A High Price To Pay

CHAPTER THREE (#udf40e4b1-8d07-581c-89eb-12bba3fa21fa)

IT was a very long evening. Alison made herself have a meal, although she could not afterwards have stated with any accuracy just what she had eaten. All she could think of was Nicholas Bristow, and the amazing—the incredible offer he had made her.

At first, she told herself that it was all some weird dream from which, at any moment, she would awaken.

But the card with his telephone numbers printed on it was no figment of her imagination, even though she couldn’t envisage herself ever dialling either of them.

She tried to look at his proposition in the same dispassionate way as he had made it, but it was impossible. Even if, as he’d promised, all they were to share was a roof and a name, the prospect was still a disturbing one, fraught with obvious pitfalls.

On the other hand, the chance of being able to achieve some kind of security for Mel and her mother was a tantalising one, which was why, she thought wryly, he had mentioned that aspect first. He knew her priorities, as well as he apparently knew his own.

Yet that didn’t mean she was prepared to sell herself—for Ladymead, and the place in the sun it represented, she thought, staring sightlessly into the fire. Yet now it was back within her grasp, could she bear to let it go?

She moved restlessly. It was the sheer—impersonality of the offer that chilled her, she had to admit, as she recalled the cool indifference of the blue eyes as they had glanced at her. Not that she wanted him to fancy her, she made haste to remind herself. But at the same time, it was hurtful to recognise the image he had of her as some boring, submissive, domesticated doormat. A born spinster, she thought savagely, only too eager to grab at any matrimonial opportunity to come her way, however unlikely or unrewarding.

Well, what a shock he’d get when she turned him down!

‘I’m off now, miss.’ Mrs Horner popped her head round the door. ‘And madam’s awake, and asking for you.’

‘I’ll go up right away.’ Alison stirred guiltily. ‘Did she have any dinner?’

‘Cook did her a nice piece of steamed fish, and a little egg custard. She managed most of it,’ Mrs Horner assured her. ‘Good night, Miss Alison.’

Mrs Mortimer was propped up by pillows, her face set in lines of strain.

‘That man was here,’ she greeted Alison, as her daughter came through the door. ‘What did he want?’

‘Just to talk.’ Alison sat down on the edge of the bed and took her mother’s hand. ‘How are you this evening? You were asleep when I peeped in earlier.’

Mrs Mortimer dismissed this with an irritated shake of her head. ‘What does he have to talk to us about?’ she demanded agitatedly. ‘God knows we’re at his mercy. I suppose he wants us to leave here. Well, I’ll die first!’ She began to cry again. ‘This is my home, and it’s too cruel for him to turn me out like this. Too cruel!’ She began to thrash round on her pillows, making little moaning noises.

‘Darling, don’t,’ Alison said gently. ‘He didn’t come here for that at all. In fact …’ She stopped.

‘What?’ Her mother’s fingers tightened almost convulsively round hers, hurting her. ‘What did he want, Alison? Has he changed his mind about living here, after all? Is he going to leave us in peace?’

Alison shook her head reluctantly. ‘He can’t do that.’ She paused. ‘Mummy, Simon told me about this cottage today. It’s at High Foxton, so you could still stay in touch with all your friends. It sounds really quite nice, and we could just about afford it. Would you like to see it?’

‘No!’ Mrs Mortimer’s eyes were alarmingly wild and bright suddenly. ‘I’ll never leave here—never! This is my home, not some squalid cottage. We must buy Ladymead back. Your Uncle Hugh might have the money. We must ask him to help us.’

‘Darling, you can’t,’ Alison said firmly. ‘Uncle Hugh has responsibilities of his own, and I shouldn’t think he could lay his hands on even half the amount Nicholas Bristow would want. Even if he’d sell—which I doubt.’

‘I thought perhaps that was why he’d come here. To offer to sell the place back to us.’ The look of hope in her mother’s eyes was almost more than Alison could bear.

‘No,’ she said with a sigh, ‘It—it wasn’t that. He came to offer us—a share in it, I suppose. On certain conditions.’

‘A share?’ A share in Ladymead?’ Mrs Mortimer drew a long quivering breath. ‘In our own home?’

Alison sighed silently. ‘But it isn’t ours any longer,’ she said patiently. ‘You have to come to terms with the fact that it belongs to Nick Bristow now, lock, stock and barrel. That’s why it would be so much better to get away from here and start again.’

‘How can you say that?’ Her mother’s tone was harsh with reproach. ‘This is the house where you were born. Oh, you’re so hard, Alison. I sometimes wonder how you came to be any child of mine.’

‘As you’ve often told me,’ Alison said wryly. She got up. ‘Get some more rest now, Mother. We’ll talk again tomorrow.’

‘No, now.’ Mrs Mortimer’s fingers fastened like manacles round Alison’s wrist. ‘Tell me about this offer of the Bristow man’s. Does it really mean we can stay here? What conditions?’

‘He wants me to—work for him in a certain capacity.’ Alison chose her words carefully.

‘Work?’ her mother echoed. ‘But a man like that would already have all the staff he needs, surely. He could pick and choose, and you aren’t even trained for anything.’

‘I don’t think there’s much formal training for the kind of job he’s offering,’ Alison returned drily. ‘And it’s staff for Ladymead that he’s looking for.’

‘But Alec Liddell assured me that Cook—Mrs Horner—everyone would be kept on. Are you telling me they’re going to be turned out too?’

‘On the contrary, he’s anxious for the status quo to be preserved when he takes over. I imagine he would find any form of domestic inconvenience profoundly irritating.’

‘Then what’s the problem?’

Alison shrugged, striving for lightness. ‘The problem is he’s discovered from Alec that I’ve been—running things for you since I left school, and he wants me to go on doing so.’

Mrs Mortimer levered herself up against her pillows, her attention sharply fixed on her daughter’s face. ‘He wants you to keep house for him—and we can live here while you do?’

‘Yes.’ Alison looked down at the carpet. ‘Ridiculous, isn’t it?’

‘Ridiculous? It could be the answer to our prayers!’ There was excited colour in Mrs Mortimer’s face, and she looked more animated than she’d done for weeks, Alison realised with a pang. ‘What did you tell him? Did you agree?’

Alison shook her head. ‘Not yet. You see—there’s more.’ She hesitated, then said baldly, ‘He wants to marry me.’

‘Marry you?’ Mrs Mortimer slumped back in genuine if unflattering astonishment. ‘Nicholas Bristow wants to marry you?’ She shook her head. ‘Darling, it must have been some strange kind of joke. He can’t have been serious!’

‘That’s what I thought,’ Alison agreed, refusing to allow herself to be wounded by her mother’s immediate assumption that she could have no charms for a man like Nick Bristow. After all, it was no more than the truth, and she knew it, and to allow even one pang of hurt was merely being stupid. ‘But I have until the end of the week to give him my answer, so that seems to indicate he means business.’

‘Good God,’ Mrs Mortimer said faintly. There was silence, then she said, ‘What are you going to say?’

Alison’s brows lifted. ‘No, of course. You couldn’t expect me to agree to such an outrageous proposal. He—he doesn’t care for me. I think I could do better for myself than be married as a convenience.’

‘Do better than Nicholas Bristow? Are you quite mad?’ Mrs Mortimer sat up energetically, grasping her daughter’s hands in hers. ‘Alison, he’s offering you your home back—your heritage. That’s what you must think about. And there’s Melly to consider.’

‘I know,’ Alison acknowledged. ‘She was part of the package, as a matter of fact.’ She tried a smile. ‘Oh, all the strings were gold-plated, and designed to appeal. No wonder he’s such a success in the City!’

‘Then how can you even consider refusing?’ Mrs Mortimer demanded.

Alison’s chin came up. ‘Daddy sold himself to Nick Bristow,’ she said with terrible clarity. ‘Are you seriously suggesting I should do the same thing?’

‘But this may be his way of trying to make amends to us,’ her mother said eagerly. ‘Alison, for God’s sake—at least consider!’

Alison looked at her incredulously. ‘You—really mean it?’

‘Of course I do!’ Mrs Mortimer thumped the coverlet with her fist. ‘For heaven’s sake, darling, be rational. You’re far too sensible to be carried away by dreams of some overpowering romance. It just isn’t going to happen, and instead you’re being offered the chance to recover everything we’ve lost, together with the kind of husband most girls would be fighting over,’ she added a shade waspishly.