Bachelor's Wife (6 page)

The effect on the girl was dramatic. Shock instantly ousted the look that said nobody got past her without her, say-so. 'I...' she began, before quickly gathering her wits about her, her come-to-office smile struggling to get through. 'If you wouldn't mind waiting a moment, Miss—Mrs Devereux,' she said, obviously having read the evening paper just as Perry had, and trying fast to overcome this latest development.

Perry thought she was half way to believing she was who she said she was, though she-was grateful that the girl must still be nursing some doubt that she kept her voice down when she picked up the phone and relayed the message to someone that Mr Devereux's wife was here to see him.

She gathered the receptionist must first have spoken to Nash's secretary, and felt her heart thumping when she repeated her message, and realised that the girl was in all probability now speaking with Nash.

She could have no idea what he was saying, but knew that, though stubborn in her need to see him, her pride would take a terrible blow if he was advising' the girl to tell her to get lost.

'Yes,' the girl answered. 'Yes, I'll do that, Mr Devereux. Would you excuse me a moment, please?'

Perry tried to keep her face, looking unconcerned when placing her hand over the mouthpiece the girl pulled the phone away from her ear. She looked flushed, she thought, and since Nash was obviously still holding on, she hoped the receptionist's heightened colour was caused by the fact that she had been speaking to the mighty chief himself, rather than from any rude question he was waiting for the answer from.

'I'm sorry, Mrs Devereux,' she said, her smile nowhere near as bright as it had been, 'but may I have your first name?'

This time there was no time for Perry to look round to see if anyone else was in earshot. But, terrified there might be some pressman lurking near, that her name could be splashed all over the front page of tonight's paper, she rapidly decided that having got this far to take the coward's way out and take to her heels, as every instinct urged, was not on. Striving manfully for a slightly humorous tone, just as though she thought it mildly amusing that her husband should take such precautions not to have his day interrupted by any bogus Mrs Devereux, she said quietly:

'Would you ask my—husband—if the initials P.B.G. mean anything to him?' and waited while the message was relayed.

She saw relief on the girl's face, a more natural smile showing itself as she replaced the phone. 'Mr Devereux said you wouldn't know where his office is. If you'd like to come with me I'll take you up.'

 On the way in the lift Perry tried to get her thoughts into order. She wanted to see Nash. It was important she should see him; they had a vital matter to discuss. But she was feeling so shaky inside that all she was capable of thinking was that soon, after not so much as catching a glimpse of Nash Devereux in six whole years, she would soon be face to face with the man who had handed over five thousand pounds and looked as though to say if he never saw her again it would be too soon. All she could hope was that the six years in between had made him more approachable than he had been then.

She stepped out of the lift, turning with the receptionist, and went with her down a long hall. They stopped at one of the doors, the girl tapped lightly, then turned, evidently expecting Perry to precede her into the room.

Telling herself her feet didn't want to go the other way, trying to remember how angry she had been last night, reminding herself strongly that she was no longer afraid of Nash Devereux, that her happiness and Trevor's depended on the outcome of this meeting, Perry was suddenly filled with the light of battle. She went in.

CHAPTER FOUR

BUT it was not into Nash's office she entered. Nor did the receptionist stay longer than to introduce his busy-looking secretary, Karen Taylor, who rose from her chair. She was through the door almost before she had finished shaking hands with the blonde-haired Karen.

'Mr Devereux will be...' Karen began.

But what Mr Devereux would be was never heard. For the sound of the other door in the room opening had her breaking off, and two pairs of eyes went to see the tall, dark-haired man who stood there.

And it was at that moment, her eyes meeting grey eyes full on, eyes that showed an infinitesimal astonishment, quickly cancelled, that Perry's insides started to feel as though they belonged to anyone but her. Straight away she recognised him, a few strands of silver at his temples that hadn't been there before. A smile started to break as he left his position by the door and strode over to her, the only other unrecognised thing about him, for never had she seen him smile.

His smile she found weakening, but it did her tummy no good whatsoever to have her heart join in the free-for-all when he put an arm about her and she felt his lips cool on her cheek.

'My darling,' he said, warmth for her in his voice she had never heard before either, 'this is an unexpected pleasure.'

And before she could twist out of his hold, the arm about her shoulders was forcing her across the thick carpeting towards the door that must lead to his office. That arm still firm about her as he threw at Karen:

'Hold all my calls. I don't want to be disturbed. As you

know, it isn't every day my lovely wife comes to see me.'

In the few seconds it had taken for Nash to guide her across the carpet, the moments it took for him to have her safely closeted in his inner sanctum, Perry's emotions had undergone a dramatic change. No longer afraid of him, her uppermost feeling was anger at the charade he had played out there.

'How dare you?' she blazed, struggling out of his arm, for he had made no move to let her go. And it did nothing for her anger that his grey eyes suddenly lit with interest as they flicked over her. That interest added to as his gaze returned to her eyes and he saw the fury sparking there.

'Who would have thought,' he drawled laconically, if he recognised she was angry paying no heed to it, 'that you would turn out to be such a swan?'

For a moment Perry was floored that he was ignoring her fury, what he said sufficiently side-tracking her so that instead of going for him for letting his secretary think they were lovey-dovey with each other—and he was glad that it was so—she was snapping:

'I wasn't
such
an ugly duckling six years ago!'

'Neither you were,' he agreed smoothly, his mouth curving upwards, ‘but you'll have to admit you didn't have the—polish then you have now.' And while she coloured at his impertinence, he added coolly, 'Nor if I might be allowed to say,' not waiting for her permission, 'did you have the wherewithal to kit yourself out the way you are now.'

'Kit myself out?' she echoed, suspecting a sting in there somewhere, and sufficient of her temper leaving for her to be wary of the man she knew so little of.

'If memory serves you couldn't in those days afford Givenchy.'

It surprised her momentarily that he should know, the name of any designer until she realised he had probably footed some couturier's account on more ,than one occasion.  But she could have done without being reminded of the get-up she had been-married in, though she had explained that to him at the time. Then what he was intimating hit her. He thought her clothes were Givenchy models! True, she admired Givenchy more than any other designer, which probably influenced the clothes she made, but... She stopped as what he was really saying spun through her head. He was saying he didn't think she could afford Givenchy now—'that someone else was paying the bill.

'For your information,' she said hotly, anger back with her again, 'no one pays for my clothes but me. For your further information, I am well qualified to make them myself.'

His right eyebrow made a disbelieving arc. Then, 'Ah yes,' he said as though he had just remembered, 'as a matter of fact I checked our marriage certificate last night. You started out as a seamstress.' And suavely, 'May I compliment you on how well I can see you've done in your career.'      

Perry didn't thank him. She could well have countered that he too had done well, since he had listed himself as an engineer. But she wasn't here to found a mutual admiration society for work well done.

'Look here, Nash,' she said snappily, and disregarded the signs of interest in his face that here was one female who wasn't a pushover for his charm, 'I didn't come here to discuss the fact that I passed my apprenticeship with honours. I came...'

'Take a seat, Perry,' he cut in, that stranger of a smile coming to the fore at her look that said she didn't care for the interruption. 'I'm sure our discussion will be far more amicable if you could bring yourself to relax.'

Wondering if he had taken a course in human psychology and learned that one rarely spat fire and brimstone if seated, she took the wooden-backed seat he pulled out for her. Then watched as he pulled his own chair to where he could sit near her, his desk convenient for him to rest a casual arm on.

Taking a deep breath and trying to keep calm, she began again, 'You received my letter, of course?'

'Of course,' he confirmed.

'Before you announced to the press at large that you were hoping for a reconciliation?' She couldn't help the accusing tone and felt like hitting him that he hardly seemed to hear what she said, much less take heed she was accusing him.

'You're not in possession of a telephone yourself?' he enquired casually.

'No.' Her brow furrowed that they were getting nowhere in this interview. 'I told you the phone number in my letter was my landlady's.'

'You're in lodgings?'

What had that got to do with anything? She looked at him then and saw in those shrewd grey eyes that they weren't going to go anywhere with the interview until she answered any questions that presented themselves to him. It irritated her that he had taken charge of the whole affair. But remembering what she wanted the outcome to be, she tried to conceal her impatience and told him more than he had asked to save him thinking up more questions.

'Mrs Foster, my landlady, has arthritis, which means climbing stairs is painful for her. Six years ago she had some alterations made to the upper part of the house, turned it into a sort of a flat, then advertised...' She hesitated, expecting sarcasm at the end of it, for all as yet any sarcasm in him had stayed down. 'She advertised for a quiet respectable lady to rent it.'

'So you've been there since our marriage?'

She didn't want to be reminded of those sad days after Ralph's death. 'Almost,' she said quietly.

'Didn't your stepfather object to your moving out?'

His question showed her there was nothing wrong with his memory of what she had told him all that time ago. 'Ralph died a month after we...' Her voice petered out.

'And you decided not to stay on at the house you lived in with him?'

'The rent was high there,' she answered without thinking.

'You'd just pocketed five thousand pounds and couldn't afford the rent? It must have been high!'

The sarcasm she had known was in him began to show itself. It was something she didn't want, just as she didn't want what she thought his next question would be—What had she done with the money. She forestalled it.

'The five thousand didn't last long.'

'I never thought it would,' he murmured. 'So what do you do for money nowadays? You've never approached me for a penny more, I'll grant you that, but...'

'I've never come to you for money because I'm not interested in your money,' she said crossly, and forced herself to calm down as she added, 'I work for every penny I get.'

'Which isn't much and leaves you with very little over,' he surmised, but there was no harshness there, only charm as he said it. He even offered her that smile she could have done with a glimpse of six years ago.

Perhaps it was the very fact that the aggression she had seen in him then, although it must still be there for him to have got where he had, was so totally lacking in the interview that she began to think if she lost her own aggression she might well leave his office with everything just as she wanted it. Her natural self suddenly started to come through, and she smiled back at him, her forehead clear and untroubled beneath her smart hat, her lips curving warmly, her eyes without hostility as she answered:

'I'm paid quite well, actually,' and, a grin tumbling

out, 'but I can't say I'm not grateful to see the end of each month.'

Nash appeared to like it when she relaxed with him, for there were traces of a smile still in his eyes as he studied her sweetly curving mouth. Then his eyes fell to her hands resting quietly in her lap where before they had been fidgeting with the brown leather of her gloves.

'You don't wear your wedding ring,' he remarked easily.

'I dropped it in the river,' she told him openly. 'Recently?'

'Oh no-—a couple of hours after the ceremony,' she said, which she thought brought them nicely, and without heat, round to the reason why she was here.

'I can't pretend to understand why you said what you did to the press yesterday,' she said lightly, 'but I really should like to be free, Nash.'

She watched him; his smile had disappeared some moments before, but there had been a smile in his eyes, or so she thought. But as she watched, that smile froze over, and her heart plummeted even before he asked coldly:

'Just what are you up to?' Gone was his casual attitude. Nothing friendly about him now. Aggression she had hoped he would keep hidden not very far from the surface, she was sure.

'What do you mean?' Keep calm, Perry, she tried telling herself, knowing that if her anger grew, met his aggression head on, all hell might break loose.

'Exactly what I say. If you wanted to divorce me there's nothing in the laws of this country to stop you. We've been apart for six years. The marriage hasn't been consummated. Those are just two causes you could use for our marriage being declared void.'

Badly wanting to swallow, Perry didn't dare. Nash would spot it for sure, would know she was nervous and not being totally straightforward as he already suspected.