The weather was still holding good, the sky clear and bright, when, some five minutes later, they made a perfect landing and taxied towards the airport buildings to get the formalities over.
Bridges, grey-haired and sedate, was waiting for them with a gleaming limousine, and by mid-afternoon they were drawing up outside the black spiky railings of number ten Clorres Place.
Andrew accompanied Bel down the steps and waited until she’d found the key. ‘Seven-thirty,’ he reminded her, and after dropping a quick kiss on her lips departed.
Closing the door, she felt a sudden and keen sense of loss…It just proved how bad she’d got it, she told herself with an attempt at humour.
But really it wasn’t funny. In such a short time he’d become the centre of her universe, the sun around which her whole being revolved. If he ever got tired of her, and left her, the rest of her life would be spent in shadow…
Oh, come on! She was behaving like some foolish, half-hysterical heroine in a cheap novelette, rather than an independent woman with plenty of common sense.
If this was what love did to you, she thought wryly, she’d have been better off not tangling with it. Except she’d had no choice.
Putting her ring carefully on one side, she dug a spare suitcase and some boxes out of the glory-hole and started on the task of sorting out and bidding farewell to her former life.
Clad in old, too-tight jeans and a shrunken T-shirt, with a scarf tied turban-fashion over her hair, Bel cleaned through the flat and assembled what she wanted to take, leaving on one side a change of clothing for when she’d finished.
By the time Bridges knocked she was all packed, and several plastic bin-liners containing clothing and items for the nearest charity shop were tied up and waiting.
A streak of dust across her cheek, her turban slipping drunkenly over one ear, she opened the door.
Blue-grey eyes travelled over her and did a double take before they lit with laughter.
Flustered, not only by Andrew’s unconcealed amusement but by the realisation that he was now wearing a smart business suit, and only too conscious of the hiphugging jeans and the way the T-shirt flattened her breasts and rode up to show an inch or so of naked flesh, she said crossly, ‘I thought you were sending Bridges.’
‘It’s just as well I didn’t…’
Following her in, Andrew drew her close, his cheek against hers and his hands, discovering she was wearing nothing beneath the T-shirt, moving to follow the elegant length of her bare spine.
‘You’re so incredibly sexy in that charlady’s get-up, it might have made him dissatisfied with his new ladyfriend…’
Heart racing, the blood starting to pound in her ears, Bel pulled herself free and stepped back, unwinding the turban. ‘How do you know he’s got a new ladyfriend?’ Even in her own ears her voice sounded squeaky.
Andrew gave a little grimace, but allowed her to call the tune. ‘He asked for a couple of hours off “around teatime”, explaining that he’d “made arrangements” before he knew I’d be returning. I winkled the rest out of him, and, never one to stand in the way of true love—’ Andrew’s smile was sardonic ‘—told him to take the rest of the day off.’
Bel bit her lip.
Then, realising that Andrew had noted her reaction, she threw up a smokescreen. ‘Oh, well, I suppose everything can stay where it is. The rent’s paid until the end of the month, so there’s no particular hurry.’
He shook his head. ‘I’ve every intention of dealing with it now.’ While she hovered uneasily by the open door Andrew began to carry the various boxes out to his Jaguar.
‘Don’t bother with the charity bags,’ she told him. ‘The shop will be closed by now.’
But, gathering them up, he said, ‘I’ll put them in the boot. Bridges can take them tomorrow.’
When the place was finally clear, Andrew queried, ‘All done?’
‘Yes. As soon as I’ve showered and changed, I’m off to see Dad.’
‘And you wouldn’t like me to come with you?’
Not looking forward to trying to explain the situation—a situation she herself still felt was incredible—Bel thought of having him there to lean on, and wavered.
But would it be for the best? Andrew’s presence could prove to be a two-edged sword. It might be easier to speak to her father frankly, to give her reasons and reassure him, if they were alone.
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Sure?’
‘Quite sure.’
About to turn away, he paused to inform her almost casually, ‘Though there are still one or two loose ends to tie up, a special licence should be through by Thursday. The Reverend John Blackthorn will be happy to perform the ceremony. He tells me that a marriage can take place in church between eight am. and six p.m., but as there are already two weddings booked for the afternoon he’s asked that we make ours a morning one. Ten-thirty, if that suits you?’
Hoping she didn’t sound as dazed as she felt, Bel agreed, ‘Yes, of course.’
‘Then I’ll finalise all the arrangements.’
At the door, he took her face between his hands and looked at her searchingly, ‘You’re very close to your father, aren’t you?’ When she half nodded, he said with sudden urgency, ‘You won’t let him talk you out of it?’
All he’d shown her so far had been his strength. Now all at once he was human, vulnerable, with a chink in the armour of his certainty.
She felt a rush of tenderness. ‘No. I won’t let him talk me out of it. I doubt if he’ll even try to. All he’s ever wanted is my happiness.’
Some strong emotion she was unable to identify flickered across Andrew’s face and was gone. Bending his dark head, he kissed her, a brief, hard kiss, searing in its intensity. A moment later he was taking the steps two at a time.
A hand to her mouth, Bel stood where she was until the sleek car had drawn away. Then, squaring her shoulders, she went in to shower and change for what she guessed would prove to be one of the most difficult meetings of her life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
AS BEL let herself into the big Regency house on Dunbarton Street her father appeared in the hall.
She went to him and kissed his cheek. ‘I tried to ring you when I got to Rome, but your phone was playing up.’
‘I know; I had it fixed. Is everything all right?’ He looked hopeful rather than anxious, she noted.
‘Yes, everything’s fine.’ She managed to sound more confident than she felt.
Peter Grant beamed. ‘I guessed it was nothing but a storm in a teacup. Though you’re usually very levelheaded, when someone’s in love little things can get blown up out of all proportion.’
Suddenly realising what he was getting at, Bel began to shake her head, but he was going on.
‘Isn’t Roderick with you? I thought he might—’
‘Dad,’ she broke in urgently, ‘you’ve got it all wrong. Roderick and I haven’t made it up.’
‘You haven’t? Then why have you come home so soon? I felt sure he must have been in touch and—’
‘No, it’s nothing like that. Look, let’s go and sit down. It’s a long story.’
Looking worried now, Peter Grant followed his daughter through to the handsome living room, which faced west and overlooked the well-kept garden.
The room was light and airy, its French windows open to the early-evening breeze. A low sun shining through the branches of a beech tree decorated the striped wallpaper with a moving pattern of leaves.
As Bel took a seat her father said, ‘Before we start, if you’re thinking of staying for dinner I’d better let Mrs Piggot know.’
‘No, I won’t be staying.’
‘A sherry, then?’
‘Better not. I’m driving.’
Taking the armchair opposite, Peter Grant studied his daughter for a moment, then remarked, ‘Somehow you look different.’
Amazed at his perspicacity, Bel said, ‘I am different. Since I saw you last my whole
life’s changed. I know that sounds a bit over the top—’ she tried to smile ‘—but there’s no other way of putting it’
Sensing the real anxiety behind her attempted lightness, he said, ‘You’d better tell me about it.’
Her ash-blonde hair was loose, and the breeze flicked a silky strand across her cheek. Pushing it back, she jumped in at the deep end. ‘When I got engaged to Roderick I thought I loved him…but now I’ve fallen in love, really in love, with another man. It makes what I felt for Roderick seem no more than mere fondness.’
‘Ah…and it was because of this other man that your engagement ended?’
She flushed. ‘Well, yes…in a way.’
In some respects it would have been a relief to make a clean breast of it and tell her father the whole truth. But, having thought about it, she knew it was better not to. It would only upset him, and it wouldn’t reflect too well on Andrew.
The two men were the people in her life that she cared for most, and it was desperately important to her that when they did meet they hit it off and liked each other.
‘So who is he?’ Peter pursued. ‘How long have you known him?’
‘His name’s Andrew Storm. I—I haven’t really known him very long…I suppose you could say it was love at first sight, though that probably sounds rather silly to you.’
But her father was shaking his head. ‘That’s how it was when I met your mother. I fell in love with her the moment I saw her.’ His face grew soft. ‘Later she told me she’d felt the same way about me.’
Then briskly, as though half ashamed of showing his emotion, he said, ‘So tell me about this Andrew Storm. How old is he?’
‘In his early thirties. He’s a banker and a businessman.’
‘Successful?’
‘Very. He has worldwide business interests.’
‘Can’t say I’ve ever heard of him. He must keep a low profile.’
‘I imagine he does. In some ways he’s a very…’ She hesitated. ‘A very private person—a man who likes to play his cards close to his chest.’
Picking up the slight strain in his daughter’s manner, Peter asked sharply, ‘He’s not married?’
She shook her head. ‘No, he’s single.’
His relief that she wasn’t entangled with a married man patent, her father asked, ‘What’s he like?’
‘Sophisticated, assured. A powerful, intelligent, charismatic man with a sharp, clear mind.’
‘Arrogant?’
‘He has strong views on most things without being opinionated,’ she answered truthfully.
‘I meant arrogant when it comes to women.’
‘Just confident,’ she said, slightly less truthfully. ‘But he’s far from insensitive and he has a kind of infectious joie de vivre.’
‘Where did you first meet him?’
Bel said carefully, ‘I bumped into him in a restaurant one lunchtime, then I met him again at the Bentincks’.’
‘So he’s a friend of Roderick’s?’
‘A business acquaintance.’
‘What’s he like to look at?’
‘Stunningly attractive, yet I’ve seen no sign of personal vanity…’
As she paused, struggling to find the right words to describe a man like Andrew, Peter caught the ball and ran with it. ‘Short?’
‘Tall. Over six feet.’
‘Fair?’ ‘Dark.’
‘And no doubt incredibly handsome,’ Peter teased
‘Yes, but not in a film star-ish way. His face is too strong. He has a hawk’s profile and a squarish chin, and he’s built like Superman…’
‘Go on.’
Bel’s face softened and glowed. ‘He has eyes the colour of woodsmoke, a mouth that can look either warm or austere, and his voice is spellbinding…’
Her father chuckled. ‘My, you have got it badly.’
Laughing and blushing, she admitted, ‘You could say that.’
Studying her, he observed, ‘You look like a sixteenyear-old in love for the very first time.’
‘Whereas I’m a twenty-three-year-old in love for the very first time.’
With sudden seriousness, he said, ‘I just don’t want you to get hurt.’
‘I’ll try not to,’ Bel promised lightly.
She was gathering herself, wondering how to break the news of the forthcoming wedding, when her father observed, ‘You’ve told me everything about this man you love except the most important thing. How does he feel? Does he love you?’
Ignoring the stab of pain that lanced through her, Bel smiled brilliantly. ‘He wants to marry me. In fact we’re already engaged.’ Holding out the hand she’d kept hidden in her lap, she displayed her ring.
Peter whistled. ‘A fast worker, and judging by the size of that emerald he’s got more than enough to keep the wolf from the door.’
‘I’d marry him if I had to buy a catapult to do that,’ she said dryly. ‘The only thing I’m sorry about is the way it happened. I never wanted to hurt Roderick or his parents…’
But Peter was frowning, a puzzled expression on his nice-looking face. ‘If you didn’t break it off with Roderick until Saturday…and it’s only Monday now, how on earth have you managed to get engaged and buy a ring?’
Bel took a deep breath. ‘I know it seems incredible…I can hardly believe it myself. But Andrew’s got his own private jet and he followed me to Rome. The ring is a family heirloom; it belonged to his Italian grandmother—’
Frowning, Peter broke in, ‘Surely he can’t be Italian with a name like Andrew Storm?’
‘His mother was Italian and his father was English. He was born and brought up in England but he speaks Italian fluently.’ She glanced down at the emerald. ‘He gave me this on the flight back to England. I was a bit worried about it being so valuable, but he said he wanted me to wear it.’
There was a thoughtful silence, then Peter said slowly, ‘No one can blame you for breaking your first engagement when you realised it had been a mistake, but don’t you think it would be best to keep the second quiet for a while, give things a chance to blow over?’
‘Well, I—’
‘If you don’t, it might make Roderick look a fool, and people are bound to think you’ve been caught on the rebound. Perhaps if you waited a month or two—’
‘Dad,’ she broke in desperately, ‘please listen. Neither Andrew nor I want to wait.’
Peter shook his head. ‘It doesn’t do to rush into things. Why not give yourself time, and if you still feel the same announce your engagement at Christmas? Then perhaps a spring wedding—’
‘We’ve decided to get married as soon as possible. That’s why we flew back today.’
She saw the shock hit him like a punch on the jaw.
For a full minute neither spoke, and the silence seemed to hold its breath. Then, sounding confused, he asked, ‘But why such haste?’
He was a decent and good man, with values to match, and, knowing she couldn’t tell him the truth, she said as lightly as possible, ‘We want to be together, and neither of us can see any real reason to wait. Andrew’s getting a special licence and we’re hoping to be married on Thursday morning at ten-thirty.’
‘At the register office?’ ‘No, St Giles’s Church.’
Arrested by the look on her father’s face, she was about to ask if anything was the matter when he said quietly, ‘I’m glad you chose St Giles’s. That’s the church your mother and I were married at.’
Getting to his feet hastily, he turned to stare through the window, evincing a keen interest in a blackbird that was splashing about in the shallow stone bird-bath.
Her eyes misty, Bel was pleased to be able to tell him, ‘It was Andrew’s suggestion. I gather he knows the vicar there.’
Then she went on a little awkwardly, ‘Though it will obviously be a very quiet wedding, with just Andrew’s stepbrother as best man and his wife as matron of honour, he wants me to have a long dress and a veil.’
Her father turned to
smile at her. ‘All the trimmings, eh? Good for him. I wouldn’t want it to seem like some rushed, hole-and-corner affair.’
Greatly relieved, she asked, ‘Dad…you will give me away?’
‘I’ll be proud to. You’ll come back here for a small reception, won’t you? Mrs Piggot will jump at the chance to use her talents and put on a buffet…And as the bride’s father it will be my privilege to buy your wedding finery and a knock-your-eye-out trousseau.’
Bursting into tears, Bel jumped up and, throwing her arms around his neck, hugged him.
When he’d patted her back, he fished in his pocket and, producing a neatly folded handkerchief, said mildly, ‘Perhaps you’d better make haste and mop up. Any second now Mrs Piggot will be in to tell me dinner’s ready…and you know how she loves a good soap opera,’ he added dryly.
‘Doesn’t she just?’ Bel grinned as she obediently wiped her eyes and blew her nose. ‘And, speaking of dinner, I ought to be on my way. Andrew’s expecting me at seven-thirty.’
‘You’re eating at his place?’
‘I’m staying there,’ she admitted, adding truthfully, ‘He said he’d be happy for me to have one of the guest rooms.’ As her father followed her into the hall she explained, ‘Because there’s so little time, and a great deal to do, before I came here I cleared my flat and handed in the key.’
Peter’s brows drew together in a frown. ‘If you’ve plumped for the traditional scene, on the wedding morning the bride and groom shouldn’t see each other until they get to church.’
‘I hadn’t really thought that far ahead,’ she admitted.
‘And the bride should travel to church with the person who’s giving her away.’ With a touch of humour, he added, ‘You’re my only daughter and I don’t want to miss out on the excitement.’
She gave him a hug. ‘Then what if I bring all my finery and sleep here Wednesday night?’
Seriously, he asked, ‘Would that cause any problems?’
‘Of course not. It’s the ideal solution.’
‘Marvellous!’ He beamed his pleasure.
Sounding dazed, she said, ‘I can hardly believe I’m getting married in just three days’ time.’
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