Charlie's Dad

‘Yes, the car is waiting. You both look extremely decorative.’ And he was surprised when they giggled.

The drive in the stretch limo through the pulsating city streets took them to a small smart nightclub overlooking the ocean, and even as they drew up in front of the vestibule, the setting, the subdued lighting, the erotic rhythms of the music wakened in Ellie long-suppressed inclinations. There was a sudden desire to be young, to respond as she once had, carefree and uninhibited.

So it was with anticipation that she followed Robert, who was being guided by the head waiter, among the tables towards a secluded alcove at the far side of the restaurant. The smile on her lips faltered when, on their approach, Ben Congreve rose to his feet to greet them. And since it was towards her his eyes were drawn, she was sure her reaction must have been noted.

‘Robert, Jenny...’ He welcomed them and there was the slightest hesitation before he spoke Ellie’s name, a hint of uncertainty which confirmed her suspicion, though it might have been simply that he was trying to gauge her attitude and his own. As it was, he chose informality, something Ellie appreciated as she shook hands with the three people already sitting round the table.

‘Jenny, Robert, you already know everyone, but, Ellie, may I introduce Darren and Myra Gottlieb from the American Consulate? And this—’ he indicated the tall, good-looking man who had the air of a local ‘—is Danny Khim, who is with my publisher.’

It was disconcerting to find when they all sat down once again that she was next to Ben with Danny on her left. Not at all what she would have chosen... but there was little she could do about it. She tried to compose herself, to ignore the feeling of being manipulated by Jenny as much as by Ben Congreve, and allowed the conversation to pass her by while she wrestled with her emotions. But she was too conscious of the man on her right to be entirely successful, even imagined she was picking up vibes from his body—sheer nonsense, of course. Meantime she endeavoured to be fascinated by Jenny’s conversation with Danny, until Ben spoke, that was, and then it was impossible to ignore him.

‘So, Ellie, tell me what you’ve been doing today.’ He was so very smooth and commanding, so very Ivy League, as he always had been. But she was less impressionable than she once had been, had spent years on her guard and had honed her self-protection to a fine edge. And certainly she was too old to imagine that fine clothes and manners meant anything, which explained why she chose to adopt a sarcastic drawl.

‘Oh, the usual touristy things—you know, a few souvenirs to take home, lunch at Raffles. Certainly nothing which compares with researching a new bestseller.’

Though his expression barely changed, something about him suggested chagrin. ‘Oh, I don’t know, I always find choosing one or two gifts to take home is a pleasant enough task. I positively enjoy finding things my friends will appreciate.’ His eyes were searching, as if trying to find a softer woman than the chippy one he had seen so far. ‘And what makes you think researching a book is so diverting? There are times when it is sheer grind. Besides, weren’t you doing a little research of your own last night?’

‘I was?’ Impossible to think what he meant, especially when he had decided to switch on the charm. His warmth gave no clue to his real character, she thought meanly...

‘Sure. Didn’t I hear you say you must try to remember all the colours of that Corot painting in the salon?’

‘Oh, that.’ Of course, she had joked about it with Babs but had been unaware of him overhearing. ‘I must confess I do that all the time. I have a compulsive interest in colour.’

‘Well, as I said...’ When he smiled, as he was doing now, it was difficult to hang on to her stand-offish manner. Besides, what did it matter? It seemed to her that he was their host for the evening, and she owed it to Robert and Jenny. It would cost her nothing to be polite, since once the evening was over they would never meet again. With luck. That assurance was less of a comfort than she would have wished.

The food and wine were delicious, and she found herself relaxed to the extent that when Danny asked, she allowed herself to be persuaded onto the dance floor. Mainly it was to escape from Ben Congreve, with his endless questions, and when they returned to the table she took the chance to change seats—easy enough since Robert alone wasn’t dancing. In different circumstances she knew she would have enjoyed herself, but the night was too fraught with the possibility that Ben might ask her to dance—and how could she refuse?

In the event, when he did make his move, her mind went blank, excuses evaporated and she found herself being led away from the others, not even trying to detach her fingers from his. Perhaps it was down to the music, calming and very nearly soporific. Who could feel threatened cocooned in such bittersweet nostalgia, rather than the pulsing rhythms of previous numbers? On the other hand, it was not the mood she would have chosen to share with him. Calm detachment was what she would have liked to help combat these... these sensations flowing between them.

‘I’m still waiting to hear about you Ellie.’ Cradling her hand more comfortably, he looked down, and their linked fingers brushing accidentally against the round swell of her breast brought her heart leaping into her throat.

And she knew she had been wrong to wear this wispy silk camisole. It was impossibly revealing, and she knew it showed every curve of the bare skin beneath, plus a fair amount of cleavage. She could hardly believe she had worn it without its usual overblouse, and certainly it hadn’t been for his benefit since she hadn’t known...

Her breath was growing more agitated now, emphasising all the aspects she would have liked to conceal, and he must be aware of the increase in her pulse-rate. His hand on her back could hardly avoid the signals, would know how little she was wearing and would draw his own conclusions.

A deep breath to control her trembling, and when she found her voice, it sounded gratifyingly calm and matter-of-fact. ‘There’s so little to tell. You must know it all already.’ This was her usual glib evasion of a ‘tell all’ invitation, but her resolve was undermined when she looked up into those searching dark eyes. How right she had been to be wary. Writer’s eyes, she decided sarcastically, forever trying to find copy for his novels. As bad as the paparazzi, always probing into personal secrets for financial gain. ‘And mostly so very boring,’ she finished.

A certain amount of truth in that. So many years huddling over a knitting machine added little sparkle to one’s personality, especially when all one’s contemporaries had been out doing the clubs.

‘That I find hard to believe.’

‘No, I promise you.’ Reluctantly she dragged her eyes away, looking about her with an air of determined and slightly desperate enjoyment, searching for some banal comment and failing, resisting his attempts to pull her closer, then feeling foolish when there was a near collision with another couple.

Easy to interpret that raised eyebrow as speaking volumes. No, he was assuring her, I’m not the least bit interested, so don’t let your imagination run riot. And she blushed spectacularly as if she had been truly reprimanded, then was startled when his amused voice did interrupt her thoughts.

‘Do you come here often?’ It was an attempt at humour which deserved no reply but he was persistent. ‘Now it’s your turn to say something. I have asked you if you come here often, now you must make some remark about, say, the music, or—’ An abrupt stop as again he apologised to another couple—an excuse to hold her closer for a second.

But it was hard to remain aloof when he was speaking so like a character from her beloved Jane Austen. She glanced up in mocking reproach. ‘You stepped on my foot, Mr Congreve.’ Then it was too much for her, she smiled, and her whole personality was illuminated, transformed.

‘There.’ It was a moment before Ben spoke, a moment when his eyes held hers with dismaying warmth. ‘Just as I was about to give up. But I knew I could amuse you in the end. Despite your prejudice.’ Then, as her expression darkened again, he burst into laughter. ‘You’re not going to pretend, Ellie, that you haven’t been trying to take me down a peg? Just like Lizzie Bennett with Mr Darcy.’

‘You are quite mistaken.’

‘You will never convince me.’ The music ended and they returned to their table, his touch on her arm more possessive than she would have liked. ‘But I would like to know why.’

‘As I said, you have made a mistake.’

‘If you insist, I shan’t press you.’ There was a slight hold-up on the edge of the dance floor. ‘But I mean to find out in the end.’ His eyes narrowed assessingly. She had the impression of him trying to bore into her soul. ‘I have a habit of getting my own way eventually.’

‘Of that, Mr Congreve,’ she said, and now her voice was icy with fear and, yes, with dislike, ‘I have not the faintest doubt. People like you...’ But fortunately at that moment the path was cleared and she took the chance to sweep past him and to rejoin the company.

‘Always do?’ he suggested coolly as they sat down, but she turned her shoulder and was glad when he took the hint and for the rest of the evening left her in peace.

As they were whisked back to the apartment Ellie had only half of her attention on the animated conversation as Jenny enthused about the evening’s events.

At least he had not had the effrontery to ask her to dance again. And she wasn’t aggrieved over that. She saw no contradiction in her thoughts, although many women would have felt resentment. Three times he had asked Jenny to dance, Myra twice. But who was counting? And she had quite deliberately gone off to the powder room round about midnight when she had thought he might be mellowing towards her again.

No, on the whole she was pleased with the way she had coped with what had been a fraught situation, and the fact that now she felt like howling with misery was due to a whole series of things—mostly to do with change of climate and fatigue, and missing Charlie of course, and nothing—well, be honest—at least very little to do with being held close to Ben Congreve.

Strangely enough she was able to recuperate to an extent on the flight home, spending much of it with her eyes closed, not wholly asleep but with her brain in neutral, and Ben Congreve absent but for that vague and persistent pain in her chest. But it was time to move on, put all that behind her, and it was especially comforting when she touched down at Heathrow to find David Merriman waiting for her.

‘Bless you.’ Wonderful to have a kind, undemanding man to heave her luggage in the back of the car, to be relieved of any transport worries as they drove through the capital’s clogged arteries. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes. I thought you’d be on call today.’ With a sigh she leaned her head back against the seat and turned to look at his familiar profile. ‘How did you manage to swing it?’

‘Oh, I can usually manage to get away when I particularly want to. I did an extra surgery at the weekend and Harry is seeing my patients today so you needn’t worry.’

‘I’m glad.’ Ellie slid lower in her seat. ‘Now, tell me what’s been happening at home over the past week. When I spoke to Charlie the other day all appeared to be as usual.’

‘Pretty much, I should say. But Charlie will be glad to see you back again.’

‘That makes two of us.’ After that the conversation became general as he passed on the few items of village gossip. Mrs Gatherley’s baby, she learned, had appeared four weeks ahead of schedule and Kyle James had broken his arm falling off the climbing frame in his garden.

‘So...’ She smiled at him. ‘Our revered GP is being kept as busy as ever.’

‘Alas,’ he sighed. ‘But not so busy I haven’t had time to miss you as well. Charlie isn’t the only one who has been counting the days.’

‘That’s sweet of you, David.’ But, sadly, her feelings for him were as ambivalent as ever. How simple life would be if she could make a sensible, obvious choice, forget the distraction of Ben Congreve and...

‘I have tickets for a concert on Friday, and of course I’m hoping you’ll come with me.’

‘Oh, Friday?’ Her search for an excuse was automatic. ‘I’m not sure... I have so much time to make up...so many things I must do...’

‘I’m hoping you’ll at least try...’

‘Of course I’ll try, David.’ How could she be so ungracious when he did so much for her? ‘I’ll do my best, but if I find I can’t, then what about Liz?’ David’s sister was also his housekeeper.

‘I think it does us both good to have a break from each other.’ He negotiated the exit from the motorway and soon they were on the very minor road which led to their village of Little Transome. ‘But don’t worry, if you decide you can’t, I have a friend whom I know will enjoy it.’

Ellie was feeling guilty. He was such a kind man, a great GP, and, she feared, just waiting for the green light which would signify a formal courtship. It was with relief that she saw the gates at the end of her drive and reached down for her handbag. But before the car had even stopped in front of the mellow stone-built house, the front door was thrown back and a small figure threw herself down the few steps.

‘Mummy, Mummy.’ A mini-tornado draped itself around Ellie, hands round her neck, legs about her waist. ‘I’ve missed you such a lot. It’s been so awful without you.’

‘And I’ve missed you too, Charlie.’ She laughed, sniffed, blinked away a tendency to tears. ‘But I can’t imagine it’s been too awful when Wendy’s been looking after you.’

Over the child’s head she directed an apologetic glance towards the young woman who stood smiling and shaking her head at the top of the steps. Wendy Cummings had been with her since Charlie was a toddler, had held the fort on innumerable occasions when she had been forced to go off on business trips. Without her, Ellie could hardly have carried on—certainly IGRAINE Woollens would not have progressed as it had done over the last few years... It was a relief to see Wendy shrug forgivingly as well, safe in the knowledge that for most of the time she and Charlie were the best of friends.

‘Come on then, poppet.’ With an arm about the small shoulders, she led the way inside, followed by David, who dumped her cases in the hall and returned to the car to retrieve the collection of packages. They walked together into the kitchen. ‘Am I glad to be back, Wendy.’

‘Hectic trip?’ Wendy swung round from the Aga with a tray of scones.

‘You could say...’ Then, laughing at the insistent questioning of her daughter, ‘No, I didn’t forget. If you go and ask David for the large blue bag you can see what’s inside. And tell him Wendy has the kettle on, so if he would like a cup of tea and one of her scones he should come straight through.’

‘I won’t, thanks, Ellie.’ The doctor’s head poked round the kitchen door. ‘I think you’ll have enough on for the rest of the day, but I’ll call you about Friday. See what you think when you’ve had time to relax.’

When she had seen him drive off towards the village, Ellie returned to the kitchen with a feeling of release, in time to see Charlie for once very nearly speechless as she gazed at the beautifully dressed Siamese doll Ellie had brought from Hong Kong.

‘Oh, Mummy, thank you. She is so gorgeous.’

‘Well, she’s just another one for your collection—oh, and all her clothes come off too. And if you pick up that pink bag and give it to Wendy, I think she deserves a present too, for looking after you so well.’

‘Yes, she does.’ And when the package was opened, the silk blouse drooled over, they all sat down round the large kitchen table drinking tea and eating hot buttered scones and strawberry jam while Ellie entertained them with the highlights of her trip.

Except...except that one highlight wasn’t mentioned. She omitted the minor fact that while there she had, for the first time since her conception, met the man who was Charlie’s father. Little point in bringing that up, since everyone was under the impression that Charlie’s father had died soon after she had been born, and, more to the point, that her real father had not the slightest notion of her existence. And if she, Ellie Osborne, had anything to do with it then he never would. It was so obvious that he did not care.

Men who embarked so casually on affairs and promptly forgot them were simply contemptible. And she was far too proud ever to confess to being one in a long line of lovers of any man. Even of one as rich and famous as ‘Jonas Parnell’ had become. A line so lengthy that he had no recollection of her existence. It was hard to think of anything more humiliating.

CHAPTER THREE

AMAZING how quickly life could return to normal. That at least was the comforting message Ellie fixed her mind on at night before falling asleep, but waking, as she did now, in the early hours brought an entirely different perspective.

Now, tossing and turning in a frustration she did not care to identify, she knew life could never be quite as simple again. That, having met Ben Congreve, it was impossible for her to convince herself as she had done before that their affair had been a pretty typical holiday romance, something which in any event would not have lasted.

And there was one vital matter she forced herself to face: She must admit at last that the blame could not be placed entirely at his door. So mad had she been for him she had assured him, quite without foundation, that there was no risk of pregnancy. Over the years she had convinced herself that he had allowed her to lie to him...well, that was what suited most men, wasn’t it?

But how frightening it had all been, finding herself alone, pregnant, deserted. Looking back, it was hard to imagine how she had pulled herself together, to plan for some kind of future. It had been her great good fortune to meet Greg Osborne and marry him, and, of course, the greatest good fortune of all was Charlie herself. Charlie, who had brought more love and joy into her life than she could have imagined. That one shining fact made any kind of regret redundant.

Only...meeting him again now threatened all the feelings and emotions kept so carefully damped down over the years. Even now, her relationship with David Merriman was a tentative, arm’s length one, no matter that he had made it clear he would like it to develop into something warmer. And Ellie was afraid even that prospect must now be consigned to the dustbin.

‘Oh...’ She groaned, put her head beneath the covers, desperately trying to restore sleep before the image of Ben Congreve intruded again, but it was impossible. For how could she pretend to herself that if they had met as strangers at the dinner date in Singapore she would not have been interested? And the fact that he had showed so clearly that he was interested too... that simply made it more difficult.

Oh, it had all been more restrained and civilised than all those years before, but that was natural—they were older, less abandoned than that group of sexually experimental youngsters had been. And it had taught her a crucial lesson: she was very much more wary, less trusting, but still... If only they had been meeting for the first time and both free... But, there, that would imply that Charlie...

Oh, it was all too tormenting and she wished they hadn’t met up after all, was glad—positively—that nothing had come of it, and... And, oh, how she longed for sleep.

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