A Wicked Persuasion (10 page)

Harriet made blindly for the kitchen and tore off a length of kitchen paper. She scrubbed her mouth with some of it
and took the rest to James. ‘Here,’ she said coldly. ‘You’re bleeding.’

He pressed the wad of paper to the tip of his tongue, eyeing her over it with rancour. ‘All you had to do was say no.’

‘If I could have spoken I would have,’ she snapped. ‘What was all that for again, James? Wasn’t it enough retaliation to use the house?’

‘For God’s sake, stop talking about the
house
. The house you don’t live in, won’t inherit, yet spend your life working yourself into the ground just to keep it ticking over. When are you going to take life by the throat and live it, Harriet?’ His eyes held an almost feral glitter. ‘This is all we get, and it’s short—hell, what’s the use?’ He took in a deep breath, his manner suddenly formal. ‘My apologies.’

‘Accepted,’ she snapped, then turned sharply as she reached the door. ‘I make no apologies for biting you.’

‘You’ve developed violent tendencies with maturity,’ he observed as he passed her to go outside. ‘Are you like this with all your men?’

‘The occasion never arises. They treat me with respect,’ she said loftily.

His eyes lit with an unholy gleam. ‘How boring! Goodbye, Harriet.’

Too full of warring emotions to trust her voice, she shut the door on him without a word, then gave a shriek as the door suddenly flew open and James took her in his arms to kiss her again, but this time with all the old persuasive magic she had never found with any other man. Against her will, she felt every nerve and sinew responding to his touch until suddenly she was free as he released her.

‘That’s my real apology,’ he said huskily, and left her standing motionless as he flung away. He turned in the doorway. ‘Just for the record, if you cried off from Moira’s
lunch to avoid me you needn’t have bothered. I won’t be there.’

Harriet stared at the door he closed behind him as she slumped down on the sofa, feeling as though her energy supply had been cut off at the mains. The housework and gardening would have been tiring enough without the turbulent episode with James. Tears burned her eyes and leaked in a salty trail down her flushed face. Damn James Crawford and his kisses. Now he was back in her life again, hard-won acceptance of her lot was hard to maintain.

T
HINGS
got off to a bad start the next day. Harriet’s car refused to start, her father was out, the garage she used wasn’t open on a Sunday and she was forced to take a very expensive taxi to get to the large, ultra-modern Barclay home in Pennington. She arrived to a mixed reception—friendly and welcoming from Gervase, impatient from Sophie, and no sign of Annabel, who usually launched herself at her aunt the moment Harriet was through the door.

‘You’ve cut it terribly fine,’ Sophie complained. ‘It’s half past eleven!’

‘The car wouldn’t start. I had to take a taxi. Where’s Annabel?’

Sophie’s eyes flickered. ‘Sleeping. She’s got a bit of a cold.’

‘More than a bit; she’s got a temperature.’ Gervase eyed his wife uneasily. ‘I’m not sure you should go out and leave her, darling.’

Sophie stiffened. ‘Not go? Why? It’s just a cold, and Harriet is more than capable of looking after her. She’s good with Annabel.’ She turned on her sister. ‘You don’t mind if I go, do you?’

‘No.’ Privately, Harriet was amazed that Sophie would want to leave Annabel if the child was unwell. ‘Are you going far?’

‘Just a short walk away; we could be back in minutes if you need us,’ said Gervase, and kissed her cheek. ‘Thank you for helping us out, Harriet.’

Sophie had the grace to look contrite. ‘Yes, indeed. Though I was afraid you weren’t going to make it in time.’

‘In which case we would have arrived at the party fashionably late,’ said her husband. ‘I shall reimburse you for the taxi when we get back, Harriet.’ Gervase Barclay, tall, heavily built, elegantly suited, and twenty years older than his wife, looked exactly what he was, a successful businessman very comfortable in his own skin.

His wife, however, was not. Sophie frowned down at herself in doubt. ‘Do you think this dress is right for a garden party, Harriet?’

Harriet thought it was wrong for any party. The print was eye-wateringly bright, and the dress too short. ‘It looks very summery—’

‘You think it’s awful—I knew it!’ Sophie wailed. ‘You’ll have to wait, Gervase, while I change.’ She took off for the stairs at a run.

‘Check on Annabel,’ her husband called after her, and smiled ruefully at Harriet. ‘Sophie was shattered when Pilar had to leave so suddenly.’

‘Family crisis?’

‘Her mother’s ill. Sophie’s lost without Pilar, especially now Annabel’s off colour—all three of us had a wretched night. We’ll be back by four at the latest, but if you want us earlier, don’t hesitate to ring. Here’s my mobile number.’ He handed Harriet a card, wincing at the sound of sobbing from upstairs.

‘You go. I’ll see to Annabel.’ Harriet ran upstairs to the child’s room and found Sophie, now in ice-blue linen and pearls, trying to calm her little daughter.

‘Don’t cry, darling,’ Sophie pleaded frantically. ‘Look! Auntie Harriet’s come to play with you.’

The child held supplicating arms up to Harriet. ‘Want to come down,’ she sobbed.

‘Then you shall.’ Harriet picked her up, alarmed by the child’s body heat. ‘Let’s wash your face first, and then we’ll cuddle up on the sofa in the snug. Say goodbye to Mummy.’ Behind the child’s back she made shooing motions as Sophie pointed to the bottle on the bedside table.

‘Give her some of that after her lunch.’

‘Don’t—want—lunch,’ hiccupped the child, burrowing against Harriet’s neck.

‘I left lots of things in the fridge, but if she doesn’t fancy solids just give her fruit,’ said Sophie. ‘Be good for Auntie, darling.’ She dropped a kiss on her child’s damp hair, and rushed off.

Harriet collected a nightdress and took her unhappy little niece into the bathroom. She washed the small hot face and sticky hands, and put the fresh nightie over Annabel’s head. ‘There. You’ll feel better now,’ she said cheerfully.

Annabel sniffed hard. ‘Pilar went home to her poorly mummy, Auntie. Will she come back?’

‘Of course she will.’ Harriet devoutly hoped so. Pilar was the rock in her niece’s life, which was unfair to Sophie, but nevertheless true. Sophie adored her child, but was less fond of the more demanding parts of motherhood, as in getting up in the night and keeping Annabel amused.

Harriet found the bunny slippers Annabel wanted, and took her downstairs to the vast magazine-illustration kitchen. She put the child into her special chair, had a look in the fridge and found a very tempting salad obviously meant for the babysitter, also several possibilities for the child’s lunch. ‘What would you like, darling? Pasta? Scrambled eggs?’

‘Banana, please,’ stated Annabel hoarsely.

Resisting the urge to feel the child’s forehead again, Harriet sliced a banana and took the dish over to the table with a small pot of yoghurt. ‘There. Can you feed yourself, darling, or shall I help you?’

‘You help.’ Annabel looked up at Harriet in appeal. ‘Can I sit on your lap? My chair’s hurting me.’

This was worrying news. ‘Of course. In fact, shall we have a little treat and take a tray into the snug, so you can watch one of your DVDs while you eat?’

Annabel brightened. ‘On your lap.’

Whatever worked, thought Harriet. With a cartoon film on the television to distract her patient, she managed to feed her half of the banana and a little of the yoghurt, but the process was very slow, and by the time she’d given Annabel a drink the little girl was ready to sleep again.

‘Medicine first,’ said Harriet firmly, ‘then you can have a nap.’

‘Down here with you!’

‘You bet.’

Annabel shed a few tears before the medicine was safely down, but Harriet settled down with her on the sofa, with book, tissues and water bottle in reach, and breathed a sigh of relief when the little body relaxed against her. She cradled the hot little head against her shoulder and smiled at the next inevitable demand.

‘Story, Auntie. Please,’ the child pleaded, her voice so hoarse Harriet felt a sharp stab of misgiving. This was surely more than a little cold.

‘Once upon a time,’ she began softly, ‘there were three little girls who lived in a lovely big house by the river …’ This was an ongoing saga every time she saw Annabel, and the fictional idyll of happy little girls was the only story the child ever wanted, but this time she fell asleep shortly
after Harriet began. The fair head grew heavy, and Harriet abandoned any idea of reading as she held the child safe in a reassuring embrace, trusting in nature’s remedy of sleep.

It was the only peaceful interlude of the afternoon.

When Sophie hadn’t returned by four Harriet decided to ring the number Gervase had given her, but before she could get out her phone Annabel threw up and it took some time to get the child washed and in a fresh nightie and persuade her to drink some water.

‘Let’s ask Daddy and Mummy to come home, shall we?’

‘Want you to stay, Auntie,’ croaked Annabel.

‘Let’s get Mummy and Daddy home, then we’ll see, darling.’

When Harriet spoke to Gervase, he was remorseful. ‘Lord, I’m sorry, Harriet. We should have left long before now. I’ll round up Sophie right away. It’s a fair little walk, but we’ll be as quick as we can.’

Thinking of Sophie’s towering heels, Harriet took that with a pinch of salt, but to her surprise they arrived soon afterwards and Sophie came rushing into the snug, screeching when she felt Annabel’s forehead.

‘What were you thinking of?’ she accused Harriet. ‘Why on earth didn’t you ring us sooner?’

‘When you hadn’t come home by four, as promised, I was just about to do so when Annabel was sick again and I took time to clean her up. You need to call your doctor right now,’ said Harriet firmly.

Gervase took out his phone as he hurried in. ‘I’ll do that.’ Sophie tried to pick up Annabel but she clung to Harriet.

‘Want Auntie!’

‘Well, that’s nice, I must say—’ Sophie swallowed convulsively and clapped a hand to her mouth as she ran for the door. Gervase rolled his eyes.

‘A surfeit of Pimms on top of lobster. I stuck to beer,
myself—’ He broke off and spoke into the phone, and Harriet sat down again with Annabel.

Gervase thanked someone profusely and closed the phone, raking a hand through his hair distractedly as he looked down at his unhappy little daughter. ‘The doctor on call will be here as soon as he can, thank God. Because I wasn’t driving for once, I indulged a bit too much to get Annabel to his surgery.’ His mouth twisted as he bent to stroke his daughter’s damp hair. ‘We shouldn’t have gone out and left her.’

‘Sophie said it was important for you to be there.’

‘I was able to do some useful networking, certainly. But hell, none of that mattered as much as Annabel. I wouldn’t have left her with anyone else but you, Harriet, Pilar included.’

‘Thank you. How did you get here so quickly? You must have run all the way.’

‘We got a lift from one of the other guests—which reminds me, I’ve left him kicking his heels in the drawing room.’ He looked up as Sophie returned, looking pale. ‘Feeling better?’

‘The lobster must have disagreed with me,’ she said, bridling at the look he gave her.

‘Or you had a drink too many! I did too, which was incredibly irresponsible of both of us when our child is ill.’

‘I knew she was all right with Harriet,’ said Sophie defensively.

Gervase looked down at the flushed, tearstained face of his daughter. ‘But she’s not all right, is she? We shouldn’t have gone.’

‘You said it was important that we did.’

‘Important for me, not for both of us. You could have stayed home for once.’

Sophie promptly burst into tears, which started Annabel sobbing again.

‘Don’t cry, darling,’ soothed Harriet. ‘Mummy’s got a headache and needs to make some tea.’ She looked pointedly at Sophie. ‘I’d like some, too.’

Sophie’s tears dried at the stern look her husband gave her. ‘Right,’ she said thickly, and patted her daughter’s head on the way out. ‘Mummy will bring you more juice.’

‘Perhaps you could top up our Good Samaritan’s drink at the same time,’ called her husband.

‘Could you take Annabel for a moment, Gervase?’ Harriet smiled. ‘I need a bathroom break.’

‘Oh, God, yes, give her to me.’ He stripped off his jacket and took his protesting daughter from Harriet. ‘There, there, sweetheart. Auntie won’t be long.’

As Harriet passed the drawing room on the way back from the bathroom Sophie came to the door, beckoning to Harriet. ‘Come and meet James Crawford, who kindly gave us a lift from the party. James, this is my sister, Harriet Wilde—but then, you know that already,’ Sophie added with her tinkling social laugh, then turned as the doorbell rang. ‘That must be the doctor. Do excuse me.’

James, elegant in a light linen suit, looked at Harriet in silence for a moment. ‘I’m obviously in the way here; I should go. But when you rang your sister was in such a panic I offered to drive them.’

‘Of course. Very good of you.’

Gervase hurried in. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Crawford, the doctor needs some information from Harriet.’

When Harriet ran into the snug Annabel struggled away from her mother’s embrace and held out her arms.

‘Don’t like the man, Auntie,’ she sobbed, and the doctor smiled ruefully.

‘My bedside manner isn’t working today. I gather you
were looking after Annabel this afternoon, Miss Wilde. What have you given her?’

Sophie handed her unhappy child to Harriet. ‘I told you exactly when to give her the medicine. I hope you remembered.’

Harriet shot her a scathing look over the child’s head. ‘Of course I remembered. Annabel had half a banana and a little yoghurt at twelve-thirty, Doctor, after which I gave her a dose. She slept for a while but woke up coughing. She was restless and clingy all afternoon from them on, and very hot. She complained of tummy ache and said her back hurt. I gave her another dose at four, but shortly afterwards she vomited so I kept to sips of water from then on until her parents arrived home.’

Gervase hurried in to join them, looking every year of his age for once. ‘What’s wrong with her, Doctor?’

‘There’s a virus going round with all the symptoms your daughter’s presenting. Not much to be done except give her plenty of fluids and keep her as quiet as possible while nature takes its course, I’m afraid.’ The weary young man picked up his bag. ‘Must get on. Contact the practice tomorrow if you need more help.’

Sophie saw the doctor out and hurried back, eyeing Harriet hopefully. ‘Could you stay for a while?’

‘Only until Annabel goes to bed. Do you think I could have that tea now, Sophie?’

‘Oh, gosh, yes, of course. I’ll get it now.’

‘Are you sure about this, Harriet?’ Gervase looked concerned. ‘You’re working tomorrow.’

Harriet looked down at the flushed sleeping face on her breast. ‘I’ll stay until she settles. I really hate that word virus. We depend on antibiotics so much, but in this instance they’re useless.’

Sophie looked annoyed when she came back with a tea
tray. ‘I took such trouble over the salad I made for you, Harriet, but you haven’t touched it.’

‘Annabel got so upset if I tried to move I never managed to get to the bathroom, let alone eat anything,’ she explained.

‘Give her to me,’ said Gervase firmly. ‘I’ll have her while you drink your tea. Sophie, get your sister something to eat.’

‘Some of that tempting salad would be good, please,’ said Harriet, ‘but don’t bother bringing it in; I can come to the kitchen.’

‘You’re the one Annabel wants, obviously, so you’d better stay here,’ said Sophie, and flounced out of the room.

‘Sophie’s suffering from guilt pangs,’ sighed Gervase.

As well she might, thought Harriet. She downed a cup of tea, and smiled. ‘Gosh, I needed that. Now give her to me. You should get back to your guest.’

Gervase carefully handed the drowsy child over. ‘I think I’d better start thinking of a replacement for Pilar,’ he said quietly. ‘If the mother’s very ill she might not come back.’

Sophie gasped in horror as she came in. ‘Don’t
say
that, Gervase. Annabel will be lost without her. So shall I,’ she added mournfully, putting a small tray down beside Harriet.

‘Thank you, Sophie.’

‘I’ll see if Crawford would like another drink,’ said Gervase, and hurried from the room.