`How did you get to the airport, Aunty?' she asked.
Mrs Bradburn was happy to explain. 'I took a taxi—a bit extravagant, I know. You said on your card—thank you very much for that, by the way, dear—on your card you said you were coming home today, so I thought I would come along and give you a surprise.'
Darling aunt, you certainly did that, Tiffany thought. 'Er—so you met B-Ben accidentally while you were waiting for me?' She had heard of stranger coincidences, but could have done without this one.
`Oh no—I was a bit early getting there, so while I was waiting for you I went and asked the girl at the enquiry desk if Mr Ben Maxwell was in the building, and she told me he was expected sometime after twelve.'
`They told you what time Mr ... Ben was coming in?' Tiffany asked faintly.
`Well, only after I told them I was a relative. Well,' she went on, 'I am nearly, aren't I?'
What could she answer to that? Her aunt had been to the airport several times over the past three years, so she would know how to get to the car park to see her. Tiffany only hoped her aunt hadn't mentioned the name Tiffany Nicholls in the same breath as Ben Maxwell's, or she would never live it down.
`So you waited for B-Ben and introduced yourself?' she asked unsteadily.
`Yes,' her aunt admitted happily. 'The girl I spoke with took me and showed me where to wait for him—I think he's such a nice man.'
`He—er—he didn't think it odd at all?' Tiffany just had to ask.
`Odd, dear? Why? Oh, you mean my turning up at the airport without him knowing I was coming?' Margery Bradburn considered for a moment or two before going
on. 'Now you come to mention it, he did look a little surprised, but then I don't suppose he expected to see me there without you. He was very kind, though, when I explained who I was—he asked me if I would like to have lunch. Naturally he wanted me to tell him more about you, but as I told him, "You'll have lots of time to hear all Tiffany's little secrets".' Tiffany stifled another groan and her aunt rattled serenely on. 'Anyway, I was getting anxious by that time in case I missed seeing you, so Mr Maxwell went and found out your plane had landed and that you wouldn't be very long, and then he suggested we went and sat in his car in the car park so we would be sure not to miss you.'
It was impossible for Tiffany to concentrate on her driving, take in all her aunt was saying, and sort out the problem of Ben Maxwell's involvement at the same time. She gave it up and concentrated on her driving.
Arriving at her flat, she insisted her aunt sat down while she went into the kitchen to make a meal for them both. Once alone, her mind flew off at a tangent. No good blaming Aunt Margery, poor love, she was so pleased with life at the moment, and she couldn't blame her for introducing herself to Ben Maxwell, not after what she had led her to believe. No, any blame attached to this whole miserable business could be laid squarely at the door of Tiffany Nicholls.
If only she hadn't given her aunt his name. If only ... oh, what was the good? Too late now, it was done, and Aunt Margery had always been so very good to her, she just couldn't find it in her heart to disillusion her. She remembered the present she had brought her back from India, but was so swamped by guilt she knew she would have to give it to her another time. Tiffany leant her head against
the coolness of the kitchen wall. Her head was thundering all she needed was a headache.
Mrs Bradburn left just before four. Tiffany wanted to drive her to the coach, but her aunt said she rather liked the idea of riding in a London taxi, so Tiffany gave in and rang the taxi service for her, promising to go down to Middledeane as soon as she could.
`I shall expect you when I see you,' Margery Bradburn had twinkled back at her. 'I can't see you leaving Ben in London by himself,' and then to prove she was really with it, added, 'He is rather dishy, isn't he?' Tiffany had to grin at her, but somehow she had never thought of Ben Maxwell as being dishy.
She sat deep in thought for some time after her aunt had gone. It had been pure blind panic in case Aunt Margery had discovered her romance with Nick was off and started giving her another lecture on marriage that had led her into this situation. But she couldn't see Ben Maxwell taking that as an excuse. There was nothing for it, she would have to apologise to him, and take what was coming. She had felt some of his wrath before, and knew she was in for a none too pleasant time.
She recalled flying with Ben Maxwell on a similar trip to the one she had just finished, remembered how he prefered to have his meal after the co-pilot had eaten. Clive Winters had been the co-pilot, a married man, but with a weakness for a pretty face. Clive had flirted outrageously with her and rather than get him further into the bad books of Ben Maxwell, who by then was looking quite murderous, she had taken his slightly suggestive remarks without comment, secretly hoping she wouldn't be called to the flight deck too often. Ben Maxwell had obviously thought she was encouraging Clive, for he had given her a withering
look, which she felt was undeserved, and when she had taken him his meal, his anger had almost reduced her to tears.
His quiet, 'How long have you been flying with Coronet?' should have warned her, but she had answered quite innocently.
`Nearly two years.'
`Then it's about time you knew that pilot and co-pilot do not, repeat not, eat identical meals.'
Of course she knew, it was one of the many rules of the Airline, a rule made so that in the unlikely event of something in one of the meals being contaminated, then there would still be one pilot fit to fly should the other go down with food poisoning. Any other captain would have laughed it off, but Ben Maxwell had made such an issue of it, she had gone back to the galley with her face scarlet, her knees quaking. It didn't make her feel any better when after bracing herself she had returned to the flight deck and found Clive Winters looking very subdued, making it obvious he too had been sorted out. That Clive was more restrained with her after that was little comfort to her wounded pride.
That had happened over twelve months ago and whenever she had flown with Ben Maxwell after that, something always seemed to happen to make her look inefficient, which was upsetting because she knew she was good at her job, and this had been borne out by the reports put in of her from other captains.
Tiffany took a couple of aspirins to relieve her spinning head, changed her uniform for a housecoat, and went and stretched out on her bed. Within minutes she was asleep.
When she awoke her headache had disappeared. That was a blessing anyway, though her thinking was no clearer. Ben Maxwell had said something about dinner, had said
he would see her later. She didn't doubt that sometime in the very near future she would be hanged, drawn and quartered by him, but thought even so it was unlikely he would call at her flat, though he would have no trouble in getting her address from Admin.
Automatically she bathed and donned fresh underwear, but on other occasions when anticipating she would be spending the evening alone she would normally have pulled on jeans and a sweater, she turned to her wardrobe and took out a dress.
When the knock sounded at the door, Tiffany shot to her feet, hoping against hope it would be Janet. Her hopes were doomed as she pulled the door open and saw the large frame of Ben Maxwell standing there, and for a few unspeaking seconds she was unable to utter one word as he stood regarding her. Her scant confidence rapidly disappeared beneath his all-encompassing gaze. She knew her full-length brown jersey dress showed off her shapely figure to advantage, the style making her look tall and aloof, its high collar embroidered in cream and a lighter shade of brown fitting closely around her elegant neck, but the courage her appearance had given her earlier vanished as she looked into hard grey eyes.
`C-come in, Mr Maxwell,' she stammered, stepping back to allow him to walk into her sitting room. The door closed, she made an attempt to gather her scattered wits together. 'Do sit down. W-would you like a drink?'
Ben Maxwell refused her offer of a drink and after waiting for her to be seated, took the chair facing her. 'Did
your aunt get off all right?'
Her, 'Yes, thank you,' was greeted with silence. The palms of her hands were moist, and she found herself babbling about her aunt preferring to go to the coach by taxi, and pulled up short. 'Yes,' she said again, more
slowly this time. 'I expect she'll be home soon.'
She darted him a quick look. He had no need to feel nervous, of course, and seemed in no way uncomfortable to be sitting opposite her, while she she was shaking like a leaf. She looked hurriedly away from him, unable to hold that straight look his grey eyes were giving her. She could feel the tension mounting, and it was obvious he had no intention of making it easy for her. In sheer desperation she plunged in at the deep end, her voice sounding thin and staccato in her ears.
`Mr Maxwell, I ... I know you c-can't possibly forgive me, but I am truly sorry about what h-happened today.' She paused, taking a deep breath in the unbearable silence and wishing he would say something, anything. But no, he was perfectly content to leave her to stammer out her excuses.
In that moment Tiffany felt she hated him. Sitting here in her flat, his face impassive as he listened to her struggling to get her words out, waiting unspeaking for her to reveal `all' as it were. Sitting there opposite her like a judge waiting to pass sentence. And suddenly she was angry. Who did he think he was? Agreed, he had a right to be sore, but he had no right at all to make her feel like a gibbering mass of jelly. Abruptly she stood up and saw he had risen too, she found him much too close for comfort and half turned away from him, anger making her voice sound tight and short.
`Mr Maxwell, I can do no more than apologise. My aunt truly believed we were en-engaged when she approached you.'
For the first time in what seemed an age, Ben Maxwell spoke, and Tiffany didn't care at all for his cool sardonic tones as he said :
`I wonder what gave Mrs Bradburn that most unlikely idea.'
Scarlet-cheeked, Tiffany couldn't look at him. 'I'm afraid I told her y-you were my fiancée.'
Ben Maxwell's voice came again, and this time the sarcasm fairly dripped from him. 'Forgive me if I appear to be a little absentminded, Miss Nicholls, but for the life of me I can't recall proposing to you.' His tone was harshly cutting as he went on, 'To be quite candid with you, I can't recall even thinking of asking you to be my wife.'
They had always pulled at opposite ends to each other and at his unconcealed sarcasm, Tiffany knew they had come from a just-beneath-the-surface dislike of each other into open warfare. But where his anger was ice-cold, hers was hot with fury. She had apologised, and it was obvious he was not going to accept her apology, but she'd see him in hell before she would grovel in front of him.
Tilting her chin slightly, she moved past him. 'I owed you an apology, Mr Maxwell,' she said stiffly, making for the door to intimate she would show him out. 'I have given you your apology, now ...'
`Not so fast, Nicholls.' The ice in his voice cut through her, shocked her into turning round. 'It isn't as simple as that.'
`Isn't as simple?' she repeated, not knowing what he was getting at, but her attention arrested when she longed for him to be gone.
`By now,' he elucidated, 'it will be all over Coronet Airlines that you and I are engaged—and I refuse to be made to look a fool by you or anyone else.'
Never had Tiffany heard such a tone in a man's voice. It was positively unarguable with, and bit into her with chill foreboding. She swallowed a lump in her throat.
`But no one else knows except the three of us,' she protested, not wanting to believe what he was saying, but unable to be sure her aunt hadn't talked to anyone else at Coronet.
`Allow me to enlighten you,' he said shortly. 'Sheila Roberts was standing barely a few yards from me, her " ears at their usual coarse pitch, when Mrs Bradbum introduced herself to me.' Tiffany knew he had been about to say 'accosted', but his choice of words wasn't all that important to her then.
Oh lord, what had she started? Wasn't it just her luck that Sheila Roberts, the Airline's chief gossipmonger, had heard her aunt in conversation with Ben Maxwell ! As he said, it would be all over Coronet Airlines by now. Small wonder he was acting so brutishly. She raised troubled eyes to his and found to her surprise that although there was still a hard glint in his expression, the ice was disappearing as he studied her defeated look.
In an instant he made up his mind about something. `I'm hungry. Get your coat, we'll resolve this problem over dinner.'
Tiffany wanted to refuse his command, for he did not ask, but commanded her to have dinner with him, but since something would have to be sorted out about this unholy mess, she found herself almost without knowing it donning her coat, turning her gas fire low, and sitting beside him as he guided his car through the London traffic.
He took her to a quiet, secluded hotel outside London. Tiffany had been out to dinner quite often in the three years since she had moved away from Middledeane, but she had been unaware that this place existed. By modem standards it was not a large hotel—perhaps that was part of its charm. It stood in its own grounds and the gardens were softly illuminated in the chill December evening,
the lights making the greens of shrubs and bushes soft and muted and a perfect complement to the old stone
work of the hotel's façade.
Tiffany declined Ben Maxwell's offer of a pre-dinner drink, hoping that once he had some food inside him it might mellow him, and he guided her through to a small and pleasant dining room, which, because the first rush had gone, they had almost to themselves.
Ben Maxwell puzzled her. He was behaving very well even though she knew he was quietly furious with her and the position she had placed him in. She had expected him to ignore her until they got down to discussing their `engagement'. But he hadn't ignored her—true, he hadn't been very forthcoming either—but she couldn't fault his manners. It was then she realised that Ben Maxwell had an inbred courtesy, and while aboard an aircraft' or in the privacy of her flat he could slate her, while she was out with him and in view of any outsider who might overhear, he would treat her in no way that would shame her in public view. She began to relax and even began to enjoy her meal too as it came to her that she was also hungry. The dining room was almost empty when his words reached her:
`Perhaps you would like to tell me how I came to be engaged to you?'
Ben Maxwell's smoothly asked question effectively made her appetite disappear. She made a show of emptying a piece of steak down her throat before answering him, wondering just how much she could get away with telling him. If, as she suspected, he wouldn't let her off without her telling the truth, then she knew she was going to be very red-faced at the end of it.
`Mr Maxwell,' she began.
`The name's Ben,' he reminded her. Idiotically, it also
reminded her she had been in his arms the last time he had told her to call him by his first name, and more idiotically, she found she was blushing at the memory. Her blush was witnessed by the hard man sitting across the table from her, and looking at him, she could have sworn her sudden colour had jolted him, for all his face remained as stern as ever.
`Ben,' she began again. Where to start? She just couldn't tell him about Nick— Good heavens, she thought, amazed, she'd scarcely thought of Nick since she had seen her aunt and Ben Maxwell with each other today. She recovered herself quickly, and began, haltingly at first, to tell him just a small part of her aunt's attitude to marriage, and to herself in particular.
`I went to live with my aunt when my parents were divorced,' she told him, and trying not to be disloyal to her aunt, 'I love her very much and Aunt Margery only wants my happiness, I know—but because of the way my parents went about their marriage,' she had no intention of telling him anything of the bruising bewilderment with which she had witnessed her parents' constant rowing, `well, because Aunt Margery thinks I've been put off marriage for life, she—she's—er—rather anxious about me.' Tiffany came to a halt, unable to read what the cold man opposite her was making of what she was tellin
g him.
Ben Maxwell seemed, she thought, to have caught on to what she was saying, but his face remained expressionless, so she could tell nothing of what he was thinking. Then his voice came coldly to her, and as she had suspected, he had no intention of making it easy for her.
`Am I to believe,' he asked, as if he couldn't quite credit the conclusions of his summing up, 'that you told your aunt you were engaged to me purely to keep her happy—just because ...'
`It wasn't like that,' Tiffany broke in quickly before he could get warmed up to flatten her with his tongue. She effectively caused him to halt whatever else he was going to say, and she looked at him to see he was waiting, not too patiently either, for her to tell him if it wasn't like that, then exactly how it was. She looked away, unable to hold the straight look he was giving her. 'I ... I'd been going out with some—someone. Going steady, I thought—' She looked down at the tablecloth without seeing it, then struggled on. 'I thought he l-loved me, and ...' she got the strength from somewhere to return her eyes back to Ben Maxwell, who seemed to be listening more patiently now. `And—well, yes, I did think it would make my aunt happy to know, and Oh, I know I should be ashamed of my-
self, but at the time I couldn't see anything wrong in her knowing.' Tiffany was beginning to feel disloyal to her wonderful aunt, and her voice faded out as she ended lamely, 'I thought—without conscious thought, if you know what I mean—that as well as making my aunt happy, it would—it would ...'
`It would stop her from getting on to you about marriage if you told her.
`Yes, I suppose so.' Tiffany was feeling quite wretched now, her eyes again looking unseeingly down at the tablecloth. 'Only before I could get up the courage to tell her Nick and I were through, she was on the phone asking if he'd proposed, asking what his name was, and if he flew and ... and without thinking I'd told her he had proposed— then, probably because you were still fresh in my mind,' she coloured at that not wanting to remind him, but feeling the need to explain that Ben Maxwell wasn't always in her thoughts. 'You'd had a go at me shortly before,' she reminded him, her colour high, confessing, 'I was still pretty mad about it, and not wanting to give my aunt N-Nick's
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