Charlie's Dad

‘This evening?’ Ellie, who was deeply weary, stifled a yawn. ‘What do you mean? Don’t forget I’m on an early flight tomorrow.’

‘That is exactly why I’m suggesting a rest this afternoon. Tonight we eat out, maybe dance. You see—’ she strolled back to the salon, Ellie in her wake ‘—we’ve been invited out to one of the newer nightspots.’

‘I hope this hasn’t been laid on for my benefit, Jenny. I wouldn’t have thought Robert was all that keen. In fact, last night I heard him say his idea of a perfect evening was to spend it at home alone...’

‘I hope he didn’t say that exactly. If he did then our guests might have taken it as a hint for them to leave early...’

‘Which is exactly what they did not do.’ Ellie laughed. ‘No, Robert was more diplomatic about it. In fact, I think he said “alone with a few friends”—which is most likely why they all hung on till gone midnight.’

‘Mmm. Well, Robert is nothing if not diplomatic—though he can be very ruthless too when the mood takes him.’ She paused, walked to the mirror above the side table and fiddled with a jade earring. She was studiedly casual. ‘What did you think of Ben Congreve?’

‘Ben Congreve?’ The mere mention of the name she had been trying to forget brought her out in a cold sweat, heart hammering loud enough to be heard across the room. ‘Oh, he seemed pleasant enough.’ She was immediately struck by the banality of the description for such a man—it was sure to make Jenny suspicious. ‘Oh, more than that, I would say a very interesting man.’

‘But not interesting enough for you, Ellie?’ It was a carefully judged question, and without turning her head Ellie was aware of her friend’s close scrutiny. ‘Now, I wonder why that should be?’ Jenny’s ridiculously high heels tap-tapped on the marble floor as she strolled to join her friend at the window. ‘I wonder why that should be, my dear? I would have thought most women would have immediately been struck by him.’

‘And what about you?’ Time for a diversionary tactic. ‘Are you one of those knocked sideways by the famous writer?’ Her smile, the teasing expression, were indications that they were engaged in an amusing game, nothing more.

‘At one time,’ Jenny confessed, hands outspread to show she was concealing nothing, ‘I might easily have been, but now I am in what looks like being a permanent and very constant relationship. Whereas you...’

‘Whereas I—’ deliberately she copied Jenny’s apologetic and self-mocking gesture ‘—I have Charlie.’ And what, she asked silently, did Ben Congreve know about constant relationships? The thought, the words she had so often used as explanation and excuse, combined to make her feel as if a large rock had invaded her chest. ‘And I’m not in the market for any kind of relationship right now, permanent or casual.’ Especially the latter, since she knew exactly how much heartbreak would ensue.

‘Mmm.’ Jenny’s non-committal expression was clearly sceptical, but she was disinclined to pursue the subject. ‘Anyway, I shall send Ay Leng to your room with some tea, then you can have an hour or two to prepare for the evening. ‘Oh...’ She grimaced as she stepped out of her shoes. ‘My poor feet... Robert tells me I ought not to torture myself with such high heels, but if they were lower, no one would notice me.’

‘That,’ Ellie grinned, ‘is something I find very hard to believe.’

‘Well...’ Jenny shrugged, raising dark, elegant eyebrows. ‘Forget about me and tell me what you’re going to wear this evening. If any of your clothes need pressing, one of the maids...’

‘No problem about that. Most of what I have with me has already been whisked away by some invisible hand, dealt with and returned to the wardrobe. Dinner and dance, you say.’ Ellie frowned over the poverty of her choice. ‘I think last night almost exhausted my selection. I didn’t expect to be going out two nights in succession.’ It seemed appropriate to emphasise the dullness of her life with a joke.

‘I’ve already told you what I think of that.’ Jenny had indeed expressed her opinion forcefully on more than one occasion. ‘I know all about your wonderful rapport with Charlie, but still, it’s time you got out and about a whole lot more...’

‘Tell me what to wear.’ Ellie regretted having provoked a lecture on that subject, especially today, and determined to change the direction of the conversation. ‘Better still, tell me what you are going to wear—that will give me some idea. I do have a floaty cotton skirt and a camisole top, if you think that would be any good.’

Five minutes later, with the matter decided, Ellie was left alone in the bedroom, only too glad of the chance to lie back on her bed, eyes closed, and try to blot from her mind all thoughts of the man who had so unexpectedly come back into her life. And she was at least partly successful, for although his image was firmly etched on the underside of her eyelids—the old Ben Congreve, bearded and piratical, rather than the new cleanshaven svelte version—the scenes she was reviewing were happy ones.

There was a bittersweet pleasure in reliving those early enchanted days, and kindly sleep overcame her before the cruel memories intruded. Though when she woke, her cheeks were damp.

‘You look wonderful, Ellie.’ Jenny, an exotic firefly in a brilliantly coloured cheongsam, had no idea that her very presence made the most sophisticated western woman feel clumsy and inadequate, turned with an enquiring look when she heard her friend laugh.

‘Compared with you, I feel drab and colourless. And I think most people would agree with me. Shall we ask Robert to judge?’ she asked as her host came in.

‘No, best not.’ Jenny grinned. ‘I think you’re entirely wrong, but it would be unfair to put him to the test. I daren’t risk it,’ she quipped with total self-assurance. ‘Ready, darling?’

‘Yes, the car is waiting. You both look extremely decorative.’ And he was surprised when they giggled.

The drive in the stretch limo through the pulsating city streets took them to a small smart nightclub overlooking the ocean, and even as they drew up in front of the vestibule, the setting, the subdued lighting, the erotic rhythms of the music wakened in Ellie long-suppressed inclinations. There was a sudden desire to be young, to respond as she once had, carefree and uninhibited.

So it was with anticipation that she followed Robert, who was being guided by the head waiter, among the tables towards a secluded alcove at the far side of the restaurant. The smile on her lips faltered when, on their approach, Ben Congreve rose to his feet to greet them. And since it was towards her his eyes were drawn, she was sure her reaction must have been noted.

‘Robert, Jenny...’ He welcomed them and there was the slightest hesitation before he spoke Ellie’s name, a hint of uncertainty which confirmed her suspicion, though it might have been simply that he was trying to gauge her attitude and his own. As it was, he chose informality, something Ellie appreciated as she shook hands with the three people already sitting round the table.

‘Jenny, Robert, you already know everyone, but, Ellie, may I introduce Darren and Myra Gottlieb from the American Consulate? And this—’ he indicated the tall, good-looking man who had the air of a local ‘—is Danny Khim, who is with my publisher.’

It was disconcerting to find when they all sat down once again that she was next to Ben with Danny on her left. Not at all what she would have chosen... but there was little she could do about it. She tried to compose herself, to ignore the feeling of being manipulated by Jenny as much as by Ben Congreve, and allowed the conversation to pass her by while she wrestled with her emotions. But she was too conscious of the man on her right to be entirely successful, even imagined she was picking up vibes from his body—sheer nonsense, of course. Meantime she endeavoured to be fascinated by Jenny’s conversation with Danny, until Ben spoke, that was, and then it was impossible to ignore him.

‘So, Ellie, tell me what you’ve been doing today.’ He was so very smooth and commanding, so very Ivy League, as he always had been. But she was less impressionable than she once had been, had spent years on her guard and had honed her self-protection to a fine edge. And certainly she was too old to imagine that fine clothes and manners meant anything, which explained why she chose to adopt a sarcastic drawl.

‘Oh, the usual touristy things—you know, a few souvenirs to take home, lunch at Raffles. Certainly nothing which compares with researching a new bestseller.’

Though his expression barely changed, something about him suggested chagrin. ‘Oh, I don’t know, I always find choosing one or two gifts to take home is a pleasant enough task. I positively enjoy finding things my friends will appreciate.’ His eyes were searching, as if trying to find a softer woman than the chippy one he had seen so far. ‘And what makes you think researching a book is so diverting? There are times when it is sheer grind. Besides, weren’t you doing a little research of your own last night?’

‘I was?’ Impossible to think what he meant, especially when he had decided to switch on the charm. His warmth gave no clue to his real character, she thought meanly...

‘Sure. Didn’t I hear you say you must try to remember all the colours of that Corot painting in the salon?’

‘Oh, that.’ Of course, she had joked about it with Babs but had been unaware of him overhearing. ‘I must confess I do that all the time. I have a compulsive interest in colour.’

‘Well, as I said...’ When he smiled, as he was doing now, it was difficult to hang on to her stand-offish manner. Besides, what did it matter? It seemed to her that he was their host for the evening, and she owed it to Robert and Jenny. It would cost her nothing to be polite, since once the evening was over they would never meet again. With luck. That assurance was less of a comfort than she would have wished.

The food and wine were delicious, and she found herself relaxed to the extent that when Danny asked, she allowed herself to be persuaded onto the dance floor. Mainly it was to escape from Ben Congreve, with his endless questions, and when they returned to the table she took the chance to change seats—easy enough since Robert alone wasn’t dancing. In different circumstances she knew she would have enjoyed herself, but the night was too fraught with the possibility that Ben might ask her to dance—and how could she refuse?

In the event, when he did make his move, her mind went blank, excuses evaporated and she found herself being led away from the others, not even trying to detach her fingers from his. Perhaps it was down to the music, calming and very nearly soporific. Who could feel threatened cocooned in such bittersweet nostalgia, rather than the pulsing rhythms of previous numbers? On the other hand, it was not the mood she would have chosen to share with him. Calm detachment was what she would have liked to help combat these... these sensations flowing between them.

‘I’m still waiting to hear about you Ellie.’ Cradling her hand more comfortably, he looked down, and their linked fingers brushing accidentally against the round swell of her breast brought her heart leaping into her throat.

And she knew she had been wrong to wear this wispy silk camisole. It was impossibly revealing, and she knew it showed every curve of the bare skin beneath, plus a fair amount of cleavage. She could hardly believe she had worn it without its usual overblouse, and certainly it hadn’t been for his benefit since she hadn’t known...

Her breath was growing more agitated now, emphasising all the aspects she would have liked to conceal, and he must be aware of the increase in her pulse-rate. His hand on her back could hardly avoid the signals, would know how little she was wearing and would draw his own conclusions.

A deep breath to control her trembling, and when she found her voice, it sounded gratifyingly calm and matter-of-fact. ‘There’s so little to tell. You must know it all already.’ This was her usual glib evasion of a ‘tell all’ invitation, but her resolve was undermined when she looked up into those searching dark eyes. How right she had been to be wary. Writer’s eyes, she decided sarcastically, forever trying to find copy for his novels. As bad as the paparazzi, always probing into personal secrets for financial gain. ‘And mostly so very boring,’ she finished.

A certain amount of truth in that. So many years huddling over a knitting machine added little sparkle to one’s personality, especially when all one’s contemporaries had been out doing the clubs.

‘That I find hard to believe.’

‘No, I promise you.’ Reluctantly she dragged her eyes away, looking about her with an air of determined and slightly desperate enjoyment, searching for some banal comment and failing, resisting his attempts to pull her closer, then feeling foolish when there was a near collision with another couple.

Easy to interpret that raised eyebrow as speaking volumes. No, he was assuring her, I’m not the least bit interested, so don’t let your imagination run riot. And she blushed spectacularly as if she had been truly reprimanded, then was startled when his amused voice did interrupt her thoughts.

‘Do you come here often?’ It was an attempt at humour which deserved no reply but he was persistent. ‘Now it’s your turn to say something. I have asked you if you come here often, now you must make some remark about, say, the music, or—’ An abrupt stop as again he apologised to another couple—an excuse to hold her closer for a second.

But it was hard to remain aloof when he was speaking so like a character from her beloved Jane Austen. She glanced up in mocking reproach. ‘You stepped on my foot, Mr Congreve.’ Then it was too much for her, she smiled, and her whole personality was illuminated, transformed.

‘There.’ It was a moment before Ben spoke, a moment when his eyes held hers with dismaying warmth. ‘Just as I was about to give up. But I knew I could amuse you in the end. Despite your prejudice.’ Then, as her expression darkened again, he burst into laughter. ‘You’re not going to pretend, Ellie, that you haven’t been trying to take me down a peg? Just like Lizzie Bennett with Mr Darcy.’

‘You are quite mistaken.’

‘You will never convince me.’ The music ended and they returned to their table, his touch on her arm more possessive than she would have liked. ‘But I would like to know why.’