Desirable Property

by Catherine George

  'The house, to be honest, is certainly a little awe-inspiring,' she said honestly. 'Your parents I haven't met yet, but my feelings about Tern Cottage are very cut and dried. Covetous describes them best, I think.' Verity held up a hand as Ben sat up straight, a gleam of triumph in his eyes. 'But you're missing the point somewhere, Ben. None of these things has any bearing on your proposition. I use the word advisedly,' she added. 'No proposal should be so businesslike if it wants to succeed.'

  'I thought it best to lay my cards on the table,' he said. 'My idea was that if you can swallow the trappings that go with me I'm confident I can overcome your misgivings about the rest, given time.'

  Verity sighed, unconvinced. 'Why me? The surrounding countryside must be literally awash with well-bred maidens panting to marry such an eligible prospect, every last one of them infinitely more suitable than me!'

  'I wouldn't know,' he said indifferently. 'I'm only concerned with my own choice; which is you.' His eyes narrowed. 'It seems to disturb you that I've approached the whole idea with my head, rather than that less reliable organ the heart. Am I right?'

  'I hadn't really given it much thought,' lied Verity.

  Ben looked sceptical. 'When you do find time to give it some consideration at least you need have no qualms about the physical side of the union, after our illuminating little encounter the other night.'

  'There isn't going to be any union, as you so delicately put it.' Verity glanced at her watch. 'I won't have a job soon, unless I get back to it fairly soon. Will you drive me back to town please?' As she got up the door opened to admit the excited retrievers, and close behind them two people who could only be Ben's parents, to Verity's dismay.

  Slim and youthful, with greying fair hair, Ben's mother came swiftly towards Verity, a smile on her attractive face as she held out her hand.

  'You must be Verity Marsh,' said Lady Dysart warmly. 'I'm so happy to meet you my dear, Ben says you've been very helpful to him.'

  'How do you do, Lady Dysart.' Verity took the outstretched hand, smiling politely.

  'My husband Hugh,' said Isabel Dysart blithely.

  There was a strong resemblance between father and son, even to the glint in Sir Hugh's eye as he took Verity's hand, his head on one side as he studied her flushed face. 'By the centre, I never met a surveyor who looked like you—small wonder Ben was so eager to get into Stratford every morning.' He laughed, and clapped his son on his shoulder.

  Lady Dysart fixed him with a disapproving eye. 'You're making Verity blush, Hugh.' She smiled at Verity kindly. 'I hope Martha gave you a good lunch— so tiresome of Ben to insist on bringing you today when we had to be in Stowe, but we cut our visit short in the hope of catching you.'

  'Verity's a very busy lady. She can't always spare the time,' said Ben, avoiding Verity's eye. 'You only just caught us—she's anxious to get back to the grindstone.'

  'Yes, of course. Never mind, you must come again soon when we can spend more time together.' Lady Dysart patted Verity's hand.

  Inwardly dismayed Verity took her leave, apologising for having to rush away, keeping silent in the Morgan until Temple Priors was out of sight. As soon as they were on the main road she turned to Ben angrily.

  'Your parents knew you were bringing me to lunch.'

  Ben nodded coolly. 'Yes, of course.'

  'Didn't they think it odd—my coming on a day they were out?'

  'Not in the least. I told them I wanted to show you over the place on our own for the first time—which is the simple truth.' Ben put out a hand and touched Verity's. She snatched it away.

  'What reason did you give?'

  'Once again the truth. I told them I intend to marry you.'

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ben'd unshakable conviction on the subject of their eventual marriage made Verity's life difficult, she found. It was useless refusing to see him. He dogged her footsteps so persistently at the office the entire workforce of Lockhart & Welch was agog with curiosity, to the point of taking bets on the outcome, to Verity's disgust when John Randall told her about it.

  'Put them out of their misery, Verity,' he said, grinning. 'No one is concentrating on their work in their interest. Are you two heading for the altar?'

  'I can't answer for Mr Dysart,' she answered shortly, 'but I most certainly am not.'

  'He now legally owns Tern Cottage, you know,' John said slyly.

  'Really. Shall we get on?' Verity's expression was so forbidding her employer gave up and turned to the business of the day.

  Alone in the house the next evening Verity was absorbed in a play on television when the doorbell rang. Frowning she went to the door, neither surprised nor pleased to see Ben.

  'I was passing,' he said, deadpan. 'I thought I'd drop in.'

  Without a word Verity stood aside and waved him into the sitting-room, switching off the television set.

  'Coffee?' she asked.

  'No thanks, just a friendly chat.' He sat down on the sofa, catching her hand to pull her down beside him. She resisted angrily.

  'This has got to stop, Ben!'

  'What has?' He leaned back comfortably, a look of infuriating innocence in his eyes.

  'You know very well.' Verity thrust an impatient hand through her heavy hair. 'I'm tired of knowing glances at work, to be precise. I learnt yesterday that they're making a book on how soon our wedding takes place. I want it to stop, Ben. I mean it.'

  He shrugged his heavy shoulders. 'I haven't said a word.'

  'You don't have to.' She glared at him. 'It's the way you behave. Do you have to be everywhere I am all the time? It's driving me mad.'

  Ben put out a hand to smooth her ruffled hair. 'Never mind; only another two days and you'll be rid of me —at the office, at least.'

  Verity was diverted. 'Learned enough already?'

  'I don't suppose I'll ever know enough, but I think the time has come to try and lighten Father's load.' Ben sobered. 'His health was affected considerably by the shock of Nick's death. His blood pressure's worrying my mother no end, so it's time I pitched in and lent a hand.'

  Almost guilty at the relief she felt, Verity smiled sympathetically. 'I'm sorry your father's not well, but at the same time I can't help thinking that with you gone perhaps all this ridiculous speculation about us will die down.'

  Ben's mouth twisted in an ironic smile. 'You might at least pretend a little polite regret at my departure.'

  Verity got up. 'I find it hard to dissemble, Mr Dysart. Can I get you a drink? There's some beer in the fridge.'

  'Thank you.'

  When Verity returned with a glass tankard of beer for her guest she sat on the floor, her back to the armchair opposite Ben. With her long legs in tight, worn denim and her hair tied up in a loose knot on top of her head she looked very different from the efficient young surveyor of earlier in the day.

  'You look good in jeans,' he said.

  Verity glanced up in amusement, and changed the subject, giving an airy wave at their surroundings.

  'Suitable attire for my home, Ben, but hardly fitting for the more stately residence you live in.'

  'Are you a snob, Verity?'

  'Inverted variety you mean,' she said quickly, flushing. 'No, I don't think so. It just suddenly struck me what a contrast this is in every way to our little lunch together at your place.'

  Ben put down the tankard and leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees.

  'If I were some chap from down the road would it make you more amenable to the thought of marrying me, Verity? Is it just my damn background that's sticking in your throat?'

  Verity met his eyes honestly. 'No. That has no bearing at all.'

  His jaw clenched. 'Then why, Verity? Why won't you marry me?'

  Because you don't love me, she thought, and I don't… Her mind went blank and the colour faded from her face. She swallowed with difficulty, a shiver running through her.

  'What is it?' Ben said urgently. He slid down on his knees beside her and took her
hands in his. 'You're cold! Shall I light the fire?'

  'No.' She smiled at him with an effort. 'Footsteps on my grave, that's all.' She turned her head away from the black, searching eyes, and experimented with a careless little laugh, a breathless, hoarse little sound that deepened Ben's concern. He picked her up, sitting back on the couch, holding her like a child across his knees, her head turned into his shoulder.

  Verity lay passively, knowing she should get up, move about, offer him another drink, anything rather than stay tamely where she was, and after a few moments she sat up, but he pulled her back.

  'Stay put for a minute.'

  Verity submitted meekly to the comfort of an embrace she knew she was enjoying far too much.

  'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Perhaps I'm coming down with a cold—I got wet in that shower at lunch time today.'

  'Don't apologise.' Ben's breath stirred her hair, his voice vibrating under her cheek as she lay against him. 'It's not often I get this close. Are you always so elusive? A kiss or two is admissible even in a friendly relationship, you know, or do your other men friends submit tamely to a veto on all physical contact?'

  It was the impetus Verity needed. She detached herself from his hold and stood up, shaking back her hair. 'My other friendships are my affair. Would you care for another beer?'

  'No.' Ben held out his arms, a cajoling smile on his face. 'Come back.'

  She shook her head, grinning. 'Do you think I'm stupid, Mr Dysart? It's no good flashing your smile at me like that, all it'll get you is another beer.'

  Ben was suddenly serious. 'What was the matter, Verity? You changed colour dramatically. Does the idea of marrying me actually make you ill?' 'No. It wasn't that at all.' 'Then what was it?'

  'I just felt weird for a moment—nothing more, really.'

  'You're lying,' he said flatly.

  Verity sat down in the armchair. 'A fuss over nothing. Let's change the subject.'

  'No. Let's keep to the point in question. Why won't you marry me?'

  Verity sighed wearily. 'Ben, there's no point in going on with this. You know as well as I do that even when the two people involved are madly in love a great many marriages fail. What possible chance of success would there be for us, entering into it like a business transaction?'

  'A great deal more,' said Ben positively. 'I can give you a home you've always coveted, security, not to mention liking and respect. In return you can be of tremendous help to me with your training, I admit it freely. You could be a helpmeet, to use an old-fashioned word, to a much larger extent than most wives.'

  'I wouldn't have to marry you to do that,' she pointed out quickly. 'I could just come and work for you.'

  'You're missing the point.' He leaned forward, his eyes urgent. 'I want a family, Verity, and not just to carry on the name—daughters, sons, it doesn't matter a damn which. It was down there in the South Atlantic that it came home to me just how much I'd missed by not having a wife and children.' He held out a peremptory hand. 'Come and sit here beside me, Verity—please.'

  Verity left her chair and did as he asked, yielding to the arm he slid round her to hold her close.

  'This is something I've never told anyone,' he went on, 'but I can pinpoint the exact moment. We were deployed on Mount Challenger, about seven miles short of Stanley. It was pitch dark and freezing, and our objective was to take Mount Harriet and Goat Ridge, two hills with outcrops of rock shielding machine-gun nests. Advancing up Harriet was a slow, bloody business. I won't harrow you with the details, but when dawn broke and we knew Harriet was ours all I could feel was a vague, impersonal surprise. I was alive! It was then I realised that what I wanted most out of this rather unexpected gift of life was a wife, family, continuity—' Ben smiled down into Verity's absorbed face. 'Am I making sense?'

  'Very much so,' she said, deeply moved. 'It's just that I don't think—'

  'Then stop thinking for once,' he said roughly. 'Just feel, Verity, for God's sake just feel!' And he turned her in his arms, kissing her deeply, the pressure of his mouth bending her head back, her body almost prone as he held it prisoner beneath his.

  Verity tore her mouth away, breathing hard and shaking her head.

  'No, please—' she gasped, and Ben groaned, burying his face in her hair.

  'Why is it always no, Verity? Your body and your mouth are saying yes—admit it!' He raised his head and at the molten look in his eyes Verity's breath quickened and the tip of her tongue flicked out to moisten suddenly dry lips. 'Don't!' he said, torment in his voice as his mouth closed on her own, his tongue meeting hers in twisting frenzy as one hand began to caress the curves of her shoulders, running down her spine to encircle her waist and move upward until it found her breasts.

  The frantic beating of her heart threatened to shake Verity to pieces as his mouth left hers to roam over her face and down her throat, always returning to her parted lips to tantalise and tease, rousing a deep desire in her for something more as heat surged through her body, dissolving her defences, making nonsense of all her denials.

  'Well?' he demanded hotly. 'Tell me you feel nothing, tell me you're immune. Can you, Verity?' He laid his hand on her breast, where her heart-beat clamoured against his palm. Without a word he took her hand and thrust it through his opened shirt, holding it flat against his chest to feel the surging throb of his own heart. 'To take up your argument about common ground,' he said, his voice rough and unsteady, 'can you deny the mutual desire we both feel equally at this very moment?'

  Verity stared up into the eyes so close to hers and shook her head unwillingly. 'No, I can't.'

  Ben chuckled and sat up, pulling her with him, but still keeping one arm close about her waist. 'That's one denial I am pleased to hear. Don't you agree it would contribute towards a successful marriage?'

  Verity frowned. 'Surely there should be more to marriage than that!'

  Ben let out an explosive breath. 'There would be, you maddening creature! What we just experienced was pure chemistry, I admit, which is all some people ever have as common ground. But in our case there would be mutual liking and respect, the common interest of running the estate, enjoyment of each other's company—by day and by night. God, Verity, what more do you want?'

  'Time, Ben.' Sanity and calm were Verity's once more, to her relief. She moved away from him, detached and businesslike, as though the heated moments just before had never happened. 'I shall go up to Birkenhead to my mother at the weekend, and in the meantime I shall give the idea careful thought. Alone. I can hardly be expected to make a rather momentous decision like this in an instant just because, well, it seems the physical side of marriage would present no problem.'

  'That's one way of putting it,' he agreed, amused. 'When do I get my answer?'

  'When I come back.'

  'Will your mother's opinion influence your decision?' he asked.

  'I very much doubt if she would go as far as saying "do" or "don't". My mother expects me to make my own decisions.'

  Ben stood up. 'Will you kiss me goodnight, at least— perhaps when you come home your answer will be negative, whereupon I shall never darken your door again.'

  Verity got to her feet, looking at him thoughtfully. 'You mean if I say no, that's it. You drop me.'

  'I wouldn't put it quite like that, but in essence, yes, I would.' Ben took her by the shoulders, his face stem. 'I could never be satisfied with half a loaf, Verity.' He kissed her hard and went, leaving her standing in the middle of the room, her face blank. After a minute or two she went into her bedroom and picked up the telephone.

  'Hello, Mother—yes, I'm fine. And you?' They chatted for a few minutes before Verity came to the point. 'How would you like a visitor for the weekend?

  Me, of course. Great. Friday night, then. Give Stepdaddy my love. Bye.'

  The drive up the M6 on the Friday evening was a test for the concentration, all three lanes full of traffic and the usual obstacle course of roadworks at various points. Verity was tired when she finally a
rrived at the Craigs' home, a solid. Edwardian house on the outskirts of Birkenhead. As the Mini turned into the drive the front door of the house opened and Hannah Craig flew down the steps to hug her daughter as Verity unfolded her long legs and stood up, stretching and smiling. Her mother was approaching fifty, too rapidly in her own opinion, but looked far less, only an odd strand of grey in hair otherwise as thick and brown as Verity's. She stood at arm's length, her brown eyes searching as she looked her daughter up and down.

  'Good journey?'

  'Very slow, Mother. No need to ask how you are, younger every time I see you.' Verity kissed her parent fondly, then looked up with a warm smile as she saw Ian Craig waiting to add his welcome. 'Hello, Stepdaddy.'

  'Hello, Verity.' Ian Craig was very tall, enough to tower over his stepdaughter, his kind face and friendly grey eyes alight with warmth as he gave Verity a kiss. 'About time you tore yourself away from your wheeling and dealing. Your mother tends to pine if you stay away too long.'

  'So I see.' Verity gave a mocking glance at her mother's healthy, tanned face. 'No doubt you cane her regularly, like your students, to produce that wan effect?'

  'Perhaps I haven't exactly pined,' said Hannah, urging Verity towards the house, 'but I would like to see you a little more often.'

  'Leave her in peace until she's eaten,' advised Ian. 'Knowing Verity I'll lay odds she's starving.'

  For once Verity proved him wrong. She did her best with the fresh salmon and green peas her mother served, but the latter's sharp eyes grew more and more thoughtful as Verity fiddled with only a token portion of her favourite apricot soufflé, and afterwards refused cheese in favour of several cups of black coffee.

  Ian lectured in maths at a local college of further education, and occasionally did some private coaching at home, so excused himself after dinner when one of his pupils arrived for tuition.