A Guilty Affair

by Hamilton, Diana

  Tom didn’t own her. He couldn’t dictate where she should live during the week. He was happy enough while she was under Brenda’s watchful eye, but she knew he would feel uneasy if she moved in with the bubbly, fun-loving Niccy because she, Bess, might find herself having a wonderful time. Without him.

  So she couldn’t decide if moving in with her friend for the next twelve months would be worth all the aggro. And it was strange, she thought, her teeth worrying at her lower lip, how Tom and Vaccari had both told her to be herself. Yet their concepts of that were wildly different.

  ‘Just be yourself,’ Tom had said. ‘That’s good enough for me.’ Thrifty and sensible Bess, thankful for what she had and was, making no waves, never yearning for the impossible or trying to make it happen. Excellent, dutiful, undemanding type wife material.

  Vaccari had put it differently, telling her to break away, find herself, realise her full potential. In other words, forget Tom.

  She made a sad little snuffling sound, feeling miserable. She had been so contented until this weekend—settled in her job, enduring her weekday lodgings because they weren’t worth making a fuss about, looking forward to her future with Tom. She asked herself why things had changed and angrily pushed away the thought that Vaccari had a lot to do with it.

  Utter nonsense. For some reason the wretch got his kicks out of tormenting ordinary, decent people. Throwing a spanner in the works was probably his idea of a fun thing to do. She could safely dismiss him and his troublemaking taunts from her mind. She would pretend he didn’t exist. And if and when he ever married Helen, well, she’d—well, cope with having him as an in-law somehow.

  What she had to do was examine her relationship with Tom, reinforce it in her mind, concentrate on his good points, forget the silly pique his remark about her not being high-flyer material had conjured up and get back to being sensible and reasonable again.

  And she would never again give Vaccari room in her head.

  But that wasn’t going to be easy.

  An irritated rapping on the bedroom door heralded her landlady’s formidable presence.

  ‘There’s someone to see you. He’s waiting downstairs. See what he wants and get rid of him. You know I said no visitors unless by arrangement. Answering doors and running up and down stairs isn’t my idea of a peaceful evening.’

  Waiting downstairs he wasn’t. When Bess saw the Italian looming behind Brenda something intensely primeval lurched deep inside her, and her heart flipped over in her chest then dropped like a stone. Wearing an impeccably tailored business suit now, he was enough to stun anyone, and she gaped at him stupidly as he said to Brenda, ‘My apologies, signora. My business here will take moments only.’

  The smooth voice was warm enough to melt frost, the purring quality making Bess’s skin curl. And it had an obvious effect on the other woman too, because her, ‘I don’t allow callers, especially not upstairs,’ had lost a hefty dose of vitriol.

  ‘I congratulate you on your good sense.’ His white smile seemed to light up the gloomy landing, and Bess couldn’t be sure but she thought she saw her landlady simper. She would have found it highly amusing if she hadn’t been desperately wondering why she reacted to him the way she did, and trying to work out why he was here, knowing that, whatever the reason, it wouldn’t be good. Not for her.

  Vaccari said, as if he was sure there could be no objections, ‘As I said, my business won’t take long. And please don’t put yourself to the inconvenience of waiting. I’ll see myself out.’ And he smoothly inserted his magnificent body into the room, gently but firmly closing the door behind him.

  Bess shot to her feet, her heart beating erratically, watching him with wide green eyes as he weighed up the room: the clumsy furniture, the narrow bed.

  ‘A suitable hole for a mouse.’ He finished his minute examination and turned tarnished-silver eyes on her, the flickering gleam showing cool amusement. ‘Complete with a dragon to make sure the little mouse doesn’t stray.’

  She made herself ignore that. ‘Why are you here?’ Her throat felt tight. ‘Is Helen with you?’ She was probably waiting in his car. Her glamorous sister wouldn’t be seen dead in such dull surroundings.

  ‘She’s still in Braylington.’ His white teeth gleamed. ‘She and your mother are deep in portfolios of wedding-dress designs. I don’t think either of them will come up for air for at least a fortnight.’

  ‘Oh.’ That was all she was able to say. She was drained-suddenly and totally drained. For no good reason. Except that what she had feared had come true.

  This man was about to become part of her family. This morning’s session with her father made sense now. They had been formally announcing their intention to marry, making plans, setting dates.

  She wondered acidly if he would be faithful to Helen. Or would he still go around kissing and manhandling all and sundry when the mood took him?

  Probably.

  Marriage didn’t make people change.

  ‘Congratulations,’ she forced out, her tongue feeling thick and heavy in her mouth. ‘I hope things work out for you both.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say, I hope you’ll be wonderfully happy; she didn’t know why, she only knew the words would choke her.

  He gave her an odd look then shrugged, as if he thought her stupid. Which, privately, she thought she probably was.

  ‘I wouldn’t have agreed to sign the contract if I hadn’t been sure,’ he said drily. ‘Unlike most women, Helen is intelligent, totally trustworthy and single-mindedly dedicated to making a success of the coming change in her life. And so, yes, it will work out. For both of us.’

  Suddenly, and for the first time in her life, she felt sorry for Helen. This man would be easy to fall obsessively in love with—provided you didn’t look too far beneath the surface, she reminded herself quickly. Did her sister know he regarded their marriage as a contract? That he had only decided to commit himself because he could trust her to devote herself to making him the perfect wife—properly dedicated and single-minded about it?

  ‘Helen apart, you seem to have a very cynical attitude to women,’ she told him gruffly, wondering waywardly if he regarded her, along with the rest of the female sex, as stupid, false and vacillating. Wondering why it should hurt.

  She saw something hard and sharp in his eyes as he looked at her. ‘I have reason to, believe me.’ Then he shrugged slightly, as if the subject bored him—or she did—and pushed a hand into his jacket pocket and produced her missing ring.

  ‘Jessica found it in a pile of dirty dishes.’ He took her nerveless hand in one of his and dropped the ring into her palm. ‘Now, I’d call that a Freudian slip, wouldn’t you? Think about it. And think about the things I’ve said to you. Or not. It’s your life.’

  He swung gracefully round on the balls of his feet and left, and whether it was because he’d looked as if he was bored silly or because she wanted to call him back and slap him for calling her a mouse she wasn’t sure, but she was agitated enough to want to scream the walls down.

  Instead, after counting to fifty, forcing herself to calm down a notch or two, she stamped down the stairs and made two decisive phone calls.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘SURE you won’t come?’ Niccy asked. ‘I’ll wait while you change.’ She was dressed for partying, her beanpole figure looking sensational in scarlet silk leggings topped by a black glittery tunic, and Bess grinned at her, pushing a hand through her rumpled copper hair as she settled more comfortably into the squashy brocade-covered sofa.

  ‘Thanks, but, as I told you, I need a clear head in the morning.’ Besides, she had nothing festive to change into.

  ‘If that’s really how you feel,’ Niccy said thoughtfully. ‘But don’t get uptight—it’s only a new job, remember.’

  ‘I’m not in the least uptight!’ Her wide smile backed up her words. ‘But we’re lunching with some hot-shot financier. Mark’s ninety per cent sure he can persuade him to back us. I wouldn’t want to wreck his chanc
es by falling asleep!’

  The phone buzzed then, and Niccy held out the receiver. ‘It’s for you. I’ll be off if I can’t change your mind. Don’t wait up.’

  Somehow Bess knew it was Tom, and her face flushed a rosy pink as her hunch was confirmed. She felt apprehensive. He’d been so angry when she’d phoned to tell him that she’d decided to take the job and was moving in with Niccy.

  ‘I thought we’d discussed it and decided you’d turn the wretched job down. Tell him you’ve changed your mind. Let him find some other idiot who’s prepared to be made redundant in a couple of months. As for moving from Brenda’s—I’ve never heard anything so stupid. You won’t find living with your flashy friend anything like as economical.’

  Bess had ignored that. Until they were married she could live where she chose. And she’d reminded him, surprised by the cool steadiness of her voice, ‘You decided I’d turn down the job. I thought it over and decided I’d like the challenge.’ Which wasn’t exactly true. She hadn’t reasoned it out at all, but had acted on impulse, goaded by the way that supercilious Italian had looked at her room and pronounced it a fitting hole for a mouse. ‘I’ve accepted the job and I don’t go back on my word. And I don’t know why you’re so against it.’

  ‘Then you have less common sense than I gave you credit for,’ he’d snapped right back. ‘And don’t bother coming home on my account this weekend. I’ll be too busy to see you.’

  And that was fine by her, she’d decided, her anger like a slow-burning underground fire. She had her notice to work out, her things to pack ready for the move, and Mark had given her reams of typed information on the properties—small hotels, converted farmhouses, one or two palaces—he intended to sign up if the financial deal went through.

  Reading them thoroughly, studying the maps, making notes would keep her busy enough without going home at the weekend to be lectured.

  But now maybe he’d had time to simmer down. All the time they’d known each other she’d always gone along with what he suggested, been the type of woman he expected her to be. Having gone directly against his wishes would have come as a shock. She could understand that, and forgive it. But he would have had time to come to terms with that and maybe, just maybe, he was phoning to wish her well in her new career.

  ‘Mother wants to know if you’ll be home next weekend,’ he said stiffly. ‘Aunt Faye’s coming to stay. She wants to see you. She took a shine to you when you met, remember? Mother would like you to join us for dinner on Saturday evening.’

  ‘What do you want? Do you want me to come?’ she asked quietly.

  The entire Clayton family treated the irascible old lady as if she were royalty, pussy-footing around her because she was wealthy. She was childless, so they hoped her fortune would go to Tom, and when Bess had made such a good impression they’d all been delighted.

  So this weekend they would want to produce her. Newly engaged to Tom, who, despite his best efforts, was not her favourite person, she might be able to keep Aunt Faye’s easily ruffled feathers nice and smooth. But he still sounded annoyed with her and she couldn’t handle that, not without instigating another fight. And she didn’t want to fight with him.

  ‘Of course.’ He sounded gruff. ‘I’d have thought you’d take that as read. We’re engaged, after all.’

  Which probably meant he was sorry for the way he’d sounded off when she’d broken the news about the job, and she assured him quickly, her voice softening, ‘Then I’ll be there.’

  ‘That’s my good girl!’

  So all was now forgiven, and Bess listened to him tell her how busy he’d been with a sense of relief. She hated being at odds with him; they had never had reason to speak harshly to each other before. And she listened with genuine interest until he mentioned, ‘I suppose you know Helen’s been spending most of her time here at home? She makes occasional forays into London, but she’s been based here since our party. Maybe she’s out of work—over the hill as far as top modelling assignments go.’

  Had that been said with a tinge of spite? Bess briefly closed her eyes. She must be keeping her wedding plans quiet. She could have explained to Tom, though. He would soon be one of the family, after all—but she couldn’t bring herself to mention it.

  The thought of Vaccari as her brother-in-law was, against all reason, truly appalling. She didn’t want to think about it, much less discuss it. And she’d kept her duty calls home sparse and brief, not giving her mother the opportunity to enthuse about her favourite daughter’s wedding plans. So she simply asked, ‘Is that a problem?’ and went on to talk of other things, and only when she finally put the phone down could she begin to ease away the unwelcome, nagging tension and put her mind to deciding what to wear for that all-important business lunch tomorrow.

  As the taxi stopped at traffic lights Bess plucked a mirror from her bag and checked her appearance. Her glossy hair was neatly subdued, her make-up discreet, the collar of her oyster silk blouse tidily tucked away beneath the lapels of her taupe wool suit.

  While she was putting the mirror away the taxi surged forward, and her eyes fell on the slim leather briefcase containing the Jenson business proposals. No need to feel nervous, she told herself. Although she would have been happier to arrive at the restaurant with Mark. But he’d been tied up in a meeting with his bank manager for most of the morning and was relying on her to be at the restaurant on time, to hold the fort if the unpredictable happened and he was delayed.

  Which she was perfectly happy to do—if only she’d remembered to ask the financier’s name! But she could fudge her way round that one, she told herself calmly as she paid off the taxi when it drew up outside one of the city’s most sumptuous restaurants.

  She’d done her homework and had every reason to have confidence in her ability to make a useful contribution to the coming meeting, and wasn’t too perturbed when she was told that, no, Mr Jenson had not yet arrived, but their guest was already seated.

  A discreet consultation with her wristwatch told her she was exactly three minutes late. She’d been sure that she’d left herself loads of time, but the traffic had been horrendous. Formulating an apology, she adjured herself to smile as she followed the maître d’ on through, and was swamped by a truly awful sense of cruel inevitability when Luke Vaccari rose to greet her.

  ‘I’m—I’m sorry I’m late,’ she floundered childishly, sinking down abruptly as a waiter held out her chair. Her stomach clenched convulsively. Of all the backers available, why had Mark had to approach Vaccari?

  ‘A few moments only,’ he soothed urbanely, his silver eyes glimmering at her beneath the thick black tangle of his lashes. ‘When Jenson contacted me to say he might be held up, he assured me that his PA, Bess Ryland, would look after me.’

  He leaned back in his chair, his dark head tipped slightly to one side, his smile wickedly amused as he murmured, ‘There could be two Bess Rylands involved in the travel business, but I decided the coincidence would be too great. So that assurance of his spiced the small waiting time with delightful anticipation. So here we are, Bess.’ His smile was positively wicked now. ‘I’m ready and willing—look after me nicely.’

  She loathed the undercurrent of innuendo and strove to ignore it. She stared straight back at him, making her face controlled and still. If she had her way, she’d look after him with a double-barrelled shotgun! she thought caustically. But this meeting was too important to Mark to do or say anything that might jeopardise his chances of securing the financial backing he needed if his new business was to grow.

  ‘Of course,’ she replied tonelessly, determinedly taking his words at face value. ‘We won’t order until Mark arrives, but I’m sure you’d like a drink.’

  ‘I already have one.’ A slant of silver eyes indicated the untouched glass of wine, and even though his face was perfectly straight Bess was painfully aware that he was laughing at her.

  ‘I—I hadn’t noticed.’ She had the feeling she was being tested. And had failed. I
n her agitation she’d noticed nothing but his unwelcome presence. How easily he could make her feel foolish!

  She unknotted her fingers and reached for the briefcase. ‘I have our proposal here. You might like to glance at it while we wait.’ With his attention fixed on facts and figures, away from her, she would be able to breathe more easily.

  But he replied disconcertingly, ‘I’ve already studied it in detail.’ His wide shoulders lifted in an elegantly casual, dismissive shrug. ‘To agree to a meeting without having done so would be a waste of my time. I don’t waste time, Bess.’

  She knew that. To her cost, she knew that. They had barely met before he had deliberately set out to unsettle her. Recalling the acid-sweet taunts, the way he’d touched her, kissed her, made her head swim, her muscles clench with tension.

  And all the time he’d been planning to marry her sister! And she hadn’t had a second’s real peace of mind since.

  She made an effort to push it all out of her head, but it was impossible, and when he said softly, ‘Relax, Bess,’ she raised haunted green eyes to his, unconsciously pleading, begging him to let her be.

  But if he’d read the desperate message he clearly had no intention of accommodating her. There was an amused curl to his cruel, sensual mouth as he watched her intently, musing, ‘Helen told me you were a very humble secretary in a branch of a travel agency chain. Yet you turn up as PA to a young man who’s going places fast. Has she always denigrated your achievements?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Bess denied untruthfully. But she had grown used to being constantly put down, being compared unfavourably with her gorgeous, vivacious sister. It didn’t bother her really, hadn’t done since she’d begun to understand that nobody consciously wanted to hurt her.

  Besides, Helen had obviously given the information before she’d accepted the job with Mark. And Helen was her sister. She wasn’t going to say a word against her to the man she was soon to marry; she wasn’t that small-minded.