First Friends (53 page)

Nick Farley sat at his desk, idly turning a pencil between his fingers as he stared out over the chimney pots of Plymouth.

His detractors—Nick didn't have enemies—said that he had arrived at his elevated position through his wife's connections but that, nevertheless, he was a thoroughly nice chap, reliable, marvellous old world manners, very useful at dinner parties: a delightful man, they would say. And so he was.

His office, like Michael's, reflected a bygone age. Tall, glass-fronted bookcases reared up towards the lofty ceilings with their ornate plaster cornices, a satinwood bureau gleamed beside the Adam fireplace, whilst one or two originals in oil hung against the dark wall panelling.

As one of the senior partners, he saw only selected clients; pacing across the polished floor to meet them, the Waterford decanter and glasses waiting on their silver tray. Yes, life was very good.

Nick frowned a little, sighed deeply, and rising, walked to the window, where he gazed out over the city, absentmindedly jingling the coins in his pocket. It was unfortunate, it was damned disappointing, but Cass would have to go. She was becoming a nuisance—worse, a threat. He shook his head and pursed his rather thin lips. Dammit! Who would have thought that he could have misjudged her so completely?

Nick picked the partners for his romantic little affairs very carefully indeed. He usually selected women of a certain age; bored, lonely,
neglected, guaranteed to be grateful for some flattering attention, overjoyed to receive a little pleasure in civilised surroundings.

After a while—how long depended on how well the woman behaved herself—he would regretfully, charmingly but very firmly, declare the affair over. Since he always made certain that the woman had as much to lose as he had, no fuss, or at least not an unbearable amount, was made and he usually managed to remain on good terms with his former mistresses. Only once had he misjudged it, when he had selected a young girl who had lost her head and had caused rather a nasty moment. He had dealt with it cleverly and now it looked as if such tactics might be needed again. Who would have believed that such an experienced dallier as Cass—he was well aware of her reputation—would start behaving like a girl of eighteen? Although, to be fair, he'd been rather bowled over himself, certainly enough to have actually written her—well, typed, he wasn't that stupid—a note.

He felt cold sweat prickle on his back. He must have been mad! He exhaled self-pityingly and walked back to his desk. And it could have been such fun! She was a charming, attractive companion, very good in bed . . . He shook his head again. It just would not do. Twice this week she'd telephoned, trying to make arrangements to see him on the flimsiest pretexts, hinting of dramas and problems that didn't exist. He'd had to tell her that he wouldn't accept any more calls. His reputation was very dear to him and he wasn't prepared to risk it for anyone. When he'd met her at the Skylark she'd behaved with far less restraint than usual. He'd noticed one or two looks from the regulars and he was beginning to regret the weekend in Shropshire.

The intercom on his desk buzzed and he leaned over to press the button.

‘Yes?'

‘Mrs Stretton is downstairs, sir. Your twelve-thirty appointment. Shall I ask her to come up?'

‘Just a moment Susannah . . . Mrs Stretton?' He paused, puzzling over the name. ‘Do we know her?'

‘No, sir. She's a new client. Said Admiral Hartley recommended you and you agreed to see her. Apparently it's all rather urgent.'

‘Oh, yes. I remember your telling me. Very well. Wheel her in.'

He ran a comb quickly through his hair, straightened his tie, made sure that his desk was clear and was still on his feet when Susannah knocked and opened the door.

‘Mrs Stretton, sir.'

‘How do you do?' Nick moved forward and stopped, thunderstruck. The door closed behind Susannah and Cass smiled at him.

‘Surprise!' she said and burst out laughing.

‘What on earth d'you think you're doing?' His face was stiff with displeasure and he ignored her outstretched hands.

‘Oh, darling! Don't be so stuffy! It's a joke. You were so funny about how I mustn't phone and mustn't come to see you here that I decided to penetrate the inner sanctum. Well? Now that I am here aren't you going to kiss me?'

Nick looked at her smiling face and felt only an urge to slap it very hard. However, he dared not make a scene. It was most unlikely that anyone would walk in whilst he had a client with him but nevertheless . . . He took a deep breath.

‘I'm really very cross with you, you know,' he began, moving round his desk, away from her. ‘It really is a very silly thing to do and you might easily be recognised. That doesn't matter. Anyone is allowed to visit a lawyer's rooms, but not under an assumed name. Anyway, why Stretton?'

‘Don't you remember Church Stretton? In Shropshire? I thought you might have guessed. Don't be so boring about it all, Nick. I wanted to see your office—or do you call it “chambers”?—and you in it. Are you going to take me out to lunch? I'm in my city clothes as you can see.'

For the first time he looked at her properly. Her severely cut suit with its double breasted jacket and straight skirt was made of expensive grey flannel, her sheer stockings were pearly grey and her feet
were shod in narrow black suede pumps. Her crisp white shirt had a mandarin collar and her golden hair was swept upwards into a loose, shining knot. She looked wonderful.

‘I can't,' he said flatly. ‘I'm having lunch with the senior partner. I'm sorry but it's quite impossible.' He watched her disappointment with satisfaction.

‘Surely you could cancel it!' she cried. ‘After I've come all this way specially. Oh, Nick, can't you put him off? You can have lunch with him any time.'

‘It's out of the question.' He allowed his impatience to show. ‘I can't just cancel lunch for no good reason.'

‘Aren't I a good reason?' She came close to him, trying to make him touch her, and he felt a renewed urge to use physical violence.

‘Not quite good enough, I'm afraid.' He forced a laugh. ‘I might think so but I don't think John Marriott would, necessarily. Of course, he hasn't seen you.' He tried for a little of his usual manner. ‘If he did he'd probably want to take you out himself.' He kissed her quickly. ‘Now then. We've time for a glass of sherry before I have to go.' He freed himself from her clinging hands and went to the decanter. ‘You'll approve of this. Now, what's the news?'

Ten minutes later he shut the door behind her with a gasp of relief, his mind fully made up. Cass must go and the sooner the better. Going to his desk he pressed the switch that gave him a line out and began to dial.

O
N THE SAME MORNING
, but slightly earlier, Harriet and Michael set out, at last, for Lee-on-Solent. It had become necessary for Harriet to see her solicitor, sign the contract for the sale of her house and tie up various loose ends.

As the car breasted the hill, Dartmoor lay spread out before them, the bracken burning a fierce orange, the purple heather looking like patches of smoke.

Harriet caught her breath.

‘Wonderful,' she said. ‘I shall never get used to it. It's always wonderful and different.'

Plumes of shadow chased across the stony tors as high cloud passed across the sun.

‘But will you like it in the winter when the winds howl and everything is obliterated by driving rain?' wondered Michael. ‘The weather's been exceptional since you've been here. At the first sign of West Country weather you'll probably be back off up-country to civilisation.'

‘I shan't,' she declared. ‘I shall love it whatever it does. Do you ever get tired of it?'

‘Never! But then I'm a West Country man, you know. I'm not a townie.'

‘Pig!' She laughed. ‘Neither am I. Or, at least, not any more. I've been very happy at Lower Barton.'

‘I wanted to talk to you about that.' Michael slowed and pulled out as a solitary sheep ambled into the road. ‘Would you like, perhaps, to start afresh: somewhere new for both of us? If we pooled our resources we could get quite a decent place, you know.'

She turned to look at him in surprise.

‘D'you know, I hadn't thought of it.'

‘I wondered if we both might prefer a home that had no previous associations.'

She felt a spasm of guilt. Was he thinking of that dreadful morning when Tom had appeared at the cottage? Perhaps it had spoiled Lower Barton for him and he was merely being tactful. She pulled herself together. If that were the case, surely, during the last few days, she would have seen some sign of it since she had spent most of them at the cottage? She had lived with him as a friend, now she was living with him as a lover. In fact there was very little difference except that Michael, sure of her for the first time, had found that his difficulties in bed had quite disappeared.

‘Well? Now that you have thought of it, what d'you say? There are
some rather nice properties on the market at the moment and I'd have no problem in selling the cottage.'

‘I'd say that I'd rather we stayed at Lower Barton. I'm sure we'll never find anything half so nice. But only if it's what you want too?'

‘I'd rather stay. We can change the decorations, of course, and you'll want your own furniture but, to be honest, I'd be very sad to leave it.' He smiled without taking his eyes from the road and reached for her hand. ‘Happy?'

‘Blissfully!'

C
ASS ARRIVED HOME FROM
Plymouth feeling helpless and miserable. She simply didn't know what to do. For her, the weekend in Shropshire had been a turning point in her affair with Nick. For him there seemed to have been no change at all: quite the reverse. This week he had been almost cold and unsympathetic. He was totally uninterested in Charlotte's disaster and showed no disposition to behave any differently from before their perfect weekend. Cass, who had imagined some change—although she hardly knew what—was bitterly disappointed. The trouble was that she had no power over him, nothing that she could offer him was enough to tempt him. For the first time Cass was on the receiving end and she didn't like it a bit. In her calmer moments she couldn't decide exactly what it was that she wanted. She couldn't really imagine life without her children or Tom or even living anywhere but at the Rectory. Nevertheless, these things paled into insignificance when she thought about Nick and she couldn't now imagine being without him either. If she were honest, what she wanted was for him to leave his wife and set up on his own somewhere. Then they could meet whenever possible, re-creating another Shropshire here in Devon. To be fair, Nick had given the impression that nothing but kindness kept him with his wife and Cass, therefore, could see no reason why he should not provide handsomely for Sarah and lead his own life. He could still visit her, help her with problems or emergencies, she needn't feel alone. But Nick wouldn't hear of it. He fielded these questions with all the cleverness
that the legal profession had taught him and Cass felt helpless and confused.

Changing from her city clothes into an old tweed skirt, a sweater and some sensible shoes she went into the garden to do some tidying up. She was aware of a change in the air. The brilliant champagne freshness had been replaced by a sultry heaviness, though the sun still shone.

She tied up some chrysanthemums and snipped a few dead heads, watched by Charlotte from her open bedroom window, and made a half-hearted attempt to sweep up some leaves. In this she was defeated by Gus, who would plunge into the pile, catching the leaves in his mouth and tossing them into the air before turning round and round in circles to fall panting in the middle of them. He was enjoying himself so much that she didn't have the heart to stop him and was standing, leaning on her rake watching him, as a car swept into the drive and halted a few feet away.

Cass watched in surprise and then horror as a short, rather dumpy woman with cropped grey hair climbed out and came across the lawn towards her. She wore navy blue cords with a navy Guernsey and a scarf knotted loosely around her neck.

‘Sarah,' breathed Cass and her heart gave a sickening thud. ‘Sarah!' It came out more strongly this time, as a greeting, though she remained rooted to the spot.

‘Cass, my dear. How lucky to find you home. I came on the off-chance. How are you?'

‘I'm . . . well.' Cass let go of the rake to accept the proffered embrace and each kissed the air the statutory two inches from the other's cheek bone.

‘I'm glad. What weather! But I think this spell is almost over. I smell a change in the air. All alone?'

‘Yes. Well, there's Charlotte.' Cass glanced up towards her window. ‘She's not too well at present. Gemma's gone to tea with a friend.'

‘How lucky you are to have all these lovely children.' Sarah moved
purposefully to a little wooden seat. ‘Shall we sit down for a moment?' Cass followed her, dazed. ‘I want to talk to you about Nick. He's got a problem.' She smiled and squeezed Cass's arm. ‘It's you!'