Capricorn man, p.1
Capricorn Man, page 1
CAPRICORN MAN
Jacqueline Gilbert
She promised to be on her best behavior
Nicola couldn't resist the richness of the situation. Michael, her childhood adversary, needed a legal secretary in Surrey, and his younger brother and sister were too much of a handful--even for him.
Michael had always had too many responsibilities thrust upon him too soon--and Nicola had been one of them. As a child, she'd given him the devil's own job keeping her safe when she tagged along after him and his cousin Kit.
As far as Michael was concerned, Nicola gravitated toward danger--always had and always would--even when it came to love....
In memory of my parents Madge and Ben Gilbert
CHAPTER ONE
The Brahms Symphony drew to a close and over the fading applause the announcer's voice informed listeners that they had been hearing a repeat of a broadcast given the previous year from the Royal Albert Hall by the visiting New York Symphony Orchestra, conductor Cornelius Webber.
Neil! Nicola Redford gave a gasp of delighted surprise and put down the page of manuscript she was correcting. What a coincidence! She found she was smiling and remembered Neil as she had seen him only two days previous, an arm around her mother's shoulders as they waved her goodbye from Kennedy Airport.
Nicola stretched and leaned back against the pillows, thinking what a lot had happened in the past year ... since Neil had erupted into their lives. Nearing sixty, his thick hair silver-grey, his face a little craggy, but his reputation as a conductor and musician precluding any claims to the passing years. As Neil had wryly told her, conductors never retire, they are carried off the rostrum protesting!
From her step-father, Nicola's thoughts turned to her mother, Adele. Abandoned by her husband when Nicola was a baby and widowed some years later, Adele Redford had struggled to make a living as a musician, going where the work was, she and her child living out of a suitcase in digs and cheap hotel rooms. Eventually Adele realised that a more stable up-bringing was required and, with financial help from her sister's husband, Nicola was sent to a boarding school and spent weekends and holidays at Bredon House, the home of her Auntie Joan. Those early years had enforced a strong independent spirit in Nicola and as Adele gained stature in the music world Nicola's life was divided into three very separate channels. School was suffered because it had to be and her mad-cap exploits landed her into constant trouble, but she was bright, giving her attention to those subjects she liked. Bredon House was a tantalising glimpse of what family life was about and showed how much she wanted to belong. But her visits to Adele were the highlights, and as girlhood was left behind the fierce loyalty to her mother was strengthened by an awareness of Adele's good sense and calm disposition and she longed to be more like her. This was a high goal. Nicola was impulsive and far from calm, and had a propensity for landing herself into trouble. She had a restless spirit and an enquiring mind and hated to be tied down to one job. When Cornelius Webber came into her mother's life, Nicola was delighted.
Neil was invited to be guest conductor with the orchestra in which Adele was leader. He was in England to give a series of concerts all over the country. According to Adele he was a bear during rehearsals, exacting yet brilliant and inspiring. Afterwards, when he amazingly asked her out to dinner, she found he wasn't such a bear after all, and before she knew it, Adele was swept off her feet, married and taken to America. It was second-time marriage for them both. Neil's first wife and child had been killed in a car accident after only three years and he had thrown himself into his work, never considering re-marrying, until the attractive first violinist caught his eye. As for Adele, she had long ago thought such a thing as middle-age romance was not for her.
Nicola watched the whirlwind courtship from the sidelines and had eventually bullied her mother into marriage, once she realised Adele's heart was involved. A year later Nicola was persuaded to visit them in New England and stayed for three months. Neil tried to encourage the idea of Nicola staying indefinitely, delighted with his ready-made daughter and was most persuasive.
'It would make your mother very happy if you decided to make your home here,' he said, choosing his words with care. 'We could get you a nice apartment in Manhattan where you could carry on with your writing—inspiration isn't confined to England, is it? Will you think about it, Nickie, mmm? You've enjoyed your time here with us, haven't you?'
Nicola said quickly, 'Neil, you know I have.'
'Then why don't you stay?' He pursed his lips consideringly. 'Is there someone special back home? Adele thinks not, but it wouldn't be the first time a parent was kept in the dark.' His grey eyes regarded her quizzically and she shook her head.
'No. No-one special. I sometimes wonder if I ever will get married.'
Neil gave a snort of disbelief. 'That's a pretty drastic thing to say, especially at your age. My goodness, life's just beginning to get interesting, and you've certainly packed a lot of living into your twenty-eight years so far—and I can't believe you've never been asked!' He looked at her belligerently, as if defying her to argue and Nicola began to chuckle.
'Thank you for the compliment, Neil. As a matter of fact, I have been asked, a few times, actually. I'm probably choosy.'
'Honey, when you do meet up with the right man you'll know for sure. Well—we'll let you go, but only if you promise to visit us regularly and if you're ever in trouble, we're here.'
The talk with Adele was conducted with her mother's usual good sense and calm.
'I'm sad you're going, but I do understand,' Adele admitted. They were walking along the shore of Long Island Sound, spending Nicola's last day on the water. Neil waved from the small sailing boat and they both waved back. 'I'm slightly concerned, Nicola, that the flat won't be vacant for you.'
'Oh, that's no problem,' Nicola assured her cheerfully. 'I shall give the tenants a chance to look round for something else and stay with Jennie and Bill Lambert for the time being.'
'Shall you go to Bredon House to see them all? If you do, give them my love.' Adele frowned. 'We have so little family back in England, but if you do need help or advice Michael will help.'
'Does he still write to you, Mother?'
'Now and again—just to keep in touch.'
'I'd sooner ask Kit. Michael and I have a wary truce these days, but even so, I'd sooner go to Kit.'
'My sympathy lies entirely with Michael,' informed Adele dryly. 'You used to lead him a wretched dance as a child. Have you told either of the boys about your book yet?'
Nicola smiled at the thought of the Dalmain cousins being termed 'boys' and shook her head. 'I rarely see Michael, you know, and as for Kit, I'll wait until Dalmains accept my next book before unveiling myself.' She turned her face into the breeze, narrowing her eyes from the glare of the sun on the water, her hair streaming out behind her. 'I can't wait to see Kit's face when he finds out who his new author is!' She laughed and turned back to her .mother. 'I can hardly believe it myself.'
'My dear, I can/ Adele told her. 'You've always been inventive, always had a liking for scribbling stories even as a child. I'm not at all surprised you've written a book and I'm very proud of you, and so is Neil.'
Nicola put an arm round her diminutive mother. 'I'll send you both a copy, duly signed,' she promised, grinning at the idea.
'I shall look forward to that, darling.' Adele paused in her stride. 'Have we gone far enough, do you think?' They turned and her eyes sought her husband coming towards shore in his boat and rested on the young man helping him. 'Do we have to ask that young man to dinner, do you think, Nickie?'
Nicola chuckled, watching with appreciative eyes as the dinghy swept smoothly into harbour. 'I shouldn't think so. This one isn't a potential husband like all the rest Neil's paraded before me while I've been here, he's only been taken on to crew for him. Poor Neil! All his match-making plans gone for nought. No, we'll have our last evening together, just the three of us, mmm?'
The telephone rang out shrilly, bringing Nicola sharply back from Westport, Connecticut, to Bredon House, Ashwell, Surrey. Switching off the radio she stretched out a hand, picked up the receiver and was about to speak when a voice the other end said, 'Miss Golding, I'm back. Any chance of a pot of tea?' and before she could speak the line went dead.
Michael Dalmain. Not changed much, Nicola thought wryly. Still giving orders under the disguise of requests and expecting them to be carried out! Her lips suddenly curved into a gleeful smile. Here she was, barely arrived back in England and contrary to her mother's prediction, she was helping Michael, rather than the other way about!
Not that he knows it yet, Nicola pondered, throwing off the covers and swinging her legs out of the bed. And I bet he doesn't much like the idea, her thoughts went on, as she reached for the kimono she used as a house-coat. Tying the belt, she eyed herself in the mirror deciding she was decent enough for the conventions—the kimono was all-enveloping and the silk pyjamas could have been worn to a party without anyone raising an eyebrow. She leaned forward and peered at her face critically. No make-up, but then, she wasn't trying to impress Michael. When someone had seen you looking your worst many times in the past there wasn't much point in trying to eradicate that memory. She gave a laughing sigh and wondered, ruefully, why her mother's beauty had passed her by. Instead of glorious dark auburn hair she was landed with a colour neither one thing nor the other. Butterscotch, one imaginative swain had once called it and when the sun streaked it fair it could look quite interesting. It was thick, that was somethi ng, and Nicola quickly ran a comb through it, carelessly tucking the shoulder-length style behind her ears, out of the way. And where were Adele's fantastic green eyes she mourned, glaring at her own nondescript hazel belligerently. But the thing that really grieved her was that she had absolutely none of Adele's musical talent! From her shadowy father she had inherited her height and temper, the former philosophically accepted by her late teens, the latter severely sat upon and more or less controlled throughout her adult life. From whom, she wondered, making her way down the stairs, had she got the hankering to write?
The kitchen was pleasantly warm, the Aga banked low for the night. As she made the tea she remembered trying to sort out the Dalmain family for Neil when he had questioned her about her relatives back in England.
'It's a bit complicated,' she admitted. 'Mother's younger sister, Joan, married a widower, John Dalmain, whose first wife died after bearing him a son. Michael, the son, was thirteen when this second marriage took place and eventually Noel and Cassandra were born—they are my true cousins. Uncle John was a partner in Dalmains Publishing and he and Auntie Joan set off in a small aircraft piloted by a friend to go to Edinburgh to attend a book fair. The plane crashed in fog and there were no survivors.'
Neil gave a grunt of sympathy and Nicola went on: 'Michael was twenty-six when this happened, training to be a barrister. Noel was ... oh, let me think ... ten, and Cassie must have been six. Michael became their guardian and Bredon House became his base but he keeps a flat in London and divides his time between there and Ashwell which is an hour's train journey from the city.' She gave a pensive sigh. 'I was just turned twenty-one when they died and I couldn't believe it. They were closer to me than a normal aunt and uncle.'
'How old are the children now?' Neil asked and Nicola thought for a moment. 'Noel must be coming up for his eighteenth birthday and Cassandra is fourteen. I must say, Michael has been extremely good with them—organising his life around them can't be easy.'
'Is he married?'
Nicola shook her head. 'No. Neither of them are. The Dalmains don't seem to marry young.'
Neil frowned. 'You've lost me, Nicola.'
She chuckled. 'Sorry. I meant Michael and his cousin Kit. Uncle John was in partnership with his brother, Rupert, and Kit's his son. He's joined Uncle Rupert into the business and they've just accepted my book.'
'So you're not totally without family in England,' observed Neil.
'Well, only Noel and Cassandra are real family but the Dalmains have allowed me to adopt them all. I used to have wonderful holidays at Bredon House. It's a lovely place, old with plenty of character and as it's right on the edge of Ashwell you feel as though you're in the country—a marvellous spot for children to grow up in. We had such adventures—Michael, Kit and I. They didn't really want me, but they had no choice as I just tagged on behind!'
The first time they met she had been tall for her eight years, thin and bony, with tawny cropped hair on which was pulled a jaunty sailor's cap. She was wearing a tartan shirt, jeans and a denim jacket, canvas shoes on her feet. From the back she looked like a boy, and such was the obvious intention, but when she turned full face, her true sex was evident. The bone structure was too finely drawn,, the features too delicate for her to be anything but female. She was not pretty, but the discerning could see something in her that augured well for the future—the hazel eyes flecked with gold, the curve of the cheek, the wide, sensitive mouth.
'Who is she?' asked the fair boy curiously, and the dark boy scowled and said dismissively:
'Joan's niece.'
The girl gave the fair boy a friendly gamine grin and said: 'I'm Nickie. What's your name?'
The fair boy grinned back. 'Kit. I'm Michael's cousin.'
'I'm Michael's cousin, too,' the girl Nicola replied proudly. The dark boy's scowl deepened and he said bluntly, 'No, you're not. We're no relation.' He turned and began to walk away. The boy Kit laughed, but not unkindly, and ran to catch up with his cousin. After a few seconds Nicola set her jaw and pushing clenched fists into her pockets, began to follow them, steadily, and with determination. She grinned as she remembered. 'Kit was easy-going—he still is—and didn't much care, but I used to make Michael furious and we became deadly enemies. I hated being a girl and only liked doing adventurous things, which usually were dangerous and Michael had the devil's own job of bringing me back alive!'
Nicola was still smiling at the memory as she carried the tea tray along the corridor to the room Michael used as an office. She tapped at the door and edged herself and the tray through, shutting the door behind her with the heel of her foot.
She waited a moment, letting her eyes become accustomed to the semi-darkness. Michael was sitting at his desk reading a letter, a solitary lamp throwing sufficient light for the job. He murmured, without looking up: 'Thank you, Miss Golding,' as she made her way to the side table. By his appearance he had been to some important function, for he was dressed in evening suit, though the tie was now loosened, the top button of the white shirt undone and the jacket hung round the back of the chair.
Nicola regarded this man she had known for so long with renewed curiosity. He must be thirty-three, she reckoned, doing a quick mental arithmetic, and pouring out the tea she conceded that Michael was someone you noticed, even if his type of looks were not the kind that turned you on. He had the Dalmain broad forehead and long, straight nose, the wide cheekbones that brought a hollow to the cheeks and a strong, rather square jawline, dented at the chin with a distinctive cleft. Cool, blue eyes, she knew, were set below a straight brow and a well-shaped skull was covered with thick, dark hair. An extremely mobile mouth with a thinnish upper lip completed what was a striking, rather than a handsome, face. As a barrister, this eye-catching face allied to a tall, lean frame, and a voice that could, when needed, be used like an actor's, gained considerable advantage in court. What was even more important, he had a keen, agile brain. When Michael Dalmain was at his most charming and persuasive in court it was usually when he was to be most feared. Generally speaking he was a very private person with tremendous self-control. Nicola found that once they had left childhood behind they managed to conduct themselves with passable equanimity. Even now she had the urge to test his self-control to the limit, but it was only because what she termed his enigmatic, inscrutable look drove her wild. She knew that beneath the relaxed, polite mask there was a force to be reckoned with, having in the past borne the brunt of both verbal and physical attacks. Certainly implacable politeness and an amused tolerance, his usual attitude towards herself, were difficult weapons to overcome.
Perhaps now was the time to find out what really made Michael tick, to lay aside the cudgels. If he accepted her help they would be working and living together closely. If he accepted her help, there was a strong possibility that he would refuse it!
As she took the cup to the desk she realised that like most faces one has known well since childhood she took Michael's for granted. Tonight her perception seemed sharper, more aware. Maturity had given depth to his features and she grudgingly admitted that the tales Kit related of Michael as a lady-killer could easily be believed ... although Kit was a fine one to talk, but his amours were open and flagrantly whirlwind.
She put the cup down on the desk noticing, as the light from the lamp caught it, the small scar above his right eye where, swinging a cricket bat with misguided energy, Nicola had once knocked him unconscious.
Hearing the chink of china Michael glanced up, saying again, 'Thank you .. .' and even as his eyes were back to the letter, and he continued, '. . . anything to report?' his brain registered and his head shot up. Eyes darkening with surprise and a patch of colour marking his cheek bones, Michael allowed the stunned expression of disbelief only a momentary possession and assumed his usual one of cool scrutiny, saying: 'Hello, Red ... to what do I owe this honour?' His mouth pulled down at the edges as he added, 'I fear the worst.'
She had never managed to train him into abandoning the nickname 'Red'. It had started, early on, as a shortening of Redford, the use of surnames being peculiar to boys. It had been strengthened when she had experimented with a hair dye in an attempt to reproduce her mother's auburn colouring. It went disastrously wrong and she had to live with bright magenta tresses which took weeks to wash out. It was not in her nature to hide and she brazened it out, fighting anyone who made fun of her, sometimes having to be rescued by Michael, who in turn ended up fighting her opponent. As she developed from a scrawny kid into a slim, attractive teenager, the boys were less inclined to tease, wanting her favours more than her fists ... all but Michael, who still insisted on calling her Red. Kit had been the only one to give her comfort through the magenta hair ordeal and even reckoned it suited her. This she might have been able to accept had her neck and face escaped contamination as well as her hair. Auntie Joan, hiding her amusement, produced the necessary creams and ointments and her skin, thankfully, returned to normal well before her hair.
