His Convenient Marriage (11 page)

The thought of how different it all might have been could never be far from her mind, of course. If only Alastair had returned a week—even a day earlier. If he'd never gone away in the first place, she thought sadly, and been there for her to turn to when her life collapsed around her.

Linnet was bound to have told him about her engagement by now. She seemed hell-bent on spreading the news far and wide, and would have particular malicious pleasure in telling Alastair, as the tensions between them had clearly not abated.

And this time Chessie would not be able to act as buffer between them.

But it was little use sitting here, tormenting herself with what might have been. She might be wearing Miles' ring, but that meant nothing. It was still a working day, and she was his employee.

As she came back into the main part of the house, she saw a battered leather travel bag by the front door. She gave it a frowning glance, then continued into Miles' study. He was there, over by his table. He'd changed, she noticed at once, into more formal clothing—dark trousers, and a jacket with a shirt and tie, and he was packing papers into his briefcase.

Chessie checked, staring at him. 'Are you going some¬where?'

'I called Vinnie back,' Miles returned, without pausing in his task. 'She wants to discuss my schedule once the current book is in. So, I said I'd go up to London for a couple of days.'

'A couple of days,' she repeated. 'You mean you're go¬ing to stay up there?'

His glance was faintly derisive. 'You catch on fast, dar¬ling.'

'But you never do that. Where will you stay?'

'At the flat. That's what it's there for, after all.'

The flat, she thought, swallowing, that he'd once shared with Sandie Wells. That must have its memories. So why had he chosen this particular moment to return to it?

'You said once you were going to sell it.'

'And then I changed my mind.' He shrugged, and fas¬tened his briefcase. 'At times like this, it's convenient.'

'Isn't this rather a sudden decision—to simply take off like this?'

'I used to be famous for it.' His voice was dry. 'But Vinnie's call seemed—opportune. It occurred to me that you've been under a lot of pressure, and that maybe you could do with some time and space to think about things. So, I'm letting you do just that.'

She stood very still, watching from the other side of the room, while a small frantic voice in her head whispered, don’t go. Don't leave me—please. Or—take me with you.

For a moment, she thought she had spoken aloud, and shock tightened her chest. Along with denial.

She said huskily, 'Are—are you getting the train?'

'No, I'm taking the car this time.'

'But it's late, and you've had a long day. You'll be tired...'

His brows lifted ironically. 'Why, Chessie, we seem to have skipped a bit. You sound just like a wife.'

She bit her lip. 'I'm sorry,' she said stiffly. 'Of course it's none of my business.'

'And you look a little fraught,' he went on. 'Surely it can't simply be concern for my welfare..'

'I've just been talking to Jenny,' Chessie admitted. 'I'm afraid I didn't handle it very well.'

'I suppose she told you she wasn't a child any more.'

'Something like that,' she agreed ruefully.

'In which she's perfectly correct, of course.'

'What do you mean?'

He said with faint impatience, 'You have to let her go, Francesca. If she passes these examinations of hers, she'll be off to college, and you won't be able to go with her to coddle her, and give way to her every whim.'

'I don't...'

'No? Yet she has the best that money can buy, and you look as if you dress from a second-hand stall.'

She drew a quivering breath. 'How dare you?'

'I dare because it's the truth, however unpalatable.' His tone was dispassionate. 'You spend your time endlessly making up to Jenny for something that wasn't your fault in the first place. But it's time you pushed her out of the nest, and started taking care of yourself instead. Or else find someone who'll do it for you.

'But what you can't do is live her life, and make her choices for her. She has to be able to make her own mis¬takes, and you have to let her.'

She stiffened defensively. 'And what makes, you such an expert?'

'Personal experience,' Miles said drily. `I can remember stretching parental tolerance to the limits, and Steffie was even worse. Jenny isn't the first girl to find an unsuitable boyfriend. I presume he's one of the stumbling blocks.'

'She met him at a disco on St Patrick's Night, and she's kept quiet about him all this time. And it's not even one of her fellow students. He's a garage mechanic, called Zak.'

'So, he can afford to take her to places like The White Hart. That will be part of the attraction, of course. And the fact that you'd disapprove, as you've just demonstrated, which makes him forbidden fruit, and all the sweeter.' He shrugged. 'All perfectly normal, so far.'

She said, `I thought Jenny and I had a different relation¬ship.'

'She's striking out for herself,' he said. 'And giving you the opportunity to do the same.' He paused. 'How did she take our engagement?'

'Not well.'

His mouth twisted. 'Hardly a surprise either. But maybe my absence will help there, too. Give her a chance to ac¬custom herself. Let you build a few bridges.'

She said, 'But your sister's coming to visit.'

`I haven't forgotten. In fact, I shall be bringing her back with me.'

She followed him into the hall, feeling oddly lost. 'Is there anything special you'd like me to cook?'

`I leave it to your good judgment. But don't work too hard. Take a break, and relax a little. Regard it as a bonus,' he added drily. He paused. 'You don't have to cook on Saturday night, by the way. Your friend Lady Markham rang just now, and asked us up to the Court.' He sent her a brief, taut smile. 'Something for you to look forward to.'

'Oh,' she said. And: 'Yes.'

'I should be back about mid-afternoon on Friday,' he went on. 'But I don't foresee any problems during my ab¬sence.'

Except, she thought bleakly, that I really don't want you to go. And that scares me.

She stood at the top of the steps, watching him drive away, then turned slowly and went back into the house.

Emptiness closed round her. And silence.

She thought, I'm just so used to him being here. He's become part of everything I do. And now he's gone.

And realised she wanted very badly to burst into tears.

CHAPTER SIX

Chessie sat on the bottom stair, arms wrapped tightly round her body as she struggled to regain control of her emotions. She was frightened and bewildered. Unable to make sense of her own reactions.

But the simple truth was that watching Miles drive off had been like a wound in the heart. Something she could neither understand nor explain.

When Alastair had left, she had cried into her pillow, but it had never occurred to her to swallow her pride and beg him to stay. Yet that was what she'd been tempted to do only minutes before.

I'd have pleaded with him, she thought, astonished, if it would have done any good.

He had kissed her until she'd melted in his arms, bought her a ring, and walked away from her, and she was at a loss to explain any of it. Especially her own sense of des¬olation now that he'd gone.

He'd offered her space, and now she was standing in the middle of a vast and echoing wilderness.

She got slowly to her feet. There was no point in sitting here brooding. He'd gone, and he would not be back until Friday.

Three nights, two whole days, and a morning before she saw him again.

The precision of her calculation made her shiver. I must, she thought, be going mad. Cracking up. Because this is not me.

I should be using this time—his absence—to prepare for my future. For the day when I walk through that door, and don't look back. Or come back.

Of course, Miles himself might not come back. Maybe he'd decided that he didn't want to deal with her problems, or go on with this charade, even on a temporary basis, and planned to stay away until the month was up.

He was not, she thought, someone who would be good at saying goodbye.

He'd told her not to work—to relax, and treat his absence as a holiday—but that was impossible. She felt as if she were strung up on wires.

Besides, there was always something to do when Miles was busy with a book. He was tough on himself, drafting and re-drafting, then doing a final hard edit on the transcript she produced for him. She would see what there was in the alterations folder, and have the new pages awaiting his re¬turn.

She wandered into the study, and stood looking round her for a moment, at this place that was so definitely his domain.

It had always been very much easier to insist to herself that he was just a stranger. A man for whom she happened to work. And that when she went into her flat each evening and closed the door, he somehow ceased to exist.

But she knew now she'd just been fooling herself. Because, working with him so closely each day, she'd be¬come quite intimately acquainted with him.

She knew, for instance, what food he liked, and that he preferred the linen sheets on his bed to be changed every three days. She knew that he favoured mellow earth tones over pastels, and natural fibers over man-made.

She knew that when he was thinking, he liked to walk round the room. That when he was putting his thoughts down on paper, he liked to play music. And that his only real superstition was the little portable typewriter sitting forlornly on his table.

If he'd left his lucky charm behind, then he must be coming back.

'He wouldn't go without you,' she said under her breath, touching the yellowing keys. And what was she doing talk¬ing to inanimate objects?

She'd learned also to gauge his moods, to judge if and when his work could be safely interrupted, and by whom. And to know when he was in pain. Which were the good days for him, and which the bad.

And the past twenty-four hours would probably not get any gold awards. He'd asked her to marry him, for God's sake, and all she'd done was turn his proposal against him in order to score points off Linnet.

And the fact that she now wished the words unsaid a hundred times over made no difference at all.

There were only about twenty pages in the alterations folder. They wouldn't keep her occupied for long, she thought with a sigh. And she needed to stay busy.

As she turned away she noticed some torn scraps of pa¬per in his waste basket, which she might as well empty now rather than wait for Mrs. Chubb in the morning.

As she picked up the metal bin, she realised its contents were the tiny fragments of the cream envelope that had arrived that morning. For a moment, she stood very still, remembering his reaction to it. The way he'd slipped it into his pocket. And her own conviction that it was from a woman.

Was this the reason for his sudden decision to go to London? Could it be?

Despising herself, she sifted through the pieces, making sure that it was only the envelope that he'd thrown away, then shamefacedly dropped the bits back in the bin.

She had never in her life done such a thing before. She'd always regarded herself as discreet and honourable. Not someone who snooped and pried.

And if the letter had been ripped up and thrown away too, would she have got down on her knees on the carpet and pieced it together to satisfy her curiosity? Had she re¬ally sunk so low?

And was she simply curious, or was there a more fun¬damental emotion driving her on? Was it—could it be pos¬sible that she was actually jealous?

A shiver ran through her. She thought, I don't know who I am any more.

She needed to feel better about herself, and quickly too. Maybe she'd make a start on building one of those bridges with Jenny that Miles had mentioned. See if she could cap¬ture their lost rapport.

She left the bin and what it contained beside his table, and took the folder through to her office, then went back to the flat.

Jenny was on the phone when she went in. 'No, that's fine,' she was saying eagerly. 'I'll cycle over. See you later.' She replaced the receiver and turned to face her sis-ter, her expression defiant.

She said, 'That was Linda. She wants us to get together this evening, and do some revision, and for me to sleep over. I said it was all right.' She indicated the phone. 'But feel free to call her mother, and check that it's really hap¬pening.'

Chessie bit her lip. 'Does it have to be tonight? I thought we might go into Hurstleigh, and go to the pizza place. Rent a video for afterwards.'

Jenny shook her head. 'I'd better go to Linda's. She's offered to go over a couple of things with me, and, as you keep reminding me, the exams are almost here.'

Which indicated that Jenny had been missing classes in order to meet with Zak, Chessie thought wearily. But this was probably not the time to make an issue of it.

'Anyway,' Jenny went on with a toss of her head, 'I wouldn't want to separate you from your lover. You have a relationship to invent. I'll see you tomorrow night,' she added over her shoulder as she went off to her room to pack.

Feeling oddly deflated, Chessie trailed into the kitchen and put the kettle on. Getting back on terms with Jenny was going to be more difficult than she'd envisaged, she thought, spooning coffee granules into a mug. And it was just as well her engagement to Miles wasn't the genuine article, or her sister's inimical attitude could have caused real problems. In fact she might even have been forced at some point to choose between them.

Although that was no contest. Jenny, after all, was her own flesh and blood, and needed her. She would always take priority.

But did Jenny necessarily feel the same about her?

The sheer disloyalty of the thought brought her up with a gasp of shock. That was Miles' fault, she upbraided her¬self, with all that talk of Jenny making her own life—mov¬ing away and moving on.

But perhaps it was wrong to rely too heavily on her sister always being around. Because clearly that wasn't going to happen. And tonight was a case in point.