Dishonest woman

by Jessica Steele

  Her engagement had not been the only thing to get broken—with it had broken all confidence in herself. And yet, fleetingly, the notion had flipped through her mind to try to get Slade Darville hooked long enough for him to marry her, and so save Bramcote from being taken from her.

  Doreen was the other side of the room, Edward not

  far from his wife. They wouldn't notice if she went home now, she thought. She could leave a message with the manservant George, as she went out.

  Kimberley turned in the direction of the door, then stopped. Her way was blocked. She raised an unsmiling face past the black sweater that confronted her, and met blue eyes that were almost navy. She had in her sights the fair-haired man she had had that crazy idea about, and she lowered her eyes.

  `You're not going home before you've given yourself the pleasure of dancing with me, are you?' enquired a voice she might have remembered had it not held a new note, a mocking note.

  How he knew it had been in her mind to go home, she didn't know. What she did know was that, although she had never felt less like dancing, that crazy idea was back with her, making her stay, when what she should be doing was brushing past him and carrying out her intention of going home. The words Doreen had spoken, the conviction with which she had said them, were ringing in her ears, cementing her feet to the ground when she knew Slade Darville was more than she could handle—he'd be off to his lawyers getting the quickest divorce on record once the first flush of romance had gone—wasn't that what Doreen had said?

  Without haste, Kimberley raised her large hazel eyes, her face solemn. Then for the first time in an age, her mouth, that had forgotten how to smile, slowly took on a definite upward curve.

  `You too could be in for a treat,' she told the man she had it on good authority would run a mile from marriage—and ten to get out of it.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Wax Slade Darville's arm about her, the tape having moved on to a slow smoochy number, Kimberley felt more like crying than smiling. David had been the last person she had danced with, and just the memory of him made her feel unfaithful that not only was she dancing with someone else, but that she had so much as actually contemplated marrying someone else.

  Slade Darville was a good dancer, holding her neither too loosely nor too tightly, and she liked that. But it was about the only thing she did like about him; she felt suffocated by thoughts of David, of losing Bramcote.

  She wasn't short, but the man she was dancing with was taller than her by about six or seven inches. He had been chatty to his other partners too, she remembered. But with her he appeared quite content to circle the floor unspeaking.

  His grip tightened when someone nearly cannoned into them, and Kimberley felt stifled for a moment until his hold returned to the firm hold it had been as he guided her clear.

  She began to relax, seeing her notion to get him to marry and divorce her had been born in panic at the thought of losing Bramcote. By the very fact that he was making no attempt at conversation it was obvious he was the sort who thought, having accepted Doreen's invitation, he was honour bound to dance with anyone who stood about looking like a wallflower.

  `What sort of work do you do?' came blurting from her in a burst of reawakening dead pride that anyone should presume to take pity on ,her.

  Her head lifted with her question, meeting dark blue

  eyes full on. She looked away when he didn't answer her question. Had she dropped a brick? she wondered, remembering she had already neatly placed him as one of Doreen's waifs and strays.

  `Or perhaps,' she said stiffly, forcing herself to continue, 'perhaps you're without employment?' Many people she knew were unemployed through no fault of their own, and she wished then her second question had not sounded so accusing. It could have been that he hadn't replied because her question had embarrassed him.

  She returned her gaze to him, her expression gentle, then saw a slow smile break from him. 'I'm having a rest from work at the moment,' he told her, and left her to draw her own conclusions from that.

  The tune had changed while they were dancing, but if Slade Darville was just performing the politeness of a duty dance, then he made no move to escort her back to where he had found her as another smoochy number followed.

  Silence reigned again between them, and Kimberley was glad of it as she felt that excitement surge in her once more that perhaps she hadn't got it wrong, that perhaps he did feel some attraction for her. The idea she had had before of keeping Bramcote through him was there again. And this time it wouldn't go away.

  He had said he was having a rest from work. Did that mean he was an actor? Weren't actors said to be resting when they were without a job? She, fell into deep thought, barely aware that her footsteps were following his lead as she wondered, if he wasn't all that interested in her after all, and with his reputation he'd be steering clear of marriage anyway, if she could find sufficient nerve to offer him a part to play for a very brief run. Her father hadn't left her very much in the way of money, but she would willingly give him half.

  `That was perfect,' said Slade Darville from somewhere above her head. She looked up, too deeply

  involved with her thoughts to know what was perfect. `The music has stopped,' he hinted.

  Kimberley moved out of his arms. 'Er—thank you,' she muttered quietly, then found his hand beneath her elbow as he guided her back to the spot from where he had collected her.

  She just wasn't up to this game, Kimberley knew it as she crossed the floor with him, her mind a blank as to what she said now to hold his interest.

  Was I right in assuming you were having thoughts of going home?' he asked as they halted, their way temporarily blocked by a knot of people.

  `Yes,' she answered, realising she should have said no, if he was to be made to believe she in turn felt some slight attraction for him, that being the reason she had changed her mind.

  'Then perhaps I might be permitted to escort you,' he suggested.

  She didn't want him to take her home, didn't want him or any man performing that office but David. She checked. What did it matter what she .did, who took her home? She was going to lose her beloved Bramcote, her refuge, if she didn't buck her ideas up.

  `It—It's half a mile—and . . . and I prefer to walk,' she said—unsure of herself, unsure of him, unsure of how she would handle it if he owned one of the old bangers out there and taking her home suddenly made a detour or whatever technique he used.

  `It's a nice night,' he replied, taking her answer for assent. 'Did you bring a wrap?'

  She had handed George her woollen stole when she had come in, but she looked round to say goodnight to Doreen and Edward before she left the drawing room. She couldn't see them, and thought then as they went out into the hall that perhaps it was as well. She didn't want Doreen reeling back in horror after having warned her against Slade Darville when she saw just who was taking her home.

  The way to Bramcote included the long narrow lane, pitch black at night, which she hadn't given thought to simply because on her own the darkness of the lane had never bothered her. But she was nervous now, with Slade Darville close beside her as they walked, the rake he was said to be in the forefront of her mind, she expected any moment to be pounced on.

  But he was more sophisticated than that, she discovered, when once clear of the lane he had made no move to make a grab for her. In fact, she thought, nowhere near to getting to the bottom of him, he seemed disinclined to do anything but talk, ask questions.

  `Have you recently moved to the village?' he asked.

  `No,' she replied, and realising if her aim was to be achieved then she had better start saying more than solitary syllables to him, 'Why do you ask?'

  `I've been to a couple of the Gilberts' parties recently. I should have remembered you had you been there.'

  That sounded promising. It was the reason for the stirring inside her, she knew. 'I've lived in Amberton all my life,' she said.

  `But you don't normally go t
o parties?' He sounded as though he didn't believe it. It nettled her, when little had annoyed her of late.

  `My father—has been ill, and I've been nursing him,' she brought out stiffly, haltingly.

  `I trust he's now well again.'

  `He—died three weeks ago.'

  `You're missing him.' His voice had changed, was gentle. It had tears coming near to the surface.

  `Yes, I'm missing him,' she said, swallowing hard.

  They had reached Bramcote, but she didn't want to invite him in. David had always come in for coffee as a right. She stopped at the gate.

  `This is where I live,' she said, and couldn't help that her voice sounded wooden at the dreadful thought

  that Slade Darville, in the absence of an invitation for coffee, might think the least reward he deserved for the half-mile walk was a kiss. She didn't want him to kiss her, but if she was to play this out to the full, didn't she have to go through the pretence of seeming to be attracted to him? She gritted her teeth as she braved herself to accept his kiss.

  `You live here all alone?' he queried, his arms coming nowhere near her as he observed that there wasn't a light to be seen anywhere in the house.

  `Yes.'

  `In that case the coffee you were going to offer me will have to wait for another time,' he remarked, skittling her belief that with his reputation he would be clapping his hands that he had a clear field, with no one to interrupt them. And while she had no reply to make as she wondered if this was a technique individual to him, or had things changed so much since she had dropped out of circulation, he was saying, 'I am going to see you again, aren't I?'

  He's going to kiss me now, she thought, bracing herself, forcing herself to play her part. 'I'd like that,' she said.

  He came forward, and Kimberley made herself stand still. But all he did was to bend down and unlatch the gate. 'I'll give you a ring,' he said casually—and had barely waited to close the gate once she was through the other side when he was going back the way they had come.

  Kimberley was annoyed again as she went up the path and went indoors. He hadn't kissed her, made a pass at her at all! And his 'I'll give you a ring' sounded as enthusiastic as someone anticipating a painful extraction at the dentist. He hadn't so much as asked her telephone number.

  He wouldn't be ringing, she knew that as she sat at the kitchen table, a warm drink in front of her that she had no idea why she had made because she didn't want

  it. Somehow during that half mile walk home Slade Darville had gone off her—if he had fancied her at tall.

  Her thoughts went to David and how soon his avowed undying love for her had evaporated. His defection had shaken' her, had fractured any belief in herself that had grown from having him love her. It had left her with little faith that she could hold any man.

  Slade Darville's attitude didn't help. It had her realising that at the most, an hour was as long as she was likely to sustain any man's interest.

  Kimberley wiped away traces of tears as she stood up. She might as well go to bed. Better take one of her tablets too, she thought, her nerves feeling more shot than usual.

  She was going along the hall when the phone rang. She flicked a glance at her watch, saw it wasn't yet eleven, wondered about taking the call in her bedroom, then nipped to the phone in the living room because it was nearer.

  `Are you alone?' was Doreen Gilbert's prompt and agitated enquiry.

  About to reply, 'Who would I be with?' Kimberley realised the reason for the call. 'You saw me leave with Slade Darville?'

  `Didn't you hear anything of what I said?' Doreen came back. 'Are you all right? He made a pass at you, didn't he? Kim . .

  `I'm fine, Doreen, stop worrying,' Kimberley cut her off.

  And while Doreen came back to repeat a lot of what she had said about Slade's love-them-and-leave-them policy at the party, Kimberley fell to wondering if she would have felt better than she did at this precise moment if he had made a pass at her. At least it would have proved she wasn't totally lacking in some sort of attraction. Her brow furrowed at that as she pondered why it should particularly bother her, since before she

  had met Slade Darville she hadn't wanted any man to be attracted to her anyway.

  On the point of deciding that it was solely because her idea for holding on to Bramcote was now down the drain since she had seen the last of him, she came out of her thoughts to hear Doreen asking if she would be seeing him again.

  `No, definitely not,' she said, and knew it for a fact. `Stop worrying, Doreen, do! All he did was see me home. He didn't wait longer than it took for me to get through the gate and then he was off.'

  `You mean he didn't try . .

  `He didn't try anything. Didn't so much as try to kiss me.'

  She could hear the relief in Doreen's voice. 'Thank goodness for that!' she said. 'If he was set on you, Kim, you wouldn't have stood a chance, believe me, love. I . . .' she broke off. 'Look, I've got to go. Edward is standing here making signs. Now you're sure you won't be seeing him again? You . .

  `Positive,' said Kimberley. And shortly afterwards she was going upstairs thinking disconsolately that her idea had been a good one—while it lasted.

  She undressed, washed, and brushed out her long hair, had her tablet bottle in her hand before she decided against taking one. She didn't want to be soothed into a tranquillised sleep. Far better to stay awake and try and find some other way of keeping Bramcote.

  She still hadn't come up with any answer when ten minutes later, the phone went again. It had to be Doreen, she thought, nobody ever rang at this time of night. She reached out a hand for the phone, hoping her good friend hadn't thought up another half dozen questions to bombard her with on the subject of Slade Darville's escort duties.

  But when she heard the voice at the other end, not Doreen Gilbert's, but that of Slade Darville himself,

  she was so shaken she couldn't speak for a while.

  Did I tell you,' he said, his voice, smooth, cool, `that you were the most beautiful woman at the party?'

  `I . . .' Kimberley started to say.

  Then realisation was upon her that since he had bothered to get to a phone, bothered to look up her number, then he must have meant it when he had said, `I'll give you a ring some time.' He might still want to see her! She—she might have a second chance!

  `Er—you forgot to mention it,' she said, starting to feel good inside. She just wasn't going to muff that second chance. Bramcote was too important.

  She heard a warmth enter his tones. 'Are you free tomorrow evening?' He paused, waiting for her to answer, while Kimberley was thinking things were happening too fast, followed by the thought—but they had to move fast. She had just over five months in which to complete the terms of her father's will .. . `Or,' Slade was asking, `do I have to join a long, long queue?'

  `Are—are you used to queuing?' she enquired, beset by nerves, knowing she should agree to go out with him, to get this ball rolling.

  `No, I'm not,' he admitted. 'Though in your case I'm prepared to make a slight exception.' Kimberley swallowed at the implication behind that, that the attraction of her had lasted more than an hour. Then his voice had toughened. 'But if you can't see me before . . .' he paused again, 'next Wednesday, then we might just as well scrub round it now.'

  Kimberley panicked. 'I'll see you tomorrow,' she said quickly.

  `We'll have dinner. I'll pick you up . .

  `We could dine here.' It was out, her thoughts going to his pocket and how if he was an out-of-work actor he wouldn't have money to throw around, before it came to her that she didn't want him in her home. She hadn't

  dined with anyone except her father since David.

  `If you can cook as good as you look, you're on.' Slade Darville had accepted before she could take back her invitation.

  `Goodnight,' she said, and put the phone down quickly. She had invented a game she didn't know how to play, and she knew the danger of giving herself away if she stayed talking to
him.

  Kimberley awakened in the morning with the full realisation of what she was doing upon her. She washed, dressed, and walked lingeringly through every room in the house, and only then knew she was right to be doing what she was. She couldn't give up Bramcote, she thought fiercely, not without a fight. And it wasn't as though she was hurting anybody. Doreen had convinced her that Slade Darville's heart never became involved in any of his amours, convinced her he would rush for a divorce if he ever went so far as to get himself married.

  Not that Kimberley was certain she could get him to the point of actually proposing and then marrying her. Her faith in her abilities where men were concerned still rocky from her experience with David, she was having grave doubts on that score. But as she saw it she had two alternatives, both to be played by ear. Either she could try and get him to marry her in a flush of ardour—she crimsoned herself at that thought, wondering in the light of day if she could bear to let any man's mouth rest where David's had lain, but facing that if things went that way she would have to steel herself to accept Slade's kisses. Or, if he looked like cooling, she could offer him some of what her father had left her. Out-of-work actors were notoriously hard up. Perhaps that was the better of the two alternatives. The only snag there was that her father hadn't left her such a lot. Slade might not think it enough to give up his freedom for—even if it was only for long enough for her to get that all-important marriage certificate.

  Because there was very little in the house in the way-of food, she went into the village during the morning and bought a steak that would have done her for four meals, the humour in the situation catching her unawares, as she found herself thinking, 'The way to a man's heart . . .' She wiped the unaccustomed smile off her face—it wasn't funny This was deadly serious.

  She had been ready for some time when at eight o'clock that night Slade Darville strolled casually up the front garden path. Kimberley swallowed down the agitation in her as she went to the door to let him in. It had been another hot day, and it was still close, which probably accounted for the fact that he was dressed casually in slacks and shirt.