Sweet Surrender (The Dysarts) (2 page)

Not that she couldn't have driven home to Friars Wood for a fleeting visit before now. But running home at every possible opportunity was an indulgence Kate had made herself crack down on a long time ago.

After supper Abby helped wash up and clear away, by which time Kate's mane of dark hair was dry, and curling down her back in glossy profusion, much to Abby's admiration. As they worked together Kate en
couraged her to talk, drawing her out about her life in London before coming to Foychurch, and learned that Abby missed her schoolfriends there, but loved her new home in the country.

‘Miss Dysart,' said Abby after a pause, her voice so forlorn Kate's heart was wrung, ‘can I ask you something?'

Kate braced herself. ‘Ask away.'

‘Do you think Mummy will still love me the same when she's got a new baby?'

‘I can assure you that she will, Abby,' said Kate, thinking on her feet. ‘I've got three sisters and a brother, and
my
mother loves us all. But in a special way for each of us, because we're all different people.' A bit sentimental, she thought wryly, but it was worth it to see the strain fade from the worried little face.

Deciding a dose of mundane television was the best diversion for a while, Kate tuned in to an innocuous game show, and half an hour passed without more heart-searching because Abby, to her great triumph, gave some correct answers to the questions put to the contestants. Before the show ended there was a knock on the door, and Kate opened it to a man with shaggy fair hair, massive shoulders, and a rugged face with laughter lines raying from eyes which looked down at her in blank astonishment.

‘Good evening, Does Miss Dysart live here?'

‘I'm Katharine Dysart—' But Kate got no further before a small figure hurtled past her and flung itself into the man's arms.

‘Uncle Jack, Uncle Jack—you came!'

Abby's uncle swept her up into a bear hug. ‘Of course I came, muggins. Sorry I'm late.' He smiled at Kate over
the fair head burrowing against his shoulder. ‘Jack Spencer. We spoke on the phone.'

‘How do you do? Please come in.'

‘Down you go, sweetheart.' Abby's uncle set his burden down, his smile warm for Kate. ‘My mother's deeply grateful to you, Miss Dysart. She apologises for not coming on with me, but she was feeling rough after the flight, so I dropped her off with my father at Hope House first. My parents send their thanks.'

‘It was no trouble at all,' Kate assured him. ‘We've had a very nice evening, haven't we, Abby?'

The little girl nodded fervently. ‘I helped make supper, Uncle Jack, and we ate it in here because Miss Dysart doesn't have a table, and we watched television, and Daddy rang, but the baby still hasn't come—'

‘Whoa!' said her uncle, laughing. ‘You've obviously had a ball, chatterbox. Now, let's get you home to bed.'

While Abby made a trip to the bathroom before the ride home, Kate seized the chance of a private word. ‘Mr Spencer, when Abby's father reports next will you tell him she's afraid Mummy won't love her anymore once the new baby comes?'

‘Good God!' He stared at her, aghast. ‘Don't worry. I'll put Tim in the picture the first minute I can.'

‘Thank you.' Kate glanced up with a smile as the little girl came hurtling through the door at the foot of the stairs. ‘Steady on, there.'

Abby smiled shyly at Kate. ‘Thank you very much for having me, Miss Dysart.'

‘It was a pleasure, Abby. See you next week when we get back to school.'

Once Jack Spencer had settled his niece in the Jeep he turned to Kate. ‘My thanks again, Miss Dysart. My mother's been in a state all the way down the motorway,
anxious about both her girls. Not,' he added, ‘that it was necessary with Abby. She obviously had a great time here with you.'

‘As much as she could do in the circumstances.' Kate smiled at him. ‘I wonder if I could ask a favour?'

‘Anything at all.'

‘Will you let me know when the baby arrives?'

He grinned. ‘Right—though you won't thank me for waking you up in the small hours. I'll ring in the morning. Always supposing the new arrival's made it by that time.'

‘Heavens, I hope so,' said Kate with feeling. ‘For everyone's sake.'

He eyed her curiously. ‘You're very young to be a teacher, Miss Dysart. Is this your first year in the job?'

She chuckled. ‘No, indeed. Not by a long way.'

‘Then you must be older than you look.' He cast a glance at the small face pressed to a window, watching them. ‘Time to go. Goodnight. And thank you again.'

Kate went back in the house in a thoughtful mood. Abby's ‘Uncle Jack' might not fit her preconceived idea of him exactly; he was older by far for a start. But he looked capable of carrying hods and laying bricks with the best of them.

The phone rang yet again later, when Kate was getting ready for bed, and she snatched it up eagerly. ‘Oh—it's you, Alasdair.'

‘Sorry to disappoint you,' he said wryly. ‘You were obviously expecting someone else.'

‘I was.'

‘Has your little visitor gone now?'

‘Collected by her uncle an hour ago. I was just on my way to bed.'

‘Already?'

‘I had a busy day, as we teachers do, followed by an evening trying to entertain a little girl desperately anxious about her mother.' She made no attempt to smother a yawn.

‘I'm obviously keeping you, so I'll make it brief. What should I buy young Dysart for a christening present?'

‘You don't have to buy anything. I'm sure Adam doesn't expect it.'

‘You're to be godmother, he tells me. So what have
you
bought?'

‘I've asked Adam to keep his eye out for a claret jug.' Kate waited, sure that Alasdair had quite different reasons for the phone call.

‘It struck me afterwards,' he went on, ‘that I could have doubled back to see you later this evening when you were free.'

Did it really? ‘It wouldn't have been convenient, Alasdair. Besides,' she added frostily, ‘I'm told I'll be seeing you on Sunday anyway.'

‘Ah. You don't approve.' The deep voice, with it's hint of Edinburgh accent, was timber-dry.

‘It's nothing to do with me.'

‘But if you don't want me there, Kate—'

‘Why on earth shouldn't I? We can have a nice chat about old times,' she said sweetly.

‘I'd hoped to do that tonight.' He paused. ‘I'm back in the UK for good, by the way. Promotion.'

Kate digested this in silence for a moment, then shrugged, unseen. Whether Alasdair lived in Britain, America, or on the moon, made no difference to her any more.

‘Congratulations,' she said eventually. ‘Discovered a new wonder drug?'

‘Something like that. I'll fill you in when we meet.'

‘Alasdair, I should have asked this sooner. Whose funeral was it?'

‘My grandmother's.'

‘I'm so sorry.'

‘Thank you. I'll miss her.' He paused. ‘Kate, can we meet tomorrow?'

‘No can do. I'm driving home after lunch. Goodnight, Alasdair, I'll see you on Sunday—'

‘Don't ring off,' he said, in a tone which put her on her guard. ‘If I wait until Sunday I probably won't get you alone. And after seeing you again, Kate I'm more determined than ever to solve the mystery.'

‘What mystery?' Though she knew well enough.

‘Oh, come
on
—you know what I'm getting at. You were the most brilliant physics student of your year at Cambridge, Katherine Dysart. What in hell happened to make you waste your talents on a village school in the back of beyond?'

K
ATE
held on to her temper with difficulty. ‘Look, Alasdair, we went through this last time we met, and the answer's still the same. I don't consider it a waste. I'm a good teacher, and I get damned good results with my pupils. Nor,' she added fiercely, ‘do I look on Foychurch as the back of beyond. It's a friendly, thriving village community. Which suits me down to the ground. I'm a country girl born and bred, remember?'

‘I do remember. But that doesn't answer my question, Kate. It was common knowledge that your tutor thought he had another Madame Curie in the making,' Alasdair reminded her.

‘Then he was sadly mistaken,' she snapped. ‘And now we've cleared that up, I'll say goodnight.'

‘Kate, listen—'

‘Alasdair, I don't
want
to listen. I'm tired. Goodnight.'

Kate liked to sleep with the curtains drawn back, and, in bed at last, she stared for a long time at the dense blackness of the country night sky, restless and wakeful after Alasdair Drummond's probing.

Her older sisters, Leonie and Jess, had early possessed the self-confidence that matched their looks. So had Adam, their brother. But Kate, younger by several years and far less extrovert, had compensated for lack of confidence with a highly developed work ethos, coupled with a brain that had won her a place at Trinity College, Cambridge, to read Physics.

And there she had met Alasdair Drummond, a veteran
of four years at Edinburgh University, and a year at Harvard, and, by the time she'd met him, engaged in research at Trinity. To her incredulous delight, after running into her on her first day Alasdair had taken Kate under his wing, a process which had boosted both her self-confidence and her appearance so rapidly she'd soon been besieged by so many of her male peers she'd been dumbfounded by all the attention. And hadn't cared a bit for any of it, because she'd fallen hopelessly in love with Alasdair Drummond the moment they'd met.

Kate, too intelligent to deceive herself, had known from the start that the passion was one-sided. Alasdair, five years older in age and a lot more than that in experience, had made it plain he was fond of her, and had taken it on himself to protect her from male predators. But she'd had no illusions about his feelings for her. He had treated her like a kid sister, never as a potential lover. Trying hard to be content with the relationship, she'd cheered him on at rugby matches, felt passionately grateful when he'd taken her with him for a drink afterwards, and preened in secret because it had been taken for granted that they were a couple. But the nearest thing to physical contact with Alasdair had been an occasional—and brotherly—peck on the cheek.

Madly in love for the first time, Kate had eventually grown so frustrated her work had inevitably begun to suffer. Then suddenly, just before Alasdair had been due to leave Cambridge for his first job, she'd locked herself away in her room with only her books for company, pleading pressure of work. She'd refused to socialise with anyone, a mystified Alasdair Drummond included. And, though he'd left to work for an international pharmaceutical company soon afterwards, he'd made a habit
of contacting Kate occasionally afterwards to check on her progress.

Then Alasdair's job had taken him to the States, and communication between them had become rare. But, while visiting his grandparents in Gloucester on a trip to the UK, he had made time for a memorable visit to her home just before Kate started in her first teaching post. In response to his bluntly expressed disapproval of her choice of career she'd lost her temper completely, told him that what she did with her life was her own affair, not his, ended by ordering him out of the house, and had heard no more from him since—until his reappearance today outside school.

Alasdair Drummond, the brilliant research chemist Kate had known in the past, had risen with meteoric speed in his career; she knew only too well. And the combination of success and maturity, she thought irritably, was probably a terrific turn-on for most women. But not for her.

Kate's phone woke her on the stroke of seven next morning, and she shot up in bed to grab it, breathless as she answered.

‘I obviously woke you up, Miss Dysart,' said Jack Spencer with remorse. ‘I'm sorry.'

‘It doesn't matter,' she assured him. ‘Any news?'

‘John Spencer Cartwright arrived a few hours ago, yelling his head off and complete with a full set of everything. My sister's in reasonably good shape, apparently—unlike Tim, who's a gibbering wreck.'

Kate chuckled. ‘Thanks for letting me know. How's Abby?'

‘On cloud nine because her mother talked to her on the phone the moment she could. Tim passed on your message, so Jules made very sure her special girl knew
Mummy loved her to bits.' Jack Spencer added, ‘My sister's deeply grateful to you. On all counts.'

‘Only too glad to help.'

‘Miss Dysart, Abby tells me you're going home for half-term?'

‘That's right.'

‘When are you leaving?'

‘After lunch. I don't have far to go. I'll be home in time for tea.'

‘May I ask where “home” is?'

‘Stavely. About twenty miles from Pennington.'

‘I know it well. Great part of the world. Enjoy your holiday.'

‘I will. Thank you for ringing, Mr Spencer.'

Kate dressed, went downstairs to make breakfast, and afterwards tidied up the cottage. She packed her bags, then went next door to tell Mr Reith, her elderly neighbour, that she would be away for the week, checked that he still had her spare key, then accepted his offer of a cup of coffee and stayed chatting to him for half an hour.

Later, when she was setting time switches to turn her lights on after dark, Kate answered a rap on her front door to find a smiling Jack Spencer, in faded jeans and battered leather flying jacket, holding out an enormous sheaf of early spring flowers.

‘Good morning, Miss Dysart. These are by way of thanks.'

‘How—how very kind,' said Kate, taken aback. ‘Please come in.'

‘I'm not holding you up?'

‘Not at all. Do sit down. Coffee?'

Jack Spencer shook his head regretfully and perched on the cushioned window seat. ‘No, thanks. I'm taking Abby and my parents out to lunch shortly, while Tim
gets some sleep. Then we're off to the hospital to meet the heir apparent.'

Kate chuckled. ‘I bet Abby can hardly wait.'

‘My mother likewise,' he assured her, keen blue eyes trained on her face. ‘You look different this morning, Miss Dysart.'

‘More like a teacher now my hair's tidy, you mean?'

‘I suppose I do. Pity to hide those curls away like that—' He flung up a hand. ‘Too personal. Sorry.'

She smiled ruefully. ‘I'm way past the age of letting my hair hang down my back.'

‘If you say so.' He grinned. ‘Last night you looked like a schoolgirl.'

‘It's a long time since I was, but thanks just the same, Mr Spencer.'

‘Call me Jack.'

Kate shook her head. ‘Not appropriate.'

‘Because you're Abby's teacher?'

She nodded. ‘The Head prides himself on knowing parents by their first names, but, along with the rest of the staff, I stick to Mr and Mrs.'

‘But I'm not a parent,' he pointed out. ‘Uncles don't count.'

Aware that she was still clutching the vast bouquet, bridal fashion, Kate set it down on a table. ‘Please thank Mr and Mrs Cartwright for these, Mr Spencer.'

‘Actually, the flowers are from me—Miss Dysart.' His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

‘Then thank
you
,' she said, surprised. ‘How kind of you to go out of your way to bring them.'

‘I came because I wanted to see you again,' he said simply, and stood up. ‘I must be off.'

A rather bemused Kate went to the door to open it. ‘Goodbye, Mr Spencer.'

‘One day I'll get you to call me Jack,' he promised, and strode down the path to his mud-splattered Cherokee, which now had company. A dark blue Maserati was parked behind it.

Kate stared as she saw Alasdair exchange a brief, unsmiling nod with Jack Spencer, who gave her a wink and a conspiratorial grin before he drove off.

Kate stood in her doorway with arms folded, her face expressionless as she watched Alasdair Drummond open her small wicket gate and stroll up the path towards her. His shoulders were less massive than Jack Spencer's, but he was half a head taller, and, though he wore jeans as vintage as her previous visitor's, it was their only point in common. Alasdair wore polished loafers with a transatlantic air to them, his casual polo shirt was white, and his sweater a shade of almost-pink a less masculine man would have found hard to carry off. The general effect, she thought with amusement, was the acme of elegance compared with her previous visitor.

But this time, without yesterday's shock clouding her vision, Kate was able to look at Alasdair more objectively. His brown hair, once worn close-cropped, was now long enough to curl a little, and his face was leaner than Kate remembered. But the steel-grey eyes were as searching as ever.

‘Hello again, Kate,' he said, his smile wary.

‘I didn't expect to see you today, Alasdair.' She backed out of reach as he leaned down towards her. ‘Don't tell me—you were just passing?'

He straightened, his eyes irritatingly indulgent. ‘No. I drove here specifically to see you. I thought we could have lunch somewhere before you take off for Stavely.'

‘Sorry. I've had lunch—'

‘With the guy I saw leaving just now?'

Leaving him to draw his own conclusion, Kate motioned him inside the cottage, cautioning him to stoop as he went in. ‘Since you've driven so far I'll make some coffee.' She glanced at her watch. ‘I needn't leave for half an hour or so.'

‘Thank you for sparing the time,' said Alasdair wryly, staring at the huge mass of blooms. ‘Impressive little tribute. If I'd come bearing flowers would my welcome have been warmer?'

‘Have I been rude?' said Kate, unmoved. ‘Sorry, Alasdair.'

‘I'm very conscious,' he said, the flavour of Edinburgh very distinct in his voice, ‘that I've intruded.'

‘Of course you haven't,' said Kate lightly. ‘I'll just make that coffee.'

‘Can I help?'

‘No. Just sit down. You make my house look small.'

‘It
is
small. Doll-size, like its owner.' He looked her up and down. ‘You haven't grown since I saw you last, Kate.'

‘Not in inches. But in maturity just a little, I hope.' Pleased with her exit line, she left him alone.

Alasdair shook his head when she came back with sugar and milk on the coffee tray. ‘I drink mine black, remember? You should do; you made it often enough for me at one time.'

‘I'd forgotten,' said Kate, rather pleased to find this was the truth. At one time she'd tried so hard to forget everything about Alasdair Drummond, and in minor ways, at least, it seemed she'd succeeded.

Like her other visitor, Alasdair took the window seat, his endless legs stretched out in front of him as he looked round at the small room, which was given an illusion of space by an inglenook fireplace and Kate's
knack of keeping the curtains drawn back on the walls to expose the entire window.

‘Do you light that every day?' he asked, indicating the log fire laid ready.

‘No. Only on winter weekends, when I have time to clear it up in the mornings afterwards.' Kate perched on the edge of a chair she normally never used, hoping its bronze velvet looked good with her yellow sweater.

Alasdair drank some of his coffee, regarding her steadily over the rim of his mug. ‘The man I saw leaving just now—is he important, Kate?'

‘Yes,' she said without hesitation. It wasn't a total lie. Jack Spencer
was
important—to his niece, his mother, his sister, and probably to several more women besides. Maybe a wife, for all she knew. It wouldn't hurt Alasdair to think he was important to Kate Dysart, too. ‘How about you, Alasdair? You must have someone important in your life?'

He shook his head. ‘Not any more. I shared an apartment with a lady until recently, but that's over now.'

‘Why?'

‘I suppose you could say she dumped me. Amy liked her New York lifestyle too much to try life in the UK with me.'

Which was enlightening.

‘Too bad,' said Kate coolly. ‘Where will you be based?'

‘Near enough to commute. For the time being, at least.'

‘Where from?'

‘Gloucester. My grandmother left the house to me.' He finished his coffee and stood up. ‘I've held you up long enough.'

Kate went with him to the door. ‘Sorry about lunch.'

‘Maybe I'll be luckier tomorrow.' He gave her a wry, assessing look. ‘In fact, Miss Dysart, I'm likely to get a far warmer welcome from your family than I have from you.' When she showed no sign of penitence Alasdair's jaw tightened. ‘The man I saw leaving just now—is he coming on Sunday?'

‘No. My family don't know about him yet.' Which was true enough. ‘Thanks for coming, Alasdair. See you in church.'

He took her by the shoulders, looking into her eyes. ‘Cool reception or not, it's good to see you, Kate.'

She returned the look head-on, doggedly ignoring her body's reaction to his touch. ‘It's good to see you, too, Alasdair.'

‘I'd prefer a touch more enthusiasm!' He stooped to kiss her cheek, paused for an instant, then kissed her again, his mouth hard and hot on hers. ‘See you tomorrow, Kate.'

She shut the door after he'd gone and sat down with a thump, needing time to get herself together. How she'd longed for him to kiss her at one time. And in some ways it had been worth waiting for. Alasdair was as good at kissing as he was at everything else. Kate gave a sudden gurgle of laughter. Normally her only Saturday morning encounters were with the postman and old Mr Reith next door.
This
morning had been in a different league altogether. Jack, as he wanted her to call him, was something new in her experience of men. Not a rough diamond, by any means, but compared with expensively educated Alasdair he was no smooth sophisticate either. Nevertheless, Jack Spencer's in-your-face directness was refreshing. He'd made it flatteringly plain he found her appealing.