Desirable Property

by Catherine George

  Verity lunched at Temple Priors next day, and spent a pleasant afternoon with Ben's parents, chatting over wedding arrangements and feeling a lot more cheerful than her black mood of the night before. To her surprise Ben appeared unexpectedly at tea-time, her unguarded smile of welcome bringing him swiftly across the drawing-room to kiss her very thoroughly before turning to greet his parents.

  'Thought you weren't due back until tomorrow,' said his father.

  'I changed my mind,' said Ben without explanation and sat beside Verity, his arm around her waist.

  'No doubt you decided Verity had been left alone quite long enough,' said his mother approvingly and handed him a cup of tea.

  'Something like that.' Ben's arm tightened and he dropped a kiss on Verity's hair. 'Can't have her getting tense with bridal nerves, or whatever it is that girls are supposed to suffer from.'

  'You needn't worry about that,' said Verity, not entirely candidly. She smiled at him. 'But it's nice to see you, just the same.'

  The constraint of the last week or two was gone, and Verity sat comfortably in Ben's hold as he gave them a humorous, watered-down version of his lively evening, the mood of harmony remaining as he drove her home after dinner that evening, and sat with her afterwards in the sitting-room.

  'You seemed uptight on the phone last night, Verity,' he said.

  'I'd been indulging in an orgy of housecleaning to leave the place tidy for Jenny and Richard. Not exactly my favourite programme for a Saturday night.' Verity smiled at him ruefully and made no resistance when he drew her into his arms.

  'Perhaps you were missing me,' he suggested softly.

  'Perhaps I was.'

  'I rang a couple of times earlier in the evening, but the line was engaged.'

  'Did you?' Verity flushed, secretly delighted. 'Mother rang, then an old college friend who's coming to the wedding.'

  'So now you know why I was so late before I spoke to you—you cut me off before I could explain.' Ben's eyes were mocking, and something else that increased the warmth in Verity's face.

  'I'm sorry,' she said penitently.

  'Show me how much.'

  Verity reached up both hands and brought his face down to hers. She moved her mouth caressingly against his, and his arms locked round her in instant reaction as he returned the kiss with interest. There was no resulting flash flood of passion, only comfort and reassurance; Ben made no attempt at further caresses, and after a while settled her comfortably against his shoulder.

  'Something's been troubling you lately, Verity,' he said bluntly. 'Not second thoughts, I trust?'

  Verity hesitated, wondering if she should just come out with the unvarnished truth—that she had seen Ben with Gussie, and was jealous as hell. The words stuck in her throat, and after, a pause she shook her head.

  'No. At least no more than the usual jitters. It's only human to wonder how well we'll get on together after knowing each other such a short time.'

  'We shall do very well, so don't trouble yourself on that score. We are both responsible adults who don't expect life to be a fairy story. I hope, and expect, there to be many more nights like that unbelievable time in the cottage, but we both know that moonlight and magic are for special occasions and the realities are cold early mornings and muddy boots, and accounts that won't balance.' Ben tipped Verity's head back to look deep in her eyes. 'Am I reassuring you or putting you off altogether?'

  Verity searched his dark, intent eyes for any trace of guilt or prevarication, but their black opacity gave nothing away.

  'You're absolutely right, of course. At our age it's the realities that count most, not the romance,' she said matter-of-factly, then grinned as he shook her hard.

  'I'm not exactly geriatric yet,' he said threateningly. 'There's plenty of life in the old dog yet, I assure you!' And this time his kiss was very much more than merely reassuring, leaving Verity in no doubt that physically, at least, their relationship promised to be everything she could desire.

  CHAPTER NINE

  They were married on one of those still, blue and gold days October provides as a parting gift from autumn.

  Verity had resisted all her mother's pleas, refusing to wear a long white dress and traditional veil. 'Not my style, Mother,' she said firmly, and chose a lean, elegant coat-dress in creamy white cashmere with deep satin lapels, the matching sou-wester hat frankly frivolous in contrast, with a nosegay of velvet pansies dropping over one temple from the turned-back satin brim.

  As she walked down the aisle on Ian's arm Verity hardly registered the smiling faces turned to watch her progress, all her attention centred on Ben's dark face as she reached his side. Her breath caught as he took her hand and kissed it before they turned to face the Vicar of St Augustine's for the ceremony. Ben's unexpected little greeting gave Verity a glow that remained with her all through the proceedings and the laughing, chaffing bonhomie in the vestry afterwards. Hannah Craig and Isabel Dysart had taken to each other on sight at their first meeting the evening before, to Verity's relief, and it was a very gay assembly who repaired to Temple Priors to partake of a superb buffet luncheon.

  After the welter of kisses and congratulations from relatives and friends Gussie and Peter Middleton came along to add their greetings, Gussie's blue eyes narrow and glittering as she kissed the air near Verity's cheek.

  'Frightfully well done, darling,' she drawled. 'Peter and I were so surprised to hear the news! And tremendously pleased, of course.'

  'I say, rather!' agreed Peter, grinning in his usual friendly manner.

  'Why thank you, Gussie, you know my mother, and Ben's people of course,' countered Verity with composure, but Gussie wasn't listening, turning away immediately to engage Ben in earnest, whispered conversation, leaving her embarrassed husband to murmur polite inanities. She looked very beautiful, in hyacinth wool crepe, a tiny velvet tricorne on her blonde curls with a long ostrich feather curling on to her flawless cheek. Verity learned little from Ben's face, and turned away abruptly to encounter a sage look from her mother.

  'Why Gussie Layton,' said Hannah rather loudly, and detached Gussie adroitly to introduce her to Ian. 'You haven't changed a bit since you were at school with Verity. Do come and meet my husband.'

  Verity had no intention of allowing Gussie to spoil her wedding, and put the incident firmly from her mind, enjoying the delicious food and the unlimited champagne, laughing with the others at the witty toasts until it was time to cut the cake, Ben's hand warm and firm as it guided hers. When the festivities were in full swing Ben whispered in Verity's ear that it was time they changed, and ran with her up the broad staircase, kissing her swiftly outside the room where she was to dress.

  'Get a move on, Mrs Dysart,' he ordered, smiling. 'We must be on our way—see you downstairs in ten minutes.'

  Verity kissed him back and went into the room, smiling, her smile fading as she saw Gussie enthroned on the window seat as she closed the door.

  'Martha told me which room you were using, so I slipped up here for a little chat, darling—just like old times.' Gussie smiled slowly, stretching like a cat as she got to her feet.

  Verity took off her hat, laying it carefully on the bed. 'An unexpected pleasure, Gussie.'

  'I used to know the house quite well in the old days, you know.' Gussie smiled slyly. 'Does Ben still sleep in that ridiculous monk's cell of a bedroom?'

  'I wouldn't know,' said Verity shortly, and sat down at the dressing-table to brush her hair, willing Gussie to leave her in peace.

  'I must hand it to you, Verity, you're a fast worker.' Gussie shook her head reprovingly at Verity's reflection. 'There was I, laying my soul bare to you at the cottage one minute—and when we came back from Spain the first thing I heard was that somehow or other you'd persuaded Ben to marry you! Too slick for words, angel.'

  Verity laid down her brush and turned to face the other girl.

  'Gussie, if you have something to say, just say it,' she said tersely. 'Ben wants to be off in ten
minutes.'

  Gussie's eyes were blue pools of limpid innocence.

  'I just came to wish you good luck, Mrs Dysart. God knows you'll need it.' Her smile turned to a sneer. 'Ben doesn't love you! It's me he wants—always has. But don't worry, darling, you'll provide the most marvellous cover for us—at least you'll never have to wonder where he is when he's not at home!'

  It was like a bad dream. All Verity's most secret suspicions were crystallising into the honeyed malice dripping from Gussie's pink-tinted lips, but her face showed nothing but a casual impatience as she turned away.

  'Right. If you've had your say perhaps you'll run along now. I must change.'

  'Oh but I haven't' Gussie sauntered to the door, then turned deliberately, smoothing a hand over her midriff. 'Don't you think Peter looks absolutely ecstatic today? Only this morning I told him I'm pregnant and of course the poor darling's over the moon—he imagines the baby's his. But you and I know better, don't we!' With a final smile of spiteful satisfaction she glided from the room, closing the door behind her with a triumphant finality.

  Verity sat staring at her blank face in the mirror, her mind refusing to accept the enormity of Gussie's implication. Listlessly she got up and took off her wedding dress and hung it up automatically, then subsided in front of the mirror, her reflected face white above the coffee satin of her slip.

  It was silly to be so stunned, she knew, nevertheless she felt as though the ground had been cut from beneath her feet. She had thought Ben might be seeing Gussie occasionally, but for some reason her imaginings had never gone beyond that point. Gussie's barbed little announcement made everything suddenly sordid and shoddy, and Verity shivered, feeling as though some of the shoddiness were rubbing off on her own relationship with Ben.

  She jumped, startled, as her mother swept into the room, scolding.

  'Come on, love. Ben's already down there asking where you are. You'll be late, not to mention cold, sitting there like that.'

  Obediently Verity slid into the new saffron silk shirt, her fingers clumsy with the covered buttons and the zip of her sepia tweed skirt. Hannah held out shoes and gloves, found the matching bag, and held the jacket for Verity to put it on, then stood back to look at the finished result, her eyes wet.

  'Damn—my mascara will run. Be happy, babe. Remember it takes two of you to make a marriage, so do your best with your bit.'

  Verity smiled shakily, her own eyes misty, and returned her mother's hug. 'Look what an example I've had!' Ben was waiting at the foot of the stairs as she went down with a bright smile on her face to run the gauntlet of waiting guests with his arm through hers, cameras clicking as they entered the waiting Morgan. Verity had a confused impression of Ben's parents and her own, their faces happy and fond as they waved the pair off to a secret destination, Gussie's face just beyond them, like the cat who's swallowed the cream, her eyes gloating among the crowd. A faint shudder ran through Verity. 'Cold?' Ben put out a hand to touch hers.

  'No.' Verity shook her head, determined to behave normally. 'As you've kept the honeymoon secret even from me am I allowed to know where we're going now we're on our way? Is it a long journey—do we have to catch a plane? I packed the sort of clothes you suggested.'

  Ben laughed as the car reached the main road. 'I hope you weren't hoping for something exotic. No plane necessary, I'm afraid—our destination is The Sun at Wychford, less than twenty miles away.'

  Verity looked at him in surprise. 'Why all the secrecy then?'

  'I had no intention of letting anyone know we'd be so close at hand, also I had no desire to travel hundreds of miles before I had you to myself, Mrs Dysart. Do I make myself plain?' His sidelong smile was deliberately explicit, so much so that Verity could feel her colour rising. 'Besides which it's a very attractive inn and does a roaring trade with the locals; always a good sign, and the landlord's wife prides herself on her cooking. I've booked two rooms looking out on the garden and trout stream at the back of the building.'

  'Sounds lovely.' Or at least it would have done to any other newly married, dewy-eyed bride, thought Verity bleakly. But under the circumstances a busy hotel in London's West End would have been easier. Ten days in utter seclusion was likely to prove a strain, one way and another.

  It should all have been so perfect. The Sun inn was centuries old, a long, low building with a thatched roof, innumerable small windows sending out beams of yellow light in welcome as Ben parked the car in the cobbled yard at the side. Even this early in the evening the place was already busy, many of the settles and tables in the lounge bar already filled as Verity watched Ben sign the register. A hefty young lad took their suitcases up the shallow staircase to a red-carpeted, uneven landing where he unlocked one of the doors at the far end. Ben gave him a generous tip, winning a broad grin of thanks, as Verity looked round a cosy sitting-room bright with chintz, a log fire burning in the small fireplace, the only incongruity the television set in the corner.

  Ben opened an adjoining door and ushered Verity into another room. A dark oak fourposter bed dominated this apartment, holding her entire attention for a moment or two before she noticed that all the furniture looked like genuine antique pieces, including a charming, skirted dressing-table set on a raised alcove in the bay window overlooking the garden.

  Ben put the luggage down on the rack at the end of the bed.

  'Well? Do you approve?'

  Verity took off her gloves and jacket, smiling brightly. 'Of course I do—it's a lovely room.'

  He leaned against one of the bedposts, looking at her thoughtfully. 'I did think to carry you over the threshold, but something in your manner quashed the impulse.'

  'Just as well, our porter would have been embarrassed.' She pointed to another door. 'Where does that lead?'

  'Bathroom.'

  'Good. I'll have a wash before dinner.'

  Ben caught her wrist as she brushed past him. 'What's troubling you, Verity? What's wrong?'

  'Nothing. It feels a little strange to share a room with a man I suppose. I never have before.' She gave him a glittering smile, her hazel eyes unnaturally bright. 'You'll have to make allowances, Ben.'

  'I will, gladly. I just want to know what I'm making allowances for!' He held her wrist fast, his face close to hers. 'At the moment I feel more like a gaoler than a bridegroom.'

  'Nonsense.' Verity freed her hand and shut herself in the bathroom, leaning against the door, her breathing uneven. Her reflection in the mirror showed flushed cheeks and over-bright eyes, but no trace of the despair she felt inside, to her relief. She closed her eyes tightly. Gussie just had to be lying, she had to. Verity splashed water on her face, lingering as long as possible before returning to the bedroom to touch up her make-up. Ben was hanging up the last of his clothes in a big oak press.

  'What time is dinner?' she asked.

  'I said eightish.' He glanced at his watch. 'It's early yet, shall I order drinks up here or shall we go down to ,the bar?'

  'Oh let's go down,' she said instantly, eager for noise and other people.

  'Shouldn't you unpack first?' There was no mistaking the dryness in Ben's tone. 'I'd like a shave, too.'

  'Fine! Of course.' Energetically Verity opened her suitcase and began hanging up skirts and dresses, and folding underwear into a drawer in the chest. 'Should I change, do you think?'

  'You look beautiful just the way you are.'

  Verity turned sharply to see if Ben was serious. He was. The word beautiful was intentional, as was obvious by the way he was looking at her, his eyes lingering longest where the heavy silk of her shirt outlined the curves of her breasts. As he returned to her face he frowned.

  'Have I said something to offend you?'

  'You used the word beautiful,' she said questioningly. 'You've never said that to me before.'

  'I've never said it to any woman before, as far as I can remember.' His eyes challenged her, daring her to disbelieve him.

  'How surprising.'

  'The truth oft
en is.'

  They stood looking at each other in silence, then he strolled over to his case and took out a wet pack and went into the bathroom.

  Verity mounted the three shallow steps to the dressing-table and switched on the little silk-shaded lamp to do her face, adding more shadow to her eyes than usual, darkening her lashes with an extra coat of mascara. Blusher was unnecessary, and after a touch of bronze lip gloss and a flick of the hair brush she was ready. She put on her jacket and wandered aimlessly into the other room, glancing along a row of books on a shelf near the fireplace. There were some newish paperbacks, and one or two old favourites, including Far From the Madding Crowd and Villette. Verity smiled wryly, thinking a bride should hardly be looking for bedtime reading, starting a little as she realised Ben was watching her from the doorway, a sardonic look on his face.

  'Looking for ways to fill up your time?' The satire in his tone was evident as he added a couple of logs to the fire and replaced the old-fashioned guard.

  'Not precisely. When you know me better you'll find I can't resist books, in any shape or form.'