Lovelink (7 page)

He was leaning over her, the warmth of his chest against her skin. Gently, she pushed at him.

“I'm…sorry, Marcus. No…please.”

He raised his head to look at her. She saw the flame of passion in his eyes, flicker and then die. Sighing, he moved away from her.

Silence filled the room.

Vicky put a hand out to him, touching his bare shoulder. “I'm sorry, Marcus.”

He turned to look at her and amazed her by smiling. “Not as much as I am. Your refusing me is becoming quite a habit. Careful, you might shatter my delicate ego…No, you're right. It would've been wrong. I promised myself I wouldn't take advantage of you. It's not fair…Come on, downstairs, before I change my mind again. There's a breakfast waiting to be eaten.”

He pulled on his shirt again, giving her time to slip on a dress and then he reached for her hand, helping her off the bed.

As she followed him down the narrow staircase, watching the way his back muscles moved under the thin material of his shirt, Vicky thought of Jan and what she would say if she'd witnessed the last scene between them.

She'd tell me I'm mad, Vicky thought. What girl refuses a man like Marcus Foster? She could hear her saying it.

But it was no good. Vicky knew in her heart of hearts she was right. But if that was so, why did she feel so wretched?

Once they were in the kitchen again, he ordered, “Sit down.”

Would she ever get used to his dominant ways, how he had to take complete control over everything?

“Did…did you stay here last night?” she asked, desperate to fit all the pieces together and talk about anything other than what had just happened in her bedroom.

“Yes, and before you can accuse me of being unscrupulous, I slept down here on the sofa. As you were in no fit state, after all the wine and brandy you drank last night, to put yourself to bed, I did so, keeping my eyes firmly shut when I undressed you.”

She laughed then at the mental picture she had of him trying to undress her in the dark with his eyes closed.

“That's better,” he said. “Now drink this while I dish up the breakfast.”

As she watched him hunting for things in her kitchen, she was amazed at yet another facet to his personality. She was reminded of how he'd looked after Caroline and thought it was no wonder she'd made such a good recovery if this had been how well he'd taken care of her.

She discovered for the first time how very agreeable it was to share breakfast with a man, especially if he was as charming early in the morning as Marcus. Normally, she ate snatched pieces of burnt toast washed down by mugs of lukewarm tea. No, this was a pleasant change. Something she could get used to, she thought.

It was when they'd finished breakfast that he again asked her to tell him what was going on.

“I'm trying desperately hard to prove to you that you can trust me,” he smiled at her.

But could she trust him?

True, he'd just taken care of her, made sure she was all right. Even stayed here last night on the sofa, which she knew was uncomfortable to sleep on, rather than leave her here alone.

But then nothing fundamental had really changed, she reminded herself. She still didn't know who the culprit was.

After a good night's sleep she wasn't quite so frightened, not now she'd had time to become accustomed to it all.

No, the safest thing was to trust no one, not even Marcus. She'd have to take care of this the same way she'd taken care of everything else in the last six months. Alone.

“Thank you, Marcus…but I can handle it.” She spoke slowly almost certain of the impact her words would have on him.

She wasn't wrong. He was livid. She watched as dark fury inked the sapphire blue of his eyes to black.

“Good God, woman. What's the matter with you? Here I am willing to help you and you don't want to know.” He was shouting at her now and she was anxious to pacify him.

“It's…it's not that I don't appreciate what you've done for me…”

“Then what is it? I give up.” He sighed.

She longed to reach across the table, go to him, and be held in his arms as she told him everything. But she couldn't. There was too much dividing them.

She'd already made up her mind. She'd moved to Brookleigh to stand on her own two feet. She'd managed it so far and she'd do so again. She remembered bitterly what had happened to her the last time she'd put all her trust in a man. Peter had almost destroyed her.

“I looked after you last night. Doesn't that count for anything in that screwed up mind of yours?” he said.

Pushing back the chair, he stood up, towering over her. The noise of his chair, scraping across the floor, coupled with her headache, shortened her temper.

“If there are conditions attached to you looking after me, then I wish you hadn't bothered,” she said, hotly.

“It's more than you not trusting me. It's almost as if you…you suspect me.” He'd ended this comment with a look of disbelief but then she saw his expression change. “That's it, isn't it? You think I was involved somewhere in all of this?”

How could she deny it? She watched as pain and then anger crossed his face.

Frightened, in case she blurted it all out to him, she didn't want this conversation to continue. She was also afraid they both might say something for which they'd be sorry. Something which might shatter the delicate relationship they'd started to build last night.

Fixing him with a cool stare, she said, “I think it's time you left.”

His eyes blazed and he opened his mouth as if to say something then pursed his lips and said, “Yes, I was just thinking the same thing. Good day to you, Miss Lewis.”

He grabbed his jacket and walked out of the kitchen, slamming the back door behind him. The sound rang in her ears long after he'd left.

The instant he'd gone, she regretted what she'd done.

Dozens of times that morning she'd reached for the telephone to call him and apologize but she didn't. He was angry that she suspected him and she did think that, in some ways, it proved his guilt. But if he was to blame, would he have so readily suggested calling in the police?

Maybe he'd only been bluffing when he'd said it…

Oh, she was so confused. How could she suspect him when he'd been the one person whose kindness had got her through last night?

She sighed. Now they'd argued yet again. It was no good, whenever they were together they only succeeded in antagonising each other.

She didn't feel like any lunch and as it was a sweltering day, she spent a lazy morning, pottering about in the garden. When she noticed that her arms were prickling in the heat and closer inspection revealed they were starting to tan, she decided to sunbathe instead. But that proved to be no good as she had nothing on which to concentrate her mind other than the row with Marcus. She stood up, determined to go indoors to find something to do even if it was only more paperwork.

It was when she was walking towards the back door that she noticed the wreath poking out of the dustbin. She picked it out of the rubbish and stared at it, not entirely sure what to do with it. Throw it away or else keep it as evidence, in case, at a later date, she did involved the police. She shivered, knowing that meant she was expecting even more than this to happen to her.

As she stared at it she wondered which florist had sent it.

That's it! she thought. If I could find the florist who made it up then maybe they'd tell me who'd ordered it. Although it was obvious to her that all florists sold lots of wreaths, this one was very distinctive. It was an ordinary laurel wreath which had been sprayed black. It should be fairly easy for her to trace.

She rushed indoors to consult the phone directory. It was the lead she'd been after. Scanning the names of the florists listed, she found that there were just three in the area. She decided that tomorrow she'd visit all of them and see if she could unravel the identity of the troublemaker once and for all.

She felt better for having a definite plan of action but still at the back of her mind was the nagging worry that she'd hurt Marcus just when they seemed to be getting on well.

He'd been so caring towards her last night. Why did something always have to spoil any progress they ever made?

And she did have to admit that he had every right to fell indignant. If he'd treated her like that then she'd have reacted in much the same way.

She smiled. Perhaps that was their problem. They were too alike.

No, the sooner this mess was sorted out, the better. She wanted more than anything, not only to discover who was behind it all, but also, more importantly, to prove that Marcus hadn't been involved on any level. She'd be able to explain everything to him and then maybe they could start by being friends again.

As dusk settled she remembered all that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. Most of all, her mind returned to the time when he'd kissed her. She shivered as she recalled the sensation of his firm mouth on her lips. How she'd wanted him, longed for him. Had she really found the strength to refuse him, push him away when her body was screaming out for his touch?

She now knew he found her attractive but equally she realised that they was no future in it. He was with Lucinda and there couldn't be any room in Vicky's life for Marcus unless he was free.

It was Monday morning and she was dialling the telephone number at Lovelink.

“Good morning, Lovelink,” Jan's breezy voice came down the line.

Vicky bit her lip. She had to lie to Jan now and the prospect of this didn't please her.

“Hi, Jan, it's only me.”

“You're cutting it a bit fine, chief.”

“I know. Listen, could you hold the fort for me. I'm not feeling too good. I think I'll try and see the doctor this morning.”

“Oh dear. I hope your weekend wasn't spoilt. I know how much you were looking forward to the party at Nuneton.”

“No, I had a lovely time. I'm just a bit under the weather. I'll be as quick as I can.”

“Sure. Take as long as you need. But remember I retire in about forty years' time,” she laughed.

Vicky drove over to Churchton to visit the florists on her list.

As she parked the car behind the town hall, she had the strangest feeling she was being watched. She looked all around her but she couldn't see anyone acting suspiciously. There were just mothers pushing prams and shoppers milling about.

The first florist told her that they couldn't help her as they'd not had anyone ask for anything like it.

“Black wreaths are very unusual. The florist might not even have been the one who sprayed it black. It might have been an ordinary laurel wreath your friends bought and then painted it later themselves.”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Vicky said.

She left the shop, crossing the name of the florist off her list.

The next one was a short walk through the shopping area so she set off hoping for better luck.

She passed the boutique where she'd bought her black velvet dress only last week. That shopping trip had been so much fun, she thought—a stark contrast to her mission now.

She glanced over her shoulder. It was ridiculous but she'd the oddest feeling she was being followed. She scanned the crowd again. No, there wasn't anyone acting shadily as far as she could see. Maybe she was becoming paranoid, she thought. However she still felt unnerved and as her heart beat faster so her feet quickened their pace.

She reached the second florist and again felt embarrassed when the assistant looked rather incredulously at her saying, “No, I'm sorry. We haven't made up anything like that. Black, you say?”

Her younger assistant sniggered, trying to hide her amusement by bending down to re-arrange some carnations.

“Yes, it was. Never mind. Thank you for your help.”

Vicky felt cross. They'd treated her like an imbecile. Because of their attitude she wasn't too keen to visit the last florist but knew she had to as it was her only lead, her only chance of sorting things out. It had suddenly become very important to her to prove whether Marcus was involved at all.

She was vaguely aware of someone calling her name. She ignored them, still angry with the last florists and pushed her way through the shoppers.

“Vicky! Vicky! Wait.”

She turned but couldn't see who was calling her name.

If it was Marcus, she had no intention of speaking to him. She had some pride. The last thing she wanted was to have a showdown with him in the middle of Churchton's busy High Street. She started to walk more briskly. She'd almost reached the entrance to the last florist when a hand grabbed her arm.

“Vicky!”

She turned and had yet another devastating shock.

“Peter!”

Chapter Six

Many, many times in the past six months Vicky had wondered what it would be like when she met Peter Elliott again.

She'd known that somehow their paths were bound to cross in the future but she'd always expected it to take place back home in York, maybe when she'd visited her parents. The impact she'd expected that meeting to have on her emotions had been the main reason why, for so long, she'd avoided travelling home to see her parents. Only when she was certain that she was strong enough to face her ex-fiancé had she promised herself that she'd be able to go back to York.

Now that chance meeting had happened right here in Churchton. It was ironic. This was where she'd run to. Where she'd gone to avoid Peter.

Her heart thumped painfully and her breath seemed to burn the back of her throat as she stared incredulously at him. She discovered that she'd been right. Seeing him again was just as awful as she'd expected.

However she'd imagined that meeting Peter again would only serve to remind her how very much she loved him and she'd thought that she'd find it impossible to stop herself from telling him how much she missed him, how much she still cared for him.

Now that meeting was a reality, she experienced quite different emotions to the ones she'd imagined. For Vicky was angry and felt only contempt for him. And her only difficulty was to try to stop herself from telling him how much she now despised him.

However, she was still shocked to see him and when she tried to find her voice, she discovered she couldn't form a coherent sentence.

“Peter…er…what…um?”

“Vicky, are you all right? You're dreadfully pale.”

He led her over to a nearby bench where she tried to gather her thoughts. Somehow although the rest of her body seemed to have been paralysed, her mind was working overtime.

Peter was here in Churchton…So the man she'd seen in the crowd last week, when she'd bought the dress, had been him.

Then the wreath had been left on her door by someone. Someone who knew just how much it would upset her.

In her mind, she was almost certain she'd stumbled on who was behind the campaign to drive her out of Brookleigh.

She could also imagine that Peter might have several motives to want to make her leave Brookleigh, not only based on trying to mess up her life, but also, in his warped mind, he might be trying to make her return to York, maybe hoping she'd come back to him.

Ridiculously, uppermost in her mind, was a great feeling of joy. Not at seeing Peter again but, if he was the culprit, then it meant that Marcus had to be innocent. She tried to be ready for any questions Peter might ask her, knowing she'd the ideal opportunity to trap him and make him confess to everything that had happened. She knew she just had to be a little bit clever and have her ears and eyes open.

“Feeling better now, Vicky?” He patted her hand.

The cool, clammy touch of his skin made her recoil. She pulled her hand away. Had this been the man she'd once convinced herself she was madly in love with? She remembered him as being handsome, attractive. Yes, he was almost as she recalled. The sandy hair was the same, the light blue eyes just as she'd pictured them in her mind's eye over the last six months when he'd haunted her thoughts. But there was something else. He seemed paler, not so tall, not so attractive. And had she honestly never noticed how pink his eyelids were? Nor the thinness of his lips?

“Peter. What…what are you doing here?”

He smiled. “Came to see you, love, didn't I? See there's no bad feelings between us.”

She felt anger at the way he'd slipped an endearment into the conversation and how could he dare to assume that she'd forgiven him. But she bit back the harsh retort that was hammering in her mind. She couldn't afford to upset him, not if she wanted to trap him.

“How…how did you know I was here?”

“That was easy. My old lady saw yours in town and she asked after you. Your mother said you'd set up in business down here. Said you were doing very nicely for yourself.”

Vicky smiled. She couldn't be cross with her mother, knowing that she'd probably only let the information slip when trying to impress on Mrs. Elliott just how well Vicky was coping without her beloved son.

“Listen, love, I've got an appointment here in town so I can't stop now. How about I take you out for dinner tonight so we can catch up on each other's news?”

Vicky felt her stomach turn. The last thing she wanted to do was spend an evening in Peter Elliott's company, but she knew she had to. Trapping him was all she cared about. Fixing a false smile on her lips, she said, “Thank you, Peter. That would be lovely. Could you pick me up from home at say, eight o'clock?”

“No problem, just give me your address.”

Vicky sighed. She'd hoped he'd fall for her attempt to prove that he already knew where she lived. She scribbled the address on the back of an envelope and handed it to him.

“Don't be late, love,” he said, tweaking the end of her nose.

By the time he'd disappeared from view, Vicky's face was aching from trying to smile sweetly when all she wanted to do was to put as much distance between them as was possible.

There hardly seemed any point going across to the last florist on her list, not now she was certain Peter had been behind it all. But then, she decided, as she was here in Churchton and she might find something with which to incriminate Peter even further, she might as well go to the last florist.

BELLE FLEUR was a small shop on the corner opposite the chemists. Buckets of flowers ringed the front of the shop. When she pushed open the door, she was met by a tantalising mixture of fragrances. It was cool inside and the florist looked up as Vicky went in. Ever mindful of her previous embarrassing interviews with the assistants at the other shops she decided to try and be more cautious this time.

“Good morning. Could I have a bunch of those pretty carnations?” Vicky asked.

“The peach ones, love?”

“Please.”

As the woman busied herself choosing the best bunch for her, Vicky said, “I've always admired people who can arrange flowers, make up bouquets and displays. I've always been useless at anything like that.”

“Oh, I love doing it. Especially the flowers for weddings.” The woman smiled.

She was quite chatty and went on to tell Vicky about several weddings she'd recently catered for.

“Yes, I suppose you see it all. Flowers to celebrate births and weddings. Then there's funerals. That must be sad.”

“Oh, it is. Especially if you know the deceased. Mind you, not all wreaths are for funerals. There's holly wreaths at Christmas and then only this Saturday morning I had to do one as a joke for someone.”

Vicky felt her blood run cold.

“A joke?”

“Yes. A man came in and asked for a wreath to be made up for a laugh. All in black, it was.”

Vicky swallowed. She was so close to knowing the truth.

“Wanted to play a joke on a business colleague in Brookleigh. Handsome chap. Ever so dark, he was.”

Vicky felt her head swim. Dark? Oh, no. Peter had fair, sandy hair. Now it looked like she'd just discovered that it wasn't Peter, after all. If the man was dark there was more than a good chance that it was Marcus as she'd first thought.

Hardly able to function, Vicky barely managed to thank the woman. She walked out of the florists, blindly walking wherever her feet took her.

So Marcus was out to destroy her. He'd used her. Made a fool of her.

Tears started to trickle down her face and, remembering she was in the middle of Churchton High Street, she started to walk towards the car park where she'd left her Metro.

Once she was seated in her car, she felt utterly desolate. It didn't look like Peter had anything to do with it. It had only been an unhappy coincidence. Now she'd got herself into an even deeper mess, agreeing to have dinner with Peter. She couldn't contact him to cancel their date as she didn't have the address of where he was staying. She'd have to go tonight.

As she started the engine and headed back to Brookleigh, Vicky thought that dinner with Peter was really the least of her worries. More disturbing was the knowledge that Marcus was trying to drive her out of town. That knowledge coloured all that had happened to her lately. He'd kissed her while all the time he was plotting to get rid of her. She shivered as she remembered the evening they'd discovered the wreath together and how she'd been alone with him all night. He could have done anything to her. After all, she knew he must have a twisted mind. Nobody sane would send someone a wreath like that.

But there was still one piece of the puzzle missing. What was his motive? Why did Marcus want her out of Brookleigh so badly? So he didn't believe in romantic love and he obviously didn't approve of dating agencies but neither were strong enough reasons to act so determinedly against her.

This was still baffling Vicky when she arrived back at the office. Entering Lovelink she saw that Jan wasn't alone.

Keith Manning, her boyfriend, was standing beside her with his hands pressed into his pockets. Vicky wasn't too keen on him. She thought that Jan could probably do a lot better for herself. There was something brash and overconfident about him but then perhaps that had something to do with his job. Estate agents weren't renowned for their meekness.

“Vicky, are you all right? You look dreadful.” Jan said, the moment Vicky stepped into the reception area.

“I'm…fine. Hello, Keith.”

“Hello, Vicky.”

“What did the doctor say?” Jan asked.

“Doctor? What doctor?”

“The one you saw this morning. Honestly Vicky, I think you're cracking up.”

Normally Vicky would have laughed at this but there was something in the tone of Jan's voice that rang a warning bell in her head. And she didn't like the way Keith was staring at her, almost expecting her to do or say something.

“No, really, I'm fine. Nothing a hot cup of coffee won't put right. I'll put the kettle on. Would you like a drink, Keith?”

“No, thanks. I just popped in to see Jan and tell her I can't meet her for lunch. I've an important client to see.”

“You're keeping busy then, Keith.”

He pushed a hand though his hair and said, “Yes, not too bad. Mind you, I could do with a few more cottages like yours on my books.”

Vicky didn't understand him.

“Mine? There's nothing all that special about my cottage. I love it but there must be lots similar to it for sale.”

“Oh, there is. The cottage as it stands is typical of the area but I haven't got people queuing up to buy them. Not like I have with yours.”

Vicky shivered. “A queue? I'm sorry I don't understand.”

Keith laughed. “Not so much a queue. I exaggerate.”

“Exaggeration's second nature to an estate agent, isn't it?” She smiled but she saw the cold glint in Keith's eyes and knew her comment had hit home.

“No, not a queue but I have got an interested buyer. He wanted the cottage when it came on the market before but, as he was out of the country at the time, he missed it and so you bought the cottage. He told me if you ever wanted to sell he'd like first refusal.”

“Who is this mystery buyer?”

Keith tapped the side of his nose with his finger. “That would be telling but let's just say, your cottage is almost on his land.”

Vicky felt her head swim. So Marcus was interested in buying her cottage. Keith had virtually said as much.

She made her way out to the back and filled the kettle. As she waited for it to boil she drank a glass of cold water. Her head was thumping. She'd had just as many shocks as she could handle this morning.

It looked like she finally knew Marcus's motive for wanting her to leave Brookleigh. It wasn't the business he was interested in, after all. It was her home. If she was driven out of Brookleigh, he could buy her cottage, probably for a song if he frightened her enough.

At the moment she knew her home was sandwiched between two plots of his land. With her cottage out of the way, he could expand. She supposed she ought to feel some sense of relief at knowing finally all that was going on. But she didn't. She just felt sick and sad. Marcus was the one person in Brookleigh she'd desperately hoped hadn't been behind the campaign.

Later that evening she dressed for dinner with Peter. She didn't put half as much effort into getting ready for this date as she had done for the Nuneton party.

She was just pulling a brush through her long hair when there was a knock on the door. Thinking it must be Peter, she went to open it but was surprised to see a young lady standing there, holding a bouquet of white roses.

“Good evening. Miss Lewis?”

“Yes…”

The girl smiled.

“I'm from BELLE FLEUR and these are for you.”

Handing Vicky the bouquet she said goodbye and walked to the waiting van.

Vicky took the flowers inside. The roses were lovely. Surely Peter hadn't gone to so much trouble? She found the card and opened it.

“To dear Vicky. I'm sorry. Can we try again? Marcus.”

Her initial reaction was to be pleased. It was kind of him to make the first move when it had really been her fault they'd argued. She knew him to be a proud man and it had obviously taken a lot for him to swallow his pride. But then she remembered that it was Marcus who was trying to get rid of her and this was probably yet another of his warped ploys.

BELLE FLEUR! That had been was the florist who'd supplied the wreath. This bouquet only seemed to prove Marcus's guilt even more solidly.

Vicky was feeling very depressed by the time Peter drew up. She pinned one of the white roses to the lapel of the pale pink suit she'd decided to wear for this evening.

“Vicky, you look lovely,” Peter said, as she opened the door to him.