by Penny Jordan
‘As far as I am aware, your parents’ village isn’t out of my way,’ he told her frigidly. ‘However, if you prefer to make your own arrangements…’
‘I…I thought I might go back to London early on Sunday. There are one or two things I want to do. People I need to see…’
His eyebrows lifted, an expression of cynicism twisting his mouth as he said silkily, ‘There’s no need to be afraid of speaking bluntly to me, Hannah. If you mean that you want to return to London because you wish to be with a man—a lover—then by all means say so.’
‘If I did, I would,’ Hannah interrupted him hotly, forgetting her danger and the need for self-preservation in her need to deny his cynicism. ‘Your implication was unwarranted, especially when you already know that I’m not involved in that kind of relationship. Nor do I want to be.’
She saw a faint shadow touch his eyes, and wondered what she had said to cause it. His mouth became grim, his voice unusually harsh as he said curtly, ‘I’m sorry. Your private time and how you spend it is, of course, your own concern. If you wish to make your own arrangements to travel back to London, then naturally you must do so. Now, I suggest that we make an early start on the work we need to get through.
‘I’m going to make a call to London to find out if there’s anything there that needs my attention. If you could be in my study at ten o’clock, we can talk about the responsibilities I want you to take on personally with regard to the redevelopment of the Court.’
As he got up and pushed back his chair, Hannah reflected guiltily that she really ought to tell him now that she intended to hand in her notice. It wasn’t fair to allow him to waste his time involving her in what was patently a project very close to his heart, when she knew she was not going to be working on it.
But she couldn’t tell him. Not now, not here. And she didn’t want to go too deeply into her own reasons for not wanting to, even though she knew that that reluctance damned her even more firmly.
At ten o’clock she presented herself in the study, and even though Silas worked her hard, displaying the shrewdness and acumen she had heard so much about, even though she was concentrating almost fully on what he was saying to her, a tiny part of her consciousness remained apart to notice how his woollen shirt revealed the muscles of his chest and arms…how the jeans he was wearing clung to the leanness of his hips and thighs, how when he got up from behind his desk and paced the floor between it and the window he moved lithely and efficiently, making the blood run hot in her veins… When he picked up a book from the window-seat and absently ran his fingers along the leather spine, she shivered inwardly, as though it was her body he had touched. Her mouth went suddenly dry, her lips parting on a slight sound of arousal, which he nevertheless seemed to hear because he turned round abruptly and looked at her, his attention focusing on her mouth so that her heart went crazy, and the sound of its frantic pounding was like the crashing of storm-driven waves against the rocks of some inhospitable coastline.
He had stopped talking. She knew her breathing had become provocatively shallow and, even though she fought to stop herself from doing it, she couldn’t prevent her tongue from snaking out and wetting her dry lips.
A shiver seemed to run through him, convulsing his body, making a small muscle twitch in his jaw, and his chest lift deeply, as though he couldn’t get enough air to breathe. He lifted his glance from her mouth to her eyes, and his were brilliant with desire and fierce maleness. One tiny step towards him, that was all it would take to release the sexual tension she could almost feel emanating from him. One tiny step and he would be hers… He would be reaching for her, enfolding her in his arms, kissing her with all the fierce ruthlessness she could see glittering in his eyes. One tiny step and her body would know the infinitely seductive sensation of his hands upon it. Her breasts, still aching with the need he had aroused in them last night, would know the caressing touch of his fingers, the hot suckle of his mouth. One tiny step…
One tiny step and everything she had planned for her life would be lost to her. With an immense effort she managed to break free of the spell of her own sensuality. Dragging her bemused gaze away from him, she said shakily, ‘You were saying about the number of single-parent families you hope to offer holidays to at one time…’
And although it took him several seconds to follow her lead, several seconds during which she dared not look at him, eventually he did so…his voice, when he responded to her prompting, raw with arousal and a dark hint of anger; his body, when eventually she found the courage to look at him, tense with bunched muscles and the kind of self-control that made her throat ache.
When he suggested they work through instead of stopping for lunch so that they could finish work mid-afternoon, she didn’t demur. The sooner this appalling day was over, the better. The sooner she could put a much-needed physical distance between them, the better.
She didn’t believe she had the strength to hold out against her own need, if she was condemned to spend another twenty-four hours enduring the kind of intimacy she had endured today.
Was it just because she was so aware of him, because she desired him, that she was so intensely aware of every inflexion of his voice, every subtle movement of his body? Or was he deliberately tormenting her, making her aware of his masculinity, making her focus on him as a man, as he paced the room, as he almost forced her by some power she could only guess at to focus almost completely on him?
It was three o’clock before he had finished briefing her.
‘How long will it take you to get ready to leave?’ he asked her curtly, glancing at his own watch.
‘Half an hour at the most,’ Hannah responded, equally coolly.
‘Right, I’ll meet you down here at half-past three, then.’
He let her get as far as the door, and then said quietly, ‘Hannah…about last night…’
She held her breath, feeling as though her lungs were being squeezed by an unknown force. She couldn’t turn round and look at him, even though she knew she should.
Frantically she wondered what on earth she was supposed to say, and then opted for what she hoped was the safest course, deliberately misunderstanding and saying coolly, ‘I hope I haven’t prejudiced your plans by reacting so badly to Lady Redvers.’
And then, before he could stop her she was through the door, although she thought she heard him swear, just as she closed it, ‘To hell with bloody Fiona!’
* * *
HANNAH WOULD HAVE given anything to be able to drive herself to her parents, but since she had no form of transport, and since to insist on calling a taxi would have been ridiculous, she was forced to endure the almost stifling intimacy of Silas’s presence and Silas’s car and Silas’s silence as he drove towards her home village.
The journey, which should have been pleasantly relaxing, for the roads were relatively free of traffic and the afternoon was balmy and fine, was instead a refined form of torture.
When she saw the familiar church spire in the distance, Hannah almost heaved a sigh of relief, shakily giving Silas directions as they approached the village.
Instead of stopping outside the house as she had hoped, he turned into the drive and, as ill-luck would have it, her mother was kneeling beside one of the borders, busily weeding.
Of course, Hannah was obliged to introduce her to Silas, and after she had laughingly said how pleased she and Hannah’s father were about her new job, because they had benefited through being given Hannah’s virtually brand new car, she insisted on offering Silas a cup of tea and something to eat.
Expecting him to refuse, Hannah’s heart sank when he accepted and seemed genuinely pleased to allow her mother to lead the way to the back door, pausing every now and again to compliment her on the garden, talking so knowledgeably about it that Hannah was surprised into numb silence.
As always on a Friday afternoon, her father was in his study putting the finishing touches to his sermon, but he appeared from this private retreat to be introd
uced to Silas, and when the four of them sat down to the generous afternoon tea her mother had provided Hannah discovered that she was the one who remained silent, while Silas and her parents talked with the ease and familiarity of very old friends.
It was well over an hour before he got up to leave, during which time Hannah had grown steadily more tense.
When she walked out to his car with him, she felt totally unable to speak, even when she saw the coldly impatient look he gave her and the hard compression of his mouth. As he got into his car, his manner towards her was coolly distant, mimicking her own towards him. It was what she wanted, and yet, oh, how it hurt.
As he switched on the engine, she ached to lean forwards and touch her fingers to his mouth, stroking away its cynical twist, but such dangerous thoughts only reinforced her awareness of how dangerously vulnerable she had become.
As he drove away, she turned her back on him and headed back to the house, only to stop after half a dozen paces, unable to give up the hurting pleasure of turning round to watch him until he was out of sight.
‘What a charming man,’ her mother commented predictably when she rejoined her parents.
Less predictably, her father remarked in that vague manner of his that at times had driven his offspring mad, but which with maturity they all recognised as springing from his genuine absorption with his pastoral responsibilities, ‘I liked him; a thoroughly intelligent and well-informed man. You must find working with him an enjoyable challenge.’
Hannah ducked her head. She was beginning to realise how difficult it was going to be to explain to her parents, but more especially to her mother, just why she had resigned from her prestigious job. She even wondered for a craven heartbeat of time if she could possibly pretend that Silas had sacked her, but then dismissed this fiction as unworthy both of herself and him.
She was gnawing worriedly at her bottom lip, her eyes clouded with emotions, when her mother walked into the room and asked quietly, ‘What’s wrong?’
She had forgotten her mother’s almost diabolic percipience, Hannah acknowledged ruefully, too startled to conceal her expression. She knew that she was guilty of discriminating against her own sex, of making the classic mistake of believing that because a woman chose not to have a career that it necessarily meant that she was lacking in intelligence.
In fact she knew quite well that her parents had met while both were up at Oxford, and that her mother had apparently willingly given up the challenge of a potentially promising career to marry her father.
Now, looking into her mother’s concerned face, she felt ashamed and vaguely disquieted. What was it about her that made her selfishly cling so single-mindedly to her determination to remain free of any emotional commitment? Certainly not the example set her by her parents. Without being aware that she intended to do so, she heard herself saying shakily, ‘I’m going to resign from my job on Monday.’
Aghast, she waited for her mother’s cries of astonishment and shock, but instead, and even more shocking, her mother said quietly, ‘Because you’ve fallen in love with Silas…’
For a moment Hannah felt as though her heart was going to stop beating. Then it started to pound with sledgehammer blows that shook her entire body, and she stared at her mother, her colour draining so quickly that the former stretched out a comforting hand to touch her arm and said gently, ‘Don’t worry. I doubt that anyone else has noticed.’ And then, with a small half-smile, she added wryly, ‘After all, I am your mother, and despite the fact that all of you appear to think of me as a creature completely lacking in intelligence at times, I know all of you so well that it’s easy for me to judge your feelings.’
Mingled with her shock was a fine thread of guilt and regret for the truth her mother had spoken so wryly, but she wasn’t given any opportunity to dwell on it because her mother sat down next to her and asked calmly, ‘What is it that worries you so much, Hannah? A fear that Silas doesn’t return your feelings, or a fear that he does?’
The calm words affected her like an electric shock, making her head jerk up and her eyes widen with disbelief. ‘How did you know? How did you know I felt like that?’ she asked helplessly.
Her mother smiled.
‘Hannah, ever since you were a little girl you’ve avoided emotional commitment. I’ve always blamed myself. All those brothers…so rough and sometimes unkind to a little girl…so competitive, despite all that your father and I tried to do to moderate that instinct.
‘There’s nothing weak about loving someone, you know, Hannah. On the contrary, to truly love another human being requires enormous reserves of strength, courage, belief…’
Listening to her, Hannah gave a deep shudder and said rawly, ‘But I don’t want to love him. I don’t want that kind of dependence, that degree of need.’ She turned to her mother and said bitterly, ‘Modern relationships are such fragile things. Marriages break up every day; people hurt one another, and always it seems to me that someone within that relationship is hurt so badly that they never recover.
‘That terrifies me, Mother. You see, I know instinctively that once I allowed myself to love someone, once I’d made that commitment…if the relationship ever broke down, it would destroy me…’
It was only as she heard the echoes of her own voice dying away in the stillness of the room that Hannah recognised the emotion in it, the plea she cried out. Half ashamed of her own uninhibitedness, she added gruffly, ‘And then there’s my career. I want to work. I need to work.’
‘Well, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t,’ her mother announced calmly, much to Hannah’s astonishment. ‘It’s my belief that a contented, fulfilled woman makes a better wife and mother than one who feels that her personality is being stifled, who feels resentful of the claims of her husband and children. Hannah,’ she took hold of her daughter’s hand, turning it over so that she could study her smooth palm, ‘Hannah, a man who loves you would understand that need you’ve just expressed. He wouldn’t try to make you conform to a pattern you couldn’t fit.’
‘Would Dad have allowed you to work if you’d wanted to?’ Hannah asked wryly.
Her mother’s laughter confounded her.
‘My dear, even my generation would take exception to being ‘‘allowed’’ to do anything by their husbands. Had I wanted a career outside that of being a vicar’s wife, had he seen how important that career was to me, I know your father would have tried his best to accommodate my need. That’s what a good relationship is all about, Hannah…trying to accommodate one another’s needs, making allowances for them, and understanding that when we love someone we must love the whole person, not just specific bits of them.’ She released Hannah’s hand and got up.
‘Believe me, Hannah, I’m not trying to pressure you into anything, but, my dear, I’d hate to see you ruin your whole life simply because you’re afraid…’
Afraid. How easily her mother had read her, Hannah realised when she was alone. How small and immature her mother had made her feel with her wisdom; how shallow and selfish in her judgements and motives.
She moved restlessly around the room. None of what her mother had said made any difference, though; she was still determined to hand in her notice. She couldn’t afford the risks, the potential anguish that loving Silas would bring…not so much because she couldn’t bear to relinquish her own plans for her life, but because she couldn’t endure the thought of loving him, of being loved by him…only to lose him. There was to be no going back. She had made up her mind, and she intended to stick to her decision to hand in her notice, no matter what emotional anguish that decision brought her.
CHAPTER TEN
IN THE END Hannah didn’t return home to her docklands apartment until late on Sunday evening. She was unwilling to be alone with her own thoughts, desperate to prevent herself from weakening and letting her emotions triumph over her resolution.
The train seemed to stop at every station and to take for ever to reach London, and then there was the lengthy t
ube journey across the city itself, but at last she was back in her own private place.
Too weary to do anything other than go straight to bed, she showered briefly, and then, before she could weaken completely, she sat down and typed out her resignation.
There was no need to use specifics, and she took refuge in the lie that she felt her skills were incompatible with the job, knowing that Silas wouldn’t have any problem at all in finding someone to take her place.
She then went to bed, so exhausted that she fell into a deep sleep almost straight away. But an observer would not have found her sleep untroubled. She moved restlessly from one side of the bed to the other, calling out Silas’s name several times in a hopeless, yearning way that reflected her inner feelings, tears she didn’t know she cried dampening her face, as though that part of her nature that her waking mind deemed weak and vulnerable was already mourning the death of something special that would never come again.
She was awake early and at the office for eight, relieved to discover that she had arrived before Maggie and Sarah.
She slipped into Silas’s office and left her resignation on his desk, knowing that he would see it the moment he walked in, since Maggie never produced the post until fifteen minutes or so after his arrival, and then she went back to her own office and waited in a fret of tension while conscientiously trying to sort out anything of priority on her desk.
She had closed the communicating door between her office and Silas’s, but even so she heard the outer door open and knew that he had arrived.
She tried to ignore the small sounds coming from his office, to ignore the tension that built up inside her with every passing second, not to visualise what he was doing, how he would look when he found her letter and read it, not to look fearfully at the closed communicating door.
When her intercom bleeped, she stared numbly at it, reluctantly depressing the answer key.
‘Hannah, come in here, will you?’
No ‘please’. No question of his order—because order it was—being refused.
