his throat. ‘I expect the meditation technique allows your imagination a free hand,’ he said slowly. ‘But if it upsets you, you should stop.’
‘Oh, it doesn’t upset me. I enjoy it. It’s so much more exciting than –’ She stopped abruptly. ‘I was going to say than real life, but that sounds so awful.’
Henry grinned. ‘It’s not awful at all. It’s quite understandable. Real life is – well – real. Your Isobel presumably has more fun in her life.’
Clare smiled. She was thinking of Robert’s kiss. ‘Indeed she does. Do you think I’m quite mad?’
‘Only marginally.’ He was relieved to see the strain leaving her face.
‘Please don’t tell Paul. I don’t think he’d understand. I know this isn’t exactly a world-enhancing pastime, but in a sense it’s a serious exercise, and it’s better than TV.’ She smiled disarmingly. ‘Paul thinks I should be happy pottering about like Gillian and Chloe or your partners’ wives, organising NSPCC coffee mornings and church jumble sales and discussing fashion and make-up, but I’m not like that. I need something more; something different to them. The trouble is, whenever I try to explain to him that I would like to get a job, or do some really serious studying, we get back to babies.’ Her jaw tightened.
‘Babies?’ Unobtrusively Henry leaned forward for the jar of instant coffee and drew the empty mugs towards him.
‘Paul wants me to have babies.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘Oh, I’d love to have one; I sometimes think I can’t live without one; I look into people’s prams and things.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘But then I get depressed about it and all I want to do is forget about babies altogether.’ She paused for a moment thinking again of Paul’s phone call earlier that day. The tests were OK and yet suddenly he’d changed his mind. Now he too wanted to forget about babies. She bit her lip. Somehow it didn’t ring true, but that was something she could worry about later. She smiled at Henry. ‘That’s when I’d like to do something positive; something to take my mind off children altogether. I wish Paul really could forget about babies for a bit. In fact I wish the whole Royland family weren’t so obsessed with procreation.’
Henry laughed. ‘Tough. Tell him you’re on the pill, taking a degree in Oriental studies and about to rebuild your fairy-tale castle with your own hands once you’ve finished your brick-laying apprenticeship, and there will be no babies until you’re forty at least. I gather motherhood late in life is all the rage these days. That should fix him.’
She giggled delightedly. ‘Oh Henry, I’m so glad you came round. You put everything in perspective. Bless you.’
Henry picked up the kettle. Suddenly he felt ridiculously happy.
James was surprised Paul agreed to meet him so quickly. Perhaps it was something in the suppressed excitement of his voice which had prompted his brother-in-law to suggest lunch that day. They met in the foyer of the bank after James had walked through from the Westlake Pierce dealing room in the new building.
‘So,’ Paul looked at the younger man with some curiosity as they made their way briskly along Coleman Street, ‘what is all this about?’ James was very like Clare to look at. Roughly the same height, which was fairly short for a man, slim, dark-haired, the same large grey eyes; but curiously, the features didn’t make him look feminine at all. On him they were rugged and handsome. Handsome enough to pull women in droves according to his sister, even before he had inherited his fortune.
‘I wanted to know how Clare is.’ James looked him straight in the eye.
‘She’s fine. That was a stupid incident last night. She has to learn to be less neurotic, that’s all.’
‘Last night?’ James raised an eyebrow. ‘What happened last night?’
‘She was trapped in a lift for a minute or two and it shook her up. Isn’t that what you meant?’ Paul said mildly.
‘No.’ For a moment James looked uncomfortable, then with a slight shrug, he went on. ‘No, I was talking about this man teaching her to cope with mental stress or whatever it is. Why is she so stressed?’
Paul gave a deep sigh. ‘I wish I knew. But, as to her handsome yoga teacher,’ – he gave a half smile – ‘I think you can take it that he will shortly be getting his marching orders. Clare’s neuroses, such as they are, are better served by rest and quiet than by some quasi-spiritual mumbo jumbo. I’m sending her on a holiday next month. That will help her more than anything else.’
‘Lucky Clare,’ James said dryly. ‘Does she know yet?’
Paul caught the note of sarcasm and looked up. Unexpectedly he smiled. ‘No,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t know yet.’
It was not until they were sitting at their table downstairs at Gows and their food had arrived that James dropped his bombshell.
‘What do you think about the offer for Duncairn?’ he asked innocently as he picked up his fork.
‘The what?’ Paul stared at him.
‘Clare received an offer for Duncairn. Didn’t she tell you? She turned it down, of course. I gather they didn’t mention a figure –’
‘Who? Who wants to buy it?’
‘Ah well, that’s the interesting point. Clare didn’t know – the offer came through a third party, but I’ve done some nosing around amongst my pals.’ James stopped and put a forkful of fish into his mouth, chewing slowly, well aware that Paul was waiting.
‘And?’
‘And I gather there is some speculation about surveys they’ve been doing up that coastline. Word is one of the oil companies might have put in a pre-emptive bid just in case they decide to test drill. The bet is that the offer is from one of the big consortia, or, just possibly from an outfit called Sigma Exploration, a US-based company which is trying to get a larger foothold overseas. There’s been a lot of talk about them in the City lately. You must have heard of them. They’re trying to raise some big bucks.’
‘And you think some of it is to buy Duncairn?’ Paul’s eyes narrowed. ‘For God’s sake, Clare never mentioned it!’
‘She doesn’t know,’ James put in hastily. ‘Not about Sigma.’ He hesitated. ‘She’ll put up a hell of a fight for Duncairn, Paul –’
He stopped, astonished, as Paul laid down his knife and fork, his food untouched, and pushed back his chair. His face was white … ‘Fight,’ he said slowly. ‘She doesn’t even know the meaning of the word. If someone is offering big money for that heap of stones, and she opposes the sale, I’ll make her sorry she was born!’
Turning on his heel, he headed for the staircase.
Clare was out in the tiny suntrap of a garden at the back of the London house when Paul arrived. An open book had been discarded on the paving stones beside her chair as she lay, dressed in a low-necked cotton blouse and shorts, soaking up the afternoon sun.
For
