Marriage on the Agenda

by Lee Wilkinson

  ‘Don’t be idiotic, Loris,’ he blustered, ‘you know perfectly well I’ve been away on business.’

  ‘You might have been on business this morning, but this afternoon you were visiting your mistress.’

  ‘Whoever told you that was lying—’

  ‘It isn’t a lie, and you know it.’

  ‘Believe me—’

  ‘It’s no use, Mark I know.’

  ‘I don’t see how you can know something that isn’t true—’

  ‘But it is true. You were at 23 Bladen Place, which is a quiet little cul-de-sac off Bladen Road. While you were there, the bedroom curtains were closed—’

  His heavy face turning brick-red, he burst out, ‘How the hell could you know a thing like that, unless you were having me followed?’

  When she failed to deny it, he seized her hand. ‘All right, so I admit I was there. But you’re the only woman who means anything to me. It was just sex, and once we’re married—’

  Freeing her hand, she said wearily, ‘I’ve heard that before from you and I just don’t believe it. You’d better go, Mark.’

  ‘If only you’d be prepared to forgive and forget, and marry me, I promise—’

  ‘No more promises.’ Her own conscience far from clear, she went on, ‘I’m prepared to forgive and forget, but I’m not prepared to marry you.’

  ‘Look, I’m sorry I lied to you—’

  ‘It’s not just that. I’ve realised I made a bad mistake. I don’t love you, and there’s no way I can marry a man I don’t love.’

  Seeing by his face that he was apparently genuinely upset, she added, ‘I’m sorry, Mark, I never meant to hurt you. But it really is all over between us.’

  Hearing the finality in her voice, he thrust the ring into his pocket and turned to walk towards the lifts.

  Thankful that it was over, Loris closed the door and, trembling in every limb, went back to the living-room and sank into a chair.

  Turning away from the window, where he’d been standing looking over the lights of Chelsea towards the river, Jonathan asked quietly, ‘Was it very traumatic?’

  ‘It wouldn’t have been as bad if I hadn’t felt so conscience-stricken.’

  ‘Compared to Longton, you’ve very little to feel conscience-stricken about.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can take things so lightly,’ she said with some asperity. ‘You know quite well that we’re both as bad as Mark.’

  ‘Though I agree that neither of us are entirely blameless, I really don’t think we belong in that category,’ he objected mildly. ‘However, as it’s getting on for seven, we must leave that discussion until some other time.’

  Taking her hands, he drew her to her feet. ‘You’ve got about half an hour to get dolled up and—’

  ‘Why do I need to get dolled up?’ she broke in. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘We’re going out to dinner.’

  ‘Oh, no. I—’

  ‘Do you want to sit in and mope?’

  ‘No, of course not…’

  ‘So it’s dinner at La Ronde and then we’ll be spending the night at—’

  ‘Are you crazy?’ she cried. ‘I’ve no intention of spending another night with you!’

  He sighed. ‘That’s a shame… And just when I was starting to think you’re getting to like the idea of being seduced.’

  ‘As you’ve already achieved what you set out to do, there’s no further need to seduce me,’ she pointed out with betraying bitterness.

  ‘I wasn’t intending to,’ he assured her easily. ‘At least not tonight. Tonight will be the height of propriety. We shall have different rooms and be well-chaperoned. But as we haven’t got a lot of time, I’ll explain the whole thing later… Now, go and get ready, there’s a good girl. Oh, and don’t forget to pack your night things, a change of undies, and your prettiest suit or dress, just in case.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘No more arguments now. All the arrangements are made.’ Opening the bedroom door, he gave her a gentle push. ‘Off you go.’

  Feeling as dazed and buffeted as if she’d been gathered up and swept along by some whirlwind, she pulled the door to behind her and began to sort through her drawers and wardrobe.

  Having packed her overnight bag, and laid out the clothes she intended to wear, she went into the bathroom and, stripping off, stepped under the shower, her thoughts in a turmoil.

  His self-imposed task accomplished, she had expected Jonathan to walk quietly away. That he should have further plans had come as a complete surprise, and she wondered uneasily what he was up to.

  But, in spite of all her misgivings, her heart was beating faster with excitement and her spirits had risen with a bound at the prospect of spending the evening in his company.

  Dried and perfumed, her flawless skin and dark brows and lashes needing no make-up, she coiled her hair into a gleaming knot on top of her head before putting on a calf-length silk evening dress.

  A simply-cut sheath that she’d seen in Harrods and bought in a rare moment of extravagance, it was a mix of tawny colours that echoed the gold of her eyes.

  With it was a plain bronze jacket that somehow added to the exotic effect. Dull gold shoes and a matching bag finished off the ensemble.

  Ready, she hesitated, her misgivings as to whether what she was doing was sane returning in force. Wouldn’t spending more time with him only make the inevitable parting worse?

  Perhaps, both for Jane Marchant’s sake, and her own, she should dig in her heels and refuse to be coerced?

  But soon he would be going out of her life for ever, and this last chance to spend a few more bittersweet hours in his company was far too precious to waste.

  Picking up her small case, she opened the door to the living-room. Profiled against the dark window, Jonathan was standing quite still, staring blindly at the carpet, obviously deep in thought.

  He must have been back to his own flat, she realised, because he was freshly shaved and had changed into impeccable evening dress.

  For a moment she watched him unobserved, drinking in the sight of him, his lithe figure, his handsome profile, his hair, darkened and still a little damp from the shower.

  As though her silent scrutiny had disturbed his concentration, he glanced her way.

  There was a look on his face that she had never seen before. A look of doubt, of uncertainty, as if he had suddenly lost confidence in himself and whatever it was he’d been planning.

  Almost instantly that look was gone, replaced by his usual quiet assurance.

  His eyes swept slowly over her from head to toe. ‘Wow!’ he said softly. ‘You look absolutely stunning…’

  Absurdly pleased by his approval, she felt herself blushing.

  Watching the colour rise in her cheeks, he remarked, ‘And no lipstick. Even better!’

  ‘You don’t like lipstick?’

  ‘I prefer you without. It means I can kiss you.’

  Before she could object, he was suiting the action to the words.

  When he released her, she said weakly, ‘You shouldn’t kiss me. It’s not fair to Mrs Marchant.’

  ‘Will it stop you worrying if I tell you that Jane won’t mind in the slightest?’

  ‘No,’ Loris said unhappily, ‘she ought to mind. Pretending not to mind puts her in the same class as Linda. Is that what you want?’

  ‘Heaven forbid!’ Jonathan exclaimed piously, and, taking her case, hurried her to the door. ‘If we don’t get a move on we’re going to be late.’

  The evening traffic was heavy, as usual, and it was a few minutes before eight when they reached Mayfair and drew up outside the restaurant.

  La Ronde was both modern and imposing, a single-storey circular building, with an overhanging roof and lots of slanting smoked-glass windows.

  Having helped her out, Jonathan handed over his ignition keys to one of several attendants in evening dress who were parking the cars.

  Loris saw he was accorded the same defe
rence as the man who had preceded them driving a Rolls-Royce.

  The whole place had an air of opulence that oozed money, and Loris wondered nervously if her companion realised what he was letting himself in for.

  A hand at her waist, he escorted her up the steps and into the foyer where they were immediately greeted by a grey-haired man in immaculate evening dress.

  ‘Good evening, Mr Drummond. The rest of your party have already arrived and are waiting in the bar.’

  Looking entirely at ease, as if he belonged in these sumptuous surroundings, Jonathan said casually, ‘Thanks, we’ll go through.’

  Wondering who ‘the rest of the party’ could be, Loris allowed herself to be ushered into the bar, where a few well-dressed people were seated, either on bar stools or at small glass-topped tables.

  A hand beneath her elbow, Jonathan steered her towards one of the tables where a young couple were sitting chatting.

  The woman who was seated with her back to them had fair curly hair, while the nice-looking man sitting opposite her was dark.

  At their approach, the nice-looking man rose to his feet and gave them a friendly smile. At the same instant his companion turned her head.

  The woman with him was Jane Marchant.

  Loris caught her breath.

  Knowing there was no way she could face an evening in Jane Marchant’s company, she would have turned and run, but, as though reading her mind, Jonathan put his arm around her and, ignoring her beseeching glance, urged her forward.

  Short of creating a scene, there was little she could do, and a moment later he was making the introductions.

  ‘My sister Jane, you already know…’

  Sister! Jane Marchant was Jonathan’s sister! Loris tried hard not to blush as she recalled the conclusions she’d jumped to.

  ‘Hello, again.’ Jane Marchant, looking pretty in powder-blue, gave Loris a somewhat uncertain smile.

  ‘And this is David Marchant, Jane’s husband. David, I’d like you to meet Loris Bergman…’

  Feeling as though she was in a dream, Loris said, ‘How do you do?’ and held out her hand, liking this tall, spare man on sight.

  His fingers closed over hers in a firm grip. ‘It’s nice to meet you. I gather that my wife and brother-in-law have rather turned your life upside down.’

  ‘You weren’t supposed to say that!’ Jane scolded.

  Unabashed, he asked Loris, ‘All the same, it’s true, isn’t it?’

  ‘Quite true,’ she agreed, and they smiled at each other like conspirators.

  Watching the pair of them, her relief obvious, Jane said, ‘I have to admit I owe you an abject apology, Miss Bergman.’

  ‘Please, won’t you call me Loris? And there’s no need for any apologies. I just hope that things work out for your sister-in-law.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s very generous of you.’

  Jonathan took Loris’s hand and gave it a squeeze, just as the maître d’ appeared to show them to their table.

  The restaurant was spectacular: its tables, set with crystal glasses and fresh flowers, were by the windows, widely spaced, and arranged like the spokes of a wheel.

  ‘Isn’t this lovely?’ Jane exclaimed. Then, turning to Loris, she added sincerely, ‘I’m so pleased you decided to come. I did wonder if Jonathan would be able to persuade you.’

  ‘At one point I thought even my abundant charm might not be enough to do the trick,’ he said ironically.

  ‘Charm, my foot,’ Loris retorted, ‘he simply bulldozed me.’

  They all laughed, and, the ice well and truly broken, took their seats.

  The evening proved to be a great success. Both Jane and her husband were warm and outgoing, and while they ate an excellent meal, and drank a glass of vintage champagne, the conversation flowed easily.

  By tacit consent they kept the topics light and impersonal, and with Jane’s gentle wit complementing Jonathan’s dry sense of humour they laughed a lot.

  But while Loris listened and smiled and contributed a word here and there, part of her mind was mulling over what she’d learnt.

  During the drive to Paddleham that first night Jonathan had mentioned a married sister, and now Jane and he were together she could see the faint likeness she’d missed earlier.

  If only she hadn’t jumped to entirely the wrong conclusion it would have saved her a great deal of anguish…

  Or if Jonathan had told her the simple truth.

  It must have been quite plain that she believed Jane to be the woman he was hoping to marry and, though he’d been careful not to tell her any lies, he’d allowed—no, encouraged—her to go on believing it.

  But why? He must have had a reason.

  Sighing inwardly, Loris resolutely pushed away the unsolved puzzle and made an effort to join more fully in the conversation.

  As soon as the dessert plates had been cleared away, Jane gathered up her evening bag and, smiling, said to Jonathan, ‘I think it’s high time we were on our way. Give you and Loris a chance to talk.’

  Both men rose with her, and David pulled out her chair.

  Surprised by the suddenness, Loris asked, ‘Aren’t you staying for coffee?’

  Patting her still-flat stomach, Jane announced cheerfully, ‘Since I’ve been pregnant I’ve gone off both coffee and tea…’

  Putting an arm around her, David said, ‘And, apart from that, as prospective parents we need our quota of sleep.’

  ‘Thank you both for a lovely evening,’ Jane added. Then, a shade hesitantly, ‘Hope to see you in the morning. Bye, now.’

  David smiled at Loris and clapped Jonathan on the shoulder before turning to follow his wife.

  ‘Alone at last!’ Jonathan said dramatically. Reaching across the table, he took Loris’s hand, and, lifting it to his lips, dropped a kiss into the palm.

  The romantic little gesture rocked her.

  His eyes on her face, he said, ‘I hope the evening hasn’t been too much of a strain?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Her voice wasn’t quite steady. ‘I liked both your sister and her husband.’

  ‘I’m pleased.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me she was your sister?’

  ‘If you remember, I did.’

  ‘I mean before this evening…’

  A waiter brought coffee and the conversation stopped until he’d served them both and moved away.

  Taking a deep breath, Loris went back to the attack. ‘You must have realised that I thought she was the woman you wanted to marry?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ he admitted.

  ‘Then why did you let me go on thinking it?’

  ‘I’ll tell you later. In the meantime, you tell me what made you jump to that conclusion?’

  ‘You’d mentioned previously that you had plans to marry, but that the woman in question was “involved with someone else”. So when Jane introduced herself as Mrs Marchant, and you said you loved her and she loved you, it seemed logical that she was the one…’

  When he said nothing, she added, ‘But obviously it’s some other woman you’re hoping to marry?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  He was giving her no help, but, needing to know, Loris pursued, ‘And I think you said soon?’

  ‘Very soon.’

  ‘But there are still some problems?’

  ‘One or two.’

  ‘Presumably you’re waiting for this other relationship she’s involved in to come to an end?’

  ‘That’s over, thank the Lord. But I may have a job persuading her to marry a man that her family will undoubtedly object to and who’s just been fired.’

  ‘Will either of those things bother her?’

  ‘Wouldn’t they bother you?’

  ‘Not if I wanted to marry the man.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘Do I what?’

  ‘Want to marry me?’

  After a moment, she asked huskily, ‘Is this some kind of joke?’

  ‘It’s more in the nature of a pr
oposal.’

  ‘A proposal!’

  ‘I admit it’s not the tender, romantic kind you read about in novels. If there’d been a rose garden handy, and a spot of moonlight, I could have gone down on one knee and asked for your hand in the traditional way. But as it’s February, and pitch-dark…’

  ‘I wish you’d be serious,’ she said faintly.

  His green eyes glinted. ‘I’ve never been more serious in my life’

  ‘You can’t mean I’m…’

  ‘The woman I want to marry? The woman of my dreams? The very same.’

  Hardly daring to hope, still unsure whether he might just be teasing her, she said, ‘But it’s barely a week since you set eyes on me.’

  ‘It’s rather longer than that,’ he contradicted. ‘I saw you when I first came over to England nearly six weeks ago. You came into the offices one day. I gather you had a lunch date with Longton. I knew then I wanted to marry you, and that helping Linda was a secondary consideration. But planning takes time, and I couldn’t afford to make any mistakes.

  ‘Of course it helped things along enormously when you and Longton quarrelled during the party and he went off with Pamela Gresham. If that little plan hadn’t succeeded I would have had to think of some other way to get close to you…’

  ‘What do you mean, “if that little plan hadn’t succeeded”? You couldn’t possibly have influenced what Mark and Pamela Gresham did…’

  Watching his face, she knew she’d been wrong. ‘I don’t see how…’ she faltered to a halt.

  ‘I have a confession to make. As a matter of fact there’s no such person as Pamela Gresham. Her name is Pamela Bradley, and I hired her from an—er—escort agency.’

  Half-amused, half-appalled, Loris shook her head in disbelief. ‘You hired a call-girl! How could you do such a thing?’

  ‘All’s fair in love and war, darling. And if Longton had been halfway decent he wouldn’t have acted the way he did. Don’t look so appalled. You must see he didn’t love you any more than you loved him.’

  Loris raised an eyebrow at his arrogant statement. ‘What makes you so sure I didn’t love him?’

  He replied confidently, ‘You’re not the kind of woman who would cheat on a man she loved. The fact that you spent the night with me proved you didn’t love him. But I wanted you to realise that for yourself, and admit it. However, after one look at your face the next morning, I knew I was in for an uphill struggle. Later, when we talked in the pub, though you said you loved Longton I knew you were just fooling yourself, and I was hoping against hope that if there was a showdown you’d come back to London with me. But when you told him the truth about sleeping with me and he magnanimously “forgave” you, despite not really believing you, I was back to square one. That’s why it was necessary to involve Jane. What she did, she did for me as much as for Linda.’