His Convenient Marriage (22 page)

'Nice?' She lifted her head, smiling at him.

His voice was taut. 'For a girl who lives with a writer, you have a lousy vocabulary. Chessie—are you quite sure about this?'

'Certain.' She pushed the concealing sheet down further, and stroked her fingertips across his stomach, feeling the muscles contract.

He had a wonderful body, she thought detachedly, lean, firm and smooth. Her exploring hand reached his hip and encountered the first puckering of scar tissue.

'Chessie...'

'Hush,' she whispered, touching a quietening finger to his lips. She took the edge of the sheet, and turned it back, revealing him completely. Disclosing the jagged purple lines that criss-crossed down to his thigh.

She could feel the tension in him as he waited for her reaction. For even the slightest hesitation.

She ran a caressing hand over the ugly marks, then bent her head and begin to kiss each one, her mouth soft and deliberate as it followed each twisted track.

Miles did not speak, but as her mouth and tongue became ever more adventurous she felt him relaxing.

At last he said, almost conversationally, 'Chessie, I warn you, if you go on like this, your act of compassion is going to turn into something very different.'

'So I've noticed.' Her voice quivered with laughter. 'And it's not compassion. I'm enjoying myself. But hasn't your poor back taken enough punishment tonight?'

'Probably,' he said solemnly. 'So this time I thought I'd just lie back and think of England—if that's all right with you?'

She said softly, 'Oh, I'll try to give satisfaction—sir.' And let her mouth drift gently over his hip, and down.

When she woke the next morning, she was conscious of a feeling of total well-being that was entirely new to her. For a moment, she lay still, eyes closed, letting herself luxuriate in it, dreaming a little of the day ahead, then she turned her head slowly to regard the adjoining pillow, and see if Miles was awake too.

But the bed beside her was empty. Miles had gone. His clothes were missing too, so at some point, while she'd been asleep; he'd dressed and left her quietly enough not to waken her.

Perhaps he'd decided he would be more comfortable in his own room, or maybe he thought Jenny's new accep¬tance of him might be tested by finding him in her sister's bed, but Chessie felt absurdly disappointed just the same.

Last night, she'd fallen asleep in Miles' arms, her sated body reduced to blissful exhaustion. Her final memory, his voice whispering to her with passionate tenderness. Surely, she'd rated a word of goodbye?

However it was Sunday, sweet Sunday, she thought, ral¬lying her spirits. And there was nothing to stop her going over to the house and cooking him the breakfast of his lifetime.

She stretched, acknowledging the faint wincing of her muscles, then got out of bed and put on her dressing gown. Her dress was still in a crumpled heap on the floor, and she shook it out and placed it on a hanger, a little reminis¬cent smile playing mischievously round the corners of her mouth.

She went into the kitchen, put on the kettle, and slipped a couple of slices of bread into the toaster.

A minute later she was joined by a yawning Jenny. Her sister still looked pale, but she seemed slightly less subdued than the previous evening as she sank into a chair by the kitchen table.

'How did you sleep?'

'All right, but I had horrible dreams.' Jenny looked at her almost blankly. 'I suppose last night couldn't be one of them—please?'

Chessie patted her shoulder as she took down the coffee jar. 'I'm afraid not, honey. It was a ghastly thing to happen, but let's hope it's behind you.'

'I just feel so stupid.' For a second Jenny's lip trembled. 'I really thought he cared about me. But he just wanted me to sell his beastly drugs to my friends.'

'But you didn't.' Chessie made the coffee and handed Jenny a beaker. 'That's what you have to remember.'

'That's what Miles said.' Jenny glanced round her. 'Where is he, anyway?'

'In his own part of the house, I presume.' Chessie put the hot toast on a plate, trying to look and sound casual. 'Why do you ask?'

'Oh, no reason.' Jenny helped herself to butter, eyeing her sister. 'I didn't hear him leave last night, that's all.'

Nor did I, Chessie thought ruefully. Aloud, she said, 'Well, he's certainly not here now.' And hoped it was suf¬ficiently ambiguous.

'He wants me to stay on for a while—go on working for him,' she continued. 'So we don't have to move out after all.'

'Well, that's one relief.' Jenny bit into her toast, and chewed in reflective silence. 'Chess,' she said at last. 'If you and Miles are getting it together, I shan't make waves. I've been a real bitch about him, I know, but that's all over, I promise.'

Chessie bit her lip. 'It's not like that. He's going away, and he needs me to act as caretaker until he gets back.'

'Oh,' Jenny said, sounding depressed. 'Is that all.'

No, Chessie thought, drinking her own coffee. But it's all I can bear to contemplate for now.

It occurred to her that one reason for Miles' absence could be that he was suffering from a massive flare-up of regret, and even guilt, having belatedly remembered he be¬longed to someone else.

If so, she needed to see him—put a brave face on things—assure him there would be no recriminations.

Although there might be repercussions, she thought, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. But she couldn't allow herself to worry about that now.

An hour later, showered and dressed, she made her way into the main house. She'd half expected Miles to be in the study, but the room was deserted, and there was no sign that he'd even come downstairs yet. She went soft-footed up to his bedroom and tapped on the door. There was no reply, so she turned the handle and went in, rehearsing a teasing remark about his need for sleep.

But the wide bed was unoccupied and totally unruffled.

Chessie wheeled and ran downstairs, calling his name, only to hear her voice echo into silence.

Stop panicking, she thought. He's probably gone out for a walk, to clear his head. After all, it's a beautiful morning.

And while she was waiting, she might as well see if he'd left any work for her.

There was indeed a small pile of script waiting on the table in the study. But his portable typewriter—his talis¬man—had vanished with him, she realised with sudden numbness. He'd never taken it out of the house before. And that suggested with chilling emphasis that he had no plans to return for the foreseeable future.

Numbly, she picked up the script and scanned through it. He'd finished the book, but as she'd expected there was no happy ending this time either.

And then she saw the envelope lying beside it, addressed to her.

She reached for it, looking down at it, knowing with total clarity that she did not want to read what was in it. But that she had no choice. She took a deep breath, then slit the envelope open. The letter ran:

Dear Chessie,

As the book is finished, I have decided to leave for London earlier than planned. When you've finished tran¬scribing it please send a hard copy and disk to Vinnie direct. She's expecting it.

As my plans are fluid, I've left some money for general expenses in your desk, also a letter of authorization for the bank, if you need more.

Forgive me for last night, if you can. It should never have happened, but I can't bring myself to regret one moment. I'll remember it always.

It ended with his signature.

The sheet fell from her suddenly nerveless hand, and fluttered to the carpet. Chessie followed it, sinking to her knees and resting her head against the side of the table.

Well, she could not pretend she hadn't been warned, she thought desolately. But that was no comfort—no comfort at all.

And burying her face in her hands, she began to weep.

'Cleared out,' said Mrs. Chubb. 'Gone off without a word to anyone. Well, good riddance to bad rubbish, I say.'

Chessie felt as if she'd been punched in the face. Her voice shook. 'Mrs. Chubb, how dare you say that? You have no right—'

'I thought you'd be pleased.' A note of offence sounded in the good woman's voice. 'Never thought you were one of Madam's admirers.'

Chessie stared at her, open-mouthed. 'You mean— Linnet—Lady Markham has disappeared?'

'Didn't I just say so?' She gave Chessie a severe look. 'You don't seem as if you're with it, mind,' she added critically. 'White as a teacup. Are you going down with one of those nasty viruses?'

'No.' Chessie lifted her chin. Forced a smile. 'Does no one know where Lady Markham's gone?'

'Seemingly not. They were worried about telling Sir Robert, but Chubb reckons he took it in his stride. Mr. Alastair hasn't had much to say either. Probably glad to see the back of her too.'

'Yes,' Chessie said slowly. `I think you're right.' She pulled herself together. 'Mr. Hunter's away for a few days, so I thought maybe we'd take the opportunity to give the study a good clean.

'I'll lend a hand as soon as I get back from posting his script.'

It was a relief to get out of the house. She'd spent the rest of Sunday completing the typing of Miles' book, and trying to evade Jenny's questions about his sudden absence.

'Did you have a fight with Miles about something?' her sister had demanded.

'Of course not.' That at least was the truth. 'He'd told me he had to go away—a combined business and research trip.' She shrugged. 'No big deal.'

'Why didn't you go with him, then?'

Chessie bit her lip. 'Because I have things to do here,' she returned. 'Besides, I could hardly leave you here on your own.'

'Yes.' Jenny gave her a level look. 'Actually, you could.' Her smile was wintry. 'Chessie—I'm not a child any more. I can cope.'

She paused. 'And you should be with Miles. I tell you, if I was in your shoes, I wouldn't let him out of my sight.'

To which, of course, there was no answer, Chessie thought now, pursuing her listless way to the village post office.

She'd seen the heavy Jiffy bag safely on its way, and was just emerging into the sunlight when she heard a voice say, 'Miss Lloyd?'

Turning, she saw Nurse Taylor smiling at her. 'Beautiful morning,' she went on with enthusiasm. 'And I'm glad to see you out and about, keeping occupied. It doesn't do to brood.'

Is she a mind-reader as well as a nurse? Chessie wondered wearily.

She was just about to enquire about Sir Robert, but the older woman forestalled her.

'Sir Robert is very concerned, of course,' she said. 'Have you heard yet when it's going to happen?'

'I'm sorry.' Chessie shook her head in bewilderment. 'I don't think I follow you.'

Nurse Taylor stared at her. 'But I meant the operation on Mr. Hunter's back, of course. I understood it was to be this week.'

The familiar village street seemed to sway and dissolve. Chessie felt herself thrust down onto the post office step, and told firmly to put her head between her knees.

When she recovered, she found herself being helped to her feet by Nurse Taylor and conducted into the tearooms next door.

As Chessie was sipping with distaste the cup of sweet lea that had been ordered for her Nurse Taylor said in a matter-of-fact voice, 'I take it you didn't know.'

'No—no, of course not.' Chessie set down her cup. 'It's such a dangerous operation—I know that. Oh, how could he take such a risk?'

The older woman said levelly, 'Because it offers him the chance of regaining normal mobility, which has clearly become important to him. I'm sure you understand why.'

Yes, Chessie thought in agony. Because of Sandie Wells, that's why. Because that's the condition she imposed for resuming their relationship. And if the operation fails and leaves him helpless, she'll simply walk away. She's done it once, she can do it again.

'Why?' she whispered. 'Why—after all this time?'

'Because there's a new procedure they're going to try. My former boss at the Kensington Foundation was testing it last year, and I happened to mention it to Mr. Hunter during one of his visits.' Nurse Taylor paused. 'He went up to London, and talked to Sir Philip, who agreed to operate.' She looked doubtfully at Chessie. `I was sure he'd have discussed it with you first.'

'No,' Chessie said quietly. 'But he'll as sure as hell discuss it with me as soon as I get to London.' She took a deep breath. 'Because he shouldn't have to do this. He de¬

deserves to be loved for himself—just as he is.' The way I love him...

She paused. 'And I'm going to tell him so—before it's too late.'

She was sorely tempted to call at the flat on her way to the Kensington Foundation, and give Sandie Wells the tongue-lashing of her life, but she decided it was more important to get to the clinic and stop Miles taking this potentially disastrous step. Besides, if Sandie Wells had an atom of decency she'd be at the clinic too.

And I can kill two birds with one well-aimed brick, she told herself, biting her lip.

She found the Foundation's expensive receptionist frosty, and determined to protect the privacy of its patients, but she unbent slightly when Chessie told her that she was Miles Hunter's fiancée, and wasn't leaving until she saw him.

'He is scheduled for surgery with Sir Philip later today,' she was informed. 'But I'm sure you can see him for five minutes before his pre-med.'

A very junior nurse was summoned and told to conduct Chessie to Miles' private room. He was lying on top of the bed in his hospital gown, reading the paper, which he low¬ered to regard Chessie with frowning incredulity.

'Visitor, Mr. Hunter,' the nurse announced, beaming, and withdrew, leaving them together.

Miles broke the silence, his eyes watchful. 'If you've brought me some grapes, I'm not allowed to eat anything.'

Chessie looked round the room. Miles' portable type¬writer was reposing on a table in the corner, and she found the sight of it oddly reassuring. Though there was nothing else to comfort her.

'You're alone?' she demanded accusingly. 'She can't even be here for you when you're putting your life—your entire well-being on the line for her?'