his attention to the white-coated waiter hovering at his side.
‘We’ll have the wine list,’ he said, speaking with the cool assurance Lesley had always admired. ‘And bring us two Campari and sodas to be going on with.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The waiter withdrew and Carne’s attention turned back to Lesley. But she had had a few seconds to compose herself, and to shuffle along the velvet seat so that now they were seated at right angles to one another. It was easier than facing him, although she was conscious that if she moved her feet too recklessly they would touch his ankle.
‘So,’ he said, toying with his dessert fork. ‘Isn’t this civilised?’
Lesley decided there was nothing to be gained by antagonising him again, and forced a faint smile. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘And how is he?’
‘How is who?’
For a moment her mind had gone blank, but Carne patently didn’t believe her. ‘Well. I don’t mean Lance Petrie,’ he retorted coldly. ‘Or your latest boy-friend.’
‘I don’t have a boy-friend!’ exclaimed Lesley indignantly, and then cursing herself for allowing him to get under her skin, went on more evenly: ‘I’m sorry, I was miles away. You mean Jeremy, of course.’ She paused, striving for control. ‘Well—he’s fine. So far as I know.’
‘What do you mean? So far as you know?’
Lesley sighed. ‘I mean I get a weekly letter from him. All the boys are expected to write home at least once a week. It’s not much of a letter usually,’ she reminisced, forgetting for a moment to whom she was speaking, and then recovering again, added: ‘He was all right when he wrote a week ago.’
Carne’s eyes glittered in the muted lights. ‘It never occurred to you to suggest that he might write to his grandmother and me, did it?’ he demanded, and she flushed.
‘You showed no interest in him,’ she exclaimed defensively, and ignoring his angry oath, finished: ‘Besides, it’s possible the boys at school imagine his parents live together. Jeremy might not have confided in them. And writing two letters would create—difficulties.’
The waiter reappeared with their Camparis, and accepting the wine list Carne said they would order their meal in a few minutes. The waiter smiled, and after bestowing a warm glance on Lesley, departed once more.
Carne cradled his glass in his hands, warming its frosted surface with his fingers. ‘What have you told him about me?’ he asked at last, and Lesley chose her words carefully.
‘He—he doesn’t remember you at all …’
‘You haven’t told him I’m dead, have you?’ Carne demanded savagely, and she hastened to reassure him.
‘No. But—well, since he’s been old enough to understand, you’ve not been around, and—I don’t suppose he’s had time to formulate any ideas.’
‘Did you tell him you walked out on me?’
Lesley concentrated her attention on the ice in her glass. ‘I—I told him we weren’t—happy together. Until recently, he was just a baby, remember?’
‘So as soon as he was old enough to start asking questions, you packed him off to boarding school.’
‘No!’ Lesley was horrified. ‘What else could I do?’ Then, realising this could lead to all kinds of alternatives, she added: ‘I went to boarding school myself.’
‘I didn’t,’ remarked Carne dryly.
‘No, well, that’s nothing to do with me.’
‘I know. But what kind of education my son gets is to do with me.’
Lesley took a gulp of her Campari and soda before asking doubtfully: ‘What—do you mean?’
Carne hesitated a moment, and then shook his head. ‘Later. Right now, let’s get back to why we’re here, shall we?’
‘Mother’s—illness?’
‘Among other things.’ Carne frowned into his glass. ‘Look, Lesley, I think I ought to come straight to the point.’
‘To the point?’ she echoed faintly.
‘Yes.’ He paused. ‘I want you to agree to letting Jeremy come and spend his summer holidays at Raventhor—–’
‘No!’ She interrupted him before he could finish. ‘No, I won’t agree to that, and you have no right to ask me.’
‘No right?’ He made a sound of annoyance. ‘My God, you’re a great one to talk about rights! Well, okay, maybe I have let you have your own way for so long that you’ve come to the entirely inaccurate conclusion that I intend to let you go on that way. But deep down, you must have known that sooner or later I’d want my turn!’
‘Your turn!’ She forced herself to return his cold gaze. ‘Jeremy’s not a toy you can pick up or put down at your leisure.’
‘I know that.’ Carne glanced round as if afraid their raised voices were being overheard. ‘But I was fool enough to believe that given time you’d come to your senses.’
‘To my senses?’
‘Stop repeating everything I say, for heaven’s sake!’ He took a deep breath. ‘Lesley, you might as well know, I’ve been corresponding with your mother ever since you left Ravensdale.’
Lesley gulped. ‘Corresponding with—oh!’ She broke off abruptly as she realised she was repeating him yet again. ‘Checking up on me?’
‘In a manner of speaking. I wanted to be sure you were all right. You and Jeremy both.’
Lesley stared at him contemptuously. ‘You can’t seriously expect me to believe that.’
‘Whether you do or whether you don’t is immaterial,’ he retorted. ‘But like I keep telling you, Jeremy is my son. I haven’t forgotten that, even if you have.’
‘Oh, I haven’t forgotten,’ she exclaimed bitterly. ‘What part has my mother been playing? Watchdog? A spy to let you know if I went out with another man so that you could gather a case to take Jeremy away from me? Your mother would like that, wouldn’t she? She was always jealous that there was one person who preferred me to her!’
‘Stop it!’ His jaw had hardened angrily. ‘I expected you’d have grown out of such childish ideas by now. Why bring my mother into it? This is between you and me.’
‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head. ‘It was never just between you and me. She was always there to take your side, to assure you that you could do no wrong.’
‘Oh, God!’ He raked back his hair with long impatient fingers. She noticed it was longer than he used to wear it, brushing his collar at the back, but still as thick and straight as ever. He had never worn a hair dressing, and she had loved to slide her
