The telephone rang and she ran across to pick it up, knowing a sharp sense of disappointment as she heard Larry's voice.
"So you are home," he said without preamble. "I waited in the car for ages but when I couldn't see you, I gathered you had managed to get a lift."
"With Zachary."
"The knight errant! How like him to arrive on the scene when he's needed."
"I gather he's done it before," she said, her voice as brittle as dry twigs, though it could have been smooth as velvet for all the impression it made on Larry, who gave a low chuckle.
"It's hard to see Zachary as your Sir Galahad, but I guess that's how you see him tonight."
"You can hardly blame me."
"I wasn't going to rape you, Samantha. I only wanted to kiss you."
Remembering his exploring hands and heavy breathing, she suppressed a shudder.
"I'm sorry about what happened," he continued. "My only excuse is that you are a beautiful girl and being near you all day went to my head. I promise it won't happen again."
"You won't be given the chance."
"I won't let you put me out of your life," he said determinedly. "I know you're still furious with me but—"
"I'm not furious with you any longer, Larry. But I won't accept any more out-of-town invitations from you."
"Well, at least you've qualified it." He sounded pleased. "Say you forgive me."
"I forgive you."
"Can't you sound as if you mean it?"
"I'm tired," she said abruptly. "Good-night."
"Can I see you tomorrow—it's today now. I'm meeting someone in town for lunch but I'll be free after four."
"I won't," she said quickly, silently vowing not to stay at home in case he took it into his head to call around.
"Then I'll see you on Monday," he said. "Good-night, my beautiful Samantha. Sleep well and think of me."
"Not if I can help it." She heard his laugh as she put down the receiver but as she turned, it rang again and imperiously she picked it up. "Well?" she demanded. "What do you want now?"
"A friendlier greeting would be a good start."
Scarlet-faced she realized it was Zachary. "I thought it was your cousin," she said. "He just called me to apologize."
"He does that very well."
"Do you?"
"I rarely need to apologize."
"Does being smug come naturally to you or have you worked on it?" His chuckle was deep and brought such a vivid picture of him to mind that she could imagine him standing in his dressing gown and pajamas. "Where are you?" she asked.
"Round the corner. Are you asking me over?" he said dryly.
"Certainly not."
"Then in future don't ask me where I am at one o'clock in the morning. It could be misconstrued."
"You would never misconstrue me, Zachary, would you?"
"How flirtatious you've become. It couldn't be because the telephone wire is between us, could it?"
"It could," she smiled, "and also because…"
"Because?" he questioned.
"Because you rescued me tonight and that's put you in a rather special position in my life."
"Thank you, Samantha." He sounded as if he meant it and she racked her brains to find a way of keeping him on the line.
"Did you call me for anything in particular, Zachary?"
"Only to make sure you were all right."
"I'm fine, thank you." She paused. "Are you going back to the country later today?"
"I don't think I fancy the drive again. I have nil early appointment up here on Monday morning and I was going to leave home at the Crack of dawn, anyway. It might be as well for me to stay in town."
"I feel as if I've spoiled your weekend," she said abruptly. "If you like I— How about coming here for lunch?"
There was a pause, as if it was an invitation he had not expected. But when he spoke, he sounded quite amenable. "You don't want to bother with cooking. Let me take you out instead."
"It's no bother."
"I'll pick you up at twelve." He ignored her comment. "We can stroll through the park and then have lunch at one of the hotels."
His good-night was soft and she was left listening to the purr of the receiver. She gave a little wriggle and felt like purring too. It was oddly exciting to know she would be going out with Zachary.
Samantha changed twice before making up her mind what dress to wear for Sunday lunch. She was behaving like a schoolgirl on her first date, and told herself she was only excited because Zachary had always been so unfriendly since they had met. But her logic was at variance with her emotions and her heart was beating loud and fast as noon approached.
The doorbell rang and she forced herself to walk slowly into the hall, her skirts swirling round her shapely legs. She had finally chosen a simple voile dress, not wishing him to think she had taken too much trouble with her appearance. His look was appraising as she opened the door wide. He was as casually dressed as he had been the day before, with an open-necked shirt, denim slacks and a matching blue jacket slung over one shoulder. She stepped back and he followed her into the sitting room.
"Nice," he commented.
"I rent it furnished."
"But the pictures are yours."
She was surprised at his quick eye. "How did you know?"
"Furnished flats don't usually run to Burra watercolors." He paused to peer at one and then walked over to look at a painting of her mother's. "I have a similar one to this in my flat," he murmured.
"Which one?"
"Spring in Aldeborough."
"That's one of my favorites."
"You must come over to the flat and see it."
"That makes a change from etchings," she said, and saw one of his well-shaped eyebrows lift, before he realized what she meant.
"I promise to keep the front door open all the time," he said solemnly, "and my hands in my pockets!"
"You won't need to do that," she laughed, and then stopped. "Oh dear, I forgot you wanted me to think of you as a wolf."
"I've changed my mind." He eyed her. "If you are ready, we should go."
She nodded and, slinging a cardigan over her arm, they set off for the park.
Families were already picnicking on the grass as they strolled leisurely between the trees in the direction of Park Lane. Children were running around helter-skelter; some with balls or hoops; some with fathers. Samantha glanced shyly at Zachary, wondering what he would say if she suddenly caught hold of his hand. He sensed her eyes were on him and turned to regard her.
"You look very beautiful today, Samantha."
"Don't I always?"
He laughed. "Trust a woman never to accept a compliment at face value. Yes, Samantha, you do always look beautiful, but some days you look more beautiful than others. You have lovely hair," he added. "It's rare to find such a color."
"Not in Sweden or Germany."
"Even there," he corrected. "Swedish blondes tend to be too pale and German ones look like wholesome dairy maids."
"Whereas I?" she teased, and waited to see what simile he would dream up for her.
"Whereas you look like a glass of honey."
She blushed, amazed that it could be Zachary who was paying her these compliments. A young man and a girl strolled past. She had black hair and reminded Samantha of Marie, who at this moment was somewhere over the Atlantic. Were it not for this, Zachary wouldn't be here now. The knowledge soured Samantha's mood.
"How long will Marie be in America?" she asked.
If he was surprised by her sudden change of subject, he did not show it. "A couple of weeks. It depends if she's enjoying herself."
"Won't you mind?"
"I'm not a dog in the manger."
"Then you can't be the possessive type."
A smile lightened his face and gave her an idea of what he had been like in his teens.
"Women always think that possessiveness is a sign of love," he murmured. "Yet in my view it merely shows in
security."
"Then you would never be jealous," she said flippantly.
"There have been a few times when I have been insecure," he said dryly, taking her point, "when I was much younger."
It was easy for her to see him as a lonely boy who had found it difficult to express his feelings. Far different from Larry who, she suspected, had never experienced any such difficulty—if only because his feelings were never deep enough.
"It must be awful to lose your parents when you are young," she said.
"It's awful at any age." He quickened his pace, as if he wished to leave his thoughts behind him.
She took the cue and began to run across the grass, her fair hair bouncing on her shoulders. He caught up with her in a couple of paces and noon outstripped her, pausing some twenty yards ahead to watch as she ran toward him.
"Show-off," she teased as she rushed forward and, not managing to stop herself in time, bumped into him.
He staggered slightly and his hands came up to grip her. For an instant they remained close and motionless and she felt as if they had been caught in the lens of a camera. Then the shutter clicked and movement started again. She pulled away from him and he stepped to one side and watched as she ran her fingers through her hair to smooth it.
"Leave it," he commanded. "I like to see it ruffled."
"You should see it first thing in the morning." Color stained her cheeks and her lids lowered. But he did not tease her because of her remark and instead caught her hand and propelled her forward.
The table he had booked for them was in a restaurant on the top floor of one of the newest hotels and gave them a panoramic view of the city. Haze blurred the most distant outlines and softened the harsh obelisks of skyscrapers. But the people around her were as interesting as the view: affluent middle-aged couples, a spattering of young film types, and a fair proportion of tourists, recognizable by their sporty, checked jackets.
"Do you know this is the first time I have been out to Sunday lunch in a restaurant," Samantha said. "It's quite an odd feeling."
"Are you sure it isn't the company that makes you feel odd?"
"That too." Head tilted, she surveyed him. "I like it when you tease me. Until now I've only seen you as a solemn businessman—the unfriendly director of Farrell's."
"Why should that have surprised you?" He leaned his elbows on the table. "It was a hell of a shock when Uncle John left you those shares. You can't blame me for being suspicious of you when we first met."
"It went on for longer than that," she corrected. "You've been suspicious of me for ages."
"Because I wasn't sure how you intended to play the game."
"And now?"
He looked thoughtful. "Now I think you realize it isn't a game. You know what's at stake. Farrell's isn't just an ordinary department store. It: means something to people all over the world. Once anyone has shopped at Farrell's they remember it all their lives."
"You talk about the store as if it were a woman you love."
"In a way it is. It's a big portion of my life."
"The way it was with Uncle John," she said, depressed by the thought. "Surely you want more from your life than that?"
"I'd like a wife and family," Zachary replied slowly. "I take it that's what you mean?"
She nodded, trying to see him as a husband and a father. It was easy to do, though she could not see Marie in the role of wife.
"We must order," he said, and picked up his menu.
It was well after three o'clock when they left the hotel and returned to the park. A slight breeze was blowing and it lifted Samantha's skirts and played a game through the curtain of her hair. It ruffled Zachary's hair too and a dark lock fell across his forehead. Several times he pushed it back impatiently, but each time it fell forward again.
"Leave it," she said finally, repeating what he had said to her a little earlier. "I like it ruffled."
"You should have been with me in Hawaii then. No matter the temperature, there's a continual breeze."
"My knowledge of Hawaii comes only from television shows," she said wistfully.
"I had the impression you traveled a lot."
"To New York and the capitals of Europe. Places where they have important galleries."
"I don't see you as a hard-bitten agent."
"I'm not.
"You mean you weren't."
"I still am my mother's agent," she corrected. "I told you I don't intend to keep my ten percent of Farrell's for a minute longer than necessary."
"I wasn't sure you meant it. Most women enjoy being in a position of power."
"What power?" she scoffed. "You and Larry can outvote me any day."
"You and Larry have already outvoted me!"
She looked away quickly, remembering Marie and the argument over giving her a discount price for her clothes purchases, for which Zachary had to pay. The thought of the French girl spoiled her pleasant thoughts of the afternoon and she quickened her pace. They reached the Sloane Street exit of the park and paused by the curb for the traffic to ease.
"Even on a Sunday there are traffic jams," Zachary grumbled. "It makes me realize how clean the air is in the country."
"Why don't you commute daily?"
"I will do that eventually. For the moment it's more convenient to have a place in town."
He seemed to sense her change of mood for he fell silent. It was not the easy, companionable one they had had earlier, but a more wary silence; as if they were sizing each other up and were not quite sure what there was to define. Her apartment building came in sight and she slowed her steps.
"Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?"
"I can't, I'm afraid. I want to catch up on some paper work."
"On a Sunday?"
"If there's work to be done, I do it regardless of the day."
"How single-minded of you!"
"Blame it on my upbringing. I was taught to be conscientious. It was my father's influence." He's;iw her questioning look and shrugged. "He was so grateful that he was allowed to make his home in this country that he always felt he owed it to Britain to give of his best. I'm afraid it's not a popular attitude today."
"But it's still yours," she said, and knew it always would be.
He half smiled, drawing her attention to his strong, square jaw. There was nothing effeminate about him; no softness to lessen the determined energy he exuded. Life with him would never be easy but it would always be exciting. She wished she knew more about him; the friends he had, the life he led, and the women he had known before Marie had entered his life. But she dare not ask him. To do so required an intimacy she had not yet attained.
"Thank you for a lovely day, Zachary." She held out her hand and he took it.
"I should be the one to say thanks. You've made my Sunday in London very pleasant."
"Since I was responsible for you being here, it was the least I could do."
"I owe Larry thanks too."
She was surprised. "What for?"
"If he'd behaved himself, I would never have had the chance of getting to know you."
"Do you think you do?"
"Better than I did before. Though I'd never presume to be foolish enough to think one could ever know a woman!"
She laughed. "You obviously see the female as the Sphinx!"
"And twice as mysterious." Pressing her hand again, he let it go and walked away.
Her apartment seemed lonely when she entered it and the evening stretched interminably ahead of her. She flung open the windows in the sitting room and went into the kitchenette to make herself a cup of tea. It was at times like this that she wished she was in Ireland with her mother. It was quiet there but she had never been bored.
Maybe I'm just a country girl at heart, she mused, and thought how lovely it would be to live in a house like Zachary's. Quickly she replaced this idea with others that were more innocuous, then picked up the Sunday papers and curled herself up on the settee to read them.
&n
bsp; It was not the most exciting prospect for a young woman to be doing on a Sunday evening but at least there was no problem involved in it, as there might have been had she spent the rest of the day with Zachary.
CHAPTER NINE
Samantha was not surprised when Larry sought her out at midmorning the next day and reiterated his apology of the day before.
"Forget it," she said. "I have."
"Then why did you refuse to go out with me last night?"
"Because I was going out with someone else."
"Then come out with me tonight."
"I'd rather not. It might be as well if we didn't see each other so often," she added. "I like you, Larry, but I do have other friends."
"So have I," he said easily, "but I prefer to be with you. I was hoping you felt the same about me."
"I am afraid I don't. I hadn't realized I'd given you any other impression."
"You never refused to go out with me in the past." He was speaking easily but there was an undercurrent of irritation in his voice.
"I went out with you because I wanted to get to know you," she explained. "After all, we have a business association." The words reminded her that she was standing in the Millinery Department where she had begun work that morning, and she glanced around to make sure no one was watching them.
"Have lunch with me?" he urged. "I know it isn't convenient to talk here."
"We have nothing more to talk about."
"It's because of Saturday night," he said. "You're still angry with me."
"I'm not. Please believe me."
"I'll only do that when you start going out with me again." He touched her cheek. "Don't expect me to take no for an answer."
"I'd probably be disappointed if you did," she replied, hoping to soften her refusal and was relieved to see a customer approaching.
As the day progressed she found her breath catching in her throat each time she caught sight of a dark-haired man. But it always turned out to be a customer or one of the staff, and she left Farrell's that evening without seeing or hearing from Zachary.
Roberta Leigh - Love in Store Page 11