The Secretary's Scandalous Secret

by Cathy Williams

  ‘Fighting fit?’ Agatha was beginning to feel a little dazed by his sudden volte face. His rapid backtracking from the crazy marriage proposal was a blessing, she told herself. But it still hurt that he had obviously had a light-bulb moment and had realised that, however high the honour stakes were, settling down with a woman for whom he felt nothing beyond maybe some affection and a keen sense of duty was just ridiculous. As he had said, his perfect woman didn’t come attached to a bunch of emotional strings. She could feel herself getting breathless and worked up all over again and swallowed it back.

  ‘You need to rest,’ Luc informed her. ‘And London is no place for resting. I have a house in a very quiet, rural area in Berkshire. It’s close enough to London to commute but far away enough to forget what noise pollution sounds like. When I’m not around, I will ensure that there is someone around to take care of you, make sure you have nothing to worry about except putting your feet up.’

  ‘You have a house in the country? You’ve never breathed a word about that. Why? ‘

  Luc chose to ignore question number two. ‘House in the country—very relaxing. And here’s the thing: a magnificent garden. I think you will find it inspirational.’

  He smiled complacently and wondered how long it would take to find a house to fill the spec. Not long, he reckoned. Money could work wonders when it came to things like that.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘I’M STILL not happy with this arrangement.’

  Agatha had spent the past eight days at Luc’s apartment, having failed to persuade him that she was more than capable of resting in her own place.

  ‘I can’t keep an eye on you if you’re there,’ he had told her with the finality of someone clanging shut an iron door.

  Telling him that she had only just moved in, that she was wasting money on rent for a place that was uninhabited, had met with a similarly flat, negative response—although he had made a big show of tilting his head to one side and listening very carefully to every word she was saying.

  ‘You don’t need to stress about things like money,’ he had assured her with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘Remember what the doctor said.’

  His only concession had been to bring her work laptop home for her so that she could fill in some of the long stretches of spare time corresponding with the various customers she had set up in her new role.

  Food was prepared for her by a home help which he seemed to have acquired with ridiculous speed, and he had taken to arriving back from work early every evening, although she assured him that there was no need.

  Just as he gave one-hundred percent to everything he did, he was giving one-hundred percent to the task of making sure that she didn’t lose the baby.

  Whilst that felt good, it was also disturbing to know that it was a task to which he had risen because he had had no choice. Had he not found himself thrown into the situation, she would not have laid eyes on him for dust. He had moved on with his life until she had bounced along to turn it on its head.

  But what on earth could she do? She didn’t want to lose this baby. Her level of attachment to it grew with each passing day. And, secretly, didn’t she enjoy being fussed over, never mind that she objected at every turn? Didn’t she enjoy lying on the sofa in his living room, watching television with a cup of cocoa in her hand and a stack of magazines at her side and her eyes drifting helplessly from the television to the chair, where Luc sat frowning in concentration at something on his computer? Didn’t she enjoy watching him lounge on the two seater next to hers, hands clasped behind his head, making sarcastic comments at some slither of nonsense she had decided to switch on?

  Take away the murky undercurrents and the dubious motives, and it was a snapshot of domestic bliss.

  At least, as far as she was concerned. She had no idea how Luc felt because he was not to be drawn on the subject.

  He had been scrupulous in his attentiveness. He had set her up in a guest bedroom and, more than anything else, that seemed to signify his thoughts on her as a responsibility to be heroically borne.

  Right now, with her meagre possessions packed and the lease on her small flat cancelled before she had had time to enjoy it, they were speeding along the motorway towards whatever mysterious house in Berkshire he owned.

  She had given up asking him too many questions about it and had redirected her efforts towards not succumbing to the tantalising notion that all his efforts at looking after her pointed to a man who was in it for the long haul. It was a seductive but dangerous train of thought, to be avoided at all costs. Loving him made it way too easy for her to be beguiled by mirrors and glass.

  ‘Why not? Why aren’t you happy with the arrangement?’ Luc didn’t glance in her direction. He had had over a week to consider this situation, to realise that the modern-day arrangement she favoured wasn’t going to work for him. To work out that, whilst she seemed to appreciate the massive efforts he was making—efforts which were cutting big time into his work life—she had retreated into a shell of sorts, one from which she never ventured to discuss a future. Did she harbour some fear that she would lose the baby? Rest had improved her blood pressure but there was always an outside chance that it might rise again.

  ‘It’s like I’ve been thrown into a tumble drier and tossed around. First you move me into your apartment, even though I told you that I was perfectly okay to look after myself. You decide what I eat. I’m not supposed to lift a finger, and now this—it’s like I’m being kidnapped.’

  ‘Needs must. There are women who would appreciate the level of concern.’

  Agatha refrained from pointing out that his level of concern had been non-existent the minute she had made the mistake of telling him what she wanted out of their relationship. His level of concern then had amounted to a scramble through the nearest exit-door. The wonderful level of concern he was now so eager to demonstrate was to do with the baby she was carrying inside her. She wondered, if and when her pregnancy settled, if he would be quite so assiduous in his attentions.

  Which made her think of the future—that great, unmentionable block of time hovering on the horizon. It had become increasingly clear that he was in the process of proving himself good-parent material. He wasn’t a fool. He must know that he would need her on his side when it came to the business of visiting rights. Why not start right now to show her just how spectacular he could be in the father stakes when he put his mind to it?

  He had clearly decided to carry on with his own life once the baby was born. She had to make a huge effort not to think of him playing happy families with their child while she watched from the sidelines as aspiring bimbos pretended to take a maternal interest. It wouldn’t concern him because, in his head, he would have adequately smoothed the way.

  ‘What am I supposed to do in a house in a village where I don’t know anyone?’

  ‘You’ll know me. I intend to be around a lot.’

  ‘I wish my life was normal again,’ Agatha fretted, and he gave her a sharp, sidelong look.

  ‘I find that wishing for the impossible is never a good idea. Life isn’t going to be normal for either of us again. We just have to accept that and deal with it.’

  ‘How can you be so…so practical about everything?’ Agatha almost yelled at him.

  ‘What would you want? ‘

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘One of us has to keep a level head and I’ve nominated myself for the role.’ He was driving away from the motorway now. He had been to the house once, but his driver had done the tedious journey while he had worked in the back. Right now, he was keeping an eagle eye on his sat nav and on the road signs, because getting lost might just alert her to the fact that he really didn’t know one end of the county from the other; all these little roads down which they were driving had a tendency to look the same.

  ‘What about my vote?’ Agatha grumbled petulantly, but she was finding it hard to hold on to her moral high-ground because she was riveted by the scenery. She ha
d forgotten how enticing the countryside was, how clean the air smelled, how technicolour-bright everything seemed to be without the clutter of grey buildings, pavements and smog, and how wonderfully quiet it was, a soft silence unbroken by the sounds of cars and sirens.

  ‘Not counting at the moment,’ Luc informed her with that splendid arrogance that she had always found weirdly endearing. ‘We’re nearly there. Twenty minutes.’

  ‘How often do you come here? ‘ she asked, a question to which he seemed to give an undue amount of consideration before finally saying, ‘Not often.’

  ‘And, um, do you usually come here by yourself?’ She hadn’t wanted to ask the question and she was vaguely surprised that it had somehow found its way out of her mouth.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘No reason. I just find it hard to imagine you being this far out of London on your own and enjoying it.’

  ‘You’re the first woman to come here.’

  ‘I wasn’t asking if you brought women there.’

  ‘No?’ Luc allowed himself a slashing smile, which Agatha saw and which made her want to kick herself. Her state of health had rendered her temporarily helpless and into this uncertain vacuum Luc had muscled his way, taking charge of the reins for the sake of the baby growing inside her. She had to begin the process of stepping away from his control because how else was she going to summon up the necessary strength when she gave birth? Was his plan to keep her emotionally welded to him while he carried on with his life, adopting his role as father without the threat of any other man replacing him because she was still head over heels in love with him?

  Luc didn’t play by the book. If he had a game plan, then he would see nothing wrong in achieving it by whatever means it took. It was just the way he was built.

  He was designed to spot weaknesses and capitalise on them if it suited his ends. It was something she couldn’t allow herself to forget.

  ‘It’s beautiful here,’ she said, changing the uncomfortable subject and looking away from him to stare at the flashing greenery, trees and open fields in which were nestled quaint little towns.

  ‘Isn’t it?’ Never one to be bowled over by nature, Luc had to agree that there was something restful about the scenery. ‘Although rumour has it that places like this are rife with intrigue and scandal.’

  Agatha couldn’t help herself; she laughed. ‘And where did you hear that?’

  ‘I think I gleaned it from all those ridiculous detective shows you insist on watching. Has it escaped you that most of the murders seemed to take place in quiet little backwaters?’

  He was irresistible when he used that light, teasing voice. ‘I’d better be careful, in that case.’

  ‘No need to worry. I’ll be more than careful for the two of us.’

  There is no ‘two of us’.

  They had left all main roads and he glanced across at her as the car swept through some open wooden gates and up a thin, ribbon-like winding drive, bordered on both sides by a profusion of wild flowers that had been artfully planted to emphasise the majesty of the trees around which they nestled.

  It was a glorious sight; the estate agent had surpassed himself. Luc had thought that the second he had glimpsed the drive up to the house, and he was reminded of it now.Money talked, and it had spoken volumes in getting him just the right house to impress.

  ‘Like what you see?’ he murmured lazily, driving mega-slowly now so that she could delight in the abundance of flora, a dead cert to have her reeling in pleasant surprise.

  When he turned his gaze to her flushed face, he was satisfied that everything was having the desired effect.

  She was, quite literally, bowled over.

  ‘Gosh.’

  ‘I know. Stunning, isn’t it?’

  ‘I would never have associated you with a place like this in a million years,’ Agatha confessed, dragging her eyes away from the marvellous, colourful landscape to briefly focus on him.

  ‘Hidden depths.’

  The house was now coming into view, slipping and sliding between the trees. It was not too big and not too small, with whitewashed walls and clambering roses; although there wasn’t a picket fence, the low brick wall was covered in ivy and the little gate was wooden. It was a vision of exceptional prettiness that could have leapt from the pages of a story book.

  ‘This is so different from your place in London,’ Agatha breathed, her eyes wide like saucers. ‘I mean, your place in London is so cold and clinical.’

  ‘A bit like me?’ Luc asked, his eyes cooling. He hadn’t seen her eyes light up like that since they had been involved all those weeks ago, when she’d been still nursing dreams of permanence.

  Agatha shrugged and remembered about all those defences she should be building around her.

  ‘You said it. I didn’t.’ Then, not wanting to become embroiled in a non-argument, she stared at the approaching house, now in full view, and gasped. ‘It’s…it’s absolutely beautiful, Luc. What a fantastic getaway! I’m surprised you ever want to go back to London after you’ve been here for a weekend.’

  Luc flushed. ‘Too much peace can be taxing.’

  ‘Do you have people to look after the garden and stuff?’

  ‘Naturally.’

  ‘Because I can have a go at looking after it for you while I’m here. It would give me something to do.’

  ‘You’re here to rest.’

  ‘Gardening is restful.’

  ‘I’ll take your word on that one,’ Luc said drily, drawing to a stop outside the house and moving round to open the passenger door for her. Everything they needed—including all her possessions, and enough equipment for him to work from the house at least part of the time—had been transferred in advance of their arrival. He sensed that he might just go crazy from the solitude, but the town was very close, just beyond the fields at the back, and it was deceptively close to London.

  ‘I suppose it wouldn’t do you any harm to potter in the garden. Although no heavy lifting, naturally.’

  ‘Naturally.’ She was drinking up the house now with its quirky charm, and thinking how fantastic it was that Luc should even think of owning something like this. He might be as hard as nails when it came to business, and frankly when it came to most things, but just to discover that he had purchased a house like this did indeed point to a sensitive streak in him that made her heart swell.

  Inside didn’t disappoint. It was beautifully furnished. The sofas were deep and comfortable and all the wood gleamed with the patina of age.

  ‘You must have a brilliant housekeeper,’ Agatha remarked, taking in the spotless surfaces and smelling the clean, pine scent of recently polished wood. ‘Would you mind if I had a look around?’

  Her eyes were sparkling, her cheeks flushed. She was the picture of a woman in love, in this instance with a house. Luc shrugged and nodded, then leaned indolently against the wall, watching as she poked, prodded, disappeared, reappeared and then ventured up the staircase to where four bedrooms were interspersed higgledy piggledy with two very comfortable bathrooms. Fluffy towels were warming on the towel rails. The beds were all made up with covers of the finest Egyptian cotton. In fact, the house had had a comprehensive face-lift since he had bought it, so underneath the olde worlde charm it bristled with the shiny sparkle of the brand new.

  The cupboards in the kitchen were full to brimming. The freezer was stocked with enough food to keep them going for weeks.

  Upstairs, Agatha noted that she had been put in the bedroom furthest away from his and she had to stifle a flash of disappointment. Pinning a bright smile on her face, she wandered back downstairs to find him fiddling in the kitchen, and for a few seconds she quietly watched from the doorway. Kitchens perplexed him. He could work every technological gadget on the face of the earth with the exception of those located in a kitchen.

  ‘You really don’t need to stay here with me, Luc,’ she said from the doorway, and he turned round slowly to look at her with hooded eyes.

  In he
r leggings and oversized shirt, her fair hair tumbling over her shoulders, she looked vulnerable and feminine.

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

  ‘You never take time off work. I don’t want you feeling that you’ve got to stay cooped up here because I’m incapable. I’m not. I know this is your house and you must have enjoyed coming here in the past but I bet you never stayed longer than a couple of nights.’

  ‘If I don’t look after you, who will? You still haven’t told your mother, so she won’t be rushing here any time soon.’ He knew why she still hadn’t said a word to Edith. To break the news would put her in the position of revealing the father’s identity. It would also compel her to find reasons to explain why she intended to remain as a single mother. For the moment, he was willing to go along with her silence, but he needed to start manoeuvring things in the direction he wanted them to take.

  He abandoned his attempt to work the coffee maker and strolled lazily towards her until he was standing right in front of her.

  He moved, she noted absentmindedly, with the sinewy grace of a panther, all dark, dangerous intent. Except she had no idea what he intended. Which didn’t stop her heart from pounding like a frenzied drum inside her. Her nipples tightened and she broke out in a fine film of nervous perspiration. How was it that she had never felt so alone with him in London, even when she had been bed-bound in his apartment, which was really much smaller? The silence seemed to press against the walls, enclosing them in a little space of their own.

  ‘The time isn’t right to tell her,’ Agatha mumbled uncertainly, driven to look up at him, even though it was doing dangerous things to her nervous system.

  ‘She’s going to wonder where the hell you are when that phone in the flat keeps ringing off the hook and no one answers.’

  ‘I didn’t give her the number,’ Agatha confessed guiltily, sneaking a glance at him. ‘She gets me on my mobile.’