by Sara Craven
She stood under the shower, using a body scrub until every inch of her tingled. She towelled herself dry, then put on the old jade bathrobe. Comfort-dressing, she thought, her mouth twisting. She felt too restless to go to bed, and curled up in the armchair, tucking her feet under her, breathing in the faint drift of fragrance from the roses. Trying to calm herself. To make some kind of plan. Her future was settled, she reminded herself. She had her home. The business was safe now, and they could continue to build on their success. And that was what she'd wanted to achieve.
But she'd had to pay an agonising price for her newfound security.
And now she had to consider her future peace of mind, with Chay living almost on her doorstep. Avoiding the Grange physically shouldn't be too difficult, she thought determinedly. True, it stood on the main road out of the village, but there were other routes—slight detours—which she could take, especially at weekends when Chay would be there. That wasn't the problem.
Somehow she had to accept it was no longer part of her life. That everything that had happened to her under its roof, and the man who was responsible for it, belonged to the past. And could not be allowed to matter.
Or she would spend her life thinking of all the
'might have beens'. Which would be intolerable. Unbearable.
She repeated, 'Unbearable,' and only realised she'd spoken aloud when she heard the note of utter desolation in her own voice. She eventually fell asleep towards dawn, and woke, cold and cramped, to the splash of rain against the window.
My God, she thought, catching sight of her little carriage clock. It's nearly ten o'clock.
She dressed hastily, flinging on a black knee-length skirt and a matching long-sleeved blouse, and ran downstairs.
'I'm sorry I'm so late,' she apologised, encountering Mrs. Whitley in the hall.
'Mr. Haddon said you were to have your sleep out, madam.' Mrs. Whitley's eyes were shrewd, assessing Adrien's pale face and heavy eyes. 'What may I get you for breakfast?'
'I—I'm not hungry. Just some coffee, please.'
Adrien hesitated. 'Where is Mr. Haddon?'
'He went out first thing, madam. And he didn't say when he'd be back.' Mrs. Whitley sounded disapproving. 'I'll bring your coffee to the dining room.'
When she did so, Adrien wasn't surprised to find it accompanied by a plate of creamy scrambled eggs and some crisp toast, which she ate obediently because it was marginally less trouble than arguing.
When she'd finished, she got up from the table and wandered to the window, standing irresolute as she watched the driving rain.
'Such a nasty day,' said Mrs. Whitley, bustling in to clear the table. 'I hope the weather improves next weekend for Mr. Haddon's visitors.'
'He's expecting guests?' Adrien turned, surprised.
'Oh, yes, madam. Some business acquaintances, I understand. It's been planned for some time. When Mr. Had-don gives you the final list, we can decide on bedrooms and menus.' She nodded happily, as if she'd just bestowed a longed-for treat, and disappeared.
I should have told her, Adrien thought with a sigh, returning to her contemplation of the rain. I should have warned her that I won't be here. Not that it really mattered, of course, she added drearily. Mrs. Whitley could cope with a whole houseful of people with one hand tied behind her back.
And I, she thought, squaring her shoulders, I shall be living my own life again. And, as it can't start soon enough, I'll begin my packing right now.
She'd no idea what she was going to say to Zelda, of course, she mused as she went towards the stairs. Some carefully edited approximation of the truth, perhaps. After which the subject would be taboo.
A loud peal from the front doorbell halted her in her tracks. She called, 'It's all right, Mrs. Whitley. I'll get it.'
There was a furniture lorry parked on the drive, and a man in waterproofs beaming at her. 'Nice to see you, Miss Lander. I've brought your bed.'
For a moment she stared at him uncomprehendingly, then realisation hit her like a brick.
'Oh, God,' she said. "The four-poster. I—I'd forgotten all about it.'
That was what had been nagging at her all week, she thought. The bed she'd bought all those weeks ago for Piers and herself. Which Fred Derwent had now restored and was now trying to deliver. Which she'd forgotten to cancel.
She forced a smile. 'Fred—I should have contacted you. There's been a change of plan, I'm afraid. The Grange has been sold, and the new owner doesn't want a four-poster bed, so I'd like you to sell it for me—in your showroom.'
Fred's ruddy face drooped. 'Well, that's a pity. It's a fine bed, and I've made a good job of it, if I do say so myself. Is the gentleman sure he doesn't want it?'
'Absolutely certain.' She looked at him beseechingly. 'Fred, you'll have no trouble selling it—'
'Selling what?' Chay's voice interrupted brusquely. He'd arrived unnoticed from round the corner of the house, and was standing on the gravel, hands thrust into the pockets of his trench coat.
Fred Derwent turned to him eagerly. 'A beautiful four-poster bed, sir. A genuine antique that Miss Lander found and meant for this house. For the master bedroom, I understand. And if you're the new master that makes it yours, I reckon,' he added with a chuckle.
Chay's eyes rested dispassionately on Adrien, framed in the doorway, her face flushed, her eyes wide with trouble.
There was a pause, then he said, 'Of course. Will you bring it in, please? Perhaps your men could move the existing bed up to the attics?'
'Glad to, sir,' Fred said heartily. 'You've made the right decision.'
Chay's smile did not reach his eyes. 'I'll take your word for it Mr—er—Derwent,' he added, glancing at the side of the lorry. 'Now, let's get out of this rain. I'll ask my housekeeper to make us all some coffee.'
As he walked past Adrien her hand closed on his arm, halting him. Mr. Derwent had returned to his lorry to superintend the unloading, and there was no one to overhear as she said quietly, urgently,
'Chay, you don't want it. You can't...'
His brows lifted. 'Why not? Because you planned to consummate your passion for Piers in it?' He shook his head, almost scornfully. 'That won't disturb my dreams, Adrien.'
Her hand dropped to her side. 'Then there's nothing more to be said.'
'Now there I disagree.' His tone was cool and brisk. 'Come to the library in fifteen minutes, will you? And tell Jean about the coffee, please. I'm going to change out of these wet things.'
It was the voice of a man who was used to being obeyed giving orders to a junior employee, Adrien realised furiously, finding herself trailing off obediently in search of Mrs. Whitley. Not someone who'd held her naked in passion the previous night.
Apparently he was even readier to forget the whole disastrous episode than she was herself. Well, that's good, she thought defiantly. Excellent, in fact. She supposed he wanted to give her some kind of formal notice, or to finalise any outstanding payment arrangements. Well, that was all right too. If she tried she could be out of the Grange before lunch.
She spoke to Mrs. Whitley, then went up to her room and began dragging things out of the wardrobe and tossing them into her case, closing her ears to the sounds, at the other end of the corridor, of a four-poster bed being brought upstairs and assembled. When fifteen minutes had elapsed, she went down to the library and knocked at the door.
Chay's 'Come in' held a note of weary exasperation. He was seated behind Angus Stretton's big desk, scanning through the morning's mail delivery, and as he looked up Adrien checked, her hand going to her throat.
The firm mouth tightened. 'Good God, Adie, I can't have startled you this time,' he rasped. 'You knew I was here.'
'I'm sorry.' She steadied herself. 'It's just—seeing you there, where Angus always sat. For a moment I felt as if I were seeing a ghost.'
He glanced back at the letter he was reading. 'I didn't know the Grange was supposed to be haunted.'
He sounded coolly indifferent.
'It's not,' she said. 'And that's not what I meant...'
'Ah, yes,' he said. 'I have no real right to be in this house, or at this desk, and if there was any justice I'd be serving a life sentence without remission for traumatising your childhood and stealing from you on your eighteenth birthday.' He delivered the words with stinging contempt. 'Isn't that the way it goes?'
She bit her lip. 'Believe it or not, I didn't mean that either. I—I came to tell you that I'm ready to leave within the hour. If that's all right.'
He put the letter he was holding down on the desk, crumpling the envelope and tossing it into the waste basket. Then he looked at her, the grey eyes expressionless.
He said, 'Take a seat, Adie. I think we need to talk.'
She remained standing. 'Everything necessary was said last night. You said I should leave.'
'And now I'm asking you to work a month's notice.'
'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm afraid the terms of employment are unacceptable.'
T suppose that's a reference to last night's sexual fiasco,' he said softly. 'However, as I've already indicated, I can safely promise there'll be no repetition of that.'
He paused. Then, 'I think Jean told you I'm having people to stay next weekend. These are men I do business with, and their wives. I need a lady of my own to meet them, and act as my hostess. I'd like you to do this for me.' 'Give me one good reason why I should.' He said gently, 'I could mention thousands. But I'd like to think you were generous enough to help me out here.'
'Make it a week's notice,' she said. 'And I'll consider if….'
Chay shook his head. 'It has to be a month. That's not negotiable.'
'But why? I want to get on with my life.'
'And I want to ensure that you can.' He paused again. 'Tell me, Adie, are you on the Pill?'
Her brows snapped together. 'Of course not—' she began, then halted, her lips parted in sheer consternation as she met his sardonic gaze. She said, 'No—it's not possible. It can't be...'
Suddenly she needed to sit down. She groped for the chair he'd indicated and sank on to it. Chay shrugged. 'We had unprotected sex, Adrien. Again, I hadn't bargained for your extreme state of innocence,' he added drily. 'I thought if you were sleeping with Mendoza, you'd be geared up accordingly.'
'How—dare you?'
His mouth twisted. 'It was an honest mistake, Adie. I only wish you'd been equally candid.' He allowed her to digest that for a second, then went on, 'But, as you can see, I have good reason for keeping you here until I can be sure I haven't made you pregnant.'
'If I am,' she said, 'it'll be my problem, and I'll deal with it.'
'No,' he said. 'It concerns me too, so cool the display of fighting spirit.' He sent her a mocking glance. 'I know you have red hair, Adrien. You don't need to keep demonstrating the fact.'
She glared at him. 'My hair is auburn,' she began, and then realised she'd fallen right into his trap. Remembered with heart-stopping clarity how he'd used to call her 'Ginger' and 'Carrots' all those years before, winding her up until she launched herself at him in fury.
She saw his mouth soften into a grin of pure appreciation, and found, astonished, that she was smiling reluctantly in response. She said, 'You brute.'
'Well, that's almost a term of endearment compared with some of the names you've called me recently.'
He leaned back in his chair, watching her from under his lids. 'So— are you going to stay, Adie?
Naturally, I don't want to pressure you...'
'But you will if you have to,' she supplied bitterly.
'Perhaps,' he said. 'But I'd rather you agreed of your own accord. Is it really so much to ask?'
More than you can ever know. The thought swam into her mind, and was instantly banished. She looked down at her tightly clasped hands.
'I—suppose not. And, anyway, you'll only be around at weekends.'
Oh, God, she thought immediately. Why did I say that?
Glancing apprehensively at Chay, she saw his face harden.
'I shall be here,' he said, his voice biting, 'just as often as the mood takes me. This is now my home, and I'm not staying away to spare your feelings, Adrien. However, I'll take your response as grudging consent.'
He paused. 'After all, I now have an extra bill to pay— for the bed you so conveniently forgot about.'
She said in a stifled voice, 'You didn't have to keep it. I was quite prepared to send it back.'
'You were positively eager to do so.' His mouth curled. 'Poor Adrien. Did it revive too many unhappy memories?'
'It didn't revive any memories at all,' she said.
'As you know.'
Again, she wished the last words unsaid as soon as she'd spoken, but he only nodded.
He got to his feet and walked round the desk, standing looking down at her, his expression unreadable. He said quietly, 'Are you all right, Adie?'
Colour warmed her face. 'I'm fine,' she said quickly. 'Now, can we forget about it, please?'
His mouth twisted without humour. 'You can, I'm sure. I shan't find it quite so easy.'
He allowed the words to die into a tingling silence, then reached behind him and picked up a sheet of paper from the desk. 'Is this your work?'
'Yes,' Adrien said, swallowing, glad to move to the impersonal. 'It's something I was working on yesterday—a plan for the kitchen garden. I shouldn't have left it around.'
'It's good,' he said. 'When the contractors arrive next week, I'd like you to show it to them—get them to work on it.'
'The kitchen garden's a long-term project,' Adrien said hastily, getting to her feet. 'I—I really shouldn't get involved.'
He gave her a swift, wry smile. 'But you already are involved, Adrien,' he said softly. 'You know it, and so do I.' He went back to his chair and picked up another envelope. I'll see you at lunch,' he added casually.
Adrien closed the library door behind her and took a deep breath. It seemed, in spite of everything, she'd committed herself to another month under Chay's roof. Four weeks, she thought. Hardly a lifetime. Unless...
For a moment her hand strayed tentatively to her abdomen.
No, she told herself with determination. It's not true. It can't be true.
But, at the same time, she wouldn't have a quiet moment until she finally learned the truth. And maybe not then, she reminded herself painfully, and went slowly back upstairs to take her clothes out of the case.
As she reached the head of the stairs, Fred Derwent hailed her cheerfully. 'Your bed looks wonderful, Miss Lander. This room really sets it off.
''Oh—good.' Adrien gave him a fleeting smile and turned towards her own room, but he was not to be gainsaid.
'Come and have a look,' he urged.
Reluctantly, she walked to Chay's bedroom doorway and peeped in. Mrs. Whitley was there, busying herself with sheets and pillowcases.
'Beautiful, isn't it?' She ran an approving hand over one of the carved posts. 'What it really needs, of course, is curtains, and one of those canopy things.'
'They'll be coming,' Mr. Derwent assured her.
'Miss Lander's partner was making them special. Isn't that right?'
Aware of their expectant glances, Adrien nodded feebly.
'When will they be ready?' Mrs. Whitley asked eagerly.
'They—they're already finished,' Adrien admitted. 'I— could go and fetch them.'
'That would be wonderful.' Mrs. Whitley beamed.
"The exact finishing touch.'
"Then I'll go now.' Adrien glanced at her watch.
'Would you tell Mr. Haddon I won't be here for lunch, please?'
The rain had stopped and a watery sun had broken through the clouds when she arrived at the cottage. She'd been gone for less than twenty-four hours, but already the cottage had an oddly disused air about it.
Only a month, Adrien comforted herself. And then it will bel
ong to me again. And I'll come over as often as possible. Put fresh flowers around. Open the windows. She collected her post, listed the messages on the answering machine, and made herself some coffee to drink with the ham roll she'd bought at the village shop.
Then she locked up, and walked across the courtyard to Zelda's flat.
Zelda opened the door to her knock. 'Hi.' Her voice was surprised. 'I didn't expect to see you today.'
Adrien smiled constrainedly. 'I thought I'd come and collect the curtains and canopy that you made for the four-poster bed. It—arrived today.'
Zelda stared at her. 'Didn't you cancel it?'
Adrien bit her lip. 'I forgot.'
Zelda's face broke into a grin. 'I think that's what they call a Freudian slip.'
'Nothing of the kind,' Adrien said with a faint snap. 'I just had other things on my mind. Now, may I have the keys to the workroom, please?'
Zelda went with her, and helped her load the heavy bundles of fabric into the Jeep.
She said, frowningly, 'Are you all right?'
'Fine. Never better,' Adrien lied. She nodded.
'It's all going really well.'
'Really?' Zelda gave her a measuring look.
'Why don't I come back with you and help you hang these things? You know how you are with ladders.'
'Not any more,' Adrien said briskly. 'I've put all that nonsense behind me now.'
'Then let me come for moral support.'
Adrien climbed into the Jeep. 'Isn't this the day Smudge gets his puppy?'
'That could wait till tomorrow.'
Adrien shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'He's waited quite long enough. I'll be over to see you all very soon.'
'One day,' Zelda said grimly, T expect you to tell me exactly what's going on.'
I wish I knew myself, Adrien thought, as she put the Jeep in gear and drove off with a cheerful wave.
The Grange seemed deserted when she got back. It took several trips to take the bulky material up to Chay's room, and then she had to search the outbuildings for a pair of suitable steps. Not too high, she reassured herself as she carried them upstairs. Start in a small way, and build on that, and you'll be fine.
