The Sister Secret

by Jessica Steele

  She had had little compunction in telling a whole string of whoppers to the man she loved, but liked less having to lie to her sister. Yet she had been totally stumped yesterday, when no sooner had he gone, Josy had sought her out and asked anxiously, ‘What did he want?’ The truth, that Latham was still after Josy, had had to be avoided at all costs.

  ‘Oh, nothing too important,’ she had replied, while her thoughts had gone scurrying to come up with a reason that had nothing to do with Josy, nor Latham either. ‘We—er— You know that concert thing I went to with him the other Monday,’ she had pulled out of an unknown somewhere.

  ‘Yes,’ Josy had replied, giving Belvia another second to get her powers of super-invention into gear.

  ‘Well, that night—’

  ‘You were all right? You weren’t harmed in any way?’ Josy had cut in in utmost concern, giving her not only another couple of seconds but the gleam of an idea.

  ‘No, I told you, Latham’s manners were impeccable,’ she had smiled. ‘But during the evening I met a man called Rodney Phillips who works for Latham.’ And it was here that the truth had started to stretch. ‘Anyhow, Rodney Phillips asked Latham for my phone number, apparently, and it was only after he’d given it to him that his PA told him that Rodney has a terrible reputation for being rather unpleasant with women when he’s had a drink or two. Latham was more or less passing our door when he felt he was morally bound to come and pass on what his PA had said, because he feels sure that Rodney Phillips might phone and ask me out.’

  ‘That was very decent of him,’ Josy had opined—and had left Belvia feeling a trifle stunned at her unexpected powers of invention, and sending a silent apology to Rodney Phillips, whom she had judged to be totally harmless.

  And the phone stayed silent. Belvia went to bed on Thursday night feeling het-up and angry. She hated this waiting game, this guarding the telephone, this going out only to exercise Hetty and dashing back fearful that Latham might have phoned in her absence.

  ‘Fancy coming to the supermarket with me?’ Josy asked her just after eleven on Friday morning.

  There and back, with shopping in between, the supermarket was a two-hour trip. ‘Do you mind if I don’t? I promised myself I’d do a wardrobe clear-out today, and if I don’t soon get started I’ll—’

  ‘If you’re throwing out your green two-piece, put my name on it,’ Josy butted in—and Belvia could not have been better pleased. Not because her sister had taken her excuse without offence, but because this was the first time in an age that she had shown the smallest interest in clothes. Was she starting to recover? Oh, she did so hope so. It was only a small step, Belvia knew that, but it was a step in the right direction.

  Josy had been gone only about fifteen minutes when the doorbell sounded, and Belvia’s stomach tightened in knots. It would not be him, it could not be him, she told herself as she went to answer it. What busy man of business could afford to take time out of his schedule twice in one week for something that had nothing to do with business?

  Nervously she put her hand on the door-catch, and had to take a deep and steadying breath before she opened it—and it was him. And her heart sang and danced just to see him—casually clothed, even though this was the middle of a business day.

  In return Latham was eyeing her, taking in her tailored trousers with crisp shirt tucked into the waistband. What he was thinking she could not tell, for his expression told her nothing. ‘Me—or Josy?’ she asked, as she attempted to steady her heartbeat by reminding herself that his visit might bode nothing good for her sister.

  Latham eyed her unblinkingly for a few seconds longer. Then, clearly remembering their exchange the last time she had opened the door to him, when she had said that Josy was not in and he had replied that it was not Josy he had come to see, ‘You,’ he clipped.

  Belvia did not make the mistake of offering him coffee this time. This man, for all his casual air, meant business. She remembered how she had realised that, having handed him all the aces, so to speak, she had placed herself entirely at his mercy—and tried not to panic.

  ‘We’ll go to the sitting-room,’ she stated, and led the way. He followed without saying another word, and in the sitting-room Belvia pointed to the chair she had sat in on Wednesday while she went over to the couch. They were both seated when, perhaps hoping to defer what she guessed in advance might be something not too pleasant, ‘Josy really is out today,’ she commented.

  ‘Somewhere interesting?’

  ‘Only the supermarket,’ she replied, and suddenly wanted it all said and done so that she would know the worst.

  As too did Latham apparently want it all said, for, his tone crisp, he asked, ‘Is Josy well enough for you to leave her for a few days?’

  Belvia shot him a wary look. In point of fact, while returning her affection, Josy enjoyed solitude sometimes and, if her comment about the green two-piece was anything to go by, had made a start on recovery.

  But Belvia had no intention of telling him that—she had been far too open before. ‘What do you have in mind?’ she hedged, and found she was looking into a pair of cool grey eyes which never flinched.

  ‘I’ve a country retreat in Wiltshire where I occasionally spend a weekend. I’m on my way there now, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ she queried politely.

  ‘I’ve invited some people down tomorrow, a married couple. They’ll stay overnight, and,’ he added, ‘I’d like you to come with me, and be there too.’

  For a moment, as what he said penetrated, her thoughts went haywire. The thought of spending the whole of today with him, of being with him for the whole weekend, albeit with other people as from tomorrow, sounded like absolute bliss. Suddenly, though, she crashed down back to earth. It was not as simple as that—he did not love her—and there were strings.

  ‘Why?’ she asked shortly.

  Latham shrugged. ‘While you may not be such a good housekeeper as your sister, I’m sure you’d be able to cope in the kitchen.’

  So he wanted her to cook for him and his guests. Belvia could not see that as any problem, but—she had trusted him without thinking on Wednesday, and had regretted it ever since.

  ‘What’s this got to do with Josy?’ she asked—the question which was at the basis of her knowing him.

  ‘The decision is yours. Come with me—and your sister will not be bothered by me ever again.’

  Belvia’s breath caught. Surely for him to be able to state that so categorically had to mean that he was not in love with Josy, didn’t it? Oh, how wonderful! Suddenly her heart was singing. Man-like, Latham had only been interested in her sister because she was unattainable, but he had no deep love for her.

  Suddenly Belvia realised she was going off into orbit in her relief—and so fought hard to counteract it. Why should she go and be his skivvy? she made herself think belligerently—only to be tripped up by thoughts of not only her sister but her father also. And—oh, grief—her father would only have to hear the merest whisper of what had gone on and without question, if he knew she had refused, should Latham so request her sister the next time, he would put pressure on Josy to go.

  Abruptly a stray strand of caution came to Belvia, which blotted out all other thoughts and, before she knew it, she was blurting out shortly, ‘I’d have a room to myself?’

  Of course she would, she realised on the next moment, and, feeling dreadfully embarrassed all at once, she wished she had stayed quiet. Though she was not at all sure about the mild-mannered smile that came to Latham’s expression as he scrutinised her anxious face for a few seconds. She did not trust that mild-mannered smile.

  Then she found that she had indeed worried unnecessarily, for, not missing that she had just as good as told him she would go with him, he replied, ‘The property is a three-bedroom cottage.’ Relief rushed in that of course she was to have her own room. But, as Latham’s mild-mannered smile took on a silky edge, Belvia began to grow wary again, and was soon learning t
hat her relief had been premature. As too had any thought that she had worried unnecessarily because, without so much as a change in tone, Latham went on, ‘Unfortunately, I’ve had the middle bedroom converted into two en suite bathrooms.’

  Her throat dried, but she would not swallow and show him how this news was affecting her nerves—she would not. ‘So—your cottage is now a two-bedroom cottage?’ Bother his wanting every i dotted, every t crossed. Before she so much as set foot outside her home, she wanted every fact established.

  ‘Your training in accountancy is standing you in good stead,’ he murmured sardonically, and again she wanted to hit him—it did not require a calculator to subtract one from three to make it two.

  ‘So,’ she pressed doggedly on, ‘where would I sleep.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t dream of allowing you to sleep anywhere but in a bedroom,’ he answered pleasantly, adding, ‘And to save your next question—I’ve no intention of dossing down on the sitting-room sofa, either.’

  Belvia swallowed then, despite her determination not to; she just could not help it. But she was still as dogged as ever to find out at the outset just what went on here.

  ‘You’re not suggesting for a moment, I suppose, that I share a room with your female guest while you...?’ He was shaking his head long before she could finish.

  ‘Not for a moment,’ he agreed casually.

  God, how she hated, loved, hated him! ‘You’re saying that, when your guests arrive tomorrow, I’m to sleep in the same room as you?’ she insisted on knowing.

  He smiled a smile of pure mockery. ‘There, I was right,’ he drawled. ‘You are bright.’

  Oh, how she wanted to wipe all that mockery from his face. Failing that, she threw him a cutting look that did not even dent him, and fought a panicky but losing battle within herself. She would not go, most definitely she would not go, was her first thought. Then she thought of Josy—and knew without a single doubt that if she did not go, then he would feel free to renew his pursuit of her sister.

  Nerves were most definitely starting to bite when Belvia stared at him hostilely, and demanded, ‘You’d expect me to sleep in your bed?’

  His mouth twitched and, at the thought that he must find it amusing that she could be so hostile and yet ask such a question, she again wanted to hit him. ‘If you absolutely can’t resist it,’ he mocked, and veritable sparks of outrage and impotent fury flashed in her eyes.

  The pig! The arrant swine! The diabolical rat! He damn well knew what he could do to her! Damn him to hell. ‘What about my reputation?’ she erupted, that appearing to be about her only defence. Stuff his bed—she’d sleep on the floor sooner!

  ‘Ye gods!’ he exclaimed. ‘She’s gone old-fashioned on me!’ Belvia shot out of her chair, too furious to sit. She stormed over to the window—if she went anywhere near him she would hammer his head in. She was not looking at him, but knew he was on his feet too—and a harshness had entered his tones when he grated, ‘What reputation?’

  She guessed she had rather walked into that. Though if he thought she was having an affair with a married man he was not taking into account that she might have something better to do with her weekend than go off somewhere with him. Not, on second thoughts, that what she wanted was of the slightest importance to him.

  She turned to look at him standing by the mantelpiece and gave him a withering look, which bounced off him. ‘What if I don’t come and—for the want of a better word—housekeep for—?’

  ‘Hostess,’ Latham cut in coolly, and as coolly and effectively answered the question she had not finished asking by querying, ‘When will your sister be back?’

  Which as good as told her it was her—or Josy. ‘You’re bluffing!’ Belvia challenged, somehow unable to believe she could have fallen in love with a man who, after all she had revealed of her sister’s widowhood, could be so hard.

  His answer was to stride to the door without further comment. Her bluff called, Belvia was galvanised into action and reached the door at the same time as he did. ‘You win!’ she gasped, with no doubt in her mind then that if she allowed Latham to go from the room he would waste no more time with her, but would relentlessly go after her sister. She stared up at him from wide brown eyes, loved him and felt defeated, but knew that it was not over yet. ‘Have I your promise that, if I do share a room with you, you won’t—er—come over all—er—amorous?’ she asked quietly.

  His answer was at first to stare down into her eyes with a look so bordering on gentleness that her heartbeat suddenly started to race. She felt he was on the point of telling her to forget the whole thing. But then suddenly something seemed to come over him, and all at once that gentle look had hardened, and then had changed again, and a look of utter wickedness was on his face when he mocked, ‘What about my virtue?’

  How she kept her hand off him then, she did not know—but she had only one more question to ask. ‘If I do this—you’ll leave my sister alone?’

  He looked at her seriously for long, long moments, and then it was that he told her what she wanted to hear. ‘You have my word,’ he said quietly.

  Belvia looked at him for perhaps a second longer and, the die cast, she took a shaky breath. ‘I should like to leave before Josy comes back,’ she decided.

  His reply was to open the door. ‘It shouldn’t take more than a few minutes for you to throw a few things into a weekend case,’ he decreed.

  Without a word Belvia went past him and up the stairs to her room. Now that she accepted that she had no choice but to go, her head started to spin with unanswerable questions. Why her? He did not like her. Certainly did not love her. Her heart lightened slightly at the certainty that Latham did not love Josy either. But she had not thought the soup she had made for dinner that time had been so great that he would think of her when, despite his ‘hostess’ comment, he wanted a housekeeper for the weekend.

  Although, on reflection, since he had only two bedrooms, perhaps that was the reason. She got out a suitcase, and began to see that of course it was the reason. He needed someone to cook for him and his guests this weekend and, since he had nowhere to sleep a cook, on the strength of her soup she had been elected.

  Any further thoughts she might have had on the subject were cut short when just then, and without so much as a knock or a by-your-leave, Latham Tavenner opened her bedroom door and walked straight in.

  ‘I could have been changing!’ she protested, and was made to weather his look that said, I’ve seen you half undressed before, so why the noise?

  She clamped her lips together and watched astonished as he moved over to her bedroom window and glanced out. ‘I thought I’d carry your case down,’ he remarked, his back to her as he looked out at the view below.

  Ever the gent! ‘I’ve barely started packing yet!’ she complained.

  ‘I’ll wait.’ There was no end to his sauce, she fumed to herself. ‘Do you do any of the garden?’ he enquired conversationally.

  Belvia threw him a withering look which, since he had his back to her, was wasted. ‘Josy does most of it,’ she replied coldly, opening drawers and throwing underwear and nightwear into her case, and darting into the bathroom for some toiletries before going smartly to the wardrobe and, concerned to get out of there before her sister returned, taking out the first things she touched. ‘I’ll have to write a note to Josy,’ she informed the straight back of the man in her room as she snapped her case shut. ‘And I’ll have to make a phone call before I...’

  The rest of it died in her throat when Latham left his contemplation of the garden to shoot round, and his conversational tone abruptly vanished. ‘Who to?’ he demanded aggressively.

  ‘My stars!’ she exploded. ‘You’re never the same two minutes together!’

  ‘It’s part of my charm. Who to?’ he insisted.

  She tossed him an irritated look and would have ignored him, but he left his place over by the window and somehow, as he came nearer, she began to feel threatened—not by him, but b
y what his nearness could do to her. If he touched her, laid so much as a finger on her arm... ‘Oh, this is ridiculous!’ she erupted. ‘I merely have to ring the stables to—’ Anger pure and simple caused her to break off. Since it did not look as though he intended to leave her room until she did, then he was going to overhear her conversation anyway.

  To hell with him, she railed inwardly and, going over to the phone by her bed, refused to say another word to him, but dialled the number of the stables and was fortunate enough to find the person she wanted to speak to near at hand.

  Once her phone call was made, she went to her writing-desk and, finding it impossible to ignore Latham, did her best anyway, only to find he was looking over her shoulder, reading everything she wrote, as she penned her note.

  ‘Dear Josy,

  Kate rang—in something of a state. After-retirement blues, I think. I’ve said I’ll go and stay with her for a few days. Rang Tracey, by the way. She’ll exercise Hetty till I get back. See you some time Sunday.

  Love, Belvia.’

  ‘Who’s Kate?’ Latham wanted to know.

  ‘My God—don’t tell me you missed something!’ Belvia exclaimed waspishly—and knew she was very definitely going light-headed when he laughed, and she discovered that she wanted to join in. ‘Kate’s someone I used to work with,’ she told him belligerently—anything rather than let him see that they shared the same perverse sense of humour.

  Belvia left the note to her sister propped up on the hall table and went from the house, to discover that Latham had dispensed with a chauffeur’s services and was driving himself that Friday.

  She told herself as they drove along that she was not going to enjoy one single solitary moment of the next two days—but could not deny that her emotions were confused and all over the place just to be seated in his car with him, a whole weekend in his company stretching before her.

  Latham had chosen to take the scenic route rather than the motorway, and it was nearing one when he pulled up at a pleasant-looking hotel. ‘We’ll lunch here,’ he decided.