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'Judith?' Luke sounded brisk, in a hurry.
Her heart jumped. 'Yes,' she said, trying to sound cool.
'I'm afraid I won't be able to be at the board meeting tomorrow. Sir Isaac Kalsterg is flying in first thing in the morning and he wants to talk to me. You'll have to sit in for me. Could you come round here for a quick briefing? I've got all the documents here.'
She swallowed, her lips dry. 'Yes, when?'
'Now,' he said, sounding surprised. 'Sorry to drag you out on a night like this—I'd come over there, but I'm expecting some urgent calls, I can't go out. It won't take long.' A smile entered his voice. 'You're always very quick to pick things up.'
'Thanks,' she said, her mouth compressing. 'I'll be there in a quarter of an hour.'
'See you,' he said, and rang off. Judith replaced her own phone slowly, her hand trembling, and stood there for a minute frowning at nothing, then hurried into the bedroom to get ready. She didn't have time to change; if Luke objected to her arriving in old jeans and a blue shirt that was his problem. She ran a comb through her hair, renewed her make-up and slipped on a short beige raincoat. Looking at herself in the mirror helped to restore her sense of perspective—the very ordinary girl looking back at her was no threat to Baba's happiness. Luke wasn't going to look twice at her. All the insanity was on her side; she almost convinced herself she felt sorry for the poor man. It must be a bore having women lose their heads over you, and she could be sure she wasn't the first. Look at the way Caroline Rendell had behaved at his engagement party! Luke had been tight-lipped with rage, and who could blame him? Whatever sort of relationship he had had with Caroline she had behaved appallingly; she must have been beside herself because he had rejected her in favour of Baba, and Judith felt a painful fellow feeling for Caroline now that she was so personally involved. It seemed ironic that she should have snarled at Luke because she saw him with Caroline at the nightclub that night only to go slightly crazy over him herself later.
She left the flat and drove away with rain washing down her windscreen and the wipers clacking uselessly back and forth, barely clearing the glass long enough for her to see the rear lights of the car in front of her. The streets were almost deserted; sensible people were not going out in this downpour, why hadn't she told Luke that she was already in bed asleep when he rang? Because you didn't think of it, you dummy, she told herself, slowing even further as she skidded around a corner on three wheels.
Luke lived in a palatial Nash house in a circular terrace in Regents Park. Judith had to drive past it to find a parking space and then run back with bent head and rapidly saturated clothes to the gate. She dived under the portico and rang the bell, shivering.
The door was opened by Luke in a cream and blue diamond-patterned sweater and cream pants. He looked at her with compunction. 'My God, you're wet! The rain must have got worse.'
'Can I drip inside? It's cold out here,' said Judith through her chattering teeth. He moved back and she scuttled inside. Luke removed her wet coat and she looked down at the damp mark she had left on his carpet. She didn't apologise; served him right.
'There's a bathroom on the left at the end of the hall, you'd better dry your hair,' Luke told her. 'I'm sorry to have dragged you out in this weather; I didn't realise how hard it was raining. Would you like some hot milk or coffee? Or a glass of whisky or brandy?'
'Coffee would be fine, thanks,' said Judith, following him down the hall. Her feet sank into the deep pile of the pastel blue carpet, she looked back and saw her tracks following them like the muddy pawprints of a dog. Luke glanced back too and laughed.
'Never mind them—one of the servants will deal with them in the morning.'
Judith gave him a dry smile; wasn't he lucky, then? She went into the bathroom he indicated and rubbed her lank hair vigorously; it looked even worse than usual afterwards. She combed it, but it still looked hung round her face like string. She took off her shoes and placed them near the radiator; they might dry out in half an hour.
As she left the bathroom in her damp jeans and bare feet Luke emerged from another door carrying a tray of coffee and two cups and saucers. Judith's brows rose and he looked quickly at her expression. 'Now what?' he asked warily.
'Did you make the coffee yourself?'
'Why shouldn't I? I make very good coffee.'
'What happened to all the servants? Don't tell me they're on strike.'
'Unless I'm expecting visitors I always give them the evening off—there's no point in them hanging around in the kitchen with nothing to do. I think they're probably still watching a war film on TV. They live upstairs.' He waved a hand vaguely. 'The top floor.'
'How many are there?'
'Full-time? Only two—a married couple. Joe's my chauffeur and his wife runs the house; she has several part-time women helpers, there's a lot to do.' He pushed open another door, balancing the tray on his hip and Judith followed him into a comfortable sitting-room. Luke put the tray down while she was looking around her at the smooth, ivory walls and pale green carpet, the rectangular couches facing each other with a squared black table between them, the floor-length olive green curtains shutting out the rainy night An enormous landscape painting hung on one wall: a shadowy oil-painting of some age whose high elms and green hills led the eye further and further into it to be lost in a misty perspective. Judith glanced at the other objects in the room, quickly noting a bronze urn, a noble and rather forbidding stone head, a lacquered cabinet of black and gold and several bowls of spring flowers whose scent was faint and poignant. On the table was laid out a chess game: beside it a pile of folders and a book open face down on the wood.
Luke looked over his shoulder at her: 'Come to the fire. Cream and sugar in your coffee?'
'No, black, no sugar, thanks.' Judith knelt by the fire, holding her hands to it. She was rather surprised to see it: it was ears since she had sat by a fire, in New York everything was centrally heated.
Luke moed. handed her the coffee. 'Here you are.'
His fingers touched her own; she kept her eyes down. 'Thank you.' To distract herself from his proximity she asked: 'Do you play chess with yourself?'
'When there's nobody else available. I play master games from books, trying to think out a way of beating the other man.' He sat down in a corner of one of the couches, nursing his cup. 'Do you play?'
'A little.'
'I thought you might.'
She looked at him, hearing the dry note in his voice, and he smiled at her. 'Anyone with a mind like yours would have to be a good chess player.'
