She got to her feet and, turning to Jonathan, said formally, ‘Thank you for bringing me down. Now, I know you want to be on your way before it gets too dark—’ a grey, murky dusk was already pressing against the windowpanes ‘—so have a good journey back.’
‘You weren’t thinking of coming with me?’
‘No.’ Swallowing, she held out her hand.
Taking it in his, he asked carefully, ‘Quite sure you’ve made the right decision?’
Knowing he was asking about a great deal more than just going with him, she met his brilliant eyes without flinching and said, ‘Quite sure.’
‘Then please give your mother my thanks and my apologies for leaving without seeing her.’
Becoming aware that he was still holding her hand, she withdrew it abruptly. ‘Goodbye.’
‘Au revoir.’
Glancing from one man to the other, he sketched an ironic salute, and a moment later the latch clicked quietly behind him.
Staring at the closed door, knowing she would never see him again, she felt a sudden surge of regret, a feeling of loss and loneliness that was almost like a physical pain.
But she couldn’t let herself feel like this about a virtual stranger, a man she knew scarcely anything about.
She had opted to stay with Mark, to live the future she had chosen, and so long as her father didn’t wreck things she would consider herself lucky.
Taking a deep breath, she turned to face her father.
He was standing with his back to the fire, looking like an enraged turkeycock. His jowls quivering, he said, ‘It strikes me that for a man in his position Drummond’s a damn sight too sure of himself…’
Loris glanced uneasily at Mark, waiting for him to add his condemnation. She was surprised when he said nothing, until she realised that he would hardly want to lose face by mentioning his own humiliation.
‘I don’t know what the devil Isobel was thinking of, asking someone like him to stay.’
When no one made any comment, Peter demanded of his daughter, ‘How long have you known him?’
‘I met him for the first time last night.’
It wasn’t at all the answer he’d been expecting, and he failed to hide his surprise.
‘At the party?’
‘Yes.’
‘Did you know he was just an employee?’
‘Yes, Mark told me.’
Well aware of how her father’s mind worked, Loris guessed he was already starting to doubt the conclusion he’d reached earlier and, for Jonathan’s sake, she was pleased.
‘How did you get to know him?’
‘He asked me to dance.’
‘Damn cheek. Why did you accept?’
‘Why shouldn’t I have accepted? Mark was dancing with Pamela Gresham.’
Peter had noticed Mark and his partner closely entwined. He harrumphed. ‘Then what? Did Drummond pester you?’
‘Certainly not. When the dance ended he said goodnight and walked away.’
Aware that the mention of the blonde had made her fiancé uncomfortable, and remembering how he’d tried to bully Jonathan, Loris added with a touch of malice, ‘I wouldn’t have seen him again if Mark hadn’t had to do his good deed for the evening…’
‘Good deed? What good deed?’
Trying just a shade too hard to sound convincing, Mark told the same tale he’d told Isobel.
‘It was Alan Gresham’s daughter…she suddenly felt faint… There wasn’t a taxi available at that minute, so I offered to drive her home. Unfortunately I couldn’t find Loris to tell her.’
‘It was after they’d gone,’ Loris went on to explain, ‘and Jonathan saw me standing in the rain, that he came up and offered me a lift.’
Knowing his future son-in-law, Peter—who was no fool and could read between the lines—decided to let the subject drop. He and Mark, with the same attitude to women, shared a man-to-man relationship.
Knowing Loris, he was satisfied he’d been wrong. She wasn’t the kind to play games with a man she’d only just met.
He threw a couple of logs on the fire and, turning to Mark, began to talk business. ‘When things have settled down and are running smoothly, I’ve decided to come into the office less. Once or twice a week should be enough.’
‘You mean you’ll be working from home, or letting go of the reins?’
‘Gradually letting go of the reins. I’ll be sixty-one soon, and I’d like to give more time to running the estate…’
Watching the two men, Loris could only be thankful that, in spite of making a complete fool of herself and deserving to pay for it, she seemed to have got off lightly and she and Mark were back on good terms.
Now all that remained was to forget about Jonathan and his brief intrusion into her life, and put the whole thing behind her.
She only hoped that he would have the sense to go back to the States. Though Mark had given his word not to hound him, the two men were so antipathetic to each other that if they came into contact they were bound to clash. And next time Jonathan would undoubtedly come off worst.
She wouldn’t think of Jonathan any more.
But having decided that, and in spite of all her efforts, for the rest of the afternoon and throughout dinner she found herself unable to think of anything but him.
Later, when she reluctantly agreed to fill in at bridge, her mind wasn’t on the game, and she made so many mistakes that she was thankful Mark, rather than one of the other guests, was her partner.
When the rubber ended, and the men drifted towards the billiard table, instead of joining the ladies for a chat in the living-room she picked a book from the shelves at random and sat by the library fire.
Though well written, it failed to grip her and after a while the click of the billiard balls became soporific and, her head nodding in the warmth, her eyelids gradually drooped.
Half-asleep and half-awake, her wayward thoughts returned to Jonathan.
She could see his face as clearly as if he was standing there. His well-shaped head and clear-cut features, the way his thickly lashed green eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled his charming, slightly lopsided smile, his chiselled lips and the firm chin with its intriguing cleft…
But it wasn’t only how he looked that pleased and beguiled her, it was the man himself. His quiet strength and assurance, his awareness, his sense of humour and warmth.
She recalled the night spent in his arms, how his generosity and his obvious pleasure in her had carried her to the heights, how easily the passion and sweetness of his lovemaking had elicited an answering passion.
By removing a deep-rooted fear and restoring her faith in herself as a woman he had given her a precious gift, and she would be grateful to him for the rest of her days.
It was very largely that fear that had made her reluctant to commit herself to an earlier wedding date. But now she could go ahead and marry Mark without worrying that she might fail him as a wife, so some good had come out of her lapse…
‘You look ready for bed.’ Mark’s voice broke into her thoughts.
Looking up, she saw that the game of billiards had ended and the men were clustered round the small bar, helping themselves to a nightcap.
‘I am,’ she said, and got to her feet.
‘I’ll walk you up.’
‘Aren’t you having a nightcap with the others?’ she asked, knowing he usually had a whisky and soda.
‘I’m not bothered.’
As they climbed the stairs he remarked, ‘You’ve been very quiet all evening.’ Then, a shade uneasily, ‘Are you all right?’
It was unusual for Mark to ask such a question, and, touched, she answered, ‘Fine. Just tired.’
At the door of her room, he asked, ‘Can I come in? Or was that remark about being tired simply to warn me off?’
‘No, it wasn’t. It happens to be true.’
‘So can I come in or not?’
Intending to say yes, she found herself saying, ‘I’d rather y
ou didn’t.’
‘Damn it, Loris, we’re getting married as soon as it can be arranged. Anyone would think you didn’t want me to make love to you…’
How could she let one man make love to her while her head was full of thoughts of another?
‘Tonight I really hoped you’d say yes.’
‘I’m sorry Mark, I can’t.’
Picking up her desperation, and looking slightly embarrassed, he said, ‘Oh… Oh, I see. Then perhaps I will have that nightcap after all.’
He kissed her with a marked lack of passion, and retreated down the stairs.
Rather than feeling guilty because she’d innocently misled him into thinking it was the wrong time of the month for her, all she could feel was relief as she prepared for bed.
But she couldn’t go on like this, she lectured herself crossly. She really must put Jonathan right out of her head before thoughts of him compromised her future with Mark.
Over the next few days Loris discovered that was easier said than done. Though on her return to town she had made a strenuous effort not to think about Jonathan, whenever she relaxed her guard he simply walked in and took over.
He even came between her and her work. When, gazing at a wall with rapt attention, she should have been visualising colour schemes, all she could see in her mind’s eye was his face.
Worse still was the treacherous way that her mind and body conspired together. Memories of the night they had spent together would sneak past her defences and filter into her consciousness, and her newly awakened body would react by growing heated and languorous and longing for his.
On Thursday, she paid a morning visit to a client with a mews cottage not far from Piccadilly. Vexed by her inability to concentrate, she decided to have lunch before going on to her mid-afternoon appointment at Bayswater.
After several days of lowering skies and periodic heavy downpours, it was raining steadily again as Loris hurried along Shear Lane. Furling her umbrella, she dived down the basement steps and into Il Lupo.
‘Buon giorno.’ She was greeted by the rotund and smiling white-aproned owner, who hung up her mac and disposed of her umbrella before showing her to a small table in an alcove.
In common with the others it had a red-checked tablecloth, a lighted candle stuck in a wine bottle, and a plastic-covered menu in the red, white and green of the Italian flag.
She was gazing unseeingly at the menu, recalling the delicious chicken and pasta bake she had shared with Jonathan, when, as though her thoughts had conjured him up, a familiar voice said, ‘Well, hello! I decided to have lunch here in the hope of seeing you.’
Wearing a smart grey business suit and a matching shirt and tie, he was standing smiling down at her.
Her heart gave a strange lurch and her breathing quickened. Despite his wet hair he looked well turned out, and even more handsome than she remembered.
As she gazed up at him, her golden eyes registering shock, he asked, ‘May I join you?’
Apparently taking her silence for assent, he sat down opposite.
‘No,’ she begged belatedly, ‘please don’t. I promised Mark I wouldn’t see you again.’
‘Well, I made no such promise,’ he said, a glint in his eye, ‘so you can put the blame on me.’
Seeing all too clearly what kind of mood he was in, Loris considered getting up and leaving.
But, finding herself strangely unwilling to walk away, she said weakly, ‘If Mark finds out he’ll be very angry… I wish you’d go.’
‘Go? I’ve only just come. I haven’t had any lunch yet.’
‘Then why don’t you sit somewhere else? There’s plenty of space.’
‘If he found out that we were both in the same restaurant, do you seriously think my sitting at the next table would make him any less angry?’
Knowing he was right, she admitted, ‘No. That’s why I’d like you to go. It’s not safe.’
Dropping his voice to a gravelly, Humphrey Bogart rasp, Jonathan leaned towards her and, almost without moving his lips, asked, ‘Is he having you followed, doll?’
Biting back a smile, she said, ‘Of course he isn’t having me followed.’
‘Then how will he know? Or do you feel compelled to tell him?’
‘No, I don’t feel compelled to tell him, but I don’t want anything else on my conscience.’
He shook his head gloomily. ‘Heavy enough, is it?’
‘If you must know, it is!’
‘Oh, well, in that case it might make more sense to tell him. Confession’s good for the soul.’
‘If you’d only go,’ she begged, ‘there’d be nothing to tell him.’
‘It could already be too late,’ Jonathan said dramatically. ‘The office is only a few blocks away. He might be homing in on Il Lupo right now, intent on having lunch.’
‘You must be joking! Mark lunches at the Ritz. He wouldn’t be seen dead in a place like this.’
‘Well, if he’s not likely to walk in at any moment why are you so jumpy?’
When she said nothing, looking at the open menu, he asked blandly, ‘I take it you haven’t ordered yet?’
Throwing in the towel, she admitted, ‘No.’
‘Then may I suggest the farsumagru? I noticed it on the “Today’s Specials” board. If it’s as good as I used to have in Sardinia, I think you’ll like it.’
‘What is it exactly?’
‘A kind of stuffed meat roll, with eggs and cheese and herbs.’
Loris nodded her agreement, and when a young black-haired waiter appeared at his elbow Jonathan ordered farsumagru for them both, and a carafe of red wine.
Thinking it would be safer to steer clear of personal topics, and noting his mention of Sardinia, Loris remarked, ‘The other night you said you’d done some travelling?’
‘Yes. Before I settled in the States I spent a while taking a look at some of the world’s more out-of-the-way places.’
‘Such as?’
He named a few, and until their meal arrived kept her well entertained with stories and anecdotes about the people he’d met and the sometimes strange things that had happened.
The farsumagru was every bit as good as he’d suggested it might be, and for a while they ate in silence. Then, taking a sip of her wine, Loris asked, ‘Are you a born traveller? Do you still get itchy feet?’
‘I enjoy an occasional trip, but on the whole I’m more of a home bird than a traveller.’ Ironically, he added, ‘As conscience is said to make cowards of us, so unrequited love can make travellers of us. I guess it’s the need to try and escape the pain.’
‘Unrequited?’ She found herself echoing the word. It was strange to think of any woman he had loved not loving him back. But though he’d spoken lightly, as if he were joking, for some reason she felt sure he wasn’t.
He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I wasn’t good enough for her… However, that was a long time ago.’
But there must have been plenty of women since then—recalling his experienced and skilful lovemaking, she went hot all over, and a little shiver ran through her—or maybe just one special woman?
Only too aware that she should let the subject drop, she still found herself asking, ‘So are you married now?’
‘No.’
‘And no plans to?’
‘Oh, yes, I have plans…’
Though she knew she was being dog-in-a-manger, his answer gave her no pleasure.
Watching her face, he added, ‘I’m having to work on them. Regrettably, the woman of my dreams—the woman I’m hoping to marry—is involved with someone else at the moment.’
She waited to see if he would elaborate further.
He didn’t. Instead, he asked, ‘Is your wedding still on?’
‘Of course it’s still on.’
‘I was hoping you’d changed your mind. Longton isn’t the man for you. He doesn’t know you. And he’s far too selfish to even understand let alone fulfil, your needs—’
Because what he was say
ing disturbed her, she broke in sharply, ‘What makes you so sure? Mark and I have known each other for months. It’s you who doesn’t know me.’
His gaze steady, he objected, ‘I should say that in one sense I know you a great deal better than he does.’
Her eyes fell, and despite all her efforts she felt herself starting to blush.
Watching the tide of colour rise in her cheeks, Jonathan added, ‘Unless, your doubts about being frigid now removed, you’ve spent the last two or three nights in his bed. Have you, Loris?’
She hadn’t intended to answer, but as though he’d willed the truth out of her she found herself saying, ‘No, I haven’t.’
His faint sigh of relief was audible.
‘But don’t get the wrong idea,’ she added firmly, ‘I am going to marry him. It’s all arranged.’
There was a short pause. Then, as though accepting the inevitable, he asked, ‘So when is the wedding to take place?’
‘A week tomorrow.’ Realising how flat her voice sounded, she smiled brilliantly.
Frowning, he said, ‘As soon as that? Is it to be a church wedding?’
She shook her head. ‘Register office. Mother’s bitterly disappointed, but, having been divorced, Mark wants to keep the whole thing very quiet, no fuss.’
Jonathan raised a well-marked brow. ‘No honeymoon either?’
‘No. At least not until the summer.’
‘What are you doing about your job?’
‘Working until a couple of days before the wedding.’
‘Then what?’
‘I’ll be carrying on at least until June, as Mark and I agreed.’
‘I thought he might have managed to talk you out of it?’
‘He’s tried,’ she admitted. ‘But after we’re married he wants to live in the house his parents left him—a house that’s fully staffed. I can’t begin to imagine how I’d fill my time. Perhaps it won’t be so bad when we start a family,’ she added hopefully.
‘Then you want children?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does Longton?’
‘Of course.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
‘When I told him I’d like children, he said he would too.’
Marriage on the Agenda Page 8