'This is awfully embarrassing, Mark. I didn't expect your friend to burst in on you in the middle of the night.'
'Neither did I,' he drawled, and shot an amused look at Jasper. 'Go home, old chap, and get a good night's sleep. Or if you'll rest easier, go and wake up Mimi. I'm sure she'll be delighted to give you a four a.m. cup of coffee!'
Jasper shook his head again. 'I'm sorry Mark, I—I don't know what got into me. But when I'm away from Claudine I always think… She's beautiful and young, and I————'
'There's no need to explain.' Mark was the epitome of the understanding host, and Jasper showed equal understanding as he gave Anthea a leer that could not be misinterpreted and which sent a wave of heat coursing through her body.
'I'm sorry for interrupting you, Mark. I hope you'll forgive me.'
'I'll answer that tomorrow,' Mark smiled, and leaned negligently against the door as Jasper muttered another apology and hurried from the house. Only as the sound of his car died away did he straighten and come into the centre of the room. As always it was difficult to read his expression because of his glasses, but there was no doubting the quirk of amusement that lifted the side of his mouth.
'The stage has lost a great actress in you, Anthea. And such imagination too!’
It saved your skin,' she said coldly and, now that the danger had passed, felt like a mother who had seen her child narrowly miss death. Only by hitting him could she relieve the tension. 'Perhaps you might have found it more amusing to see your name splashed in the newspapers?'
'It might happen even yet,' he replied. 'You don't think Jasper will keep quiet at finding you here with me at this hour of the night?'
'What do you mean? I work for you,' she retorted.
'Indeed you do; and in a very fetching dressing gown if I may say so. I'm afraid Jasper's going to regale his cronies with this little titbit.'
'But he couldn't! Not with a wife like————— ' She set her lips tightly together, but the man in front of her knew what she had been going to say.
'Thanks to your quick wits, my dear, Jasper now believes Claudine to be as pure as driven snow. It will give him double pleasure to turn you into the scarlet woman.'
Anthea shivered. In her efforts to save Mark from Goderick's fury, she had given no thought to what she was doing to herself. Now that she did, she saw it was too late to change the course of events. The thought of her father's distress was uppermost in her mind as she spoke. 'Even if Mr. Goderick does gossip about—about finding me here with you, it wouldn't get into the newspapers, would it?'
'It might. Men like me are considered fair game by news- hounds.' He rubbed his hand across his chin and looked at her speculatively. 'I'm surprised you consider the publicity so disagreeable. After all, as a member of the free-thinking younger generation———- '
'I don't care for myself,' she intervened. 'I'm thinking of my father!'
The sardonic expression left his face. 'I'm sorry, I'd completely forgotten your family. But I didn't ask you to rush to my defence, you know, although I greatly appreciate the fact that you did.' He crossed his arms on his chest. 'I'm sure it wasn't to save Claudine.'
Unwilling to say she had done it for him, yet equally unwilling to pretend she had done it for Claudine, Anthea remained mute.
'There's only one way to prevent any gossip,' he said in the silence. 'We can pretend you're my fiancée. I believe engagements these days are often regarded as being as good as marriage, and certainly if you were my future wife your being with me in your dressing gown at three in the morning wouldn't arouse much comment—if any at all.'
'Are you proposing to me?' she asked sharply.
'Only as a temporary measure.'
She averted her head. To have him propose to her was something she had never envisaged, and to have him do it as a pretence filled her with a bitterness tangible enough to be swallowed away. 'How long would we have to—to pretend for?' she asked.
'Does it matter?'
'Of course it matters. You don't think I want to be your fiancée, do you, any more than you want to be mine?'
'It might have its compensations.' Mark's eyes moved across her and she straightened her shoulders to stop her dressing gown from sagging.
'I would have to explain to Roger,' she said swiftly, 'and you would have to explain to Mrs. Goderick.'
'We'll both have explanations to make.' He was icily polite. 'But I take it you're agreeable in principle?'
'If you had any principle,' she said bitterly, 'we wouldn't be in this predicament now.'
He yawned. 'Halfway to dawn and you're as sharp as ever. You'll make a bitch of a wife for some unhappy man!'
Anthea jumped up and had reached the door when his drawling voice arrested her. 'If we announce our engagement to the press tomorrow, you can't continue as my housekeeper.'
'But I——— '
'And I'll have to ask my aunt to stay here with us as a chaperone. It will save you moving out.' His eyes glinted. 'Or did you think I was going to let you rush back to Reading?'
Furious at his teasing, yet strangely elated to know she could go on living here, she merely shook her head and ran from the room, afraid that if she remained she would burst into tears and throw herself into his arms. At last she was engaged to the man she loved. Engaged until such a time as he was able to openly admit his love for another woman.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mark Allen's engagement was a nine days' wonder. The tabloids made reference to Anthea having worked as his housekeeper, but the more sober papers referred to her as a university student and the daughter of Professor Wilmot, the well-known historian. There were several extremely flattering photographs of her, and one where Mark had his arm across her shoulders and was regarding her with deep affection. And he had the audacity to comment on her acting ability!
Lady Wittle was delighted to install herself in Eaton Square. Her nephew had apparently not told her his engagement was a pretence, and Anthea was forced to listen to the woman talking to her about wedding plans and the future great-nephews and nieces she envisaged being able to spoil.
'I've waited so long for Mark to get married,' she said, 'and I'm absolutely delighted he had the sense to choose you.'
'We aren't married yet,' Anthea replied, and seeing Lady Wittle's startled glance, added: 'I'm superstitious. I don't like talking about the future.'
'There's no need to be superstitious with Mark's ring on your finger.' She glanced at Anthea's hand. 'Which reminds me, where is your engagement ring?'
'I haven't got one. Everything happened so quickly that I—I don't think Mark has had time to buy one yet.'
'If I know my nephew, he bought the ring the moment he made up his mind about you. And I'm pretty sure that was as soon as he saw you!'
Remembering the long black dress and the screwed-back hair, Anthea found this difficult to believe, and said so.
'Nonsense,' Lady Wittle replied. 'It didn't take me long to recognise your potential. Besides, I doubt if it was your looks that Mark fell in love with; I think it was those bright intelligent eyes and that lively mind of yours. Anyway, it takes more than an old-fashioned dress to hide sex appeal.'
'How right you are!'
Both women turned to see Mark advancing towards them.
'You're home early,' his aunt said affectionately.
'I have a business meeting here.' He glanced at Anthea and she noticed that behind his smile his expression was strained. 'It may go on most of the evening, so you'd better be prepared to amuse yourselves.' He came across to Anthea and pulled her against his side. 'How about a kiss for a weary man?'
Aware of Lady Wittle watching them, Anthea had no choice but to comply. Mark's lips were cool on hers, but as they felt the warmth of her mouth their pressure increased and she felt his arm tighten around her. Firmly but insistently she pulled away and made a pretence of smoothing her hair in front of the mirror.
'I feel I'm inhibiting you,' said Lady Wittle, an
d ignoring Anthea's protests, walked out.
As the door closed behind her Mark spoke. 'You're not always a good actress, are you? You should at least pretend you want to be alone with me.'
'I don't see any reason why you can't tell your aunt the truth.'
'The less people who know the truth the better. It's imperative that Jasper doesn't find out.'
'Do you think he would come and shoot you?' Anthea asked scornfully. 'Or do you honestly believe Claudine will stay with him for ever?'
'Claudine will leave him when————— ' He stopped abruptly. But he had said enough to destroy Anthea's illusionary pleasure in her pretended engagement, reminding her again that she was merely being used as a cover.
'Will you marry Claudine when she's free?' she asked.
'Are you really interested in my future or just curious?'
'Neither,' she said airily. 'I couldn't care less what you do.'
He stared at her broodingly and then put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a ring case. 'For you,' he said laconically.
She lifted the lid and, expecting to see a large if banal diamond, was entranced by a magnificent emerald. She slipped it on her engagement finger. 'It's beautiful… beautiful! But surely it wasn't necessary to get something so expensive?'
'It belonged to my mother. I had it made smaller to fit you.'
Her reply was forestalled by the arrival of Mark's visitors, and though she did not go with him as he left the drawing-room, she glimpsed their figures through the open door and saw it was the same two men she had let into the house the week before. One of them was an inspector, she remembered, and wished she had the courage to ask Mark what was wrong. She pushed back her hair and as she did so saw the ring on her finger; his mother's ring. How strange that he should have gone to the trouble of having it made smaller. Or would he have had to do so for Claudine anyway? Somehow she could not see this ring appealing to the French-Canadian, whose taste in jewellery ran to the baroque. But then men in love were often blind, and Mark might well think that because the ring had been his mother's, it would hold a sentimental value for Claudine.
As he had feared, Mark was not free to dine with her and his aunt, and they ate in the breakfast-room and then remained there to watch television. Anthea arranged for cups of soup and smoked salmon sandwiches to be served in the library. Although she was no longer the official housekeeper it seemed silly not to continue supervising the house.
'Are your parents pleased at your engagement?' Lady Wittle asked as the news headlines came to an end.
'I haven't seen them to speak to—they've rented a small villa in Portugal for a month—but they wrote and said they're delighted.'
This part of the subterfuge was the one Anthea disliked most. But Mark had insisted she maintain the pretence with them too, and she recognised his continuous attention to detail as one of the reasons for his success in business. Nothing was too small for him to acquaint himself with, yet he also had the capacity to delegate. It was an unusual combination. She bit back a sigh. But then he was an unusual man. Only by falling in love with the predictable Claudine had his intelligence failed him.
At ten o'clock Lady Wittle retired to her room, but Anthea was too restless to follow suit and, conscious of Mark still in the library with his visitors, remained downstairs. It was nearly midnight before she heard the front door close and Mark's steps move across to the elevator. There was a pause and she guessed he had seen the light in the breakfast- room. The door opened and he came in.
'I thought you'd be in bed by now.'
'I wasn't tired.' She looked at him. 'I can see you are.
Would you like me to get you something?'
'Nothing to drink, thanks. I'm awash with coffee and brandy.'
'Who were the men?' she asked casually.
'Just men,' he shrugged.
'What did they want? This is the second time they've been here in a week.'
'Do you keep a note of everyone who calls to see me?'
'I happened to notice those two.' His fatigue gave her courage. 'One of them is an inspector, isn't he? I heard you say so the first time he came here. What do the police want with you, Mark?'
'So many questions,' he said with a slight smile. 'You don't expect me to answer them?'
'Why not? I'm your————- ' she stopped, discomfited to know she had been about to say she was his fiancée, and aware from the tight look about his mouth that he realised it.
'Are you my fiancée?' he questioned. 'And would you be as willing to know and share my problems if I were destitute? Or are you like the rest of your sex, interested only in security and capturing a rich husband?'
'I wouldn't have you, rich or poor,' she retorted and, intent on wounding him, added: 'I would hardly call Roger a millionaire.'
'True,' he agreed, 'but he does command a fair amount of respect in university circles, and women like that too. Riches and esteem. Both if you can get it; one or the other if you can't.'
'Why are you so cynical about women?' she could not help asking.
'I thought my aunt might have told you?' One dark brow raised. 'I was engaged many years ago and was jilted for someone richer. It spurred my ambition—for which I'm suitably grateful to my ex-lady-love—and of course she followed the usual course and offered herself to me again when she felt I could afford her. Unfortunately she was married by that time, and I didn't find the proposition attractive.'
'I thought you preferred married women?'
He stretched and yawned. 'Go to bed, Miss Anthea Wilmot, your claws are showing.'
'Yes, Mr. Mark Allen, sir.'
His eyes gleamed. 'One day I'll———- ' He stopped. 'Good night, Anthea. Sleep well.'
Anthea was in the drawing-room the next morning when Jackson Pollard arrived to see her, apologising for not having made an appointment but saying he had been with another client close by and had called on an impulse. She pretended to believe him and waited for him to get to the reason for his call, which he did with the ease she had come to expect from him.
When he had read of her engagement, he informed her, it had struck him she might wish to make alterations to the schemes Mrs. Goderick had approved for Bartham Manor. By chance he happened to have the colour charts and swatches of material with him, and if she would like to look at them he would be delighted to change anything to suit her.
Anthea's first inclination was to say she would leave things as they were, but an imp of mischief prompted her to take advantage of the situation she was in. It would serve Claudine right. Carefully she scrutinised all the layouts the interior decorator had prepared. The major structural alterations could not be bettered, but there were many colour schemes she considered either too feminine or too urban for the manor house, and these she ruthlessly changed.
'I see you want it as a country home,' Jackson Pollard stated.
'It is a country home.'
The blond head wagged approvingly and more swatches of material were brought out from the valise. Two hours later the man departed, expressing his delight with the alterations made and assuring Anthea that they would be carried out without any problem. But her pleasure in thwarting Claudine was dispelled by the sight of her that evening.
Mark had decided to give a party to introduce his fiancée to his friends, explaining that it was expected of him and that Claudine and Jasper would be among the guests. Typically, they were the first to arrive.
Jasper caught hold of Anthea's hand and chuckled at her in a way that made her long to slap his face. 'I feel as if I engineered the whole thing. I'm sure my seeing you together spurred Mark into making a decision.'
'How unchivalrous of you to say so,' she replied coolly, and was pleased to see him look discomfited. But not so Claudine, who was very much in control of herself and said all the right things, exclaiming with pleasure over the engagement ring. But momentarily alone with Anthea later that evening, when coffee was being served, she was not so polite.
'I hop
e you aren't making the mistake of thinking you're a permanent fixture here? There won't be any need for your engagement to continue once I leave Jasper.'
'Then you'd better be quick about it,' Anthea answered, 'or I might start pressing Mark for a quick marriage.'.
'He'd never agree.'
'He might not have any choice. If I threatened to tell the truth, it would make a marvellous story. The way you ran out of the house to escape your husband, and how I stepped in to save your reputation!'
Claudine's skin went mottled with temper. 'What about your reputation? Don't forget Jasper found you with Mark in the early hours of the morning. People might wonder if your story was true!'
'It might be worth losing my good name in order to tell the truth about yours.'
'You wouldn't dare!'
'Don't try me too far or I will.'
The rouge on Claudine's cheeks stood out in bright dabs of colour, making her look like the Doll in Petrushka. But she had the intelligence to know she had lost the argument and, with a shrug to signify it was unimportant, she moved away.
Resolutely Anthea remembered her duties as a hostess and moved from group to group, deliberately keeping away from Claudine and Jasper. It was nearly dawn before the party broke up, but as Anthea went towards the lift, Mark put his hand on her arm and stopped her.
'You did very well tonight. I've never seen Sir Roger Marrick so amused. What were you talking to him about?'
'The way I infiltrated into your life. He was laughing at the way I turned myself into a frump.'
Mark looked irritated and then wry. 'Laughing at my expense, eh?'
'I thought it best to turn the whole housekeeping episode into a joke. People will be less likely to remember it if they don't see it as some spicy sort of scandal.'
Mark immediately conceded the point. 'You're right, my dear. My apologies for not realising it myself.' He hesitated, then said: 'Why don't you go and see your parents in Portugal? I'm sure they would like to hear about our romance at first hand.'
'I would rather not lie to them, if you don't mind.'
Rachel Lindsay - Love in Disguise Page 16
