True Colours Part 13

Closing her car door softly, not wanting to announce her arrival until she had taken a deep breath, had gathered her thoughts, Alex began to walk towards the front door. But Sebastian must have been watching for her the heavy door opened as soon as she put her foot on the bottom step, and as Alex looked up from her contemplation of her tan leather boots, she found him looking down on her, his s.h.i.+rtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands in his pockets, an automatic smile flicking across his face. He looked good, his crisp white s.h.i.+rt unb.u.t.toned at the neck, tie hanging loose, day-old stubble shadowing his jaw, reminding her for a sickening moment of the Diet c.o.ke man. Alex bit her lip, trying to ignore the kick in her stomach, the rush of blood to her cheeks.

Standing back, Sebastian held the huge oak-panelled door wide open.

'The fire's lit in the kitchen.' Alex nodded curtly, following him inside, catching a s.n.a.t.c.h of his aftershave as she pa.s.sed. This was impossible. She tried to focus on the task: at least they weren't going to have to talk in the study. The kitchen was safe ground, neutral territory.

The hall was cold, dark, a hint of damp hanging in the air. Her heels echoed on the tiles as Alex followed Sebastian to the back of the house, the broad reach of his shoulders, square, solid, the bright white of his s.h.i.+rt almost glowing in the darkness. For a moment, Alex caught herself studying his rear view, the ripple of the muscles in his back under his s.h.i.+rt, the movement of his hips as he ambled easily past the rise of the huge staircase, past the doors to the dining room, the smoking room, the billiard room, the blue parlour, skipped down the steep steps to the narrow pa.s.sage leading to the bas.e.m.e.nt kitchen.

But Sebastian's rear view didn't occupy her for long. With every footstep memories slammed through her head him chasing her up the stairs, both of them giggling in the billiard room, hiding from his father; his mother's infectious laughter filling the hall as she brought a huge basket of freshly-cut flowers through the kitchen into the hall. Pus.h.i.+ng the memories away Alex tried to focus on the reason she was here. It didn't matter about the past. What mattered was her dad. His face, pale and drawn came back to her what mattered was his health and his future. What mattered was getting the Wingfields to take responsibility.

Ahead of her Sebastian opened the kitchen door and Alex was dazzled for a moment. The lights were on, incongruous 1970s fluorescent tubes, bright after the darkness of the pa.s.sage. But the huge room was warm and inviting, filled with the rich scents of a chicken roasting, of lemon and herbs. Obviously conscious of the glare, Sebastian reached for the light switch as they entered, knocking off the tubes, leaving on only the soft lights over the range and the counter tops.

In front of the range Dodo had crashed out, her back to its warm forest green enamel, her paws twitching on the terracotta tiles. She lifted her head as Alex came in, took a look, and apparently satisfied that it wasn't a stranger, flopped back down again, her stubby tail hitting the range in a rhythmic welcome. Alex's mouth twitched with a smile. Some things never changed. Her earliest memories of Kilfenora were of dogs steaming in front of the range, of her dad stumping into the kitchen, his wax jacket smeared with mud.

Then Alex cast her eye around the room. And stopped dead.

The long pine refectory table was just as she remembered it, scrubbed clean, the huge fruit bowl his mother had brought back from Italy, set at the near end. But it was set for two.

And today was her day for jumping to conclusions without pa.s.sing go or collecting 200.

Two? What on earth was Sebastian up to? Alex could feel her anger rising this was supposed to be a private conversation, she had thought she had made that very clear. This was her one chance to thrash out a deal that would keep her dad comfortable in his enforced retirement, and he'd gone and invited Caroline to dinner!

For a moment Alex couldn't believe it. She had said quite clearly on the phone that this was private, and if her experience of complex negotiations was anything to go by, they wouldn't reach a settlement in five minutes, so what the h.e.l.l did he think he was up to? Did Sebastian think she'd settle for an apology?

Perhaps Caroline's arrival had been timed to break up their meeting, to stop him from having to make any major commitments. Spinning around, the demand for an explanation already forming on her lips, Alex realised Sebastian was standing beside the open fridge door, a bottle of white wine in his hand, completely relaxed, like nothing was wrong. Before she could speak, he waved the bottle in her direction.

'Can I get you a drink?'

Alex looked at his in disbelief. 'A drink?' She couldn't resist a hint of sarcasm, 'Why not? Let's make it a party. When's Caroline joining us?' she indicated the table, leaving her hand hovering in an open gesture, a gesture that screamed, to her at least, 'explain your definition of a private meeting.'

But it didn't seem to register with Sebastian.

'Caroline?' Kicking the door of the fridge closed, he picked up two heavy crystal gla.s.ses from the counter, juggling with them and the bottle, making for the table. She didn't move to help him, just stood there, her face incredulous waiting for an answer.

He glanced at her as he opened the bottle, 'I thought you wanted this between you and me?'

'Exactly. So why ask her?'

Pouring the wine, Sebastian kept his eyes on the gla.s.s, 'I didn't. The estate isn't any of her business. Yet.'

Might never be the words suddenly arrived in his head, ping-ponging madly backwards and forwards. Shaking them away, focusing on the wine, Sebastian handed Alex a gla.s.s, fighting to keep his face serious. She looked good tonight her hair tamed into a professional pony tail, her caramel eyes and tan set off by a printed silk scarf tied stylishly at the neck of a cream silk blouse, her beige tweed hacking jacket, tailored at the waist. High-heeled boots and narrow brown jeans. Simple, very Continental and very s.e.xy. He took a sip of his wine, then lifted his gla.s.s.

'Welcome back.'

It took Alex a moment to register what he was saying. Welcome back? Good G.o.d, now he was trying to schmooze her. She took a sharp intake of breath as she reached for the gla.s.s. Whatever about earlier, she definitely needed a drink now. She took a slug of the chilled sauvignon blanc, feeling the gentle fingers of the alcohol reach out to her empty stomach, giving her courage. Sebastian was standing there like nothing was wrong like he hadn't recently shot her father, like he hadn't just invited his fiancee to dinner when he was supposed to be talking to her, like he hadn't painted her naked and stuck the picture over his bed.

'Welcome back? Good G.o.d, you are the end, the absolute end. I'm here to sort out my father's future, and you think we're having a party. Did you invite anyone else apart from Caroline?' Alex took another slug of her wine, emptying the gla.s.s, putting it down on the table with a crack.

Sebastian looked at her like she was mad. 'I haven't invited Caroline, why on earth...?'

'So who's this for eh? Table set for a cosy twosome, dinner in the oven?'

Uncomprehending, Sebastian looked from the range to the table and back at her, then said, like it was perfectly obvious, 'It's for you. We've got a lot to cover. I thought we could talk over supper. You might be superwoman now, but you have to eat.'

'Supper for me?' Alex said it, but it still didn't register.

'It's only chicken with lemon and rosemary. The pantry's a bit limited here.'

Now it was Alex's turn to look at him like he was mad, 'How can we sit down and have a nice cosy dinner with my dad lying in a hospital bed?' Her voice hardened, 'This isn't a social call.'

Sighing, Sebastian leaned forward and re-filled her gla.s.s. 'I'm perfectly well aware of that, but we can at least try to be civilised. I can promise you no one regrets what happened to Tom more than I do.'

Watching him pour the wine Alex was suddenly conscious of the strength in his forearm, of the agility in his wrist, spanned by a battered leather watch strap, the watch, chunky, chrome, well-worn; of the heat in the kitchen. She needed to take her jacket off. Dragging her focus back to the conversation, her voice tart, she delivered her own shot, one definitely meant to hurt.

'That wasn't the impression I got from Caroline.'

Sebastian threw her a withering look, 'I think we both know that Caroline has a lot to learn about running an estate like this one. She doesn't have your advantages.'

'My advantages?' Alex blurted it out before she could stop herself. Then, horribly aware that her voice sounded too loud in the cavernous room, she grabbed her gla.s.s, taking another mouthful to hide her confusion, buying time before she said more calmly, 'growing up in service that would be, would it?'

'I didn't mean that. My G.o.d why do women always twist your words? You're worse than b.l.o.o.d.y Caroline.' Sebastian shook his head.

'Well what do you mean exactly? What advantages? She isn't totally stupid is she? Any fool can play mistress of the manor.'

Sebastian paused, grimacing to himself. Caroline could play at being mistress of the manor all right she certainly didn't have any difficulty with that part of her role.

'Running the estate isn't about dinner parties. What I meant was that you know how things are done here. You understand how we work. That's all.'

Alex's voice was low, 'I thought I did. I thought you had a high regard for your staff, that you looked after them. But that was before you shot my dad.'

The words. .h.i.t home harder than Alex had expected. A shadow of anguish ran across Sebastian's face. Reaching for the bottle of wine, turning it until the label was facing him, he fought with his emotions, tears p.r.i.c.king his eyes like hot needles. She just didn't understand. After she had left, Tom Ryan had become like a father figure to him. They'd spoken every day, discussed everything that happened on the estate. Without Tom Ryan's calm counsel, his gentle guiding hand, Sebastian knew very well, there would be no estate, at least not a profitable one.

And then instead of thanking him for years of loyal service, instead of giving him a bonus he'd shot him.

He'd listened to Caroline's badgering and made a stupid mistake, broken one of Tom's fundamental rules: if you were going out shooting, he had to be informed. When he hadn't been able to raise him on the radio, Sebastian knew he should have been stronger, told her that there was no way they could go out. But Caroline hadn't been in the mood to listen, had started making comments about calling off the wedding if they couldn't agree on simple things, and, without thinking, the horror of having to tell his best friend it was all off, of disappointing his grandfather had loomed ahead of him, swayed him into making a decision he would regret until he was old and grey.

'You must know how much I regret that. It's going to haunt me for the rest of my life.'

'It'll certainly haunt Dad for the rest of his life. He's never going to able to walk without a stick you know that, don't you?'

Sebastian nodded, avoiding her eye, finally picking up the bottle he had been twirling, refilling her gla.s.s, slos.h.i.+ng the remainder into his own gla.s.s, knocking it back in one swift, decisive movement.

'And while we're on the subject, exactly whose idea was it to pretend it was a car crash?'

Sebastian put his gla.s.s down, 'I can't take responsibility for that one I'm afraid. I'm quite happy to put my hands up and be counted have been from the start. Tom didn't want it publicised because he was worried about you.'

'About me? What on earth have I got to do with you admitting liability?'

Sebastian turned to face her, his blue eyes suddenly cold, the anger in his voice barely suppressed, 'I don't know. You tell me. It probably had something to do with you hightailing it out of here sixteen years ago, but I wasn't on the need-to-know list then was I? So why the h.e.l.l would I be now?'

Before Alex could reply, a buzzer sounded somewhere over beside the range, startling them both. Dodo jumped up yapping loudly, claws skidding in her panic on the tiled floor.

'It's all right girl, settle down there,' Moving swiftly around the table, Sebastian rubbed the old dog's broad head affectionately; the movement seeming to calm her, 'It's all right, it's only the timer.'

Thankful for the interruption, thankful that he had his back to her, Alex could feel her face flaming. He was so angry... but what had she expected? Taking another large mouthful of her wine, Alex watched him as he grabbed a tea towel from the counter and opened the range, his entire focus apparently on the food inside. What should she say? How could she explain? She could feel the silence growing, uncomfortable, expectant, almost jumped when he said, 'Well I don't know about you, but I didn't get time for lunch and this is ready. Are you going to sit down?'

TWENTY EIGHT.

In her apartment in b.a.l.l.sbridge, Caroline was still seething. When the receptionist had called this morning to say there were more flowers she'd expected something half as nice as Peter's flowers at the very least, had even Tweeted Tiff to say @5thAve Guess what, more flowers!!!

But, far from being anything like Peter's flowers, when the bouquet had actually arrived, it has been beyond disappointing.

The very second she'd got off the phone with Sebastian she'd shoved the whole hideous bunch, paper and all, into the waste disposal unit, listening with some satisfaction as it ground the stems to pulp. But destroying them hadn't helped. She was still mad. Worse than that, she was hurt. Peter had vanished into the ether and now this...

And rather than the pa.s.sage of time bringing calm and putting a sensible perspective on the situation, as each hour had ticked by, Caroline had become more incensed with Sebastian, with the whole situation, the wound left by Peter's abrupt departure opening deeper, raw and gaping, salted by her anger at being taken for a fool. Parrot flowers indeed. Caroline positively shuddered at the thought.

As the day had gone on and there had been no sign of any more flowers, or even a card, never mind a courier from Weirs or Boodles, or Appleby's (and it wasn't like there was a shortage of top-quality jewellers in Dublin), Caroline's anger had begun to fester, fuelled by all the other annoying little things that Sebastian had done during their time together: the dinners cancelled due to work (ha!); his obvious disinterest in the ice sculptures she had suggested to go along the drive for the wedding; his dislike of champagne (how could he not like champagne?), topped off by the fact that her engagement ring (which was pretty impressive, even if she wasn't keen on sapphires), had, in some ridiculous family tradition, to be handed on to the next generation before, quite honestly, she had finished with it, and replaced by a really very ordinary (if large), diamond eternity ring. An eternity ring!

Now, as she stood in front of her dressing room mirror, leaning on the marble washstand, tweezers raised to remove another stray eyebrow hair, she could feel the injustice of the whole situation bearing down on her. She knew if the truth was told that it wasn't just the flowers. There was more to it than that. A lot more. Like the fact that Sebastian couldn't come up with an engagement ring that she could keep (she hadn't tried even explaining that one to Tiffany); like he thought so little of her that he had to cancel dinner and the theatre to fly to Cannes to work (and if he thought she believed that one, he must think that she was a real fool), like the fact that he seemed to light up whenever that b.l.o.o.d.y Alex Ryan came within spitting distance. And on top of all that he really didn't do it for her the way Peter did ...but she couldn't think about that now or she'd go all weepy again.

Pursing her lips in an O-shape in an effort to reveal every last offending hair, Caroline plucked rapidly for a second. Then, relaxing her face, she inspected her high cheekbones and aquiline nose in the ultra-bright light from the halogen bulbs, checking for blemishes, wrinkles, any other unsightly hairs that might have cropped up during the night. And as she did so, she rolled the entire Sebastian situation around in her mind like a s...o...b..ll, a s...o...b..ll that had started pure white and full of promise but now seemed to be picking up dead leaves and all manner of detritus at every full turn.

It was time they sorted it all out. High time. Time she told Sebastian exactly what she thought, and found out exactly what he planned to do about it. After all, she didn't want to find herself having to divorce him after a year. Lady Diana might have been happy to settle for a third-cla.s.s marriage, but Caroline knew she was born to better things than a sham, knew unequivocally that her husband would have to understand her, love her completely, utterly, totally and unreservedly. Now it was time to make her position clear. Very clear.

Throwing her eyebrow tweezers into the small black Chanel hold-all stuffed full of beauty products, Caroline padded out into her coffee and cream living room and on into the kitchen. She was still in her sh.e.l.l pink silk nightdress and dressing gown after the flowers debacle this morning it had hardly seemed worthwhile getting dressed, so she'd decided on a relaxing day in front of s.e.x and the City, an opportunity to moisturise and recharge her batteries.

The CD had flipped sides while Caroline was in the bathroom and now Westlife thumped an upbeat no-nonsense dance tune that matched her mood perfectly. It was time she and Sebastian had a little chat, and she was in just the right frame of mind to make sure her demands were met. Scooping up her lighter and cigarettes, she flipped one out of the pack, sticking it in her mouth as she headed for the kitchen Holding a crystal tumbler under the ice dispenser of her impressive American fridge, empty except for a pint of low-fat milk, a loaf of Avoca's fabulous homemade brown bread and a low-fat spread, (why shop for food, when you could eat out?) Caroline watched with satisfaction as a cascade of ice tumbled to the brim, tinkling and cracking as it met the heat of the room. Taking the cigarette out of her mouth, she reached for a bottle of gin and sloshed it in. Slimline tonic next and taking a sip of the almost neat liquid she felt ready for anything.

It was five o'clock. Sebastian should still be in the office. It was time for some home truths.

Picking up her BlackBerry, pressing the memory b.u.t.ton, Caroline tried Sebastian's mobile, frowning as his message service clicked on. She didn't bother leaving one. The main line next. Checking the screen of the phone, making sure it was dialling the right number, moments later she found herself talking to the receptionist, then waiting expectantly for Sebastian to pick up. She took another quick drag of her cigarette, tapping the ash into an abalone sh.e.l.l on the coffee table, listening to the dial tone.

But it wasn't Sebastian who answered.

'Jocelyn Blake, how can I help you?'

Caroline picked up her gla.s.s and took a large swig of gin, the ice clinking, her anger building. 'It's Caroline. I was looking for Sebastian, he isn't answering his mobile.'

There was a pause. 'I think he's gone down to Kilfenora. The reception's very bad there. I'm expecting him to call; will I give him a message?'

It was Caroline's turn to pause. Why on earth would she give Joss a personal message for her fiance, why on earth? The woman was mad, no question about it, totally unhinged...and as soon as Caroline became Lady Kilfenora, Jocelyn Blake would be getting her marching orders.

'No don't worry.' She felt herself smiling, 'I'll catch up with him.' And she hung up.

So he was at Kilfenora was he? Caroline mused on this information, taking a pull of her cigarette, a tiny part of her wondering why he had gone down without mentioning it, a larger part of her sure that it had something to do with some unspeakable domestic disaster, leaking pipes or a rat infestation or something. Caroline pulled a face involuntarily, then pursed her lips as her mind clicked through the implications.

Actually it was perfect with no mobile reception he wouldn't be getting any urgent business calls that would mean he'd have to rush off, and he usually stayed the night when he went down this late in the day, so, if she dropped in and surprised him, she'd have his compete and undivided attention for at least twelve hours. Perfect. And she had plenty of time to have another quick G and T, throw a few things into her Louis Vuitton weekender and still arrive in time for dinner. She stubbed out her half-finished cigarette, cupping the ashtray in her hand.

TWENTY NINE.

In her office, Jocelyn Blake looked at the receiver of her desk phone in disbelief. Had Caroline just hung up on her? Surely not. No one could be that bad mannered. Jocelyn screwed her face in thought, well maybe Miss Audiguet-O'Reilly could. She of the haughty manners and the small red sports car. The small red convertible BMW that despite its neat size and satellite navigation system was unable to find its way into a public car park. How many parking tickets had Sebastian pa.s.sed to her to be paid? Joss had lost count, had realised after the third or fourth that Miss Audiguet-O'Reilly had little regard for the law and even less for her fellow road user.

'I'm off now Joss, is that okay? The switchboard has been quiet for the last half an hour or so, so I think you'll be grand until 5.30.'

Jocelyn looked up at the blonde head that had appeared around her door, startled for a moment.

'That's grand Sally, don't be late for Zac now, he must look forward to seeing you it's a long day for a little fella.'

Sally grinned, her thick-rimmed black gla.s.ses moving as she smiled, 'Well you wouldn't believe it, but he loves that creche so much he hates coming home. If I didn't tell him we're having cocoa and a cuddle for supper, I don't think he'd come home at all. He's manic.'

Jocelyn frowned for a moment, her mind computing what Sally had said; but this time she didn't get it.

'Manic? Of course he is. Off you go now no messages are there?'

Sally shook her head, then frowned, 'Those books Mr Wingfield left are still on the counter the courier never came will I get them picked up first thing in the morning?'

Jocelyn looked puzzled, 'Books?'

'For that footballer in Vincent's, the goalie isn't he? Terrible what happened to his head.'

Again, Jocelyn paused. Sally had some sort of peculiar verbal dyslexia which had prevented her from finding any sort of permanent employment until she had applied for the position of Receptionist in Wingfield Holdings. Sebastian had been charmed by her, amused after a very stressful day by her unwitting misunderstanding and miss-use of the language and equally charmed by her struggle as a single mother to bring up her son Zac, whose IQ was topping 160 at age five. Jocelyn had had her doubts, but from the day she had been installed behind the reception desk, no matter what mood visitors to Wingfield Holdings arrived in, they were always chuckling by the time they left Reception, and for that alone, Sebastian insisted she stay.

'You mean the gamekeeper Sally, Mr Wingfield's gamekeeper?'

'That's the one'

'He had an accident with his leg.'

She nodded fervently, 'Mr Wingfield wanted some books sent in to him to cheer him up, but they're still here.'

'That's fine Sally, thanks for letting me know. I'll look after it. Off you go.'

It took Jocelyn a good half an hour to finish clearing her desk, send the necessary emails for the next day's business, and gather up her bits and pieces Sebastian still hadn't called in, but there was little that couldn't wait. Jocelyn was sweeping through Reception turning off lights when she spotted the large cardboard box Sally had mentioned, languis.h.i.+ng on the reception desk. She looked at it for a moment, before flicking the last light-switch.

She knew what was in the package, had sourced JR Hartley's famous book Fly Fis.h.i.+ng herself plus the Worst Case Scenario Handbook, which Sebastian had insisted Tom would enjoy. A balloon of worry began to inflate in her stomach after working with Sebastian so closely for so many years she knew how much he relied on Tom Ryan to help him run the estate, knew, although they had never met, that Tom Ryan was as an essential cog in the Wingfield machine as Sebastian was always saying she was, and she knew too how annoyed Sebastian would be if he found out that the courier had failed to collect the package. The courier company was a new one, one run by another of Jocelyn's waifs and strays, a woman whose son Jocelyn had met one day on the DART, a teenager who had cystic fibrosis, but had plans to join the Irish Olympic swimming team. Whatever happened, Jocelyn wanted to keep Super Swift Couriers as their courier of choice, but she knew full well that if Sebastian knew they had let him down, they would be for the chop.

Picking up the parcel, Jocelyn tucked it under her arm. St Vincent's was on the opposite side of the city from her apartment, but she was sure the traffic wouldn't be too bad on the return leg, so it would be just as well if she dropped the books in herself.

St Vincent's Hospital was humming when Jocelyn arrived. Evening visiting time was in full swing. It only took her a few minutes to find the lift to the men's surgical ward.

Pausing outside the swing doors of the ward, Jocelyn could see that there was only one bed not surrounded by visitors. In it lay a man in his sixties, earphones plugged firmly into his ears, his right hand tapping in time with whatever was playing in his ears. He looked pale, ill, but at the same time Jocelyn could tell that his shoulders were broad, that when he stood up he would surely tower over her, that in fact, he had all the bearing of a military man. She caught her breath as she pushed the doors open; despite her usual ebullient confidence she felt suddenly rather shy, could feel a blush creeping over her cheeks. After all, she'd never met this man before, and although she had heard enough about him that she could almost guess what he ate for breakfast, she was about to arrive unannounced as he lay in his pyjamas and a rather stylish navy silk dressing gown.

'Excuse me, I'm so sorry to disturb you. It is Tom Ryan isn't it?'

Aware of a presence beside his bed even before she spoke, Tom's eyes flew open as soon as Jocelyn said his name, regarding her with some interest. He had been expecting Alex, was rather surprised to see the friendly face of a voluptuous woman wearing a blazing orange shawl over a dress the colour of a ripe plum, her steel grey hair caught in a Spanish style knot on the top of her head. It was certainly a strange ensemble, but it suited her. And he didn't get many visitors. As 'Bohemian Rhapsody' shuddered to a close he nodded curtly to the chair beside the bed. Feeling she needed to explain, Jocelyn pulled it over, lowering her not inconsiderable bulk onto the red plastic seat.

'I'm Jocelyn Blake,' she struggled to free her right hand from the tangle of chenille that had slipped down her arm. 'I'm...'

'Sebastian's PA..' Tom interrupted her, his face breaking into a broad grin. 'Could have recognised you anywhere, Sebastian gave me a very clear picture.'