Camellia

  Stephen, the oldest son, wasn't a great improvement. He had taken over the running of the family estate back in Yorkshire and he was forever carping on to his father about the problems there. His wife, June, was like a grey mouse, with even less personality.

  Magnus was silent for some ten minutes, dragging out more cut branches and old bushes onto his pile. But then just as Mel felt their chat was over, he stopped working for a moment and stood hands on hips watching her stacking the logs.

  'When I bought Oaklands it was my intention that it would be a family run business,' he said. 1 never tried to brainwash them with the idea but when Stephen went in for estate management and Sophie chose catering, I assumed they too were working towards that end. Nicholas was only a small boy at that stage, so I didn't even think of a role for him. But when Ruth died, so did that dream.'

  Mel squatted down on a log. 'It might not have worked out anyway,' she said cautiously.

  Magnus chuckled and sat down beside her. 'You can say it. That a hotel run by frosty faced Sophie, with Stephen strutting about full of his own importance would be disastrous.'

  'I wouldn't have the audacity to even think it, much less say it,' Mel said indignantly.

  'Come on!' he teased. 'I've seen you looking at them both. Your face is an open book sometimes. Even Ruth, doting a mother though she was, used to claim they had less personality than a pencil.'

  Mel laughed. 'Ruth sounds so funny and lovely. I wish I'd met her.'

  'She would have liked you too,' Magnus smiled. 'She'd have winkled every last thing out of you by now too. When are you going to tell me properly about yourself?'

  'There's nothing of interest to tell,' Mel said. She had agonised countless times over whether or not to tell Magnus who she really was. But the more she'd got to know him, the more she saw that it would put him in an impossible situation. He was still grieving for his wife, so she didn't relish reminding him of his past indiscretions. His children only seemed to come here when they wanted something, and she had no wish to be thought of as another fortune hunter. Besides she already had everything she ever wanted, the security of a good job, a home beyond her wildest dreams and the affection of this big man. She wouldn't gain anything more by revealing the truth and she might well lose what she already had.

  'I disagree.' He slung one big arm along her shoulders companionably. 'I suspect your story is probably more action packed than my entire life. I'm not being nosey, Mel. I'm just an old man who thinks he's finally found a real friend, and real friends confide in one another.'

  It was so still and quiet in the woods. Everything smelled so clean and pure. 'Magnus, if I withhold things from you it's not because I don't trust you, but because I'm ashamed,' she said softly. 'Nearly two years ago I paid very heavily for all my past mistakes when my dearest friend died from a drugs overdose. I turned my back on everything then. I turned over a new leaf and started out again. Please don't ask me to relive it.'

  Magnus's grip tightened on her shoulder. 'Okay,' he said gruffly. 'I respect that. I've done things too which I'd rather lock away and forget. But I want you to know I've grown very fond of you, Mel.'

  Since that day Mel had often gone out to work in the grounds with Magnus in the afternoons. It seemed as if each day brought new closeness. They discovered they both had a weakness for stodgy school dinner type puddings, escaping in lurid Harold Robbins books and old weepy films. Magnus told her stories of his days at Oxford University, his time in Canada as a young man and his exploits during the war in the RAF. He told her how he'd started his building business after the war, with the first plot of land in Staines. As he spoke of these things she was slowly putting more pieces into the jigsaw puzzle of her mother's past. She hoped that one day something might bring him round to mentioning Bonny, but although he admitted that back in those days he neglected Ruth, he never mentioned meeting anyone else.

  Mel eventually got brave enough to confess one day that she'd once worked as a nightclub hostess. She even told him a few of the funnier stories about Bee. She felt as if they were both circling round their own secrets, each day growing a tiny bit closer to the point where their last defences would drop. But now it was autumn again. And Magnus was spending more time in his office. They might occasionally be able to work together outside, but realistically it would be spring before they had many more opportunities to talk.

  Mel's reverie was cut off by Mrs Downes coming back into the kitchen buttoning up her mackintosh.

  'Two more cancellations for dinner tonight,' she said to Antoine. 'Can't say I blame them. I wouldn't expect a dog to go out in weather like this. You'll have a quiet night, Mel. Magnus is off for his game of chess with the vicar and I doubt anyone will turn up for a drink. Make the most of it and get an early night.'

  'Early night, what's that?' Mel giggled. She rarely went to bed before one and was up again at seven. Mrs Downes worried, but she didn't seem to need much sleep anymore.

  'It will catch up with you one of these days.' Mrs Downes wiggled a warning finger at her. 'By the time you're my age you'll be as wrinkled as a prune.'

  Mrs Downes had been right: it was extremely quiet. Two men came into the bar at half past seven, had a couple of drinks and left. There were only four people eating in the dining room and once they'd been served Sally, the evening waitress, went and sat at the reception desk.

  Mel used the time to polish the glass shelves behind the bar and check the stock. The wind was howling outside, rain battering against the windows, evoking memories not only of that awful night when she'd arrived here, but of the year before, when she'd been holed up in that little room in Earls Court, numbed and desolate from Bee's death.

  It no longer seemed so important to piece together Bonny's life. As Jack had so wisely said, 'Yesterdays don't matter. It's the tomorrows that count.'

  At around nine Mel heard a male voice out in reception. She assumed it was one of the guests talking to Sally, but a few minutes later a young man in a rain-splattered worn leather jacket came into the bar.

  Mel knew most of the members now, but she hadn't seen this man before. If she had not heard him talking to Sally she might have asked for proof of membership: he wore jeans and a turtle neck sweater, when the rule for evenings was smart dress. Considering the weather outside, however, it seemed a little pedantic to do anything but smile warmly.

  'It's an awful night out there,' she said cheerfully, glad of someone to talk to. 'What can I get you?'

  'A whisky to warm me up, please.'

  His voice was beautiful, detracting immediately from his shabby clothes: deep and resonant, the kind Bee used to describe as BBC. She saw now he was very handsome too, his streaky blond hair flopping over his forehead, his dark blue eyes framed by thick dark lashes.

  'You must be the new girl, Mel?' he asked as she handed him his drink.

  'Not so new now, I've been here a year today,' she said.

  'Is that cause for celebration or commiseration?' he asked, his eyes glinting mischievously.

  'Oh celebration,' she laughed lightly. 'In fact I'll treat you to that whisky to prove it.'

  In a whole year at Oaklands, Mel had not met a single man she was attracted to. Most of the younger members were flashy types, who sported gold watches and sovereign rings. Their hair was blow-dried, their suits were hand-tailored and their main reason for drinking here was to do some social climbing. But this man wasn't a bit like that.

  She felt he took little interest in his appearance: his hair straggled over the collar of his jacket, and it had that neglected look that suggested when he did choose to have it cut, it was straight round to a conventional barber's for a short back and sides. He was around six foot tall, very slender, with beautifully defined cheek bones, probably in his mid-twenties. He had an aura of good breeding, much like some of the male students who worked the bar during the summer.

  She joined him in a drink, taking pains to put the money in the till, even though Magnus didn't mind the staff hav
ing an occasional free drink with a customer.

  'What do you think of Bath?' he asked. 'I always find it a bit stuffy.'

  Mel had fallen in love with Bath at first sight, but she knew what he meant by the stuffiness. 'I love the city itself,' she admitted. 'But I must admit it's a snob's paradise. A bit la-di-dah, as my mother used to say.'

  They spent some time exchanging anecdotes about some of the worst people they'd met in Bath. Mel told him how she'd gone into a jewellers to ask the price of a watch she'd seen in the window and nearly fallen through the floor in shock when she was told it was five hundred pounds.

  'He said it was a Rolex,' she giggled. 'But that didn't mean a thing to me. When I asked if they had anything under ten pounds, he looked at me as if I had two heads, and said, "I think madam should try H. Samuel." I wanted to ask why anyone would spend that much on a watch, after all they all tell the same time, but I didn't dare. I just slunk out with a red face.'

  The man told her he'd worked for a time as a waiter in Bath and described the meanness of some of the old ladies who came in for lunch.

  'One old bat insisted on taking a table which I hadn't cleared. I thought it was just because it was by the window. Blow me down if she didn't help herself to the tip left behind, meant for me. Do you know, she filled up her crocodile bag with sugar lumps! She had her soup, then ordered the lamb chops, ate half of them and then said they were cold and she'd only pay for the soup. I found out afterwards she was Lady Something or Other with a stately pile in Bradford-upon-Avon. Apparently she was known for doing that in all the restaurants.'

  Over a second drink Mel told him about her time in Ibiza and he described a summer he'd spent working in a bar in the south of France.

  It was as if she'd known him for years. They flitted from subject to subject, laughing and commiserating at each other's hard luck stories. If Mel had met him anywhere but at Oaklands she would probably have told him some much more explicit tales. She felt they were on exactly the same wavelength. Somehow she knew he'd been to some of the dark places she had, not because of anything he said, more from his manner and a knowing look in his eyes.

  When Antoine buzzed her on the internal phone to ask if she could come down to the kitchen, she saw it was nearly half past ten.

  'I won't be long,' she said. 'If you want another drink ask Sally, she's only out on the reception.'

  Antoine had cut his finger and was finding it hard to put a dressing on it. It was worse than she expected, bleeding dramatically. She dressed it for him, then cleaned up the blood which he'd dripped everywhere, and put away food in the fridge for him.

  She got back to the bar just before eleven. To her surprise the man was gone. Sally had turned off the bar lights, hung the towels over the pumps and locked up.

  Mel felt very silly for having expected the man to wait for her. When she thought about it she realised she'd been flirting with him all evening.

  The worst of it all was that she really liked him and she'd been absolutely convinced he was just as attracted to her as she was to him. Now she realised he must have been being polite. And yet try as she might she couldn't put his face, his voice or anything about him out of her mind.

  Mel was clearing the breakfast tables the next morning when Magnus came striding into the dining room. He looked pleased with himself about something, his face had a rosy glow.

  'What did you think of my Nick then?' he asked.

  'Nick?' Mel stared stupidly at him.

  'Well, by all accounts you spent half the evening chatting to him.' Magnus gave a rich belly laugh. 'He won't like it if I tell him what little impression he made on you.'

  Her stomach lurched. 'That was your son?'

  'Of course. You didn't realise?'

  'No, he never introduced himself,' she said weakly, sitting down suddenly at the table she was clearing. 'I thought he was just a member.'

  'I wouldn't give membership to anyone as scruffy as him,' Magnus chortled, but there was a certain pride in his voice. 'You shot off to bed a bit smartish didn't you? I came back to find Nick alone. He said you'd gone down to the kitchen. So I closed up the bar and took Nick upstairs. By the time I came down again to suggest you joined us for a nightcap, you'd already gone to bed.'

  'I didn't know you were back. I thought Sally closed the bar,' she said, blushing furiously, remembering how she'd lain awake thinking about the young man.

  'It doesn't matter that much. If he gets the part at the audition today he'll be around for two or three weeks at least. You'll have plenty of opportunity to get to know him better.'

  Mel attempted to pull herself together. 'Well, fancy me not realising,' she said. 'I just didn't connect.'

  'He connected with you, my girl,' Magnus growled, but smiled as if the thought pleased him. 'He wanted to know every last thing about you. First time I've seen him smitten with a girl in ages.'

  When he left the dining room a few minutes later, Mel stayed, sitting at the table. She was shaken to the core.

  This was one eventuality she had never imagined. She'd never for one moment anticipated liking Magnus's youngest son: everything she'd heard about him suggested he was even more unpleasant than Stephen, and he hadn't visited his father for over a year. Mrs Downes adored him, but then she'd been a second mother to him since his mother died. Yet even she'd said he was spoiled and over-pampered and that he ought to get a proper job instead of wasting his time as an actor and sponging off Magnus. His looks hadn't given him away at all, he was nothing like his father or his brother and sister.

  She could no longer persuade herself that he hadn't been interested in her. Magnus's words had confirmed all her instincts. She wasn't naive. She'd learned just about everything there was to know about men. Those tingles down her spine when she talked to him were due to dangerous mutual attraction.

  'Mutual attraction with your half-brother,' she told herself, shuddering. 'You might've known something would put a spanner in the works. Now what are you going to do?'

  Chapter Fifteen

  'Mel!'

  Mel ignored the shout from Nick and carried on walking up the drive as if she hadn't heard him above the wind in the trees.

  'So you're deaf as well as impossibly snooty,' he joked breathlessly as he caught up with her. 'You've been lip-reading all this time and I didn't realise.'

  'Did you call out?' she asked, hoping her cold tone would put him off. 'I was thinking, I didn't hear you.'

  In the last few days Mel had become more than anxious about Nick. She was frightened.

  He hadn't got the part at Bath Theatre Royal, and she knew only too well that his only reason for not returning to London was her. He'd been here now for four and a half days, and had gone out of his way to charm her at every possible opportunity.

  It was working too. She wasn't just charmed, but bewitched. No other man had ever affected her quite so strongly as he did. In his company she felt light-headed and exhilarated, but once alone again, edgy and dejected. She kept telling herself she was overreacting and tried to put him out of her mind, but she couldn't. And he wouldn't stay away from her.

  When she worked behind the bar, he was there helping. He was by her side clearing the breakfast tables; if she went to the kitchen, he would turn up there too, chatting, making her laugh, teasing and flirting.

  Everyone at Oaklands was talking about them, already convinced this was to be the romance of the century. Mrs Downes kept telling her stories about how sweet Nick had been as a little boy. Magnus just beamed and on Sunday he offered her an extra night off so Nick could take her to the pictures.

  Mel had turned Magnus's offer down, she'd said quite simply that though she liked Nick, she had no interest in a date with him. But Magnus just laughed and said she was playing hard to get.

  She thought she had atoned for all her past mistakes and wrong doing, that her new-found happiness and pride in herself was permanent. Now it seemed as if Nick had been brought into her life as further punishment. She didn
't know what to do.

  A small voice inside her urged her to go to Magnus and tell him everything. She had no proof he really was her father and he might know something which would put an end to her speculation once and for all. But how could she admit now that she'd been under his roof for a whole year under false pretences? She would appear so sly and deceitful. And if he really was her father, what then? He would either ask her to leave, or feel compelled to publicly acknowledge her. Knowing Magnus as she did, he was too upright to choose the more cowardly way out. And that would cause his entire family deep distress.

  The heavy rain had gone on ceaselessly until the previous night, adding to her sense of oppression. When she woke that morning to find a blue sky and sunshine, albeit weak, she'd decided a long walk in the afternoon would give her time alone to think and maybe bring back her equilibrium. It was still very windy and a carpet of fallen leaves concealed deep puddles, but she was well protected by Wellington boots, an oilskin coat and a warm scarf round her neck. She just didn't know how to protect herself from Nick.

  She stopped short and turned to him. 'I'm just going for a walk. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I'd rather be alone,' she said bluntly.

  His mouth drooped petulantly, making him look very young. As usual he wore jeans and his leather jacket. His only precaution against the weather was a tartan scarf tied loosely round his neck, reminding her of Rupert Bear. His suede desert boots were hardly suitable for walking in mud and puddles.

  In the last few days she had tried to avoid studying him too closely, but she had lost the battle. His slim hips and tight rounded buttocks aroused her, his ever watchful dark blue eyes brought her out in a flush. There was a tiny scar above his right eyebrow and on several occasions she'd itched to reach out and touch it. But it was his lips that really got to her, they were so soft and full, reminding her poignantly how long it was since she kissed a man.

  'We've got to talk properly,' he said with a shrug of his shoulders. 'I know you're hung up that I'm the boss's son, but that's silly. Dad hasn't any objections.'