by Liz Fielding
Tara helped Jane down the steps with her bag, handing it over to the chauffeur of her silver Mercedes. Then she bolted for cover.
The wild surge of emotion that swept over her as she leaned weakly against her front door was not pleasant. Anger at herself and at him. Fury at fate for conspiring with such glee to show her love, only to snatch it from her lips. Rage against a life that determined she should be on her own for ever.
No. Not on her own. She flung herself across the room to pick up the local paper, searching almost frantically through the pages seeking the for sale columns.
Pets. Retrievers, kittens, tropical fish. No lap dogs. Not even a pug. She began to cry, hot bitter tears that seemed never ending.
Afterwards she washed her hair, spent a long time in the bath, painted her finger and toe nails a vivid defiant red, before wiping it off again.
There was a comedy on the television. She switched it on and made a pretence of watching it. It made no sense to her, but another half an hour had gone by. She wondered idly how she had spent her time before she met Adam Blackmore. There had never seemed enough hours in the day, now every hour seemed like a week.
Slowly she prepared for bed, pulling on the first thing that came to hand, an old nightdress, white with tiny pink flowers, a ruffle of lace at the throat and at the wrists, a deep frill to her toes at the hem. She brushed her hair until her arm ached. She would have it cut a little shorter, she decided, into one of those sleek bobs she had seen in a magazine. She’d had enough of hairpins. She would make an appointment first thing in the morning.
And with that decision a determination to spring clean her life overtook her. She opened her wardrobe and began to drag out all the dull, boring clothes she wore to the office. She carried them into the kitchen and bundled them into a plastic sack. They could go to the charity shop in the morning. Never, she fervently avowed, would she wear grey again.
Then, as she wondered what to do next tiredness suddenly overwhelmed her, a combination of her long drive and an excess of emotion. She checked the door and windows and settled herself in bed. Ten minutes later she was fast asleep.
* * *
Someone was pounding on a stake with a mallet and she wished they would stop. It was a long way off, but the noise dragged her relentlessly back to consciousness. For a long moment, on the brink between sleep and waking she thought she was dreaming. Then she sat up with a start. It was someone hammering at her door.
She switched on the lamp and looked at her alarm clock. It was nearly two o’clock in the morning. Someone must need help. She threw off the bedclothes, dragged on a dressing gown and ran to the door where a sudden attack of self-preservation made her slide the chain across before she opened it a crack.
‘Tara, let me in!’ Adam slammed the door back against the chain.
She fell back. ‘Go away, Adam. I don’t want to see you.’
He didn’t bother to argue with her, he simply put his shoulder to the door and the wood splintered, the screws hanging on for a desperate moment before giving up the unequal struggle. The door burst open with a crash and Adam was standing in the opening, dark, angry, a day’s growth of beard on his face. Then he stepped into her tiny hall, filling it, overwhelming her with his presence and kicked the door shut behind him, without ever taking his eyes from her.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ he demanded.
She wanted to run, but her legs wouldn’t obey her. Defiance was all that was left and she lifted her chin and hurled it at him. ‘It’s none of your business.’
‘Wrong, Tara. I’m making it my business.’ He moved swiftly and she backed nervously until the sofa was behind her knees and she had to stop or fall backwards across it. ‘Who were you with?’
She closed her eyes to blot out the cold green fire in his eyes. ‘Stop it, Adam. For pity’s sake stop it,’ she begged. ‘Haven’t you made me suffer enough?’
‘Suffer? You, my lady? I don’t believe you know the meaning of the word. You’re ice all through. But I intend to make you suffer for the agony you’ve put me through this week.’
‘You can’t—’
‘Believe it. You have my personal guarantee. You like to play games, Tara, lead a man on with those eyes that promise so much, until he’s half mad, crazy with—’
She flung her head from side to side. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
He grasped her shoulders, dragging her towards him until she could feel the heat of his body, hammering in waves against her own. ‘Oh believe me, Tara, I know.’
She put her hands over her ears. ‘Stop it. Stop it do you hear! You’ve no right to say such things—’
‘Then tell me. Who were you with?’ His eyes were angry slits. ‘The truth!’ He shook her, fiercely. ‘I promise you, I’ll find out if you’re lying.’
Her mouth was dry. She recognised in Adam a man at the end of his tether and the danger of goading him any further. Whatever he might believe, she had no intention of lying to him.
‘I stayed with my godmother in Kendal for the week.’
‘Your godmother?’ This was clearly the last thing he had expected. He released her and she staggered slightly, retaining her feet with difficulty.
‘I had to get away. I needed a breathing space. Some time…’
He raked his hand through his hair. The slash of silver across his forehead seemed more prominent than she remembered. ‘Time.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘I’ve tried that. It doesn’t work, does it?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I’m afraid not. But there’s nothing either of us can do about it.’
‘Oh, yes there is.’ He groaned and pulled her roughly against him. ‘Only one thing. Marry me, Tara. Put us both out of this misery.’
Shocked, she stood rigid, unresponsive in his arms. ‘How can you ask me that?’
‘I’m simply bowing to the inevitable. I’m asking you to do the same. I know you still feel strongly for that boy who died, but you can’t live your life in the past, Tara.’
‘And Jane?’ she asked, coldly. ‘Is she to be relegated to the past as well?’
‘Jane?’ He stared at her. ‘What has she to do with this?’
‘She needs you, Adam. Her baby needs you.’
‘For God’s sake, Tara, haven’t I done enough? I can’t give up a life of my own simply because her husband spends half of his in one remote jungle after another—’
‘Jungle?’ Tara interjected.
‘That’s why she came to work for me, because she couldn’t stand being in the house all day by herself.’
‘And all night?’ Tara demanded.
‘All night? What are you talking about?’ He held her at arms length. ‘My God, she didn’t tell you!’
‘Tell me what?’
‘Didn’t she come here? I made her promise that she would.’
So that was why she had come. To please Adam. ‘You needn’t worry. She kept her promise. She asked me to be... kinder.’
‘But she never told you?’
‘Told me what, Adam? What was so important?’
‘I don’t believe she could be so stupid. This baby has turned her wits to sawdust.’ He stepped forward and took her shoulders and held her at arm’s length. ‘Jane phoned me in Wales to say you were home. I told her I was coming straight back and that she had better get around here and clear up all misunderstandings before I arrived.’
Her eyes were huge in her pale face. ‘What possible misunderstanding could there be, Adam? Everything seems very simple.’
‘No, my lady. The only simple thing around here is me, for allowing my sister to get me into a situation where I was in danger of losing the one woman I have found it impossible to live without. No matter how hard I tried.’
He watched while the words sank into her brain. ‘Your sister?’
‘Jane is my sister,’ he repeated carefully, making sure she understood. ‘She is married to Charles Townsend.’ She didn’t immediately respond to this informat
ion, still trying to take in what he was saying.
‘Charles Townsend? The explorer?’ She had seen photographs of him in a Sunday supplement. A great blond Viking of man.
‘Yes,’ he said, evidently relieved that he was finally getting through to her. ‘By the time Jane realised she was pregnant it was too late for him to back out of this latest expedition. But I’m happy to assure you that young Charles is their sole property.’
She shook her head. ‘But you were paying the bills for the clinic. You raced back from Bahrain...’ She stopped, a tiny bud of hope growing somewhere deep inside. She mustn’t look at it too closely, or it would wither. ‘Is this true?’
‘He’s been in the Amazon basin, Tara. Not exactly at the end of a telephone. He needed someone to rely on, someone to look after Jane while he was away, so I was lumbered with all the messy details. And the bills until Charles got home. I assumed you knew, I don’t know why, but it just never crossed my mind to doubt it.’
‘But why was she working for you?’
‘She never could bear rattling around the house all day when Charles was away. It worked very well.’ He grinned. ‘If I was unbearable she felt quite at liberty to be unbearable back.’ He pulled her closer, holding her against him. ‘Shall we sit down? That sofa looks comfortable and there are a few details to be worked out.’ He tilted her chin up and kissed her, very gently. ‘It may take some time.’ She felt ridiculously shy as he looped his arm around her waist and pulled her down onto the sofa with him, drawing her so close that it was a struggle to breathe.
‘Now,’ he murmured. ‘Where shall we begin?’
Tara turned in his arms and tentatively reached up to touch his face, letting her fingers gently trace the hard outline of his cheekbones, his jaw, his throat. He sat perfectly still, not rushing her, seeming to know that she needed time to get used to the idea that he was truly hers.
He caught his breath as she kissed him. Soft, gentle touches of her lips, hardly more than the caress of a butterfly’s wing, at first. Then with more urgency, until all the suppressed longings of the past weeks exploded and she wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him down to her, offering herself in complete and utter surrender.
When at last she released him, he smiled very slowly. First his mouth, then his cheeks, finally those fierce, compelling eyes creased.
‘Those weren’t quite the details I had in mind, my darling, but I guess they can wait.’
She laughed, delightedly, as he shrugged free of his soft leather jacket. Then his eyes smoked with a more urgent need and the laughter died away. As his lips brushed hers, a murmur of desire broke from her and she felt his body shiver with the effort of holding himself in check. The tip of his tongue teased softly at her mouth, parting her lips, tormenting her with lightning forays but not allowing her an opportunity to respond, holding her back until she thought she would scream.
He laughed softly, understanding all too well the desire that quickened her pulse. ‘Slowly, my darling. It’s worth the wait.’ His hand gently cupped her throat, tilting her chin up, brushing back the curtain of hair from her face. But when he kissed her again, there was a new fervour and still it was not enough. The fires that raced through her body were making new demands, urgent demands that only Adam could fulfil.
She pulled at his soft chambray shirt, allowing her hands the freedom to explore the smooth skin of his back, revelling in the heady sense of power as his muscles tensed under her touch. Spurred on by his response she grew bolder, stroking up the hard muscles of his stomach and across his chest until he gasped.
‘You black-haired witch,’ he murmured, his voice lost somewhere in his throat. ‘You’re driving me crazy.’
She lay back then, stretching her arms above her head, offering herself to him.
He eased off her dressing gown and groaned. ‘What are you, Tara? You behave like a witch and look like a virgin.’
‘Why don’t you find out what I am for yourself?’ she offered. He needed no second invitation, but swept her up into his arms and carried her through to the bedroom.
* * *
It was a long time later when he murmured into her shoulder, his voice hoarse with disbelief. ‘You were both.’ He eased himself away from her and for a moment she felt forlorn. Then his arm gathered her in and he pulled the quilt over them both and she nestled against his body. He stroked her hair, her face, lifting her lips once more to his. His smile was slow and content. ‘I’m not complaining you understand. But I hardly expected...’
‘A virgin?’ She shook her head. ‘I never slept with Nigel. It didn’t seem right at home. I’d have died of embarrassment if Aunt Jenny found out.’
‘Home? I don’t understand.’
She lay in his arms and tried to think how to start to explain her life. At the beginning. With her birth. Her mother had suffered dreadfully from depression afterwards she had been told, but she was recovering slowly. Jenny Lambert was a neighbour and friend and she suggested to her father they go away for a weekend, have a break. She would look after the baby.
They had never returned and she had never left the Lambert’s house. Whether from a misplaced sense of guilt, or just a good heart, Jenny had taken on the responsibility of bringing her up alongside her own child.
‘She adopted you?’ Adam asked.
Tara shook her head. ‘No. She was always just Aunt Jenny.’
‘But then why is your name Lambert?’
‘She had a son. Nigel. We grew up together. I’d always loved him, I suppose, like a big brother. But more than that. He was always protective. Always kind. Not like real brothers.’ The memory was warm now. No pain. ‘When he was eighteen he went away to art college. Each time he went back it was harder. I missed him so much. Then one day he phoned and asked me to go up to a college dance. I just thought he hadn’t got another girl to go with, but I didn’t care, I was over the moon. It was my dream come true. And apparently his too. As soon as he came home he asked me to marry him.’
Adam shifted slightly at her side and frowned. ‘Didn’t people think it a bit odd?’
‘Why should they? Everyone knew that we weren’t brother and sister. Aunt Jenny was delighted.’
‘So what happened, Tara?’
She took a deep breath. ‘He was specialising in jewellery design by then and he had been making a wedding present for me, a brooch—’
‘Is that the one you wear all the time? Like a little lopsided vee.’
‘It’s my name in shorthand,’ she explained. ‘I always signed my name like that when I wrote to him. I know it was silly—’
He stopped the words with his finger to her lips. ‘No, not silly.’
‘It had taken longer to finish than he thought. It was the tiny diamonds for the vowels that caused the problem and he wanted it to be perfect.’ She hesitated, not sure if she could go on. He didn’t press her, waited patiently until she was in control once more, stroking her hair, reassuring her. ‘But he had to be home for the wedding rehearsal, Aunt Jenny had made such a fuss that everything should be perfect, and he was driving much too fast because he was late. He came off his motorbike and broke his leg.’
‘So why didn’t you cancel the wedding?’
‘Aunt Jenny and Lamby were going to New Zealand for six months. They had family out there and they had already put off the visit until after the wedding.’
‘Well that explains the very strange wedding photograph.’
‘It was all good fun. We popped a bottle of champagne and the nurses joined in, then his parents went off to the airport and in the evening I went home. An odd sort of wedding night all on my own.’ She had never since been able to stand the sound of the telephone ringing in the night. It brought it back, like a recurring nightmare to haunt her. ‘He collapsed in the night. They tried to revive him, but it was a thrombosis. No one had expected... he was young... fit...’
‘Oh, God.’ His arms tightened about her. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘
I went to the hospital—’
‘Don’t distress yourself. There’s no need to go on.’
‘I have to finish now. Tell you everything.’ She blinked back the tears. ‘He had been carrying a donor card you see and they wanted me to agree—’
‘You were alone? There was no one with you?’ His voice was fiercely angry. ‘How could they do that?’
The horror of that night would never leave her. ‘I don’t suppose it was easy for them. And it seemed a way of keeping him alive, of making his life mean something. But Aunt Jenny... when they flew back for the funeral... she was horrified. She thought I’d desecrated her son’s body, taken something precious from her. She looked at me as if she hated me.’ Adam gently brushed away tears that were flowing freely now. ‘They went back to New Zealand afterwards and I’ve never seen them, or heard from them since.’
CHAPTER TEN
HE let her weep, holding her, cradling her. It was a long time before he spoke. ‘The Lamberts — did you try to keep in touch with them?’
‘I wrote to them. Four or five times. My letters were returned unopened.’
‘I can’t believe the cruelty of it.’ His arm clasped her convulsively and suddenly his voice was tight with anger. ‘You were just a child.’
‘Not quite. Eighteen. Nigel was twenty-one. You mustn’t blame them, Adam. It was grief, I know that and they couldn’t get their head around the fact that it was my decision… They’d lost their only son and I’d…’ She couldn’t repeat what Aunt Jenny had said to her. She knew it was what he’d wanted, but she still felt guilty.
‘They lost their only son and then they threw away a daughter. My poor Tara, however did you cope?’
‘I’m not sure. Hard work helped. I sold the little house we were going to live in and bought this place. It took a lot of my time to decorate, get exactly how I wanted it.’
‘And there’s never been anyone else?’
