Kiss Me Forever/Love Me Forever. Rosemary Laurey

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СКАЧАТЬ looked Dixie up and down like a secondhand car of doubtful provenance. “I heard there was another sister who ran off with an American during the war.”

      Gran would laugh at that one. She and Charlie Reilly were married in the Grosvenor Chapel with his commanding officer’s blessing, even if Gran’s sisters had boycotted the ceremony. “That was my Gran.”

      Stanley rubbed at an invisible mark on the car hood. “Mentioned this to Mum, did you?”

      “It never came up. Did she know my aunts?”

      Stanley shrugged and looked away, intent on aligning the windshield wiper blades. “Everyone knew them. Interesting old ladies but you’d know that.”

      Dixie shook her head. “Never met them. And Gran never came back here after she married either.”

      He looked straight at her for twenty long seconds. “Good luck to you then. Now how long would you be wanting the car?”

      They agreed on two weeks, or what Stanley called a fortnight and Dixie drove off with directions to Bringham scribbled on the back of an old envelope. She wondered about Stanley’s words as she maneuvered the narrow lanes, remembering, most of the time, to stay on the left. A black sports car passed with about two inches to spare. Dixie gasped. Had renting a car been such a good idea with drivers like that on narrow roads?

      Stanley’s directions got her to Bringham in fifteen minutes. It took longer than that to find a parking place. The packed High Street stretched for fifty yards, a snarled mass of cars, pedestrians and baby carriages. At one point, it was blocked by a baker’s van. Dixie looked around as she waited, fascinated by the narrow street and the old buildings. A wool shop and its neighboring florist had bow windows and paneled doors that hinted of hooped petticoats and reticules. On the opposite side of the street, a modern grocery store sat next to a Tudor tea shop. Definitely a street to explore on foot.

      She parked in an impossibly narrow space in a crowded “car park” hidden behind the grocery store. Actually getting out of the car involved gymnastic feats, and she eased herself sideways between her car and the large BMW beside her.

      Mr. Caughleigh’s address was Mayburn House, 29 High Street. That shouldn’t be too hard to find. A narrow alley led from the car park to High Street, and a sign on the fence asked, “Have you paid and displayed?”

      “Paid and displayed what?” Dixie muttered to herself, a vaguely obscene image coming to mind.

      “You’re American,” a cheery voice announced.

      Dixie turned. A young woman pushing a stroller loaded with two toddlers and groceries stood at her elbow. “You were thinking aloud. Pay and Display. It’s for parking.” She slowed her voice as if talking to a child. “You did park in the car park didn’t you?” Dixie nodded. “You have to pay.” She led Dixie to a yellow machine. It needed £1 and 50p coins.

      “I don’t have change. I’ll have to skip it and take my chances with the fine.”

      “You can’t do that! The fine’s fifty pounds.”

      Fifty pounds? She had to be kidding. Seventy or eighty dollars for a parking fine? What did you pay for speeding? The smallest thing Dixie had was a ten-pound note. Minutes later, Dixie had a five pound note, five heavy coins, and had learned the intricacies of the parking system. A small round coin paid for an hour’s parking. She received a large seven-sided coin for change and a ticket with small print giving precise directions for placing it on the inside of the driver’s window.

      Dixie squeezed between her car and the BMW, unlocked her door and set off the alarm. Silencing it took a good three minutes of searching for the manual and finding the right page. Why hadn’t Stanley explained this instead of all the stuff about dipped headlights and windshield wipers?

      To Dixie’s surprise, the passersby ignored the siren. She wished she could and finally emerged, red-faced, after slapping the ticket on the window.

      Mayburn House wasn’t the gracious Georgian structure she’d expected, but a yellow-brick building housing a baker and an “off-licence.” The latter looked like a liquor store. A brass plate by the front door announced “Woodrow, Hartscomb and Caughleigh. Solicitors and Commissioners for Oaths.” Oaths fit Dixie’s mood right now. At the top of the uncarpeted stairs, a glass paneled door stood ajar.

      “I’d like to see Mr. Caughleigh,” Dixie said as she pushed open the door.

      A secretary glanced up from her typewriter, flicked her purple nails and asked, “Do you have an appointment?”

      “Mr. Caughleigh’s expecting me.”

      “You need an appointment,” she repeated, tapping her artificial nails.

      The click of her long nails snapped Dixie’s nerves. Planting both hands on the desktop, she leaned over until they were nose to nose. “My name is Dixie LePage. I flew in this morning from the States. Mr. Caughleigh is expecting me. I wrote to him and left a message this morning. Tell him I’m here.”

      Secretary blinked her impossibly long eyelashes, pulled her shoulders back and pursed her mouth. “I’ll see if he’s in,” she said and teetered across to the inner office.

      Muffled voices sounded through the closed door. Dixie regretted her temper but gave Caughleigh five minutes before she pushed open the door herself. She took a deep breath and looked around the room. Battleship gray filing cabinets looked old enough to house secrets from World War I. Stacks of old deed boxes with faded names covered two walls and both chairs by the window appeared to have been quietly fading since the sixties.

      “Miss LePage, I’m delighted to meet you at last.” Dixie’s images of a Dickensian lawyer were way off base. Manicured hand extended, Sebastian Caughleigh looked down at her, all six foot one of him, with bedroom eyes and a smile that could melt butter.

      “You had a good flight, I trust,” he said in a too-smooth voice.

      “The flight was fine. Everything went downhill after I landed.”

      “Yes, yes, I got your message. These strikes!” He raised his eyes upward as if that would get the rails rolling. “Terrible. If you’d only left a number, I could have sent a car for you.”

      “It’s hard to take return calls at a pay phone.”

      He showed pristine white teeth when he smiled. “Never mind. You’re here now. That’s what matters and we have a lot of business to discuss.” He closed the door behind him. “You’ve met my secretary, Valerie Fortune.” Valerie smiled graciously and Dixie decided anyone called Miss Fortune could be forgiven purple fingernails. “It’s a bit late to ask Valerie to make coffee. Perhaps you’d rather a spot of lunch?”

      She could use more than a “spot.” The clock said two. Her body was still at breakfast time with scant sleep. “Lunch would be very nice.”

      “We’ll be at the Barley Mow,” he told Valerie as he took Dixie’s elbow.

      “Uncle?” The inner door opened. Sebastian Caughleigh drew in his breath. Dixie felt her jaw drop. The Adonis from the airport stood in the doorway. “Hello,” he said and smiled. Sebastian Caughleigh didn’t.

      “We’re just going out, James. I’ll talk to you when I get back.” Then, СКАЧАТЬ