Reform of the Rake. CATHERINE GEORGE
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believe me. So before you answer you’d better think that bit over. But if you can stand my moods, and you fancy the job, how about it?’
From the day she moved her possessions into the Clares’ coach house life was transformed for Lowri. The bedsitting-room adjoining her little office was a comfortable little apartment, complete with bathroom and a minuscule kitchen just large enough for Lowri to cook a meal for one occasionally. After the flat in Shepherds Bush the privacy was wonderful, unmarred by the slightest tinge of loneliness, since at any time Lowri knew she could stroll down the long, beautiful garden to a warm welcome in the house. This, however, was a privilege Lowri rationed herself strictly from the start.
But there were definite advantages for the Clares in the situation, nevertheless, since Lowri was happy to act as baby-sitter when the busy social life of the Clares demanded it. Since the retirement of Mrs Dobson, Rupert’s original treasure of a housekeeper, Sarah had taken on Brenda, who came in daily to help with the house. But Brenda enjoyed a hectic social life, and wasn’t keen on baby-sitting too often in the evenings, which left a gap Lowri was only too glad to fill.
As the horse-chestnuts came into bloom and a green smell of spring came floating through her open office window, Lowri felt that fate had been very kind to her indeed. She sniffed at the heady vanilla scent of trees in blossom and heaved a contented sigh as she applied herself to the work which grew more absorbing by the day. The novel was now in its third quarter and working up suspensefully to the climax which Rupert flatly refused to reveal to Lowri in advance. Not even Sarah was any wiser, which apparently was nothing unusual. Rupert liked to keep his plot to himself until the very last sentence was recorded on tape.
Then one weekend Lowri’s presence as a guest was commanded at one of Sarah’s parties. And the tempo of life quickened again.
Lowri had helped out during the day, mainly by taking charge of Emily while Sarah concocted delicious cold dishes for the party meal, but once Dominic and Emily had eaten supper and the latter was settled in bed with a story Lowri dashed back to her flat to get ready, tingling with anticipation. She had a new, flattering black dress to wear, bought with her first cheque from Rupert, but, most important of all, Adam Hawkridge would be one of the guests.
The party, as always at the Clare home, was a lively, entertaining occasion from the start, and Lowri, circulating with platters of canapés, no longer felt shy as she mingled because so many of the guests were already well known to her by this time. Sarah, stunning in a plain white dress with turquoise and diamond hoops in her ears, her black hair coiled high on her head, was in her element at Rupert’s side as they welcomed their guests, most of whom had some literary connection. But the guest who had none was nowhere in sight. Adam Hawkridge was late. Lowri found it hard to stop watching the door, but when he finally put in an appearance her heart sank at the sight of his tall, blonde companion. When he noticed Lowri his face lit with the familiar, blazing smile, and he threaded his across the crowded room towards her, leaving the voluptuous blonde with Rupert and Sarah, and another man new to Lowri.
‘Hello, Lowri!’ He squeezed her hand and took the silver dish from her, dumping it unceremoniously on the nearest table. ‘How’s the little cousin? Are you enjoying the new job? Is Rupert a despot to work for?’
‘Hello—Adam,’ responded Lowri shyly. ‘I’m fine, the work is fascinating, and so far Rupert’s very kind.’
‘And so he should be.’ He kept hold of her hand to take her across the room. ‘Come and meet Caroline.’
‘Where’s Fiona?’
‘Haven’t the foggiest,’ he returned carelessly. ‘Out partying with some other guy, at a guess.’
When they joined the others Adam barely had time to make introductions before the man with Caroline moved in on Lowri with practiced expertise.
‘I’m Guy Seton, Caroline’s brother,’ he announced, and took Lowri by the hand. ‘Afraid I’m a gate-crasher. The delightful Mrs Clare assures me she doesn’t mind.’
Lowri gazed into a pair of narrow, hot dark eyes under hair almost as fair as the sexy Caroline’s, and felt an odd pang of apprehension. Guy Seton exuded such restless energy that he made her feel uneasy.
Rupert, who obviously did object to the gatecrasher, smiled warmly at Lowri. ‘So there you are, little cousin,’ he said, with emphasis on the relationship. ‘Having a good time?’
‘Too busy handing round food for that,’ said Sarah, and flapped a hand at Lowri. ‘Leave all that now. Brenda will help with supper.’
To her annoyance Lowri found herself neatly separated from the rest by Guy Seton. Adam, who had momentarily deserted Caroline for a delighted redhead on the far side of the room, spared a disapproving frown for Guy’s manoeuvre, Lowri noted wistfully, as the latter hurried her through the open French windows on to the terrace outside. The slim, restless man perched on the stone balustrade, one leg swinging as he patted the place beside him.
‘Come. Tell me your life story, little Welsh cousin. Was your father a fan of matchstick men—is that how you got your name?’
Lowri perched uneasily beside him, not at all happy about finding a constricting arm round her waist. ‘No. Mine’s spelt with a final “i”—Welsh for Laura, nothing to do with Lowry the artist. And my life-story isn’t interesting in the slightest.’
‘You interest me a bloody sight more than the so-called literati in there.’ His arm tightened. ‘What’s a nice little Welsh maiden like you doing in the big city, Lowri with an “i”?’
She sat rigid in his clasp, disliking the innuendo he managed to inject into the word ‘maiden’. ‘I work for Rupert.’
‘Lucky Rupert.’
Lowri shifted uncomfortably, but Guy Seton held her fast. ‘Don’t be frightened, poppet,’ he said, chuckling. ‘I shan’t eat you.’
‘Which reminds me—there’s a perfectly good supper waiting inside,’ she said firmly, and disengaged herself. ‘Shall we go and sample some of it?’
Guy Seton possessed a thick skin, she found, quite impervious to her unsubtle hints that his monopoly of her company wasn’t welcome. He stuck to her side like glue, and short of causing a scene there was nothing she could do about it. Something about his hectic, almost feverish attentions filled her with unease. Lowri had no illusions about her looks. She was more rounded than she would have liked for her lack of inches, and regarded her large, dark eyes as her only redeeming feature. Besides, she had good reason to distrust a sudden rush of attention like Guy Seton’s, wary of men who came at the gallop after only one glance. And by staying so close all the time Guy was destroying her hopes of a chat with Adam at some stage. Not, she noted, depressed, that there was much chance of that. Adam had now returned his attentions to the sultry Caroline, who was smouldering up at him in a way which made it obvious she wanted him to round off the evening in her bed.
‘Are you a friend of Adam’s?’ she asked Guy, her eyes on the absorbed couple across the room.
‘Not a friend, precisely,’ said Guy. His mouth thinned as he followed her gaze. ‘I was in school with him. He’s Caroline’s “friend”. She’s crazy about him. Women flock round Hawkridge in droves. Can’t think why. He’s no oil painting.’
‘No,’ agreed Lowri. ‘He’s not.’ But he’s twice as attractive as you, Guy Seton, she added silently, because he’s got warmth. You’re a cold fish, I think, for all the burning glances and febrile charm.
‘Caro’s so blatantly panting to share Hawkridge’s bed I’m amazed she insisted I came with them tonight. But I’m glad I did.’ Guy gave her a smile of confident intimacy. ‘Instead of playing gooseberry to those two, I can take you home instead.’
Lowri’s answering smile was frosty. ‘No need. I live here.’
‘Hell.’ He scowled. ‘That’s a blow.’ He eyed her up and down, his eyes undressing her. ‘Rupert Clare’s bloody lucky,