quiet knock, and putting Philip to one side, she slid out of bed and hurried into her dressing gown, a most unglamorous garment of camel-coloured wool which she had packed for its warmth rather than its looks. She opened the bedroom door and he was standing outside, a cup of tea in his hand.
‘Good morning.’ He was as expressionless as the Sphinx. ‘You slept well?’
‘Thank you,’ Kate heard herself being curt as she accepted the tea.
‘Perhaps you could hurry,’ he suggested blandly. ‘We have a lot to do....’
‘You don’t need me for any of it,’ she cut across his words and watched him fending off Philip’s advances. ‘You said last night that you didn’t need me, that you had all the information you required.’
‘But you will come with me, Kate.’ The remote, half smile curved his mouth. ‘I still don’t trust you, remember? I prefer to keep you in sight at all times until Saturday, you and the boy. After that there’ll be no need. Come to breakfast.’ He hoisted Philip under his arm and stalked off towards the kitchen.
Within fifteen minutes Kate joined him, dressed and ready for battle.
‘I don’t trust you, either.’ She was unsmiling. ‘You want Philip!’ She was interrupted by the little boy’s howl. ‘You’ve made his milk too hot,’ she scolded, and with an unsteady hand she diluted the contents of the cereal bowl with cold milk and restored the spoon to Philip’s small, fat fingers.
‘Then we shall watch each other.’ Jerome waited while she seated herself. ‘You’re too close now to your friend Gerald Twyford. A telephone call and he’ll be charging to your rescue on his pretty pale pink charger, ready to tear you from the grasp of the filthy capitalists.’
Kate folded her mouth firmly and remembered the bit about boring him to death while she mulled over the shadowy outlines of a plan. First, she must get to a telephone, and she retired into deeper silence to think about it.
They left the flat at ten o’clock and Kate’s protest about leaving without clearing up died on her lips. Jerome was as calm and cold as ever.
‘There’s a maid and cleaning service.’ He grasped her arm painfully and directed her to the bedroom. ‘We’re going shopping,’ he announced. ‘I to get a marriage licence and you, I presume, for some clothes for the wedding both for yourself and the boy. Also you’ll need some other clothes, things suitable for Southern Italy. I have a villa of sorts in Calabria and we shall go there, since you refuse to go without the child and I refuse to go where the gentlemen of the Press might find me, on honeymoon with not only a bride but a three-year-old boy who resembles me closely. I shouldn’t be embarrassed, but I don’t care to have you stumbling over explanations and trying to convince them that Philip is your nephew! The place in Calabria is primitive, but it will have to do.’
Kate raised her eyebrows. Jerome Manfred had given in! He didn’t treat it as giving in, of course. He made it sound as though he was doing her the most terrific favour. Arrogant swine, she swore to herself. But Calabria! That was down in the toe or heel of Italy, she wasn’t sure which, and she was not going to parade her ignorance for him to treat her to one of his contemptuous smiles.
‘Why do we have to go away at all?’ She wrinkled her brow as they went down in the lift. ‘I don’t like the thought of taking a little boy abroad. Suppose he was ill? Young children catch all sorts of things and I can’t recall whether he was ever vaccinated. I’d rather stay in England. You said the place there was primitive, suppose that the water supply isn’t pure? It easily could be in primitive places where there’s no proper drainage.’
‘It was you who specified somewhere warm, remember?’ Jerome was aggravatingly unmoved. ‘Somewhere, you said, where the boy could enjoy himself, somewhere warm. I’ve merely done the best I can to accede to your
‘Good morning.’ He was as expressionless as the Sphinx. ‘You slept well?’
‘Thank you,’ Kate heard herself being curt as she accepted the tea.
‘Perhaps you could hurry,’ he suggested blandly. ‘We have a lot to do....’
‘You don’t need me for any of it,’ she cut across his words and watched him fending off Philip’s advances. ‘You said last night that you didn’t need me, that you had all the information you required.’
‘But you will come with me, Kate.’ The remote, half smile curved his mouth. ‘I still don’t trust you, remember? I prefer to keep you in sight at all times until Saturday, you and the boy. After that there’ll be no need. Come to breakfast.’ He hoisted Philip under his arm and stalked off towards the kitchen.
Within fifteen minutes Kate joined him, dressed and ready for battle.
‘I don’t trust you, either.’ She was unsmiling. ‘You want Philip!’ She was interrupted by the little boy’s howl. ‘You’ve made his milk too hot,’ she scolded, and with an unsteady hand she diluted the contents of the cereal bowl with cold milk and restored the spoon to Philip’s small, fat fingers.
‘Then we shall watch each other.’ Jerome waited while she seated herself. ‘You’re too close now to your friend Gerald Twyford. A telephone call and he’ll be charging to your rescue on his pretty pale pink charger, ready to tear you from the grasp of the filthy capitalists.’
Kate folded her mouth firmly and remembered the bit about boring him to death while she mulled over the shadowy outlines of a plan. First, she must get to a telephone, and she retired into deeper silence to think about it.
They left the flat at ten o’clock and Kate’s protest about leaving without clearing up died on her lips. Jerome was as calm and cold as ever.
‘There’s a maid and cleaning service.’ He grasped her arm painfully and directed her to the bedroom. ‘We’re going shopping,’ he announced. ‘I to get a marriage licence and you, I presume, for some clothes for the wedding both for yourself and the boy. Also you’ll need some other clothes, things suitable for Southern Italy. I have a villa of sorts in Calabria and we shall go there, since you refuse to go without the child and I refuse to go where the gentlemen of the Press might find me, on honeymoon with not only a bride but a three-year-old boy who resembles me closely. I shouldn’t be embarrassed, but I don’t care to have you stumbling over explanations and trying to convince them that Philip is your nephew! The place in Calabria is primitive, but it will have to do.’
Kate raised her eyebrows. Jerome Manfred had given in! He didn’t treat it as giving in, of course. He made it sound as though he was doing her the most terrific favour. Arrogant swine, she swore to herself. But Calabria! That was down in the toe or heel of Italy, she wasn’t sure which, and she was not going to parade her ignorance for him to treat her to one of his contemptuous smiles.
‘Why do we have to go away at all?’ She wrinkled her brow as they went down in the lift. ‘I don’t like the thought of taking a little boy abroad. Suppose he was ill? Young children catch all sorts of things and I can’t recall whether he was ever vaccinated. I’d rather stay in England. You said the place there was primitive, suppose that the water supply isn’t pure? It easily could be in primitive places where there’s no proper drainage.’
‘It was you who specified somewhere warm, remember?’ Jerome was aggravatingly unmoved. ‘Somewhere, you said, where the boy could enjoy himself, somewhere warm. I’ve merely done the best I can to accede to your
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