A High Price To Pay

‘To your friends, perhaps,’ she said coolly. ‘But you’ll never count me in that small and exclusive company. I prefer formality.’

‘As you wish,’ he said coldly. ‘But it imposes additional difficulties on the proposition I’m about to put to you.’

Alison’s brows shot up. ‘You’re not offering me the job of housekeeper, I hope?’

‘Yes, I am,’ he said shortly. ‘And before you turn me down, perhaps you’d better listen to the whole deal.’

‘You think any deal on earth could persuade me to be your servant?’ Alison asked dazedly. ‘My God, you have some gall!’

‘Listen to me,’ he said impatiently. ‘If you agree to what I want, you can have the lot. The house as your own, a self-contained flat for your mother—anything you wish.’ He hesitated, then added flatly, ‘And I understand from Liddell that your sister’s school fees are a problem. I’ll pay them, and see her through university too, if she makes the grade.’

Alison got to her feet. ‘I wouldn’t have any more Scotch,’ she said sarcastically. ‘You’re obviously not well.’

He gave a short derisive laugh. ‘In other words, I’m either drunk, or out of my mind! I’m neither, I assure you. I’ve thought it all out very carefully, and it seems to me to be an ideal solution to a number of mutual problems.’

‘I think a good domestic staff agency would be an even better solution, and cheaper in the long run.’ She began to move towards the door, but he came after her and took hold of her arm, halting her.

She tried angrily to shake herself free. ‘Let go of me!’

‘When you’ve heard me out,’ he said inexorably. ‘Sit down, Alison.’

‘There’s no point in my listening to any more of this. I have no intention of becoming your servant!’ She stared at him in hostility and defiance.

‘I’m not asking you to be a servant,’ he said. ‘Actually, I’m asking you to become my wife.’

There was a long pause, then Alison said shakily, ‘You really must be—insane.’

‘On the contrary, I’m perfectly sober, and in my right mind.’ He pushed her back on to the sofa. ‘Will you just listen for two minutes? I want this house to be run with the kind of calm efficiency I’ve noticed on each of my visits, and in spite of the fact you look about sixteen years old, I now know this is all your doing. But it doesn’t stop there. I also need a hostess—someone used to entertaining—someone to accompany me in public when necessary. In other words, I want a wife.’

‘Then I’m sure there’s a whole queue of willing ladies only too happy to accommodate you,’ she said stonily. ‘Why pick on me?’

‘If I wanted romance—passion—all the usual ingredients, why indeed?’ His voice was ironic. ‘But I don’t. I want the practical advantages of marriage without the emotional involvement. And if you agreed to marry me, that’s the kind of arrangement it would be.’ His brows rose at the sound of her little indrawn breath. ‘Or did you by some chance think I might have fallen madly in love with you?’

‘No,’ she said tautly, ‘I didn’t.’

‘Then we’ve achieved one level of understanding at least,’ he observed sardonically. ‘Think about it, Alison. Your old home, and comfort and security for your family, in return for continuing to run this house, and acting the part of the dutiful wife in public.’

‘I think marriage to you is a high price to pay, even for total security,’ she said quietly.

‘But as I’ve tried to make clear, it wouldn’t be a marriage in any real sense,’ he pointed out impatiently.

‘I understand that.’ Alison shook her head, aware of a growing feeling of unreality. ‘But would you really be content with such a cold-blooded arrangement for the rest of your life?’

‘If I thought for one minute I was capable of finding the kind of genuine happiness my parents enjoyed, then probably not.’ Nick Bristow gave a faint shrug. ‘But that isn’t going to happen. And I’m certainly not interested in saddling myself with declarations of undying love, and the inevitable tantrums when the thing comes unstuck. I know damned well what an ephemeral thing eternal passion is, at least where women are concerned.’

‘Are men any different?’ Alison asked steadily. ‘Perhaps you’ve just been unfortunate.’

‘Maybe.’ He shrugged again. ‘I’m in no real position to judge, but among my own friends I’ve seen any number totally committed to their marriages, and unable to see that their devoted wives are already looking over their shoulders, waiting for the next well-heeled idiot to come along so they can play change partners.’ His mouth curled slightly. ‘That isn’t what I want. And I can’t see why you and I shouldn’t reach some kind of bargain which would satisfy us both.’ He paused, the blue eyes measuring her. ‘As an extra incentive,’ he said, ‘I know of someone who might be interested in buying your father’s works as a going concern, instead of letting it fall into the hands of the receiver.’

‘How wonderful to be able to exert such influence,’ she said quietly. ‘I only wish my future wasn’t going to be part of all this wheeling and dealing. It tends to have an unsettling effect.’

The dark face held impatience. ‘What reassurance can I offer? If you want a written contract, then I’ll have one drawn up. You can impose whatever safeguards seem good to you. A mutual guarantee, if you like, that we won’t interfere in each other’s lives.’

‘In other words, I’m not to enquire too closely into where you go, or what company you keep,’ Alison said scornfully. ‘I find that a revolting idea!’

‘I can’t see why any extra-mural activities of mine should affect you at all,’ he said cynically. He paused. ‘Unless, of course, it’s you that has fallen madly in love with me.’

‘Nothing,’ she assured him, ‘could be further from the truth.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ he said drily. ‘So why introduce emotional hassle into what is purely a business arrangement? If I were offering you any other kind of job, you wouldn’t be probing into my moral rectitude.’

There was a kind of brutal truth in that, she was forced to admit.

‘At the risk of probing further,’ she said, after a brief hesitation, ‘I thought there was a lady in your life already—someone you planned to marry, when it was convenient …’

‘You mean when her divorce became final?’ He studied Alison’s responding flush with open mockery. ‘I’m afraid you’re under a misapprehension, my dear. And so is the lady, as I’ve had to make clear to her. She’ll be far better off staying with her husband. He may be dull, but he stands to inherit a baronetcy.’

Alison’s eyes widened indignantly. ‘Isn’t that rather callous?’

‘It might be,’ he agreed, ‘if I’d helped to put her marriage on the rocks on the first place. As it happens, I didn’t. Nor do I appreciate her throwing my name to any tame gossip columnist she had hanging round.’ The firm mouth hardened into implacability, and in spite of herself, Alison shivered. ‘I have no intention of being dragged into the Monclairs’ current bout of mud-slinging, and finding myself an alternative bride without delay will help to snuff out any further speculation in that quarter.’ He smiled faintly. ‘As you see, the favours work both ways.’

Alison ran the tip of her tongue around her drying lips. ‘If you want simply to be engaged—on a temporary basis—then maybe …’

‘I don’t,’ he interrupted. ‘I’ve told you my terms. I want a real engagement, to be followed in due course by a conventional wedding—although I suppose I’ll have to spare you the white lace and orange blossom,’ he added, his eyes flicking over her dismissively.

‘Thank you,’ said said grittily. ‘But I don’t need to be reminded that I fall far short of the usual image of the radiant bride.’

‘Perhaps,’ he agreed, without a single sign of repentance. ‘But it wasn’t any possible shortcomings of yours I was considering, but the fact that you’re still mourning your father. I think, in the circumstances, we could be forgiven for a small quiet wedding.’

It was all moving too far too fast, and she held up a hand. ‘I—I can’t answer you now. I must have time to think.’

‘As you wish.’ He paused. ‘But without wishing to exert undue pressure, I’d be glad to have an answer by the end of the week at the latest.’ He produced a card from a wallet, and handed it to her. ‘My business and private numbers,’ he said. ‘I’ll be waiting for your call.’

She couldn’t think of anything to say in reply to this, at last managing a feeble ‘Goodbye’ as he walked towards the door.

‘Let’s make it au revoir, shall we?’ She thought she could hear faint amusement in his voice. ‘Because I’ll be back.’

She was still trying to work out whether that was a promise or a threat when she heard the distant thud of the front door closing.

And, suddenly and uncontrollably, she began to tremble.

CHAPTER THREE

IT was a very long evening. Alison made herself have a meal, although she could not afterwards have stated with any accuracy just what she had eaten. All she could think of was Nicholas Bristow, and the amazing—the incredible offer he had made her.

At first, she told herself that it was all some weird dream from which, at any moment, she would awaken.

But the card with his telephone numbers printed on it was no figment of her imagination, even though she couldn’t envisage herself ever dialling either of them.

She tried to look at his proposition in the same dispassionate way as he had made it, but it was impossible. Even if, as he’d promised, all they were to share was a roof and a name, the prospect was still a disturbing one, fraught with obvious pitfalls.

On the other hand, the chance of being able to achieve some kind of security for Mel and her mother was a tantalising one, which was why, she thought wryly, he had mentioned that aspect first. He knew her priorities, as well as he apparently knew his own.

Yet that didn’t mean she was prepared to sell herself—for Ladymead, and the place in the sun it represented, she thought, staring sightlessly into the fire. Yet now it was back within her grasp, could she bear to let it go?

She moved restlessly. It was the sheer—impersonality of the offer that chilled her, she had to admit, as she recalled the cool indifference of the blue eyes as they had glanced at her. Not that she wanted him to fancy her, she made haste to remind herself. But at the same time, it was hurtful to recognise the image he had of her as some boring, submissive, domesticated doormat. A born spinster, she thought savagely, only too eager to grab at any matrimonial opportunity to come her way, however unlikely or unrewarding.

Well, what a shock he’d get when she turned him down!

‘I’m off now, miss.’ Mrs Horner popped her head round the door. ‘And madam’s awake, and asking for you.’

‘I’ll go up right away.’ Alison stirred guiltily. ‘Did she have any dinner?’

‘Cook did her a nice piece of steamed fish, and a little egg custard. She managed most of it,’ Mrs Horner assured her. ‘Good night, Miss Alison.’

Mrs Mortimer was propped up by pillows, her face set in lines of strain.

‘That man was here,’ she greeted Alison, as her daughter came through the door. ‘What did he want?’

‘Just to talk.’ Alison sat down on the edge of the bed and took her mother’s hand. ‘How are you this evening? You were asleep when I peeped in earlier.’

Mrs Mortimer dismissed this with an irritated shake of her head. ‘What does he have to talk to us about?’ she demanded agitatedly. ‘God knows we’re at his mercy. I suppose he wants us to leave here. Well, I’ll die first!’ She began to cry again. ‘This is my home, and it’s too cruel for him to turn me out like this. Too cruel!’ She began to thrash round on her pillows, making little moaning noises.

‘Darling, don’t,’ Alison said gently. ‘He didn’t come here for that at all. In fact …’ She stopped.

‘What?’ Her mother’s fingers tightened almost convulsively round hers, hurting her. ‘What did he want, Alison? Has he changed his mind about living here, after all? Is he going to leave us in peace?’

Alison shook her head reluctantly. ‘He can’t do that.’ She paused. ‘Mummy, Simon told me about this cottage today. It’s at High Foxton, so you could still stay in touch with all your friends. It sounds really quite nice, and we could just about afford it. Would you like to see it?’

‘No!’ Mrs Mortimer’s eyes were alarmingly wild and bright suddenly. ‘I’ll never leave here—never! This is my home, not some squalid cottage. We must buy Ladymead back. Your Uncle Hugh might have the money. We must ask him to help us.’

‘Darling, you can’t,’ Alison said firmly. ‘Uncle Hugh has responsibilities of his own, and I shouldn’t think he could lay his hands on even half the amount Nicholas Bristow would want. Even if he’d sell—which I doubt.’

‘I thought perhaps that was why he’d come here. To offer to sell the place back to us.’ The look of hope in her mother’s eyes was almost more than Alison could bear.

‘No,’ she said with a sigh, ‘It—it wasn’t that. He came to offer us—a share in it, I suppose. On certain conditions.’

‘A share?’ A share in Ladymead?’ Mrs Mortimer drew a long quivering breath. ‘In our own home?’

Alison sighed silently. ‘But it isn’t ours any longer,’ she said patiently. ‘You have to come to terms with the fact that it belongs to Nick Bristow now, lock, stock and barrel. That’s why it would be so much better to get away from here and start again.’

‘How can you say that?’ Her mother’s tone was harsh with reproach. ‘This is the house where you were born. Oh, you’re so hard, Alison. I sometimes wonder how you came to be any child of mine.’

‘As you’ve often told me,’ Alison said wryly. She got up. ‘Get some more rest now, Mother. We’ll talk again tomorrow.’

‘No, now.’ Mrs Mortimer’s fingers fastened like manacles round Alison’s wrist. ‘Tell me about this offer of the Bristow man’s. Does it really mean we can stay here? What conditions?’

‘He wants me to—work for him in a certain capacity.’ Alison chose her words carefully.

‘Work?’ her mother echoed. ‘But a man like that would already have all the staff he needs, surely. He could pick and choose, and you aren’t even trained for anything.’

‘I don’t think there’s much formal training for the kind of job he’s offering,’ Alison returned drily. ‘And it’s staff for Ladymead that he’s looking for.’

‘But Alec Liddell assured me that Cook—Mrs Horner—everyone would be kept on. Are you telling me they’re going to be turned out too?’

‘On the contrary, he’s anxious for the status quo to be preserved when he takes over. I imagine he would find any form of domestic inconvenience profoundly irritating.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’

Alison shrugged, striving for lightness. ‘The problem is he’s discovered from Alec that I’ve been—running things for you since I left school, and he wants me to go on doing so.’

Mrs Mortimer levered herself up against her pillows, her attention sharply fixed on her daughter’s face. ‘He wants you to keep house for him—and we can live here while you do?’

‘Yes.’ Alison looked down at the carpet. ‘Ridiculous, isn’t it?’

‘Ridiculous? It could be the answer to our prayers!’ There was excited colour in Mrs Mortimer’s face, and she looked more animated than she’d done for weeks, Alison realised with a pang. ‘What did you tell him? Did you agree?’

Alison shook her head. ‘Not yet. You see—there’s more.’ She hesitated, then said baldly, ‘He wants to marry me.’

‘Marry you?’ Mrs Mortimer slumped back in genuine if unflattering astonishment. ‘Nicholas Bristow wants to marry you?’ She shook her head. ‘Darling, it must have been some strange kind of joke. He can’t have been serious!’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Alison agreed, refusing to allow herself to be wounded by her mother’s immediate assumption that she could have no charms for a man like Nick Bristow. After all, it was no more than the truth, and she knew it, and to allow even one pang of hurt was merely being stupid. ‘But I have until the end of the week to give him my answer, so that seems to indicate he means business.’

‘Good God,’ Mrs Mortimer said faintly. There was silence, then she said, ‘What are you going to say?’

Alison’s brows lifted. ‘No, of course. You couldn’t expect me to agree to such an outrageous proposal. He—he doesn’t care for me. I think I could do better for myself than be married as a convenience.’

‘Do better than Nicholas Bristow? Are you quite mad?’ Mrs Mortimer sat up energetically, grasping her daughter’s hands in hers. ‘Alison, he’s offering you your home back—your heritage. That’s what you must think about. And there’s Melly to consider.’

‘I know,’ Alison acknowledged. ‘She was part of the package, as a matter of fact.’ She tried a smile. ‘Oh, all the strings were gold-plated, and designed to appeal. No wonder he’s such a success in the City!’

‘Then how can you even consider refusing?’ Mrs Mortimer demanded.

Alison’s chin came up. ‘Daddy sold himself to Nick Bristow,’ she said with terrible clarity. ‘Are you seriously suggesting I should do the same thing?’

‘But this may be his way of trying to make amends to us,’ her mother said eagerly. ‘Alison, for God’s sake—at least consider!’

Alison looked at her incredulously. ‘You—really mean it?’

‘Of course I do!’ Mrs Mortimer thumped the coverlet with her fist. ‘For heaven’s sake, darling, be rational. You’re far too sensible to be carried away by dreams of some overpowering romance. It just isn’t going to happen, and instead you’re being offered the chance to recover everything we’ve lost, together with the kind of husband most girls would be fighting over,’ she added a shade waspishly.

‘Perhaps that’s part of the trouble,’ Alison said drily. ‘Maybe I’d prefer a man who wasn’t quite so universally attractive.’

‘Now you’re being absurd.’ Mrs Mortimer released her hands and threw herself back on her pillows. She was looking agitated again. ‘Alison, you can’t do this to us! It would be too selfish to deliberately reduce us all to penury, when it could all be so different—and just for a few silly scruples. I feel that Nicholas Bristow is doing his utmost to behave honourably in this—dire situation. And the last you can do is meet him halfway.’

‘The least?’ Alison didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘To sell myself to a man I hardly know just for security? To give up my own life—the possibility of a career …?’

‘A career!’ Mrs Mortimer almost snorted. ‘I suppose you mean working for a pittance at that estate agent’s. And if you’re imagining for one minute that Simon Thwaite will have any further interest in you once we’ve lost Ladymead, then think again, because the Thwaites have always married money.’

‘And Simon will know his duty, even if I don’t.’ Alison bent her head. ‘Thank you for being so frank. It’s just as well I’m not in love with him.’

‘If you were, naturally I would exert no pressure, but in the circumstances …’ Mrs Mortimer retrieved a lace-edged handkerchief and dabbed at her mouth. ‘Alison dear, it isn’t given to us all to fall deeply in love as I did with your father. Very satisfactory relationships have been known to evolve from very little.’

‘But how do you build on nothing at all?’ Alison asked ironically. ‘It will be interesting to find out, I suppose, if nothing else.’ She pushed her hair back from her face. ‘Uncle Hugh said Daddy was a gambler; I must be more like him than I thought.’ She bent and dropped a light kiss on her mother’s hair. ‘Don’t look so worried, darling, you’re going to have your way. Ladymead will be restored to us, with all the other fringe benefits. I’ll phone Mr Bristow now and tell him, before I lose my nerve.’

She went down the stairs slowly, clinging to the banister rail as if she was afraid her legs would crumple and betray her. She’d left Nick Bristow’s card beside the phone, and it lay there, staring up at her, forcing her to respond—to act.

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