To Be a Husband

by Carole Mortimer

  She laughed at his bemused expression. 'My father told me long ago to fight the fights that need fighting, and be gracious in defeat over the ones that don't.'

  Jonathan gave a regretful sigh. 'I would have liked him,' he said.

  Her father would have approved of Jonathan too; of that she was sure. He would have liked Jonathan's strength, his sense of fun, and that certain old-fashioned chivalry, which her father had also possessed, but which Jonathan probably wasn't even aware of in himself.

  Yes, her father would have liked Jonathan. As he had never approved of Richard.

  It had been one of the few things she and her father had ever disagreed on, her father suspicious from the first concerning the younger man's apparent devotion. In the end her father had proved much wiser than her. . .

  'My mother suggested inviting you to dinner.' She deliberately shrugged off her melancholy thoughts; they achieved nothing, either. "Which evening would be convenient for you?'

  He seemed to give the matter some thought, and Gaye realised that perhaps she was being too presumptuous. Jonathan was, after all, a very attractive man, would be socially much in demand, and although he denied any serious relationship in his life she very much doubted that he spent all of his evenings alone. His nights, either. . .

  'You don't have to decide now,' she amended quickly. 'Your sister-in-law will be in the clinic for another day or so; you can easily let me know about dinner when you come in to visit her. I don't suppose for one minute—'

  'Gaye—you're babbling,' Jonathan interrupted with calm amusement. 'Dinner is a good idea. And any evening will be convenient,' he informed her dryly, eyes twinkling mischievously, as if all too aware of what she had been thinking concerning his private life. 'I was merely thinking further along the line—running before I can walk, my big brother would call it.' He grimaced. 'I have an idea, but I need to speak to some people first before I attempt to put it into action.' He straightened. 'In the meantime, dinner tomorrow evening will be fine.'

  What idea? What people did he need to talk to before telling her about it?

  Gaye had a fleeting flashback of memory, to the moment Jarrett Hunter had marched arrogantly into the operating Theatre to be with his wife—and realised that Jonathan possessed that same arrogance, albeit usually hidden behind that lazy charm.

  She had the sudden feeling of standing in the path of an express train—and hoping it wouldn't run her down!

  Except that she was the one who had released the brake and started that train on its way. . .!

  She hadn't even left the house for work the next morning when the telephone rang. Jonathan wasn't wasting any time!

  She had taken a breakfast tray up to her mother earlier, and Mrs Charles had arrived fifteen minutes ago, leaving Gaye ten minutes to get to the bus stop. This was not the time for Jonathan to be calling her!

  She almost dropped the receiver when Richard responded to her brief hello!

  'Gaye!' he greeted jovially. 'This time I know it has to be you.'

  She recovered quickly from her surprise; why should she be at all taken aback? Richard could be as tenacious as Jonathan when there was something he wanted—and he wanted her mother to star in the play he intended directing!

  'You knew it was me last night, Richard,' she returned scornfully. 'And isn't this rather early in the morning for you to be out of bed?' she added caustically, remembering all too well how he didn't consider the day started until after midday!

  'I'm filming at the moment,' he returned lightly. 'I must say, the theatre has its compensations!'

  'What do you want, Richard?' Gaye prompted coldly. 'You—' She broke off as the doorbell rang down the hallway, shooting Mrs Charles a grateful smile as the housekeeper went to answer the door. It was seldom nowadays that either the telephone or the doorbell rang, let alone at the same time! 'You should not have come here last night, Richard,' she continued harshly. 'You have no right—'

  'Your mother seemed pleased to see me,' he returned unabashedly.

  Gaye's mouth tightened. 'Stay away from my mother, Richard—' She broke off again as the receiver was firmly and deliberately plucked out of her hand, eyes wide as she found herself looking up into Jonathan's grimly set features. He must have been the one ringing the doorbell, she realised dazedly.

  'And stay away from Gaye, too,' Jonathan barked into the receiver. 'It certainly is,' he responded hardly to Richard's query. 'Where do I fit into the picture?' He mused softly over the other man's question, but the hardness of those glittering golden eyes told of his anger. 'I am the picture, Craven,' he stated harshly. 'Gaye and Marilyn are my concern now, and I advise you to stay away from both of them.' The threat in his tone was more than obvious before he slammed the receiver firmly back down in its cradle.

  Gaye felt as stunned as the housekeeper looked as she hurried past the two of them on her way back to the kitchen.

  Obviously Jonathan had heard Gaye on the telephone when the door was opened to him, and it hadn't taken him long to realise exactly who she was talking to, but nevertheless his cavalier attitude in taking over the call, in issuing veiled but definite threats, and implying a relationship between the two of them, was quite extraordinary.

  As he stood so tensely beside her, anger was exuding from every pore of his body, but as Gaye considered she was the one with the right to be angry she really wasn't interested in his feelings. Besides, what on earth was he doing here at this time of the morning, in the first place?

  'I'm here to save you the bother of buses and trains,' he rasped, the first indication Gaye had that she had spoken her thoughts out loud. 'Although perhaps I'm too late and lover-boy was going to drive you to work before I informed him otherwise?' He looked at her challengingly.

  Gaye stared at him wordlessly. He was behaving ridiculously. He had to know, from the part of her conversation with Richard that he must have overheard when he arrived, that she hadn't been about to accept a lift from Richard—even if one had been forthcoming, which it hadn't!—or anything else!

  What on earth was the matter with him?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He was behaving ridiculously. Jonathan knew it, but there was nothing, it seemed, that he could do about it.

  He had been awake half the night, first making telephone calls, and then discussing the problem with Jarrett—who was sworn to secrecy concerning Gaye's mother. Although, as Jonathan knew only too well, his older brother had always kept his own counsel.

  But lack of sleep wasn't the whole reason for his outburst just now; he had been filled with fury when he'd arrived a few minutes ago to realise Gaye was actually talking on the telephone to Richard Craven, her ex-fianc6.

  Jealousy was a totally alien emotion to Jonathan, an emotion he had never felt, let alone admitted to, but the first thought that had flashed through his mind earlier was, had Gaye initiated the telephone call or had Craven? If it was the latter, then the man had a colossal cheek, but if it had been the former—!

  His anger rekindled anew at the thought of Gaye deliberately telephoning Richard. 'Why the hell don't you have a car and drive yourself to work?' he rasped accusingly. 'It would save all this damned inconvenience!'

  Her head went back proudly, and Jonathan had to stop himself from lingering over the fact that Gaye looked absolutely beautiful this morning. It was a lovely day outside, and Gaye was dressed appropriately, the knee-length of her dark green sundress revealing part of the long expanse of her suntanned legs. She wore little make-up, her skin naturally creamy and soft, her hair once again loose about her shoulders and down her back, silkily gold. In fact, she looked too damned beautiful to travel on public transport, prey to the ogling of every man she came into contact with. If he had his way, he would lock her up and—

  Now he was being ridiculous again! The days of keeping a woman hidden from other men, the wearing of chastity belts, were long gone. Besides, his name was Hunter, not Knight! Although he was starting to question uneasily who was the captive
in this relationship;—himself or Gaye. . .

  'Never mind that for now.' He gave an impatient glance at his wristwatch. 'If you're ready to leave I suggest we do so.'

  She looked as if she would have liked to refuse, but another glance at his grimly set features had her turning to pick up her bag and sling it over her shoulder before she preceded him to the door, obviously ready to leave.

  He even liked that about her. Not only did she use her own initiative to decide when and when not to fight, but she also didn't fuss about her appearance, didn't even pause on her way down the hallway to glance in the mirror to check that she looked okay. Of course, he acknowledged with a glimmer of amusement as he followed her out to his car, that could be because she was just too angry at this moment!

  'To answer your question—' she spoke quietly once they were in the car and Jonathan was driving in the direction of the clinic—the first time she had actually spoken since his arrival, Jonathan realised with surprise

  '—I don't drive myself to and from work for the simple reason that I don't drive.'

  Jonathan stared at her. What did she mean, she didn't drive? She didn't drive because she didn't want to— perhaps the scar she carried from the accident that had killed her father?—or she didn't drive because she couldn't? He couldn't believe it was the last, had never met anyone of—what must she be, twenty-six or seven?—who hadn't learnt to drive. She—

  Gaye laughed at his obviously dumbfounded expression. That wonderful tinkling laugh that he found so entertaining.

  'I think you had better turn your attention back to the road,' she advised teasingly. 'Otherwise you may not be driving for much longer, either!'

  He instantly returned his attention to the road ahead, braking slowly as the car in front stopped at traffic lights. 'Why is it you don't drive?' he finally asked.

  'I never learnt,' she responded. "There was never any reason for me to do so. I've lived in London all my life, and it's always been easier, when necessary, to use public transport. And if there was ever a problem with that—' She broke off, turning to look out of the car window. 'Daddy drove,' she said flatly. 'And he never minded driving me if there was somewhere I had to be.'

  He should have known. Should have guessed. He was behaving like the worst of idiots this morning. And now he had really hurt Gaye with his thoughtlessness. When that was the very last thing he wanted to do. . .

  He reached across and lightly gripped her clasped hands. 'Well, I'm here to drive you now. If there's somewhere you need to be,' he added huskily. 'But I'll tell you something else, Gaye—the first thing we're going to do is get you some driving lessons!'

  She turned big green eyes on him. 'Making sure you don't have to drive me for too long?' she mocked.

  He was quite happy to be there for her, whenever she needed him, as her father had obviously been. But he just had a feeling, from what he had come to know of Gaye, that she would rather have her independence now than depend on other people. There just wouldn't have been the time in the last two years, since her father's death and her mother's emotional denial of that death, for Gaye to do anything for herself. . .

  Jonathan smiled. 'Accuse me of that in three months when you have your licence and can drive yourself!'

  'My father was always going to— But there was never the time—they were always so busy working, you see,' she concluded softly. 'Thank you,' she said chokily.

  Jonathan didn't have to look at her to know that again, there were tears in her eyes. Or that those tears had been a luxury she simply couldn't afford for the past two years. As a lot of things emotional had been. . .

  'I suggest you try and tell me that again after I've given you a lesson or two,' he told her dryly. 'I taught Jordan to drive years ago, and he tells me I'm a lousy teacher, have no patience, don't listen—'

  'You intend teaching me yourself. . . ?' Her surprise— and pleasure were evident in her voice.

  Jonathan glanced at her, his eyes glinting wickedly. 'You have it on Jordan's authority that I'm not doing you any favours, Gaye,' he assured her humorously. 'But I can tell you you'll be ready to pass your test in three months' time,' he added with satisfaction. 'In fact, the first thing I'll do when I get into my office today is apply for your test date.'

  Gaye shook her head. 'You're going way too fast for me.'

  He had the feeling he had been doing that since the day he met her! But especially so this morning, since he had turned up so unexpectedly.

  His jaw set as he recalled the fact that he had found her on the telephone to Craven when he'd arrived earlier. He still didn't know which one of them had instigated the call!

  'It's my way,' he rasped harshly—more harshly than he meant to, cursing himself as he saw those peachy-cream cheeks go pale.

  Damn—the last thing he wanted to do was upset her. The problem was, he seemed to succeed in doing exactly that most of the time!

  'Dinner tonight.' He speedily changed the subject. 'I'll be bringing a friend with me.'

  'No!' she protested instantly, turning in her seat to look at him. 'My mother isn't ready yet to—'

  'We don't know what your mother is ready for yet, Gaye,' Jonathan said soothingly. 'After tonight we may be a little better informed.'

  'Your friend is a psychiatrist,' Gaye realised heavily.

  'Of a sort,' Jonathan answered guardedly.

  Ben Travis was a psychiatrist, but his methods weren't always looked upon with approval by some of his peers. Jonathan had been at university with Ben's son, Sam, had met Ben several times on visits with Sam to his family home. It hadn't been easy to arrange for Ben to be present this evening; he was a busy man. But after talking with Jarrett for an hour the two brothers had decided Ben Travis was the person to help Marilyn, if anyone could. To Jonathan's surprise, and relief, it had turned out that Ben was available to join them for dinner tonight, and that he was very interested in meeting Gaye's mother.

  'Trust me, Gaye.' Jonathan clasped her hands once again. 'At least let's try things my way for a while, hmm?'

  She looked far from happy at the emotional pressure he was exerting, her mouth set stubbornly. 'If my mother appears in the least distressed by anything your friend says or does to her—'

  'That won't happen, Gaye,' he assured her, impatient with the fact that they were almost at the clinic—and more than a little annoyed, he realised, that she wasn't more grateful for the help he was trying to give her.

  What he had expected, he inwardly acknowledged, was that she would fling her arms around his neck in gratitude—a move that was totally impractical at the moment, besides being totally out of character for Gaye! Now he was being worse than ridiculous. Although it would have been nice. . .

  Dream on, Hunter, he told himself.

  'We'll arrive, eat dinner, chat—just chat, Gaye,' he continued hastily as she began to look upset again. 'And then the three of us will meet for lunch tomorrow and discuss the possibilities.' Depending on whether or not Ben considered anything could be done!

  'Jonathan—'

  'Gaye.' He had parked the car at the clinic now, turning towards her, his arm resting along the back of her seat. 'Fight the fights that need fighting,' he reminded fter gently. 'And give in gracefully over the ones that don't!'

  Her mouth quirked wryly. 'I did that earlier—over this lift to work,' she explained at his puzzled look. 'Your invitation was hardly polite, and I thought you extremely arrogant in taking over my telephone call—'

  'But?' he protested—the reminder of her conversation with Craven wasn't helping his mood at all. So much for being the charming member of the Hunter family— it all went completely out the window when it came to this woman sitting at his side!

  'But, as you pointed out at the time, it was a lift that saved me a lot of time and trouble,' she said frostily.

  Jonathan looked at her wordlessly for several seconds, and then he burst out laughing. 'You know, Gaye, since meeting you I've developed a serious ego problem. It has a huge
dent—if not hole—punched in it! I should have known you weren't going to let me off scotfree for being so arrogant!'

  'Ah, but I did,' she reminded him.

  'Only up to a point—this point,' he conceded. 'Why don't we reserve judgement on whether or not you need to fight me over my guest for dinner this evening, hmm?' He touched Gaye's cheek gently before turning to get out of the car. He walked round to open her door for her, locking the car behind them by remote control before taking a light grasp of her arm.

  Gaye frowned up at him. 'Where are you going? I thought you were in a hurry?'

  He grinned unabashedly. 'Now that I'm here I may as well pay Abbie and Conor a visit.'

  Gaye's bemusement turned to irritation. 'I have a feeling either Abbie or I have been had—and please don't tell me which one.' She lifted a protesting hand as he would have spoken. 'Leave me with some illusions!'

  'And you leave Abbie with some!' he returned laughingly. 'What time this evening, Gaye?' He sobered.

  She drew in a deep breath, hesitating for several seconds, and then she slowly nodded—as if prepared, for the moment, to give him the benefit of the doubt! 'Seven-thirty or eight,' she decided. 'My mother is a stickler for formality, so if you and your friend could dress accordingly?'

  Jonathan literally had to bite his bottom lip to stop a sharp retort; Gaye certainly wasn't making this easy for him. But then, he acknowledged with an inward grimace, it had been this very prickliness about her that had appealed to him in the first place. He couldn't have it both ways!

  Not when he wanted Gaye any way he could get her. . .

  His mouth twisted. 'I think we can manage that,' he said, coming to a halt outside Abbie's room. 'Is there anything you would like me to bring for this evening? For instance, the starter. Or some wines?'

  Gaye declined softly. 'Thanks for the offer, but no. My mother has always loved to entertain, and as she has never liked caterers to come in I learnt to help her at a very young age. I think the two of us can manage to throw something together between us. Do you or your friend have any particular dislikes?'