His Convenient Marriage (18 page)

Not that she was allowed a great deal of time for intro¬spection, she admitted almost gratefully.

Miles was driving himself harder than ever to finish the current book—almost as if he were out to break some kind of record. And he was being incredibly tough on himself, too, making constant alterations and revisions. For the first time since she'd started working for him, Chessie was pushed to keep up.

But it wasn't all graft, she reminded herself with diffi¬culty. Miles had paid another two visits to London, each time remaining overnight. So he was allowing himself some rest and recreation at least, even if she was left in sleepless torment, at the mercy of her too-vivid imagination.

As she reached the hall the front door bell sounded im¬periously. She put the tray down on a side table and went to answer its summons. She was frankly taken aback to find Linnet waiting.

`Is Miles at home?' The older woman walked past her. 'Ah, I can see he is,' she added, spotting the coffee-pot and cups. 'Why don't I kill two birds with one stone and take this in for you?'

'But he's working,' Chessie intervened desperately. 'He really can't be interrupted.'

'Nonsense,' Linnet said lightly. 'You must try to be less possessive, my sweet.' And she opened the study door, and carried in the tray, Chessie trailing behind her apprehen¬sively.

'Darling Miles...' Linnet's voice and smile were ap¬pealing '...Chessie seemed to think you were too busy to see me. Surely not.'

'I'm honoured.' Miles rose awkwardly, reaching for his cane. 'Bring another cup, will you, Francesca?'

'There are two on the tray,' Chessie said quietly. 'I'll have my coffee later.'

'Don't go, Chessie.' Linnet disposed herself gracefully on the Chesterfield. 'This concerns you too.' She produced a large square envelope from her bag, and handed it to Miles with a flourish. 'Your invitation to the summer party.'

'Thank you.' His brows lifted. `Is the post office on strike?'

'Oh, I wanted to bring it in person—to make sure you're going to accept. I was saying to my stepson how little we've seen of you over the past couple of weeks. I hope you're not becoming a recluse.'

'On the contrary, I've been out a great deal—much of the time at the Court,' Miles returned silkily. 'However we seem to keep missing each other.'

For one joyous moment, Chessie saw Linnet actually disconcerted, but she soon recovered. 'What a shame, but of course I'm frantically busy with the arrangements for the party. Dashing here, there and everywhere. I've decided to have tombola during supper—but with more interesting prizes than the usual cans and bottles.'

She gave Miles an arch look. 'I hope I can persuade you to contribute this time. A signed copy of your latest book, perhaps?'

'Willingly. Would you like it now?' Miles returned courteously. He walked over to the shelf, and took down one of the hardbacks, scribbling his name on the flyleaf.

'Perfect.' Linnet gave him a honeyed smile as she ac¬cepted it. 'All I need now is someone fabulous to run the tombola for me.' She paused. 'And I was wondering about Sandie Wells.'

His face expressionless, Miles poured out the coffee and handed her a cup. 'It's your party,' he said. 'Do as you think best.'

Linnet sighed. 'I haven't seen her in ages, of course. I suppose she'll be trying to get her career back on track, poor sweet, now that her marriage is on the rocks.' She gave him a limpid look. 'Could you ask her for me, dar¬ling?'

Chessie realised she was holding her breath, her eyes fixed painfully on Miles' impassive face.

He said quietly, 'I think it would be far better if you approached Sandie through Jerry Constant, her agent.'

Linnet sighed again. 'Well—perhaps. But I haven't finally decided to ask her, of course. I may run the tombola myself, along with everything else.'

She pulled a little face. 'I'd forgotten what a chore this party is to organise,' she confided. 'And Mrs. Cummings isn't being as helpful as she could be either.

'Which brings me to you, Chessie,' she went on, smiling. 'I was wondering if you'd lend me your housekeeping skills for the party, and take over some of the catering. Nothing too onerous, of course—mostly buffet fodder. I'll be able to give you the numbers in a couple of days.'

'I think you forget,' Miles said gently. 'Chessie is in my full-time employment.'

She twinkled charmingly. 'But she can't have all that much to do,' she objected. 'Because a little bird tells me she can't keep away from the Court either. So, if you could just loan her to me for a few hours...'

'Quite impossible, I'm afraid. If Chessie wishes to attend the party, it will be with me, as my fiancée.' He looked at Chessie, his brows lifting, a challenge in his blue eyes. 'Well, darling? Do you want to go?'

'Of course,' Chessie said quietly. 'I wouldn't miss it.' Especially if Sandie Wells is going to be there...

Linnet was simply mischief-making. She was sure of it. And although Miles had given nothing away, it must have had some effect on him.

Was it news to him that his former love had ended her marriage—or had he known already?

Suddenly, Chessie found herself remembering those mysterious letters. The woman's voice on the phone at the London flat.

Was it—could it be possible that Sandie Wells was back m Miles' life again? And was he the reason Sandie's marriage was over?

However desperate she was to find out, Chessie knew she could never ask. And jealousy, dark and despicable, twisted inside her like the blade of a poisoned knife.

'Maybe the landlady at The White Hart could help out with the food instead,' Miles was suggesting blandly.

'At her prices?' Linnet asked with something of a snap. 'I don't think so. Our other expenses are incredibly heavy, now, with the fees these agency nurses charge, and all this physiotherapy that does no good at all.'

`I gather Nurse Taylor wouldn't agree with you,' Miles said drily. 'She's delighted with the progress your husband is making. And she should know,' he added. 'She's worked with Sir Philip Jacks at the Kensington Foundation, which deals with whole numbers of stroke patients in addition to its other services.'

There were angry spots of colour in Linnet's cheeks. 'Oh, she's highly qualified, no doubt. I just don't want her giving my poor Robert false hope.'

'No,' Miles said quietly.` I agree that would be cruel. But I'd say she prefers to deal in even chances.' He paused. 'Was there anything else? Would you like some more cof¬fee?'

'Oh, please don't let me keep you.' Linnet drained her cup, and put it down. `I have a thousand things to do. See you next week at the party,' she added brightly.

Miles was studying the elaborately engraved card when Chessie returned having seen their unwanted guest off the premises.

He said, 'What exactly have we let ourselves in for?'

'Not a great deal.' Chessie bit her lip. 'It used to be a much more elaborate affair, with all the local organisations running stalls and sideshows in the grounds during the af¬ternoon. But this time, it's just drinks and dancing in a marquee on the lawn, and supper, of course.'

'Which will not be provided by you.'

'No.' She hesitated. `I wouldn't have minded helping, you know.'

`I think we've done quite enough for charity with the cost of this ticket.' He tossed it onto his table, then paused. 'Don't sell yourself short, Francesca,' he added curtly.

'You're not cheap labour.' He paused, giving her a medi¬tative glance. 'How's the job hunt going, by the way?'

'Oh, there are a few possibilities,' Chessie said, waiting for her nose to grow six inches. 'It's just a question of choosing the one with the best prospects.'

She'd applied to two agencies offering residential posts only to be told categorically that she was far too young. The latest rejection letter had arrived that morning.

'I'm sure it is.' Miles spoke abstractedly. He was already sitting at his table, feeding a sheet of paper into the type¬writer, his attention clearly elsewhere.

But was he thinking solely about work, or had more per¬sonal matters intruded?

Whatever, she could consider herself dismissed, she thought flatly as she removed the tray.

At the door, she paused, a thousand questions milling in her head.

As if aware of her gaze, he glanced round. 'Yes?' The question was curt—almost as if he was warning her off. Forbidding her to probe too deeply.

She found herself saying, `I—I didn't realise you were visiting Sir Robert as well.'

'Why should you? I went originally to pay my respects, which I signally failed to do when we were there for din¬ner he added, his mouth tightening. 'It was time for the nurse's break, but no one turned up to relieve her, so I filled in.' He looked at her, brows raised. `Is it a problem for you?'

'No,' she said. 'On the contrary.' Considering what Steffie told me, I thought you might be the one having the difficulty. `It—it's kind of you.'

His lip curled. 'Well, don't sound so surprised, Francesca. I am capable of the odd selfless action. I even gave your sister a lift home from school yesterday.'

'She didn't mention it.' Chessie looked at him with mis¬giving. 'Was she all right?'

'She was preoccupied but polite. Something of an ad¬vance, you'll agree.'

'Yes.' She paused, brow furrowed. `I don't think her ex¬ams are going too well.'

'And when they're over, is she going to revert to snarling and sulking?'

'I hope not,' Chessie said, encouraged by the fact he was smiling faintly. 'But I can't guarantee a thing.'

Back in the hall, she leaned against the door panels for a moment, waiting for her heartbeat to settle down again before she took the tray to the kitchen.

She was thankful he would never know how deeply she yearned to have the right to touch him—to kiss the tired¬ness from his eyes. And the sadness too. That, she thought, most of all.

And how she wanted quite desperately to beg him not to go away again.

But that, she thought, would be crying for the moon. And, anyway, she would be the next to leave—if she could just find somewhere to go.

Leaving him free to do exactly as he wished, she thought, and felt the knife blade turn again.

`I can't believe you've done this.' Jenny glared at her ac¬cusingly. 'You've actually made us homeless?'

'Not exactly.' Chessie tried to make the impossible sound reasonable. 'I've managed to find a bedsit in Hurstleigh. It's big enough for us both, but not very glam¬orous. But the landlady says she'll let us do some redeco¬rating at our own expense.'

'Well, yippee.' Her sister's voice dripped with sarcasm. 'And how do we afford that—as you're giving up your job as well?'

Chessie hesitated. 'I'm going to be working at The White Hart on a temporary basis,' she said. 'The Fewstons need help with food preparation, and I'll do some waiting on tables as well.' She pinned on a smile. 'We'll manage.'

'Manage?' Jenny echoed derisively. 'Baby, you're out of your tree.'

No, thought Chessie with great weariness. Just at the end Of my tether.

Aloud, she said, 'Jenny—it's all I could get. But it's not for ever.'

'You had this.' Jenny gestured round the flat. 'And you had The Ogre too. You were going to marry him, for God's sake. What's happened?'

Chessie hesitated. 'We—decided to call it off. So—I need to move on.'

A few terse words to encompass all the anguish, betrayal and heart-searching that had really gone on, she thought sadly.

'In other words, he's throwing us out. And just when I was beginning to think he might be semi-human after all,' Jenny said bitterly. 'But no. Lo and behold—he's a bastard.'

'No, he isn't.' Chessie was fierce. 'And I won't have you say that. It—it's a mutual decision. And you've always hated being here, anyway.'

'It's better than some slum in Hurstleigh, with you slaving in a pub for peanuts,' Jenny hit back. 'Well, don't ex¬pect me to go with you, Chess. I'm going to ask Linda's parents if I can stay with them. Linda's going to work, packing boxes at her father's factory during the holidays, and there's a job for me too if I want. I'm going to ring now, and tell them yes.'

And left Chessie sitting limply at the kitchen table with the sound of a slammed door ringing in her ears.

She got tiredly to her feet, and began to make herself some coffee. She'd always known that there'd be uproar when she finally told Jenny about the change in their cir¬cumstances, but there was simply no way she could conceal it any longer. Her time at Silvertrees was running out like the sand through an hourglass.

All this, she thought, and Linnet's damned party too.

She glanced through the kitchen window at the relent¬lessly blue sky, and wondered why it was that weather never seemed to reflect one's mood—or wishes. She'd prayed fervently for a monsoon that would threaten to flood the giant marquee and force the whole thing to be called off. And, more importantly, ensure that she would not have to make her final public appearance as Miles' fiancée.

Her only consolation was the news, gleaned from Mrs. Chubb, that their local MP's pretty red-haired daughter was running the tombola. So Sandie Wells was still just a few scraps of paper and a disembodied voice.

Maybe it would be better to see her face to face, she thought. Know your enemy.

She didn't have a clue what she was going to wear to¬night. She supposed it would have to be the flowered dress again, although it wasn't really smart enough. And no doubt Linnet would recognise it instantly, and make some bitchy remark.

But that, she thought unhappily, was the least of her trou¬bles.

Sandie Wells might not be present at the party, but Chessie was sure she was never far from Miles' thoughts. He'd been more than usually preoccupied during the last week, and it wasn't just the end of the book that was ab¬sorbing his attention. Clearly there were big decisions to be made—and ones he was not prepared to share with her.

Even the coffee tasted bitter today, and, grimacing, she poured it away and braced herself for the rest of the day.

She'd expected Miles to be working, finalising and re¬fining the last chapter, but he was standing by the study window, deep in thought again, when she entered.