by Betty Neels
‘Then I see no point in waiting. I’m free on Tuesday morning, if that suits you?’
Jane had a fleeting vision of candlelight, red roses, a diamond ring. The perfect proposal, followed by the perfect wedding, with the long white dress and orange blossom by the cartload. There’d be a posse of little bridesmaids and her entire family watching in stunned amazement as her father walked her up the aisle to give her away to the man of her dreams. Of any woman’s dreams. And then she let it all go. She’d look dreadful in white and the orange blossom would undoubtedly droop.
Mark had asked her to marry him. Sort of. How much more perfect could it get? And if his proposal lacked romance, well, that was the way she’d planned it. Common sense ruled.
‘Tuesday will be fine,’ she replied, as calmly as if they were discussing a project meeting. ‘Would you like me to handle the details?’ Please say no. That you’ll do it…
‘If you would.’
‘Do you want me to invite anyone? Colleagues? I imagine you’ll want your family—’
‘Is that necessary?’ he asked, a small frown creasing his forehead as he looked up. ‘I’d rather not have any fuss.’
He didn’t want his mother or his sister there? It meant that little to him? She hadn’t expected romance, but a certain amount of ceremony was usual to mark even the most low-key of weddings. She swallowed her hurt, her pride. ‘No, it’s not necessary. We’ll just need a couple of witnesses. I’ll see to it,’ she said quickly, before he could ask her to find two total strangers to perform this service. Their marriage might not be made in heaven—more like the local DIY shop—but it wasn’t going to be some hole-and-corner affair.
He nodded. ‘You’d better find a replacement for yourself at the same time.’ He offered a slightly rueful smile. ‘Pity about that, but no plan is ever perfect.’
‘No.’ It wasn’t perfect by a long way. But it was a work in progress. Having achieved her initial objective, she would have all the time in the world to go back to the drawing board and work on the fine details of how to get him to fall in love with her. ‘There’s Patsy,’ she suggested. He looked blank. ‘The girl in the planning department who covered for me while I was on holiday?’
‘I didn’t notice.’
Of course he hadn’t. She’d worked very hard to make sure her absence didn’t inconvenience him in any way. ‘Then she’s definitely the one. I’ll sort it out tomorrow.’
‘Right.’ His brows came together in a frown and he looked at her sharply, as if he suspected he’d missed something. Then he let it go and said, ‘Is that it? If you’ve finished straightening out my life can we look at that Maybridge contract?’
He didn’t wait for her answer, just crumpled up the advertisement she’d typed out for him, tossed it in the waste-paper basket and reached for a file.
Working around a busy three-year-old was hard work, and Mark, after yet another interruption when Shuli had needed her supper, said, ‘Look, why don’t we take a break? I’ll put her to bed, then we can do a couple of hours in peace.’
‘I’ve got a better idea,’ Jane said. ‘Why don’t I look after Shuli and leave you to get on with those figures?’
‘Would you?’ He pushed his fingers through his thick dark hair, leaving it sticking up at the crown. Just as he had the first time she’d seen him. Harassed and struggling to cope with the mess life had tossed in his lap. It had taken all her self-control not to reach out and smooth it for him then.
She still had to fight the impulse.
It was quiet. Blissfully quiet. Uninterrupted, he’d swiftly finished the calculations and now he needed Jane. She’d had more than enough time to bathe one small child and put her to bed. He walked out into the hall and listened. Nothing. About to call her, he realised he might wake Shuli and instead went upstairs.
The door to the nursery was open and Jane was sitting on the bed, gently stroking Shuli’s fair curls. His heart turned over at the sweet intimacy of the scene. Jane was right. This was what his little girl needed more than anything.
Relief at how easy it had been with her here warred with guilt that he found it so difficult to cope with his own child. Relief won hands down. The thought of Jane taking care of things at home far outweighed the inconvenience of losing her in the office, and he suddenly felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders.
Seeing him in the doorway, she put her finger to her lips, set the listening device and then joined him, pulling the door partly closed behind her.
‘You make it look so easy,’ he said.
‘I’ve had a lot of practise. I’ve got half a dozen nephews and nieces.’ She had a family? He hadn’t thought of that. ‘You must be hungry. Shall we have something to eat now?’ she asked. ‘Or do you want to get straight back to work?’
‘Let’s eat. I’ll get something sent in.’ He headed for the stairs. ‘What do you like?’
‘Why don’t I just make something quick? Some pasta or eggs?’
He glanced at her. ‘You cook, too?’
‘You’re a very lucky man, Mark. I have an old-fashioned mother. She taught us all the basics.’
It occurred to him that he knew nothing of her background, her interests. He hadn’t even asked her where she’d gone on holiday. For the past three years he’d used work to fill the emotional vacuum inside him. He’d cut himself off from everything human, vital. The only time he seemed to speak to his family these days was when he needed help with childcare. But he wasn’t totally beyond redemption. ‘How will she react to this wedding?’
‘My mother? With considerable surprise, I imagine. Having given birth to four swans, she despaired of her little ugly duckling ever finding a mate.’
‘You’re kidding?’
Her eyes sparkled back at him. Of course she was.
‘Why are you doing this, Jane? I can see the advantages from my point of view, but you’re young. You have your life ahead of you. You should be looking for a man who can give you…’ All of himself. That was what he’d been going to say. Her brows quirked up as he faltered. ‘A little bit of romance,’ he finished lamely.
‘The girls in the office live for romance. As far as I can see it involves a great deal of weeping in the cloakroom followed by the consumption of chocolate in industrial quantities. It looks messy. Not to say a dietary nightmare.’
‘Don’t underrate it.’
‘I don’t underrate love,’ she conceded, and a momentary sadness darkened her eyes. Then she shrugged. ‘I just don’t believe it’s something you’re likely to find in a club on a Saturday night.’
That was it, then. Her heart had been broken too. They’d make a perfect match. Even so…‘Will you promise me something?’ She regarded him curiously from a pair of the darkest brown eyes, solemn now as she waited for him to continue. ‘If you ever do fall in love—the real thing, one hundred per cent, no holds barred love—you must tell me. I wouldn’t expect you to stay.’
Jane knew he was talking about the way it had been for him, with Caroline. She’d been treated to all the office gossip when she’d first joined the firm, heard how their marriage had been the perfect once-in-a-lifetime romance. How his wife’s tragic death had nearly destroyed Mark, too.
And, despite her denial of a romantic nature, like the girls in the office she’d done her share of weeping. For him. And for herself. At home, in the privacy of her own bedroom. But this wasn’t the moment to tell him that he was all the romance she’d ever need. Neither was it the moment to tell him that, like her mother, she was an old-fashioned girl who believed in taking her marriage vows seriously. Till death us do part.
‘Jane?’ he prompted, reaching out as if to keep her at his side, his hand beneath her arm, his look deeply intense.
‘I promise,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’
And then she saw that in giving this promise she’d in some way absolved him from guilt about marrying her for his own selfish motives. Since her intention was to m
ake his life easier, she tried to disregard the small stab of pain this caused, simply to be grateful that he hadn’t thought to give her a similar promise from himself.
‘Maybe you’d like to look around while you’re up here,’ he suggested brightly, shattering the quiet intimacy of the moment. ‘You might like to have the suite overlooking the garden,’ he added, opening a door and then standing back so that she could pass him and look around. ‘Caroline designed it for guests and it’s got pretty much everything.’
She was about to laugh and say that there was no need to take ‘platonic’ that far, when some inner sense of self-preservation warned her to hold her tongue. She already knew she’d have to wait for his heart. It seemed she’d have to wait for everything else, too.
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOU’VE done what?’
Jane, curled up on her best friend’s sofa, with a mug of tea clutched comfortingly between her hands, repeated her news. ‘I’ve asked Mark Hilliard to marry me.’ She lifted her shoulders, bunching them against her neck. This was harder than the actual deed. ‘At least, I manoeuvred him into a position where he asked me, which is much the same thing.’
‘How?’ she demanded. ‘I could use some help in levering Greg into a proposal.’ Then she grinned. ‘You’re a dark horse, Janey. I knew you were potty about the man, but I didn’t know things had progressed to hand-holding over the desk. Your mother must be over the moon—’
‘She doesn’t know. The ceremony is going to be on Tuesday at the register office. Just the two of us and a couple of witnesses. That’s why I’m here. To ask if you and Greg will be our witnesses.’
‘Are you out of your mind? Your mum expects these things to be done properly. The full fairy tale bit. Bells, choir, a three-tier cake and enough champagne to launch the QE2—’
‘Yes, well, this isn’t exactly a fairy tale wedding. Which is why I’m not telling them until Wednesday.’
‘She’ll kill you. No, she’ll think you’re pregnant and she’ll send your father to kill him…’ She stopped. ‘Ohmigod! You are pregnant!’
Jane’s hands were shaking so much with delayed reaction that she put down her mug before she slopped tea over the sofa. Her voice was steady enough though, even if her smile was wry. ‘One step at a time, Laine. One step at a time. He has to kiss me first.’
‘Actually that’s not true…’ Then, as the penny dropped, ‘Oh, crumbs, Janey, I hope you know what you’re doing.’
Did she? This morning she’d been absolutely certain, but suppose she was still in the guest suite when they were celebrating their silver wedding? Suppose he never saw her as anything other than ‘good old Jane’?
‘Janey?’ Laine prompted, seeking reassurance.
‘Mark doesn’t want any fuss and neither do I,’ she said, choosing to answer her concerns about the wedding arrangements rather than her concern about the marriage. ‘Let’s face it, Laine, I was never cut out to play the beautiful blushing bride.’ But she crossed her fingers before she said, ‘Trust me. It’s my wedding and I know what I’m doing.’
There was a pause while Laine digested this statement. ‘Well, you usually do, I’ll grant you that,’ she conceded eventually.
‘I get the man I love, a darling little girl…’
‘Do you? Get him?’
‘I’m working on it.’
‘Marriage is enough of a gamble even when you’re head over heels.’
‘Rather less so when both parties have so much to gain and know exactly what they’re getting. There are none of those untidy emotions to mess things up.’
‘I’m sure fate will find some way to throw a spanner in the works. The ghost of his first wife, for instance. You’ll always be in her shadow.’ When Jane didn’t answer, Laine pushed harder. ‘Wasn’t she a famous beauty? One of the “girls in pearls”? A perfect English Rose?’
While Jane was pure Celt. Dark-haired, dark-eyed, and struggling to make five foot three in her outdoor shoes. ‘I’ll have to get busy with the pruning shears, then, won’t I?’
Laine didn’t laugh. ‘Well, if it’s what you want, then of course Greg and I will be your witnesses.’ She waited, apparently expecting some response. ‘It is what you want?’
‘I love him, Laine.’
‘I see.’ She didn’t respond with the obvious question—does he love you? Which suggested she did see. Only too clearly. But then Laine could read a three-volume novel from a tone of voice. ‘So, Mark Hilliard gets a live-in nanny and a housekeeper. What do you get out of it?’
‘To be needed.’
‘Don’t underrate yourself. You’re worth more than that.’
Jane was getting a little tired of the word ‘underrate’. She was underrating nothing, least of all herself. ‘At ten o’clock this morning nothing was further from Mark’s mind than getting married. By eleven o’clock he’d set the date.’ She kinked an eyebrow at her friend. ‘Just who is underrating whom, here?’
Laine regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, then she laughed. ‘Right. So why are we drinking tea? Let’s celebrate!’ Then, as she took a bottle of wine from the fridge, ‘Please, please, please can I help you shop for “bad girl” underwear?’
‘I think the situation calls for subtlety rather than a sledgehammer.’
‘Silk French knickers are subtle. Satin camisoles are subtle.’ Then, ‘You’ve got this all worked out, haven’t you?’
‘Down to the last detail,’ she said. ‘I’ve even got my mother sorted. She’ll be so delighted to get her youngest daughter off the shelf that she’ll happily forgo the fancy wedding.’
Laine grinned. ‘You can hope.’
‘No, honestly,’ she said, her face deadpan. ‘And if you’d ever seen my dad’s reaction to the announcement that yet another daughter was getting married, heard his pitiful pleas for her to elope, you’d understand that I’m doing them a kindness.’
‘Your dad didn’t mean it.’
‘No?’ Then she grinned, too. ‘And I always thought he was serious. Oh, dear. But it’ll be too late by then.’
‘I wouldn’t be in your shoes when your mother finds out. You’ll have to flee the country. Go on an extended honeymoon until the dust settles…’ Laine glanced at her. ‘Is there going to be a honeymoon?’
‘Not until the design contract for the Maybridge Arts Centre is signed. Maybe my parents could go away instead? They could console themselves with a luxury cruise on the money I’m saving them.’ She took the glass of wine. ‘I do have one problem, though. What am I going to wear on Tuesday?’
‘Something elegant.’
‘But simple.’ She didn’t want to turn up in some fancy outfit that would startle Mark. He saw the occasion as nothing more exciting than taking an hour out of the office to marry his plain, comfortable Jane; if she turned up in ‘bride’ clothes he’d probably take one look and run a mile.
But even with just a couple of witnesses it had to look like a wedding, feel like a wedding. He needed to be reminded that this wasn’t just some job promotion with ‘living in’ privileges. The ceremony might be little more than a pared-to-the-bone formality, but they were both going to be making some solemn vows on Tuesday morning.
He was taking her as his wife.
Whatever anyone else might think, she wanted Mark left in no doubt about that.
‘I’m sorry I had to bother you with that, Mark,’ Jane said, as they left the register office. ‘I should have realised you’d have to sign the form personally.’
‘It’s not a bother. We’d have had to go into town anyway. The banks want your signatures for the accounts you’ll need—credit cards, that sort of thing.’
‘Accounts?’
‘Personal, housekeeping.’
‘Oh.’
‘You won’t be working, so I thought if I gave you the same allowance as your salary? If you need more—’
‘No! No,’ she repeated, her nails digging into the palms of her hands. She hadn’t given much thought t
o what she’d do for personal money, but it had never occurred to her that he’d just keep paying her a salary. But why not? That was the way he saw her. Laine was right. This was a mistake. ‘Mark—’
‘And you’re going to need a ring.’
Her heart turned over. ‘A ring?’
‘A wedding ring.’ She bit on her lip, fighting an overwhelming urge to weep with joy. All morning he’d been distant, absolutely businesslike, and her heart had been shrivelling up inside her. Suddenly the world felt wonderful. ‘We might as well get it now,’ he said, matter-of-factly. It didn’t matter. He’d been thinking about it.
‘Wedding rings?’ The jeweller beamed. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Thank you,’ Jane said quickly, when Mark looked slightly bemused.
‘What are you looking for? Something classic in gold? Or platinum’s very fashionable now,’ the man said. ‘And there seems to be something of a trend towards wedding rings set with precious stones.’
Mark turned to her. ‘Choose whatever you want, Jane,’ he said, apparently under the impression that it had nothing whatever to do with him.
‘A wedding ring shouldn’t be a fashion statement. It should be practical. It has to take a lot of hard knocks.’ She smiled at the man. One of them should be smiling. ‘I want something in gold, absolutely plain, not too wide.’ Her finger was measured and then she was brought a selection of rings to look at. It wasn’t difficult to choose. ‘This one,’ she said, picking out the kind of ring a woman could live with for a lifetime. She realised the jeweller was waiting for her to try it on and rather self-consciously slipped it onto her finger. ‘Yes, it’s fine. Mark?’
She expected him to nod and reach for his credit card. Instead he reached for her hand, holding it so that her fingers were stretched across his palm, and looked at it for what seemed a lifetime.
It was the nearest he’d come in the two and a half years she’d known him to an intimate gesture.
Did this count as ‘hand-holding’?
His long, elegant, fingers, vibrant and warm against hers, seemed to spark a chain reaction of warmth that raced through her body, just as it had a thousand times in her imagination. Her imagination had been light years from reality.
