The Right Bride? (39 page)

He had eaten only half his omelette, though, when he put down his knife and fork. ‘Sorry,’ he apologised. He plainly could eat no more.

Colly smiled at him because she had to. ‘You’re forgiven,’ she assured him. And, apologising in turn, ‘I’ll try to be more understanding,’ she added.

And loved him the more when, his mouth tweaking at the corners, he told her, ‘My wife really doesn’t understand me.’ She had to smile again, but could not deny a small glow to hear him call her his wife.

With lunch out of the way, she saw to it that he had his medication. She thought he was looking a trifle worn again, and began to wonder if she was the best person to look after him. She was having difficulty in being objective where he was concerned.

She was relieved when he took himself off to his room, and, guessing he had no intention of getting into bed, felt that at least just by lying on top of the covers he would be resting.

He wandered into the kitchen while she was cooking the evening meal—one of Mrs Varley’s chicken and mushroom pies, with duchesse potatoes, broccoli and glazed carrots.

Colly saw that his appetite had not fully recovered, in that there was quite some of the meal left, but she guessed he had enjoyed what he had eaten when he asked, ‘Where did you learn to cook?’

‘Given that dinner was mainly Mrs Varley’s efforts, my cooking skills came from what I think is called “on the job training”,’ Colly answered.

‘You had no formal training?’

She shook her head. Their housekeeper had walked out the week before Colly had been due to leave school. She left
school one day and was housekeeper the next. ‘There’s sponge pudding if…’

‘Thanks, no,’ he refused. Colly did not push it. ‘It’s hot in here. I think I’ll go to my room,’ he volunteered.

It did not seem unduly hot to her. ‘You’re very hot?’ she asked, trying not to look as concerned as she felt.

‘Hot, cold—it’s all part of the fever territory. It will pass,’ he said confidently, and left the table.

Colly busied herself clearing up after he had gone, but determined to keep a watch on him whether he liked it or not. To that end she went to his room at just after ten. He was in bed this time, and although propped up on pillows had his eyes closed. His shoulders and arms were uncovered, so she had to assume that he either slept without pyjamas or that he was still feeling hot.

‘I’ve brought you some water. You may be thirsty in the night,’ she said pleasantly as he opened his eyes. ‘I was just about to make myself a drink—can I get you anything? Tea? Not coffee. You’ll never sleep if—’

‘Come and talk to me,’ he interrupted her.

‘You’re bored?’

‘And some!’

‘Poor love,’ she said softly, the endearment slipping out before she could stop it. She was going to have to watch that. ‘Still feeling hot?’ she asked in her best professional manner.

‘Not now,’ he replied, and, as if trying to remember that he was the host here, ‘Have you everything you need?’ he asked. ‘If you…’

‘I’ve absolutely everything I need,’ she told him hurriedly and, when it looked as though he might sit up and take charge, she went quickly to the side of the bed and sat down on it beside him. ‘I believe you’re looking better already,’ she said encouragingly. ‘If you could bear to rest as much as possible over the next few days—’ She broke off when he gave her a
look that said she was adding to his boredom. ‘Right,’ she said snappily, ‘I’ll relieve you of my company!’

‘What did I say?’ he protested.

She looked at him, and loved him so much. ‘Try to get some sleep,’ she said gently, and as she went to stand up she felt such a welter of compassion for this strong man who had been flattened by some tropical bug that she just could not hold back on the urge to bend over and kiss him.

The feel of his lips beneath hers brought her rapidly to her senses—what on earth did she think she was doing? She straightened quickly, and was about to wish him an abrupt goodnight—only he found his voice first.

‘Was that part of the nursing package?’ he asked, his eyes solemnly on hers.

Oh, help! ‘Just pretend I’m your mother,’ Colly brought out from an awkward, embarrassed nowhere.

‘My imagination isn’t that good!’

‘Goodnight,’ she bade him crisply, and went from his room, knowing that she was never, ever going to do that again.

Indeed, away from him, she could hardly credit that she had done such a thing. He had not asked her to kiss him, and certainly did not want or need her kisses. Though, having worked herself up into something of a state, Colly recalled how, unasked, he had kissed her—twice. And her het-up world righted itself. It wasn’t his sole prerogative to go around kissing folk! Still the same, she would not be doing it again in a hurry.

Colly was awake several times in the night, and having to hold down the urge to go and check on Silas. Although he was mainly recovered from the more serious effects of the illness that had befallen him, he was still prey—to a much lesser degree—to attacks of hot and cold as the fever petered its unfriendly way out.

But she found it impossible to stay in bed beyond five the next morning, and got out of bed. Wrapping her cotton robe
about her as she went, she could no longer hold down the urge to go and check on Silas.

She snicked on the hall light and went to his door. Just in case he was sleeping soundly she decided against tapping on his door, but, making no noise, slowly opened it. She stood in the doorway, but even with the light behind her she could make out little. She went further into the room.

Silas was lying on his back with his bare chest free of his duvet. All too clearly he had been hot again in the night. She stood looking down at him and wanted to place a hand on his forehead to gauge his temperature. But he was sleeping peacefully and she did not wish to disturb him.

Denying her need to pull the duvet up and over his shoulders, Colly turned away. Then, just as she reached the door, ‘If you’re making tea…?’ an all-male voice hinted, addressing her back.

Laughter bubbled up inside her, but she did not turn around. Dratted man. He had been awake the whole time she had been looking down at him. She carried on walking—kitchenwards.

Silas was sitting up in bed with his bedside lamp on when she returned. ‘Sleep well?’ she asked lightly, handing him the tea he had requested.

‘I was about to ask you the same question,’ he responded.

‘Very well,’ she replied.

‘You normally get up at five in the morning?’

‘“Normal” disappeared when I collected you from the hospital yesterday.’

‘Am I such a trial?’ he asked seriously.

Looking at him, she had to smile. ‘Not when you do as you’re told.’ She tried for a stern note—and failed.

‘I’m famous for my biddable ways,’ he blatantly lied.

Colly gave him a sceptical look. ‘You’re going to have breakfast in bed?’ She challenged his protest, but could see the idea had absolutely no appeal.

‘Must I?’

She folded. ‘Oh, Silas. You’re trying so hard.’

‘Does that mean I don’t have to?’

They breakfasted at seven, in the kitchen. At half past seven the telephone rang. ‘My mother,’ Silas stated, not needing second sight, apparently.

‘She’ll want to speak to you,’ Colly replied.

‘I know,’ he accepted, and went to take the call.

A couple of hours later word seemed to have got around that he was now out of hospital, and he appeared to spend the rest of the day taking telephone calls.

He spoke to his father too, and also his cousin Kit. And, for all he may have promised his father that he would not return to his office before his physician advised that he could, and for all it was Sunday, it did not prevent Silas from having long and involved business conversations with his PA and also some of his directors when they rang to wish him well.

But at the end of that day, when Colly took a jug of water to his room, she felt that Silas was looking very much better than he had. She guessed that the stimulus of talking over complicated work issues was partly responsible.

‘You’ve had a good day today,’ she commented as she visually checked him over. He had recently showered and was sitting robe-clad against his pillows. ‘But you won’t overdo it tomorrow, after I’ve gone?’ she dared.

Instead of agreeing that he would take care, ‘Gone?’ he demanded. ‘Where are you going?’

Colly stared at him in surprise, her heart hurrying up its beat. It sounded for all the world as though he did not want her to leave! Logic, cold icy logic, hit that notion squarely on the head. He may not want her to leave, but only because if she was not there his mother might drop everything and come and fuss over him.

‘You asked me to stay for a night or two,’ she reminded him. ‘Tonight will be my second night.’

‘Have I been such a dreadful patient?’ he asked.

‘Well, given that you go your own way, regardless of anything I say, you have taken your medication when you should, so…’

‘Stay another night?’

Willingly. ‘You’re just scared your mother will come and take over and make you eat your greens,’ Colly managed to jibe.

‘Please?’ he asked nicely. Then, frowning, ‘You’re seeing someone tomorrow?’ he demanded. ‘You’ve a date and—?’

‘Just because your love-life’s out of bounds just now…’ Colly began, and then gave him a smile of some charm, pleased by the thought that he was not physically up to—um—‘tom-catting’ just now. ‘I suppose I could cancel my arrangement,’ she conceded, there being no arrangement, and knowing she would not have to so much as lift the phone.

His frown cleared. ‘You really should put your husband first, Mrs Livingstone,’ he replied, his charm swamping hers.

Her heart lifted to be so addressed. ‘Goodnight,’ she said shortly—and went to her room almost dancing. He had called her Mrs Livingstone, and she was to have an extra day with him.

Her normal sleep patterns went haywire in her caring for him, and Colly was up again at five the next morning and going to check on him. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, but she had been fooled before. ‘Tea?’ she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

‘Please,’ he answered, but did not open his eyes.

That day followed a slightly different pattern from the previous day, in that although they again breakfasted in the kitchen, Paula Livingstone left it until seven-forty-five before she rang. Colly tackled the breakfast dishes, but Silas had not closed the door, and she could hear his side of the conversation.

‘I’m all right!’ she heard him repeat. ‘There’s absolutely no need…Yes…But…Fine, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

‘Your mother’s visiting tomorrow?’ Colly guessed when he returned to the kitchen.

‘I should have known better than to argue,’ he said, and looked so glum Colly burst out laughing. She was not laughing a moment later, though, when Silas smiled too. ‘My mother is looking forward to meeting you,’ he mentioned pleasantly.

‘No way!’

‘You’ll like her,’ he promised.

It was clear, despite his objections to the threat of being cosseted, that Silas loved his mother dearly. ‘I’m sure I would,’ Colly replied. ‘She was lovely when I spoke to her on the phone. But I’ve already told you—I’m no good at subterfuge. In my efforts not to reveal the truth about us, I’d only go and say something I shouldn’t. I just know I would. And anyway—’ Colly began to slow down from her first flush of panic ‘—you can’t want me to meet her. Ours is a secret—um—marriage.’

‘True,’ he replied. ‘Though events we could not have foreseen have rather overtaken us.’

‘You couldn’t help being ill.’ She found she was defending him.

‘True again,’ he responded. ‘Though perhaps I shouldn’t have asked you to come and collect me from the hospital.’ He paused, his look thoughtful as he suggested, ‘But perhaps you started it when—entirely unexpectedly—you decided to come to the hospital and pay me a visit.’

Steady, Colly. She was ready to panic again. By no chance did she want him speculating on why she had taken it into her head to do so. ‘From that exaggerated newspaper report I thought you were gasping your last,’ she trotted out cheerfully.

What he would have answered was lost when they were both alerted by a ring at the doorbell. ‘Mrs Varley, come to “do”,’ Silas supplied at Colly’s startled look. And, as Mrs
Varley used her own key to let herself in, a minute later Silas was introducing them. Mrs Varley was anxious to know how he was, and Silas told her he was all but recovered, adding, ‘I’ll make myself scarce.’ A second later he was on his way to his bedroom.

‘Is there anything I can help you with?’ Colly asked Mrs Varley. The apartment looked immaculate as it was, but she could hardly sit around idle while the other woman set to.

‘I have my own system that I like to keep to, thank you just the same.’ Mrs Varley refused her offer cheerfully—and Colly wandered back to her room.

With her room tidy, and feeling uncomfortable at the idea of sitting doing nothing while a woman some thirty years her senior wielded a vacuum cleaner, Colly surveyed her options. She could sit twiddling her thumbs where she was, or alternatively she could go and sit with Silas in his room. He had complained the night before last about being bored, tempted a small voice. Against that, he had a telephone in his room. If yesterday were anything to go by, he would most likely be relieving his boredom by conducting some business.

Realising that he would not thank her for interrupting the smooth grinding cogs of industry, Colly saw her only option was to busy herself elsewhere.

Donning her car coat, she picked up her shoulder-bag—and paused. Her wedding ring was in her purse. She took it out, knowing she had no right to it. But—and she knew she was being weak—she just had to try it on one last time.

She looked at it on her hand and felt so emotional just then that she knew she needed to be away from the apartment for a short while. Taking the ring off, she left her room, found Mrs Varley and, after chatting for a minute or two, told her she would be gone about an hour or so. Then Colly went to impart the same information to Silas.

He was just putting the phone down, after either making or receiving a call when she went in. But, on noticing she was
dressed for the outdoors, and before she could say a word, ‘Where are you going?’ he demanded.