by Liz Fielding
‘Promises?’ she asked, uncertainly.
‘Promises,’ he affirmed. ‘And despite everything that Janet taught us, the hard won knowledge that not all of them should be kept.’
Faith froze, the glass half way to her lips. ‘Not—’
‘The trick is knowing which ones.’
She scrambled to her feet, furious with herself for being drawn into the warm, tempting circle that he was closing about her. But what else did she expect? The man was a past master at breaking promises. ‘I think it’s time Alice was in the bath,’ she said, abruptly and didn’t wait for his reply, but called the child to her as she released the brake on the buggy and ignoring the fact that her legs were shaking uncontrollably, wheeled it away.
* * *
‘Faith? I was just coming to look for you.’
She paused a few steps above him on the stairs, feeling foolish after her abrupt departure from the picnic, knowing that she had over-reacted to his teasing. ‘I’ve been putting the children to bed,’ she said. And taking as long about it as she could.
‘Someone left a message on the answer machine for you. You’d better hear it for yourself.’ He didn’t wait for her agreement, simply turned and led the way to the room beneath the stairs.
“Faith? It’s Debbie. I’ve found you a nanny. She used to work for my sister. Will you ring me straight back?”
Harry switched off the machine. ‘I assume you know her number, since she didn’t leave it.’
‘Or you’d have called back and told her that you were all fixed up?’
Harry’s brows lifted in innocent query. ‘Now why on earth would I do that?’
‘I can’t think, except that you seem to be deriving considerable amusement from my enforced stay.’
‘Enforced?’ He refused to respond to her tetchiness, but his glance flickered briefly over her in a manner calculated to irritate. ‘I don’t see any chains.’
Perhaps enforced was a little harsh, she admitted privately to herself. She could walk out any time she chose. Except that she had promised Janet she would stay and help and he was using that promise to save himself the bother of finding someone else to look after his sister’s children. It would just serve him right if she decided that this was a promise she didn’t need to keep, she thought crossly. Except that she didn’t find it as easy to break inconvenient promises as he did. ‘You know perfectly well what I mean,’ she said.
‘Perhaps I do,’ he admitted. ‘Maybe it’s just something about your desperation to get away that challenges me. And I never could resist a challenge. To my cost.’ His lips were smiling, just, but the joke, disconcertingly, didn’t seem to be quite reaching his eyes and Faith wondered just what challenge had left him scarred and limping. ‘But relief, apparently, is at hand. Who was that?’
‘Debbie and I went to school together. In fact,’ she said, went on with considerable relish, ‘she’s going to be one of my bridesmaids.’ Now why had she said that? Simply to make a point? What point for heaven’s sake? That three weeks come Saturday she was going to marry Julian Fellowes in her father’s church? As if Harry March would care one way or the other. ‘I’d better ring her back.’
‘Help yourself,’ he invited, with an expansive gesture at his communications network. Were these the electronics he “played with”, she wondered? If so, it seemed to be rather more than a game.
Faith waited for him to leave, but he propped himself against the desk, apparently interested in what she was going to say. Fine. She didn’t care whether he listened or not, she decided as she punched in the numbers, just as long as it got her out of here.
Debbie bubbled with enthusiasm. ‘Sarah’s a real gem. My niece adored her but when Emily started school at Easter she decided to work as a temporary nanny rather than take another long term post. I think she found it difficult letting go of her after so long. It must be difficult, don’t you think?’
‘Very difficult.’ She glanced at Harry. Her aunt had never been able to forget the children she had worked with. She followed their lives in the society magazines and newspapers. Still rushed to their aid at the first hint of trouble. ‘If you’ll give me her number, I’ll call her straight away.’ She jotted down the details on a notepad by the ’phone, exchanged a few words about bridesmaids dresses, Debbie describing the dresses that she and Gemma had provisionally chosen.
‘I’ll send you a picture.’
‘Great,’ she said, trying to sound a lot more enthusiastic than she felt.
‘The wedding’s still on?’ Debbie asked. ‘You’ve not got cold feet?’
‘I’m wearing thermal socks.’
‘Right. Well I’ll pick the dresses up tomorrow. If you’re sure about the colour?’
‘The green sounds lovely,’ she said, firmly. ‘I’ll be glad to have something I can cross off my list.’
‘Your bridesmaids are wearing green?’ Harry asked, when she replaced the receiver. ‘Isn’t that supposed to be unlucky at a wedding?’
‘Is it?’ She dialled again, glad of something to do with her hands that prevented her from throttling Harry. Or at least slapping that irritating expression from his face. The line was engaged. ‘Since I’m not superstitious I won’t lose any sleep over it. Anyway they’re hardly green,’ she said, turning to him with the kind of look that had been known to turn flirtatious bank clerks to jelly. ‘It’s just a very fine green stripe on ivory.’
‘I’m sure Janet wouldn’t approve.’ Oh, he was right about that. But it had nothing to do with the colour of bridesmaids dresses. Janet disapproved of everything about her wedding but she wasn’t going to hand Mr Harry March a gift of such information. Always assuming her aunt hadn’t already given him chapter and verse.
‘It’s my wedding,’ she pointed out.
He lifted his shoulders in an apparently careless shrug. ‘It actually takes two, Faith, but if you’re prepared to take the risk, then I suppose it’s up to you.’ Harry and her aunt would make a great double act she thought, a little sourly, as he straightened. But Janet Bridges had a right to be concerned about her only niece. What possible interest was it to this man? ‘Well, I’ll leave you to get on with it. I’m sure you’re quite capable of handling the details.’
‘There’s only one problem. Debbie says Sarah can’t get here until late tomorrow evening.’
His lips curled, tauntingly. ‘That’s your problem, Faith, not mine, but it means we’ll have plenty of time for our shopping trip tomorrow.’
‘Oh, but—’
‘Alice is so looking forward to it. Unless of course you’ve changed your mind about her being your flower girl? Now that you’ve organised your escape route?’
Escape route? Did she seem that desperate to get away? Well that wouldn’t do, so she made herself smile. ‘I wasn’t aware that I was a prisoner, Harry,’ she said, with the smallest laugh.
‘You were the one who suggested it, not me.’ And he was right. The wretched man was right. She felt like screaming. ‘If you want to leave right now—’ He offered her the door and for one crazy moment she came close to bolting through it.
‘Don’t be silly, Harry,’ she said, as calmly as she could. ‘I’ll stay until Sarah arrives. And of course I haven’t changed my mind about Alice being a flower girl. I promised.’
‘And a promise is a promise?’ That cynical toast beneath the willow tree stirred the air between them. ‘It’s an admirable sentiment. I wonder just how far you’d be prepared to take it?’
‘I wouldn’t ever make a promise I wasn’t prepared to keep,’ she said, quietly. Unlike Michael. Unlike Harry.
‘But you rather had your hand forced by Alice. And by Janet. What about Julian? Did he blackmail you too?’
‘I’m not as weak-willed as you appear to think.’
‘Not weak-willed. Perhaps a little too kind for your own good?’ The smile was back in place, although whether that was a matter for congratulation, she couldn’t be quite sure.
‘And that
’s a weakness you are very happy to take advantage of,’ she snapped.
‘Did I say it was a weakness?’ She didn’t answer. ‘But Alice will need a dress. Of course you could leave her to choose it herself. Do you think pink frills will go with the elegant green and ivory?’ he enquired, gravely.
The problem with Harry, Faith decided as she capitulated with a laugh, was that no matter how infuriating he was, you just couldn’t stay mad at him for long. ‘You should take up blackmail full time, Harry. You’re very good at it.’
‘Does that mean you’ve decided to come and choose it with her?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Apparently.’
‘And what about your dress? Will you be looking for something bedecked with frills and ribbons for your big day?’
‘Frills?’ All desire to laugh seeped away. ‘I’m allergic to frills and flounces, Harry.’ Eighteen and head over heels in love had been a time for frills. ‘In fact I’d rather be married in a black plastic sack.’
‘Now that would be entertaining.’ His thoughtful look rang alarm bells and to distract him she changed tack.
‘I wonder if I could I take you up on your offer to ring the printer in the morning and ask him to email the proofs of the invitations?’ she asked. ‘I really can’t afford to lose another day. I was hoping to have them written and in the post by the beginning of next week.’
‘Then I hope for your sake it isn’t going to be a big wedding.’
‘Big enough.’ Julian hadn’t much of a family and she would have been happy enough to limit the number to close friends, but there were so many parishioners who had become an extended family after her mother died. Not one of them could be missed off the list.
‘What about the caterers? Surely they’ll email their menus here too if we ask them? It seems a pity to have all this high-tech equipment and not use it, don’t you think?’
Faith looked around her. ‘It’s a pretty fancy toy,’ she agreed.
‘Toy?’
‘Isn’t this another of your toys? You did say you “played” with electronics?’
‘Did I?’ His smile was disconcerting. ‘Well from now on my toy is entirely at your disposal. Look out the numbers and I’ll deal with them after you’ve phoned this new female.’
Despite his faintly mocking tone, he seemed perfectly willing to help and because it would make everything a whole lot easier, she agreed. After phoning Sarah and giving her directions to Wickham Ash, she gave him the information he had asked for and went off to check on the children.
They were both sleeping peacefully and as she walked from bed to cot, adjusting the covers, smoothing back a tiny lock of hair, Faith began to understand her aunt’s feelings towards her small charges. Even after such a short time they had nestled into her heart and it would be hard to say goodbye.
‘All sleeping?’ Harry whispered, coming up behind, putting his hand on her shoulder as he leaned over the cot. His touch was so natural, so warm and it was such a long time since she had been touched by anyone…
‘It’s been a long day for all of us,’ she said, a little hoarsely.
‘Don’t give up on it yet. Come and have a drink and give me a chance to get my own back at backgammon.’
‘You don’t stand a chance,’ she said, automatically as she turned. For a moment he remained blocking her way, his hand still resting lightly on her shoulder.
‘No?’ The word fell softly into the peaceful room, scarcely more than a whisper and yet a challenge, a dare that Faith felt shiver right down to her toes. He removed his hand and stood back to let her pass. ‘After a challenge like that, Faith, you’ve simply got to let me try.’
With the run of the dice with her and a determination to “show” him, the first game quickly went her way. After that she found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. The library seemed too quiet, the denseness of its atmosphere absorbing the clatter of the dice and counters across the inlaid wood. The world seemed to be slowing down and the fading light of the long summer evening had a misty quality, like candlelight shimmering off the facets of the crystal goblet standing at her elbow, shimmering off the dark silky hair on Harry’s sinewy forearm flexing as he tossed the dice, shimmering over the harsh planes of his face, throwing the deep hollows at his cheeks and temples into darkest shadow as he looked up from the board.
‘It’s your throw.’
‘Sorry, I was miles away.’
‘With your missionary?’ Harry looked up. ‘How long have you known him?’
Known him? A dangerous question. When Julian had written to the bank with very specific instructions about the arrangements for his investment fund his letter had been passed to her. The correspondence had started formally as she had suggested suitable companies for his portfolio. He had not been prepared to take her word. He had wanted to know the details of her background research.
It was unusual for someone to be quite so interested in her work and she had willingly told him all she could, asking him in turn about his own work.
His enthusiasm had burned off the pages of his reply and it seemed only kind to send him a Christmas card, which he had noticed was printed on recycled paper. He sent a photograph, all dark goggles and parka. She’d send him one of her, sitting at her desk and asked for something that gave a clue as to what he actually looked like, but to send it to her flat as the other investment consultants were beginning to tease her.
She swallowed, her throat tighter than it should be.
No, she wasn’t about to tell Harry that she had never actually met her husband-to-be. He wasn’t really interested; simply attempting to disturb her concentration.
‘Julian, as you very well know, is not a missionary,’ she declared. ‘And I’ve known him for three years.’
‘Three years? As long as that?’ He seemed surprised. ‘Then why all the sudden rush to get married?’
‘Three years is hardly a rush,’ she countered, made a stupid move and Harry immediately blocked the corner.
‘You won’t have seen him for some time then?’
Faith peered at him from beneath her lashes but was unable to detect anything measured or deliberate about his query. ‘No,’ she agreed, hoping her voice was steadier than her heartbeat. ‘I haven’t.’
‘You’ve been reduced to an exchange of passionate emails…’ Letters. Julian wrote letters, drew charming little sketches in the margins… ‘Or maybe the passion is missing since you’re not in love.’ He didn’t expect or want an answer but threw the dice and mopped up the game. ‘You seem to have let that one slip, Faith. I don’t believe you’re concentrating.’
‘No,’ she agreed. ‘Shall we leave it at that? An honourable draw.’
Harry sat back in his chair and regarded her thoughtfully. ‘I never play percentages, Faith. All or nothing. Win or lose.’ There was an intensity about his eyes that held her momentarily transfixed. Were they still talking about backgammon?
‘It’s only a game, Harry,’ she said, a little shakily. He didn’t answer and she dredged up a casual shrug from the very depths of that self-possession for which, until two days ago, she had been so renowned but which seemed to be rapidly deserting her. ‘Of course, if you’re determined to be beaten I’ll be happy to oblige. One game to settle it? I’m sure I have a counter to every move you make.’ She began to pick up the pieces but he caught her hand, held it between his own.
‘That’s a dangerous assumption, Faith.’
‘Dangerous? You don’t frighten me.’ Her voice wasn’t as steady as she would have liked and to prove her point she made no effort to remove her fingers from his, despite the unsettling tingle set off by his touch. At least, she thought that was why she left her hand resting in his.
‘Then on your head be it.’
She looked up. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
‘It was your challenge.’ His smile was bland, uncommunicative. ‘You tell me.’
She drew her forehead down in a tiny frown. ‘It’s ju
st a game, Harry,’ she began.
‘But a game without rules.’
‘Don’t be silly, of course there are rules—’
His smiled deepened. ‘Then tell me what counter is appropriate for this move.’
‘Counter?’ She was beginning to sound feeble-minded, she thought then caught her breath as he lifted her fingers to his lips, lightly kissing each one in turn. The room seemed to have shrunk to a tiny circle of light in which the two of them confronted each other through an atmosphere supercharged with tension.
‘Counter,’ he murmured back at her. ‘Response, check, foil, antidote.’ Then, regarding her from beneath lowered lids, Harry March took his mouth on a mind-scrambling, bone-meltingly delicious tour down the length of her thumb, tracing her heart line across the palm of her hand…
Was there an antidote for Harry March, Faith wondered, dizzily? Or was his attraction quite fatal?
‘Well?’ he prompted, softly and looked up. His mouth was a sensuous curve that offered what? A dare, perhaps? Yes, it was there in his eyes, the merest hint of a challenge that warned her that this was only a game, an extension of the lively clash on the backgammon board. So that was all right. Wasn’t it?
A quiver of something ran through her. Something that should have been relief, because Faith had always been good at games, especially the kind of game that demanded a long memory and quick wits. Attack and counter-attack. Take your opponent by surprise. What kind of retaliation would be expecting? A slap, perhaps? No. If she slapped him it would show that it mattered. So, no response, then. Nothing.
It took every ounce of self-control to withdraw her hand as if nothing had happened. ‘It’s my first throw I believe.’ Her voice was low, very calm. It was quite a performance considering that her insides were jangling like wind chimes in a gale. But she couldn’t quite trust herself to meet his eyes.
‘No, leave it,’ Harry said, abruptly, rising to his feet, sending the counters clattering across the polished wood. ‘It’s too late for games.’