by Penny Jordan
The contents of her wardrobe could hardly rival the clothes worn by women accustomed to shopping in Knightsbridge, she told herself ruefully, and then almost immediately was struck by the strangeness of her thought. Normally her appearance was the last thing to worry her when she was invited out. Shrugging the thought aside, she went upstairs to see what she could find.
Her clothes were serviceable rather than attractive. After Ricky’s death there had been no money to spare for such fripperies even if she had wanted them, and her normal garb consisted of jeans, shirts and jumpers.
She frowned slightly as her fingers touched her few summer dresses, most of them relics from the early days of her marriage when she had naïvely hoped to impress Ricky with the cheap chain-store clothes she had bought locally in Dorchester. She hadn’t known then that he was accustomed to far more attractively and sophisticatedly dressed women than she could ever hope to be. Her frown deepened as she touched a dress as yet never worn. It had arrived the Christmas before last, a large brown parcel with American stamps, a Christmas present from her mother. The first one she could ever remember receiving since her parents’ divorce, she thought wryly now, fingering the rich deep pink silk fabric. Why her mother had sent her such an obviously expensive and unsuitable gift was a complete mystery to her, and after one look at it she had consigned it to the back of her wardrobe, knowing she would never have either the self-confidence or the occasion to wear such an outfit. But now things had changed, she thought, fingering the fabric absently. If the secondhand Vogues Sue passed on to her were anything to go by, even the most simple dinner party now demanded sophisticated dressing, and the prospect of her new career had given her a self-confidence she had never expected to have.
Impatiently she tugged the dress off its hanger and held it in front of her. She had never even tried it on, but one glance at the label had made her decide that her mother had indulged herself in malicious amusement in sending her a size ten dress when, on the last occasion they had met, Kate would have had difficulty in getting into a size twelve.
Now, however, things were different, and the draped, wrapover style of the dress meant that the bodice would easily accommodate what she personally considered to be her rather over-full breasts.
Against the rich intensity of the silk her skin took on a matt creamy tone that emphasised the sultry darkness of her hair; the image she could see in the mahogany pier-glass at once familiar and yet unfamiliar, tantalisingly hinting at another Kate, and one moreover who looked as though she could be as turbulent and passionate as Shakespeare’s vividly drawn Shrew. Impatiently she dismissed her thoughts as ridiculous. Cool control, that was what she aimed to portray, it was safer…made her less vulnerable. Annoyed with herself, she threw the dress down on to the bed. She would have to wear it, she had nothing else suitable, and after all, who was going to notice her? Certainly not whatever poor male Sue had picked out for her, for despite her friend’s promise, Kate knew enough about her to suspect that Sue had picked someone out.
* * *
Fifteen miles away in the comfortable Edwardian house that had once been a vicarage Sue was frowningly concentrating on what her husband was saying. John Edwards was a large, placid man who was a good doctor and a compassionate one. He could tell by his wife’s face that she didn’t like what he was saying, but he still continued mildly, ‘It isn’t on, Sue, and Kate will be furious…you know that.’
‘But it isn’t my fault, it was the Bensons who asked if they could bring him. He’s a close friend of theirs, apparently, more or less completely on his own in London…what could I say?’
‘Mmm…well, Kate won’t see it that way. It would have been much better if you’d explained the situation to her. She’ll take one look at him and immediately she’s going to think the obvious—that he’s someone you’ve invited specifically to partner her, and you know how sensitive she is about that sort of thing.’
‘Mmm. Honestly, John, it almost breaks my heart. It’s such a waste… She’s so beautiful, but she behaves as though she’s the original Ugly Sister.’
‘I know. Ricky Hammond has one hell of a lot to answer for.’ John got up and put an arm round his wife’s shoulders. ‘I know you only want to help her, Sue, but you can’t. God alone knows what kind of psychological damage Hammond and her mother between them did to her, but it certainly can’t be put right by arranging dinner party partners for her.’
‘Then what will put it right?’
‘I don’t really know. It sounds trite, but all I can think of is good old-fashioned love, and Kate’s so withdrawn I doubt she could ever allow herself to believe any man could love her.’
‘How could he do that to her, John?’ Sue asked her husband miserably. ‘How could Ricky marry her and then treat her like that?’
‘Men like Hammond who are driven by an obsession, whether it’s drink, drugs or gambling, don’t function in the same way as the rest of us.’
‘Mmm… If I ring Kate now and tell her that the Bensons are bringing a spare man, ten to one she’ll refuse to come.’
‘Okay, but be prepared for fireworks,’ her husband warned her with a grin. ‘Kate won’t like it. Who is this man anyway?’
‘I don’t know his name. Vera Benson simply rang up last night and asked if they could bring him along. Apparently he’s in the same line of business as her husband—merchant banking, although at the moment he’s based in New York. Vera said he was thinking of transferring his main business to London, something about world time differences working more efficiently for him in London than they do in New York.’
‘Mmm…a lot of the big money men are transferring their business to London. Because of the new sophisticated communications systems it means that they can take advantage of the fact that, during the British working day, they can get in touch with both New York and Hong Kong during their working days, which gives them an immediate advantage.’
John grinned at his wife’s astounded expression and admitted wryly, ‘I read it in the Sunday Times magazine. If the Bensons’ friend is one of these money men, chances are he’ll be a real high-flier. Most of them are burned-out by the time they’re thirty.’
‘Oh, yeah? Did you read that in the Sunday Times as well?’
‘Yep.’ His smile was unrepentant, as he added comfortingly, ‘It sounds as though he isn’t going to be Kate’s type at all. If I know anything about these big business men he’ll spend most of the evening talking with Benson, so with any luck Kate won’t realise you’re trying to palm him off on her.’ He broke off as he saw the frown pleating his wife’s forehead and enquired, ‘Now what’s the matter?’
‘What? Oh…if he’s as important as all that, he’s not going to think much of the simple meal I was planning to serve. I wonder if it’s too late to…’
‘Yes,’ John told her firmly. ‘Whatever it is you’re planning to change, don’t. He’ll probably appreciate simple fare for a change. For goodness’ sake, Sue, stop worrying. It’s giving you grey hairs,’ he teased, watching as his wife abandoned her concern over the menu to rush over to the mirror to stare at her still-bright blonde hair.
* * *
Half-past eight was the time Sue had specified for her arrival, and knowing that she needed to allow a good three-quarters of an hour to drive to Sue’s home, at half-past six Kate abandoned the work she was doing and went upstairs to run a bath.
At half-past seven she was ready to slip into her dress. She paused to check her make-up first, wondering if the deep pink glossy lipstick was too much. She had a natural eye for colour, and although she didn’t wear make-up very often, tonight she had found it surprisingly easy to apply. Just a touch of dark blue eyeshadow brought out the intense depth of her eyes, blusher highlighting the cheekbones which gave her face its distinctive definition. The fullness of her mouth beneath its careful coating of lipstick was almost gypsyish, as was the untamed thickness of her hair worn long now as opposed to the short, almost boyish cut her mother had cho
sen for her just before her marriage.
She picked up the dress and put it on, securing the two buttons that fastened it at the waist. It fitted her surprisingly well, the wide stiffened belt that went with it emphasising the smallness of her waist, the silk hissing softly as she walked across the room to put on her shoes—a rather old pair of black high-heeled sandals which were the only suitable footwear for the dress that she had.
In them she would probably tower over most of the other guests at the dinner party, including the men, she thought wryly, eyeing her five foot eight frame with familiar dislike.
The rain had stopped, and as she stepped outside she breathed in deeply, savouring the fresh, clean smell of wet grass and earth. She was so lucky to live here…to have the lifestyle that she did, and even though she had to part with the house, she still had the cottage.
There had been a letter for her in the post this morning from her solicitor confirming that the lease was now terminated. Tomorrow she must go down to the cottage and look over it, and then she would have to put the house on the market for sale.
Sighing faintly, she slid into the driver’s seat of her ancient car and started the ignition. As always it was several minutes before the little car coughed and spluttered into life. This evening for some reason in fact, it seemed more reluctant than ever to start, and even once it had, the engine ran in a hesitant, uncertain fashion that made Kate guiltily aware that it was some months since she had last had it serviced.
Because she felt reluctant to push her car too hard, she arrived later than she had anticipated and there were three unfamiliar cars already parked in the Martins’ generous drive before her.
She stopped her car and got out, cursing herself for arriving late. She would have preferred to arrive first so that she could study her fellow guests without feeling that they were scrutinising her. Now it might seem almost as though she had deliberately delayed in order to make an entrance.
Sue opened the door for her, her eyes widening in stunned appreciation of her dress.
‘Kate, you look fantastic!’ she enthused, hugging her. ‘Where on earth did you get that?’
‘My mother sent it to me a couple of Christmases ago.’ She grimaced faintly. ‘I hope I’m not going to be overdressed.’
‘In that?’ Sue grinned mischievously at her. ‘I doubt that any man would think so. It’s really quite sexy…’ She could have bitten her tongue when she saw Kate’s wary, troubled expression, and quickly hurried her towards the drawing-room, whispering as she did so, ‘The others have all arrived. The Hugheses and the Dentons came together, but…’ She broke off as they reached the open drawing-room door, standing back so that Kate was forced to precede her through it.
The Martins’ drawing-room was as familiar to her as her own and so she was free to concentrate her attention on her fellow guests. Two couples stood by the window chatting, and Kate vaguely recognised them from Sue’s Christmas cocktail party. One of the men was a consultant based at the local hospital and the other man was something in hospital administration. The quartet saw her and smiled in her direction. Nothing to worry about there—two comfortably married middle-aged couples. A little of her apprehension melted and the tension down her spine eased slightly.
‘Kate, come and meet Vera and Ian Benson. They’ve bought The Grange…’
The couple Sue wanted to introduce her to were standing by the fireplace, and John stood behind them, his head turned away from her, obviously speaking to someone who was blocked from her view by the angle of the chimney breast.
‘Vera…Ian…let me introduce an old friend of mine to you.’ The thin, dark-haired woman turned as Sue touched her arm, smiling charmingly at Kate and extending her hand. She had that look of glossy perfection that Kate had come to recognise as belonging to Londoners, but despite the elegance of her appearance, the immaculate make-up and the designer dress, the smile she gave Kate was warm and genuinely friendly.
‘Sue’s told us so much about you,’ she told Kate, ‘and about your house. It sounds lovely.’
Her husband had turned away to talk to John, but now he turned back, directing his attention towards Kate, warm grey eyes twinkling slightly as he took her extended hand. ‘So you are Kate.’ He gave Sue a mock reproachful smile and teased, ‘Why didn’t you tell me she was beautiful? I’d have left Vera at home.’
‘No way,’ his wife interrupted firmly, adding with a smile at Kate, ‘Not that I imagine a girl like Kate would be interested in you anyway. I expect she has men queueing up to take her out.’
It wasn’t the sort of teasing that Kate was used to, and she flushed a little, even while she realised there was no malice or unkindness in Vera’s words, and was glad of Sue’s timely interruption when she tapped her husband on the shoulder and asked him to get Kate a drink.
It was as John turned towards her that Kate had her first glimpse of the man he had been talking to, and in the same instant that her brain registered the familiarity of his features, hardened and honed by time though they were, her body froze. She couldn’t move…couldn’t even breathe, could only stare at him like a petrified creature while distantly she was aware of Vera Benson chattering gaily, saying something that included both his name and her own. She saw him move…reach out towards her, and a dreadful tearing panic took hold of her. She wanted to turn and flee, but as though she were trapped in some horrendous nightmare it was impossible for her to move.
‘Kate…’ The deep measured voice hadn’t changed, nor the clipped curt way he said her name, even if he was saying it as though he had never heard it before, looking at her as though he had never set eyes on her before too.
Relief flooded through her, acting as a trigger to release her from her stunned paralysis.
He was extending his hand towards her, and she almost cringed away from touching it, but some deep instinct for protection urged her to take it, to behave as normally as she could.
He shook her hand, his fingers cool and hard against her own. Strange to think that she had once dreamed of those fingers against her skin…touching, caressing, bringing her to womanhood. She shuddered deeply and stepped back, completely unable to look into his face. Could it be that he hadn’t recognised her? Oh, please God, let that be the case. She didn’t think she could bear the humiliation of having to face him if he knew the truth.
‘Dominic has just arrived from the States,’ she heard Vera Benson explaining. ‘He and my husband are in the same line of business—merchant banking.’
Merchant banking. Was that what he called it? Against her will, Kate felt a deep anger stir inside her. That weekend when Ricky brought Dominic Harland home with him, she hadn’t realised why. That realisation had only come later after Ricky’s death, when she discovered the extent of the money her late husband owed his old school-friend. It was Dominic who held a mortgage on the farmland surrounding the house and she had sold that land to repay his losses after Ricky died, but it wasn’t because of that that she couldn’t bear to face him.
‘Come on, everyone, dinner’s almost ready. Kate, you’re next to Dominic,’ Sue announced, shepherding them all towards the dining-room. Instinctively Kate stopped and looked across at him. He was staring back at her, the gold eyes darkly topaz, and as he watched her Kate knew that he had not forgotten…that he had recognised her. Dark colour stained her normally pale skin as the agony of her memories convulsed her. Dear God, she had never thought she would ever see him again. She had prayed and hoped she would not, comforted in the worst moments of her self-torment by the knowledge that he was not a man who would ever reappear in her life, but now here he was, carrying with him information which could blast apart all that she had made of herself, and all that she had struggled to put aside after Ricky’s death.
The meal was a nightmare, from which she surfaced briefly aware of the ebb and flow of comfortable conversation going on around her, but totally unable to take any part in it. She heard her name mentioned and looked up unguardedly, letting her g
lance mesh with Dominic Harland’s. Anger and contempt burned in the gold depths of his eyes, scorching her.
‘My goodness, how very interesting!’
She was aware of Vera Benson turning towards her with a warm smile, but felt totally unable to respond.
‘You must come over and look at our conservatory,’ the other woman was saying. ‘It’s been badly damaged, I’m afraid, and a lot of the glass needs replacing. I had been thinking in terms of something pretty and amusing in one of the panels.’
This was business, Kate told herself, struggling to break free of her own terror, forcing herself to respond and ask when it would be convenient for her to call.
‘I’m not sure what our plans are at the moment—we’re still based in London, but perhaps I could give you a ring, say, later in the week when I know what we’re doing next weekend.’
Kate gave Vera her telephone number, making a mental note to mention to Harry that they would need business cards. She knew she ought to have been elated at the prospect of her first freelance commission, but she felt too weighed down with anxiety. Would Dominic Harland tell his friends what she had done? She closed her eyes. No…no, surely not…
‘Kate! Kate, are you all right?’
She opened them again to be confronted by Sue’s concerned face. ‘You went quite white,’ Sue explained worriedly. ‘I thought for a moment you must be ill.’