'I've nothing to defend,' she snapped. 'As it happens, Mr Anderson's bowl was——-'
'Were you or were you not selling it to that yellow-haired punk you were making eyes at yesterday?'
'I wasn't making eyes at him!'
'You were practically in his arms behind the stall! And don't bother denying it, because I was only ten yards away from you!'
Realising he had seen Bobby put his arm around her when she had turned pale, she understood his misinterpretation of the gesture. But she was none the less furious that he considered her a thief.
'I'm waiting for an answer,' Patrick said harshly. 'What have you done with the Georgian bowl? There's no point lying to me. I know you took it, and I'll give you a chance to return it. I'll drive you to London myself if necessary, and wait while you collect it. I doubt if that pair behind the stall have sold it yet.'
Tessa listened to Patrick in astonishment. He believed her to be a thief, yet he was actually offering to help her retrieve the situation! Though it lessened her anger, she was unable to forgive his lack of faith in her character.
'If you're sure I stole the bowl, why haven't you told the police?'
Patrick shrugged. 'I've asked myself that since I saw you at the silver vaults yesterday. I guess I feel sorry for you.'
'Why?'
'You're intelligent and able, and you'll be wasting your life if you don't make proper use of it. Perhaps your attitude stems from your background.' He paused, brows drawn together in a frown. 'You're a mystery to me, Tessa, though it's clear you don't think beyond the moment, the instant gratification. Dammit, girl! You're eighteen and can make something of yourself, so don't spoil your future by being branded a thief. Return the bowl and hide it in a cupboard. I'm sure you can figure out a way for Mrs Benson to discover it herself.’
Tessa's anger evaporated completely. The poor darling was trying to blame her background for her dishonesty! Did he think she hailed from a thieves' den? Heavens, it was time she disclosed her identity. It was the very least she could do.
"There's something I have to tell you,' see said huskily. 'I'm not the person you think I am, I——-‘
'Sorry to intrude on you, Patrick,' Ingrid interrupted, coming in without knocking. 'But Mike has a problem to talk over with you.'
Muttering beneath his breath, Patrick strode out, and Tessa waited for Ingrid to say something nasty.
'What have you done to upset him this time?' the Swedish girl asked, running true to form.
'If you're anxious to know, ask him.'
'If you're anxious to keep the job, you'll tell me!'
'I may not wish to stay.' Tessa gave Ingrid an insolent stare, irritated that the girl was so lovely in a severely tailored black linen suit. If I wore that, she thought, I'd look as if I were going to a funeral. I guess one needs to be tall to get away with such stark simplicity.
'If you have doubts about staying on,' Ingrid's voice was unexpectedly conciliatory, 'you'd be better off leaving. You won't have trouble finding another job. I'll be happy to give you a reference.'
'You're really keen to be rid of me, aren't you?' Tessa retorted. 'I suppose you're scared of me.'
'Scared of a little nothing? That's ridiculous.'
'Is it? I think you're worried incase Mr Harper fancies me.'
Tessa made the statement deliberately to rile, and was triumphant as Ingrid's pale skin warmed to red.
'If Mr Harper was interested ina stupid girl like you,' came the hissed reply, 'he wouldn't be the man I know.'
'Maybe you don't know him.'
'You think not? How naive you are! What Mr Harper and I feel for one another is——-' Ingrid stopped. 'But why am I wasting my energy talking to you? You're nothing in our lives, and it will be better if you go.'
‘I’ll only take that kind of order from the boss,' Tessa said, wondering exactly how deep a relationship Ingrid and Patrick had.
'What kind of order?' Patrick asked from the doorway.
Tessa swung round to him. 'Ingrid's suggesting I leave.'
'Why?' He spoke the question to Ingrid, who glided closer to him before replying.
'Because there isn't enough for her to do here. And it isn't good for young people to be bored.'
That's quite true,' he said lightly. 'We'll have to find Tessa more to do.'
Ingrid went to speak, then thought better of it and shrugged.
Tessa, watching the two of them standing close, thought what an excellent foil they made for one another: both tall, slim, and elegant as greyhounds, Ingrid's silvery fairness accentuating Patrick's dark masculinity. A wave of pure rage engulfed her, obliterating thought and reason, and leaving her a quivering, insensate mass.
But as clarity returned, one question loomed large, obliterating everything else. Why did the sight of Patrick and Ingrid together disturb her so much? No longer could she run from the answer. It was jealousy, pure and simple. Except jealousy was neither pure nor simple, but distorting and illogical, making you do things you'd .never do if you were sane.
And she certainly wasn't sane. How could she be if she thought, even for a moment, that she could be happy with a man like Patrick? Why, his very attitude to career women was the biggest turn-off! Yet if that were true, how come she ached for him?
Her surgeon's mind probed the question as delicately as her skilful hands would a patient. It was Sir Denis's fault. By forcing her to admit she didn't relish living the rest of her life alone, he had made her receptive to a man who was handsome, humorous and intelligent. Obstinate and bad-tempered too, she admitted, though this increased rather than detracted from his appeal, for who would be happy living with a paragon?
She became aware of Patrick's eyeing her, and, meeting his blue gaze, suddenly imagined him married to Ingrid. He was already half married, in fact, considering the way she organised everything he did. What a fool he was—all-seeing in his work, yet blind in his personal life!
Anger returned. A man who was so dumb deserved to be made a fool of, and as far as she was concerned it wasn't only Ingrid who was going to go on pulling the wool over his eyes. She'd do the same herself, and carry on with her charade.
'I'd like to talk to Tessa alone,' Patrick murmured, guiding Ingrid to the door, and he did not speak again until he had closed it. 'Well, I'm waiting.'
'For what?' Tessa asked.
'Before Ingrid interrupted us, you said there was something you wished to tell me.' His voice was steady, almost as if he was trying to reassure her that he wouldn't be angry, no matter what she said.
'I've forgotten what it was,' she replied.
'I don't believe you. Before Ingrid interrupted us, you were saying you weren't the person I thought you were, and I'd be obliged if you explained yourself.'
'Oh, that,' she shrugged. 'I meant I'm not a thief, and I didn't take the bowl.'
'Then why were you at the vaults?'
'I've already told you. To visit my friends. I'm very close to Bobby.' Well, that was no lie. As a surgeon she knew him intimately!
'Does he own the stall?' came the next question.
'No, it belongs to the other boy. Bobby took me there to meet him.'
'And to sell him the bowl?'
Tessa almost stamped her foot. 'I've told you I didn't take it! Why can't you believe me?'
Patrick bent towards her and caught her by the shoulders, his hands large upon the fragile bones. 'If only I could,' he muttered. 'But logic warns me not to.'
'Forget logic and trust your feelings.'
'They're too jumbled when I'm with you. And when you stare at me like that…'
'Like what?'
'You know very well what,' he groaned, and pulled her into his arms.
Even when she stood on tiptoe, the top of her head didn't reach his chin, and he swung her off her feet, cradling her without effort as their mouths met and merged, simultaneously parting for tongues to entwine.
As she succumbed to the heat and warmth of him, Tessa marvelled at h
er lack of inhibition. It was incredible that she, who considered herself emotionally reserved, should feel such abandonment at his touch, the taste of him, the smell of him.
Trembling, she nestled closer, curving her body into his. He murmured deep in his throat, and sank with her on to the nearby sofa. With his hands no longer holding her, they were free to roam her body, lightly skimming the delicate line of neck to rest upon the gentle swell of her breasts.
At the touch of his fingers a burning flame engulfed her. tier nipples hardened and her stomach was pierced with sweet shafts of desire that were echoed by the movements of his body.
'Patrick,' she whispered upon his mouth. 'Oh, Patrick——-'
With a suddenness that shocked her, he pushed her away and stood up. 'This is madness,' he muttered, his face dark with anger as well as passion. 'Don't use your sex on me, Tessa; I won't be fooled that way!'
Tessa was lost for words. Did he think she had deliberately set out to entice him in order to make him believe in her innocence? My God, how low his opinion was of her!
'I nearly succeeded, didn't I?' she taunted. 'Another minute and you'd have been well and truly gone!'
'Don't kid yourself. I was simply interested in discovering how far you were prepared to go.'
'All the way," she mocked, hands on hips. 'But not with a man as old as you! You should be ashamed of yourself, taking advantage of me!'
'I didn't hear you objecting.'
'I was experimenting.'
'So was I,' he replied. 'You're not my idea of a normal teenager.'
'Is that why you fancy me?'
He laughed. 'I don't. I've too much sense. Love-affairs are complicated enough without trying to make it with a girl from a different generation.'
'Then don't touch the goods if you're not going to buy!'
A dull flush rose in his face and Tessa knew she had hit his pride. But he came out fighting. 'Then don't you bat those soulful eyes at me!'
'I didn't realise how poor your resistance was. You aren't a boy, Mr Harper. Where's your control?'
This time the blow was too hard for him to fight back, and he gave a deep sigh. 'I'm sorry, Tessa. It won't happen again.'
'You said that once before. But I think you're a wolf, and I'll thank you not to prowl around me.' She was by the door when he called her name, and she half turned.
'Yes?'
'Remember my advice about the bowl. Hide it away, and then ensure Mrs Benson finds it.'
Not deigning to reply, Tessa went out, slamming the door hard.
Though angered by his low opinion of her, she kept remembering the way he had kissed her. No matter what he said, and regardless of his relationship with Ingrid, he was definitely attracted to her, which went to show he wasn't the faithful type!
Or did he feel his affair with Ingrid didn't necessitate it? Tessa's disgust with him grew. If she really was a flighty young girl, she'd have met him halfway and enjoyed the moment—or hours! But she was Tessa Redfern, a woman of circumspection, who was as likely to have a casual affair as operate without surgicial gloves! She sighed heavily. She couldn't go against her nature any more than Patrick Harper could go against his.
Which brought her back to square one, and the sad but inescapable admission that they were two people walking parallel lines. Einstein had been convinced that at some point parallel lines met, but even his genius had never been able to prove it.
When she returned home later that day, Mrs Benson remarked on her miserable expression. 'I thought working at the Hall was fun for you.'
'Not today it wasn't.'
'Did you tell Mr Harper we found the bowl?'
'I was on the verge of doing so when he accused me of stealing it.'
'You're joking!'
'Unfortunately not.'
Hearing the full story—albeit a heavily censored version—Mrs Benson was all for going to the Hall to put that Mr Harper of yours straight!', and Tessa had a hard job persuading her not to.
'I want Patrick to trust me of his own accord,' she explained.
'He would, if he knew you as you really are,' Mrs Benson said forthrightly. 'I do wish you'd put an end to this silly farce.'
'I won't carry it on much longer. I'll just give him a bit longer to think things over. Once he has, I'm hoping he'll realise I couldn't be a thief. So promise me you won't breathe a word to anyone."
Mrs Benson sniffed. 'You know you can wind me round your little finger.'
Tessa nodded, wishing she could do the same with Patrick. What a hope! He wasn't the type to be ruled by passion—or love, come to that. He was content ploughing a lone furrow and taking his pleasures when it suited him.
Unless, of course, Ingrid caught him at a weak moment.
CHAPTER TEN
The next morning, Tessa's anger at Patrick had slightly abated, and she was forced to admit he would be less suspicious of her if she looked more like her old self. Yet her old self had been dull, and seemed even duller by comparison with her present cheeky persona.
But the time was ripe for her to be a little truer to her real self. After all, had Patrick presented himself as a long-haired hippy she might well have misjudged his character too!
In this charitable mood, she contacted Mr Withers to ask if it was convenient to take off the whole day.
'We owe you a few days,' he informed her. 'If you'd care to have them now…'
'No, thanks, one day will be fine.'
Light-heartedly she set off for Iverton, agreeably surprised to find a highly modern hairdressing salon called 'Antoine'.
Antoine himself turned out to hail from Leeds, and was small and thin, with soulful eyes that grew more soulful as he regarded her unruly hair.
'I suppose you wish to have it set in the same style as this?' he asked dolefully.
'Unless you can think of a better way,' she said, bravely deciding that the worst he could do was cut it too short. 'I'm willing to leave the style to you.'
Her words acted on him like a shot of adrenalin, and the change in him was remarkable. Before her very eyes he appeared to grow in stature and confidence, and with murmured incantations, as if calling on some inner god for inspiration, he lifted a curl here, twisted a curl there, and then threw a voluminous pink cape round her shoulders.
'First we will wash it. Then I will decide what to do.'
A plump girl with a crew cut—which did little to inspire Tessa's confidence, and almost made her flee—gave her hair the most vigorous wash of its life before returning her to Antoine, who was waiting for her with scissors poised.
Crossing her fingers, Tessa sat down and closed her eyes, each snip of the blades sending her spirits plunging.
An hour later she stared into the mirror, bemused at the stranger staring back at her.
'You're a miracle worker, Antoine! I can't believe it's me!'
Twisting her head this way and that, she admired the sleek swirl of tamed red-gold hair that clung to her scalp, showing the lovely rounded curve of her head before it broke into a soft froth of curls that caressed her nape.
'You'll find it easy to keep,' Antoine assured her,
'You think so? Whenever it's set smooth, it always goes frizzy after a few days.'
'That's because of bad cutting. If mine goes frizzy on you, I'll reset it for free.'
In the face of such confidence, Tessa's own grew, and, feeling like a new woman, she wandered along the high street. Her reflection in a window reminded her she wasn't all new, and, thoroughly disliking her skimpy denim skirt and outsize tank-top, she set off in search of clothes more in keeping with the image she wished to project. Still young, of course, but old enough for Patrick to stop thinking of her as a child.
A blast of music told her she was nearing the shop where she had bought her present outfit, and, head lowered, she slunk past it, delighted to spy a smart boutique on the other side of the road.
It was odd that she hadn't noticed it before. But then she hadn't noticed Antoine's salon eit
her, though he had been in Iverton three years. But whenever she stayed with Uncle Martin, she was so pleased to relax that she gave little thought to her appearance.
When her car finally drew up in the small, curving drive of the Queen Anne house the back was laden with parcels, and Mrs Benson made no attempt to hide her astonishment and delight at Tessa's appearance.
I'm glad you're finally taking an interest in yourself.'
'Don't I always—apart from the last few weeks, I mean?"
'Let's say you're always neat and tidy, but now you're a real picture.'
'Don't go overboard,' Tessa chuckled.
'I'm not. I mean every word.' Mrs Benson walked round her, lightly touching the shining red-gold curls. 'Bought new clothes too, have you?'
For answer, Tessa opened one of the packages, disclosing a mint-green cotton dress with a finely tucked bodice and nipped-in waist.
'Do you think Patrick will approve?' Taking it out, she held it against herself.
'You aren't planning to wear it for work?' the housekeeper exclaimed.
'Too true.'
'Fancy him, do you?'
Tessa hesitated. She knew the question was prompted by love, and decided it was mean to lie. 'Yes, I do. But he loathes career women, and I don't stand a chance with him.'
'Then why the finery?'
'I'd like him to see me as I really am. I suppose you could call it vanity.
'I prefer to call it being hopeful! Men often say one thing and then do another—especially when they fall in love.'
'Patrick doesn't believe in love—or marriage.'
'Neither did my husband, rest his soul!'
Tessa laughed and hugged Mrs Benson tightly before carrying her parcels upstairs.
The next morning, in her new green dress, she set off for the Hall. She couldn't wait to see Patrick's face when he set eyes on her, and she fantasised about his reaction. How fabulous it would be if he fell in love with her on sight!
Chiding herself for being stupidly romantic—and she a logical, hard-headed surgeon too—she almost ran the last few yards, and breathlessly pushed open the heavy oak door.
Luck was on her side, for the very man she wanted was emerging from the sitting-room. Her heart raced. She hadn't seen him for a day, and the sheer handsomeness of him hit her. Tall, slimly built, but whipcord strong, he emanated such sexuality that her body tingled. Motionless, she waited for him to come closer, but with nary a glance in her direction he walked past her, his expression intent, his eyes glazed.
Roberta Leigh - It All Depends on Love Page 8