by Penny Jordan
She hadn't had the remotest conception of what love really was, of what pain was. But she did now.
Drew was taking a long time. She walked back down the path and stopped abruptly as she saw Drew standing at the end of it with Rosamund and Howard. Rosamund was talking to him, smiling at him, while Howard hung back. What was she saying to him? What did it matter? Drew loved her, and so whatever she said or didn't say was probably immaterial to her own misery. Love wasn't born out of logic or reality, as she had good cause to know.
Drew turned his head and caught sight of her. She watched as he terminated the conversation and came toward her with his long countryman's stride.
Her heart pounded with pleasure. She ached to rush to meet him, to fling herself into his arms. Even his prosaic words of apology for keeping her waiting seemed special, cherishing, as though he really did care that she might have been cold; but he didn't tell her what Rosamund had been saying and, in the end, unable to stand it any longer, she asked huskily, 'What did Rosamund want?'
She couldn't look at him, so she pretended to be studying the view; a crisp, teasing breeze had sprung up out of nowhere, blowing her hair into her eyes. She lifted her hand to restrain it, but Drew was before her, his fingers warm against her cold skin.
'I'm sorry,' she apologised miserably. 'I shouldn't have asked. At least our plan seems to be working.'
It only needed Drew to agree enthusiastically to complete the misery, but instead he said casually, 'You should have joined us, reminded Neston of what he's missing.'
Holly gave a hollow laugh.
'He was watching you,' Drew told her curtly, surprising her both that he had noticed, and that for some reason he sounded angry. Surely he ought to have been pleased?
'Come on,' he said more gently, 'You're getting cold. Let's go inside.'
'Back to the town centre?' Drew's mother enquired when they rejoined them. 'Or have you had enough?'
'I'm taking her straight back home,' Drew replied for her, startling her a little with his firmness. 'It's my fault, but she's chilled to the bone. I'd forgotten that city living has softened her up, and she's not used to our cold winds.'
'Yes, you do look chilled,' his mother agreed, studying Holly closely.
'Oh, no, really,' Holly protested. 'I'm fine.' But no one seemed to be listening to her. Drew had put his arm round her as they left the dining-room, and now he tucked her against the warmth of his own body, holding her there.
It made her feel safe and secure, which was surely the most ridiculous piece of self-deception there ever was, but she felt too drained to resist the temptation of nestling close to him, letting the conversation drift over her as he and his mother discussed his sister's forthcoming Christmas visit.
'I don't know when you two are planning to get married,' she added casually. 'But if there's any chance of you arranging it for when she's over… She's staying for almost two months.'
Married! Holly felt her heart leap like a spawning salmon, her pulses racing frantically as she struggled to make some response, but once again Drew answered for her, his own voice slightly strained as he told her, 'It all depends when Holly's parents can come home.'
'Of course. But a winter wedding is so romantic, I think, and with your colouring, Holly…'
She sighed a little, and Holly felt an urgent desire to confess the truth to her, stopped only by the firm pressure of Drew's fingers on her own, almost as though he knew what was in her mind.
'Well, we'll see both of you at the countess's birthday party next weekend, and I'll give you a ring to let you know when I'm coming over, Holly,' Drew's mother told her as they walked across the car park.
Holly waited until she and Drew were safely inside the Range Rover before saying huskily, 'Drew, your mother thinks we're going to be married. I…'
'I know,' he told her, cutting off the rest of her sentence and looking briefly into her too pale face.
'I hate deceiving her like this,' Holly told him wretchedly. 'It seems so mean. Think how she's going to feel when she finds out.'
'That you're madly in love with someone else? Of course, you could always forget about Neston and marry me instead,' he told her whimsically.
Just for a moment her heart soared, and then across the car park she saw Howard, Rosamund and her parents, and it dropped again, making her ache inside with the force of her feeling.
'That isn't funny, Drew,' she told him in a tight little voice.
He started the engine, and must have reversed the vehicle with something less than his usual care, because it jerked a little.
'It wasn't meant to be,' he told her curtly, and once again she had the feeling that she had angered him, or maybe it was just that the sight of Rosamund with Howard had upset him.
By the time they got back the sun had gone and the sky was overcast, the wind bitingly cold.
'If the temperature keeps on dropping, we could have snow,' Drew announced laconically as he stopped the Range Rover.
'But we're only half-way through November,' Holly protested.
'It has been known. Don't you remember? We had snow in November during your last year at school.'
When she cast her mind back, she realised that they had, but how odd that Drew should remember it and she shouldn't.
'The school bus didn't make it, and I gave you and Rosamund a lift to school in my Land Rover.'
Oh, now she realised why!
CHAPTER NINE
« ^ »
Drew was right about the snow. The first few flakes fell three days later, just after his mother's visit to the farm.
Holly was well advanced with her work on the kitchen units now. She had dragged the outer panels in a soft shade of yellow over cream, wiping off the beading to make it stand out. Now she was painstakingly feathering faux marbre centre panels to each cupboard door. Later, if she felt so inclined, she would add her stencil.
Drew's mother had been flatteringly impressed, marvelling at the detailing and care she had taken, and announcing quite firmly that she was definitely going to commission Holly to work on her guest suite.
'The bedroom has fitted units and perhaps you could link them to the bathroom in some way, Holly. I'd rather like a blue and yellow colour scheme, I think. I've already got a fabric in mind.'
She had described it, and Holly, who'd recognised it as coming from a very popular traditional range, had known that she wouldn't have much problem in coming up with a couple of suitable colour schemes.
However, it had been as she was leaving that she had dropped her bombshell, announcing almost casually, 'I'm so pleased about you and Drew, my dear. I always have a large family gathering at Christmas; normally Drew allows me to have it here because our small drawing-room simply isn't large enough. I want to make sure everyone comes this year so that they can meet you. I expect Drew will be giving you an engagement ring soon, and I want to plan something very special.'
What she was saying was virtually that she intended to hold an engagement party for them, Holly had recognised, and now she was sitting in the kitchen, wondering how on earth she was going to tell Drew, and watching the ever-increasing flakes of snow tumble down from the grey sky.
A commotion by the door disturbed her and she went to open it to let in the large tabby cat who was supposed to make her home in the stable, but who had attached herself to Holly. She had come to recognise the tabby's chirruping meouw.
The cat came in proudly and deposited a large fat mouse at her feet. Holly repressed the urge to scream, thankful to see that the poor thing was dead. The cat, plainly unaware of her feelings, wove its way round her legs, purring loudly, demanding praise for its cleverness. Holly petted it gingerly, wondering if she could persuade it to take its prey back outside.
Drew came in while she was standing there, his eyebrows lifting as he saw the mouse.
'You're honoured,' he told her wryly.
'Really?' Holly responded weakly, and then added in a voice that shook a little, 'Drew,
how can I make her take it back outside?'
'You can't. Not without offending her. Tell her she's a wonderfully clever girl and pour her some milk. With a bit of luck, while you're distracting her, I'll be able to dispose of it.'
It worked; while the cat drank her milk, Drew removed the small, furry corpse. He came back into the kitchen and washed his hands, eyeing her with concern as he saw her pale face.
'You're not frightened of mice, are you?' he asked her abruptly.
She shook her head. 'No, I know it's silly, but it just upset me… seeing the poor little thing.'
'Poor tender-hearted Holly,' he said drily, 'trying so desperately not to allow the giver to see how unwelcome the gift of love is.'
For some reason Holly felt as though the words held a meaning that eluded her. Perhaps it was because of the faint edge of bitterness that hardened his voice.
'Is it still snowing?' she asked him, changing the subject.
'Yes, and likely to continue to do so. I take it Mother came as planned?'
'Yes. Oh, Drew… the most dreadful thing… She intimated that she intends to give a Christmas party for us. She even hinted that she expects us to get engaged.'
He had been looking at her, watching the vivid play of emotions across her face, but now he turned away slightly, his voice muffled as he asked, 'What did you say to her?'
'Nothing. What could I say? I felt so awful for deceiving her.'
'Umm… It might not be such a bad idea, you know. Getting engaged,' he said thoughtfully, as though he hadn't heard her last words. 'It might just be the incentive our laggard ex-partners need.'
'Oh, Drew, no!' Holly protested, her skin losing all its colour. How could she tell him that she couldn't bear the thought of pretending to be engaged to him? That she couldn't trust herself not to become so caught up in their self-created world of make-believe that she would never be able to leave it? 'No.'
For some reason he suddenly looked tired, and Holly realised guiltily that he must be feeling exactly the same way as she was herself.
'How could we?' she said huskily. 'I mean, when we both know that it wouldn't be real. I'd feel so guilty.'
'Would you? I thought any means was justified when love was at stake,' he said casually.
She had thought the same thing, too, once. But then she had been a heedless, naïve girl, with no awareness of what love was really all about.
'My family will be shocked,' he told her. 'After all, they're not sophisticated city folk, and you are living here with me. They'll expect you to make an honest man of me. I shall have to tell them that you're reverting to ancient custom and that you won't marry me until I've proved that I can give you a child.'
Holly's face flamed at his careless reference to an ancient custom among country folk that a couple did not marry until the bride had proved she could provide her groom with a son.
That had been important in the days when inheritance was a vital issue, but it wasn't embarrassment that was making her body tingle and her insides ache.
Holly had a bad dream that night. She dreamed that she was standing talking to Drew and suddenly a huge crowd of people swelled between them, parting them, and no matter how hard she struggled she couldn't get through the seething press of bodies to find him.
She called his name repeatedly, each call sharper and more frantic than the last, sobs tearing her chest and hurting her throat.
She came awake abruptly, shivering under the bedclothes, a tight, raw feeling in her throat that presaged tears. She wondered if she had actually cried or if it had only been part of her dream. What was real, though, was the aching feeling of despair that possessed her, the realisation that Drew was lost to her for ever.
Drew. She had known him for more than half her lifetime. Known him, liked him, and dismissed him as bucolic and unexciting, with a child's lack of depth of perception and wisdom, with a child's vain grasping for the ephemeral glitter of life. She had even, in her folly, scorned him a little and not found it strange that Rosamund should prefer Howard.
Now Howard was as a pale shadow, a flimsy, weak character whose very lack of any real substance when compared to Drew made her marvel that she had ever believed herself in love with him.
She was still shivering, her feet frozen beneath the duvet, and she knew it would be impossible for her to get back to sleep. She reached for her dressing-gown. She would go downstairs and sit in front of the Aga for a while, perhaps make herself a hot drink. She shivered again just thinking about it. Living in the city for so long, her body had lost its ability to adapt itself to changing temperatures, or perhaps the fault was hers for not armouring herself against them. In the same way she had neglected to armour herself against loving Drew.
The landing and the stairs creaked underfoot-comforting, solid sounds, the sounds of an old house that had known many lifetimes of joys and tears.
The cat was sitting by the range; she stretched and yawned, greeting Holly's entrance with soft, chirruping sounds of welcome as Holly switched on the lights.
Outside, the sky had cleared. The moon was sharp and bright, casting a coldly brilliant light. It danced off the rooftops of the cow sheds and barns with their frosting of snow. Holly went to the window to look outside. The yard was pristine white except for where the cat had walked.
How quickly and devastatingly winter could come to the land. Drew had planned to plough the last of the fields this week. Now that would have to wait until the ground thawed. He had explained to her how he was carefully channelling his resources into breeding and small high-profit crops, rather than the old-fashioned traditional mixed farming of his father's day: a dairy herd and grain crops.
She filled the kettle and switched it on. As she waited for it to boil she thought about Christmas and the party Drew's mother was planning. She thought about the kitchen and the woman who would eventually use it. Not her… Rosamund? If Drew had his way…
The kettle boiled. She reached for it through a haze of tears, sending the teapot crashing to the floor. The sound of it breaking seemed preternaturally loud. One sharp piece pierced her finger, making it bleed. She gave a low cry, and sucked it clean.
'Holly. What's wrong?'
She stared at Drew, his hair tousled, his chest bare as he tugged on his robe, his expression that of a man roused unexpectedly from a deep sleep.
The sight of him standing there made her react like a frightened child.
'I'm sorry, I've broken the teapot,' she said huskily, and then to her horror she started to cry.
Suddenly she was in Drew's arms, her head pressed into the warm curve of his shoulder, her sobs muffled by his robe. He was picking her up despite her muddled complaint about the mess on the floor and the danger to the cat. He paused to switch off the light and close the door, soothing her with soft words of comfort. Upstairs, he carried her to her room, frowning over its icy atmosphere.
'I opened the window,' Holly told him, 'and then I couldn't close it.'
'It's too cold for you to sleep in here. The temperature's dropped damn near ten degrees today. You can sleep in my room, and I'll use this one.'
'Drew, no.' But it was pointless to protest. He was already half-way there, shouldering open his door, and depositing her in a bed that was huge and blissfully warm.
'That better?' he asked her in an oddly husky voice as he released her, sitting on the side of the bed, and reaching out to brush a silky tangle of hair off her damp face.
She looked up at him, and her whole world seemed to turn over as she saw the look on his face.
Need…desire…urgency… All of them were there, darkening his skin with a hectic flush and drawing it tight against his cheekbones, dilating his eyes and turning them molten gold. In the space of a heartbeat he had turned from comforter to lover.
A startled protest rose to her lips and was checked as she trembled between the realistic, sensible cautioning of her head, and the heedless, helpless yearning of her heart.
'Drew, no,'
she protested huskily. 'We can't just let our… our feelings for Howard and Rosamund trap us into a sort of sympathetic intimacy.'
She couldn't pretend that she didn't know what was in his mind… that she hadn't recognised, bone-deep and instinctively, despite her lack of experience, his sudden savage determination to make love to her.
'Does that mean that you don't want me?' he asked her huskily.
Not want him? The truth was there in her eyes for him to read. She heard him give a harsh groan of satisfaction, her eyes closing on a dizzying wave of response to him.
'No,' she heard herself saying shockingly. 'I want you very much. Oh, Drew, why do you make me say these things?'
'Perhaps because I'm very vulnerable. When a man is rejected sexually—and emotionally, when he's been aching for as long as I've been aching, Holly, it's a kind of sweet drug to him to know that he is, after all, desired. It makes him forget all kinds of things he should remember. It makes him… Oh, God, Holly, you feel so good in my arms. You know I want to make love to you, don't you?'
Of course she did. She had known it from the moment he looked at her, and wantonly her heart had leapt in joyous response to it.
'Drew, I'm not Rosamund,' she reminded him, forced by her conscience to do so. 'You know I'm not experienced, or…' She flushed wildly and admitted honestly, 'This will be the first time I've made love. Howard—'
'Forget Howard,' he told her curtly. 'I promise I'll make it good for you, Holly.'
'Just like in the books?' she said lightly, trying to hold on to reality.
'Better,' Drew promised her. 'Much, much better. Let me show you…'
It was all wrong. He didn't love her, she knew that, but she loved him and her body ached for him, and there was a certain odd inevitability to what was happening between them, almost as though it was in some way pre-ordained; almost as though she had been slowly moving toward this moment all of her life.
Now that she had reached it there were no doubts, no fears, no second thoughts, only a pure, clear joy that there should be this time, this togetherness, this man. Because, even without love, Drew would give her pleasure, consideration, compassion and respect, and she would give him…
