if she ever left Ladymead, it would be for ever, and Alison knew that the doctor was as worried about her state of mind as she was herself. He had started talking in guarded tones about the possibility of treatment in a complete change of scene, and the sound of it made Alison’s heart sink.
‘Are you saying my mother needs to see a psychiatrist?’ she had asked.
Dr Barnet had given her a straight look. ‘She’s clearly in a very disturbed state,’ he had returned. ‘Bereavement is usually enough of a trauma for anyone to cope with, but when you add the other losses your mother is suffering …’ He shrugged. ‘Frankly, it’s enough to undermine the emotional constitution of someone with three times her strength. And, unfortunately, she’s become fixated on this house as a symbol of her security rather than you or Melanie. It’s not a healthy situation.’
He could say that again, Alison thought, shoving the bungalow details back into their folders with scant respect. Nicholas Bristow had said he wouldn’t evict them—but the way her mother was reacting, he might have to.
‘It’s my home,’ her mother kept reiterating. ‘My only home. He can’t take it away from me!’
The fact that they could no longer afford to live there seemed to have escaped her completely, Alison thought wryly.
She was thankful to have her work to immerse herself in once again, and she and Simon had already tentatively discussed the terms by which she would work for him full time.
It was a relief to know she would have a wage she could live on, but it didn’t solve Melanie’s problem, as the letter she had received only that morning served to underline. Melanie had had a preliminary interview with Miss Lesley, her formidable headmistress. It had been relatively civilised, Mel wrote, but the question of where the next term’s fees would be coming from had inevitably been raised.
And that was the problem in the forefront of Alison’s mind as she drove her elderly Mini back to Ladymead that evening.
As she rounded the last bend in the drive, she was surprised to see another car parked outside the front door. She didn’t recognise the number plate, she thought frowningly, as she switched off her engine and got out, and she certainly wasn’t expecting visitors.
As she walked into the hall, Mrs Horner appeared. ‘It’s that Mr Bristow,’ she said in an undertone. ‘He’s been here over an hour. Asked for you specific, and not for madam, so I made him some coffee and hope I did right.’
‘Quite right,’ Alison said promptly, her spirits plummeting. ‘Is he in the drawing room?’
‘He is, miss. I told him madam wasn’t too well, and that you were at work, but it made no difference. Said he’d wait.’
‘Oh?’ Alison returned wanly, as she unbuttoned her jacket.
He was standing by the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantelshelf, as he looked broodingly down into the flames. His head came round sharply as Alison closed the drawing room door.
‘You’re late, Miss Mortimer,’ he remarked impatiently. ‘I didn’t know your work included overtime.’
‘It doesn’t as a rule.’ She dropped her jacket over the back of a chair, aware of the disparaging glance he sent her plain navy dress. ‘Just as I was leaving, my boss called me back to say he’d heard about a cottage that might suit us.’
‘Oh.’ He didn’t appear to receive the news with ill-concealed delight. In fact, he frowned slightly. ‘Where is this place?’
‘Far enough away for us to be able to avoid each other,’ she returned composedly.
His lips tightened. ‘I see. And have you made an offer for it.?’
‘Hardly. My mother and I have to see it first.’ Alison touched the coffee pot and grimaced. ‘This is cold. May I offer you some fresh?’
‘No, thanks,’ he said. ‘But I’d sell my soul for a large Scotch—it’s been one hell of a day.’
She gave him a surprised look under her lashes as she turned to get his drink. She was probably imagining things, but he seemed almost ill at ease.
‘And you’d better have one too.’ His voice followed her. ‘You may need it.’
She poured a measure of Scotch into a glass and handed it to him. ‘No, thank you. I’ve managed to cope so far without propping myself up with alcohol.’
‘My congratulations.’ He raised his glass in a parody of a toast. ‘You’re clearly not as fragile as you look. I hope you can overlook the weaknesses of lesser mortals.’
‘Admitting to weakness?’ Alison asked sweetly. ‘How very uncharacteristic!’
‘Make the most of it,’ he drawled, his eyes glinting. There was a brief silence, then he said abruptly, ‘I didn’t intend to come here in person. I was going to approach you through Alex Liddell in the first instance.’
She stared at him, suddenly dry-mouthed. She said huskily, ‘I suppose you want us to leave.’
‘No, on the contrary …’
‘You’ve changed your mind? You’re going to let us stay here?’ Alison’s heart leapt in joyous incredulity as she stared at him.
He frowned again. ‘I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that. A few days ago I contacted Liddell, and told him I would prefer it if the present staff continued working for me, if they were willing. I mentioned I’d like to meet the housekeeper for a preliminary chat.’ He paused again. ‘I must confess his reply staggered me.’
Alison sat down. ‘He told you I was the housekeeper?’ She shrugged. ‘There’s no problem, Mr Bristow. I can guarantee I won’t take you to the industrial tribunal for firing me, and hiring someone else.’
He said abruptly, ‘Isn’t this formality rather overdone? My name is Nick.’
‘To your friends, perhaps,’ she said coolly. ‘But you’ll never count me in that small and exclusive company. I prefer formality.’
‘As you wish,’ he said coldly. ‘But it imposes additional difficulties on the proposition I’m about to put to you.’
Alison’s brows shot up. ‘You’re not offering me the job of housekeeper, I hope?’
‘Yes, I am,’ he said shortly. ‘And before you turn me down, perhaps you’d better listen to the whole deal.’
‘You think any deal on earth could persuade me to be your servant?’ Alison asked dazedly. ‘My God, you have some gall!’
‘Listen to me,’ he said impatiently. ‘If you agree to what I want, you can have the lot. The house as your own, a self-contained flat for your mother—anything you wish.’ He hesitated, then added flatly, ‘And I understand from Liddell that your sister’s school fees are a problem. I’ll pay them, and see her through university too, if she makes the grade.’
Alison got to her feet. ‘I wouldn’t have any more Scotch,’ she said sarcastically. ‘You’re obviously not well.’
He
