Joanna came back to earth to the touch of Marc's mouth on her damp eyelids, of his hands stroking her back as he held her against him, whispering gratifying things in her ear instead of flopping over on his back and falling asleep, as Paul had always done.
'How do you feel?' she murmured drowsily.
He laughed, rippling a fingertip down her spine. 'How do you think I feel, woman? Amazed, ecstatic ‑'
'I meant,' said Joanna,, pulling away slightly, 'how's your head?'
Marc put up a hand to his forehead in surprise. 'Now you come to mention it, it's throbbing a bit. One way and another I forgot about it before.' He grinned. 'How's your cough?'
She buried her face against his shoulder to stifle her laughter. 'Conspicuous by its absence.'
Marc stuck an ungentle finger under her chin. 'Have you missed me?' he demanded.
'Not in the least,' she lied, giving him a feline little smile. 'In fact I've been seeing quite a lot of Roger.'
His eyes narrowed. 'Who the hell's Roger?'
'The new doctor here, Roger Morley. He's charming.'
'Has he taken you out?'
'No,' she admitted. 'I just meet him now and then when I'm walking Sunny.'
Marc shook her slightly. 'Enjoy making me fry, don't you?'
'Were you frying?'
'You know I was.' He kissed her savagely, his hands sliding round to cup her breasts, 'I'm jealous of any man allowed in your vicinity, if you want the naked truth, Joanna Swan. I may be a civilised Brit on the surface, but scratch it and you soon get down to my Sicilian ancestry.' He bent his head to take a sharply pointing nipple between his lips, the ensuing sensation so exquisite that Joanna forgot her tart rejoinder, bowled over by the astonishing discovery that, far from being a one-off, her experience of love at Marc Anstey's clever hands was not only about to be repeated, but surpassed.
'Well, that's that, I suppose,' she sighed eventually, when they lay at rest at last in each other's arms.
'That's what?'
'Well, if you'd made love to me once I could have passed it off to myself as an accident. Circumstances beyond my control and all that. But twice in a row...' She shook her head, smiling at him.
He propped himself up on an elbow to look down at her. 'Will you believe that much as I wanted you I'd have stopped if you'd called a halt at any stage?'
'Oh, I know that. I suppose, in a way, that's why it happened. I never felt threatened.' She smiled demurely. 'I could tell you wanted me, of course ‑'
'Full marks for observation!'
Joanna grinned. 'But at the same time I knew you'd never use force to get your wicked way.'
Marc smoothed her hair back from her flushed face. 'Forcing a woman is not my style, carissima.' He smiled crookedly. 'Not, I feel obliged to point out, that it's ever been necessary.'
She gave him a dig in the ribs. 'Bighead!'
'Why did you let me make love to you, Joanna?' he asked, suddenly very serious. 'What changed your mind?'
Joanna's eyes burned darkly blue with candour. 'When the hospital phoned I thought you'd been killed.'
'The police would have come to tell you that.'
'I know that—who better? But don't forget I'd been worried sick for ages before I heard from the hospital. In the second before I knew what happened ‑' She shuddered, and he pulled her close.
'I was a coward before, you see,' she went on huskily after a while. 'That's why I sent you away. I was attracted to you so quickly, so—so violently, that the rapport between us scared me to death. I'd never felt like that in my life. I thought it was too sudden, too soon. If only you and I'd been involved it would have been different, but I was afraid of it, sure that if we became lovers it would burn itself out and then Polly would be hurt. So I pushed you away, and you stayed away and I tried to tell myself it was for the best.'
Marc let out a long, unsteady breath. 'Joanna, I want to know exactly how you felt when you thought I was dead.'
'It was only then,' she began, taking her courage in both hands, 'that I learned how I should have felt when Paul was killed. And didn't.'
His arms tightened convulsively. 'Then why were you so hellish distant tonight? You were fine during supper, but afterwards down came the shutters again, closing me out. Oh, no, you don't,' Marc added, holding her fast when she tried to free herself.
'It suddenly occurred to me that you might not be interested any more,' she murmured awkwardly. 'I got cold feet.'
'Are they cold now?'
'No.'
'I should hope not.' Marc held her face cupped in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. 'Listen, Joanna Swan. What happened between us just now was just one part—a very wonderful part—of a great many things I feel for you. Of course I want you, but I care for you, too. I want to make you happy, make sure you're never hurt again.' He smiled, the light in his eyes melting her utterly. 'Now tell me how you feel about me.'
'Isn't it obvious?' she said crossly. 'Otherwise, Marc Anstey, I would have sent you packing the minute I'd swallowed my medicine.'
Marc's eyes glittered in triumph. 'Does this mean you've changed your mind? About the three of us living together and making Polly's dream come true?'
'Yes.' She smiled, stretching luxuriously. 'Only it'll have to be a weekend arrangement, as far as you're concerned.'
'I'll settle for that,' he said, smoothing back her hair. 'Most people in my sort of job sweat it out alone in London during the week and go home to the country for weekends with the family.' He grinned. 'You realise your main attraction is this house, of course! Saves me a lot of expense. I'm only sorry I shan't have as much time to spend here as I'd like until I get to grips with the new job.' He kissed her lingeringly, then swung his long legs out of bed and sat up, pulling on his robe. 'Besides, you'd prefer a reasonable time to elapse, I suppose.'
Joanna sat up, pulling the covers up to her chin. 'Reasonable time?' she said blankly.
Marc pushed back his dishevelled hair, wincing as he made contact with his wound. 'You've never pretended to feel like a widow where Paul Clifford's concerned, I know. Nevertheless you can't get away from the fact that he's only been dead for a short time. You're so well known in Swancote that it's only natural you'll want to wait for a while before we actually get married.'
Joanna stared at him in utter dismay. 'Married?'
He frowned at her as he tied the belt around his spare waist. 'Yes. Married.'
'But—but, Marc, we don't have to get married!'
His face darkened, one eyebrow lifting ominously. 'Why the hell not?'
'I don't know that I can go through all that a second time. I've done it before, remember, including the "death us do part" bit.' Joanna clasped her hand round her knees above the quilt, gazing at his set face in entreaty. 'Look, Marc, I didn't like being married the first time. Don't let's spoil everything with red tape and legality. Can't we just live together, as Polly wants? No strings, no rules, just being together as much as we can, whenever we can. And because we want to be, not just because a piece of paper entitles us to the privilege!'
Marc's black brows flew together, his eyes cold with disbelief. 'Let me get this straight. Are you telling me you can't face marriage with me?'
Joanna shook her head violently. 'No, of course I'm not. But these days it isn't necessary. In fact,' she pointed out, 'you were the one who referred to it as something to evade!'
'True.' His lips twisted in the parody of a smile. 'Like your late, unlamented husband, I'm a Catholic. For me it must be for life. Until now I'd never found someone I wanted for life. I'm paying you the highest compliment a man can give a woman, Joanna.'
Joanna gazed at him beseechingly. 'I know, and I'm deeply honoured, believe me. But I can't, Marc. It wouldn't be fair.'
He sat down on the side of the bed, taking her by the shoulders. 'Fair! What the hell do you mean? I don't think it happens to be fair for you to profess some kind of feeling for me one minute, then turn me down the next.' He shook he
r slightly, his eyes spearing hers. 'Joanna. Are you telling me, in a roundabout way, that you don't want me on a permanent basis?'
She shook her head violently. 'Of course I'm not! When I thought you'd been killed I wanted to die too.'
His eyes glittered in triumph, then dulled. 'If you feel like that, why the hell won't you many me?' he demanded violently.
Joanna gazed at him in entreaty. 'Surely you can see why.'
'No. I can't.' He pulled her into his arms and began to kiss her savagely, but when she forced herself to stay limp in his arms he let them fall and stood up. 'Tell me, then,' he said in a voice so dead Joanna shut her eyes tightly in anguish for a moment.
When she opened them the baffled pain on Marc's face almost tempted her to throw herself into his arms and tell him she'd do anything in the world he wanted, just so they could revert to the happiness they'd shared such a short time before. She resisted the impulse, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
'There's something you've forgotten, Marc. I can't give you children—no, hear me out,' she said firmly as he made a move towards her. 'I know we've got Polly, but you'd never be able to have a child of your own.'
Marc hesitated a split second then said roughly, 'That's nonsense. If I can have you—and Polly— that's all I ask.'
Joanna gazed at him in misery. 'You think that now, but one day you could change your mind, find someone able to give you the children I can't, just as Paul did. But he had to remain tied to me—and I to him. I just couldn't bear that a second time.'
Marc seemed to withdraw into himself, turning into a grim, forbidding stranger right before her eyes. 'I suppose there's no point in trying to convince you that it wouldn't happen a second time?' He gave a short, mirthless laugh. 'Obviously not. I realise now why I've never proposed to anyone before. Rejection's bloody hard to take.'
'Oh, Marc, don't! I'm not rejecting you. Why can't we just ‑?'
'Share bed and board on weekends?' he put in bitingly. 'No way. I'm not some tame stud, Joanna. If you don't fancy marriage, fair enough, that's your choice. But as far as I'm concerned it's the only thing on offer. My aim was to share the rest of my life with you, not just a bed now and then.' Marc glanced at his watch. 'I'd better get back to your spare room. Under the circumstances it would never do for Polly to discover me in yours. She'd assume her plan was in full working order, poor little scrap. Goodnight, Joanna—or good morning, I suppose. It's nearly dawn.'
Tears streamed down Joanna's face as he crossed the room. She saw his slim brown hand clench on the white porcelain of the doorknob as he waited to give her time to call him back. When she said nothing he went from the room as quietly as he'd arrived, leaving her alone with her tears, but drearily certain she was right. A man had a right to a family of his own. She could never give Marc a child. And she loved him too much to tie him down to a relationship which might turn into a prison once the first flush of physical attraction died away. As inevitably it would. Paul had taught her that particular lesson all too well.
CHAPTER EIGHT
After a whole week with her beloved Marco in the Greek sunshine Polly was philosophical about his subsequent absence from Swan House. He'd told her, she explained to Joanna, that his new job would keep him very busy for a while. Not even his departure early on the morning after their dramatic return troubled Polly too much. She accepted his explanation at breakfast that he had to return to London by train because his car was being mended, and in her pleasure at playing with Sunny failed to register the constraint between Joanna and Marc over a breakfast neither ate. The arrival of a taxi soon afterwards came as a profound relief Marc only too plainly shared with Joanna. Looking strained, his bruised face colourless beneath its tan, he reiterated formal thanks for her help as he said goodbye.
Joanna forced herself to smile as she repudiated the least need for thanks. 'It was nothing.'
'I'm glad you think so. It was a great deal more than that to me.' He smiled mockingly as colour rose in her face. 'Goodbye, Joanna. Take care of that cough.'
'Goodbye.' Joanna stood at the door, watching as Polly skipped alongside Marc towards the car, held up her arms to be hugged, then blew kisses to her uncle as the taxi bore him away.
* * *
Not for the first time Joanna was obliged to pick up the pieces of a life which had fallen apart. She should, she thought with irony, be expert at it by now.
Years before, when her father was terminally ill, the discovery that very little money went with the legacy of Swan House had been a blow. But Joanna had promised her dying father faithfully that somehow she would find a way to keep the house in the family, and if possible hand it down to her children. She'd been working as a secretary to a merchant banker at the time. After graduating she'd failed to find a post which made use of her art history degree, and in desperation had enrolled on a secretarial course which had landed her a job in the City. The work was never more to her than a means to earn money until she found something more to her taste, but she had enjoyed sharing a flat with two other girls, and had led a fairly hectic social life, met a lot of men, and eventually taken to seeing one of them on a regular basis. When her father had died she'd been shattered, not only by grief, but by the burden of the promise she'd made. Edward, her escort, had defected when Joanna proved poor company in her grief, and in despair at breaking her promise she had been on the point of putting Swan House up for sale when she'd met Paul Clifford.
A self-assured, handsome man in his middle forties, or the prime of life in his own phrase, Paul had taken an immediate fancy to the attractive secretary of the man he'd come to consult. Joanna, smarting from Edward's treatment, had warmed to the mature, self-assured businessman, and accepted his invitations to dinner, and, as she got to know him better, confided her problems about Swan House. Once Paul Clifford learned she was on the point of selling a country house which had been in her family for two hundred years he had acted swiftly, using steamroller tactics to get his own way. He'd bought Swan House and made it over to Joanna on condition that she married him, gave up her job, and set about providing him with a family in the type of home the ambitious boy from the East End had wanted all his life.
During the afternoon walk with Polly and the dog later, Joanna marvelled at the naïveté of the girl who'd mistaken her gratitude to Paul Clifford for love. Now she'd met Marc Anstey she knew, at last, exactly what a lasting adult love should be, what her life still could be, if she could only bring Marc round to her point of view.
'Are you sad, Jo?' asked Polly anxiously.
'No, darling, of course not! How could I be sad when you've come home to me?' Joanna smiled brightly, blowing her nose. 'This wind is making my eyes run, that's all.'
'Marco said to look after you,' Polly said importantly. 'Let's go home. Here, Sunny. Good boy!'
Mary Lavenham, a lady of discernment where Joanna was concerned, raised her eyebrows when she heard Joanna had embarked on a novel. 'I thought you might have had a rest once you finished off the Snowbird books.'
'I need occupation,' said Joanna firmly.
It was Mary's opinion that Joanna should go out more and meet people. There was Roger Morley for a start, charming, unattached ‑
'And very, very nice, but that's all, so stop matchmaking,' said Joanna, chuckling.
'That's better. You don't smile much lately.' Mary hesitated. 'This Marc Anstey—has he upset you, love?'
'The boot, dear heart, is on the other foot. I upset him.'
'Irrevocably?'
'Utterly.'
'No resumption of diplomatic relations? Ever, I mean?'
'"Nevermore," quoth the raven."' Joanna accepted another cup of Mary's tea. 'So let's not talk about it.'
Mary dropped the subject obediently, suggesting instead that it would be excellent therapy if Joanna both wrote the script and used her artistic talent to paint the scenery for the school nativity play, ideas which appealed to Joanna very much. When Marc made his weekly telephone call to speak to
Polly Joanna requested the formality of his approval regarding his niece's inclusion in the cast as a shepherd.
'Not the starring role? I'm surprised,' said Marc drily, sounding less formal than he normally did of late.
'Ah, but playing a shepherd involves a crook and toy lambs borrowed from the local craft shop!' Joanna informed him. 'It was something of a departure to cast a girl as a shepherd, of course, but because the Lavenham twins form the rest of the trio a point was stretched.'
Marc laughed. 'If Polly's tales about those lads are true I pity the producer of the play.'
'She's a jolly, competent sort of girl. Besides, Mary Lavenham's warned the twins that Father Christmas will cross them off his list if they misbehave.' Joanna hesitated. 'While we're on the subject, Marc,' she said diffidently, 'what shall I tell Polly you're doing at Christmas? You're very welcome to spend it here, of course.' She waited, tense, as Marc took his time to answer.
'That's very good of you,' he said at last. 'But even for Polly I don't think I could endure a jolly family Christmas the way things are. It would only emphasise all too bloody painfully what we're both missing because you refuse to marry me, Joanna.'
'It's not my fault!' she snapped. 'I can't help it if you're bristling with high-flown scruples.'
'Hell and damnation, Joanna ‑' He stopped, breathing in sharply. 'It was like a kick in the teeth to have you turn me down after—after what happened between us.'
Joanna fought for calm, shattered by his unexpected descent into the personal. 'I'm sorry. But you know exactly why I refused.'
'I take it you haven't changed your mind,' he said grimly.
'Have you?'
'No, I have not.'
'Then it's checkmate.' She sighed. 'Forget it, Marc. What do I tell Polly about Christmas?'
'Nothing. I'll tell her myself next Sunday when I take her out for the day.'
At first Joanna had looked forward to seeing Marc when he collected Polly for the weekly outing, but he very quickly disabused her of any pipe dream about talking him round to her way of thinking. He quite simply gave her no opportunity to talk to him at all. Joanna's sole contact with him was a moment or two when he collected Polly, and another brief encounter when he brought her back.
The Perfect Solution Page 12
