Roberta Leigh - It All Depends on Love

by Roberta Leigh

  'How right you are,' she said, hiding a smile at the thought of his seeing her in the operating theatre!

  'Am I interrupting?' Ingrid's cool voice enquired from the doorway.

  Tessa's smart reply died on her lips as she remembered her role. 'I knocked over the crystal paperweight, but Mr Harper saved it.'

  'Did you want me, Ingrid?' Patrick asked her.

  'Only to tell you Mr Allinson and his directors are arriving at seven,' she said in the dulcet tones she reserved for him, 'and that I've arranged dinner for eight-thirty.'

  'I wish I'd never let you talk me into inviting them,' he muttered. 'I can't raise the capital to go into partnership with Allinson, and he's too tough to let me buy into his company below the market price.'

  'I think you should settle for a twenty-five per cent share.'

  'Forget it. If his equity is more than mine, he'll order me around. Either I go in with him on equal terms, or I go it alone.'

  'If you sold this house you'd have the money you want.'

  'I'd still be half a million pounds short.'

  'Surely not? The land will fetch——-'

  'I'm not selling to developers. They'd flood the district with bungalows and ruin the environment for miles around.' Patrick placed a strong, well-shaped hand on her shoulder. 'I recognise you've my best interests at heart, Ingrid, but, much as I'd like to link up with Allinson Software, my conscience won't let me do it that way.'

  'You and your conscience,' she sniffed, though the faint smile that softened her delicately shaped mouth reminded Tessa that even a glacier could melt under a strong-enough sun.

  But why am I listening to these two talking business? she asked herself, and sidled to the door.

  'I want to talk to you, Tessa,' Ingrid called. 'I assume you can wait at table?'

  'Why?'

  'Because Emmy won't be back till late.'

  'Can't Eva take her place?' Tessa had never waited at table in her life, and was worried she'd make a hash serving a dinner that was obviously an important one.

  'No, she can't. She'll be helping in the kitchen.'

  'What about Pedro?' Tessa said desperately. "There are masses of Spanish waiters!'

  'I'm sure there are. But Pedro isn't one of them. He happens to have two left hands, which only leaves you.'

  'You've never done waitressing before?' Patrick teased, his humour restored. 'I thought it was a standby for out-of-work girls.'

  'I've never been unemployed,' Tessa retorted, fully back in her guise. 'I chose not to work!' His expression was so pained by the very idea that she embroidered on it. 'Most people only do it for the money. Me, I manage fine on the dole.'

  'Then why are you house-sitting for Mr Anderson?' Ingrid enquired, a hostile gleam in her eyes.

  'I need the extra cash to travel around Europe. And having this job as well will let me do it in style.'

  'If you hope to continue having this job,' Ingrid replied bitingly, 'put on Emmy's uniform and help Withers set the table for dinner.'

  'You're the boss,' Tessa said airily, and went in search of Eva, who gave her one of Emmy's dresses.

  Luckily Emmy was as slim as Tessa, though the skirt came to her ankles, and soon after she'd helped Withers in Patrick's private dining-room she hurried home to put a few tucks in the dress, return Henry to the house and give him his supper.

  He was less than pleased when she left him again, and his howl of displeasure was ringing in her ears as she made her way to the west wing.

  She felt very self-conscious in Emmy's dress, its severe line and navy colour making her look smaller and more fragile than usual. The guests were already seated in Patrick's softly lit drawing-room, and Withers was passing round the drinks.

  A grey-haired man in his fifties, and the carefully coiffured woman in sequined blue beside him, had to be John Allinson and his wife, she decided from the way Patrick—elegant in charcoal-grey suit and cream silk shirt—was giving them his undivided attention. Further down the room, Ingrid, nauseatingly beautiful in turquoise, ash-blonde hair caught back with a wide, shimmering hair-slide, acted hostess to three men—all tall, suntanned, and exuding the confident air of successful, high-powered executives.

  Half an hour later they were seated around the candlelit dining table. Silver bowls of pink roses ranged down the centre of the finely embroidered white cloth, literally sparkling with silver place-settings, gleaming china and crystal goblets. And as the meal progressed Tessa did not put a hand wrong in helping Withers serve it.

  Mrs Withers had excelled herself. Her cold tomato soup was a supreme blend of tomatoes, cream and basil, while her roast lamb—which at the worst of times was excellent—-was a picture of tender juiciness. Second helpings were asked for and Tessa saw her hopes of bringing Henry a meaty bone vanish.

  'Don't worry,' Withers whispered to her under his breath. 'There's another leg in the kitchen for the staff and Mrs W. won't forget Henry.'

  Tessa flashed him a smile, only aware she still had it on her face when she turned and saw Patrick give her a startled glance.

  Instantly she composed her features, primping her mouth and moving with clockwork precision from guest to guest as she took away their plates and served the dessert—home-grown peaches marinated in apricot liqueur and decorated with Devonshire cream.

  Only as she reached Patrick's side did she notice the amused gleam in his eyes, confirmed by his saying in her ear, 'You're doing fine, Tessa. There's no need to be so solemn.'

  'Thank you, sir——-' She almost curtsied.

  'Shall we have coffee in the drawing-room?' Ingrid's cool tones cut across the muted conversation. 'Or do you men wish to have it alone here?'

  'In the drawing-room,' John Allinson answered, glancing at his wife and then Patrick. 'If I talk business without Marjorie's being present, I'll only have to repeat it to her again!'

  Amid laughter, they returned to the drawing-room.

  It was a perfect summer's evening, balmy and clear, and the french windows were open to the terrace and floodlit pool beyond. Conversation was general as Tessa passed round the coffee and Withers deftly proffered liqueurs and cigars.

  'I think you made a wise decision moving to the countryside for your creative work,' John Allinson said, puffing contentedly on his cigar.

  'It's also an excellent way of utilising a place this size,' one of the other Americans interjected.

  'That's another reason for my move,' Patrick agreed. 'This west wing is more than adequate for the largest family, so the rest of the house would have stood empty.'

  'Personally, I'd find working here too peaceful and quiet,' a balding, red-faced man called Hank added.

  'It's not always like this,' Patrick drawled. 'There's a very disruptive dog next door who comes in and drools over me!'

  'This is the perfect setting for dogs,' Mrs Allinson said brightly. 'I can just envisage bassets and beagles bounding around here, and perhaps a red setter or two. They'd be real cute on your Persian carpet.'

  'A dog's place is outside,' Patrick stated.

  'Surely not the whole time?'

  'Not everyone is as crazy about dogs as you are, Marjorie,' her husband smiled. 'If you——-'

  There was a strangled bark and Tessa froze. Oh, no! Life wasn't that cruel! But it was, for Henry came gambolling around the side of the terrace in all his shaggy glory, a huge lamb-bone clamped between his teeth, and sat himself in the doorway of the drawing-room.

  'Talk of the devil,' Patrick muttered.

  'What a darling dog,' Mrs Allinson gushed.

  At the cooing tone, Henry rose.

  'Sit!' Tessa hissed as loudly as she dared= But Henry was as oblivious to her as he was to Mrs Allinson, for he had already spied his idol.

  Bone held high, he pranced towards Patrick as delicately as a Lipizzaner horse, and, like a horse in a drawing-room, left mayhem behind him: sweeping tail dashing objects from low-lying tables, jowls drooling droplets on to the carpet, fat paws leaving earth
y marks.

  Tessa made a lunge for him, but Henry bounded forward, and she watched with horror as he reached Patrick's side, gazed at him with doggy adoration, then slowly lowered his shaggy head to place Ms lamb-bone as an offering on Patrick's pristine lap.

  CHAPTER SIX

  For as long as she lived, Tessa would never forget her mortification over Henry's appalling behaviour, nor the bubble of laughter that escaped her.

  Though instantly stifled, everyone heard it, and Patrick and Ingrid flung her thunderous looks before forcing smiles to their faces. Well, they had to smile, for the guests were also suppressing their laughter, albeit more successfully than Tessa had done.

  I'm sorry, Mr Harper,' she mumbled, rushing over to scoop the bone from his lap.

  Anger still darkened his face, but as she watched him the humour of the situation struck him and he half smiled.

  'You'll have to do something about that damned dog,' he said under his breath, picking shreds of meat from his trousers.

  Tessa went to help him, then stopped, colour flaming her cheeks. Glancing up, he noticed it, and one eyebrow rose mockingly. But then why shouldn't he be amused when the joke was now on her!

  'Isn't the dog yours, Patrick?' Mrs Allinson asked.

  'It belongs next door, where I live,' Tessa came swiftly into the conversation, then glanced Patrick's way. 'Will you excuse me, sir, while I take him home?'

  'I wouldn't dream of stopping you!'

  As Tessa went out, dragging a reluctant Henry, the burst of laughter that came from behind her showed that Patrick had managed to retrieve a potentially embarrassing situation. And thank heavens for that, otherwise it could have ruined his evening. As it was, she was the one with egg on her face!

  'Tessa!'

  Swinging round, she saw Ingrid coming towards her, and braced herself for a tirade.

  'You deserve to be fired!' the Swedish girl hissed. ‘I’ll discuss it with Mr Harper in the morning.'

  'You can't blame me for Henry's behaviour,’ Tessa defended haughtily. If the stone wall were mended, he wouldn't have got in here.' Nonplussed, Ingrid remained silent, a situation which Tessa took advantage of. 'Mr Harper's well aware that the roots of the cypress on his land caused the damage, and if he doesn't want Henry around he knows what to do.' Upon which she turned on her heel and stalked off.

  Despite making out a good case for Henry, Tessa didn't feel blameless, for she must have left a door ajar for the dog to open. That was only too true, she saw the instant she entered the kitchen at Greentrees, for the back door was gaping wide.

  'I must be losing my marbles,' she muttered. 'I'll have to double-check doors and windows each time I go out.'

  It wasn't until next morning, when distance softened the edge of her annoyance with herself, that she fully appreciated the humour of last night's scene. Had she deliberately set out to cut Patrick down to size, she couldn't have done better, except that she didn't wish to harm him business-wise, which might have happened had he lost his temper with Henry. It was all too easy to imagine Mrs Allinson, the great dog-lover, warning her husband to have nothing to do with a man who disliked dogs! As it was, Patrick had emerged from the incident smelling of roses—as well as lamb-bone!

  As she entered the Hall, Pedro sped towards her, hissing that Mr Harper wished to see her the moment she arrived. Her sprite plummeted. He was going to fire her after all. She didn't blame him. In his shoes she'd do the same. Should she disclose her identity before leaving? Yet doing it now wouldn't have the impact on him as she had planned, and she decided to keep mum.

  'Is he in his office?' she asked.

  'No, by the pool.'

  Hurriedly she rounded the house, amazed by the misery engulfing her at the prospect of not seeing Patrick after today. Not him personally, she told herself hurriedly, but the fun of this whole charade. Glancing at the narrow denim skirt barely skimming her knees, and the white cotton top that lightly touched her delicate curves—boldly stating 'Donald Duck for President'— she realised how much she'd enjoyed shedding her serious image.

  As she arrived at the pool, Patrick's lithe figure was cleaving through the sparkling blue water, legs threshing powerfully, arms moving rhythmically. Though she was in his direct line of vision, he did not acknowledge her, but finished the length and began another. Since those brilliant blue eyes of his weren't short-sighted, she sensed he was deliberately keeping her waiting, and she assumed a pose of nonchalance and settled herself on a lounger. Not that she actually lounged—that was asking for a reprimand—but she felt entitled to make herself comfortable, regardless of his lordly presence.

  Patrick swam two more lengths, which suited her fine, for it was particularly pleasant sitting here on a lovely English summer's day, watching a handsome man swim back and forth in this magnificent free-form pool. More than handsome, she thought, as he hauled himself from the water in one swift movement, bronzed and gleaming except where brief black trunks clung to his body like a second skin.

  'I want to talk to you,' he stated, planting himself squarely in front of her, and flinging back a lock of chestnut hair from his eyes.

  'If you're referring to last night,' she said sweetly, 'it was as much your fault as Henry's.'

  Too true,' he grunted. The wall's being fixed.'

  Reaching for the towelling robe that hung on the branch of a nearby tree, he shrugged into it, and it was an effort for Tessa to keep her eyes from the muscles rippling in his chest.

  What's the matter with me? she thought irritably. I've seen hundreds of men's chests in my time, probably thousands, yet none have affected me this way. So why now? Because he's a perfect specimen of manhood, she answered herself, and my medical eye appreciates it. His chest, indeed his entire body, didn't have an ounce of superfluous flesh on it, the play of muscles beneath the golden skin indicating superb fitness.

  '… not entirely to blame.'

  With a start she realised he was still talking, and as she tried to guess what he had said her expression told him she hadn't a clue.

  The least you can do is listen to me,' he reproved.

  'I'm sorry, I—er—I was trying to think who could mend the wall for you.' -

  'I've already told you it's being done,' he repeated. 'But that doesn't mean you can let that dog of yours roam free. If he does, he'll find another way of getting in here.'

  'I think he fancies you!' A smile tilted her mouth provocatively, and she was instantly aware of Patrick's eyes resting there, and a sudden stillness coming over his face.

  She had seen that expression on a man's face before, though not for years, due to the way she had hedged herself around with work, with no time for anything else. But now there was all the time in the world. Well, six weeks at least, and it might be fun if she… Watch it! she warned herself. Don't start anything you'll regret.

  'Henry isn't used to being locked up,' she said aloud. 'Mr Anderson believes animals should be free.'

  'How come you're so knowledgeable about Mr Anderson?'

  'From his housekeeper,' Tessa said hurriedly. 'She also says the reason Henry likes you is because you remind him of his last owner. The company he works for sent nun to Egypt for three years, and he gave him to Mr Anderson.'

  'I can't believe anyone would want to give Henry away,' Patrick commented sarcastically, settling himself on a lounger. 'But enough of that dog.' Blue eyes appraised her. 'You did Emmy's job very well last night. Withers said you were quite professional. I'm sure I can find you work in a restaurant when you leave here.'

  'Waitressing?' she screeched, shaking her head. 'I've more respect for my feet!'

  'You'd earn good money.'

  'Forget it. It sounds dead boring.'

  'You seem to find everything boring.'

  'Maybe I won't when I'm your age,' she said, biting back a laugh at his indignant expression. 'Sorry, Mr Harper, I didn't mean to offend you.'

  'I appreciate your viewpoint, Tessa. What are you— seventeen, eighteen? As I said,
I'm almost old enough to be your father.'

  'Don't be silly. You're fit and healthy and don't look a day over thirty!'

  'What a compliment!' His tone was dry as hay. 'But to get back to you—you're not seriously thinking of bumming round Europe, are you?'

  'Have you a better suggestion? And don't say you see me as a high-powered businesswoman!'

  'Never that!'

  'A teacher, then?’

  'You're bossy enough to be one, but no.' She pursed her lips. 'What about a doctor?' He burst out laughing. 'Heaven help your patients. You're not doctor material, I'm afraid. You're too…'

  'If you say "small",' she cut across him, 'I'll throw up!'

  'But it's true.' His eyes roamed her. 'Perfectly formed, but small. Why not accept it instead of denying it?'

  'I don't deny it. I merely think size has nothing to do with performance.’

  'That's for sure,' he said drily.

  Aware he had found a double meaning in her comment, she went scarlet.

  'Sorry,' he apologised. 'I forgot how young and innocent you are.'

  'Eighteen-year-olds aren't innocent these days,’ she came back at him. 'You're showing your age!'

  'So it appears.'

  'Anyway, I haven't yet decided if I'm going to travel. I might surprise you by taking up a profession.'

  'Fine. As long as it doesn't prevent your marrying and having a family,' he said.

  Tessa was astonished. Was he teasing? Yet his expression didn't suggest it. 'Why will work stop me doing that?' she asked. 'Plenty of high-powered women marry and have children.'

  'And plenty put their career before a personal life.'

  Tessa swallowed hard, silently conceding she was one of them, and vowing to change. 'Women are often forced to put their career first when they're trying to establish themselves,' she defended. 'But once they have '

  'They're generally too set in their ways—often too hard-boiled—for the give and take of a relationship.'

  'Don't give me that "generally" bit,' Tessa said crossly. 'I know masses of women who hold excellent jobs yet also manage to have children, run a home and have a happy marriage.'

  'Do you?' Patrick asked sarcastically. 'I wasn't aware you mixed in such circles.'