Sara Craven - A High Price To Pay

‘I doubt whether either of us would live long enough to see that happy day,’ he said sarcastically. ‘May I know what your salary is?’ She told him, and he sighed. ‘Miss Mortimer, this is the real world, not some fairy tale. It would take every penny you earn, and considerably more besides, and leave you with nothing to live on. I don’t think any house is worth such a sacrifice, do you?’

‘I don’t think you understand. This is our home, and has been for generations …’

‘I understand perfectly. But the reign of the Mortimers was coming to a halt anyway. Unless you or your sister plan to persuade your future husbands to change their names to Mortimer to carry on the old tradition?’

‘I wasn’t thinking particularly of Melanie or myself,’ Alison said in a low voice. ‘But being turned out of her home will be incredibly hard on my mother. She—she isn’t very strong …’

‘So I gather.’ There was no softening in his face. ‘I shall try and make sure she receives every consideration. Or did you think I was going to evict her bodily into some convenient blizzard?’

‘I don’t know what I thought,’ Alison said wearily. ‘But I do know that nothing you can say or do will cushion this kind of blow, especially following on from my father’s death.’

‘If your father had lived, he would have been bankrupt,’ Nicholas Bristow said harshly. ‘I can’t think that would have appealed to her either. In the present circumstances, she can leave Ladymead with dignity, and an income to maintain her, although it won’t pay the upkeep of another house of this size,’ he added, rather grimly.

‘I think I’ve managed to work that out for myself,’ Alison said bitterly. ‘The fact is, Mr Bristow, you saw this house and wanted it, and that’s why you won’t consider any alternatives.’

‘Unless you plan to come into a fortune, Miss Mortimer, there are no alternatives,’ he said. ‘But let me assure you that my dealings with your late father will remain private. As far as the outside world is concerned, I am in the process of purchasing Ladymead from your father’s estate, as it’s now too large for your family’s needs.’

‘Please don’t expect me to be grateful.’ Alison’s chin lifted.

‘No, I think I wrote off that possibility from the moment you entered this room,’ he returned grimly. ‘Next time you want to ask favours, Miss Mortimer, a softer approach might stand you in better stead.’

‘I don’t plan to approach you again for any cause whatsoever,’ Alison snapped. ‘Goodbye, Mr Bristow.’

She went straight to her room and threw herself across the bed. She wanted to scream and cry, and beat the mattress with her bare fists, but she was beyond tears. After a long time she sat up slowly, staring around her at all the dear familiar things which had surrounded her since childhood. Nothing stayed the same for ever, she knew that, but she hadn’t expected the changes in her life to be so sudden, or so far-reaching.

Presently she would have to go downstairs again, to be at her mother’s side when the bad news was broken to her, but first she needed to think—to consider practical possibilities, so that she could make some positive suggestions about how they could put the pieces of their lives together.

And, if she was honest, she needed a breathing space before she could face Nicholas Bristow again.

Alison’s nails curled into the palms of her hands. This room no longer seemed a sanctuary for her. Already, his presence seemed everywhere. It made her writhe to remember him sitting on the edge of her father’s desk, master of all he surveyed. He’d lost no time in making himself at home, she thought with angry bitterness.

But she had to admit that her suggestion that she might be able to buy back the house somehow had been a ridiculous one, prompted by a sense of sheer desperation.

She curled up against the pillows and began to think. Without her housekeeping duties at Ladymead to take into account, she could accept Simon’s offer of full-time work, she thought, and the increase in salary, plus her mother’s annuity, would allow them a reasonable standard of living.

She sighed soundlessly. Only Catherine Mortimer wasn’t used to reasonable standards. She’d been indulged and spoiled all her married life, with every expensive whim catered to. She would not take kindly to any reduction in her level of spending.

And the other major problem was Melanie’s school fees. She was being considered, Alison knew, as a possible Oxford entrant, and it was imperative for her education not to be disrupted. But the cost of maintaining her at Mascombe Park was formidable.

Even if Simon were to make her a partner, she would still only be able to afford a percentage of the cost, Alison thought forlornly. It was late in the day to start thinking about scholarships, even if there were any available. Yet Mel deserved her chance.

Reluctantly Alison uncurled and stood up. Problems were building up like storm clouds, but there was no way to avoid in the inevitable cloudburst, or even postpone it.

She held her head high as she went downstairs.

‘Well, I think the sooner we leave Ladymead, the better,’ Alison spoke with quiet determination.

‘But where can we go?’ wailed Mrs Mortimer. Alison noted with compassion that her mother’s hands were shaking. Yet during that long painful confrontation in the study, she had behaved with amazing control and dignity, listening without comment as the situation was outlined to her by a clearly embarrassed and unhappy Alec Liddell.

Nicholas Bristow had had little to say too, she recalled, his dark face almost sombre as he listened. She wondered if he had been feeling any kind of compunction.

She said, ‘I’ll talk to Simon when I go back to work on Monday, and see what he suggests. I know there’s nothing very suitable on the books at the moment, and he might advise renting somewhere for a time.’

‘ Rented property? ’ Mrs Mortimer couldn’t have sounded more anguished if Alison had suggested a tent in the middle of a ploughed field.

She sighed. ‘I don’t see what other choice we have. You surely don’t want to remain here on Nicholas Bristow’s charity?’

‘I can’t imagine what he wants with a house like this,’ her mother said bitterly. ‘It’s far too large for a bachelor.’

‘I don’t suppose he’s going to be a bachelor for much longer,’ Melanie, who had been sitting staring listlessly into the fire, roused herself to say. ‘There’ve been heaps of stories in the papers lately about him and Hester Monclair. They reckon when her divorce goes through, they’ll be married. She’s divorcing her husband for unreasonable behaviour, and he’s considering cross-petitioning for adultery, citing Nick Bristow.’ She giggled. ‘That’ll stir up this village!’

‘Melanie!’ Her mother spoke with sharp disapproval, her mind diverted momentarily from her own troubles. ‘Where in the world did you learn all those distasteful things?’

‘One of the women who cleans the dormitories brings in her Sunday papers for us,’ Melanie said promptly. ‘She says it’s only right we should know what wickedness there is in the world.’

‘Well, I think I shall write to Miss Lesley when you return to school.’

‘Don’t you mean “if"?’ Melanie muttered, but in too low a voice for her mother to hear. Alison shot her a warning glance.

‘Mr Bristow’s personal affairs are no concern of ours,’ she pointed out. ‘The least we can do is leave him in peace to conduct them. And that means finding somewhere else to live as quickly as possible.’

‘But where are we going to find with sufficient room to accommodate us?’ Mrs Mortimer demanded. ‘There’s the grand piano to consider, for one thing.’