Christmas Child

by Diana Hamilton

  And the second sensible thing to do was phone James. Tonight. Explain that she’d reconsidered, call the wedding off.

  It was the only course of action to take, she told herself sternly when the car finally swept up the driveway to Berrington House. She couldn’t imagine what had made her accept his cold-blooded proposal in the first place.

  But she could. Of course she could, she reminded herself as she stood in the hallway waiting for her father to garage her car. When her father had taken James into his confidence, told him he was thinking of taking full retirement, of selling the family home and moving into an apartment with Mrs Flax to look after him, he had overlooked her entirely, just as if she didn’t even exist.

  It had felt like abandonment. Brought back the feelings of betrayal and inadequacy she’d experienced when her mother had walked out all those years ago, never to get in touch again, or remember her birthdays, or even ask how she was.

  It had made marriage to James, even a marriage that would be no marriage at all, seem like a haven of security.

  She was going to have no part of it.

  She could stand on her own, make a life for herself. She could travel, take up private tutoring. With her qualifications she could easily find employment teaching English to Spanish children—or French, German or Italian. She wasn’t the hopelessly vague and impractical creature everyone seemed to think she was.

  ‘I think you have something to tell me,’ she stated as her father closed the door behind him, dropped his light leather suitcase on the floor and began to unbutton his overcoat.

  ‘I have?’

  ‘I think so.’ They were going to have this out before she phoned James to tell him she wouldn’t marry him. Tonight she was going to take the initiative for probably the first time in her life, even if the thought of turning James down did make her feel weak and tearful. ‘Retirement, handing over the shares in the business to me, an apartment in town for you and Mrs Flax. Does that jog your memory?’

  ‘Ah.’ He had the grace to look uncomfortable. ‘So James told you. I would have told you—’

  ‘When?’ she broke in. ‘When the new owners moved in here and you finally remembered I existed, couldn’t really be left behind like a piece of unwanted furniture they could either make use of, or throw on the nearest skip?’

  If possible, he looked more incredulous than he had at the station when confronted by her new appearance. He wasn’t used to her standing up for herself.

  ‘Nothing like that!’ he answered gruffly. ‘Look, let’s go through and make cocoa. I fancy an early night, and while we drink it I’ll explain everything.’

  Tight-lipped, Mattie led the way to the kitchen and took a bottle of the white wine left over from Christmas out of the fridge and busied herself with the corkscrew. She felt in need of something stronger than the ritualistic bedtime mug of cocoa.

  Apart from raising one bushy eyebrow, Edward said nothing, just set about making his own hot drink, and when that was done he found his daughter looking at him almost aggressively over the rim of her glass.

  ‘Sit down, Mattie. You weren’t meant to feel left out of my plans.’

  ‘Then why was I?’ she returned, but less sharply. He really did look tired, she thought with a pang, and she normally didn’t have a confrontational bone in her body.

  She did as he’d suggested and joined him at the table, cradling the bowl of her wineglass in her small, long-fingered hands. ‘Have you reached a firm decision about moving?’ she asked, determined to cool down for his sake.

  ‘Yes,’ he acknowledged. ‘But only forty-eight hours ago when I found the ideal apartment. Since my GP advised me to take things more easily—no, it’s nothing to worry about,’ he said quickly, seeing the sudden flare of anxiety in her eyes. ‘Problems with blood pressure, nothing that can’t be sorted. But it did start me thinking. James is more than capable of running the business without my input. And I could sell out to him, but I’d rather the shares went to you, stayed in the family.

  ‘Naturally, I discussed the possibility with him. And this barn of a place—’ he spread his hands expressively ‘—the three of us have rattled around here for too long. I sounded Mrs Flax—Emily—out. I said nothing definite, of course. An apartment in London would be easier for her to cope with. Close to the things that make life more agreeable. Emily and I share several interests—light opera, the theatre, visiting museums, Italian restaurants, that sort of thing. And more of a social life for you, I thought. You spend too much time alone here.

  ‘And then you and James dropped your marriage bombshell and you were out of the frame where my plans were concerned. What had been vague ideas became a little more solid then. So I spent the week in London. Apartment hunting, meetings with the company solicitor arranging for my shares to be transferred to your name. And I hadn’t mentioned any of this to you.’

  His eyes smiled at her. ‘Not because I’d overlooked you, but because nothing was definite, not at that stage. You’re not the most practical person I know, happiest when shut away with your work. I didn’t want you getting into a flap until I’d really decided that the move, if I were to make it, would work.’

  ‘You thought I’d run around like a headless chicken,’ Mattie commented wryly. It seemed that everyone had an unflattering opinion of her. And no doubt she had earned it. Well, she thought robustly, things were going to change. She was going to change.

  She swallowed her wine and poured herself another glass, opened her mouth to tell her father that her marriage to James was off, then closed it again as something inside her tightened into a painful knot.

  James himself had to be the first to know of her decision; she owed him that much. She asked instead, ‘So did you find a suitable apartment for you—and Emily?’

  Was there more to this than met the eye? Mrs Flax had been with them for years, since Mattie’s mother had gone to pieces after the death of her idolised baby son. A year or two younger than Mattie’s father, the widowed Emily Flax was a capable, still handsome woman, kindly and caring. It would be wonderful if they married. Her father deserved to be happy after the dark years of loneliness.

  ‘Yes. About a ten-minute walk from James’ house in Belgravia, so we’ll be able to see a lot of each other after you’re married. Did you see much of James while you and Dawn were in London?’

  ‘No.’

  Nothing. As far as she knew he had no idea she’d been away from Berrington for the past few days. Though he might have phoned. She’d check the answer machine for messages before she got in touch with him. The only contact she’d had with him since she’d agreed to marry him had been his calls to keep her up to date with the arrangement he was making: a simple civil ceremony, no fuss, no honeymoon because in the circumstances there was no point—which was unflattering but completely understandable when they both knew their marriage wouldn’t be a real one, she thought, her heart aching.

  Her father, on the point of rising, sank back in his seat, a frown pulling his brows together. ‘I can’t pretend I wasn’t delighted when James told me you were to marry. I guess every father wants to hand the safe keeping and happiness of his daughter over to a man he can trust implicitly. But until recently he was engaged to that awful woman. You must have discussed it, of course. But are you sure he can make you happy?’

  He could, if he loved her. He could make her the happiest, most ecstatic woman on the planet. But he didn’t. And wearing his wedding ring would make her unspeakably miserable, she knew that now. But time enough to tell her father the whole thing was off in the morning, after she’d phoned James.

  ‘Let me worry about that,’ she evaded, taking his empty cocoa mug over to the sink. ‘Why don’t you turn in? You did say you needed an early night. It’s gone ten o’clock already.’

  And she needed time to mentally reinforce her decision to phone James and tell him she couldn’t marry him, explain that it would be wrong for both of them. Despite what he’d said, he was a normal male,
with all the needs that implied. Sooner or later he’d face a temptation he would find almost impossible to resist, he’d meet some gorgeous woman who would make him forget he’d said he wouldn’t stray, make a mockery of his cynical statement that he was off the whole idea of sex.

  And if he succumbed to that type of temptation he’d be riddled with guilt because he’d made a promise to her, one that was impossible to keep, and he would suffer because he was an honourable man. And she would suffer, too. Unbearably.

  She barely heard her father’s goodnight and only realised she was alone when the silence tortured her nerve-endings. Time to bite the bullet, to quash the foolish, flickering hope that, given time, he could learn to love her, that their marriage could become a real one.

  It simply wasn’t going to happen.

  Passing through the hall on her way to the study, she slid the silk-covered buttons of her jacket from their moorings and shrugged out of it. The thought of what she was going to have to say to James was making her overheat. She’d be throwing away something so very precious.

  Her throat closed up, everything inside her tightening. It was as if she were going to the dentist for a particularly gruelling session of deep-root fillings! Only worse.

  She turned to head for the study and the phone but the sound of the main door opening had her swinging back, the sound of James’ voice startling her violently.

  ‘So you are here. I was worried; you didn’t answer my calls, Mattie—’

  His voice faded. Mattie stared at him. Framed by the blackness of the night beyond the open doorway, he looked mysterious, dangerous and compellingly gorgeous. How could she tell him she wouldn’t marry him when she wanted him, adored him, with every atom of her being?

  Yet she must. She knew she must.

  He was staring back at her, his slightly hooded silver eyes sliding down from her face, covering the pert, rounded breasts revealed by the skinny-rib V-necked top that matched the discarded jacket, taking in the flatness of her tiny waist, the slight flare of hips and slenderness of thigh covered in creamy-looking leather.

  He was looking at her as if he’d never seen her before, as if what he saw mesmerised him. As if he really and truly enjoyed what he was seeing. It was obvious from his riveted expression that he didn’t find the transformation shocking, pathetic or funny!

  For the first time he was seeing her as a real woman. A desirable woman?

  Certainty blossomed fiercely in Mattie’s heart. Fiercely and intoxicatingly sweetly. Her good intentions disappeared into the dark winter night. She wasn’t going to quit on him. Oh, however could she have harboured such a defeatist thought? The slide of his eyes over her body was like the physical touch of a lover; it made her flesh tingle, made her heart swell with yearning.

  Sexual interest—the dawning of awareness of her on his part—was something solid and hopeful to work on. Perhaps, given time, he could fall in love with her.

  Without taking his eyes off her, James pushed the door back into its frame, shutting out the night. Mattie, dressed as she was, without the shapeless, dowdy things she normally went around in, was a shattering revelation. Five-two of slender, seductively curving perfection. All woman, and then some.

  The niggling anxieties that had brought him dutifully down here tonight hardened into something very much sharper than concern over the well being of a fellow human, something he couldn’t put a name to.

  ‘So where were you?’ His voice sounded harsh and accusing to his own ears, but he couldn’t help that. She hadn’t returned a single one of his calls over the last few days, and she obviously hadn’t come down with a bad dose of flu or fallen down the stairs and been lying around with a broken limb because she couldn’t get to a phone and there’d been no one home to help her. By the look of her she’d been out, strutting her stuff while her father and the housekeeper had both been away.

  Yes! Mattie resisted the impulse to punch the air. He sounded like a suspicious husband—jealous, even!

  She gave him a slow smile, lowering her lashes.

  James came closer, sucking in his breath. ‘I left messages but you didn’t bother to return them. When I got back this evening from a site visit in York I phoned again. Still no answer. I drove down because I was worried. So where were you?’

  That smile, dammit, made his blood pressure rise angrily. The subtle, bronzy tones of that apparently expertly applied lipstick made her even, pretty teeth almost impossibly white and her generous mouth definitely sultry.

  Hell, she never wore the stuff as far as he knew. Just the lightest smudge of pale pink if she was going out somewhere she deemed merited the effort.

  He was more than annoyed with her, Mattie thought. He was spitting mad! Never before, in all the time she’d known him, had he displayed any emotion other than mild brotherly affection—or a rather patronising amusement—where she was concerned.

  She was getting there!

  ‘Your call this evening must have coincided with my driving to Lewes to meet Dad’s train,’ she said soothingly. ‘And before that, Dawn and I were in London, shopping for my trousseau.’ And thank heaven she’d been too busy getting herself hot and bothered about her new image to even think of listening for messages during the twenty-four hours she’d been back here, she thought elatedly.

  If she had done so, this evening as she’d intended she would have returned his calls and told him the wedding was cancelled.

  The close brush with might-have-been made her voice breathless as she said, ‘I’m sorry you were worried; as you can see, there was no need. But it was thoughtful of you to go to the trouble to check up on me. Now come on through to the kitchen. I’ll fix you some supper and you can sleep over. You won’t want to drive back to town tonight.’

  Something was fizzing through her veins. Sheer, gut-twisting excitement, the certainty that—thanks to Dawn’s pestering—James was seeing her as a real flesh-and-blood woman for the first time ever, that there was something here she could build on if only she could be patient, or clever, enough. Whatever, for possibly the first time in her life she felt gloriously liberated, invulnerable.

  Ungritting his teeth, James followed, his eyes annoyingly glued to her neat little backside so lovingly covered by butter-soft leather.

  When, and how, had his old friend Matts changed from a quiet, mouse-like, studious, vague and innocently sexless creature into a woman who would make any red-blooded male suddenly overdose on testosterone?

  The comfortable, undemanding paper marriage he’d proposed was going to take some honouring. But it was what she’d agreed to, what she was expecting, and if he wasn’t prepared to call the whole thing off, then that was the way it was going to have to be.

  Shouldn’t be too difficult, though, he glumly assured himself as he sat at the kitchen table, tossed back the whisky she’d given him and watched her beat eggs for the omelette she’d offered to make.

  Given that he’d decided that women, the whole pack of them, weren’t worth bothering with, it shouldn’t be difficult at all.

  Besides, that friend of hers had probably bullied her into wearing something that actually revealed the hitherto unguessed-at fact that she had a beautiful body, small but perfectly proportioned, and forced her into shopping for a so-called trousseau. And Mattie would have gone along with it because she would have had little option, because no one but they knew that this forthcoming marriage was one of mutual convenience, a total sham.

  Once she was settled into his home—and he’d already told her she could choose any room she liked as her private work space—she would revert to being herself. Without the pressure coming from Dawn, who obviously thought a wedding in the offing was an excuse to get dolled up to the nines, good old Matts would bury her nose in her work and bury her body in the shapeless, mud-coloured things that comprised her normal wardrobe.

  The status quo would be restored, and that he could handle. No problem.

  No problem at all.

  CHAPTER FOUR
>
  ‘THE way we conduct our marriage is no one’s business but our own,’ James stated as repressively as he could manage through throat muscles that were becoming so restricted they were in danger of seizing up completely.

  ‘Yes, I do know that.’ Mattie smiled sweetly, lifting the silver covers from the dishes on the heated trolley, the sleek wings of her hair brushing against her slightly flushed cheeks. ‘But think about it, James. I’m sure Mrs Briggs is a treasure, and discreet, and very loyal—but she is only human. I managed to put her mind at rest over our separate bedrooms—I told her it was the modern way. She did look a bit bewildered but I think she swallowed it. Then you chose to spend all day at the office—the first day of our marriage—and I know she found that very odd. So what could I do?’

  Again that smile, slanted in his direction. This time warmly conspiratorial. Her mouth was a glossy scarlet tonight. Lush. Made for kissing. James ran a finger beneath the pristine white linen collar of his shirt. Was the central heating way too high, or was he coming down with something? Like a bad case of lust?

  ‘I said what a pity it was that something so important had come up, making it imperative that you tied yourself to your desk all day, asked her to prepare dinner and then take the rest of the night off. Then I made sure she saw me dressed like this.’

  Like a walking invitation to get between the sheets!

  A diaphanous piece of black nonsense, tiny straps that looked as if they would snap if touched supporting a scooped-out top that clung to two pert and perfect breasts, skimming a tiny waist to cling to delectably curvy hips, ending in a fluttery hem just above her knees.

  Amazingly pretty knees.

  He swallowed convulsively.

  ‘So she believes we’re now enjoying a romantic dinner for two and are on no account to be disturbed,’ she said with a disarmingly husky giggle which sent his blood pressure into orbit. ‘Which should put paid to any suspicions she might be harbouring about the state of our marriage. As I said, she is only human, as prone to speculation and gossip as the rest of us.’