Catching Katie Read online

  Irritated, he rang Viola’s office. After his conversation with the American, it occurred to him that Viola might decide to talk to the press about the rumours without checking back with him first. She too had left her answering machine on. Haydon left curt instructions: no conversation with journalists about Tremayne shares. He heard her pick up the phone.

  ‘Viola?’ he said, halting mid-message. ‘Viola, is that you?’

  Without speaking, she put the phone down again, cutting the line.

  ‘Women!’ yelled Haydon, throwing the telephone down in disgust.

  Simon took Katie to a small French bistro round the corner. He clearly knew it well. The waiters recognised him. A complimentary carafe of red wine appeared on the gingham tablecloth. Katie demanded an explanation.

  ‘Oh, they used to hang some of my small landscapes. When I was at the Elderflower. Sold quite a few, too. You should try it.’

  Katie looked round. There was no art on the rustic walls now.

  ‘No one’s come up to my standard since,’ Simon asserted.

  ‘And you think I could?’ Katie mocked gently.

  ‘We—ell. . .’

  She laughed aloud.

  Between his ex-wife and his PR adviser, Haydon was so angry that, utterly out of character, he went on a refrigerator raid. And, of course, found nothing there but the litre of milk that Andrew had bought for his own use.

  Haydon felt like throwing things. Then he remembered what he had said to Andrew. The irony of it struck him at once. Dangerous things, promises, he thought. They had a nasty habit of creeping up on you and making you keep them.

  He laughed and bowed to the inevitable. Five minutes later he was walking through the doors of the bistro, just as he had promised Andrew. And, as he did, he heard the long-legged redhead laughing.

  Haydon stopped dead. His eyes raked the crowded little restaurant. He found her: She was sitting at a discreet table in the far corner with a man who was talking hard.

  ‘Good evening. A table for one?’ said the friendly waiter.

  ‘Yes,’ said Haydon absently.

  He did not take his eyes off Katie. She obviously knew her companion very well. She was shaking her head, making her auburn locks shimmer in the candlelight. Her eyes were dancing. Haydon frowned.

  ‘This way, sir.’

  The waiter took him to a discreet alcove. Haydon followed, still looking at the oblivious Katie. But when the waiter pulled out a chair he paid sudden attention. The alcove cut off his view of all but a single corner of the room. The wrong corner.

  ‘Not here,’ said Haydon decisively. He looked round and discovered a free table where he could keep an eye on Katie and her companion. ‘I’ll take that one.’

  The waiter maintained impassivity with an effort. ‘Of course, sir.’

  He gave Haydon a menu with a flourish. Haydon raised it to a strategic height and studied Katie from behind it. The man she was with, he decided, looked far too old for her.

  Unaware that he was under observation, Simon said, ‘Never mind about the bistro. I told you I’ve just got a third share in a gallery. We could put you into an exhibition.’

  He sat back and waited for her reaction. He was not disappointed.

  Katie blinked. ‘M-me?’

  He put down his glass and leaned forward, scanning her face intently.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I’ve been teaching for twenty years. I’ve never had a student like you.’

  She was shaken. ‘You’ve always been very encouraging, but. . .’

  Simon made a rude noise. ‘Encouraging, twaddle. You’re the best painter I know. Potentially.’

  ‘You didn’t like my paintings this evening,’ interpreted Katie.

  He did not answer that directly. Instead he said, ‘Why don’t you stop messing about and just get on with it? It’s almost as if you’re afraid of how good you are.’

  There was no mistaking his seriousness. Katie’s stomach turned over. She clutched her middle in her habitual gesture.

  Watching, Haydon half rose to his feet. He sank back into his chair almost at once. But for a moment he had felt a rush of concern that astonished him.

  He was annoyed with himself. Had not Viola and Carla in their various ways demonstrated to him exactly how well able women were to take care of themselves? Why should the redhead from next door be any different? She had certainly not shown any signs of vulnerability when she fell off the wall and into his arms. Rather the reverse.

  No, she could certainly look after herself. She had told him as much. Haydon raised the menu and concentrated.

  Simon put his fingers together. ‘The gallery is putting on a summer exhibition of young English artists. I’ve talked to Tatiana and she’s agreed to back my judgement. There’s a slot for you if you want it, Katie.’

  He sat back and waited for her reaction. He was not disappointed. Her eyes lit up.

  ‘For m-me? You mean—show my paintings? A real show? With proper professional artists?’

  Simon nodded, pleased with his effect.

  Katie’s delight dimmed. ‘I haven’t got enough work. I mean—not for this summer. Christmas, maybe.’

  ‘This summer,’ Simon said firmly.

  ‘I couldn’t possibly get it done in time.’

  Simon was impatient ‘I’m not looking to fill a whole room, you know. Just four or five of your best canvases. Seven at a pinch.’

  The light went out of Katie’s eyes. ‘Nothing is finished.’

  ‘So finish them,’ Simon said robustly. ‘When is half-term? ’

  ‘Next week. But—’ Katie shook her head. ‘I’d have to use the studio at school and the Head doesn’t like it. Anyway, you didn’t like the stuff I showed you this evening.’

  Simon was not discouraged. ‘Then do some canvases just for us. A project with a theme.’

  ‘I wish,’ Katie said drily. ‘All in half-term?’

  Simon banged his fist down on the table. ‘Hell, you’re too good an artist to waste your time baby-sitting delinquents.’

  He glared at her, frustrated. She shrugged, but the look of guilt was unmistakable. Behind his menu, Haydon saw it and frowned. He ordered at random from the hovering waiter, not taking his eyes off Katie’s drooping head.

  Simon breathed hard. ‘You,’ he said, ‘don’t deserve your God-given talent. Now—’

  The lecture lasted through the next course. Katie picked at delicious chicken in a mushroom sauce and let it waft past her. She did not resent his strictures. In a way she agreed with him. She ought to have the courage of her convictions, she knew.

  But she just didn’t believe in herself enough. And that was that. She did not need Simon to tell her so.

  She let her eyes wander round the bistro. Simon, full of reforming fervour, did not notice. Then suddenly her eyes widened. She stiffened. Simon did not notice that either.

  The waiter put a plate in front of Haydon and poured his wine. Haydon thanked him, but absently. He was studying Katie’s companion. In spite of his age, he was a handsome man. And becoming more animated by the minute. By contrast, Katie was utterly silent. In fact she looked downright uncomfortable.

  Haydon frowned again. Was the man responsible for that discomfort? He found himself wanting to seize the man by his open-necked collar and make him shut up so she could get a word in edgeways.

  And then he realised. It was not her companion who was keeping Katie’s eyes on the tablecloth and her antennae at the ready. It was himself.

  She was aware of him. She was not looking at him. She was not even letting her eyes stray in his direction. But she knew he was there. And it disturbed her.

  Haydon found his simmering anger evaporating like magic. All of a sudden he felt great. He stretched out his long legs under the table and gave himself up to the pleasure of disturbing Katie Marriott.

  Across the room her eyes lifted. For a sizzling moment they locked with his. He picked up his wine and toasted her with it. Katie flushed to her e
yebrows.

  She leaned forward. ‘Simon—’ she said urgently.

  ‘What you need is some time to paint in a decent environment,’ he announced.

  She looked at the man opposite. He was laughing. She set her teeth. She was not going to remember his hands on her. She was not. But it was almost impossible to keep it out of her mind when he lay back in his chair like that, watching her unashamedly, with that devilish amusement dancing in his eyes. It was quite clear, Katie thought indignantly: he was not even trying to disguise his enjoyment of her discomfiture.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ she said impatiently. ‘But—’

  ‘You’ve got to stop being defeatist. Take hold of your life.’

  From the man’s ironic expression, Katie deduced that he was tuning in to Simon’s harangue. She put her knife and fork together.

  ‘Have you finished?’

  ‘What?’ He looked down at his plate. ‘Yes, I suppose so. But what about dessert?’

  ‘I’d like to go back,’ Katie said firmly. ‘I want you to look over the rest of my portfolio.’

  Simon looked horrified. ‘What about coffee?’

  Katie was pushing her chair back. ‘I’ll give you coffee.’

  ‘You’ve changed,’ muttered Simon, sotto voce.

  Katie pretended not to hear that. She was almost dancing with impatience. A waiter hurried up to present the bill. Simon put down a credit card.

  ‘You know, I wonder if the Tremayne Trust might be the answer to your problem,’ he mused.

  ‘Tremayne!’ yelped Katie.

  Behind Simon’s back the man’s head came up. She averted her gaze swiftly. But not before she had seen his blue eyes narrow to slits.

  ‘Not the man himself,’ Simon said, amused. ‘I hear he’s a complete philistine.’

  Katie was horribly conscious of the unwavering stare.

  Her temper started to rumble. Quite suddenly she stopped trying to keep her voice low.

  ‘I’m not surprised he’s a philistine,’ she said tartly. ‘He has a gardener who behaves like a bouncer and a garden that looks as if it’s been planned by committee.’

  The man mimed an expression of mock horror, laughing.

  Katie glared back. The waiter returned with the credit card slip and Simon signed it with a flourish. Katie slipped her hand through his arm.

  ‘Never mind about his garden,’ said Simon. ‘Think of all the lovely money. Very creative stuff, money.’

  The waiter, holding open the door to the street for them, effectively masked the man watching her. But Katie knew he was still there. And listening. She wished Simon would shut up.

  ‘Now, what you really ought to do,’ he said largely, ‘is get hold of the millionaire and take him in hand. Aesthetic education is all he needs.’

  ‘Full-scale reform, more like,’ muttered Katie.

  He put his arm round her waist and they went out into the May evening. The waiter closed the door.

  At his table, Haydon’s face was thunderous.

  Reform? Reform him? So he was philistine, was he? A girl who had no more sense than to go clambering about on other people’s walls thought she had the right to pass judgement on other people’s taste?

  All his earlier satisfaction had gone, dispelled in a surge of cold anger. He had had enough of manipulative women. He was tired of them thinking they could rearrange his life for their convenience, by God he was. The crazy girl from next door was the last straw.

  Well, she was due a lesson. It would be his pleasure to provide it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BACK at the house, Simon went briskly through the rest of her work. Katie gave him coffee and padded after him as he drank it, prowling from canvas to canvas. She could not interpret his expression.

  Eventually he said, ‘Why did you stop painting the human figure?’

  ‘Couldn’t afford the models,’ she said promptly.

  He looked round eloquently. ‘Plenty of mirrors here. You could use yourself.’

  Katie tensed. Her hand went to her midriff unconsciously. But all she said was, ‘Boring.’

  He accepted that without comment. ‘A portrait maybe?’

  ‘I can’t get on with them.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Simon drank coffee absent mindedly but his eyes were shrewd. ‘How do you know?’

  Katie shrugged. ‘Oh, you spend too much time trying to get a likeness, not enough on the quality of the painting.’

  ‘Or is it too intimate?’ Simon suggested. ‘Artist and model.’ He seesawed his hand in the air. ‘They get too involved for you?’

  He was closer than he thought. Katie managed a laugh but it sounded strained.

  ‘You’re thinking of nineteen-twenties Paris. I wouldn’t expect to sleep with my models.’

  ‘So what else is new?’ muttered Simon. He sighed. ‘When you told me you’d changed your address, I thought for a moment you’d moved in with a lover.’

  Katie looked at him.

  ‘Stupid of me,’ he agreed drily. He folded his arms, tucking the coffee mug into his elbow, and surveyed her curiously. ‘What went wrong, Katie?’

  But she laughed at him. She had had a lot of practice at that over the years. Simon shrugged and drained his coffee.

  ‘You know your own business best.’ He cast a last professional look over the canvases. ‘I’ll take that and that. Maybe the market scene. And one or two more if you can come up with something interesting. Try dramatic. No flowers or bluebell woods.’ He punched her shoulder lightly. ‘You know you can. You’ve got a month.’

  He drained his coffee and gave her the mug. Katie showed him out.

  His footsteps echoed briskly on the pavement. The square was deserted. Suddenly Katie felt very alone.

  It was a hot night, with just the faintest breath of wind. Katie looked up. But the stars were obscured by the sodium lights of London. Hot, anxious and alone—and she couldn’t even see the stars.

  ‘Typical,’ she muttered.

  She went back into the house and looked at her paintings again. She could see exactly what Simon meant. They were too controlled, too careful.

  ‘Damn,’ said Katie in a rush of fury. ‘Damn, damn, damn’

  I don’t mean to play safe all the time, she thought. And yet somehow I always seem to. How am I going to change if I don’t realise I’m doing it?

  She prowled restlessly round the house. Inspiration did not dawn. But on the top floor she found herself standing in front of the large dormer window that led out onto the roof terrace.

  ‘Just what I need,’ Katie said aloud. ‘A good long, uninterrupted look at the stars, after all. That should put it all into perspective.’

  She unlocked the window and stepped out into the warm night. The sounds of the street were no more than a distant rumble. Up here, above the streetlights, the stars looked clear and surprisingly close in spite of the urban glare. Katie weaved her way between yucca trees in their terracotta pots and leaned on the balustrade. She looked up, sighing with pleasure.

  There must be a party in one of the gardens. Katie could make out lights among the trees and there was an intermittent lilt of distant voices. A woman laughed. In spite of the warmth of the night, she clutched her arms round herself.

  Unbidden, a thought came into her mind. Playing safe could leave you lonely, too. Only when it had become a way of life, how did you stop it? Suddenly she was furious with herself. She banged her fist against the balustrade in frustration.

  ‘Who’s there?’ It was a voice she knew.

  Katie froze in the darkness. The last thing she wanted was another duel with the man next door. Angrily, she dashed away a tear she should never have allowed herself. She held her breath, hoping he would go away.

  A powerful torch beam split the night. There must be a parallel balcony on the millionaire’s house. Presumably her enemy was up there watering the plants—just as she ought to be doing in the Mackenzies’ house, now she came to think of it.

  The light swung r
ound in her direction.

  ‘Well, well.’ A drawl came out of the darkness. ‘What a surprise.’

  Katie forced the tears back to source and snapped her spine upright.

  ‘Good evening,’ she said without enthusiasm.

  The beam found her. Behind it the man was only a shadow but he felt like a hostile mob. Katie was suddenly grateful for the gap between the houses. She blinked and put up a hand to protect her eyes.

  ‘Do yon have to shine that thing full in my face?’

  He deflected it. But only so he could swing the beam up and down her body. Under ordinary circumstances she would have cringed. But now Katie was too furious to be embarrassed.

  ‘Satisfied?’ she snarled.

  He chuckled and pointed the torch away. ‘Just chocking. I thought you were a burglar.’

  Katie stopped shading her eyes and stepped thankfully into the semi-shadows.

  ‘Well, now you know rm not, perhaps you’ll go away.’

  He took no notice of that, as she might have expected.

  Instead he came to the side of his own balcony and leaned on it as if he was prepared to stay there all night.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Of course.’ Her voice was muffled.

  ‘Then what are you doing up here?’

  ‘I was looking at the stars,’ Katie said with heavy irony. ‘Before you roped me in for the “rabbit in a headlight” impression, that is.’

  ‘Looking at the stars? Alone?’

  Katie winced. ‘Why not?’ she said pugnaciously.

  ‘What happened to the boyfriend?’

  For one shocked moment she thought he could read her mind. It felt as if he had just looked into her face and picked up the frequency: an adolescent boy retreating in horrified disgust, a girl locking herself into nice safe solitude, a talent mummified, withering. . . It was so vivid that Katie felt naked. She flung up a hand to cover her face.

  But not before Haydon had seen her expression. It shocked him. ‘What is it?’ he demanded.