Mistress by Agreement

by Helen Brooks

  She sat up in bed, turning on the bedside lamp and staring into the dimly lit room. What a fool she’d been, what a blind, stupid fool. Kingsley had bared his heart to her, given everything he knew how to give and she hadn’t even listened to him, not really. What had she done?

  Her stomach twisted and she climbed out of bed, padding along to the kitchen and making herself a strong cup of coffee.

  Why hadn’t she found the courage to tell him she loved him? she asked herself helplessly. He hadn’t phoned or contacted her since he’d gone and she didn’t blame him. He’d clearly washed his hands of her. But how could she live in a world in which Kingsley was living, and not be with him? To know he was free to meet someone else, to marry someone else, to have babies with someone else.

  She groaned, laying her head on the cool surface of the breakfast bar for a moment. She wanted to be with him more than anything in the world but she’d been too hung up by the terrors of the past to recognise it. When he’d left she’d thought a few days’ separation would make him see that she was right and that they had no future together. What if that was exactly what he did think? How ironic when she’d done a full hundred-and-eighty-degree turn, if he’d done the same.

  She drank the coffee scalding hot, and it was as she finished the last mouthful that she thought, What am I doing? What am I doing? If he loved her, if he really loved her it would be with warts, pimples and all. That was the sort of guy he was. So…did she believe he really loved her? She felt a surge of joy such as she hadn’t felt since she’d been very young rise up. Yes, she did. She did. So it was logical to believe he hadn’t changed his mind. Her fears and emotions might lead her down one path but she had to stand on logic and trust. She couldn’t keep doubting him or herself, not if this relationship was going to have any future. And she wanted a future with Kingsley, oh, so much.

  She found herself pacing the small kitchen and stopped abruptly, realising she was so tense her hands were clenched tight.

  A bath. And then a call to the airport to see what time his flight arrived. She’d meet him. Whatever time he landed she’d be there waiting for him. She glanced at the kitchen clock. In fact she’d call the airport first, just in case it was an early arrival.

  They were very sorry, the anonymous voice at the airport said politely, but there were no flights arriving from Jamaica today. Hadn’t she heard about the cyclone?

  No, she hadn’t, Rosalie said tightly.

  Cyclone Kimberley was heading straight for the coast and unfortunately holding course despite all predictions it would swing away; consequently all flights were cancelled for the foreseeable future. If she would like to ring tomorrow they might have news then.

  She put the telephone down very carefully, her hands shaking. And then picked it up immediately to phone Kingsley’s secretary in England for details of where he was staying, before she remembered it wasn’t yet five o’clock.

  The next four hours were the longest of her life.

  She had a bath and washed her hair, cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, including washing the inside of the cupboards and rearranging everything, after which she rearranged it all back again. Her mind was plaguing her with vivid pictures. Kingsley buried under a pile of debris. Kingsley trapped and injured or worse. And all the time thinking she didn’t love him, that she didn’t want him. She couldn’t bear it. She just couldn’t bear it.

  She phoned Jenny at home at eight o’clock, explaining she had a few things she needed to sort out and that she wouldn’t be in the office until much later, if at all. Apart from a little juggling with a couple of afternoon appointments there was nothing too vital to sort out.

  At nine she spoke to Kingsley’s secretary in the office at Oxford. ‘Oh, hello, Miss Milburn,’ the girl said politely. ‘Mr Ward’s number in Jamaica? Sure, I have it here. Just a minute.’ There was the sound of rustling paper, and then the disembodied voice said quietly, ‘Awful about his friend, isn’t it? And not been long married too. And now there’s all this panic about the cyclone.’

  Rosalie’s heart was lurching. ‘His friend hasn’t…?’

  ‘Oh, no, he hasn’t died, but it looks like he’s paralysed, although they can’t move him yet to a hospital in the States.’

  ‘Right.’ She took down the number, gave her thanks and put the receiver down, aware her hands were shaking so badly the numbers were barely recognisable.

  It was around three in the morning in Jamaica—should she wait a while or phone now? Selfishly, she admitted, she was going to phone now. She needed to talk to him, to tell him how she felt, and she might not be able to get through anyway if the cyclone had hit. Her stomach went over at the thought.

  The hotel receptionist sounded weary—no doubt she had been taking calls from anxious relatives and friends for most of the night—but she put Rosalie through to Kingsley’s room without any argument, after indicating Mr Ward might have already joined a number of other guests who were preparing to shelter in the basement.

  The phone was picked up immediately. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Kingsley, is that you?’ Stupid opening line considering it was hardly likely to be anyone else. ‘It’s Rosalie.’

  ‘Rosie?’

  She was fighting back the tears that had sprung up with relief at hearing his voice and couldn’t continue for a minute, and as the line cracked and popped his voice came again, louder, saying. ‘Rosie? Are you there?’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Her bottom lip was trembling so much it was hard to speak. ‘Can you ever forgive me?’

  ‘Rosie, I can’t hear you—the storm—you’ll have to shout.’

  ‘Can you ever forgive me?’ she bellowed down the line, the urgency of it all providing the shot of adrenalin she needed to pull herself together. ‘I’ve been so stupid.’

  ‘You’re not stupid—’ The line faded and then crackled, and his voice came back again, saying, ‘…very brave, don’t you know that?’

  ‘I can’t hear you!’

  ‘I said you are the gutsiest woman I know and very brave. Look, it’s getting worse—’ there were a few more frustrating moments when the line shuddered and died, and then ‘—get back.’

  ‘What? Oh, Kingsley, I can’t hear you and I want to say I’m sorry and that I love you and that you must be careful.’ But he was saying something too and she was almost sure he couldn’t hear her.

  ‘Kingsley, if you need to go and shelter, do it. I love you. Let me know you’re all right when you can.’ But the line had gone dead. She put down the receiver and burst into tears. He was in danger, and she wasn’t sure if he knew she loved him or had heard anything she’d said.

  She spent the rest of the day glued to the TV and radio reports, getting more and more worked up as they confirmed that Cyclone Kimberley was a biggie and was taking no prisoners. Rosalie drank numerous cups of coffee but couldn’t eat a thing, and when Beth called in the evening, having heard the news on the TV, which had mentioned all power lines were down along with pretty severe destruction in places, she was all but climbing the walls.

  ‘I’m coming over,’ Beth said, at the sound of Rosalie’s agitated voice.

  ‘No, it’s all right, really.’

  ‘I’m coming. George is away at some conference or other and won’t get back till tomorrow, and at least it won’t seem so bad if there’s two of us worrying together. Have you eaten?’ she added in true mother-hen fashion.

  ‘I don’t want anything.’

  ‘See you in a little while.’

  Before she knew it Beth was on the doorstep, her arms full of tubs and boxes from an Indian take-away, along with a couple of bottles of wine.

  ‘I’m…not hungry.’ Rosalie was determined she wasn’t going to cry again. She hadn’t cried in years before she’d met Kingsley, but since he’d come into her life it seemed as if she’d done little else.

  Beth ignored her, bustling about the kitchen heating food in the microwave and opening a bottle of very good red wine, saying as
she did so, ‘Listen to me, Lee. There have been worse cyclones than this one, much worse, and Jamaica and other such places are geared up for them. They’re a yearly hazard, for goodness’ sake, like…like snowstorms here.’

  Rosalie’s expression indicated what she thought of such a pathetic comparison.

  ‘Kingsley’s going to be absolutely fine, I know it, and you won’t do him or yourself any good if you make yourself ill, now then. You are going to eat and drink, and wait for him to call you. Power lines always go down with these sorts of things, along with roofs being blown away and the odd boat or two being sunk, but that doesn’t mean anyone gets hurt. I told you, they know what to do.’

  Beth handed Rosalie a large glass of red wine. ‘Drink some, now,’ she commanded in the same voice she used to her offspring when it was a case of ‘she who must be obeyed’.

  Rosalie drank. The rich and full-bodied wine with the aroma of raspberries, damsons and spices left a warm glow and steadied the trembling in her stomach.

  ‘Now go and set the table for two,’ Beth said briskly, handing her the bottle and another glass. ‘We’re eating first and then you can tell me all about it.’

  Amazingly Rosalie found she managed a good assault on her heaped plate before finally admitting defeat when it was half empty, another glass of wine helping enormously in forcing the food down.

  After she had filled Beth in on her decision and the position to date, the two women sat sipping wine and talking until far into the night. Eventually, at gone two, Beth persuaded her to go to bed, insisting she would sit and doze in a chair by the phone.

  ‘You look awful,’ Beth said with her usual honesty. ‘Get some sleep or you’ll be meeting him with bags under your eyes big enough to shop with.’

  Rosalie climbed into bed complaining that this was a wasted exercise and she wouldn’t sleep a wink, and it was much more sensible for Beth to have her bed. However, she was asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, the lack of rest over the last few days and the relaxing effect of the wine causing a deep, dreamless slumber.

  She only slept for four hours, her subconscious then kicking in and reminding her she ought to be awake and worrying, but she felt better for it as she tottered into the sitting room where Beth was snoring softly in her chair by the phone.

  Beth went home after lunch, Rosalie having promised her aunt she would phone her as soon as she heard anything, and it seemed as though no sooner had the other woman left than the telephone rang.

  ‘Rosie?’

  It was Kingsley. She felt her heart give an almighty jump and then start thumping away like a sledgehammer. ‘Kingsley.’ She knew her voice sounded choked but she couldn’t help it. ‘Kingsley, I love you,’ she said desperately, terrified they would lose the connection again. ‘I was wrong about everything and I want us to be together. Can you hear me?’

  ‘I can hear you, sweetheart.’

  Sweetheart. He’d called her sweetheart. The tears were dripping down her face again but she didn’t care. She’d cry every day all day if it meant he called her sweetheart.

  ‘Listen, I’ve found a guy with a satellite mobile, there’s still a virtual shut-down here, but he needs to make some urgent business calls so I need to talk fast.’

  ‘Are you all right? You’re not injured?’

  ‘Filthy dirty, hungry, thirsty, but no, not injured. There’s massive structural damage, especially in the shanty towns, and a number of us are helping out.’

  ‘Oh, be careful. Don’t take any chances.’ She immediately had visions of buildings falling down the moment he went near them.

  ‘I’m glad you phoned last night.’ His voice was soft now, deep, and she shivered.

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘I love you.’

  ‘I love you too.’ She suddenly remembered she hadn’t asked about his friend. ‘How’s Alex?’ she said quickly.

  ‘Not good.’ Suddenly she could hear the exhaustion in his voice. ‘I really needed that phone call from you. Fortunately the cyclone missed the hospital he’s in so that’s something.’

  ‘Kingsley, you do forgive me?’

  ‘Always, sweetheart.’

  She gulped, giving an involuntary sniff. ‘When do you think you’ll be able to leave the island?’

  ‘We’re waiting to hear. Look, I have to go. See you soon.’

  No, no, not yet. She wanted to protest, feeling something would go wrong, something would happen before she saw him again and really made everything all right. Instead she said, ‘Take care.’

  ‘I will. Goodbye, Rosie.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  There was so much she’d wanted to say. As soon as she put the receiver down she went over their conversation in her mind. She needed to make him understand what had held her back from making a commitment, why she loved him so much, how special he was, just everything.

  She sat for a few minutes collecting her thoughts and reliving the moment he’d called her sweetheart, and then telephoned Beth, who was ecstatic for her. Dear, dear Beth.

  She walked into the bedroom and, fully dressed as she was, climbed into bed after kicking off her shoes and slept for several hours.

  She awoke to the telephone ringing again and virtually fell out of bed, hearing Beth’s voice with a disappointment that made her bite her lip.

  ‘Sorry, Lee, did you think it was him?’ Beth said cheerfully. ‘It’s just that I wondered if you’ve got the TV on? They’re doing a bit on the news about the cyclone in a minute or two and I thought you might be interested.’

  Not unless they could arrange a one-to-one with Kingsley for her. ‘Thanks.’ She put as much enthusiasm in her voice as she could. ‘I’ll switch it on now.’

  Ten minutes later she sat as though turned to stone, the bottom having dropped out of her world.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘LEE, I’m sure there’s some sort of reasonable explanation. Don’t make up your mind about anything until you’ve heard what he has to say.’

  Rosalie listened to Beth who had phoned moments after the news item had ended, politely agreeing and saying she was perfectly all right about it all, before putting down the phone.

  She sat in the quiet of her sitting room for a long time, trying to make sense of it all. In the end, she knew she couldn’t.

  The news crew had veered towards the humanitarian aspect of the natural disaster, emphasising it was the poorest who had been affected most by the cyclone but that on such desperate occasions man’s humanity to man could spring into action. Holiday-makers and visitors from abroad in the area had all pulled together with the rescue services to help those injured or trapped under the debris of their houses in the shanty towns, it had proclaimed, showing pictures of the good Samaritans in action. ‘Courage and hope mingling with helplessness and despair’ type of reporting.

  Her heart had nearly leapt out of her chest when she had seen Kingsley. Her breath caught at the memory. Her body felt strange, all tight and hurting, as though she had been pummelled and kicked about by something.

  He had been in the background actually involved in digging an elderly man out from under the tin shack that had been his home until a tree had demolished it. A miraculous escape, the man they’d been interviewing had said. Part of the roof had fallen in such a way that the man had been cushioned in a small chamber and was virtually unhurt.

  Her eyes had been fixed on the tall dark figure in the background and she had barely noticed anyone else—until Kingsley had been joined by a certain familiar and voluptuous brunette, that was. And Little Miss Canary hadn’t been at all shy about kissing him full on the lips as she’d flung herself into his arms.

  The broadcast had shifted at this point to the story of a little girl, who had managed to save the family’s goat by untying the animal from where it had been tethered in the nick of time and bringing it into their house, which had survived the tropical storm, but the images of Kingsley with the woman who was his friend’s sister were burnt onto the scree
n of Rosalie’s mind.

  She exhaled sharply. Even Beth had been forced to admit that the kiss hadn’t been a sisterly one, and as Kingsley’s arms had gone round the girl she had pressed herself into him with all the finesse of a bitch on heat.

  She could understand Alex’s sister coming to see her brother after the accident, of course she could, and Kingsley had known her for years, but that kiss…

  What was she going to do? Reality hit, and with it a gut-wrenching pain. Her body ached as it did when she had the flu but this wasn’t a virus, unless you could call love a virus? Maybe you could at that, she reflected silently. She swallowed hard.

  What had she said to herself only twenty-four hours ago when she had decided that she was going to plunge head first into this relationship? Her fears and emotions might lead her down a certain path, but she had to stand on logic and trust. Logic and trust were all very well but when millions of people had seen the man she loved embrace another woman…

  Logic—Miss Canary had embraced him. Trust—maybe he could give her an explanation as to why Alex’s sister thought she had the right to give him a body massage but without using her hands? And maybe pigs could fly. Helplessness at her ability to contact Kingsley right at this second and ask him what the hell he thought he was playing at gripped her.

  Could she envisage a future with a man she couldn’t trust? Would Kingsley want a future with a woman he felt didn’t trust him?

  Rosalie stood up, walking out of the sitting room and into the bathroom, where she washed her tear-stained face before straightening and looking at herself in the small round mirror set over the basin. Tragic, tear-swept eyes stared back at her from a face even her nearest and dearest would have to admit was blotchy.