Sirocco

‘You know,’ she persisted. ‘Go out with other men. It—it wouldn't be fair.'

‘Not even if you want to go out with another man?’ he queried softly, and her skin prickled. ‘Not even then?'

‘But I don't—I haven't—oh, this is Oakwood Road. I'm home.'

‘Wait.’ His hand stayed her as she would have got out of the car, and she quivered as Hassim left his seat to walk round the bonnet and swing open her door. ‘Your roses,’ he murmured, putting the box into her hands, and Rachel was still trembling when the luxurious limousine drew away.

Rachel's father rang on Sunday morning.

‘How about having lunch with me?’ he suggested, after learning that Jane had gone to Worthing to spend the day with her parents, and Rachel was happy to agree. Spending time alone was not good for her in her present frame of mind, and she was ready and waiting when Charles Fleming rang the doorbell.

Her father was a man in his late fifties, to whom the years had not always been kind. His propensity for the good life had finally made a permanent mark upon his fleshy features, and the pouches beneath his eyes seemed more pronounced than when Rachel had last seen him.

Nevertheless, as they went down to his car, she decided he had not deserved the way her mother had treated him, and although she knew there had been faults on both sides, his age and accessibility had tended to influence Rachel in his favour.

They drove out to Windsor and had lunch at a hotel overlooking the river. At this time of year the waterway was not particularly attractive, but the customers taking lunch were more interested in the food. They had homemade pâté, and roast beef, and finished the meal with cheese and coffee, and it was not until they had reached this stage that Charles betrayed the real reason for his invitation.

‘How is that boy-friend of yours getting along?’ he enquired, surprising Rachel by his question, as he and Roger had never had much liking for one another.

‘He's fine,’ she said now, ignoring the slightly hollow feeling her words evoked. ‘But we—er—we're having some difficulties over the arrangements for the wedding. Roger's mother wants to take over everything, and I've explained you and I can organise the reception.'

‘Organise?’ Charles frowned. ‘You mean pay, I suppose?'

‘Well—yes. And arrange where it's to be, of course. And choose my dress and Jane's.'

‘Hmm.’ Her father nodded, pouring the last dregs of the bottle of wine he had ordered into his own glass and viewing it thoughtfully. ‘Well, you know, my sweet, it might not be a bad idea to let Mrs Harrington have her way——'

‘What?'

‘—as she's so set on it. I mean, it's not as if your mother was here to take offence. I'd have thought you'd have welcomed a—a woman's touch. It's obvious Roger's mother thinks the world of you.'

‘It's not obvious at all!’ Rachel was indignant. ‘I don't know why you're saying this. You don't like Mrs Harrington—you've said so. And you've never shown any particular love for Roger, if it comes to that!'

‘Now, now ...’ Her father patted her hand, glancing about them half anxiously, as if afraid their conversation might have been overheard. ‘Don't go getting upset. All I'm saying is that perhaps you should consider it. They are going to be family, aren't they? Families should stick together.'

Rachel gasped. ‘You mean you won't give me your support?'

‘Well ...’ Charles drew out the word consideringly, ‘it isn't as simple as that, Rachel. Things are pretty tight at present. Money's scarce. We're in the middle of a recession, and it isn't always possible to do all the things we'd like to do.'

‘What are you saying?'

Charles Fleming sighed. ‘Don't look at me like that! I'm your father, Rachel. It's not my fault if certain investments I've made haven't yielded the profit I expected.'

‘You mean—you're having financial difficulties?'

‘Temporarily. Only temporarily,’ her father assured her firmly. ‘But you can see, can't you, that this isn't exactly the right time to come to me for money. As a matter of fact—well, I did wonder—that nest-egg your grandmother left you—is there any chance of you being able to lend me a couple of hundred?'

Rachel sucked in her breath. ‘Lend you——'

‘Just for a week or two,’ put in her father earnestly. ‘I've got what they call a “cash flow” problem.'

‘And two hundred pounds will help?’ said Rachel incredulously.

‘For the time being,’ agreed her father. ‘It's just a little problem, but I need cash for entertaining and so on.'

‘I thought you used credit cards,’ said Rachel, frowning, and her father gave an impatient exclamation.

‘Don't you trust me, Rachel?’ he demanded. ‘I've never asked you for anything before, have I? Surely it's not such a momentous decision.'

Rachel bent her head. It was true; he had never asked her for money before. But until she was twenty-one, the five thousand pounds her grandmother had left her had been held in trust, and it was only six months since her birthday.

‘How much did you have in mind?’ she asked now, and her father breathed a sigh of relief.

‘Could you make it—five hundred?’ he suggested tentatively, and Rachel lifted her head to gaze at him in disbelief.

‘You said a couple of hundred,’ she reminded him, but Charles Fleming was not deterred.

‘Two hundred, five hundred, what's the difference?’ he exclaimed carelessly. ‘You'll have it back in a few days. Shall we say five per cent?'

Rachel blinked. ‘Five per cent?'

‘Interest,’ said her father, patting her hand. ‘Can't have you losing by this, can we?'

Rachel flushed. ‘I don't want any interest, Dad. I—when do you want it? I can write you a cheque now, if you like.'

‘Oh, no,’ his hand imprisoned hers, ‘not a cheque. I—er—I'd prefer cash, if that's all right with you.’ He gave her a winning smile. ‘Easier all round, don't you know? Don't want the old tax man getting his nose into this transaction, do we?'

Rachel took a deep breath. ‘I'll get the money tomorrow lunchtime. Do you want me to bring it to your office?'

‘No. No, I'll meet you.’ Charles looked thoughtful. ‘Shall we say—on the Embankment, near Temple Station, at one o'clock?'

Rachel shrugged, feeling suddenly depressed. She had thought her father had asked her out for lunch so that they could be together, but now it seemed all he had wanted was a handout. She sighed, remembering the things Roger had said about her father; that he was a fool and a womaniser, that his business dealings were not always honest, and that she was lucky her parents had split up when they did, thus removing her from his corrupting influence.

She sighed then, determinedly putting these thoughts aside. She was being silly, she told herself. The fact that her father was asking her for a loan was no reason to jump to the conclusion that Roger had been right all along. It was the first time he had come to her, and she was his daughter, after all. Who else should he turn to?

‘Temple Station,’ she agreed now, reaching for the meal check. ‘And I suppose I'd better handle this, too.’ She managed a smile. ‘As you're having a cash flow problem!'

For several days the subject of their wedding was carefully avoided by both Rachel and Roger. Rachel met her father on Monday lunchtime and handed over the five hundred pounds, and this was something else she did not discuss with her fiancé. She knew Roger would make some scathing comment if she confessed the truth to him, and she didn't want to create any more dissention when matters were so strained between them.

At the office she had to run the gauntlet of a certain amount of teasing. Sophie was back at work, and had lost no time in coming to see her friend to ask about the mysterious stranger. The fact that Rachel had refused to discuss the affair had not made a scrap of difference to her. She had her own ideas concerning Alexis Roche, and although Rachel refused to participate, Sophie perpetually found some way to bring his name into her conversation. In consequence, the female washroom buzzed with gossip, and when the story of the roses somehow found its way to feminine ears, Rachel had no choice but to concede that it was true.