Wild Entrantress Part 17

Catherine stepped aside, shaking her head, and Tony, who had emerged from his office to see what was going on, exclaimed: 'Hardly famous, Laura, but it will be!' He grinned, propelling his chair forward. 'This is a pleasant surprise. I didn't know you were spending your honeymoon in London.'

Catherine closed the door, and leaned weakly back against it.

Trust Tony to come straight to the point, she thought bitterly.

But perhaps it was the best way. There was no point in trying to avoid the facts.

'I'm not.' Laura's reply was a shock. She extended her hand for them to see. 'I'm not even engaged, let alone married! The wedding's off, as they say.'

She spoke lightly, with only an underlying note of regret in her voice. Tony exchanged a glance with Catherine, saw how pale she had become, and indicated his office behind him.

'Come along in for a minute. We-Cat and I- we were just going out for supper, but we can talk more comfortably here.' He waited until both girls were seated, and then he added: 'So what are you doing in London?'

Laura shrugged. Then she looked at Catherine, and a faintly compa.s.sionate look crossed her face. 'I could say I came to find you,' she said, with a sigh. 'But that wouldn't be true.' She bit her lip. 'You haven't seen Jared, have you?'

'Seen Jared?' Catherine almost choked on the words. 'How-I mean-how could I have seen Jared?'

'Because he's here-in London,' replied Laura simply. 'He's been here about two months.'

'Two months?' Catherine realised she was repeating everything Laura said parrot-fas.h.i.+on, but she couldn't help herself.

Tony took over the questioning. 'Why would Jared come to London?' he exclaimed.

Laura hunched her shoulders, rubbing her bare finger almost unknowingly. 'Who knows? He says he wants to paint here. But as far as I can see, he's done nothing so far.'

'You've seen him?'

Catherine couldn't prevent the involuntary words, and Laura nodded. 'Today. This afternoon. That's really why I came to England. Elizabeth's been so worried about him. He hasn't written, he hasn't phoned. He hasn't contacted her at all. She only found his address because for some reason he had given it to his solicitors.'

'And-the engagement's off?' Tony prompted.

'Oh, yes. That was off a couple of weeks before he left Barbados.

Just after you left actually, Catherine. I'm sure you know why.'

Catherine couldn't take all this in. She felt sick with reaction, filled with an incredulous antic.i.p.ation that weakened her knees and turned her stomach into a churning cauldron.

'I-are you saying Jared broke his engagement to you because-because of me?' she whispered disbelievingly, and Laura sighed.

'Don't sound so surprised. Jared's engagement to me never meant a lot. I realise now he only did it to silence the gossips after his father died, and he and Elizabeth were alone at the house. After you arrived-well, you know what happened as well as I do.'

'But-but-' Catherine couldn't find words to say what she wanted to say. 'Wh-why didn't he tell me?'

'I thought he did. Laura frowned. 'I understand you turned him down.'

'I-turned--him-down?' Catherine's mouth was dry. 'But he never mentioned--marriage to me!'

'Well, what did you think he meant?' Laura sounded impatient now. 'Surely you know Jared well enough to know he would never countenance anything else? Good lord, surely you realise he only brought Tony out to Barbados to find out if you cared about him.'

'Cared about who? Jared? Or Tony?'

'Why, Tony, of course. I think he thought you and he had been having some big scene. He wanted to see for himself.'

'Oh, no!'

Catherine got up out of her chair to pace disbelievingly across the room. Of course, Laura didn't know about that business of the pregnancy! It was suddenly clear what Jared had wanted to do. He had thought she was expecting Tony's child. He had wanted to see for himself what kind of relations.h.i.+p they had.

Would he have married her in spite of the child if he had been satisfied they no longer cared for one another? Oh, G.o.d, it all made a crazy kind of sense. And she had turned him away because he had shown that she had hurt him. ..

She turned to Laura. 'Where is he?'

Laura's eyes widened. 'Jared?' She hesitated. 'I'm not sure I should tell you.'

'Why not?'

Laura shrugged 'I don't think you'd want to see him. He's changed. So coa.r.s.e and unkempt. If you could turn him down at Amaryllis, you will certainly turn him down now.'

'Where is he?' Catherine persisted, and Tony said quietly: 'You'd better tell her, Laura.'

Laura hesitated a moment longer, and then opening her handbag, she took out a slip of paper. 'This is his address. But I warn you, he may not want to see you. He wouldn't let me in, and I've flown more than three thousand miles!'

Catherine turned the paper over. 'Coniston Street?' she said blankly. 'Where's that?'

Tony was frowning, 'Isn't it in Chelsea?'

'I don't know.' Laura was indifferent. 'I just asked a cab driver, and he took me there. I think he mentioned-King's Road.'

'That's Chelsea,' said Tony definitely. 'I thought I knew it. It's not far from the football ground, Cat.'

'I'll find it.' Catherine was already pulling on the fringed cream suede jacket that matched the calf-length dress she was wearing.

She paused al the door. 'Oh-and thank you, Laura.'

Laura moved her shoulders dismissingly. 'Don't thank me yet.

You may find it's a wasted journey. . .'

But Catherine had gone, the door banging noisily behind her.

It wasn't easy finding an unknown destination by the light of street lamps. A policeman gave her directions, but even then she almost missed the turning, and heard someone blare their car horn noisily at her.

Coniston Street was a row of old Victorian houses which had seen better days, presently converted into flats and bed-sitters.

The number on the slip of paper Laura had given her was forty-seven, and it was about half way down the street on the left-hand side. Catherine managed to squeeze her Mini into the s.p.a.ce between an old Vauxhall and a transit wagon, impatience making the exercise twice as long as it should have taken.

She climbed the steps up to the door and saw the list of tenants with their individual bell pushes. Two names too complicated to p.r.o.nounce, a Philips, a Kenilworth, and a Brown. And that was all. She examined them again, a little desperately this time.

Ahmed Mahdu... She gave up the rest. That definitely wasn't Jared. Viktor Czyviarchos. She shook her head. M. Philips.

Maurice Kenilworth. J. Brown. She backtracked. J. Brown. She fumbled in her bag and brought out the slip of paper again. The number was definitely forty-seven. It had to be worth a try. If only Laura had explained! But who could blame her for being a little obstructive?

She pressed the b.u.t.ton beside J. Brown, and wailed. Nothing happened. She pressed it again. And again nothing happened.

She sighed, and stepped back down a couple of steps to look up at the windows of the house. There were lights in several of them.

Going back up the steps again, she pressed J. Brown's b.u.t.ton once more, and when still it was ignored, she pressed the b.u.t.ton beside M. Philips. Whether Mr Philips, or Miss Philips, was expecting visitors, she never did find out, but at that moment the door released itself, and swung invitingly inwards.

She took a step forward, and then gulped as a group of Indians confronted her in the hall. But they smiled politely, and on impulse, she asked if they knew where she could find Mr Brown.

'The top floor,' one of them told her immediately, gesturing her towards the stairs. 'Two flights up.'

'Thank you,' she smiled. But she waited until they had closed the outer door behind them before starting the long climb.

She was breathless by the time she reached the second floor, and she stood for a moment regaining her breath before deciding which of the two doors to choose. Then, running a smoothing hand over her hair, she knocked determinedly at the one to her left.

She had half expected to have to stand there knocking for ages before he answered, but to her surprise, the door opened almost immediately, and an angry voice exclaimed: 'For G.o.d's sake, Laura-' before breaking off abruptly as he saw her. He stared at her disbelievingly for a long disturbing minute, and then she said quietly: 'Can I come in?'

She had been shocked by his appearance, she couldn't deny it, and when he stood reluctantly aside to let her enter the flat, her legs moved almost automatically. He was so thin, he was almost emaciated, and his hair was shoulder-length, matching the growth of beard on his chin. She would never have recognised him as the arrogant owner of Amaryllis, or indeed as Jared Royal, portrait painter and landscape artist. And yet he looked more like everyone's idea of an artist now than any other time in his life. If he had wanted to disguise himself, he could not have done it more successfully. But at what cost?

The flat was small and untidy, and it stank of stale liquor and cigarettes. Low windows were set in walls that sloped down with the eaves of the house, and through their open panes came the low rumble of the city traffic. Catherine gave one comprehensive look around her, and then she exclaimed frustratedly: 'Oh, Jared!

You could afford better than this!'

He had closed the door and seemed to be getting over the shock of finding her outside. 'This is good enough for me,' he told her harshly. 'You must excuse the mess. I never was much good at housework.'

Catherine drew a trembling breath. 'What are you doing in London, Jared? You told me you disliked the place.'

Jared shrugged. 'I thought it was time I expanded my field.'

'But' Catherine looked about her. 'Where's your painting equipment? Have you done any work since you came here?'

Jared held up his head, surveying her with a little of his earlier arrogance. 'I don't think you have the right to ask a question like that,' he said.

Catherine twisted the strap of her handbag. 'I don't, of course.

But-but finding you like this. ..'

'How did you find me? Laura, I suppose.'

Catherine nodded. 'She came-she came to the centre.'

'You're still working there, then?' He spoke heavily.

'Of course. Why shouldn't I be?'

He shook his head. 'Why have you come here, Catherine?'

Catherine made a helpless little gesture. 'To see you, of course.'

'Why?' His lips twisted. 'Did Laura tell you what a squalid little place I had? Did you want to see it for yourself?'

'No!' Catherine drew an unsteady breath. 'Jared, you have to tell me-why did you break your engagement to Laura?'

He walked slowly across the room to where a bottle of Scotch resided on a low table. He held up the bottle to show Catherine, but she shook her head, watching him as he bent and poured some for himself into a thick gla.s.s. He was wearing jeans, and as he bent to his task, his denim s.h.i.+rt parted from the waistband of his pants, revealing bony hips. It was the last straw as far as Catherine was concerned. With a little sob, she dropped her bag on the floor, and covered the s.p.a.ce between them, winding her arms around his waist from behind, pressing her face against the rough, sweaty material of his s.h.i.+rt.

'Jared, Jared!' she breathed, tears dampening her cheeks, wetting his s.h.i.+rt. 'Oh, Jared-I love you!'

He had stiffened as she touched him, the untasted gla.s.s of whisky halfway to his lips. He remained motionless for fully half a minute, and then he carefully lowered the gla.s.s on to the tray, and turning, put his hands on her shoulders, propelling her away from him.

'Now hear this!' he muttered roughly. 'I don't need your pity, Catherine!'

'Pity?' She stared up into his face. 'Jared, if I pity you, I pity myself as well. For-for all the time we've wasted.'

He thrust her away from him, tugging impatiently at the hair at the back of his neck, but his hands were shaking. 'What has Laura been telling you?' he demanded. 'Why have you come here now? Why now?'

Catherine spread her hands. 'I couldn't come sooner. I didn't know you were here.'

'And you didn't trouble to find out, did you?' he muttered bitterly.

'To find out?' She was confused. 'How could I have found out?

I've had no contact with you since I left.'

'But Liz wrote you. She told you the wedding was off.'

'Elizabeth-wrote to me?' Catherine blinked rapidly. 'When?

When did she write to me?'

Jared shook his head. 'I don't know exactly. After I told her it was all over between me and Laura.'

'But I got no letter!'

His eyes narrowed. 'You must have done.'

'I didn't, I tell you!' She made a futile gesture. 'Oh, what's the use, you won't believe me, will you?'

Jared took a step towards her. 'I asked Liz to write to you,' he said. 'I-G.o.d help me, I didn't know what to say-what I could say after- after-'

Catherine caught her breath. 'Did you-did you actually see the letter?'

Jared frowned distractedly. I don't know. No, no, I don't believe I did.' He closed his eyes. 'She didn't write, is that what you're saying?'

'If you believe me.'

His eyes opened again, staring into hers, bloodshot, but no less penetrating. 'I have to believe you,' he muttered. 'For my own sanity.' He took another step towards her. 'So you didn't know that-that Laura and I...'

'No. I thought you were-married.'