The Accidental Mistress (34 page)

There, it was out.

Rose gave her a very level look, acceptance and comprehension in her eyes. ‘He’s a complicated man, Lizzie, but very worthy of love. I can’t imagine he’s easy to be with sometimes, but when it comes down to it, he’s as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside. And I can see he’s completely dotty about you.’

Lizzie trembled. Perhaps it was Rose’s words, perhaps it was the headache, something she was coming down with. She felt rather peculiar.

‘I hope so …’

Rose put her hand on Lizzie’s arm. ‘I know so. I’ve got to know him quite well over the years. Some people can’t understand how that could happen, but it has. I hated him at first. I wanted to kill him, really I did … but now I know he’s a good man. A man of worth. And I want him to be happy.’ She squeezed hard. ‘And I think his best shot for that might be with you. Do you know, he’s never brought a woman here before … you’re the first. That’s got to mean something, eh?’

Perhaps it did? Perhaps it did? Lizzie fought hard to quell her shaking.

‘I’m so glad John has a friend like you,’ Lizzie said,
feeling it. Ever since she’d first met him, she’d sensed an inner loneliness, an emptiness, but at least he had Rose and Hannah. And that brother she was looking forward to meeting. ‘It … it must have been quite a journey for you.’

‘It has been. I did hate him. With the power of a thousand suns … well into my teens. I had a mini breakdown then, but I got some help, very expensive help, funded by John, even though at the time I wanted nothing to do with him personally.’ Rose gazed out into the garden for a few moments. ‘But the psychologist was brilliant. Really helped me work through issues, and also helped me remember things I’d suppressed. Catharsis and all that, you know?’

‘I suppose it does help to face the most horrible things. So you can move on.’ Her own traumas in life had been piddling, really, but Lizzie understood the principle.

‘Precisely,’ said Rose, turning back to face her. ‘I remembered almost everything about the night of the crash. I was semi-conscious most of the time, but I’d blocked it. And when I remembered exactly what happened, it put a whole new complexion on things, and completely changed how I felt about John.’

The air suddenly seemed very still. Lizzie could hear a bee buzzing in the pretty climbing plants that covered the loggia.

‘I remembered him helping us … talking to us … trying desperately to help Mum … and shouting at that bitch to run to a phone box or whatever, and call an ambulance. But she just sat there like a zombie.’

Lizzie blinked. What ‘bitch’?

‘Was there someone else in the car with him?’

Rose’s eyes flashed. ‘Yes, there bloody well was! That bitch … she was stoned. She’d told him she hadn’t been
drinking at the party, but she’d omitted to say she’d crept away amongst all the jollification, and got high. He blamed himself for believing her. He’s always blamed himself for believing her, and because he’d had a few to drink himself, he trusted her. He considers the accident totally his fault because of that.’

Something suddenly started to add up. Something weird … ‘What do you mean, Rose? Who was the woman?’

Rose had released her arm, but now she grabbed it again, nails digging in.

‘Clara. The woman John was crazy about at the time. The woman he wanted to marry.’ A look of disgust made the redheaded woman’s handsome face look ugly for a moment. ‘The woman who was
really
driving the car that killed my mother.’ Her eyes shone with tears, the tears that would never go away, no matter what. ‘The bitch he took the rap for, as they say. The one he spent nearly three years of his life banged up in prison for!’

Pain stabbed at Lizzie’s head, forcing her to close her eyes.

Damn, damn, damn … just when I finally discover that ‘Rose’ is an angel, suddenly there’s a fucking ‘Clara’ instead!

Rose’s revelation had rocked her, a blow on any number of levels. If a man was going to do what John had done, for a woman he cared about, that degree of entanglement just wasn’t going to go away. Even after twenty-four long years.

She couldn’t remember much about the rest of the afternoon. Somehow, she’d chatted and even laughed and enjoyed herself … but on a deeper level, she’d brooded and brooded about this ‘Clara’ that John had loved. Perhaps still loved, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

Goddamnit, he’d never even
told
her about the woman. ‘Are you all right, sweetheart? You’re scowling. What’s up?’

John’s voice was full of puzzlement. Was he wondering why she’d suddenly gone so quiet on the way home from such a successful afternoon? It must seem weird … and yet her thoughts consumed her mind, gobbling up her ability to make small talk. Even with him.

‘It’s OK, thanks. I have got a bit of a headache, though. And I’m a bit worried I might have got a little bug or something, and I might have passed it on to Rose and Hannah now.’

‘Ah, I thought you looked a little pale. Rose mentioned it to me when you were out of the room.’ He paused. ‘She asked me if I thought you were pregnant.’

‘Ooh, no, it’s not that!’ Sudden wild thoughts surged, and Lizzie squashed them ruthlessly. No way was she going to let
those
mad sort of fancyings get a hold. ‘I think it’s just a thing that’s going around, or maybe just a migraine or something.’

‘Shall we pull in at the next services? You could have a cool drink and we could get some paracetamol. Maybe a spot of fresh air would do you good too?’ As he spoke, Lizzie sensed the great car begin to accelerate. She’d noticed he never went over the speed limit, but a quick glance at the speedo said they were hovering right on seventy now. ‘Lizzie?’

‘No … it’s OK, thanks. I’ve had worse and we’ll soon be home. I’m just worried that if it is a bug, Rose might have got it.’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll check in with them when we get home, and mention it. She’s actually a very fit person apart from her disability. She and Hannah are very health conscious.’ He flashed the quickest of glances her way. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? I know that this afternoon might have been a bit tense for you … a bit like meeting family for the first time. But Rose and Hannah adored you, and I could see that you’ve taken to them too.’

‘They’re lovely, both of them, absolutely lovely. I’m just tired. I think I’ll rest my eyes for a bit.’

It was true, what she’d said. Rose
was
wonderful. It was this bloody ‘Clara’ who was the nemesis now.

He ached to ask her what was really troubling her, but he had a suspicion he already knew. What had Rose said to her when they’d been alone?

The accident had been discussed, he was sure of it. Maybe even Clara, damn the bitch! Even now, when she was thousands of miles away, in New York – or maybe back in South America by now – she was still making life difficult for him.

Taking his eyes off the road for just a split second, he stole another glance at Lizzie. In the flashing twilight, she looked ethereal, her creamy skin whiter than usual, and pure drama against her shimmering blue-black hair. Dozing, she looked more like an exquisitely pure Snow White than a provocative Bettie Page, and yet still her magical beauty excited him and made him hard.

Don’t be a fucking degenerate, man. She’s not well.

Did Lizzie know the truth now? He had a feeling she did, at least some of it. But what difference did it make that he’d not been behind the wheel that fateful night? The responsibility had still been all his, and the punishment he’d taken, all of it, was well deserved. He’d known that Clara was flighty and mercurial, and always did what she wanted. That was – had been – one of her charms, that wild and wayward quality. But he’d trusted her to tell the truth about something as crucial as whether or not she was under the influence, and that trust had been misplaced. With terrible consequences.

He schooled himself to stay calm and drive fast and smoothly. So that he could get Lizzie home, and then she could rest.

Clara, though. Would he ever be free of her? Even after all these years, she had the power to fuck up his life. She’d made an idiot of him, not once but twice, and made him ashamed of
his own susceptibility to her. And now she was reaching out to touch the life of his precious Lizzie; troubling her, making her uneasy. Making her ill, goddamnit!

He would have to get at least this one portion of his past life out into the open, for both their sakes. Clean the wound, so it could finally heal and they could both move forward.

But not right now. Not when Lizzie was so fragile, and trying to make light of what looked to him to be something far more serious than the simple headache she claimed.

Lizzie blinked awake from the pain-sodden half-sleep she’d been floating in, haunted by some Medusa-type figure who must be her subconscious mind’s representation of the unknown Clara.

‘Give me your keys, and I’ll collect some things for you. Just let me know what you’ll need,’ said John, as his hand settled lightly on her arm.

‘What do you mean?’ She glanced out of the window. It was dark, and they were parked outside the house in St Patrick’s Road. There was a lamp lit in the front sitting room, but she recognised it as the one they always left on, just in case, when the house was empty.

‘I mean … I’ll get a few of your things for you, and then you’re coming home to Dalethwaite, where I can take care of you.’ John’s tone was very crisp, no nonsense. Just the sort of stance she imagined him taking in a meeting when he’d lost patience with the argy-bargy of some dithering negotiator.

‘It’s only a little headache, John, don’t make a big deal of it. All I need is a good night’s sleep and I’ll be spot on.’ She braced up, ignoring a slightly nauseous feeling. ‘I think I’ll be better off here tonight, in my familiar burrow … Then maybe tomorrow evening, we can have dinner and whatever …’
She fabricated a wink and an approximation of a seductress’s smile. ‘By then I’ll be much more fun, just you see.’

‘Don’t be absurd, Lizzie.’ His face was tense. He was clearly trying to control himself, and not get impatient with her. ‘You need someone to look after you. And I’ll give even money that both your friends are out, and you’d be alone here. That one light in the front room trick doesn’t fool anybody.’

‘I’m not being absurd. Just sensible. I
will
be fine! And anyway, even if they are out, somebody has to make sure the cat’s fed.’ It was a straw, and she knew he’d see through her clutching at it.

His mouth thinned to a hard line. She could see him battling with himself, trying not to be all-controlling; trying not to impose his will on her. He was really only thinking of her, but she desperately needed some time to herself to brood, and be a complete idiot over motherfucking Clara!

‘OK, then … but at least let me come in for a few minutes to make sure you’re all right, and get you settled.’

‘Now you’re making me feel like an ageing dowager duchess, who needs to be installed in her bath-chair.’ At least he seemed to be yielding a bit.

‘Believe you me, you’re nothing like an ageing dowager duchess, darling. I should know, I’ve met quite a few in my time.’ He gave her a gentler smile, then reached for the door catch.

Of course, he would know duchesses, wouldn’t he? She always forgot that he wasn’t just plain John Smith, not really. He was an aristo, and the son of a marquess. More complications down the line … if there was a line for them ultimately to go down. Her head throbbed harder at the thought of it.

Walking up the path and letting them into the house felt like a forty-mile yomp over hard country. Sitting down, she’d just about been holding her own, but it was a tough struggle to walk around, pretending to be just a bit headachy, when her knees felt as if they’d disintegrated into blancmange, and everything around her was threatening to whirl. She just hoped that John wouldn’t notice her surreptitiously reaching out to hold on to the wall or the bannister for support.

‘Back in a trice. Do you think you could feed Mulder for me? The cat food’s in the cupboard, next to her dishes.’ That should distract him, while she sought sanctuary in the bathroom and put her head between her knees, hoping to settle her vertigo.

But whatever it was that had her in its hold was just getting worse. And five minutes later, she felt dizzier than ever, and her headache was like a war axe straight through the front of her skull, when John’s impatient question floated up from the bottom of the stairs.

‘Lizzie? Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ she answered, appalled at the odd sound of her own voice. She pinched her cheeks furiously, trying to inject a bit of healthy colour. Instead, she just looked like a clown with terminal malaria. ‘Won’t be a moment.’

Best friends with the bannister again, she proceeded gingerly down the steps, aware of the intense scrutiny of John, who was poised at the foot of the staircase, frowning. When the inevitable happened and she wavered, almost losing her footing, he shot forward, grabbed her in his arms and half carried, half hauled her down to the hall.

‘You’re coming with me. I won’t take no for an answer. There’s nobody in the house, and I’ve left a ton of food for the cat, so she’ll manage until either Brent or Shelley get
home.’ His arm, tight around her middle, was unyielding. He wasn’t going to allow her to do anything but go with him, that was obvious.

But still, she tried to assert herself. All his big talk about not taking over was obviously meaningless in this situation. He was acting like a boss – totally – again. She summoned her last wisp of energy.

‘I’ll be fine. I just need to go to bed and have a sleep. It’s nothing.’

‘Bullshit. It is something. And you’re going to bed and having a sleep at Dalethwaite. It’s a bigger, more comfortable bed, for a start.’ He started to guide her towards the door, gently, but remorseless. ‘Where’s your bag? Your keys?’

‘Hall table, bully.’

‘Whatever,’ he said, snatching up both and escorting her, closely, out of the house.

Head like whirling cotton wool, Lizzie found it just too difficult to stage any kind of resistance. It was a monumental struggle putting one foot in front of the other, and if she betrayed even a hint of how hard a task it was, he’d just pick her up and carry her. As it was, she let him settle her in the passenger seat, belt her up, and pop her bag on her knee, before sprinting to the door, and locking up the house.