The Call of Destiny (The Return of Arthur Book 1) (30 page)

Oh God, he would never change.
Never. ‘It’s always about you, isn’t it? Always what
you
need.’ Her eyes
filled with tears.

He knelt by her. ‘Please, duchess. I’ll do
anything you want.’

‘It’s too late.’

‘I’m begging you.’

‘For God’s sake, Uther.’

‘Give me another chance,’ he
pleaded. ‘I’ll make it up to you, I swear I will. ‘

‘You really are impossible,’
she said crossly. What a fool she was, what a weak, gullible fool.

He beamed, sensing she had
relented. ‘I adore you, duchess.’

In the bathroom he studied his
reflection in the mirror, dabbing his face with tissues, examining each one for
traces of blood, and murmuring sardonically, ‘She loves me . . . she loves me
not . . . ’ It had been a close call, the closest yet.

In the spring election New
Millennium was duly re-elected, their majority down to twenty-two seats. As the
results were announced and it became clear that the Party was heading for a
narrow victory, Uther gloated with the Party faithfuls in Central Office. Later
he declared for the cameras outside Number 10: ‘The country can now look
forward to another five years of stability and prosperity.’ There were those,
even is his own party, who did not share his confidence.

 The party Sir Leo Grant gave for his
daughter, Guinevere, was ostensibly for her eighteenth birthday. In his mind it
was also for what in former times would have been called her “Coming Out”.
Although Leo was far from anxious to marry off his daughter, the guest list
included some of the most eligible young men in town. In his opinion she was
much too young to marry, and secretly he dreaded the thought of parting with
her. Still, her happiness came first. The more men she met, he reasoned, the
more discriminating she would become, and the better her chances of finding the
right one.

Watching the young men compete
for her attention, and how charmingly and graciously she handled them, he
thanked God for blessing him with a sensible daughter. Not only was she
sensible, she was beautiful as well; and that was not just a proud father’s
opinion, everyone said so. Sooner or later she would fall in love and marry.
Would it, he wondered, be that laughing young man dancing with her now? Or
perhaps one of that group leaning against the bar eyeing her with such
interest? He knew them all, and all of them perfectly decent specimens of
manhood. But oh, they were so young! At that age it was difficult to know who
you were, let alone what you wanted in a lifelong partner. Whomever she
married, he reasoned, it really ought to be someone a few years older than her.
The girl had a strong character and a mind of her own. She would need a loving
hand, yes, but a firm hand too.

When Arthur arrived Leo
greeted him affectionately. By now he had a very soft spot for this young man.
‘I have some news for you,’ he told Arthur. ‘Good news I hope.’

‘Depends on your point of
view.’ Leo lowered his voice. ‘I’ve reached a decision. I’m going to resign as
leader of United Labour. It’s the right thing to do.’

‘No it isn’t,’ said Arthur.
‘No one could possibly take your place.’

Leo was a determined man, he
never gave up. ‘I have someone in mind,’ he said slyly.

‘You know my feelings on that
subject.’ ‘Won’t you change your mind?’

‘I’m sorry, Leo,’ said Arthur
and wandered off to mingle with the other guests. Waiting for a drink at the
bar he tried to talk to a young fellow more or less his age, or perhaps about
five years younger, he guessed. It was like wading through treacle. ‘Arthur
Pendragon,’ he said, extending his hand in greeting. ‘Glad to meet you.’

‘Lancelot Bancroft,’ came the
stiff reply a few seconds later. After another long and awkward pause, Arthur
tried again.

‘Friend of Guinevere, are
you?’ A blank look. ‘Guinevere?’ More silence.

‘You must be a friend of Sir Leo, then.’

‘No.’ The seconds dragged on.
‘Ban is,’ said Bancroft addressing his drink.

‘Ban?’

‘My father.’

‘I see,’ said Arthur,
wondering what to say next. This was certainly a most difficult and unrewarding
conversation, hardly worth the struggle. Now that he had his drink he was
tempted to excuse himself and walk away; for some reason he did not. Despite
this young man’s distant, not to say superior manner, there was something
rather forlorn and vulnerable about him that appealed to Arthur and made him want
to breach those formidable defences. A few more false starts and it emerged
that Arthur was a member of Parliament. To say that Lancelot was unimpressed
would have been a gross understatement; he made it brutally plain that in his
opinion all MP’s were on the make, and every politician either an incompetent
or a liar or both. Where did they go from here, wondered Arthur, feeling a
touch bruised. Not one to give up easily, he let drop that he had been a major
in the Special Forces, and was gratified by the reception he received; Lancelot
was clearly impressed. A breakthrough! Disarmed by Arthur’s quiet charm and
genuine modesty, Lancelot was soon talking to a man he had known only a few
minutes, an entirely new experience for him.

He told Arthur that his father
was an ex-army man and that he himself was thinking of making the army his
career. Arthur immediately offered his help. ‘I hope this doesn’t sound
patronising,’ he said, ‘but if you do decide to join the army, why don’t you
get in touch? I have some pretty good contacts.’ Lancelot reacted with a look
of such disdain that for a moment Arthur was irritated, until he remembered his
own reaction when Uther offered him help with his career. ‘Look, I’m not
proposing to pull any strings for you. I know you wouldn’t want that. It’s just
that sometimes it helps to know the right people.’

‘I’m sure it does,’ was Lancelot’s stiff
response.

Lancelot’s father, Bertie Bancroft, friend of
Leo Grant and a great admirer of Guinevere, wandered up to Leo and without any
preliminaries let fly his customary staccato burst of words, betraying his army
credentials: ‘That daughter of yours. Absolute stunner. She and Lance. What do
you think?’

‘Believe me, Ban, she could do a lot worse,’

Ban surveyed the crowd of
youngsters at the bar and on the dance floor. ‘Expect they’ll meet.’

‘He’s a fine chap, Lancelot,
no question about it,’ said Leo Grant. ‘A bit young for Ginny, perhaps. Somehow
I have the feeling she’ll go for an older man. One thing for sure, though,
whatever I think, she’ll do exactly what she wants.’

Ban rattled off again. ‘Tall
girl. Jumping about. Skirt up her thighs. Who is she?’

‘Gertrude Lancaster. Friend of
Guinevere. Her closest friend, I would say. Good-natured, if a little wild.
Heart’s in the right place, though.’

Whilst Lanky galloped round
the floor, Guinevere came over and chatted with her father, politely warding
off several young men who asked her to dance.

‘Where’s Ban?’ she asked.
‘Gone to get a drink. Why?’ ‘I just met that son of his.’

‘Lancelot. What do you think of him?’ asked
Leo.

Guinevere raised a
supercilious eyebrow. ‘He’s the most arrogant, patronising bore I ever met.’

Leo winced. ‘Best not mention that to Ban.’

Talking to her father,
Guinevere seemed preoccupied, surveying the dance floor with a frown on her
face.

‘Anything wrong, Ginny?’

‘Nothing, dad. It’s a
wonderful party and you’re a poppet.’ ‘Gertrude can be a little over-exuberant
at times,’ he ventured.

That apparently innocuous
observation drove the colour into her cheeks and released a torrent of
condemnation. ‘It’s embarrassing the way she behaves. Throwing herself at men,
it’s

. . . shameless. Women should
have more respect for themselves if they want to be treated like women and not
sex objects.’

Leo looked at his daughter in
astonishment. He had never seen her so angry. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes
bright with tears of rage. Tears? This was not his Ginny, not like her at all.
Was it really Gertrude’s behaviour that was distressing her?

‘I wonder if things have changed
all that much in the last thousand years,’ he said. ‘When it comes to the
mating game, I mean.’

‘Oh dad, how would you know?’ said Guinevere,
giving her father a withering look.

Leo winced. His daughter had a
sharp tongue and knew how to use it. Yet an instant later he was totally
disarmed. She put her arms round Leo’s neck and kissed him. ‘Forgive me. I’m a
beast.’

‘Nothing to forgive. Off you
go and enjoy yourself. This is no time to be sitting with your father.’

‘There’s not a man in the room
who can hold a candle to you.’

‘Come now, Ginny. Not one of
those fine young men? I don’t believe it.’

‘They’re all so – immature.’

‘Not all of them, surely.’ He
sneaked a sidelong glance at her. ‘That’s a fine man over there. And judging by
that bevy of beauties round him, I should say I’m not the only one who thinks
so. Wouldn’t you know it?’ Another keen look at his daughter. ‘There’s Gertrude
chatting him up.’

‘Who?’

‘Arthur.’

Guinevere lifted her chin in a
characteristic gesture. ‘Arthur?’ It was as if she had never heard the name
before.

‘Arthur Pendragon, the MP. You
met him once, I’m sure you did. Probably years ago, though. You were always
away at school when he came to dinner.’

‘Arthur,’ she mused. ‘Yes, I do vaguely
remember him.’

Vaguely? Had Leo not seen his
daughter looking rather intently at Arthur earlier in the evening? Perhaps not,
he could have been mistaken. More important, he was disappointed that Arthur
had not asked Ginny to dance. Obviously he had other things on his mind. Quite
the ladies’ man these days.

‘Just look at that. Dragged
onto the dance floor, and by Gertrude, wouldn’t you know?’

‘Really, father,’ Guinevere’s
colour was high again, ‘why should I care what Mr. Pendragon does? It’s of no
interest to me. He’s your friend, not mine.’

So that was the way the wind
blew, was it? He managed not to smile, and just as well, he thought, or he
would never have heard the end of it.

‘Indeed he is. A very good
friend, and a quite outstanding man. I like him very much.’ He began to whistle
under his breath, and was unable to resist another quick look in his daughter’s
direction. ‘Gertrude seems to have taken quite a fancy to him . . . and he to
her,’ he added, innocently. ‘What do you think, Ginny?’

A proud tilt of the chin. ‘I
really couldn’t say.’ Then, abandoning the mask of indifference, she added
tartly, ‘Just look at her. How could she? I’d rather die than throw myself at a
man like that.’

‘How fortunate I am to have such a sensible
daughter.’

Guinevere directed a
suspicious look at her father but his face was inscrutable. He appeared to be
wholly absorbed in sniffing his glass of burgundy.

As she got up to leave, there, unexpectedly,
was Arthur.

‘I rushed over when I saw you
weren’t surrounded by men. I’ve been wanting to dance with you all evening but
the youngsters have beaten me to it every time. Wont you please put me out of
my misery?’

Guinevere hesitated. For a
moment it seemed she was about to excuse herself, but then she smiled with
obvious pleasure. ‘I’d be delighted.’ Taking Arthur’s arm, she walked off with
him to the dance floor.

‘I do vaguely remember him,’
murmured Leo to himself, relaxing his facial muscles in a quiet smile. Leaning
back in his chair with a sigh of contentment, he sipped his wine, and fondly
observed, in the discreetest imaginable way, the two people he loved most in
all the world.

‘I’m afraid I’m not much good at the latest
dances,’ said Arthur apologetically. ‘No match for these youngsters.’

‘Are you so old, then?’

Arthur laughed. ‘Perhaps
youngsters is the wrong word. I suppose I meant people of your sort of age.’

‘And what age might that be?’ she asked coyly.

‘I know you are just about
eighteen because of this party. I would have known anyway.’

‘How?’ She could feel her heart
thumping at her breast. ‘You won’t remember but we met once years ago. I have
never

forgotten it. You told me you
were an almost fourteen year old. That means you are now an almost eighteen
year old.’

So he did remember, then. ‘Fancy your
remembering that.

Such a very trivial thing.’

‘I remember something else you
said. You said twenty-four was a good age for a man.’

Guinevere blushed. ‘Did I say
that?’ ‘You did.’ Arthur smiled.

‘You must have thought me a
precocious brat.’ ‘I thought you were enchanting.’

She lowered her eyes and said nothing.

He was afraid he might have
offended her. ‘It was so delightfully unexpected coming from a thirteen year
old – I beg your pardon, an almost fourteen year old.’

When she looked up at him
again, she was smiling. ‘So that means you are now an almost twenty-seven year
old.’

Absurd but it sounded old. ‘Afraid so.’

Thinking of another thing she
had said five years ago, she blushed again. Unless her memory was playing
tricks on her, she had told him how good looking he was. No, her memory was not
playing tricks. She remembered it quite clearly. Horror of horrors! It was the
sort of outrageously flirtatious thing Lanky might have said. Hopefully he was
too chivalrous to mention it, even if he too remembered. She prayed he would
change the subject.

‘You like dancing?’ he asked,
as if in answer to her prayer. ‘I love it.’

‘I do too.’ He cleared his throat. ‘If only I
had the chance to practice more.’

It was obvious what he was
getting at, though she pretended not to understand, looking about her with keen
interest at the other dancers on the floor. Seeing Lanky prancing about, her
mood darkened and she was suddenly uncertain of herself.

Arthur mistakenly concluded
from her silence that another hint was needed. ‘I don’t suppose you know anyone
who could give me dancing lessons?’

‘Indeed I do,’ said Guinevere
sweetly. ‘You should talk to Gertrude. She is an excellent dancer, as of course
you know. I am sure she would be more than happy to give you as many lessons as
you like.’