Her expression when he’d last seen her – he’d run into her by chance in London – had been one of bleak misery and reflected what he worried had become a blighted heart. He suspected that her mourning for Dieter was as devout as her sworn vow never to forgive their father for declining to give his blessing on her marriage.
She wasn’t alone in harbouring a grudge, for Kit too had his reasons for keeping his distance from his family. For him, it was his brother, Arthur, whom he couldn’t abide. The man’s arrogance knew no bounds, nor his sense of entitlement, which explained why, three years ago, he had had no compunction in stealing from under Kit’s nose his then girlfriend, Irene, the sister of one of his college friends.
Stupidly Kit had taken Irene home to meet his family, a mistake on his part because he’d only done it to show her off to his father, hoping absurdly to impress him – she was the daughter of Sir John Collingwood, a bigwig at the War Office. At the time, Kit had naively imagined himself in love with Irene, but then Arthur had made his move and that had put paid to anything further between them.
Irene and Arthur became engaged five months later and were married a short while afterwards. On principle, Kit had not attended the wedding and had not exchanged more than a few words with his brother since that fateful day he’d brought Irene home to Island House. It was petty of him, he knew, but the hole had been dug and he had no desire to climb out of it. Perfunctory civility was the best he could manage when it came to Arthur.
At Melstead St Mary, he alighted from the train amidst clouds of steam and the slamming of doors. As the stationmaster blew his whistle, Kit spotted Arthur striding on ahead along the platform. He must have been in one of the carriages at the front of the train.
Roddy had informed Kit last night on the telephone that a car would be waiting for him, and sure enough, there was a smart-looking Bentley parked outside the station. Still ahead of him, and presumably oblivious to his presence, Arthur came to an abrupt stop when the driver’s door of the Bentley opened and out stepped an exceptionally attractive woman in a large-brimmed hat. She was elegantly dressed in a pair of cream tailored trousers with a navy-blue short-sleeved top nipped in at the waist, and a pair of stylish sunglasses covered her eyes.
Whoever she was, she had the satisfying effect of stopping Arthur in his tracks.
Chapter Eight
When Romily had said she would drive Jack’s Bentley to the station to meet Kit and Arthur, Roddy had asked if she really wanted to put herself in the firing line in that way. ‘A taxi would suffice,’ he’d said.
‘And have them consider me a coward?’ she’d responded. ‘No, no, much better I go and meet them myself and break the ice.’
‘How about I come with you, just in case there’s any awkwardness?’
‘I’d feel happier with you keeping Jack company,’ Romily had said firmly.
She had also reasoned that she didn’t want to give the impression that she was playing the part of lady of the house awaiting the arrival of her guests. Greeting them at the door implied a level of prerogative that she didn’t feel was her right. Putting herself in the role of chauffeur suited her far better, and might make Jack’s sons more favourably disposed towards her.
But judging by the expression on the arrogantly handsome face of the dark-haired man whom she recognised from photos as Arthur, she had not achieved that objective. Some yards behind him was a far more appealing-looking young man whom she took to be Kit. Tall and slim, he was dressed in a rumpled jacket and equally rumpled flannels with an open-necked tennis shirt. His hair was fair, with flecks of gold shot through it, and he had an interestingly aesthetic face. In contrast, Arthur, in a sombre dark suit, as if dressed for the office – or a funeral – had a stockier build that hinted at middle age well before its time.
If the situation weren’t so grave, Romily might have felt anxious about this encounter, but Jack’s state of health had worsened dramatically overnight and she didn’t need Dr Garland to tell her that things were bad, very bad indeed. Her job today, and in the days to come, was to try and help bring about the rapprochement Jack desired for his family, to smooth the waters. If he were able to do it himself, Romily knew that Jack would apologise for all the mistakes he now acknowledged he’d made, but speech was beyond him. Would his family put aside their differences when they saw their father; would their hearts soften that he had been reduced to such a sorry state?
At the thought of how ill her darling Jack was, tears welled up in Romily’s eyes and she had to fight hard to keep them from spilling over. She loved him so much, and the thought that she was about to lose him filled her with a sadness she had never known before. But then she had never loved any man the way she loved Jack.
Glad of the sunglasses she was wearing, she steeled herself. There would be time for tears later; now was not the time to succumb to the pain of what she knew lay ahead for her. Instead she had to rally her courage and ensure that Jack’s last wishes were upheld. She pushed her shoulders back and moved away from the car to greet his sons.
‘You must be Arthur,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘I’m here to take you to Island House. And this,’ she said, looking over his shoulder, ‘must be Kit.’
Ignoring Romily, and her hand, Arthur spun round. ‘I didn’t know you were on the train, brother mine,’ he said. He sounded as though he were accusing Kit of some unpardonable offence.
‘Likewise,’ said Kit. ‘But then I wasn’t in first class. How do you do?’ he said to Romily, shaking her hand and smiling with an engaging frankness. ‘It’s very kind of you to meet us. We’d have made do with a taxi.’
‘That’s what Roddy said, but I vetoed the suggestion.’
Arthur turned his hostile eyes back on her. ‘Having established who we are, perhaps you’d care to do us the courtesy of telling us who you are?’ he said.
‘I’m Romily,’ she replied evasively, deciding to put off a full explanation. ‘Shall we get going? I’m sure you’re anxious to see your father. You can throw your luggage in the boot.’
‘I must apologise for my brother’s rudeness,’ Kit said from the back of the car once they were on their way. Just as she’d guessed he would, Arthur had opted to sit in the front with Romily.
‘It’s quite all right,’ she said, ‘I appreciate that it’s a difficult time for you.’
‘How is our father?’ asked Kit.
She met his gaze in the rear-view mirror. ‘Extremely ill, I’m afraid.’
Arthur twisted his head to look at her. ‘And just how do you know so much about our father’s state of health? You don’t look like a nurse; you’re much too expensively dressed. Are you the latest in his long line of mistresses?’
Romily changed gear and pressed her foot down hard on the accelerator, causing Arthur’s head to bounce back with some force. She decided to dispense with her plan to break the news gently. ‘I’m neither,’ she said. ‘I’m Romily Temple-Devereux, your stepmother.’
In the silence that followed, she drove at speed, her eyes firmly on the road. So much for wanting to smooth the waters!
