Storm Damage

by Lorna McKenzie

  A peal of laughter forced them apart and Poppy stared up at Guy, shaken and embarrassed.

  “I should say I’m sorry, but it wouldn’t be true,” he said quietly, “but I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “Poppy Winters! So early in the evening! Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

  “Tess!” Poppy cried, delighted to see her childhood friend, framed in the doorway. “I’d no idea you were home! What a lovely surprise!”

  “No time to phone, I’m afraid. We only arrived at teatime. Remember Simon?”

  “How could I forget the groom who could hardly stay awake for his own wedding! Oh sorry, this is our new neighbour, Guy Devereau.”

  “Oh!” Tess exclaimed, obviously surprised, but she recovered quickly. “How do you do? I’ve heard about you, of course, from the family.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tess. If I’d been your bridegroom I think I might have stayed very much awake!”

  “Not if you’d been on duty for ninety hours, nonstop! Simon was doing his housemanship at the time,” Tess explained. “He perked up once we got to Rome.”

  “Ah! I stand corrected. Where do you practise now, Simon?”

  Once inside the house and after greetings formalities were complete, Tess whisked Poppy off to the ladies’ room for a gossip.

  “I thought Guy was engaged!” she exclaimed at once, when they were alone in a downstairs cloakroom. “What gives? It was like Gone with the Wind out there!”

  “I—er—I don’t know what got into him. I’m just standing in for Nerissa. She’s away at the moment, and Guy needed a partner for tonight’s do.”

  “Pull the other one—it’s got bells on. He’s gorgeous! And you’re obviously dotty about him…”

  “Don’t!” Poppy begged, her lips trembling.

  “It’s all right—no one else would notice, but we’ve been friends forever, don’t forget. What’s this Nerissa like? Mother thinks she’s ghastly!”

  “She’s incredibly beautiful—and she’s ghastly!” Poppy agreed with a laugh. “He doesn’t even remember proposing to her.”

  “So Mother said—she probably seized her chance and made it up.”

  “She wouldn’t dare—surely? Come on, we’d better go.”

  “You’re right, and I can’t wait to see the new, improved Annabel. My crazy brother is talking about her as if he’s just discovered her, and she’s been there, large as life and twice as obvious for as long as I can remember!”

  “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”

  Poppy didn’t feel like a stand-in at all that evening. She was able to introduce Guy to many more of the locals, but they remained as a group with the Wilsons, sharing a large table for the delicious buffet supper which was served halfway through the evening.

  Fortunately, they sat some distance from the area reserved for smokers—Poppy had discovered that one whiff of cigarette smoke made her feel sick these days. She now discovered that wine had much the same effect, and set her glass down with a grimace. Esther leaned across her husband to speak to her.

  “Would you like a Perrier?” she asked quietly.

  “I’d love one.”

  “George, go and get one for her, love.”

  George looked curiously from one woman to the other and shrugged.

  “Thought the wine was rather good, myself.”

  Behind his departing back they exchanged a conspiratorial giggle.

  “Thanks, Esther.”

  After supper there was dancing in the vast, chandelier-lit ballroom.

  “I think as your partner the first dance is mine,” said Guy, leaning towards Poppy.

  She was only too happy to oblige, and allowed him to sweep her into his arms to move in time to the dreamy music.

  “God, you feel wonderful,” he told her, inclining his head to press his cheek to hers, and running his hand around the narrow indentation of her waist over the soft velvet of her dress. “Victorian glamour without the stays!”

  “Do you have to hold me so tightly?” she asked feebly, melting into his solid length.

  “Just shut up and dance,” he ordered softly.

  When the music had stopped and he led her back to their table, she still felt in a dream. Tess’s cheerful voice broke the spell.

  “We’re all going riding in the morning,” she said brightly. “How about you two?”

  Tess knew very well they weren’t a “two”, but her choice of words had not ruffled Guy—why should Poppy be bothered?

  “Count me in,” said Guy. “Poppy? I can offer you a mount.”

  Oh God, did pregnant women go riding at this stage? She glanced at Esther in confusion.

  “How can you refuse? Tanya and Derek are going and she’s several weeks pregnant!”

  “As you say, how can I refuse? And thanks for the offer of a mount, Guy.”

  “My pleasure.”

  She supposed it would be the fine bay Nerissa had been riding, but what did it matter?

  “May I?” asked Robin as the music started up again. “How are you, love?” he asked as he steered her protectively round the floor.

  “Blooming, I think the word is,” she replied cheerfully. “Apart from that, I’m beginning to wilt, and I’ve got misgivings about getting up early to go riding. I’m not at my best first thing in the morning.”

  “I see, and it’s difficult to get out of it without awkward questions being asked?”

  “That’s about the size of it.”

  “Of course, you might feel less sick if you were in a stable relationship, i.e., married. Like to tell me who did this to you?”

  “No, I wouldn’t, so stop digging.”

  “Look, if you really want to call it a day, the parents are off home soon. They’d give you a lift, rather than break up the party.”

  Glancing over at their group, Poppy saw Guy in earnest conversation with Lord Delmere. Perhaps it would be best to make her excuses, and insist on Guy staying—after all, he was the one who had been invited.

  Guy, however, saw things differently.

  “You did what? You arranged this with Robin? What the hell’s it to do with him? If you want to go home, I shall take you.”

  “But you could stay—you’re just getting to know everyone. I don’t want to drag you away.”

  “What the devil’s wrong with you? Are you coming down with flu or something?”

  “Y-yes, that must be it,” she agreed, only too happy to seize on his words.

  “Well, why didn’t you say so? Come on, say your good-byes and I’ll get your wrap.”

  In the warmth of her kitchen he turned her to the light.

  “You look pretty good to me,” he mused. “Apart, perhaps, from slight shadows under your eyes. Women’s problems, I suppose.”

  Poppy could have laughed if she weren’t eating her heart out for him, so gloriously handsome in evening attire.

  “Chauvinist pig,” she managed to murmur. They stared at each other for long moments, then his head lowered slowly to hers. Automatically, she lifted her lips for his kiss, her eyes drifting closed. She felt his warm lips unexpectedly against her eyelids, first one, then the other. Startled, she raised her eyes to his, and caught her breath at the intensity in them. They fell to her lips and the next instant his lips were on hers, while his large hands found her waist and pulled her against him. He kissed her with a hunger that left her breathless and shaking when he finally pulled away.

  “If I catch your flu will you come and nurse me?” he asked huskily.

  “I haven’t got flu,” she returned, her voice equally soft.

  “What, then? Did you just want to be alone with me?”

  “Don’t push your luck, Guy Devereau! I just wanted to go to bed—alone!”

  “Spoilsport! Oh well, I’ll ca
ll for you in,” he consulted his elegant Rolex watch, “approximately seven hours’ time.”

  “Really?” she groaned. “I don’t think I can stand it.”

  “Being apart for so long?” he grinned. “I could always stay.”

  “Go away, Guy,” she said, giving him a gentle push. “Think of Nerissa.”

  “I thought we weren’t going to think of Nerissa tonight?”

  “You can hardly dismiss your fiancée to the point of bedding another woman!”

  “If I could, I wonder what that would suggest,” he said enigmatically. “Good night, Poppy.”

  Why did he have to be so attractive, so amusing, so—lovable? she mused, as the Jaguar roared off up the lane. What was she to do? Soon it would be impossible to conceal her condition, from him or anyone else. Not everyone would be as understanding and supportive as the Wilsons. Should she move right away from the district? If she was going to have to leave the home she loved, why not leave completely and make a fresh start, somewhere where no one knew her? She could perhaps put about a story of widowhood, or something.

  No, she was being ridiculous. This is where all her friends were, and it was not so very unusual for a single girl to have a baby these days. She fought down memories of the gossip that always circulated about such girls, the speculation, the hasty marriages. It was usually a nine days’ wonder, and that was how it would be with her.

  Poppy had set the alarm for half past six: an hour ago. Guy would be here any moment and, in spite of the weak tea and dry biscuit she had consumed on rising, and a refreshing shower, she still felt as sick as a dog.

  “Oh no!” she groaned, hearing the clattering of hooves in the lane.

  The next moment there was a sharp and disgustingly cheerful rap on her door. She would just brave it out and hope the fresh air of morning would drive the nausea away—or at least keep it at bay. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.

  Guy stood there, brimming with vitality and wearing an absurdly happy grin. It faded at once at the sight of her deathly pale face.

  “Good God, what on earth’s wrong with you, Poppy? You really are ill!”

  “I’m okay,” she assured him, looking beyond him to the two horses tied up at the gate. “It’s just…”

  Lack of sleep, she had been about to claim, when a fresh wave of nausea hit her. She dashed through the house and up the stairs, only just making it in time to the bathroom. Afterwards she rinsed her mouth and splashed her face and turned round, almost colliding with Guy.

  “What are you doing up here?” she muttered angrily.

  “Get that damned riding gear off and get back in bed,” he ordered her. “I’ll go and phone Robin.”

  “I’m all right,” she protested. “Probably something I ate last night.”

  “Are you allergic to shellfish or something?”

  “Y-yes, that’s it. Of course!” she agreed gratefully.

  “You didn’t actually have any,” he gritted at her. “We ate the same, and I’m perfectly all right. Now get undressed, or I’ll undress you myself.”

  The moment he disappeared down the stairs she threw off her jacket and jodhpurs and everything else and slid under the bedclothes. He was soon back.

  “As I thought—no one else has been affected by last night’s supper. I suggested that one of our eminent medical friends call to see you later.”

  “Thanks. You’d better hurry up, or you’ll miss them.”

  “Miss…? Oh, the riding! I’m not going—I decided that there was a little filly here in need of a bit of neighbourliness.”

  “Guy, I’m all right, really,” she said, touched that he should be concerned. “And there was no need to call the doctor.”

  “No, Robin said it’s all part of the same thing.” Thanks for nothing, Robin, she groaned inwardly. “There was a girl in the outback, working in the stables, with something like this,” Guy was saying. “She even took to reading the same kind of books.”

  Poppy glanced up, startled, whereupon Guy took a book he had been holding behind his back and threw it on the bed: The Stages of Pregnancy.

  “I—I expect Tanya left it,” she improvised hastily. Guy lowered himself to the bed and clamped his large tanned hands round her shoulders.

  “Admit it, Poppy—you’re pregnant.”

  She stared back with wounded eyes, making a little moan of agreement as her gaze faltered beneath his.

  “Did Robin tell you?”

  “No,” he said gently. “Is it his, by any chance?”

  “No, it isn’t, but he does know about it—so does Esther.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Not yet—though I imagine that won’t be the case much longer.”

  “Too right—there’s no time to lose.”

  “For what? You don’t think I’m getting rid of it, do you?”

  He stared at her in surprise.

  “Actually no, I didn’t think that. I merely meant we must hurry up and get you married. Unless he’s married already?”

  “Stop trying to organize me, Guy! He’s not married, but he doesn’t realize he’s about to become a father, and that’s how it’s going to stay. The thought of marrying me has never crossed his mind.”

  “You never struck me as a tramp.” Her hand lifted and swept towards his handsome face but he was too quick—he caught her by the wrist and held it none too gently. “Or are you modern woman personified: exercising the right of motherhood without involvement?” he sneered. “Do you even know who the father is?”

  “Yes, I bloody well do! Get out of here, Guy Devereau, and take your narrow, chauvinistic views with you! I don’t ever want to set eyes on you again.”

  “That would be practically impossible, since we’re neighbours.” He actually managed to smile. “Sorry, Poppy, I just wanted to help—you’re in one hell of a predicament. I’m going down to get you some breakfast and have a think—there must be some way out of this.”

  If only there were! He returned with a tray bearing fruit juice, toast and marmalade.

  “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked. She noticed he had brought two of everything. “For breakfast, not in bed,” he added with a smile.

  “Be my guest, and thanks, Guy.”

  “I suppose I could marry you,” he said absently.

  “Mind you don’t get stampeded in the crush,” she joked.

  “But seriously, if I don’t recover my memory I shall marry Nerissa, without ever recalling the enthusiasm that led me to propose. She’s a very suitable wife, of course, but I don’t seem to react to her in a very…to be honest, in the way I react to you!”

  “Forget it, Guy. I intend to marry for love, on both sides—the sort of marriage my parents had.”

  “You were lucky. That kind of love is rare. I certainly never knew it. My father was a drunken, gambling spendthrift. He sent my mother to an early grave. I swore my children would know what it was to have a father, someone playing an active role in their lives. That’s why I don’t want to think of your child, or any other, growing up without one.”

  “You can’t marry every single parent, Guy, so thanks, but no thanks.”

  He couldn’t remember proposing to Nerissa; he couldn’t remember making love to her, Poppy. If he was ever cured of his amnesia, what exactly would he remember? Either way, she would be in the same dilemma, probably.

  Two weeks after the Dorchester trip, she paid Dave Hadden another visit.

  “’Allo, darlin’,” he greeted her. She winced inwardly at the false endearment. “You brought me another load? Sold like hotcakes, they did—not one left.”

  “Really? Well, no, actually, I just came to see how they were going. Does that mean you want more?”

  “As many as you can manage, darlin’. With Christmas not four weeks away, they make lovely presents. Tell you
what—give me your address and I’ll pop round and collect what you’ve got. ’Ow’s that, then?”

  Her instincts screamed against the idea, but why not? Sales were only picking up slowly in the shops. At least Dave Hadden would pay her on the spot—he had produced a roll of cash last time as if he always carried such money.

  “All right then.”

  She gave him her address and he promised to call the following Monday.

  On Sunday morning they were all gathered outside the church as usual after Desmond’s service.

  “How are you, love?” Esther enquired.

  “A bit better,” Poppy assured her quietly.

  “How are the sweaters selling? This must be a busy time for you.”

  “Busy, but I’m not getting much for them. Dave Hadden’s sold out, apparently. He’s coming round tomorrow morning for another batch.”

  Poppy had not heard Guy come up behind her but when Esther turned away he said, “Got his foot in the door, has he?”

  “He’s coming to buy some sweaters. Anyway, I wasn’t talking to you.”

  “Where exactly did he sell the sweaters?”

  “How should I know? These market traders go to all the local markets: Salisbury on Tuesday, Wimborne on Friday, Blandford, Bridport—everywhere.”

  “You think he’s on the level, then?”

  “I suppose he must be.”

  She did not know how she expected Dave Hadden to arrive, but it certainly was not in the almost-new Range Rover that drew up outside. She opened the door as he came up her path.

  “’Ere we are then, darlin’,” he said brightly. “Let’s see what you’ve got now, shall we?”

  “Come in,” she invited.

  “Cor, it’s a nice little place you got ’ere,” he commented, his eyes everywhere, missing nothing. “All yours, is it?”

  “My parents’, actually,” some instinct forced her to reply.

  “I see. They about?”

  “No.”

  He picked up an ornament, turning it over to examine the base. She had not intended to prolong his visit by offering him something to drink, but while she went upstairs to fetch down the sweaters, at least it might keep him in one place. She would have had them downstairs already had he not arrived early.