The Innocent's One-Night Confession

by Sara Craven

  ‘Ah,’ said Niamh Harrington. ‘So here are the latecomers at last.’ She beamed at them. ‘But it’s been worth the wait.’

  ‘Not,’ Alanna murmured inwardly, catching the steely glint in the cherubic blue eyes. Nor did she miss the imperious gesture summoning Gerard to his grandmother’s side or the low-voiced altercation that followed.

  However, the Dennisons were smiling and waving, so she prudently got out of the firing line and went to join them with Joanne, just as the first guests started arriving.

  The room was soon full, the extra staff hired for the occasion circulating busily with trays of drinks and canapés. And because the invitees were all local people and already acquainted, the talk and laughter levels rose accordingly.

  Alanna, her hand beginning to ache through being vigorously shaken, and her head reeling with names she knew she would never remember, was thankful this was a one-off event and soon to be forgotten.

  Although some moments might linger, unwanted, in her memory, like glancing up and seeing Zandor, watching her through the crowd, and raising his glass in a mocking salute.

  She turned away abruptly nearly bumping into a tall girl, stick-insect-thin in a pale blue dress, her glossy chestnut hair woven into an ornate coronet on top of her head.

  ‘Oh, hi.’ Her voice was a high-pitched drawl, her accent cut glass. ‘I haven’t seen you before,’ she went on, looking Alanna up and down. ‘I suppose you’re a friend of Joanne, who seems to have vanished, so tell her, will you, that I’m still waiting to hear from that journo chap of hers. It’s been weeks, so not impressed. Not impressed at all.’

  And with a nod, she walked on.

  ‘And that,’ said Joanne appearing from nowhere. ‘Is dear Felicity.’

  Alanna stared at her then began to smile. ‘Were you hiding?’

  Joanne grinned back. ‘I’ll say. Ducked down behind the sofa when I saw her coming. She’s apparently campaigning to be nominated Businesswoman of the Decade or something and when she heard I was dating someone from the Chronicle she started pestering me to get him to interview her about her amazing success. Another glass ceiling smashed, etc.

  ‘Chris’s response was that all advertising has to be paid for, but I don’t relish having to tell her so.’

  Alanna nodded. ‘We have the same problem promoting authors. There has to be a story apart from the one they’ve written.’

  ‘Whereas Felicity’s story comprises one word—“Me”,’ Joanne said gloomily. ‘I can hardly tell her that either.’

  ‘No,’ Alanna agreed. ‘But how about saying he’s now considering doing a composite piece featuring all the candidates for the award. Equal publicity for all.’

  ‘Making her just one of a crowd. That will go down like a lead balloon.’ Joanne gave a sigh of relief. ‘Alanna, I can see you’re going to be a real asset to this family.’

  Only for a few hours more, Alanna thought, crossing her fingers behind her back.

  She’d expected Gerard to return and join her at some point, but seeing him standing, stony-faced behind his grandmother’s sofa, soon convinced her that this was not going to happen. A view substantially reinforced when the places flanking Mrs Harrington became occupied by Felicity Bradham and a tall grey-haired man that Alanna guessed was her father.

  The party reached a climax when a large birthday cake was wheeled in on a trolley, and ceremoniously cut by Niamh Harrington so that slices could be distributed to the departing guests.

  In its wake came an enormous basket of flowers—‘Paid for by all the locals, including the tenants,’ Joanne whispered. ‘Feudal or what!’—and presented by Lord Bradham, who then led the company in singing, ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow’.

  Despite all evidence to the contrary, Alanna said silently, reminding herself, as people began to leave, there was now only the family dinner to endure.

  As she’d expected, she was seated once again about as far from Gerard as it was possible to get, and if she’d been falling in love with him, that would have rankled.

  But, under the circumstances, it was probably no bad thing, she thought, noting with amusement that Felicity had been seated next to him.

  Besides, her placement meant that she was in the same congenial company as the previous evening, which delighted her, and away from Mrs Harrington’s watchful gaze, which pleased her even more.

  Now all she had to do was try to appear oblivious to the presence of Zandor who was seated between Caroline Healey and Gerard’s mother on the opposite side of the table, but not, thankfully, in her direct eyeline.

  The meal began with chilled avocado soup, continued with poached salmon mayonnaise, followed by duck in a rich cherry sauce, and completed with individual vanilla and honeycomb cheesecakes.

  Gerard had explained that after the dessert there would be a pause before coffee was served, so that a birthday toast could be drunk before his grandmother opened the gifts waiting on a side table, Alanna’s photograph frame among them.

  An offering that would almost certainly find its way to a charity shop in the near future, she thought with a mental shrug.

  An expectant silence fell as Gerard rose to his feet, glass in hand. He spoke briefly and affectionately about his grandmother then proposed the toast to her health adding, ‘And, of course, many happy returns of the day.’ Words that were echoed round the table as everyone rose to drink before singing a chorus of ‘Happy birthday to you’.

  After which they all resumed their seats but with one exception.

  Gerard, still standing, cleared his throat and smiled round the table.

  ‘Now I have another toast to propose. And, I hope, another happy surprise for Grandam’s birthday.’

  He paused. ‘Earlier today, Alanna and I became engaged. And I would like you all to welcome my fiancée to the family and drink to our future happiness.’

  The shock wave that ran through the room was almost tangible, and if anyone else had been involved, Alanna might even have found it amusing.

  As it was, she had a curious sensation that she’d been turned to stone.

  She wanted to leap to her feet, shouting, ‘No, it’s not true. I never agreed to it. I never would.’

  But she seemed to be pinned, silent, to her chair.

  Nor was she the only one. Niamh Harrington was rigid, her fresh colour fading to reveal two harsh spots of blusher.

  While across the table...

  In spite of herself, Alanna found she was looking at Zandor, her nerve-ends tingling as she saw the harsh line of his mouth, and met the stark brilliance of his gaze which went beyond shock to anger and something terribly, unbearably like pity, mingled with contempt.

  And saw too the faint shake of his head, as if emphasising silently his earlier warning: ‘It’s never going to happen.’

  A challenge issued and accepted as Alanna felt rage and resentment take swift and uncontrollable possession of her.

  How dared he look at her like that? she thought as she got to her feet. What damned right had he—or anyone else in that room—to judge her? Or ordain her future?

  Well, to hell with the lot of them.

  She walked, forcing herself to seem quietly, happily self-possessed, to where Gerard stood, and slipped her hand through his arm.

  ‘Darling,’ she said softly. ‘How naughty of you. I thought we were going wait—to keep it our little secret for a while.’ And lifted her smiling face for him to kiss her on the mouth.

  In the next instant, the ongoing silence was broken by Maurice Dennison, rising from his chair.

  ‘Congratulations, my boy, and every good wish to you, my dear,’ he said heartily. ‘We couldn’t be more happy for you both—could we, everyone?’

  And as he glanced round the table, the others stood in turn, murmuring ‘To Gerard and Alanna’ as they drank. With Zandor, the last one of all, merely raising his glass in a negligently token gesture.

  Which Alanna knew was intended to fool no one—least of all herself.
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  ‘I can’t believe you did that.’ An hour later, a stormy Alanna faced Gerard on the terrace under the guise of a romantic moonlight stroll. ‘I thought we had an agreement.’

  ‘We still do,’ he said urgently. ‘I swear that hasn’t changed.’ He spread his hands. ‘But you’ve no idea of the pressure I’ve been under.’

  ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I think I have. But I’ve allowed my inbuilt aversion to being used to take precedence on this occasion.’

  ‘Well, thank you, anyway, for going along with it.’

  ‘As opposed to calling you a liar in front of your family?’ She sighed. ‘Oh, Gerard, what a mess.’

  He said with faint stiffness, ‘It doesn’t have to be. My suggestion we should become engaged, even on a trial basis, was perfectly sincere. And that’s what’s going to happen. We have to give ourselves a chance.’

  ‘Not easy with half your relations asking if we’ve set the date yet, and the others behaving as if you’ve had a mental breakdown,’ she said bitterly.

  Except I’m the crazy one for agreeing to this engagement fiasco when I know I haven’t the slightest intention of marrying you.

  Aloud, she added, ‘And as I’d rather not face them again, will you take me round to the side door, please, so I can go straight up to my room.’

  ‘Yes, if that’s what you want.’ He paused. ‘But they may find it strange.’

  ‘In which case,’ Alanna said coolly, ‘it will fit in nicely with the rest of the evening’s events.’

  Alone in her bedroom, with the door safely locked, she took off her dress and hung it carefully away, then put on her robe and lay down on top of the bed, staring into space as she recapped everything that had happened.

  * * *

  After Gerard’s announcement, the opening of Niamh’s presents, which followed, seemed a total anti-climax.

  She certainly exclaimed and enthused, but it was clear her heart wasn’t in it. When she unwrapped Alanna’s photograph frame, she studied it in silence for a moment, then looked up, smiling.

  ‘How thoughtful,’ she said softly. ‘I shall keep it for a picture of your wedding, dear girl.’

  If, of course, you can find one small enough, Alanna supplied silently as she smiled back.

  When they returned to the drawing room for coffee, Joanne flew across the room and threw her arms round first Alanna then Gerard, hugging them both exuberantly.

  ‘Well, you kept that up your sleeves,’ she teased, adding more quietly, ‘By the way, Felicity and her father have made their excuses and gone home. Grandam won’t be too pleased about that, but Zandor’s leaving as well which should make up for it.’

  Gerard gave her an affectionate squeeze. ‘Jo, you’re the limit.’

  ‘That’s saying something in this company,’ she threw back, before flitting off as light and graceful as a dragonfly, while Alanna was left with a sudden image of Zandor, heading off alone in his Lamborghini, and told herself that, at least, she had something to be thankful for.

  Yet, to her own chagrin, found herself asking Gerard, ‘Was your cousin not expected to leave tonight?’

  ‘Oh, he comes and goes as he pleases.’ Gerard shrugged. ‘Always has, always will.’ He gave a faint snort. ‘He hasn’t even got a permanent base in London, just uses the penthouse suite in a hotel, which probably belongs to him anyway. He’s probably rushed off because he has some big deal brewing somewhere.’

  He paused. ‘His father and grandfather may well have been dodgy customers, but, my God, they were successful, and he is too. He has heavy media interests as well as the tourist industry, and he owns the Alphamaro restaurant chain. Bazaar Vert is just a small part of his empire.’

  ‘I see,’ said Alanna, who didn’t.

  She had no time to consider this unsettling information because, after that, everyone else had something to say to them, with differing degrees of cordiality, of which the most telling was Meg Harrington’s cool, ‘I wish you luck.’

  She didn’t need to add, ‘You’ll need it,’ because it was right there in her tone.

  And Alanna responded, ‘Thank you so much,’ with a smile so firmly nailed on it made her face ache.

  In fact, now she was back and thankfully alone, she seemed to be aching all over, inwardly as well as out, and knew that if this had been a genuine engagement she’d have been shedding despondent tears by now.

  As it was, she reviewed the exchange she’d had with Gerard earlier as they walked round to the side door.

  ‘If your grandmother’s so picky about your future wife, I’m surprised she hasn’t paired you with Joanne,’ she’d commented. ‘She appears very fond of her.’

  ‘She is.’ He shrugged. ‘But even if Jo and I fancied each other—which we don’t—it would make no difference. We’d still be first cousins.’

  ‘But what difference does that make?’ Alanna frowned. ‘Cousins marrying isn’t against English law.’

  ‘However it’s very definitely against Grandam’s law, which is all that matters round here,’ he returned flatly. ‘She has these rigid rules about blood lines and good breeding stock, which make the Medes and the Persians look like beginners.’

  She said slowly, ‘Actually Joanne mentioned something of the sort, but I thought she was joking.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ There was an odd bitterness in his voice. ‘It’s all deadly serious, believe me. Expect some hefty questions about your family and forbears one of these days. She likes to go back several generations.’

  ‘Does she really?’ Alanna said tartly. ‘And people put up with that, do they?’

  ‘Usually,’ said Gerard equally shortly, and there the matter rested.

  Not that it will ever apply to me, Alanna thought, frowning at the memory. Except as a reminder why I’d never—ever—fit into the Harrington clan.

  Tomorrow, on the way back, she and Gerard would have to concoct some excellent reasons why there should be no notice in the papers, or, heaven help her, some gruesome family engagement party with her astonished parents who were only marginally aware of Gerard’s existence and had certainly never met him.

  Although that would probably have to change, she thought reluctantly.

  She supposed she could use pressure of work—plus the ongoing uncertainty over Hawkseye’s future—as an excuse for postponing any formal announcement, even though she couldn’t imagine it carrying much weight.

  She was pretty sure that the future Mrs Gerard Harrington would not be expected to pursue a career. She’d be far too busy producing a brood of beautifully un-spavined children with antecedents stretching back to William the Conqueror.

  ‘And good luck to her,’ she muttered under her breath.

  But what on earth, she wondered as she undressed and brushed her hair, was she going to tell Susie who, in about twelve hours’ time, would be waiting to hear about the weekend in all its grisly detail? And who at the same time would be meeting Gerard?

  After all, she could hardly let him drive her home without inviting him in, even with all those cats just waiting to leap out of the bag.

  She’d sworn to herself that she’d keep no more secrets from Susie and meant it, yet knew all she could do was tighten the bag more securely and hope it would never need to be opened.

  Unless, of course, she called the whole thing off, telling Gerard that a night’s rest had made her rethink the situation and decide it was impossible.

  Except that would be seen as a victory by Niamh Harrington—and also by that other grandson who was now back in her own life—like an unexploded grenade threatening to destroy her hard-won and carefully constructed tranquillity.

  And simply muttering ‘To hell with him’ at intervals wasn’t working.

  ‘“Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it...”’

  Suddenly she recalled where she’d heard those words before—at a university performance of Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus—and how a shiver had gone down her spine as the demon tempter Mephistopheles uttered his
anguished lament over his banishment from heaven.

  Since then, she’d succumbed to another brand of temptation, she thought, biting her lip, and the paradise she’d lost was her peace of mind.

  And while she maintained even a tenuous connection with the Harrington family, that was how it would stay.

  But she’d made her choice and she’d stick to it somehow, she told herself as she got into bed. After all, it wouldn’t be for ever, and maybe Zandor’s sudden departure was a good sign. An admission of defeat, indicating their paths would not cross again.

  I can but hope, she thought, and resolutely closed her eyes.

  But she soon found that all the positive thinking in the world couldn’t bring the longed-for oblivion of sleep.

  Because Gerard’s casual reference to Zandor’s living arrangements had re-ignited all her memories of the night they’d spent together and now, in spite of herself, they were still there, burning in her mind.

  She realised she could recite almost every detail about the penthouse suite—the individual jewel colours of the cushions in the ivory sitting room—the embossed star pattern on the magnificent purple quilt—probably even the thread count in the expensive snowy bedlinen.

  Total recall, and if only it could be confined to the décor, not a problem.

  As it was...

  She turned restlessly, seeking for a cool place on the pillow, pushing away the sheet at one moment because it was strangling her and dragging it round her the next, as if she needed its protection.

  I left, she thought desperately. I did the right thing—the only thing—and walked away. And he—he let me go.

  So how, in spite of that, did it all go so terribly wrong?

  Well, she could no longer use the champagne as an excuse, because, if she was honest—and maybe it was time she was—she’d drunk far more at various uni parties and managed to emerge unscathed.

  So, why had this time been so different?

  Someone once said to understand all was to forgive all, and perhaps that was exactly what she needed to do if she was ever to mend her shattered self-respect.