Peacock's Walk (18 page)

That there was a purpose behind his action Jenny had little doubt, and she suspected that the reason was not so much to punish her as to keep a tight rein on himself. A cosy dinner for two would present quite a strain on both of them, and it was obvious that he intended to keep his distance until—she frowned as she recalled something he had said to her the day she returned to Peacock's Walk, 'This is not the way I wanted it,' or words to that effect, and that she had to go to him.

Her frown deepened. But she had gone to him. She had actually asked him to marry her—what

more could she do? What was he waiting for? She knew she hadn't actually said the words 'I love you', but she would never have returned on such a quest if she had not loved him, he must surely have known that.

Whatever the answer was, it simply would not present itself, and she shook her head wearily. Until she did know, there was nothing she could do about it. Even if you hated someone, there was always one saving grace, one opinion you could both share, and as hate was akin to love, love was the stronger emotion and the key that would eventually open the door to happiness.

Jenny's eyes filled with tears, but she resolutely blinked them back. It would not do for Mark to find her crying should he decide to look in on her before he left for his dinner engagement.

In order to stem her thoughts, she got up swiftly and made her way to her bedroom to change out of her wedding dress, and selected an old favourite of hers, a sleeveless cotton dress, to wear. It might be old, but it was homely, and it didn't matter what she wore, in spite of the ring on her third finger, she told herself fiercely.

Jenny did not bother to get herself anything to eat that evening. For one thing she was not hungry, and for a second, she could not be bothered to make the journey down to the kitchen.

Shortly after ten, she decided to go to bed. She was mentally tired if not physically so, and had spent most of the evening clearing out a large old bureau in the lounge, that was full of odd knick-

nacks, collected during the years, and something she had so far neglected to do. Her wish that the rooms would remain as they were was a non-starter. Mark was not likely to agree to such a request. He wanted the whole premises redecorated, and as she had once heard him say, sentimentality and business did not mix.

As she settled herself in bed, she ruefully conceded that she might as well have had her cry, for Mark had not looked in on her before leaving for his dinner date, and she wondered if he was enjoying himself, and whether he had given her one thought in the whole evening.

The book she had brought to bed with her lay beside her ready for her perusal, but she did not attempt to open it. She was more tired than she had realised, and she had no need to read herself to sleep. The book was of bulky proportions, and as she tried to manoeuvre it back on the bedside cabinet it slipped from her grasp and landed with a dull thud on to the floor beside her bed, and Jenny left it there, too weary to do anything about it. She then switched off the light, and drew the bedclothes up to her thin, for the nights were still chilly in spite of the date on the calendar. Tomorrow, she told herself drowsily, she would persuade Mark to let her take up her secretarial duties again. If she had work to do she would soon settle down again—the rest was up to fate.

The following morning Jenny was up by seven-thirty, and had showered and dressed. In the early morning light it was hard for her to believe that she

was now Mrs Mark Chanter—be it in name only; it was still an awesome thought. Another not very welcome thought then presented itself to her. What, for goodness' sake, was she to do with herself all day? Mark, it appeared, still had a certain amount of work on his hands, which of course, he would have, he had his empire to run. At this point Jenny remembered the thought she had had before going to sleep, that she should ask him if she could carry on as his secretary.

He must, she thought cheerfully, need some help, and would probably welcome her offer. It would show him that she was in full agreement with his decision that things should go on as normal.

The outlook already seemed much brighter to Jenny as she started to make her bed, and as she straightened the counterpane her elbow nudged against a book on her bedside table and she turned to straighten that as well. It was the same book that she had taken to bed with her the previous night, but she could not remember picking it up after it had fallen by her bed. She shrugged lightly. She must have done, otherwise how did it get back on the table?

While she gave her hair a final brush before leaving the bedroom, she went over her movements from the moment she awoke. She had got out of bed and had a shower, dressed, and started to make the bed. At no time had she picked that book up. Her eyes widened in disbelief as the answer hit her—. Mark! It couldn't have been anyone else! He must

have called in on her when he returned from his dinner date.

No longer calm and cheerful, but flushed and indignant, Jenny visualised the scene of him standing by her bed and staring down at her while she slept. How dared he? After all that he had said about things going on as normal. If it hadn't been for the book, she wouldn't have known of his visit, she thought furiously. Her eyes narrowed in speculation. Why did he pick the book up, then? He must have known she would remember where she had left it.

Her eyes sparkled with wetness as the truth hit her. He had wanted her to know that he had looked in on her, as a jailor looks in on his charge—making sure that the prisoner was still safe in his keeping!

The fury that had possessed her quickly subsided, leaving her feeling desolated. Mark had every right to visit her in her bedroom, the ring on her third finger gave him the right, she thought bleakly. It was no use dwelling on the incident either, and certainly no use to complain; better to forget it. He was hardly likely to mention it, it was enough for him to know that she was aware of his visit.

Her slim shoulders squared as she left her rooms. As Mark appeared to want to take his duties seriously, she might as well start playing her part in their paper marriage by cooking his breakfast. Not, she told herself bleakly, that she had any idea of what his taste in the breakfast line was, but as Tony and Dodie were away, there was no one else to do it.

The smell of sizzling bacon greeted her as she entered the kitchen, and her surprised eyes stared at the woman standing by the oven attending to the cooking.

The woman was a stranger to her, and as she advanced into the kitchen Jenny saw that a tray had been prepared ready to carry into the dining room for the serving of the breakfast.

On seeing Jenny, the woman gave an uncertain smile as if not quite sure of her identity, and sounding a little flustered said, 'Mr Chanter asked for breakfast at eight,' and glanced up at the clock on 'he wall that gave the time as ten to eight.

Jenny felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. So Mark had arranged for someone to do the cooking for them. He might have asked her first about it; she might not have Tony's qualifications, but she could manage reasonably plain fare.

'Oh, good,' she replied, not being able to think of anything else to say. 'I just wondered if you wanted any help,' she ended lamely, but at the swift shake of the head from the woman, went on quickly with, 'I'm Jenny Gran ... er ... Chanter,' she corrected herself hastily. 'I don't believe we've met, have we?'

Mrs Cherry, as she introduced herself, appeared to be a little surprised that Jenny had not known about her. However, she soon supplied jenny with the relevant details. It appeared she had once worked for Mark at one of his London hotels, and had since retired to Brighton, not so much on account of her age as her husband's failing health.

'Pleased as punch, I was,' she went on confidingly, 'when Mr Chanter took over the Royal last year. I knew he wouldn't forget me if he wanted extra help. I can't do full time of course, not with my Sam wanting so much doing for him, but I could help out during the staff hols, and I do. The extra cash comes in mighty handy, I can tell you.'

When Jenny was eventually able to tear herself away from the confiding Mrs Cherry, she went into the dining room and waited the arrival of Mark. Everything, it seemed, had been taken care of, and she wondered miserably whether he had fixed himself up with a secretary as well.

To her unconcealed delight, she learned a few minutes later, when Mark joined her for breakfast, that he was entirely in favour of her continuing her secretarial duties. 'I would have suggested it, if you hadn't,' he commented dryly. 'I'm getting slowly bogged down.'

With that hurdle over, Jenny was able to enjoy her breakfast—the very first with her new husband, but this thought was quickly banished as she noted the fact that although he was charming and polite to her, there were no loving looks or loverlike gestures made towards her. Just as it would have been between secretary and boss, she thought, and her throat constricted at the thought. She had wanted a lead from him, hadn't she? Well, it appeared she had got it, and it was up to her to take it from there.

It was certainly not the time to recall his visit to her last night, but she did, and she was forced to get up quickly and pick up her half finished cup of

coffee, remarking as brightly as she was able, 'I think I'd better go and open the post for you—in case there's anything urgent,' she gabbled, seeing the slight lift of his autocratic brows at this rush on her part to get on with the day's work. Not giving him a chance to order her to stay put, she was out of the dining room and heading for the office as if the hounds of hell were on her trail.

When the morning's office work had been attended to, Mark suggested taking her on a tour of the hotel in order to show her the changes he had in mind, and to see whether she approved of his choice of decor. Although Jenny said nothing, the thought struck her that it was a little late in the day for any such approval, as work was well in hand, and if she had not approved, there was nothing that could be done about it

It was, she acknowledged silently, just another way of showing her that he considered her part and parcel of his belongings, and that she belonged by his side. It was not so much that he really cared about her opinion, as Malcolm would have done, anxiously pointing out what changes he thought would be beneficial, and awaiting her approval. She sighed inwardly. Once she had taken it all for granted, not fully realising the unique position she was in—unique and honoured, she thought wretchedly, accepting Malcolm's adoration as her due, yet not realising that it was adoration—and she hadn't had the sense to see it.

By now the work on the first floor had been completed, and Jenny felt a little sad when she found

that the original oak panelling that had been destroyed by the fire had not been replaced—and it could have been, she thought bleakly. It was not as if Mark was short of money, he could well have afforded to replace it, if not with oak, then with a replica of the original wood.

Her gaze lingered on the new white panelling of the corridor with its sculptured ceiling, and could find no fault with it, so it was unreasonable of her not to approve, but somehow she could find nothing to say about it, although she sensed Mark was waiting for some comment from her. In the end she just nodded in a generally approving way, and she knew by the tightening of his lips that he had sensed her true thoughts on the matter.

They then moved on and inspected the rooms. Here again, Jenny could find no fault in his taste of furnishings and decor, but still the sadness was there. It was if she were being shown over one of his other hotels, one that she had never seen before, and her sadness grew as she realised that soon the home she had known would no longer hold any memories for her. It was all being slowly but surely erased.

Her heart was even heavier as she envisaged what would be done to her rooms. After what she had seen there was absolutely no possibility of leaving them as they were. Not unless he wanted them to remain as museum pieces to show what the hotel had once looked like.

Jenny might have found things easier to take had she not noticed Mark's quiet air of satisfaction as their tour continued. He might be displeased with

her reaction to the changes, but it did not apparently detract from his pleasure, and the feeling gradually grew on her that there was a personal element involved.

It did not take long for her to get the answer. He wanted to erase not only the old Peacock's Walk, but all the memories that went with it I Hers, as well as his. She gulped when the realisation hit her. The fire had been a good excuse to get on with his plans, and it hadn't really made any difference, just gave him an earlier start. It wasn't only Peacock's Walk either, she mused unhappily, it was Malcolm, too, this was his way of wanting to erase Malcolm from their life for once and for all.

Remembering her earlier desperate attempts to convince him that there had been nothing between Malcolm and herself, Jenny saw little hope of succeeding now. The only hope lay in his love for her, because he did love her, a love tinged with a bitterness that impinged on hate, and somehow she had to reach through to him.

It wouldn't be today, or tomorrow, she thought sadly, but at some future date, when the bitterness had subsided, and he was able to accept her love without reservation, or recollection of what had gone before.