‘Eliot Lang,’ said Natalie. ‘The man whose name you forgot.’
‘Why, so it is.’ Beattie shook her head. ‘I knew it was something familiar. He’s some kind of jockey, isn’t he?’
‘He certainly was,’ Natalie said grittily. ‘Now he’s going to be some kind of trainer—here.’
Beattie’s lips parted in a soundless gasp, then she turned back to her soup. There was a prolonged silence, then she said, ‘But where does that leave you?’
‘Back at square one, where I apparently belong. Only I now have two bosses.’
Beattie said half to herself, ‘He told me he had a surprise, but it never occurred to me …’ She stopped. ‘Oh, my dear child, I’m so sorry! It’s so cruel—so unnecessary.’
‘So unacceptable,’ Natalie completed. ‘If I’m going to be a dogsbody, I can find another office somewhere—preferably as far from racing as possible.’
Beattie transferred her pan to the simmering plate. She said, ‘You don’t mean that.’
‘Oh, but I do,’ Natalie said bitterly. ‘I’ve had enough. I’ve tried my damnedest for Dad, but I’m never going to measure up to the standard he wants—because I don’t even know what his criteria are, and I suspect he doesn’t either.’
‘All the same,’ said Beattie, ‘you mustn’t leave.’
‘You think I’d stay and watch that—that racetrack Romeo help himself to my inheritance?’ Natalie asked fiercely. ‘Over my dead body!’
Beattie said quietly, ‘If you leave now, like this, it could be over Grantham’s.’ She sat down beside Natalie at the kitchen table. ‘We’re not supposed to expose him to any kind of upset—the doctor said so.’
‘He probably wouldn’t even notice I’d gone—until he wanted his letters typed, or found the owners weren’t paying their bills on time.’
‘That isn’t true, and you know it,’ Beattie said roundly. ‘He loves you, Nat, although I admit he has a very strange way of showing it. He has this—fixation about women working with horses.’ She paused. ‘I think one of the reasons he fell in love with me is that I know nothing about the beasts except that they bite at one end, and kick at the other.’ She smiled at Natalie. ‘There were a lot of women after him, you know, who had strong connections with racing, who’d have been able to talk to him about horses in an intelligent manner. Coral LeFevre, for one.’
In spite of her wretchedness, Natalie felt her lips curve in the ghost of a smile. ‘The Black Widow? What makes you think that?’
‘The way she still looks at him,’ said Beattie simply. ‘I know that a lot of your father’s friends and colleagues were horrified when he married me, when there were so many more suitable wives around.’ She thought for a minute. ‘But my attraction for your father was my unsuitability, somehow. We met at a concert he’d been dragged to, and he didn’t mind that I thought the Derby and the Grand National were the same kind of race. He’s never minded it. In a way, I’m part of the same fixation. I’m happy with my music and my cooking, and that makes Grantham happy too. I can’t explain it.’ She gave Natalie a level look. ‘I sympathise with you, every step of the way, but I love Grantham, and I won’t have him upset for any reason, however good. If you really want to leave, wait a few weeks until he’s stronger, and feelings have cooled. You can’t quarrel with him, Nat. I won’t allow it.’
There was a long silence, then Natalie said dully, ‘Very well. You’re right, of course. I’d never forgive myself if there was a row, and it caused—problems.’ She shook herself, and stood up. ‘But I can’t sit at that table with Eliot Lang and eat lunch as if nothing has happened. Make some excuse for me, Beattie, please. Tell them I’ve got a headache, or bubonic plague, or something.’
Beattie groaned. ‘I’ll do my best—but, Nat, your father won’t be pleased.’
Natalie opened the kitchen door. She said, ‘I promise you he’d be even less pleased to hear me tell Eliot Lang to go to hell.’
That, she thought, was relatively mild compared with what she’d really like to say to him, so why was Beattie sitting there looking as if she’d been frozen?
She turned to walk into the hall, and cannoned straight into six foot of bone, sinew and muscle, standing there on the threshold. As unusually strong arms steadied her, she thought confusedly, Andrew? and realised in the same moment that it couldn’t be. Andrew was only medium height and distinctly pudgy. Whereas this man, she thought as she took a hurried step backwards, hadn’t a spare ounce of flesh anywhere.
Her face burning, she looked up to encounter hazel eyes regarding her with no expression whatever.
‘Now, why should you tell me any such thing?’ said Eliot Lang.
NATALIE WANTED THE floor to open and swallow her, but it remained disappointingly solid, so she rallied her defences.
‘I think that’s my business,’ she retorted, her chin tilted dangerously. ‘Perhaps you should remember what they say about eavesdroppers, Mr Lang,’ She realised his hands were still gripping her upper arms, not too gently, and she stiffened. ‘And will you kindly get your hands off me!’
He released her so promptly it was almost an insult. Then he was walking past her, the thin, tanned face relaxing into a smile.
‘Mrs Slater?’ He held out his hand to Beattie. ‘I’m sorry for this apparent intrusion, but your husband thought you might not have heard Mr Bentley’s car arrive, so I volunteered to find you.’ He looked round him, his smile widening. ‘Not that it’s any hardship,’ he added appreciatively. ‘Something smells absolutely fantastic!’
‘It’s just ordinary home cooking,’ said Beattie with modest untruthfulness, as she shook hands with him. Her candid grey eyes looked him over. ‘You look as if you could do with some.’
He laughed. ‘You could be right. I’ve spent so many years living on starvation rations to keep my weight down, that it’s hard to believe I can now eat as much as I want.’
There was a pause, then Beattie said with slight awkwardness, ‘And this, of course, is my stepdaughter Natalie.’
He turned back towards Natalie. ‘How do you do,’ he said with cool civility.
The swift charm which had bowled over Beattie, it seemed, could be switched on and off at will, Natalie thought with contempt.
She returned a mechanically conventional greeting, then excused herself on the grounds that she had to see to the drinks.
Her retreat was in good order, but when she was safely alone, she found her heart was pounding as if she’d taken to her heels and fled from him.
It was infuriating to realise she had been betrayed into such a schoolgirlish piece of rudeness, but at least Eliot Lang now knew quite unequivocally where he stood where she was concerned, she thought defiantly.
Andrew’s greeting was rather less ebullient then usual, she realised as she took the drinks into the drawing-room. He knew, none better, how desperately keen she’d been to join Grantham as his partner, and she thought she saw a measure of compassion in his gaze, as he swapped genialities with her about how good it was to have her father back again, and how well he was looking.
Gradually she recovered her composure, and by the time Eliot Lang accompanied her stepmother into the room, she was able to meet the rather searching look he sent her with an appearance, at least, of indifference.
She found, to her annoyance, that she was stationed opposite him at the dining-table, although the conversation was general enough to enable her to avoid