Whirlwind (16 page)

'I promised to tell him how you enjoyed the food,' Laird murmured seductively.

She bit her lip; tempted but still cautious. 'He's a marvellous cook—you're very lucky, I hope you know that.'

'It doesn't do to tell him so too often; he gets complacent and then he starts drinking. I have to keep him on a very tight rein.' Laird was heading eastwards, which puzzled her. Where was he taking her? 'He packed a hamper full of cold chicken, salads, home-made game chips . . . ''What?' Anna asked, baffled.

'Crisps, to you,' Laird said with a grin. 'And some champagne in a vacuum ice-bucket, but that was my contribution.'

Anna felt a wave of hot colour sweeping up to her hairline; Laird saw it and gave her a quick, frowning look.

'That wasn't a taunt!'

'Wasn't it?' She turned and looked out of the window. 'Will you take me home, please?' Last time she had drunk champagne alone with him she had ended up in his bed, whether or not Laird had taken advantage of the fact. She had no intention of repeating that mistake.

'On a lovely day like this you ought to get out of London,' he informed her coolly. 'I'm taking you to the forest.'

'What forest?' she asked, taken aback by that.

'Epping, of course. Where do you think we're heading?'

'I've never been there,' she admitted, and he turned a look of incredulous amusement to her.

'Then you should have been! Don't you know what a long, hard fight Londoners had to stop property developers from building all over it, more than a century ago? And it's right on your doorstep—get on the bus .or the underground, and you're there in half an hour, out of those dirty little streets where you live and into the open forest. And it's as free as a trip to the Tate, Anna.'

She gave him a surprised, dry look. 'Aren't
you
a property developer?' she asked scornfully.

That's why I'm interested in the forest,' Laird told her calmly. 'Do you think I want to see every spare inch of ground covered in bricks and mortar? The quality of life's as important as a roof over the head for people who are homeless, Anna. One of the things my firm pride themselves on is landscaping gardens around the estates we build. I make sure we plant plenty of trees, in the roads and in the gardens. If there are established trees on the site when we move on to it, we keep as many as we can—nothing adds to an estate like trees.'

She was so interested in that discussion that she stopped asking to be taken home, which was possibly Laird's intention, she decided as she realised they were slowing to turn into an open clearing at the edge of the forest, set aside as a car park and already half full of cars. Laird walked round to the boot of the car and got out a wicker hamper and a tartan rug. Anna began to wander away, staring into the ranks of tall beech and oak rooted among earthy-scented waves of green fern. Sunlight filtered down through new and intensely vivid leaves, shadows flickered on the paths. Somewhere she heard children's voices, laughter; somewhere she heard the thud of hooves on a sandy bridle path, yet she could see nothing but trees and grass and windblown fern. The forest looked empty; the people from the cars parked in the car park had been swallowed up among the trees.

They walked along the wide track for a few moments, then Laird took a fork towards the left and followed a narrow path between clutching brambles and ferns which eventually opened out into a forest clearing, a small circle of leaf-littered grass between a ring of trees.

Spreading the tartan rug on the grass, he flung himself down on his back, his hands linked as a pillow for his head, and gazed up at the patch of blue sky above where the leafy branches did not quite meet. 'Spring's my favourite time of year,' he said with a little sigh of contentment. 'It's gentle and hopeful; it always makes you feel optimistic.'

Anna knelt down on the edge of the rug and opened the hamper to gloat over the contents. Laird watched her through half-closed lids, his mouth crooked with amusement.

'Why do I always get the feeling you're half starved? You're like one of those stray kittens you see in Rome—all ribs and great, hungry eyes, but when you bend down to stroke it, it spits and humps its back and claws you.'

'I may claw you, I may even spit, but I won't hump my back,' Anna said. 'Shall I unpack the food?'

'In a minute. Lie down and just drink in the silence,' he commanded, closing his eyes.

She had no intention of lying down next to him on the rug; she sat, cross-legged, her eyes and ears busy absorbing the forest. It wasn't silent at all; she heard the whisper of the wind among the leaves and fern, the call of birds busy nest-building or feeding their young, the scrape of branches against each other, a dog barking, a rustle of something among the leaf- mould, the whirr of insects and the hum of flies.

Then she looked at Laird and her heart beat heavily inside her ribcage; her blood ran hotly and her mouth grew dry. His eyes were still shut, the thick bar of his lashes down against his cheek, his hair given a blue-black depth in sunlight, his hard mouth relaxed and gentle as he breathed in that regular way. She ached to touch him, kiss the warm curve of that mouth, but she sat unmoving and watched him.

Laird's lovemaking wouldn't satisfy the need she felt; he could give her passion, delight, a sensuous pleasure, but he wouldn't give her what she needed above everything else. Laird wouldn't love her, and she had never been loved since she was very small, she needed love. She wanted to be held in arms that cared and cherished, to belong and be part of a family again. She was so tired of being alone, living alone; you could be strong and independent, but that didn't make you any the less human, it didn't help you to contemplate the emptiness of days and nights without another human being close to you, as you needed them.

She had thought once that her career was all she needed; now she knew it wasn't enough, any more than it would be enough to let Laird make love to her when he didn't feel anything but desire.

'What are you thinking?' Laird asked softly, opening his eyes, and she felt her colour rise.

Looking away quickly, she shrugged. 'It's beautiful here, isn't it?'

He didn't answer, he watched her implacably, trying to get past her hurriedly shuttered face. After a moment, he said, 'Well, shall we have this picnic?' and Anna was relieved to be able to get busy unpacking the hamper.

As they ate the cold chicken legs, Laird asked, 'When did you first want to go on the stage?' and she found that easy enough to answer. Talking shop was the easiest thing in the world; it helped her to forget how she felt about being alone with him. She began to tell him about her months in the repertory company, the parts she had played, the other actors she had worked with.

'The leading man was incredibly good-looking, if he stood still on the stage people gasped in the stalls, but he was wood from the neck up, he couldn't act his way out of a paper bag.'

'What was his name?'

'You won't have heard of him, he's still there, acting badly. His stage name was Jago Morcar . . . '

'What?' Laird interrupted, laughing.

'I know, absurd, isn't it? His real name was Ted Brown, but he insisted on being called Jago. Mind you, it didn't seem to matter that he couldn't act—all the women were in love with him.'

'Were you?' asked Laird, watching her through narrowed eyes.

Anna laughed. 'For five minutes, after I first met him, but not once I'd seen him act. He made me laugh too much. But he was amazing to look at!'

'Have you ever really been in love?' Laird asked, and she shook her head, not meeting his eyes. She didn't want him to guess how she felt about him; he was quite capable of manipulating her feelings to his own advantage.

Laird said drily, 'Never been kissed, never been in love—anyone would think you'd spent your life in a convent. Are you sure you're twenty-two? Even Patti seems to know more about life than you do.'

'I've never been to the moon, but I know it's there,' Anna said.

His eyes narrowed. 'What does that cryptic little remark mean?'

'You don't have to experience something yourself to believe in it,' she explained.

'Blind faith, you mean?' he said cynically.

'Faith isn't blind, it just operates by rules you don't understand,' Anna told him, but the discussion was worrying her. It might tell him too much about her. 'Open the champagne,' she said. 'I'm thirsty; these game chips are rather salty, aren't they?'

'That's how the French cook them,'' Laird told her absently, opening the vacuum ice bucket. 'Parsons was trained by a French chef.' He skilfully popped the cork of the champagne and poured a little into the two glasses Parsons had packed in the hamper. The wine was still cold and very refreshing; Anna tasted the fizzy dryness on her tongue with pleasure, then held out her glass for some more.

Giving her a wry smile, Laird said, 'Careful—remember how it goes to your head. I don't want you accusing me of rape again.'

'Two glasses is all I mean to have,' she said defiantly.

He smiled again, his eyes teasing. 'I'm glad to hear it.' Then he asked softly, 'Glad you came?'

Her green eyes answered him, and his smile deepened.

T
EN DAYS
later, Anna and Patti moved into the new flat, a process which, for Anna, meant only packing the two suitcases which held everything she owned in the world, while for Patti it was a good deal more complicated. A removal van was needed to convey all the furniture she had selected from her family home, along with her records, books, clothes and other personal possessions.

Naomi Montgomery offered to come to help the two girls settle into the flat, but they felt that she was busy enough with the arrangements for her own move down to Sussex, and warmly told her they could manage. Arranging everything seemed to take them hours, but the novelty made it fun, especially as they were sharing the work, and they enjoyed it enormously. As she darted around the flat, Anna almost had to pinch herself to believe she was really going to be living here. It was such a violent contrast to the place where she had been living; her whole world had altered since she met Laird and Patti.

It was very warm during those middle weeks of May; the horse-chestnut trees along the riverside had burst into bloom, great white candles of flowers rising among the fan-like green leaves. The two girls sat on their new balcony in silence and watched, entranced, as sunlight glittered on the river and in the distance Tower Bridge opened to let a ship pass underneath.

Anna sighed; she knew she would never have enough of watching that view.

'If you lean right out over the rail, you can see the turrets of the Tower,' said Patti, leaning out and craning her neck.

'If we look out at midnight, maybe we'll even see Anne Boleyn walking about with her head under her arm, like the old song.'

'What old song?' Patti asked, and Anna looked amazed.

'Don't you know it?' She began to sing it. 'With her head tucked underneath her arm, she walks the Bloody Tower . . . '

'How horrid!' Patti shuddered, then leant over the rail, waving violently. 'There's Joey—hi, Joey! Joey! He's coming to see us!'

Alarmed, Anna jumped up and pulled her backwards to safety. 'Be careful—you almost went over then! You'd better not lean over like that again, Patti. You might get vertigo.'

It hadn't escaped her that Patti was walking on air, so excited that she was flushed and euphoric as she laughed confidently.

'Of course I won't—don't fuss, you're worse than my mother!' She moved off the balcony, crossing their immaculate sitting-room, entirely furnished from Wolfstone Square, with deep blue velvet- upholstered chairs, curtains which matched the material and were only slightly and most gently faded by having been hung in the sunlight at the windows of one of the rooms in the old house, and an ivory and blue Chinese carpet. The furniture was rosewood, early nineteenth century, Patti said. 'Not really valuable,' she denied when Anna looked somewhat alarmed. 'Pretty, but there's a lot of it about.' Anna had not been too reassured.

She was still disturbed by the private earthquake which had exploded into her life, made rubble of the familiar landmarks and removed her to an entirely unknown neighbourhood.

Patti was opening the door to Joey Ross who was carrying a large bunch of white and purple lilac. The scent filled the entire flat and both Anna and Patti glowed with delight in it. The delicate, heady fragrance brought summer into the flat; the tiny bells of flowerets crowded together among the green, smooth leaves, so profusely that it was as if Joey was carrying a little lilac tree.

'How lovely,' Patti said, burying her face in the flowers. 'Where did you get it?'

'I picked it in my garden,' Joey told her, wandering around the flat like a prowling cat inspecting a strange house, his hands in the pockets of his black leather jacket. Watching him, Anna thought that there was something distinctly feline about Joey: an almost malicious intelligence in his quick, darting eyes with their golden-rayed pupils and a fastidious self-obsession which cared more about his own comfort and feelings than those of anyone else.

Patti carried the lilac into the kitchen to find vases for it, and Anna ,asked, 'Where do you live, Joey?'

'Hampstead.' He picked up a piece of porcelain and turned it over, inspecting the mark on the base. 'Dear me—Bow,' he said, admiring the blue and white glaze. 'Yours or Patti's?'

'Patti's,' Anna said drily, and Joey gave her an ironic smile.

'I hope this is going to work.'

'You and me both,' Anna said. 'Do you live in a flat or a house?'

'I've got the ground floor of a large house—and the garden, although the owner employs a gardener to keep that in trim.'

Patti came back with a cup of coffee for Joey in one hand, a shopping basket in the other.

'I'm going shopping,' she said with enthusiasm. 'We need all sorts of things. You stay and chat to Joey, it won't take me long. I'll go to those shops in the arcade. Anything I can get you?'

Anna shook her head, her face wry. She and Joey watched Patti rushing away as if she had wings on her feet, their eyes meeting as the front door banged.