by Liz Fielding
Adam.
It was like a knife through her heart and, as she was caught up in a torment of guilt and jealousy the paper fell from her lifeless fingers, blew across the grass and sank into the river.
She had known, yet she had still fallen in love with him. She hadn’t believed such things happened. She had always imagined people were in control of their own destinies. If they were foolish and irresponsible they got hurt. She hadn’t wanted to fall in love. She had been content with her life. It hadn’t been exciting, but she had friends, had her work and the challenge of the new business. Her life would go on, she supposed. Outwardly it would hardly change at all. But she knew that contentment had flown out of the door the night she had thrown herself, unwittingly into Adam Blackmore’s arms.
* * *
She finally moved, surprised to find how cold she was. She glanced at her watch. She had been sitting there for two hours. Guilt carried her back to the office on winged heels, her arrival coinciding with that of Lisa Martin, who pounced on her.
‘I’m sorry, Tara. You’ll have to find someone else for Mr Blackmore.’
Tara’s heart sank. ‘Is it the children?’ she asked, hopefully. ‘There is a crèche at Victoria House. Maybe something could be arranged.’
‘It’s nothing to do with the children. It’s him.’
Beth raised her eyes speakingly to the ceiling, then poured a cup of coffee and sat the woman down. ‘Tell me about him,’ she said. ‘You’re the third secretary he’s had this week and I’m beginning to get interested. What did he do? Complain about your shorthand?
Tara flashed a warning look at Beth. ‘He does dictate very fast.’
‘That’s something of an understatement. I don’t know who his last secretary was, but I suggested if she was that good he had better get her back no matter what it cost him.’ She half frowned. ‘He said that money wasn’t the problem. I told him it wasn’t a problem for me, either. I wasn’t prepared to work for him at any price.’
Tara sighed. ‘All right, Lisa. We’ll pay you for today and tomorrow.’
When she had gone she and Beth exchanged a glance. ‘It’s deliberate, isn’t it?’ Tara asked. ‘I’m not being paranoid?’
‘It’s deliberate. And off the top of my head I’d say Lisa has it about right. He wants you back. Although whether he knows it is a moot point.’
‘He...’ Her voice quivered. She cleared her throat. ‘Nonsense. Anyway, he can’t have me. And if he keeps this up he won’t have anyone.’ She pulled a pile of time sheets towards her.
‘You’re not going to telephone him?’ Beth asked.
‘No, I don’t think so. If he wants someone let him call us.’
‘Going to make him beg?’ Beth asked, slyly, with every appearance of innocence.
Tara shook her head. The thought of Adam Blackmore begging for anything was unimaginable.
The afternoon was devoted to the payroll, which required careful concentration and the phone was so busy that she soon forgot to jump every time it rang. It was a shock then to suddenly hear his voice, so close, against her ear.
There was no polite preamble. ‘Tara. I’ve been waiting for your call.’ She gripped the phone convulsively, quite unable to speak. ‘You must know by now that I need another secretary.’
‘Lisa did drop by on her way home. I’m afraid I shall have to invoice you for the full two days for her.’
‘Find me a decent secretary,’ he said, sharply, ‘and we’ll talk about it.’ He hung up.
Tara stared at the phone for a moment, then replaced it on the receiver. ‘Any ideas?’ she asked Beth with a sigh.
‘You know what I think.’
‘You’re wrong, Beth. He told me to go. That he didn’t want to see me again.’
‘Did he?’ Beth considered. ‘Then if you don’t mind me saying so, he’s going a funny way about it. Why don’t you take pity on the man?’
Tara lowered her thick dark lashes to conceal the sudden brightness in her eyes. ‘Beth, his last secretary has just had a baby. It’s her I’m taking pity on.’
‘Oh, my dear. I’m so sorry.’
‘Please don’t...’ But it was too late. The threatening tears spilled down her cheeks.
Beth busied herself with filing cards. ‘How about Mo? Her shorthand is good.’
Tara shook her head. ‘She doesn’t deserve it. None of them do.’
‘Oh, wait a minute. I’ve got the answer… Janice is our girl!’
‘But I thought she was working for that accountant on a permanent basis now.’
‘She called in on Monday to say she’s back in the market. She’s unflappable, takes one hundred and fifty words a minute without flinching and she’s not afraid to speak her mind.’ She chuckled. ‘It’s the nearest he’s going to get to you. Except in age.’
‘I wonder what her underwear is like?’
‘Tara?’ Beth was looking at her a little oddly.
‘Sorry, thinking out loud.’
‘I see. Well, leave Janice to me. I think you should run along home. You look fit to drop.’
‘You say the kindest things.’
Beth tilted an eyebrow at her. ‘I suppose it’s only polite to phone the man and let him know who to expect in the morning?’
She shook her head. ‘No, don’t do that. Let him sweat.’ And almost managed a smile.
* * *
Saturday dawned bright and clear. The first real warm spring day. Tara barely noticed. She cleaned her flat thoroughly, making sure her hands were occupied, but it didn’t help her head or her heart. Today she would have to face Jane and reassure her that she had no competition and she was trying very hard not to think about it.
After lunch, a sandwich that she barely touched, Tara went to change.
A plain grey skirt, an old but favourite white blouse from Laura Ashley, its collar fanned up like a ruff, a long black knitted edge to edge jacket. The barest touch of make-up. Her hair pulled back and tied with a neat red bow at the nape. She surveyed herself in the mirror. Very ordinary. Jane would never believe she was a threat in such an outfit.
She smiled at her reflection.
She must remember to smile.
On the final few steps to the front of the clinic she almost lost her nerve. She could always write... or phone... anything but this.
A friendly porter made a point of coming over. ‘First visit? Where do you want to go?’
‘Maternity,’ she almost croaked.
He pointed the way and stood and watched to make sure she followed his directions, nodding encouragement as she seemed to hesitate.
She found Jane’s room with a little help from a nurse and tapped at the door.
‘Come in.’ The voice was instantly recognisable.
She opened the door and stepped inside. There was no turning back.
Jane Townsend looked at her curiously for a moment. ‘Are you Tara Lambert?’ she asked, with apparent surprise. Then her face widened in a smile. ‘How kind of you to come.’
‘I...’ Her voice stuck. She offered the flowers she had bought. ‘I thought I should.’
Jane touched the furry yellow centres of the daisies. ‘Just like a bunch of sunshine. Thank you.’
She was older than Tara had expected. At least thirty, with a fine strand of silver in the neatly tied back hair. And her face seemed oddly familiar. But then she remembered the photograph in the newspaper.
‘Come and meet the son and heir.’
Almost numb, Tara moved around the bed. The baby was lying asleep in a small cot beside his mother, his fists bunched tightly against pink, downy cheeks.
‘His hair is blonde!’ The words were startled from her. She had been so afraid he would be like Adam, with a mop of dark hair and green eyes. Stupid. All babies had blue eyes. He opened them and seemed to smile at her.
‘Isn’t it gorgeous.’ Jane touched the soft curls. ‘It will darken later I suppose, but such fun.’
‘He’s beautiful.’
/>
‘Pick him up if you like.’
She lifted the tiny bundle into her arms and cradled him, touching the small fingers letting them grip her own, comparatively huge one. She breathed the warm, milky smell of him and a wave of unbearable longing swept over her.
She glanced up to see Jane regarding her with great interest. ‘You seem to have made a good recovery,’ she said, quickly.
‘Oh, yes. Just as long as I don’t cough. It’s hell on the stitches.’
Tara had thought it would be easy to hate Jane Townsend, but it wasn’t. She was so natural, so easy to be with. ‘Tell me about Bahrain. Did you enjoy yourself? How is Hanna?’
‘He was very charming,’ she said, tactfully.
Jane laughed. ‘He kissed your hand and made you feel you were the most beautiful woman in the world?’
‘He kissed my hand a lot.’ But he couldn’t make her feel beautiful because she had known it was just an act. ‘I thought it was simply to annoy Adam.’
‘Did it?’ The question came so quickly that she immediately realised her mistake.
Conscious that Jane was watching her closely she forced a smile to her lips. ‘Of course not. Why should it?’
Jane’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Forgive me for being personal, Tara, but do you always dress like that?’
Tara glanced down at the monotone of her garments and remembered the red dress. ‘Not always.’
‘It’s odd. Adam said you were a widow, but I had anticipated something merrier.’ Tara started at the word but managed to keep the smile in place.
‘He just seems to catch me at my worst moments. He’s been something of a Galahad,’ she added, in an attempt to suggest that his motives had been entirely pure.
‘Adam is the sort of man any damsel in distress could trust with her life, her heart…’
Oh, God, this was so much worse than she had imagined!
‘Is he good?’ she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the infant in her arms. ‘Charles Adam.’
‘It should have been the other way around…’ The door opened and she looked up. ‘Speak of the devil and he’s bound to appear. Hello, my darling.’
Adam stiffened in the doorway as he took in the sight of her sitting cradling the baby. ‘Tara?’
‘I asked her to come,’ Jane said, a little defiantly, Tara thought. ‘I wanted to meet her. I hope you’ve brought enough grapes for three.’
‘No.’ Tara rose to her feet and placed the baby gently in his crib. ‘I must go.’
‘Nonsense,’ Jane said. ‘Sit down, Tara. Adam won’t stay long and he’ll take you home if I ask him nicely. Won’t you, darling?’
Adam scowled at her. ‘If you insist.’ He was curt to the point of rudeness.
‘I do.’
He shrugged, not looking at her and she was forced to sit through agonies of embarrassment as he dropped a careless kiss on Jane’s cheek, painfully aware of how his voice softened for her.
‘How are you today?’
‘Desperate to go home. I hate this place.’
‘Next week,’ he said, firmly. ‘And the little tadpole?’ He leaned across and touched the baby’s cheek. ‘Hello, Charlie.’
‘Don’t call him that! His name is Charles!’ To Tara’s horror, Jane’s face suddenly crumpled. ‘Oh, Adam, I’m sorry, I just wish...’
‘Sssh. It won’t be long.’ He sat on the bed and gathered her into his arms to comfort her. ‘It won’t be long now, I promise.’
Tara muttered an excuse and almost ran from the room. He caught her a hundred yards down the road. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he demanded, turning her back towards the car park. ‘I said I’d take you home.’
‘There’s no need. I need some fresh air. Hospitals make me feel queasy.’ At least this one did.
‘Really?’ He gave her a hard look. ‘Or was it just a ploy to get me to chase after you?’
‘Why on earth should I do that?’
‘I have no idea.’ He opened the car door for her and she got in quickly before he could touch her. ‘Why did you come here?’
‘Jane rang and asked me to come and see her.’
‘Why?’ He was relentless.
‘You’ll have to ask her that.’
But she knew. Jane hadn’t asked her to come to warn her off her man. She wanted to demonstrate to her rival that she had no chance. Wanted Tara to sit and hold the child that she and Adam had made, touch it, see how closely Adam was bound to her. She must have known that Adam would be visiting her this afternoon and had specified just the right time for Tara to call.
When the stage was set and all the players had been allocated their parts, she had produced the tears, turning the agony-screw, forcing her to witness Adam holding her, comforting her. Then she had thrown in the final humiliation, the consolation prize of a lift home. And Adam had accused her of being a good actress.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘JANE sends her apologies for the tears.’ He glanced across at her as they waited at the exit to the car park for a gap in the traffic. ‘Apparently it’s quite common. The hormones go all to pieces.’
‘You’re quite the expert.’ Her voice was scratchy and she hated herself for it. She had lost her heart, the least she could do was hang onto her self-respect. He must never know how much she was hurting.
‘Hardly that,’ he said as he pulled out, neatly avoiding a cab that cut across him.
The journey continued for some time in silence, each of them deep in their thoughts. Tara closed her eyes in an effort to blot out the overpowering presence of the man she loved, edgily aware of the precarious nature of her self-control. But the faint scent of some citrus based cologne, mingled with the leather of the upholstery and something wholly insubstantial that called to her, focusing every nerve-ending, until she gave up the unequal struggle and turned to look at him.
She had thought, in the first second she had seen him that he was ruthless. And it was true, there was a drive, a dynamism that had carried him to a position of power and influence that he enjoyed without apology. But there was so much more. She had thought of him as a black knight, but that wasn’t right. He had his faults, heaven knew, but he was on the side of the angels. He might even now regret his affair with Jane. The way he had kissed her that last day in his office had been more than simple lust. He had wanted her as much as she wanted him and only her fingertip grasp on sanity had stopped them from making the most terrible mistake. But he was aware of his responsibilities to Jane and the baby and he would never desert her. That was right and she accepted it.
He turned suddenly and caught her staring. ‘You sent the pearls back.’ The unexpectedness of this statement, so far from her own thoughts, came as a shock. ‘Why?’ he demanded.
‘What did you expect?’ she asked. ‘You refused to do it for me.’
‘I thought you were being unnecessarily noble. Hanna could afford to be generous.’
‘That’s not the point.’
He glanced across at her again. ‘You’ve quite shaken Hanna’s faith in the avarice of women, you know.’
‘You’ve spoken to him?’
‘He telephoned in something of a panic, demanding to know what you wanted from him. What it would take to buy your silence. He assumed, you see, that returning the earrings was a very sophisticated form of blackmail. A suggestion that it wasn’t quite enough.’
Her eyes widened in horror. ‘No, Adam!’ He had to believe her.
‘I finally convinced him that if you had said you had forgiven him he could forget the whole thing. He’s a broken man, Tara. He’s not used to forgiveness without having pay for his misdeeds. His wife extracts jewels like a quack dentist.’ He half smiled. ‘No anaesthetic.’
She looked at her hands nervously pleating her skirt. She could cope with anything but that smile. ‘I could never have worn them.’
‘Well, you’ve done yourself no harm. He’s a powerful friend and he feels a debt of honour.’
‘A sin
gularly inapt phrase, if I may say so.’
‘What? Oh, yes, I suppose it is.’ They were stationary in traffic and he drummed his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel.
Tara felt herself beginning to crack. It had been a dreadful day and being forced into his company this way was the most subtle form of torture. Looking out of the window she realised they were near a station.
‘Look, I’m sorry you were lumbered with me, Adam. There’s a station over there, I’ll make my own way home from here.’ She moved to unfasten her seat belt.
‘Stay where you are, the traffic’s about to move.’
‘Well could you just pull over and let me out?’
He stared at her. ‘Is my company really so abhorrent to you?’ The traffic began to move, but he stayed put and in seconds an angry chorus of horns began to sound behind them.
‘Adam!’
‘Answer me!’
She couldn’t lie. ‘You said you didn’t want to see me again. Ever.’
‘Which just goes to show how much I know,’ he said, bitterly. He glanced in his mirror and raised a placating hand to those behind before moving off.
‘Please, Adam,’ she implored.
He ignored her, accelerating away as the traffic cleared in front of them and the station was left far behind. ‘Surely it’s not too much to ask for your company for a few miles? You don’t have to talk to me if that’s a problem.’
She didn’t answer. There was no point now. Apparently satisfied that this was a positive response, he slid a disk into the deck and the strains of Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto filled the car, putting an end to the verbal sparring.
Tara closed her eyes, allowing the music to lift her and carry her where it would. She didn’t open them, even when they came to a halt, assuming that it was simply traffic lights until he cut the engine and the silence flooded back.
Dragged back to reality, she looked around her. They were parked alongside the river. ‘Where are we?’
‘Somewhere in Buckinghamshire,’ he said, enigmatically. ‘Does it matter? I just felt like a walk. I’ve been chained to my desk all week and I’d like to blow the cobwebs away.’
‘Won’t it be dark soon?’ she protested.