Chapter Six #2
I refrained from pointing out that her woman’s intuition had let her down big time where Elton was concerned. I merely said, ‘You’d better keep your thoughts to yourself, you know how fast rumours spread in Highbury.’
She was highly indignant. ‘I don’t spread rumours, I wouldn’t dream of lowering myself to gossip about people.
’ She added, without any apparent irony, ‘By the way, Kate says Flynn Churchill’s in London today, meeting the BBC about a TV contract worth mega bucks.
He’s spending the week in town, then coming to Highbury. Just think, we’ll meet him at last!’
‘I can’t wait.’
‘You’re always rubbishing him when you don’t even know him.’
I managed a grim smile. ‘No, and I don’t particularly want to, unlike the rest of Highbury. I don’t approve of the way he treats Tom — and now Kate. Of course, if they’d been the ones with the money, you wouldn’t have been able to keep him away.’
‘You think it all boils down to money, don’t you? You can’t imagine he has genuine feelings for that old dragon Stella!’ Her tone softened. ‘I think he must be a very kind and considerate man, putting up with her all this time.’
My patience snapped. ‘It just doesn’t add up. If he’s so kind and considerate, why isn’t he like that with Tom?’
‘Because Stella has no one else but Flynn.’
‘Neither did Tom for years, until Kate came along.’
‘Men don’t need other people as much as women do.’
‘Absolute bollocks.’
She didn’t reply, or maybe her words were drowned by a sudden battering of rain against the windscreen.
I switched the wipers to top speed and said, ‘I didn’t mean to be rude, I just don’t agree with you.’
‘I understand.’ A pause; then, ‘You must be missing Tamara terribly.’
‘Actually, I’m not. We’ve both moved on.’
‘I don’t believe you move on from a five-year relationship as easily as that.’
‘True, but let’s just say it had stopped working a while ago. In the end, when I couldn’t promise her what she wanted, she wasn’t prepared to settle for less.’
‘Did she — did she want to marry you?’
‘Yes. At least, that’s what she implied. Asked me if I could see her living at Donwell Abbey. She knows I’ll inherit the place. Dad wants to keep it in the family and John prefers to live well away from the office.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I hadn’t thought of you at Donwell Abbey with — with a wife! And I certainly couldn’t imagine Tamara as a sort of lady of the manor.’
‘Neither could I. So she left.’
‘Do you think you’ll ever get married?’
It was a straightforward question, no strings attached, driven by friendly curiosity.
Yet my heart missed a beat at the thought of Emma as my wife, my own perfect lady of the manor.
The rain had eased and I switched the wipers to intermittent.
In the top right-hand corner of the windscreen I noticed a smudge of bright blue sky.
I took a deep breath. ‘I’d like to, one day. How about you?’ Shit, what if she thought that last bit had a double meaning?
But she seemed oblivious to any undercurrents. ‘That’s just how I feel, with the emphasis very much on “one day”. I’ve got my career to think of. Maybe in ten years’ time I’ll think about marriage and children and all that.’
Ten years? My hands tightened round the steering wheel. God, in ten years’ time I’d be forty-bloody-five years old! Stupid to think we could ever . . .
I cleared my throat. ‘Steve said the other night that Forbury Manor’s just re-opened after that fire back in February. Doesn’t Henry usually have the Highbury Foods Christmas party there?’
‘Yes — Batty made a provisional booking ages ago, but perhaps someone had better go and make sure it’s still suitable. Where are you having the Donwell Organics Christmas do?’
The conversation moved to safer ground and I could concentrate on the last stage of our journey.
We’d left the motorway and were skirting round the small town of Berkhamsted, when the clouds parted and the sun shone down on us like a blessing.
The narrow road sliced through a forest of stately beech trees, their wet leaves gleaming like burnished copper, a sanctuary to the fallow deer that roamed the estate.
As we slowed down for the speed ramps, the forest gave way to a large grassy common on the left and Ashridge Business School on the right.
Even though I’d been there many times, that first glimpse of the house always moved me.
I loved the quiet elegance of its limestone facade, and the timeless simplicity of its large square towers and tall arched windows.
In spite of my reluctance to bring Emma here, I felt my shoulders relax and my spirits lift.
I turned my head; our eyes met. God knows what mine betrayed, but hers were wide with wonder.
‘Oh, Mark . . .’ She sighed. ‘So this is where you did your MBA.’
‘You sound almost envious.’
‘Who wouldn’t be?’
I parked the car and got our bags and coats out of the boot.
‘We’ve got to check in at Reception first. Then I thought we’d go to the Learning Resource Centre — that’s their name for the library — and get the Mintel reports out of the way.
We should still have time for a look at the grounds before dark. ’
We walked towards the house; just before the entrance, I stopped.
‘Look up there.’ I pointed to a stone cross, clearly visible on the horizon through a cutting in the surrounding trees.
‘What’s it for?’
‘It’s a sad story. One of Ashridge’s previous owners, Earl Brownlow, had it built in 1917 as a memorial to his wife, Adelaide.
She was said to be a great beauty, very kind-hearted and a wonderful hostess — which brought people like Disraeli here, and Oscar Wilde, and the Shah of Persia.
After she died, the Earl was heartbroken and walked to that cross every day. ’
Emma let out a long breath. ‘It’s not a sad story, it’s beautiful. That’s what I call true love.’
‘They were lucky, then,’ I said. I hesitated for a moment, overcome by a strange feeling of melancholy, then squared my shoulders. ‘This way.’
I swung open one of the two massive half-glazed doors and let her through. She took a few steps, then paused to gaze up at the richly decorated ceiling and sweeping stone staircase. I smiled to myself and went past her to the desk.
The receptionist gave me a cheeky grin. ‘Hi there, stranger.’
‘Hi, Steph. How are you?’
‘Very well, thank you. Just sign in as usual, Mark, here’s your name badge and a visitor’s badge for your companion. The door code’s 315 today and you’re in room 210, that’s Greenborough building in case you’ve forgotten. Here’s the key.’
I stared at her. ‘Didn’t I cancel the room booking?’
‘No — at least, there’s nothing in our records. So you booked a room originally, but now . . . ?’ Her voice trailed off as she looked over at Emma.
I gave a nervous laugh. ‘My, er, plans have changed. I’ll pay for the room, of course, but we won’t be needing it.’
Emma appeared at my side. ‘Yes, we will,’ she put in, smiling at a bemused Steph. ‘Since Mark’s paying for it anyway, we can use it to change for dinner.’
Being alone in a bedroom with Emma, even for a little while, was a daunting prospect. But I heard myself saying heartily, ‘Yes, why not?’
* * *
~~EMMA~~
Ashridge just blew my mind.
The Learning Resource Centre was a revelation compared to your average library; some sort of barn conversion, a superb mix of modern technology and olde-worlde ambience.
We did what we’d come to do — found a couple of relevant Mintel reports and printed off tables of statistics on dining out and gourmet food sales — but mostly I just wandered about, spellbound.
Then Mark took the bags to our room while I sat in a large conservatory, looking out into the walled garden beyond.
He wasn’t gone for long, but I missed having him there to share my enthusiasm.
Ten minutes later I was glad to see him striding towards me, relaxed and smiling, a different person from the last few days.
We meandered through the gardens, enjoying the sun’s lingering warmth on our faces.
Even at this time of year there was plenty of colour: red and gold Japanese maples, mauve Michaelmas daisies, yellow-green larch fronds.
There were formal areas edged with regimented miniature box hedges, not a leaf out of place; and away from the house there was more of a wilderness, bushes spilling over grassy paths and vaults of trees arching across the darkening sky.
I went as near to the boundary fence as the undergrowth — and my new Gucci boots — allowed, and stared at the rolling fields and woods beyond, wondering if the view had changed much in the last thousand years.
I turned to find Mark looking at me.
‘Penny for your thoughts?’ I said gently.
He flushed. ‘They’re not even worth that.’ Then, glancing at his watch, ‘Time to go indoors, it’ll be pitch black soon.’
I tucked my arm through his as we walked back in the direction of the house. ‘I’m going to soak in a lovely hot bath — our room does have one, doesn’t it? Or do you want to do some mentoring first?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Not at the moment. Not here.’
I frowned; the break-up with Tamara was obviously having more impact than he cared to admit.
‘OK, we can leave that for another day, it just needs to be soon. Philip’s started messing me about, and on top of that I’ve now got Saint Jane to contend with.
’ I pulled a face. ‘If you don’t hurry up I’ll be needing psychiatric treatment, not mentoring. ’
His laugh sounded a little strained. ‘I’ll get Cherry to fix up a meeting for next week, if at all possible.’
‘Thanks. Oh, is this the way to our room?’ We’d left the main path and gone down a few steps to a modern two-storey building.
I let go of his arm while he keyed in the door code, then followed him into a brightly carpeted entrance hall and along a corridor to the right.
He unlocked room 210, switched on the light and stepped back.