by Penny Jordan
Just as she was pondering her dilemma the front door opened and a tall stately woman in her late fifties came out, and called her name.
'I saw you drive up,' she said, when Diana stepped forward. 'I'm Mrs Jenkins, the housekeeper. I'm afraid Mr Simons is going to be delayed for ten minutes or so. If you'd like to come inside, I'll take you to his study.'
The elegant rectangular hallway was in the older part of the building, the stairs going up from it were dark oak and very warm. A richly patterned carpet in reds and blues emphasised the cream walls and dark woodwork. A refectory table in oak gleamed with polish, reflecting the copper bowl of roses standing on its surface.
'If you'll just come this way, miss.'
A traditional latched door led down a step to a flagged stone passage. Through a tiny window Diana caught a glimpse of buildings and a cobbled yard, and realised that the passage must lead to the back of the house.
At the end of the passage was another door. The housekeeper opened it and stood to one side to allow Diana to enter the room.
'This is the most beautiful place,' she murmured appreciatively, unable to hold back the comment.
'Yes, it is. This part of the house used to be the old still rooms. It was converted into office space in Mr Simons' uncle's time, but things have changed a lot since those days.'
Diana realised what she meant as she walked into the room and saw the array of modern technology arranged before her.
One entire wall of the room was filled with filing cabinets. On a very utilitarian desk stood a computer terminal with all the ancillary equipment, plus a modern computer-linked telephone.
Like the passage, the floor was flagged, and struck chill through the thin soles of her sandals. Central heating had obviously been installed at some time, and there was also a huge open fireplace. A modern filter coffee machine stood next to an electronic typewriter.
'The men are in and out of this room constantly, that's why Mr Simons uses it. It's convenient for them, and they don't have to worry about treading muck and dirt in. Farming isn't what it used to be. Would you like something to drink while you're waiting. Tea… coffee?'
All her adult life Diana had been a coffee fiend; now all she could tolerate was tea—weak tea.
'Mr Simons won't be very long,' the housekeeper promised her as she withdrew.
Alone in the room, Diana was conscious of the thickness of the walls and the stillness of the air inside. She sat down on a leather chair and looked out of the window.
In the yard outside were several pieces of farm machinery. She saw a man trudge out of one of the barns; he was small and gnarled, and she watched his progress as he swung himself up into one of the tractors and then trundled off.
Obviously not the man she had come to see. The phone chirruped, and was answered somewhere else in the house. The housekeeper returned with her tea and a selection of what looked like home-made biscuits.
'Sorry about the delay,' she apologised, 'only Mrs Simons needed me.'
She must have frowned, Diana realised, because the housekeeper explained, 'Mrs Simons is confined to a wheelchair. She caught polio when she was twenty-seven.'
Poor woman, Diana thought compassionately. She knew for herself what pain could do to the human spirit; she had seen at first hand what it could do to a person to lose their mobility and independence. And for a farmer's wife, even an obviously wealthy farmer's wife…
She thanked the housekeeper for the tea and sat down again. The cold was beginning to make her shiver. Her thin top and skirt, so suitable for the heat of the sun, were not suitable attire for this stone-flagged room.
She drank her tea, sipping it, and giving in to the temptation to eat one of the biscuits. They tasted as good as they looked. Once she was over her morning nausea, she was beginning to get so hungry; the weight she had lost during the long months of worrying about and nursing Leslie would soon be regained if she carried on like this. Not that she couldn't afford to put on half a stone or so, she reflected, remembering the doctor's warning to her that she must eat properly.
She was sitting staring out of the window, lost in her own thoughts when the door opened. She felt the draught of air, even before she heard the firm masculine footsteps and turned round.
The cup tilted crazily in her hand, the room blurring out of focus as the shock hit her. He stood in the doorway, frowning down at her, his recognition as complete and instantaneous as her own.
'You…' Diana said at last. How, how had this happened? How on earth could this man standing here be that same man from the hotel bedroom in London? It was like the worst kind of nightmare; stretching the long arm of coincidence far too far. And he obviously thought so too.
'Well, well, congratulations on your detective work,' he jeered, sarcastically, overcoming his shock faster than she had controlled her own. 'So you managed to track me down. I suppose I ought to have expected it.'
He was dressed in worn jeans and a plaid shirt, open to the waist to show the leanness of his chest. Tiny beads of sweat clung to his skin, and there was a streak of mud across his cheekbone. His hair was ruffled, his eyes bitingly dark, his stance that of a man who knows he's threatened but is determined not to give way.
Diana noticed all these things without really being aware of doing so, her mind only registering the meaning of his words minutes after she had heard them.
'What do you mean?' She stood up, trembling with shock and rage. How dared he appear like this, ruining all her plans, ruining all her happiness! She wanted to close her eyes and make him disappear. She couldn't believe he was real; she didn't want him to be real. She was ready to stamp her foot like a petulant child, only he wasn't going to go away. He was still standing in that doorway, watching her with brooding resentment, and he thought… '
He actually dared to think she had deliberately sought him out… had actually and deliberately tracked him down! She froze with bitter resentment, and then another and even more appalling truth struck her. He was a married man, and she was carrying his child. No wonder he was so resentful of her appearance. A married man who cheated on his wife. Her mouth curled disdainfully as she controlled her shock.
'Mr Simons,' she said firmly, 'I think there's been some mistake.'
'You're damned right there has,' he agreed, cutting through the polite facade of her words. 'And you're the one who's made it. I don't know what you think you're doing following me down here, but you can just turn right round and go back where you came from.'
Oh yes, he would like that. Diana was seething. How dared he infer that she was chasing after him! Her eyes flashed warning signals, her lungs expanding as she fought for self-control.
'Unfortunately, you're wrong,' she told him crisply. 'This is now my home.'
She saw the shock glitter in his eyes, and if she hadn't been so angry she might almost have felt hurt. After all, when they had made love he had been glad enough to have her in his arms… more than glad. She clamped down fiercely on the memories.
'I've just bought a business down here,' her chin tilted aggressively, 'that's why I'm here, in fact. My builder told me that you have some beams for sale.'
'A business?' His frown had deepened. 'My God, don't tell me you're the one who's bought Alice Simms' shop?'
'As a matter of fact I am.'
She heard him groan and push strong fingers into his hair.
'I learned it was for sale through my solicitor, Mr…'
'Soames,' he finished wearily for her. 'Christ, of all the coincidences. I don't think I believe this.'
'You know him?'
'Know him?' He laughed harshly. 'Didn't he tell you that I was his co-trustee in Alice's estate?'
For a moment Diana was completely dumbfounded. Of course Mr Soames had mentioned his co-trustee and she had even known that he lived here at Whitegates Farm, but the shock of coming face to face with the very last person on earth she had wanted to see had driven that knowledge out of her mind.
Her white f
ace and strained eyes must have told their own story, because suddenly his attitude changed.
'Look, coming face to face like this has obviously been a shock—to both of us.' He reached out as though to take her arm, but Diana wrenched away from him furiously.
Oh, he wanted to placate her now that he realised he was in the wrong—and no wonder. No doubt he was terrified that she might spill the beans to his wife. God, what sort of man was he? She had never dreamed that he might be married. More fool her for not immediately guessing the truth.
'A minute ago you were convinced that I'd pursued you down here,' she reminded him bitterly.
'We have to talk…'
Oh yes, he wanted to talk to her now that he realised they were going to be neighbours, no doubt to ensure that she kept her mouth shut about their night together. He made her feel grubby and deceitful, she realised miserably. She hated the very thought of what had happened between them now that she knew he was committed to another woman.
'We have nothing to talk about,' she told him curtly. 'As far as I'm concerned we are two complete strangers, meeting now for the first time.'
There, that should make her position clear enough to him; that should soothe his fears. The thought that he had actually surmised that she had pursued him… that she might actually try to make trouble for him with his wife, regardless of the latter's feelings, sickened her.
He was looking at her in a way she found hard to define; a mixture of rueful comprehension and masculine amusement.
Oh yes, now that he knew he had nothing to fear from her, he no doubt felt he was in a far more powerful and safe position. She hated the thought that they were conspirators in something she considered morally wrong. She had never been involved with a married man. She was fiercely glad now that she had adopted the mantle of widowhood. He would never know that she had conceived his child. Never.
He was shaking his head slightly, and grinning ruefully at her. 'I never imagined when I asked Derek Soames to sell Alice's place that this would happen.'
'No, I'm sure you didn't,' Diana agreed crisply, heading for the door. 'However, it has. Oh, and for the record, Mr Simons,' she told him from the open doorway, 'I do not run after any member of your sex, but most particularly those members of it who happen to be married. I hope I make myself clear.'
'As mud,' he told her with a frown. 'You and I need to talk.'
'No!'
She'd done all the talking she intended to do. For a moment, she thought he actually intended physically to prevent her from leaving, but at the last moment he seemed to change his mind, and he let her walk through the still open door.
More by good luck than anything else she found her way back to the front door. She was still shaking five minutes later when she drove her car out of the open gates.
At the first stopping place she parked the car and sat there, willing her lacerated nerves to heal.
Of all the most appalling coincidences. What trick of mischievous fate had brought them together like this? That Mr Soames—that most correct and proper of men—should be the innocent author of their dual misfortune, only increased her sense of disbelief. It was almost stretching coincidence too far. Almost as though fate had decided that what had happened was meant to be. Quickly she pushed the thought away, not liking its implications.
She gnawed desperately at her bottom lip, trying to quell her revulsion at his betrayal of his injured wife. She had at least been free to give her body to him.
But the consequences of that giving were something that had not even entered her head. She was carrying his child. She shuddered with pain.
If she could turn back the clock and change her mind about purchasing the shop she would have done, but it was too late. She had already put in too much time and money to pull out now. She was committed.
She herself had paid over the odds for the property because she had fallen in love with it and the town, and she had already admitted to herself that she would need the income from her legacy to buoy up the scant profits she would make from the book shop.
The business had been on the market for eighteen months before she had bought it; and if she tried to sell now… No—she was trapped. The dreadful, clawing fear she should have felt on discovering that she was pregnant and had not, gripped her now. She could hardly wait to get back to the inn and shut herself in her suite.
It had never occurred to her to check where he had come from. She hadn't wanted to know.
In the shame-faced awakening to reality that morning all she had wanted to do was to forget the whole thing. She hadn't wanted to know anything at all about him.
They hadn't even so much as exchanged names.
Thank God she had taken the precaution of transforming herself into a widow, and she dimly remembered telling him that she had just lost someone she loved. If he should ever pose any questions she would have to claim that Leslie's death had been her husband's. Not that he was likely to question her, surely; he would be as anxious to forget what had happened between them as she was herself.
Her face burned hotly as she realised the connotations he had probably put on her unexpected appearance. He was obviously a wealthy man, no doubt he thought she was trying to blackmail him. No wonder he had looked so furious!
When the builder rang her later in the afternoon to ask about the beams she told him that she had changed her mind, and that she would prefer him to deal with the negotiations for her. He seemed to accept her decision without comment, but her heart was pounding when she replaced the receiver, and her hands were clammy.
The potential of the appalling coincidence that had brought her here to her one-time lover's home town were something she was only now beginning to fully comprehend. She had always made it a personal rule to stay clear of married men and she was filled with a sense of sick disgust for both herself and him.
To see him again in the flesh, in circumstances so far removed from those which had brought them together, had made her realise that in addition to drawing a convenient veil of forgetfulness over the entire night they had spent together, she had also painted a hazy, romantic mental picture of their coming together, subconsciously imbuing it with emotions and feelings that she was now forced to accept were totally fictitious.
She had deluded herself that something more than mere physical contact had existed between them, she admitted now. She tricked herself into the self deception that they had been lovers in more than just the physical sense, even if she was only now prepared to admit as much to herself.
She had quite erroneously and stupidly given the whole affair a magic and wonder that had lifted it out of the mundane and everyday, making it seem in retrospect something special, to be treasured. Now all her pretty pictures were being destroyed by reality, showing her that her child had not been conceived in a moment of mutual rapture shared between two strangers who in other circumstances might have gone on to be lovers in all the meanings of that word, but simply a sordid one-night stand between a married man, and a woman driven by excessive grief to forget all her own moral standards. It wasn't a pleasant thought. Her child's father was a married man with a totally dependent, sick wife.
She shivered suddenly. She must stop thinking about it. As far as the world was concerned, she was a widow who had conceived her husband's child shortly before his death, and it must continue to think that.
CHAPTER THREE
Whoever had first said that a lie once begun developed a life and pace of its own had known what they were talking about, Diana reflected wryly three days later.
Only that morning the Vicar had stopped her as she crossed the road in front of the church. He had introduced himself and welcomed her to the parish.
It had been obvious from his demeanour that he knew she was a widow, and Diana had hated herself for the lie she had been forced to give when he enquired if her widowhood was recent, but what alternative did she have? In a matter of weeks her pregnancy would be clearly discernible. When she had decided to
move to a small rural town she had forgotten how gossip thrived in such confined conditions, and how openly curious people were about their neighbours' lives.
In London, she and Leslie hadn't even known the other occupants of their small block of fiats; here, she was constantly being accosted by people who came up to her in the street and introduced themselves, exclaiming over the fact that she had bought the bookshop, and asking her about her plans. There was nothing malicious or unkind in their interest, she knew that, and if it wasn't for the unnerving presence of Marcus Simons so very close at hand, she doubted that she would have given it a second thought.
Somehow he had destroyed the cosy new image she had created for herself. It made her feel uncomfortable and guilty to be taking such pleasure in her pregnancy when his wife was an invalid. Did they have children?
The full enormity of what she was getting caught up in haunted her, but it was too late to make another fresh start.
Four days after her meeting with Marcus Simons, Diana received a telephone call from her builder, asking her to meet him at Whitegates Farm.
'I've negotiated the purchase of the beams you'll need from Marcus, but there's something else there I want you to look at. When they were dismantling the barn they discovered an old fireplace that must have been taken out of the Tudor wing of the farm at one time and put in the barn—probably to heat up animal feeds. You were talking about installing a traditional Tudor fireplace in your kitchen, and I think you should see this one. I've had a look at it, and it's a gem. The price is good as well.'
Diana would have given anything to tell him that she was quite prepared to rely on his judgment, but she could sense the excitement in his voice, and after her enthusiasm about the planned alterations it would look odd if she simply told him to go ahead without inspecting the fireplace for herself.
