Hidden Love

by Carole Mortimer

  Nick’s throaty chuckle showed he appreciated her humour, and she turned and waved to him before going into the house, leaning weakly back against the door. This morning, even this afternoon, she hadn’t even met him, and now she was looking forward to her date with him tomorrow.

  As she went into the sitting-room she wondered what her parents would make of him. They were watching the late evening news as she came in, her mother plump and homely as she knitted a jumper for a neighbour’s child, her father intent on the world events of the day. They were nice ordinary people, and she loved them very much, but she was aware that Nick was anything but ordinary. He was like an electric charge to the system, full of forceful energy, with a lazy charm that captivated.

  ‘Boy or girl?’ her mother asked softly as she sat down beside her on the sofa.

  Her father gave her a vague look, his affection evident in his smile. ‘Hello, love.’

  ‘Dad,’ she answered in a hushed voice, knowing she wasn’t to talk any louder until the news and weather had finished. ‘It was a girl, Mum,’ she answered the query. ‘I hadn’t realised newborn babies were so tiny.’ She had been awestruck at the miniature perfection of the baby’s hands and feet, her thick thatch of golden hair.

  ‘You were beautiful when you were born,’ her mother said dreamily. ‘You were premature, only five and a half pounds in weight, and premature babies are always prettier. Why, what are you smiling at, Rachel?’

  Her humour deepened. ‘I was just thinking of the baby’s uncle’s reaction when he first saw her. She was all screwed up and wrinkled, and yet her mother was convinced she was beautiful.’ And to Nick’s credit he hadn’t shown by so much as a blink of an eyelid that he didn’t apprecite the baby’s looks.

  ‘The baby’s uncle, dear?’ her mother prompted.

  ‘Yes. Mrs Lennox’s husband was away, so I—Dad, what is this?’ she asked sharply, something, some-one on the television catching and holding her attention.

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘What are they talking about?’ she repeated impatiently.

  ‘Why, the tennis, of course,’ he answered with equal impatience. It was obvious what they were talking about, with two men fiercely hitting the ball at each other, determination on each of their faces.

  ‘What tennis?’ she asked agitatedly, desperately trying to come to grips with something that was becoming more and more obvious by the second.

  ‘Wimbledon, dear,’ it was her mother who answered this time. ‘They played the quarter-finals today.’

  And the man playing in one of them was none other than Kay Lennox’s brother Nick! No wonder he had seemed so familiar, she had actually watched him playing one of the qualifying matches earlier in the week, had sat and cheered him on.

  He was Nicholas St Clare, world-famous tennis player, winner of numerous tournaments the last twelve years, since he had turned professional at the age of eighteen. And the court he had been talking about this evening hadn’t been a court of law but a tennis court, a tennis court at the world-renowned Wimbledon Championship!

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE had calmly agreed to go to dinner with a famous tennis player! Of course she hadn’t known who he was then, but she knew now! He was one of the hot-shot left-handed players to come out of America the last fifteen years, and at thirty years of age he was being compared with the stamina and skill of Australia’s Rod Laver, was still winning the titles, although it was a well-known fact that Bjorn Borg and John McEnroe had dominated the courts of Wimbledon for the past six or seven years. Apparently it was a championship Nicholas St Clare coveted, and this year he was determined to win.

  The way he had played today, by the look of the television coverage, he could just do it too. In the white shorts and short-sleeved tee-shirt he looked handsomer than ever, his golden hair clinging damply to his forehead, his blue eyes steely as he concentrated completely on winning the match from his opponent.

  ‘Did he win?’ Rachel asked breathlessly.

  ‘I don’t know who you mean by he,’ her father told her. ‘But Nicholas St Clare won, quite easily as a matter of fact.’

  Of course he had won, he would hardly have been in that lazily charming mood otherwise. But she had agreed to have dinner with a good-looking man named Nick, not with Nicholas St Clare. She couldn’t go out with a man as famous as that. And she couldn’t imagine why he had asked her!

  ‘Danny called,’ her mother interrupted her panicked thoughts.

  ‘He did?’ she frowned. She had forgotten all about Danny during the last few hours!

  ‘He seemed quite surprised you were still at the hospital.’

  ‘He was surprised I went at all,’ Rachel remembered angrily. ‘If he’d had his way Mrs Lennox would have been left to fend for herself!’

  ‘Oh dear!’ her mother frowned, having the same dark hair as Rachel, although it was kept short and curly. ‘Have the two of you argued?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ she avoided, her mind racing on as to how she could get in touch with Nick St Clare and tell him she couldn’t go out with him tomorrow or any other time. She could call him, she had his number, but unless she got that impersonal answering service she didn’t want to do that. She certainly didn’t want to talk to Nick himself!

  ‘How not exactly, Rachel?’ her mother was concerned. ‘I thought you were—fond of him?’

  ‘I was—I am. But he wasn’t very understanding about poor Mrs Lennox.’ The only thing to do seemed to have Nick’s sister pass on a message to him.

  Her mother smiled. ‘Men never are, dear. They have no idea.’

  Nick St Clare had had no idea, he had been visibly shaken by what his sister was going through to give birth to her daughter. Nick St Clare…! Oh, she should have recognised him, should have known who he was. She just hadn’t been expecting to see a famous tennis-player, and so she hadn’t; she had even thought he could be a lawyer!

  She had made a mess of things, and first thing tomorrow she would get herself out of it. Nick had said he would be visiting his sister some time tomorrow and so she could be sure he would get the message.

  As she lay in bed later that night she did her best to convince herself that she was doing the right thing, the only think, by not meeting Nick again. A man like that could turn her life so upside down it would never be the same again. And boring as it might appear to him, she liked her little world, was enjoying this two-year course at college, and she loved her parents very much, as their only child she felt cherished and loved in return, and she enjoyed going out on the occasional date with boys like Danny. Yes, her life was good, satisfying, and she didn’t need the sophistication of Nick St Clare to spoil it all.

  But hadn’t he spoilt it already? Hadn’t meeting him at all made her long for something she could never have? Hadn’t it made her want Nick St Clare himself?

  She buried her head beneath the pillow, pushing such tortuous thoughts from her mind. She couldn’t see Nick St Clare again, and that was that.

  Kay Lennox was sleeping when she telephoned from college early next morning, so she left a message with the nurse for Kay to pass on to her brother.

  She slipped quietly into her place for her first class before Mr Balfour walked in to give the lecture.

  ‘What happened to you yesterday afternoon?’ Hilary leant over to whisper.

  Rachel and Hilary had become friends the previous September when they had turned out to be the only two girls in this male-orientated class, but she shook her head at her friend as Mr Balfour came into the room. ‘I’ll tell you later,’ she promised, feeling as if she would burst if she didn’t soon tell someone about her meeting with Nick St Clare.

  Hilary was incredulous as they ate a doughnut and drank coffee during the morning break. ‘You’re joking!’ Her eyes were agog, laughing blue eyes, her hair kept short and boyish.

  ‘I wish I were,’ Rachel grimaced.

  ‘You don’t!’

  ‘Of course I do.’ She stared mournfully into her rapi
dly cooling coffee. ‘I spoke to him as if he were just like you and me. I was even cheeky to him a couple of times.’

  ‘Being a famous tennis player doesn’t make him different from the rest of us,’ her friend teased.

  Rachel pulled a face. ‘You didn’t meet him. He—well, he’s magnetic, has this leashed power…’ She shrugged. ‘He is different, Hilary, believe me.’

  ‘I can see he is,’ her friend soothed. ‘But he can’t have minded the way you spoke to him, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked you out.’

  ‘I told you, that was just out of gratitude.’

  ‘Some gratitude!’ Hilary scorned. ‘Flowers or a box of chocolates would have sufficed as far as gratitude goes. No, Nick St Clare really wanted you to go out with him.’

  ‘That’s silly, Hilary—’

  ‘I doubt if Danny will think so.’

  ‘Danny?’ Rachel frowned.

  ‘Danny,’ Hilary nodded, looking pointedly over Rachel’s shoulder.

  She turned with a groan, seeing Danny making his way determinedly to their table. And he didn’t look very happy, far from it in fact.

  ‘Hilary,’ he nodded tersely in her direction.

  ‘Danny,’ she greeted in a tight voice. Danny Maxwell was not one of her favourite people, something he was only too well aware of.

  ‘Can I talk to you, Rachel?’ he asked tightly.

  She flushed. ‘Well I—’

  ‘Don’t mind me.’ Hilary stood up, as slender as Rachel but slightly taller. She picked up her cup. ‘I want to get a refill anyway. Rachel?’

  ‘Not for me, thanks,’ she refused, watching as Danny sat down in Hilary’s vacated chair. ‘That wasn’t very kind,’ she told him sharply.

  ‘I’m not feeling particularly kind,’ he scowled. ‘Did your mother tell you I telephoned last night?’

  ‘Yes,’ she nodded.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘But you didn’t feel like calling me back?’

  ‘I got home late, Danny—’

  ‘From taking that woman to hospital?’

  ‘Yes. You see—’

  ‘I told you you’d get dragged into being involved—’

  ‘I didn’t get dragged into anything, Danny,’ she sighed. ‘I stayed with her because I wanted to. She had a little girl, if you’re interested.’

  ‘I’m not,’ he said coldly.

  ‘I didn’t think you would be.’

  ‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ He was instantly on the defensive.

  ‘Nothing,’ she muttered, gathering her books together. ‘I have to get to my next class.’

  His hand on her wrist stopped her, but there was none of the tingling sensation she had experienced with Nick St Clare. ‘Is our date for tonight still on?’

  She had forgotten all about their arrangements to go and see the latest James Bond film. But she didn’t want to go anyway, she found Danny’s behaviour of yesterday had put her off the boy himself. ‘Not tonight, Danny—’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I—Well, because—’

  ‘You don’t want to see me any more, right?’ he said roughly.

  Oh dear, she always hated breaking up with boys, especially as Danny didn’t appear to be going to make it easy for her; his grip on her wrist was unrelenting. ‘I think it might be better if—’

  ‘Oh, spare me the little speech about how you don’t want to see me any more but we can still be friends,’ he sneered, releasing her wrist. ‘I’ve said it too many times myself to know it isn’t true.’

  ‘Danny, I’m sorry—’

  ‘I’m not,’ he said insultingly. ‘You’re a little prude, Rachel. I think two months is long enough to tell me you aren’t going to give me anything but kisses.’

  She flushed. ‘Is that all you can think about, what you can get from a girl?’

  His mouth twisted mockingly, marring his good looks. ‘What else is there?’ he scorned. ‘You surely didn’t think I intended getting serious about you?’

  ‘I hope not,’ she told him with blunt honesty, standing up to look down at him with cold grey eyes. ‘I think you have a lot of growing up to do before you become serious about anyone.’

  ‘Ready, Rachel?’ Hilary appeared at her side.

  Rachel looked down at Danny’s angrily flushed face, flicking her hair back. ‘More than ready,’ she nodded, leaving with her friend.

  Hilary giggled as they stepped into the lift. ‘What did you say to upset him?’

  ‘Just the truth,’ she shrugged. ‘That I didn’t want to go out with him any more.’

  ‘You finished with Danny Maxwell?’ her friend gasped.

  ‘Well…yes.’

  ‘You really did?’ Hilary frowned.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Goodness!’

  ‘Well, don’t sound so surprised,’ Rachel laughed. ‘It isn’t unheard-of, you know.’

  ‘To Danny Maxwell it is!’

  ‘Not any more,’ she grinned, feeling no remorse. Danny had been as surprised as Hilary by her decision not to see him any more, and his reaction had shown him in his true colours.

  ‘I’m glad,’ Hilary said seriously. ‘I never did like him. He’s all tight jeans and biceps.’

  ‘Hilary!’

  ‘Well, he is,’ her friend muttered. ‘Now Nicholas St Clare is what I would call a real man.’

  Rachel stiffened, glad that the lift had arrived at their floor. ‘I don’t want to talk about Mr St Clare.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Hilary!’ she said in a warning voice.

  ‘Well, I think you’re mad. Even if you never saw him again you would at least have had this one evening to remember.’

  She knew that, that one thought had been going through her mind all morning. Maybe she should have just had this one date with him. But what good would it do? He was probably another one of those men who weren’t interested if he couldn’t have more than kisses.

  ‘I’m not interested,’ she told Hilary firmly.

  The rest of the day seemed to drag to Rachel, and for once she wasn’t giving her whole attention to her work, something one of the tutors warned her about.

  ‘Do you want to come over tonight?’ Hilary offered. ‘We could play a few records, chat, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ Rachel pulled a face. ‘You only want to try and get my innermost secrets out of me.’

  ‘How did you guess?’ her friend grinned.

  She laughed. ‘It wasn’t difficult. Thanks for the offer, Hilary, but I have to wash my hair.’

  Hilary looked admiringly at the long dark tresses. ‘I bet it takes all evening, hmm?’

  ‘More or less. My mother usually brushes it dry for me. It takes hours.’

  ‘Your poor mother!’

  Rachel grinned. ‘I tell her it’s the price she has to pay for my growing it this long.’

  Hilary touched her own boyishly styled hair. ‘I sometimes wish I hadn’t had mine cut, but when I hear I’d have to waste an evening just washing and drying hair your length I’m glad mine only takes half an hour to wash and dry.’

  ‘It has its benefits,’ Rachel agreed.

  ‘It does?’

  ‘Hm, it fills an empty evening.’ And it looked as if she would be having a lot of them in the near future.

  Hilary shook her head. ‘And you could have filled this one with Nick St Clare, not a shampoo bottle.’

  ‘Hilary, I’d rather—’

  ‘Well, well, well,’ drawled an insulting voice. ‘If it isn’t the little girl that likes to date tennis stars!’

  Rachel turned to face Danny, finding he had two of his friends with him. Billy and Malcolm were nice enough boys on their own, but Danny was obviously their leader, and they were following his lead in this, their expressions as mocking.

  ‘I don’t know where you got your information—’

  ‘Why, your little friend here.’ Danny’s gaze strayed to Hilary. ‘She’s full of the fact that her best friend is going out with Nick St Clare.�
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  Rachel looked at her friend, knowing by her flushed cheeks that Danny spoke the truth. ‘Hilary!’ she groaned.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the other girl looked at her appealingly.

  ‘No wonder you aren’t interested in going out with me any more,’ Danny scorned. ‘Some hot-shot with a lot of money comes along and I’m no longer good enough for you.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that,’ Rachel flushed. ‘I—’

  ‘Rachel?’

  She instantly paled, turning at the sound of that familiar drawl, her eyes widening as she looked at Nicholas St Clare. He was standing only a couple of feet away from them, the dark brown shirt stretching tautly across his chest and shoulders, partly unbuttoned, the sleeves turned back to just below his elbows, the cream trousers fitted to his muscular thighs.

  Danny’s stance instantly became challenging. ‘How nice,’ he taunted. ‘Your boy friend has come to pick you up from school!’

  Rachel gave him a distressed look, and she heard Hilary gasp at her side. Nick looked unmoved, eyeing the younger man with amusement. She had no idea what he was doing here, or even how he had got here. She didn’t remember telling him what time she finished, or even what college she attended. ‘Ready?’ she repeated dazedly.

  ‘I told your mother and father I’d take you straight home,’ he further astounded her by announcing.

  She swallowed hard, still not understanding, but getting his message that he was here to drive her home. She could see the Jaguar parked a short distance away, although with the hostile audience they had it could seem like a mile.

  ‘You haven’t forgotten?’ he prompted, his eyes narrowed.

  ‘I—er—No, of course not. ‘Bye, Danny, boys.’ She couldn’t quite look at any of them.

  ‘Would your friend like a lift home?’ Nick offered as she reached his side.

  She had forgotten all about poor Hilary, although in the circumstances perhaps that wasn’t so surprising. ‘Hilary?’ she asked softly, almost pleadingly.

  Hilary’s awed gaze hadn’t left Nick St Clare since he had first spoken, and she had some difficulty answering Rachel. ‘Er—no—thanks,’ she finally managed to stutter. ‘I have some shopping to do.’