His Convenient Marriage (2 page)

After that, they devoted themselves to devising a range of eventual fates for her more ghoulish and grisly than even the Brothers Grimm could have imagined.

'Thank God I'm going to university,' Alastair declared eventually, with scornful resignation. 'And I won't be com¬ing back for vacations, if I can help it.'

Chessie missed him when he went, but she was soon absorbed in her school work, planning ahead for a career in her father's company.

It was three years before they encountered each other again. Chessie, newly returned from a month living as an au pair in France, had been asked to help on the white elephant stall at the church fête, held annually in the grounds of Wenmore Court, and one of the few village events with which the new Lady Markham sulkily allowed herself to be associated.

It was a blazingly hot afternoon, and Chessie was won¬dering when she could legitimately sneak off and go for a swim in the river, when Alastair halted beside the stall.

'My God, Chessie.' He was laughing, but there was an¬other note in his voice too. 'I'd hardly have known you.'

But I, she thought, the breath catching in her throat, I would have known you anywhere. Anywhere.

It was as if all her life until then had been geared for this one brilliant, unforgettable moment.

They stood there, smiling at each other, almost foolishly. Momentarily oblivious to everything and everyone around them. Then Alastair said quietly, 'I'll call you,' and she nodded, jerkily, afraid of showing her delight too openly.

They were practically inseparable in those first weeks of reunion, talking endlessly. She'd just left school, and was preparing to join her father in the City the following September, initially as a junior dogsbody, styled personal assistant.

Alastair, they both presumed would do the same—start learning the family electronics business from the bottom rung of the ladder.

The weather was hot, one perfect day spilling into an¬other, and Chessie found herself spending a lot of time at the Court, where Linnet had managed to persuade her hus¬band to install a swimming pool.

Until then, Chessie had been too insignificant for Lady Markham to notice, but she could hardly continue to ignore her when they were occupying adjoining sun loungers.

'Hi,' she drawled, eyes hidden behind designer sun¬glasses, and her spectacular figure displayed in a bikini one centimetre short of indecent. 'So you're Ally's little holiday romance. How nice.'

Chessie bit her lip. 'How do you do, Lady Markham?' she returned politely, touching the languidly extended fin¬gers.

'Oh, Linnet—please.' The red mouth curled into a smile. 'After all, sweetie, we're practically the same age.'

Back to the Brothers Grimm, Chessie muttered under her breath as she turned away.

She'd have preferred to avoid Linnet altogether during her visits, but this proved impossible. To Chessie's embar¬rassment the older woman had immediately recognised the fact that she was still physically innocent, and enjoyed bombarding her with a constant stream of unwanted inti¬mate advice, like poisoned darts.

But nothing Linnet could say or do had any real power to damage her happiness. Or her unspoken hopes for the future.

That came from a totally unexpected direction.

When Sir Robert announced that he was sending his son to business school in America, it was like a bolt from the blue. At first, Alastair seemed determined to fight his fa¬ther's decision, but when Sir Robert remained adamant, his mood changed to coldly furious acceptance.

'Can't you make him listen?' Chessie pleaded.

'It's no use, darling.' Alastair's face was hard. 'You don't know my father when his mind's made up like this.'

It was true that Chessie had only ever seen the genial, open-handed side of Sir Robert. This kind of arbitrary be¬haviour seemed totally out of character.

'But I'll be back, Chessie.' He stared into space, his face set. 'This isn't the end of everything. I won't allow it to be.'

And I believed him, thought Chessie.

She hoped it wasn't some subconscious conviction that one day he'd return to claim her that had kept her here in the village. Because common sense told her she was crying for the moon.

If Alastair had been seriously interested in her, if it had been more than a boy and girl thing, then he'd have asked her to marry him before he'd gone to the States, or at least begged her to wait for him. She'd made herself face that a long time ago.

It had been obvious that everyone in the neighbourhood had been expecting some kind of announcement. And even more apparent that, once he'd departed, people had been feeling sorry for her. The sting of their well-meant sym¬pathy had only deepened her heartache and sense of iso¬lation.

As had the attitude of Sir Robert, who'd made it coldly clear that he'd regarded it as a transient relationship, and not to be taken seriously. While Linnet's derisive smile had made Chessie feel quite sick.

She'd never realised before how much the other woman disliked her.

She'd wondered since whether Sir Robert, a shrewd busi¬nessman, had divined something about her father's looming financial troubles, and had decided to distance his family from a potential scandal.

To widespread local astonishment, Sir Robert had an¬nounced his own early retirement, and the sale of his com¬pany to a European conglomerate. Following this, within a few weeks of Alastair's departure, the Court had been closed up, and the Markhams had gone to live in Spain.

'Joining the sangria set,' Mrs. Hawkins the post mistress had remarked. 'She'll fit right in there.'

But now, it seemed, they were coming back, although that didn't necessarily mean that Alastair would be return¬ing with them. That could be just wishful thinking on Jenny's part, she acknowledged.

And Chessie hadn't wanted to question her too closely about what she'd heard. For one thing, Jenny should not have been hanging round the post office eavesdropping on other people's conversations. For another, Chessie didn't want to give the impression she was too interested.

The burned child fears the fire, she thought wryly. She'd worn her heart on her sleeve once for Alastair already. This time, she would be more careful.

If there was a 'this time...'

'My God, Chessie, I'd hardly have known you.'

Was that what he'd say when—if—he saw her again?

Certainly, she bore little resemblance to the girl he'd known. The Chessie of that summer had had hair streaked with sunlight. Her honey-tanned skin had glowed with youth and health as well as happiness, and her hazel eyes had smiled with confidence at the world about her.

Now, she seemed like a tone poem in grey, she thought, picking at her unremarkable skirt and blouse. And it wasn't just her clothes. The reflection in the window looked drab—defeated.

Yet any kind of style or flamboyance had not seemed an option in those hideous weeks between her father's arrest for fraud and his fatal heart attack on remand.

She'd survived it all—the stories in the papers, the visits of the fraud squad, Jenny's descent into hysteria—by de¬liberately suppressing her identity and retreating behind a wall of anonymity. Something she'd maintained ever since.

She'd expected to find herself a kind of pariah, and yet, with a few exceptions, people in the village had been kind and tactful, making it easy for her to adopt this new muted version of her life.

And working for Miles Hunter had helped too, in some curious way. It had been a tough and exacting time with little opportunity for recriminations or brooding.

In the last few months, she'd even managed to reach some kind of emotional plateau just short of contentment.

Now, thanks to Jenny's news, she felt unsettled again.

She was about to turn back to her desk when she heard the sound of an engine. Craning her neck, she saw Miles Hunter's car sweep round the long curve of the drive and come to a halt in front of the main door.

A moment later, he emerged from the driver's seat. He stood for a moment, steadying himself, then reached for his cane and limped slowly towards the shallow flight of steps that led up to the door.

Chessie found she was biting her lip as she watched him. Her own current problems were just so minor compared to his, she thought, with a flicker of the compassion she'd never dared show since that first day she'd worked for him.

It was something she'd never forgotten—the way he'd stumbled slightly, getting out of his chair, and how, instinc¬tively, she'd jumped up herself, her hands reaching out to him.

The blue eyes had been glacial, his whole face twisted in a snarl as he'd turned on her. 'Keep away. Don't touch me.'

'I'm so sorry.' She'd been stricken by the look, and the tone of his voice. 'I was just trying to help...'

'If I need it, I'll ask for it. And I certainly don't want pity. Remember that.'

She'd wanted to hand in her notice there and then, but she hadn't because she'd suddenly remembered a very dif¬ferent exchange.

'He had the world at his feet once,' Mr. Jamieson, their family solicitor, had told her when he'd first mentioned the possibility of a job, and staying on at Silvertrees. 'Rugby blue—played squash for his county—award-winning jour¬nalist in newspaper and television. And then found himself in the wrong place at the wrong moment, when the convoy he was travelling with met a land-mine.'

He shook his head. 'His injuries were frightful. They thought he'd never walk again, and he had umpteen skin grafts. But while he was in hospital recovering, he wrote his first novel The Bad Day.'

'Since which, he's never looked back, of course.' Chessie spoke with a certain irony.

Mr. Jamieson looked at her with quiet solemnity over the top of his glasses. 'Oh, no, my dear,' he said gently. I think it likely he looks back a good deal—don't you?'

And Francesca felt herself reproved.

She was back at her desk, working away, when Miles Hunter came in.

'I've just seen your sister,' he remarked without pream¬ble. 'She nearly went into the car with that damned bike of hers. Doesn't it possess brakes?'

'Yes, of course,' Chessie said hurriedly, groaning in¬wardly. 'But she does ride it far too fast. I—I'll speak to her.'

Miles Hunter gave her a sardonic look. 'Will that do any good? She seems a law unto herself.'

'Well, I can try at least'

'Hmm.' He gave her a considering look. 'She seemed stirred up about something, and so do you. Has she been upsetting you again?'

'Jenny does not upset me.' Chessie lifted her chin.

'Of course not,' he agreed affably, then sighed impa¬tiently. 'Just who are you trying to fool, Francesca? You spend half your life making allowances for that girl—tip-toeing around her feelings as if you were treading on egg¬shells. I'm damned if she does half as much for you.'

Indignation warred inside her with shock that Miles Hunter, who invariably addressed her as Miss Lloyd, should suddenly have used her first name.

'It's been very difficult for her...' she began defensively.

'More than for you?'

'In some ways. You see, Jenny...' She realised she was about to say, Jenny was my father's favourite, but the words died on her lips. It was something she'd never ad-mitted before, she realised, shocked. Something she'd never even allowed herself to examine. She found herself substi¬tuting lamely, 'Was very young when all this happened to us.'

'You don't think it's time she took on some responsi¬bility for her own life, perhaps?' The dark face was quiz¬zical.

'You're my employer, Mr. Hunter,' Chessie said steadily. 'But that's all. You're not our guardian, and you have no right to judge. Jenny and I have a perfectly satisfactory relationship.'

'Well, she and I do not,' he said grimly. 'When I sug¬gested, quite mildly, that she should look where she was going, she called back that soon I wouldn't have to bother about either of you. What did she mean by that?'

Chessie would have given a great deal to put her hands round Jenny's throat and choke her.

'I think perhaps you misheard her,' she said, cursing si¬lently. 'What Jenny means is that she'll be going to uni¬versity in the autumn and—'

'If her results are good enough.'

'There's no problem about that,' Chessie said stiffly. 'She's a very bright girl, and they expect her to do well.'

'Let's hope that their optimism is rewarded. I can't say that sharing a roof with her has been an unalloyed delight.'

Ouch. Chessie bit her lip. 'I'm sorry-'

'You haven't a thing to apologise for. You haven't the age or experience to cope with a temperamental adolescent. Wasn't there anyone else who could have helped?'

She wanted to tell him sharply that she didn't need help, thanks, but her intrinsic honesty prevailed. She said quietly, 'I have an aunt on my mother's side, but she didn't want her family involved—and who can blame her? Anyway, it doesn't matter.'

'Of course it matters,' he said. 'You're a human being, although you do your best, most of the time, to pretend you're some kind of robot.' He stopped abruptly. 'Oh, for God's sake, I didn't mean that.' He paused. 'Look, can I ask you something before I stumble into any more verbal disasters?'

'If you want.' Robot, she thought. Grey robot. That said it all.

'Would you have dinner with me this evening?'

For the first time in her life, Chessie felt her jaw drop. 'I—I don't understand.'

'It's quite simple. It may not seem like it, but I've had a really good day. My agent has actually sold Maelstrom to Evening Star Films, and they want me to write the first draft of the screenplay, so there's a slight chance of part of my original concept surviving.'

She saw his smile so seldom that she'd forgotten what a charge it could pack, lighting his whole face with charm, and turning his eyes to sapphire. Forcing her to startled acknowledgement of his attraction.

'I'd really like to celebrate,' he went on. 'And as Maelstrom was the first book you were involved with, I'd be honoured if you'd join me.'

She continued to stare at him.

Finally, he said, 'You do eat—don't you?'