Simon Farringdon first got in touch with me, purely as a matter of interest I looked it up in Britain’s Heritage of Fine Historical Houses. It’s described as ‘‘A small, but delightful Elizabethan manor house, with thatched dovecotes and a charming walled garden…’’’
Reaching out a hand, Charlotte took a thick volume from the bookshelf and flicked through the pages. ‘Here, read it for yourself.’
The book balanced on one knee, Sojo read aloud,
‘Built on the site of a much older, fortified house, and surrounded by a large estate, Farringdon Hall has been the home of the Bell-Farringdon family for almost five hundred years. During her heyday, Queen Elizabeth I is rumoured to have made many private visits there. The interior of the house is noted for its splendid fireplaces, superb oak panelling and fine plasterwork, but the highlight is undoubtedly the Great Chamber with its magnificent barrel ceiling. There are three oak staircases rising from the panelled hall. The two rear ones lead up to the old nursery suite and the attics, which have remained unaltered since the house was built, while the main staircase leads to the family rooms, one of which is said to be haunted…
‘Fantastic! Sojo, who was into ghosts, gave an excited wriggle. ‘I must say I’m starting to envy you. A ghost and Simon Farringdon in the same house! What more could you possibly ask?’
When Charlotte finally got to bed, though she hadn’t expected to, she slept almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
In spite of having had such a late night, she awoke at her usual time and, pulling on her robe, went through to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee and a rack of toast, before phoning Margaret.
Almost before she had finished explaining, Margaret said, ‘Of course I’ll take over for you.’
‘It’s bound to be busy,’ Charlotte pointed out. ‘Are you sure you can manage?’
‘My niece will be more than willing to lend a hand. She’s always liked books. The part-time job she had during the summer is finished, and as an out-of-work ex-student she can use a spot of pocket money.’
‘That’s great.’
‘So you just go and enjoy yourself.’
Instead of reiterating that it was just business, Charlotte said, ‘I’ll certainly try.’
Appearing in the kitchen in her pyjamas, her blonde hair in wild disarray, Sojo helped herself to coffee and toast before enquiring, ‘I take it that was Margaret. Can she manage?’
‘She’s going to get her niece to help.’
Spreading butter and marmalade with a liberal hand, Sojo observed with satisfaction, ‘So you’re all set. With a bit of luck you might even see the ghost.’
‘I’m not terribly sure I want to,’ Charlotte said.
Sojo sighed. ‘You have no sense of the dramatic. The scenario goes like this… You see the ghost and, scared stiff, you scream. Simon Farringdon comes running. You fall into his arms and… Well, I’ll leave the rest to you and propinquity.’
‘Thanks,’ Charlotte murmured drily.
‘Just one thing; once you get ensconced at Farringdon Hall I hope you’ll remember all my helpful advice and invite me down. Oh, and when he does get round to proposing, and a man of his class will—he’ll need children to inherit everything—I’ll be your bridesmaid.’
‘He may already have a wife and family,’ Charlotte pointed out.
‘You didn’t find out if he was married? What on earth were you doing with your time?’
‘I could hardly ask him,’ Charlotte objected.
‘Though surely he can’t be,’ Sojo thought aloud. ‘If he was, he wouldn’t have been rash enough to take another woman out dancing and dining.’
‘But this wasn’t a date,’ Charlotte emphasised. ‘It was simply a business dinner.’
‘Go away! You’ll be telling me next that you’re not quivering like a jelly at the mere thought of seeing him again… Now I must dash… When you get back I shall expect a blow-by-blow account of all that’s happened… And don’t forget, so long as he’s not actually married you have my permission to go get him.’
When she had showered and dressed, trying to keep her excitement under control, Charlotte selected what she was taking for the weekend, and packed it.
Well before ten o’clock she was ready and waiting, her small case zipped up and Sir Nigel’s set of books replaced in the strong cardboard carton they had been delivered in.
Aware that she mustn’t let Simon Farringdon see what a devastating effect he had on her, for the past hour she had been lecturing herself on the necessity to appear cool and in control.
Afraid that anything less businesslike might give the wrong impression, she had put on a fine wool suit in aubergine, and taken her hair up into a neat coil.
She was standing in the bow-window when, punctually at ten o’clock, a dark blue car drew up outside and Simon climbed out.
Her heart beating faster, she gathered up her belongings and forced herself to walk down the stairs and open the door without undue haste.
He was waiting on the doorstep, casually dressed in a well-tailored grey sports jacket and cords. Though she was wearing high heels, he still seemed to tower over her.
‘Spot on time,’ he congratulated her.
That white smile, and the way his lean cheeks creased, made her breath come faster and threatened to destroy her hard-won composure.
‘You have a different car.’ She said the first thing that came into her head.
‘Yes. I picked my own car up from the Hall this morning. The previous one was hired when I got back from the States a few days ago.’
Taking the case and books, he stowed them in the boot before helping her into the passenger seat.
As he slid in beside her, remembering what had happened the previous evening, she panicked and fumbled for her seat belt.
Straight-faced, he asked, ‘Sure you can manage?’
‘Quite sure, thank you,’ she assured him, and realised by the gleam of amusement in his tawny eyes that he knew perfectly well what effect he had on her, and was enjoying teasing her.
It wasn’t a comfortable realisation, and now it was too late she admitted that she’d been an absolute fool to come. She had known from the beginning that he was right out of her league, yet she had still allowed her desire to see him again to overrule her common sense.
So, having made the mistake, she was stuck with it. Somehow she had to play it cool and refuse to let him throw her.
Though that might be easier said than done.
As they drew away from the kerb, he asked, ‘No problem with the shop, I hope?’
