Bachelor's Wife (8 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

THE fact that she had spent a depressed and worrying weekend must have been showing, Perry thought when she presented herself at work on Monday and saw Madge, who had arrived at the same time, looking at her closely.

'How's the tummy upset?' she enquired, her way of saying that regardless of the invention, Perry didn't look up to par.

'Thanks, Madge,' said Perry, knowing Madge would take from that her thanks for covering for her and also that she didn't want to discuss anything to do with Friday.

'Any time,' Madge replied. Then with a, 'Heads down time,' she prepared to start work.

The trouble with this job, Perry thought, as she threaded a needle, was that if gave one plenty of time to think. And she had done more than enough chasing the same theme on Saturday and Sunday when a feeling of thoroughly disliking Nash Devereux had made itself felt. It was all his fault, she had thought time and time again, that the celebratory evening with Trevor she should have been eagerly looking forward to held nothing for her but guilt at the secret that was between them.

She should be happy and excited, she thought, recalling the agony of her thoughts over the weekend, that soon she would be celebrating her engagement with the man she loved. For it had come to her, in long wakeful hours, that by not rejecting Trevor's proposal she must now be engaged to him.

Unconsciously she sighed, her sigh heard by Madge, who looked up, wanting to help with whatever was troubling her, but unable to unless Perry confided in her.

Oh, where was she to get five thousand pounds from? Perry wondered agitatedly. Even if Trevor had got five thousand she couldn't ask or accept it from him. She had taken money from one man once, admittedly not for herself, and look where it had got her! Not that there would be any trouble with Trevor if he gave her the five thousand she so badly needed, she mentally defended him, it wasjust her—she just couldn't ask him.

Madge repeated the same words Trevor had said to her on Friday as they were leaving at the end of the day. 'I should have an early night if I were you,' she advised.  Perry blamed Nash entirely that the spontaneous 'Not tonight, tonight Trevor and I are celebrating our engagement' was never made.

'I will,' she promised instead, and went home so fed up with herself she knew she had reached the end of the road.  When Trevor called,
before
they went out she would invite him in, would tell him everything. She loved him, she couldn't bear the thought of losing him, but if after what she had told him he no longer wanted to take her out, then she would have to accept that. But tell him she was going to; she couldn't go on like this one minute more than she had to.

But barely had she closed the door of her sitting room after stopping at Mrs Foster's to leave the small bits of shopping she had picked up for her in her lunch hour than her landlady was calling her down to the telephone.

Trevor, she thought, hurrying down the stairs so as not to keep him waiting, smiling her thanks to Mrs Foster as she limped into the kitchen so she could take her call in private.

 But it wasn't Trevor, and Perry's dislike of Nash Devereux rose to the top as she heard his voice, easy, supremely self-assured and enquiring if she'd just got in from work. If he had telephoned just to enquire jibingly if she had the five thousand for him yet, then regardless of

the damage to Mrs Foster's phone, Perry was certain she would be sending the instrument crashing down with a force that would shatter it.

'As a matter of fact, yes,' she replied as evenly as she could.

'Good,' was her answer. 'I wanted to catch you before you began cooking your evening meal.' And while her brain was trying to make sense of that remark, he was adding,

'Have dinner with me.'

Of all the nerve! Who
did
he think he was? Not only had he seemed to have forgotten she had stormed out of his office on Friday, but his voice sounded fully confident she wouldn't refuse. Just as though she was one of his little dillies who went into ecstasies at the mere sound of his voice, ready to drop anything they were doing at the merest hint he might like to take them to dinner, she fumed:   

'The kindness of your invitation overwhelms me, Mr Devereux,' sweetness fairly dripped before anger soured it and had her snapping, 'I'd sooner jump fully clothed in the Thames than dine with you!'

The sound of genuine laughter in her ear, telling her that instead of offending him she had managed only to amuse him, arrested her when she would have slammed the phone down. She hesitated a moment too long and heard his voice again, still confident damn him:

'We never did get down to seriously discussing our divorce, did we?'

He had her hooked and he knew it, Perry seethed. But she was still hanging on to the phone.

 'I thought we had,' she said stubbornly, not allowing hope to rise —-she had been fooled before.

'You didn't think I was serious when I asked you to return the money, did you?'

'Of course I did.' Hope was there despite what her brain was telling her, that this was some game he was playing purely for his own amusement. 'You meant me to think you were serious.' She waited, hoping he would insert something, but when it was all silent his end, she just had to add, 'Are you now saying that you weren't—that you were just—just baiting me?'

'I think,' he spoke at last, and she didn't like at all that there was a mocking note in his voice when he said, 'it really is a case of "my wife doesn't understand me".'

'I'm not your...' She stopped. For all Mrs Foster wasn't in sight she might well overhear what she was saying.

 'I have a paper that proves it,' said Nash.

'Unfortunately so do I,' Perry said frigidly—then became all hot and bothered that he would think it mattered that much to her that she had sent for such a document. 'A copy, anyway,' she qualified. 'I couldn't believe it had all happened afterwards—so,' her voice tailed off lamely, 'I sent for a copy.'

'Wasn't the five thousand proof enough?' he queried, the mocking note gone as talk of the money she had taken hardened something in him.

It stiffened something in Perry too, or maybe it was just his altered tone. 'Why should it matter to you? You're well used to girls like me,' she jibed, regardless that he might find the remark painful. And anyway, he had a hide as thick as an elephant's, so why should she bother?

'You're wrong there,' he corrected. 'You're a new type to me. While I admit that something in your adolescence had you selling yourself to a perfect stranger, you've grown into a very self-respecting young woman, who against my experience is at this moment, I imagine, hating to be reminded of what avarice had you doing at eighteen.'

For a moment, a glow suffusing her that Nash had every confidence she was no longer some money-hungry female, Perry had the strangest urge to tell him she never had

been. Then she saw that was what he wanted. By using the word avarice he was trying to prick her into explaining why she had sold herself to him the way she had, just as though for him it didn't add up. And even though Ralph had been dead for so long, loyalty to him would have had her holding her tongue without the stubbornness in her that said she was explaining nothing to Nash Devereux.

'It would be a poor sort of individual who never regretted any of the things they'd done in the past,' she trotted out instead.

A pause, then he was agreeing, 'It would indeed,' and then as though he was in a hurry and considered he had already spent too long in idle conversation, 'So do we dine together tonight to discuss righting a wrong committed six years ago or not?'

About to tell him no, Perry came up against the better of her two options. Either she had to tell Trevor tonight or, which would be preferable, another night when she might be able to tell him Nash had agreed to a quiet divorce somewhere.

'Where shall I meet you?' The decision was made, the words out, panic at the thought of losing Trevor making a coward of her.

'I'm the old-fashioned kind,' she was informed, mockery deliberately there this time just to annoy her, she thought, growing angry. 'I always call to pick up my dates.'

'It's not a date,' she snapped, and did then what had threatened a few times during their conversation—she banged the phone down. Then she stood there idiotically looking at it, only then wondering if Nash would think from her parting remark that she had declined to go out with him after all.

'Cup of tea, Perry, I've just made a pot?'

Mrs Foster coming out of her kitchen had her turning. 'Er-—no, thanks, Mrs Foster. I'm—er—going out tonight, so I'd better do something about getting ready.'

She was at the door before thought of the disaster that could happen smote her. Oh, lord! What if Nash discounted her last remark and did call for her? What if he arrived on the doorstep at the same time as Trevor? Panic threatening to have her going under had her turning back to Mrs Foster.

'Could I use the phone to make a call?' she asked quickly, adding more slowly, 'I've just remembered something.'

'Of course, dear, you know you don't have to ask. I'll leave you to it. You can let yourself out.'
 
Her insides churning, Perry dialled Trevor's number. Hating what she was about to do, she just couldn't face the alternative of what would happen if both men arrived at the same time. Dreadful visions filled her mind of Nash and Trevor on the doorstep, Nash calmly introducing himself as her husband.

'Trevor—me,' she said on a gulp when he answered the phone—and had to suffer great pangs of conscience when he enquired how she was, in having to pretend her fictitious tummy bug hadn't cleared up.

'I don't think I would be very good company tonight,' she added.

'Well, you certainly won't do full justice to the meal I thought we'd have,' he agreed. 'It would be a shame to waste good money on something you're not going to eat.'

That Trevor was obviously afraid of catching her germs by instead of suggesting he would come round and sit with her anyway, said he would ring tomorrow to see how she was, might have had her wondering about the depth of his love. But she was so heartily glad the possibility of him bumping into Nash had been eliminated, it was all she could think about.

 That was until she was back upstairs, and then the only thought that filled her mind was, did she have a date with Nash Devereux or didn't she?

Just in case, she had a quick bath, and recalling that she had looked as near the height of elegance as she was likely to get when she had seen him Friday, she rummaged through her wardrobe in an endeavour to find something that would keep up her image.

She found it in a brown velvet classically cut dress Trevor had never liked. It made her appear too remote, he had said, its slim-fitting line making her appear tall, regal, and not his Perry at all. This was funny, because it always felt so right on, she thought, dressing her hair in the way she had worn it on Friday.

At eight she had been ready ten minutes. At ten past eight she decided it had been a wasted effort and she might as well settle her rumbling tummy with some beans on toast. Nash wasn't coming, she knew he wasn't, she thought at twenty past eight, starving hungry. When the front door bell went at half past eight, so did her appetite.

Opening her door, she heard voices in the hall below, realised Mrs Foster must have been in the hall when the bell went, and quickly closed it again. The insecurity of her late teens was back with her. She didn't want Nash telling Mrs Foster who he was, and for the same reason she couldn't go down and introduce the two of them.

She had her door open again within seconds of Nash knocking on it and for a moment could do nothing but stand looking at him. Dressed in a dinner jacket, she thought, he looked almost handsome. Then she saw from the way he was looking at her, that he too seemed to appreciate what he saw.

'Do I get to come in?' he hinted when she had made no move to step back.

'Sorry.' Her voice and movement back into the room were automatic. Then, spinning round, 'You didn't tell Mrs Foster who you are? I mean, that we're...'

'Ashamed of me, Perry?' he mocked, his eyes glinting with humour.     

'No, of course not' she said before she read the devilment in his eyes.

'Nor am I ashamed of you,' he told her, a suggestion of a smile coming to a mouth that was at once firm, yet hinted at sensuality. 'Nor,' he added, his eyes admiring, 'would any man be. I thought yesterday that you'd turned out to be quite something, but the only word that fits you tonight, is stunning.'

Perry cleared her throat. 'Yes, well,' she said, unable to deny she found his practised charm agreeable, but sternly trying to remind herself he had probably trotted out that self-same remark times without number, 'since the only reason we're meeting tonight is to revolve a business matter, whether you think I look stunning or as plain as a pikestaff doesn't come into it, does it?'

For answer, the suggestion of a smile that had been on his mouth broke into a very decided grin, and Perry had the very definite feeling that had she been as plain as a pikestaff she might well have been feeding off beans on toast.

Nash took her to a very exclusive gentlemen's club of which he was a member. 'Apropos not being ashamed of each other, I thought you might prefer to dine where members of the press fraternity will not be allowed in with their cameras,' he explained, and received from her a natural smile for his thoughtfulness.

Though her smile was nowhere to be seen when, confused by the choice of menu, she said she would have the same as him, Nash told the punctilious head waiter:

'My wife will have the boeuf bourguignon, Thomas, so will I.'

 'How
could
you!' she hissed the moment the waiter was out of earshot. And when Nash looked as though he didn't have a clue what she was talking about, 'You didn't have to tell him I was your wife.'

 'It's more than Thomas's job is worth to indulge in gossip,' Nash told her, entirely unconcerned that she looked furious, reminding her when she needed no reminding, and managing to seem surprised that she had forgotten, 'And you
are
my wife, aren't you?'