by Liz Fielding
‘Jack...I must tell you...’ His lips touched hers and she caught her breath as once more the fire surged through her veins.
‘Later, sweetheart,’ he murmured, as he bore her back down to the bed. And she let it go. Somehow the moment didn’t seem quite right to break the news that she wasn’t about to be married. He might think she expected him to step into Anthony’s place and she didn’t want that. Besides, it didn’t matter. He’d know soon enough. Then he began to make love to her so tenderly that she forgot about everything except the joy of lying in the arms of the man she loved, knowing that he wanted her.
She smiled at the memory as she looked down at the figure lying alongside her, her eyes feasting on the smooth tanned skin of his back, the way his hair curled darkly on to his neck. He breathed the slow, even tempo of a man deep in sleep and she was unable to resist the temptation to kiss his shoulder.
She moved carefully, wanting to take him by surprise, wake him gradually with her lips, but as she bent to this delightful task she caught sight of the clock at the side of the bed. It was late. Nearly ten o’clock. Not that it mattered, because she wasn’t going to work today. She frowned. That was wrong surely? It was Tuesday. Then she remembered why she wasn’t going to work.
Regretfully she drew back. No reason to wake him now. She had no time for explanations. She’d leave a note and when she returned there would be time enough to tell him everything. Right now, she should be wearing her best suit and heading for the register office. Heaven knew that she didn’t want to go. But she had promised and in some way she couldn’t quite understand, it was a last act, drawing a line under her relationship with Anthony.
She eased herself out of the big bed. Jack stirred, rolled over onto his back and she held her breath until the even breathing resumed. Then she opened the door and tiptoed down the stairs.
Her clothes were still scattered across the study, an eloquent testament to the urgency of their passion. She scrambled into them without worrying too much about the niceties of buttons then looked for a pad, something to write on. The desk was a monument to modern technology but bereft of anything as simple as a pencil and notepad. Out of time, she left it. There was, after all, no need for a note. She had shown him all her deepest feelings last night and she would be back almost before he had had time to miss her.
She closed the door quietly behind her and climbed into her car although she felt as if she could have flown all the way home, without the benefit of wheels or an engine, on the high of joyful euphoria.
Her shower was brief, her make-up sketchy and even if she had the time to do her hair in its customary chignon, her hairpins were strewn across Jack’s study floor. So she jammed it up under her hat and hoped it would stay there. After all, no one would be looking at her today.
But she was shaking so much when she arrived at the register office that she almost fell into a seat next to Julie’s children as the ceremony began.
Julie looked so pretty, she thought absently. She was wearing a fitted cream suit and a hat that should have been too big for her, but somehow wasn’t. She couldn’t see her face, but she could picture it. Wonderfully calm. She never seemed to get flustered, or lose her temper. She would make Anthony a wonderful wife. And despite her regret at having to leave Jack asleep in his big bed, she was glad she had come. The ceremony moved on to the promises.
She heard the door open behind them. The registrar looked up and frowned at the interruption from a late arrival. One of the girls asked in a loud whisper how much longer it would take and she bent quickly to reassure her that it was nearly over. The registrar declared the couple man and wife and Anthony turned to Julie. He looked almost shell-shocked with happiness as he kissed her. The door at the back clicked shut. She turned then, but whoever it was had gone. Wrong wedding, she supposed. Too late, or too early.
It was more than an hour before she was able to escape the buffet lunch that Mrs Harlowe had arranged for the couple. She couldn’t be the first to leave. It would be noticed, remarked upon. She stuck it out, hardly aware of what she was eating, of remarks addressed to her, her head still floating in her own cloud of happiness.
Finally, people began to move and she was at last released from duty.
Her first thought to was to go straight back. She had a picture of Jack still in bed, waiting for her. Then reality suggested that was ridiculous and that arriving in her wedding outfit, complete with rosebud was a bit over the top. She went back to her flat. Showered, washed her hair. Changed into a pair of jeans and a shirt. Then she drove back to Wickham.
She pulled up in the courtyard. The sun was shining on the mellow stone, reflecting off the windows. Daffodils in tubs shone back.
She approached the front door, half expecting it to be thrown open, scooped up into his arms. It remained shut. He obviously hadn’t heard the car. Should she ring the bell? Go round to the back to the kitchen door? Or she had a bunch of keys. She could let herself in. The protocol of such a situation was beyond her. In the end she rang the bell. There was no reply.
She stood on the doorstep feeling a little foolish. Then she shrugged. She was being stupid. He was probably in the shower, or absorbed in one of his games. She took out the keys with the Nightingale & Drake tag and let herself in.
‘Jack?’ she called. ‘I’m back.’ There was no answer. The house was silent. She took a step inside and shut the door. ‘Jack?’ she called again.
She glanced in the study, went through to the kitchen. There was no sign of him. In a sudden fit of panic she ran up the stairs, certain that something had happened to him. She threw open the bedroom door and stopped on the threshold, unable to believe her eyes.
The room was empty. The bed had been stripped. All trace of Jack had gone. The wardrobe doors stood untidily open, their interiors bare. She slowly crossed the room and closed them.
His things had gone from the bathroom. The shelves were empty. While she was at the wedding, he had packed and left.
It took a while to sink in. He’d had his one night stand and if the floor hadn’t been particularly hard, he had proved his point. And he hadn’t even had to tell her. No scene. She had left his bed high as a kite on happiness and he had taken the opportunity to leave. How long had he waited, she wondered? Not long. She had been away two, three hours at the most.
The wave of nausea hit her like an express train and it seemed forever before she stopped being sick. She sat on the bathroom floor with her cheek pressed against the cold marble panelling for a long time before she found sufficient strength to stand. She didn’t bother to rush. It didn’t matter how long she took. One thing was certain. Jack Drayton was not coming back to intrude on her agony.
Her legs were weak as she finally made it down the stairs and she leaned for a moment against the study doorway. Had he left a note? Some word of explanation? Her heart in her mouth she walked the few feet to his desk. But there was no note.
She went round the house, automatically doing what she did best, her job. She checked the windows and doors. Made certain everything was secure. Finally the key turned in the front door, locking away her happiness, her dreams. She blinked back a tear. She would carry on. Go through the motions of living. She would have to. But she wasn’t quite sure how.
She climbed into her car and started the engine. One step at a time. It wouldn’t be the sort of life she had planned. But she had a career, a job that she loved. It would be a start. Maybe it would have to be enough.
* * *
When Sarah came home from work she was sitting in the dark.
‘Good, Lord’ she said, as she switched on the light and found her there. ‘You gave me a fright. What on earth are you doing?’
‘I think I must have dozed off,’ she lied.
‘Late night, was it? I didn’t hear you come in.’
‘I didn’t come in. I stayed the night at Wickham Lodge with Jack.’
Sarah gave a little shrug. ‘Well, I wouldn’t have said anything, but I di
d sort of notice you weren’t here.’ She bustled through to the kitchen. ‘Do want a cup of something?’ There was no answer and she came back, then gave a little sigh. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Talk about it?’ she asked, dully. ‘What do you want, Sarah? All the sordid details?’
Sarah sat on the arm of the chair and put her arms around her. ‘The details will keep, love. But I think you’d better let some of it out. It might help.’
‘Nothing will help.’ Rose made an awkward, dismissive little gesture. ‘It was a lovely wedding...’ she said, attempting normality, but her voice broke on a sob and Sarah’s arms were around her in a minute.
‘How on earth could I have been so stupid,’ she asked. ‘I walked right into it. I only had to say no. He would have let me go and I would have been free.’
‘I don’t expect you wanted to be free, Rose. That’s the way it is. No sense in it. I didn’t think he’d hurt you though. I thought...’ She shook her head. ‘I thought he was in love with you.’
‘No. He never said that. He said he wanted me,’ she replied, dully. ‘That’s not quite the same, is it?’
‘You can never tell with men. They don’t use the same words that we do. Do you want to tell me what happened?’
‘Nothing happened.’ She shook her head. ‘No, that’s not right. Quite a lot happened. Then I had to go to the wedding because I’d promised Julie. He was asleep. I didn’t wake him, because there didn’t seem to be any point. When I went back he had gone. Everything. Not even a note.’
Sarah drew in a sharp breath. ‘Bastard!’
‘Possibly,’ she said, very carefully.
‘Oh, God. You never used anything?’
She gave an odd little laugh. ‘No, Sarah. Rather careless of me. With Anthony, the situation never seemed to arise. With Jack...’ Jack had obliterated everything but the moment.
‘What’ll you do?’
‘Wait. That’s what women do, isn’t it? I love him, Sarah and if it’s to be, then I’ll love his child.’ With the words spoken, the reality faced, she felt stronger. ‘Then it won’t have been a complete waste.’
* * *
The next day she received an offer for Wickham Lodge. She explained quite calmly that the owner wasn’t available at the moment, but she would write and put it to him. That was all she could do. Perhaps he had arranged for his mail to be forwarded. It was a standard letter from the partners, formal, brief. She had a late appointment and left her senior negotiator to sign the mail. Writing her name on a letter to him would have seemed like begging.
After two weeks, the prospective buyer was getting anxious and she was left with no choice but to telephone her father at the club. He was delighted to hear from her.
‘When are you coming to see us then, cariad?’ he asked.
‘Us? You’re home? With Mother?’
‘I tiptoed in at the french windows and she was in my arms before she had time to think about it. You’re a clever girl.’
‘Don’t break her heart again, Dada,’ she warned.
‘No, Rosie. I’m home for good. We’re going to sell the house and move into Melchester. I suppose you’d better take care of the details for us. Come down at the weekend and measure everything up.’
‘Mum’s giving up her job?’ she asked, in surprise.
‘She’s been offered an administrative post with the local education authority in Melchester. She wasn’t going to take it, but it fits in very well with my job at the club.’
The reference to the club brought her back to the point of the call. ‘Dada, can you tell me where to find Jack Drayton? We’ve had an offer for his house, but he isn’t replying to his mail.’
‘He’d have a job to do that, cariad. He’s in the United States.’
So far away. At least there was no danger of walking into him. Of him turning up in the office. ‘Have you got an address? Or a telephone number?’
‘No. He’s moving about a lot. But if he phones I’ll tell him you rang.’
‘Just tell him Nightingale & Drake, Dada. It isn’t personal.’
Her father laughed, softly. ‘Got him out of your system with that tin tray, did you, my Rosie?’
No. Not out of her system. He was locked in there, growing, developing, a part of her. She hadn’t even told Sarah, yet. It was too soon to be certain, but she knew. It would be her secret for a little while, before she had to let the world in.
Her heart jumped every time the phone rang for a week until she was a nervous wreck. But Jack didn’t phone and when she asked Mr Nightingale for advice on the situation, he rather tetchily told her to take the house off the market.
She filed it away under ‘pending’. Appropriate, she thought, rather like her life. Waiting.
CHAPTER TEN
SARAH could not be kept in the dark for long. The first time Rose was sick, she pounced.
‘What are you going to do?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing.’
‘You have to tell him. He has a right to know.’
‘Has he? I don’t think so. For him it was all a game. A bit of fun. He kissed me and I lit up like a Christmas tree.’ She found herself smiling at the memory. ‘I imagine most women would. And most of them would have fallen straight into his bed. I was a challenge but I fell in the end. Game over.’
‘I can’t believe it was like that,’ Sarah protested. ‘The way he looked after you when you were sick...most men would have run a mile.’
‘Yes, but Jack isn’t most men. As I said, he likes to play games.’ It had taken her a while to fathom out, but she’d had a lot of time for thinking in the last couple of weeks. ‘It’s what he does and he’s very good at it. I’m not surprised it’s made him a lot of money.’ Sarah looked doubtful. ‘Think about it. Most men would have used their wealth to dazzle a girl. He could even have used the fact that he had met my father as a way to interest me. But I gave him another lever. Showed him the way in. I thought he was down on his luck and tried to help him. And he let me do just that.’
‘He had a funny way of repaying you.’
‘Well, I suppose it all got a bit out of hand when I found out that he wasn’t quite what he had allowed me to believe.’ And she told her about the incident with the salmon mousse.
‘And I thought you lived a dull life. You’ve certainly been having a busy time while I’ve been staying with Matt.’ She chuckled. ‘Lord, I wish I’d been there to see it. Three stitches, you said?’
‘I’m not proud of it, Sarah. I could have caused him a serious injury.’
‘Well he certainly got his own back. His face will heal, with just a faint scar to add a little mystery, a little extra attraction. But your life has been changed permanently. The least he can do is provide you with support. If he’s as wealthy as you say, he won’t even notice.’
‘Just another standing order? Along with the credit cards and the electricity bill. No, I don’t think so, Sarah. I’ll manage.’
‘How?’
‘I’ll manage,’ she insisted, stubbornly.
‘Think about it, Rose. And while you’re thinking about that, give some thought about what you’re going to tell your parents. Your father might not be quite so laid back about it as you appear to be. Mr Nightingale might have a few words on the subject as well.’
‘I’ll take maternity leave and I’ll find a child-minder.’
‘No doubt. When you’ve paid for her, you might give some consideration to what the two of you will live on. Or perhaps you think you can move back in with your parents?’
‘Don’t be so negative. Lots of people manage. Julie brought up two children on her own.’
‘I’m not saying you can’t, love, just that it doesn’t have to be quite that hard. Let him know.’
She shrugged. ‘Not so easy. I’ve been trying to get in touch with him for weeks about the house.’
‘Surely he’s got an office?’
Rose gave a little gasp. ‘Of course. Mr Fulton. Wh
y on earth didn’t I try him before?’ She picked up her briefcase and found her diary. ‘I must have his number...yes. Too late now. I’ll ring him in the morning.’
‘You will tell him, then? You’ve finally seen sense?’
‘What? Oh, about the baby. No, Sarah. That subject is closed. I was simply thinking about the house.’ She smiled a little wryly. ‘I’m going to need all the commission I can get, don’t you think?’
* * *
Mr Fulton was wary. ‘Is this a personal matter, Miss Parry?’ he asked.
She wondered if he had been warned that she might try to get in touch. Whether he knew the purpose of his little deception. Her cheeks burned, but her voice was cool. ‘No, Mr Fulton. I have no personal business with Mr Drayton. I’m calling on behalf of Nightingale & Drake. We’ve had an offer for the Lodge. We have written, but received no reply.’ She finally retreated behind the senior partner. ‘Mr Nightingale would like to know whether Mr Drayton wishes to proceed or whether we should withdraw the house from the market.’
The man was discouraging. ‘Jack’s somewhere in the States. I can leave messages at likely places and maybe he’ll pick one of them up, but I’m not expecting him back for at least six months.’
‘I see.’ She was a little sharp, certain that the man knew more than he was saying. Had he been told not to give any information about his whereabouts to Rosalind Parry? ‘And you can run his companies without him for all that time?’
The man paused. ‘It may sound an odd sort of arrangement, but Jack’s the thinking man behind this operation. It’s what he does best. He leaves the commercial side of things to people who know what they’re doing.’
‘But you don’t feel empowered to make a decision on this particular matter?’
‘Well, this isn’t business, is it, Miss Parry? This is personal.’ There was something contemptuous in the man’s voice. Something knowing. And suddenly everything fell into place.