To Be a Husband

by Carole Mortimer

  'Yes.' Jonathan suddenly answered the question Gaye had almost forgotten she had asked—so long was his answer in coming. 'They're divorced. My father lives in Australia. I have no idea where my mother is,' he added coldly.

  The way he said it implied so much more than the words themselves; there was a wealth of pain and bitterness behind them.

  Gaye looked at him, gently searching, briefly seeing the hurt in his eyes before it was quickly masked and Jonathan forced himself to relax. That lazy charm hid a much more complex man than he cared to admit, Gaye realised. . .

  'Jonathan—' She broke off from what she had been about to say as the pub door opened and a noisy crowd of people burst out onto the pavement—Richard amongst them, Gaye noticed dispassionately.

  She looked at him, unseen in the darkness of Jonathan's car, saw the casual way Richard's arm was draped about the shoulders of a tall redhead. In much the same way his arm used to be draped about Gaye's shoulders. . .

  But she found she could look at Richard now with complete detachment. She had loved him once, to the point where she refused to listen to any of the words of caution given by her parents. But, looking at him now, she could only see a rather too good-looking man, the lines of dissipation already starting to show beside his eyes and mouth, could see the man who had used her and her family connections until they were no longer of any use to him.

  She turned abruptly away from him, only to find Jonathan watching her with the same intensity with which she had looked at Richard, those golden eyes glowing in the semi-darkness of the car.

  Gaye gave a small smile. 'Isn't it strange how sometimes you can look back and, in retrospect, give thanks for having been saved from a fate worse than death? Being Richard's wife,' she explained as Jonathan looked at her blankly. 'He married a year or so ago.'

  She remembered how upsetting she had found it at the time to see his smiling face in the newspapers at the side of his new bride. 'That redhead certainly isn't his wife!' she added disgustedly. Marriage hadn't changed Richard in the least; she doubted anything ever would; to Richard there would always be a more beautiful, more advantageous woman just around the comer! She doubted he would ever stop looking for those women.

  Jonathan chuckled softly at her side. 'You really are over him, aren't you?' he said with satisfaction.

  She really was! But alarm bells had begun ringing in her head at Jonathan's obvious pleasure in the fact. Her life really was already complicated enough. Besides, Jonathan had mentioned that the newspapers followed his romantic life—and attracting publicity was the last thing she wanted to do. There had been enough of that!

  She gave a dismissive smile. 'I'm over men. Period.'

  He steadily met her gaze. 'If that remark is supposed to warn me off—'

  'It isn't 'supposed' to do anything,' she interrupted sharply, knowing she had been right about those alarm bells. 'I'm stating a fact.'

  'And I'm expected to believe you, after what happened between us earlier?' he scorned lightly. 'You're beautiful, Gaye. Responsive. Very warm and giving— when you want to be. I refuse to accept—'

  'The Hunter arrogance won't work on me, Jonathan,' she cut in, breathing hard in her agitation.

  This evening had turned out better than she had expected it would, that chance meeting with Richard included, but now she needed some time alone to sort things out in her mind, to put a new perspective on things. But it wouldn't include Jonathan!

  She couldn't claim not to be attracted to him; that would be ridiculous after what had happened between them. But realising that part of her life, the part which had once included Richard, had somehow healed itself without her even being aware of it did not mean there was now room for someone like Jonathan. Richard had been a mistake; Jonathan would be a catastrophe!

  'I'm afraid I have to go now—'

  'You aren't afraid at all, Gaye.' Jonathan stopped her harshly. 'Who are you hurrying home to, Gaye?' he continued shrewdly. 'There has to be someone. I know damn well you don't live in that big house all by yourself!'

  She froze, staring at him with huge green eyes. 'What on earth makes you think that?' she prompted breathlessly.

  Jonathan shot her a chiding look. 'Give me credit for some intelligence, Gaye; that house is too damned big for just one person!'

  For a moment she had wondered if he did, after all, know more about her than he had let on; now she realised he was still guessing. But for how much longer. . .?

  'You're absolutely right, Jonathan,' she answered him calmly. 'I don't live alone. I live with my mother,' she told him, taking care to keep her tone light. 'It really is time I was getting back now,' she added with an ostentatious glance at her watch. 'My mother has been a little nervous of being left alone in the house since my father died.'

  'But she can't be that old,' he insisted. 'And you said it's been two years—'

  'They were a very devoted couple,' Gaye defended.

  'That doesn't mean that you, their only and afterthought child, have to devote your life to your mother—' He broke off as Gaye began to laugh, staring at her, bemused.

  'I'm sorry.' She sobered slightly, though she still smiled. 'But my mother would be horrified if she could hear your description of her.' Gaye shook her head. 'My mother may now be sixty-five, but she's still very fit and beautiful. She certainly wouldn't welcome the thought of being classed as elderly and in need of sympathy!'

  'Then why—?'

  'She wouldn't welcome it, Jonathan,' Gaye told him firmly. 'But the truth of the matter is, she's very lonely, hates to be on her own.'

  'Invite me to dinner,' he decided suddenly.

  'What. . .?' Gaye looked startled.

  'Invite me to dinner,' he repeated determinedly. 'That way your mother wouldn't be alone the next time we see each other—'

  'Jonathan,' she interjected. 'There isn't going to be a next time. I certainly have no intention of inviting you home to meet my mother!' She inwardly shuddered at the thought.

  'Why not? You've already met my family,' he reminded her confidently.

  'Not your mother,' she countered, knowing she had scored a point as he stiffened. 'No, I'm sorry, Jonathan. I have no intention of either inviting you to dinner or to meet my mother!' Her mother would immediately start matchmaking, uncaring of the trouble Jonathan would bring to their lives, just by being who he was. 'Now I really do have to get home.' She reached for the door handle.

  Jonathan reached over and stopped her, very close again now, his eyes dark as he looked at her. 'I'll drive you home,' he told her huskily. 'Don't refuse, Gaye,' he added softly as she was about to do just that. 'It's late, it's dark, and I'll feel better if I drive you home rather than you walk home alone.'

  When he put it like that. . . 'Thank you,' she accepted.

  Those golden eyes widened, Jonathan shaking his head, although he made no move to distance himself from her. 'I expected you to refuse,' he admitted.

  Gaye met his gaze unblinkingly, although she was barely breathing, very conscious of how close he still was. 'Did you want me to refuse?'

  'Hell, no.' He straightened, chuckling softly as he turned on the ignition. 'I just thought— Maybe with you I shouldn't think too much; you're constantly surprising me!'

  Not least of those surprises, she suspected, was her broken engagement to Richard! No doubt, when Jonathan took the time to think over this evening's conversations, as she was sure he would—Jonathan was by no means as laid-back and lazily charming as he liked to give the impression he was!—he would start to question how she could ever have met someone like Richard in the first place. On the face of it, the two of them must appear to have little in common!

  But it was warm in the car, and comfortable, and for the moment Gaye allowed herself to relax during the short drive to her home. The home she shared with her mother. . .

  Several lights were on inside the house when Jonathan turned the car into the driveway, not stopping at the end of it as he had the last time he drove h
er home, but driving right up to the front of the house, turning off the engine to get out of the car and come round to open her door for her.

  'I'm sorry this evening didn't go off as smoothly for you as I might have wished,' he told her regretfully. 'But I want you to know that I've enjoyed myself.'

  Funnily enough, so had she. She hadn't thought she would, had changed to come out this evening with deep feelings of trepidation, which was why she had made sure she was wearing clothes that she knew she looked good in and which gave her confidence; one thing she had learnt was that she needed plenty of that around Jonathan Hunter!

  But even seeing Richard earlier hadn't put a dampener on her enjoyment of Jonathan's company; in fact, seeing Richard again, feeling completely free of him, had made her appreciate Jonathan's attributes even more.

  As for the time she had spent in his arms. . .!

  "Thank you. So did I,' she returned directly. 'I—' She broke off as the front door to the house opened, her heart sinking as she saw her mother framed in the doorway.

  'It is you, darling,' her mother greeted, her voice warm and husky. 'I heard a car, and I—I'm so glad Richard found you—' She broke off in confusion as she focused on the man standing at Gaye's side and saw it wasn't Richard at all. 'I'm most dreadfully sorry,' she apologised to Jonathan. 'I thought you were someone else.'

  Gaye had been frozen to the spot where she stood since the moment her mother opened the door, glancing reluctantly at Jonathan from beneath long lashes. It was dark, her mother had the light from the hallway behind her; he might just not recognise her— But as Jonathan stared at her mother with wide, disbelieving eyes Gaye knew that her frantic hopes were all in vain—Jonathan knew exactly who her mother was!

  Why—oh, why—had her mother come to the door in this way?

  And exactly what did she mean about Richard finding her? Had Richard been here earlier this evening, his arrival at The Swan not a chance meeting at all?

  Gaye had an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach at the thought of Richard being anywhere near her mother. Why had he been here? What did he want?

  More important at the moment, what was she going to say to Jonathan? Because, although he had been on the point of leaving, he now didn't look as if he intended going anywhere in the immediate future.

  She couldn't say she blamed him. . .!

  CHAPTER SIX

  Jonathan stared at Gaye's mother. He couldn't help it. That extraordinary figure, despite being in her mid-sixties, as Gaye had said her mother now was. That voice! Gaye had it too, he now realised: huskily sensual. And her mother's laugh too. And that glorious honey-blond hair.

  This was all too incredible!

  'Would you like to come in for coffee?' the beautiful vision in the doorway offered graciously. 'It's the least I can do after mistaking you for someone else,' she amended with an apologetic smile which lit up those amazing dark blue eyes.

  Jonathan could feel Gaye at his side willing him to refuse. But there was no way he was going to be able to do what she wanted him to do. She was asking the impossible, and she must know that!

  'You go ahead and make the coffee, Mummy.' Gaye quietly answered her mother for both of them. 'I'll be along with Jonathan in a moment.'

  Another smile that dazzled, and Gaye's mother disappeared into the depths of the house. Presumably to make coffee.

  Silence followed her departure; Jonathan simply couldn't speak, and Gaye obviously knew the reason he was dumbstruck. How could she not know?

  Marilyn Palmer, the world-renowned actress, was Gaye's mother!

  Jonathan had absolutely adored Marilyn Palmer when he was a teenager. Despite the fact that she had already been in her forties then, she had still dominated the stage and screen with her beauty and warmth, and it was the latter that had drawn Jonathan to her; he had always wondered, as he stared mesmerised up at the cinema screen, or at the television, why his own mother didn't possess any of the charisma the beautiful actress obviously did, why his own mother didn't laugh and look as happy.

  But if Marilyn Palmer was Gaye's mother, then that obviously made— Royal. . .! Gaye had reacted so defensively earlier this evening when he had commented how unusual her name was; he hadn't meant the Royal part, but Gaye had taken it that he had. . .

  'Terence Royal,' Gaye put in quietly as she seemed to read at least part of his jumbled thoughts. 'Yes, he was my father.' Her voice broke emotionally as she used the past tense to describe that tall, silver-haired man who had possessed such an air of distinction.

  Terence Royal and Marilyn Palmer. . .

  Two of the icons of film and theatre. The Golden Couple of acting. The couple had been married to each other for over forty years before Terence Royal was tragically killed in a car accident—

  Jonathan looked sharply at Gaye, and he suddenly knew the reason she was so ethereal, so delicately lovely, the reason for the deep sadness in the deep green depths of her wonderful eyes. Her family, that 'most marvellous childhood', those 'over-indulgent' parents; it had all been shattered two years ago when her father died.

  Plus, until two years ago, she had also been engaged to marry Richard Craven. . .

  Gaye gave a wry smile as she watched the play of emotions flickering across Jonathan's face. 'You're running way ahead of me,' she said ruefully. 'My engagement ended on the night my father was killed because when I went to Richard's apartment to tell him the dreadful news I found him in bed with his current leading lady!'

  She spoke tonelessly, but it didn't take too much sensitivity to realise the agony she must have gone through that night, to have lost her adored father, and then to find out her fiancé had betrayed her. Jonathan didn't just want to punch Richard Craven on the nose any more, he wanted to—

  'My mother mentioned Richard when we arrived back,' Gaye continued distractedly. 'You don't think—'

  'Let's go and ask her,' Jonathan decided grimly, taking a firm grip of Gaye's arm as he moved determinedly into the house.

  Gaye resisted, looking up at him with cloudy green eyes. 'The— My— The accident changed my mother,' she finally told him slowly, her expression troubled.

  He studied her searchingly, but as usual he learnt nothing from her expression. 'In what way?'

  She trembled slightly in his grasp. 'In every way that matters!' she told him forcefully. 'Losing my father was a great shock to her. She—I— It's difficult to explain.'

  'Then don't even try,' Jonathan soothed, squeezing her arm reassuringly. 'Believe it or not, I'm a relatively intelligent man—when I'm not around you. But you come on the scene—and I start acting like all kinds of an idiot!' he confessed. 'But I promise you I won't do or say anything that will upset your mother,' he added seriously. 'Now let's go inside and have that coffee before your mother wonders where we've got to!'

  He could still sense Gaye's reluctance, but in the circumstances she really had no choice but to comply, leading the way into the elegantly beautiful home, with its restful green and gold decor, and wonderfully ornate antique furniture.

  Jonathan would have expected nothing less from the gloriously beautiful Marilyn Palmer, or indeed from Gaye either; both women possessed a natural style and elegance of their own. As Gaye led him into what was obviously the family sitting room he found himself bombarded with dozens of photographs of Marilyn Palmer and Terence Royal, from their first years together, through their early marriage, and then into Gaye's childhood. A smiling, laughing, totally worshipped Gaye, deep pride and love in both her parents' eyes as they proudly looked on, both, it seemed, happy to allow then-own precious little star to steal the limelight away from them, two people who were adored the world over.

  Gaye was right—her parents had been a very devoted couple, and it was obvious that she had been included in that devotion from the day she was born. But two years ago her father had died.

  Jonathan had never been lucky enough to meet Terence Royal, but his presence on stage and screen could be tangibly felt. Jonathan had a f
eeling it had been the same here in his home and family. These two women had lost so much more than a husband and father. . .

  Gaye seemed to have survived the loss, in her own way, but Marilyn— He was beginning to guess at the trauma her husband's death might have caused her.

  'It will be all right, Gaye,' Jonathan reassured her as she stood stiffly just inside the room, looking as if 'all right' was the last thing it was going to be! 'I'll drink my coffee and then go. We can sit and talk about all of this tomorrow evening—-over dinner,' he added softly.

  Gaye looked across at him with raised brows, her lips pursing wryly. 'Opportunist,' she muttered without rancour.

  'That's me,' Jonathan accepted with an easy smile.

  'In this case I can't exactly say I blame you,' Gaye admitted. 'If I were in your shoes. . .'

  'But you aren't, so don't worry about it,' he assured her as he could hear her mother coming down the hallway. 'Now let's all just have a pleasant cup of coffee together. I promise I won't outstay my welcome,' he said as Gaye still looked far from happy.

  As Marilyn Palmer entered the room with the coffee-tray, he knew that promise was going to be hard to keep; the older woman was absolutely mesmerising, her movements fluid and confident, the smile she gave him radiant as he moved to take the laden tray from her.

  'This is Jonathan Hunter, Mummy,' Gaye introduced lightly. 'A friend of mine,' she added firmly.

  'It's lovely to meet you,' Marilyn told him in genuine welcome, allowing her hand to be briefly taken once Jonathan had put the tray down on the low table in front of the sofa. 'We have so few visitors nowadays,' she reflected wistfully.