‘I must admit I hadn’t.’
‘That was why I was hoping you’d go before anyone had seen you or knew who you were. Now it’s too late…’ With a sudden flare of hope, she added, ‘Unless I could persuade Mother to forget all about you.’
‘I should imagine it’s a bit late to try,’ Jonathan said matter-of-factly. ‘Both your mother and father will almost certainly be back home by now. And, unless he’s encountered any major problems, Longton should be there too… Ah, here’s lunch.’
CHAPTER FOUR
THOUGH convinced she couldn’t eat a thing, at Jonathan’s insistence Loris tried the chicken and pasta bake and found it very tasty.
‘Keep eating,’ he urged. ‘Things may be in a mess, but starving yourself isn’t going to help matters.’
Knowing he was right, she obeyed, and found she was hungry after all.
‘Mmm, delicious,’ she murmured as she finished the last bite. ‘It’s equally as nice as they make at Il Lupo.’
‘Where and what is Il Lupo?’
‘A little basement restaurant quite close to Piccadilly. If I’m eating in town and I’m anywhere near Shear Lane I usually have lunch there. The food’s good and remarkably cheap.’
‘With a rich father I wouldn’t have thought cheap was a necessary factor.’
‘What has having a rich father got to do with it? I’ve been independent since I left school.’
‘Surely he helped you get through college?’
‘No. I took weekend and evening jobs to do that.’
‘Why should a wealthy man leave his only daughter to fend for herself?’
‘Perhaps he thought it would be character-building. Or Mother might be right when she calls him an old skinflint.’
Afraid of Jonathan pursuing the matter, she was relieved when Mrs Lawson appeared with wedges of golden-crusted apple pie and stilton, and piled more logs onto the fire before going to serve a couple of men at the bar.
The two men had drunk their pints and left before she returned with a freshly made pot of coffee.
‘An excellent meal,’ Jonathan congratulated her. ‘It’s a pity more people weren’t here to enjoy it.’
‘Things are always quiet at this time of the year, but now there’s only Arthur and me to run the place it suits me fine. Just ring the bell on the bar if you want any more coffee.’
As Loris started to pour the steaming liquid Jonathan’s eyes fixed on the magnificent half-hoop of diamonds she wore, and he asked casually, ‘How long have you been engaged?’
‘Three months.’
‘Any wedding plans?’
‘Nothing’s settled yet…’ Mark had wanted an early-spring wedding, but, feeling panicky at the thought of being rushed, Loris had pleaded for a summer wedding. ‘Though we’ve talked about getting married at the end of June.’
‘You said Longton will be furious with you… Do you think he’ll want to end the engagement?’
With quiet confidence, she answered, ‘No, I’m sure he won’t.’
‘What about you? Do you want to end it?’
‘I don’t think so.’
She wanted a husband, a home and a family while she was still young, and Mark had been the first man to attract her since Nigel.
‘In spite of how he treated you last night?’
‘I’ve told you, it was very largely my own fault.’
‘So, apart from being late, what did you do to upset him enough to make him want to take another woman to bed?’
She half shook her head, wishing he’d let the subject drop.
But, refusing to, he persisted, ‘After seeing them together on the dance floor, you don’t seriously believe he took Miss Gresham home because she was ill?’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘And you’re not angry about it?’
‘Of course I’m angry. But, as I keep saying, I was partly to blame.’
‘Tell me how?’
Seeing he had no intention of giving up, she said wearily, ‘When I went over to Mark to apologise for being so late he started talking about how beautiful Pamela Gresham was and how she fancied him. He was hoping to make me jealous…’
‘Any particular reason?’ Jonathan queried.
‘He wanted me to agree to sleep with him that night, but because we were going to be at Monkswood I refused. I didn’t like the idea of sleeping with him under my parents’ roof.’
Realising how ridiculous that must sound in the circumstances, she blushed hotly before going on, ‘He tried to persuade me, but I still didn’t feel comfortable about it. He wasn’t in a mood to take no for an answer, and suggested that we went back to his flat before going down to Paddleham. I was about to agree, when he got impatient and said something like, “I’m warning you. This time, I don’t intend to take no for an answer—”’
Suddenly realising how revealing those words were, she stopped in dismay.
Noting the this time, and adding it to what he already knew, Jonathan asked carefully, ‘So what did you say?’
‘I lost my temper and told him he’d have to. He said, “Damn it, if you won’t come back to my flat with me, I know someone who will.”’
‘He meant Miss Gresham, of course?’
Loris nodded. ‘He boasted, “She’d come like a shot, and I might just ask her.” I said, “Why don’t you?” and walked away.’
‘Good for you!’ Jonathan applauded.
‘But, don’t you see, if I hadn’t, if I’d agreed to go back to his flat, none of this would have happened and we wouldn’t be in this mess.’
‘Did you want to go back to his flat?’
‘Not really,’ she admitted, looking down. ‘After what had happened I wasn’t in the right mood. But I thought it was time I…’
Narrowed eyes on her face, he probed, ‘Time you what? Went to bed with him?’
He watched the sweep of dark lashes flicker against her high cheekbones before she said, ‘Yes.’
‘But you hadn’t previously.’ It was a statement rather than a question.
The fact that she had never slept with Mark was something she would have preferred Jonathan not to know. It raised too many questions. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to lie about it.
When she failed to deny it, he pursued, ‘Do you love him?’
‘I do.’ Then, almost as if she was trying to convince herself, ‘Of course I do.’
‘So why haven’t you slept with him? It’s almost the norm these days to go to bed with one’s fiancé.’
Wanting to tell him to mind his own business, she found herself saying weakly, ‘For several reasons. It’s a long story.’
‘I’ve got all day.’
At her instinctive rejection of that, he said, ‘Now it’s this late there’s no point in rushing back, so tell me why you haven’t slept with Longton. He must have kept pressing you to?’
Knowing that Jonathan wasn’t about to drop the subject until she told him what he wanted to know, she gave in to the pressure. ‘Yes, he did. But I…’
‘Kept putting him off?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’m curious to know why. He’s a good-looking, macho man, if you like that type—and you obviously do or you wouldn’t be engaged to him—and you’re a warm, passionate woman.’
‘But I’m not really.’
‘You were last night.’ Watching her cheeks grow warm, and thinking how beautiful she was, he probed, ‘What gave you the idea you weren’t?’
Looking anywhere but at him, she admitted, ‘I’d had a previous relationship that didn’t work out. It left me feeling disillusioned and…inadequate.’
Without really knowing why, she found herself telling him about Nigel.
She had never even told Mark about Nigel. Perhaps because they seldom really talked. As well as watching a lot of sport on TV, Mark liked parties and entertaining, getting out and about. And on the few occasions they did have time for a conversation he tended to take it over. He was a talker rather than a
listener.
Studying her expressive face, Jonathan asked, ‘How old were you then?’
‘Eighteen.’
His jaw tightened, as though he felt either anger or pain. ‘And you say you were engaged? Did your father and mother approve?’
‘Yes, they were all for it. Nigel’s parents were family friends.’
‘And doubtless rich?’
‘Yes.’
‘Was that why you agreed to marry him?’
‘No, it wasn’t. If you must know, I thought I was in love with him.’
‘So what happened? Why did you finally break up?’
She told him why, flatly, dispassionately, adding, ‘Somehow, being treated like that destroyed my confidence in myself as a woman…’
‘But surely it was different next time?’
‘There was no next time.’
‘You mean you’ve steered clear of men all these years because that selfish young swine not only cheated on you but made you half believe you were frigid?’
‘Not entirely.’ She strove to be fair. ‘No one had attracted me enough to make me want to try again, until I met Mark.’
‘But you’ve just admitted that you’ve kept even him at arm’s length.’
‘Yes.’ Looking into the flames, she sighed. ‘I didn’t really intend to. Somehow it just happened…’
The same as last night had just happened. But in the opposite way.
His eyes on her half-averted face, he remarked softly, ‘Knowing you’re anything but frigid, it strikes me as odd that you weren’t willing to sleep with someone you’ve told me you love.’
Something about the way he spoke made her look at him. He was smiling a little, as though well satisfied.
Realising with a shock of surprise how she had bared her soul, as well as her body, to a man who was scarcely more than a stranger, she felt her throat go dry.
Swallowing hard, she waited for him to ask the obvious question. A question she had yet to find an answer to. So why me?
But with a sensitivity she could only be heartily thankful for, he smoothly changed the subject. ‘You mentioned you were an interior designer… What does your work involve? Selecting furniture? Fabrics? Colour schemes?’
‘Quite often the lot. And every project is a new challenge. That’s what makes it so fascinating…’
All at once there was a feeling of ease, a rapport between them.
‘It would have been fun to design for my own place,’ she added wistfully, ‘but all I could find to rent was a furnished flat. Though I suppose from a purely practical point of view that’s given me more time for my clients.’
‘How do you choose your clients?’
‘I don’t. They choose me. I follow up every enquiry, and make suggestions and preliminary sketches, but unfortunately I don’t always get the job.’
‘Can’t you charge for wasted time?’
‘Not until I’m better known. At the moment I have to offer the first consultation free, and as the rent they charge for my flat is exorbitant, when I fail to get a job I have to tighten my belt.’
‘With a wealthy fiancé?’
‘I wouldn’t dream of asking Mark to help.’
Letting that go, he suggested, ‘Some places must be harder to design for than others?’
‘Some clients are harder to design for than others… They ask advice, but they already have a preconceived idea in their minds of what they actually want. Sometimes it takes some winkling out, and even when I’ve succeeded it isn’t always easy to translate it into a workable scheme. But there’s nothing I would rather do, and when something works, and you know it’s right, there’s a tremendous amount of job satisfaction…’
Temporarily forgetting all the troubles the weekend had brought, she became animated as, responding to his interest, she talked with fluency and enthusiasm about her love of colour and design, and her pleasure in her work.
‘It sounds like a passion that will last a lifetime,’ he observed.
Some of the sparkle died out of her face. ‘Mark wants me to stop working after we’re married,’ she said flatly. ‘He said a rich man’s wife has no need to work.’
‘Financial need, no. But there are other considerations just as important.’
‘Mark doesn’t seem to think so.’
‘So what will you do with yourself?’
‘Apart from sit and count my money all day? I don’t really know.’
It was a sore point, and, turning away, she began to pull on her shoes. ‘It’s time we were getting back.’
‘Perhaps you’re right.’
Strolling over to the bar, he rang the large brass bell that waited there and, when Mrs Lawson appeared, paid her for the meal, adding a generous tip.
‘Will we see you next weekend?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure. It all depends.’
‘Well, all I can say is I hope it’s better weather next time.’
When Loris had added her thanks to Jonathan’s, they pulled on their anoraks and made their way outside into the greyness.
A mixture of rain and snow was being driven before a bleak, easterly wind, and after the comfortable warmth of the fire it felt bitter.
Heads down, and walking as quickly as possible, they set off back. Neither was wearing gloves, and Jonathan walked with his hands thrust deep into his pockets.
Loris did the same, but the pockets in her anorak, which was fashionable rather than practical, were too shallow to afford much protection.
Glancing sideways at her, Jonathan asked, ‘All right?’
‘Yes.’
He reached to take hold of her hand and, finding it was like ice, returned both his hand and hers to the warmth of his pocket.
There was something caring about the gesture that brought an odd little lump to her throat.
The rain grew heavier, and soon they were both soaked to the skin. In spite of all the problems that loomed ahead, when the house came into view it was a welcome sight, its lighted windows suggesting warmth and comfort.
Hoping against hope that they wouldn’t meet anyone, Loris chose to go in by the rear door, and to use the back staircase.
They were lucky, and made it upstairs without seeing a soul. At her bedroom door, she turned to glance at the man by her side.
His neat ears were red and his thick lashes were beaded with moisture; his hair was plastered against his skull and rivulets of water ran down his face. But, despite his saturated state, he had an air of ease, of calm self-assurance.
‘No one’s seen us come back,’ she said with relief, ‘so if you get changed as quickly as possible—’
‘I was looking forward to a hot, leisurely shower,’ he said plaintively.
‘But don’t you see? There’s still a chance…’
‘To do what?’
‘To leave, of course.’ Urgently, she added, ‘Go out the way we came in, and when you’ve got your car turn left and take the back drive—’
‘And leave you to face the music alone?’
‘It’s what I want you to do. Facing them won’t be pleasant, but no one will do me any harm.’ She put a hand on his arm and shook him. ‘Go, while there’s still a chance. Staying will only add to the problems.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion.’
‘It’s a matter of fact,’ she hissed at him. ‘Your presence is bound to inflame Mark… Oh, please, Jonathan, go.’
‘We’re in this together, and the only way I’ll go is if you go with me.’
Though she was tempted, she shook her head. ‘What would be the good of that?’
‘Exactly. There’s no point in either of us running away. The best thing by far would be to have a showdown and get it over with.’
He sounded almost as if he was enjoying the prospect.
Opening the door to her room, he gently pushed her inside. ‘Now, why don’t you go and get out of those wet things before you catch a chill?’
Accepting that she wasn’t going to bu
dge him, she went through to the bathroom and stripped off.
Standing under the steaming water, she waited until her frozen body was thawed out before reaching for the shampoo.
As well as the comfort the hot water brought, she felt an inner glow of warmth. Though common sense insisted that it would have been better if Jonathan had gone, she felt a sneaking relief that he had refused to leave her to face things alone.
When she had towelled herself thoroughly, and rubbed her hair, she put on a fleecy robe and went to find some dry clothes.
Dressed in a grey skirt and a fine woollen blouse the colour of wet lilac, she brushed her hair and made-up lightly. Then, mentally girding her loins, she went out, closing the door behind her.
Jonathan was strolling down the corridor towards her. His hair had dried to what she now recognised as its normal corn-colour, and was smoothly brushed. He was wearing well-cut trousers and a black polo-necked sweater that made him look both attractive and oddly dangerous.
Wondering what had made a word like dangerous spring to mind, she realised it was something to do with his quiet, but absolute, confidence.
Hands loose by his sides, a glint in his eyes, he was whistling something half under his breath. It was, she recognised after a moment, the theme from High Noon.
‘That sense of humour will get you into trouble one day,’ she said crossly.
He grinned, white teeth gleaming. ‘Ah, so you like old movies?’
Responding to his charm, she admitted, ‘Better than some of the modern ones.’
‘Remember The Ghost and Mrs Muir…?’
‘Oh, yes… And The Babysitter…’
Discussing their favourite black and white films, they made their way downstairs.
They were crossing the spacious hall when the library door opened and Mark came out. His tense expression changed to one of mingled annoyance and relief when he saw Loris.
‘Where on earth have you been? Your mother said you’d gone out for a walk mid-morning.’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ She was surprised by how steady her voice sounded.
‘You’ve been out so long I was beginning to think you’d gone back to town instead.’
‘We stopped for coffee,’ Jonathan said smoothly, ‘and when it came on to rain I persuaded Loris to stay at the pub for lunch.’
Marriage on the Agenda Page 6
