button to take an internal call.
‘Miss Callaghan here … Oh good, I’ll be right over.’ She put the phone down and started for the door. ‘Cordelia’s arrived. I’ll go and collect her from the main building. There’s some cold meat and salad in the fridge. Could you stick it on a plate for me? She’ll doubtless be starving. Always is. Dressing’s on the top shelf, by the tomatoes.’ And she was gone.
Lindsay went into the kitchen to carry out her instructions. Her mind was still racing over Paddy’s problem, though she knew there was nothing she could do to improve the situation. She was also considering the more general problem of how to persuade Lorna Smith-Couper to grant her the sort of interview that would provide more than just a piece of padding for her feature on the school. Then there was Cordelia Brown. She might also be good for a feature interview to sell to one of the women’s magazines.
Lindsay had never met the writer, but she knew a great deal about her from what she had read and from what mutual friends had told her. Cordelia Brown was, at thirty-one, one of the jewels in the crown of women’s writing, according to the media. She had left Oxford half-way through her degree course and worked for three years as administrator of a small touring theatre company in Devon. Then she had gone on to write four moderately successful novels, the latest of which had been short-listed for the Booker Prize. But she had broken through into a more general public awareness with a television drama series, The Successors, which had won most of the awards it was possible to be nominated for. A highly acclaimed film had followed, which had appeared at precisely the right moment to be described as the flagship of the re-emergent British film industry. All of this, coupled with an engaging willingness to talk wittily and at length on most subjects, and an acceptable quota of good looks, had conspired to turn Cordelia into the darling of the chat shows.
As she shook the dressing and tossed it into the bowl of salad, Lindsay had to admit to herself that she was looking forward to their meeting. She had no great expectations of finding the writer sympathetic; on the other hand, she might be considerably more pleasant than her television appearances would lead one to imagine. She heard the door opening and the sound of voices. She went to the kitchen door just as Cordelia dropped a leather holdall to the floor. The woman had her back to Lindsay and was speaking to Paddy. Her voice sounded richer face to face than it did coming from the television set which managed to strip it of most of its warmth. The accent was utterly neutral, with only the faintest trace of the drawl Lindsay had become familiar with at Oxford and with which she had renewed her acquaintance earlier that evening at dinner. ‘There’s four or five boxes, but I’m too bloody exhausted to be bothered with them now. Let’s leave them in the car till tomorrow.’
Then she turned and took in Lindsay standing in the doorway. The two women scrutinised each other carefully, deciding how much they liked what they saw, both wary. Suddenly the weekend seemed to hold out fresh possibilities to Lindsay as Cordelia’s grey eyes under the straight dark brows flicked over her from head to foot. She felt slightly dazed and weak with something she supposed was lust. It had been a long time since she had felt the first stirrings of an attraction based on the combination of looks and good vibes. Cordelia, too, seemed to like what she saw, for a smile twitched at the corners of her wide mouth. ‘So this is the famous Lindsay,’ she remarked.
Lindsay prayed that her face did not look as stricken as she felt. She nodded and smiled back, feeling a little foolish. ‘Something like that,’ she answered. ‘Nice to meet you.’ She found herself desperately hoping that what she’d heard about Cordelia’s taste in lovers was true.
She was spared further conversational efforts just then by the demands of Cordelia’s stomach.
‘I say, Paddy, any chance of some scoff?’ she demanded plaintively. ‘I’m famished. It took much longer than I thought to get here. The traffic was unbelievable. Does the entire population of London come to Derbyshire every weekend? Or are they simply all desperate to see the new one-act play by Cordelia Brown?’
Paddy laughed. ‘I knew you’d be hungry. There’s some salad in the kitchen. I’ll just get it.’ But before Paddy could make a move, Lindsay had vanished into the kitchen. Cordelia shot a look at Paddy, her eyebrows rising comically and a smile on her lips. Paddy merely grinned and said, ‘I’ll fix you a drink. What would you like?’
‘A Callaghan cocktail special, please. Why the hell do you think I was prepared to come back to this dump?’ As Paddy mixed the drinks, Lindsay returned with Cordelia’s meal. She promptly tucked in as though she had not eaten for days.
Paddy strained a Brandy Alexander out of the shaker and passed it to Cordelia, saying, ‘Lindsay is writing a feature about the fund-raising.’
‘Poor old you. But you’re not an old girl, are you?’
‘Do I look that out of place?’ asked Lindsay.
‘No, not at all. It’s simply that I knew that I’d never seen you before either at school or at any of the old girl reunions. I’d have remembered. I’m good at faces. But you’re not one of us, are you?’
‘No. I know Paddy from Oxford. I was up when she was doing her teacher training. And she talked me into this. I’m freelancing at the moment, so it’s all grist to the mill.’ Lindsay’s response to the assurance of the older woman was to adopt the other’s speech pattern and to polish up her own accent.
‘And what do you make of us so far?’
‘Hard to tell. I haven’t seen enough, or talked to many people yet.’
‘A true diplomat.’ Cordelia resumed eating.
Paddy chose a Duke Ellington record and put it on. As the air filled with the liquid sounds, Lindsay thought, I’m always going to remember this tune and what I was doing when I first heard it. She was embarrassed to find she could hardly take her eyes off Cordelia. She watched her hands cutting up the food and lifting the glass; she watched the changing planes of her face as she ate and drank. She found herself recalling a favourite quotation: ‘A man doesn’t love a woman because he thinks her clever or because he admires her but because he likes the way she scratches her head.’ She thought that perhaps the reason her relationships had failed in the past was because she hadn’t looked for such details and learned to love them. She was surprised to find herself saying rather formally, ‘I was wondering if there was any chance you could be persuaded to give me half an hour during the weekend? I’d like to do an interview. Of course, I can’t guarantee that I’d be able to place the finished feature, but I’d like to try if you don’t mind me asking on a weekend when you’re intent on having fun with your old friends.’
Cordelia finished eating and put her plate down. She considered her glass for a moment. She turned to Paddy and said in a tone of self-mockery familar to her friend, ‘What do you think, Paddy? Would I be safe with her? Is she going to lull me into a false sense of security and tempt me into indiscretions? Will she ask me difficult questions and refuse to be satisfied with easy answers?’
‘Oh, undoubtedly!’
‘Very well then, I accept the challenge. I will place myself in your hands. Shall we say Sunday morning while the school is at church?’ Lindsay nodded agreement. ‘And don’t feel guilty about dragging me away from old friends. The number of people here I actually want to see can be counted on the fingers of one thumb. And there are plenty of others I’ll be glad of an excuse to avoid. Such as our esteemed guest of honour.’
‘You’re not alone there,’ said Paddy, struggling unsuccessfully to make her words sound light-hearted.
‘You another victim of hers, Paddy?’ asked Cordelia, not waiting for a reply. ‘That Smith-Couper always had the charm and rapacity of a jackal. But, of course, she’d left before you arrived, hadn’t she? A fine piece of work she is. Beauty and the Beast rolled into one gift-wrapped package. Do you know what the bitch has done to me? And done it, I may say, in the full knowledge that we were both scheduled for this weekend in the Alma Mater?’ There was a pregnant pause. Lindsay recalled that Cordelia had started her career in the theatre.
‘She’s