In that case you can stop worrying and just sit back and relax.’
But how was she to relax when she was so aware of him? When in spite of all her resolve, his sheer masculinity posed such a threat to her composure that she was still trembling inwardly?
Sensing her unease, and deciding there was no point in making her wary, he went on mundanely, ‘As the weather’s still beautiful, it should prove to be a nice journey, and hopefully make a pleasant start to the weekend…’
His voice held only a host’s concern for his guest, and a quick glance at him told her that his manner had altered subtly, and for the moment at least he did not pose an active threat.
‘Grandfather is most anxious that you should enjoy your visit.’
‘I’m sure I will,’ she lied. Then carefully, ‘I was very sorry to hear how ill Sir Nigel is. I hope he’ll soon be a lot better.’
‘Unfortunately we can’t hope for much in the way of improvement. His illness is terminal. All the doctors can do is keep him as comfortable as possible and relatively free from pain.’
Shocked, she said, ‘It must be very difficult for him to cope with a visitor at a time like this.’
‘On the contrary, just knowing you were coming has pepped him up enormously. He’s always enjoyed the company of women, especially beautiful ones, and since Grandmother died last summer I think he’s been lonely. Though he’d never admit it.’
‘Then your parents don’t live at the Hall?’ Charlotte asked.
‘They used to—both my sister and I were born there—but they were killed in a car crash when I was six and Lucy was just a baby. Our grandparents brought us up.’
‘And you both still live there?’
‘I do.’ She saw his jaw tighten, before he added, ‘But Lucy’s married now and lives near Hanwick.’
‘Still, Sir Nigel has you.’ Somehow she resisted the temptation to mention a wife.
‘Unfortunately I’m not always here. I’ve had to be in the States quite a lot on business, and even when I am in the UK I’m usually only home at weekends. I stay at my London flat during the week.’
In spite of everything her heart lifted. It didn’t sound as if he had either a wife or a live-in lover.
‘Since Grandfather’s been seriously ill, I would have preferred to commute so I could be on hand at night in case anything happened. But he wouldn’t hear of it. He hates to be regarded as an invalid. In some ways it’s a pity I’m not married. It’s always been Grandfather’s dearest wish that I should take a wife, settle down in the ancestral home and raise a family.’
‘Why haven’t you?’ The question was out before she could prevent it.
A shade wryly, he said, ‘I’ve been waiting to meet a woman I wanted to be with for the rest of my life.’
He changed the subject abruptly. ‘Now, shall we have some music?’
‘That would be nice,’ Charlotte agreed.
‘What kind do you prefer?’
‘I like most classical music, including some grand opera. And I’m fond of comic opera, especially Gilbert and Sullivan…’
‘How delightfully old-fashioned,’ he teased. ‘But do go on.’
‘I like some jazz, some middle-of-the-road, some pop tunes—especially the older ones.’
He nodded approvingly. ‘It seems we share very similar tastes. One of which we can perhaps indulge later this evening.’
She gave him an uncertain glance, and he explained, ‘As luck will have it, there’s a Gilbert and Sullivan charity concert tonight at the Oulton village hall. The newly formed local Amateur Operatic Society are singing a selection of songs from HMS Pinafore, The Mikado, The Gondoliers et cetera, and, as a patron, I was sent a couple of tickets. I had intended to give them to Mrs Reynolds, our housekeeper, but if you’re agreeable it might be fun to go.’
‘I’d love to.’ It would pass the evening, and there’d be no danger of being left alone with him.
He flicked open one of the car’s compartments to show a collection of CDs. ‘So what’s it to be?’
‘Gershwin?’ she suggested.
A few seconds later the car was filled with the haunting strains of ‘Rhapsody in Blue’.
The weekend weather had been forecast as unsettled, with a front working its way through that would bring heavy rain and gale-force winds. But at the moment, as Simon had remarked, it was a beautiful day. The blue sky was cloudless and sunshine poured down, lighting up the autumn foliage and ricocheting from the gleaming bonnet of the car.
With a little sigh, Charlotte settled back to listen to the music and enjoy the drive as much as possible.
The CD had come to an end, and after her late night she was half dozing, when Simon’s voice penetrated the pleasant haze.
‘This is the village of Old Leasham we’re just going through. It’s a sleepy little place now, but in the past it was an important staging post, as you can tell by The Post-Horn, which is an old coaching inn.’
‘I gather Farringdon Hall is fairly close?’ Charlotte remarked.
‘The main entrance is about a mile further on, while the Hall itself lies midway between Old Leasham to the south, and Oulton to the north. This is the boundary wall just coming up.’
Beyond the last cluster of white cottages a high wall built of old lichen-covered stone came into view. With an ornate tower on the corner, it formed a right angle, running left along Farringdon Lane, a narrow tree-lined track that bordered the estate, and straight on along the main road.
When they reached the imposing entrance, Charlotte saw it was guarded by two ferocious-looking lions on plinths, one each side of the tall black and gold wrought-iron gates.
A security camera perched on top of a metal pole scanned them, and a moment later the gates slid aside. As they drove through, a uniformed man appeared from the gatehouse.
Sliding down the car window, Simon enquired, ‘What is it, Jenkins?’
‘May I enquire how Sir Nigel is?’
‘In good spirits, still.’
‘Mrs Jenkins has made some of the special crab-apple jelly Sir Nigel is so partial to. Would it be in order to send a pot up?’
‘Of course. I’ll take it now if you like.’
Beaming, Jenkins disappeared to return almost immediately with a small muslin-covered basket.
Putting it carefully on the back seat, Simon said, ‘I’m sure Grandfather will thoroughly enjoy it. Please thank Mrs Jenkins.’
‘That I will, sir.’
