by Anne Mather
‘You look beautiful,’ he said, his hand at the nape of her neck preventing her from hastening after his sister. ‘Just remember that.’ His lips brushed her temple. ‘Dinner will soon be over.’
She didn’t know what he meant, and she was too unsure of herself to probe. Instead, when Rose Macauley appeared in the doorway again, evidently impatient for them to come and start their meal, Antonia took the opportunity to break away from him, and Tricia looked up diffidently as the other two took their places.
The food was as delectable as anything Mrs Braid had produced on Antonia’s previous visit. A smoked salmon mousse was followed by a creamy vegetable soup; and medallions of veal, cooked in wine and served with tiny button mushrooms, were a forerunner to the raspberry meringues which completed the meal.
Antonia noticed that for all her slender figure, Tricia had a healthy appetite, whereas she found it incredibly difficult to eat anything. Reed, too, seemed to find the wine which accompanied the meal far more to his taste than his cook’s culinary expertise, and Mrs Macauley clicked her tongue disapprovingly as she took their plates away.
‘What do you do to him, Mrs Sheldon?’ she exclaimed, as Reed’s plate was returned to the kitchen virtually untouched. ‘Sure, the man must be sick of something to be starving himself like this! Let’s hope that by the morning, he’ll have more appetite for his breakfast!’
Antonia’s face burned, and even Reed gave the old woman an impatient glare. ‘Your tongue’s so sharp, it will cut your throat one of these days,’ he essayed narrowly, as she served the coffee. ‘As a matter of fact, we’ll be leaving early in the morning, so you can forget the sarcasm.’
Rose grimaced and left them, and Tricia expelled her breath on a rueful sigh. ‘She really is the limit!’ she exclaimed, looking sympathetically at Antonia. ‘You mustn’t take any notice of her. She thinks she has the right to say what she likes!’
Antonia forced a faint smile, but she couldn’t meet Reed’s eyes, and a few moments later he pushed his chair back and got to his feet. ‘Look, I think we should all get an early night,’ he remarked heavily. ‘I’ve promised to drive Antonia in to work in the morning, and as she starts at nine, we’ve got to leave here at seven o’clock at the latest.’
‘And, of course, you’ll still be jet-lagged,’ said his sister, nodding. ‘You’re going to find it pretty difficult to open your eyes at seven o’clock.’
‘I know that.’ Reed regarded her levelly. ‘So—good night then.’
‘Good night.’
Tricia smiled up at him over the rim of her coffee cup, and because it would look too suspicious if she attempted to accompany him upstairs, Antonia echoed the younger girl’s response.
‘See you—see you in the morning,’ she offered, trying to sound casual, and Reed inclined his head politely before leaving the room.
Left alone with Tricia, Antonia waited apprehensively for the words of censure she was sure the younger girl wanted to voice. But they never came. Instead, Reed’s sister offered her more coffee, and when their cups were filled, she said quietly: ‘I’m so pleased I’ve had this chance to meet you. You’re different from what I expected.’
‘Am I?’ Antonia assumed Rose Macauley had been less than generous in her assessment. ‘Well—I hope it’s an improvement.’
‘It is.’ Tricia’s lips twitched. ‘I think we’ve all been labouring under a misapprehension.’
‘All?’ Antonia frowned. ‘You mean—Rose; Mrs Macauley?’
‘No, I mean my parents,’ said Tricia evenly. ‘I might as well be honest. It’s no accident that I’m here, Antonia. When Reed phoned and said you would be spending the night here, Rose contacted my mother and she contacted me.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ANTONIA let herself into her room with an aching sense of weariness. The conversation she had had with Tricia had left her feeling troubled and confused, and although Reed’s sister had said nothing to upset her, she was upset nevertheless.
It had been such a shattering discovery to make: that Mrs Macauley should have taken it upon herself to inform Reed’s parents of their son’s aberrations. She could imagine what the Gallaghers must be thinking. And the fact that she was a divorcee could only have added to their anxieties.
Not that Tricia had said anything of the sort. On the contrary, she had been amazingly casual about the whole affair. ‘You must understand,’ she had said swiftly, reacting to Antonia’s shocked embarrassment at her words, ‘we have always been a very—close family. And when Rose informed my mother that you and Reed had spent the weekend here, alone, Mummy was quite disturbed.’
‘I’m sure she was.’ Striving for composure, Antonia had shaken her head. ‘Does she think I’m trying to break up Reed’s engagement?’
‘Well—she was concerned that Reed hadn’t told her about you,’ Tricia confessed. ‘I mean—Celia wasn’t Reed’s first girlfriend, or anything like that, but he never used to bring his—well, Celia’s the only one who’s ever stayed at Stonor. Until now.’
Antonia’s face was burning. ‘I don’t know what to say——’
‘Don’t say anything,’ said Tricia ruefully. ‘Reed’s probably going to wring my neck for talking to you. But—oh, you know what mothers are. She just wanted to know what you were like.’
Antonia shook her head. ‘She doesn’t have to worry, you know,’ she murmured uncomfortably. ‘Our … relationship—mine and Reed’s that is—it’s not—important.’
‘Don’t you think so?’ Tricia’s eyes were suddenly very like her brother’s. ‘You know, I’m tempted to agree with Rose, harridan though she is. I’ve never known Reed lose his appetite before.’
Now, Antonia closed her door and leaned exhaustedly against the panels. What did it matter what Tricia thought, she asked herself, or Mrs Gallagher either? After this weekend, she was determined not to see Reed again. It was becoming too bittersweet, too painful; too deceptively easy to fool herself they were hurting no one. They were hurting people, themselves most of all—or so Tricia would have her believe, if her statement was true.
Straightening away from the door, she started to unzip her dress. It was late, and she was tired. The problem of how to cope with the situation would have to wait until the morning. Right now, she wanted to lose herself in oblivion, and forget that he’d ever said he loved her.
Stepping out of her dress, she turned, and as she did so, her breath caught in her throat. She had been so intent in her misery, she had scarcely noticed the fact that her bed was turned down and that someone was already reclining between the fine silk sheets. In the subdued lighting of the bedside lamp, Reed’s lean face had a hollow vulnerability, the sooty fringe of his lashes resting on his cheeks. He was asleep, his brown body dark against the pastel green of the pillows.
After what she had been telling herself, she knew she should wake him and send him back to his own room, but she didn’t. Consoling herself with the thought that Reed needed his sleep, she went into the bathroom and removed her make-up. Then, after cleaning her teeth, she took off her tights and her bra, and came back to the bed. She had brought no nightdress with her, as she had expected to be sleeping at the flat tonight, so she kept her slip on instead.
Folding back the covers, she slid carefully into the bed, trying not to disturb him, and then nearly jumped out of her skin when he said huskily: ‘What a hell of a time you’ve been!’
‘You’re awake!’
The words were little more than a squeak, and he moved lazily nearer, his arm sliding beneath her head and pulling her towards him. ‘Did you really think I wouldn’t be?’ he demanded, burying his face in the scented hollow between her breasts, and trembling a little, she felt his tongue against her skin.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ she protested, struggling to maintain a sense of reality. ‘Reed, what would your sister think?’
‘I don’t give a damn what my sister thinks,’ he retorted, his impatient fingers sliding beneath the hem of her sli
p. ‘This is my house, and finding an unwanted visitor here, is no reason to spend another frustrated night.’ He made a sound of aggravation. ‘What on earth did you leave this on for? You’re not cold, are you?’
Cold? Antonia drew an unsteady breath. Her body was as suffused with warmth as her face had been earlier, and the sensuous brush of his aroused body against her thighs was bringing a distinct ache to the pit of her stomach.
‘Reed—your mother … that is, Mrs Macauley told your mother you and I had spent the weekend here,’ she breathed, as the satin slip was cast aside, and she felt the delicious softness of the sheet against her bare back. ‘Reed—are you listening to me?’
‘Do you want me to?’ he murmured, his mouth devouring hers with sensual abandon, and her senses swam beneath the moist invasion of his tongue.
‘Reed——’
‘All right. I guessed she might,’ he responded carelessly, taking one full breast in his hand and loving the swollen nipple with hungry urgency. ‘Oh, love, I don’t care what Rose says, or what my mother says, or what anyone says, but you.’ He slid lower, his hand finding the soft inner curve of her thigh. ‘You are the only person I care about. God, don’t you believe me?’
The drugging intimacy of his lips suspended all other thought. Her hands sliding possessively over the muscled curve of his hips, Antonia couldn’t think of anything else but the immeasurable delight of his lovemaking, and Reed was not immune to the tentative sexuality of her caress. With a muffled groan, he moved over her, crushing her breasts beneath him, and the pulsating power of his manhood sought its silken sheath …
Reed dropped Antonia outside the institute at five minutes past nine the following morning. ‘Sorry, you’re late,’ he remarked softly, as she made to get out, and Antonia cast him a tremulous glance before reaching for the door handle. ‘I’ll call you,’ he said, his hand on her wrist delaying the moment, but Antonia shook her head.
‘Don’t,’ she said huskily. ‘I—I don’t want us to see one another again!’ and with this damning indictment, she scrambled out of the car.
He was tempted to go after her, but the prospect of trying to reason with her here deterred him. Besides, he had other things he wanted to do, other things he had to do, before seeing Antonia again, and with a smothered oath, he let her go, his lungs constricting in his chest.
Dear God, he thought incredulously, when had it hit him that what he felt for Antonia was more than just a desire to go to bed with her? Oh, he wanted that, of course. Just remembering the night they had just spent brought a disruptive stirring in his groin, but his feelings went far beyond the physical. Even when he was making love to her, even when their bodies were fused in the mindless aftermath of their mutual passion, he wanted to possess her mind, as well as her delectable form, and the emptiness he felt whenever he left her, would not easily be displaced.
He knew she was not indifferent to him. When she stopped fighting him, her hunger was as great as his, and he had never known a woman who so exactly matched his moods. There had been other women, lots of other women, ever since he had been old enough to attract the attention of the opposite sex. But, none of them, and most particularly, not Celia, had ever given him the satisfaction—both mentally and physically—that Antonia did. She was so delicious, so delightful, so lovable—so everything he wanted in a woman. It was funny—whenever he had anticipated his marriage to Celia, it had been in terms of their having a family, of giving his parents the grandchild they craved. With Antonia, whether or not they had a baby didn’t come into it. He wanted her, he wanted to be with her, and he was selfish enough to enjoy the prospect of sharing her with no one but her daughter.
He reached Eaton Lodge in only a few minutes, and parking the Lamborghini on the forecourt, he thrust open his door and strode into the building. With a bit of luck, Celia would not have left yet for the shop, but if she had, he would just have to make other arrangements. He could always take her out to lunch, he reflected reluctantly, although he did not welcome the prospect of prolonging the agony. He wanted to make a clean break, and as decently as possible. He was not the kind of man to take any satisfaction in what he had to do, and if she wanted to tell their friends she had jilted him, he was quite prepared to go along with it. The way it was done didn’t matter to him, just so long as he gained his freedom. How was it Shakespeare had put it, he mused wryly: if it were done … then ‘twere well it were done quickly. He grimaced, and as he made for the stairs, Mrs Francis called his name.
‘Mr Gallagher,’ she exclaimed. ‘You’re an early caller.’
Reed paused and turned. ‘Good morning, Mrs Francis,’ he responded resignedly. ‘Yes. Is Miss Smythe still at home, do you know?’
‘Miss Lytton-Smythe hasn’t left to my knowledge,’ the caretaker’s wife declared knowingly. ‘And I usually hear her go. And Miss Ashford, too.’
‘I’m sure you do.’ Reed turned back to the stairs, and then had another thought. ‘Er … Liz, Miss Ashford, I mean; did you say she had left?’
‘I think she’s been away for the weekend,’ confided Mrs Francis, with a frown. ‘Yes. I believe she was spending the weekend in Leicestershire. With the—Stockwells. Would that be right?’
‘You’re very well informed, Mrs Francis,’ Reed complimented her drily. ‘Okay. Thanks. I’ll just go up and see if Celia’s ready to leave.’
He was conscious of her watching him round the curve of the stairs, and he pulled a wry face. He would be glad to get Antonia out of this place. He did not appreciate having to explain his intentions every time he entered the building.
He pulled his keys out of his pocket as he reached Celia’s door, but having second thoughts, he pressed his finger on the bell. As he waited, he extricated her key from the others on his keyring and dropped it into his pocket. Celia could have it back again. He had no further use for it.
It seemed ages before she came, and he had rung the bell several more times before he heard the sound of the slip-chain being removed. It was just as well he hadn’t tried to get in, he reflected. Evidently Celia was still locked up for the night. He shook his head. For once, he felt grateful to Mrs Francis. Without her intervention, he would probably have imagined Celia had already left.
The door opened slowly and Celia, a thin silk kimono pulled carelessly about her, peered out through narrowed lids. ‘Reed!’ she exclaimed faintly, identifying the lean dark individual propped indolently outside her door. ‘Y—you’re back!’
‘As you see,’ agreed Reed evenly, straightening from his lounging position. ‘I got back on Friday, actually.’
‘Friday?’ Celia blinked, and if Reed had not been so concerned with his own problems, he would have taken more account of the faintly furtive glance she cast behind her.
‘Friday,’ he confirmed now, aware that their voices could carry down the stairs. ‘Are you going to invite me in? I’ve got something to tell you, and I’d as soon say it in private, if you see what I mean.’
The meaningful look he sent down the stairs was self-evident, and Celia’s tongue appeared to circle her parted lips. ‘Well, I—you couldn’t come back later, could you, darling?’ she murmured awkwardly. ‘You see—Liz hasn’t been at all well. I’ve been up with her half the night. And I really am—absolutely exhausted!’
Reed could believe it. She looked pale and hollow-eyed, and if Mrs Francis had not been so sure about Liz spending the weekend with the Stockwells, Reed would never have doubted her. But there was a curious smell in the air, a sickly sweetness that Reed had smelt once before in his life, and because he could identify it, his cool grey eyes narrowed.
‘Are you sure it’s Liz who’s been sick?’ he enquired tensely, the connotations that immediately sprang to his mind causing him to speak with unnecessary violence. ‘For Christ’s sake, Cee, why didn’t you tell me you were on that stuff!’
‘What stuff?’ asked Celia indignantly, trying desperately to refute his allegations, but Reed could only see his plans for the fut
ure—and Antonia—crumbling about him.
‘You’re crazy, do you know that?’ he demanded savagely, pushing her inside and slamming shut the door with his foot. Thrusting her ahead of him into the living room, his jaw was tight with frustration. How could he tell her now, he was asking himself, when his own responsibility for what had happened had to be acknowledged?
‘Reed, will you get out of here?’ Celia’s voice was rising shrilly with emotion, and he thought she could have no idea how much he wanted to do just that.
‘When we’ve talked this through,’ he declared, slamming his hands into his pockets. ‘God—I thought you had more sense! Where the hell did you get the stuff?’
‘Que se passe-t-il?’
The sound of a third voice brought Reed round with a start, his eyes widening disbelievingly at the sight of the thin dark man who had appeared from the direction of the bedrooms. Barefoot, hair tousled, the bathrobe pulled around him of evidently feminine design, he gazed across the room at them, aghast, and Celia rounded on him in angry protest.
‘Raoul!’ she exclaimed. ‘Es pèce d imbecile! Je t ai dit de rester dans la chambre——’
‘I do speak French, Cee,’ Reed put in drily, a faintly sardonic twist lifting the corners of his mouth. Hell, he thought, with rueful self-derision, no wonder Celia had been so reluctant for him to enter the apartment. With Liz Ashford away, how could she explain this?
‘You don’t understand, Reed,’ Celia blurted in confusion, as she saw the dawning comprehension in his face. ‘Darling, I only offered Raoul a bed for the night, because it was late when he brought me home. We’d been out to dinner. I thought you were away. You said you’d be away all weekend. Heavens, you don’t imagine there’s any more to it, do you? Honestly, Reed, would I do a thing like that?’
If Antonia had half-hoped that Reed might meet her from work that evening, she was disappointed. There was no sign of the Lamborghini as she emerged from the institute, and she told herself she was glad as she took her place at the bus stop.
