by Jill Mansell
• • •
“…we shall be lovers before the end of the week, Ross, I promise you.”
Ducking hastily away from the white-framed doorway, Grace held her breath and listened to the honeyed, French-accented voice of Francine Lalonde. My God, was Ross so completely lacking in morals that not even his own brother’s women were off-limits?
Her heart racing, she waited for his reply, but none came. Finally, risking a single peek through the glass, she saw that watching out for eavesdroppers was the least of their worries; Francine Lalonde, stretching up and resting her fingertips lightly upon Ross’s shoulders, lifted her face to his and kissed his mouth. And when Ross, moments later, drew back and said, “Look, this is crazy, I can’t—” she smiled and silenced him with another kiss.
“Ah, but we can,” Grace heard her murmur, her hand now caressing the back of his neck. “As soon as Max is out of the way—don’t worry, I’ll think of a reason to get rid of him this afternoon—we will be able to do whatever we want. And I can think of so many wonderful things,” she added persuasively, “that I want to do to you…”
As Grace slipped away unnoticed, Ross took hold of Francine’s arms and pushed them firmly to the sides of her body. “No,” he said, his dark eyes boring into hers, his tone deadly serious. “It isn’t going to happen. You’re not on location now, and I’m no groupie. You’re here as my brother’s guest, and you’re damn well going to behave yourself. You might not be in love with him,” he continued, as she opened her mouth to protest, “but you can at least have the good manners to remain faithful to him until the end of the week.”
Pouting was what Francine did best. “I didn’t realize you were so boring,” she remarked with only mild truculence. “Ross, you are a big disappointment to me.”
“Sometimes,” he replied coldly, thinking of Antonia, “I’m an even bigger disappointment to myself.”
• • •
Despising Ross with all her heart, Grace didn’t step out of the way quite as smartly as she could have done when he came through the swing doors of the kitchen at lunchtime. He was a bastard, she thought during the fraction of a second when she might have taken a recovering step sideways, and a shirtful of lobster salad was the least he deserved.
“Christ,” said Ross, staring down at the mess as garlicky salad dressing sank through to his skin and pieces of salad and succulent pink lobster scattered at his feet. Then, glancing up and catching the expression of terror and defiance in the girl’s eyes—the young girl who had visited Tessa at the hospital following Olivia’s birth—he held up his hands in a gesture of defeat and smiled.
“Sorry, my fault.”
The girl, bending to retrieve the silver dish he had inadvertently knocked from her grasp, muttered something beneath her breath. Unable to believe that he had heard her correctly, Ross said, “I beg your pardon?”
“I said I was in a bit of a tizz,” replied Grace. Her cheeks were flushed, but she stood her ground, silently daring him to disbelieve her. “Table nine were in a hurry for their meal.”
Ross surveyed her for a long moment, then turned away without speaking. He could have sworn she’d said, “It always is.”
Chapter 44
Never having managed to keep a secret before in her life, Holly was doubly relieved when the train finally—and with agonizing slowness—slid into Bath station.
Within moments Tessa and Olivia had emerged from their carriage, and Holly was hugging them both.
“I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed you,” she said, holding Tessa at arm’s length and studying her. “It’s seemed more like five years than five weeks. You look wonderful!”
Tessa, smiling, did look wonderful. Slender and very brown, and with her long blond hair pulled back in a plait, her green eyes dominated her face. As usual, she looked unfairly elegant in nothing more exciting than a baggy white cotton tank top and khaki shorts, tightly belted at the waist with a scarlet scarf. Tessa was the only person she knew, thought Holly, who could wear army surplus seconds and get away with it.
“And what’s been going on here?” she demanded, laughing delightedly and scooping Olivia into her arms. “Will you look at this baby’s eyes, Tess! They’re unbelievable.”
For the eyes in question, deep blue at birth, were now dark brown and uncannily like Ross’s. “I know,” said Tessa fondly, “she doesn’t look like me at all. Dominic says we just have to hope that she hasn’t inherited Ross’s character too.”
But a dusty station platform was no place to stand and exchange news and Holly, still carrying Olivia, led the way back to her car.
“Come on, I’ve got lunch and a stupendous strawberry Pavlova back at the apartment.”
Picking up Olivia’s car seat, as well as the haversack containing her own belongings, Tessa followed her. “Have you really not told anyone else that I’ve come back?” she asked, sounding intrigued rather than concerned.
“Of course I haven’t!” gasped Holly, clearly affronted. “I promised not to, didn’t I? What on earth do you take me for?”
Tessa grinned, unabashed. “Someone who can’t keep a secret to save her life. I’m impressed Holly, really.”
“And so you should be, darling,” Holly retorted. “Because it hasn’t been easy. Especially when I’ve had Ross asking me practically every day if I’ve heard from you.”
• • •
They ate lunch out in the garden, lingering over coffee afterward and discussing Tessa’s return home.
“Because it is my home,” she said, as if needing to justify her decision to her friend. “And I know that Ross will find out sooner or later that I’m back, but I just want the chance to get Olivia and myself settled first.”
“And what do you think he’ll do when he does hear?” said Holly, refilling their cups and hoisting her skirt above her knees so that her legs would have every chance of catching the sun.
Tessa shrugged. “I’ve no idea. But as far as he’s concerned I’ve made a fool of him, so he can’t be pleased.”
“He asks about you,” Holly reminded her.
“Ah, but does he actually say anything about me?”
Holly pulled a face. “Of course not. I lie through my teeth to him, and he’s absolutely convinced that I’m lying, but he can’t do a damn thing about it. Tess, he hates me!”
“Join the club,” said Tessa lightly. “And now why don’t we talk about something a bit more cheerful? Tell me how things are going between you and Max.”
• • •
When Tessa had phoned Fred Lennard, the farmer who owned her old cottage, he had been touchingly pleased to hear from her and even more delighted to renew her lease. Renting out tiny, one-bedroomed cottages hadn’t been as easy as he had imagined. Visiting tourists demanded luxuries like space and shower units, up-to-date plumbing and central heating—and reliable long-term tenants like Tessa were hard to find. Of course she could come back, he assured her; he’d leave the keys under the back doormat, and they would settle up financially whenever it suited her to do so.
But it certainly felt strange, thought Tessa, returning to those familiar surroundings and encountering such unfamiliar emptiness. Only the very barest essentials remained; all her belongings were in Ross’s possession—if he hadn’t burned the lot—and if Holly hadn’t been able to lend her an eclectic assortment of crockery, cooking utensils, and bed linen, she would really have been sunk.
Holly had been so wonderful that Tessa still felt awkward about not having told her the truth about her abrupt departure from Bath, although she reasoned with herself that it was as much for her friend’s sake as for anyone else’s. Holly wouldn’t think twice about giving Antonia Seymour-Smith a piece of her mind. Tessa, not wanting her to run the risk of jeopardizing the only job she’d ever really enjoyed, had explained instead that Sadie Labelle’s newspaper article, on top of h
er own long-standing doubts, had sent her into a blind panic. She had bolted, pure and simple, and she was sorry she’d had to put Holly through the hideous ordeal of having to break the news to Ross.
“But what are you going to say to him when you see him?” said Holly, genuinely concerned but at the same time faintly suspicious. She knew Tessa too well to believe that Sadie Labelle’s spiteful article could have been a real factor in her decision to call off the wedding.
“I don’t know,” replied Tessa truthfully. “I just hope he leaves me alone. I’m sorry I let everyone down, but I have as much right to be here as anyone else, and I’m staying. I have Olivia, my home, and my painting. And all I want now,” she concluded slowly, “is to be able to get on with my own life. In peace.”
• • •
Living quietly, however, was no guarantee of anonymity. Emerging from the bath three days later, Tessa heard a car pull up outside the cottage and didn’t need to look out of the window to know that her visitor was Ross.
Brilliant, she thought, considering her dilemma. Having washed her entire meager wardrobe of clothes this morning—they were at this minute hanging out in the garden to dry—she was either going to have to climb back into the T-shirt and jeans over which Olivia had so ungenerously thrown up her breakfast or face Ross in a bath towel.
The smell of spit-up was overwhelming. As the latch on the front door clicked open, she tucked the pale-green towel as tightly as possible around her body, briefly ran her fingers through her tangled wet hair, and headed toward the stairs.
Watching her slow descent, Ross reflected upon the irony of the fact that great sex was one of his favorite occupations, yet he had known Tessa now for almost a year and they had made love only twice. Events had conspired against him; such a situation was practically bizarre. But at the same time, he acknowledged that it was also incredibly erotic as he admired her slender, tanned figure and experienced unbidden stirrings of lust. He couldn’t imagine ever not wanting Tessa… He had never known another woman like her…
“I suppose I should have knocked,” he said, the expression in his eyes unrepentant.
“I suppose you should,” replied Tessa evenly. Having long ago given up trying to work out a preparatory plan of action for this encounter, she was playing it purely by ear. Inside, however, she was jangling with nerves. Actually seeing Ross was quite different from just imagining him. With a vague gesture in the direction of the staircase she added, “But since my lover left ten minutes ago, it doesn’t really matter. Would you like some coffee?”
“Your lover,” said Ross thoughtfully, following her to the kitchen but taking care to remain at a respectable distance. “Hmm, that’s something my detective didn’t tell me about.”
Despite herself, Tessa smiled. Ross had always been able to make her smile. Well, she amended hastily, almost always.
“You hired a private detective? I wondered about that funny little chap in the kilt who kept dropping his bagpipes. Did he tell you about the time he followed me to Edinburgh and—”
“No,” said Ross calmly, forestalling her. “He told me about the time he followed you to St. Ives.”
The fact that he hadn’t been joking after all seemed even funnier. Tessa realized that she wasn’t even angry; knowing Ross as she did, she should have guessed that something like this might have happened. Knowing Ross as she did, she reminded herself as she spooned coffee into two mugs and added boiling water, nothing should surprise her at all.
They returned to the tiny, sparsely furnished sitting room and Ross made himself as comfortable as he could in a lumpy, dark-green armchair that did not encourage relaxation. Tessa, perching easily in the window seat, clasped her coffee mug in both hands and gazed steadily at him over the rim.
“So you had me followed,” she said at last, breaking the taut silence. “Why?”
“That’s a bloody silly question. I wanted to know what you were up to. I wanted to know,” continued Ross heavily, “why you’d disappeared.”
Unable to resist it, Tessa said, “And was he helpful, or did you finally manage to figure it out for yourself?”
“Well,” parried Ross, veering away from the real question, “he assured me that you weren’t sleeping with Dominic.”
“And how did he know that?”
“He asked you.”
Tessa’s eyes glittered. Placing her half-empty mug on the window seat beside her and folding her arms across her stomach, she said, “What?”
“He came to one of your parties,” replied Ross, beginning to enjoy himself now. “His name’s Henry.”
Dominic was forever throwing impromptu parties—it came as naturally to him as breathing—and Tessa had met dozens of new people during the course of those happy, informal gatherings where the food, if any, was basic but where there was always plenty to drink. She thought back to one particular Sunday afternoon party and pinpointed Henry in her mind. Small, round-faced and cheerful, and looking nothing at all like a private detective, he had engaged her in an easy discussion of French Impressionism. From there the conversation had turned to her own work—Henry merrily confessed to being an enthusiastic amateur, a weekend dabbler in watercolors—and to her hopes for the future. And he had—of course he had—casually asked Tessa whether she and Dominic were “a couple.”
Smiling in response to the question, so delicately phrased, she had shaken her head and said, “No, no, it’s nothing like that. We’re simply friends.”
Gazing steadily back at Ross now, she said, “Well, that was very clever, very neat. But then my own fidelity was never really the issue, was it? You know damn well why I left, and I’m sorry for any inconvenience I caused, but I don’t regret it one bit. Not getting married was the most sensible decision of my life.”
Sitting there in that ridiculous bath towel, her bare toes curling against the rough stone wall and her tangled hair curling damply past her shoulders, Ross thought that she looked more proud, more regal than any power-dressed princess. She had hurt him so much, caused him grief and humiliation…yet she possessed such integrity that it was impossible not to admire her.
He simply hadn’t been able to stop loving her, not for a single minute.
And apart from anything else, he was the one who had been at fault.
“I’m sorry,” he said, wishing he could just rip the bath towel from her and make love to her here and now. He wasn’t brilliant at verbal apologies, not being at all used to having to make them. His dark eyes searched her face for encouragement, but Tessa wasn’t giving an inch; her jaw was set, the line of her mouth uncompromisingly firm. He reassured himself with the thought that at least she wasn’t hurling abuse at him.
“I didn’t know at first why you’d disappeared,” he said, attempting to explain. “When I tackled Antonia, she denied having had anything to do with it. It wasn’t until the following week that she admitted what she’d done.”
With great difficulty, Tessa controlled the impulse to hurl something at him. In this depleted cottage, however, there was precious little to hurl.
“So as far as you’re concerned,” she said icily, “the fact that you spent the night with her isn’t the issue—you’re just sorry you were found out.”
He hated the way she argued. Shaking his head, he said helplessly, “No… Yes… Well, both. Tess, I know what I did was wrong, and I wish to God I hadn’t done it, but I was so furious after we’d had that argument, and you’d seemed so hell-bent on protecting Dominic and getting rid of me that when Antonia turned up in London, I just…flipped.” He stared out of the window, at the rolling hills in the distance and at a single bird soaring effortlessly up into the cobalt-blue sky. “If it makes any difference, I regretted it straightaway, afterward. I just prayed that you’d never find out. And I know now that I would never do such a thing again. Ever.”
Having known about it for several weeks wasn’
t making it any easier to listen to. Tessa felt sick. She didn’t have the heart to challenge him further; Antonia had stated quite categorically that Ross intended their affair to continue, but if she mentioned that now he would only deny it.
“How can I believe you?” she asked instead, her tone weary. “How could you ever expect me to trust you again? Spending the rest of my life with a man I’m afraid to argue with—in case he leaps into bed with the nearest available woman—isn’t my idea of fun.”
“I wouldn’t—” began Ross, eager to reassure her, but she quelled him with a look.
“Don’t say it. I wouldn’t believe you anyway, so just don’t say it. Look, I’m expecting Holly here any minute now, so perhaps you should leave.”
When Ross didn’t make any move to do so, she slid down from the window seat and went outside into the garden. Returning less than a minute later with a creased and still slightly damp black T-shirt and a pale-pink denim skirt, she found Ross descending the stairs with Olivia in his arms. All thought of their argument swept aside, he said in a voice filled with wonder, “She smiled! Tess, she really smiled at me.”
Tess, who hadn’t forgotten the argument, said briefly: “Wind.”
“It looked like a smile to me.” Ross ran a gentle finger along the curve of his daughter’s cheek. Not having seen her for over five weeks, he was stunned by the change in her appearance and by the rush of love he felt for her. Those eyes, dark brown now, were large and fringed with surprisingly long lashes, and he didn’t care what Tessa said—Olivia was smiling.
God, he had missed them both so much.
“I can come and see her?” he said as Tessa moved forward to take her from him. Olivia’s tiny fingers clutched at his gray-and-white-striped shirt, her grip surprisingly strong.
Tessa, not trusting herself to speak, nodded.
“And you’ll be needing your things,” he went on, for something to say. “They’re over at the house—I can bring them back tomorrow morning if you’d like.”
