Authors: Jessica Steele
There was a pause at her sharp tone. `If you've no objection,' Jonah replied smoothly.
She wasn't having this. `What do you want to speak to him about?' she demanded. `And don't tell me it's none of my business, because'
`Oh, my word, what a little protector you are,' he cut in mockingly, but sobered to instruct, `Put your hackles down, Lydie. I promised your father I'd be in touch. I'm just ringing to let him know I shall be out of the country for most of this week.'
Lydie calmed down a trifle. `I'll tell him,' she said.
`He's not around?"
'It would take me ages to get him-he's mowing the lawn near the end of the drive. It would take me some minutes to get there-and you're a busy man.'
`And you're so considerate of my time.'
He wasn't going to speak to her father, no matter how sarcastic Jonah Marriott became. `I'll give him your message,' she answered.
`We'll talk next week, your father and me when you and I come back from Yourk House.'
Her insides did a flip. `I'll tell him,' she promised.
`And I'll see you Friday.'
She swallowed hard. `I'll look forward to it,' she lied.
`What happened to "always truthful with each other" ?'
There was no answer to that. `Goodbye, Jonah,' she said, and quietly put down the phone to find that she was trembling. And that was from just speaking to him! Heaven alone knew what she would be like on Friday!
She felt in need to do something positive, so went and showered off from her car- cleaning endeavours, and changed into jeans and a tee shirt, and then went to see her father. He was still sitting on the mower, but stopped the machine when, almost up to him, he spotted her.
`Jonah phoned,' she informed him. `He wanted to speak to you...' Her father was off the machine with the speed of a man thirty years younger and Lydie hurriedly halted him. `He's gone now!' Her father's face fell. `But he asked me to tell you that he'll be out of the country for this week, but that he'll talk with you next week.'
Her father looked defeated suddenly. `This can't go on,' he said, and seemed so utterly worn down that she just could not take it.
And she, who found lying abhorrent, was rushing in to tell him, `Actually, Dad, Jonah has some proposition to put to you which he said will beer-the answer.'
Her father brightened a little. `He has?' he questioned, a little life coming back into his defeated eyes. `What is it?"
'He wouldn't say,' Lydie went on, and even while her head was screaming, Stop it, stop it, don't say any more, she heard her own voice saying cheerfully, `But whatever it is Jonah is certain-subject to your agreement, of course-that his proposition will be the answer to all your worries.'
`He said that?'
How could she say otherwise? More life was coming into her father's face. `You know Jonah,' she answered.
`I certainly do. I've thought and thought until I wondered if I was going mental, and I can't see a way out of the hole I'm in. But if anyone can think up a way, I'd lay odds Jonah, a man with more up-to-date business know-how than most, would be the man to do it.' Already, in the space of seconds, her father was starting to look more like the father she knew. He had hope. `Jonah wouldn't tell you more than that?' her father pressed. And at the urgency of his tone the enormity of what she had just done began to attack her.
`Afraid not,' she replied, marvelling that when she had just done such a terrible thing she should sound so cheerful. Somehow, though, she could not regret giving her father that hope. But, knowing she had told enough lies to last her a lifetime, she began to fear he might dig and dig away at her, and cause her to tell him yet more lies. She decided to make herself scarce. `I was thinking of driving over to see Aunt Alice,' she said, which was true. She had been thinking of going to see her-tomorrow. `I thought I'd go now, before she settles down for her afternoon nap.'
It was a relief to be away from the house, where unthought lies seem to pour from her as if of their own volition. Though when she thought of how her worried father's dead eyes had come to life on hearing that Jonah had thought up something, Lydie still could not regret it.
At worst her father would be back where he started when next week he and Jonah had their talk and Jonah told him that he had no answers. But at best-and that was the part Lydie could not feel too dreadful about-her tormented father had hope. His spirits had lifted, she had seen it happen. And now, for a whole week, while his financial worries would still be there to plague him, her lies had in effect lifted that dark ceiling of depression that hung over him night and day.
Her own spirits lifted when she found her great-aunt tending her beloved garden and, while still a touch pale, looking in otherwise good health.
Guilt over the lies she had told was lurking, however, and over the next few hours more guilt arrived in great swathes to torment Lydie. Oh, what had she done? Given her father a little peace of mind, but for what? Somehow she was going to have to own up to him before he and Jonah had that talk next week.
It was guilt and a feeling of not wanting to take away her father's peace of mind- not just yet anyway-hadn't he suffered enough?-that kept her away from Beamhurst Court until Thursday. She and her great-aunt enjoyed each other's company and it was a small thing for Lydie-who had with her only the clothes she stood up in-to rinse through her underwear to dry overnight and borrow one of her great-aunt's blouses.
`You're sure you have to go,' Alice Gough asked, but immediately apologized. "'More More wants more",' she quoted. `I'm a selfish old sausage. Love to your mother,' she said sweetly, to make Lydie laugh, and laughed herself, and Lydie hugged her and kissed her and said she would come again soon.
Lydie drove home, her few lie-free days with her great-aunt over, and two very big questions presenting themselves. One, however was she going to tell her dear father about her lies? The other, how on earth could she get out of going to Jonah Marriott's Hertfordshire home tomorrow?
The answer to the one question, she realised the moment she saw her father, was that she just could not confess. How could she? He was looking so much better than he had. How could she shatter that ray of hope he was clinging on to?
The only answer, as she saw it, was to give her father a few more days of feeling that little bit better about everything. Unfortunately, she could find no answer to her reluctance to go to Yourk House to meet up with Jonah tomorrow. Unless there was some devastating earthquake in Hertfordshire, an area not known for devastating earthquakes, she would have to go.
It rained on Friday. The weather matched Lydie's spirits. Her heart might be beating twenty to the dozen whenever she thought about staying at Yourk House that night, that weekend, but she packed a bag for the trip without enthusiasm.
Since she could not just disappear for the weekend without giving her parents some idea of where she was going-and Lydie had to admit that to lie and say she was staying the weekend with Aunt Alice had crossed her mind-Lydie owned up that she was meeting Jonah at his Hertfordshire home.
Her mother's lips compressed, but she said nothing, and Lydie's father looked as though he might say something to the effect that perhaps Jonah might bring her home. But, clearly believing that if she was meeting him at his home then it must mean Jonah was flying in from abroad and that Lydie would be driving her own car to meet him, he said nothing. But Lydie did not miss that her father seemed buoyed up with hope. It was, of course, unthinkable that anyone else should know of their problems, and her mother, being the chairperson of an antiques society, was chief organiser in setting up a meeting that evening. Lydie was grateful that her father was going along for support and that both her parents left the house around five. She would not have to see them again before she left-her conscience and the lies she had told were getting to her. Jonah had suggested he would pick her up at six and she had turned down his offer, but she decided that six was as a good a time as any for her to set out. With weekend bag in hand, she went down the stairs. But, having wished their housekeeper goodbye, Lydie was about to leave the house when the phone rang.
With hope in her heart that it was Jonah, ringing to cancel the weekend, Lydie went back to answer it. It was not Jonah but Muriel Butler, her great-aunt's neighbour, ringing to say that Miss Gough had been taken ill and that the doctor was with her now.
`What's wrong?' Lydie asked quickly, all thought of Jonah and everything else gone from her head.
`It's her heart, I think. I saw her collapsed in her garden from my upstairs window. She's had one or two little turns recently. But this looks serious.'
Lydie didn't wait to hear any more. 'I'm on my way,' she said, and was.
With her thoughts concentrated solely on her great-aunt, Lydie had been tearing along for about fifteen minutes when it suddenly dawned on her that the sleek black car that had been behind her had been there for the last five of those minutes. It was a car that could have easily outrun hers, and as easily have overtaken her, yet the driver seemed content to stay tucked in behind her. Then it was that Lydie realised she knew that car. It was the same car that had taken Aunt Alice from the church and to Alcombe Hall last Saturday. It was Jonah's car!
With no idea of why he was there, only a gladness in her heart to see him, Lydie pulled into the first lay-by she came to. Jonah pulled in behind her.
Intending to stop only to give him the quickest explanation of why she would not be visiting him at Yourk House that evening, and then be on her way, Lydie got out of her car as Jonah left his.
`If you're that eager to see me,' he commented obviously referring to the speed she had been travelling at, `you're going in the wrong direction.'
'I'm not on my way to see you,' she replied solemnly. `I can't come after all. My ' It was as far as she got.
`You're not coming!' He seemed more than a touch put out. `We agreed...' he began, then spotted her weekend bag reposing on the back seat where, hardly knowing she still had it with her, she must have tossed it when she had raced to her car. And to her consternation he was instantly furious, as he tore into her harshly, `You never did intend to come to Yourk House this weekend, did you?' And, while she just stood there, blinking at his fury, `All that guff about preferring I kept away from your home!' he snarled. `You knew in advance, way back last Sunday, that you wouldn't be home when I called!'
`Don't be-'
`Well, let me tell you, Lydie Pearson.' He chopped her off again, his chin thrust aggressively forward. `No one cheats on me-ever!'
'I'm not-'
`Where are you going?' he demanded, suspicion rife.
But she had had enough, and heartily wished she had never stopped to tell him anything. `That's none of your business!' she hurled at him angrily, and without more ado stormed from him and got into her car.
Seconds later she was charging on her way. The pig! The perfect pig! Fuming, she kept her foot hard down on the accelerator. She glanced in her rearview mirror-he was right behind her. So much for her telling him it was none of his business! From the look of things, the man who did not like to be cheated was making it his business!
LYDIE arrived at her great-aunt's house in record time-so too did Jonah Marriott. Her great-aunt did not have a drive or a garage; Lydie parked in the roadside; Jonah parked behind her.
She hurried to Alice Gough's garden gate, and found Jonah there to open it for her. She ignored him and went through, just as Muriel Butler came out of her house and looked over the low dividing hedge.
`The doctor called an ambulance. They've taken Miss Gough into hospital. Heart attack,' she added.
`Thank you for ringing me.' With fear clutching at her, Lydie managed to stay calm. `Which hospital, do you know?'
Lydie waited no longer than to hear which hospital the ambulance had taken her great-aunt to and, thanking Muriel Butler again, turned and hurried back down the garden path.
All this time, though Lydie supposed it had only taken a minute, Jonah had remained silent. But he was there to open the gate again, and had clearly learned in that minute all there was to learn. He took charge.
`We'll go in my car,' he stated. Lydie was in no mind to argue.
They made it to the hospital in less time than it would have taken in her car. Whereupon Jonah again took charge, finding out where Miss Alice Gough was, and escorting Lydie to the intensive care unit where her great-aunt was still being assessed. They waited outside-it seemed an awfully long wait-and strangely, despite having felt fairly murderous towards Jonah in that lay-by, Lydie discovered she was glad that he was there.
He was there by her side when the doctor came from the ward and gave the news that there was not much chance Miss Gough would survive the attack.
Naturally Lydie refused to believe it. `May I see her?"
'Of course,' he answered kindly. `She's unconscious, but please go in.'
Somehow Lydie found she was holding tightly on to Jonah's hand. He made no attempt to retrieve his hand but went with her into the ward, where Alice Gough lay looking so pale, and so still. Lydie saw for herself that the doctor had been speaking only the truth.
Lydie sucked in her cheeks not to cry, and let go Jonah's hand to hold her great- aunt's hand. They stayed with her some minutes, then Lydie tenderly kissed her and, with Jonah, went outside.
`I should let my mother know,' she said to Jonah; it hadn't seemed right to her to discuss the matter over her great-aunt's bed.
'I'll ring her,' Jonah offered.
Lydie shook her head. Most oddly, she didn't want Jonah to leave her just then. `They're not in-my parents. They're at a meeting. My mother will have her mobile switched off.'
`Tell me where and I'll go and get them.' Lydie looked at him then, and fell in love with him. `Oh, Jonah!' she cried, and he put a comforting arm about her.
`Be brave, sweetheart,' he urged softly.
`It was only yesterday that Aunt Alice was making me laugh when, as I was leaving, she asked me to give her love to my mother. She laughed too.'
`Remember her that way,' he suggested.
She's not dead yet! Lydie wanted to tell him furiously, and realised then that her emotions were all over the place. `I'll go and sit with her. Could I ask you to ring Mrs. Ross, our housekeeper, and ask her to tell my parents what has happened?'
`Of course,' he replied, and, the use of mobile phones banned in the hospital, he left her to go in search of a landline telephone.
Her parents arrived just after eleven. Jonah greeted them and then left the ward so the three family members should keep their vigil. Lydie's great-aunt died at eleven-thirty, and Lydie said goodbye to her.
She left her, left the ward, and found Jonah waiting outside. He took one look at her and held out his arms. Numbly she went forward. She was still cradled in his arms when her parents left the ward. Her father took charge.
`I'll see to things here, Lydie.' He looked at Jonah; now was not the time to discuss his finances. `Perhaps you'll see Lydie gets home safely, Jonah?"
'I will,' Jonah answered.
In something of a daze Lydie went with Jonah out to his car. She wanted to weep, but wanted to weep alone. Tears were near. The only way to stem them was to think of something else.
She recalled she was supposed to be going to spend the weekend with Jonah at Yourk House. 'I-er-would you mind if we cancelled this weekend?' she asked in a hurry, not thinking, just talking.
`Consider it done,' Jonah replied calmly. 'I'm sorry I was such an evil brute in that lay-by,' he apologised.
In her view, by being there, staying there with her all these hours, he had more than made up for his evil brutishness. `You weren't to know I was on my way out to drive to your place when Aunt Alice's neighbour rang to say she had been taken ill.' And, just then noticing the road they were on, `Could you drive me back to my great-aunt's house, please?"
'You don't want to go home?"
'I-it doesn't seem right, somehow. I can't explain it. It just feels as if I'd be abandoning Aunt Alice if I went home now. As if I'd forgotten her.'
Jonah altered the car's direction. `You were always sensitive,' he murmured, and drove her to Penleigh Corbett.
Having been with Jonah through the last many sad hours, having witnessed his attention-not least the way he had held her gently in his arms just now, not saying anything, but just holding her safe-Lydie realised that he was far more sensitive than he would want anyone to know.
`Do you intend to stay the night here?' he asked when they reached her great- aunt's house.
`Yes,' she confirmed. `Would you like company? I don't mean bed company ,' he assured her.
`I know,' she answered, love for him welling up inside her. `I think I need to be on my own.'
He understood, and she loved him for that too. `You have a key?"
'Third flowerpot from the left.'
There was a light on in the next-door house, and Muriel Butler suddenly appeared with the house key, having locked up after the ambulance had left, her face falling when Lydie told her the sad news.
'I'll stay here overnight,' Lydie added.
`If you need anything, anything at all, I'm only next door,' Muriel offered, but, not wishing to intrude, said goodnight and went back indoors.
`You go in. I'll get your bag from your car,' Jonah instructed Lydie, seeming to remember she had been in such a rush to leave her car she had not waited to lock it. `Shall I have your car key? I'll lock it up,' he suggested.
Lydie gave him her key and went into her great-aunt's house, where a very short while later Jonah joined her.
`Thank you, Jonah, for...' she faltered '-for being there,' she said.
He came closer, his fantastic blue eyes searching into hers. `You'll be all right if I leave you?'
Lydie nodded, and swallowed hard on emotion when he placed his hands on her arms and gently placed a kiss on her brow.
She telephoned her home after he had gone. She knew Mrs. Ross would be in bed, but her mother always checked the answer-machine when she got in. Lydie left a message letting her parents know where she was. Then Lydie broke down and cried.
She wept for her great-aunt's passing, and for the love she had for her. Much later she was able to find a weak and watery smile through her tears that her great-aunt's passing had shown a tenderness in Jonah which Lydie had never suspected he had.
By morning she had adjusted only slightly that she would never again share her great-aunt's company, nor hear her have a sly, if funny, dig at her mother. Lydie wandered around the small semi-detached house and still felt her aunt's presence there. It was a comforting presence.
It was still early when her parents telephoned. She spoke with both of them, her father telling her to come home when she was ready, and also letting her know that he and her mother would be making all the arrangements about her aunt's funeral. `I know you were fond of her, but try not to be too upset,' he said, and passed the phone to her mother.
`Are you on your own?' Hilary Pearson enquired, her voice less tart than it had been of late.
The question threw Lydie for a moment, until she recalled all that had gone on-the lie she had let her parents believe that she was not a stranger to spending a night with Jonah.
`Yes,' she answered, feeling slightly amazed that her sharp-as-a-chef' s-knife mother should be so easily taken in. Although, on thinking about it, Jonah had been there with her at the hospital, and both her parents had seen her in his arms last night when they had come from Aunt Alice's bedside.
`Well, I expect you'll be seeing Jonah today,' her mother went on confidently, and, repeating what her father had said, tacked on a kindly meant, `Try not to be too upset,' adding, before she rang off, `The old dear had a good innings.'
Lydie put the phone down and supposed she should start thinking in terms of going home. But she was not yet ready; she felt restless and unsettled. She tidied round her great-aunt's already immaculately tidy home-Lydie had vacuumed and polished on Wednesday while her great-aunt just `did a bit in the garden'.
Lydie smiled at the memory, and found more chores to do. By half past nine she had both beds stripped and the washing machine busy. There was a ring at the doorbell. She went to answer it. It was Jonah!
For ageless moments she just stared at him. She had wondered several times that morning if, in the trauma of last night, she had imagined her feelings for him. But with her heart pounding, her insides all squishy just from looking into his sensational sensitive blue eyes, Lydie knew she had imagined nothing. She was in love with him. It was a love that was there to stay.
`I thought you'd be somewhere in Hertfordshire!' she exclaimed, inanely, she felt, as she tried to get herself together.
`I can go to Yourk House another time,' he replied easily. And, those superb eyes studying her, `I wondered if I could help in any way?'
Oh, Jonah! Sensitive, had she said? He was warm and wonderful-and she had better buck her ideas up. `My parents have phoned. They're taking care of all the arrangements.'
He nodded, looked at her, and then nicely enquired, `Do you know anywhere around here where a man might get a cup of coffee?'
`Oh, Jonah, I'm so sorry!' Lydie exclaimed. He had driven from London-and she had kept him on the doorstep! `Whatever was I thinking of?'
He smiled kindly, his eyes on her slightly red rimmed eyes. `You have other matters on your mind,' he excused.
`Please, come in,' she bade him, and led the way to her great-aunt's sitting room feeling guilty-Lydie was growing no stranger to guilt. While she guessed he had noticed she had shed tears, she had not had thoughts of her great-aunt on her mind when talking to him. `I'll just go and make some coffee,' she remarked.
'I'll come with you.'
`I've got the washing machine on. I think it came out of the Ark. It makes a fearful racket.'
His lips twitched. `I can hear it,' he replied, and went into the kitchen with her, where a minute later the washing machine went on to a quieter cycle. `Going home today?' Jonah enquired casually.
`Later,' Lydie agreed. `There are a few practical things I should do here first.'
`Such as?"
'Well, somebody's got to sort out Aunt Alice's belongings. I think she would want me to do it...' Lydie shrugged helplessly, feeling very much out of her depth. `Only it doesn't seem right to me, you know, when it was only last night that she died, to straight away pack up her belongings.' She paused, then confided, `I really don't want to do it today.' `Does it have to be today?'
Lydie thought about it. `Well, I suppose not. Knowing Aunt Alice I'm certain she'll have her rent paid until the end of the month, so I've several weeks before I need hand the keys over to the local authority.'
`Then today you can rest and adjust.'
`I can?"
'You don't have to be in work on Monday, or for several Mondays yet,' Jonah pointed out logically. `Why not leave it until you've said a formal goodbye to your great-aunt?' Lydie stared at him. It made sense to wait until after Aunt Alice's funeral. By then perhaps she would have adjusted a little. `It's a sad time for you,' Jonah commented softly, and suggested, `Spend the day with me?'
Her heart suddenly began to thunder. `Spend the day with you?' she repeated faintly.
`Prior to your great-aunt's heart attack you were going to anyway.'
`That's true,' Lydie agreed, and rushed in at the gallop, `I d-don't know what p- plans you had for this weekend, but-but I don't want to spend any t-time in bed with you!'
Jonah stared at her earnest crimson face. Then he tapped her gently on the nose. `Sweetheart,' he said, `wait until you're asked.'
Temporarily, she hated him. 'We'll have coffee in the sitting room,' she told him sniffily. What else was she to think he'd had in mind had they gone to Yourk House that weekend? Yet here he was making it seem as if she were some kind of female sex maniac ! The washing machine started creating again. Jonah picked up the tray and they were both glad to go to the sitting room. He waited until Lydie was seated, the coffee on a table by her side, and he took a seat nearby.
`So, what have you in mind?' she enquired, thawing a little, loving him too much to hate him for long.
`Anything you care for,' he replied. `Take a drive, have lunch out, find a church fete-I might even win you a tin of baked beans on the tombola.'
He made her smile and, while she wondered how he knew about anything so simple and villagey as a church fete, she thawed completely. She knew he would never fall in love with her; she had seen the type of woman he was attracted to and, remembering the sophisticated blonde, Freya, he had been at the theatre with, Lydie knew better than to wish for the moon.
`I...' She hesitated, and just then, even though she knew she would guard with her life against him getting so much as a whiff of her feelings for him, she knew that she wanted his company. `I'm not fit to be seen,' she replied. No way, other than with sunglasses to hide her red-rimmed eyes, was she going to any restaurant for lunch. `If you're serious, bearing in mind you've tired of the hunt and that I represent no threat-to either your virtue...' he laughed, and she loved him some more ` ... or to your bachelorhood, I could fix us some lunch here.' Oh, heavens, how intimate that sounded!