`Of course I'd want to keep on with my job,' she came back without having to think about it.
`There you are, then—we would hardly ever see each other apart from occasionally bumping into each other when we weren't flying.'
It sounded the perfect solution for them both, but Tiffany didn't know. It didn't worry her that there was no romance in what he proposed, heaven forbid, she was still too sore from Nick Cowley to want to try romance again for a very long time to come, but there had to be a snag somewhere, though with Ben talking so logically, she couldn't see where.
`How about it, Tiffany?—it would help my father to get well again.'
Tiffany almost capitulated at that, but something held her back. 'I don't know—I just don't know. I ... I need time to think.' She looked at him, and noticed for the first time how tired and drawn he looked. 'Have you just finished duty too?' she asked quietly.
`No. I've just come back from Switzerland.'
`You went to see your father after receiving his letter?' she questioned, not needing his confirmation.
`It was the least I could do.'
He didn't tell her what had passed between himself and his father, but she guessed from his expression that it hadn't been an easy meeting. At that moment she would dearly loved to be able to tell him she would marry him, if only so she could relay the message back to his father and so set him on the road to recovery, but she felt she was being pressganged into something she might later regret.
`I need time to think, Ben,' she reiterated.
He stood up; it seemed he had nothing else to say to her. But in that she was wrong. 'I'll give you until eight o'clock this evening,' he told her, and while she looked up at him wanting to argue that that wasn't nearly enough time, he walked to the door to turn and give her a long steady look. `Have your mind made up one way or the other by then, Tiffany,' he instructed. He was back to being the commanding Ben Maxwell.
CHAPTER FOUR
How could she marry a man she didn't love? Would it really mean so much to Ben's father's recovery to have his son married? These thoughts bombarded Tiffany as she set about the routine jobs that awaited her each time she returned from a flight. How close had this Frances person been to Ben before she had thrown him over? Thrown him over? That couldn't be right ... He hadn't said she had thrown him over and if she thought about it she couldn't-see any girl telling him to take a walk. He was a self-assured, experienced man, she couldn't see him ever being on the receiving end of a 'Dear John letter'. Was Frances still in love with him? Had she ever been in love with him? Tiffany gave it up—she was just going round and around in circles.
Mechanically she made herself a sandwich and a hot drink. She ought to ring Aunt Margery and let her know she was back, but much as she loved her, she couldn't face making the call yet.
Sometime after seven Tiffany changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a clean sweater. She had been grubbing around cleaning and polishing earlier, but not knowing whether Ben would telephone or call personally at her flat she didn't want to change into anything dressy. It had been a long wearing day, but still too short for her to have to come to any sort of decision; her mind had been see-sawing backwards and forwards the whole time.
A minute after eight Ben arrived. Tiffany noticed that like herself, he was casually dressed—beige cavalry twill
trousers with a fawn sweater showing beneath his sheepskin coat. He brought a breath of the January air with him and studied her face, seeming to read in that one look that she had no answer ready for him. He still had his car keys in his hand.
`Care to come for a spin?'
Tiffany nodded, on edge. 'I'll just get my jacket.' She wondered if he was feeling the same tension that held her in its grip, but could tell nothing from his expression.
She found the motion of the car relaxing. Ben was as good a driver as he was a pilot, and the further they drove the more her tension eased. The reason for his calling was not discussed and gradually, grateful to him for allowing her this time to herself, Tiffany warmed to her companion. She felt nearer to being at ease with him than she had ever been.
Then he drew up in front of a fairly new-looking block of flats' three stories high. 'Where are we?' she asked, sitting up and looking about her.
`My place,' he replied, and Tiffany felt her tension rushing in again. 'I could do with a cup of coffee— Come up and make it for me.'
Her heart began to thud as they ignored the lift and climbed the two flights of stairs to his flat. Her hurried heartbeats had nothing at all to do with the exertion of climbing the stairs, she admitted, tension was tying her nerves into quivering, jerking knots.
His sitting room was a delight. Her first impression was of pale green walls and mahogany furniture, but as she began to look at the room, she realised it was the perfect blend of the old and the new that made it so attractive. Her hand rubbed along the smooth edge of his writing desk; it had a beautiful feel to it—the cost of the furnishings alone must have been colossal. Whatever must he have
thought about her own home? she wondered. By comparison her flat, though clean and bright, must have appeared to him to be decidedly shabby. She could never live here, her decision was upon her without her knowing it. Ben's flat was too—too--what was the word she was searching for? Perfect, that was it, Ben's home was perfect—once living here she would never want to leave. She turned, unaware that he had been watching her, reading the expressions that had flitted across her face. Tiffany knew she had to tell him.
`Ben, I ...'
`I'm gasping for that coffee, Tiffany,' he interrupted, almost as if he knew she was about to tell him she couldn't marry him, she thought. He gave her a brief smile, but she noted the smile didn't reach his eyes.
He took her through a door that led into the kitchen, and left her to it. Never had she felt so tormented. She would make him his coffee, then ask him to ring for a taxi, and go. He certainly wouldn't want the job of an hour's run back to her flat after she had turned- down his marriage proposal.
Absently her eyes glanced along the stainless steel sink unit, over the various other units and on to a tray holding sugar bowl and teapot. Then her eyes lighted on a tea-cosy, and as if hypnotised she stared at it. It had no place in this streamlined kitchen, for it was a woollen one, so exactly like her own, even to the moulting pom-pom on top. Tiffany stared hard, and still couldn't believe it. She blinked—it was still there.
Fleetingly she thought, how ridiculous to make up your mind to marry someone on seeing a homely-looking tea-cosy with a moulting pom-pom. It was a relief to feel the tension go out of her.
Her tension might have disappeared, but her hands were
shaking as she carried the tray into the sitting room. Ben rose from his chair and took the tray from her, and they both subsided into chairs as Tiffany handed him his coffee. If he saw her shaking hands, he didn't say anything but accepted his coffee had slopped over into his saucer without comment. Looking quickly at him Tiffany saw that while his eyes were alert, the rest of him was giving nothing away. She must tell him now, she thought, tell him before tension grew between them again.
Her voice was unsteady when it made itself heard. `M-may I see my bedroom, please?'
For a split second his face showed no reaction that in a roundabout way she had agreed to marry him, then a slow, warm smile started to dawn in his eyes, travelled the length of his face, and settled in a broad grin at his mouth.
In that moment, Tiffany Nicholls fell in love with Ben Maxwell. Tiffany upset her coffee and looked down at the mess she had made and heard a roaring in her ears. One didn't faint with love, but it had been a near thing, she realised, as the roaring ceased and she looked at him again. He was still smiling, and she still loved him, and then she knew exactly why she had agreed to marry him. It had nothing to do with her aunt, or his father, for without her being aware of it her heart had told her she loved him, only her mind hadn't recognised the fact until he had smiled. Dimly she heard him
say, 'I'll get a cloth,' and she was glad of those few minutes to be by herself.
How could she be in love with him) She was in love with Nick. Then Nick Cowley faded into the background; she had felt nothing for him when compared with this all-consuming feeling Ben Maxwell aroused in her.
Ben was very matter-of-fact when he returned, she could have imagined that grin, for there was nothing in his face to show that he was pleased she had agreed to
marry him. But that smile within him, she knew it was.
`I'll show you over the flat,' he was telling her, while she was trying to keep what she felt for him well out of sight. 'Then we'll have some fresh coffee.'
He showed her the room which was to be hers first. The walls were a satiny grey colour she didn't care much for in a bedroom, but the rest of the room was as perfect as the sitting room and kitchen were, apart from that tea-cosy. Built-in wardrobes, a dressing table, a single bed and bedside table.
`If there's anything you would like added or taken out, tell me,' Ben instructed her. Tiffany told him everything was fine. No point in having the colour of the walls changed. She might not be here all that long.
They went from the room she was to use to the room next door. 'This is my room,' he said, stepping back to allow her to go in front of him. His room was masculine in every detail. Books on his bedside table, a reading light over the bed. His bed was a double one, she saw; he would need it too, she thought, looking at him and catching her breath at her new-found feeling for him. He was well over six feet tall and without any surplus fat, broad into the bargain. Her eyes slid down to where his hips tapered slimly, and she looked quickly away.
She felt her tension mounting again, and turning quickly left his bedroom, waiting for him to follow. He showed her the bathroom, complete with bath and shower—a shower was a luxury she didn't have in her small flat. There was no comparison between their two flats anyway, except of course for that darling little tea-cosy.
It was Ben who made the second lot of coffee and once more seated in the sitting room, he asked, 'Do you want to be married from Middledeane?'
`Aunty will want me to.'
`Well, as it's through your aunt this whole thing got started, I suppose it's the least we can do.'
Tiffany went pink, and started to say, 'I'm sorry ...' before Ben cut her short.
`This marriage is to the advantage of both of us, Tiffany, so please stop apologising.' Glancing at his watch, he stood up. 'It's nearly midnight, so I suggest I take you home.' He paused, his voice sounding casual as though the thought had just come to hitn. 'You could sleep here if you like,' and at her startled expression. 'But you wouldn't do that, would you?'
Tiffany shook her head, finding a constriction in her throat preventing her from answering. She knew his offer was as straightforward as it sounded, and it would save him a two-hour drive to her flat and back. She watched and saw his face take on a tight look.
`You were prepared to sleep under the same roof as Nick Cowley, though, weren't you?'
`That was different,' she managed, and saw his jaw harden.
`Because you are in love with him?'
She swallowed, not sure why he was suddenly coming over all aggressive, but prepared to tell him anything other than the truth. 'Something like that,' she answered, her voice husky. Ben would never know the love she had felt for Nick was insignificant compared to this new emotion that had awakened in her.
On the way back to her flat, Ben told her since she would have to be out of her accommodation shortly, they would be married as soon as it could be arranged. 'I'll call for you early tomorrow morning,' he went on matter-of-factly, `and we'll drive down to Middledeane, tell your aunt and see the vicar while we're there.'
Tiffany was unsure what she said in reply—everything
seemed to be moving so quickly, she felt she no longer had any control. Reaction was beginning to set in when he escorted her to the door of her flat, and she was beginning to feel not a little scared at what she had committed herself to. She tried to keep the panicky feeling from showing in her eyes, but with the door of her flat open, the light on, she turned to say goodnight to him, and found him looking down at her, his expression softening.
`Cold feet already?' There was a teasing note in his voice she hadn't expected him to have, but the half smile that accompanied his words made her feel a whole lot better.
`Just a bit,' she said, swallowing hard.
`It will be all right, Tiffany.' His hand came up and gave her arm a brief squeeze. 'Just trust me,' he added, then he was gone.
Tiffany spent a troubled night, and awoke to the clamouring of her alarm, her mind none the easier for a fitful few hours' sleep. Had she really told Ben she would marry him? Her heart turned over at the thought, and in the cold light of day she knew she must have taken leave of her senses last night. Why, she barely knew him, how could she ever have contemplated doing such a thing? No amount of coercion from Aunt Margery was worth taking such a step. Her heart missed a beat as she realised she would have to tell Ben this morning that she couldn't go through with it.
As soon as she saw him in her doorway, Tiffany knew the love for him that had come to her unasked was still with her, making it impossible to get the carefully prepared words out.
`Have you telephoned Mrs Bradburn to let her know to expect us?' he asked after a perfunctory greeting.
`I ... I thought we'd surprise her,' she made up on the
spur of the moment, while her senses screamed, 'Tell him —Tell him you aren't going to marry him —Tell him before he takes you down to his car'. But no words came, and they were both silent as the car nosed its way to Middledeane.
Once they had left London behind Ben began to make casual conversation and as some of his remarks required an answer, very soon Tiffany found herself in easy conversation with him, and gradually the panicky feeling that had threatened to overwhelm her since she had first opened her eyes that morning began to dwindle, and the further they motored on, she began to realise with wonder that she was actually enjoying his company, realised too that if it hadn't been for her shattering discovery that she loved him, she would have told him this morning she had changed her mind—it all seemed so fantastic—and yet, since she did love him, she couldn't help wanting some short time as his wife.
Perhaps it was going to be all right. It would be all right, she vowed as all thoughts of telling him she couldn't marry him disappeared. Ben needed her help for his father's sake, and apart from her accommodation problem, she needed Ben's help, sorry though she was to admit it, she needed his help to give her some peace from Aunt Margery, for as dear as she was, Aunt Margery was slowly wearing her down.
It would be all right, Tiffany kept repeating, and took a sideways look at the man she had promised to marry. Aware of her glance on him, Ben turned his head to look at her, and as if knowing what she was thinking, gave her a reassuring half smile. Tiffany's stomach flipped, and she turned to stare out of the window, frightened to smile back in case he read more of her thoughts and discovered exactly how his smile affected her.
There was no mistaking the joy with which Margery Bradbum received their news, and her delighted surprise at their unexpected visit turned to near rapture when Ben explained they were in Middledeane with two purposes in mind, the one to see her, the other to make arrangements for their wedding.
`Oh, Tiffany, Tiffany !' she exclaimed, hugging her niece to her. 'I'm so happy—I knew you would find love someday!'
Never had she imagined that deceiving her aunt could make her feel so conscience-stricken. Waves of guilt washed over her as Margery Bradburn mopped the tears of happiness from her eyes. Tiffany struggled for words, but none came and she was grateful for the supporting arm Ben placed around her shoulders as though telling her not to weaken, it was all for the best. Briefly he held her to him before withdrawing his arm, and then revealed to her that he had a great deal of charm as he got her aunt over her emotional moment.
Mrs
Bradburn quickly recovered, and before they could stop her, was talking of making all sorts of arrangements for the wedding, ... and I'll get in touch with Plymton's the caterers, and ...'
`Aunty !' At the risk of seeing the pleasure die in her aunt's face, Tiffany just had to stop her. 'Aunty, I'm sorry, but—but we've—we don't want a big wedding.' Tiffany's voice died on her and she looked at Ben to help her out. He did not let her down.
`We want to be married straight away, Mrs Bradbum,' he smiled down at Tiffany. 'Quite honestly. I can't bear the thought of waiting until all the arrangements are made that a large affair would mean.' Then, his charm in evidence once more, 'If you wouldn't mind our settling for a quiet wedding
Margery Bradburn gave in without a fight, and after smiling at Ben turned to her niece to ask gently, 'Will you be inviting your parents, dear?' The question had to be asked, though she knew better than anyone the trauma Tiffany had been put through as a very sensitive child.
Tiffany didn't have time to think about her answer. `No,' she stated bluntly. Her aunt knew about her parents and wouldn't be put out by her reply, but she felt Ben looking at her, and couldn't return his look. How could she tell him of the hate and suspicion in her parents' marriage? How could she tell him she couldn't bear that any of it should rub off on to her wedding day?
A tense silence followed her refusal to have her parents to see her married, and against her will she found her eyes drawn to Ben and saw his speculative regard on her flushed face. 'I don't suppose they'd come anyway,' she said lamely.
`I don't think they would either, dear,' Margery Bradburn said gently.
After lunch Tiffany and Ben went to see Mr Farrow, the vicar. He was delighted to see Tiffany and it was arranged he would marry them four weeks the following Tuesday.
`I'd like to call and see Colonel Wainwright since we're so near,' Ben told Tiffany as they left the vicarage. 'Marchberrow' s only ten miles away.'
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