‘I thought we’d be here until the day after,’ she protested. She’d made plans for their final full day here: take a picnic to the secluded lake in a fold of the thickly wooded hills, swim in the cooling waters, make love on the mossy bank…
‘Afraid not, sweetheart.’ He settled back against the pillows, crossing his arms behind his head. ‘You need to see that solicitor to sort out your inheritance—time’s moving on, remember. And I need to see someone about a business venture.’
Nothing that couldn’t have waited one more day, surely? She lifted herself up on one elbow, her head tilted as she peered into his face. His eyes were firmly closed. He wasn’t fooling her; she’d heard the regret in his voice because he hadn’t been able to hide it, and she knew he was as reluctant as she to end this blissful rural idyll.
‘What business venture?’ Was he trying to set up something that would secure their future? Did he have contacts in London through the old-school network? Or was it simply an excuse?
She suspected it was the latter when he merely said off-handedly, ‘Tell you all about it when it’s sorted.’
He could explain now, he thought. There was time before they need get up and begin to pack. How to begin, though? Would she see the whole thing as amusing? Understand why he’d made the decision to keep the reality of his life from her? Or would she view it as plain and simple deception, stop trusting him?
But she took the problem of how best to state his case right out of his mind when she wrapped her arms around him and nestled her head against his chest. ‘This place is a million times better than my poky pad, but to tell you the truth, my dear love, I don’t care where we are as long as we’re together.’
She was sure now that the call last evening had been from his friend, asking him to move out. During their time together she’d recognised Jethro’s natural authority and knew he would be chafing inside because he was having to deprive them of the final day of their honeymoon. But he was in no position to object.
The poor darling would be feeling diminished, and she couldn’t bear that. One day, though, she vowed fiercely, he would find his full potential. She found his flat male nipple with the tip of her tongue and ran the fingers of one hand down the washboard hardness of his stomach, and he gave a deep, guttural groan and turned and gathered her to him.
‘That’s it, then?’ Jethro lifted her suitcase and carried it down to Harry’s van. They were running late. He’d left her to sleep in while he’d made one or two necessary phone calls, gone round closing windows, made coffee and toast for breakfast. But she’d insisted on stripping the beds before they left, cleaning the kitchen.
‘We can’t leave the place in a mess. And what are we going to do about replacing everything we’ve used?’
His response had been non-committal to the point of indifference; she probably thought she’d married an ungrateful slob.
Now, as they left the van in the station car park, she said worriedly, ‘Can you just leave it here? Won’t it be towed away?’
‘Save me the bother of driving it to the scrap yard,’ he answered, his attempt at humour failing because they were going to miss that train and he was having to hustle her through to the ticket hall.
So she’d be thinking he was irresponsible, too. Though one of his earlier phone calls had been to Harry, to tell him where he’d find the van. He could pick it up, sell it for what he could get for it. Probably twopence-halfpenny—it wasn’t worth any more!
He’d bought two first-class tickets on his credit card, and when they entered the carriage, a split second before the train moved out, she said, ‘We can’t stay here. It’s first class.’
She looked adorable, pink and flustered, dressed in a pair of narrow-fitting white linen trousers topped by a cool lemon sleeveless cotton shirt. The band of freckles across her nose had widened. He wondered how long it would take him to count them.
He gave her a slow smile. ‘Relax. I have first-class tickets.’
‘Do you know how much they cost!’
‘An arm and a couple of legs,’ he said drily.
Great, just great! She would now think she’d married a spendthrift. She subsided into her seat and he smothered a sigh. He would spill the beans tonight.
He joined her, taking her hand, idly twisting the cheap wedding ring round on her finger. He would replace it with something more worthy of her.
‘Humour me,’ he said softly. ‘I want nothing but the best for you. And as tonight’s the last night of our official honeymoon, I’ll take you out to dinner and thoroughly spoil you.’
He knew the perfect place. An exclusive hotel near Windsor, with Georgian elegance, a menu and wine list to die for, a candlelit dining room, the tables set in islands of privacy, the bridal suite boasting a four-poster bed.
Another of this morning’s early phone calls had reserved the suite, and a table for two. His senior PA, James Abbot, would drive them there this evening, collect them at noon tomorrow. It would be the perfect place, the ideal setting for his explanations.
‘I don’t need spoiling, but dinner would be nice.’ She returned the pressure of his fingers and stared out of the window thoughtfully.
If he wanted to splash out then she’d do as he said and humour him. The money she’d paid him was his, after all. But they did need to have a heart-to-heart about the need to be careful in future.
They’d made love more times than she could count and her cheeks went pink just thinking about it. But they’d never once taken precautions. Why should they when they both wanted a family? Even now she could be pregnant.
The thought of having a baby with him made her stomach clench, made her give a tiny breathy gasp, and Jethro said softly, ‘What are you thinking?’
She turned to look at him, resting her head against the upholstered back of the seat. Her hair was loose again today, and it spilled down to her shoulders and framed her face with its pale gold silkiness.
‘Thinking how much I love you.’
And that was so true her heart squeezed tightly beneath her breasts. He looked both charismatic and commanding, despite the fact that he’d opted to wear the cheap, poorly cut suit he’d worn for their wedding over a cut-price shirt with a collar that refused to lie flat and a tie so chewed-looking he had to have borrowed it from his grandmother’s husband, Harry, or from some obliging tramp!
Her dear darling was doing his best to look smart for her benefit, packing away his usual worn denims and T-shirts. But what he wore didn’t matter to her; it was the man he was that counted. She would never have believed it was possible to love someone as extravagantly as she loved him!
It took all of two minutes to show him round her tiny, spartan flat. When he carried their suitcases to the bedroom she told him, ‘Sorry about the single bed. We’ll have to manage on that until I can arrange to have a double delivered.’ She gave him a rueful glance. ‘I’ve never tried to make it homey, so we’ll put our heads together and see how best to brighten it up.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he replied uninterestedly. ‘And don’t bother unpacking for me; I’ll see to it later.’ He shot a look at his watch, dropped a light kiss on the end of her nose. ‘I’d better make a move. I’ll pick you up this evening at seven. Wear something special.’
‘That business meeting?’ she asked quickly. ‘Shall I come with you?’ Whatever it was he had in mind she didn’t want him to jump into something iffy because he needed to provide for their future.
‘No.’ The shake of his dark head was very definite, his voice clipped, as if he felt she was wasting his time. ‘Get an appointment with your late uncle’s solicitor. If Laura’s to live at Studley you’ll need to get permission to have the keys before probate. If the place has been empty for some time we’ll need to check that it’s habitable.’
She watched him leave the flat and tried to pull her heart up from the soles of her shoes. Would the business meeting last all day, right into the evening? He’d been in such a hurry to dump
her here and get away, had shown no interest whatsoever in the place that would be their home until they could afford to move to somewhere bigger.
His main interest, it appeared—apart from getting away—had been in making sure she claimed her inheritance.
Because he knew how much Laura wanted to move back there, or because it was an extremely valuable property?
She caught that thought and stamped on it with great determination. She wouldn’t think that of him. She would not!’
If he wasn’t interested in his new home she could hardly blame him. It had little to commend it. He was preoccupied with his business meeting, and that was understandable. And hadn’t he already said that he’d tell her all about it when it was finalised? He wasn’t stupid—he wouldn’t touch the venture if he wasn’t sure it would be successful.
She trusted him implicitly.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE appointment with the solicitor was fixed for two days hence. Allie scribbled the time in her diary and wondered whether to phone her mother, realised she would probably be out at work and decided to phone her agent instead. She riffled through the pad she kept on the telephone table until she found the agency’s new number.
She needed to start earning again, but she would refuse anything that took her overseas. She wouldn’t spend any more time away from Jethro than was absolutely necessary.
‘Darling—you’re just who I need!’ Christa Fisher screeched. ‘Absolutely heaven-sent. You’re going to dig me out of a hole; I know you are!’
Allie grinned, well used to her agent’s histrionics. But all that effusion hid a very sharp business brain and Allie said, ‘Have you got anything for me? Fairly local—my days of travelling the world on assignments are over. I’m a married woman now.’
Anticipating Christa’s shriek of delighted disbelief, Allie held the receiver away from her ear, and when she gingerly replaced it the other woman was saying, ‘…several possibilities. The Pure Magic cosmetic people asked for you— I told them you were resting, but they’re still looking. I’ll get on to them right away.
‘Now, that hole I was talking about. My dear, would you believe it? Marietta’s let me down. She was supposed to be the star of a charity fashion parade and gala tonight. She phoned and called off this morning. The stupid cow’s fallen and broken her collarbone, would you believe! What she thought she was doing, tramping some grouse moor with some titled Hooray Henry, I simply cannot imagine! I fixed Sasha Dell up as her replacement, but she simply hasn’t got your style. Now, why don’t we do lunch and discuss it?’
‘Tonight’s not—’
‘Must fly!’ Christa warbled. ‘See you in an hour—that trendy new place—Dosser’s, Covent Garden, yah?’
Wryly wrinkling her nose, Allie replaced the buzzing receiver and scribbled down the name of the lunch venue on the open pad, beneath Christa’s number. True to form, her agent hadn’t let her get a word in. But lunch would pass the time. She could find out what work was on offer and explain that Christa would have to stick with Sasha Dell for tonight’s gala. She was having dinner with her husband, and no way would she cancel that date!
An hour gave her just enough time to pile her hair on top of her head, apply light make-up, and step into narrow indigo-blue trousers and a matching slim-line jacket. It was one of her few decent outfits, kept for when she needed to look understatedly elegant.
Jethro had told her to wear something special tonight. Her mouth softened. She’d dazzle him with the black she kept for gala appearances: figure-hugging silk with a sculptured sequinned top kept in place by the narrowest of straps. She would show him she could look a million dollars if she wanted to!
She was five minutes late when the taxi deposited her outside Dosser’s. ‘Trendy’ was the operative word, she decided as she was shown to Christa’s table.
Great quantities of chrome and smoked glass gave the restaurant a Fifties feel, with portraits of film icons of the era smouldering down from the walls and a Presley tape playing in the background.
‘Sorry if I kept you waiting,’ Allie apologised as she slid into her seat. ‘The traffic was horrendous.’
‘No worries! I’ve decided that this place is not my scene. I just hope there’s more on the menu than hamburgers and frothy coffee.’ Christa flicked her fingers at a passing waiter. ‘Another G and T, and plenty of ice. And for you, darling?’
‘Spring water with a twist of lemon.’ Allie picked up the menu, grinned when she saw the dreaded hamburgers, slid her eyes down and found a seafood salad that sounded just right.
‘But, as I was saying, this would be a good place for talent-spotting—they all seem so young! For instance, there’s a dishy dolly at one of the window tables, lunching with her lover. Darling, an absolute hunk! He was called away to the phone seconds before you arrived. Can you see her? Dark hair, bright red dress?’
She rested her pointed chin on her hands, narrowing her bright hazel eyes. ‘Restyle that hair, decent make-up, a really good photographer, and she could be a winner. What do you think?’
Anything to oblige! Allie had to move her chair slightly to be able to look back into the main body of the room, towards the windows. And because of the position of the other occupied tables she could only see the girl’s head and shoulders.
Chloe Abbot, surely. She could clearly recall the pretty face in the silver-framed photograph, the untamed cloud of dark hair, the slightly obstinate chin, the pouting, leaf-shaped mouth. If that girl wasn’t Chloe, she was her double. It would be something interesting to tell Jethro this evening. She wondered who her lover was.
‘Her face has character,’ she agreed, smiling, and turned back to Christa, who was downing her second gin and ordering for them both. ‘The seafood salad, yah?’
‘Fine,’ Allie concurred, ready to talk business, explain that she wouldn’t be available this evening.
But Christa asked, ‘Now, tell me about this husband of yours. Thought you weren’t interested. He must be quite something to have made you change your mind. So when did it happen? My God! Is that thing your ring!’
Allie’s eyes flashed with temper. She didn’t care if her wedding ring looked as if it had come out of a Christmas cracker!
Fortunately for their future working relationship, Christa stemmed the cutting remarks all ready to spill off the end of Allie’s tongue by gripping her wrist with a red-taloned hand. ‘The hunk’s back. Ain’t love sweet! And, look, I do believe he’s writing out a cheque—don’t tell me it’s for services rendered! He doesn’t look as if he has to pay for it!’
Christa was outrageous. ‘Keep your voice down!’ Allie admonished with a giggle. No one could stay miffed with her for long. Then, twisting in her chair to find out what was so intriguing, she knew she wouldn’t be smiling again. Not for a long time.
Jethro was wearing a slate-grey suit, Savile Row’s finest, a million miles away from the one he’d worn to their wedding. His shirt was a crisp pale blue, his tie a sober slate and blue narrow stripe, his thick dark hair freshly barbered. His aura of power and supreme self-confidence was very evident.
She didn’t really mind if he’d chosen to spend her savings on improving his packaging; if he wanted to muscle in on the business world then it was probably a good idea. But she was damned if she wanted him to pass a chunk of it over to his—whatever she was!
Because that was obviously what he was doing. She saw him re-cap his pen, slide his chequebook back into an inner pocket, push the narrow slip of paper over the table and lift his hand to slide his fingers lovingly down Chloe’s adoring face.
Frozen with shock, Allie found he couldn’t look away. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, branding each action into her brain. When she saw the girl in red reach up to take that softly caressing hand, hold it tightly within her own, she felt sick.
Jethro had lied to her all along. He was definitely romantically involved with his rich friend’s sister. She was seeing the evidence with her own
wide, strained eyes, absorbing it with every tight, shallow breath she took. Which meant that—
She couldn’t bear to go into that, to face what those lies of his actually meant. Not now, not here. She would think about it later, when she felt calmer. She turned her back on them both just as her seafood salad was put in front of her.
The king prawns, the scallops, the strips of smoked salmon, the coating of sauce… She clutched at the sudden searing pain in her stomach. She was going to throw up; she knew she was…
‘Are you all right, darling?’ Christa’s concerned voice seemed to come at her in waves, from some far distant, misty place.
She mustn’t make an exhibition of herself in here. She mustn’t! If she sat here, very still, her back to the main part of the room, then Jethro wouldn’t notice her. His attention was all for the vibrant young woman in red, in any case.
But another hot stab of agony gripped tight in her stomach. She said through a painfully forced smile, ‘I’m fine. Just need to go to the loo. Excuse me.’
When she’d entered she’d noted a sign, garishly lit, saying ‘Dolls’, and she pushed herself to her feet now and headed in that direction, keeping her back to the body of the room. Deep within the mess of her emotions she did have some pride left. Jethro mustn’t see her, see her distress. When she asked him to explain himself she had to be in full control of herself.
Thankfully, she wasn’t sick. She locked herself into a cubicle and rested her hot forehead against the cool aqua wall tiles.
Jethro had lied to her. Everything she’d believed to be so beautiful in their marriage was nothing but a cynical untruth.
When he’d first talked about Chloe Abbot, his wealthy friend’s sister, feminine intuition had told her he was in love with the girl. Her guess that he’d married her, Allie, to get his hands on enough money to prove to his friend that he wasn’t a penniless no-hoper when, after the divorce, he was free again to marry Chloe, had been horribly correct.
Bought: One Husband Page 12
