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She blinked back her tears; the hall was just as she remembered, the floor highly polished stripped oak, the elegant staircase with the lovely banister she had slid down many a time in the past. She squeezed her eyes shut as the memories swamped her mind.
In a state of shock, she allowed Jake to lead her into the dining-room, and she sat on the chair he held out for her without a murmur. Even the furniture was the same. The large polished oak dining-table gleamed in the subdued lighting. Obviously it was not a hotel. Greedily she looked around, filling her senses with the house she had always adored. But as she slowly got over the shock of being there so unexpectedly Katy began to notice subtle differences. Whoever owned her old home now had certainly spent a lot of money on it.
A new Chinese silk carpet covered the polished floor; the walls were papered in what looked like a Sanderson silk in rich shades of blue and gold; the drapes at the long windows were also new, the deep Austrian blinds ruffled and trimmed in toning colours adding to the air of old elegance.
Katy's glance finally settled on the man seated opposite her. 'Jake,' she demanded urgently, 'how did we get here? How did they know we were coming?' She didn't understand what was going on. They had left the apartment in London, supposedly to part for good. Jake's throaty laugh burst into her troubled thoughts. 'It isn't funny.'
'To answer your question, a car telephone; but food first, Katy, and then we will talk, hmm... ?'
The dining-room door opened and any reply Katy might have made was stopped in her throat. The elderly gentleman in typical butler's garb entered, pushing a trolley loaded with silver dishes. She glanced down at her worn jeans and old sweater. She should have changed for dinner. The occupants of the house would not be impressed by her rather too casual attire. 'Jake, I must get changed. What-----?'
'Relax, Katy, and enjoy your food; there won't be anyone else joining us, I can assure you.'
How did he walk into her mind like that? she wondered for the thousandth time. Then for the next half-hour Katy munched her way through iced melon, followed by a delicious fresh salmon steak in a thick creamy sauce, and a massive slice of chocolate fudge cake with fresh cream, and to Katy it all tasted like sawdust. When the old man arrived with the cheese and biscuits she was ready to knock Jake's head off.
All through the meal he had flatly refused to answer any of her questions. If he said 'later' one more time she would kick him. She was bursting with curiosity and Jake was smiling like the cat that caught the canary but refusing to enlighten her.
'Come along, Katy; I can see the suspense is killing you.' Rising, he walked around the table and helped her to her feet.
'What the hell is going on?' she demanded.
Jake smiled down into her flushed face, his dark eyes gleaming. 'Patience.' And, flinging an arm casually around her shoulder, he ushered her out into the hall and across into what she remembered as the drawing-room.-.
She should have shaken off his arm, she told herself, but was reluctant to part with the- comfort he offered. Her mind was in a spin and her legs felt none too steady. Meekly she allowed him to pull her down beside him on a large over-stuffed sofa, her eyes darting around the room in wonder and delight.
This room, she recalled, had been very formal with stiff high-backed leather chairs, and hard leather chesterfields. Now it was a symphony in pinks and greens, with matching fabrics and drapes, the ceiling a dreamy pink with the deep cornices and mouldings picked out in a rosy white. From the picture rail hung a delightful collection of water-colours, all depicting the Cornish countryside. Over the elegant marble fireplace a larger portrait of a young girl had pride of place.
Katy's mouth fell open in shock. It was herself at thirteen. She remembered her father insisting she have her portrait painted as a birthday present for him. When she had thought about it at all she had assumed her father still owned it.
'Now are you beginning to understand?' Jake's voice asked softly in her ear.
She jumped at the intrusion into her troubled thoughts. 'No, I am not,' she responded flatly, and, turning wary eyes to his, she searched his face for some glimmer of enlightenment.
Jake took her two hands in his and held them on his thigh, his dark head bent to mask his expression from her. 'The house is mine, Katy.'
Jake's! She couldn't believe it. Katy made to pull her hands free, but his fingers only clasped her small hands tighter. Sitting so close to him, his shoulder brushing hers, their knees touching, was having an unsettling effect on her overwrought nerves.
'Do you remember when and why your father sold it?' he asked in an oddly unsure tone.
'How could I forget?' she said bitterly. It still hurt even now. 'Darling Monica hated the country, had no intention of being stuck in the middle of Cornwall for the rest of her life. I can't see why you need to ask, Jake; if you remember you were there at the time. I was fifteen and you told me I should accept my father's wishes, and everything would be OK. Another lie!' She snorted inelegantly.
'Exactly, Katy: you were fifteen, I had known you for one year, and I bought this house from your father. Think about it. If, as you imagined, I was having a red-hot affair with Monica why would I spend a fortune on a house she hated?'
She stared at Jake dumbly, unable to speak. His dark brown eyes watched her with a strange intensity as if he was willing her to reach some conclusion. She frowned. 'I did wonder if your flat in town was your only home.' She spoke her thoughts out loud. 'It is nice, but with your wealth-----'
'I sold my boyhood home when Father died and kept this one; surely that tells you something?'
What was he trying to say? Katy puzzled. He had bought her old home, certainly not for Monica. He fancied it, she thought, and with a shrug of her shoulders she told him so.
'True, I like the house, but as I'm a bachelor it's far too large for me. I bought it with one particular person in mind.'
'One particular person,' she parroted.
'Yes.' His lips curved in a lazy smile and quite deliberately he raised his eyes to the portrait over the mantelpiece.
Deep down inside a tiny flicker of hope unfurled. Was Jake trying to say he'd bought it for her? Could it be possible... ? Could she have been wrong about him and Monica? A snippet of conversation popped unheralded into her head. He had told her last week he had broken his leg not once but twice while skiing. His story about the hotel could be true...
'You broke your leg twice.' She had not meant to say it out loud.
