A High Price To Pay

She winced. ‘Don’t!’

He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Ally, but it’s something you’re going to have to come to terms with. Ladymead belongs to Nicholas Bristow now.’

She said softly, fiercely, ‘Over my dead body.’

As she got to the study door, she heard Melanie’s voice, and groaned inwardly. She turned the handle and went in. Melanie, flushed and bright-eyed, was draped decoratively across the arm of one of the big chairs, clearly in the middle of some anecdote which Nicholas Bristow was receiving with amused appreciation.

Alison said clearly and precisely, ‘Would you go up to your room, Melanie, please. I have something I wish to say to Mr Bristow.’

For once Melanie didn’t stop to argue. She took one look at Alison’s stormy eyes, at the bright spots of colour burning in the pallor of her face, and went without a word.

Alison closed the door behind her, then drew a deep breath before turning back to face him.

He said softly, ‘Don’t be angry with her, Miss Mortimer. You can’t expect a kid of her age to join in day after day of undiluted gloom.’

He was seated on the edge of the big desk, glass in hand, swinging one elegantly shod foot. He had even, she noticed, loosened his tie slightly, and it was that detail which set the seal on her rage and bitterness.

‘Get off my father’s desk,’ she said, her voice quivering. ‘Get away from his things. They don’t belong to you yet.’

He finished what was left in his glass and put it down, then got to his feet without haste.

‘So he told you,’ he observed expressionlessly.

‘Yes, he told me.’ She threw back her head defiantly, staring at him with disgust. ‘I thought you were a financier, Mr Bristow, not a cheap money-lender!’

‘Oh, I’m certainly not cheap, Miss Mortimer,’ he said. He was smiling derisively, but there was anger simmering underneath, and she knew it. ‘But do go on. I’m sure you can think of something appropriate about me preying on widows and orphans, if you really put your mind to it. Come on, sweetheart, let it rip. Don’t leave a cliché unturned.’

‘You bastard,’ Alison said unevenly.

He clicked his tongue reprovingly. ‘Not very inventive, or even true. Try again.’

She wrapped her arms round her body, shivering. ‘You’re vile,’ she said quietly, after a pause. ‘You’ve robbed us of everything, and you can stand there—taunting me!’

The blue eyes flicked over her, swift and cruel as an arctic wind. ‘Let it be a lesson to you, Miss Mortimer. Never begin what you’re not prepared—or equipped—to finish. Now, you mentioned something about my having robbed you. That’s not only a slander, but a lie. I did my damnedest to talk your father out of the whole thing, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He called it a calculated risk—I called it madness.’

‘But you still went ahead and loaned him the money.’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Because he might have pulled it off. By all accounts, he’d dragged Mortimers back from the brink more than once. If the Chinese deal had come off, I’d have been repaid, at a handsome rate of interest. Why should I have turned him down?’

‘But you can’t really want this house,’ she said, almost feverishly. ‘It’s been in our family for generations. It’s old-fashioned, and a nightmare to heat, and staff and keep clean. It’s probably got woodworm, and dry rot, and—and deathwatch beetle.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Although it needs a certain amount of renovation and improvement, it’s basically sound. Your father had a survey and valuation done not long ago—at my behest, naturally,’

‘So you always recognised the possibility …’

‘That your father might not be in a position to repay me? Of course.’ He gave a slight shrug. ‘Although I couldn’t predict the present tragic circumstances, of course.’

‘Of course,” she echoed bitterly. ‘And how long do we have, Mr Bristow, before you start to recoup your losses by putting Ladymead on the market?’

‘Oh, I’m not going to sell it,’ he said casually. ‘I’m going to live here.’

CHAPTER TWO

‘LIVE HERE?’ Alison repeated the words almost mechanically, her brain seething. ‘You can’t be serious!’

‘I’m perfectly serious. It’s a very charming house—or did you think only members of your own family had the taste to appreciate it?’

‘Of course not.’ She shook her head in bewilderment. ‘But this isn’t a very fashionable area—and a fair distance from London, and the kind of lifestyle you’re accustomed to.’

Nicholas Bristow’s mouth curled. ‘How do you know the kind of lifestyle I’m accustomed to?’ he asked flatly.

Alison flushed. ‘You don’t exactly keep your haunts—or your companions—a secret,’ she said in a constricted tone.

‘Ah.’ He gave her a long look. ‘I wouldn’t have put you down as a devotee of the gutter press, Miss Mortimer, but let it pass. If you feel entitled to some explanation, then I’ll give you one. I’ve a comfortable house in Town, but I’ve never regarded it as home particularly. Perhaps I’ve reached a stage in my life where the idea of putting down some roots has suddenly become appealing—I don’t know. Anyway, people commute to City offices from far greater distances than this, and besides, there’s room in the grounds for a helicopter pad if I thought it was necessary. Does that satisfy your curiosity?’

‘It wasn’t simply curiosity,’ she said quietly. ‘I’d hoped, you see, if you were going to put the house on the market, to perhaps come to some arrangement, but I see now that’s impossible.’

His brows rose. ‘What did you have in mind, as a matter of interest?’

Her flush deepened burningly. ‘I have a job. I thought, given time, I might be able to pay off the mortgage.’

‘I doubt whether either of us would live long enough to see that happy day,’ he said sarcastically. ‘May I know what your salary is?’ She told him, and he sighed. ‘Miss Mortimer, this is the real world, not some fairy tale. It would take every penny you earn, and considerably more besides, and leave you with nothing to live on. I don’t think any house is worth such a sacrifice, do you?’

‘I don’t think you understand. This is our home, and has been for generations …’

‘I understand perfectly. But the reign of the Mortimers was coming to a halt anyway. Unless you or your sister plan to persuade your future husbands to change their names to Mortimer to carry on the old tradition?’

‘I wasn’t thinking particularly of Melanie or myself,’ Alison said in a low voice. ‘But being turned out of her home will be incredibly hard on my mother. She—she isn’t very strong …’

‘So I gather.’ There was no softening in his face. ‘I shall try and make sure she receives every consideration. Or did you think I was going to evict her bodily into some convenient blizzard?’

‘I don’t know what I thought,’ Alison said wearily. ‘But I do know that nothing you can say or do will cushion this kind of blow, especially following on from my father’s death.’

‘If your father had lived, he would have been bankrupt,’ Nicholas Bristow said harshly. ‘I can’t think that would have appealed to her either. In the present circumstances, she can leave Ladymead with dignity, and an income to maintain her, although it won’t pay the upkeep of another house of this size,’ he added, rather grimly.

‘I think I’ve managed to work that out for myself,’ Alison said bitterly. ‘The fact is, Mr Bristow, you saw this house and wanted it, and that’s why you won’t consider any alternatives.’

‘Unless you plan to come into a fortune, Miss Mortimer, there are no alternatives,’ he said. ‘But let me assure you that my dealings with your late father will remain private. As far as the outside world is concerned, I am in the process of purchasing Ladymead from your father’s estate, as it’s now too large for your family’s needs.’

‘Please don’t expect me to be grateful.’ Alison’s chin lifted.

‘No, I think I wrote off that possibility from the moment you entered this room,’ he returned grimly. ‘Next time you want to ask favours, Miss Mortimer, a softer approach might stand you in better stead.’

‘I don’t plan to approach you again for any cause whatsoever,’ Alison snapped. ‘Goodbye, Mr Bristow.’

She went straight to her room and threw herself across the bed. She wanted to scream and cry, and beat the mattress with her bare fists, but she was beyond tears. After a long time she sat up slowly, staring around her at all the dear familiar things which had surrounded her since childhood. Nothing stayed the same for ever, she knew that, but she hadn’t expected the changes in her life to be so sudden, or so far-reaching.

Presently she would have to go downstairs again, to be at her mother’s side when the bad news was broken to her, but first she needed to think—to consider practical possibilities, so that she could make some positive suggestions about how they could put the pieces of their lives together.

And, if she was honest, she needed a breathing space before she could face Nicholas Bristow again.

Alison’s nails curled into the palms of her hands. This room no longer seemed a sanctuary for her. Already, his presence seemed everywhere. It made her writhe to remember him sitting on the edge of her father’s desk, master of all he surveyed. He’d lost no time in making himself at home, she thought with angry bitterness.

But she had to admit that her suggestion that she might be able to buy back the house somehow had been a ridiculous one, prompted by a sense of sheer desperation.

She curled up against the pillows and began to think. Without her housekeeping duties at Ladymead to take into account, she could accept Simon’s offer of full-time work, she thought, and the increase in salary, plus her mother’s annuity, would allow them a reasonable standard of living.

She sighed soundlessly. Only Catherine Mortimer wasn’t used to reasonable standards. She’d been indulged and spoiled all her married life, with every expensive whim catered to. She would not take kindly to any reduction in her level of spending.

And the other major problem was Melanie’s school fees. She was being considered, Alison knew, as a possible Oxford entrant, and it was imperative for her education not to be disrupted. But the cost of maintaining her at Mascombe Park was formidable.

Even if Simon were to make her a partner, she would still only be able to afford a percentage of the cost, Alison thought forlornly. It was late in the day to start thinking about scholarships, even if there were any available. Yet Mel deserved her chance.

Reluctantly Alison uncurled and stood up. Problems were building up like storm clouds, but there was no way to avoid in the inevitable cloudburst, or even postpone it.

She held her head high as she went downstairs.

‘Well, I think the sooner we leave Ladymead, the better,’ Alison spoke with quiet determination.

‘But where can we go?’ wailed Mrs Mortimer. Alison noted with compassion that her mother’s hands were shaking. Yet during that long painful confrontation in the study, she had behaved with amazing control and dignity, listening without comment as the situation was outlined to her by a clearly embarrassed and unhappy Alec Liddell.

Nicholas Bristow had had little to say too, she recalled, his dark face almost sombre as he listened. She wondered if he had been feeling any kind of compunction.

She said, ‘I’ll talk to Simon when I go back to work on Monday, and see what he suggests. I know there’s nothing very suitable on the books at the moment, and he might advise renting somewhere for a time.’

‘Rented property?’ Mrs Mortimer couldn’t have sounded more anguished if Alison had suggested a tent in the middle of a ploughed field.

She sighed. ‘I don’t see what other choice we have. You surely don’t want to remain here on Nicholas Bristow’s charity?’

‘I can’t imagine what he wants with a house like this,’ her mother said bitterly. ‘It’s far too large for a bachelor.’

‘I don’t suppose he’s going to be a bachelor for much longer,’ Melanie, who had been sitting staring listlessly into the fire, roused herself to say. ‘There’ve been heaps of stories in the papers lately about him and Hester Monclair. They reckon when her divorce goes through, they’ll be married. She’s divorcing her husband for unreasonable behaviour, and he’s considering cross-petitioning for adultery, citing Nick Bristow.’ She giggled. ‘That’ll stir up this village!’

‘Melanie!’ Her mother spoke with sharp disapproval, her mind diverted momentarily from her own troubles. ‘Where in the world did you learn all those distasteful things?’

‘One of the women who cleans the dormitories brings in her Sunday papers for us,’ Melanie said promptly. ‘She says it’s only right we should know what wickedness there is in the world.’

‘Well, I think I shall write to Miss Lesley when you return to school.’

‘Don’t you mean “if"?’ Melanie muttered, but in too low a voice for her mother to hear. Alison shot her a warning glance.

‘Mr Bristow’s personal affairs are no concern of ours,’ she pointed out. ‘The least we can do is leave him in peace to conduct them. And that means finding somewhere else to live as quickly as possible.’

‘But where are we going to find with sufficient room to accommodate us?’ Mrs Mortimer demanded. ‘There’s the grand piano to consider, for one thing.’

Alison controlled a swift surge of impatience. ‘None of us plays the piano, Mother,’ she said gently. ‘I think it would be better to let it go to auction.’

Mrs Mortimer’s back straightened in outrage. ‘May I ask, Alison, if you’re determined to make me live in squalor?’ she demanded.

‘I’m not making you do anything, I hope—except maybe face a few facts,’ Alison said wearily. ‘We have to accustom ourselves to things being very different in future.’

Mrs Mortimer’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Aren’t you beeing a little insensitive, Alison? I’m sure I need no such reminder.’ She pressed her handkerchief to her lips, while her daughters exchanged despairing glances. After a pause, she went on, ‘Hugh and Beth have very kindly asked me to stay with them, while I consider my future. I may well take them up on their offer. Now, I’m going to lie down for a while, and try to recover some of my strength. I presume dinner will still be served in this house this evening, Alison?’ And on this, she swept from the room with a certain majesty.

‘Mummy’s brought making people feel guilty to a fine art,’ Melanie remarked dispassionately when they were alone. ‘I think that’s probably why Daddy never confided in her about the mess he was in. He knew she’d make it a hundred times worse.’

‘Don’t say that, Melly.’ Alison gave her a wry look. ‘This must have been the worst week of her life. She loved Daddy very much, you know.’

‘Yes, but she never helped him.’ Melanie put another log on the fire. ‘If he’d asked her to economise, she wouldn’t have known what he meant. He couldn’t—lean on her when the going got rough. I don’t suppose she even knew he’d been having chest pains for months.’

‘No, but then neither did I,’ Alison said quietly, wincing a little.

‘He probably thought you had enough on your plate already.’ Melanie began to fiddle with the handle of the poker. She said suddenly, ‘This is going to be my last term at Mascombe Park, isn’t it?’

‘The honest answer is, “Probably”,’ Alison admitted after a pause.

‘I guessed.’ Melanie’s face was mournful. ‘I suppose I could try and get a place in the local comprehensive, although the course will probably be different. Or would it be more help if I tried to get a job?’

‘No.’ Alison shook her head positively. ‘You’re Oxbridge material, Mel. You can’t give that prospect up without a struggle.’

‘I don’t want to.’ Melanie gave a faint grin. ‘But something tells me that if we can’t manage the fees, Miss Lesley will give me up without a struggle all right.’

‘There used to be bursaries and things,’ Alison frowned. ‘I suppose we could enquire.’

‘Mm.’ Melanie gave a slight grimace. ‘It would be hateful, though, going cap in hand. I’m not sure I wouldn’t rather leave.’

‘Well, don’t let’s make any hasty decisions,’ said Alison. ‘Mr Liddell’s coming back tomorrow to talk over a few things, and I’ll see what he has to say.’ She hesitated. ‘I would have mentioned it earlier, but I don’t want to discuss personal family things in front of Nicholas Bristow.’

‘You really don’t like him, do you?’ Melanie gave a little sigh. ‘I think he’s amazing! I wish I was Hester Monclair, lucky bitch. Of course she’s gorgeous-looking, and sophisticated, and she probably knows exactly how to turn him on in bed …’

Alison was surprised into unwilling laugher. ‘Mel, for God’s sake! Don’t let Mummy hear you.’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t.’ Melanie put her head on one side. ‘But don’t you fancy him, Ally? If you’re honest, in your heart of hearts, just a little? You can’t really prefer boring old Simon.’

‘Simon is neither boring nor old,’ Alison said calmly. ‘And I wasn’t aware that my sexual preferences—or Nick Bristow’s for that matter—were on the “A” level curriculum. Stick to Eng. Lit.—it’s safer.’

‘What’s safe?’ asked Melanie, getting restlessly to her feet. ‘We’re all going to be living dangerously from now on.’

With her world visibly crumbling around her, it was a relief to Alison to find that the office hadn’t changed. And nor had Simon, who seemed endearingly pleased to see her. The locality had been buzzing with gossip since the funeral, Alison knew, but Simon, with noble tact, refrained from asking any questions about the disposal of Ladymead.

He simply said that a smaller, more convenient house was vital, and promised to keep his eyes and ears open for suitable properties coming on to the market.

She was glad to be back at work. Melanie had returned to Mascombe Park, although for how much longer was anyone’s guess. Alec Liddell had pursed his lips ruefully over the question of school fees, and when Alison had attempted to discuss the problem with her mother, Mrs Mortimer had dissolved into floods of tears.

It was not an attitude which helped, Alison thought tiredly, as she looked through an assortment of bungalow details. But then her mother’s behaviour generally was giving her deep cause for concern. She wasn’t eating, and hardly ever left her room. Alison had tried to persuade her to take up the Bosworths’ invitation, although she supposed, privately, it was a rotten trick to play on Aunt Beth, but Mrs Mortimer wouldn’t hear of it. She seemed to have it fixed on her mind that if she ever left Ladymead, it would be for ever, and Alison knew that the doctor was as worried about her state of mind as she was herself. He had started talking in guarded tones about the possibility of treatment in a complete change of scene, and the sound of it made Alison’s heart sink.

‘Are you saying my mother needs to see a psychiatrist?’ she had asked.

Dr Barnet had given her a straight look. ‘She’s clearly in a very disturbed state,’ he had returned. ‘Bereavement is usually enough of a trauma for anyone to cope with, but when you add the other losses your mother is suffering …’ He shrugged. ‘Frankly, it’s enough to undermine the emotional constitution of someone with three times her strength. And, unfortunately, she’s become fixated on this house as a symbol of her security rather than you or Melanie. It’s not a healthy situation.’

He could say that again, Alison thought, shoving the bungalow details back into their folders with scant respect. Nicholas Bristow had said he wouldn’t evict them—but the way her mother was reacting, he might have to.

‘It’s my home,’ her mother kept reiterating. ‘My only home. He can’t take it away from me!’

The fact that they could no longer afford to live there seemed to have escaped her completely, Alison thought wryly.

She was thankful to have her work to immerse herself in once again, and she and Simon had already tentatively discussed the terms by which she would work for him full time.

It was a relief to know she would have a wage she could live on, but it didn’t solve Melanie’s problem, as the letter she had received only that morning served to underline. Melanie had had a preliminary interview with Miss Lesley, her formidable headmistress. It had been relatively civilised, Mel wrote, but the question of where the next term’s fees would be coming from had inevitably been raised.

And that was the problem in the forefront of Alison’s mind as she drove her elderly Mini back to Ladymead that evening.

As she rounded the last bend in the drive, she was surprised to see another car parked outside the front door. She didn’t recognise the number plate, she thought frowningly, as she switched off her engine and got out, and she certainly wasn’t expecting visitors.

As she walked into the hall, Mrs Horner appeared. ‘It’s that Mr Bristow,’ she said in an undertone. ‘He’s been here over an hour. Asked for you specific, and not for madam, so I made him some coffee and hope I did right.’

‘Quite right,’ Alison said promptly, her spirits plummeting. ‘Is he in the drawing room?’

‘He is, miss. I told him madam wasn’t too well, and that you were at work, but it made no difference. Said he’d wait.’

‘Oh?’ Alison returned wanly, as she unbuttoned her jacket.

He was standing by the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantelshelf, as he looked broodingly down into the flames. His head came round sharply as Alison closed the drawing room door.

‘You’re late, Miss Mortimer,’ he remarked impatiently. ‘I didn’t know your work included overtime.’

‘It doesn’t as a rule.’ She dropped her jacket over the back of a chair, aware of the disparaging glance he sent her plain navy dress. ‘Just as I was leaving, my boss called me back to say he’d heard about a cottage that might suit us.’

‘Oh.’ He didn’t appear to receive the news with ill-concealed delight. In fact, he frowned slightly. ‘Where is this place?’

‘Far enough away for us to be able to avoid each other,’ she returned composedly.

His lips tightened. ‘I see. And have you made an offer for it.?’

‘Hardly. My mother and I have to see it first.’ Alison touched the coffee pot and grimaced. ‘This is cold. May I offer you some fresh?’

‘No, thanks,’ he said. ‘But I’d sell my soul for a large Scotch—it’s been one hell of a day.’

She gave him a surprised look under her lashes as she turned to get his drink. She was probably imagining things, but he seemed almost ill at ease.

‘And you’d better have one too.’ His voice followed her. ‘You may need it.’

She poured a measure of Scotch into a glass and handed it to him. ‘No, thank you. I’ve managed to cope so far without propping myself up with alcohol.’

‘My congratulations.’ He raised his glass in a parody of a toast. ‘You’re clearly not as fragile as you look. I hope you can overlook the weaknesses of lesser mortals.’

‘Admitting to weakness?’ Alison asked sweetly. ‘How very uncharacteristic!’

‘Make the most of it,’ he drawled, his eyes glinting. There was a brief silence, then he said abruptly, ‘I didn’t intend to come here in person. I was going to approach you through Alex Liddell in the first instance.’

She stared at him, suddenly dry-mouthed. She said huskily, ‘I suppose you want us to leave.’

‘No, on the contrary …’

‘You’ve changed your mind? You’re going to let us stay here?’ Alison’s heart leapt in joyous incredulity as she stared at him.

He frowned again. ‘I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that. A few days ago I contacted Liddell, and told him I would prefer it if the present staff continued working for me, if they were willing. I mentioned I’d like to meet the housekeeper for a preliminary chat.’ He paused again. ‘I must confess his reply staggered me.’

Alison sat down. ‘He told you I was the housekeeper?’ She shrugged. ‘There’s no problem, Mr Bristow. I can guarantee I won’t take you to the industrial tribunal for firing me, and hiring someone else.’

He said abruptly, ‘Isn’t this formality rather overdone? My name is Nick.’