by Penny Jordan
‘Look,’ he began irately, ‘I’m sorry about yesterday. I lost my cool, a fatal tactical error.’ He grimaced wryly, running lean fingers through his sun-streaked fair hair. ‘God, I thought I’d learned years ago not to stampede my prey, but it seems I was wrong. You’re determined to spend this weekend with your friend?’
Dry-mouthed, Tara nodded her head. What was he going to do? Fire her?
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he surprised her by saying in a harsh voice. ‘I thought you knew me better than that. I’ve never had to apply pressure to get a woman into bed with me in the past, and I’m damned well not starting now. I want you, Tara,’ he said frankly, ‘but I want you willingly. Sex should be a mutual pleasure, not something to be endured. Why?’ he asked helplessly. ‘Is it just me who revolts you, or is it men in general? You’ve been married, had kids—hell…’
‘I’m sorry, Chas,’ Tara broke in quietly. ‘And no, it isn’t you.’ A small smile tugged at her mouth as she remembered how Sue had described him. ‘You know better than that,’ she teased lightly. ‘It’s just that you’re a one-night-stand man, and I’m a woman with two children dependent on her who…’
‘Wants the opposite sex to keep its distance from her,’ Chas finished astutely for her. ‘Even if I offered permanency, it wouldn’t make any difference, would it?’ he pressed. ‘You’re still too involved with the guy you married—the twins’ father, that’s the straight up and down of it, isn’t it? For God’s sake,’ he muttered with suppressed violence, ‘when are you going to come out of mourning and realise that life is passing you by? Okay,’ he said wearily when he saw the stubborn set of her lips, ‘I can see I’m battering my head against a brick wall, but if you ever change your mind…’
‘You still want me to keep on working with you?’ Tara asked shakily.
His eyebrows rose, mockery in the brown eyes. ‘Sure I do,’ he confirmed. ‘It’s good for my ego having such a sexy lady about the place, and besides,’ he paused and grinned, ‘you’re the best assistant I’ve ever had.’
It was with a much lighter heart that Tara went about her work, and she accepted with pleasure when Chas suggested that she take the Friday afternoon off in order to prepare for the weekend away.
‘This doesn’t mean I’ve given up,’ he warned her, ‘simply that I’m declaring a cease-fire, okay?’
She was still smiling when she reached home, even though she was now entertaining grave doubts about the wisdom of agreeing to Sue’s invitation. As the Monday was a Bank Holiday Susan had insisted that the three of them stay over for the extra day, and knowing the twins’ propensity for getting themselves and their clothes grubby, Tara was kept busy washing and ironing prior to their visit.
Neither of the twins would have much in common with Sue’s toddler, she reflected as she packed their cases, but as they prepared for bed on the Friday night, both of them were so excited about the weekend ahead that Tara’s heart smote her.
They got so few treats of this nature, it would have been grossly unfair of her to deprive them of it simply because she couldn’t face up to the past.
Her mother and James were now divorced, or so Sue had said. What had happened to him? Tara wondered. She had learned from her own mother after the twins’ birth that Sue’s mother had had a considerable shareholding in the company James had inherited from his father. He had rarely discussed business with her; their time together had been too precious, too highly emotionally charged for Tara to want to waste any of it discussing business.
Forget James, forget the past, she told herself sternly, unwilling to acknowledge the small ache which threatened to flare into agonising pain if she let it. Why had she never been able to free herself from the spell of the past? Other girls suffered similar mishaps and went on to make successful marriages elsewhere; to forge loving relationships with other men—why hadn’t she been able to? Was it because she had felt guilty about what had happened? Guilty and besmirched. The attitudes of the small village in which they lived were very narrow, and as well as the burden of James’s rejection she had also had to bear the bitter anger of her mother.
If she had not woven such romantic daydreams around James none of it would have happened; but she had refused to see the truth, that he was simply a man trapped in an unhappy marriage who had turned to her for sexual solace and had never for one moment felt a tithe of the love for her that burned within her for him.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE woke up with a headache; a heavy unrelenting pressure behind her eyes and a lethargic disinclination to do anything, much less spend an entire weekend having to be polite to virtual strangers. But she couldn’t disappoint the twins, neither could she run the risk of Chas catching her out in a lie. She wished desperately that he would cease his pursuit of her. In other circumstances she would simply have given him a cool rebuff, but he was her employer and she could not afford to lose her job.
The twins were wildly excited, making her feel guilty about her own dread of the weekend ahead. For some perverse reason Mandy, who normally disdained feminine frills in favour of jeans and sweat-shirts, decided that she wanted to wear a pretty cotton pinafore Tara had bought for her several weeks previously, and by the time the requisite underskirt and spotless white blouse had been found to wear with it Tara’s head was thumping nauseously.
Susan had arranged for her chauffuer to pick them up at ten o’clock, and by a miracle by ten to the packing was done and the twins ready, which was more than could be said for her, Tara decided feverishly, tugging a comb through her hair and applying lipstick deftly to the soft curves of her mouth.
The unexpected sunshine had prompted her into a new outfit she had bought for work and not yet worn She had seen it in a small boutique off South Moulton Street, reduced because of its small size, and had bought it knowing that it would be just right for the receptions Chas sometimes held in the evening as a publicity exercise.
A rich, vivid blue, it was a three-piece in pure silk with a camisole top which just skimmed the curves of her breasts, and a softly shaped skirt gathered into a deep waistband and topped with a matching jacket, whose sleeves she rolled back in the fashion she had seen adopted by the models who came to the studio.
Working in such an environment meant that she had developed a keen eye for adapting prevalent trends to her own personality. The silk brushed sensuously against her skin; she had left her hair in a soft cloud against her shoulders, and the sample of the new Armarni scent the Vogue Beauty Editor had given her had been used to good effect. Such samples were her one and only perk. At Christmas she had been presented with what amounted to almost a full trousseau of luxurious Italian underwear by the manufacturer; a gesture of his gratitude for the effect of advertisements Chas had photographed, although such munificence was relatively rare.
Today she was wearing some of it; the briefest of satin bras trimmed with handmade lace to match the dainty suspender belt and briefs that were part of the set.
Vanity was largely responsible for today’s primping, she decided, giving herself a last brief look in her mirror. Even though at one time she and Susan had once been as close as sisters a wide gulf yawned between them now.
Susan was a rich man’s wife, and it showed, and although she would never be guilty of patronising a less fortunate friend, Tara had no wish to earn her pity by arriving in inexpensive chain-store casuals.
First impressions always counted, Tara reminded herself and when she and the twins stepped out of Susan’s Rolls she didn’t want them to look like the poor relations.
Susan had explained to her that she and her husband would be driving down to the country ahead of them, which was why the Rolls was free to transport Tara, but despite the knowledge that her appearance was both chic and sophisticated she couldn’t stop the tiny bubbles of anxiety forming in the pit of her stomach when the twins’ joint shrieks announced the arrival of their transport.
Not wanting to keep the chauffeur waiting, Tara sped downst
airs, picking up their case with one hand and ushering the twins through the front door with the other. Outside she told them to wait while she checked her handbag for keys and money, and carefully locked the door.
The sight of the immaculate Rolls seemed to have a subduing effect upon the twins, because they clung uncertainly to Tara’s side as she hustled them towards the waiting car.
As they approached it the driver’s door opened and a man emerged. Her first thought was that he wasn’t wearing a uniform, but this was quickly submerged by a sickening wave of recognition mingled with stunned disbelief.
‘Tara!’
He said her name evenly, the inflection which in the past had sent her weak-kneed with pleasure totally banished. He had changed; or was it simply that her perception of him had changed from that of a bemused teenager to that of a disillusioned woman?
‘James.’ Somehow she managed to force a stiff smile from features as tautly fragile as eggshells. Now she was the one clinging to the twins, filled by an overwhelming impulse to turn on her heel and seek the sanctuary of her home.
James barely glanced at his children, and watching his cool disregard of them, Tara forced back an hysterical impulse to laugh. So much for all those daydreams she had woven during the long lonely months of her pregnancy when she had fantasised about James appearing to discover that she was the mother of his child and being overcome by love for both of them.
‘Quite a surprise,’ she managed to say calmly. ‘Susan never mentioned that you would be picking us up.’
‘A last minute arrangement,’ James told her briefly Without looking at her. ‘I’ve just returned from the States and when I invited myself down to Dovecote for the weekend they suggested that I give you a lift so that they could give their chauffeur a weekend off.’
‘Susan should have telephoned, I could have used my own car.’
Tara flushed when his eyes suddenly fastened on her face; no longer the warm, teasing dark blue she remembered but as hard and flat as river pebbles and totally without expression as they surveyed her heightened-colour and defensive grip on the twins.
‘Mummy, you’re hurting me!’ Mandy protested, casting an upward glance at the tall, dark-haired man watching them; a glance which Tara noticed was full of coquettishly innocent appeal.
‘Why don’t we all get in the car!’ James suggested, bending to relieve Tara of the weight of the case. Their fingers touched accidentally, and Tara withdrew as though she had been burned by live coals.
‘Explicit but unnecessary,’ James told her crisply, stowing her case away, ‘I got the message the first time round.’
Tara assumed that he was referring to the shock which must have been apparent when she saw him step out of the car. This meeting must be as unwelcome to him as it was to her, she reflected miserably as she followed the children to the waiting car, but at least he had had the advantage of being forearmed.
The first ten minutes of their journey passed easily enough as the twins exclaimed over the luxury of their transport; Tara couldn’t help wishing that James had not ushered her into the front passenger seat, but it seemed gauche to make a fuss about it. After all, he could scarcely have any more desire for her company than she had for his!
He was both the same and yet different, she decided, stealing a brief glance at his impassive profile. There was a total and unrelenting male hardness about him now that she did not remember; when she was seventeen he had seemed the epitome of all her adolescent dreams; gentle, understanding, tender. No one would ever dream of attributing those virtues to the man now seated next to her.
His dark hair was still untouched by grey; and although he was wearing a discreetly expensive suit she suspected that physically he had changed little in the seven years they had been apart. There had been a supple arrogance about the way he had walked towards her which suggested that he was a man at the peak of physical perfection. She remembered the cataclysmic night he had returned from California; then his skin had had the silky sheen of a sun tan, his body a rich bronze. Her palms tingled as though she could still feel the soft suppleness of his flesh against them, and she shuddered deeply, wrenching her thoughts away from the past.
In the back seat the twins were playing a game, vying with one another in their attempts to count as many cars of a particular type as they could.
‘Susan tells me you’re a widow.’
He hadn’t taken his eyes off the road. Tara felt as though a huge boulder were stuck in her throat.
‘Yes,’ she agreed, forcing out the lie.
‘I’m sorry.’ The words were a formality. ‘What happened?’
‘John was killed abroad,’ Tara said huskily, repeating the fabrication which had become familiar to her over the years. ‘Before the twins were born. They never knew him, nor he them.’
‘A mutual loss,’ James said quietly. ‘You’ve never thought of remarrying?’
‘One has to be asked,’ Tara heard herself saying drily, to her own surprise. ‘Besides,’ she moved restlessly in her deep hide-covered seat, ‘I believe one parent who really cares is more important than two who quarrel.’
‘You yourself lost your father, if I remember rightly,’ James commented. ‘At least with your own experience to call upon you’ll be able to ensure that your own daughter doesn’t fall into the same traps.’
‘People normally make their own mistakes,’ Tara said tiredly. Although the comment had been delivered in a perfectly flat emotionless voice she had been vividly reminded of one occasion when they had been together and he had accused her of trying to turn him into a father-substitute. She had been furious, reminding him that it was eight years that separated them, not eighteen.
‘You’ve been working in America?’ she asked him, deliberately trying to change the subject.
‘I have various business interests there, some jointly with Susan’s mother. Susan will have told you that she’s married again?’
‘Yes. Actually I didn’t realise…’ Tara broke off and moistened her suddenly dry lips. She had been going to say that the had not realised they were divorced, but the remark had provocative undertones she wanted to avoid.
‘That Hilary would venture into marriage again?’ He shrugged. ‘Like many women of her wealth and generation she tends to make a career of it. This one’s number four.’
‘Four!’ It was too late for her to hide her surprise. As far as she knew James had been Hilary’s second husband.
‘You sound surprised?’
‘I hadn’t realised you’d been divorced long enough for her to have remarried twice. I…’
‘You didn’t stay around long enough to find out.’ The cool comment nonplussed her. It was almost an accusation, but what did James possibly have to accuse her about? He had been the one who had rejected her; who had laughed with Hilary about her foolish love for him, and who had coldly turned his back on her, leaving her to face the trauma of the twins’ birth alone.
‘What was I supposed to do?’ she asked in a bitter, low voice. ‘I couldn’t put the clock back, I…’
‘So you scuttled off into a nice, safe marriage?’
Colour burned along her cheekbones, her fingernails digging into the palms of her hands. She would never, never have agreed to this weekend if she had had the slightest suspicion that James was going to be there. How on earth was she going to endure it? Especially if he was going to keep taunting her with these barbed remarks.
Simon distracted her attention excitedly, pointing out some sheep grazing in a field. They had turned on to the M4 and were travelling west.
To Tara’s surprise, just after twelve James pulled off the motorway and took a minor road which wound its way down a narrow B-road bordered by high hedges laced with early summer flowers.
‘I told Sue that I’d give you lunch,’ he explained, answering Tara’s unspoken question. ‘The house is a large one and although she does have some help she and Alec go down there primarily to relax.’
Before
Tara could object he turned into an immaculate drive, marked ‘Country Club—members only.’
‘Relax,’ she was instructed. ‘I’m a member and they’ve been warned to expect us. I own a house locally myself, although at the moment it’s occupied by some American friends of mine.’
The country club had once been a farmhouse and the large barn had been converted into an attractive restaurant with high oriel windows set along the length of it and a separate bar inside which occupied a galleried landing.
The twins were entranced, as much by the novelty of eating out as by their surroundings. Mandy gravely confided to James, as she attached herself to his side, that it was just as well she had worn her best dress.
The comment invited a response, and Tara’s unwary heart lurched when James bent his head equally gravely and said, ‘You look very pretty in it. Blue suits you.’
‘Mummy chose it,’ Mandy informed him, visibly expanding. ‘I normally wear jeans ‘cos they’re more fun to play in. Have you got any children?’ she asked him forthrightly. She was at that stage when the niceties of curbing personal questions were ignored and seemed to have developed a thirst for knowledge about other people’s private lives.
‘Mandy…’ Tara warned, but James silenced her, lifting his eyebrows and saying smoothly. ‘Regrettably, no.’
Hypocrite, Tara thought resentfully as they were escorted to a table. He didn’t want any children, any responsibility for lives other than his own.
However, despite his lack of parental experience he was very adroit at ordering suitable food for the twins and keeping them occupied while they waited for their meal to arrive. Like Tara herself, their school believed strongly in the importance of good manners, and Tara felt a small thrill of pride at the way Simon and Mandy adapted to their surroundings. They were drawing admiring smiles from other diners, and one woman en route to her table stopped off to speak to James, whom she obviously knew, staring rather hard at Tara and the twins.