by Sara Craven
‘On the contrary.’ Sam walked to the door, and paused. The turquoise eyes were calm, even a little pitying as he looked back at her. His smile was relaxed, and without anger. ‘You’ve made me see that they can only get better.’
Janie, Sam thought, as he ran down to the car park. He had to see her, tell her the truth about his real identity before she saw it plastered all over the hoardings.
He’d intended to do it anyway, but now it was a question of much sooner rather than later.
As he drew up in Gilshaw Street, a dark woman with a sunny smile was outside, giving the brass a vigorous polishing.
‘Hello, you must be Manuela.’ He gave her a coaxing grin. ‘Is Janie at home?’
She shook her head regretfully. ‘She is at work. You see her there.’
Sam groaned. ‘Except I don’t know which store she’s at. Have you any idea?’
She looked him up and down with an approving twinkle. ‘She has list of jobs in kitchen. I find out for you.’
She was back in no time, with a slip of paper bearing the name of a major West End store. ‘She is here. The company name is Beauty Queen.’
‘I’ll find her.’ Sam ran down the steps to the car. ‘Manuela, you’re a star,’ he tossed back over his shoulder.
Manuela went back to her polishing with a sigh. Why were the interesting men attracted only to the little Juanita? she wondered. She was pretty, sí, but the señorita Rosa was a truly lovely girl—so warm—so kind. When would it be her turn?
But, she thought, shrugging, who would she meet, shut away as she was at the top of the house, with a computer, writing another book?
She sighed again, and forgot the whole incident.
The ground floor of the store was crowded with shoppers, but there was a large banner advertising the Beauty Queen promotion and Sam fought his way towards it.
He hadn’t worked out how he was going to persuade her to listen to him. She might walk away. She might even slap his face. But he’d deal with it all when it happened.
I just want to see her, he thought, feeling his heart muscles clench.
It would be such a relief to tell her everything at last, with no more pretence and no more secrets.
I thought I had no choice, he told himself. But I was wrong, and I’ll admit it on my knees if I have to.
However badly she reacted, he would win her round somehow. Because he needed her as he needed air to breathe.
The fact that she was nowhere to be seen was a total anticlimax.
Perhaps Manuela had got the whole thing wrong, Sam thought with an inward groan.
‘May I help you?’ A pretty blonde in a strawberry-pink suit smiled at him.
He said, ‘Actually, I’m looking for someone—a demonstrator here. Her name’s Janie Craig. Do you know her?’
The smile became slightly rigid. ‘Is this a joke?’
‘No,’ he said swiftly. ‘No, it’s absolutely serious, and pretty urgent. I need to find her now. My name’s Sam—Sam Alexander.’
There was an electric silence. The girl’s pink mouth formed an ‘O’ of total astonishment. She took a step backwards, her eyes looking him up and down in frank appraisal. Then she laughed.
‘Hi, there,’ she said. ‘I’m Janie Craig. And you, of course, must be “Lonely in London”. So we get to meet after all.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT HADN’T been a productive morning, Ros acknowledged wearily as she came out of her office and started downstairs. But it was hard to give full weight to her heroine’s romantic problems when her own were tearing her apart.
She’d have a break, something to eat, even though she wasn’t hungry, then try again.
‘You are so pale today.’ Manuela gave her a concerned look as she entered the kitchen. ‘You are ill?’
Sick at heart, Ros thought. If that counts.
She said, ‘I’m fine, Manuela. I just didn’t sleep very well last night.’
‘You should take better care of yourself. Be like Miss Juanita and not worry.’
‘Oh, Janie has her problems too,’ Ros said wryly. ‘She’s quarrelled with her boyfriend.’
‘No more.’ Manuela pursed her lips. ‘He came to look for her—to make up—but he didn’t know where she was working, so I told him.’
‘Martin came here?’ Ros’s brows lifted. ‘You should have let me know,’ she commented drily. ‘I could have given him some sisterly advice.’
‘You were working. He was in big hurry.’ Manuela accepted her money, and went off cheerfully.
It looked as if Martin was caving in over the wedding, Ros thought frowningly, as she made herself a sandwich, and she wasn’t sure that was a good thing. It would be far healthier for Janie to be thwarted occasionally, and made to see that other people had valid points of view.
She was just about to take a bite of sandwich when the phone rang.
A man’s voice said, ‘Is that Rosamund Craig?’
She said, ‘Speaking,’ and stopped dead, her eyes widening as she suddenly recognised her caller’s voice. She said, faltering slightly, ‘Sam—it’s you…’
And heard the phone go down, cutting her off with a kind of awful finality.
When her mind cleared, she found she was kneeling on the floor, whispering, ‘Oh, God,’ over and over again.
He’s found out, she thought desperately. He knows who I really am—and that I’ve been lying to him all this time. Pretending to be Janie. But how?
Shakily, she remembered Manuela’s beaming account of their morning visitor. The man she’d assumed was Martin—and sent off to find the real Janie…
That had to be the answer.
I should have told him myself, she berated herself. Confessed that first night. Because after that it never seemed to be the right time. And now it’s too late.
It’s all—too late.
She threw away the uneaten sandwich, and went upstairs to her room. Her mouth curled with distaste as she surveyed the tearstained, bedraggled figure in her mirror.
She couldn’t face the world looking like this. And she’d no doubt she’d have to face it—principally in the shape of Janie, who’d be erupting through the front door, demanding an explanation, in just a couple of hours.
But I’ve no explanation to offer, she thought wretchedly. Not one that makes sense, anyway. I can hardly say I was just following her advice—going out to meet life head-on.
Yet how can I tell her the truth? That I met a stranger, and fell in love with him almost before I knew it. That’s ridiculous too. Because I don’t do things like that. Or the person I used to be never did. The girl I am now is capable of anything. She could even be expecting a baby by a man who doesn’t want to know.
And she’s brought it all—all on herself.
There was a taste of tears in her throat, and she swallowed them back. There was no point in crying any more. Now she had to pull herself together, and sort out what was left of her life.
She’d have a bath, she thought, and shampoo her hair. If she looked better, she might feel marginally better too.
She’d just finished drying her hair when she heard the doorbell. The dryer slipped from her hand and fell to the carpet unheeded.
She whispered, ‘Sam,’ and flew downstairs, tightening the sash on her towelling robe as she went. As she reached the hall, the bell sounded again.
He was certainly impatient, Ros thought as she fumbled with the chain, fingers made clumsy by haste. He was undoubtedly very angry. But at least he was here, and prepared to talk. So there was hope. Of a kind. Wasn’t there?
She flung open the door and stood for moment, feeling her jaw drop with surprise and disappointment.
‘So you are at home,’ said Colin, his tone cool. ‘You said you wanted to see me. Aren’t you going to ask me in?’
She said, dry-mouthed, ‘Yes—yes, of course,’ and stood aside as he limped into the hall, leaning on a walking stick.
‘But there was no need for you to com
e all this way,’ she said, following him into the sitting room. ‘Put yourself to all this trouble. I was prepared to go to you. I said so to your mother.’
‘We decided it would be better this way,’ he said. ‘Less awkward. And my ankle’s much improved. I’ve been having brilliant physiotherapy.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Well—that’s good.’
He nodded. ‘It’s time we met up, Ros. We haven’t seen each other for quite some time. And there are certain things—things about the future—that we need to discuss.’
She swallowed. ‘Colin—I…’
‘Hear me out, please.’ He lifted a hand. ‘There’s no easy way to say this to you—not after all the time we’ve been together, the plans we’ve made. But the fact is I—I’ve met someone else. And we’re going to be married.’
For a moment she stared at him incredulously, then she threw back her head and started to laugh uncontrollably.
‘Oh, God,’ Colin muttered. ‘You’re hysterical. I was afraid of this. I wanted to break it to you more gently, but Mother said there was no point in beating about the bush, and Valerie agreed with her.’
‘No.’ Ros wiped her streaming eyes. ‘No, I’m fine, I promise you. Look—totally straight face. Totally normal human being.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I gather Valerie’s your new fiancée. How on earth did you meet her when you couldn’t walk?’
‘She’s the physiotherapist,’ he said eagerly. ‘The one who brought me home after I did the initial damage. She started driving down to give me treatment each day.’ He looked slightly shamefaced. ‘And then she stopped driving back.’ He paused. ‘Ros, I’m so sorry. I feel such a heel…’
‘No,’ she said gently. ‘No, you mustn’t. It wasn’t working for us—not any more. And we both sensed it. But you did something about it. And I’m happy for you.’
‘Really? You mean it?’
I bet his mother told him I’d be clinging to his knees, begging him not to go, thought Ros.
She said, ‘Absolutely. It’s terrific news.’
On his way to the door, something occurred to him. ‘Is that what you wanted to say to me?’
‘More or less,’ she agreed levelly.
‘Oh,’ he said. ‘That’s all right, then.’ He hesitated. ‘Valerie drove me over, and she’s parked a few doors away. Would—would you like to meet her?’
‘I’m hardly dressed for guests,’ she pointed out, grimacing at the old robe. ‘Another time, perhaps.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Another time.’
They smiled at each other with slight awkwardness, both knowing that there would be no other time.
On the doorstep, he deposited a clumsy peck on her cheek, then hobbled gingerly down the steps. Ros breathed a silent sigh of relief when he reached the bottom in safety, knowing that if he’d fallen his mother would have sworn she’d pushed him.
She was just about to turn away and shut the door when an odd prickle of awareness alerted her to the fact that she was being watched in turn.
The unknown Valerie, she wondered, riding shotgun on her man?
She glanced casually up the street and saw Sam, leaning against his car and staring at her.
She gripped the metal rail, feeling it bite into her hand, waiting as he walked slowly towards her and up the steps.
‘Who was that?’ His voice was terse.
‘Colin,’ she said. ‘The man I used to see.’
His mouth twisted bitterly. ‘You didn’t waste any time.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s not what you think…’
‘But then what is?’ His smile grazed her. The look in his eyes made her shiver. ‘Well—are you going to ask me in, my Fair Rosamund—my Rose of the World—or are we going to stay here and give the locals another field-day?’
She led the way into the sitting room. ‘You saw Janie.’ It was a statement not a question.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘She was most informative about her sister the bestselling novelist, who was also fortunate enough to be left a house worth at least four hundred grand.’ He whistled. ‘Very impressive. So what were you doing with me, darling? Slumming? Did you fancy a bit of rough?’
She winced, scared by the anger in his voice. ‘Sam—don’t. It wasn’t like that.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I forgot. You told me. It was duty. Sometimes above and beyond the call—’ his eyes stripped the robe away ‘—but I’m not complaining.’
‘Say what you want,’ she said quietly. ‘I suppose I deserve it.’
‘I knew from the start there was something wrong,’ he said. ‘Something that didn’t quite ring true. That was what intrigued me. But I never guessed the extent of your little charade. Never realised that the girl I’d fallen in love with didn’t exist. That you were simply playing a game that went a little too far.’
‘You fell in love with me?’ Her voice shook. ‘That’s the first time you’ve said that.’
‘Well, don’t let it bother you.’ His tone was scornful. ‘I shan’t let it trouble me.’
‘And it wasn’t a game. You must believe me.’
‘Now you’re asking the impossible. So, what was it, then, my sweet? A plot for you latest novel?’
She remembered her hero with the turquoise eyes, and betraying colour warmed her face.
He noticed, of course. ‘My God,’ he said slowly. ‘I was right. You were using me as copy. What a joke. And what an amazing coincidence.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I meant the ad in the Clarion was a put-up job—placed there by the Features department of the Daily Echo.’ He watched her absorb that and nodded grimly. ‘I was assigned to investigate the lonely hearts scene—from the inside. Meet Sam Alexander Hunter, ace reporter.’ He sketched a mocking bow.
‘So,’ he went on, ‘while you were using me, I was using you too. Both biters well and truly bitten. There’s a certain poignant justice in the situation—don’t you think?’
She said again, ‘Sam,’ her voice a whisper.
‘I felt so guilty about you,’ he continued, as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘I couldn’t write a word of the piece about you. And I’ve been tearing myself to pieces over deceiving you. Because you were wonderful—my perfect, unique girl.’ He laughed harshly. ‘And now I find I’ve been blaming myself for nothing. Because you’re no better than I am.’
Ros flung back her head. ‘I’m sorry if I didn’t fit your pedestal. But I didn’t ask to be measured for it. I never meant any of this to happen. Janie was going to stand you up, and I decided to take her place. For one evening, that was all. Because I didn’t want you to be disappointed. But once it had started there seemed no way back.’
‘There’s always a way back,’ he said. ‘I came to find you today to warn you that the Echo are launching a major campaign to publicise the series and blowing my cover in the process. I was going to tell you everything, and ask you to forgive me. To give me another chance. How many kinds of fool does that make me?’ he asked savagely.
‘Can’t we—forgive each other?’ She was trembling.
‘There’s no need,’ he said. ‘We’re back at square one. I’ve now met Janie, and she tells me she’s still “Looking for Love”. It’s all worked out neatly.’
Her mouth felt numb. ‘You—and Janie?’
‘You have some objection?’ He paused. ‘She’s a little—stunned by everything that’s happened, so she’s decided to stay away for a few days. I’m sure you understand. If you’ll put some things in a bag for her, I’ll see she gets them.’
She lifted her chin. ‘Of course. Will she—be staying with you?’
He smiled. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business. Do you?’
She had to behave with dignity, she told herself as she packed Janie’s weekend case with toiletries, underwear and a change of clothes. Because dignity seemed all she had left.
She felt as if she’d been wounded and left to die on some battlefield. Her world was reeling. She w
as sick, and frightened, and in terrible pain.
And presently she was going to have to watch Sam walk out of her life for ever—and go to Janie.
She thought, I can’t bear it. But I must—somehow.
He was waiting in the hall. She handed him the case.
‘I hope I haven’t forgotten anything.’
‘I can get her anything else she wants.’
She said huskily, ‘You do realise she’s engaged?’
‘I gather it’s in abeyance at the moment.’ He shrugged.
‘And that makes it all right?’
‘It’s a bit late to occupy the moral high ground, Ros,’ he said harshly. ‘So just leave it out.’
He walked to the door. ‘It’s been an instructive interlude, for both of us. I’m not sure I can wish you well, but I hope your book sells as many copies as my newspaper. Because that’s what it’s all about in the end. And we both have our lives to pay for.’
‘Will you go, please?’ Her voice shook.
‘One last thing,’ he said. He put the case down and walked back to her. She tried to step away, but his hands descended on her shoulders, anchoring her. His voice slowed to a drawl. ‘Do satisfy my curiosity, darling. Are you wearing anything under that robe?’ He reached down and untied the sash, then drew the edges apart. ‘No, I thought not. No wonder the boyfriend needed a walking stick.’
She said unevenly, ‘You bastard.’
‘I try.’ His hand stroked the length of her body, and she had to grit her teeth to avoid crying her need, her yearning aloud. But she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
He bent, and she felt his mouth fasten fiercely on to her breast.
As he raised his head, the crooked smile he sent her pierced her heart.
‘My brand,’ he said softly, touching the small red mark with his fingertip. ‘But don’t worry, my love. It will fade. Everything does—in time. Or so they tell me. We’ll just have to wait and see.’
She stood. Eyes closed, so that she did not have to see any more. Hands pressed over her ears, so that she would not hear the door closing or his car drive away.
