The Englishwoman Trilogy: Box set of: Englishwoman in Paris, Englishwoman in Scotland, Englishwoman in Manhattan

by Jenny O'Brien

  The coffee machine finished its last gurgle and she almost ran back to the kitchen to make his sandwich. If only she had the nerve, she’d throw the ham into Minou’s bowl and give him cheese instead. So what if he was lactose intolerant? It wasn’t her problem if he spent the rest of the day in search of the nearest loo.

  But Minou, sound asleep on top of Rupert’s sliced white had beaten her to it. With one lazy eye half closed in a sort of hairy grey wink she could almost be excused into thinking it was on purpose after that badly aimed kick. Surely cats weren’t that intelligent? The Hoppers’s ginger tom spent all his time asleep in front of the Aga, only deigning to jump down off his rocking chair when someone opened up a tin of cat food.

  She plonked his peculiarly shaped doorstep ham and mayo on the table before returning with a tray of coffee. In truth, she felt like a drink but coffee would have to do. She’d need her wits about her with wily Rupert on the prowl.

  He sat back after munching his way through his belated lunch at top speed, hands gently folded on his lap as he exuded the image of the veritable banker he was.

  “Mmm, I have to say that was the best sandwich I’ve had in years. There seemed to be an added piquancy to the bread. I must buy some to take home,” patting his stomach with a sigh.

  She struggled to contain her laughter, but inside she was in fits of giggles while he sat there with that smarmy look glued to his face. Nothing fazed him. He could have been in the middle of a shareholder meeting for all the emotion he showed. She knew he despised her. He despised her for the power she had, and if she were foolish enough to become engaged to him, all that would go. She often wondered why Aunt Popsy had decided on engaged rather than married before she could inherit. As a staunch feminist she’d balked at giving all that initial power out of the family. She’d probably predicted fortune hunters would be out in droves and this was her way of hopefully stopping them. Sarah would inherit with no one else having legal entitlement if she decided not to go through with the wedding.

  “You do know you’re a laughing stock?”

  She’d just taken a sip of hot coffee and nearly choked on it. Continuing to swallow she forced herself to settle her cup back on its china saucer before looking him straight in the eye.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re a laughing stock, Lady Sarah.” The way he pronounced the Lady part, more of an insult than an honour. “Your behaviour on Saturday night was disgusting. Fancy allowing a Frog to put his finger in your…”

  “How did you…?” Her eyes wide. “Were you following me? How dare you!” She leapt out of her chair, splattering coffee over the table.

  “Sit down.” He ordered and only continued speaking when she was perched back on the edge of her seat.

  “And then yesterday,” he continued, his eyes flint. “Sex in the pool; how very common,” he said, shaking an envelope out to reveal an array of close-ups of Pascal and her in a variety of positions: in the pool kissing, asleep together on the rug in his garden.

  “You had me followed. Unbelievable! If my money’s that important to you, have it, take the lot.”

  “If that’s a marriage proposal I accept.”

  “It wasn’t.” Her eyes still pinned to the table as she stood up for a second time, only to sit down again as his arm flicked out and grabbed her wrist.

  “I’m only protecting you, my dear. He’s a fortune hunter; everyone in Paris knows he hasn’t got two Euros’ to rub together. They’re about to foreclose on his build and his last investor will be pulling out as of tomorrow.”

  She looked up from massaging her arm and the ugly red finger marks already appearing on her skin. “What, unless I agree to be your wife?”

  “You catch on quick, my dear.”

  She stood up, scraping the legs of her chair back against the floor.

  “You disgust me.” She smiled, suddenly remembering yesterday. “He can always sell the chateau.”

  “I’m afraid not. He’d need to own it first.”

  She frowned. Surely that couldn’t be right. She was sure he’d said he owned it. But if he’d lied about that what else had he lied about: the tie, university, the adoring look? She shook her head, trying to clear all the negative vibes Rupert was willing her way. “He told me he…”

  “That’s true enough. He does own it, but only in his life time.” His eyes staring her out like a cat toying with a mouse. “It’s willed to his offspring, not him.”

  Offspring he’ll never have if he hitches himself to her star, she reminded herself as what little colour faded from her face.

  “What about the cottage? Surely with all the work he’s done…”

  “Oh, he owns the cottage all right, but some poky two up two down in the heart of the country isn’t going to bring the kind of money he needs. We’re talking millions here not pennies.” He arched his fingers together, his lazy smile not reaching his eyes. “What he needs is the support from someone high up in the financial world to put a good word in for him.”

  “What? Like you?”

  “How did you ever guess,” his voice sarcastic. “But I’ll only help him if…”

  “What you mean is you won’t interfere with the loans he’s already been granted unless I agree to your terms?”

  “Why so clinical, Sarah? After all, marriage is a partnership and I do worship the ground under your feet.”

  “So you’d marry me if I decided to give all the money away then?”

  “Er no, what would be the point of that, my dear.” He started fiddling with his cuff links. “Charities like that have more than enough without needing our hard earned money.”

  “I’m surprised you have the decency to include me, it’s not as if I’ll see any of it.” She met his eyes squarely. “So just how much debt are you in Rupert?”

  “No need to worry your pretty little head about me, my dear. You’ll be well provided for. All you need to do is accept my proposal so I can announce it to the world as per that stupid codicil…”

  She felt the breath leave her body as she finally realised he had her trapped. If she didn’t agree to marry him Pascal would lose everything; everything except his white elephant inheritance, which would hang around his neck like one of Marley’s chains to remind him of everything he’d lost.

  Feeling the pressure of tears build up was the last piece in the puzzle. Why on earth should she feel upset about someone she didn’t even know?

  But she did know him; a tiny voice screamed over and over, the crescendo exploding in her ears. She loved him completely and utterly and not just him, everything about him from his unruly hair to his oh so sexy voice. She loved him and everything he was trying to do with his life in an effort to make sense out of his miserable past. She loved him and he’d never know because to stay and tell him would mean disaster. Rupert held both of their futures in the palm of his clammy hands and there was nothing she could think of to change that.

  She’d have to marry him, she finally decided just as one tear tipped over and, balancing on her lower eyelash, gently dropped on to her cheek. If Aunty Popsy wasn’t already dead for putting her in such a position, she’d happily murder her.

  Placing both hands on the table she met his eyes. “Do you know just how much I loathe you?”

  “Probably. So do I take it we’re engaged?”

  She didn’t wait for the evening. She didn’t go to the poissonnerie to buy oysters to accompany the champagne already cooling in the fridge. She didn’t throw more than a passing glance towards the stockings she’d laid on top of her freshly made bed. Stockings and her dressing gown as he seemed to like it so much; nothing else would be needed in the art of seducing her Frenchman.

  Instead she left the apartment in a rush and headed to the building site. The men were just leaving, their eyes wide at the sight of a woman, any woman daring to breach their very male domain. They were friendly enough once they knew she was here to see Pascal and the cheeky one, the one that always waved and wolf-whistl
ed the loudest, pressed his hard hat on her head and, pointing towards the office whispered in her ear before joining his mates at the entrance,

  “Go gently on him luv, he’s had a bit of a shock.”

  I’ll bet he has, she thought, offering him the briefest of thanks before watching him race ahead to join his mates, even now pole hopping down the metal rods instead of taking the stairs.

  She managed to swallow the hard lump that had invaded the back of her throat at the sight of Rupert rubbing his hands together like an excited six year old. She’d closed the door on him with a sharp snap having also managed to avoid his greedy mouth with a quick twist of her head.

  Once they were married, it would be a different story. She’d need more than quick reflexes and a bedroom lock to repel his advances. That was something she’d have to think about, but not now. Now she had to say a forever goodbye; a forever goodbye to Pascal, to Paris, to her future for, as sure as night followed day, her life was over.

  Both hands gripped the round door handle as she leant her forehead against the cool metal and prayed with all her might for help to get her through the next few minutes.

  She wasn’t a religious person. Christmas, weddings, baptisms and funeral attendance was about the sum of her devotion. It wasn’t that she didn’t care, in truth she’d never given that side of life much thought. For her mother, religion was an excuse to buy a new hat. For her father, an opportunity to display the new car. For her it was just something she did when duty dictated, but now she prayed; she prayed like never before.

  She found him with his head in his hands, an untouched cup of coffee left to grow cold by his side and she knew before he said anything. She knew Rupert had been up to his tricks and had somehow managed to stop his loan, just as she knew how he felt. He felt exactly how she felt. He felt as if he’d just lost everything.

  Her eyes scrolled around the office taking in the expected glamour girl calendar just visible under his jacket; his jacket all but obliterating everything except for part of a foot and half a breast. Her gaze shifted and then paused, her heart plummeting deep within her chest because there too was her face staring back at her. Her face ripped out from the newspaper and pinned above his desk; the words echoing and reverberating around the silent room like a ghostly serenade.

  Poor little rich girl and her sax.

  Would those words haunt her forever?

  She must have made a sound then, a groan maybe because now, instead of staring at the top of his head, she was staring right into his eyes. He looked as if he hadn’t slept, the shadows under his eyes deep bruises pressed into his skin, his face pale under his tan.

  Words dragged from her mouth, words from the heart.

  “How could you,” her gaze flickering to the cutting behind his head. “I thought you were different but you’re just like the rest of them. You were only after my money and I let you…” And I let you into my heart, but she didn’t finish the sentence.

  She felt bile build up in her throat as tears pressed against her eyelids. She couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t bear for Rupert to be right but the evidence was right there in front of her. She knew the truth, and the truth hurt.

  Heaving a breath she knew she’d explode if she didn’t escape; the small office suddenly a prison, the stale smell of coffee mixed with male heat making her dizzy.

  She felt rather than saw him rush from his seat to help her into the spare chair.

  “Here, sit down…”

  But she shook him away as she concentrated on gulping air into her lungs. She had to leave. She had to escape the office. She had to escape him before she said or did something she’d regret. But her legs suddenly wouldn’t take her weight. It took all her powers of concentration to sink down on the chair, her anger deserting her to leave behind only desolation and loneliness. She had to leave, but first she had to know why, her eyes finally meeting his. She knew why, but she needed to hear the words come out of his lips and then she’d leave.

  “Just tell me why, Pascal? Why me? Why not someone else?”

  “It’s not what you think…”

  “Well then, tell me what it is because from where I’m sitting it looks exactly like that.” Her eyes back on the photo.

  She watched him brush his hands across his face, his eyes following hers.

  “The picture was a joke.”

  “A joke?”

  She would have stood up except for the hand on her shoulder gently pushing her back down into the chair. What was it with men pushing her back down into chairs all of a sudden anyway?

  “Well I’m not laughing and take your hands off me!”

  He moved back as if he’d been stung and continued moving until the width of the desk was between them. Turning, she watched as he unpinned the scrap of paper, his eyes lingering over her face as he continued to speak.

  “The men, they spotted you first. Rexi recognised you from this,” his fingers now tracing the line of her cheek. “And when he realised I’d fallen for you, he pinned this as a little memento.” Folding the paper he took out his wallet and slipped it underneath the little plastic screen inside before replacing it in his back pocket.

  “I know you don’t believe me but it’s the truth,” his eyes finally meeting hers.

  She sighed, now at a loss what to believe. She so wanted it to be true, but could she trust him? Hugging her arms around her she thought back to the last few days and the type of man he was. He’d promised not to do anything to hurt her and, apart from the picture now tucked away in his jeans, he hadn’t; Rupert on the other hand…

  “We were followed.”

  “Pardon?”

  “We were followed over the weekend. There are photos; photos ready to be released to the press along with a story about how you’re only after my money.”

  “Who would?”

  “Rupert.”

  “I’m going to kill him,” his eyes blazing.

  “That’s what he probably wants you to do. He’s going to ruin you. You know that don’t you? You attacking him would be the icing on the cake as well as ruining all this,” her hands spreading around the room. “He’d love to see you locked up in gaol, too.”

  “What do you mean?” His gaze never leaving her face.

  “Rupert is evil and he’s won,” leaning back in the chair. “He’s the reason for your financial difficulties today. You have been having financial problems, I take it?” Her look suddenly soft.

  “I’ve had a backer pull out if that’s what you mean?”

  “And tomorrow your other backer will too. I hope I was worth it!”

  “Why would he do this…?”

  “Because he wants me, or at least not me but the money that comes with me. I’m the cherry on top of his cake as far as he’s concerned, although I’m not his usual type by all accounts. He’s told me he’s prepared to have a crack at me to see if he can loosen me up a bit,” a rogue tear tracking down her cheek.

  “Mon Dieu, what have I done?” He breached the distance between them in one stride and, cradling her within his arms stroked her hair off her face.

  “You haven’t done anything, Pascal. It is what it is. I’m sure Aunty Popsy didn’t intend for men to be fighting over me like a dog with a bone but that’s what it feels like.” She raised her hand to his chin, relishing in the feel of rough stubble against her palm. “I’ve agreed to marry him.”

  “You’ve what!” He exploded, pulling away. “Over my dead body.”

  “Shush, stop talking like that, and anyway it’s not up to you. It’s the only way I can see for you to hold on to all this. This is so good, so noble. I can’t let someone like Rupert spoil it.”

  “I won’t let you do it.”

  “It’s done, finished, finito, the end. The engagement will be announced in The Times on my birthday.”

  “When is…?”

  “1st July, but this is the last time I can see you. I had to agree to his demands and then I made him contact your backers.”
>
  They were interrupted by the sudden ringing of the phone.

  She could only hear his end of the conversation and rapid French really wasn’t her thing, but she got the gist all the same.

  “That was the backer who pulled out earlier apologising for the clerical error and that he was still on board.” His white knuckles straining against his skin as he replaced the receiver. “If I had any guts, I’d have told him just where he could stick his money but the men need their wages.”

  “Of course they do. I just hope he doesn’t sack anyone to prove a point. There have been enough sacrifices over this.”

  “Sarah I…” He knelt by her feet, his head now resting on her lap.

  “It’s all right,” her hand stroking his hair like a child. It was her turn to offer comfort to this great, big, bear of a man who just like her had lost everything. “We’ll get through this.”

  “But he’ll…”

  “He’ll never get me. He’ll never get what’s deep inside; it’s not mine to give anymore, Pascal.”

  “Ma chérie.” He leant back on his heels drawing her down on the floor beside him.

  He was asleep now, a brown lock escaping onto his forehead, a sheen of moisture still lingering on his skin. Easing up off the floor she rubbed her hip, briefly smoothing the wrinkled flesh where skin had embraced concrete. At the time she hadn’t noticed the hardness of the floor under the sleeping bag he’d spread out before lowering her on top. At the time she’d hadn’t noticed anything except him; his mouth, his hands, his body. Everything was new and yet centuries old as inhibitions merged to unite both fantasies and dreams.

  Pulling up discarded leggings she didn’t feel either happy or sad. Yes this was goodbye, but it had to be if there was to be any sort of future for them outside of this madness. That’s what she felt. She felt mad, reckless even as a blush scored her cheeks but for once she didn’t care. She was mad with love for him, a love she knew deep down he returned with each and every heartbeat. She’d marry Rupert but she wouldn’t live with him. In fact, she’d make it a term of the pre-nup that he’d insist on so he could gain full control of the eighty million. She’d have it set in stone that if he so much as touched her he’d lose it all. He made her sick with revulsion and loathing, but he wouldn’t win in the end; he wouldn’t win her.