He looked up irritably. ‘Of course I do! Dammit, girl, it’s my home! Just make sure you’re here, too.’
‘As you wish. I’d rather not take time off so I’ll suggest Saturday to the client and ask Will to give us extra time in the garden beforehand. The weather forecast is good for the weekend, fortunately. I checked.’
He nodded glumly. ‘Saturday it is then. I was booked to play golf, but I’ll cancel.’
‘Good. I’ll ask the client to come at ten.’
‘Who is he, by the way?’
‘Head of the Live Wires Group.’
‘Can’t say I’ve heard of it. But it must be successful if he’s prepared to shell out like this just to entertain his employees. You’d better have a word with Mrs Rogers to prepare her, Harriet.’
‘It won’t affect her too much. Margaret keeps the entire house at inspection standard all the time anyway. And the kitchen won’t be needed for the party catering.’
‘But people will be swarming all over the rest of the house,’ he said gloomily.
‘Not in this instance. There’s to be a marquee on the lawn—probably like the one you had for Sophie’s wedding.’
‘The affair won’t be too intrusive then.’ Aubrey hovered as she packed the documents away. ‘If that’s everything I might as well go out for an hour.’
‘Cheer up, Father. It’s better than selling the house.’
‘By God you’re right,’ he said with feeling, and squeezed her hand. ‘You’re a good girl, Harriet.’
She withdrew her hand gently. ‘Goodnight, Father.’
Harriet returned to the Lodge and stood at the window, watching her father’s newest car purr down the drive. She left a message for Julia to report on the meeting, and finally steeled herself to contact James.
‘This is Harriet—Harriet Wilde.’
‘I haven’t forgotten your name! So when do we meet?’
‘Does Saturday suit you?’
‘Saturday is fine to inspect the house, but I need to see you before then, Harriet. Or should I keep to Miss Wilde?’
She stiffened. ‘Your choice entirely. Why do you want to see me?’
‘There are some points I’d like to go over with you before I meet up with your father.’
His money is getting us out of a hole, she reminded herself. ‘When would you like to come to my office?’
‘I meant a private meeting—over dinner tomorrow evening.’
Harriet almost dropped her phone. ‘Is that absolutely necessary?’
‘Imperative. I need certain facts clarified before I come to River House. Don’t worry,’ he added sardonically, ‘I’m not asking to dine à deux. I’m staying with my sister. The dinner invitation is from Moira.’
Harriet’s eyebrows rose. ‘How very kind of her.’
‘You’ll come then?’
Think of the money, she chanted in a silent mantra. ‘Where does your sister live?’
‘A couple of miles off the Oxford road as you leave town. Her husband recently bought The Old Rectory at Wood End. I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.’
‘No—thank you,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m sure I can find it.’
Harriet felt oddly baffled as she disconnected. James could hardly intend to taunt her about the past at his sister’s dinner table. Hiring River House would surely be revenge enough for him without that. But for a split second at the office she could have sworn he’d been ready to change his mind when he heard she no longer lived in the house. But surely he would have said he intended backing out while he was in her office, rather than have his sister invite her to dinner. Moira Crawford, Harriet knew, had stood in loco parentis to James and his brother after their parents died, and made a good job of it by the affection in his voice when he spoke of her. It was a surprise to learn that she lived locally now.
James, she thought, depressed, had changed out of all recognition from the charmer she’d fallen in love with. At one time the gravel tones in his voice had rendered her weak at the knees, but during the interview they had acted like sandpaper on her nerves. His hair was more disciplined and the lanky body had gained muscle and hardened, and his dress sense was now impeccable, all as she would have expected. His personality was the big difference. She had adored his smile in the old days, but there’d been no sign of it today. The driving ambition necessary to build up a successful telecom company obviously left no room for the soft option of charm.
Harriet made sure she finished work on the dot the following day, in good time to prepare herself for crossing swords with the client who had once been her sweetheart. But never her actual lover. Knowing he would be her first, he’d indulged her plea to wait until they moved in together. Which, looking back, would have been a recipe for disaster. With James sharing her bed it would have been a wrench to leave it to attend lectures. Even so, if she had been the sole target of her father’s anger she would have dug her heels in and defied him. But his threat to have James arrested had beaten her into the dust.
Harriet thrust thoughts of the past away as she dealt with her exuberant hair, which was neither dark like Julia’s nor fair like Sophie’s, but a shade somewhere between. When it was restrained in the workaday coil it looked quite dark, but newly washed and let loose on her shoulders it took on light and shade and transformed her appearance, as she well knew. She shrugged. It was only common sense to face James armed with the best weapon in her armoury. She tugged on the clinging black dress, hung gilt and crystal drops in her ears, and saw her father coming down the drive as she opened the door to leave.
‘Ah,’ he said, crestfallen, ‘you’re going out. Mrs Rogers left me so much food I hoped you might join me for dinner for once.’
‘Sorry, Father,’ she said politely. ‘I’m having dinner with a friend.’ Sort of.
It was a measure of their relationship these days that Aubrey Wilde didn’t even ask the identity of the friend. ‘Another time then, Harriet. Enjoy your evening.’
The Old Rectory at Wood End dated from the eighteen-hundreds, when families of the clergy were usually large. Harriet’s eyes narrowed as she drove up the tree-lined drive towards the house. It looked more than big enough for a party. Her heart gave an errant thump when James appeared as she parked on the gravel circle in front of the main door.
He came to help her out of the car looking more like the young man she’d once known than the successful tycoon he’d become. His casual garb gave her a moment’s doubt about her dress until she saw that his sweater was cashmere, and the jeans fitted his long legs so faithfully they’d obviously been cut by a master.
‘Good evening, Harriet,’ he said, his eyes on her hair.
She smiled at him serenely. ‘Hi.’ She looked up at the façade of windows as he led her to the door. ‘What a lovely house.’
He turned to the woman hurrying to join them. ‘My sister,’ James informed his guest. ‘Moira, this is Harriet Wilde.’
‘Welcome, Harriet.’ Moira smiled warmly as she took the sheaf of flowers her guest handed her. ‘How lovely, thank you. Come on in. We’re all out here. My husband will give you a drink while I see to the flowers.’
All? Harriet followed her hostess across a wide hall and into a conservatory