A High Price to Pay (6 page)

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.

Alison swallowed, running the tip of her tongue over achingly dry

lips, before reaching for the receiver and dialling his home number.

It was strangely appropriate, in the circumstances, that it was an

answering machine, and not Nick himself, that replied.

She waited for the tone, then said colourlessly, 'Mr Bristow, this is

Alison Mortimer. I've considered your proposal, and the answer

is—yes. Good night.'

When she replaced the receiver, her breathing was as harsh and

hurried as if she'd taken part in some marathon race.

A pretty antique mirror with a gilt frame hung above the telephone

table. She looked at herself steadily, registering her pallor, and the

wide, frightened eyes under the delicately winged brows.

Aloud, she said, 'Well, it's done, and somehow I have to live with

it—and make the best of it.' Then she turned away.

She awoke in the night to find tears on her face, feverish with dreams

she could only remember in part. She fetched herself a glass of water

from the bathroom and lay in the dark sipping it, and listening to the

rain on the window, wondering restlessly whether Nick Bristow had

played back the tape on his machine yet. She bit her lip. Of course,

she was taking it for granted that he would be spending the night

under his own roof, although she had no real reason to suppose he

would be.

It was far more likely that he would be with one of his ladies. If not

Hester Monclair, then someone else, she thought with distaste, then

immediately chided herself. She had no grounds to speculate now, or

at any future time about that side of his life. He'd made that very clear.

He would live his life, and she would live hers, and on the occasions

when their paths crossed, she would be expected to keep to safe,

neutral topics of conversation.

That, after all, was part of the price she was going to pay for

Ladymead, and her family's security.

She grimaced, drinking the rest of her water, and settled back with

determination, willing herself back to sleep. But it wasn't as easy as

that. In the darkness, she kept seeing Nick Bristow's image, almost as

if he'd been etched on to her aching eyes.

'This is ridiculous,' she muttered crossly, turning over and burying her

face in her too-hot pillow. She was tired and worried and confused,

that was all. That was why she was having these adolescent fantasies

suddenly about how it would feel to have that hard, cynical mouth

touching hers in passion, or see something more than indifference in

those cool blue eyes.

Alison groaned aloud, and dealt the inoffensive pillow a blow with

her clenched fist, telling herself restlessly that it was more or less

inevitable that the wretched man should be on her mind. After all,

she'd only agreed to marry him a few hours before.

But if she had to think of him, why did it have to be in such blatantly

physical terms? It certainly wasn't like her. Simon had held her in his

arms, and kissed her, but he'd never managed to intrude upon her

dreams, sleeping or waking.

She'd thought she'd woken in tears because she'd been thinking of her

father, but now, she was not so sure.

Yet there was a logical explanation for everything, she told herself

severely. Nick Bristow was a shatteringly attractive man, quite apart

from the cataclysmic effect he had had on her life. It was little

wonder, surely, that he was preying on her mind.

But once this strange business-marriage of theirs was a
fait accompli,

things would change, she decided resolutely. Her role would be to run

Ladymead in the same ordered groove as always, and Nick Bristow

would hardly impinge on her life at all. That was the way they both

wanted it, after all, and that was the way it would be.

She overslept the next morning, and was having a hasty breakfast

with one eye on the clock when she heard the sound of a car coming

up the drive. It was too early for visitors, she thought, grabbing her

bag as she rose to her feet. Her mother was still asleep, and Mrs

Horner would have to fend off whoever it was.

As she reached the dining room door, it opened abruptly, and Alison

stopped with a little gasp of surprise as Nick Bristow strode in.

She had never seen him wearing anything but formal clothes, but this

morning he was casually dressed in close-fitting black denim pants,

topped by a rollneck cashmere sweater in the same colour, and a

suede jacket slung over one shoulder.

He said without preamble, 'I got your message. I thought we'd better

talk—finalise things.'

'Oh?' Alison gave him a hostile glance, aware that her pulses were

still drumming haphazardly. Why had he had to pop up like the

Demon King? she wondered crossly. 'Well, I'm afraid I have other

plans for today.'

'Then cancel them.' His tone brooked no opposition. 'Ring work, if

that's where you're going, and tell them you won't be in. Say you're ill,

if you prefer our engagement to remain our little secret for the time

being,' he added sardonically.

She set her teeth. 'I was going to work, yes. I have a busy morning

ahead, and as it happens, I was going to ask my boss if I could have

the afternoon off to be with my mother. She hasn't been at all well

and…'

'I'm aware of that. Perhaps the news that she doesn't have to move out

of this house will be just the tonic she needs. And I've had to postpone

today's schedule too. I thought we'd drive over and see my mother. I

think our respective families should be the first to know the good

news, don't you?'

'Good news?' Alison gaped at him. 'You talk as if this engagement

was real!'

'As far as the rest of the world's concerned, it is.' Again a note in his

voice forbade argument. 'You're almost bound to confide in your

mother. As she'll be living under the same roof with us, she's- sure to