Roberta Leigh - It All Depends on Love

by Roberta Leigh

  'My mother was a physiotherapist until she married, and I can assure you she never regretted giving it up.'

  'We're talking of today's woman,' Tessa countered. 'If I'd worked my guts out to get somewhere, I wouldn't give it up ine xchange for a wedding ring! Anyway, women can hold down a job and be loving wives and mothers.'

  'But at what cost? When they're home they're worried stiff that they're losing out in their career, and when they're working they feel guilty at leaving their children.' Patrick shook his head, a lock of dark hair falling forward. 'Dammit, you already know my views on this subject.'

  Mischievously, she decided to do a complete turnabout.

  'I'm glad you think like that,' she said in a little-girl voice. 'You see, I've only been sticking up for career women to provoke you.'

  'You do that without trying,' came the wry response.

  'What I—what I mean is that, when I marry, I'm going to devote my entire life to my husband.'

  Patrick gaped at her. 'You will?'

  'Absolutely. It's so fulfilling to look after one's home and family. I want at least three children.'

  'I'm one of five,' he said.

  'Er—five sounds ideal.’

  'It's wonderful,' he enthused.

  'It is?'

  'Of course six is better, and if you'd agree to seven I'd marry you myself.'

  'Seven?' she echoed hollowly.

  'On the other hand, it would be a great pity to deprive the stage of such a magnificent actress. You make Sarah Bernhardt seem like Minnie Mouse!'

  'Oh!' Scarlet-faced, Tessa searched for a retort.

  Not that she was given a chance to find one, for with an angry stride he was in front of her. 'You're the most infuriating, exasperating, irritating——-'

  'Oh, Patrick!' Unable to stop herself, she melted into his arms.

  He tried to draw back, but it was no more than a token resistance, for the feel of her soft body was his undoing, and with an incoherent murmur he lowered his head to find her mouth.

  Pressing herself close to him, she felt the throbbing swell and arched her body against it. Instantly he groaned, his grip on her tightening as he pulled her closer and his lips parted hers. Frenziedly his tongue penetrated the sweet moistness of her mouth, filling it with his own sweetness, the guttural sounds deep in his throat indicating his fierce longing to penetrate her in other, more intimate ways.

  She slid her hands down his back, kneading the steely muscles and feeling them quiver at her touch. It gave her a sense of power, and triumph coursed through her, routing her nervousness and spurring her to glide gentle fingers along his thighs, curving round the strong hipbones to rest on the leaping, alive muscle pressing hard and urgently against her.

  She was incapable of thought, conscious only of the present, spinning higher and higher into a vortex of ecstasy that only ceased as a harsh voice stopped her spinning, and hard hands shook her into reality.

  Opening her eyes, she stared into Patrick's face, loving the sheen of sweat on the tightly stretched skin that covered his high cheekbones, and the sensuous fullness of the beautifully curved mouth. But she didn't love what the mouth was saying.

  'For God's sake, Tessa, stop trying to seduce me!'

  'I'm not.'

  'Then you're giving a darn good imitation! You threw yourself at me.'

  'It took you quite a while to object!’

  'What do you expect when you clung to me like instant glue! This has got to stop. I told you before I went to the States that I don't play games with little girls.'

  'I don't want you to play,' she entreated. 'Make it for real.'

  'No! Can't you get it into your head that it won't work? Apart from bed, we don't want the same things.'

  'Then you do want me!' she cried.

  Lowered lids obscured the bright blue eyes. 'I'm a red-blooded man; what do you expect? But desire is no basis for a relationship.'

  'It's a beginning.'

  'And it would have a quick end!' Side-stepping her, he went to the door and opened it. 'Please go.'

  She trembled. 'Go? For good?'

  'That wasn't what I meant,' he confessed wryly, 'but it would be for your good if you did.'

  'I don't want to leave.'

  He hesitated, then sighed. 'A word of warning, then. If you plan to re-enact this scene, don't! Fling yourself at me again, and you'll be out on your ear faster than a bullet from a gun!'

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  For the next few days, all Tessa thought about was how it was going to end between herself and Patrick. Dolefully she admitted she was between the devil and the deep blue sea.

  As long as he thought her an eighteen-year-old, he'd swallow his tongue before admitting he loved her. Yet she couldn't confess her real age without revealing she was a surgeon—and then she wouldn't see him for dust!

  Like it or not, she had to stick with her original plan and carry on as she was, hoping that when she finally came clean he'd be so besotted with her that he wouldn't object to her continuing her career.

  Trouble was, she would be fit enough to return to the hospital in another few weeks, and her conscience wouldn't allow her to stay on longer. Still, a lot could happen in that time—if she played her cards right!

  Dreamily she gave herself over to foolish romantic thoughts, quivering with pleasure as she recalled the desire in Patrick's eyes when he looked at her when they were alone.

  But who was the desire for? The carefree girl he thought her to be, or the passionate woman she became when she was in his arms? She frowned. Wasn't he aware of the difference between Tessa the teenager and the mature woman who answered him back kiss for kiss? So far he hadn't noticed the discrepancy, and ruefully she wondered if all men were as blind.

  She went into the kitchen to prepare tea. Withers and his good lady were off for the afternoon, but cold meat and salad were in the refrigerator for dinner, and all Tessa had to do was make afternoon tea.

  She was placing a chocolate cake on the trolley when there was a telephone call from Bobby. Luckily she-was alone in the kitchen, but she still kept her voice low.

  'How did you know where to find me?'

  ‘I called your daily, and she gave me your godfather's number. An old bird answered, and when I said I had to speak to you urgently she gave me this number. You got two country homes, or are you stashing up with a boyfriend?'

  'Clever of you to guess!' she teased. 'But why the urgency to speak to me?'

  'I'm off to Brazil for two months. Some millionaire rancher called the gallery and asked if I'd do a frieze of a polo scene in his living-room. Gray said the price he offered was too good to refuse.'

  As always, Tessa was amused at hearing the kind-hearted but austere Graham Koster referred to as Gray. Bobby must be the only one of his artists who dared call him that!

  'Twenty-five thousand quid, plus expenses, ain't hay!' Bobby was saying.

  'It certainly isn't,' she gasped. 'Will it delay the new show you're preparing?'

  'Nope. My side of it's done, and the rest is up to Jack. I'll just have to put the finishing touches to a few things when I get back.'

  'Don't forget to send me a card!'

  'I may send you an invitation! I'm being loaned a guest house of my own.'

  'Don't tempt me.'

  Tessa was smiling as she replaced the receiver, and only as she swung round to the trolley did she see Patrick leaning against the kitchen lintel.

  As always, he was casually but expensively dressed. No untidy, stoop-shouldered boffin this one, but a tall, slim man who might have stepped from the pages of Vogue. He must have had a swim not long ago, too, for his hair clung damply to his head, the warm chestnut colour deep as mahogany.

  'A call from the boyfriend?' he asked, arms folded across his chest.

  'A friend,' she corrected.

  'A loving one, by the sound of it.'

  'A very loving one, but not the way you mean.' The electric kettle boiled, and with relief she turned
to it. 'Will you have tea in your study, or in the sitting-room with the others?'

  ‘I’ll have it in here. Then I must pack.'

  'Where are you going?'

  'To the States. I'm leaving first thing in the morning.'

  'That's sudden.'

  'I apologise. It quite slipped my mind that I had to acquaint you with my movements!'

  'You're very interested in what 7 do.'

  'I'm interested in what you get up to.' He was the one to do the correcting this time. 'You're a mischievous baggage, young lady, and have to be watched!'

  I'm happy for you to watch me any day!' Intentionally she licked her tongue delicately across her lower lip.

  'Stop that, Tessa. I'm not going to let you seduce me again.'

  'Scared you won't know when to stop?'

  'Scared you won't. And promiscuity is dangerous.'

  'Just because I respond to you, it doesn't mean I'm promiscuous.'

  In addition,' he continued as if she hadn't spoken, 'if it's marriage you're after, don't all the women's magazines say it's better to keep a man wanting than to give in to him?'

  'I haven't given in to you, have I?'

  'I haven't asked you to!'

  Only for a brief instant did Tessa hesitate before saying, 'You're right. If you did, I'd say yes.'

  A flame glowed in his eyes, then he swiftly averted his head and straddled a chair by the table. 'Little girls shouldn't act the temptress.'

  'I'm not acting. I mean it.'

  'Stop it, Tessa,' he reiterated.

  His tone brooked no argument, and she cooled the situation. Anyway, with his imminent departure, now wasn't the tune to hot it up!

  'Fancy a piece of cake?' she asked brightly.

  'Make it a cheese sandwich and you're on. But not the doorsteps you cut me once before!'

  Silently she took out a loaf of bread and sliced off several thin slices.

  'Good work,' he teased. 'You've certainly improved with a knife!'

  She hid a smile, then boldly said, 'When I was a kid I fancied being a surgeon.'

  He laughed. 'A tree surgeon most likely—never bodies!'

  ‘I’ll wipe the smile off your face one day, Patrick Harper.'

  'Only if I'm on an operating table and you're holding the scalpel!'

  Here was her golden opportunity, but because he was leaving in a few hours she was unwilling to take it.

  'The sandwich,' Patrick reminded her.

  Hurriedly she slapped on two slices of cheddar cheese, topped them with a pickle, and passed the sandwich across to him.

  'Let me drive you to the airport,' she blurted out.

  I'm going with Ingrid.'

  Did he mean she was going to the States too? Tessa swallowed the question.

  'Don't be possessive.' Patrick read her expression correctly. 'Ingrid isn't coming with me, but if she were it wouldn't be any business of yours.'

  'I simply think you can do better.'

  'And 7 think you should stop interfering in my life. A few weeks from now your replacement will be taking over, and once you're among your friends I'll be part of your lively and interesting past!'

  'I'd rather you were part of my present.' She met his gaze steadily, though it grew less steady as she felt herself drowning in the deep blue depths. She trembled and her lips parted, moist with longing.

  'I told you to stop that!' he said thickly, and, plate in hand, stalked from the room.

  With Patrick away, Tessa found Ingrid so bossy that she feigned summer flu and stayed home. But she called Emmy every day to see how things were going, and when she learned Patrick was due back the following Tuesday she judiciously returned to the Hall on the Monday.

  'If you're expecting to be paid for your absence, you'll have to bring me a letter from your doctor,' Ingrid snapped as they passed each other inthe butler's pantry.

  Tessa nodded, speculating on the girl's reaction if she wrote her own note and presented it.

  'What's the joke?' Ingrid demanded.

  'Nothing.'

  'Then stop grinning and get on with your work.'

  Waving a duster under Ingrid's nose, Tessa scurried away.

  That night she dreamed of Patrick, and awoke with a deep urge to press her body to his, to feel the touch of his skin on every part of her, to twine her legs around his hard thighs and press the silken triangle of her womanhood to his throbbing masculine one. A flame of desire licked her, almost as though it were his tongue, and she clasped the pillow tightly.

  I love you, Patrick Harper! she cried silently as she drifted off to sleep again. If only I knew how to make you admit you feel the same about me.

  The next day, knowing he was flying the Atlantic, she did her chores with a lighter heart, counting the hours till he was due home. There was little enough to occupy her, for no one was off duty or sick, and after lunch was cleared she idled away the afternoon.

  If it weren't for Ingrid she would have gone for a swim, for when Patrick was away the pool was at his staffs disposal. But if the Swedish girl saw her enjoying herself in the water, she'd soon find her an unpleasant job to do!

  Yet, the more Tessa thought of the pool, the hotter and stickier she felt, and at five o'clock she went into the staff cloakroom, donned a bikini under her dress, and set off for the west wing garden. In another half-hour she was off duty, and if Ingrid found her before, tough luck!

  The sun was hot and the pool a blue oasis sparkling under a paler blue sky. Dropping her dress on a lounger, she padded over to the side and dived in, a flash of scarlet bikini against milk-white skin.

  The water was refreshingly cold, and she cavorted in it like a dolphin, feeling her tension ebb, her tightened nerves uncoil. Soon Patrick would be home, and at the earliest opportunity she'd set the record straight, then try to convince him she could make him happy and continue her career at one and the same time.

  She refused to believe he was as rigid in his opinions as he stated. After all, he was a man of the world, and knew that these days more and more marriages had both partners working, even when there was no financial necessity for the woman to do so.

  Tessa was floating in the centre of the pool when Ingrid's voice—hard and strident since Patrick was not around to hear it—asked what she was doing there.

  'I'll give you three guesses!' Tessa answered, straightening and treading water.

  'I'm clever enough to need only one! You're wasting time—as you often do.'

  'Come off it.' Tessa was not about to give in to further bullying. By tomorrow Ingrid would know exactly who she was, and feeling knee-high to a grasshopper. 'I've no more work and fancied a swim.'

  "This isn't a hotel. If you're finished for the day, you should leave.'

  'I was waiting to see Mr Harper.'

  'Why should you imagine he wants to see you?’

  It was a good question, bearing in mind their last conversation. But Tessa pushed it aside.

  'Anyway,' Ingrid continued, 'he won't be here this evening. I'm meeting him at the airport and we're staying in town.'

  'Why?' Tessa asked involuntarily.

  'Because he has an early morning meeting there, and it will save his getting up at the crack of dawn. Not that it's any business of yours,' Ingrid added for good measure.

  The pleasurable sense of anticipation Tessa had felt all day ebbed, her hopes—high a moment ago—in ruins.

  She didn't blame Ingrid for doing her best to worm her way into Patrick's personal life, but she was furious with Patrick for allowing it to happen when she was positive he didn't care for the girl. If this was his way of showing she herself meant nothing to him, then he had done it as hurtfully as possible.

  As soon as Ingrid was out of sight, Tessa towelled herself dry and went home. An idea had taken root, and she examined it carefully. If she drove to the airport immediately, she might manage to tell Patrick who she really was before Ingrid arrived to collect him. Confessing her story in the hurly burly of the Arrivals Hall wasn't
exactly the best way of gaining his attention or understanding, though, and she'd do better to wait till tomorrow. Yet if she did, it meant another miserable night for her, with her imagination working overtime as she envisaged Ingrid in Patrick's bed. But better that than to be too precipitate.

  'Waiting for one more day won't make things worse,' she told herself aloud. 'He may have said Ingrid would make a better wife for bun than you, but it doesn't mean he's already sampled the goods! Why, he as good as told you he isn't having an affair with her.'

  But, no matter how often Tessa repeated this, the green-eyed demon of jealousy remained on her shoulder, and, walking to the Hall the next morning, she felt as if she had been squeezed through a mangle.

  Her mood was not unproved by discovering she had lost her watch. In her fury against Ingrid she must have left it by the pool. She dashed across the lawn to get it, but, though she searched for it high and low, it wasn't there. Perhaps someone had used the pool after her and found it.

  A quick word with Mike and the others elicited no, joy, and Pedro's pronouncement that he had chased a couple of boys off the grounds last night decided her she had lost it for good.

  She was both angry and upset. Though fully insured, the watch had been a gift from Uncle Martin, and precious to her.

  This bad news was compounded by teaming that Patrick and Ingrid were staying over in London another day.

  Tessa reminded herself she wasn’t his keeper, and he was free to do as he liked with whom he liked. But why oh, why did it have to be with Ingrid? How much easier to bear her jealousy if he were with another woman. After all, he was single and, if determined to prove she herself meant nothing to him, what better way than to find someone else? But Ingrid? Give her an inch, and she'd take a mile!

  The day dragged by on leaden feet, and Tessa was glad when Withers sent her home early. Another miserable night faced her, and she rose at five a.m. to go for a jog.

  Luckily her looks didn't pity her, for excitement at seeing Patrick brought a flush to her cheeks, their pink matching the cambric cotton dress she'd bought on her shopping spree.

  His car, containing Patrick with Ingrid beside him, was drawing to a stop by the front door as Tessa came down the driveway, and at once the sun shone for her again. However, it dimmed as he climbed out and she saw the dark shadows under his eyes, for they conjured up an unwelcome picture of nocturnal activity!