She went down to breakfast the next morning pale and heavy-eyed, and the lemon trousers and blouse she wore made her appear paler than ever.
Only Donald was in the breakfast-room when she went in to have her coffee; the thought of food was unpalatable to her. He stood up to pull her chair out for her, once again wearing well-cut trousers and a contrasting Norfolk jacket. ‘Mother always has breakfast in her bedroom,’ he excused her absence. ‘And Father is out riding.’
Callie’s eyebrows rose. ‘You have horses?’ She could at least talk to Donald, feeling only relief at his parents’ absence, knowing that they still hadn’t discussed the real reason she was here, that before she left this afternoon the question of her business involvement with this family would have to be talked about in more detail. And she was dreading it, knowing their resentment was justified.
‘We have stables out at the back of the house,’ Donald answered her. ‘You wouldn’t have been able to see them yesterday when you arrived. Do you ride?’
‘Only in cars,’ she answered teasingly.
Donald obviously lacked a sense of humour, and took her seriously. ‘Then I’ll take you out for a drive this morning.’
‘Oh no, really—–’
‘I insist. Mother won’t leave her room until almost lunch-time anyway, and I have no idea when Father will be back.’
He seemed to genuinely want to take her, and so with some reluctance she agreed, going upstairs to collect her jacket before going outside to meet him. He had driven the Jaguar up in front of the house and came round to open the door for her.
Berkshire really was a beautiful county. A lot of it still owned by the Crown, and what wasn’t was mainly owned by people almost as rich. Some of the houses they passed were magnificent, although the Spencers’ was still the most beautiful she had seen.
They stopped for a drink in a pub, greeted by several of Donald’s friends, all of them as upper-crust as Donald himself. No doubt ‘Mother’ wouldn’t approve of anyone who wasn’t, in fact Callie felt sure she wouldn’t.
That was why it came as something of a surprise to her when Donald asked if he could take her out one night. ‘I work for Spencer head office in town,’ he explained. ‘So it would be a simple matter to call for you one evening.’
‘Yes, but then you would have the long drive back—–’
‘The family has an apartment in town, I often use it.’
Now what did she say? Donald Spencer appeared to be pleasant enough, a little insipid for her tastes, but otherwise nice. But he didn’t appeal to her, blond men never had for some reason, and after living with Jeff the last four years, loving every moment of it, it was going to take a special man to interest her. Donald wasn’t that man.
‘I’m really not sure—–’
‘Just dinner, Caroline,’ he encouraged, his hand covering hers.
What harm could dinner do? ‘All right, Donald,’ she agreed reluctantly. ‘I’ll leave you my number and you can call me.’
‘And you’ll come out with me?’
‘Yes.’ She looked at her wrist-watch. ‘Now I think we should be getting back, I wouldn’t want to upset your mother by being late for lunch.’
Callie was able to eat her lunch, the traditional roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, safe in the knowledge that in an hour or two she would be able to leave. The sooner the better as far as she was concerned. Sir Charles and Lady Spencer had been overly polite during lunch, and she knew that the talk they had brought her here for couldn’t be far off.
‘Perhaps Caroline would like to see the roses in the daylight, Donald,’ his mother suggested once they had retired to the drawing-room.
‘Would you?’ he asked eagerly.
Anything to get away from his parents. ‘I’ll love it,’ Callie nodded.
It really was a spectacular garden; many of the roses were still in bloom, their aroma heady, their colours a delight to the eye, as was their perfect shape.
Donald laughed when Callie asked if his mother tended the roses herself. ‘As far as gardens go my mother is a looker, not a doer. She prefers organising garden-parties, things like that,’ he added as if to make up for the slight he had given his mother.
‘I’m sure—–’
‘Telephone, Mr Donald.’ The butler had quietly appeared at their side.
A look of irritation crossed Donald’s face and he turned to look down at Callie. ‘I’m sorry about this, but I shouldn’t be long,’ he apologised.
‘I’ll be fine out here,’ she assured him.
In fact it was a relief to be on her own. She found the Spencer family, this whole situation, completely overwhelming. Maybe if she had been given the time to think about it she might even have found a way not to come here.
After about ten minutes, when Donald still hadn’t returned, she decided to go back into the house, the beauty of the garden being exhausted. As she approached the open french doors into the lounge she could hear the sound of Donald’s voice, and hesitated as she realised he was still on the telephone. Then she wasn’t hesitating at all, but was listening avidly; the burden of the conversation seeming to be about her!
‘Because of Caroline, darling,’ Donald was explaining. ‘You know I don’t prefer her to you. No, I don’t want to marry her, I want to marry you, but—No, don’t hang up,’ he begged in a panicked voice. ‘Darling, please, try to be reasonable. It just means we’ll have to wait a while. Until after the divorce. Well, I know it could take years, but—–’
Callie was no longer listening, but slumped down on to the garden seat. The reason Donald had been so nice to her this weekend was suddenly clear to her. They were actually intending to marry her off to him. And divorce them too!
Heavens, they must really want those shares badly. Any guilt she might have felt about Jeff leaving her the shares was now erased. People like the Spencers didn’t deserve to have anything that had been Jeff’s. She had come here willing to be polite to them because they were Jeff’s family, might even have been prepared to arrange for Sir Charles to take the shares off her. But not now.
She knew Donald didn’t have the deviousness, the intelligence to come up with an idea like this, it had to have been his parents’ plan. Besides, he was in love with someone else.
He had finished on the telephone now, hanging up hastily as his mother spoke to him.
‘Who was that?’ she demanded sharply.
‘Just a friend,’ he dismissed shakily.
‘Are you sure, Donald?’
‘Of course I am, Mother,’ he said nervously.
‘And where is Caroline?’
‘I left her in the garden when I came in to answer the telephone.’
‘And how are things going with her?’
‘Well—I hope.’
‘You only hope?’ his mother echoed scathingly. ‘You aren’t pushy enough, Donald,’ she tutted. ‘If she doesn’t like you I don’t know what your father will say—or what he will do,’ she added threateningly. ‘We really can’t have someone like that at Spencer Plastics.’
‘But you’re intending to make her my wife!’