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Without Gayle’s capable hands controlling the day-to-day running of the office Maggie had found herself becoming bogged down in paperwork, and the last thing she had needed had been a long complaining telephone call from a man she had headhunted unsuccessfully the previous year and who had now decided that he had made the wrong move in electing to take a job competitive with the one she had been authorised to offer him. He had wanted her, in his own words, to ‘fix things’ so that he could accept her client’s offer after all.
It was only sheer professionalism that had allowed her to grit her teeth and bite back her instinctive response to his patronising manner—that and the satisfaction it had given her to tell him sweetly that, unfortunately, ‘fixing things’ was quite simply beyond her capability.
Having opened her apartment door, she picked up her post before closing it again and then locking it. The block her apartment occupied was in a part of the City that had certain and specific restrictions on alterations to the elegant late-Georgian buildings, which meant that it was devoid of any kind of modern high-tech security features—much to Maggie’s grandmother’s relief.
‘I’m sorry, Maggie, but I just don’t trust those horrid little “speak into me” things—they never seem to be able to hear me properly,’ she had complained, whilst Maggie had stifled her giggles. ‘And I certainly feel much happier knowing that you are properly protected by a good old-fashioned doorman and that your apartment door has a proper kind of lock on it. Modern technology is all very well, but you just can’t beat a real lock,’ Arabella Russell had pronounced firmly. And Maggie had known better than to argue with her.
Whenever her grandmother visited Maggie’s apartment she invariably brought a little ‘home-made something’ with her—not just for Maggie, who she was convinced did not eat properly, but also for Bill, the commissionaire, a widower who lived in a small apartment in the basement with a large ginger cat, and who seemed to conduct a running battle with the block’s central heating and air-conditioning systems.
The arid heat of the central heating system felt stifling to Maggie after the cold outside, and just recently the apartment’s silence had begun to grate a little on her nerves. She had even actually dreamed about waking up to birdsong and the sounds of the countryside.
Ridiculous, of course. She hated the countryside. It was dirty, and wet, and filled with impossible men wearing boots and driving battered old Land Rovers, masquerading as poor farmers whilst all the time owning squillions of pounds which they used to stop people like her from buying any of their wretched countryside.
Shrugging off her coat, Maggie started to open her mail. And then stopped, dropping the letter she was reading in furious disbelief. What on earth…? How could…? Angrily she walked into her small kitchen and then walked back again, picking up the letter she had thrown aside and rereading it.
Finn understood that she had wanted to buy the Dower House for her grandmother, and on that understanding, and on condition that she never at any time moved into it herself with her lover, he was prepared to rent the property to her at a favourable peppercorn annual rental, to be agreed. If she would write back to him confirming her agreement to these terms then he would instruct his solicitor to begin the necessary legal proceedings and to draw up a lease.
Maggie couldn’t believe what she was reading. The arrogance. To dare to…
Did he think she would actually…? And what did he mean, on condition that she never at any time moved into it herself with her lover? She did not have a lover. How could he possibly think that when he…when she…Oh, yes, now she could see the City trader coming out in him. Of course to him the idea of sexual exclusivity would be laughable.
Write back to him! Maggie was seething. Oh, no. She had a far, far better idea than that!
CHAPTER SIX
AS SHE drove west along the motorway Maggie was mentally rehearsing just what she intended to say to Finn. The ‘time out’ effect of a night to sleep on her fury had done nothing to lessen it. That he should dare to patronise her in such a way! And what had he hoped to gain from changing his mind? Her eternal grovelling gratitude? After that condition he had so insultingly outlined? Did he really think that if she had been involved with another man she would have behaved with him as she had, never mind allow him to dictate to her how, when or where she saw her lover?
Engrossed in her fury, she let the miles fly by, and it was only the sharp pangs of hunger gripping her stomach that reminded her how long it was since she had last eaten. Last night she had been too tired and then too furious to even contemplate eating. This morning she had been too busy thinking about what she intended to say to Finn and how she intended to make sure that he never made the mistake of trying to patronise her again to bother with any breakfast. A cup of coffee had been enough, but now her body was insisting that it needed nourishment!
Irritably Maggie drove more slowly, looking for somewhere to eat. It seemed a sensible idea to drive straight into Shrewsbury rather than waste time driving down country lanes, even it did mean a detour.
The smart wine bar where she eventually ended up having her lunch reminded her very much of her City haunts. As she waited for her meal to be served she studied the eager group of young men and women seated at a table close by. Absently eavesdropping on their conversation, she was forced to acknowledge that there was very little difference other than that of location between them and their London peers. She had even heard one of the young men announcing that he had turned down a move to London, though it would have meant a higher income, because he didn’t want to leave his friends or his family.
Maggie gave a small shiver. Had Tanya been right when she had teasingly claimed that Maggie was getting out of touch, that she was clinging to values and beliefs that were no longer viable? The girls had told her that commitment with a capital ‘C’ was the new buzzword, that it was generating an excitement, a sense of expectation and hope that everyone was eagerly reaching out to.
‘Deep down inside everyone wants to be loved,’ Lisa had claimed. ‘It’s just that our generation has had a hard time getting round to admitting it. We were almost born cynical. We looked at our parents and their lifestyles and said, “No way, thanks. We’d rather be self-reliant and single than risk what they put themselves through.” But now it’s different—we’re different. We can see where they got it wrong and we can see how important and valuable, how empowering the values they misguidedly thought unimportant actually are. Although naturally they do need a little fine tuning,’ she had acknowledged without the slightest trace of any irony. ‘And best of all,’ she had added mischievously, ‘it’s men who are getting the commitment bug really badly this time round. Love, marriage, babies, families—that’s where it is now, Maggie. The “me” generation and everything it represented is gone. Right now the big thing is the “us factor”—sharing, caring, being. And I think it’s wonderful.’
‘I never realised your second name was Pollyanna,’ had been Maggie’s dry response, but deep down inside she had registered Lisa’s comments—registered them and wanted to reject them because of the way they made her feel.
Unwilling to pursue her thoughts, Maggie paid for her lunch and left the wine bar. It would take her just over an hour to drive to the estate. The pithy observations she intended to make to Finn on his letter to her would not take very long to deliver and, since she had no intention of hanging around whilst he responded to them, she should be back on the road and on her way back to London before dark.
As she hurried to where she had parked her car she was aware of a sharp drop in temperature, and huddled protectively into her coat.
‘I’ve searched all over London for that coat,’ one of her friends had complained indignantly when she had seen her wearing it. ‘There’s a two-month waiting list for it. Where on earth did you get it?’
Smugly, Maggie had told her.
‘Shrewsbury? Where on earth is that?’ her friend had demanded.
As she left the cathedral city behind Maggie could see the grey-white clouds piling up slowly against the horizon. The countryside looked cold and bare, sheep huddling together motionlessly as she drove past them. At least Finn’s alpaca should be used to winter weather with their heritage. Maggie started to smile as she remembered their cute small faces and huge dark eyes, their long necks weaving from side to side as they had watched her approach them curiously.
Was she going mad, grinning inanely to herself over the actions of farm animals? And worse still worrying about them?
This time she found her A road without any difficulty at all; indeed, she didn’t even need to refer to her map in order to find the turn off for the Shopcutte estate.
The first thing she noticed as she turned into the drive was how much barer of leaves the trees now were; the second was that outside the house, right in front of the front door, she could see Finn’s four-wheel drive.
