Miss Dysart. These are by way of thanks.’
‘How—how very kind,’ said Kate, taken aback. ‘Please come in.’
‘I’m not holding you up?’
‘Not at all. Do sit down. Coffee?’
Jack Spencer shook his head regretfully and perched on the cushioned window seat. ‘No, thanks. I’m taking Abby and my parents out to lunch shortly, while Tim gets some sleep. Then we’re off to the hospital to meet the heir apparent.’
Kate chuckled. ‘I bet Abby can hardly wait.’
‘My mother likewise,’ he assured her, keen blue eyes trained on her face. ‘You look different this morning, Miss Dysart.’
‘More like a teacher now my hair’s tidy, you mean?’
‘I suppose I do. Pity to hide those curls away like that—’ He flung up a hand. ‘Too personal. Sorry.’
She smiled ruefully. ‘I’m way past the age of letting my hair hang down my back.’
‘If you say so.’ He grinned. ‘Last night you looked like a schoolgirl.’
‘It’s a long time since I was, but thanks just the same, Mr Spencer.’
‘Call me Jack.’
Kate shook her head. ‘Not appropriate.’
‘Because you’re Abby’s teacher?’
She nodded. ‘The Head prides himself on knowing parents by their first names, but, along with the rest of the staff, I stick to Mr and Mrs.’
‘But I’m not a parent,’ he pointed out. ‘Uncles don’t count.’
Aware that she was still clutching the vast bouquet, bridal fashion, Kate set it down on a table. ‘Please thank Mr and Mrs Cartwright for these, Mr Spencer.’
‘Actually, the flowers are from me—Miss Dysart.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.
‘Then thank you,’ she said, surprised. ‘How kind of you to go out of your way to bring them.’
‘I came because I wanted to see you again,’ he said simply, and stood up. ‘I must be off.’
A rather bemused Kate went to the door to open it. ‘Goodbye, Mr Spencer.’
‘One day I’ll get you to call me Jack,’ he promised, and strode down the path to his mud-splattered Cherokee, which now had company. A dark blue Maserati was parked behind it.
Kate stared as she saw Alasdair exchange a brief, unsmiling nod with Jack Spencer, who gave her a wink and a conspiratorial grin before he drove off.
Kate stood in her doorway with arms folded, her face expressionless as she watched Alasdair Drummond open her small wicket gate and stroll up the path towards her. His shoulders were less massive than Jack Spencer’s, but he was half a head taller, and, though he wore jeans as vintage as her previous visitor’s, it was their only point in common. Alasdair wore polished loafers with a transatlantic air to them, his casual polo shirt was white, and his sweater a shade of almost-pink a less masculine man would have found hard to carry off. The general effect, she thought with amusement, was the acme of elegance compared with her previous visitor.
But this time, without yesterday’s shock clouding her vision, Kate was able to look at Alasdair more objectively. His brown hair, once worn close-cropped, was now long enough to curl a little, and his face was leaner than Kate remembered. But the steel-grey eyes were as searching as ever.
‘Hello again, Kate,’ he said, his smile wary.
‘I didn’t expect to see you today, Alasdair.’ She backed out of reach as he leaned down towards her. ‘Don’t tell me—you were just passing?’
He straightened, his eyes irritatingly indulgent. ‘No. I drove here specifically to see you. I thought we could have lunch somewhere before you take off for Stavely.’
‘Sorry. I’ve had lunch—’
‘With the guy I saw leaving just now?’
Leaving him to draw his own conclusion, Kate motioned him inside the cottage, cautioning him to stoop as he went in. ‘Since you’ve driven so far I’ll make some coffee.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I needn’t leave for half an hour or so.’
‘Thank you for sparing the time,’ said Alasdair wryly, staring at the huge mass of blooms. ‘Impressive little tribute. If I’d come bearing flowers would my welcome have been warmer?’
‘Have I been rude?’ said Kate, unmoved. ‘Sorry, Alasdair.’
‘I’m very conscious,’ he said, the flavour of Edinburgh very distinct in his voice, ‘that I’ve intruded.’
‘Of course you haven’t,’ said Kate lightly. ‘I’ll just make that coffee.’
‘Can I help?’
‘No. Just sit down. You make my house look small.’
‘It is small. Doll-size, like its owner.’ He looked her up and down. ‘You haven’t grown since I saw you last, Kate.’
‘Not in inches. But in maturity just a little, I hope.’ Pleased with her exit line, she left him alone.
Alasdair shook his head when she came back with sugar and milk on the coffee tray. ‘I drink mine black, remember? You should do; you made it often enough for me at one time.’
‘I’d forgotten,’ said Kate, rather pleased to find this was the truth. At one time she’d tried so hard to forget everything about Alasdair Drummond, and in minor ways, at least, it seemed she’d succeeded.
Like her other visitor, Alasdair took the window seat, his endless legs stretched out in front of him as he looked round at the small room, which was given an illusion of space by an inglenook fireplace and Kate’s knack of keeping the curtains drawn back on the walls to expose the entire window.
‘Do you light that every day?’ he asked, indicating the log fire laid ready.
‘No. Only on winter weekends, when I have time to clear it up in the mornings afterwards.’ Kate perched on the edge of a chair she normally never used, hoping its bronze velvet looked good with her yellow sweater.
Alasdair drank some of his coffee, regarding her steadily over the rim of his mug. ‘The man I saw leaving just now—is he important, Kate?’
‘Yes,’ she said without hesitation. It wasn’t a total lie. Jack Spencer was important—to his niece, his mother, his sister, and probably to several more women besides. Maybe a wife, for all she knew. It wouldn’t hurt Alasdair to think he was important to Kate Dysart, too. ‘How about you, Alasdair? You must have someone important in your life?’
He shook his head. ‘Not any more. I shared an apartment with a lady until recently, but that’s over now.’
‘Why?’
‘I suppose you could say she dumped me. Amy liked her New York lifestyle too much to try life in the UK with me.’
Which was enlightening.
‘Too bad,’ said Kate coolly. ‘Where will you be based?’
‘Near enough to commute. For the time being, at least.’
‘Where from?’
‘Gloucester. My grandmother left the house to me.’ He finished his coffee and stood up. ‘I’ve held you up long enough.’
Kate went with him to the door. ‘Sorry about lunch.’
‘Maybe I’ll be luckier tomorrow.’ He gave her a wry, assessing look. ‘In fact, Miss Dysart, I’m likely to get a far warmer welcome from your family than I have from you.’ When she showed no sign of penitence Alasdair’s jaw tightened. ‘The man I saw