No More Secrets

As she hurried in the direction of Waverley Lodge now it seemed hard to realise it had been her home for less than a month. Kate and Mrs Beaumont had taken to each other on sight. Which, as the old lady had explained, was why Kate was served tea that first day. None of the other applicants had qualified for it.

‘I agree with George—my son—that it’s a shame to leave the rooms empty,’ Mrs Beaumont had said, ‘but I couldn’t share my home with someone I didn’t—well, fancy. And some young people dress very oddly these days.’

Kate, it seemed, had passed the test on sight. And she was glad of it. The rent for the rooms in Waverley Lodge was steeper than she’d hoped, but with care, and some cutting down in other directions, she could manage it. The only drawback was the lack of a separate entrance.

‘I do like to go out at night sometimes,’ Kate had warned. ‘I’m doing a course in business studies two nights a week, and I like the cinema and the theatre. Won’t it disturb you when I come in?’

Mrs Beaumont had assured her that it would not. She would like having someone young about the house. If Kate had any doubts they would give it a month’s trial and see how things went. So far things had gone so well that Kate hated the idea of finding another place. At first she’d been sure she’d miss the untidy flat she’d shared with three other girls in Putney. But to her surprise this wasn’t the case at all. She found she enjoyed her newfound privacy and orderliness more than the previous casual companionship. She could choose what programmes she liked on the radio and television, and read in peace whenever she wanted, which was a vital part of her job, since the fiction section of the store was her own particular responsibility. There was no race for the bathroom, or unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink, and, best of all, no embarrassing little encounters with strange young men on the landing first thing in the morning.

Kate was so lost in thoughts of her former existence, head bowed against the wind, that she cannoned straight into the man emerging from the indoor car park she passed on the way home every night.

‘Sorry!’ she gasped, pushing her hat out of her eyes, then stiffened, pulling away from the hands holding her by the elbows.

‘Miss Harker again, no less,’ drawled Ben Fletcher, releasing her. ‘You don’t suffer from a death-wish, by any chance? Or are you blind without those enormous glasses?’

‘Neither — I’m just in a hurry to get home. I’m afraid I didn’t notice you,’ she said coldly.

His grin surprised her. It was very different from the one he turned on like a light to charm. ‘Which puts me in my place. I’m not very vain, but people usually notice me.’

Wasn’t that the truth, thought Kate, remembering the scene in the coffee-shop, and tried to pass him, but to her annoyance he caught her wrist.

‘Wait. Have we met before today?’ he asked.

‘No.’

‘Then why do I get the feeling you disapprove of me? Do you bear a grudge because I almost ran you over? I thought perhaps you knew me from somewhere, and felt annoyed because I’d forgotten.’

Kate looked pointedly at the fingers on her wrist and Ben Fletcher dropped his hand. ‘You’re mistaken on both counts, Mr Fletcher. I don’t know you.’ And don’t want to, implied her tone so clearly that his eyes narrowed for a moment, then danced in a way which made her long to hit out at him.

‘I hear you loud and clear, Miss Harker. Pity. Cassie liked you very much, incidentally. And just in case you were wondering,’ he added, ‘she suffered no ill effects from the signing.’

‘Good; I’m very glad. Goodnight, Mr Fletcher.’

Ben Fletcher gazed down at her thoughtfully, making it impossible to dash off as Kate wanted.

‘By the way,’ he said casually, ‘how long have you lived in Pennington?’

Kate frowned. ‘Just under a month.’

‘Ah. New kid on the block.’ He raised his hand in salute. ‘Well, can’t hang about enjoying myself like this—got someone to meet. Goodnight.’

Kate nodded coldly and walked off at a furious rate, fairly sure he was watching her go. At last she gave in to temptation and risked a peek over her shoulder. And then wished she hadn’t. Far from watching her out of sight, Ben Fletcher was striding towards the girl waiting outside Hardacres. A girl with hair as bright as his own, who rushed to meet him. Gail again.

Kate turned on her heel, almost running in an effort to put as much space between herself and the happy pair who were obviously about to spend the evening together. Did Cassie Fletcher know what the man was doing while she was putting their son to bed, or cooking dinner, or whatever she was likely to be doing at this time of night?

Kate arrived precipitately at the door of Waverley Lodge, glad to reach her flat without encountering Mrs Beaumont. As she peeled off her wet raincoat and hung it up in the bathroom to dry she felt very out of sorts. The Fletchers were none of her business. Before this morning she’d never met either of them. But, as a firsthand witness to Ben Fletcher’s infidelity, Kate felt horribly responsible in some way. Which was ridiculous. Besides, she was unlikely to meet Cassie Fletcher again. And even if she did Kate knew she’d never tell Cassie her husband was cheating on her. No way was she ever getting involved in anyone else’s affairs again.

CHAPTER TWO

KATE forced herself to say nothing to Gail on the subject of married men. Gail might well misconstrue her motives, put it down to jealousy, and the girl knew Ben Fletcher was married anyway, so it was useless to point out something so obvious. And Gail was so patently moonstruck about him that she’d never believe Kate preferred dark, lean, witty types, whose attraction was a lot more cerebral than the up-front charms of Cassie Fletcher’s husband, damn the man.

How could a clever, mature lady like Cassie be attracted to someone like Ben Fletcher? Kate was haunted by the thought for a day or two, until two evening classes added to a very busy working week tired her out so much that there was no room in her thoughts for anything other than the exam she must pass fairly soon.

‘You work hard,’ observed Mrs Beaumont as they drank coffee together the following Sunday morning.

‘But I love it. One day I’m going to manage one of the big London bookshops,’ Kate confided.

‘Good for you. Life in Pennington must be a bit slow after London.’

‘No. Oddly enough it isn’t. Different, of course, but I find I like life in a shire town—the change of pace is rather welcome.’

‘Good. Oh, by the way, dear,’ said Mrs Beaumont, ‘I’m going away to my sister’s in Bath for a few days tomorrow. Mrs Gill will be in to clean as usual. She keeps a key.’

Mondays were demanding for Kate. After her stint at the shop she hastily ate a sandwich and went straight on to her evening class. By the time she arrived home that night it was oddly dismaying to find the house in darkness. She unlocked the door and ran upstairs to her flat, turning on lamps everywhere, careless for once of the electricity bill. She put cottage cheese, tomatoes and a thin slice of ham on a plate, added a couple of crisp-breads and an apple, and went to curl up on the sofa in the sitting room to eat her frugal meal in front of the television news.

Afterwards, still hungry but determined to ignore it, Kate took the pins out of her hair, ran a bath and sank into it with a sigh of relief as she settled down to read. This was another advantage of having a flat to herself. In Putney someone had always banged on the door if she took longer than a few minutes over a bath.

Eventually, yawning, she washed her hair, wrapped herself in the new yellow towelling robe her mother had given her for Christmas, and went back to the sitting room to dry her hair while she finished the newest best-seller on display at Hardacres.

By eleven Kate’s long dark hair was dry enough to let her go to bed. She fell asleep almost the moment her head touched the pillow, then woke later with a start, her heart beating rapidly. She lay still, hardly daring to breathe. Someone was moving about downstairs. Her instinct was to pull the covers over her ears and hope the burglar would go away. But he was stealing Mrs Beaumont’s treasures. Worse still, he might come upstairs for more.

She slid stealthily out of bed, took a heavy wooden book-end from a shelf, then tiptoed out onto the landing. The burglar was making no attempt to be quiet, she noted, shivering, and, taking a deep breath, she crept down, missile at the ready. As she reached the bend in the stairs a man emerged from Mrs Beaumont’s sitting room, and, giving herself no time to think, Kate let fly with the book-end and caught him fair and square on the temple. The man dropped like a stone to the Persian carpet, and lay still.

Kate gave a squawk of horror and ran to him, falling on her knees beside the motionless figure. She seized his wrist, searching wildly for his pulse. Relief flooded her as it throbbed reassuringly against her fingers. She stared down at him in dismay, wondering what on earth to do. He was young, dark and sharp-featured, and remarkably well dressed for a burglar. And he wasn’t dead. Something he confirmed by opening dazed dark eyes to stare into her tense face.

‘Don’t move,’ she ordered in a shaking voice. ‘Stay where you are. I’ve called the police.’

‘What the hell did you hit me with?’ he demanded irritably, struggling up despite her efforts to prevent him. ‘Have I been out long?’

‘Ten minutes,’ lied Kate. ‘Stay where you are!’

To her astonishment he began to laugh.

‘You won’t find it so funny when the police come!’ she snapped furiously. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to rob an elderly lady —

‘I wasn’t robbing her—I’m trying to find her glasses,’ he said unsteadily, taking the wind out of Kate’s sails. ‘My name’s Daniel Beaumont. Grandson of your landlady,’ he added.

‘How do I know?’ she demanded fiercely, then picked up the book-end menacingly as he put a hand in his breast pocket.

‘Don’t hit me again — please,’ he pleaded, putting up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I’m unarmed, I swear. If you’ll let me take out my wallet I can prove my identity.’

‘All right,’ she conceded. ‘But no tricks.’

‘Would I dare?’ He winced, fingering his temple with one hand as he withdrew his wallet and tossed it over to her.

Kate flipped it open, and saw an identity card for the firm of Beaumont Electronics, with a photograph of the intruder, and the name Daniel Beaumont underneath it. Since there were also several credit cards and a business card for confirmation, she put the wallet down on the hall table and placed the book-end beside it, furiously embarrassed.

‘You can get up now,’ she said tartly.

Daniel Beaumont scrambled to his feet, a hand to his head. ‘I really am very sorry for giving you a fright. I clean forgot Grandma had let the upper floor. The house was in darkness so I just used Dad’s key and came to search for her glasses. I’m to post them on to Bath in the morning.’

‘Did you have to come here at this time of night?’ demanded Kate, unappeased.

‘I had dinner with a friend and saw her home first.’ He swayed a little. ‘Look, would you mind if I sat down for a bit?’

Kate, secretly filled with remorse, took his arm and helped him into Mrs Beaumont’s sitting room. ‘All right. Sit down on the sofa there for a minute.’

‘Brandy?’ he said hopefully.

‘Certainly not. You might be concussed.’ She eyed him uncertainly. ‘In fact, perhaps you ought to see a doctor, or go to the local casualty department.’

‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘A hot cup of tea would be nice. Then I’ll drive home and leave you in peace.’

Something in his bright, dark eyes reminded Kate that her only garment was a nightgown—dark green, winter-weight and modestly voluminous, but still a nightgown.

‘Sit still,’ she ordered, and ran upstairs, put a kettle on to boil, and wrapped herself in her yellow robe. More shaken by the episode than she wanted to admit, she thrust her feet into espadrilles then set a tray with cups and for once made tea properly in a pot. She added sugar, milk, then took the tray downstairs to Mrs Beaumont’s sitting room and put it down on a small table. Daniel Beaumont watched her, his eyes bright in his pale face, one of them showing signs of a bruise, courtesy of the book-end.

‘I’m afraid you’ll have a black eye,’ said Kate without sympathy. ‘Milk? Sugar?’

‘Both, please.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘No one will believe I was mugged by a girl.’

She handed him a cup and saucer, then poured tea for herself and perched on the edge of an armchair opposite him. ‘Mr Beaumont—’

‘My name’s Dan,’ he interrupted. ‘Won’t you tell me yours?’

‘Kate Harker. I’m sorry I hit you, but under the circumstances —’

‘You had every right,’ he assured her. ‘You’re a plucky girl, Kate Harker. But next time just ring the police. Don’t come investigating yourself.’

‘I lied about the police,’ she confessed. ‘I didn’t have time to call them.’

‘I know. I looked at my watch. I was only out for a second or two.’ He drained his cup, looking rather better. ‘Is there more, please?’

Kate refilled his cup, then sat back. ‘Your grandmother talks about you. But I took it for granted you were a schoolboy.’

The corners of his wide, expressive mouth went down, ‘Grandma tends to forget I’m a responsible adult now—’

‘I wonder why,’ said Kate drily, and he grinned.

‘Touché.’ He looked up as the clock in the hall struck one. ‘Hell, I’m sorry. You must be tired. I’ll go.’ He stood up, swayed, then smiled bravely. ‘There. Steady as a rock.’

Kate shook her head. ‘Sit down again. I’ll ring for a taxi.’

Dan Beaumont sat down so promptly that Kate suspected he felt far less chipper than he was making out. Annoyed because she felt guilty, she went to the telephone in the hall and rang an all-night taxi firm.

‘Ten minutes,’ she announced, returning to her uninvited visitor, who used the time profitably by telling her that he worked in his father’s electronics firm.

‘Dad runs the shooting match but I sell the product. I’m the marketing man.’

Kate could well believe it. Even on such short acquaintance Dan Beaumont was plainly the type to sell snowballs to an Eskimo.

‘So reciprocate,’ he demanded. ‘What do you do, Kate Harker?’

‘Sell books at Hardacres,’ she replied, looking up with relief at a ring on the doorbell. ‘Right, here’s your lift home.’

Dan Beaumont rose to his feet, swayed a little, and Kate rushed to take his arm. He leaned on her heavily as she supported him to the door, then took her breath away by planting a swift kiss on her mouth before sprinting down the path with no trace of unsteadiness. She glared from the doorway as he saluted smartly, grinning all over his thin, confident face as he jumped in the cab.

Kate slammed the door and collected the tray, took it upstairs, washed up and climbed into bed with a groan. Only six hours to go before she had to get up again. And to make it worse the incident had left her wide awake and nervous. So much so that in the end she went downstairs again to make sure the front door was safely locked and bolted. At which point it occurred to her that Dan Beaumont’s key had to be to the back door, which had no bolts, as she knew from Mrs Beaumont, so that her daily, Mrs Gill, could gain entry at any time. Kate turned the key in the back door, pushed a chair under the handle, and for the third time that night climbed wearily into bed.

Inevitably Kate slept late next morning, and had to skip breakfast to get to work on time.

‘Crumbs, Kate,’ said Harry as she let him in. ‘You look terrible.’

‘Thanks,’ said Kate drily, and turned to greet Gail, who looked anything but terrible. So blooming, in fact, that Kate found it hard to be civil.

A few minutes later Mrs Harrison, having called Kate up to her office to discuss the day’s expected deliveries, eyed her with concern. ‘Not coming down with something, dear, are you?’

Kate shook her head. ‘Bad night. Which is unusual. normally sleep like a log.’

‘Take it easy today, then. Get Harry to do the heavy stuff. And go and drink some coffee before you make a start.’

Kate obeyed, glad often minutes’ breather in the staff room before she coped with the day.

Clare came in, eyebrows raised at Kate’s heavy-eyed pallor. ‘Hangover or flu?’

‘Disturbed night.’ Kate got up. ‘I’m fine. I just needed a shot of caffeine to get me going. I slept late this morning—no breakfast.’

‘Go easy on the dieting today—give your blood sugars a chance,’ advised Clare, with the confidence of someone who could eat three cream buns at once and never gain an ounce. She eyed Kate closely. ‘What disturbed you?’

Kate had no time to explain. ‘Long story. Tell you a lunch.’

Halfway through the morning Kate was called to the phone.

‘Miss Harker? Kate? Quinn Fletcher here—Cassie I’m coming down your way later. Perhaps we could have a sandwich lunch together—and I’ll sign that book for you.’

Kate went pink with pleasure. ‘How very nice of you I’d love to. I’m on late lunch today—where would you like to meet?’

‘How about that coffee-shop on the corner near you—the one with the gorgeous cakes?’

Kate returned to her fiction section, a smile on her face as she helped a customer find the latest offering from a favourite author. The woman bought two other books, thanked Kate for her help, then went to the cash desk to hand her money to Gail. Kate bit her lip, frowning. Gail!

She waited until the girl was free. ‘You’re taking early lunch today, Gail,’ she stated rather than asked.

The girl smiled warmly. ‘That’s right, Kate. Unless you want me to swap?’

‘No, no,’ said Kate in relief. ‘That’s fine.’ Having routed the spectre of running into Cassie’s husband flirting with Gail over lunch, Kate relaxed a little, and went off to join Clare for mid-morning coffee.

‘You look better,’ the other girl commented as she poured.

‘Quinn Fletcher’s asked me to lunch,’ said Kate. ‘I’ve got my copy of her book ready for her autograph.’ She eyed her jeans and navy jersey without pleasure. ‘I wish I’d worn something else.’

Harry popped his red head round the door, grinning. ‘Miss Kate Harker, you’re wanted.’

Kate shot to her feet and followed Harry’s lanky figure into the shop. ‘Who?’

Harry waved to a tall, familiar figure immersed in a book of modern paintings.

‘You asked for me?’ Kate enquired, and Ben Fletcher turned, putting down the book with care.

‘Good morning, Miss Harker. I had an appointment in town, so I volunteered to bring a message from Cassie. She’s running a bit late. Could you make it one-fifteen? ’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll wait for her in the coffee-shop.’

‘Keep an eye on her, will you?’ he asked soberly. ‘She tends to overdo things. Nag her to go home and have a nap.’

‘I can hardly do that, Mr Fletcher,’ said Kate stiffly.

‘It might come better from an outsider,’ he said gloomily, apparently unaware that Gail was smiling with rather frenzied animation at a group of young male students at the cash desk. Suddenly he grinned all over his face as a man strolled into the shop with a large bouquet of flowers. ‘Dan? What the hell are you doing here? Don’t tell me you can read!’

Kate swallowed hard as Dan Beaumont stared at her blankly for a moment, then marched up to her and presented her with the bouquet, ignoring Ben Fletcher.

‘With my apologies for last night,’ he said, eyeing Kate’s glasses and tightly coiled hair. ‘You look — different.’

‘So do you, old son,’ said Ben Fletcher. ‘I like the shiner. Someone’s husband caught up with you at last?’

‘Actually,’ drawled Dan Beaumont, ‘it was Miss Harker here who gave me the black eye. Totally undeserved, of course.’

Hideously aware that Harry, Clare and not least Gail were looking on with varying degrees of curiosity, Kate took the flowers, thanked Dan Beaumont punctiliously, said goodbye to both men and hurried off to the staff-room to put her unwanted tribute into water.

Fortunately the shop was too busy for some time for explanation, and it was only when Harry and Gail had gone out to lunch and she was helping Clare man the till that Kate was able to give her colleague a brief, edited version of the previous night’s adventures. Clare was fascinated.

‘You actually went downstairs and faced this man, thinking he was a burglar? You idiot, Kate. Anything could have happened.’

‘But it didn’t. Because Dan Beaumont wasn’t a burglar.’

‘True. Or things could have been a lot worse.’ Clare grinned. ‘His manly pride obviously wasn’t hurt by being felled by a pint-sized little thing like you. Those flowers were expensive.’

‘Unnecessary extravagance,’ said Kate, and smiled at a customer. ‘Biographies, sir? If you’ll just follow me...’

Kate was sitting with a cup of black coffee when Cassie Fletcher arrived for lunch. Her big brown eyes lit up as she spotted her lunch guest.

‘Sorry I’m a bit behind, Kate. My hospital appointment was a bit delayed.’

‘I’ve only just got here myself. Busy morning.’ Kate eyed her companion anxiously. ‘Was everything all right?’

‘Oh, yes. Emily and I are both in the pink.’

‘Emily?’

‘We know it’s a girl. My husband’s delighted, because he wants us to call it a day after this one.’ Cassie pulled a face. ‘He’s right, of course. I’m nearly thirty-nine. Not that motherhood in the forties is the danger it used to be.’ She picked up the menu. ‘Let me treat you to something sinful.’

Over smoked salmon sandwiches and some wicked French pastries Kate found it very easy to talk to Cassie Fletcher, confiding that the staff at Hardacres were easy to work with and her landlady was a dear.

‘But no boyfriend,’ said Cassie bluntly.

‘No. But in a way that’s oddly restful.’ Kate chuckled. ‘In London I shared a flat with three other girls and we all had boyfriends and there was never a moment’s peace. It was a madhouse.’

‘But don’t you miss that?’

‘I did at first. But now I can read as much as I like—which I need to for my job and my business course. I’ve got to do my homework. I go to the cinema with Clare, one of my colleagues at the shop. Her husband is away a lot with his job and she’s new here too and glad of an evening out. I like my life very much.’

Cassie looked thoughtful as she stirred her coffee. ‘It all sounds a bit, well, quiet for a girl of your age. How old are you?’

‘Twenty-seven.’

The brown eyes moved over Kate’s severely coiled hair and the plain navy jersey. ‘At least you’re not wearing those owlish glasses today.’

Kate’s lips twitched. ‘You mean I’m a bit of a turnoff in the appearance department.’

Cassie laughed. ‘How rude I am. Sorry. Only when I was young I used to scrape my hair back and try to look older too. I feel a certain kinship, I suppose.’

‘My hair’s long because it’s cheaper to wear it that way than keep getting it cut, but I can’t leave it hanging about in working hours. And the clothes are part of the job. I do a lot of kneeling and carrying books about, so my working clothes tend to be serviceable.’

Cassie nodded, looked at Kate contemplatively for a time, then reached for the book beside Kate’s plate. ‘Right. I’ll sign this on one condition. Will you come to lunch on Sunday? Just a family roast; nothing formal. Please say yes.’

Kate said yes very promptly, then bit her lip at the thought of Cassie’s husband.

‘Now you’re trying to think of some forgotten appointment so you can back out,’ said Cassie percipiently.

‘No. I’d love to come.’ Kate rose. ‘Sorry to dash off but I’m due back.’

‘I’ll just hang on here for a few minutes. My husband’s collecting me.’ Cassie grinned. ‘I can’t get behind a driving wheel very comfortably these days. About one on Sunday, then.’

‘It’s very kind of you,’ said Kate with sincerity. ‘Perhaps you might spare a minute to talk about your work. I’d love to hear how you construct those complex plots of yours. Today all I’ve done is talk about me.’