Chapter 8
“Sorry about my dad,” Tony said as the ancient car drove away with a slight grinding of gears.
“I suspect it had nothing to do with your family and background but more to see how you reacted to being under pressure. Iris can be demanding at times. Dad wanted to make sure you didn’t lose your cool and thus upset Iris.
You’ll find he’s quite protective of her. They all are, her little team.”
“That’s all right,” Emma said. “If Iris is going to trust me with her precious manuscript I can understand that you’d all want to know I’m not a crooked or flighty type. I expect someone has already checked into my background in Australia to make sure my story holds up.”
“Quite possibly,” Tony said. “And of course my dad is angry with the world. Well, who wouldn’t be?”
Emma nodded. “It must be awful to be stuck in a wheelchair when you were an active person and there’s nothing you can do about it. What about your mum? Does she look after him well?”
Tony frowned. “My mum left my dad in the war. When he came home wounded she decided she didn’t want to be stuck with a cripple. She met an American and went off to the States with him. I hardly remember her. I was only about four at the time.”
“Oh Tony. I’m so sorry.” She resisted an urge to touch his arm. “She left you with your dad?”
He nodded. “She did. Obviously didn’t want to be encumbered with a kid. I was actually brought up by our housekeeper. Dad wasn’t exactly a fatherly type, you know, and was off doing war work once he’d recovered. Then he sent me off to school at ten.”
“Crikey, that’s young. Was it awful? I’ve read books about English schools.”
He shrugged. “It was all right. Better than being at home, actually. And I’ve survived. So have you. And here we are. Let’s enjoy the day.”
Tunbridge Wells seemed to be an elegant, old-fashioned sort of town with half-timbered white-and-black houses, interesting shops and impressive civic buildings.
Not quite as ancient as Oxford, which was the only historic place Emma had visited outside of London.
But it had lots of Georgian houses and stately parks.
Emma thought she wouldn’t mind living somewhere like this if she stayed on in England.
As they left the remnants of the town behind, they came out into glorious countryside.
The leaves were beginning to turn to shades of yellow, red and brown and glowed in autumn sunlight.
“It’s lovely here,” Emma commented. “Quite different from London.”
Tony smiled. “We’re never satisfied with what we have. I feel as if I’m stuck in a dreary backwater of aged colonels. I’d have liked the chance to live in London.”
“Where did you train as a lawyer?” she asked.
“I did my law degree at Oxford, then articled to my father,” he said.
“Lucky you.” She sighed. “That had been my dream, to go to Oxford.”
“Yes, it was a perfect experience,” he said. “I’m sorry that you couldn’t take the scholarship.”
“Well, it’s too late now,” she said.
They slowed as they came upon two young girls riding their ponies along the lane. Emma laughed. “They’re so sedate. You should have seen me on my pony. I used to gallop everywhere.”
“You can hardly gallop along an English road,” he replied, looking at her with amusement. “I had no idea you were such a wild child.” Then he broke off. “Which is an odd thing to say because that’s what Iris has called her book. The Wild Girl.”
“The Wild Girl? That’s interesting. Now I’m keen to read it.”
“You’ll identify with the main character,” he said, and she glanced up, realizing he was teasing.
“I’ve become quite civilized since my childhood days,” she replied, giving him a mock scolding frown. “Having to earn a living and take care of a sick mother at eighteen does that to you.”
He blushed. “I’m sorry. That was crass of me. You must know by now that we British like to rag a bit.”
“So do the Aussies,” she said. “I guess it’s an inherited trait.
” She examined him, noting the neatly clipped short, dark hair, the dark suit, pale blue shirt and old school tie.
It seemed at odds with the cheeky smile and the wink he had given her the day before.
Almost as if he was being forced to act as another character.
“Do you always have to dress like that in your profession?” She realized as she said it that it was a rather rude question.
“Sorry. We Aussies are a bit blunt sometimes.”
“Like what?” He looked amused, not upset.
“Conservative—not as in the political party. I mean typical British business male. I bet you even wear a bowler hat when necessary.”
He grimaced. “My dad insists I look the part. Also he wants me to look older than I am, so that the clients trust me. Actually I’d like to grow my hair a bit. Not down to my shoulders as I gather you see in London now, but at least Beatles length.”
She laughed. “I don’t see you as another Ringo.”
“You’re right. I don’t play the drums. But I did play the trumpet at school. I wasn’t very good.” He paused, negotiating a sharp bend in the lane. “Actually my girlfriend is encouraging me to grow my hair.”
Girlfriend. Make a note of that, she told herself, feeling stupid for what she had perceived as a developing closeness with him.
Of course he had a girlfriend. He was just being friendly because Iris had told him to be nice to her.
She fought back an absurd feeling of disappointment and kept her expression serene. “What’s her name?”
“Isobel.”
“Is her last name Ringing?” It now felt important to keep the mood light.
“What?” He gave her a questioning glance.
“Isobel Ringing?” she said.
“Oh. That was dense of me.” He chuckled. “No, it’s Farley. Her father is also a solicitor, and Dad has visions of the firms being joined one day.”
“He wants you to marry her so that he can unite two lawyers’ offices?”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Tony said. “She’s a really nice girl.
Very intelligent. She’s a trainee lawyer like me.
And she’s mad about horses. You’d probably get along well since you galloped everywhere on your pony.
” He glanced at Emma for affirmation. She nodded.
“She goes in for these gymkhanas. Jumps fences and things.” He shuddered.
“Absolutely not my cup of tea. And I can’t stand her horsy crowd.
But what about you? Have you found a good chap in England yet, or are you still pining for someone in Australia? ”
“Neither,” she said, trying to sound breezy and light-hearted. “Footloose and fancy-free. It doesn’t make sense to get involved when I’m going home soon.”
“No. Of course not.” He broke off. “So you’re really going back?”
“That’s the plan. I’ve come. I’ve seen. I haven’t exactly conquered. Now I need my sunshine and beaches.”
“Sounds good,” Tony said. “I’d like to travel more, see the world.”
“Don’t solicitors make good money?”
“Oh yes. Eventually when you build up the client list. But I was articled until two years ago.”
“What does that mean? Like an apprenticeship?”
“Exactly. So you only get paid a small stipend because you’re still learning. Then you have to take the exam, and if you pass you’re a qualified lawyer.”
“Good for you.” She looked around. “And then you can see the world.” A fleeting image of Tony standing beside her at the Taj Mahal flashed through her head. Stop it, she told herself. “Oh, we’re nearly there.”
“So we are. Good memory. Now don’t talk to me. I don’t want to miss the gate like I did the other day. Ah, here we are.”
He pulled up at the wrought iron gate, got out and entered the code, and the gate swung open.
Emma glanced back as they drove in. She felt a shiver of apprehension.
She was going to be left here, with people she had only met once, inside those gates that only opened if you knew the code.
Then she told herself, Rubbish! You’ve got the chance to work with the most famous writer in the world. What more could you want?