Sara Craven - Outsider

Natalie said, ‘And will you find it just as easy to walk away from us when you’ve had enough?’

His brows lifted. ‘This isn’t a whim, Miss Slater. It’s strictly business. I’m investing in Wintersgarth.’

‘I’m sure we’re all very grateful,’ she said. ‘Not that we need your money—we’ve always made out financially. But it’s natural I should be concerned about your—er—motivation. After all, you don’t exactly have a reputation for fidelity.’

‘Natalie!’ It was a bark from her father, his face thunderous. He turned to Eliot. ‘I must apologise for my daughter. Sometimes her tongue runs away with her.’

‘On the contrary,’ said Eliot, ‘If she has misgivings, it’s best that they’re aired now.’ He leaned across the table, his hazel eyes boring into Natalie’s. ‘My partnership with your father isn’t just a flash in the pan, Miss Slater. I’m coming to him to learn from his genius, and maybe contribute some skills of my own, and it’s for the rest of my life.’ He added drily, ‘I’m sorry if that doesn’t fit the image you seem to have of me.’

She was furiously aware she’d been cut down to size by an expert.

She said, ‘That’s—reassuring. But you live in the South. Your life has been based there, near the bright lights. Aren’t you going to find Yorkshire quiet and dull?’

‘Even the brightest lights can pall.’ He looked amused. ‘And I was born here, you know, although admittedly it was more by accident than design. My parents were staying with friends during the hunting season, and had totally misjudged the possible time of my arrival.’

Everyone was laughing with him, enjoying the slackening of tension, although the glance Grantham bestowed on Natalie was minatory, promising a tongue-lashing later.

She wished now she’d kept quiet. There was obviously nothing to be gained from confrontation.

‘What will you do about your lovely cottage?’ Beattie asked. ‘Keep it for weekends?’

‘No.’ Eliot shook his head. ‘I’ve already told one of the local agents to put it on his books.’ He paused. ‘But you’re not going to be lumbered with a lodger, Mrs Slater. I’m quite self-sufficient, I promise you, and your husband mentioned something about a self-contained flat over the garages that might be suitable, at least on a temporary basis.’

Natalie said sharply, ‘The flat? Dad, you didn’t!’

Grantham’s florid face adopted a moderately apologetic expression. ‘Maybe I should have talked it over with you, lass, but I’ve had other things on my mind.’ He turned to Eliot. ‘My daughter’s name is Drummond, actually. She was widowed three years ago, but the flat in question was built to accommodate Nat and her husband originally.’

Eliot’s eyes surveyed Natalie’s bare hands briefly, then he said, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. Naturally if it’s going to cause Mrs Drummond any distress, I’ll willingly look for an alternative.’

‘Nonsense,’ Grantham said robustly. ‘The flat’s there, and it’s empty. Nat never goes near the place. Anyway, have a look at it, and see what you think.’

Natalie didn’t want to hear any more. She pushed back her chair and stood up. ‘I won’t have coffee, Beattie. I have to telephone the feed merchant.’ She sketched some kind of smile round the table. ‘If you’ll excuse me …?’

The office was a big, cluttered comfortable room, and it seemed like a sanctuary to Natalie as she sank into the chair behind her desk. She had letters to reply to, messages on the answering machine to listen to, as well as the call to the feed merchant, but for a moment she could deal with none of it. The thought of Eliot Lang taking over the home where her marriage to Tony had started out with such high hopes sickened her. Although she might have felt differently if she’d liked him, she admitted, biting her lip. Or would she?

When she had moved out, to resume life in her old room in her father’s house after the funeral, she’d turned the key in the lock as if she was closing off a part of her life. It had never occurred to her that it might have to be re-opened. They had never needed the flat. The lads had their own block, and Wes had a cottage in the village.

She supposed she should have seen it coming, but she hadn’t …

She shivered, then drew the phone towards her and began to dial the feed merchant’s number. In deference to Beattie’s wishes, she would carry on here until Grantham’s health was assured, but then she would be off and running, she told herself grimly. And she would start looking round to see what jobs were available without delay. Grantham would find he was not the only one who could hold his cards close to his chest.

Her father came into the office half an hour later. She had half expected Andrew and Eliot Lang to be with him, but he was alone. He walked past her into the inner office, which was far smaller, and more luxuriously appointed, and which he kept for entertaining favoured owners.

‘Come through, will you,’ he said over his shoulder, as he disappeared through the door.

Oh, hell, Natalie thought, as she rose to her feet. Now I’m for it! And I swore I wouldn’t upset him.

She picked up the ledgers, and carried them through with her. She said meekly, ‘I thought you might like to see the accounts, Dad.’

‘All in good time,’ he returned. He reached for the big silver cigar box, drew it towards him, then with a resigned air pushed it away again. ‘I feel undressed without them, damn it,’ he muttered, then focused sharply on his daughter. He said grimly, ‘Disappointment is one thing, Natalie, although it’s fair to say you built your own hopes up. I never did. But bloody rudeness and cussedness is another, and it has to stop. Do I make myself clear?’ He paused. ‘I was at fault over the flat business, and I admit it, although I didn’t know you had any sentimental attachment to it. But it’s standing empty, and I’m paying rates on it, so it might as well be let or sold. And there’s no reason why Eliot shouldn’t use it while he looks for his own place. Is there?’

He waited, while she shook her head, slowly and reluctantly.

‘That’s settled then.’ he leaned back in his chair. ‘Eliot’s joining us here, Natalie, whether you like it or not, my girl. We signed the papers after lunch, so you’re going to have to make the best of it, and if you’ve any sense, you’ll get on with him.’ He gave her a dry look. ‘A lot of lasses seem to take to him. No reason why you can’t too, even if he has put your nose out of joint.’

‘Do you really think it’s that simple?’ she asked bitterly.

‘I think you’re making difficulties where there are none,’ he retorted calmly. ‘I’ll tell you something. Eliot’s more than ready to meet you half-way. He’d probably be glad of some company—someone to show him the countryside round here.’

Her lips parted in disbelief as she looked down at him. ‘You’re not serious?’

‘I’m not joking either.’ He shook his head. ‘You’ve been living like a nun for the past three years, Natalie, and don’t tell me any different. But you can’t grieve for ever, lass, so why not get out a bit—live a little?’ He smiled. ‘You never know, you might …’

‘No!’ Natalie exploded. ‘Oh, I know what you’re thinking, and if wasn’t so nauseating, it would be ridiculous. Your first attempt at matchmaking worked, so be content with that. There’ll never be another. Eliot Lang is the last kind of man I’d ever want to be involved with. His—type revolts me. If he ever touched me—I’d die!’ She stopped with a little gasp, looking anxiously at her father, but he seemed perfectly composed.

‘Well, if that’s how you feel, I’ll say no more.’ He picked up a paperweight carved in the shape of a horse, and began to toy with it. ‘But there’s no accounting for taste, I must say. He’s got my Beattie eating out of his hand already,’ he added with a faint grin. ‘But you’re going to be civil to Eliot, and you can start by showing him round the yard—and the flat.’