Lovers Touch

by Penny Jordan

  ‘You wouldn’t realise it to see her sitting there looking sweet as milk,’ she heard Liz telling her husband, ‘but when we were at school together, Nell could be as stubborn as the proverbial mule when she wanted to be.’

  Stubborn … Yes, perhaps sometimes she could be, Nell allowed, and it struck her that if she was not to be totally swamped in her marriage with Joss she was going to have to re-activate that stubbornness and hold out for her own rightful say in those decisions that affected them jointly.

  The redecoration of the house was a case in point. Although he hadn’t actually spelled it out to her, Nell had sensed that, once the house was redecorated, Joss would want to show it off to his business colleagues and friends, but she was damned if she was going to allow him to turn her home into a larger version of the soulless, glossy place where he lived now.

  If that was Joss’s idea of how a home should look, well then, she was going to have to let him know that it wasn’t hers.

  ‘Come back,’ Liz teased her. ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Redecorating,’ Nell admitted with a smile. ‘I think I’m going to need to pick your brains a little, Liz. Joss wants the house redoing, and I suspect our ideas are going to clash. I want to make sure I’m fully armed before I tackle him about it. Any suggestions?’

  Liz had, plus a list of contracts and firms who specialised in period work.

  The two of them spent the whole evening discussing the merits of restoring what was already there and replacing what wasn’t to lift the rather gloomy Victorian air from the house and yet keep its unique character.

  Nell went to bed feeling happier than she had done since Joss had asked her to marry him. Talking with Liz had restored her self-confidence and made her see how those last months with her grandfather had worn her down and suppressed her natural exuberance for life.

  Her future was in her own hands. She could put aside her love for Joss and make their relationship work on a business footing, devoting herself to their family and the estate, developing her own interests and acting as Joss’s hostess whenever he required, thus building her own individual life that would barely impinge on his; or she could let herself dwell on her feelings for him, and succumb to the self-pity she sensed lying in wait for her, and in doing so become an object of contempt, to herself as much to anyone else.

  It was gone midnight when she went to bed, but her mood of optimism didn’t last. No sooner was she tucked up beneath Liz’s beautifully appliquéd duvet cover than her mind began to torment her. How would she cope with the reality of having Joss as her lover, while at the same time knowing that he didn’t love her? Would she be strong enough to subdue her own responses, to force her reactions to be those of a distant, passionless stranger? Because that was what she would have to do.

  Once she allowed her true feelings to break through her defences, she wasn’t going to be able to stop herself from revealing the truth to Joss. Their marriage would be easier for her to endure if there was no physical aspect to it, but Joss wanted a son. And she too wanted children.

  ‘Come on, sleepy-head, we’ve got a lot to do today.’

  Guiltily Nell struggled through the layers of sleep that had engulfed her with the dawn, to find Liz standing beside her bed holding a mug of coffee.

  ‘Oh, Liz,’ she murmured contritely, ‘I’m so sorry. How awful of me. You shouldn’t have brought me a drink … you’ve got far too much to do.’

  ‘Not this morning,’ Liz told her cheerfully. ‘Main-law arrived early and swooped up Lucy, so we’ve got the whole day to ourselves. However, it might be a good idea to make an early start.’

  Within an hour they were on the road, Nell at Liz’s persuasion wearing one of her new outfits—the red one, since the skirts for the others were being shortened.

  ‘We’ll have to do something about your hair,’ Liz told her forthrightly as she parked in Cambridge.

  It was a clear autumn day, crisp and warm in the sun here in Cambridge, but during the drive they had passed fields in which the mist lay thick and white, and the weathermen were forecasting frost by the end of the week.

  This was far from the first time that Liz had commented on her hair-style, and Nell touched her plaits defensively.

  ‘I need something that’s easy to look after, Liz. My hair’s so straight and fine.’

  ‘I agree … but I’ve made you an appointment with my hairdresser for a consultation. You’ll want a different style to go with your wedding dress, anyway,’ she reminded her.

  This was all news to Nell, but nevertheless she followed Liz docilely while she led her into an almost frighteningly sterile-looking hair-salon.

  Paul, the stylist, was bearded and older then Nell had expected. His smile eased some of her apprehension, but when he unwound her plaits and studied her hair, she found herself saying shakily, ‘I don’t want it cut.’

  ‘I should think not,’ he agreed, ‘but if I could suggest a trim of the ends, and then we can talk about the kind of options that are open to you. Long hair is very “in” at the moment, and there are several different styles I can think of that would suit you.’

  He gave her some books to study while her hair was shampooed.

  The women in them looked impossibly glamorous and soignée, and never in a lifetime could Nell imagine her hair looking like theirs, but when she and Liz stepped out of the salon into the autumn sunshine just over an hour later, she was forced to confess that Paul had practically performed a miracle.

  Her hair was drawn sleekly back into her nape, revealing the delicacy of her face. He had twisted her hair into a soft chignon, which was now confined in a pretty snood. A bright red bow secured the snood and picked up the colour of her outfit, and Nell had been forced to admit that the style was so easy that she should have no trouble copying it herself. And it looked … well, it looked a world away from her normal plaits.

  ‘For the wedding … well, we shall see when you have chosen your dress,’ Paul had told her, ‘but I have a couple of ideas in mind.’ And she and Liz had been forced to be content with that, promising to return once the dress had been chosen.

  He had even given her a small leaflet showing several easy styles for long hair; all of them stunningly chic and yet amazingly simple to achieve, and although Nell herself didn’t realise it there was a new spring to her step as she walked alongside her friend.

  ‘If you must wear your hair in a plait, then I suggest this,’ Paul had told her, demonstrating a style that gathered her hair into one plait which he then doubled lengthways and decorated with a large bow.

  ‘This is the kind of style you can wear with jeans. A country style,’ he had told her.

  Liz had burst out laughing, saying,

  ‘I doubt that Nell has ever owned a pair of jeans in her life, have you, Nell?’ She hadn’t. Her grandfather and her aunt had never approved of women in trousers. A heavy tweed skirt with flat, fur-lined boots had been her winter wear for tramping the estate, but now Liz was already talking about the rival merits of various styles of jeans, promising her that before she left Cambridge she would have several pairs in her luggage.

  Liz had also made an appointment for them at the wedding-dress salon, and the owner herself welcomed them inside. She was a pretty girl in her mid-twenties, with dark brown curly hair, and an efficient manner.

  ‘Nothing too fussy,’ Nell told her nervously, as she offered them both seats.

  ‘Don’t listen to her,’ Liz chimed in. ‘This is going to be some wedding and she’s going to be its star … You had the most heavenly satin creation in the window the other day …’

  To Nell’s relief, Susan Marchant shook her head.

  ‘It is lovely, but it would dwarf you,’ she explained to Nell. ‘I’ve got something in mind … but it’s rather different from the type of dress that’s popular at the moment.’

  She went to one of the glass cases and withdrew a white linen dress bag, unzipping the cover and revealing the dress.

  �
�It’s Italian,’ she added, hanging it so that they could see it properly.

  ‘Oh, Nell,’ Liz breathed, ‘it’s fantastic.’

  And it was. White silk jersey, embroidered with crystals and pearls, cut in the simplest of twenties style and ankle-length, the hem fringed and slightly higher to one side than the other.

  ‘It’s the tiniest size, but I think ideal for you,’ she told Nell. ‘Would you like to try it on?’

  Nell nodded, her mouth dry.

  Tiny shoestring straps supported the dress, the bareness of her skin shadowed by an almost translucent silk top that covered her shoulders and upper arms.

  The dress was unbelievably heavy, and a perfect fit, right down to its length. As she walked into the room to show it to Liz, the light caught the embroidery, dazzling the eye. When she moved, the silk jersey moved sensuously with her.

  It was a dream of a dress, and when she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Nell had to caution herself against the folly of aching to have Joss turn and look at her in it, his eyes warm with love and desire.

  But she would never see that hot leap of need in Joss’s eyes—at least, not for herself.

  ‘Of course you’ll have to have a different hair-style,’ Susan was saying practically. ‘Something pre-Raphaelite, I would suggest, and perhaps just a simple wreath of fresh flowers …’

  ‘Oh no … I’m too old,’ Nell protested, but both Susan and Liz swept her objections aside, and somehow or other she found herself giving way to them.

  They left the salon just in time to have a late lunch at a popular wine bar, full of well-groomed young men and women, most of them a little too old to be undergraduates. Liz told Nell that they were probably involved in one way or another in the computer industry that had boomed in Cambridge in the sixties.

  After lunch she insisted on taking her to several more small shops, and by four o’clock they had to make a trip back to the car to rid themselves of their carrier bags, and Nell’s new wardrobe had swelled considerably, to include three pairs of jeans, and casual tops to go with them, another dressy suit, two dresses which could be dressed up or down, and two evening dresses, including one in black velvet that fitted her like a glove and had a soft silk satin frill that started at the hips and dipped to an attractive V at the front and back, the back V adorned with a bow that formed a provocative bustle, the satin then frilling gently down to the hemline.

  ‘Just shoes, accessories and undies tomorrow,’ Liz puffed as they unloaded their purchases. ‘And now, I think, back to Paul, to consult him about your wedding-day hair-style.’

  ‘I can hardly come all the way here to have my hair done,’ Nell protested, but Liz was adamant.

  ‘No, but he can show you the kind of style you should have.’ And rather reluctantly Nell found herself retracing her footsteps to the salon.

  Paul knew exactly what style she should have. He showed her a photograph of a young woman with a mass of artlessly waved long hair that floated around her like a veil. It was exactly right for the dress, but surely far too exotic for her?

  ‘Not at all … Look, come in tomorrow morning first thing and I’ll show you. Maria, the make-up artist, is in tomorrow,’ he added casually. ‘Why not have a consultation with her at the same time?’

  Nell wanted to protest, but she could see that Liz was not going to let her, and so recklessly she agreed. After all, since she appeared to have stepped into an unreal Alice-in-Wonderland-type world, why not simply let the flow carry her with it?

  It had been years since she had spent her time so self-indulgently, and she was discovering that she quite enjoyed it. It was a little unnerving to rediscover this unexpected sybaritic streak, and as they hurried back to the car Liz noticed with fond amusement that her friend was already walking with a jauntier step, almost subconsciously preening herself when they drew second looks from other people. And why not? Nell had stood in the shadow of her flamboyant stepsister for too long. It was her nature to give generously of her time and her self, and in Liz’s opinion she had allowed her grandfather to impose dreadfully upon her.

  Initially when Nell had told her what she was doing she had been horrified, dreading how the kind of marriage Nell had described to her would affect someone of her friend’s extra-sensitive nature, but now she was beginning to think that it was the best thing that could have happened to her. Already Nell seemed to have grown, to have rediscovered those facets of her personality that had been suppressed during the years of living with her grandfather; already she was developing new strengths.

  She realised suddenly that Nell had fallen behind, and looked back to see that her friend had paused outside a shop selling antique china and glass.

  ‘Fabulous, arent they?’ Liz sighed ‘But out of the question for me. Can you imagine what havoc two teenagers and a baby would wreak on this little lot?’

  ‘That dinner service is exactly like one at home, only ours is more complete …’

  Liz frowned as she stared at the item in question. In her opinion it was rather ugly, being very ornate and rich, the white china decorated with a gold-leaf frieze and dark purple bands.

  ‘Are you thinking of buying it?’ she asked Nell cautiously.

  Nell laughed. ‘No, I think it’s horrible. I was just wondering, though …’ She bit her lip and looked directly at her friend. ‘Liz, you know that Joss is paying for all my new clothes … and the wedding. I hate that …’ She looked away, all her joy in her new things draining from her. ‘I was just wondering how much they were selling this service for, and if it was worth trying to sell ours …’

  ‘Can you do that?’ Liz asked her.

  ‘Oh, yes. Gramps left the house and all its contents to me … I must admit I’d reached the point of wondering about having the more valuable items of furniture valued, but many of them were designed especially for the house, and they are family heirlooms, but this dinner service is Victorian and nothing like as pretty as the Sèvres one …’

  She smiled as she caught sight of Liz’s startled expression and said apologetically. ‘Yes, I know that is worth much more, but it’s lovely, and I couldn’t bring myself to sell it; but this … It would be so marvellous to tell Joss I can buy my own clothes …’

  ‘Well, there’s only one way to find out’ Liz told her briskly. ‘Let’s go inside.’

  Half an hour later they both emerged from the shop, dazed. It had turned out that the dinner service in the window had been sold to an American who had fallen desperately in love with it. A telephone call to the hotel where she was staying had elicited the information that she would be more than pleased to buy an additional service, since her dining-room sat thirty. The price agreed had made Nell’s mind spin. Perhaps it was only a drop in the ocean if set against the death-duties … but to have several thousand pounds at her disposal … to be able to tell Joss that she could buy her clothes herself …

  Arrangements had been made for the dealer to call and inspect the service, and it had been agreed that if everything was satisfactory the deal would go through.

  ‘A very satisfactory day all round,’ Liz exclaimed happily an hour later when she and Nell were sitting in her kitchen playing with the baby who had just been returned by her doting grandmother. ‘What time will you have to leave tomorrow?’

  ‘Mid to late afternoon, Joss said. He’s going to send Audlem and the Rolls to collect me.’

  ‘Well, that gives us enough time to collect the alterations, and do everything else, but we’ll need another early start.’

  Nell groaned, and her friend laughed unsympathetically.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  DESPITE the very severe lecture Nell had given herself, telling herself she was being extremely foolish, she couldn’t quite suppress the tiny quiver of pleasure that ran through her when she studied her reflection in the bedroom mirror, prior to Joss’s chauffeur’s arrival.

  Liz had persuaded her to change into some of her new separates to travel home in, and there was no doub
t about it; the sludge-green and dove-grey outfit, so potentially dull when described, looked stunning against the paleness of her skin and hair, adding a fragile, ethereal quality to her features that made her study them in vague surprise.

  ‘You look fabulous,’ Liz pronounced, coming in to check on her progress. ‘All you need now is a touch of that new eyeshadow and …’

  Nell sighed faintly, wondering if she had been quite mad to allow Liz to persuade her into buying so much new make-up. It had been one thing when the girl in the salon applied it, but to achieve the same effect herself …

  ‘It’s easy,’ Liz promised her, reading her mind. ‘All you need is a little bit of self-confidence.’

  ‘And an awful lot of skill,’ Nell finished for her.

  Liz laughed.

  ‘Not an awful lot … I promise you, it isn’t that difficult, Nell. Watch …’

  It certainly didn’t seem it, but Nell still felt dubious about being able to achieve for herself the same magical transformation of her features that Liz had wrought.

  When she said as much, Liz said wickedly, ‘Do you know, Nell, I’ve always itched to do this … to make you shine in your true colours, instead of hiding yourself away behind that mask you use … I know you feel you can’t hold a candle to Grania, but that’s nonsense.’

  ‘Liz, I can’t compete with Grania,’ Nell objected, interrupting her.

  ‘You aren’t competing,’ Liz told her gently. ‘You are yourself, Nell, in your own way every bit as attractive as Grania, and in my opinion a darn sight more lovable. You’ve got everything, haven’t you?’ she added briskly, seeing that she was embarrassing her friend. ‘I’ll come to you a couple of days before the wedding, and I’ll bring the dress … You’ll organise something for Grania to wear, will you?’

  She broke off as she heard a car, going over to the window and looking out.

  ‘Wow, I love the Rolls,’ she exclaimed. ‘It might be rather a conspicuous example of life’s goodies, but it definitely has a certain something …’ She paused and then said incredulously, ‘Nell, I thought you said Joss was sending his chauffeur for you …’