by Penny Jordan
It was too late to leave now, she would have to go in. Blessing the darkness of the kitchen, Diana prayed that Ann hadn't noticed the way her colour changed. Of all the bad luck! The last thing she had anticipated was that she might run into Marcus.
'I can't stay,' she told Ann quickly. 'I just called to ask you if you could let me have directions for that furniture place you were telling me about. I'm on my way to Hereford.'
'There you are, Marcus, your prayers have been answered. Marcus called round to ask me if I could go into Hereford to collect Ma's prescription. The local chemist is out of her tablets, and she can't sleep without them. They've got a bit of a crisis on at the farm, and Marcus can't leave. Three of his cows are calving. Michael's over there now. He was hoping that I could go into Hereford for him, but I can't—not right now, I've promised to collect and look after someone else's kids after school, and even if I left now I wouldn't be back in time.'
With a sinking heart, Diana recognised that there was no way she could refuse to help. With the utmost reluctance she took the prescription Ann was handing her, guilt mingling with anger. She had been dreading seeing Marcus again after yesterday. She knew she had behaved unkindly towards him; not only did she feel guilty, she also felt wretchedly mean as well, doubly so when she remembered how brave and cheerful his mother was.
'There's no need to drag Diana into this.'
Diana heard the terseness in his voice as Marcus stepped into the light. The sight of him shocked her. He looked as though he badly needed a shave. His face was drawn with exhaustion, haggard almost, his eyes nearly black in the tired pallor of his face.
Her expression must have betrayed her shock because he rubbed a hand over his jaw and grimaced wryly.
'He's been up all night with his cows,' Ann informed her. 'They're a new breed he's been experimenting with—Charolais—only they're having problems birthing their calves. He's lost three of them already.'
'Thanks, Ann, but I'm sure Diana isn't interested in the fate of my livestock,' Marcus interrupted flatly. 'Which reminds me, I'd better get back. I'll just collect the stuff that Michael wanted from his surgery and then I'll be on my way.'
He paused several feet away from Diana, and she had the feeling that for some reason he didn't want to come any closer to her. It was almost as though he was deliberately keeping a distance between them. But then, why shouldn't he after the way she had behaved yesterday?
She found herself caught in the middle of two conflicting emotions. Part of her was relieved that he was taking her rejection so matter-of-factly, but part of her also felt bereft, betrayed almost, by his patent indifference to her.
He sidestepped past her to reach the door, and within minutes Diana heard the noise of a car engine.
'Poor Marcus, things haven't been going at all well for him recently,' Ann sighed. 'Really he never wanted to take on the farm, you know. He did it for Ma's sake. Our uncle was very old-fashioned in his ways, and Marcus is trying to drag the farm into the twentieth century.
'I'll just give you those directions. Lucky you, starting completely afresh. There are times when I'd love to redo this place, but then I see a pair of muddy shoes perched on one of the chairs, and I have second thoughts. I keep promising myself I'll have all the pastels and pretties I want when the kids leave home.'
She wrote down the directions and handed the paper to Diana, pausing slightly before asking, 'Would you mind taking Ma's prescription direct to the farm? It isn't much out of your way and… well, she said the other day how much she had enjoyed meeting you. This will be the first year she hasn't been on the fete committee, and it's making her feel miserable. Seeing you will help to cheer her up.'
How could she refuse without seeming appallingly churlish? As she stepped out into the yard Ann called after her. 'Don't forget dinner on Saturday, will you?'
She found the factory without too much difficulty, and after touring their workshop she was determined to buy something from them. She had fallen in love with a traditional kitchen table, and had also been tempted by a cupboard that they were making to order for another customer. Something like that in her bedroom, it was large enough to take it. But that still didn't solve the problem of somewhere to hang her clothes. There was plenty of room in the dressing-room, which linked her bedroom and bathroom, for wardrobes to be fitted, but she wanted something more in keeping with the house than anything she had seen so far.
When she mentioned this to the man who was showing her round, he beamed with delight.
'No problem at all,' he assured her. 'We could design something specifically to fit your requirements, that will fit in perfectly with the house. I'll show you some photographs of work we've already done on various period bedrooms.'
The photographs he showed her whetted Diana's appetite even further, and before she left she had arranged for him to come out to the house to measure up her dressing-room for a tailor-made period-styled fitted wardrobe.
'Of course, it can't be genuinely authentic, but it will certainly be in keeping with the rest of the building,' she was assured before she left.
In Hereford she was lucky enough to find a parking spot straight away. She visited the chemist first to collect the prescription and then went on to check on the progress of her curtains. They were almost finished, and would be ready to be hung as soon as the decorators had completed their work.
There were men working in the fields as Diana drove homewards. Because of the good weather, farmers were hoping to bring in two crops, and some of the fields were already being cleared for this purpose.
Farming was hard work; how hard she was only just beginning to realise. She thought of Marcus's haggard, exhausted face, and immediately wished she had not, as she felt a renewed upsurge of her earlier guilt. She must stop feeling like this. She had nothing to feel guilty about.
Or had she?
CHAPTER SIX
The fields around Whitegates Farm were empty of any human occupation. Marcus's Land Rover was parked in the yard, but it was empty of any other vehicles.
Tense with the anticipation of meeting him, Diana climbed out of her own car, clutching the precious prescription. Mrs Jenkins open-end the door to her hesitant knock and beamed a welcome at her.
'Well, if that isn't good timing! I was just making Mrs Simons a pot of tea. She'll be delighted that you're here to share it with her. Please, come on through.'
Jane Simons was sitting in her chair on the patio outside her small sitting-room. She smiled welcomingly at Diana.
'It's been such a hot day, I was just trying to catch the early evening breeze. Have you got time to stay and have tea?'
Diana hadn't the heart to refuse. Despite her poised smile, she could see the loneliness in the older woman's eyes.
'Yes, I have. As a matter of fact, I'm glad you asked me. I don't know if Ann's mentioned it, but I've been put in charge of co-ordinating this year's summer fete. I haven't a clue what I should be doing, and Ann just happened to mention to me earlier that you might be able to help me.'
She wasn't strictly telling the truth, but this time her fibs occasioned no guilt at all. It was worth lying just to see the flush of pleasure and interest colour Jane Simons' too-thin face.
'You'll need to muster almost all the town before you've finished,' she warned Diana. 'The marquee will have been booked already, but it doesn't do any harm just to check that everything's in order there. Kath will have a list of telephone numbers for you, and if she hasn't I should be able to help out. I always keep my old diaries, and they'll be in there.'
Mrs Jenkins unobtrusively poured the tea, and left while they were still deep in conversation. Oddly, Diana felt no sense of unease with Marcus's mother.
'Ann tells me that you're expecting a baby. I did wonder when you were here before.'
Had she? Diana felt a small frisson of alarm.
'It must be a very poignant time for you: the hope of a new life combined with the loss of your husband.'
Th
ere it was again; that reference to her non-existent husband, that compassion that she in no way at all merited.
'This place needs children. I know that Ann's always nagging Marcus to get married, and I must admit it would be nice to have another woman around again. My sister-in-law and I were very good friends, and I still miss her dreadfully. A son, no matter how loving and caring, is no substitute for a good woman friend. And Marcus himself has changed recently; he's become very preoccupied. I think something's worrying him, but I don't know what. At first I thought it was the farm, but I think it's something deeper than that… something far more personal. I'm sorry, my dear.' She gave Diana a brief smile of apology. 'I must be boring you going on about my family. Where were we…?'
Diana had no alternative but to allow her to change the subject back to the details of the coming fete. It irritated her that she had wanted to hear more about Marcus. She had a mad desire to ask Jane Simons what he had been like as a small child.
What was happening to her? Losing Leslie had made her determined to shun the terrible vulnerability of emotional attachment to another human being.
But it was already too late, she reminded herself; she was already as emotionally committed as it was possible to be, to her unborn child.
Her unborn child. She placed a hand over her stomach.
'My dear, are you all right?'
The concern in Jane Simons' voice brought her out of her deep thoughts.
'I'm fine. I was just…'
'Reassuring yourself that you aren't dreaming,' Jane Simons suggested softly. 'I used to do the same, I was so thrilled when I discovered I was expecting Marcus. There is nothing quite like the experience of holding one's first child. Marcus was born here at the farm, because I left it too late to get to the hospital. Poor David was horrified, but he was there with me when Marcus was born. You should have seen his face! You'd think a man who worked as a farmer would be used to the miracle of birth, but when he saw Marcus…' She shook her head, smiling gently, and then her expression changed as she looked at Diana's white set face.
'Oh, my dear, forgive me. How tactless…'
'No… please…' Diana stood up clumsily. How could she explain that it wasn't the reference to her husband that had upset her, but the realisation that Marcus would never look at her child the way his father had looked at him; that her son or daughter would never know the love and tenderness of a father's love. And she was the one who would be depriving him or her of that love…
'I must go, it's getting late. They'll be expecting me back at the pub.'
She left the room in a rush, leaving Mrs Jenkins gaping at her as she practically ran to her car.
What on earth was the matter with her? She had probably upset Jane Simons with her behaviour, but how could she have told her the truth?
She reached the town in almost record time, berating herself when she realised how fast she had been driving, but instead of going to the pub she stopped her car outside her shop. She had the keys with her, and she wanted to be alone.
The painters had finished for the day and left. The smell of fresh paint hung heavily on the air, but this time it did not make her feel bilious.
She went into the house first, via the rear entrance. True to his promise, Roger had stuck rigidly to the traditional, and now the newly plastered walls had been softened by several applications of thick creamy-white paint that threw into relief the richness of the beams.
Slowly, she made her way downstairs. The smell of paint here was stronger than in the shop, and she held her breath in delight as she saw how well the mural was taking shape. Already she could see the outline of a fairytale castle, a dragon, and a moated drawbridge in the background. In the foreground were the shapes of tiny animals, hidden behind and among toadstools, and an enormous tree. She touched one of the tiny creatures, and found to her shock that she was crying.
These abrupt emotional swings were so alien to her that they continually shocked her. She wiped away the tears with the flat of her hands, tensing as she suddenly heard someone come in through the rear of the building.
She knew before the door opened who it would be. A feeling of inevitability held her in thrall, unable to move. Marcus too stood still, framed in the open doorway, his glance going from her pale wet face, to the newly painted wall.
'My mother was worried about you. She said she had upset you… something about your husband.'
'No… no she didn't upset me. I…' To her horror she felt fresh tears well in her eyes.
Marcus moved, taking her in his arms, and for a moment she allowed herself the luxury of leaning against him. This was wrong; she knew it was wrong, but the temptation was too much for her.
He felt her move.
'Why are you always trying to hold me at a distance?' he demanded fiercely. 'What have I done?'
How could she explain?
She shook her head. 'Nothing… it's not you… Marcus… please go… I can't explain.'
'You don't have to. It's guilt, isn't it?'
His intuitiveness stunned her, and for one appalled moment she thought he knew everything, but then he went on quietly, 'You feel guilty because we made love so soon after your husband's death.'
He still hadn't let her go. His hands curled round her upper arms, but there was nothing threatening in the way he held her.
'I think I can understand how you feel. You made love to me out of despair, as a challenge to death. You thought we'd never meet again. But we have met, and there's no reason for you to feel guilty. I still want you, Diana. I think I want you more than any woman I've ever met, but you're deliberately holding me away.'
He was so close to the truth that she panicked.
'Hasn't it occurred to you yet that I simply might not find you attractive enough to repeat what for me was just a one-night stand?' she demanded nastily. 'You seem to have gone very deeply into the supposedly psychological reasons for my behaviour that night, but what makes you think you were the only one, for all you know I…'
'Might jump into bed with every man who crosses your path?' he said harshly. 'I don't think so, somehow. That night when I made love to you it was almost like making love to a virgin, or a woman who hadn't had sex in a long, long time.' He said it almost under his breath as though he were talking to himself and not to her. 'And every time I try to talk about it you back off. What are you so afraid of, Diana?'
'Maybe I'm scared of being blackmailed into repeating the experience. Or hasn't that occurred to you yet?'
His face went white, his mouth thinning angrily. 'You honestly think that? No, I don't believe it. You know damn well that…'
'That what, Marcus?' she challenged him. 'I don't know you any more than you know me. We're two strangers who went to bed together, that's all; and as far as I'm concerned our night together is something I want to forget.'
'Well, I damn well don't!' He was angry now. She had hurt his pride, and perhaps more. 'And I think you're lying. You might want to forget that night but you can't, can you?' He was almost whispering now, his voice a seductive lure, tormenting her with memories she would rather forget. He had spoken to her in that same soft, sensually aware voice that night. She shivered suddenly, remembering how she had felt.
'Marcus, this is ridiculous.' The words came out on a high, frightened note. 'I don't know why you're doing this.'
'You don't?' He cast her a disbelieving, mocking look. 'Well, then, perhaps I'd better show you.'
She ought to have moved while she had still had the chance, because now it was gone and her body was pressed up against the wall, hemmed in by his. She could feel its heat, and against her will her own flesh responded to the enticement of it. She could feel her muscles compressing as she fought to control her feelings.
'Do you remember how it felt when I touched you like this, Diana? And like this?' His fingertips trailed up her bare arm and her skin quivered. She had an almost unbearable need to reach out and touch him. His short-sleeved shirt bared his arms an
d revealed his tanned throat. Dark hair curled vibrantly at the parting of the white cloth and she shivered in sexual awareness of his masculinity. What was it about this man that made her so sensually responsive to him?
'You want me.'
He was whispering the words against her lips making panic storm through her.
'No—' Her denial sounded weak and unconvincing even to her own ears.
'Yes.'
She could feel the warmth of his breath. 'Just give me a chance to prove to you how good it could be between us, Diana.'
Her throat locked, making it impossible for her to speak. His mouth caressed hers, slowly and lingeringly. Her lips parted without any attempt to stop him, and she shuddered beneath the delicate touch of his tongue-tip as it moved tantalisingly against her mouth.
The sensuous torment closed her mind to everything else. Her arms crept up around Marcus's neck, her fingertips stroking the soft hair at his nape. She felt his chest expand as he breathed harshly in response to her touch, and her breasts were flattened against the hard wall of muscle.
'Marcus.' She moaned his name into his open mouth in a plea that needed no interpretation. Her body was saying what her lips could not.
She wanted him, desperately, urgently, she wanted him as she had wanted him that night at the hotel. He moved, supporting her weight against his own, while his fingers deftly unfastened the buttons on her blouse.
The sheer delight of having his hand against her skin was indescribable. Her breast swelled into his palm, the nipple already erect. She heard him stifle a harsh sound of pleasure in his throat as his mouth returned to hers, and that small betraying sound added to her own arousal.
She wanted him; she wanted his hands and mouth on her skin; she wanted his body within her own, she wanted him. She clung wildly to him, breathing unsteadily, keeping her eyes tightly closed as her head fell back against his arm, revealing the soft vulnerability of her throat to his eyes and lips.
She shuddered intensely beneath the velvet scorch of his mouth as it moved over her tender skin. A pulse jumped madly at the base of her throat, and he touched it with his tongue and then his mouth as though he wanted to drink from the life force that pulsed there.
