by Celia Scott
'How on earth did you meet him?'
'Through my job.'
'When?'
'Two months ago.'
'Why didn't you tell me then?' There was an aggrieved note in Martha's voice.
'He only asked me tonight,' Philippa admitted.
Martha continued her relentless inquisition. 'When do you plan to get married?'
'It's not quite certain. In about two weeks.'
'Two weeks! Why so soon? Tusker, you're not…?'
'Of course not. Don't be silly, Martha,' Philippa cut in hastily. 'It's because Mr… er… Damon has to go to Crete… to work. He wants us to be married first, so it will be a… a sort of honeymoon,' she finished lamely.
'But what about me?' Martha wailed. 'What am I supposed to do?'
'You'll be all right, Martha. I'll pay my share of the rent until you find another girl to share.'
'I don't want to share with anyone else.'
'Well, until you find a smaller place, then.'
'I don't want to live alone.' Martha's lower lip trembled.
'From the number of young men who come hammering on our door asking for you I think you'll be getting married yourself pretty soon.'
'That's different,' Martha said illogically, 'I thought you were happy here with me,' she whined. 'Why do you have to change things? Why do you have to get married?'
Philippa looked into her sister's discontented face. 'Has it never crossed your mind that I have the right to a life of my own, Martha?' When she didn't reply Philippa persisted, 'Hasn't it occurred to you that I might fall madly in love one day?'
Martha's expression grew ugly. 'Don't make me laugh, Tusker!'
'Well, I am madly in love. And furthermore…'
Philippa leaned on her elbow and faced her sister, 'furthermore, Damon feels the same way. He doesn't want to wait a moment longer than necessary.' Martha started to protest, but Philippa cut her short. 'I won't hear another word. Let's both go to sleep. It's late, and tomorrow's a working day.'
She snapped off the light and turned her back, but the younger girl wasn't going to give in so easily. She argued and complained, and only when the sky showed the first streaks of dawn did she fall into an exhausted sleep.
Philippa lay beside her sleeping sister rigid with panic. She was committed to marrying Damon Everett now, for if she refused his offer Martha would assume she had succeeded in getting her own way yet again, and Philippa would be even more trapped. She reasoned that her 'marriage' would only be for a couple of months, long enough to teach Martha a much-needed lesson. She only hoped the lesson wouldn't rebound on her. Remembering her lie to Martha that she and Damon were 'madly in love', she was filled with dread. She sensed that Damon was a man to be reckoned with, and she hoped she could keep her side of the bargain without upsetting him. She suspected that her future husband kept a tight rein on a fiery temper, and she didn't fancy provoking him into losing it.
CHAPTER TWO
Philippa waited until she had finally got Martha off to work next morning before phoning Damon. Martha had been fretful and overtired, and would have stayed away from the travel agency if Philippa hadn't pointed out that her record of absenteeism was pretty high, and she couldn't afford to get fired now. This had brought on fresh recriminations about Philippa's coming marriage and desertion. Finally she had left, and Philippa picked up the phone with a trembling hand. Her heart threatened to burst out of the neat navy blue flannel dressing-gown she was wearing, it was beating so hard.
The phone was answered by Damon's secretary, a businesslike female, who asked Philippa to repeat her name, since she was inaudible with nervousness. While Philippa hung on waiting for him to come on the line, she had to control herself not to hang up.
'Everett speaking.' He did have the most beautiful voice, its rich timbre sent a shiver down her spine.
'Good morning, Mr Everett. It's Philippa Kenmore.' She was annoyed that her own voice sounded like Kermit the frog's, her throat was so dry.
'Philippa. Yes?' He wasn't making it any easier for her.
'About your… er… proposal…'
'Yes?' She cursed him silently; couldn't the wretched man say anything else!
'I've been thinking it over… and…' she trailed off, but he didn't say a word, 'and I've decided to accept,' she finished in a rush. There was silence the other end of the line. 'Did you hear me, Mr Everett?'
For a dreadful moment she wondered if he had changed his mind. Then he spoke. His voice sounded perfectly ordinary, which irritated her.
'Good. Can you meet me this evening to go into the arrangements?' He sounded as cool as if he was discussing the menu for one of his dinner parties.
'No, I can't. I'm working this evening,' she answered shortly.
'How about lunch?'
'As long as it's early. I have to shop for a cocktail party I'm doing tonight.'
'Let's meet in Knightsbridge, then, it's midway between my office and your home.' He named an exclusive Knightsbridge restaurant. 'Will twelve-thirty suit you?'
'Perfectly,' she said crisply, and hung up. She was shaking with fury. His offhand manner was insulting. If she'd told him she was preparing grapefruit instead of soup for one of her dinners, he couldn't have sounded more uninterested. She spent the remainder of the morning baking cheese straws, light as cobwebs, for her party that night, and fighting the urge to ring him back and cancel the whole deal.
The restaurant was a cavern of hushed elegance. Philippa told herself that the head waiter… who was considerably shorter than she… did not look up at her disdainfully, but secretly she felt that he did, and this succeeded in making her feel very dowdy. She hadn't made any particular effort with her clothes. She was going on to work, she reasoned, and she was still angry with Damon. She wanted him to understand that she wasn't going to get all dressed up to impress him. She was wearing one of her endless shirt-blouses, blue this time, buttoned high, a plain navy skirt, and flat tan moccasins. Everything was polished and neat, but not exactly glamorous. Her beige-blonde hair was pulled back in the usual elastic band, but she had made one small concession to the occasion and tied a ribbon round it. Her skin glowed without any artificial aid, and her fine hazel eyes sparkled with a mixture of nervousness and temper.
Damon was waiting for her, sitting on a small gilt chair in the vestibule reading the business section of the morning newspaper, his long legs stretched out. He looked utterly composed, which added fuel to Philippa's fury. He was wearing a dark grey suit with a grey and white striped shirt. His wine-coloured tie was silk, and his gleaming black shoes looked as if they were handmade. He fitted perfectly into the plush atmosphere of the restaurant, while she felt decidedly out of place, but she swallowed hard, straightened her already ramrod spine, and allowed him to usher her to their table.
Once the meal was ordered, a simple one since neither ate heavily at midday, Damon leaned back in his seat and looked at her approvingly.
'You have an excellent virtue in a woman, Philippa, a rare one too.'
'I can't think what it can be. My beautiful nature, no doubt.'
'I don't know anything about that yet. You seem a pleasant-tempered young woman, though I suspect you could be difficult if you chose. I was talking about your punctuality. You walked through the door on the dot.'
'I make it a point to be on time for business appointments,' she said grimly. Damon's face became expressionless.
'Business, of course,' he agreed. 'I trust it meets with your approval if I get my lawyer to draw up a separation agreement, rather than offer you a lump sum before the ceremony. It seems in better taste that way. I'll finance the wedding, and pay for your new clothes, of course. I'll also deposit a nominal sum in your account for spending money during your stay in Crete,' he looked at her unsmilingly, 'does that suit you?'
She felt intimidated by his cold blue eyes, but stared unflinchingly into them and replied:
'The… er… agreement—it doesn't have to be complicated, doe
s it?'
'Just details about the divorce.' Philippa gave a giggle of nervousness. 'Does the idea of divorce fill you with amusement?' His eyes were like flint.
'N-no. It's… well, it's a bit odd discussing divorce when we're not even married yet.'
His expression did not change.
'Odd? I would say depressing. Not depressing for us, however, since this is only a business arrangement.' He glared at her.
'Sorry, but it's all rather strange,' Philippa remarked quietly, and a strained silence fell. 'When do you want me to start?' she asked after a moment.
'Start? Start what?' He gave her a look that bordered on contempt.
'Being married… I mean, when do you want to have the wedding?' She was beginning to feel like a perfect idiot.
'In about two weeks.'
'So soon?'
'In a register office, of course,' he continued as if she hadn't spoken, 'and no guests, just two witnesses.'
'Do we have to have anyone there?' she asked glumly. This wedding was beginning to resemble a visit to the dentist rather than the most important day in a girl's life!
'It's the law,' he replied. 'I thought of asking my uncle. Do you have someone for a second witness?'
'I only have my sister. I told her about… about us last night,' she added.
'Excellent. I'll organise it, then.'
The waiter arrived with their food—cold salmon for Philippa, and curried shrimps for her 'fiancé'. She picked away at the tender pink fish without appetite.
'When am I going to meet your sister?' Damon suddenly shot at her.
'M-meet Martha?' Philippa's appetite grew even smaller. This was a confrontation she hoped to delay as long as possible. 'Do you have to meet her before the wedding?'
'She'll think it a bit odd, won't she?' he countered. 'Or aren't you close?'
'Oh, we're very close. We share a fiat.' And she thinks we're madly in love, she added silently, and if she meets you, and sees how cool you are, heaven knows what she'll think.
'Could you and your sister have dinner with me tomorrow night?' Damon's resonant voice broke through her thoughts.
'What?'
'Could I meet your sister tomorrow night… Saturday… for dinner?' he continued. 'In a restaurant, Philippa. I'm not asking you to cook for us.'
Philippa looked at him suspiciously; was he laughing at her?
'I'm sorry, Mr Everett, not tomorrow night. We're busy.'
'You are?'
'Yes. Martha's giving a dinner party. For fifteen people,' she added bitterly.
'You're helping her—is that it?'
'You could put it like that.'
'Well, I'll drop by for coffee,' he smiled broadly, and went back to his lunch with gusto. Philippa was thrown into immediate confusion.
'Er… no… that is… Mr Everett, I don't think that would be a very good idea.'
'Why not?' he asked reasonably.
'Well… er… these are all young people… that is… even I don't know them very well. You'd be bored and…' she floundered.
'Don't be so stupid, Philippa! You talk as if I was doddering. Which reminds me, I don't even know how old you are.'
'Oh, I'm getting on,' she said seriously, 'I was twenty-seven last month.'
She had never seen him laugh before, but now she did. She looked at the strong column of his throat while he tilted back his head and roared, causing several waiters to look in the direction of their table, making her pink with discomfort. At last he stopped, and taking a handkerchief from his pocket weakly wiped his eyes.
'I'm delighted I amuse you so much!' she protested indignantly. 'Believe me, it's not funny for a woman. Twenty-seven's very close to thirty.'
'And thirty-nine's very close to forty,' he countered, 'and that's what I'll be on my next birthday. So it seems that we're a couple of old crocks tottering towards matrimony. Except that you look about sixteen, and I feel far from an old crock. In fact, you may find your young friends aren't as intimidated by me as you seem to think they will be. Now stop being silly, there's a good girl, and tell me your address.'
After she had mumbled it, and he had copied it into a slim leather address book, he leaned his arms on the table and looked full into her concerned face.
'Don't worry, Philippa, I won't drink my coffee out of the saucer and disgrace you.' His voice was full of laughter, so on the strength of his good humour she decided to try and prepare him for Martha's possible attitude towards him.
'I told Martha about you… us… last night, Mr Everett, but… but I didn't tell her the full details of our… our arrangement. She… er… thinks…'
'Very wise,' he interrupted her stumbling. 'Our contract has nothing to do with anyone else.'
'It's not exactly that, Mr Everett…' How on earth was she to explain the 'madly in love' part? She was panicky that Martha would make a remark about his supposed passionate love for her, and she wasn't sure how he'd take it, his moods seemed so mercurial.
'I think you should stop calling me Mr Everett,' he said. 'My name's Damon, you know.'
'Yes, of course… Damon.'
'That's better. Do you want dessert?'
'What?'
'Do you want something sweet to end the meal?' he said patiently.
'No. No, thank you, just coffee, please.' This in spite of the fact that she had a sweet tooth. She was about to try to explain her lie to Martha again, when he forestalled her.
'I presume you're interested in seeing what Athena looks like before you actually meet her?' He produced a photograph from a snakeskin wallet. It was a head-and-shoulders shot of a smiling dark-haired teenage girl, posed against a wall that was a mass of red oleander blossoms. There was a sliver of dazzling blue sea to the side of the picture.
'She's very pretty,' Philippa commented.
'She's the image of her mother,' he answered, taking the photo and looking at it tenderly before replacing it in the wallet. 'Athena and her mother were very close. Closer than is usual with most mothers and daughters. There were… circumstances…'
His expression became guarded and Philippa sensed that he had drawn down a shutter on the subject. It would be useless to pursue it further.
'Where was the photograph taken?' she asked. 'It's so bright and sunny. It can't have been taken in England.'
'No,' the shutter lifted a fraction and he gave her a smile, 'it was taken last year in Crete. Athena spent part of the holidays there with one of the teachers from her school. It's taken from the lower garden of my house.'
'Oh, you have a house in Crete, then?'
'One that was left me by my mother—yes. I hope you'll like Crete, Philippa—do you know Greece at all?' Damon enquired.
'No. I've never been abroad.'
'Naturally it's my favourite island,' he went on, 'but it's different from the other islands—harsher, less touched by European influences. But beautiful—very beautiful.'
'I'm looking forward to seeing it,' Philippa said formally, 'and to meeting Athena.'
Abruptly his mood changed. Glancing at his watch, he said briskly, 'Before I forget, this is your ring,' he held out a small blue leather box.
'Wh-what is it?'
'Why don't you open it and find out? It won't bite.' He pushed the box into her reluctant hand. 'Open it, Philippa, I haven't got all day.'
She pressed the clasp and the lid flew open. Inside was a magnificent sapphire ring, surrounded by a cluster of diamonds. She gasped and closed the box with a snap.
'Aren't you going to put it on?'
'I… I can't! I didn't expect…'
'To get an engagement ring,' he finished for her. 'We have to do things properly, Philippa. What would people think if a man in my position didn't give his fiancée a ring?'
What a fool I am, thought Philippa. This is all part of the front we're putting on, and I'm behaving as if it meant something.
'I shall of course return it when… when we split up,' she said primly. The waiter brought coffe
e at this moment, and Damon dismissed him and poured them both a cup before answering her. When he measured the cream carefully into his cup she became aware of his strong male hand holding the silver pitcher, the nails manicured and well shaped, a sprinkling of dark hairs showing on his wrist below the cuff of his shirt.
'That will all be spelled out in the contract,' he said levelly. 'You'll have the use of all the family jewellery as long as you're my wife, of course.' She hadn't thought in terms of 'family jewellery'.
'Is this ring a family heirloom?' she asked.
'Not that one, no. I bought it for you this morning. Don't you like it? I can always change it for something else.'
She re-opened the box and took out the lovely ring, holding it to the light. It shone like blue fire.
'It's beautiful! I've never had anything so grand. Not even as a loan,' she added hastily.
Damon suddenly lost patience.
'Stop dithering, for heaven's sake, girl! See if it fits. I've a million things to do. I can't waste much more time away from the office.'
Philippa coloured bright red, slipped the ring on to the third finger of her left hand, and said:
'It fits perfectly. Do forgive me if I keep forgetting that I'm still an employee.'
He looked at her obliquely.
'I hope you don't intend to behave like my employee during our marriage,' he said. 'The whole purpose of this endeavour is to present a unified front of connubial bliss to the world at large. Any subservient behaviour of your part would wreck the whole plan. Quite apart from the fact that it would sicken me,' he finished cryptically.
She took a sip of black coffee to give herself time to collect her scattered wits, then setting the cup back on its saucer, she spread her left hand on the table and looked thoughtfully at the ring gleaming on her finger.
'There is one thing I must get quite straight, Mr Ever… Damon,' she said.
'Yes?'
'This "connubial bliss" part. It's quite understood that… well…'
'Well?'
She gave him a look of hatred. He wasn't even trying to help her! He surely must understand what she was trying to say. 'You specified that it would be a marriage in name only. I would like that put into the contract, please.' With hauteur she took a gulp of hot coffee and choked on it.
