A Guilty Affair

by Hamilton, Diana

  ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Somehow Bess found the strength to move, but her fingers were shaking as she took the plans from the table. ‘I’ll take these with me,’ she said, not looking at either of them. She heard Luca say her name, his voice hoarse with strain, but continued walking, not turning to respond—she couldn’t; she simply couldn’t—and closed the door softly behind her, going to her room.

  There she forced herself to think exclusively of what she had to do. She had to study the plans, make notes for Mark, add what she hoped would pass for reasoned opinions, pack her bags and scribble a terse note telling Luca she’d seen enough and had left, leaving it with the plans on the now cleared breakfast table.

  The place seemed deserted when she left. She would have liked to say goodbye and thank you to Chiara. But she wasn’t going to try to find her. She would run the risk of coming across the others and she didn’t want to know where they were, what they were doing. She didn’t want to have to think of either of them. Ever again.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘HELLO, Mum. How’s everything? Any news?’ Bess had been back in London for over three weeks now and this was the first time she’d phoned home. Oh, she’d sent a couple of postcards, just to say hello, explaining that she’d be too busy with her new job to visit for a while. And she’d sent similar hasty scrawls to Tom.

  She was uncomfortably aware that she should have told him she couldn’t marry him long before now, but she didn’t feel able to face any of them just yet. And, thankfully, he hadn’t tried to contact her. He was probably still deeply annoyed with her over the issue of the job and his wealthy old aunt.

  She listened to her mother go on and on about village affairs—the church fête, the golf club committee, the sub-postmistress’s bad back—until finally she cut in and asked what she’d really phoned to find out.

  ‘Is Helen back from Italy yet?’

  ‘Oh, yes—ages ago.’ Jessica Ryland gave the tinkling laugh that told Bess she thought she was a fool. ‘Of course she is! We’re so busy, you wouldn’t believe—so much to think about, so much to do!’

  ‘And when’s the big day?’ Bess had to know. She would make sure Mark sent her out of the country on a job that she could pretend was too vitally important to postpone. She’d do anything, tell any lie to avoid having to watch the man she loved marry her sister.

  ‘So she’s told you?’ Jessica sounded surprised, and not pleasantly, either. ‘It was going to be the world’s best kept secret until practically the last minute. She’s threatened us all with the direst consequences if we as much as let a word slip to anyone.’ Then the huffiness eased a little. ‘But yes, she would have felt she had to tell you. You are her sister, I suppose.’

  Welcome to the family! Bess thought drily, wondering if Helen had wanted to keep her wedding plans such a strict secret because she wasn’t totally sure of Luca’s commitment. Then, her stomach clenching sickeningly, she heard her mother gush on, ‘Only another four weeks. You can’t think how much there is to arrange—and then rearrange because the dear girl’s changed her mind! Still, you can’t blame her; it’s going to be her big day, after all, so naturally she wants everything to be perfect.

  ‘There’s the guest list, of course. It gets longer and longer—but we’re going to have to get it off to the printer’s soon. Then there’s the flowers, the photographers... Your father’s doing the sensible thing and keeping well out of it—simply footing the bills—which, so he says, is quite enough!’

  All Bess had to do was make suitable murmurs from time to time. And even that was almost beyond her. Stupidly, she had hoped that the wedding was off, that Luca had told Helen that he had fallen in love with someone else. Hoped with stupid desperation, even though she had known in her heart that it wouldn’t happen.

  But the wedding was obviously going ahead as planned and she knew that if she told her mother, right now, that she had decided not to marry Tom, then Jessica would probably murmur something like, ‘How nice,’ and burble on about the reception, Helen’s dress, the honeymoon.

  None of her family would blink at the news of her broken engagement. They would be too busy being happy over the anticipation of the wonderful Helen’s brilliant marriage to one of the decade’s most eligible men to give a single thought to her.

  She had often felt alone in her life, excluded, but this was the first time it had really mattered, and her face was white as she inserted, ‘Must go, Mum—there’s someone at the door.’ Any made-up excuse would do to end this painful, one-sided conversation, and she replaced the receiver and gripped the edges of the table, her face closed up with dredging misery.

  ‘So there you are! I’m going to give myself a facial—want to help?’

  Niccy’s cheerful voice barely penetrated the fog of despair. Slowly, Bess turned unseeing eyes in the direction of her friend.

  Niccy was going out this evening. A new man. They’d known each other for months and suddenly he was showing a decided interest. And Niccy seemed willing to return it. Bess had thought she’d be out of the way for hours, locked in the bathroom making herself gorgeous.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ She hadn’t properly caught what the other girl had said. She hadn’t been listening to anything but the anguish of her heart.

  Niccy stopped smiling, her voice serious as she asked, ‘Bess, what’s wrong?’ She moved closer. ‘You’ve been phoning? Bad news?’

  ‘No.’ Bess bit her lip. Not bad news, just the worst. But it had been predictable. She tried to smile, but her face was too stiff.

  ‘Tell me what’s wrong,’ Niccy insisted. ‘And don’t say “Nothing”. Since you came back from Italy you’ve looked as if you can’t think of one good reason for living. Except work. You never stop. And you’ve lost weight—which isn’t surprising,’ she tacked on sternly, ‘since you barely eat a thing. So tell me; it might help.’

  She wrapped her thin arms round Bess impulsively, comforting her, and that was her undoing. The tears came, pouring unheeded down her cheeks as she raggedly confessed, ‘I’ve been such a fool. And worse. I hate myself!’

  And while Niccy led her into the sitting room and steered her onto the sofa it all came pouring out. Everything. She held nothing back, punishing herself, and, strangely enough, she did feel relief of a kind, as if it was easier to come to terms with her own true feelings when they were spoken aloud.

  ‘Drink this.’ Niccy had poured a generous measure of fine old brandy into a glass and she pushed it into Bess’s hand.

  ‘I think I really hate him,’ Bess stated. ‘I must do, mustn’t I?’ She stared into the amber liquid. It was early evening and she hadn’t eaten all day—at least she didn’t think she had—and it would go straight to her head; she knew it would.

  ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ Niccy put in heatedly. ‘He sounds like a prize rat!’

  Bess hunched her shoulders. ‘I guess he’s one of those men with an over-active libido. Perhaps he can’t help it—else why would he bother with me when he’s about to marry Helen? She’s so lovely. But he’s a sensual animal and I was available—and more than willing. So he used me.’ She took a sip of the potent liquid. ‘When I told him I loved him he thought it was a joke. He explained quite graphically what it really was—in his cynical opinion. Just sex. Not that he was complaining.’

  She twisted the glass round, swirling the brandy, and took a reckless swallow, welcoming the warmth that curled right through her because she hadn’t felt warm inside since... ‘He’d have probably taken me to bed every night I was there, and I’d have let him because I was in love with him, blinded by it,’ she admitted with painful honesty. ‘Only Helen turned up. And that’s what’s giving me nightmares.’

  ‘Guilt?’ Niccy guessed. ‘Oh, you poor thing. And what about Tom? Will you tell him?’

  Bess gave her friend a blank look then shook her head slowly.

  ‘About what happened? No. I can’t marry him, of course, but I won’t tell him about Luca—Luke,’ she correcte
d, vowing never again to even think about him in connection with the name he had asked her to use. That name belonged to fantasy, to a wild romance beneath the velvet Tuscan sky. This was the bleak reality.

  ‘He might go straight to Helen and tell her,’ she explained. ‘He can’t stand the sight of her, and telling her that her husband-to-be can’t be faithful for two minutes would probably be justified in his opinion. It would take her down a peg or two, which is something he’s always said she needs. And what I can’t decide is whether to tell her or not.’

  Giving her friend an anguished look, she asked, ‘What do you think? If he’s unprincipled enough to give in to his insatiable sex-drive, to make love to his future sister-in-law just weeks before his wedding, just think what her life will be like—she’ll never know where he is or what he’s doing and who he’s doing it with! It would be a terrible thing to do, but—’

  ‘Say nothing,’ Niccy advised emphatically. ‘It would be pointless. She’d hate you for the rest of her life—naturally. And my guess is the wedding would go ahead regardless. Financially, socially and in the looks department, Luke Vaccari’s one hell of a catch. Helen wouldn’t let him slip through her greedy fingers because of what she would convince herself was a minor indiscretion. She’d make herself believe it was all your fault.

  ‘My advice is to leave them alone to get on with their own lives. And you get on with yours. You’re not the first girl to fall for a rat and you won’t be the last.’ Her voice softened. ‘Are you sure about Tom? You seemed so certain he was the right man for you. Maybe when you’re over the episode with Vaccari you’ll regret breaking up with Tom. Couldn’t you explain, ask him to give you time—?’

  ‘No,’ Bess said decisively. It would take her a long time to recover from having fallen in love, really, deeply in love, for the first time. It wasn’t, as Niccy seemed to think, something she’d forget in a month or two, put behind her.

  ‘One thing he did do for me,’ she revealed quietly, ‘was change me. He made me see that life is full of endless possibilities. He opened things up for me. So much so that I couldn’t marry Tom now even if I’d never fallen for Luke. I can’t spend the rest of my life being what Tom and my parents—my mother particularly—expect me to be: dutiful, quiet, uncomplaining...

  ‘Now look.’ She got to her feet, wobbled a bit, blamed the brandy, and chivvied, ‘You’ll be late for your date if you don’t get a move on. And thanks for listening, for making me talk. It has helped, honestly.’

  Helped in the context that it had made her see that life had to go on, she mused the next morning. She’d even forced herself to eat a proper breakfast before leaving for work, and made herself take a renewed interest in her appearance. Thus she was wearing her favourite suit—a neat navy skirt topped by a fitted white jacket which thrust her riot of copper curls to vivid prominence, deepened the colour of her green, green eyes and emphasised the sultry curve of her coral mouth.

  So far, so good. But she would never forget him, she thought as she switched on her word processor. Never. That brief interlude of forbidden passion would always be there, right in the centre of her heart.

  Tightening her lips, she began to work, and when Mark walked into her office she was deep in projected costings and barely spared him a glance until he told her, ‘You have the afternoon off. Luke Vaccari phoned me at home last night. He said your discussion might take some time, hence the elastic lunch-hour.’

  He wandered over and stared at the screen. ‘It’s got to be something to do with his cousin’s place, so make sure you take the relevant notes with you.’ He backed off, already leaving. ‘If it was anything to do with the finance package he’d have asked for me.’

  For a panicky, dizzying moment she was tempted to run after Mark and beg him to go in her place. She actually sprang to her feet, but common sense put her back on her seat again.

  Her boss would think she’d flipped, and, much as the thought of meeting Luke again sent her haywire, the sensible part of her brain told her that this might be the only opportunity she would ever get to warn him against the kind of promiscuous behaviour that would hurt her sister, ruin their marriage.

  For, even though she’d always been in awe of her glittering sister, afraid of her sharp tongue, she did love her, and wanted her to be happy.

  Forcing herself to concentrate, she grimly got on with the job in hand, but as one o’clock approached she was fluttering inside. Would she be able to handle this? Would she be able to cope with the way she felt about him?

  She renewed her lipstick with shaky fingers and walked through to the front office. He was waiting and she knew immediately that nothing could, or ever would, make her immune to the sheer impact of him.

  Tall, he had that lithe, lean grace which enabled him to wear beautifully tailored clothes to perfection, a forbidding grace that sent shudders tumbling down her spine, culminating in a shock of raw sensation deep in the core of her body. And his face, beneath the fall of perfectly cut soft dark hair, was something to die for, every woman’s secret fantasy.

  Bess swallowed convulsively, clenching her hands around her briefcase. Unsmiling, his silver eyes held hers with an intensity that was frightening and she said thickly, her mouth feeling numb, ‘I’m ready if you are.’

  ‘Of course.’

  His eyes still held hers, his mouth tight, and she looked away quickly because that level of intensity was making her more than nervous. She walked to the door. There was a cab waiting, and to make sure that the initial part of the meeting was kept strictly to business she told him coolly, ‘I put my thoughts on your cousin’s hotel plans down on paper and, after talking it over with Mark, added a few suggestions. It’s all here.’

  She patted her briefcase, refusing to look at him. ‘Everything could have been sent through the post-there was no need for a meeting. But you can tell her the project looks promising from Jenson’s point of view.’

  ‘There’s every need for a meeting,’ he told her tersely. ‘And it has nothing to do with Emilia’s plans.’

  And no prizes for guessing what was on his mind, she thought miserably. He was going to ask her to keep silent about their night of passion. He had been indiscreet. He wouldn’t want Helen to find out.

  She wondered sickly what inducement he might think fit to offer. Or would he use threats?

  Whatever, she wished herself a whole galaxy away from where she was—so closely confined with the man she couldn’t stop loving, yet so far from him in every way that really mattered. She experienced a wave of relief when the brief journey was over, only to tense right up again as he escorted her into the restaurant he’d chosen.

  It was obviously expensive, the tastefully set tables far enough apart for privacy, the atmosphere hushed, almost reverent, a temple for the enjoyment of good food and wines, sophisticated conversation.

  ‘Shall I order for you?’ Silvery eyes lifted from the leather-bound menu in his strong, lean hands, noting that hers lay unopened on the damaskcovered table.

  Bess nodded. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t know if she could handle this. Maybe she should just say her piece and get up and go.

  But she didn’t move and within moments he was giving their order and her wineglass was filled. She stared at it blankly, not daring to look at him, not wanting to hear him demand her silence, dismiss what had been between them as an unimportant folly, not worth causing a scene between him and his intended wife. Not worth a row of beans.

  ‘Bess. Look at me, Bess.’

  She couldn’t. She sensed his brittle mood keenly. It cut her like a knife because she knew the reason for it. But after a few moments she made herself look at him, lifting her head proudly, glittering green eyes holding silver ones darkened to brooding grey.

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t say a word to anyone about what happened.’ Niccy would never repeat what she’d been told. Bess could trust her with her life. And she dropped her eyes as a plate was deftly put in front of her.

&
nbsp; Beautifully served scallops. No doubt delicious but she wouldn’t be eating. She’d just give him the papers, issue the warning about two-timing Helen after their marriage—the one she’d been rehearsing in her mind—and leave.

  She raised her eyes to his again and he said thickly, ‘Bess—don’t!’

  The sudden bleak shaft of pain she saw beneath the furrowed brows sent her into shock; she was immobilised by the intensity of what he was revealing. He reached for her hand across the table, his fingers winding with possessive savagery around hers.

  ‘I can’t believe how much I’ve missed you!’ His voice was raw.

  He had fought it—God, how he had fought it, he mused. Told himself a thousand times that the madness was over. Finished. Ended. But it wasn’t over. Perhaps it never would be.

  When Helen had walked in on them he had been about to tell her the cold, basic facts, open his heart, let her make the choice. Whatever happened or didn’t happen between them in the future would be her decision.

  At first he had cursed the unlooked-for interruption, but later, when he’d discovered that she’d hightailed back to England, he’d remembered his priorities and counted Helen’s unexpected arrival as a blessing. Helen had unwittingly saved him from making a bad mistake.

  But now, after weeks of listening to his conscience, telling himself that he knew what was right for her—and an affair with him wasn’t that—he found he couldn’t help himself.

  Mistake or not, he had to tell her what he wanted. He was driven by the need. And, although she’d been defensive, prickly, distant, now that he touched her he knew it wasn’t over for her, either.

  Knew it by the way she returned the biting pressure of his fingers, the rapid movement of her gorgeous breasts as they rose and fell beneath the smooth white jacket, by the sudden delicate flush of rosy colour on her cheeks, the way her soft lips parted, her eyes closing to mask the haze of desire he’d so briefly yet unmistakably glimpsed in those shimmering deep green depths.