‘Is Simon there?’ Loris tried to stop the flow.
‘No, he’s staying in Oxford with some friends. I presume you’ll be driving down with Mark as soon as the party’s over?’
‘I suppose so,’ Loris said uncertainly.
‘You mean he’s still with that blonde creature? Yes, I see he is. She’s probably after his money… Well, you’ve only got yourself to blame. All in all you’ve managed to make a real mess of the evening.’
‘It’s not entirely my fault,’ Loris protested. ‘If Mark had been a little more understanding…’
‘When have men ever been understanding?’
‘I’m sure some are.’
‘Well, not the macho ones like Mark and your father.’ Obviously wondering if she’d said too much, Isobel added hastily, ‘Though who wants to be married to a wimp?’
‘Not me.’ For the first time that night, Loris smiled.
Peter Bergman thrust his way through the crowd and addressed his wife. ‘About ready?’
‘I only have to get my coat.’
Giving his daughter a look of extreme displeasure, he asked brusquely, ‘I suppose you realise you’ve spoilt the entire evening? Have you any idea just how angry and disappointed Mark is?’
‘He’s made it quite plain,’ she answered wearily.
‘Then it’s up to you to apologise. And as soon as possible.’
‘Do,’ Isobel urged as she prepared to follow her husband. ‘Otherwise they’ll both sulk for the rest of the weekend and it’ll be murder.’
Loris was surprised by her mother’s caustic observation. Though Isobel frequently criticised her husband, she had never been known to admit to even the slightest imperfection in her future son-in-law.
‘You may well be right,’ Loris admitted as she kissed the proffered cheek.
‘I expect we’ll be in bed before you get to Monkswood, so I’ll see you in the morning. By the way, you and Mark have your usual rooms.’ Isobel hurried away.
Knowing that the only possible chance of saving what was left of the weekend would be to get her apology over as quickly as possible, Loris began to look for her fiancé.
She finally spotted him standing, tall, dark, and powerful-looking, apparently bidding goodnight to some people who were leaving early.
Though he was still what most people would have called ‘a fine figure of a man’, she noted, with almost a feeling of betrayal, that his black, crinkly hair was showing signs of grey, his jawline had lost its firmness, and he had the beginnings of a paunch.
Relieved to find the blonde was nowhere in sight, she hurried over, and said quickly, ‘Mark, I’m terribly sorry I was so late. I know you have every right to be angry with me, but please don’t let it spoil the weekend.’
His brown eyes showing no signs of forgiveness, he snapped, ‘The party’s almost over. Isn’t it a bit late for apologies?’
‘I would have told you I was sorry straight away if you’d been alone.’
‘Pamela’s a beautiful woman, don’t you think?’
When Loris said nothing, knowing he was just rubbing it in, he added, ‘She comes from the States. Her father is Alan Gresham, the American newspaper magnate, which makes her heir to the Gresham millions.’
‘How nice.’
So her mother was wrong. It wasn’t Mark’s money the blonde was after.
‘She’s made it quite obvious she fancies me.’
Loris’s lips tightened in distaste. ‘Don’t you find her just a bit blatant?’
‘She certainly knows her way around,’ he said admiringly. ‘And she’s not the sort to say no, which makes a nice change.’
So it wasn’t just her late arrival he was punishing her for. Her refusal to go to bed with him was a good part of it.
In the three months they had been engaged Mark had been fairly pressing, and several times, deciding she was being stupid in holding back, she had almost given in.
He was a handsome, virile man, and she had little doubt that he would make a good lover. Yet each time when it came to the crunch, perhaps still inhibited by the past, she had changed her mind.
Understandably, this had enraged Mark, who had sulked for days. He would be perfectly normal with everyone else, but only address her when he absolutely had to, and then be brief and glacial.
Reading the signs, Isobel had once said seriously, ‘I know sleeping together is almost the norm these days, but I think you’re right to hold back until the wedding ring’s on your finger.’
It was the first time her mother had ever broached the question of sex and, wondering if she had somehow guessed what had happened with Nigel, Loris had asked, ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because Mark’s the sort of man who, when he’s got what he wants, might well lose interest and start to look elsewhere…’
Like Nigel.
‘Of course once you’re his wife it won’t matter so much. After one divorce, I imagine he’ll be fairly discreet.’
Profoundly disturbed by what her mother was suggesting, Loris had said, ‘You sound as if you think he’ll stray.’
‘Don’t most men? And I can’t imagine a man like Mark being satisfied with one woman.’
Seeing her daughter’s expression, Isobel had added, ‘After all, what does it matter? You’ll have money and position, a good lifestyle. Mark seems generous enough. Unlike your father.’
‘I don’t happen to want that kind of marriage,’ Loris had said quietly.
‘Well, of course I could be totally wrong.’ Isobel had hastily backed off. ‘Mark is getting to the age where he might be ready to settle for the faithful husband bit…’
Becoming aware that Mark was waiting for a response to something she hadn’t heard, Loris said, ‘Sorry?’
‘I merely remarked that if you’re jealous of Pamela, you know what to do about it.’
‘But I’m not jealous,’ Loris denied calmly.
Looking distinctly put out, Mark asked, ‘Then why did you rope in that wimp to dance with you?’
‘I didn’t “rope him in”. He asked me.’ Remembering Jonathan Drummond’s quiet self-assurance, his firm refusal to be used, she said, ‘And I certainly wouldn’t describe him as a wimp.’
Eyes narrowing, Mark queried, ‘Had you met him before?’
‘No.’
‘Did he know who you were?’
‘Yes.’ Remembering his comments about Mark, she added, ‘I gather you and he know each other.’
Mark looked down his nose. ‘I’d hardly say know. I’ve seen him knocking around the offices.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Just some Johnny-come-lately. He’s over from the States with the Cosby crowd.’
Of course. She recalled that his attractive voice had had a slight American accent.
‘What does he do exactly?’
‘No idea,’ Mark said dismissively. ‘He’s sat in on most of the meetings, but I gather he’s there in some minor capacity. Secretary or PA to one of the executives, or something of the sort. Why do you want to know?’
Unwisely, she admitted, ‘I found him interesting.’
Looking at her as if she’d lost her senses, Mark echoed, ‘Interesting?’
‘He seemed unusually cool and self-possessed. Very much his own man.’
Mark snorted. ‘Though he had the infernal cheek to ask you to dance, I noticed he didn’t have the nerve to kiss you.’
‘I don’t think it was lack of nerve.’
‘Then he probably remembered his place.’
‘Remembered his place?’
‘Well, he’s definitely not in our league.’
‘I wasn’t aware we had a league.’ Her voice was as brittle as ice.
Sounding human for the first time, Mark said wryly, ‘I thought you came over to apologise, not pick a quarrel.’
‘I did. I’m sorry, Mark. Let’s not talk about Jonathan Drummond.’
‘Drummond, that’s his name. I’ll keep an eye on him from now on.’<
br />
‘What do you mean by “keep an eye on him”?’
‘Just that. It strikes me he could get too big for his boots.’
Well aware that Mark could be quite petty if he took a dislike to anyone, Loris wished she’d said nothing about Jonathan Drummond.
Wanting to change the subject, she asked lightly, ‘So, now I’ve apologised for being late, are we friends again?’
Ignoring the question, he went off at a tangent. ‘You do realise that when we’re married you’re going to have to give up this ridiculous job. I refuse to have my wife working all hours.’
‘I won’t be working all hours.’
‘You are at the moment.’
‘Only because I have to pay an exorbitant rent for my flat.’
‘You could have gone on living at home.’
‘I didn’t want to.’ Her desire to be independent had made her move as soon as she was able to support herself.
She made an effort to placate him. ‘Once we’re married the financial pressure will ease and I’ll be able to choose just a few special clients.’
‘When we’re married you won’t need any clients.’
‘But I want to work.’
‘I flatly refuse to let any wife of mine go about telling other people how to decorate their homes. It reflects badly on me. You must see that.’
‘But what will I do all day?’
‘Whatever it is that other rich men’s wives do.’
Loris, who was about to argue, thought better of it. ‘Well, I’m sure we don’t need to discuss it just at the moment.’
‘No, there are more important things to sort out.’ He put an arm around her waist.
‘Such as what?’
Bending his head, he said in her ear, ‘I’ve had more than enough of your stalling. I want you to sleep with me tonight.’
‘But we’re at Monkswood.’
‘All the rooms have a double bed. Either you come to me, or let me come to you.’
‘No. I couldn’t. Not in my parents’ house.’
‘Don’t be an idiot, Loris. They need never know if you don’t want them to. And even if we shared a room openly I know your father wouldn’t mind. After all, we are going to be married. Oh, come on! You’re living in the twenty-first century, not Victorian times.’
‘Yes, I know, but I still don’t feel comfortable about it.’
‘Then come back to my flat with me now, and we’ll go on to Monkswood afterwards.’
About to make the excuse that she wasn’t in the right mood, she hesitated. Perhaps it was time she cut herself free from the past.
With today’s sexual freedom there was little real justification for holding back, and Mark was clearly getting to the end of his patience.
She had opened her mouth to agree when he muttered angrily, ‘Look, Loris, I’m warning you. This time I don’t intend to take no for an answer.’
Hating to be pressured in this way, she felt her temper flare, and she snapped, ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to.’
Perhaps if he’d used his not inconsiderable charm, he might have succeeded in talking her round, but, in a mood for confrontation rather than conciliation, he threw down the gauntlet. ‘Damn it, if you won’t come back to my flat with me, I know someone who will.’
‘I suppose you mean Pamela?’
His smile was an unpleasant combination of smugness and threat. ‘She’ll come like a shot, and I might just ask her.’
‘Why don’t you?’ Loris said coldly, and, chin held high, stalked away.
Going to the Ladies’ Cloakroom, she sat on one of the pink velvet chairs, staring blindly into the gilt-edged mirror while a trickle of women began to collect their coats.
The St Valentine’s party was almost over, and as far as she was concerned the whole thing had been a total disaster. Had she known what trouble her being late would cause she would have cancelled her appointment, even if it had meant losing a client.
As it was, she’d displeased her father, made Jonathan Drummond think badly of her and, on this special night for lovers, thoroughly upset Mark.
Thinking of the promising moment that had suddenly metamorphosed into an unpleasant flare-up, she gave a deep sigh. Of course he wouldn’t do as he’d threatened. The only reason he’d flaunted his conquest of the blonde had been to add weight to his demands, and his ultimatum had been caused by a build-up of anger that had needed to find an outlet.
But it was ironic to think that if it hadn’t been for him jumping in too soon they would have been on their way to his flat by now. Perhaps, rather than reacting in the way she had, it would have been better if she’d controlled her temper and agreed to go, regardless.
Once they were lovers the tension between them would ease. They could go back to being happy and enjoying each other’s company, rather than Mark, frustrated and resentful, quite often spoiling things by sulking.
She sighed deeply.
But it wasn’t too late. She could always find him and apologise yet again. Tell him she’d changed her mind, she would go with him.
Joining a short queue, Loris collected her belongings. Then, slipping her evening bag into one of the deep pockets of her cloak, she put the cloak over her arm and, case in hand, made her way into the crowded foyer.
She was scanning the throng for Mark when she noticed the blonde. Wearing an expensive-looking fur coat, Pamela was heading for the exit. As she reached it Mark, who had obviously been waiting for her, stepped into view. An arm around her waist, he escorted her through the heavy glass doors.
For a second or two Loris was shocked into stillness, then, a combination of anger and dismay making her heart beat faster, she pushed her way outside.
It was still raining hard, and she was just in time to see, through the downpour, Mark’s silver Mercedes spray water from beneath its wheels as it pulled away from the entrance.
A gusty wind was driving icy rain beneath the hotel’s brown and gold canopy but, oblivious to the cold and wet, she stood as if stunned, staring after the car.
‘Suppose you put this on before you get saturated?’
Taking her cloak, Jonathan Drummond placed it around her shoulders and pulled the big, loose hood over her dark hair.
He himself was bare-headed, wearing only a short car-coat with the collar turned up.
‘Let me have this.’ He relieved her of the case.
‘Thank you,’ she mumbled. Then, unencumbered, began to walk towards a line of waiting taxis drawn up on the forecourt.
Reading her intention, he stopped her. ‘I’m afraid you’ll find they’re all prebooked.’
‘Oh,’ she said blankly.
Putting his free hand beneath her elbow, he urged her towards a modest white Ford saloon. ‘Jump in and I’ll drive you home.’
CHAPTER TWO
STILL feeling stunned, Loris found herself being helped into the passenger seat. Her case was tossed in the back, and a moment later Jonathan Drummond slid in beside her.
She had made no move to fasten her seat belt, and he leaned over and fastened it for her. His fair hair was darkened by the wet and, feeling curiously detached, she watched a drop of water trickle down his lean cheek.
As they joined a queue of cars and taxis that were leaving the hotel forecourt and slowly filtering into the stream of late-night traffic, he said, ‘You live in Chelsea, I believe?’
Loris pushed back her hood and, making an effort to come to grips with the situation, answered, ‘That’s right. But I wasn’t intending to go to my flat.’
‘Whose flat were you intending to go to?’
She bit her lip, and stayed silent.
Slanting her a glance, he murmured, ‘I see. But you were unexpectedly…shall we say…replaced?’
So he’d seen Mark and the blonde driving away.
Gathering together the tatters of her pride, Loris informed him haughtily, ‘I was intending to go down to my parents’ house.’
‘At Paddleham?’
&
nbsp; Wondering how he knew so much, she answered, ‘Yes.’
‘So Longton was supposed to be going too?’
He was too quick by half. Sounding suitably amazed, she asked, ‘How on earth did you deduce that, Holmes?’
Grinning, he answered, ‘Elementary, my dear Watson. You didn’t go with your parents, you don’t have a car, and you hadn’t ordered a taxi. Which means you were expecting your fiancé to drive you down.’
Then, sounding as though he cared, ‘No wonder you looked shattered, being treated so shabbily.’
‘It was partly my own fault,’ she admitted.
‘All the same, it must hurt like hell.’
She said, ‘I’m more angry than hurt.’ And discovered it was the truth.
‘Stay that way. Anger is easier to cope with.’
As they neared the head of the queue, he asked, ‘So which is it to be? Chelsea, or Paddleham?’
‘I can’t ask you to drive me all the way to Paddleham,’ she demurred.
‘I’ll be happy to, if that’s where you want to go?’
‘It isn’t really,’ she confessed, dismayed by the thought of having to try and explain Mark’s absence. ‘But I can’t go back to my flat.’
‘Gee that’s tough, doll.’ Sounding like a gangster in a second-rate movie, he asked out of the corner of his mouth, ‘So what are the Mob after you for?’
She laughed in spite of herself.
‘It’s not quite that bad. I agreed to let an old college friend of mine have my flat for tonight and tomorrow night.’
‘And there’s only one bedroom?’
‘Worse. Judy and Paul are on their honeymoon… Monday, they’re flying to Oz to go backpacking.’
‘Hmm… Well, if you can’t go back to your flat and you don’t want to go to Paddleham—’ he gave her a villainous leer ‘—what about my place?’
Loris was about to curtly refuse, when she realised he was pulling her leg.
Lightly, she said, ‘I’m afraid I’m superstitious about going anywhere new on a wet Saturday.’
‘Pity.’
‘But thanks all the same.’
‘Think nothing of it. We aim to please. So what’s it to be?’
Briefly she considered asking him to take her to a hotel, then dismissed the idea. She could well do without the expense. In any case, by breakfast-time next day her parents would require some kind of explanation. Though she dreaded the prospect, her practical streak insisted that it would make sense to be there in person to make it.
Marriage on the Agenda Page 2