by Liz Fielding
‘Not for an hour. We’ll just take a gentle stroll down by the river. Nothing strenuous.’ He offered his arm. For a moment she held back. But he had been forced to bring her in order to indulge Jane’s need to control him, and it would be churlish to insist on being taken straight home when he clearly wanted some fresh air. Truth to tell, she could do with some herself.
She slipped her hand under his arm and allowed him to lead her down to the waterside. They walked for a while along the bank. It was peaceful. The river was running smooth and strong, trailing out the willows, and the coots and mallards were busy about the bank. The warm spring evening had tempted out quite a few people, but as the light began to fade they all seemed to be heading in one direction. Adam followed them and Tara found herself being led into the warm interior of an ancient inn. He ducked under a low beam and approached the bar.
He turned back to her. ‘What would you like?’ It was the normality of it all that was so bizarre. He seemed completely unaware of the oddity of their situation. Perhaps that was the best way. Keep up the pretence of normality.
‘A glass of white wine, please.’
He ordered a tomato juice for himself and led the way to small table in the corner. For a moment he said nothing, just looked at her as if trying to make a decision.
‘What did you think of Jane? Did you like her?’ The question had an odd ring to it, as if her answer was important to him. There was no likelihood of their ever being friends. She hoped never to have to meet the woman again.
Her hand trembled as she lifted the glass to her lips.
‘Our acquaintance was very brief,’ she hedged. Then with more determination. ‘The talk was mostly about the baby.’
A muscle in his jaw tightened as this reminder of his elevation to the ranks of fatherhood. ‘You looked very beautiful with a baby in your arms, Tara.’
She felt the slow burn of colour rising to her cheeks. There was no mistaking the look in his eyes.
‘I’m not in the market for babies, Adam. I have a career.’
He leaned forward, taking her hand in his and she was powerless to stop him. ‘Are you so determined on it? A life alone with only a pampered lapdog to lavish your affection on in your old age? Your husband died, Tara, but the world didn’t end. It was a long time ago and it’s time you started living again. You should be loved, cherished. Let me—’
Not the end of the world? He would never know how near to the end of the world it was. To have misjudged him so completely. Her voice was hoarse, but her meaning was crystal. ‘I can’t help you, Adam.’
He sat back as if slapped. ‘Then it’s true. You’re still in love with him.’
‘I will always love him. Is that so strange?’ Not like I loved you, she thought, but at least Nigel had never hurt her.
His eyes snapped contemptuously. ‘Even when you begged me to love you?’
The desire to strike back, to cause him pain to match her own was overwhelming. ‘We all have our needs, Adam. You were simply replacing my chosen partner for the evening. You were the one who backed out.’
‘You little bitch!’
‘What’s the matter, Adam?’ She felt utterly reckless because nothing mattered any more. ‘Surely you didn’t think only men could enjoy themselves in bed without any emotional commitment?’
A vein was beating fiercely at his temple. ‘No, Tara. But I was fool enough to hope...’ His smile was deadly. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He stood up, seizing her elbow and pulling her after him out into the darkness of the river bank. When he stopped in darker shadows of an ancient willow, he turned quickly and dragged her into his arms. ‘If it’s simply fun you want, Tara. I’m as game as the next man.’
‘No!’ She pushed violently at his chest with her hands, but he had expected that and was unmoved. He pulled her closer, fitting the curves of her body to his, letting her feel his arousal. Tara began to tremble. She had goaded him beyond endurance and now he was going to take her, here on the cold, damp grass in the darkness beside the river. Tears began to flow unchecked down her cheeks. ‘Please, don’t,’ her voice broke on a sob.
He raised his hand to her cheek and felt the wetness. ‘Tears?’ He swore then and tore away from her. ‘My God, Tara, you drive me to the edge of insanity. I want you so much that sometimes I think I hate you.’ His breath was coming in short gasps. ‘Don’t you feel it? This... electricity.’ He reached out as if to shake an answer from her, but she flinched away and he stepped back, holding his hands high where she could see them, as if that would make her feel safe. ‘Why do you deny it?’
‘I need a little more than electricity to switch me on, Adam. I need someone who will love me all the time. Not just in the gaps between visiting Jane and her baby.’
‘Jane? What on earth has she got to do with us?’
‘Everything. That’s why she wanted to see me today, Adam. She needed reassurance.’
‘About what, precisely?’ His voice jarred against her breast bone. He was angry now, but there was nothing she could do about that. Jane would have to deal with him herself. She seemed more than capable.
‘You’re the expert on hormones, Adam. She’s just had a baby. She feels vulnerable. She wanted to be sure that I was no threat to her. I did my best which, heaven knows, is more than you deserve.’
His sudden harsh laughter was like a knife. ‘Is that why you’re dressed like a dowd?’ She made no answer. ‘It doesn’t work, my lady. Don’t you know that would turn heads dressed in a sack?’ Without warning he reached across and tugged the ribbon free from her hair, loosening it with his hands, his fingertips kindling hot trails of sensation, sparking dangerous desire that raced through her bloodstream like vintage champagne.
‘No!’ She wrenched herself away and ran back into the inn, ignoring his bellow of rage at her escape.
The landlady took one look at her face when she asked to use to the telephone and ushered her through to her sitting room to call a taxi, then left her tactfully alone to repair the damage to her tearstained face, brush out her hair.
She sat in the back of the cab as the miles flew past trying not to think. But her mind seemed to have gone into overdrive and the only thing on it was Adam Blackmore. Vivid images flashed before her in an endless procession. His eyes as he launched an attack on an unwary opponent across the boardroom table; his eyes burning her up with desire. His hands firmly gripping a steering wheel; his hand touching a baby’s cheek; his hand against her skin.
‘Is this it, miss?’
The driver’s voice jerked her back to the reality, the pain of now. ‘Oh, yes. Thanks. How much do I owe you?’
‘The gentleman paid, miss.’
‘Gentleman? But how did he know...?’ She saw the driver’s expression alter to one of interest and stopped. It must have been obvious what she would do. Or maybe the landlady had told him. ‘Can you tell me how much it was so that I can repay him?’
She passed Frank on her way into the mews reporting all was well into his radio and he raised his hand in greeting. She responded vaguely. Adam had apparently ignored her polite little note demanding his withdrawal. Well, he was hardly likely to worry about her safety after the dreadful things she had said to him this evening.
Her face burned at the recollection.
She had portrayed herself as the wanton he had believed her to be. Some wanton, who cried because the man she loved lusted after her. Her hand flew to her mouth and she ran for the bathroom.
* * *
It didn’t take her long to pack. Her godmother was always too distracted with her own affairs to be over-interested in anyone else’s. A week with her would clear the air and give her breathing space to get herself under control.
She had telephoned Beth, who sensing Tara’s distress, but keeping any curiosity to herself, offered her car for the journey.
‘It’ll take forever on the train. And don’t worry about the office,’ she forestalled her. ‘I’ll get someone in if I need help.’ She pa
used. ‘I take it you don’t want your address given to anyone who might ask?’
‘No one will ask.’ She stopped overnight at a small hotel and telephoned Lola to warn her of her imminent arrival. Her complete lack of surprise was exactly what Tara needed. It would be a relief to spend a few days with someone who didn’t know or care that Adam Blackmore existed.
* * *
She spent the days walking, reading, listening to music and watching Lola paint the delicate water colours with which she illustrated her books on the world’s flora. She had been her mother’s best friend from her school days, the only contact she had with the young unknown faces in old albums of photographs, and when the mood took her, a fund of stories.
Lola had been in India on a field trip when her parents were killed by a lorry plunging out of control across a motorway barrier. She had immediately returned to England to assume whatever responsibilities were to be thrust upon her, but Tara always suspected that it had been something of relief to find her goddaughter already happily settled with the kindly neighbour who had been babysitting her while her parents went away for the weekend.
But she had dealt with the financial side of things and invested her parents’ small estate so there was enough money for Tara never to be a burden to the Lamberts. Enough even for a deposit on the tiny new house she and Nigel were to have lived in.
She had always kept an eye on her from a distance. Always remembered the important things. And she had been there when she had been desperately needed. It was Lola who had taken the brunt of her grief when Nigel had died.
The week passed too quickly. She arrived back at Beth’s just before lunchtime on Sunday morning and her partner was delighted to see her.
‘You’re looking better.’
‘I’m recovering, Beth. Apparently a broken heart isn’t fatal.’
‘Thank God for that,’ she said with conviction. ‘But it is like being ill. Take one day at time. You’ll wake up one morning and realise that the pain isn’t unbearable any more.’
‘I’ll take your word for it. You’ve been there often enough.’ Beth’s eyes sparkled. ‘I don’t believe it! Not again?’
‘This time it’s the real thing. I swear it.’ Tara shook her head, wondering at her friend’s stamina. Once was enough for her. ‘And you were wrong about there being no enquiries for you.’
Her hand trembled and she set down the mug of coffee, afraid it might spill. She wasn’t strong enough yet. ‘He telephoned?’
‘He came to the office.’ Beth pursed her lips. ‘I know you think he’s the pits, but frankly, I was very taken with your Mr Blackmore.’
‘He’s not mine.’ Her pulse was hammering in her ears. ‘What did you tell him?’
‘Simply that you had gone away and I wasn’t at liberty to tell him where you were.’
‘Did he just take that?’ Why had she said that? Why did she want the answer to be no? She closed her eyes. It mustn’t matter so much. Recovery was still a long way from certain.
‘He didn’t actually try to beat your address out me, if that’s what you’re wondering.’
Tara flushed. ‘Well, thanks.’
‘You could be more enthusiastic. Did you expect me to crack under his charm and spill the beans? He looked fit to come after you.’
‘Of course not,’ she said, quickly.
Beth did not look convinced. ‘Can I offer you something to eat?’
‘No, if I can just beg a lift home via the Italian shop to pick up some bread and milk.’
They had to drive by Victoria House to get to the mews. Tara kept her eyes firmly on the road ahead, terrified that he might just glance down from his penthouse and spot her. Beth said nothing, but Tara saw her mouth twitch.
‘I know he can’t see me. Doesn’t even know your car. I just feel... vulnerable.’
She felt safer inside her flat. She stepped over the pile of mail and newspapers on the mat. It was home, a bolt hole; it represented safety. She checked the rooms. Everything was exactly as she had left it, apart from a week’s dust that had settled quietly over the furniture. She whisked quickly around with the duster, then made herself a sandwich.
She forced herself to eat every mouthful. If she kept going through the motions it might eventually become habit-forming. She washed the dishes, unpacked, loaded the washing machine, made her bed, vacuumed. Opened the mail and sorted it all to deal with at the office on Monday. All tedious little jobs that kept her mind from dwelling on heartache. But it was still only five o’clock.
A sudden desperation overtook her to stay busy. She would make Beth a chocolate cake. A thank you for loaning her the car. She switched on the radio to some cheerful commercial station and gathered her ingredients. The electric mixer was noisily whisking sugar and butter to soft peaks of cream to the accompaniment of the top twenty, when another sound, an insistent tapping, gradually began to overlay the general clatter. Tara switched off the whisk. It was someone knocking at the door.
Her first reaction was to switch the mixer back on and ignore it. She didn’t want to see anyone and if it was next door she could always say she hadn’t heard.
Tara sighed and turned down the radio. She wasn’t much good at fibs. The only lie she had ever told with any conviction, the only one anyone had ever believed was the one she had told Adam about wanting Hanna Rashid.
Having decided to answer the door she almost ran. There was no way of knowing how much longer her caller would wait.
But when she flung open the door she wished she had obeyed her first instincts. Her visitor was the last person in the world she expected to see. And the least welcome.
‘Hello, Tara.’
She took an involuntary step back and Jane Townsend, reading this as an invitation to enter, sailed blithely over the threshold. ‘I’m so glad you’re home. I was just about to give up and go away,’ she said. ‘May I use your bathroom? I’m afraid Charlie needs changing.’
CHAPTER NINE
STUNNED as she was by the unexpectedness of Jane’s arrival, Tara could do nothing but direct her unwanted guest to her bedroom with its tiny en suite bathroom.
Jane looked appreciatively around her. ‘What a lovely apartment. Adam described it to me.’ She glanced sideways at Tara. ‘Not the bedroom of course.’
Tara felt the swift rush of blood to her cheeks. ‘Of course not,’ she said, quickly. ‘He hasn’t seen it.’
Jane laughed. ‘That’s what he said, but I hardly believed him.’ Seeing Tara’s shocked expression, she was immediately apologetic. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t tease. In fact considering the state he’s in it has to be the truth.’ She held out the baby. ‘Could you take him while I fetch his bag from the car?’
Tara took Charles Adam Townsend in her arms. He lay there, quite content, staring with unfocussed intensity at her. He wasn’t like Adam at all, she thought, or even much like Jane. It was probably the crop of fair hair, already growing fast and beginning to curl. She touched it and the baby grabbed for her hand, catching her little finger and pulling it down to his mouth.
It was a moment before she realised she was not alone. She looked up to find Jane watching her and she felt quite naked, as if she had exposed herself in some very private way.
‘He likes you. He won’t let just anyone hold him like that.’
Tara made an effort at a smile. ‘Then I’m flattered.’
Jane retrieved her son and went about the task of changing him. ‘That’s better, isn’t it my darling.’ She picked him up and kissed him. ‘Much nicer.’
Tara led the way back to the living room and her unexpected guests settled themselves on the sofa and Jane lifted fiddled with her top and began to feed the baby.
‘He’s grown,’ she said, and felt quite stupid at saying something so obvious. But she began to understand why mothers talked incessantly about their babies. Charles seemed to dominate the room with his tiny presence. But his mother had something else on her mind.
‘How are yo
u, Tara? I’ve been trying to phone you all week. We never had a chance to talk with Adam turning up when he wasn’t wanted.’
‘I’ve been away for a few days. It’s been hectic at work and I needed a break.’
‘Adam asked me to look in as soon as you got back and explain everything. He had to go to Wales, something to do with the new factory I think and since he didn’t know when to expect you back there was no point in putting it off.’ She looked up at Tara. ‘Beth wouldn’t tell him where you had gone.’
‘I asked her not to.’ A headache was beginning to tighten in a band around her forehead and she just wished Jane would go
‘He looks terrible.’ Tara made no comment. She told herself she didn’t want to know why he looked terrible, but her eyes betrayed her and Jane went on. ‘I don’t think he’s ever been in love before and thirty-three is a bit late to taste the agony of it for the first time. If he wasn’t suffering quite so much I have to confess that I would find it amusing.’ She offered a tentative smile. ‘Couldn’t you be just a little kinder?’
‘Kinder?’ Tara stood up, folding her arms tightly about her chest as if she could hold in the pain. ‘I don’t understand you, Jane. Don’t you love him?’
‘Adam?’ Jane frowned. ‘Of course I love him.’ She pulled a face. ‘Although whether he feels the same way about me at the moment is in some doubt. According to the wretched man I’m as expensive and time consuming as a wife, but none of the fun.’
‘But that’s... dreadful.’
Jane seemed quite unconcerned. ‘He’s got a point. I’m afraid I’ve exploited him quite shamefully.’ Charlie stopped feeding and began to cry. Jane murmuring gently, put him over her shoulder and patted his back gently. He promptly threw up. ‘Oh my poor darling. Mummy will take you home.’
She groaned as she moved, her shirt sticking cold and wet to her back. Tara ran to get a towel from the bathroom and mopped up the worst of the damage.
‘There wasn’t much, but it seems to have gone rather a long way.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Jane apologised. ‘One day perhaps we can talk for more than five minutes without interruption.’ She stood up and gathered her belongings. ‘I must get home and change Charlie.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘And me. I’ll phone you.’