by Anne Mather
There was no sign of the car at Eaton Lodge either, even though she had entertained the thought that he might be waiting for her there. And after all, he had to come and see Celia some time, she acknowledged unhappily. If she was going to carry on with her life in London, she had to accept that so long as Celia lived in the same building, their paths were bound to cross, sometimes.
She was making herself a sandwich when she heard someone knocking at her door, and her heart lifted wildly at the sound. It had to be Reed, she thought apprehensively. No one else was likely to call. And although she longed to see him, she determinedly ignored the summons.
‘Mrs Sheldon! Antonia!’
The voice calling her name was definitely not Reed’s, and Antonia expelled her breath. It was Celia. She was sure of it. And abandoning the makings of her sandwich, she mentally steeled herself before going to the door.
‘Oh, you are in.’ Celia’s delicately moulded features drew into a relieved smile. ‘I thought I wasn’t mistaken. I followed you along Clifton Gate.’
‘Did you?’ Antonia controlled her colour with difficulty, the self-contempt she felt for deceiving the other girl causing her breath to catch in her throat. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.’
‘No.’ Celia glanced beyond her. ‘Can I come in?’
Antonia hesitated, and then moved aside. ‘If you like.’
Celia nodded, and stepped into the flat. ‘Thanks. I won’t keep you more than a few minutes.’
Antonia couldn’t imagine what the other girl might have to say to her, and her heart palpitated erratically at the thought that Celia might have found out about her friendship with Reed. Friendship! Antonia’s pulses raced. The passionate relationship they had shared bore little resemblance to that ineffectual description.
‘Cosy,’ remarked Celia now, looking round the flat with a faintly patronising air, and Antonia linked her fingers together.
‘It suits me,’ she said, biting back her indignation. ‘I—what did you want to see me about? I have to phone my daughter in fifteen minutes.’
‘Your daughter? Oh, yes, Reed told me about her,’ remarked Celia carelessly, inspiring a sense of angry impotence in the woman she was addressing. ‘She lives in the north of England with your mother, doesn’t she? Reed seemed to think she was rather sweet.’
Antonia’s features froze. ‘He did?’
‘Hmm.’ Celia moved negligently across the floor, and took up a position before the empty fireplace. ‘You spent the weekend with him, didn’t you? Oh, don’t look so alarmed; I’m not about to scratch your eyes out, or anything silly like that. Reed told me all about it, and I’ve forgiven him. You don’t imagine you’re the first female to catch my fiancé’s roving eye!’
Antonia’s lips parted. ‘I don’t believe you …’
‘No, they never do,’ said Celia in a bored tone. ‘Reed’s girls, I mean. I suppose I can’t blame them. They don’t want to lose him. Reed really is awfully good in bed!’
Antonia took a deep breath and walked stiffly to the door. Pulling it open, she said tightly: ‘I’d like you to leave, Miss Lytton-Smythe. Now. This minute. Or I might scratch your eyes out. That’s an alternative you’ve not considered.’
Celia remained where she was for several seconds more, and then, as if not altogether trusting the gleam in Antonia’s eyes, she sauntered back across the room. ‘All right, all right,’ she said. ‘I’m going. But, honestly, my dear, to someone who’s only thinking of your well-being, you are responding rather primitively.’
‘Get out!’
‘I will.’ But Celia paused in the doorway nevertheless. ‘As a matter of fact, there was another reason why I wanted to speak to you. I wanted to warn you, your lease on this flat won’t be renewed at the end of June, as you anticipated. My father owns this building, as it happens, and although I shall be leaving myself in December—when I marry Reed—I refuse to feel your envious eyes spying on us every time we go in and out!’
Even five hours after Celia had left, Antonia was still trembling in the aftermath of what she had said. It had been horrible—so horrible—that Antonia knew she would never forget it. Hearing the other girl dismiss Reed’s infidelities without turning a hair had been sick and humiliating. Yet, Celia was used to it; she had to be. It was the only explanation for the coolness with which she had spoken of his affairs. Antonia knew she ought to be feeling sorry for Celia, but she couldn’t. If the girl was indifferent to Reed’s unfaithfulness, then perhaps she had her own reasons for overlooking his transgressions.
Not that this conclusion made the situation any easier. Antonia had loved Reed; she loved him still, if she was honest with herself. Just because the object of her affections had not lived up to her expectations of him, did not automatically reduce her feelings. In every way, except one, he was still the only man she had ever truly cared about, and no matter what he did her love would survive. But it was painful. Even thinking about how he had deceived her made her want to throw up. She should never have come to London, she thought bitterly. This was her reward for abandoning her principles.
As yet, she hadn’t given a lot of thought to Celia’s pronouncement on the flat. She had no doubt that what the other girl had said was true, but she was too shocked, too numb, too vulnerable at present, to anticipate what she might do and where she might go. Those problems would have to wait until she was more equipped to deal with them. Right now, it was an effort to look beyond the next twenty-four-hours.
She was in her dressing gown, curled up on the sofa, trying not to remember where she had been at the same time the previous evening, when she heard the outer doorbell ring. It was well after eleven, and although she knew it could not be anyone for her, she slid off the couch and opened her door.
Mr Francis had done likewise, and she faced the elderly caretaker across the width of the hall. ‘Someone must have forgotten their key,’ he grunted, emerging from his doorway to reveal his hair-curlered wife behind him. ‘I suppose I’d better answer it, but you never know at this time of night.’
‘You be careful, Bert,’ declared Mrs Francis, turning an anxious face in Antonia’s direction, and because she felt obliged to do so, Antonia waited to ensure there was no trouble.
‘Why—Mr Gallagher!’ exclaimed the caretaker at that moment, and Antonia turned horrified eyes on the door. It was Reed, brushing impatiently past the startled manager, his eyes on her shocked face as he strode unmistakably towards her.
Without giving herself time to have second thoughts, Antonia immediately stepped back inside her flat and closed the door. She had no intention of speaking to Reed tonight, particularly when he was evidently on his way to see Celia. Let the Francises think what they liked. She was not to blame if they thought she was rude.
She had scarcely slipped the safety chain into place before there was a hammering at the door. ‘Antonia!’ exclaimed Reed with evident impatience. ‘What the hell are you doing? Open up! Come on—I want to speak with you.’
Antonia pressed her back against the panels, as if her weight could add anything to its security, and said steadily: ‘Go away, Reed. What do you think you are doing? You have no right to embarrass me like this!’
‘Embarrass you!’ he echoed harshly. ‘How do you think I feel, yelling at you through a door? Oh, for Christ’s sake, let me in! Before Francis gets suspicious and calls the police!’
‘He wouldn’t do that.’
‘Wouldn’t he? Are you prepared to take that risk?’ Reed expelled his breath wearily, his voice losing its aggression. ‘Look, I’ve got to see you, Toni. Don’t make me spell it out in front of witnesses.’
Pressing her lips together, Antonia tried to resist the insidious appeal of his voice, but she could not let him tell her lies in front of Mrs Francis. She still had to live here, for another couple of months, at least, and was it really a lesser evil to pretend this had not happened?
Taking a deep breath, she slipped the chain and opened the door. Immediately, Ree
d widened the space she had created to allow him to step inside, and with an ironic smile at Mrs Francis, still hovering doubtfully across the way, he firmly closed the door behind him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
BACKING away from him, Antonia put the length of the sofa between them before permitting herself to meet his eyes. But the intensity of their expression was hardly tempered by the distance, and she shifted a little nervously beneath the censure of his gaze.
‘Would you mind telling me what all that was about?’ he demanded quietly. ‘I realise it’s late, and I’ve probably got you out of bed, but it surely must have occurred to you that my being here must be important.’
Antonia shrugged, her eyes defensive. ‘I—I assumed you’d come to see Celia,’ she declared, hiding her shaking hands in her pockets. ‘Isn’t it a little foolhardy, coming here at this time of night, even for you?’
Reed put up a hand and pulled the knot of his tie away from the collar of his pale grey shirt. The tie was silk, like the shirt, Antonia noticed inconsequently, his suit several shades darker and, as usual, immaculately pressed.
‘I suppose I deserve that,’ he said, when his collar button was unfastened, and his hand through his hair had made it attractively dishevelled. ‘I should have got here sooner, and I would have if the eight o’clock plane hadn’t sprung a fault.’
Antonia blinked. ‘The plane?’ she echoed blankly. ‘What plane?’
‘The plane from Dublin,’ replied Reed, glancing about him. ‘Can I sit down? I really am pretty bushed!’
Antonia shook her head confusedly, and then made a hasty gesture of acquiescence. ‘You’ve been to Dublin to see your parents,’ she essayed carefully. ‘To—explain about our weekend at Stonor.’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Reed wearily, subsiding on to the sofa and resting his head back against the cushions. ‘I had to speak to my father. And my mother deserved an explanation.’
‘Of course.’ Antonia drew her hands out of her pockets and gripped the arm of the sofa. ‘I assume they don’t condone your profligacy. Or perhaps they do. I’m not very expert when it comes to judging people’s characters!’
Reed regarded her blankly, and then he shook his head. ‘What old-fashioned words you use,’ he remarked, pushing himself up from his lounging position. ‘Perhaps you’d tell me what you mean by that assessment. Do I take it you consider my character beyond redemption?’
Antonia shivered. ‘I think we should stop playing games.’
‘Oh, so do I.’ Reed’s face was broodingly intent.
‘So?’
‘So what?’ Reed frowned. ‘What particular game are we playing now? The same game you’ve been playing, ever since you realised there was something between us?’
‘No.’ Antonia flushed. ‘There is—nothing between us. You know it, and I know it, so I think you should stop pretending there ever was.’
Reed blinked and then, deliberately, he got up from the sofa again. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘What’s happened? Why are you acting like I was the prodigal son? I know what you said this morning, and I know why you said it, but that doesn’t apply any more.’ He bent his head, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked in his breath. ‘Cee and I are through. We split up this morning. The reason why I went to Dublin was to tell my parents about us!’
Antonia’s reaction was a disbelieving gasp, and she let go of the arm of the sofa to step further away from him. ‘I—I—how can you say such things?’ she got out incredulously. ‘I spoke to Celia this afternoon, and she told me in no uncertain terms that you were not through at all.’
Reed’s head jerked up. ‘You spoke to Cee this afternoon?’
‘I’ve just said so.’ Antonia quivered. ‘She told me all about … all about the relationship you have with her! It was what I expected—what I deserved, I suppose—but it really wasn’t necessary. I had already decided what I had to do.’
‘Had you?’ Reed’s face was grim. ‘And I suppose that’s what this little charade is all about! It’s your—futile way of demonstrating that you still have a choice in the matter!’
‘It’s not futile——’
‘Isn’t it? Isn’t it?’ Without giving her a chance to escape him, Reed obliterated the space between them, grasping her wrists with brutal fingers and twisting her arms behind his back. The action brought her up against him, her shocked reaction coming too late to save her. Using his superior strength, Reed ground his hard mouth down on hers, and as she struggled to free herself, she felt the taste of her own blood in her mouth.
She fought him then, but after that first bruising assault, Reed’s lips softened and gentled. With insistent persuasion, his tongue coaxed her lips to part, and the moist invasion that followed made a nonsense of her efforts to resist him.
Sensing her confusion, Reed released her wrists to permit his hands to slide possessively across her back, and arching her body towards his, he allowed a shuddering sigh to escape him. ‘Dear God, don’t you know I love you?’ he muttered, in a voice that was amazingly unsteady. ‘Why do you persist in believing anyone else but me?’
Antonia trembled. ‘Celia said——’
‘Yes, I can guess what Celia said,’ he cut in harshly, ‘but she was lying.’ His fingers slid into her hair and holding her head between his palms, he added emotively: ‘Give me a little credit, will you? I was an attractive financial proposition, if nothing else, and Celia was always aware of it.’
Antonia looked up at him uncertainly. ‘You’re—not—going to marry her?’
‘Haven’t I just said so?’
‘I don’t know.’ Antonia could hardly take this in.
‘Are you sure this isn’t just another ploy to confuse me?’
‘Confuse you?’ Reed closed his eyes briefly, and then opened them again to reveal a nerve-shattering tenderness. ‘Oh, love! If anyone’s confused here, it’s me!’
‘But … but Celia——’
‘Yes?’ Reed inclined his head resignedly. ‘Go on. You’d better tell me what Cee said, then I’ll tell you what really happened.’ He glanced behind him as he spoke, and with a determined expression, he sank down on to the sofa again, pulling her across his knees as he did so. ‘But first——’ and with devastating thoroughness his lips reduced her protests to a quivering submission. ‘Go on,’ he added, when her arms were about his neck, and she was weakly clinging to him. ‘Before I lose all sense of this conversation.’
Antonia shook her head. ‘You don’t make it easy …’
‘Nor do you,’ he responded, toying with the cord of her dressing gown. ‘Please: let’s get it over with.’
Antonia moistened her lips, intensely conscious of the muscular strength of his thighs beneath hers. ‘I … I … she came here at teatime, when I got home from work. She … she knew all about—Susie, and about the weekend we had spent together. She said you had told her.’
‘I had,’ agreed Reed laconically. ‘Go on.’
Antonia swallowed. ‘Why did you tell her?’
‘Why do you think?’
‘I don’t know.’
Reed shrugged. ‘Isn’t it reasonable that I’d have to give the reasons why I was breaking our engagement?’
Antonia’s lips parted. ‘You’ve—really done that?’
Reed’s mouth parted to accommodate hers. ‘Do you doubt it?’ he demanded, his breath almost suffocating her, and suddenly she didn’t.
Almost incoherently she blurted out the rest of what Celia had said, glossing over the worst of her excesses, but leaving Reed in no doubt of his ex-fiancée’s bitterness towards her. ‘I … I suppose we had hurt her,’ she finished at last. ‘Poor Celia!’
‘But you believed her,’ he reminded her quietly, his fingertips stroking an invisible line from her shoulder to her waist, and Antonia bent her head.
‘Yes,’ she said, not excusing herself. ‘I … I still can’t believe that … that you could want me and not … not her.’
‘Is that so?’ Reed abandone
d his line-drawing to cradle her cheek in his palm. Then, seeing the brilliance of unshed tears in her eyes, he added softly: ‘I have to say, you don’t deserve me.’
Antonia sniffed. ‘Don’t tease.’
‘I’m not teasing,’ he told her huskily. ‘I’m just trying to make you see it’s not important. All that unpleasantness with Cee, it doesn’t mean a thing to us. And we have the rest of our lives to prove it.’
‘Do you mean that?’ Antonia touched his cheek, and he turned his lips against her palm.
‘I’m not in the habit of making extravagant statements unless I mean them,’ Reed assured her unevenly. ‘And if you’d let me explain before jumping to conclusions, I’d have reassured you on that point.’
Antonia caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘And will you believe me if I tell you I’m not in the habit of lying—to anyone,’ he appended drily. ‘Nor did I give Cee any reason for jealousy until you came on the scene.’
‘But why me?’
‘Do you think I haven’t asked myself that question?’ Reed demanded ruefully, nuzzling her nape. ‘My life was so carefully mapped out. There was never any question but that I would take over my father’s position in the company, and Celia seemed a suitable addition to my status. I was fond of her, and we seemed compatible enough. It was only when I met you, I started questioning my complacency.’
‘A most—unsuitable complication,’ put in Antonia softly, and his hand ran possessively down her throat.
‘Well, I will admit I fought it,’ he muttered roughly. ‘My feelings for you were anything but complacent, and I didn’t want the aggravation. Unfortunately, I didn’t have much choice in the matter.’
Antonia hesitated. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Am I sure of what?’ He turned her face towards him. ‘Am I sure of what I’m doing? Oh, yes.’ His mouth brushed hers and then he drew back to look into her face. ‘Or do you mean, am I sure I love you?’
