by Lyons, Mary
‘My sweet, lovely Alex—you’re far more generous than I deserve,’ he groaned huskily, urgently drawing her soft body close to him, covering her face with feather-like kisses before his lips claimed hers with possessive hunger.
‘For heaven’s sake, Leo!’ she gasped a few moments later. ‘I really... I really do have to talk to you because...’
‘No, I don’t think so...not just at the moment.’ he murmured thickly, the ensuing silence only disturbed by their softly whispered endearments as once again he made love to her with a tender passion and gentle, leisured delight, ravishing her senses until she was reduced to mindless ecstasy as he brought them both to the exquisite satisfaction of mutual fulfilment.
The next thing Alex knew, she was being jerked sharply awake by the loud, strident ringing of her alarm clock.
Sitting up startled in bed, she only just noticed that Leo was no longer lying beside her when the bedroom door opened and he came into the room, fully dressed, carrying a cup and saucer.
‘I thought I’d bring you a cup of tea, just before I have to rush off,’ he said, placing it down on her bedside table. ‘I’m sorry that I have to dash, but I’ve got an urgent meeting at the bank first thing this morning.’
‘But we haven’t talked...I mean, we haven’t discussed the problem of Fiona. I feel really terrible, and I’m sure that...’
‘That’s no problem. It won’t be long before I’ve got the whole business sorted out. I’ll be in touch, and give you a ring as soon as possible,’ he added, glancing quickly down at his watch before hurrying back across the room, and blowing her a kiss as he quickly closed the door behind him.
And that was the last she’d seen of the double-crossing, two-timing rat fink! Alex told herself grimly, sitting downstairs in the kitchen and staring dismally into her early morning cup of tea exactly one week later.
Well, they always said that there was one fool born every minute—and this time it had definitely been her! What a sucker. Talk about pathetic! How he must have laughed, after spinning that web of seduction, to find how easily she’d dropped into his hands, just like a ripe plum.
‘Oh, boy! Were you an idiot—or what?’ she muttered. But, despite knowing it was pointless to keep rubbing salt into her wounds, she still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that, once again, Leo seemed to have succeeded in messing up her life.
An outsider, or some of her female friends with slightly looser morals than her own, might think she was being ultra-, super-sensitive about the whole affair. And, yes, maybe if Leo hadn’t left her feeling so totally devastated eight years ago, she might have tried and made an effort to assume a casual, sophisticated attitude to what, she now realised, was merely a one-night stand.
But she still carried the scars of what had happened in Italy all those years ago. Discovering that her childish infatuation had grown and matured into an adult emotion, and that she was now deeply in love with Leo, made the humiliating position in which she now found herself almost unendurable. Because, if he really cared for her—and, following his ‘confession’ after they’d made love, she’d foolishly assumed that he did—Leo would have made at least a serious effort to contact her over the last seven days.
Well...to give the devil his due, there hadn’t been a complete and utter silence, she reminded herself grimly. There had been that strange and highly unsatisfactory phone call which she’d received in the newspaper office last Monday afternoon.
Unfortunately, she’d been frantically typing up her interview of earlier that day with the wife of a well-known TV personality, who’d just discovered that her husband was intending to trade her in for a young, blonde bimbo. And, since Mike Tanner was anxious to scoop the rest of Fleet Street with the story, Alex had a deadline hanging over her like the sword of Damocles.
So it had obviously not been the best time for her to take a call from Leo, who’d been using what appeared to be a highly defective mobile phone.
In fact, it had been some moments before she’d realised exactly who was on the line, the noisy static and barely audible voice making any sensible conversation almost impossible.
‘Where on earth are you...? What...? For heaven’s sake, speak up!’ she yelled down the phone.
‘There’s no need to shout...hear you quite plainly,’ Leo’s whispering, rippling voice was barely audible, as if he was speaking from somewhere at the bottom of the ocean.
‘Well, I can hardly hear you,’ she muttered, one eye on the clock as she quickly tucked the phone under her chin, freeing her hands to type a quick alteration to her story on the screen in front of her. ‘Look—give me your number, and I’ll ring you back.’
Leo’s tinny whisper seemed to come and go in waves, as if she was holding a seashell to her ear. ‘Not possible...Fiona...business...can’t make the ball on Thursday...’
‘Oh, great! That’s all I need,’ Alex groaned. ‘Please... Oh, please don’t do this to me, Leo,’ she begged, ashamed and humiliated to find herself pleading with the man—who hadn’t even bothered to be in touch with her after their lovemaking five days ago—purely in an effort to save her job.
‘Sorry...good reasons why...Fiona, you see...’
‘No. I don’t see!’ she shouted, frustrated to hear only an empty silence, before there was a click and the sound of a dialling tone indicating that the call had been terminated.
And that had been that. No message; no further phone calls, and no response from either Leo or his fiancée to her article in the Chronicle’s Saturday magazine supplement.
As it had turned out, her editor’s idea of turning the magazine completely over to the subject of romance had not only been a great success with their readers, but also significantly increased the Chronicle’s sales figures. Those two facts—together with Imogen Hall-Knightly’s fury at being proved wrong—had kept Mike Tanner in high good humour for some time.
As far as her own piece was concerned. Alex had been really pleased to hear from the two other couples, who’d all expressed their pleasure at the way their stories had been written. So why should she care if there had been nothing but a deathly silence from both Leo and Fiona Bliss?
But despite what she thought and said, and her anger at what she could only think of as the ultimate betrayal, there seemed nothing she could do to assuage the deep, searing humiliation of knowing that she’d made such a fool of herself. Or the fact that there had hardly been one moment of the last seven days and nights when she hadn’t been racked with misery and pain.
The hope that by burying herself in work she might somehow alleviate the torment and the intense, aching need to feel the caress of his hands on her body once again had been of no use whatsoever. In fact, her temper had been on such a short fuse these last few days that she could well be in danger of losing her job. Snapping at Mike Tanner yesterday had been a great mistake. One more slipup like that, and she could well get the sack.
Of course, what was really making her feel excessively tired and jumpy was the fact that the St Valentine’s Ball was being held tonight. Sheer, naked pride had prevented her from lifting the phone and calling Leo to beg him to reconsider his decision. And, quite honestly, she’d almost got to the point where she didn’t give a toss. The article might look a bit weird, accompanied only by pictures of two couples instead of three. But so what? Quite frankly she was so utterly fed up with the whole rotten idea of this St Valentine’s Day caper that she’d almost got to the point of not caring whether she lost her job as well.
Maybe she wasn’t really cut out for journalism. Possibly her choice of career had all been a ghastly mistake, and she’d be happier doing something quite different. Like becoming an air hostess, or a holiday courier. Both those jobs would at least have the virtue of getting her out of the country and well away from Leo, she was telling herself grimly when she heard a loud knocking on the door.
Quickly checking that the chain was in place—because, if by some chance it was Leo, she’d no intention of allowing h
im to get even one toenail over the threshold—she gingerly inched the front door open.
‘Oh, hello Susan,’ she said, surprised to see the tax inspector’s fiancée standing on her doorstep. I’m sorry, I haven’t got dressed yet,’ she added, gesturing at her long dressing gown and slippers. ’I was just having a cup of tea in the kitchen; would you like to join me?’
‘Oh, yes...yes, I would,’ Susan muttered, before suddenly bursting into tears. ‘Nigel and I had the most terrible row last night,’ she wailed as Alex put her arm around the girl’s shoulders, and drew her gently into the house. ‘We’ve broken off our engagement. And...and I said...that I never, ever wanted to see him again!’
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘OH, SUSAN—I’m so sorry,’ Alex murmured, immediately forgetting her own problems as she led the sobbing girl down the hall towards the kitchen.
‘Now, I’m sure this is all just engagement nerves. But why don’t you take off your coat, sit down and tell me all about it?’
‘I simply couldn’t believe it when Nigel was so rude to Mummy,’ Susan sobbed some time later, having given Alex a blow by blow account of exactly how, and why, she and her fiancé had broken off their engagement. ‘Of course, she really shouldn’t have said all those nasty things, so I suppose it wasn’t all his fault.’
‘No, well...’ Alex murmured, deciding that this was probably the perfect moment to brew a strong cup of coffee.
Having listened patiently for the last half hour while Susan had poured her heart out, Alex had no trouble in coming to the conclusion that the fault lay fairly and squarely with Susan’s mother.
From the sound of it, the woman seemed to be an absolute dragon. Definitely a twin soul to Ethel Bliss! And with his mother-in-law to be apparently determined to take charge of every aspect of their future life, it was no wonder that Nigel had finally decided that he’d had enough. Poor Susan was obviously well aware of where the true blame lay. Only family loyalty to her own mother seemed to be preventing her from acknowledging the fact.
‘I really don’t want to be a problem,’ the other girl said as Alex placed a cup of coffee in front of her. ‘It’s just...well, we all got on so well when you came to interview us for your article. Which was why I felt I must tell you, in person, the reason why Nigel and I won’t be going to the St Valentine’s Ball tonight,’ she said sorrowfully, the tears trickling down her cheeks once again.
‘It was nice of you to come to see me. But there’s no need to worry about missing the ball,’ Alex told her firmly. ‘It’s hardly the end of the world, you know!’
Since Leo and Fiona were obviously not going to be turning up at the dance, the fact that Nigel and Susan couldn’t make it either didn’t really seem to matter. However, since they were both such nice people, and ideally suited for one another, she really must try and do her best to help them get back together again.
‘If you don’t mind, I’m just going to nip upstairs and put on some clothes,’ Alex told the tearful girl. ‘I won’t be a moment, so drink your coffee, blow your nose—and try to calm down!’
‘I’ll do my best.’ Susan gave her a wobbly grin. ‘Thank you so much. You’ve been very kind.’
Alex laughed. ‘Just regard it as all part of the normal Chronicle service,’ she grinned, and quickly whisked herself upstairs.
Swiftly pulling on a burgundy cashmere polo-necked sweater over matching slim woollen trousers, Alex sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the phone towards her. Dialling through to Nigel’s office, she was relieved when he answered after only a few rings. Briefly explaining why she was phoning, Alex listened as patiently as she could to his side of the story.
‘It’s all right, Nigel, you don’t have to convince me,’ she told him. ‘The point is—and it’s the only thing that really matters—do you love Susan? And if so, surely you have to ask yourself the question—who are you actually intending to marry? Susan or her mother?’
A wide grin spread over Alex’s face as Nigel gave vent to his feelings about his future mother-in-law. Holding the phone well away from her ear, she waited until the sorely tried man finally began to run out of steam.
‘Come on, Nigel...!’ she laughed as he continued to splutter down the other end of the phone. ‘Susan is absolutely crazy about you—so this is clearly no time for British reserve. This is a time for positive action, right? So, how about if I keep Susan here with me for the rest of today—well away from her dear mother!—and we’ll join you at the hotel tonight at eight o’clock. OK?’
Feeling pleased with herself, Alex ran back downstairs. ‘Well, that’s sorted out most of your problems, Susan,’ she announced as she entered the kitchen, only to discover her friend Sophie sitting at the kitchen table listening to her visitor’s sad story.
‘It sounds as though Nigel needs a good dose of gumption!’ Sophie announced as Alex joined them.
‘Oh, no, he doesn’t,’ Alex retorted firmly. ‘Of course, it’s up to Susan. But I’ve just been talking to Nigel, who is full to the brim with gumption—and has every intention of attending the ball tonight!’
She turned to the girl whose tearful face was now suddenly wreathed in an ecstatically happy smile. ‘As far as I can see, there’s no need for you to go home. All you’ll have to do is spend the day here, with us, and we can all go off to the ball together. So how about it?’
‘I’d really love to,’ Susan assured her, obviously quite happy about not having to face her mother any sooner than she had to. ‘But...but my dress and things are still at home. And I really don’t think I can face any more rows, or...’
‘That’s no problem,’ Alex assured her swiftly. ‘I made a stupid bet with Sophie the other day. And, since I lost the wager, she’s going to be wearing my best ball gown. Which means that I’ve got to go out and buy myself something to wear. So, we’ll just look around for a dress for you as well.’
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly...I mean, it would cost far too much, and...’
‘The Chronicle will be quite happy to pay the bill.’ Alex told her firmly, refusing to feel guilty about telling such a whopping lie.
As she knew, only too well, there was no way that her editor would agree to pick up the tab for such frippery. However, thanks to her grandmother’s fortune, money had always been the very least of Alex’s problems. So, why not let Susan believe that a large organisation, such as the Chronicle, was paying for the dress, when she might well refuse to let Alex do so? She was always careful not to flaunt the fact that she was very wealthy. But the cost of a new ball gown would be a mere drop in the ocean, as far as the Rothstein fortune was concerned.
Later that afternoon, in the heart of Mayfair, Eleanor Lucas was pouring her son a cup of tea. ‘Or would you rather have coffee, dear?’
Leo shook his head. ‘No, tea’s fine. I’ve already had enough coffee on the plane to keep me wide awake for a week.’
‘Well, I’m so pleased to hear that you’ve agreed to come to the ball. I really do welcome your support, you know,’ she murmured, well aware that being forced to attend her annual charity bash was definitely not her son’s idea of having a good time.
Handing him a slice of fruitcake, Eleanor suddenly recalled the old rhyming adage: a daughter’s a daughter for all of her life—a son’s a son till he takes him a wife. How very true! she thought with an inward sigh.
She hadn’t yet met his fiancée, but she’d heard that Fiona was a very pretty girl. However, the prospect of having to share her future grandchildren with Ethel Bliss was honestly more than she could bear to contemplate.
There were plenty of people who might think that she, herself, wasn’t exactly a pushover. But Eleanor knew that she simply wasn’t in the same league as Fiona’s mother! That pushy woman, who was as hard as nails—and virtually unstoppable once she’d got her teeth into something—would soon be running Fiona and Leo’s lives for them, whether they liked it or not.
Of course, it wasn’t easy to push her dear son around, as she kn
ew to her cost. But she doubted that even his hard, tough personality would be able to cope with the unrelenting force of his future mother-in-law.
‘Right, I must be off,’ Leo said, rising to his feet and quickly finishing his cup of tea. ‘I only just popped in to say hello. By the way,’ he added casually, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from Fiona...?’
‘No, dear.’ She shook her head. ‘Although, I believe she did ring a few days ago, wanting to talk to you. One of the servants took the call, and since I naturally assumed that she’d contact you at your apartment, I—’
‘Did she leave a number where I can reach her?’ he demanded urgently.
Eleanor shrugged. ‘She might have. If so, it’ll be on the notepad by the phone, in the hall.’
A moment or two later, Leo was swiftly dialling a number.
‘Ah, Fiona—at last! I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for the last few days... Yes, yes, that’s no problem... Yes, I’m quite certain. You’re right. I know that we’re both going to be very happy. Goodbye, darling—and don’t forget to give my love to your dear mother!’ he added with a laugh, before putting down the phone.
‘Cheers, everyone—here’s to us!’ Alex called out, smiling as she raised her champagne glass to salute her guests, who were excitedly chatting to each other in the large sitting room.
‘Well, I must say that I think you’ve done Susan proud,’ Sophie said as she came over to the small side table to replenish her glass. ‘Let’s hope that Nigel really does turn up at the ball tonight.’
‘I daren’t even think about what would happen if he didn’t,’ Alex agreed fervently, her friend having accurately voiced her own fears. ‘Susan does look terrific, doesn’t she?’
‘Absolutely stunning,’ Sophie agreed as they both stared at the girl standing across the room.
