’

‘And catch up with your hot gardener while you’re at it?’

When she reached the garden centre Jo wandered around the various displays of alpines and winter-flowering plants, had a
look at the rose bushes and beautiful pot plants on sale, and wondered where the grafting house was. Not that she could imagine barging into it if she found out. If she met March by accident, fine. But even if she did he might look down his nose in that daunting way of his and tell her to get lost. The mere thought sent Jo hurrying from the garden centre to pay for another look round Arnborough Hall, where she found the same woman on duty in the Great Hall.

‘Ah, hello again,’ said the steward, smiling. ‘You’re back to see what you missed last time!’

Jo nodded. ‘As you see, I came early today.’

‘I’m afraid you’ve just missed a tour again, so you can either wait for the next in an hour, or go it alone.’

Jo had no interest in a tour. She went straight to the long gallery and the Victorian portraits, for a second look at the strangely familiar Baron. He’d been painted in formal evening dress, his red-gold hair and side whiskers luxuriant. The feeling of familiarity grew stronger as she went on to the teenage sons flanking him in smaller frames. Her eyes narrowed ominously as the penny finally dropped. She hadn’t known Red very well, because Charlie had kept them apart from each other as much as possible. But she remembered him well enough to see that he was a dead ringer for the younger of the two haughty young men in the portraits.

Jo’s heart sank as she faced the truth. If Red—Rufus—was in some way connected with the family, then obviously so was March. Though he looked nothing like these fair Anglo-Saxons. Maybe he was a half-brother, or illegitimate or something. Which would explain his job. Then her heart literally stopped for a moment in front a modern portrait of a beautiful young woman in formal evening dress, with a diamond tiara in her black hair and a smile in her very familiar eyes.

Jo turned as a voice spoke behind her.

‘Lady Arnborough was the mother of the present Baron,’ a steward told her.

‘Really?’ She cleared her throat. ‘How interesting. Is there a portrait of her son anywhere?’

‘Not as such. There are only photographic studies of the present generation.’ The man ushered her towards an alcove, then left her to study the display at her leisure.

A formal posed wedding photograph of Lord and Lady Arnborough took pride of place above a trio of camera portraits taken when each of the subjects was eighteen, according to the captions. First the Honourable March Aubrey Clement, the heir, image of his mother. Then came the Honourable Henrietta Frances Clement, to the left below him, her features cast in the same mould, and alongside her the Honourable Rufus Randall Clement, with the fair colouring and features of his father, though with more sensitivity in his face than his handsome, forceful sire. Below the formal portraits a series of informal snapshots showed the Clement youngsters playing tennis, cricket, riding, picnicking, painting—and, in the heir’s case, gardening.

Jo stood rooted to the spot as angry humiliation was swamped by a wave of bitter disappointment. She could have fallen in love with her hot gardener, but no chance of that with the high and mighty Lord Arnborough. She managed to thank the steward, then hurried downstairs and out through the vestibule, thankful that the friendly woman at the door to the Great Hall was too busy to notice as she escaped. Jo stormed along the paths between the lawns, and once through the gatehouse took to her heels. She sprinted down the winding road and on past the Arnborough Arms as though the devil were after her. But her long, headlong flight failed to shake off the resentment and embarrassment boiling away inside her. To think that March had actually had the gall to be annoyed because she’d kept her real name from him. What a laugh! Lord Arnborough, it appeared, had fancied a spot of incognito dalliance with one of the lower classes.

Jo forced herself to wait long enough to calm down before
beginning the drive home. No point in following Charlie Peel’s example. But unlike him she was cold sober. Well, not cold, more like red hot. But sober. After an interval of deep breathing exercises she was about to get in the car when her phone rang. And she did go cold when she saw the caller.

‘Grandpa?’

‘Jack’s taken Kate to the hospital, darling. I’m taking care of Kitty. Are you at home?’

‘No. I’m at Arnborough Hall, but I’m starting back right now. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.’

‘Good, but don’t rush. Drive carefully. Kitty’s fine.’

‘I’m on my way.’

It was a nightmare drive. Heavy rain added to Jo’s stress factor after a mile or two, forcing her to drive carefully instead of rushing back to Mill House at top speed. The baby was three weeks early. Oh, God, she prayed, please take care of Kate. And the baby.

The rain had stopped by the time she turned down the long drive to Mill House. Kitty shot out to meet her, with Grandpa in pursuit.

‘Jo—Jo,’ cried the child as Jo leapt from the car. ‘Mummy’s gone to buy the baby.’

Jo’s angst towards March was suddenly irrelevant. ‘How very exciting,’ she said, and picked the little girl up to hug her. ‘And how are you, Grandpa?’

Tom smiled manfully. ‘Fine, but since Jack went in the ambulance with Kate—’

‘Ambulance?’ Jo followed him into the hall and set Kitty down.

‘Jack rang for one, afraid Kate might need attention on the journey. But now you’re here can you cope if I go to the hospital and give Jack a lift home?’ he asked anxiously.

‘Yes, of course.’ Jo’s empty stomach tightened. ‘What shall we do, Kitty-cat?’

‘Draw pictures.’

‘Right. Off you go then, Grandpa.’ Jo smiled at him lovingly. ‘Keep me posted.’

‘I’ll report as soon as I get there,’ he promised.

The afternoon was the longest of Jo’s life. Her grandfather rang as promised, to say that things were proceeding normally and he was staying on at the hospital as moral support for Jack.

‘How is he?’

‘In a bit of a state! By the way, Kate asked me to ring Anna. Can you do that?’

‘Yes, of course. But ring me again soon.’

Kitty eventually got bored with drawing, and asked to see one of her cartoon films. Anything but
Bambi,
thought Jo with a shudder. Once the child was settled, she went to Jack’s study to ring Kate’s closest friend, Anna Maitland. She promised to ring again the moment there was any news, then went back to the kitchen and took Kitty on her lap to snuggle down together in the big armchair kept there for the purpose. When the film ended Kitty’s lip trembled as she turned tearful eyes on her sister.

‘I wish Mummy was here.’

So did Jo. ‘I know, pet. But you’ll have to make do with me instead tonight.’

Tom rang soon afterwards, to say things were proceeding as before, and that Jack had left the labour ward long enough to swallow some coffee before rushing back to Kate. ‘I’ll ring you again soon,’ Tom promised.

Jo enlisted Kitty’s help to make supper, then sat with the child as she ate, trying to console herself with the reminder that Kate had done this twice before. But the thought of her mother in agonising labour was unbearable. If this is the end result, thought Jo in anguish, no consuming passion for me.

Afterwards, it took a lot of cajoling from Jo to get Kitty into a bath and put her to bed.

‘Want Mummy,’ wailed the child piteously as Jo sat on the bed with her.

‘I know, darling, so do I,’ said Jo, surprising her little sister.

‘But you’re a big girl!’

‘Even big girls need their Mummies sometimes,’ Jo assured her.