His Convenient Marriage (13 page)

Her mind closed off in rejection. She could never allow that to happen again, she told herself starkly. Never permit herself to forget everything in his arms, under the subtle torment of his mouth. From now on, that was the forbidden zone.

It wouldn't be easy. Miles was an experienced man who knew perfectly well what he was doing. And he'd set out, deliberately and cynically, to expose the depth of that blind, unthinking need that she hadn't realised existed until his lips took hers. A need that would not—could not ever be satisfied.

And I shall have to learn to live with that, she thought. Somehow.

'I'm running low on petrol. I'd better get some.' Alastair's voice broke abruptly across her unhappy reverie.

'Yes,' she returned mechanically. 'Of course.'

It was only when he'd filled his tank and gone off to pay that Chessie realised they were at the garage on the bypass. She wound down her window, allowing a rush of cool damp air to enter the car, and looked around her.

It was a busy place, selling new and used cars as well as offering repairs, and there were mechanics in dark blue overalls everywhere. But one in particular caught her at¬tention—tall, and coarsely good-looking, with his dark hair caught back in a pony-tail. There was a dragon tattooed on his arm beneath the rolled-up sleeve, and he wore a silver earring, and a nose stud.

As if aware of her scrutiny, he glanced towards the car, his expression one of surly indifference.

Chessie's heart skipped a sudden, alarmed beat, as her premonition sharpened. She thought, Oh, no. Please, no. Not him. It can't be...

Only to hear a voice call 'Zak' and see him look back over his shoulder, mouthing some obscenity.

Her hand crept up and touched her throat, all her worst fears confirmed.

'Are you all right?' Alastair swung himself back into the driving seat. 'You're as white as a ghost. What's hap¬pened?'

'Nothing,' she said quickly. 'It was just a bit stuffy in the car, that's all.'

'Do you want the air-conditioning on?'

'No, it's fine.' Closing the window, she summoned a smile, trying to ignore the churning in her stomach. Jenny, she thought. Oh, God, Jenny. 'Anyway, we'll be home soon.'

'Come back to the Court, and have some tea,' he invited. 'Linnet's not there. She's gone up to London to bring my father down.'

'Oh, how is he?' Chessie was thankful to focus on some¬thing else.

'No different, I gather.' He shook his head.` I can't imag¬ine why he's so set on being at the Court, anyway. The medical facilities in Spain were first class. And keeping the place up is a hell of a drain on his finances.'

'But it's his home,' Chessie said. 'And your inheritance.'

`I'm not sure I relish being saddled with a great barn of a place like that.' His tone was moody as he pulled off the forecourt, and waited for a gap in the traffic. I plan to be based in London. Or I might even go back to America if there's a suitable opportunity.'

She was aware of the faintly challenging look he sent her, and suspected it was her cue to react with distress. Beg him to reconsider. And for a brief moment, she was

tempted. This was Alastair, after all, on whom all her girl¬hood hopes and longings had been centered. She'd cared for him once. Maybe she would again, once she'd rid herself of the distraction of Miles.

Alastair, after all, showed every sign of wanting to renew their relationship, and perhaps she was a fool to hold back when he could well be the substance in her life, and Miles only the shadow. Time alone would show—only she didn't have that much time...

She wondered why she hadn't confided in him when he'd asked—expressed her fears for Jenny, and the feelings of instinctive revulsion that Zak had inspired in her. After all, Alastair had known her sister since she was a child, and who better to advise her?

Because she had to do something. And it wasn't just Zak's appearance that made her uneasy. Tattoos were fash¬ionable, and so was body piercing. And she could see that his raffish good looks might have an effect on an impres¬sionable girl.

No, there was something about him—some element in his body language or his attitude that chilled her, and it was pointless telling herself that she was being over-imaginative, and that Zak was probably kind to animals and good to his mother.

Because kindness was not in him, and she knew it.

'Am I invited in?' Alastair asked when they reached Silvertrees. 'I'd like to congratulate the bridegroom.'

'He's rather busy, I'm afraid.' Which was an evasion, Chessie told herself, and not a downright lie. Again, she had no real idea why she'd concealed the fact that Miles was away. Except that instinct told her that he would not appreciate her entertaining Alastair during his absence.

'Besides, we'll see you on Saturday evening,' she went on. 'Your stepmother has asked us to dinner.'

'Has she?' His surprise was genuine. 'It's the first I've heard of it.'

'Unless, of course, you think visitors would be too much for your father.'

His grimace was painful. 'To be honest, I don't know whether it will register with him that strongly. He's in a bad way, Chessie. And now, just when I need you, you belong to someone else.'

She said drily, 'How times change. A week ago, I didn't seem necessary to anyone in particular. I'm not used to being so much in demand.'

He took her hand, his eyes moody and faintly brooding. 'Just remember this, my sweet. If you change your mind, I'll be waiting.' He pressed a light kiss to her palm. 'Now, go in, before he gets suspicious.'

She found she wanted to snatch her hand away, but she made herself wait for him reluctantly to relinquish it. Then, with a murmur of thanks for the lift, collected her shopping and went into the house.

She only wished Miles were there, suspicious or not.

He was the one she could tell about Jenny. He would understand.

She needed to hear his voice, she realised suddenly. Wanted him to reassure her that the repulsive Zak was sim¬ply part of Jenny's belated adolescent rebellion. Her first foray into the adult world, even if it was with the wrong companion.

She badly needed to hear that it was an infatuation that would end as swiftly as it had begun, with her sister older and wiser, but with no real harm done. And that it would all come right in the end.

And she could talk to him about it, she thought. She could call him at the flat, and tell him what had happened. Pour out her fears and forebodings, and be comforted.

Even if he told her she was being a fool, it would help in some strange way.

She went into the study, found the number and dialed. Of course, he might not be there, she thought as she heard the ringing tone. He might be at Vinnie's office in the Haymarket, and, if so, she would leave a message asking him to call her back, preferably this evening.

She heard the receiver lifted, and was about to rush into speech when she heard a woman's voice say, 'Hello?'

She thought, I must have got the wrong number. She wanted to say something—to apologise and ring off, and be more careful next time. But she couldn't speak. Because her heart was beating frantically, and a hand seemed to be tightening round her throat.

'Hello?' the voice repeated, more forcefully. Then: 'Miles—there's no one there.'

And Chessie found herself letting the receiver drop back onto its rest as if it had suddenly become red hot and burned her fingers to the bone.

She realised she was kneeling on the floor, bent double, gasping for breath, her arms wrapped protectively round her body. While all the time a small, desperate voice in her head was whispering, What shall I do? Oh, God, what shall I do?

CHAPTER SEVEN

Well, what had she really expected? Chessie asked herself wearily, peeling onions as if her life depended on it. Miles was a man, and, as she knew only too well, possessed of all the usual male instincts. And to be fair, he had never indicated that he was celibate.

And, anyway, it was none of her business, whatever she might have suspected.

It was something she'd repeated to herself at intervals during the course of the previous day, and two restless nights, until the words seemed to hammer at her brain.

But, she'd discovered, suspicion was one thing. Having it so openly confirmed was quite another, and she was still reeling under the impact. Still at a loss to know how to deal with the situation when he returned.

The letter in the cream envelope had, of course, been from the woman in his life, arranging an assignation. And one that he was keen to enjoy to the full, judging by the haste of his departure, she thought, biting her hp.

But if there is someone in his life, Chessie argued with herself, all over again, then why did he ask me to marry him? It makes no sense. Unless his unknown lady can't cook or use a computer, and he thinks I'm a better eco¬nomic proposition.

She rinsed her hands, and wiped her streaming eyes on a piece of kitchen towel. At least she had an excuse for weeping this time, she thought wryly. She couldn't say the same for the tears she'd shed over the past twenty-four hours.

They'd been nothing but the purest self-indulgence, and she was disgusted with herself. Scared, too, because, in spite of all the traumas she'd gone through in the past, she'd never experienced such anguish in her life before.

Yet how could that be possible? And why was she beat¬ing herself up like this? After all, the rules of the game hadn't changed.

Because Miles' original offer had been a business prop¬osition, and nothing more. He wanted her to go on running his house, and take on the additional role of his hostess.

And even if sex at some stage hadn't been entirely ruled out, it certainly hadn't been uppermost in his mind.

As indeed why should it be, when he had his London lady to fulfill his needs already?

He never at any time said he was in love with me, she reminded herself. And, anyway, I've turned down his pro¬posal, and very soon I'll be out of his house, and his life altogether. So, it's ludicrous for me to behave as if there's been some kind of betrayal involved here. As if I have the right to be hurt by anything he does. Because Miles is a totally free agent, and so am I.

And I cannot—cannot—allow myself to care—even if he has a mistress for every day of the week.

Yet, knowing all this, how can it still matter so much— and so bitterly?

She heated oil in a pan, and began to fry chunks of steak. She'd been cooking all morning, concentrating almost grimly on the task in hand, whereas usually she found it a relaxation. She was now making a rich beef stew for dinner that night, to welcome his sister.

In a way, she was dreading meeting the unknown Steffie because it was inevitably going to mean more deception in the short term. On the other hand, her presence would curb any reckless bid by Chessie to venture into forbidden ter¬ritory, and ask questions that were none of her concern. Which she had to admit would have been a danger other¬wise.

She'd worked hard, trying to blank out the thoughts still reeling in her head. The house was full of flowers, the din¬ing-room table was already gleaming with silver and crys¬tal, and candles in tall holders waiting to be lit, and the scent of lavender and beeswax hung in the air thanks to Mrs. Chubb's ministrations.

Chessie was determined that Miles would have nothing to complain of in the time before she left his employment. She would fulfill each and every one of her duties to the letter—including playing the part of his fiancée, if that was what he still wanted.

She would make sure she took glowing references to her next job.

Not that she was having much luck in that connection, she admitted, grimacing. She'd gone through the advertise¬ments in the local paper, and rung the few secretarial posts on offer, only to be told they were already filled. She'd enquired after a position as a receptionist too, but the money was barely a quarter of what she was earning at the moment, and she'd hardly be able to keep herself in a bed¬sit, let alone contribute towards Jenny's student career.

It might be better to forget about working in an office altogether, she thought with a sigh, and find another resi¬dential post as a cook-housekeeper—only this time she'd ensure her employer was an elderly lady.

'Something smells good.' Mrs. Chubb came bustling in. 'It'll be nice to have some company here for a change. I was saying to Chubb, it seems dead quiet here without Mr. Hunter, even though he generally keeps himself to himself.'

But not always, thought Chessie with a pang, lifting the browned meat into a casserole dish.

She said, 'Mrs. Chubb—do you know a Zak Woods?'

Mrs. Chubb sniffed. 'Know of him,' she said. 'And not much good either,' she added ominously. She gave Chessie a curious look. 'Why do you ask?'

Chessie shrugged. 'Oh, someone mentioned his name.' She paused. 'He's a mechanic, isn't he?'

'So they say. Trouble-maker, more likely. Been one step ahead of the law since he could walk. I wouldn't take any motor of mine near him.'

Who said things can only get better? Chessie wondered wearily when the good woman had departed.

She'd put her own problems aside the previous evening, and attempted, gently, to question Jenny a little. She hadn't mentioned that she'd seen Zak, and had tried to keep her questions friendly, concealing her instinctive anxieties about the relationship. But it had been no good. Jenny had made it angrily clear that she'd regarded Chessie as invad¬ing her privacy.

I'm out of my depth here, Chessie had thought tiredly as her sister had banged out of the room.

Now, as she poured wine into her casserole, it occurred to her that perhaps she'd been too protective of Jenny, and by doing so had driven her to break out, and seek an ex¬treme like Zak.

What can she see in him? she wondered, then checked herself hastily, realising that she probably wouldn't like the answer, so it might be better not to know.

She could only suppose that Jenny had genuinely fallen in love with him, and love was said to be blind. Even so, surely she must sense the malevolence in him that Chessie had spotted in one brief moment? Or, in some ghastly way, was that part of his attraction?