The Perfect Solution

by Catherine George

  Joanna renewed her onslaught on her work with determination, set on despatching the final Snowbird adventures to her editor as soon as possible. When Marc brought Polly back she intended to concentrate on the child. The new project could wait for a while. There was no financial problem now to provide a spur. She could afford to take it easy for a while, get herself thoroughly fit.

  Joanna worked like a maniac for three days, breaking off only to let Sunny out into the garden now and then, and to take him for a longish walk each afternoon. She met Roger Morley more than once during these excursions, and stopped to chat for a minute or two, aware that he'd have lingered longer each time if given the least encouragement. He was lonely, Joanna knew. Moving into a new house alone had to be a rather depressing experience, with no one to see if he was hanging the pictures straight or how the furniture should be arranged. He was a very attractive man, she thought ruefully, wondering why her reaction to him was so negative compared with her response to Marc, who had only to come through the door for her hormones to start dancing a highland fling.

  Two days before the holidaymakers were due to return Joanna packed up the finished manuscripts in triumph, walked with Sunny to the village to post them off, then did nothing much at all for the rest of the day. And that night she slept more soundly than she had for months, secure in the knowledge that her deadline had been met with time to spare, and that now all her attention could be focused on getting herself and the house in welcoming mood, ready for Marc's and Polly's return.

  Joanna was ready hours before Marc was due to arrive with Polly. She'd baked Polly's favourite cake, helped Doris with the house, taken Sunny for a walk, until at last there was nothing left to do but wait. She knew she looked better than she had done in a long time. Deadline or not, the break on her own had done her good as Marc had forecast it would. Now her cold was finally a thing of the past her hair shone with a healthy gloss, and her skin glowed very satisfactorily against the apricot wool of her sweater. Joanna found it hard to fill the time until the appointed hour arrived. When the hour passed with no sign of Marc and Polly she switched on the television to check the teletext section which listed flight arrivals, horrified to find that their plane, far from crashing, had landed on time. Marc should have arrived with Polly long since. Joanna began pacing up and down like a caged tigress, frantic with worry, almost jumping out of her skin when the long-awaited ring of the telephone finally interrupted her.

  She leapt across the room to seize the receiver. 'Marc?'

  'Is this Mrs Joanna Clifford?' asked a crisp female voice.

  Joanna sagged with disappointment. 'Yes.'

  'Swanford General here, Casualty Department.'

  Joanna went cold. 'Yes?' she said hoarsely.

  'We have a Mr Marcantonio Anstey here.'

  Marcantonio? thought Joanna, dazed.

  'There was an accident on the bypass. Mr Anstey is only slightly hurt, but ‑'

  'Polly?' said Joanna urgently. 'He had a little girl with him, Paola, his niece.'

  'Don't worry, she's fine. Shaken, and very bewildered, of course, and crying for you, Mrs Clifford, but she was in the back of the car, asleep.

  Mr Anstey suffered slight cuts and bruises, and possibly a mild concussion. He's not fit to drive. Can you come to fetch them? I gather they were due to arrive at your house some time ago.'

  'I'll come at once,' said Joanna tersely. 'Thank you.'

  Joanna shut Sunny in the kitchen, pulled on a jacket and ran outside to the garage. Blessing the fact that Swanford General was only ten miles away, she drove as fast as she dared, thankful the bypass was relatively quiet by this time. At the hospital she parked the car as near the Casualty entrance as possible, and raced inside, blind to the curious glances of people waiting for treatment. The woman at the reception desk looked up with a reassuring smile as Joanna gave her name.

  'Ah, yes, Mrs Clifford. Mr Anstey's just having his wound stitched. Staff Nurse is with Polly in one of the offices.'

  Joanna hurried after the receptionist to a small room where a pretty nurse was cuddling Polly on her lap. The child turned as the door opened, her tearful face lighting up like a lamp as she leapt from the nurse's knee into Joanna's outstretched arms, clinging to her like a limpet, burrowing her face into Joanna's neck. 'Marco's hurt,' she sobbed brokenly. 'Will he die, Jo?'

  'Goodness me, no,' said the staff nurse calmly. 'Why would he do that? You're uncle's got a wee cut on his forehead and the doctor's making it better right this minute. He can go home with you soon.'

  Joanna gave warm thanks to the nurse, who excused herself to go back to work. Joanna sat down with Polly on her lap, smiling down into the woebegone little face. 'Goodness, you're brown. Did you have a good time?'

  Polly nodded, sniffing. 'But I wish you'd been there, Jo.'

  Joanna hugged her, then put Polly away a little to cough suddenly. 'Sorry, poppet,' she gasped, surprised. 'I haven't coughed in ages.'

  The staff nurse popped her head back round the door. 'Mr Anstey's ready, Mrs Clifford. One of the porters will come with you to the car.'

  Joanna took Polly by the hand to follow the staff nurse along to one of the curtained cubicles where Marc sat waiting, the dressing on his forehead standing out starkly against a tanned face embellished with several minor cuts and a shiner of a black eye.

  'Hello, Marc,' said Joanna, restraining Polly's desire to hurl herself at her uncle. 'Ready to go home?'

  'Sorry about this, Joanna.' He smiled ruefully as he took Polly's hand. 'We were unlucky. Some maniac ran into the back of us while we were waiting to get off the bypass on to the Swanford roundabout. Polly woke up with a fright, and I shot against the windscreen. The belt prevented any serious damage, but my car's in a mess.'

  'Never mind the car. You're both safe, which is all that matters.' She smiled at him. 'Let's go home.'

  Joanna drove very slowly on the way back to Swancote, afraid Polly might be nervous after the recent trauma, but to her surprise Polly chattered like a magpie all the way, recounting the glories of the Greek holiday, and bewailing, several times, the fact that Jo hadn't been there. Marc made no effort to join in the conversation. His explanation at the hospital appeared to have exhausted his powers of speech.

  'The nurse said you might feel drowsy,' warned Joanna when they arrived at Swan House. She steadied Marc as he got out of the car, unable to stifle a cough as the cold night air hit her chest.

  Marc stood straight with an effort. 'Still coughing, I see.'

  'I haven't been lately,' she said briskly. 'Probably a combination of this cold wind and the nasty shock you two gave me.' She grabbed at him. 'Steady! You're wavering all over the place. For heaven's sake forget your manly pride and lean on me, Marc. We'll go the back way, it's nearer. Here's the key, Polly. Can you unlock the door?'

  Polly nodded eagerly, eventually managing to open the door at the third attempt. She gave a cry of joy as Sunny hurled himself towards her in tumultuous welcome, and Joanna left them to their ecstatic reunion to support Marc though the hall and into the drawing-room, where he collapsed in relief on the sofa, breathing hard.

  'Hell, I'm sorry about this Joanna,' he panted. 'I knew you'd be off your head with worry, but there was no way I could get a message to you sooner.'

  'Never mind. You're here now, not exactly in one piece, but it could have been a lot worse.' Joanna piled cushions behind him, then swung his feet up so that he was lying more comfortably. 'You stay quiet for a bit while I give Polly some supper.'

  'She had a few bits and pieces on the plane.' He managed a smile. 'She's been so good, Joanna.'

  'I'm sure she has. Have a nap. I'll feed Polly in the kitchen.'

  Now Polly knew her beloved Marco wasn't about to join Mamma in heaven she ate quite a hearty supper. Grateful for the amazing resilience of the young, Joanna gave Polly a glass of milk, told her to say goodnight to Sunny, then took her to see Marc before going to bed.

  His eyes opened as Polly approach
ed on tiptoe, his smile tender as he held out his arms. Polly embraced him with exquisite care, asking anxiously if he was hurting.

  'Only a little bit, tesoro. Off you go to bed. It's late. I'll see you in the morning.' Marc kissed her on both cheeks then patted her bottom. 'Be a good girl for Joanna.'

  Polly looked indignant as she took Joanna's hand. 'O'course I will. 'Night, Marco.'

  Joanna let Polly get away without a bath for once. Tonight it seemed more important to get the child tucked up in her bed and asleep than to fuss over whether she was clean or not. Afterwards, in her bedroom for some necessary repairs to her face, Joanna began coughing again. Crossly she decided it must be psychosomatic, and drank some water, then a spoonful of the linctus Doris had brought while the cold was in full force. But cough or not, a look in the mirror confirmed that her earlier glow was surprisingly undimmed by the trauma of the evening. Just to have Marc here in the house with her again seemed to have ignited a visible light inside her.

  Joanna returned quietly to the drawing-room to find Marc deeply asleep, his face exhausted above the blood-stained white sweater. The dressing stood out, stark against his tan, the bruise around his eye darker already, giving him a raffish look Joanna found dangerously irresistible. Snatching back the hand which yearned to stroke his cheek, she tiptoed from the room to join Sunny in the kitchen. Not sure what sort of eating mood Marc would be in when he woke up, Joanna cut slices of ham, laid a tray, then collected the book she was reading and went back to the drawing-room to curl up in a chair until Marc woke.

  In the warmth and peace of the familiar room reaction suddenly hit Joanna like a body blow. Limp as a rag doll, she leaned her head against the cushion, gazing at Marc's sleeping face as it dawned on her that he'd have to stay the night. Whatever his original intention had been, to drive back to London, or even spend the night at the Lamb and Flag, there was no question of his doing either now. Joanna closed her eyes, a shiver running through her as she thought of how much worse it could all have been. She sat erect, limp no longer, as it struck her that if Marc had been killed she would probably have spent the rest of her life regretting the way she'd kept him at arm's length. She closed her eyes and wriggled back down in the chair, giving way to fatigue which engulfed her so completely that she was soon as deeply asleep as her companion.

  Joanna woke to a rough tongue licking her cheek, and shot upright in the chair, blinking up at Marc owlishly as she pushed Sunny away. She jumped to her feet guiltily.

  'I must have dropped off. Is it late? I'm sorry ‑'

  'Relax.' Marc grinned, looking a different man after his rest. 'I'd have let you sleep, but this chap was making a fuss in the kitchen, so I took him for a stroll outside. He got back in here to you before I could stop him.'

  'A good thing he did!' Joanna pushed at her hair, self-conscious under his amused gaze. 'I'll get you something to eat.'

  'Good,' he said cheerfully. 'I could eat a horse.'

  Joanna eyed the clock in consternation. 'Heavens, it's past eleven! You must be starving. How do you feel?'

  'My head's a bit sore, but I don't feel sick any more.' He smiled as he strolled after her to the kitchen. 'My skull's too thick to succumb to a little bump like that.'

  Joanna grinned as she made sandwiches. 'You said that, not me! Sorry, by the way. These are ham, not horse.'

  They sat together at the kitchen table, Marc making short work of the food as he gave Joanna a graphic account of the holiday, and how Polly had loved the little sugar-cube house on Chyros. But once Sunny was settled down for the night, and they were back in the drawing-room, the atmosphere altered abruptly.

  Marc shot a sombre glance at Joanna as she handed him a cup of coffee. 'I'm sorry about tonight—giving you a shock like that. You took it very well, and I'm grateful.'

  'The accident wasn't your fault. Thank heaven it was no worse.' She looked worried. 'But I hope it won't have a delayed-action effect on Polly. It's a wonder she set foot in the car again tonight, on top of what happened to Rosa.'

  'Polly doesn't know about the car crash. Rosa died in hospital, so Polly believes her mother was just taken ill, and went to heaven. That's why she gets so uptight about illness in any form.' He shrugged wearily. 'Maybe I was wrong, but at the time it seemed best to keep the truth from her.'

  'You were very definitely right,' said Joanna emphatically. 'Otherwise she wouldn't have been so good about coming home in the car tonight straight after the bump.'

  'That's because you were driving. She doesn't associate danger or harm with you, Joanna.' His eyes moved over her face broodingly. 'I can't say I feel the same way.'

  There was a sudden, fraught silence.

  'What do you mean?' asked Joanna at last.

  'Don't pretend, Joanna. You know you've been a danger to my peace of mind from the moment I first set eyes on you.' He went on looking at her, until Joanna kept from fidgeting only by sheer strength of will.

  'The spare bed is made up,' she said in a strained voice.

  One of Marc's slim black eyebrows rose mockingly. 'You mean you're actually allowing me to sleep beneath your roof?'

  'What do you expect me to do?' she demanded angrily. 'Turn you out in the snow?'

  Marc smiled sardonically. 'You'd probably like to.'

  'I wouldn't turn anyone out in your particular state of health,' she said sharply, and got to her feet. 'I'm sure you're tired. If you can manage to carry your bag up I'll show you where you're to sleep.'

  'If necessary,' said Marc silkily as he hefted his hold-all, 'I could carry you upstairs as well as the bag, concussion or no concussion, but don't be nervous. I shan't make the attempt.'

  Joanna gave him a kindling look, then stalked out of the room ahead of him, slowing down as she mounted the stairs for fear of waking Polly. Marc followed close behind, pausing beside her as they looked in on Polly who lay, arms outflung in total abandon, so deeply asleep that a regiment of soldiers could have marched along the landing without waking her.

  'She's worn out,' Joanna whispered as she showed Marc to the spare room.

  Marc put down his bag at the end of the bed, then turned to face her. 'Thank you, Joanna, for everything. I truly appreciate your coming to rescue us tonight. I'm sorry I needled you just now. Lord knows you've had a lot to contend with from me and mine lately. You were a wonder tonight.'

  Joanna shrugged as she went to the door. 'I just did what anyone else would have done. I hope you sleep well. Goodnight.'

  'Goodnight.' He smiled, looking dark and alien, his villainous black eye incongruous against the faded chintz of the Swan House guest-room.

  Sure she'd lie awake all night, Joanna fell asleep almost at once, even though Marc lay only a few feet away on the other side of her bedroom wall. But as the temperature dropped in the night her room grew cold and her cough returned to plague her. She woke herself violently at last and shot up in bed, gasping for breath. She switched on her lamp, then stared, her eyes dilating, as Marc slid silently into the room and closed the door behind him.

  'Medicine?' he whispered.

  Joanna, hand clapped to her mouth, pointed speechlessly to the bottle on the bedside table. Marc measured a dose into the plastic cup beside it then stood over her while she swallowed the linctus down. She tried to smile her thanks, flustered suddenly because his short robe revealed so much long brown leg.

  He looked at her questioningly. 'All right, Joanna?'

  She nodded wordlessly.

  'I've looked in on Polly. She's still out for the count.'

  'Thank you.' Joanna swallowed, her eyes on a level with Marc's bronzed chest, her pulse racing as she saw he was breathing unevenly. Slowly, like someone hypnotised, she raised her blank blue eyes to his, and they stared at each other, spellbound, Joanna motionless against the pillows, Marc rooted to the spot. Then Marc let out a great unsteady sigh. As though some giant fist had pushed him from behind he dropped on his knees beside the bed and pulled her into his arms, kissing her like a ma
n at the end of his tether.

  Joanna yielded to him without reservation, rejoicing. To feel Marc's lips against hers, the warmth of his lean body, was sheer heaven after the agony, however brief, of believing he'd been killed. She would have told him so if her mouth hadn't been so ravishingly otherwise employed. It seemed so much more important to pull him closer, to welcome him into her bed, than talk. Then Joanna forgot Polly, forgot everything, as a tidal wave of sheer need submerged them both the instant their bodies came into contact. Every nerve in her system leapt in response to Marc's urgency, gloriously in tune with his consuming urge to celebrate life after his brush with danger. He raised his head, his eyes glittering with a question Joanna answered without words, her smile radiant with shared delight.

  'I always knew,' he whispered victoriously, as his hands slid in a lazy, lingering caress down her hips. 'Right from the first, I knew.'

  'Knew what?' She shivered, her eyelids suddenly heavy.

  'How it would be for us.' His kisses grew ravenous, his hands moving over her in triumphant possession as his fingertips blazed a trail of fire over her breasts and hips and thighs. But even as his caresses grew wilder Joanna knew, beyond all doubt, that he was deliberately withholding the moment of union until her desire was as great as his.

  Nothing in Joanna's experience had prepared her for such bliss. Having been married to a man too concerned with his own pleasure to care much about hers, she now responded in astonished delight to Marc's slightest touch, returning his kisses with an ardour which tested his control to the limit. Her body moved restlessly beneath his, her fingers knotting in the damp curls on his chest, digging into the skin sheathing his shoulder muscles until at last, tantalised beyond bearing, she resorted to a caress so intimate that he was vanquished.

  'Diletta mia,' he groaned. The breath left Joanna's body as they came together in a long, sustained assault on the senses, and Marc let out a great, shuddering sigh, burying his face against her throat as their bodies united in a fierce, rhythmic quest for fulfilment.