by Lucy Gordon
He sipped, and said appreciatively, “You make cocoa as you do everything else, with total efficiency. What’s your secret?”
“Emma taught me how you like it. By the way, has she told you about her latest idea? She wants to join the Brownies.”
He set his mug down sharply. “No way. Have you seen what those kids get up to? Climbing trees and running about—”
“Will you calm down?”
“Not until this damn fool idea is hit on the head, once and for all.”
“We’ll let the doctor tell us if it’s a damn fool idea.”
“I’m telling you—”
“Well, don’t,” Briony said firmly. “We had this out once before. You may be Emma’s father but I’m her mother. Now hush, and listen to me. Emma’s lonely. She leaves school at midday, so she doesn’t get to socialize with the others at lunchtime, or join in their activities. I know that can’t be helped, but she needs the company of other children.”
“It’s too risky.”
“It needn’t be. I’ll talk to the Brownie leader and explain that there are things she can’t do. And I’ll be there to keep an eye on her, and take her away if I think she’s getting tired. Trust me.” She gave him an impish smile. “You should know better than to try to bully me.”
Carlyle’s face was a picture of outraged innocence. “Bully? Me? I’m the mildest of men.”
“Ha! You hit the roof if you don’t get your own way.” Briony was openly laughing at him. “And you try to ride over me in hobnailed boots. I can see just where Emma gets it from.”
He grinned ruefully. “She is like me, isn’t she?”
“Exactly.”
For once the moment wasn’t overshadowed by grief for the future. They exchanged a smile, full of their shared love for the little girl. Carlyle reached out his hand and she took it. Then his smile died, and a surprised look came into his eyes. He stayed like that, studying her, frowning a little, as if trying to come to terms with a new idea. Then his hand tightened, and the next moment he leaned forward and kissed her.
It happened so quickly that Briony had no chance to steel herself not to react. Instinctively her lips softened and parted against his, while longing flooded her whole body. There was sweetness in the way he’d reached out to her now, not as a show for Emma’s benefit, but in the warmth of companionship and need. He slipped his free hand behind her head, running his fingers through her hair and drawing her closer to him so that the pressure of his mouth intensified. Briony knew that she should stop this now. It meant little to him except that he was lonely and sad, and she was there. He thought her feelings were as moderate as his own, never guessing the volcano of love that lived within her, threatening to erupt at any moment. He was taking her closer to that moment, and she must fight it for both their sakes—for Emma’s sake. But not yet—not yet—
He rose to his feet, drawing her with him. The kiss changed, became deeper and more intense. “Briony…” he murmured her name.
“Yes,” she whispered.
His lips were insistently persuasive, teasing her to open her mouth for him. All her stern resolution seemed to slip away from her and she let her lips fall helplessly apart. She could feel the hard leanness of his body through the thin material of their nightclothes. Excitement flooded her as she thought how this could end. She was more than Emma’s mother. She was a woman, passionately in love with a man, prepared to do anything to win his love.
As his tongue slowly caressed the inside of her mouth, her desire almost overwhelmed her. She pressed against him, feeling the heat of his flesh communicate itself to hers. His spicy, masculine smell excited her, making the blood pound in her veins, and her limbs turn to water.
His lips burned a trail of fire down her neck to her throat. Her chest was rising and falling as her breathing became slow and languorous. The skin of her whole body seemed to have come alive. In another minute he would drop his head further, tear away the material to kiss her breasts. And she wanted that so much. She wanted everything. She wanted him. All of him. Heart, mind, soul and body. Would it really be wrong to use their enforced closeness to seek a way to his heart? Didn’t she have the right to try? At this moment he wanted her, too. It would be so easy to melt into his arms, to climb the broad stairs to their room, to their bed…
And afterward? When she’d revealed her love to a man who couldn’t love her in return, and passion was replaced by the cold light of dawn? What then? They could never be natural and unembarrassed with each other afterward, and the one to suffer would be Emma.
“Briony,” Carlyle murmured again, and suddenly his arms tightened, drawing her against him in a crushing embrace, while his mouth teased and tormented hers with promises of delight.
For a blazingly sweet instant she hovered on the brink of yielding. But then common sense came to her rescue and she stiffened against him, pushing against his chest with her hands. “No,” she said in a muffled voice. “Carlyle—please—don’t do this.”
He stopped, not releasing her, but as though too surprised to know what to do. “Let me go,” she whispered.
He looked into her face. “You don’t mean that—”
“I do.” She fought for control but it was hard when he was still holding her close. “Please let me go. You promised.”
He expelled his breath, and his hands fell away from her. “Yes, I did, of course.” His voice had an odd, flat quality. “I thought I’d read you right, but obviously I made a mistake.” He took a step away from her. “I apologize.”
“There’s no need for that—” she said haltingly.
“Of course there is. We made a bargain and bargains are sacred. I live my life on that principle. I can’t think how I came to—Try to forgive my bad manners.”
She could have wept. This was all so wrong, so far from what she wanted. But the next moment things grew worse. Carlyle glanced at the book Briony had been trying to read when he found her, and his mouth twisted in a wry smile of understanding. She wanted to cry out that it wasn’t the way he thought, but there was nothing she could say.
“Don’t get upset,” he told her in a rallying tone. “I just got carried away and forgot the rules. It won’t happen again. I give you my word.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE doctor cleared Emma for joining the Brownies, as long as Briony was there to ensure that she didn’t do too much. Faced with Emma’s delight, Carlyle reluctantly backed down. Thereafter, each Wednesday evening Emma attended Brownies for an hour and came home in the seventh heaven. She learned a series of knots, which she explained to Carlyle until he declared he could do them in his sleep, and she went round the house singing campfire songs until the adults put cotton wool in their ears. Everyone was happy.
Joyce telephoned several times a week, and Briony enjoyed these calls. She’d quickly developed a real affection for her outspoken mother-in-law.
Near the end of November, Carlyle threw a small party for Briony to meet his friends. “I should call them acquaintances, myself,” Joyce said when Briony told her. “He seldom gets close enough to people to make real friendships.”
“That’s how it seems to me,” Briony agreed. “I wondered if he’d just drawn back into himself since Emma grew so ill.”
“He has, but he was always a bit that way. I wish you the best of luck in the lion’s den. Watch out for Deirdre Raye. She’s recently divorced, and she’d convinced herself that Carlyle was only waiting for her to be free to pop the question. Nonsense, of course. He’d have asked her long ago if he’d wanted her. She’s been in the States, and probably didn’t even hear about the wedding until she came back. She’ll be as angry as a snake.”
Being direct by nature, Briony told Carlyle about this conversation as they went to bed that night, making a joke of it. He looked surprised.
“I should think my tactless mother has got the wrong end of the stick. Deirdre’s divorce had nothing to do with me, and I’m sure she’s never thought of me in that way.”
“You weren’t going to ‘pop the question’ then?”
“Certainly not. For one thing, Emma doesn’t like her. I can’t think why, because Deirdre’s always gone out of her way to be nice to her, but when Emma takes one of her unreasonable dislikes you can’t budge her.”
“So Deirdre’s out on Emma’s say-so,” Briony mused.
“Deirdre was never in,” Carlyle said, looking faintly annoyed.
“According to Joyce, she thinks she was. Sure you didn’t give her cause?”
“I’ve flirted with her at parties, but only in the way we all do. It’s a kind of meaningless routine.”
“Well, if you don’t want your drink spiked with arsenic, don’t flirt with her at this party,” Briony advised him darkly.
“I wasn’t going to,” he said. “Emma would hate it.”
The day before the party Nora buried herself in the kitchen and began a whirlwind of culinary preparation. Although she was the hostess Briony knew better than to interfere with genius, and confined herself to assisting. The result was a buffet of real splendor.
The wines were chosen. The crystal glasses were set out. Emma’s “party best” was her bridesmaid dress. Briony wore her wedding pearls and, at Carlyle’s urging, had splashed out on an elegant blue silk cocktail dress. It was wickedly extravagant but worth every penny for the way it enhanced her. She knew she could bear comparison with Carlyle’s friends, but she was still nervous.
There were about fifty guests. Some were business colleagues, others were local people. They were all expensively dressed and sleekly well-fed. Every woman sized Briony up, mentally appraised the dress and costed the pearls. At first her hackles were inclined to rise, but gradually it became clear that they approved of her. The atmosphere grew friendlier, especially when Sylvia, a distant cousin of Carlyle’s who’d been at the wedding, arrived and greeted her with enthusiasm. Sylvia was a jolly, boisterous young woman with no tact, but a warm heart, and her endorsement smoothed Briony’s path.
But under the pleasant hum there was an air of expectancy. Everyone was waiting for one particular guest, eager to see the meeting between the two women.
Deirdre arrived late. Carlyle had vanished into the study to show off his new computer to anyone interested. So Briony met Deirdre alone, and knew at once that Joyce’s advice had been good. The other woman’s eyes narrowed in surprise and displeasure, as though she’d been expecting a little brown mouse and found the wellgroomed reality a shock.
Deirdre’s own appearance was all that money could buy. She was a tall woman in her early thirties, with blue-black hair and features that might have been beautiful if they hadn’t been so hard. On her wrist and in her ears she wore rubies set in gold that were obviously real and worth a fortune. Briony put her head up and greeted her with composure.
“I was fascinated to hear that Carlyle had married on the spur of the moment,” Deirdre cooed. “It’s so unlike him. Those of us who know him best know that he hasn’t a romantic bone in his body.”
Briony had a split second to decide how to handle the silky malice that gleamed from Deirdre’s eyes. There and then she decided that if this woman wanted battle, she could have it.
“Well, maybe those who know him best don’t know him as well as they think they do,” she said sweetly, and was rewarded by a muffled giggle from Sylvia. Deirdre’s mouth stretched a little further, but her eyes were cold.
“Let me get you a drink,” Briony said, taking her by the arm. She guided her out of the crowd and furnished her with a glass. The two women surveyed each other.
“Now don’t be cross with me if I put my foot in it,” Deirdre said sweetly. “I think your wedding is a perfectly lovely story, and I’m so glad to meet you at last. It’s just that I’ve known dear Carlyle for so long, and been so close to him that—well, you won’t mind if I give you the teensiest little bit of advice, will you?”
“I might,” Briony said, so affably that at first Deirdre didn’t take her meaning. She gave a chilly laugh and said, “Oh, nobody takes offence at the things I say.”
“You amaze me,” Briony said, still in the same pleasant tone. “What is your teensy little bit of advice?”
Deirdre leaned forward until her expensively coiffed hair was almost touching Briony’s. “Don’t try to separate him from his friends,” she said conspiratorially. “You’re bound to feel a bit left out at first, but a man like Carlyle will never tolerate being dictated to.”
“But I don’t feel left out,” Briony told her. “Carlyle’s friends have made me very welcome.”
“His real friends, that is,” Sylvia put in sweetly.
Deirdre gave a small, tense smile, but before she could respond Emma had appeared. Deirdre gave an affected cry of delight. “There’s my darling little girl. Don’t you look enchanting? Come here, dearie, I simply must hug you.”
Emma backed off, but she wasn’t quick enough. Deirdre swooped down like a bird of prey and smothered her with kisses. “Oh, you poor, sweet thing. You’re still so frail.”
“I’m not,” Emma said, rubbing her mouth on the back of her hand. “I’m ever so much better.”
Deirdre sighed. “So brave.”
“You heard Emma,” Briony said firmly. “She’s better. We can all see it.”
“Of course, of course,” Deirdre concurred, but in a too hasty, theatrical manner that would have told a much less intelligent child than Emma that she meant just the opposite.
“Darling, will you tell Daddy Mrs. Raye is here?” Briony asked her.
When she’d scampered off, Deirdre said, “Actually ‘Raye’ was my husband’s name, but I don’t use it now I’m free. I’ve gone back to my maiden name, Grant.”
“Very well, Miss Grant,” Briony said. Beneath her composed exterior she was furiously angry. How dare this woman risk confronting Emma with the truth simply to score a cheap point! “I’d prefer it if you didn’t talk about Emma looking frail. Those aren’t the kind of thoughts Carlyle and I wish her to dwell on.”
“Carlyle and I,” Deirdre mused, her head slightly on one side. “You say that so naturally. Once—ah, well, never mind.”
“I won’t,” Briony said. She was discovering that these blunt rejoinders served her well. Deirdre was clearly more at home with deviousness and found plain speaking hard to cope with. “But please understand that I mean it,” she continued. “Emma comes first.”
“But of course she does,” Deirdre declared, wide-eyed. “We all understand that. After all, that’s why—I mean, we don’t talk about it, but—Carlyle, my dearest.” She advanced on Carlyle who was coming through the crowd, her hands outstretched. She enfolded him in a scented hug which he returned, smiling. “Oh, I’ve been dying to see if marriage has changed you.”
“Ask my wife,” he said, indicating Briony with a smile.
“It hasn’t,” Briony informed the assembled company. “He’s still overbearing and tyrannical.”
“Overbearing,” Emma repeated ecstatically. “And tyrtyr—”
“Tyrannical, darling,” Briony said. “I’ll give you the spelling later.”
“Thanks, the pair of you,” Carlyle said, to laughter.
Deirdre tucked her hand into Carlyle’s arm and drew him away. “We must have a nice long talk. I’m just dying to hear—”
They vanished, arm in arm.
The party swirled and eddied, bringing Briony together with Carlyle, then pulling them apart. Once, as their paths crossed for a moment, she murmured to him, “You were right. Emma can’t stand her, and with good reason. Fancy calling her ‘dearie’, and saying she was ‘a poor, sweet thing.’”
Carlyle grinned. “Did she say that?”
“She did. You should have seen Emma’s face!”
“I wish I had.”
They laughed together. Deirdre, watching them, grew very still.
Some of the guests were going through the wedding albums. Deirdre drifted across as though barely interested, but her gaze,
as she examined the pictures, reminded Briony of a hawk.
“Oh, look at Emma,” Deirdre sighed. “Isn’t she a little angel?”
Briony felt Emma grow tense and hastened to say, “You don’t want to be fooled by that innocent face. She’s not a little angel, she’s a little terror.” Emma relaxed, evidently finding this far more acceptable.
Nora entered with more food and the crowd swirled toward her, leaving Briony and Deirdre alone with the album.
“Such lovely pearls,” Deirdre sighed. “I can see why you can’t bear to take them off.”
“They were Carlyle’s wedding gift,” Briony said politely.
Deirdre smiled. “He has perfect taste. He knows exactly what jewels to chose for a woman, doesn’t he?” She raised the wrist bearing the ruby bracelet and touched one of her earrings. The message was unmistakable. Deirdre was saying that these, too, had been Carlyle’s gifts. Briony felt sick, but she managed to smile.
It didn’t matter if Carlyle had given this overblown woman jewels, she told herself. It was in the past, and anyway, she had no right to mind. But what hurt was that he’d deceived her about it.
Unless Deirdre was lying. But the next moment Deirdre sashayed across the room to Carlyle and held up the rubies, purring, “You see, I still have your lovely gift…”
“So I should hope,” he said.
Briony thought of herself as a calm, controlled person, but there was nothing controlled about the passion of jealousy that overwhelmed her now. She hated that woman, not only because she wore Carlyle’s jewels, but because Deirdre was part of his life that she herself knew nothing about.
I’ve got to stop this, she thought wildly. I’m steady, efficient Briony, doing a job. Nothing else.
But “old reliable” had vanished, drowned in a torrent of misery.
