by Penny Jordan
The date was for Saturday, four days away, and they passed in a daze of mingled bliss and fear—bliss because Richard had actually asked her out, and fear in case he found her ridiculously childish and lacking in the sophistication he would naturally expect in his dates.
The money she had been carefully hoarding from her salary was withdrawn from her bank account and splurged on a new and—to her—slightly daring outfit which the salesgirl assured her was the very latest fashion—and some new make-up.
Her parents knew about the date, and had been tenderly amused by its effect on her.
Richard was picking her up in his car. It had been a twenty-first present from his father before the latter’s death, and Genista was breathless with excitement when she eventually heard it draw up outside the house.
Having promised her parents that he would take the greatest care of her, Richard handed her into the bright red sports car, and that had been the beginning of their romance.
After her initial shyness had gone, Genista had never for one moment doubted that her love for him was returned. Otherwise why would he continue to date her? It was true he never took her to meet his family, not to the many social gatherings amongst the local farming community to which she knew he was invited, but she believed this was because he wanted them to be alone. Their kisses had gone from shy, tentative embraces to a passionate intensity which left her shaken with a longing she could barely understand. The one occasion upon which Richard touched her breast had filled her with mingled excitement and shame. They had been going out together for six months when Christmas loomed. Richard had already told her that he loved her—and desired her. There was nothing to feel ashamed of, he told her—nor to fear either. He would teach her everything.
Her parents went away the weekend before Christmas. Her father had an important business meeting in London, and her mother was going with him. Genista felt a little nervous about staying in the house alone, but her parents had not suggested that she went with them, and besides, if she had done so, she would have had to miss her weekend date with Richard.
It had been nearly a fortnight since she had seen him. Farm work had kept him busy, he told her vaguely when he picked her up. She had left the house lights on, a little frightened of coming back to an empty house, and they glowed in the darkness as she stepped into the car.
Richard took her to see a film. It remained a dim memory in her mind—men fighting, blood everywhere, women screaming. Afterwards they had driven home slowly, her head on Richard’s shoulder. He stopped outside her house, turning her to him and kissing her with a hunger that alarmed and excited her.
Greatly daring, she had asked him in for coffee. It was only when she brought the tray in to the lounge from the kitchen that Richard realised they were alone in the house. His manner had altered subtly, but she had been too naïve to be aware of it. When he took her in his arms, she had responded with all the yearning love locked up in her young heart, barely protesting when his hand slid up under her jumper towards the tender peak of her breast. Her heart was beating so loudly she thought she would suffocate with excitement. Richard was pressing hot, urgent kisses on her face and neck, and through the spiralling excitement she heard him ask why they didn’t go upstairs.
The question shocked her. They couldn’t, she told him uncertainly. It would be wrong.
Nonsense, he had argued. They loved one another, didn’t they?
Genista was quick to agree, adding rather shyly that she had always hoped to be married in white, and that surely it wouldn’t be long before they could be married. After all, he had a home to take her to and…
In her innocence she was unaware of the reason for his abrupt withdrawal; the angry look on his face as he got up and walked across to the fire, all at once a slightly distant stranger.
‘What’s the matter?’ She had asked the question hesitantly, alarmed by the look in his eyes.
‘I can’t marry you,’ Richard had told her uncompromisingly. ‘Where the devil did you get that idea from? I never said anything about marriage.’
‘You said you loved me!’ It was the cry of a wounded animal caught in a vicious trap, but Richard brushed her words aside, his expression truculent.
‘Oh, come on,’ he demanded, ‘don’t give me all that innocent stuff. You knew the score. A passionate little thing like you isn’t meant for marriage,’ he told her. ‘We could have a good time together, Gen.’ His confidence was returning and he came and sat down next to her, hugging her against him and trying to kiss her, but Genista moved away. He didn’t want to marry her; probably didn’t even love her. Inside she was screaming with the agony of it, but outwardly she was as cold as marble.
‘I thought you loved me.’ At last the words were forced past her numbed lips. ‘I thought you wanted to marry me.’
‘Marry you?’ Her refusal to play the part he had cast for her obviously angered Richard. ‘God, my mother would have a fit! I’m going to marry Sir Peter Lawtry’s daughter—or so she hopes—not the illegitimate offspring of some small-town solicitor. Marry you? My mother would rather see me dead!’
They must have said other things, but Genista could not remember them. All she could remember was her mingled pain and disbelief, firstly that Richard did not love her, and had merely been using her, while cold-bloodedly contemplating a far more socially advantageous marriage, and secondly that she was, as he had said—illegitimate!
When he finally realised that he was not going to persuade her to go to bed with him either now or ever he had stormed out of the house, calling her such vile names that she felt physically sick with them, and making it plain that he could never have really cared about her. Her dreams in ruins at her feet, Genista had the rest of the weekend to dwell on what he had said before she was able to tackle her parents on their return.
Among the snippets of information Richard had flung at her had been one to the effect that her father had been married to a friend of his mother’s before he met Genista’s mother. His wife had been tied to a wheelchair following a hunting accident, and although Genista’s mother had borne him a child, he had not been free to marry her until after his first wife’s death.
Genista tackled her parents the moment they returned home.
They had not denied it. Her mother’s eyes had been full of understanding pity as she looked into Genista’s white face still haunted by the memory of what Richard had told her.
‘In essence everything Richard told you is true, Genista,’ she had said later, coming upstairs to where Genista had flung herself down on her bed, trying to come to terms with the truth. ‘But try to understand. Your father and I feel very deeply in love. He tried to do the right thing, to send me away, but I wouldn’t be sent. You see, I knew he needed me,’ she said simply. ‘Anne’s accident didn’t merely rob her of her freedom physically, it also damaged her brain. She was like a child, and your father wouldn’t be the man he is if he’d been able to desert her. I respected his decision to stay with her, but he couldn’t persuade me to go away and make a new life for myself. He was my life. When I knew I was carrying you I was so pleased. You were the living proof of our love, and I felt no shame. We knew Anne didn’t have long to live, and when we were eventually able to marry our happiness was complete, and we’ve enjoyed it all the more for not having taken it at Anne’s expense.’
‘But what about me?’ Genista cried in anguish. ‘I’m illegitimate! Richard’s mother would rather die than see him married to me. All he wanted was an affair—he told me so—he said he thought it would be like mother, like daughter.’
Her mother’s hand stiffened on the counterpane and then her arms went round Genista’s shuddering frame.
‘Oh, my poor little girl,’ she said softly. ‘He’s hurt you so badly. You’re so very young. I know you won’t believe me, but if Richard had really cared about you, nothing his mother might have to say could have prevented him from marrying you. One day you’ll meet a man who’ll love you, Genista, and
he won’t care whether your parents were married or not; all he will care about is you.’
The music signalling the end of the programme brought Genista abruptly back to the present. Her mother had been right about Richard not loving her, and since coming to London she had discovered that parentage was of little importance. The people she worked with accepted her for what she was; and besides, these days illegitimacy meant nothing, but the pain of Richard’s betrayal had gone deep and festered. There had been no serious boy-friends in her life since. For a while she had even felt as though she hated her parents, especially when she heard the news of Richard’s engagement. Four months later Genista’s mother and father were dead. Genista had never ceased to be grateful for the fact that before her parents had left on holiday she had told them that she had come to realise that had Richard genuinely cared for her he would not have been concerned about her birth. She would have hated them to die thinking she blamed them for his defection.
It was high time she put the past behind her, she told herself, but this was easier said than done, especially with men like Luke Ferguson around. A shadow crossed her eyes as she got up to switch the television off. The whole thing had gone beyond a joke. She ought to have made it plain just how wrong his thinking was! Bob’s mistress indeed! She wouldn’t dwell on his other insults about her mercenary nature. If it wasn’t for the fact that it wouldn’t be fair to leave Bob in the lurch when he had so many problems on his hands, her notice would be on Luke Ferguson’s desk tomorrow morning! She had been horrified to learn from Bob that Luke intended to spend several weeks with them satisfying himself that the company was operating at optimum efficiency. All she could hope for now was that Elaine’s doctor would confirm that her tumour was benign, and that she could leave the company without feeling that she was deserting Bob in a time of crisis.
* * *
Her hopes were dashed the following morning when she arrived to find Bob already at his desk, wearing a very haggard expression. He greeted her thankfully, pushing a tired hand through hair which seemed to have gone greyer almost over-night.
‘Elaine?’ Genista asked him sympathetically, eyeing the two empty coffee cups already on his desk. To judge by the amount of paperwork lying there Bob had been in the office for quite some time.
‘Bad news, I’m afraid,’ Bob told her quietly. ‘Our own G.P. came round last night to break the news. I had to take Elaine to the hospital this morning, and they’re operating this afternoon. She was so calm,’ he told her worriedly, ‘too calm, and our doctor agreed with me. It’s as though she refuses to accept what’s happening. I’ve tried to talk to her, but she refuses to listen. I’m desperately afraid of what the truth will do to her.’
‘You can’t shield her from it, Bob,’ Genista told him gently. She was about to ask him what time Elaine was having her operation and suggest that he returned to the hospital leaving her to cope with their work, when she became aware that Luke had walked in, and was very obviously eavesdropping on their conversation. His expression was hard to read.
‘Bob, can you spare me Genista for the day?’ he asked crisply. ‘I want to take over the Mellington account myself. They seem to be experiencing problems, and I see that you and Genista both went to see them when they originally requested our services.’
‘Mellington?’
Poor Bob, Genista thought sympathetically. He was obviously far too concerned about Elaine to place the name, but she remembered it—a small firm in Cumbria who specialised in beautiful reproduction furniture. She was not surprised they were having problems. The firm was run by two generations of the family who had founded it, and father and son did not entirely see eye to eye. It had been the son who had wanted to use their services while his father had stubbornly wanted to cling to the old-fashioned methods he had used all his life.
‘You remember,’ Genista told him, ‘that firm up in the Lake District. We went up to see them and spent the weekend there.’
She made the comment in all innocence, forgetting what construction Luke was likely to place upon it. Elaine had gone with them, and Genista had spent most of the weekend alone, exploring the beautiful countryside, leaving Elaine and Bob to enjoy themselves together.
‘Oh, good heavens—of course I remember now,’ Bob agreed, harassment giving way to pleasure. ‘We stayed in that old coaching inn. Our bedroom had a huge fourposter.’
‘There isn’t time to get there and back in a day,’ Genista told Luke, hoping he would change his mind about visiting the factory, but instead a cool gleam entered his eyes, his expression distinctly mocking as he said softly, ‘Well, then, we’ll just have to stay over, won’t we? I shall need one of you with me as you set up the original package, and with Brian still in Amsterdam, I don’t think it would be a good idea to take Bob away from the office as well.’
It was on the tip of Genista’s tongue to refuse, to tell him that there was no way she was going anywhere with him, but then she looked at Bob, and remembered Elaine. If she refused, Bob would either have to go himself or brief someone to take her place; he had enough on his plate without having to worry about that.
‘When were you thinking of going?’ she asked Luke, her chin lifting defiantly.
‘Today. I’ll give you an hour to collect whatever you need, and then I’ll pick you up and we can be on our way. Give Jilly the name of the hotel where you stayed, and she can fix us up with rooms.’
‘I can drive myself there.’ Genista said stiffly. ‘There’s no need…’
Luke’s eyebrows rose quellingly.
‘And use two separate cars, charging both lots of petrol to expenses? No way. We’re travelling together.’ He glanced at his watch, flicking back the cuff of an immaculately tailored dark blue suit to reveal the gold wristband strapped to one sinewy wrist. ‘Ten minutes of your hour have already gone, and I want to be up there before it gets dark. Our meeting is fixed for tomorrow morning.’
The thought of spending a night under the same roof as Luke Ferguson sent shivers of fear down her spine, but there was no way she could get out of going without adding to Bob’s problems, so she swallowed the hot words of refusal clamouring for utterance and went across to Bob, touching him lightly on the shoulder. She knew that Luke was watching them, and she deliberately turned her back to him so that he wouldn’t see what she was saying.
‘I hope everything goes all right with the op.’
‘It’s afterwards that I’m worried about,’ Bob confided. ‘Elaine’s always been very insecure, and with this bee she’s got in her bonnet just recently about not being attractive any longer. I just don’t know how I’m going to reassure her. Still, that’s not your problem. Are you sure you don’t mind going with Luke, Genista?’ he asked awkwardly. ‘I know it’s none of my business, but I’m very fond of you, and Luke has something of a reputation.’
Genista had to stifle hysterical laughter. Bob warning her about Luke! If only he knew!
She was so determined not to give Luke the opportunity of coming up to her apartment that she packed in record time, pulling clothes haphazardly out of her wardrobe and pushing them into her case, one ear alert for the sound of the intercom warning her that he had arrived. She wouldn’t need very much, after all. Clean under-wear; an outfit suitable for a business meeting; her jeans just in case she managed to get any free time, and something comfortable to travel in.
She was just snapping her case together and tying the buckles when the intercom buzzed.
‘I’m on my way,’ she told George, hoping to forestall any attempt on Luke’s part to come upstairs, but to her dismay it was his darkly velvet tones she heard floating into the room, as he told her he was on his way up.
Feeling flustered, she pulled on the jacket of the suede suit she had decided to wear for travelling, snatching up her handbag and pausing uncertainly in the middle of her elegant living room while she waited for the bell to ring. Even so, when it did so the sound sent fear spiralling along her nerves. Her fingers trembl
ed as she unlocked the door. She had meant to keep Luke standing in the small hall while she got her case, but he followed her into the living room, looking round appreciatively.
‘Very pleasant,’ he said at last. ‘Bob must think an awful lot of you.’
His cynical tone jarred, and Genista paused on the threshold to her bedroom, her fingers tightly gripped round the handle of her case, unaware of how vividly beautiful she appeared, framed there, her russet hair set off by the soft moss green suede suit, her eyes glowing brilliantly with the emotions she was fighting hard to control.
‘Just as I think a good deal of him,’ she said quietly.
‘Do you?’ There was disbelief in the words, and something else she could not put a name to. The colour seemed to have left Luke’s face. His eyes were hard, almost completely black; obsidian, she thought absently, cold and unfeeling.
‘So much so that you want to break up his marriage?’
‘I don’t want to break it up.’ The words were out before she could stop them, her face drained of colour.
‘Prove it,’ Luke said quietly. ‘Marry me.’
‘Marry you?’ Her voice sounded weak and husky, her eyes mirroring the shock his words had given her. ‘You don’t mean that. You…’
‘I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it. Marry me, Genista, otherwise I’ll make sure Bob’s wife gets to hear about your affair.’
‘You’d do that? But why?’
She was genuinely puzzled. She could understand that he might try to use such a threat to force her to sleep with him, but marriage? He couldn’t possibly want to marry her; he had made his contempt of her all too plain.
‘Why?’ There was a tortured expression in his eyes, a look of self-loathing which shocked her with its intensity.
‘Because since I met you I haven’t slept or eaten; because something about you torments me night and day. I must possess you, Genista. It’s like a sickness that won’t let me go.’