A Different Kind of Love

by Jean Saunders

  She bit her lip. She was so naive. Such a country bumpkin, ridiculously gauche and indecisive – hardly the way a married lady was supposed to behave.

  “You haven’t been too forward. But I’ve always consulted my parents on important matters, and they’ve supported me at a time when I needed them most.”

  “And your concern for their feelings does you credit,” Luke said. “So all I want is for you to go home and think about it. Go home and remember all that I’ve said. You’ll easily find work in London, and naturally, I’d pay you for sitting for me.”

  “Would you?” This had never occurred to her. People went to photographers – those who could afford it – to have a record made of their family as it grew, they were the ones who paid for the privilege.

  Luke laughed. “What did you think? I wasn’t trying to lure you into a life of white slavery, sweet Kate.”

  “Now you’re laughing at me,” she accused him, feeling the prickly defensiveness again.

  “Not at you, only with you, so stop being so touchy, and believe that you can be paid handsomely for just sitting still and looking beautiful.”

  His words only served to underline what a narrow life she had led; not to realise that for someone to have their picture in a magazine meant that the sitter had been paid a fee. If she had ever thought about it, she would have assumed it was an honour to be portrayed that way – or that people paid for it themselves!

  Surely he couldn’t be serious about it happening to her! Not Kate Sullivan’s picture splashed all around the country for all to see! The idea was quite frightening, and she wasn’t sure she would care for it at all. Strangers would ogle her, or criticise her; she would be as vulnerable as if she lived in a goldfish bowl.

  “What gremlins are bothering you now?” Luke asked, as she sipped her coffee without tasting it.

  “None. Except that I’m not sure I’d want my picture all over the cover of a magazine.”

  “Then we’ll forget it,” he said.

  She hardly dared look at him, knowing she had just thrown his dreams back in his face. But he didn’t need her. There were other girls who would do just as well … she wasn’t going to let that thought depress her, either!

  “At least let me write to you, Kate. I’d like to keep in touch in case you have second thoughts.”

  “That wouldn’t be a good idea,” she said quickly.

  Because, of course, any letters he wrote would come addressed to Mrs Kate Radcliffe. Her innocent deceit was becoming more compounded by the minute.

  “Then I hope you’ll write to me if ever you feel so inclined. You have my card, don’t you?”

  “Yes. And Luke – I do appreciate your kindness to me all this week. It’s just—”

  “I know. Your parents need to be consulted. Do you have a committee meeting every time you go to the bathroom?”

  He was coarser than usual, because he knew that despite her fragile air, she was made of steel inside, and there was nothing he could do to make her change her mind until she chose to do it herself.

  Kate stared at him wordlessly, not because of the unexpected crudity of the question, but because the Sullivans didn’t have a bathroom. Somehow this simple fact emphasised the difference between their two worlds.

  “I’m sorry. That was impertinent and insensitive,” he said. “We’ll talk about something else. Do you think you’ll come to Bournemouth again, Kate?”

  “I doubt it very much.”

  “That’s a pity. We might have met up at the Charlton. How did you come to choose it for your holiday?”

  It was no good. He thought he was changing the subject, but somehow everything led Kate back to the trauma of what had happened.

  “It was supposed to be my honeymoon.”

  The words were stark. She hadn’t meant to say them, but once said, there was no taking them back. She saw the shock in Luke’s eyes, and knew she had merely opened the way for more questions. Was she actually married or not? Why had she come here alone? And more importantly, where was the husband?

  “Please don’t ask me anything else, Luke,” she said, her voice brittle. “I don’t want to spoil our last evening. I want to dance tonight, and be bright and happy and not to dwell on ghosts. And if you ask me one more thing about my past I won’t answer, and I swear I’ll shut myself in my room and you’ll never see me again!”

  He lifted his hands, palms towards her, as if to ward off the tirade.

  “It was only an innocent remark, my dear girl, and I certainly didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t,” she lied. “So let’s forget it. And if you can bear to dance with me again later, I’ll do my best not to step on your feet too much.”

  “You can step all over me if it will bring a smile back to your face,” he said dryly.

  Chapter Five

  She had drunk too much wine by the time they went dancing, but at least it dulled her senses. She didn’t want to think of anything, except being in the company of a good and decent man, when she had thought there were none left in the world except in her own family. She wanted to feel nothing but the pleasure of swaying in Luke’s arms to the lilting dance music in the hotel lounge, and trying to manage the steps of the latest dance crazes that had everyone laughing and, finally, to drop senseless into bed and sleep until dawn.

  She was vaguely aware that the music had ended and the members of the band were putting away their instruments. The seductive strains of the last waltz had faded away, but couples still lingered on the dance floor, and she was still held tightly in Luke Halliday’s arms. In fact, if they hadn’t been holding her up, she had the odd sensation that she might slither quietly to the floor as if all her bones had pleasantly dissolved.

  “It’s time you went to bed, my love,” she heard Luke say.

  “I will if I can find it,” she replied, her voice heavily muffled against his shoulder.

  Her head was floating somewhere above the rest of her. It was a spectacularly pleasant feeling, and not at all like some of the lurid descriptions she had heard.

  Not that she was drunk, or anything so unladylike. She was merely happy, as she had strived to be on this last night of her holiday. Or was it halliday? No, that was Luke … she felt the urge to giggle at her own inane joke, and then his arm was very firmly around her waist as he guided her out of the lounge and towards the lift.

  The sensation of going up in the lift was anything but pleasant, though. Kate felt as though she’d left her stomach on the ground floor while the rest of her was moving rapidly towards the third. She gulped very quickly to keep down the feeling of nausea, terrified that she was going to disgrace herself all over the splendid hotel carpet.

  “Where’s your room key, Kate?” the voice beside her asked.

  She fumbled in her bag and handed it to him. He leaned her against the wall until he had opened the door and helped her inside, kicking the door shut behind him. She fell across the bed, and he felt contrite for allowing her to drink so much. But she had insisted, as if to blot out everything but sharing this last night of their time together, and she had been more assertive than at any other time.

  Luke hesitated, knowing he couldn’t leave her like this. Her dinner gown was soft and flimsy, but even in summer the coastal nights were cold. Somehow he eased the eiderdown from beneath her and rolled her onto her back, intending to cover her with it.

  As if instinctively afraid of falling, Kate suddenly clung to him. He lost his balance and fell across her lovely lithe body. Her face was right beneath his, her breath warm on his cheek. And dear God, but it was more than he could do to resist kissing that relaxed mobile mouth that parted a little beneath his touch.

  Even as the unbidden surge of desire assaulted him, Luke heard her murmuring against his mouth. But it wasn’t his name that she spoke.

  “Walter, don’t leave me. Tell me it was all a mistake…”

  The words trailed away into a meaningless jumble, and Luke’s desire left him
as rapidly as it had arisen. Even though his hand had unerringly found its way to the soft swell of her breasts and felt their swift, involuntary response, he knew it wasn’t for him that Kate’s eyes sometimes darkened with longing. It was this faceless Walter, who was presumably the missing husband. And no matter what had happened between them, it seemed obvious to Luke that Kate still loved him.

  He rose from the bed, covered and left her. At the last moment, he slid the “Do not Disturb” card over her door handle, knowing she was going to have a hell of a hangover in the morning.

  He smothered his feelings with anger. It was damnable luck to fall for a woman who was clearly still besotted with another man. He no longer bothered to deny to himself that he had fallen for her. And while he could fight for a woman on equal terms with a man, providing the other man had lost his right to her affections, he didn’t know how the hell you could fight a ghost.

  Back in his own room, he was tempted to drown his sorrows in a half-finished bottle of brandy, but that would be a bad mistake. He was due to leave early in the morning and needed to get on the road with a clear head, since some titled clients had an afternoon appointment at the studio. He’d do far better to think about business, than to let himself be so artlessly entranced by the loveliest woman he had ever known.

  Kate awoke slowly. The curtains were still closed, but the morning sun shone through the gaps, and it was strong enough to make piercing shafts of pain dance about in her head. She turned, too quickly, to peer at her bedside clock, not sure whether it was herself or the room that spun alarmingly as she did so. The eiderdown slipped off, and she gaped as she looked down at herself. She still wore the gown she had been dancing in last night. She hadn’t even undressed or got beneath the bedclothes properly. She couldn’t even remember getting here. Luke must have helped her … her fingers touched her mouth and then strayed briefly to her breasts, as a hazy memory struggled to get through.

  But nothing untoward could have happened, she thought raggedly. She was fully clothed, and Luke was a gentleman. In a way, that made her disgraceful behaviour even worse.

  “I’ll never be able to face him,” she muttered aloud. “He’ll think I’m nothing but a tease. He must hate me now.”

  She sat up very carefully, as details of last night began to seep into her mind. They had danced, and she had felt comfortable and safe in his arms. Apart from the wildness of the Charleston and the Black Bottom, the music had been sweet and lazy and she had wanted it to go on for ever … but she had to catch the midday train back to Bristol where Father Mulheeny had arranged to meet her.

  Kate was suddenly properly awake. It was already nine-thirty, and breakfast ended at ten o’clock. She slid out of bed, her knees buckled for a moment, but she ignored them as best she could. After a cursory splash of water to her face and armpits, she struggled into a day frock and rushed downstairs, reaching the dining room just before ten.

  “Am I too late for breakfast?” she stammered.

  “Not at all, madam,” the waiter said smoothly. “Though I’m afraid the poached haddock’s all gone. We have bacon and eggs, or boiled eggs and toast.”

  Kate felt herself blanch at the very mention of food, and wondered why she had bothered to come down for breakfast at all. But it wasn’t just for breakfast that she was here.

  “Just marmalade and toast and a pot of tea, please,” she murmured. “And I wonder if you could find out if Mr Halliday is anywhere about?”

  She didn’t care what the waiter made of that. She couldn’t bear to leave without thanking Luke properly for his kindness during this past week. She couldn’t bear the thought that she might have missed him.

  After a few minutes the waiter reappeared with her food and an envelope.

  “Mr Halliday left early this morning, madam. He left this note for you at the desk.”

  “Thank you,” Kate said, rigid and expressionless. It was the second time that a man had left her with only a note. Fate shouldn’t be so cruel … Walter had had his own despicable reasons, but she had never expected Luke to leave Bournemouth without even saying goodbye.

  She waited until she got back to her room before slitting open the envelope, hardly knowing what to expect inside. There was a single piece of paper.

  My dear Mrs Radcliffe,

  I address you so formally, because I fear I would give my feelings away if I called you my dear Kate. In so little time you’ve become just that to me, you see.

  I regret that I can’t say a proper goodbye, but I’ve important clients to see this afternoon and I must get back to London as soon as possible. But please remember that if ever you’re in need of a friend, you know where to find me.

  Luke.

  Kate stared at the words for a long time. And then she screwed up the note and threw it into the waste basket. Seconds later she retrieved it, smoothed it out, and placed it carefully in her handbag.

  It wasn’t until she was safely on the train and speeding away from Bournemouth in a compartment to herself, that the tears finally came. Such a short while ago she had fully expected to be a wife. Then, while she was still getting over the first shock of being jilted, she had met a man she thought she could trust, a man who had done the Lord knew what to her last night, and then run out on her. She knew she was overreacting. The saner part of her brain told her Luke had done nothing disrespectful when he had put her to bed. She knew it in her soul, and she knew too, guiltily, that had she been fully aware, that whatever he had wanted to do, she wouldn’t have rebuffed him.

  By the time she reached the village it was late afternoon, and the sea mist had already curled in, coating fields and hedgerows and spangling the branches with diamond dampness and turning the countryside into a silvery fairyland. Summer was slow in reaching the Somerset coastal areas that year.

  She viewed their little cottage with a feeling of dread, knowing how awkward everyone was going to be at her return.

  “It’s good to see you back, Kate,” her father said, his voice gruff when Father Mulheeny had deposited her at the cottage and stayed for tea and her mother’s fruit cake. “You look rested.”

  She supposed there was no correct way to greet someone who was getting over a jilting. They weren’t a kissing family, and her mother covered the moment by producing her favourite cherry pie and custard. Kate thought how shocked they would be if she said what was in her heart.

  I’ve had a truly wonderful week. I’ve been cavorting with an eligible young man. I’ve danced until the early hours, and been put to bed by the same man, whom I hardly know. I should look bloody well rested.

  She bit her lip as the swear word entered her mind, since it was not a word she ever said aloud in this house, though it seemed to fit her mood more and more often lately.

  “I’m fine, Dada,” she said, using her childhood name for him. “And no longer grieving, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

  It was meant to reassure him, but she saw his eyebrows draw together in a heavy frown.

  “If you truly loved the man, then your grief should take more time to heal than this, girl. And if you didn’t, then you had no business agreeing to marry him in the first place.”

  “I did love him, Father, but I’m facing facts.”

  It certainly wasn’t a lie. She had loved Walter madly, in a wild, abandoned way that had shocked and elated her, and opened her eyes to the sensuality of which she hadn’t known she was capable. But that was hardly something she was going to tell her father! Especially with the eagle-eyed priest watching her covertly as well.

  “Time will heal everything, girl,” Father Mulheeny said. “In the meantime, you know where to come when you need a friend. The church’s door is always open.”

  “I know it is, and thank you.”

  It was the second time she’d been offered friendship that day. Luke’s had come in the form of a short note that was tucked in her handbag. She kept remembering something he’d said to her last evening.

  “You can do anyth
ing you want to, Kate. You have a mind of your own, so use it well.”

  But she could just imagine the reaction here if she dared mention, however casually, that she’d met a gentleman who was keen to photograph her … her father, in particular:

  “No girl of mine’s going to be posing like some tart,” he would roar. “I’ve heard of these arty buggers, luring young females into their so-called studios, and then having their wicked way with ’em.”

  And Donal, as outspoken as his father, adding his piece:

  “Oh aye. It would be all innocent at first, our Kate. All tasteful poses and that. Then before you knew it, he’d have you taking off your clothes for a picture and calling it art, while he ogled your body. And God knows where it would lead after that!”

  As the imaginary tirade filled her head, Kate felt a shiver of excitement run through her. She rarely looked at herself unclothed, and the only man to have seen her naked body had been Walter. But even if she had no more love for him, she remembered how it had felt to be wanted and desired so badly, and to be told that she was beautiful. She remembered the hoarseness in his voice as his fingers had traced the contours of her breasts, and then sought her more itimate places with such skilful seduction. She remembered opening up to him, and giving herself so willingly, because he’d said it would hurt him so much if she refused him and that this would prove her love for him.

  She breathed heavily as the memories assaulted her. They shamed her, but even though she now wished Walter Radcliffe to Kingdom Come, at least he had proved something to her. She was a woman, with all a woman’s needs and longings.

  She was thankful when the priest left, and her young sisters arrived home with Donal, each with the important question as to whether they had to give back their bridesmaids’ frocks. Alice hushed them, but Kate answered steadily.

  “Of course you don’t. You can wear them for Sunday best, and whenever else you like.”

  Privately, she wished she could tear them to ribbons, including the wedding gown, but that still belonged to her mother, not to her.