His Convenient Marriage (17 page)

She rose, and Miles got to his feet too.

He said, 'Goodnight, Francesca. I hope you sleep well.'

She looked across at him, and everything she felt for him—all that she longed for and desired to give—roared through her suddenly like a flood-tide. Carrying her away...

And she heard her own voice saying, 'May I sleep with you tonight?'

There was a silence, then he said quietly, 'No, that wouldn't be a good idea.'

She tried to smile, but it turned into a grimace instead. 'Don't you—want me?'

'Yes,' he said. 'Far too much, indeed, to offer you the kind of comfort you seem to need tonight.'

'It isn't that...'

'No?' His brows lifted. 'Frankly, I don't think you know how you feel.' He paused. 'I'm not a saint, Francesca, nor am I in the mood for the initiation of an inexperienced girl. My needs, this evening, are very different. I don't think I could handle the inevitable aftermath, either,' he added drily. 'Believe me, things are best left as they are.'

'Yes,' she said. `I—I'm sorry.' His handkerchief was a damp ball, crushed in her hand. She felt numb now, but soon the pain would begin, and for that she needed to be alone. Because she could not let him see...

She looked at him, her lips moving in a small, meaning¬less smile. 'Well—goodnight.'

I have to get out of here, she thought. I have to get out before I fall on my knees and beg him to take me, here on the floor.

'Chessie.' His voice was suddenly husky. 'Listen—I want you to understand...'

`I do,' she said. 'Really. You don't need to explain any more. And I'll try not to embarrass you again.'

Walking away was easy, she discovered. Just a matter of putting one foot in front of another until, somehow, she reached the door, and could close it behind her.

And then, one clenched fist bruising her lips, she ran.

CHAPTER NINE

On any normal Sunday, Chessie could have avoided Miles, of course, because it was part of her jealously guarded free time. But Steffie's presence changed everything. So, she would have to come out of hiding, and make coffee, and cook lunch, and say goodbye at some point in the after¬noon—and pretend all the while that she weren't dying in¬side.

She had no idea how she was going to face Miles, as she would soon have to do. She had fled from him the previous night, humiliated beyond belief, and had spent much of the night pacing round her small sitting room, trying to come to terms with what had happened.

In a strange way, it was his kindness that had hit her the hardest. He had obviously been trying to let her down gently.

But would it really have made her feel any better if he'd told her with brutal honesty that his sexual needs were be¬ing satisfied elsewhere by an infinitely more sophisticated partner?

Just the thought was enough to send her anguished mind wincing into limbo.

But before she'd allowed her tired body and reeling mind to sleep last night, she'd managed to make a few big de¬cisions.

And the first and most important was that she would never make such a fool of herself again. Never again be a suppliant to a man who had nothing to give. In that way, she might be able to salvage a few rags of pride.

In addition, whatever job she took would only be tem¬porary, she told herself. As soon as Jenny started college, she would start again too. Go right away somewhere— maybe abroad, and forge a whole new life for herself.

And teach herself to forget the old one.

It would not be easy. Every time she walked past a book¬stand anywhere in the world, she'd probably see Miles Hunter's name emblazoned there. And memory of this brief time would claw at her again.

But slowly—gradually—she would become accustomed. Even hardened. And then one day, far in the future, she would cease to care at all.

She dusted and vacuumed the flat, then showered and changed into her navy skirt and a matching short-sleeved top. She pulled her newly washed hair back from her face, and confined it at the nape of her neck with a silver clasp.

This was the image she would present from now on— businesslike and practical. And aloof.

When she reached the main house, she found the study door was firmly shut, and from behind it she heard the staccato rattle of typewriter keys.

Steffie was stretched out on one of the drawing room sofas with the Sunday papers spread around her.

`I thought Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest,' she complained languidly! 'Yet my dear brother was down here at dawn, giving that machine of his serious grief.'

'He's at a critical point in the book,' Chessie offered rather lamely.

'Really?' Steffie's smile was catlike. 'Now I'd attributed it to a totally different cause.' She gave Chessie a shrewd look. 'Did you two have a fight last night?'

Chessie bit her lip. 'Absolutely not.'

'You didn't take exception to Miss Deadly Nightshade 1980 coming on to him last night? And he didn't comment on the amount of attention the boy tycoon was paying you in return?' Steffie cast her eyes to the ceiling. I thought there'd be blood on the carpet this morning.'

'I've known the Markhams a long time,' Chessie said. 'And Miles—understands that.'

'Does he?' Steffie's voice was tart. 'Then he must have developed powers of tolerance that I've never suspected.'

'Well, we all change.' Chessie gave her a brief, brittle smile. 'Would you like your coffee served in here?'

'In other words—mind my own business.' Steffie swung her legs off the sofa. 'But I'll come along to the kitchen, if that's all right. The amazingly understanding Miles doesn't wish to be disturbed, and I can lend a hand with lunch.'

She gave Chessie a companionable pat on the shoulder. 'And don't look so worried, sugar. The inquisition is over for the day.'

She was as good as her word. In the kitchen, she was deft and competent, chatting about recipes, and the prob¬lems of cooking for a family none of whom seemed to like the same food.

'I'm not in the way, am I?' she broke off at one point to enquire.

'No—really.' Chessie hastened to assure her. She smiled. 'It's such a novelty, having someone to chat with while I'm cooking.'

'Not your sister?'

'Heavens, no.' Chessie pulled a face. 'You'd never find Jenny within a mile of a stove.' She shook her head. 'I don't know how she'll cope when she goes to college.'

'I have news for you,' Steffie told her solemnly. 'Very few students die of starvation—even in the first year.' She paused. 'Isn't she joining us for lunch?'

'She's gone to a friend's house for some last-ditch re¬vision. Her exams start tomorrow.' At least that was what Chessie hoped she was doing. Any mention of Zak Woods had become taboo.

It would be good to confide in Steffie and ask her advice, but also pointless as they were unlikely to meet again.

Life could be very unfair, Chessie thought ruefully, scraping carrots. Just as she'd found a woman she'd have liked as a friend, she was about to lose her again.

'Well, I think a glass of sherry is called for,' Steffie commented with satisfaction as lunchtime approached.

'Not for me, thanks,' Chessie said quickly. 'Perhaps you'd tell Miles that everything's ready while I dish up.'

She'd made a creamy cauliflower soup, to be followed by roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, and a lemon meringue pie was waiting on its serving dish. It all looked and smelled wonderful, and she wouldn't care if another morsel of food never passed her lips.

From the doorway, Miles said softly, 'Running away again, Francesca?'

She did not look round. Her voice taut, she said, 'I'm serving lunch. That's what happens when you have a guest. And I am the housekeeper.'

'To hell with lunch. We need to talk.'

'About last night?' She concentrated fiercely on stirring the soup. 'There's nothing to discuss.'

`I think there is.' His voice gentled. `I want to explain...'

'No.' she almost slammed down the spoon. 'I don't want your explanations—or your sympathy. I'm not the first per¬son to find herself in love with the wrong man. It happens.' She shrugged. 'I'll get over it.'

'You do realise, then, that it can't work?' He sounded almost surprised. 'You've accepted that—in spite of every¬thing?'

'Yes, of course.' She took a bowl from the warming oven, and poured the soup into it. 'But last night had noth¬ing to do with it. I—found out some time ago.'

'I was afraid you'd be hurt,' he said quietly. 'And you are. I shall always regret that. But remember this, Francesca, you need never settle for second-best.'

'Advice to treasure.' She turned a brief glittering smile on him. 'Now perhaps you'd take Steffie into the dining room. Unless you have any more worldly wisdom to pass on, of course?'

Miles took a step towards her, and for a frantic moment she thought he was going to touch her, and knew that the mere brush of his hand would be enough to destroy her— to smash her into small, bleak fragments.

She said hoarsely, 'No' and recoiled, her white face dar¬ing him to come any closer.

He stopped instantly, staring at her, his lips parting in shock and disbelief.

He looked, she realised, almost haggard, and for a mo¬ment her heart lurched. Then she was back in control, load¬ing the steaming bowl and the soup plates onto a tray.

In a voice that seemed to belong to someone else, she said, 'If you'll take Stephanie into the dining room— please...'

Without another word, he turned and limped away, leav¬ing her to follow with the tray.

It was going to be one of the worst meals of her life, she thought apprehensively as she ladled out the soup. Miles' face looked as if it had been carved from granite. And she herself felt as if she were balanced on a knife-edge.

She saw Stephanie give both of them a quick glance, then launch airily into a series of reminiscences about her working days. She too had been a journalist, Chessie dis¬covered, but on various magazines rather than a newspaper, and her verbal portraits of some of the celebrities she'd interviewed were wickedly funny.

Even Miles' set expression had relaxed into a faint smile, although he took little part in the conversation himself. But then, under normal circumstances, he wouldn't have come to lunch at all when he was working, Chessie reflected. Instead, he'd have asked her to slice off some of the beef and put it in a sandwich he could eat in his study.

She forced herself to eat, to offer second helpings, and accept praise for her cooking. While inside she felt cold and numb.

Because, presently, Steffie would be gone, and she woul be alone with Miles again. And, as if on cue, Steffie glanced at her watch. 'It's time

I was leaving for the station, brother, dear, or my family will think I've been abducted by aliens.'

At the front door, she gave Chessie a fierce hug. 'I've told Miles, he must bring you to stay—meet the monsters on their home territory.' She paused, lowering her voice. 'And don't worry. Everything will work out, you'll see.'

Chessie stood in the doorway, waving goodbye as Miles' car moved down the drive, her face aching with the effort to smile.

Once the door was shut, she flew into action, clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. Tidying the dining room and returning the drawing room to its usual pristine elegance.

I have to be out of the house before Miles comes back. Have to...

The words ran in her head like some feverish mantra.

The clearing-up done, Chessie changed swiftly into jeans and a sweatshirt, and went quickly and quietly out of the rear gate, and up into the birch woods behind the house.

The sun glinted down on her through the slender branches, and she could hear the throaty murmurings of woodpigeons as she walked briskly, hands in pockets.

At the top of the rise, she turned and looked back, and saw the roof of the house through the sheltering trees.

There had been a time when to leave it behind would have been an unbearable wrench. Now, she could not wait to get away.

If only, she thought, her memories could so easily be left behind. But, like this ache in her heart, they would be with her always. Even, she realised with a kind of helpless des¬olation, if she went to the ends of the earth.

'They've had valuation people round at the Court.' Mrs. Chubb wagged her head. 'Looks like Madam's planning to sell up.' She snorted. 'Scandalous, I call it. If Sir Robert had his health and strength, he'd soon give them their marching orders.'

'But he is getting better,' Chessie protested. 'Now that he's having regular physiotherapy, he's got movement back in his hand and arm. Only it's a slow process.'

'Too slow to save the Court, I reckon,' Mrs. Chubb said ominously. 'And not everyone there is glad to see the gen¬tleman improve either.'

'Mrs. Chubb,' Chessie said uncomfortably, 'you really mustn't...'

'Mark my words,' the lady returned magisterially. 'That Nurse Taylor was saying the other day; he'd be hard up for visitors, his own flesh and blood included, but for you— and Mr. Hunter, of course.'

Chessie, who was making coffee, nearly spilled boiling water on the stove. 'Miles visits Sir Robert?' she ex¬claimed, and could have kicked herself for betraying her astonishment.

Mrs. Chubb nodded with satisfaction. 'Almost as regular as yourself. Reads the paper to him, and such.' She gave Chessie a shrewd look. 'He hasn't told you, then.'

Chessie put the coffee-pot on its stand. She said coolly, 'He probably mentioned it. But he doesn't have to account to me for every minute of his day, Mrs. Chubb.'

Nor did he, she thought unhappily as she carried his cof¬fee to the study a little while later.

They were right back to the early days of their working relationship, with Miles behind a barrier of aloof courtesy she found it impossible to breach. And telling herself over and over again that this was for the best did nothing to assuage the pain of it.

She sometimes wondered if the events of the past weeks had simply been a preposterous dream. But the ring that she still wore, at his brusque insistence, told her differently. And so did the ache in her heart.