by Sara Craven
With her bottom lip caught in her teeth, she climbed up carefully, the swathe of fabric over her shoulder.
'Don't look down,' she muttered under her breath.
'Just don't look down.'
Ten minutes later she was wondering what had made her think this was a job for one pair of hands. Despite her best efforts, the heavy canopy refused to stay in place while she fixed the corners.
'Damn the thing,' she muttered, leaning over further to tug it straight, only to feel the steps begin to wobble as the balance of her weight altered. She gave a little cry, and clutched at the nearest bedpost to steady herself.
And heard Chay's voice say grimly, 'What the hell do you think you're doing?'
She looked down and saw him beside her. Below her, looking up. And suddenly the old nightmare took possession again, and the green carpet was grass, and she was a terrified child, realising how far she could fall.
'Don't touch me.' Her voice rose hysterically.
'Don't touch the ladder.'
He said grimly, 'Don't be a fool, Adie. I've got you. Down you come.'
'No.' As his hands gripped her waist she kicked out at him.
Chay swore, lifting her away from the steps, turning her in his arms so that she was pinned against him, her breasts crushed against the wall of his chest, her dilated eyes staring into his. Holding her there until she stopped struggling and the small dry sobs died away, leaving only the hurry of their breathing to disturb the tense silence.
He said harshly, 'You just don't get it, do you, Adie?'
Then, infinitely slowly, he began to lower her to the ground, still watching her, letting every inch of her body linger tellingly against his.
She felt the first dark shiver of arousal ripple through her. Heard herself whimper softly as her head fell back and her lips parted, inviting his kiss.
Then, abruptly, there was the quick tap of approaching footsteps, a gasp and a murmured apology, and Adrien turned her head to see Mrs. Whitley beating an embarrassed retreat.
Chay said, 'Jean—wait a minute.' He set Adrien gently and unhurriedly down on the floor, then turned to the housekeeper hesitating in the doorway. He said, 'Jean, you can hang these curtains, please?' He paused, adding silkily, 'Miss Lander has no head for heights.'
He divided a swift, impersonal smile between the pair of them, and walked out of the room.
Mrs. Whitley came forward, tutting. 'You should have come to me, madam,' she said reproachfully.
'Why, you're as white as a sheet.'
'I thought I'd fall,' Adrien said, half to herself, still staring at the door. Still seeing the image of Chay walking away from her, with that long lithe stride that she knew so well. It wasn't the first time, she thought, so why should she suddenly find it so disturbing?'
'Then I'll stand on the steps and you can hand everything up to me,' Mrs. Whitley said firmly. She stroked the material. 'Such lovely colours—and beautiful workmanship.'
She chatted quietly and inconsequentially as the curtains were hung round the bed and at the tall windows, and while the canopy was adjusted, and Adrien replied at random, her thoughts whirling as she tried to rationalise the feeling of unease which Chay's abrupt departure had triggered.
When everything was finished, and admired, and Mrs. Whitley had disappeared to restore the steps to their usual place, Adrien escaped to her room. She curled up on the window seat, looking down at the sodden garden.
She'd given herself a fright, but it was over now, and anyway, Chay had been there to rescue her. Just as he had been all those years before, guiding her down from the treehouse, she recalled. Trying to make belated amends, she had supposed bitterly, for stranding her there. Or pretending that he hadn't been the one to do it, not knowing that she'd looked down and seen him—walking away.
Except—except that it was all wrong, she realised, frowning. The figure walking away from her, imprinted in her mind, had had a much shorter stride. Had held himself differently. Hadn't been as tall. She thought, with a kind of anguish, I know Chay. I know everything about him and I always have. I've carried that knowledge with me all these years, no matter how it hurt. So how could I not have seen that it wasn't him at all—but someone wearing his grey jacket?
It had to have been Piers, of course, she recognised with an odd calm. Piers—the Grange's future owner—who had resented Chay as an interloper. Piers, who'd deliberately smashed Chay's field glasses and had been determined to wreck his private sanctuary too. Who had wanted Chay blamed and sent away.
But why? she asked herself in bewilderment. Why such an extreme reaction over the housekeeper's son?
'You don't get it,' Chay had said to her.
But I do now, she thought. I know exactly how it happened.
And maybe Chay himself could tell her why. She had to find him, explain to him the self-deception she'd been practising all this time. And ask him—somehow—to forgive her.
And there was no time like the present, she thought, steeling herself as she got up from the window seat.
She ran lightly downstairs, not giving herself time for second thoughts, and tapped on the library door. There was no reply, and she knocked again more loudly.
'Miss Lander?' Mrs. Whitley spoke from behind her. 'I was just coming to tell you that I've put some tea for you in the drawing room.'
'Oh, thank you,' Adrien hesitated. 'Has Mr. Haddon gone out again?'
'Yes, madam.' Mrs. Whitley's pleasant face took on a faintly wooden look. 'Unfortunately, he's had to go back to London. He asked me to make his apologies and say he'll see you next weekend.'
'When his guests are expected,' Adrien said quietly. 'Yes, of course.' She mustered a smile.
'Thank you, Mrs. Whitley.'
The tea looked delicious. Tiny triangular sandwiches, a sponge filled with jam and cream, and a plate of homemade biscuits. But Adrien could not have eaten a crumb.
Because Chay had not simply walked away. He'd walked out.
She thought, in desolation, I've left it too late—
and now he's gone. I've lost him. And tasted tears, hot and scalding, in her throat.
CHAPTER NINE
'If we're not careful,' Zelda said gleefully. 'We're going to have a full order book.'
'Seems like it,' Adrien agreed, brows furrowed as she checked an estimate. 'What's caused this sudden flurry of activity?'
'Christmas cards in the shops,' Zelda told her solemnly. 'People realise that, although it's only September, the countdown to hell has started, and they want to rethink the decor in their houses before the relations start arriving.'
She paused. 'At least there isn't that problem at the Grange. I hope Chay's guests will be duly impressed.'
'So do I,' Adrien said drily. 'But I doubt it. They all seem pretty high-powered.' She sighed. 'Chay's PA has faxed me details of all their interests and likes and dislikes, so that I can plan their entertainment with more precision.'
'Ouch,' said Zelda. 'Rather you than me.'
'Oh, it's not too onerous.' Adrien slid the estimate into an envelope and sealed it. 'The men want to play golf, which is easy. As for the wives, one of them is mad about tennis, another likes to swim, and the third collects antiques. So I've arranged temporary membership of the Country Club for the entire weekend, and a visit to the antiques fair at Lower Winkleigh on Sunday morning.'
She frowned slightly. 'On Saturday evening some of the local people have been invited to a drinks party.'
'Anyone interesting?'
'Sally Parfitt sent out the invitations from the London office some time ago. They're mostly the older generation,
I think. People who knew Angus Stretton.' Her frown deepened. 'Which is odd, really.'
'Or a shrewd move. Wooing the people who matter?' Zelda suggested. She put down the book of fabric samples she'd been examining. 'Anyway, I hope the master of the house appreciates your efforts. When does he plan to return?'
Adrien shrugged. 'Around lunchtime tomorrow, I suppose,' she said neutrally. "The guests will be arriving during the afternoon, and he'll want to be there to welcome them.' She hesitated. 'I feel as if I'm leaving you in the lurch, now that all this work has started to come in. But it won't be for much longer.'
Zelda sent her a half-smile. 'I'll take your word for it, honey.'
Adrien picked up the pile of envelopes from the desk. 'I'll take these to the post, then get back. I have to sort out something to wear at dinner tomorrow evening.' She pulled a face. 'I'm not expected to compete, so I guess my all-purpose black will do.'
'I'd like to think it had some purpose,' Zelda said, and dodged, laughing, as Adrien threw a ball of crumpled paper at her.
Out in the courtyard, Smudge was playing with his puppy, an eager, bright-eyed bundle with ominously large paws, whom Zelda had christened Bugsy Malone in tribute, she said, to his criminal tendencies.
Smudge was a different kid these days, Adrien thought, pausing to watch them affectionately. So perhaps some good had come out of the past fraught few weeks after all.
She'd waited the rest of last weekend, hoping for a message of some kind from Chay, explaining his abrupt departure. But there'd been nothing. And the only contact this week had been through his PA.
'Adie—watch.' Smudge had spotted her. 'Bugsy can do a trick. He can roll over.'
Adrien hid a smile as the puppy lay on his back, waving his paws in the air. 'Wow,' she said, crouching down to tickle the velvety tummy with a gentle hand. 'He's a very intelligent dog.'
'He's got to have injections,' Smudge said. 'I can take him for walks. Will you come too, Adie?'
'Whenever I can,' Adrien told him, rising to her feet again.
'You live at the Grange now,' Smudge persisted.
'Why do you? I liked it when you lived in the cottage. When are you coming back? I miss you.' He put his arms round her and buried his face in her skirt.
Adrien touched his hair. 'I miss you, too. And I'll be coming back very soon.'
She heard a slight sound, and looked up. Chay was standing a few yards away, watching her, his expression cold and bleak. She said, aware that her pulses had begun to behave erratically, 'What are you doing here? You're a day early...'
'You weren't at the house,' he said. 'I came to make sure you hadn't run out on me.'
Adrien gently detached Smudge's clinging hands.
'You said I could continue with my business,' she reminded him. 'It won't manage itself.'
'I haven't forgotten. However, this weekend is important to me, and your primary role is as my hostess.'
'You've bought my services,' she said. 'And you won't be short-changed. I think you'll find everything in place.'
'I hope so.'
Oh, why are we sniping at each other? she asked herself in anguish. This isn't how I planned it at all. But then Chay's unexpected arrival had wrong footed her completely.
'Are you going with that man?' Smudge suddenly demanded.
'I have to,' she told him. 'He's my boss.'
Smudge turned a mutinous look on Chay.
'Why can't you leave Adie alone?'
'Because I need her,' Chay said. 'To work for me.'
'When she's finished work, can she come back here?'
'I think,' Chay said quietly, 'we'll have to wait and see.' He looked at Adrien. 'Are you going straight to the Grange?'
'I have to go to the post office first.' Adrien waved to Smudge as she turned away.
'Then I'll walk with you.' Chay fell into step beside her. He looked tired, she thought. She wanted to kiss the taut-ness from his mouth and close his eyes with her fingertips. She wanted to hold him. To draw his head down to her breast and let him sleep. The longing to touch him twisted inside her like a knife in a wound.
He said, his tone expressionless, 'You have an admirer.'
She forced a smile. 'He's a terrific kid. Things haven't been easy for him.'
'He was one of your concerns when you agreed to our arrangement.' It was a statement, not a question. She bent her head. 'Yes.' There was a silence, then she said, 'Why did you come to look for me?'
'Just protecting my investment, darling.' His voice was light and cynical.
'You didn't need to come down today,' she said carefully. 'Mrs. Whitley and I have everything under control.'
'You mean you'd find it more convenient if I only showed for a few hours at the weekends.' His tone hardened. 'The Grange is my home, Adie, and I'll visit it when I want.' He paused. 'And if that's a problem for you, then deal with it.'
'That isn't what I meant.' She bit her lip.
'Chay—let's not have any more misunderstandings. The weekend's going to be difficult enough without us being at each other's throats.'
'I thought everything was arranged.'
'Not that,' she said. 'I'm wondering how your guests will regard me. As I'm living in your house, they're bound to make assumptions.'
'Would you like me to wear a badge?' His tone bit. '"I am not sleeping with this woman"?'
'Now you're being ridiculous,' she said wearily.
'Just forget I said anything. And here's the post office.'
'Ah,' Chay said derisively. 'I thought it looked familiar. And across the road is a cafe. Why don't we share a civilised pot of tea together while we figure a way to lessen your embarrassment?'
'"Civilised",' she said, pushing her envelopes into the mailbox, 'is hardly a word I'd use to describe our relationship.'
His mouth twisted into a smile. 'Maybe you bring out the barbarian in me, Adie. But I want this weekend to be relaxed, and it won't be if you're seething with resentment.'
'Perhaps you could refer to me as another PA, like Sally Parfitt,' she suggested. 'Let me maintain a low profile.'
They halted in front of the cafe, and Chay's hand closed on her shoulder, turning her slightly so that she could see her reflection in the plate glass window.
He said harshly, 'Take a good look at yourself, Adrien. Look at your hair, your skin, your eyes. You couldn't fade into the background if you tried. And it would fool no one anyway.'
'Why not?'
'Because of this,' he said. And pulled her towards him. The kiss was brief, but searingly, hungrily explicit in its demand. He didn't use any force, but when he let her go Adrien had the absurd impression that her lips were bruised.
She took a step backwards, fighting the insidious throb of excitement which made her want to go back into his arms. Offer her mouth again. She stared up at him, searching for something to say, trying to read his expression. But the grey eyes were hooded.
He said laconically, 'Now we've given the gossips a field-day, let's have that tea.'
She ought to refuse. She wanted to refuse. To make some excuse, find the Jeep and drive somewhere that he'd never find her again.
Yet somehow they were in the cafe, and Chay was ordering tea and a plate of sandwiches.
'Jean says you don't eat enough,' he remarked, as the young waitress departed.
'I'm perfectly all right,' she retorted. 'Jean fusses too much.'
'I think I'll let you tell her that yourself.'
He sounded coolly friendly, she realised with wonder. As if that sudden blaze of desire had never existed.
She took a deep breath. 'Chay—I need to talk to you about something.'
'Are you quite sure it's necessary?' His gaze met hers levelly.
She swallowed. 'It's important—to me.'
'Are you going to tell me you're pregnant?'
'Of course not. It's far too soon to know.'
'There are tests—aren't there?' The question was casually interested.
'Yes,' she said. 'But I don't need one. There's no baby.'
'How can you be sure?'
Because I'd know, she thought. Because your child would be a beautiful glowing secret to be sheltered inside me. And instead I just feel— empty.
; She said shortly, 'Female intuition.'
His mouth curled. 'Not the most reliable monitor.'
She supposed it was a reference to Piers, and bit her lip.
At that point the tea arrived, and setting out the crockery and pouring the tea provided a brief diversion. As she passed him his cup, she said, 'You're probably right. Mine's been letting me down for years.' She paused. 'Why didn't you tell me that it was Piers who stranded me in the treehouse and not you?'
'Because it was easier that way,' he said after a pause. His hand strayed to the scar on his cheekbone. 'Or it was before you started using me as target practice.'
'But you were sent away,' she said soberly. 'It must have been dreadful for you. And it wrecked your relationship with Angus. You were rarely allowed back to the Grange after that, even in vacations.'
'And when I did return there was more trouble. Is that what you're leading up to?'
She winced. 'I'm trying to understand,' she said.
'I can see how angry you must have been. How bitter.'
And when Angus rejected you again it must have been the last straw, she thought. You wanted to hit out—and there I was—being indulged by Angus and given expensive presents. You wanted to punish me for my part in it all.
'I was exiled to the sixth form in one of the best schools in the country, and then on to university,'
Chay told her drily. He offered her the sandwiches and took one himself. 'Hardly penal servitude.'
'Oh,' she said, remembering that overheard conversation between her parents. 'But I thought...'
'I know what you thought,' he said. 'And what you still think, for that matter. What's this all about, Adie?'
Adrien looked down at the tablecloth. 'I thought it was time I apologised for my part in it all.'
'Consider it done.' He sounded indifferent. 'It was all a long time ago.'
'But still having repercussions—in both our lives,' she said in a low voice. 'Isn't that why you bought the Grange?'
'Yes.' His tone was suddenly uncompromising. 'I always intended it to belong to me.'
She swallowed. 'And—was I part of the plan?'
'Yes.' His smile was crooked. 'Which just proves how unwise some ambitions can be.' He paused. 'I've got something to tell you, too, Adrien.'
