by Penny Jordan
How could anyone do such a thing to a child? It was past all comprehension—but then people did strange things out of their own pain, and perhaps her child had been an unbearable reminder to his mother of the love she had borne his father.
‘I never knew,’ she told Lady Morley softly. ‘I’m so glad you told me.’
‘I thought it might help. I’m not blind, you know. You and Yorke might have been reconciled, but there are some barriers still unbreeched, I suspect. I wouldn’t have told you any of this, if I wasn’t sure that you loved him and would use the knowledge wisely. Yorke, more than most, needs love and understanding. And you’ll need courage if you’re to overcome the barriers.’
They parted on amicable terms, Autumn asking if Lady Morley would care to attend their party.
‘I’ve already told you, I’m not much of a social person. Send me an invitation to the christening,’ she said with a smile. ‘Then I’ll know that the barriers are well and truly down!’
CHAPTER EIGHT
LADY MORLEY’S disclosures gave Autumn much to think about. She found herself watching Yorke in unguarded moments, searching his features for some trace of the child who had been denied his parents’ love.
The weeks slid by and it was November, and then December, and the distance between them grew all the time. Yorke had turned into a polite stranger and she no longer went to bed in nervous excitement wondering if he would come to her room. Neither did his chilly manner suggest that she would be welcome if she went to his.
Was he capable of loving any woman, she often wonder, or had his childhood experiences blunted his capacity for emotion for ever?
The weekend of the party loomed. The week before Autumn spent with Mrs Jacobs organising china and cutlery, the two of them working together in companionable female silence, Autumn willingly taking her turn in the kitchen with the preparation of food to be made and stored in the freezer pending the big event.
On Beth’s advice Autumn had invited a smattering of Yorke’s business associates, plus several of his own board members; Sir Giles, and various other neighbours she had come to know, and had added Beth herself and Richard.
When Beth phoned to accept the invitation Autumn teased, ‘I’m not stupid, you know. If it all goes wrong I want you there to shoulder the blame.’
‘Nothing will go wrong. I suspect you’ve got hidden talents. You could organise the retreat from Moscow without anything going wrong.’
Autumn laughed. ‘Tell that to Napoleon!’
To save time and give herself the opportunity to relax she had decided to go to London the Friday beforehand and had made herself an appointment at Elizabeth Arden.
It would also give her the opportunity to buy a few Christmas presents. She wanted to get something for Mrs Jacobs and Ben, particularly, and there were others.
Thinking that she would need a full day, she rather hesitantly broached the subject with Yorke the night before, hoping that if he was going to London he might give her a lift.
‘Rather a long way to go to get your hair done, isn’t it?’ was his only comment. He had a glass of whisky in his hand, and it wasn’t his first of the evening. He had never been a heavy drinker and Autumn frowned, wondering if her presence was so unendurable that it drove him to drink. For one thing had become abundantly clear. Since the night he had come to her room, he had been meticulous about avoiding any sort of physical contact with her, even to the extent of their hands touching over the breakfast toast. He had wanted her, but perhaps her total capitulation had assuaged that hunger, she thought bitterly. Certainly there was no evidence of it now. He could not have been more cold and remote, his manner almost that of a man who detested the female sex altogether. Perhaps he did? Perhaps his mother’s treatment of him had resulted in a burning hatred which manifested itself in the desire to taunt and humiliate; it was not so unthinkable.
‘If you want to travel with me, be ready to leave at eight,’ he told her abruptly, draining the glass and pushing it to one side. ‘I’m going out.’
So what’s new? Autumn wondered bitterly. He went out most nights, but she did not know where, and it was always late when he returned. She knew, because she lay awake waiting for the sounds of that return.
Mrs Jacobs had assured her that everything was under control, and it was with a reasonably clear conscience that she prepared to accompany Yorke to London.
She deliberately chose a pair of shoes with only moderately high heels, remembering what a couple of hours of trudging from shop to shop could do to one’s feet.
Yorke made no comment when she joined him. She was wearing a simple muted tweed suit in pinks and lavenders with a toning silk blouse, and she knew that she looked attractive.
‘Yorke’s only reaction was to glance at his wristwatch, grimacing slightly.
‘You’ve got ten minutes.’
It took her eight to drink her coffee and nibble a piece of toast, watching him surreptitiously as he folded his paper. It struck her that he had lost weight and the bones of his face were more prominent. If she didn’t know better she would have sworn she saw suffering darkening his eyes, before he veiled them from her, standing up abruptly and shrugging on his jacket. Not even the dark formality of a suit could conceal his sensual appeal, she thought on a flood of desire, and her tongue touched her dry lips in restless longing.
The traffic was busy and during the drive Yorke was too busy concentrating to talk to her.
It was only when they reached Central London that he turned his head, his voice expressionless as he offered her a lift back.
‘I shouldn’t be too late. Shall we say five o’clock?’
He stopped the car and leaned across her, his arm hard and warm against her body. She half fell and half stumbled out of the car, blinded by tears of aching longing.
Her shopping took longer to complete than she had expected. London was busy, and the tinsel garishness of the stores decked out for Christmas jarred against her. They had all lost sight of the real meaning of the season, she thought, listening to an acid exchange between a shopper and the salesgirl who had kept her waiting while she chatted to a friend.
It was close to lunchtime and her arms ached with the weight of her parcels. On impulse she decided to call and see if Beth was free for lunch and drop off her shopping at the same time. She still had not bought anything for Yorke, and she knew why. She was in conflict with herself. One part of her wanted to hide from him how she felt and feared to buy him a gift which might betray her feelings, while the other, more reckless and despairingly, longed only to give him something that would reveal it very clearly. What did she have in mind? she mocked herself sardonically. What sort of gifts did a woman give to a man to show her desire? Or did she think that some lavish present now would wipe out the aridness of his past? It was time she stopped confusing the man with the boy, she told herself tiredly as she looked for a taxi. There was nothing Yorke wanted that she could give him. He had taken it all already.
Nevertheless she spent ages in a jewellers choosing some cuff-links, meticulously paying for them from her slender savings so that he could not accuse her of using his own money.
She was just paying off the taxi outside Yorke’s offices when someone tapped her on the shoulder and a familiar voice spoke her name.
‘Alan!’ She stared at him in surprise. ‘I didn’t know you were in England. Is Sally with you?’
‘No, she’s with Richard. He’s got Christmas off and they’re spending it together. There’s been some delay over the house, otherwise they’d be getting married. Let me look at you.’
He held her away from him, her winter pallor contrasting with his deep tan.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked when he released her.
‘Yorke sent for me. Didn’t he tell you?’
She could have replied that Yorke told her nothing, but instead she smiled and shook her head.
‘More important things to talk about than the likes of me, is that it?’
His jocularity annoyed her.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Alan! You know damned well how things are between Yorke and me.’
‘I thought I did,’ he agreed mildly, ‘until I saw you heading for his office. Women don’t usually seek out their husbands at work if they’re indifferent to them.’
‘I wasn’t going to see Yorke. I just wanted to drop off these parcels.’
His expression lightened a teasing smile on his lips. ‘Well, in that case come and have lunch with me.’
On impulse she agreed, letting him take charge of her shopping as he fell into step beside her.
He took her to a small restaurant not far from the office.
‘I discovered this place before I went to St John’s,’ he told her. ‘It’s pleasant without being pretentious and the food is good.’
It was, and Autumn tucked into her baked potatoes and charcoal-grilled kebab with enjoyment, listening to Alan while he talked about St John’s.
‘That ad Yorke ran made all the difference,’ he announced enthusiastically. ‘He’s got a fantastic business instinct, Autumn. I’m beginning to think going in with him was the best thing I’ve ever done.’
‘I thought the partnership worked the other way round,’ Autumn said dryly, ‘but I’m glad someone is getting something out of it.’
He had the grace to flush.
‘Look, I’m sorry about all that happened. But it’s all worked out for the best.’ When Autumn looked at him uncomprehendingly he said uncertainly, ‘Well, you’re still together, so I assumed…’
‘Don’t assume anything, Alan. It doesn’t pay where Yorke’s concerned.’ All at once she had lost her appetite. She glanced round, stiffening suddenly as her eyes encountered those of her husband seated several tables away. The woman who was with him was dark and soignée, and red-hot knives of jealousy tore at Autumn as she looked at her. Yorke made no sign that he had recognised her, all his attention was concentrated on his companion. Where were they spending the rest of the afternoon? Autumn wondered savagely. Did Yorke still have the London apartment? Was she why he had suddenly started going in to the office nearly ever day?
‘Autumn, is something wrong?’
With an effort she drew her attention back to Alan, her eyes bright and feverish.
‘No… no. I’m fine.’
‘Look, why don’t we go out together tonight? It will be quite like old times,’ he coaxed. ‘Dinner and a show…’
‘I can’t… I’ve got a hair appointment this afternoon, and then tomorrow we’re having this party.’
She glanced across at Yorke. His companion had produced a cigarette and Yorke was leaning forward to light it, his hand cupping hers, and the intimate gesture stabbed fiercely at Autumn.
‘Oh, come on,’ Alan was saying. ‘I promise I’ll have you home by midnight, if that’s what you’re worried about, Cinderella.’
On impulse she gave in, thinking with a thrust of savage satisfaction that it would serve Yorke right if she spoiled his carefully planned charade and ruined his chances of getting the knighthood.
‘Come round to my flat, and we’ll go on from there,’ Alan said enthusiastically. ‘You remember where it is?’
Autumn did. Alan had often asked her to go round for last-minute instructions when she worked for him, and as they rose to leave he picked up her parcels and said casually, ‘I’ll take these for you—you can pick them up later. What sort of show do you fancy?’
‘I’ll leave it up to you, I don’t mind.’
Don’t care was more like it, Autumn reflected miserably as they drew level with Yorke’s table. He didn’t even look at her, and Alan, concentrating on carrying all her shopping, had obviously not noticed them.
Her intention of having a relaxing afternoon was totally vanquished, Autumn admitted several hours later as she emerged on to Bond Street. Despite the soothing ministrations of the beauty therapist and hairdresser she had been totally unable to stop thinking about Yorke, her muscles growing more tense by the moment.
The winter afternoon had darkened to early evening, lights glittered brilliantly all around her. The streets were crowded and she wished she had not agreed to go out with Alan. It took her quite a while to find a taxi, and she directed the driver to take her to Yorke’s offices. Outside she instructed him to wait, while she darted in and gave the receptionist a hurried message.
That Yorke would be furious she did not doubt. Or would he? Perhaps her absence would give him the opportunity to spend a little longer with his soignée brunette.
Alan’s flat was in Chelsea, part of an attractive mews. Autumn knew it well, and when Alan answered the door to her knock, his hair still damp and tousled from his shower, she made herself at home while he went to finish dressing.
‘Bathroom’s all yours if you want to tidy up,’ he offered. In one of her parcels was a dress she had bought that morning. It was black velvet, skimming her body flatteringly, and when Alan saw it he gave a low, appreciative whistle, playfully crossing his arms over her and dropping a light kiss on her temple.
‘None of that!’ she warned. ‘I’m a married woman, remember?’
‘I am remembering,’ Alan groaned. ‘Yorke’s a very lucky man. Come on, let’s go and get something to eat before I decide to stay here and make a meal of you instead!’
Alan could be good company when he set his mind to it, and tonight he was in high spirits. A result of the success with St John’s, Autumn reflected, wishing she could match his light mood. Her mind was on Yorke the whole time. This was the first time she had been out with another man since she went back to him, and there wasn’t a second when he wasn’t distracting her attention from Alan.
Alan had chosen a popular musical, and the theatre was packed.
‘We were lucky to get tickets,’ he told her, as they sat down.
Autumn could not relax enough to enjoy the show. All her thoughts were concentrated on Yorke. What was he doing? Had he gone straight home when he got her message or had he stayed in London—with the brunette?
Her head was aching when they emerged from the darkness. Alan had been lucky enough to park the car quite close to the theatre, and Autumn shivered slightly as she waited for him to open the door. The evening was cold and she had no coat.
‘Enjoy yourself?’
She replied automatically, not wanting to hurt Alan’s feelings.
‘Want to come back to my place for a nightcap?’
She stared at him through the darkness. Foolishly she hadn’t been prepared for this, but she supposed she ought to have been. It was too late now to regret her earlier comments regarding her marriage. Alan was not totally to blame if he had assumed from them, and her acceptance of his invitation, that she was available for more than just dinner and a show.
‘No, thanks. I’m sorry, Alan. It was a lovely evening, but I really would prefer to go straight home. As you said yourself, you’ve got a good partnership with Yorke.’
He didn’t pretend not to understand, and for that Autumn was extremely grateful. She did not feel up to fending off any amorous approaches. Her headache had developed into a dull throbbing pain behind her temples, which she knew was caused by tension and anxiety.
They were later that she had expected, and when they turned into the drive the house was in darkness.
‘Nice place,’ Alan approved.
It struck Autumn that she ought to invite him to their party, but he had a prior engagement.
‘Great evening.’ He kissed her lightly, then reached behind him for her parcels. ‘Pity about the long lonely drive home. I don’t suppose you’d care to share it with me?’ His wry smile told Autumn that he already knew the answer. ‘I don’t know what it is about you,’ he said with a rueful shake of his head. ‘I know trying to steal you away from Yorke would be like putting my head on the block as far as my business is concerned, but when I’m with you, I’m almost convinced it would be worth it.’
‘Only almost?’ Autu
mn teased lightly to hide her emotions. ‘How ungallant!’
She didn’t ask him to come in, and he didn’t seem to expect it. The hall was in darkness, and she reached for the light-switch, dropping one of her parcels as she did so. The thud seemed to reverberate round the silent room. She bent to retrieve it and the lights suddenly blazed to life, startling her. Yorke was standing at the top of the stairs, a thin silk robe his only covering.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ he asked coldly.
His height and the fact that he was standing at the top of the stairs gave him an advantage, and as he moved slowly and deliberately towards her Autumn felt panic start to spiral through her. She had a cowardly urge to drop her parcels and run—which she resisted. She was not some erring child, for God’s sake! Her chin lifted and she stared at Yorke.
‘I asked you a question,’ he said silkily.
He was moving on her like a hunter on its prey, every movement sleekly designed to instil fear, and she trembled fiercely, rooted to the floor, her parcels clutched protectively in front of her.
It was only as he began to remove them one by one that she came to life, wriggling away from him, but she had her back to the wall, and with three paces she was up against it with nowhere to turn except the arms Yorke had placed either side of her.
‘Answer me, Autumn,’ he said in that same silkily deadly tone. ‘Or do you want me to beat it out of you?’
The suppressed violence panicked her. ‘You know where I’ve been,’ she began wildly. ‘I left you a message.’
‘To say that you were going out with Alan,’ he agreed curtly. ‘But that wasn’t where you went, was it, Autumn? You went back to his flat with him, didn’t you?’
She daredn’t ask how he knew. ‘It was only because it was convenient to meet there.’ She realised too late that it had been a mistake to sound so defensive, but Yorke wasn’t listening. His eyes slid over her in hard comprehension.
