by Jessica Hart
‘Er, well, anyway…We’re supposed to be talking about the Hall,’ she said brightly.
Jake seemed to focus on her properly for the first time. ‘You said you had made some progress?’
‘I have.’ Cassie told him about the contractors she had engaged. A small army of them was already hard at work. ‘They’re mostly cleaners,’ she explained. ‘There’s so much wood in the great hall that it doesn’t need much decorating-although they’re repainting the roof-but the walls, the floor and the fireplace need a thorough clean and polish. It’s all well in hand for the Allantide Ball.’
‘Good,’ said Jake absently. Cassie wondered if he had even been listening. He was frowning down at a knife he was spinning beneath one finger.
‘I’ve also been in touch with various local caterers, florists, photographers and so on, and started to draw up a directory of our own.’
‘It all sounds very promising,’ said Jake as Giovanni’s nephew appeared with a carafe of wine. Less expansive than his uncle, or perhaps just more sensitive to Jake’s grim expression, he took their orders with the minimum of fuss.
‘You’ve been busy,’ Jake added to Cassie, folding the menu and handing it back to the waiter.
Well, at least he had been listening. She had wondered there for a minute. ‘There’s lots to do, but I’m enjoying it.’
Jake reached for the carafe, but, mindful that she was supposed to be the host, Cassie got there first, and he watched without comment as she filled two glasses. She didn’t know about Jake, but she certainly needed one!
She drew a breath. ‘I’ve been thinking about a promotion, too.’
If only Jake was in a more amenable mood, she thought. It was going to be tricky enough breaking the news of the deal she had made with Wedding Belles as it was. She took a sip of wine to fortify herself. ‘Do you remember me saying it might be worth contacting a couple of magazines in case they wanted to run a piece about setting up the Hall as a venue?’ she began cautiously.
‘Vaguely.’
It was hardly the most encouraging of responses, but Cassie ploughed on anyway. ‘Well, I did that, and one of them is very keen on the idea.’
There was a pause. Jake could see that she was waiting for him to say something, although he wasn’t sure what. ‘OK,’ he said.
‘But they want a bit more of a human-interest angle.’
‘Human interest?’
‘Yes, you know, to personalise the story? So it’s not just the story of how the building is being prepared, it’s also about a couple preparing to get married there. The readers love real-life stories,’ Cassie hurried on. ‘The editor of Wedding Belles-that’s the magazine-wants to follow a couple who are going to be married there. So the article will be illustrated with pictures of them choosing the flowers, planning menus, trying on wedding dresses and all that kind of thing.’
‘But we haven’t got any couples yet,’ Jake objected. ‘Surely the whole point of promoting the Hall like this is to find someone who wants to get married there?’
‘Quite,’ said Cassie, relieved that he at least could see the point of the article. ‘We haven’t got any punters yet, but we have got you and Natasha…’ She trailed off, hoping that Jake would get where this was all going.
He had gone very still. ‘What about me and Natasha?’
‘OK, I may have stretched the truth a little bit here,’ Cassie acknowledged, and took the final hurdle in a rush. ‘But the editor was so keen on the idea that I told her that you were getting married at the Hall at Christmas.’
‘What?’
Jake’s voice was like a lash, and carried right across the restaurant. Diners on nearby tables turned to look at them in surprise, and behind Jake at the bar Giovanni clutched a hand to his heart with an exaggerated expression of sympathy for her.
Cassie glowered at him and turned deliberately back to Jake. She had been afraid he might react like that.
‘I know it’s a cheek,’ she said, holding up her hands in a placatory gesture. ‘But I really do think it would be great publicity for the Hall. And you don’t have to go through with it if Natasha doesn’t want to get married there. They’ll only want pictures of a few set occasions, so I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t set up a few shots and create a story for them.’
Jake was looking grimly discouraging, so she hurried on before he could give her a flat no. ‘We don’t need to tell them that it isn’t actually the dress Natasha is going to wear, or those aren’t really the flowers she’d choose,’ she reassured him. ‘You and Natasha would just be models, if you like, showing what a wonderful wedding-venue the Hall will be. I know you’re both busy, but it shouldn’t take up too much time. Just a few hours every now and then to have your photos taken.
‘It would be a really effective way to promote the Hall,’ Cassie went on when there was still no response from Jake. There was an edge of desperation in her voice by now. It had taken ages to get the editor of Wedding Belles to agree to feature Portrevick Hall, and it was only the promise of the human interest lent by the owner himself getting married there-another little stretching of the truth-that had swung it for her.
‘You did say you wanted the venue to be self-sustaining as soon as possible,’ she reminded him. ‘Wedding Belles is really popular with brides-to-be around the country, and its circulation figures are amazing. If they run a feature about the Hall, we’ll have couples queuing up to book it, and you’ll be able to hand the whole place over to a manager much sooner than you thought.’
Jake drank some wine, then put down his glass. ‘There’s just one problem,’ he said.
‘Just one?’ said Cassie, trying to lighten the atmosphere. ‘That doesn’t sound too bad!’
He didn’t smile back. ‘Unfortunately it’s quite a major one,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid Natasha isn’t around to model anything any more. She’s left me.’
Cassie put down her glass so abruptly, wine sloshed onto the tablecloth. ‘Natasha’s left you?’
‘So it seems.’
‘But…but…’ Cassie was floundering. It was the last thing she had expected to hear. ‘God, I’m so sorry! I had no idea…’ No wonder Jake was looking so grim! ‘When did all this happen?’
‘When I got back from Cornwall.’ Jake reached across with his napkin and mopped up the wine Cassie had spilt before she made even more of a mess. ‘Natasha was waiting for me with her case packed. She said she was sorry, but she had met someone else and fallen madly in love with him.’
His first reaction had been one of surprise at her words. Natasha had never been the type to do anything madly. One of the things he had always liked about her was her calm, rational approach to everything, and now it seemed as if she was just as illogical and emotional as, well, as Cassie.
‘How awful for you.’ Cassie’s round face was puckered with sympathy. ‘How long had it been going on?’
‘Hardly any time. She said he’d literally swept her off her feet. I’ll bet he did,’ Jake added grimly. ‘He’s had plenty of practice.’
‘Gosh, he’s not a friend of yours, is he?’ That would make it twice as humiliating for him.
‘A friend?’ Jake gave a short, mirthless laugh. ‘Hardly! Rupert Branscombe Fox is no friend of mine.’
‘Rupert?’ Cassie’s eyes were out on stalks. Crikey, this was like something out of a soap opera! ‘But how on earth did Natasha meet Rupert?’
‘It was my own fault,’ said Jake. Funnily enough, now that he’d started talking, he didn’t feel too bad. He’d been so angry before that he could barely bite out a word. ‘I invited Rupert round to discuss the trust at home, and Natasha was there. I didn’t think she was that impressed with him at the time.’
Cassie remembered now. Perfect Natasha had decided that Rupert was shallow-or that was what she had said, anyway.
‘What changed her mind?’
‘Rupert did. He deliberately set out to seduce Natasha to get at me.’ Jake’s expression was set. ‘I c
an’t believe she fell for it,’ he said, sounding genuinely baffled. ‘I thought she was too sensible to have her head turned by Rupert’s very superficial attraction. I can’t understand it at all.’
Cassie could. Even as a boy, Rupert had been extraordinarily good-looking, and if he had turned the full battery of his sex appeal on Natasha he must have been well nigh irresistible. Perhaps Natasha had been tired of being told how admirably sensible she was.
But poor Jake. How hurt and angry he must have been!
‘Rupert’s very…charming,’ she said lamely.
Jake tossed back his wine and poured himself another glass. ‘He’s using Natasha. I can’t believe she can’t see it for herself!’
‘Maybe he’s fallen in love with her,’ Cassie suggested
‘Love?’ Jake snorted. ‘Rupert doesn’t love anyone but himself.’
‘You don’t know that-’
‘Sure I do,’ he interrupted her. ‘Rupert was kind enough to explain it to me. Natasha was perfect for his purposes, he said. He was furious and humiliated by the trust Sir Ian had set up, and he’s chosen to blame me for it. Breaking up my relationship with Natasha was doubly sweet. It hurt me, and it gives him access to the trust money, or so he thinks. He claims he’s going to marry her because I won’t have any grounds for arguing that Natasha isn’t a sensible woman, as specified by Sir Ian. He was quite sure I would understand, old chap.’
Ouch. Cassie grimaced at the savagery in Jake’s voice. She didn’t blame him for being angry. She could practically hear Rupert’s light, cut-glass tones, and could just imagine what effect they would have had on Jake.
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Well, I’m certainly not handing over the money yet. Natasha deserves better than to be married for such a cynical reason. The moment Rupert’s got his hands on the money, he’ll dump her like the proverbial ton of bricks,’ said Jake. ‘He’s still got to prove to me that he’s settled down, and I’ll believe that when I see it!’
Under the circumstances, it was generous of him to still think about Natasha, Cassie thought. He must love her, even if she had proved to be not quite as perfect as he had believed.
Cassie pushed her glass around, making patterns on the tablecloth. It would be quite something to be loved by someone like Jake, who didn’t give up on you even when you made a terrible mistake. She wondered if Natasha would realise that once the first thrill of being with Rupert wore off.
As it inevitably would. Cassie wasn’t a fool, whatever her family thought. She had long ago realised that Rupert’s appeal lay largely in the fact that he was out of reach. He was so impossibly handsome, so extraordinarily charming, so unbelievably glamorous, that you couldn’t imagine doing anything ordinary with him. He was the kind of man you dreamed of having a mad, passionate affair with, not the kind of man you lived with and loved every day.
Not like Jake.
Cassie’s fingers stilled on the glass. Where had that thought come from?
Looking up from her wine, she studied him across the table. Lost in his own thoughts, he was broodingly turning a fork on the tablecloth, his own head bent and the dark, stormy eyes hidden. She could see the angular planes of his face, the jut of his nose, the set of his mouth, and all at once it was as if she had never seen him before.
There was a solidity and a control to him, she realised, disconcerted to realise that she could imagine living with him in a way she had never been able to with Rupert. Bumping into Rupert again had been one of her favourite fantasies for years, but in her dreams they were never doing anything ordinary. They were getting married, not being married. They were going to Paris or sitting on a yacht in the Caribbean, not having breakfast or watching television or emptying the dishwasher.
How strange that she could picture Jake in her flat, could see him coming in from work, taking off his jacket, loosening his tie, reaching for her with a smile…
A strange shiver snaked its way down her spine. It was just Jake, she reminded herself. But he was so immediate, so real, so there, that his presence felt like a hand against her skin, and all at once she was struggling to drag enough oxygen into her lungs.
And then he looked up, the dark-blue eyes locked with hers, and she forgot to breathe at all.
‘Spaghetti carbonara.’
Cassie actually jumped as Giovanni deposited a steaming plate in front of her.
‘And fettucine all’arrabiata for your client!’
She barely noticed Giovanni’s jovial winks and nods of encouragement as he fussed around with pepper and parmesan. How long had she been staring into Jake’s eyes, unable to look away? A second? Ten? Ten minutes? She hoped it was the first, but it was impossible to tell. She felt oddly jarred, and her heart was knocking erratically against her ribs.
She was terrified in case Jake was able to read her thoughts in her eyes. Of course, she would have known if he had, because he would look absolutely horrified. He probably couldn’t think of anything worse than going home to her in an untidy flat every night.
Why was that a depressing thought?
CHAPTER FIVE
AND why was she even thinking about it? Cassie asked herself crossly as she picked up her fork. Disappointed by her lack of response, Giovanni had taken himself off at last. Jake was obviously still in love with the not-quite-so-perfect Natasha, who had had her sensible head turned by Rupert.
Twirling spaghetti in her spoon, she forced her mind back to the conversation. ‘I’m really sorry,’ she said when Giovanni had left. ‘If it’s any comfort, I don’t imagine Rupert will be easy to live with. Perhaps Natasha will change her mind.’
‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ said Jake.
That wasn’t quite what Cassie had been hoping to hear. I wouldn’t take her back if she grovelled from here to Friday was more what she had had in mind.
She sighed inwardly. Stop being so silly, she told herself.
‘In the meantime, I’ll go back to Wedding Belles and tell them that we’d still like a feature on the Hall, but we can’t manage the human-interest angle.’
Jake’s gaze sharpened. ‘I thought you said they wouldn’t do a piece without that?’
‘No, well, it’s not the end of the world. We can find other ways of promoting the Hall.’
‘They won’t reach the same market, though?’
‘Probably not.’
Jake brooded, stirring his fork mindlessly around in the fettucine. ‘To hell with it!’ he said explosively after a while and looked up at Cassie, who regarded him warily. ‘I’m damned if I’m going to let Rupert mess up my plans for the Hall, too. He’s made enough trouble! I say we go ahead with it anyway.’
‘We can’t do much about it without Natasha,’ she reminded him reluctantly.
‘Unless…’ Jake trailed off, staring at Cassie as if seeing her properly for the first time.
She stared back, more than a little unnerved. ‘What?’
‘Did you tell this editor Natasha’s name?’
‘No, I didn’t go into details. I just said the owner of the Hall was getting married.’
‘So I don’t really need Natasha-I just need a fiancée?’
‘Well, yes, but-’
‘So why don’t I marry you?’
There was a rushing sound in Cassie’s ears. She went hot, then cold, then hot again. ‘Me?’ she squeaked. ‘You don’t want to marry me!’
‘Of course I don’t,’ said Jake, recoiling. ‘God, no! But you said yourself that it doesn’t have to be a real engagement. If all we need is to have a few photographs taken, why shouldn’t you be the bride-to-be?’
‘Well, because-because-’ Cassie stuttered, groping for all the glaringly obvious reasons why she couldn’t, and bizarrely unable to think of any. ‘Because everyone would know it wasn’t true.’
‘You just said you didn’t give the magazine any names.’
‘I wasn’t thinking of them. I was thinking of all the people who know perfectly well we’re no
t engaged.’
‘Who’s going to know?’
‘Anyone who sees the article,’ she said, exasperated, but Jake only looked down his nose.
‘I don’t know anyone who’s likely to read Wedding Belles,’ he said.
Cassie glared at him. ‘It’s not just about you, though, is it? I know masses of people who read it for one reason or another, and if one of my friends gets whiff of the fact that I’m apparently engaged without telling anyone I’ll never hear the end of it!’
Jake couldn’t see the problem. ‘The article won’t be published until next year,’ he said dismissively. ‘We can worry about what we tell people then. Rupert will never stick with Natasha for more than a few weeks, so there’ll be no reason not to tell everyone the truth then. We’ll say it was just a marketing exercise.’
‘And what about when the Wedding Belles photographer comes down to take pictures of us supposedly planning our wedding at the Hall?’ asked Cassie, picking up her spoon and fork once more. ‘It’ll be all over Portrevick in no time. You know what the village is like. We’d never be able to keep it secret. Rupert’s got some fancy weekend place in St Ives; what’s the betting he’ll hear about it?’
‘What if he does? It wouldn’t do him any harm to think that I’m not inconsolable.’
‘No, but if he gets wind of the fact that you’re just pretending…’ Cassie trailed off and Jake nodded.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Rupert wouldn’t hesitate to make trouble for me in whatever way he could.’ He looked across the table at Cassie. ‘In that case, let’s make it true,’ he said.
She stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Let’s make it a real engagement,’ he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Or, at least, not a secret one,’ he amended. ‘We can tell everybody who needs to know, and do the photographs for the article quite openly. We’ll know it’s not a real engagement, but we don’t have to tell anyone else that.’
