The Midsummer Auction Part 8

As Nicola came out of the shower she heard a knock on the door. Shrugging on her bathrobe she ran to answer it, hoping he had come to tell her he had changed his mind and that the game would continue. It was Hodgett carrying a tray.

"Good morning, miss. I understand you will be returning to London today. I thought you might like a bit of breakfast before you set off."

She bit back her disappointment. "That's very kind of you, Hodgett," she said, opening the door wider.

He walked in and set the tray down on the French provincial desk in front of the window. "It's a beautiful day, Miss. A bit on the windy side, though." He walked back out of the room. "The car will be at the front entrance when you're ready to leave."

"Thank you, Hodgett. For everything."

"It was my pleasure, miss." He bowed and trod smartly back up the corridor. She closed the door, poured herself a cup of coffee, and took it into the bathroom to drink while she dried her hair. She was sure she wouldn't be able to eat a bite. The minute she opened her eyes, depression had set in and it hadn't gone away. Her chest felt tight, as though her heart had swollen and her lungs didn't have enough room to expand.

She got dressed, packed her things, and left the room, carrying her suitcase. As she came down the stairs, Hodgett was waiting. He took the suitcase from her, walked out to the car, and put it in the boot. Then he opened the door on the driver's side for her and shut it firmly after she got in. He took a step back as she switched on the ignition. She gave him a little wave and drove off.

Hodgett walked briskly down the path that led to the garage and went in. He started up the Aston Martin. By the time he brought it around to the front entrance, Anthony was waiting. As soon as Hodgett got out, Anthony got in and drove away.

"He's going after her!" Hodgett thought. Any fool could see that. He felt pleased, somehow.

It would be just past noon when they hit London, Anthony thought., Nicola's vehicle was two cars ahead of him in the left lane. The London traffic might make it a bit more difficult to keep up with her. He had caught up to her very easily on the highway and had stayed cautiously behind in a different lane, even though he knew she wouldn't recognize his car. She had never seen it. But he didn't want to take any chances.

Once they hit central London, traffic became the usual nightmare and eventually, he lost her. He swore softly. Following her had been a stupid idea anyway. He just hadn't been able to get past this horrible feeling that if he didn't have some idea where she lived or where she was staying, she could disappear completely, leaving no trace of ever having been in London. Best to get someone on it right away who knew what they were doing. He drove to Thackeray Street and parked in front of an innocuous looking building, on the third floor of which the Thomson Agency was located. If they couldn't get him the information he wanted, he would only have one last resort-Henrietta Colefax. Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that, but if it did, then so be it.

Chapter Nineteen.

Nicola dropped off the rental car and took a taxi back to her flat, arriving there at about three-thirty. As she let herself in Henrietta came walking briskly up the hall.

"You're back," she exclaimed, sounding pleased. "I was just about to make myself a cup of tea. Why don't you take your suitcase upstairs and come back down to have one with me in the study? I could use the company."

"Right," Nicola said, with a brightness she didn't really feel. "Tea sounds like just the thing." She headed upstairs, secretly dreading the moment when she'd have to tell Henrietta what a hash she had made of things. Before unpacking she turned her mobile back on. There was only one message.

"Hey you," Erica said. "Give me a shout when you get in, will you?"

She decided to call Erica back later. By the time she got downstairs, Henrietta had set out the tea things and was seated on the sofa, reading what appeared to be a personal letter. Seeing Nicola, she folded it up and slipped it into the pocket of her slacks.

"There you are," she said. She picked up the teapot and poured tea into two cups. Nicola took one, added milk and sugar, and took a sip. She helped herself to a scone with clotted cream and strawberry jam, and Henrietta did the same. They chatted between bites of scone and sips of tea.

"So what did you think of Astonville Manor?" Henrietta inquired and touched a napkin to her lips. "It's one of the few manors still used as a private residence. Most owners have turned them into B-and-Bs or give guided tours through them to tourists for a fee. They're just too expensive to upkeep."

"Well, Anthony...Sir Anthony seems to like living there. He said he preferred it to London."

"He's an unusual person. How did you two get on?"

Nicola swallowed the last piece of her scone. This was the question she had been dreading. "I'm afraid I let you down," she said miserably.

Henrietta's eyebrows lifted a fraction. "How so?"

"Well, he...uh...I don't think he wanted to continue the game. At least, not with me."

"Good heavens! Why?"

"I didn't get the impression that he liked me all that much."

"Tell me exactly how it came about that the game was called off," Henrietta commanded. She listened in silence while Nicola recounted the details of the bet.

"I'll work for you without salary until you've recovered your percentage of the bid," Nicola ended. "It's not fair that you should lose too."

"Oh my dear, don't worry about that. Once the final bid is made, I receive my percentage regardless of what happens. I'm just sorry you won't get the money. I know what it would have meant to you."

"Something else will come up," Nicola said stoutly, which was what she had been telling herself repeatedly all the way back to London.

After dinner, some Indian takeaway she had picked up at a little place around the corner, she telephoned Erica. Ever since Lacey had left on her internship with the United Nations Geneva office, she and Erica had been spending at least one evening a week together, usually meeting for dinner at some inexpensive place.

"Thank G.o.d you're still around to keep me from going batty," Erica said cheerfully when they met for dinner the following night. "It's hard to believe that of the X million people who live in London I am personally acquainted with so few of them. I've pretty well decided if something exciting doesn't happen soon, I'm heading back to Australia in time for a sunshine Christmas."

"You mean you'll give up your job?"

"It's either that or let it kill me of terminal boredom," Erica said, not looking in the least bit like someone facing an imminent demise. "It just has to be better elsewhere. I think I'll just sponge off my parents at home for a bit, while I look for the right job."

"And I guess Brian's really dead in the water?"

"Oh, so dead. I can't imagine why he thinks helping to rid me of the trappings of maidenhood so long ago is a reason why we should be forever joined at the hip."

Nicola colored slightly and Erica regarded her suspiciously. "What are you blushing about? Has something happened that I ought to know?" She examined Nicola critically.

"You've done it!" she shouted triumphantly. "You've b.l.o.o.d.y finally done it! Who was it?" she demanded. "Inquiring minds have a right to know."

"Well, if you must know," Nicola said, unable to hold back a smile. "I did."

"And?"

"And it was great. He was great," she amended.

"So does that mean the two of you are going to have a thing? Who was he anyway?"

"Just some guy I met, one of my boss's clients. And no, we're not going to have a thing. In fact, I don't imagine I'll ever be seeing him again." She took a gulp of beer, washing down the huge lump that saying those words immediately brought to her throat. It would be too humiliating to admit to Erica that she had actually fallen in love with the first man she ever slept with. She hadn't even been able to admit it to herself yet, not really. How could she possibly be like one of those pathetic college females who couldn't tell the difference between s.e.x and love? For pity's sake, she barely knew the man!

"Oh well," Erica said philosophically, summing it all up in two words. Once again, Nicola envied Erica's ability to take everything in stride.

By nine thirty she was back at the flat and a few minutes later her mobile buzzed. It was Em.

"Just calling to see how you're doing. We haven't spoken in almost a month."

She felt a little stab of guilt. Em was alone, running the place as best she could and probably felt lonely at times. Their parents had only been gone four months. She really shouldn't let so much time go by without calling.

"I'm sorry, Em. The job's been really keeping me busy this last month, but I think things will get back to normal now. Did you get the money orders I sent?"

"Yes, I did. But I'm afraid I have bad news. The finance company has called in the loan."

"Oh no! When?"

"They sent the letter last week. I hate to worry you, Nicola. I know how hard you're working. I've been cutting corners and cutting corners, and there aren't any more corners left to cut. We're just sliding deeper into debt every month. And every time the phone rings, I hate to answer it because I'm sure it will be the finance company."

"It won't be," Nicola said, with an a.s.surance she did not feel. "They'll send at least two more warning letters, each one more insistent than the last, before they really do anything."

"What do you think we should do?"

"Nothing, for the moment. We'll have to get another extension, but I'll probably have to do it in person."

Even though she was one year older, Em would be hopeless at that sort of thing. "Does that mean you're coming home soon? Will you be able to get the time off?"

"Probably. Much as I hate having to ask, but I think my boss will understand."

Privately, she wasn't so sure. She'd only been working for Henrietta for two months, but what choice did she have? If she worked it so that she would be away during the Christmas break, it might not look so bad to be asking for time off so soon.

Henrietta was very understanding. "Of course you must go," she said. "In any case, we usually close for the Christmas break. I'm going away myself for two weeks. I'll be gone from the eve of Christmas Eve to the end of the first week of January. There will be very little for you to do while I'm gone. And, of course, you will be paid for the statutory holidays."

Relieved, Nicola got on the computer to book her flight. Never mind that booking at this eleventh hour she had to fly first cla.s.s because all the economy seats had been sold out long ago. This was enough of an emergency to warrant the expense. If she could persuade the loan officer at the finance company to give them another extension it would have been worth it.

Chapter Twenty.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," she heard Em say, and she opened her eyes cautiously, watching Em's slight figure as she walked over to the windows and threw them wide open. "Ummm." Emma inhaled deeply. "Can you smell that? Everything looks and smells so fresh after a storm like that."

"There was a storm?"

"Yes, but you were dead to the world."

"Well, thanks for closing my window. What time is it?" she asked.

"Almost two o'clock. You're missing the best part of the day."

"Well, this is Jamaica, you know. There'll be three hundred and sixty-four more days exactly like this one. I can guarantee it."

Emma laughed. "I know that, silly. But you will only have twenty of them. So sit up. I've brought you a tray, and I'm going to sit here on the bed and chat while you eat. Then maybe we can go for a walk." She picked up the tray from the dresser where she had rested it and brought it over to the bed.

Nicola sat up obediently, pulling the sheet over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "It looks delicious," she said, as Emma put the tray over her legs and uncovered a steaming plate of scrambled eggs. "Are they from our hens?" she asked eagerly. Like many tropical farmers, regardless of crop, the Edgerton had always raised chickens and some livestock, enough to meet their personal needs.

"Yes, they are. Guaranteed fresh from corn-fed birds," she said, quoting a local egg farm ad and smiling. "I don't know where we'd be without Ben," she added. "He only works for us part-time now, you know. He takes care of the stables on the Torres estate."

"Where you boarded out Sailor," Nicola said wistfully. "I know we can't afford it, but I just wish there had been some way to keep him in our own stables, Em."

"It didn't make sense for us to go the expense and trouble of maintaining the stables, Nicki. After Mum and Dad died, there was no one to ride their horses. I never cared that much about horseback riding, so I sold them to the Torres stables, and you know Sailor's happier there with lots of friends around."

"I know." Nicola sighed. "But I'm going over there to ride him as soon as I get dressed." She paused, as another thought struck her. "Wasn't the Torres house closed up when the evil Felipe died?"

"You're incorrigible," Em said, looking at her with mock severity. "Felipe Torres was not evil. The few times I did happen to see him he was always very civil to me. He just preferred to keep to himself, I think. Wealthy men tend to be suspicious of people who want to be too friendly, and it makes some of them become very reclusive."

"Oh Em," Nicola said, somewhat impatiently. "You defend everybody. So who's living there now?" she asked, turning back to the subject. "Did someone buy the place?"

"Actually, it wasn't up for sale. It's a really interesting story. Apparently, Felipe had a natural son, whom he never acknowledged, in spite of the fact that he had no other family. "

"Felipe came to Jamaica from Brazil on his own as a young man, didn't he?" Nicola interrupted.

"I believe so, although I don't know that for a fact. He's always kept to himself and seemed to be completely taken up with his business. He lived and breathed that estate. There are people like that, completely driven.

"Anyway," Emma continued, getting back to the thread of her story, "according to the grapevine Felipe never acknowledged his son, never even so much as spoke to him, and yet he left everything to his son in his will. Apparently, he had no use for politicians and wanted to make sure the government never got its hands on a single penny of his fortune, and the way I understand it, they might have gotten most of it if he hadn't left a will. That's the story anyway."

"So we have a rich, young neighbor," Nicola said, her eyes twinkling as she looked at Emma. "Have you seen him? If he's good-looking I say we try to snag him for you."

Emma's face turned scarlet. "Nicola!" she remonstrated. "As a matter of fact," she said, her color receding, "a few days after the crash he did come over to express his sympathy and asked if there was anything he could do."

"And?"

"And, I thanked him, offered him tea, which he graciously declined, and then he left."

"Wasted opportunity," Nicola remarked, and filled her mouth with the last of the scrambled eggs.

"I'm going to ignore that," Emma said. "Hurry up and have your bath, and when you come down, we'll walk over to the Torres stables. Let's cut through the fields instead of taking the jeep. It's such a perfect day." Nicola smiled. There was nothing she would have liked better.

Happy to see her smile, Emma stood up and kissed the top of her head. "I'll take the tray if you're finished," she said. "Bring the cup with you when you come down. And don't fall asleep again, lazybones, or you'll have trouble sleeping tonight," she warned as she backed out of the door, carrying the tray.

Nicola got out of bed and went into the bathroom. She turned on the faucets and as soon as the tub was full, got in. Almost immediately, the warm water lapping her s.e.x and kissing her c.l.i.toris made her think of him, how he had teased her so gently with his tongue, stroking her and sucking her and playing with her. Oh G.o.d, she thought yearningly, she would give anything to feel him hot and hard and urgent inside her, softening her bones, turning her into mush. The need to be with him cut into her so fiercely she drew her knees up, clenching her arms around them, pressing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s into them, her hair hanging down like strands of seaweed around her bowed head. She drew a deep shuddering breath, remembering that he didn't want her and wondering how she could possibly survive such a calamity. A small sob escaped her and she pinched her nose hard to make herself stop. She heard Emma's voice, like a lifeline, calling on her to hurry downstairs and she got out of the tub and began to dry herself. She pulled on a white T-shirt and olive green jodhpurs, and ran downstairs.

They took the short cut to the Torres stables, along the little dirt road that ran through the fields. The mid-afternoon sun blazed down brightly wherever it could and Nicola lifted her face blissfully to its warmth. She was in her natural element here. Her eyes surveyed the land critically, noting the patches of overgrown brush here, a dead tree or fallen branch there, evidence that since her father's death, Ben had slacked off. But they were still paying him part-time to take care of things, she thought. Feeling the pride and responsibility of ownership experienced only by the true lover of the land, she made a mental note to remind Ben what he was being paid for, since obviously Emma wasn't up to it.

"You should have worn a hat." Emma frowned, observing her flushed face. "You'll get sunstroke."

"Never!" Nicola laughed. "I want to feel the sun on my head, Em. It feels absolutely heavenly." Her eyes absorbed the deep and vibrant green of the tropical foliage that marched down on them from either side of the path. She looked up, shading her eyes against the sun, drinking in the beauty of the large immortelle and samaan trees that provided shade for the coffee trees. She hurt with the loveliness of it all and deep in her heart she reaffirmed her vow pa.s.sionately. Never, never, would she give up this land no matter what it cost to hold on to it.

After about a fifteen-minute walk, they reached the Torres stables, slipped under the fence, and walked around to the front of the stalls. Everything was clean and orderly, and as she pa.s.sed by each stall, she stroked the horses, patting them with fond little murmurs. A horse whinnied softly, and she ran to the next stall, recognizing the sound.

"Sailor," she cried, throwing her arms around the horse's neck. Her eyes grew misty as the horse rubbed his long nose affectionately along her arm. "Good boy," she murmured softly. "I've missed you so, Sailor. Good boy!"

"Good afternoon, Miss Emma," she heard a man say.