‘To our better understanding, ’ she repeated, lifting the glass and meeting his eyes over the rim.
‘Have we ever dined together before?’ he asked.
Piqued that he needed to ask, Catherine looked away. ‘Apart from last night, no.’ She took another sip of champagne and put the glass on the table, watching the frosting turn into rivulets of moisture sliding down the stem.
‘I didn’t think so.’ His voice sounded amused. ‘Don’t start getting offended again.’
Catherine looked up, startled.
‘You were, weren’t you? But honestly, I can’t remember every detail of our relationship before the pageant. After it, yes. Especially some of them.’
Catherine felt breathless. She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t think of anything to say. James smiled ruefully.
‘I suppose now is the time to clear the air, isn’t it? Get rid of all those unspoken resentments and misconceptions?’ The smile disappeared. ‘Well, Cat?’
‘I suppose it is.’ Catherine nodded slowly. ‘What particular resentments and misconceptions did you have in mind?’
James remained silent, looking at her with shadowed grey eyes. Then he put down his glass decisively.
‘How about starting with the one about my marriage?’ His voice was carefully toneless, but Catherine could see the betraying tautness around his mouth. Pushing down her surprise, she nodded again.
‘Fine. Let’s start with that.’
‘What do you want to know?’ he asked, picking up his glass and twirling it slowly between long fingers.
‘Are you still married?’ Catherine got out with an effort.
His eyebrows rose in obvious surprise.
‘Of course not. Surely you knew that?’
‘Only this weekend, ’ Catherine muttered gruffly, looking down into her glass. She heard a wry laugh.
‘No wonder you weren’t exactly receptive to me.’ He leant across the table and tipped her face up to look into her eyes.
Catherine pulled back. ‘How was I supposed to know? I hadn’t had any contact with you for years. You appeared in my life again and all I could remember was how you had taken advantage of me when I was young and inexperienced and you were a married man. It was only natural I should think you still were. You didn’t try and disabuse me of the idea.’
‘You weren’t that young.’ James settled himself back in his chair. ‘Inexperienced, I grant you, but not young. And I didn’t think I needed to tell you I was no longer married. All I thought I needed to do was–’ He stopped.
‘Yes?’ Catherine prompted.
His eyes narrowed as he considered his answer. ‘No. Tell me first why you were so antagonistic towards me.’
Catherine stared at him for a long moment, weighing up exactly what to say.
‘Well,’ she began at length. ‘Partly because we were always antagonistic towards one another – you were always so formidable and superior, and it used to get my goat.’ She looked down at her glass again. ‘That was before I realised that it meant we were attracted to one another. When I met you down here I was automatically on the defensive. I didn’t want to get involved with a married man again. All right.’ She held up a hand. ‘I know you’re going to tell me we weren’t involved before, well, you may not have been, but ...’ She felt her colour rising treacherously. ‘... I was. You knew that. You knew that was why I ran.’
‘I suspected it, Cat, I didn’t know. I told myself that someone as young and attractive as you wouldn’t lose their head over me, but I wanted to believe you had.’ James spoke softly and Catherine’s voice caught in her throat as she lost track of what she had been going to say.
‘So you stayed cross all these years? And it looked as though I was going to take away your new life as well?’ He sighed, his dark brows drawing down over the steely eyes. ‘I suppose I can understand it. I just can’t believe you didn’t know I was divorced.’
‘I didn’t even know there was anything wrong between you when I was still in Sussex until this weekend.’ Catherine blurted out, then buried her nose in her glass in embarrassment.
‘Ah, yes. Flicka.’ A corner of James’s mouth lifted briefly. ‘A thoroughly modern young woman, I should imagine. She told you everything you should have known, did she?’
‘What if she did?’ Catherine was on the defensive again.
‘Nothing. I’m grateful she did, or you might never have reappeared.’ He picked up the champagne bottle and held it out to refill her glass. ‘And now you have, and you’re going to make an offer for the cottage and you know that I am not an unprincipled reprobate, where do we go from here?’
Catherine looked at him silently.
‘Well, Cat? No answers?’
‘No.’ She shrugged simply. ‘I don’t know where we go, if anywhere. I suppose we can be friends, now the cottage and your marriage are no longer between us, but it’s a bit like being cast adrift without a paddle on an unfamiliar sea. I’m not used to you being so honest with me.’
James’s expression turned to ice.
‘Sorry. Sorry.’ Catherine coloured again. ‘I didn’t mean that. What I meant was, we’ve never actually talked about anything, have we? We’ve always assumed each other’s feelings, and mostly, we were wrong.’
James allowed his face to relax slightly. ‘Mostly,’ he agreed.
Catherine searched his face for some kind of hint to his feelings now, but the aquiline features were as unreadable as ever. A small sigh escaped her involuntarily.
‘What’s the matter?’ He raised an eyebrow.
‘Nothing.’ She smiled lopsidedly. ‘Things are different. I was used to feeling one way about you. Now I don’t know how I feel.’ Liar , said a voice in her head.
‘At least you can let down the armed defences, can’t you?’ The light amused tone was back, and she felt relegated to the status of old acquaintance once again. Nothing special, except perhaps a mild fling. Her stomach felt as though it had turned to lead.
‘Of course,’ she said out loud, smiling brightly. ‘Are we going to eat soon? I’m famished.’
James laughed and Catherine looked away.
‘Come on then, little Cat. Let’s go and find you a saucer of milk,’ he said, standing up and holding out a hand. Obediently, she took it and they walked through into the restaurant.
James’s chef may have had a tendency to nouvelle cuisine, but the dishes he created were delicious, and the amount just right for Catherine’s wayward appetite. In fact, by the time she had refused coffee and cheese, even her attitude to James had become more philosophical. Sitting with him while he put himself out to be a charming companion and host, she could hardly analyse her feelings, but the acute disappointment she had felt earlier had certainly abated, if not disappeared. She leant back in her chair and smiled, replete. ‘I feel like a schoolgirl taken out for a blow-out tea,’ she said.
‘I can’t say you look like one.’ James allowed his eyes to wander over what he could see of her above the table. ‘No doubt my staff and fellow diners are wondering who you are and envying my luck.’
Catherine’s brain went into overdrive again, trying to cope with a variety of different messages.
‘I bet they wouldn’t believe it if you told them I was just an old friend you knew as a child, would they?’ she said, as lightly as she could.
‘No, I’m sure they wouldn’t.’ James’s gaze had become once more intent and Catherine looked away.
‘How about a brandy?’ He stood up suddenly. ‘In my suite?’
Catherine swallowed the temptation. ‘No, I don’t think so, James,’ she said, striving to be matter of fact. ‘We don’t want to give rise to gossip, do we?’
‘Here, then? In the lounge? Or would you prefer to go back home?’ James stood looking down at her.
Catherine stood up. ‘I haven’t got any brandy at home,’ she said. ‘If it’s brandy you want.’
‘Then we’ll have one here, if you’d like one, then I�
��ll take you home.’ He stood aside to let her precede him.
Catherine sank gracefully into one of the large, overstuffed sofas in the lounge. To her surprise, James had picked a central, well-lit spot, which seemed to argue a disinclination to intimacy, for which she felt grateful, yet absurdly disappointed. As she sipped her brandy, which miraculously appeared almost as soon as they were seated, she pondered on this phenomenon. Before James had “come clean”, she had assumed that their mutual acknowledgement of his freedom and all their – as he put it – resentments and misconceptions would allow their relationship to progress and develop. Instead, it seemed in some way to have been a retrograde step. She stole a glance at his stern profile and tried to view him dispassionately. At first sight, an intimidating, strong, dark man who knew his own mind and what he wanted of others; aware of his own sexuality and its effect on the opposite sex, he was exactly the sort of man that a modern-day female would categorise as macho and chauvinistic. Yet he was the very stuff that heroes were made of, she admitted to herself with a small sigh. He antagonised her, made her want to fight and yet conversely, made her want to melt into his arms. Her gaze dropped to his thighs, stretched out before him in the opposite corner of the sofa. Never with anyone, either before her encounters with him or since, had she felt the same desire to touch. Her eyes began to travel upwards of their own volition, and hastily, she looked away, her cheeks hot.
‘Catherine?’ His voice was softly questioning and she looked up warily.
‘Would you like to go now?’
Had he read her mind? Her heart was hammering under her ribs and her hand was just slightly shaky as she replaced her brandy glass on the table.
‘Yes, I think I ought to, James.’ She cleared her throat and stood up. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening.’
He also stood. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it,’ he said wryly. ‘I’ll fetch your coat.’
Outside the temperature had dropped and Catherine was reminded that summer was virtually over. There was a distinct tang of autumn in the air and fewer visitors strolled through the village than a week ago. Catherine turned abruptly to the silent presence beside her.
‘You don’t need to see me home, James. There’s no one about.’
‘That’s precisely why I need to.’ He looked down at her. ‘Women don’t walk around on their own at this time of night.’
‘This is hardly the sort of area to expect violence.’ Catherine spoke with some asperity.
‘It doesn’t matter where you are. You should know that.’ James was curt.
Catherine turned and walked quickly up the lane, James matching his stride effortlessly to hers.
‘Didn’t you want me to see you home?’ he asked suddenly and Catherine felt her muscles tense.
‘I don’t mind,’ she said as offhandedly as she could manage.
‘Flattering.’ She could hear the smile in his voice.
They stopped outside the gate and Catherine’s whole body felt as taut as a bowstring with anticipation and apprehension.
‘Thank you for bringing me home.’ The words came out hoarsely. ‘I’m sorry if I was ungracious. I didn’t mean to be.’
‘Don’t worry.’ James peered down at her through the darkness. ‘We’ve both got some thinking to do now, haven’t we?’
‘We have?’ Catherine looked up at him nervously.
‘We both know things about each other we didn’t know at the beginning of the evening, don’t we? We need to fit them in now. Like pieces in a puzzle.’ He tipped up her chin. ‘Don’t you feel differently now?’
She hesitated. ‘Do you?’
He smiled. ‘What a get- out. Yes, in a way, I do. At least I know certain things rather than suspecting them. That colours my reactions, rather.’
‘Reactions?’ She was bewildered.
‘Never mind, Cat.’ The finger that had been holding her chin began to stroke her cheek. He looked at her intently for a few more moments, during which time she felt her breathing become shallower and felt heat climbing up her neck and under his fingers.
‘Do I get a kiss goodnight, in view of all these revelations?’ His other hand came up to frame her face and, without waiting for an answer, his mouth, surprisingly cool, came down on hers.
Barely had she adjusted to this new tenderness than it was over and he was opening her gate and ushering her through. Fumblingly, she searched for and found her key, which he removed from her hand and inserted into the lock, pushing the door wide and following her inside. She turned and looked up at him. ‘James,’ she began and got no further.
It was a little like the last time, she thought, fleetingly, as she was unceremoniously manhandled into the living room, her coat sliding from her arms as she was pushed back onto the sofa, but the anger wasn’t there. In its place was a gentle passion, as though it had been waiting a long time for release, maturing all the while, until its explosion was a controlled conflagration. For a long time all he did was kiss her, her mouth, her eyes, her neck and her ears. Then, when she felt she would burst, his hand slid over her breast and she gasped against his mouth. The dress slipped off her shoulder and his fingers curled around her nipple, before his lips took their place.
Somewhere deep in her consciousness, Catherine knew that she was going to regret this, but her body would not allow her to stop, as she began to take the initiative from him, pulling his shirt from his trousers to allow her access to his warm back. He was helping her now, pulling at buttons, shrugging himself out of jacket and shirt, then returning to pull her dress reverently over her upstretched arms. Delighted, she rubbed herself gently against the soft, slight shadowing of hair on his chest and felt his reaction against her. Her hands slid under the waistband of his trousers at the back and, at once, he was releasing the buckle of his belt.
It was the crash of the little piecrust table going over as James’s foot caught it that acted on Catherine like a douche of cold water.
‘James ...’ she whispered, pushing weakly away from him.
He groaned. ‘Not again,’ he said hoarsely into her neck.
‘Wh–what?’ She held herself still.
‘You’re going to stop me again.’ He levered himself up to loom over her and she could see his eyes glinting in the faint light from the window.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘I’m sorry.’
He moved into a sitting position and sat with legs apart, his head bowed. ‘Why?’
‘I – can’t. I can’t explain.’ She was staring at his smooth bare back, wanting to touch it, wondering herself why she couldn’t go on when she wanted him so badly.
‘Goddamn it, Cat. I could understand if you thought I was still married, but you know I’m not. So why the hell stop me? Not just me, us? You wanted me just as much as I wanted you.’ He lifted his head to look at her, and twisting, grabbed her shoulders urgently. ‘Didn’t you?’
‘Yes, ’ she moaned. ‘Stop it, James. Don’t make me feel such a heel.’
‘You,’ he snorted. ‘I thought you were making me feel like a heel. I’m glad, at least, that it’s mutual.’ He stood up, reaching for his shirt and jacket and throwing them on carelessly.
‘I just thought ... ’ Catherine took a deep breath. ‘I thought we needed a bit more time, that’s all.’
‘Time?’ he almost shouted. ‘How much more time do you need, for pity’s sake? I’ve known you for years – since, as you so kindly reminded me earlier, you were a child. Four years ago it became perfectly obvious that we were physically very attracted to each other.’ He turned to face her, his voice grown cold. ‘We met a week ago and discovered we still were. There are now no barriers between us. Isn’t that time enough?’
Catherine looked up at him, her throat thickening threateningly.
‘We don’t really like one another very much though, do we?’ she managed, clamping her lips tight on the last word.
He looked down at her in a silence that became positively oppressive.
‘I see,’ he said,
finally. ‘I’m sorry. I took too much for granted.’ He turned for the door. ‘Don’t see me out.’
Catherine, who had no intention of moving until he was well out of the way, stayed where she was without speaking, feeling ridiculously as though her heart was breaking and wishing she could spring up and beg him to come back and make love to her whether he liked her or not. But the door closed quietly behind him and she was left in her own living room, on her own sofa with a strong feeling of déjà-vu. Twice he had almost succeeded in seducing her in here and twice she had repulsed him. She had a feeling that she wouldn’t get a third chance. She shivered and realised she was sitting in nothing but her briefs. Slowly, she rose and collected the dress from where it had fallen, her coat from the armchair where James had flung it and her shoes from where they had dropped from her feet.
Upstairs, she ran a bath and climbed into it feeling about a hundred. Her mind was amazingly clear, positively crystal like in contrast, and as she sank back into the hot water, she was able to tell herself precisely not only how she felt, but how James felt as well. As he said, they had all the pieces, now, and she could see the jigsaw. Entitled, probably “Idiot of the Year”. She closed her eyes. After all, he’d virtually admitted it, hadn’t he? ‘I took too much for granted,’ he had said. Wife out of the way, adult young woman who still had a very un-adult crush on him, who now had no encumbrances and responsibilities, away from all the gossip; what could be more natural than a brief and, given their undoubted response to one another, highly pleasurable affair? Nothing, she thought, gloomily, opening her eyes and staring mournfully at a spider on the windowsill. Except that she was in love with him. Irritated, she sank further into the water. So why couldn’t she go to bed with him? He wanted her, she had no fear of a rebuff, and she wanted him. But, irrationally, if he couldn’t give her any more than merely physical affection, if he couldn’t show her romance and tenderness, she didn’t want him. The very thought of being used as a sex object made her feel slightly sick and a little soiled. And worst of all, he knew he could make her respond to him. If he really wanted her, he had only to persist and she would become a quivering jelly – as she would have tonight, if he had refused to be stopped. But like most attractive men, she expected that he would draw the line at even a marginally unwilling partner. There were too many of the other sort waiting around, she reflected, remembering a few discreetly stunning members of staff that had hovered attentively in the background at the Hall during the evening. In fact, she thought, sitting up out of the cooling water, with temptations like that around, what did he want with her?
Running Away Page 9