CHAPTER ELEVEN
The buzzing of the intercom brought Evan’s head up with a start and her eyes flew to the clock on the mantelpiece. It was exactly twenty minutes to seven and her parents weren’t due to arrive until seven, but she knew it was them. A moment before, she had pulled on a pair of black linen trousers; now she slipped her feet into black patent high-heeled mules and quickly buttoned her white cotton sleeveless blouse as she ran to the door.
The buzzer was shrilling again, and she snatched up the small wall phone and said, ‘Hello?’
‘It’s us,’ her father’s slightly disembodied voice informed her from the street.
‘Hi, Dad! I’ll buzz you in. Just push the door open. I’m on the third floor.’
‘See you in a minute.’
She replaced the receiver, ran back to the bedroom, put pearl studs on her ears, turned to run out again, then dashed back to the dressing table to get her sapphire engagement ring, which she slipped onto her finger. Finally she hurried back to the front door, opened it, stood poised on the threshold waiting–waiting for her mother and father to get out of the lift. It was almost but not quite opposite her front door, and as they suddenly appeared, stepped into the hall, she broke into smiles; excited, thrilled that they were here, she ran across to greet them, hugging her mother first and then her father.
After a big all-encompassing bear hug, Owen Hughes held her away from him and searched her face, his own wreathed in smiles. ‘It’s great to see you, Evan!’ he exclaimed. ‘Just wonderful.’
Her mother, also smiling, said, ‘We missed you, honey.’
‘And I’ve missed you, and it’s lovely to see you both after all these months,’ Evan responded, glancing first at her mother and then back at her father.
She stared at him intently for a split second, her stomach lurching, instantly thought: My God, he’s a younger version of Robin Ainsley. I always believed he resembled Richard Hughes. How peculiar he should resemble both men: one his biological father, the other the man who adopted him as a newborn. Except that Robin and Richard were exactly the same type–tall, lean, almost rangey, with bright blue eyes and dark hair. Well, Robin’s wasn’t exactly dark anymore, and Richard’s had turned pepper and salt long before his death.
Seemingly her grandmother Glynnis had fallen for the same type of man: men of similar physical appearance at least, like most women usually do, she had realized long ago. Suddenly becoming aware of the growing silence, a slight awkwardness between them, Evan said swiftly, ‘Well let’s not stand here in the hall…come in, come in.’ So saying she turned and led them into her apartment.
They followed rapidly on her heels, and she was instantly aware that their eyes were taking everything in as she closed the door and joined them. ‘This is the living room,’ she explained, ‘and there’s a small kitchen down at the far end. That’s where the room turns into an L shape, and becomes a small dining area. I have a bedroom and bathroom, and that’s it. It’s not very grand I know, but I love it.’
‘Somehow I thought it would be much larger,’ her father murmured as he continued to glance around. ‘The way you spoke about it…’
Evan thought he had sounded slightly critical and somewhat defensively she exclaimed, ‘It’s a lovely flat, Dad!’
‘Oh yes,’ he said, nodding, and walked the length of the room, still looking around. He remained silent, as if he were at a sudden loss for words, then made for the sofa near the fireplace.
Her mother said in a warm and confident tone, ‘I think it’s very nice, very nice indeed, Evan. Comfortable, cosy even, and perfect for you.’
‘Yes, it is, Mom.’ Evan was really surprised that her mother had sounded so firm, positive, and perhaps not quite as intimidated by her husband as she had been in the past. Taking hold of her mother’s arm affectionately, she led her over to the chairs placed opposite the sofa, where they both sat down. ‘I didn’t want a large apartment, Dad. Anyway, I was extremely lucky to get this. It’s a sub-let, furnished, and it’s ideal. It doesn’t need a lot of upkeep and it’s easy to keep clean. Besides, it’s near the store, and I can walk to Harte’s every day.’
Once again, it was her mother who spoke up. ‘I like it very much, honey, and I can see so many of your own little touches in evidence. Lots of plants and flowers, which you always love to have around you, the photographs of us all, your favourite books, the fashion and news magazines you enjoy, and bits and pieces I recognize. And I bet all of these cushions are yours, that you just bought them recently. Yes, you’ve really made it your own.’ When Evan was silent, Marietta asked softly, ‘I am right, aren’t I, Evan?’
‘Yes, you are, Mommy, and thanks.’ She grinned at her mother. ‘And I did just buy those cushions, you’re right. I tried to superimpose a little of my own taste, put my stamp on the flat. You see, the owner had taken out all of the small objects and accessories, so it was quite impersonal, almost cold. I had what I thought of as a blank canvas to work with. Anyway, it’s not forever, just a temporary place.’
‘The furniture’s very nice,’ her father remarked, obviously wanting to make amends for his first rather churlish words of a few moments ago. ‘That’s an extremely good-looking Georgian desk over there, and I’m sure the bookcases are Georgian, too.’ He got up, walked over to the bookcases, looked them over with an expert eye. ‘Yes, just as I thought.’ He glanced at the mirror hanging on the long back wall, and added, ‘That’s definitely a Georgian mirror. All very valuable pieces. Who owns this place?’
‘I don’t actually know,’ she answered swiftly, resorting to a fib, deciding that a small white lie of this nature didn’t matter if it kept the peace for the moment. ‘I made the deal through a real-estate agent. The young woman who owns it is living abroad.’
‘I see. Well, yes, it’s very nice,’ he murmured, obviously extremely impressed by the antiques, and returned to his seat on the sofa.
‘Now can I get you both a drink?’ Evan asked, rising. ‘A soft drink? Scotch or vodka? Wine? I’ve even got champagne.’
‘I’ll have a glass of white wine, Evan,’ her father said. ‘Thanks.’
‘And I’ll have one, too, please,’ Marietta announced in a light, clear voice.
Startled though she was by her mother’s request, because she never drank alcohol, Evan nonetheless managed to keep a neutral expression on her face. ‘Coming right up,’ she said, and hurried across the living room, making for the kitchen.
Once she was alone, Evan immediately took off her sapphire engagement ring and slipped it into the pocket of her trousers, hoping they hadn’t spotted it on the third finger on her right hand. But her father would have remarked on it if he had. He would have been unable to resist asking a few potent and probing questions.
As she opened the bottle of Sancerre she admitted to herself that she was afraid to discuss her engagement to Gideon, explain about him to her parents. And how furious he would be if he knew she had taken off his ring. But she felt easier within herself holding back this news. At least for the moment.
Pouring white wine into the elegant crystal goblets she had taken out of the cupboard, she thought about the changes in her mother. They were startling.
Firstly, Marietta looked very different. Her general appearance was much smarter than usual, her hair better groomed, her make-up nicely applied, and surprisingly she was well dressed. The navy-blue linen dress she wore was obviously expensive, superbly cut and styled, and more than likely it had cost much more than her mother was used to spending on herself. No, this was not her mother’s normal way of dressing, she who favoured t-shirts and slacks most of the time, and often looked sloppy and dishevelled.
Secondly, her mother was somehow managing to assert herself with Owen. Evan had been taken aback, and still was, because she had never seen her mother stand up to her father in her entire life. Certainly not in the way she just had, overriding his comments with opinions of her own. Why, she had practically pooh-poohed his opinion of the flat
.
It struck Evan now that her mother seemed not only much better in health, but much more independent, even spirited. Evan couldn’t help wondering what had brought about this extraordinary change in a woman who had always seemed cowed, unhappy and depressed. She was just the opposite this evening. And this pleased Evan, made her happy for her mother, who had been a manic depressive for years and years. It’s amazing, she thought. And also puzzling. Was it a new medication finally kicking in? Or something else?
Opening the refrigerator, Evan took out the platter of hors d’oeuvres she had made earlier, and began to peel off the plastic wrap, thinking about her father. She had known Owen would spot the genuine antiques in the flat; after all, he was a leading antiques dealer in Manhattan and Connecticut, and a well-known expert in Georgian furniture, even gave lectures.
And everything in the flat was Georgian and valuable, he was correct in that assessment. It all belonged to Emily Barkstone Harte, Gideon’s mother; she also owned the flat which was normally occupied by her daughter Natalie, Gideon’s sister. Since Natalie was currently doing a stint at the Harte newspaper company in Sydney, Gideon had arranged for her to move in for a few months until Natalie returned to London.
Evan had been anxious to leave the charming little hotel where she had lived since her arrival in London in January until a few weeks ago. And Gideon had wanted her to leave, to have a place of her own, and blessed privacy. The hotel belonged to her father’s great friend George Thomas, and they both agreed that whilst Arlette, George’s wife, was a lovely, loving and motherly woman who doted on Evan, she was far too keenly interested in their relationship for comfort.
Evan constantly had the feeling that her comings and goings were noted by Arlette and reported to her father, albeit in the most innocent way, with no malice aforethought. But nonetheless she believed it wiser to move on, so that she was totally removed from Arlette’s scrutiny and her never-ending questions about Harte’s store and her private life.
There was no reason for her parents to know anything about her reasons for leaving the hotel, other than that she wanted a place of her own to call home. Or to know about the ownership of this flat filled with these beautiful Georgian pieces. It was nobody’s business but hers. She was, after all, free, white and twenty-one. Twenty-seven actually, self-supporting and therefore her own boss. She did not have to explain or answer to anyone.
Feeling more comfortable now that she had removed the engagement ring, Evan carried the tray of drinks into the living room and put it down on the coffee table near the sofa.
After handing her mother and father a glass of wine she turned and went back to the kitchen, saying over her shoulder, ‘I made a few little snacks, I’ll only be a moment.’ And she was, hurrying back within a second or two, her face full of smiles.
Placing the platter she was carrying on the coffee table, she sat down next to her mother and reached for her glass. ‘Cheers, Mom, Dad, and welcome to London.’
‘Cheers,’ her parents said in unison, and both of them took a sip of their wine.
‘Help yourself to the smoked salmon and little sausage rolls,’ Evan instructed, love and warmth echoing in her voice. ‘I made them myself.’
Her mother beamed at her. ‘You’ve gone to a lot of trouble, thank you, honey.’
Her father said, ‘So fill us in, Evan, tell us your plans. We’re dying to hear what you intend to do for the rest of the year.’
Evan stared at her father in surprise, and exclaimed, ‘But I talk to you once a week, every week, and you know my plans, Dad. I love working at Harte’s, and that’s what I’m going to do for the rest of the year.’ She felt like adding, and the rest of my life, but refrained. She sat back, her eyes on her father.
‘I see. But a moment or two ago you said this flat was only temporary…’ His voice trailed off and he looked suddenly baffled, uncertain.
‘I did say that, yes, but what I meant was that this flat was only temporary until I find a place I really like, which I will then buy.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Marietta said. ‘It will be a good investment.’
Her father threw her mother a reproachful look, then said in a quiet, rather subdued voice, ‘Do you mean you’re planning to live in London indefinitely, Evan?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘But when you came here in January it was my understanding it was only for a year, a sort of sabbatical, like the one I took myself years ago.’
‘Perhaps that’s what I meant then, Dad, but I do love working at the store. In fact, I love the store. It’s great, probably the greatest department store in the world, thanks to Emma Harte and her heirs, and I’m thrilled to be a part of it.’
‘I hope they’re not working you too hard there. You look to me as if you’ve lost weight. You’re very thin, Evan.’
Something inside Evan rose up like bile, a bad-tasting bile, and several sharp retorts sprang to her lips. But she knew it was wiser not to respond, even though she resented her father’s comments enormously. But the anxiety suddenly clouding her mother’s face was another reason she held her tongue, at least as far as sarcastic remarks were concerned. Instead, she said, ‘No, they’re not working me too hard, Dad. In fact, they all work much harder than me and every other employee. And they’re wonderful people, the Hartes. I can’t understand why you have this hatred for them.’ There, it was out. She hadn’t meant to say it, at least not yet, but she had and she wasn’t going to retract it.
‘I don’t hate the Hartes!’ he cried, his voice rising slightly. He looked at her askance. ‘I don’t even know them. Why would you say a thing like that? You’re being silly, over-imaginative.’
‘No I’m not, Dad. You have continually made remarks about them for the past eight months, ever since I started working at the store, and you continue to make strange comments about Gideon, a man you don’t even know.’
‘Is that what this is all about? Your boyfriend?’ he asked, his voice suddenly chilly.
‘No, it isn’t. You started it by implying my bosses made me work too hard, that I looked too thin, that I’ve lost weight. Maybe I have, because I want to be thin and elegant, wear the nice clothes I have with a degree of self-confidence. Anyway, I’ve always been pretty slender. As far as Gideon’s concerned, he’s a very nice young man. And he’s been kind to me every day since I arrived, which is when I first met him.’
Marietta, sensing a row brewing, injected herself into the conversation, saying, ‘I think it’s nice that you have a boyfriend, Evan, a man who is kind and understanding, and obviously devoted to you. I hope we’re going to meet him while we’re here in London.’
Evan gave her mother a grateful smile, thankful that she was present, had so diplomatically poured oil on troubled waters. ‘Of course you are. I want you and Dad to meet Gideon. In fact, he would like to take you out to lunch on Sunday–’
‘Oh, I don’t think we can do that,’ her father cut in a little peremptorily. ‘I promised George and Arlette we would join them for lunch on Sunday. At the hotel. You know how much they care about you, Evan.’
‘I suppose it’ll be all right,’ Evan murmured, disappointed but glad the tricky situation had been defused by her mother. ‘I’ll tell Gideon about the change in plans. I think he’d enjoy seeing George and Arlette again. He likes them.’
‘Oh, but I don’t believe George was including your friend,’ her father said. ‘He meant just the three of us.’
Evan was furious and sat back, gaping at her father. She was about to remind him that they had come to London to see her, not the friend of his youth, when her mother put a hand on her arm soothingly, cleared her throat, said quietly, ‘Don’t be upset, Evan dear.’
Leaning forward in her chair, Marietta focused all of her attention on her husband. ‘No, Owen, I’m afraid we won’t be accepting George’s invitation for lunch on Sunday. At a later date perhaps, while we’re here, but not this Sunday. Oh no, we are going to go out to lunch with our daugh
ter and her boyfriend. We don’t need other people along, not if we’re going to properly get to know Gideon Harte.’
‘I don’t wish to offend George,’ Owen began, glaring at his wife, but before he could finish his sentence, Marietta was speaking once again.
In an extremely firm voice, she said, ‘Oh, it won’t offend him. He’ll understand, I’m sure. Anyway, I can always go alone with Evan to meet Gideon, you know. And you, Owen, can have lunch with your old pal George, and Arlette, if you prefer.’
Evan was once more surprised, and delighted as well. Her father had opened his mouth to say something and then promptly closed it. He looked mortified, but she didn’t care. She was silently applauding her mother. God knows what’s happened to her, but she’s a different woman. And quite wonderful, Evan thought, smiling to herself.
Suddenly her mother was continuing in that lovely newly-confident voice. ‘Now, Evan, you said yesterday that you’d booked a table at a special place for dinner tonight. So…where are we going, honey?’
‘To Rules, Mom. It was Glynnis’s favourite restaurant, and she and Grandfather used to take me there when I came to London with them. And you and Dad came with us once to Rules. I thought it would be lovely to go back to a place of shared memories.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘You two Stormy Petrels have lived up to your name this week, and then some,’ Gideon said, looking from Linnet to India, his two favourite cousins.
Linnet frowned, repeated, ‘Stormy Petrels? Now where did that come from?’ and stared at Gideon, then looked across at India quizzically.
India said, ‘Don’t look at me, I don’t know what he means. But actually I do happen to know what a stormy petrel is…it’s a rather beautiful bird that spends most of its life on the sea, and it follows ships quite a lot.’