One Rainy Day (2 page)

Andrew chortled. ‘Oh, I say, compliments like that are likely to give me a big head.’ With a huge grin on his face which made him look a lot younger than his twenty-five years, he looked across the desk. ‘Well, come on, Mrs Stamford, who am I next to on your list of favourite film stars?’

‘I’m too old for that, Mr Andrew. I’m past the swooning stage. And unless we keep our mind on the work ahead of us, you’re going to be late for your meeting with Mr George.’

Andrew squared his shoulders and picked up the letter on top of the pile. ‘Quite right, too! How lucky I am to have a conscientious secretary who keeps my shoulder to the wheel. Off we go, and there’ll be no break now until we’ve finished. So, pencil poised, and I’ll dictate to your speed.’

For the next half-hour, there was silence in the room except for Andrew’s voice, and the occasional rustle as his secretary turned over a page on her notebook. They were halfway through the letters when the phone rang in Wendy’s next-door office, and Andrew tutted in exasperation. ‘Get rid of them quickly, Mrs Stamford. If it’s me they’re after, tell them I’ve slipped out of the office on business.’

With her notebook gripped in her hand, Wendy left the
office, only to be back within a few seconds. ‘It’s your mother, Mr Andrew, and she said it’s important. If you pick your phone up, I’ll replace mine and stay in my office until you call me.’

Andrew’s eyes went to the ceiling. He did wish his mother wouldn’t ring him at the office so often. He wouldn’t mind if there was a reason for her calls, but mostly she rang out of boredom. But she shouldn’t be bored today, not when there was so much to organize for the dinner party. He took a deep breath before lifting the receiver. ‘Yes, Mother, did you wish to speak to me?’

Harriet Wilkie-Brook had a very cultured voice. Born into a wealthy family, and married to a wealthy husband, she knew very little about what went on in the world. She was, in fact, remote from reality – which would have been apparent to anyone if they’d been in a position to hear the conversation between mother and son. ‘It’s about the flowers, darling. The order arrived half an hour ago, and they really are lovely. But I’m a little concerned that I may have under-ordered. Perhaps you could ring the florist for me, and ask them to send a further two dozen roses. A mixture of pink and deep red.’

Andrew forced himself to take a deep breath before saying, ‘Mother, I am in the middle of dictating to Mrs Stamford, and I really don’t have the time. Could Charlotte not ring the shop for you?’ Charlotte was his nineteen-year-old sister, who had never worked a day in her life, and was spoiled by both parents. ‘I’m sure she’s capable of ordering flowers over the telephone.’

‘This is a very busy day for Charlotte.’ Harriet Wilkie-Brook’s tone said she was not best pleased. She wasn’t used to refusals. ‘This is very thoughtless of you, Andrew. You should understand that your sister had, and still has, many things to do. This morning she had an appointment at the hairdresser’s, then a fitting for shoes, next a visit to the manicurist’s to have
her nails cut and polished. Right now she is in town with one of her friends, picking up the dress she’s had made for the party tonight.’ Then Andrew’s mother became exasperated at having to make excuses. ‘This is most unkind of you, Andrew, and it is no way to talk to your mother. I’m sure your father will be horrified when I tell him you refused to do me a tiny favour.’

‘Father understands that I am very busy this morning, Mother, because I have to get through a day’s work in half a day. You see, I’m meeting him for lunch at the club. It’s a business lunch. I’ll tell him you phoned, and about your request. And I’ll explain that as I was inundated with work I asked my secretary to ring the florists and order the two dozen roses you requested for tonight. Now, as your mind should be at rest, am I allowed to return to the many letters that need my attention?’

There was silence for a few seconds, then in a coaxing voice Harriet said, ‘There is one little thing, my darling, but I’m quite sure it will meet with your approval. Annabel was on the telephone earlier, and I promised her you would pick her up in your car at seven fifteen.’

Andrew’s brows were drawn together in puzzlement. ‘But I was under the impression Mr and Mrs Barford had accepted the invitation to the party?’

‘Yes, of course they have. They have never turned down an invitation to one of our dinners. Actually they were the first to reply.’

‘Then surely Annabel can accompany them in their car? She always has before, and I would have thought it was obvious that she should do so now! It would be ridiculous for the parents to arrive in their car, then their daughter to arrive in another.’

‘The poor girl would be so disappointed if you refused, Andrew. She was delighted when I said I would ask, for she really is very fond of you. And she is such a sweet thing, so pretty and very charming.’

‘Mother, under no circumstances will I pick Annabel up, and I’m surprised at your even suggesting it. She is pretty, and charming, as you say, but she is also only nineteen years of age. And a very young nineteen at that. Her parents treat her like a child, and they’ve never allowed her to grow up, which I find very sad. For while she is always happy and pleasant, she is very innocent. Her conversation goes no further than clothes, perfume, and nights at the theatre. I know you had hopes for Annabel and me, and perhaps I should have spoken sooner, but it would never work, Mother, so would you please not give her any encouragement. I like her as a friend, I am fond of her as a friend, but it ends there.’

‘You are twenty-five today, Andrew, and have never had a proper girlfriend. Heaven knows there are enough eligible females around who have set their sights on you over the years, but you show no interest. And I still say you could do a lot worse than Annabel. She comes from good stock, and she would be faithful, for she adores you.’

‘Mother, when I fall in love it will be with a girl who is right for me. It hasn’t happened yet, but one day she will come along. I’m prepared to wait for that day.’ Andrew could feel a headache coming on, and rubbed his forehead. ‘Mother, I really must go now, I have so much to do. We will talk about this subject at length some time. But I promise that when I do meet a girl I want to spend the rest of my life with, you will be the very first to know.’

His mother’s voice was subdued when she answered, ‘I’ll ring Annabel and tell her you are unfortunately not able to
call for her this evening, and she should accompany her parents. And Andrew, my darling, don’t mention this conversation to your father, for he has so much on his mind, he’ll think it petty.’

George Wilkie-Brook was in the smoking room of the members-only club when his son came through the door. He quickly left his chair, and with an extended arm, and a huge smile on his face, he went to greet his son. ‘Come in, my boy, come in.’

‘I’m sorry I’m a little late, Father, but there was a lot of correspondence requiring my attention.’ Andrew grinned. ‘I must tell the truth and say that if it hadn’t been for Mrs Stamford, I would still be at my desk. She really is a treasure.’

‘Would I give you anything but the best, my son?’ George Wilkie-Brook had a loud, confident voice. A voice used to being listened to, and obeyed. Not that he was an arrogant man, for he was far from that. He was very down to earth, treated everyone as an equal, and was blessed with a good sense of humour. He never boasted about his success, but his bearing, dress sense, and easy-going manner in any company were signs that here was a man of means. ‘Will you have a glass of whisky before we go into the dining room, Andrew? I must toast you on your birthday.’

‘You have a whisky, Father, but I would prefer a glass of claret if you don’t mind. Whisky goes to my head, and I don’t think Mother would be pleased if I arrived home in a state of intoxication.’

George’s laugh was hearty, and turned a few heads. ‘You wouldn’t bear the brunt of your mother’s displeasure, my son, I would! But to make sure we both escape unscathed, claret you shall have.’ He lifted a hand to summon a waiter standing
nearby. ‘One glass of your finest claret, John, and the usual whisky for me.’

‘If we’re going in for a meal, Father, we could take our drinks through with us.’ Andrew was feeling rather peckish, having eaten very little at breakfast time. Usually it didn’t matter what time he arrived at the office and he could breakfast at his leisure, but today was special and he had wanted to get in early to ensure that everything ran smoothly.

George laid his cigar in the large, round, solid crystal ashtray before saying, ‘I’ll have John bring the drinks through.’ He put a hand on his son’s arm as they walked into the quiet, select dining room. ‘I’ve made enquiries about the menu, dear boy, and the poached salmon and asparagus was recommended.’

Andrew rubbed his hands together. ‘That sounds very tempting, Father. I’ll join you. I won’t have the soup, though, delicious as it always is. I need to leave some room for the mountain of wonderful food Mother will have made especially for my birthday. After all her hard work, she’d be so disappointed if I refused to eat until there wasn’t a crumb left.’

George chortled. ‘Andrew, my son, your mother will not have seen the food until it is all spread out on the tables. She may know the name of every dish and every cake, and every bottle of wine, but if you asked her to toast a piece of bread, she wouldn’t know how. It isn’t her fault, for she’s been shielded from reality since the day she was born. She doesn’t know any other sort of life. Pampered by her parents, and then by myself.’ He swirled his glass and watched the golden liquor lap the sides. ‘I love your mother dearly, but I am not blind to her lack of knowledge regarding what goes on outside our close-knit social circle.’

Andrew took a deep breath before saying what had been
on his mind since the day he became aware of how the Wilkie-Brook family lived. ‘And Charlotte, Father? Are you not afraid she is being spoilt? My sister is a lovely girl, beautiful to look at and full of fun, and she has loads of friends. She’s a good daughter and a loving sister. But what about when she gets married, Father? Will her husband be prepared to pamper her as you and Mother do?’

‘Don’t think I haven’t given that a great deal of thought, my son.’ George was suddenly serious. ‘I keep telling myself to be more firm with her. To cut down on her ridiculously high allowance so she learns to appreciate money. But I’m a coward where Charlotte is concerned, and keep putting it off. I admit I’m putty in her hands.’

‘We all are, Father, and that’s where the danger lies. You have to be realistic, for Charlotte’s sake. What if she married someone who wasn’t prepared to put up with her idleness and her love of spending money? What if she married a bully? She’d be devastated, absolutely lost. No one has ever raised their voice to her, or told her there was something she couldn’t have. Wrapped in cotton wool since the day she was born, she is ill prepared for any knocks that might come her way. And this is not jealousy speaking, Father. I am not jealous of my sister, I love her. And I’m afraid for her. She is nineteen years of age and the day is not far off when some man will claim her. I believe she should be taught more about life outside the rich society circle.’

‘How long have these thoughts been in your head, my boy?’

Andrew pulled a face. ‘The last couple of years, I suppose. When I first came home from university and joined the firm, I didn’t have time for anything but trying to take in all that was being taught me. Then gradually I noticed what an empty life both Mother and Charlotte had. Mother I can understand;
her life is settled. But not my sister. Hair appointments, fittings for dresses she doesn’t need, afternoon tea dances, friends who are the same as herself, who have appointments with the same hairdresser. What an aimless life that is, Father. It doesn’t tax the brain or teach them anything about the ninety per cent of the population who are not in the same social circle. It is not a life I would want. It would bore me stiff.’

A waiter appeared with their food, and there was silence as he served the salmon and asparagus. Then, after making sure everything on the table was perfect, he nodded his head, clicked his heels, and said, ‘Enjoy your meal, gentlemen.’

‘I say, this looks and smells delicious, Father.’ Andrew shook his napkin open. ‘I am really going to enjoy it.’

George grunted his agreement as he tucked his own heavy linen napkin into the neck of his shirt. He didn’t reach for his knife and fork, but studied his son’s face across the table. ‘The pampered life wasn’t for you, was it, Andrew? It would have been if your mother had got what she wanted. And I have to say that when you left university and joined the firm, I thought it was just a fad and you would soon tire of the routine. In my heart I hoped you were serious, but I couldn’t be sure. So you can imagine my delight, and pride, when you not only turned up for work each day, but seemed to enjoy it.’

‘Oh, I did enjoy it, Father, and I still do. I know self-praise is no recommendation, but I have to admit I’m as proud of myself as you are. You’ll never know how grateful I am that you gave me the chance. It salves my conscience that I have worked for most of the money you pay me. Oh, I know I don’t contribute towards the beautiful house I’m lucky enough to live in, but I don’t squander the wage I earn, I do have a healthy bank account. And I am very happy, Father, thanks to you.’

‘You deserve what you have, my boy; you have worked
hard for it, and I am very proud of you. But let us enjoy our meal, then we can retire to the smoking room and discuss business. My brain works better when I have a cigar between my fingers.’

George was in a thoughtful mood during lunch, as he tried to marshal into order the thoughts running through his head. His son had opened his mind to many things he’d been aware of, but was too cowardly to act on because of the disruption they would cause. His home was running smoothly, with no ripples to upset Harriet, his wife. And he probably would have let things carry on as they were if Andrew hadn’t been honest and outspoken. Now he realized changes had to be made, for the sake of his beloved daughter. Because he loved her, he had to prepare her for whatever the future held for her, while still protecting her from the harsh realities of life.