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voice. But when the switchboard connected her to his suite, once again it
was Matthews who answered.
Jago was not there. He was spending the night in Paris, staying at the
Plaza-Athenee.
'The number is 359 . . . 85 . . . 23, Miss Bancroft. Shall I repeat that?' asked
Matthews.'No, I have it, thank you. Goodbye.'
Savanna rang off, and sat down on the stairs, disappointed. She had wanted
so much to talk to Jago. But to call him in Paris was out of the question. He
might not be there. If he were, a few minutes' chat would cost pounds which
they couldn't afford.
It seemed an eternity till Sunday. Knowing that an elaborate meal was not
going to cut any ice with a man accustomed to the finest cuisine wherever he
went, Savanna had settled for inexpensive and homely fare. For the first
course, buckling, a cheaper alternative to smoked trout. For the main dish, a
pot roast. For the pudding, apple tart and cream, always a favourite with her
father and brothers and, it seemed likely, with all men.
Jago, not Marsh, was at the wheel of the Rolls when it drew up outside the
Bancrofts' house at a quarter to one on Sunday.
'Impressive!' was Richard's comment, looking over his sister's shoulder as
she stood by the window, awaiting Jago's arrival with mingled impatience
and trepidation.
'I'll go and let him in.'
Conscious of an almost tangible feeling of expectancy as her family and
Catriona waited to meet her rich suitor, she hurried from the room.
He was not at the gate, as she expected, when she opened the front door. On
the point of running down the path to meet him, she checked, not wishing
their greetings to be seen by anyone watching from the sitting-room.
Although Jago was hidden from view by the thickness of the beech hedge
which retained its dead leaves through the winter, she could hear the
expensive sound of the driver's door closing. A few moments later he
appeared at the gate, one arm full of parcels.
He walked up the path, smiling at her, taking in the way she was dressed,
which was the way he was dressed casually, in trousers with a jersey and
shirt. Hers were camel-coloured with a black shirt which emphasised the
blondeness of her hair.
Jago's shirt and trousers were grey, like the car and his shrewd mid-grey
eyes. His plain V-necked sweater was cashmere. A silk scarf was folded
inside the open collar of his shirt. Reaccustomed now to looking at pale
faces, Savanna saw his brown face and hands as strikingly bronzed.
'Hello. Have you missed me?' he asked, as he mounted the steps.
She nodded. She had meant, very swiftly, to break it to him that, as far as her
mother was concerned, their engagement was not a fait accompli. But when
he stepped over the threshold and bent his tall head towards her, the kiss he
pressed on her lips put everything out of her mind but her gladness at seeing
him again.
Prevented as he was by the parcels from embracing her with both arms, his
one-armed hug and quick kiss were affectionate rather than passionate.
'I gather you've telephoned several times. I'm sorry I haven't been there, but
I've been exceptionally busy. I'm not always as inaccessible as I've been for
the past few days.'
'It doesn't matter,' Savanna assured him. 'Thank you for the gorgeous roses. I
read the report of your speech.'
'Did you indeed? Very dutiful of you to scour the papers for it.' He moved
towards the sitting-room door. 'Are your brothers here today? I'm looking
forward to meeting them.'
Had the situation been reversed, and it had been she who was about to enter
a room full of his relatives, she would have been twitching with
nervousness. But obviously Jago was completely at ease.
She opened the door and re-entered the room, a step ahead of him.
'My mother you've already met. Let me introduce the rest of the family.
Mike first, as he's the eldest . . . and this is his friend, Catriona, who is also
reading medicine.'
After bowing and smiling at Mrs Bancroft, who was seated beside the log
fire which they lit on special occasions, Jago had deposited his parcels on the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]