His Convenient Marriage (12 page)

She thought, I'm going to be alone here for the first time.

She supposed it was a step in the right direction. After all, if Miles was right, she was going to have to get used to the concept of being on her own. Of having only herself to rely on.

An evening, besides, when she could do exactly what she wanted, she reminded herself. When there would be no arguments about television programmes, or how loud Jenny's music should be. Or even the appropriate bedtime for a school night. That was for Linda's mother to deal with.

And Chessie was off the hook.

But once Jenny had departed, with the usual shouted goodbye and slammed door, the silence seemed to close round her.

Be positive, she adjured herself. Keep busy.

She got supper out of the way first. She didn't feel par¬ticularly hungry, so she made toast, and heated a tin of beans. While she ate her unexciting meal, she cheered her-self up, making notes about far more adventurous menus for the weekend ahead, and beyond.

Without the car, she wouldn't be able to get to the su¬permarket on the other side of Hurstleigh, but Miles pre¬ferred her to use the smaller local shops anyway, and had opened accounts at most of them. So, all she had to do was to hand in an order, and the meat, groceries and vegetables would be delivered to the house later the same day.

Which would leave her time to do a little shopping on her own account, she thought. Miles' acid comment about her wardrobe might have rankled, but she couldn't deny its justice. She rarely bought herself any new clothes, and when she did she was attracted by hard-wearing qualities rather than fashion.

But if she had to compete in the market-place for a new job with good pay and some prospects, she'd need to pay some attention to her appearance.

And that was the route she had to take, or she'd be in danger of making an abject fool of herself. She needed to distance herself from Miles Hunter as quickly and com¬pletely as possible. Today's events had convinced her of that. And she needed to cling to that conviction.

Supper over and cleared away, Chessie took a long and leisurely bath, revelling in the fact that there was no Jenny banging on the door demanding admittance. She washed and dried her hair, slathered moisturiser on her face, then, wrapped in her elderly towelling robe, gave herself a man¬icure, watching a thriller she'd missed at the cinema.

Missing it might have been a good move, she decided restively halfway through. Even though it was brilliantly acted, it was too dark and violent for her taste, and not the wisest choice to watch alone.

She switched it off, and, to cheer herself up, decided to paint her toenails as well with the soft coral polish she'd purloined from Jenny's dressing table.

But with that task completed—what?

She tried reading her library book, but the story failed to grip her attention. She turned on the radio, and station¬ hopped, in an unavailing attempt to find some music she liked.

Oh, this is ridiculous, she thought crossly. I have all this time to do whatever I like, yet there's nothing I want to do.

Perhaps she'd just have an early night. After she'd been round the house, and checked it was secure. Something that Miles normally did himself, of course. The ground floor doors and windows were all locked, but she decided to go upstairs and make sure Miles had closed his bedroom win¬dow before he left. He had a habit of forgetting it, as Mrs. Chubb often pointed out.

And this time was no exception. The thick carpet was soft under her bare feet as she went to the window and fastened the latch. As she turned she glimpsed a movement and froze, only to realise she'd seen herself, like a pale ghost, in the wall mirror.

She gave a nervous giggle, and stayed where she was for a moment, waiting for her heart to stop racing.

It was a very masculine room, she thought. When her father had used it, there'd been ornaments—pictures on the wall. After her mother had died, he hadn't changed a thing.

But now, the room was as bleak as a monastic cell. No softening touches at all—rather like his writing, she decided rather sadly. Except, she supposed, for the wide bed with its dark green quilt. That was definitely an indulgence.

Obeying an impulse she barely understood, she walked across the room and stood beside it, remembering how he looked when he was asleep. Imagining his dark head on the pillow now.

She bent, smoothing the already immaculate pillowcase with her hand, and the faint, familiar scent of his cologne reached her. She stepped back abruptly, with a little gasp. Because, in that moment, she'd been aware of him so viv¬idly, it was as if his hand had clasped hers and drawn her down into the bed beside him.

But that was nonsense, she told herself vehemently. For Miles was a long way from here, in another bed, in a room she'd never seen. And perhaps not even alone...

The breath caught sharply in her throat. It was time she got back to where she belonged, and stopped letting her stupid imagination run away with her.

Whoever shared his bed, in London or here, it would not be her. And that was her decision. Her choice.

Except for this one night, when she was alone, and so lonely, so isolated in this big house that she wanted to moan with the pain of it. And where to sleep where he slept might bring a kind of comfort.

No one, she thought, will ever know.

She loosened the belt of her robe, and let it fall to the floor, then lifted the edge of the quilt, and slipped beneath it, burying her face in his pillow, and breathing the scent of him into her starved lungs.

The linen felt cool against her skin as she sank weight-lessly into the mattress, and gradually the tension and the trembling seeped away, leaving a strange peace in its place.

She should not be here, and she knew it, yet there was nowhere she would rather be.

And as her eyes closed, and she began to drift away, Chessie heard herself whisper his name.

When she awoke, the sun was streaming in through the window. For a moment, she lay, stretching languidly, to¬tally disorientated, wondering who had opened her curtains, then she remembered where she was, and sat up with a gasp of alarm.

One glance at the clock on the night table told her that it was late, and that she'd overslept.

'Oh, no,' she groaned, stumbling out of bed and grabbing up her robe. Supposing Jenny had decided to come back last night, and found her missing—or Mrs. Chubb had ar¬rived early. What possible explanation could she offer for her extraordinary behaviour?

She didn't even understand it herself, but, at the same time, she couldn't deny she'd had her best night's sleep in months, she thought breathlessly as she straightened the bed, erasing any tell-tale signs of her occupancy.

Back at the flat, she showered quickly and dressed in a navy cotton skirt and white blouse. Before leaving her room, she took off the aquamarine ring and put it back in its box, hiding it in a drawer.

Mrs. Chubb would spot it in an instant, she thought rue¬fully, and she couldn't face the kind of eager interrogation that would follow, or the nine days' wonder that the good woman would set off in the village.

By the time Mrs. Chubb arrived, Chessie had made the coffee, and was able to greet her with a semblance of com¬posure.

'Off to London, is he?' Mrs. Chubb said comfortably. 'Well, a gentleman needs to enjoy himself from time to time.' She nodded. 'Perhaps I'll give that room of his a good turn out. Make it nice for him to come back to.'

She shook her head. 'Not like poor Sir Robert. Chubb says there are wheelchair ramps everywhere at the Court, now. They're bringing him back by ambulance tomorrow, and a trained nurse with him.' She sniffed. 'And all Madam can think of is the parties she's going to give.'

'I'm sure she's very concerned about him,' Chessie said without any real conviction. 'Besides, it will probably cheer Sir Robert up to have company in the house,' she added more positively. 'It would be awful if he thought people were avoiding him because he's ill.'

'Well,' Mrs. Chubb said tolerantly, 'you were always one to think the best of people. You just be careful you're not taken in, that's all.' And she collected her polish and dust¬ers, and departed with a portentous nod of the head.

Chessie picked up a plastic bin liner, and headed back to begin the arduous task of sorting out her clothes. She was determined to be ruthless. A symbolic clear-out, she told herself with determination. Off with the old life, and on with the new. And in future she would not be trying to turn herself into the invisible woman either, she added si¬lently, ramming a handful of washed-out tee shirts into her sack.

There was a daunting amount of space in her wardrobe when she'd finished. She would have to dip into her care¬fully garnered savings, and maybe use the credit card she'd been keeping for emergencies only.

Well, so what? Chessie thought, shrugging mentally. I've tried to be cautious and sensible, and look where it's got me. I'm just a confused mess. But by this evening, at least I'll be a better-dressed confused mess.

It clouded over during the afternoon, and when Chessie emerged from the last boutique she found it had begun to rain a little.

She grimaced faintly as she looked up at the sky, wishing she'd remembered her umbrella. But a little drizzle wouldn't kill her, and there was a bus due in ten minutes.

She'd forgotten how enjoyable a few hours of pure self-indulgence could be, she thought as she made her way along High Street. She'd concentrated on work clothes, and her first and most expensive purchase had been a smart black jacket. She'd chosen a couple of skirts, one in black, the other in grey check, and a handful of contrasting tops. Finally, she'd added a pair of black medium-heeled pumps, and a matching leather bag.

In addition she'd treated herself to several pairs of casual cotton trousers, some cheap tee shirts in clear, cool colours, and even a couple of summer dresses. She'd also replen¬ished her underwear drawer.

That was the plus side, she thought. On the minus side, the first jobs agency she'd visited had told her with polite regret that they could already fill any temporary posts with the staff already on their books, and the second hadn't held out any great hopes either.

The prices being charged for rental property in the area had made her whistle too.

But it was still early days, she told herself. And some¬thing would turn up eventually.

Her carrier bags were weighing heavy by the time she arrived at the stop, and joined the end of the queue. The rain was heavier now, and she was beginning to feel damp and chilly.

The bus was late too, she realised with exasperation, transferring her bags from one hand to the other.

A car going past on the other side of the road slowed, then stopped, and someone called out her name. She glanced across, and saw Alastair beckoning to her. With a sigh of relief, she heaved up her bags and started across the road, where he was waiting with the boot open.

'Thank you,' she gasped.

'It's lucky I saw you,' he returned. He looked at the names on the carriers, and his brows lifted. 'Shopping for your trousseau?'

The query had a bite to it, and Chessie flushed. 'No, I just needed some new clothes.'

Alastair switched on the engine, then sat, watching the rhythmic swish of the windscreen wipers, but making no attempt to move off.

'So you're going to marry Miles Hunter,' he remarked eventually. 'Well, that should solve a whole lot of problems for you.' He turned and looked at her reproachfully. 'Why didn't you say something the other night, Chess? Why did you let me ramble on like that?'

She said quietly, 'Because I hadn't told anyone, least of all Jenny.'

'Linnet knew.' His sense of grievance was strong in his tone.

She bit her lip. 'Well—that was a mistake. It just— slipped out.'

'It's an odd feeling,' he said slowly. 'To come back, and find your girl's engaged to someone else.'

'Your girl?' Chessie echoed. She shook her head. 'After all this time without a word? You can't be serious.'

'But I'm back now,' he argued. 'Surely that changes things? I know I should have kept in touch, but you can't have forgotten how happy we were together.'

She said slowly, 'That was a long time ago, Alastair. Things have changed. We've changed.'

There was a silence, then he said in a low voice, 'Why are you doing this, Chess? You can't love him, and it's odds on that he's not in love with you.'

She lifted her chin. 'How can you possibly know what we feel about each other?'

He said gently, 'Chessie, you're a lovely girl, but he was living with Sandie Wells, for heaven's sake. They were a huge item.'

'So I keep hearing.' She frowned. 'Am I supposed to know who she is?'

He sighed. 'You must have heard of her. She was a top model before she turned to acting. She was in that film about jewel thieves, and she's done loads of television, too. Amazingly beautiful girl,' he added. 'With legs up to her forehead.'

`I really don't remember,' Chessie said quietly. 'But I have had other things on my mind.'

'Well, she dumped your fiancé pretty brutally, I under¬stand, but rumour says he's still hung up on her, even though she's been married to some electronics millionaire for the past year.'

'She's moved on,' Chessie countered. 'Perhaps Miles feels it's time he did, too.'

He grimaced. 'Come off it, sweetheart. If he thought there was a chance of getting her back, he wouldn't give you a second thought.'

She drew a swift, uneven breath. 'May we change the subject, please?'

He gave her a surprised look. 'Yes, of course. I just thought you should know the score, that's all.' He paused. 'After all, I wouldn't want you to get hurt. And you could.'

That was true, she thought. Because she was hurting al¬ready, a knife twisting slowly deep within her.

The car moved off, and Chessie sat silently, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. If she'd been harboring any illusions about Miles' reasons for proposing to her, they'd have been shattered for ever. Every time he looked at her, she thought painfully, he would be drawing comparisons between her and the amazing beauty he'd lost. And when he touched her...