His Convenient Marriage (7 page)

'Oh, dear God.' Chessie remembered Sir Robert's tall, robust presence, his brisk stride, and the commanding power of his voice. She couldn't imagine him sick—di-minished in any way. 'I'm so sorry.' She hesitated. 'In a way, it's fortunate you decided to take this job in London.'

'Yes, I suppose so.' He gave a brief, almost bitter sigh. 'Hell, what a mess.'

'But why didn't Linnet mention it to me?'

'Who knows why Linnet does anything?' Alastair said with a slight snap. 'After all, it's hardly something that can be kept under wraps, however much she might wish it.'

'Perhaps she feels your father needs rest and quiet when he comes down here, and wants to discourage visitors,' Chessie suggested.

'You're joking, of course.' His tone was derisive. 'She regards his condition as a temporary inconvenience. I gather she's even planning to revive the Midsummer Party. Mark her return in style.'

'But surely...' Chessie stopped herself right there. If Linnet couldn't see that was inappropriate, it was no con¬cern of hers.

'It's so good to be back here,' Alastair said softly. 'Know that there's someone on my side again.'

She thought, But I'm in no position to take sides—even if I wanted to—which is by no means certain.

She felt guiltily relieved when she heard Jenny coming noisily along the passage with the fresh coffee. The whole evening had been too intense—too bewildering, she thought. She needed time and space to think. To come to terms with everything that had happened. Not least with Alastair's sudden reappearance.

She should have been giddy with delight and relief. Jenny had clearly thought she'd find them wrapped round each other. Instead, she simply felt—stunned.

I have to adjust, that's all, she told herself defensively.

And her talk with Jenny would have to be postponed, too, which maybe wasn't such a bad thing. It would give her time to prepare, to work out a reasoned argument, in¬stead of steaming in with all guns blazing, which had rarely succeeded in the past. She would have to be understanding, she thought glumly. Speak to Jenny woman to woman.

But what will I do if she won't listen? she asked herself unhappily as she drank more coffee she didn't want and her sister chattered away to Alastair.

'And I've got this wicked CD in my room,' Jenny was saying. 'I'll get it, so we can listen to it while we're fin¬ishing off the wine.'

`I don't think so,' Chessie intervened, feeling like some¬one's Victorian granny. 'It's getting late, and Alastair has to go. You have school tomorrow, and I must work.'

Jenny's scowl was immediate. 'Oh, for God's sake, Chess, don't be so wet,' she exclaimed impatiently. 'Tell The Ogre that his beastly meal gave you food poisoning, and you're having the day off. Don't you realise? Alastair's back.

'Nice try, honey.' He grinned at her. 'But Chessie's quite right. Tomorrow's a working day for all of us. And there'll be plenty of other evenings—now that I'm back.' And he allowed his hand to rest briefly but significantly on Chessie's.

'You haven't a clue how to deal with men,' Jenny ac¬cused when he'd gone. 'I was going to put the music on, and leave you alone with him.'

'Not very subtle.' Chessie piled crockery and glasses onto the tray. And what made you suddenly such an expert on men? she wanted to ask, but didn't.

'Well, who needs subtlety—especially when you haven't seen each other for yonks?' Jenny sniffed. 'You were just sitting there like a stuffed dummy. No wonder he pushed off to the States if this is how you used to treat him.'

Chessie sighed. 'Love, I don't want to argue at this time of night. We're both tired. But I need to deal with Alastair in my own way. And at the moment, I feel really confused.'

Now, she thought, would certainly not be a good time to introduce the topic of Miles' extraordinary proposal. And, as far as Jenny was concerned, there would probably never be an optimum moment.

Besides, when the time came, she could always make up some story about feeling in a rut to explain why they were moving. So there was no real need to mention it ever to her volatile sister.

Because she was turning Miles down, and the sooner the better. She knew that, and she was comfortable in her de¬cision.

Which did not explain why she spent much of the re¬maining night tossing and turning in her bed. And it wasn't Alastair's easy charm and smiling brown eyes that were keeping her from sleep, but a man with a scarred face and premature winter in his gaze.

And that, she told herself firmly, was ridiculous.

CHAPTER FOUR

Chessie felt edgy and out of sorts as she made her way to the small room adjoining Miles' study that she used as an office.

She'd cleared her desk the previous afternoon, so she was surprised to find a substantial pile of new script await¬ing her attention.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one to have had a rest¬less night, she thought, biting her lip.

She sat down with a sigh, and switched on the computer. Jenny had been irrepressible at breakfast, Alastair's name never off her lips. She plainly saw him as the romantic knight on the white charger who was going to solve all their problems and carry Chessie off to eternal bliss as a bonus, and Chessie had longed to put her aching head in her hands, and beg her to stop.

'I'll be a bit late this evening,' Jenny said as she grabbed her school bag and headed for the door. 'Choir practice.'

But Chessie, newly suspicious and hating it, saw that her sister did not look at her directly, and her heart sank.

She couldn't put off the inevitable confrontation for much longer, she reflected unhappily.

The distant bang of the back door alerted her to the ar¬rival of Mrs. Chubb, the daily help. And no prizes for guess¬ing what would be her prime topic of conversation, Chessie thought as she made her way to the kitchen.

'You'll have heard, then.' Mrs. Chubb, resplendent in a flowered overall, had already switched on the kettle for her first cup of tea of the day. She tutted 'Poor Sir Robert. Who'd have thought it? Mind you, I always said he should never have gone to a hot place like Spain,' she added ominously. 'You should leave the Tropics for those who've been bred there. They can stand it.'

Chessie, contemplating Spain's new geographic status, murmured something neutral as she began to assemble Miles' coffee tray.

'And that means we'll have her ladyship back, coming the high and mighty,' Mrs. Chubb went on. '"Call me ma¬dam," was what she told us all in the village.' She snorted. 'And a right madam she's turned out to be. Sir Robert at death's door, and her wanting Chubb to mark out the tennis court.'

'Actually, Sir Robert is expected to make a good recov¬ery,' Chessie said, trying not to relish Mrs. Chubb's unflat¬tering remarks about Linnet.

Mrs. Chubb sniffed. 'Not with her nursing him, he won't. Suffer a relapse, I shouldn't wonder. Make her a rich widow, and suit her just fine.'

'Mrs. Chubb—you really mustn't...'

`I,' Mrs. Chubb said magnificently, 'speak as I find. Chubb loves those gardens at the Court, and he'd never leave, but I'm not going back there to clean, not even if she doubled my hours and my money—which she won't.'

She poured boiling water onto her tea bag, compressing it until the water turned black, then added a splash of milk, and two spoonfuls of sugar.

'Proper tea, that is,' she remarked with satisfaction. 'Not like that scented muck that Madam drinks. Used to fair turn my stomach, that did.' She sipped with deep appreciation and nodded. 'Now I must get on,' she added, as if Chessie had been deliberately detaining her. 'The master left a note asking me to do out the spare room, so he must be ex¬pecting visitors. And about time, too. This old place could do with cheering up.' And she departed purposefully, mug in hand.

'The old place is not alone in that,' Chessie muttered as she spooned the rich Colombian blend that Miles favoured into the percolator.

While she was waiting for it to brew, she collected the mail from the box by the front door. Dealing with it was a simple process. All junk mail in the bin, all invitations to speaking engagements declined, all business correspon¬dence opened and date stamped, and any personal letters placed unopened on Miles' desk.

Normally she hardly spared these a second glance, but today she found herself noticing that one of them came in an expensive cream envelope, with unmistakably female handwriting. And recalling that a similar item had arrived the previous week...

Oh, for heaven's sake, she adjured herself irritably. Anyone would think I were genuinely engaged to the man. Whereas nothing has changed. There is no personal rela¬tionship, and absolutely no reason for me to be in the least curious. And certainly not jealous.

And she added the cream envelope to the neat pile on the tray.

When the coffee was ready, Chessie carried the tray to the study and tapped lightly on the door. But there was no sound at all, not even the clatter of typewriter keys, so, after waiting a puzzled moment, she opened the door and went in.

The room had changed a great deal from her father's time, and she had never ceased to be glad of that. When the house had gone on the market, most of its contents had already been sold, leaving only the bare essentials. Miles had brought his own furniture, and had had Silvertrees re¬decorated too.

That, Chessie recalled wryly, had been one of the early bones of contention with Jenny, who couldn't be mollified even by the total refurbishment of their own accommoda¬tion.

But she herself had felt it right that the new owner should cut as many links with the past as possible. Stamp his mark on his new home.

The room was much lighter and more workmanlike these days. Different books stood on the shelves that lined the walls, and that also held his stereo system and CD collec¬tion. A massive leather Chesterfield occupied pride of place in front of the fireplace.

The big imposing desk had gone, and Miles worked in¬stead at a very ordinary table set by the window. His chair, however, had been specially made for him, with extra sup¬port for his spine.

Normally, he was at work by now, busy at the small portable typewriter that had accompanied him to so many places in the world.

'I thought you'd have had the latest thing in laptops,' she'd said once in the early days.

His mouth twisted. 'And how do you recharge batteries, Miss Lloyd, when there is no electricity?' He ran his fingers over the sturdy frame of the portable in a curiously caress¬ing movement. 'This once belonged to my father, and he gave it to me when I got my first job in journalism. And I'll go on using it until the last spare part and the last ribbon have vanished from the earth. It's been my lucky talisman.'

'Not always lucky,' she said slowly, thinking of the mined road.

He shrugged, the blue eyes cool and meditative. 'We both survived, didn't we?'

But this morning, the chair was empty, and the typewriter hidden under its cover. Chessie set the tray down on the table, feeling bewildered. She organised Miles' appoint¬ments diary, and there was nothing that would have taken him away from the house at this hour.

Perhaps he was ill, she thought apprehensively, remem¬bering Jenny's comment about food poisoning. But, if so, surely he'd have asked her to send for a doctor.

The room was very still, bathed in early summer sun, but the quality of its stillness told Chessie suddenly that she wasn't alone.

She trod quietly across the room and looked over the high back of the Chesterfield. Miles was stretched out on its cushions, eyes closed, and his breathing soft and regular.

Well, Chessie thought, astonished. Another first.

She tiptoed round the sofa, and stood watching him for a moment. He was wearing the same clothes that he'd worn the previous night, indicating that he hadn't been to bed at all.

He looked much younger asleep, she realised with an odd pang, and almost vulnerable. The harsh dynamism of his features was softened and relaxed, the hard mouth gen¬tler. The scarred side of his face was hidden, and his dark lashes, longer than she'd ever noticed, curled on his tanned cheek.

Chessie stood there feeling confused, and almost help¬less. This situation had never cropped up before. So, what did she do now? Wake him, or leave him to the rest he obviously needed?

'Well, make your mind up, Francesca. The suspense is killing me.'

The softly drawled words nearly made her jump out of her skin, and she clamped her lips tightly on a yowl of surprise.

'You're awake.'

'I'm a light sleeper.' He sat up slowly, suppressing a grimace of discomfort. 'I learned a long time ago that it's better to know and be alert when someone's creeping up on you.'

'I was not creeping anywhere,' Chessie denied with dig¬nity. 'I simply brought in your coffee and the post, as usual. And if you knew I was there, why did you let me go on standing about?' she added crossly, feeling a fool.

The sardonic smile flicked her. 'Perhaps I was hoping you'd wake me with a kiss.'

Chessie decided it was wiser to ignore that. 'Have you been up all night?' she asked, her brow furrowed.

He shrugged as he got to his feet, and stretched `It is something I do on occasion. I wasn't particularly tired last night, and I had a lot on my mind, so I went into the garden and sat for a while, then took a walk.' He paused. 'I gather you had a visitor.'

'Why—yes.' To her vexation, Chessie felt her face flood with colour. 'It's not against the rules, is it? And why were you spying on me?'

'I wasn't,' he said mildly. 'But like any householder, I'm interested in the identity of a stranger leaving my grounds after midnight.' He limped over to the table, and poured himself some coffee. `I hope he didn't cause you any prob¬lems.'

'Problems,' Chessie echoed. 'Why should he?' And what difference would one more make among so many, anyway?

'I assumed,' he said, 'that he was Jenny's unsuitable boy¬friend—the one you were so concerned about at dinner.'

'Oh,' she said. 'Oh, no. That was Alastair Markham— an old friend.'