Tomorrow's Bride

by Alexandra Scott

  'Come on, love.' Smiling, Holly stood there, hand on the doorknob. 'Don't say you're shy.'

  'Of course not.' But she had a shivery sensation down her backbone. Nothing she could identify, but a feeling of apprehension...

  'Then come and meet Patrick; I know you'll like each other.'

  Somehow, in spite of legs like jelly, Leigh forced herself forward and through the door, guessing from the expression on his face that the meeting was as unexpected for Patrick as it was for her. It was difficult to discern whether it was as unwelcome—he had the lawyer's habit of impassivity when it suited—but at least he carried it off with a convincing degree of casual surprise.

  'Leigh.' There was a fraught second before he raised his glass in her direction. 'I had no idea we were to meet up again so soon.'

  'No.' Her mouth twisted into what she hoped would pass for a smile. 'Nor I.' The colour which had drained from her face now began to return as she spoke to Holly. 'We travelled together from Strasbourg yesterday.'

  'How amazing.' For some reason their hostess seemed disappointed. 'You actually know each other.'

  'Yes. I had to go to Strasbourg last week and we met there.' At least he was as keen to play down the length of their acquaintance as Leigh was. 'And by chance we found ourselves on the same flight.'

  'I've just been inspecting Paul Santorini IV.' It seemed vital to change the subject, so Leigh smiled at the parents. 'He's a gorgeous child, and I'm inclined to agree with all those ecstatic descriptions.'

  'Well, my wife does tend to go over the top, so you must excuse her.' Smiling down at her, Paul put an arm about Holly's waist. 'But now dare I ask when you are going to feed us? I'm starving, and I suspect Leigh and Patrick are too.' 'It's all ready. So if you'll all come through we can start to eat.'

  Although Leigh was seated opposite Patrick, the very last position she would have chosen, the two men were having a discussion about cars and she was able at first to ignore him. But that did not mean she was unaware. Every nerve in her body, it seemed, was acutely sensitive. As she spoke to Holly, looked at Holly, it was Patrick she was seeing: light tweed jacket, which, with his hostess's permission, he had taken off and slung over the back of his chair, jade silk shirt with a slightly exotic pink tie, dark trousers. Every inch the off-duty professional man, she thought with a touch of sourness.

  Then he caught her whole attention with that unconscious, heart-melting gesture she remembered so well: a hand going up to sweep back that persistently uncontrolled lock of hair and-----She drew a deep, embarrassed breath when she realised he was looking at her—in fact all were, obviously waiting for some comment.

  'I think Leigh would say she's perfectly happy where she is; at least, I got that impression when we spoke on the plane.' Patrick was helping her out, covering up. She supposed she ought to be grateful, not resentful. 'She has no thoughts of changing jobs for the time being.' An inclination of his head offered a clue and Leigh turned to Paul with a smile. 'I think you're being headhunted.'

  'You're not offering me a job, Paul?'

  'No, I wouldn't dare, in view of what Holly has said about your relationship with your boss, ; but I simply wondered... Most people enjoy a change of scene from time to time, especially people who are free to move around without family commitments.'

  'Well-----' this was too good a chance to miss '—at one time I did have problems, and had to stay in the UK, but now things are easier. I can please myself but, even so, I'm not thinking of a move in the near future. I can't imagine any job being more attractive than the one I have at present, hopping back and forward between Paris and Strasbourg. And it's so easy to go to other countries—the centre of Europe, you might say.'

  'Talking about exciting jobs...' Holly paused as she served pudding '.. .1 don't suppose you know—or maybe you do!' She gave a tiny laugh. 'After all, I had no idea that you and Patrick knew each other... Anyway, did you hear that at one time Patrick worked for one of the major relief agencies? Where was it again, Patrick?! India somewhere?'

  'Mmm. At least, in Bangladesh. A place called Ashala.' As he spoke he looked directly across at Leigh, doubtless noticing the increased colour in her cheeks, the determined way she was avoiding j his gaze. 'I don't suppose you'll have heard of it, Leigh.'

  'Mmm. I certainly haven't.' Holly luckily didn't notice the look of irritation which passed from one of her guests to the other, but then she asked, 'Have you, Leigh?'

  'What?' Startled, she turned her eyes on her hostess. 'Sorry, Holly...?'

  'Have you heard of this place Patrick mentioned? Ashala? In Bangladesh?' she added helpfully.

  'It sounds... a bit familiar.' Defiantly she held his gaze. 'But do tell us about it,' she encouraged with a synthetic smile. 'I'm sure we're all... very interested.'

  'As a matter of fact-----' and now Holly and Paul had ceased to exist; there was just the two of them, each challenging the other in turn '—it's got to have been the most worthwhile experience of my life. You know how it is—you regret so much that seemed important for a little while. And it's not simply for the little you're able to put in yourself, it's seeing how people cope every day, and in circumstances impossible to imagine unless you've had the experience—how they deal with everyday hazards-----' He broke off, picked up his spoon and ate some chocolate mousse.

  'I'd been there just a few weeks when there are tremendous storms; a flash-flood washed all their pathetic possessions away, but the next day the waters had gone down and they began getting things together again. No complaining, no whingeing because there was no time, and anyway, life for them is a constant battle with nature.'

  For just a moment Leigh was seeing him stripped to the waist, thigh-deep in swirling muddy water, trying to hold the roof on a rickety attap hut... Then, sensing his attention, she came out of her reverie, turning in relief as Holly spoke again.

  'It's the land of thing I wish I had done when I first left college. It's too late once you're married and have children, but how I wish I'd had the opportunity. I do admire you, Patrick, for having had the drive to do it.' She had no idea how much pain she was inflicting.

  All Patrick's charm was directed towards his hostess as he touched his mouth with a napkin. 'Now don't start polishing my halo. That's the last thing I want or deserve. In fact all of us who were there agree on one thing—that we were the ones who gained.'

  'All of you...' Leigh's voice was a little shrill, all to do with her confused feelings—first that vision of him, elemental and arousing, then the cold douche as he repeated the words she had spent years regretting. She swallowed, began again. 'How many of you were on that particular project?'

  'Including the medical staff-----' again his attention was on her face '—about a dozen. Plus a few who turned up from time to time to spend a few weeks with us, usually students in the long vacations.'

  'I see...' She was playing for time, trying to find a casual way of introducing Gillian Place's name. It would be so satisfying to let him know that she had heard... But her voice took on a waspish tone as she switched tack. 'I would have thought there might be difficulties in putting in such a large number...'

  'Oh?' One dark eyebrow was raised questioningly. His tone was bland but there was little doubt that he knew she was being difficult.

  'Yes.' Contrarily Leigh was now regretting becoming involved; she would hate Holly and Paul to imagine that she had such a sour view of life that even the best of motives were suspect—she didn't want even him to see her in that light-but now she had embarked... 'So many Westerners, all with high standards of living. Isn't it quite difficult arranging for supplies to be ferried in for large groups?'

  "That, in fact, was no problem.' If she had rubbed him up the wrong way he wasn't showing it. 'The organisation we belonged to has a rule: all fieldworkers live at the same level as the natives. Of course that wouldn't apply in famine conditions—little point in dropping people in to swell the numbers starving—but where the subsistence level is low everyone has t
o accept the local standards. Naturally, that isn't to say that if someone became seriously ill he wouldn't be ferried out, but no... we lived with the locals, ad as a result most of us lost the odd half-stone while we were there...'

  'I see.' Leigh was trying very hard not to blush; she sensed she was failing but she did manage to produce a smile for her host and hostess. She just hoped it wasn't too apologetic. 'Well, that would seem to be the only sensible way to operate in the circumstances.'

  A brief smile aimed at the other two faded as Patrick stared across the table at Leigh. 'But the first shock of going there is when you arrive. You're simply unprepared for the sheer beauty of the place. Your mind has been programmed for the dirt and dust associated with grinding poverty, but we came to Ashala in the early evening when the sun was setting. There was a golden haze over the river, an air of such peace and tranquillity that I wondered what we were doing there. It seemed so much like the spot we'd all love to escape to.'

  Even the cold look in his eyes could not damp down the wave of intense melancholy and regret that swept through Leigh at the thought that she might have gone with him, seen life through such different eyes and-----He was continuing.

  'But then, of course, things change.' Again his expression was adding to the words, accusing her. 'Nature takes a hand, like the flood I just mentioned...'

  Paul was toying with his glass. "That must have been terrifying.'

  'Strangely enough, it happened so quickly you had no time to think. First of all the people tried to get the children away to higher ground—the villages tend to lie along the riverbanks—then they came back to try to save what they could. They're so hard-working, and certainly don't deserve the opinion some of us have-----' and now his look was even more critical '—that they ought to do more to help themselves. That is precisely what they do, and in the long term they are the ones who will win the battle against poverty and disease. Certainly it won't be won by the pathetic hand-outs they get from the West.' His smile was directed at his hostess, and was charming and self-mocking. 'Here ends the lesson.'

  ‘Thank you for telling us about it, Patrick. It must have been a worthwhile experience in every way.'

  'Well, as I said, it sorts out the priorities. One's whole perspective changes. All the minor things which were once so important seem to drift away, and with luck-----' though he was no longer looking at her Leigh had little doubt that this was a personal attack '—none of them will ever be so important again.'

  She was so involved with her own raised emotions, so highly sensitised by everything he had said, that for a moment Leigh didn't realise they were being invited through to the salon. There Holly began to pour coffee, while urging her husband to refill glasses.

  'As I said before-----' she handed a cup to Leigh while speaking to Patrick '—I feel quite desperate that I didn't do something along those lines years ago. And of course-----' here she wrinkled her brow with the effort of remembering '---you did something along those lines too, didn't you, Leigh?'

  'I did?' Feeling colour rising in her cheeks and still more conscious of those dark eyes trained to miss nothing, Leigh stared at her hostess in an attempt to convey total discouragement. 'No, of course not...'

  But Holly, involved with coffee and pressing Patrick to take cream, was oblivious. 'Yes, you did.' She spared a quick glance towards her husband. 'Drinks coming, darling? Of course you did, love.' She returned to her theme. 'Remember that first Christmas when we were all going skiing, but you wouldn't because you were involved with Crisis at Christmas? At St Martin-in-the-Fields,' she explained to Patrick who, Leigh could see without looking at him, was wearing his brooding Heathcliff expression.

  'That was nothing.' Paul's offer of a liqueur was a relief. 'No, not for me, Paul.' She was normally abstemious, rarely drank more than two glasses of wine, rarely wanted more. ‘The wines were delicious, but I've had enough.'

  'And I seem to remember-----' Holly could be exasperatingly tenacious when she chose '—you drove a load of supplies to Romania.'

  'Just a tiny one.' Even to herself she had never analysed her reasons for doing those things, but certainly they had had nothing to do with… anyone else...

  She became aware that Paul was trying to make her to change her mind. 'It is a special occasion, after all—you and Holly meeting up like this when you were such friends before...'

  'Go on.' Holly joined her husband. 'Beside I... at least, Paul and I... have a great favour 1 ask, and we want to try to get you into a receptive mood.'

  'We-ell.' For a moment she hesitated, and gave way. 'Just a very little.' She watched Paul splash some of the amber liquid into a large glass, took it and placed it on the nearby table. 'You said something about a special favour...'

  'Yes, a very special one.' Holly had always had | the inclination to make mysteries from the simplest events.

  'Then if it's at all possible I'll be happy to do what I can.' Leigh had a sinking feeling that she might be invited to act as nanny while the parents took themselves off for a weekend break. Naturally she would have to agree, so long as everyone understood that she knew nothing about infants. 'And I don't need alcohol to persuade me. At least-----' her eyes widened in a parody of apprehension '—I hope it isn't one of those promises—the kind extracted when one's normal common sense has gone out the window?'

  Paul laughed. 'It might be best described as a lifetime's commitment.' But it was obvious he was teasing.

  ‘Oh, dear, it's beginning to sound quite threatening.’ And Leigh mopped her forehead, still laughing at herself but still completely puzzled.

  ‘Paul and I-----' Holly slipped a hand into her husband's' —would be thrilled if you would agree to be Pauli's godmother.'

  'G-godmother.' The idea was so surprising that her mind went blank for a second, then her face flushed with pleasure.

  'Please say you will,' Holly persuaded. "The christening is in two weeks' time, right here in Paris.’

  'Well, of course.' Conscious of Patrick's close position, as well as the colour coming and going her cheeks, she felt awkward and conspicuous. 'I would be flattered and delighted.'

  'So you agree?' Holly's expression was total pleasure. 'Oh, thank you, Leigh. There's no one else I wanted to ask. I'm so grateful to you both, in fact. Patrick,' she explained, 'is to be one of the godfathers.'

  And when Leigh's startled glance transferred to Patrick's face she could tell from his raised eyebrow just how much sardonic amusement he was deriving from her discomfiture.

  'Oh, and I shall let you know all about timings in a day or two. It's such a pity you're going to be so busy while you're in Paris.'

  Before long, when, in spite of all Holly's promises, the baby showed no sign of waking, Leigh, suddenly exhausted and very nearly as dejected as she had been earlier, decided it was time to go, and would not be persuaded otherwise.

  'It is getting late.' Patrick glanced at his watch and got up. I’d better go too. I'm sure you two are ready for bed—I just hope that Pauli will realise that as well.' Forestalling Leigh, who was about to ask if she could ring for a cab, he added, 'I can see Leigh safely into a cab. It's easier to pick one up on the corner than to ring.'

  It seemed boorish to object so she smiled as goodnights were said and promises repeated, but when she and Patrick were walking to the lift she allowed her irritation to simmer. He was equally silent, standing with his jacket looped over his shoulder, till a sudden, unexpected spatter of rain against the window made them glance round.

  'Hmm. A bit of a squall.' As they stepped inside the lift his attention was all on her, from the top of her head to her slender feet in strappy impractical sandals. 'And you...' his voice had softened, though his eyes were dark and sombre '... you are scarcely dressed for stormy weather.'

  All at once she was having trouble with her breathing; her heart was hammering so insistently against her chest, it seemed impossible that he wouldn't hear. And standing so close, so close that she was aware of the heat emanating
from his body, she was forced to press her fingernails into the palms of her hands to stop them from reaching out. The desire was so strong, near irresistible, and... the lift was stopping.

  'But...' There was more than a hint of desperation in her manner as her eyes searched the control panel. 'But we're not at ground level.'

  'No, this is my floor. I can pick up an umbrella.' As if nature was on his side a sudden gust swirled about the building; she could have sworn it moved, but... 'I can even lend you a raincoat, if that would help.'

  Her will was shot to pieces, which would explain why she followed him along the corridor, watched him slip the key into the lock then stand aside for her to go first, which she did meekly.

  How warm and peaceful it felt—and safe. Thick carpets cushioned their feet, table-lamps with pink shades cast a soft glow; she had an impression of a few water-colours on the walls and there was even music, faint, disturbing, sensuous and utterly distracting—Rachmaninov, brushing at her nerve-endings as raw silk might till she felt... She couldn't even have explained what she felt, except that her blood was afire, and she was thinking he had the most beautiful mouth ever seen on...

  'Leigh.' It was the merest sigh in her ears; she would not even have said he had spoken, though her eyes, wide and luminous, searched his face, then, not answering, she swayed towards him.

  There was this soft, susurrant sound in her throat, pain mixed with pleasure, and her eyelids drifted closed, allowing her imagination to run riot. She was drowning in the remembered sensation of fingertips moving over warm, smooth skin. It hadn't died, that first intoxicating wonder that anything so frankly male should be so smooth, so...so utterly beguiling. And then a flicker of shadowy eyelids and she could confirm that this was no dream. If she wanted, all she had to do was reach out, stroke...

  'Leigh.' Now there was no doubt. Who else had ever used her name with that throbbing, wondering intensity? Who else? She shivered a little as the hands traversed the length of her arms, circled the delicate wrists, raised her palms, kissed each in turn. Then—and how often they had exclaimed at the perfection of this—he inclined her body into the accommodating curve of his.