by Penny Jordan
'Oh, Drew! I couldn't put you to so much trouble. Besides, I'm booked in at the Dog and Duck.'
'Mrs Matthews won't mind.'
It occurred to Holly that Drew could just as easily have suggested driving her into the village and then collecting her en route for the party tomorrow, but she suspected that he had very little free time, and she was reluctant to suggest it.
'Well, if you're sure I won't be any trouble…'
'Quite sure,' he told her briefly. 'Wait here, I'll go outside and bring your stuff in, and then I'll go and get your car. Oh, I'd better show you where you can sleep first. It's this way.'
He walked across the room and opened a door, pausing when Holly hesitated.
'Shouldn't we…that is, will your mother mind?'
'My mother?' he frowned and then his frown cleared. 'Oh, I see… My mother doesn't live here any more, Holly. She remarried two years ago and she's living in Chester now. But even if she wasn't, I'm sure she wouldn't mind.'
'I see. And… and your brothers and sister?'
'All away as well,' Drew told her cheerfully. 'Ah… I see what it is. You're worried about being here alone with me.'
He sounded almost approving, but even so Holly hastily corrected him. 'Heavens, no! Nothing like that. Men and women live together all the time in London now without… without being sexually involved.'
Even to her own ears her voice sounded overbright, although what she had said was perfectly true. True it might be, but that didn't alter her own inner conviction that her own parents would most definitely not approve of what she was doing.
This was the nineteen eighties, she told herself firmly, and besides, she and Drew were doing nothing wrong. They were not lovers, nor ever likely to be.
'Holly, if you'd rather not stay…'
'Oh, no,' she told him quickly. 'If people choose to leap to the wrong conclusion, that's their affair, isn't it? I mean, you and I know that… well…'
'That we're not lovers,' Drew supplied for her.
His head was turned toward her but, because of the sun streaming in through the window and blinding her, she was unable to see his face. Still, something about the soft way in which he said the words made her muscles tense slightly, as though they were preparing to ward off danger.
Seconds later she, Holly, was telling herself that she must learn to relax. What possible danger could she be in from Drew, of all people? Why, only less than half an hour ago she had been thinking how very safe and comfortable she felt with him. Just because she was going to spend a couple of nights alone with him, there was no reason for her to get all nervous and het up.
'Have you made any other alterations?' she asked him as he opened the door and she followed him into an inner hall.
An ancient oak staircase led upstairs, the wood worn by countless generations of hands and feet. It felt warm to her touch, and pleasantly smooth.
'Some. I've installed two new bathrooms, and built some wardrobes in my own and the guest bedrooms. What I need now is a decorator, but somehow or other…'
Somehow or other he had lost heart, she thought sympathetically, and no wonder. He would have been modernising the house for Rosamund, and she felt a fierce thrill of resentment against the other woman for hurting him as she must have done. Drew was far too nice for a woman like Rosamund. She wanted to tell him as much, but she stopped herself just in time. He couldn't help loving Rosamund any more than she could help loving Howard.
'You know, I'm surprised he had the gall to invite you to this do,' he commented, as he led the way down a long corridor linking the bedrooms together. On one side of it were a series of closed doors, and on the other windows which overlooked the fields. Holly paused and studied the landscape.
'Oh, you've kept the water meadow!' she exclaimed with pleasure.
The field in question was steep and marshy, with a small river running through it. Holly remembered that at one time Drew had seriously considered having it drained. She had pleaded with him not to, loving the wild flowers that grew among the rushes in springtime.
'It would have been prohibitively expensive, and besides, I can sell the rushes now. Someone's set up in business in the village, making traditional baskets, and chair seats, that kind of thing, and he comes and cuts the rushes when they're ready. Why did you come, Holly?' he pressed, returning to his earlier comment.
'I had to.' She turned to look at him, her eyes bright and defiant. 'He'll come back to me, Drew. I know he will. If I could just make him see how wrong Rosamund is for him. Jan—my boss—suggested I should find a man to bring with me. You know, to make Howard jealous.'
'But you decided not to?' he questioned, giving her a sharp look.
'Well, I didn't have much option. I don't know any men, really, other than Howard,' she admitted honestly.
'Mmm.' He turned away from her and opened a door.
Sunlight flooded the pretty room through the dormer window set into the sloping roof.
'Oh, Drew, it's lovely!'
'Bathroom's next door,' he told her laconically. 'It isn't exactly en suite, but you'll have it to yourself, since I use the one off my own room which is at the other end of the house.'
How tactful and considerate he was. Impulsively, she reached up and kissed him on the cheek. He went as still as a statue, and dark red colour flooded her face as she realised what she had done.
'I'm sorry, Drew,' she apologised falteringly. 'I never thought…'
Of course, being kissed by any woman was bound to remind him of Rosamund. She felt exactly the same way and she ought to have realised.
'I'd better go and get your car before it starts to go dark.'
CHAPTER TWO
« ^ »
'Drew, I'm so nervous. I don't think I want to go.'
Holly was standing in the kitchen, wearing her new dress, her hair freshly washed, her face made-up, but all her courage had deserted her, and she didn't think she was going to be able to face Howard and Rosamund.
'You've got to,' Drew told her bluntly. 'Too many people know you're here.'
It was true. Only this morning the postman had given her a cheery welcome, saying that he had heard from Mrs Matthews about her car and that she was staying at the farm. Knowing him, by now all her old friends would have heard she was home.
The party was going to be very formal, and initially she had been rather stunned by the sight of Drew in his dinner-suit. For one thing she hadn't expected him to own a dinner-suit, but, when she had naïvely said as much, he had gravely informed her that he had had to buy one in order to attend the local Young Farmers'
'dos'.
He was even wearing a fashionable wing-collared shirt, so crisply laundered that it could have rivalled one of Howard's. However, as she glanced downwards Holly forgot her doubts about attending the party and exclaimed, 'Drew, you're wearing green socks.'
'Am I?' He looked completely unperturbed. 'I'd better go up and change them. It would help if you came with me and supervised.' He saw her face and said quietly, 'I'm colour-blind, Holly. Don't you remember? Or at least, partially colour-blind. I could spend the rest of the evening up there trying to find the right pair.'
Of course, now that he mentioned it, she did remember him once saying to her about his inability to differentiate between certain colours.
'To tell the truth,' he confided as they went upstairs, 'that's one of the reasons I've hesitated about redecorating. I'm terrified of choosing the wrong colours.'
'Oh, but surely Rosamund would have chosen those?'
At her side Drew heaved a sigh that lifted his chest and made her wonder absently how wide it was…certainly much wider than Howard's. Howard's chest was inclined to be uncomfortably bony, but then Howard didn't have the benefit of working outside, she told herself loyally.
'Perhaps once,' Drew agreed mournfully. 'Although she never really liked this house.'
'I suppose she thought it wasn't good enough for her,' Holly said wrathfully, remember Rosamu
nd's snobbery.
At her side, Drew gave her a considering look which she didn't see. 'No, I suppose not.'
'She must be blind,' Holly told him roundly. 'I think it's lovely, but I suppose Rosamund would prefer one of those horrid little boxy things her father used to build.'
Ignoring her reference to the way in which Rosamund's father had made his money, Drew agreed.
'Yes, I think she would. She says old houses are dirty.'
Yes, Holly could just imagine her saying it, too.
'That's all she knows. Why, with a little bit of thought and care this house could be far more attractive than that awful place her father built.'
'Do you think so?' Drew commented doubtfully.
Resenting this aspersion on her knowledge and ability, Holly said firmly, 'Yes. Yes, I do. In fact, I could prove it to you, Drew. You know I work for an interior designer now. Decorative paint finishes are my specialty. You know, dragging, sponging, marbling…that kind of thing. Perhaps you haven't heard of them,' she added kindly, 'but they're very much in demand.'
For some reason Drew looked as though he was having a problem controlling his facial muscles, probably because talking about the house and Rosamund brought home to him the reality of what had happened, Holly reflected compassionately.
'Well, anyway, they are very much in demand.' Modestly, she didn't add that she herself was also very much in demand, as much for her inventive and imaginative trompe-l'oeil scenery as for her stencilling and dragging. 'I'd love to have the opportunity to paint your kitchen,' she added wistfully.
She could see it now, the cupboards dragged in sunny yellow, with perhaps a circlet of ivy and white dog-roses painted on the fronts. She could sponge the walls to match and make roller blinds that faithfully copied the landscape outside the windows.
Upstairs, this long corridor just cried out for something jolly and period… a scene from an alehouse, perhaps. There must be something she could use as a base in Chester library's local history section. Carried away with enthusiasm, she forgot her nervousness.
'It's a pity you can't stay up here longer and get this place sorted out for me,' Drew commented, watching her.
'I'd love to,' she admitted, her eyes sparkling at the thought.
'My bedroom's here,' he told her, pushing open a door.
It was a large room on the same side of the house as her own, but with more windows. It had a huge bed set in a carved cherrywood frame.
'Oh, Drew, I love this!' she told him reverently, forgetting his socks and touching the carving with gentle fingers.
'Do you? I'm glad… I did it myself.' He saw her astonishment and smiled. 'Woodwork has always been a hobby of mine.'
Holly looked round the bedroom with new eyes, noting the wardrobe and dresser. 'Did you make those as well?' she asked him. He nodded.
But, beautiful though the furniture was, it needed the right setting to show it off properly. The bedroom's walls and ceiling were painted magnolia, and looked dull, like the plain brown carpet and the beige curtains.
As though he read her mind, Drew said apologetically, 'Knowing my problem with colours, I played it safe and chose ones I knew I could recognise.'
He was unexpectedly tidy for a man, far tidier than she was herself, she acknowledged guiltily, and far more domesticated. The meal he had prepared for them last night had been delicious, but then, living alone, he had no doubt had to learn how to look after himself.
'We'd better get the socks, otherwise we're going to be late.' He walked over to the dresser and opened a drawer, and then turned to Holly, and said, 'I suspect it would save time if you got them out for me.'
Obligingly, Holly went to the open drawer. Because Drew had opened it to its fullest extent, there was hardly enough space between his body and the bed for her to get past, but she managed it by wriggling slightly.
'Here you are. I think these are black,' she told him breathlessly, rifling through the drawer until she found the right pair. 'I'll… I'll wait for you outside while you put them on.'
She saw his eyebrows lift and blushed furiously, but he didn't make the kind of scathing comment Howard would have made in the same circumstances, simply smiling at her and watching her go.
She had forgotten that he was colour-blind, she mused as she waited for him; that would, of course, explain the awful combination of red sweater and brown cords into which he had changed last night.
Howard had perfect clothes sense. So perfect, in fact, that at times he criticised Holly's own choice. Take this dress she was wearing tonight, for instance. Howard didn't like her wearing red, he preferred her in pastel colours; he considered them to be far more feminine.
Drew didn't keep her waiting long, ushering her outside into the cool October evening.
She was about to cross the yard when he forestalled her, swinging her up into his arms as he had done the previous day.
'Drew!' she protested breathlessly.
'You're wearing those idiotic heels again,' he growled. 'Don't you ever wear sensible shoes?'
'I can't,' she told him sadly. 'I'm only five foot two, you know. I need the height.'
'What for?'
For some reason his question flustered her, and she was glad that they had reached the Land Rover. Or had they? She peered at the vehicle in front of them, realising that it wasn't the one she had travelled in the previous day.
'Drew, this is a Range Rover.'
'So it is,' he agreed laconically.
It was almost brand new as well, Holly recognised as she saw the number-plate, and so luxurious inside that her eyes rounded in surprise.
'I didn't know you owned this.'
'No? Well, you wouldn't, would you?'
'But, Drew, they're terribly expensive.'
She couldn't help remembering how as a teenager Drew had always had less money than the rest of them, and she suspected he must have bought the vehicle in a last-ditch attempt to impress Rosamund.
Poor Drew, she thought, tears stinging her eyes as he got in beside her and started the engine. His situation was so much worse than hers. At least she could escape back to London, but Drew would be forced to live almost side by side with Rosamund and Howard. But at least that way he would be there as a constant reminder of what they had once shared, while Howard…
They drove through the village and out again along the road off which Rosamund's father had built his house. The last time Holly had visited it had been for Rosamund's eighteenth birthday. That had been one May, with a marquee on the lawn and every other fashionable expense Rosamund's mother could think of.
Tonight there was no marquee, but the line-up of cars down the long drive was evidence of the new social sphere in which Rosamund and her parents moved—Porsche, Jaguar, Mercedes and Rolls—and a tiny tremor of fear quaked through Holly.
Drew found a parking spot half-way down the drive, parking the Range Rover with commendable expertise.
Someone was walking down the drive toward them; a couple, to judge from the light female voice and its deeper male counterpart.
The footsteps stopped as they drew level with the Range Rover, and a voice Holly vaguely recognised demanded, 'Drew, is that you?'
'Hello, Jane—and Guy. How are you?'
'Oh, we're fine.'
Of course, Jane Phillips; Holly remembered her now. She had been quite a few years ahead of her in school. In the same class as Drew, come to think of it.
'Good heavens!' she exclaimed as Holly stepped forward. 'It's Holly Witchell, isn't it? Well, now, how long have you two been together? Guy and I have just come back from the States. Guy's been working over there for six months. Is this a new thing, or… ?'
'Stop gossiping, woman, I'm freezing,' her husband interrupted.
When Drew would have fallen into step beside him Holly tugged on his arm and fibbed, 'Drew, I've left my handbag in the Range Rover.'
While Drew patiently unlocked the door, Holly waited until the other couple were out of sight and then
hissed, 'It's all right, Drew. I've got my handbag here, but I've just had the most marvellous idea! Well, it was Jane who gave it to me, really.' She took a deep breath and then demanded, 'Why don't we pretend that we're in love?'
Drew went so still and silent that Holly wondered if she ought to have broken the idea to him more gently.
'With each other, I presume you mean?' he said cautiously at last.
'Yes, that's exactly what I mean,' Holly agreed, trying to control her impatience. Really, men could be so slow at times! Why on earth hadn't she thought of it before? It was the ideal way for both of them to reconjure their ex-partners' interest.
'But I thought you were in love with Howard?'
'I am,' Holly agreed. 'But can't you see, the moment he starts to think I've fallen in love with you, he's going to be so jealous… and of course, it will work the same way for you with Rosamund,' she added hastily, just in case he should accuse her of being selfish.
'Let me get this right,' Drew said slowly. 'You want us to pretend that we're in love?' He paused and then said slowly, 'How much in love, Holly? What I mean to say is, are we newly in love, or are we to be—er—established lovers?'
'Oh, newly in love, definitely,' Holly told him. 'You see, Howard is bound to guess what's going on otherwise. He only told me about Rosamund a couple of weeks ago.'
'Yes. Well, I can see that does rather complicate things. So, the impression we want to create is one of having taken one look at each other and fallen into one another's arms with cries of rapture.'
'Yes,' Holly agreed doubtfully, suddenly unable to imagine how on earth they were going to achieve such an implausible deception. 'You think it's a silly idea, don't you?' she said quietly. 'And I suppose you're right.'
'No, not silly,' he surprised her by saying unsteadily, 'but maybe a trifle ambitious.'
In the light of the pseudo-Victorian streetlamps that illuminated the entire length of the drive in a fashion more suited to a motorway service station, Holly saw the smile he struggled to control. Strangely, she was not offended by it.