The Threat of Love

by Charlotte Lamb

  'Isn't he coming in?' she warily asked.

  Caro shook her head. 'He feels safer out there.'

  'I've no doubt he does,' the housekeeper grimly said, then studied Caro more closely. 'Are you coming in?' Caro nodded and Mrs Greybury asked then, 'Did he send you?' Caro nodded. Mrs Greybury considered her again, head on one side. 'To get something for him?' she hazarded.

  Caro shook her head. 'To deal with the Countess for him.'

  Mrs Greybury made a strange noise, something like a kettle getting ready to boil.

  'Yes, men are helpless, aren't they?' Caro agreed sympathetically, interpreting the sound. 'Well, we'd better get on with it. Where is she?'

  Mrs Greybury stepped aside, pointing along the wide, cream-painted hall. 'Third door on the left.'

  'The spare bedroom?'

  The housekeeper nodded, gave her a discreetly curious look. 'Er—may I ask... who...?'

  'Who I am?' guessed Caro, smiling. 'I'm Caroline Ramsgate, Mrs Greybury. Mr Martell and I are engaged '

  Mrs Greybury's famed discretion deserted her briefly Her mouth dropped open. 'Engaged?' she repeated incredulously.

  Caro nodded, giving her an earnest stare. 'You will remember that, won't you? If anyone should ask. Like the Countess, for example? I am Mr Martell's fiancée. OK?'

  Mrs Greybury's eyes narrowed. 'Ah,' she said. Caro grinned. 'Exactly. Now, don't forget.' 'No,' the housekeeper promised, staring hard at Caro. She smiled back quite suddenly, as if she had just made up her mind what she thought of Caro. 'Oh, no, don't worry, I won't get it wrong.'

  'Mr Martell said I could rely on you,' Caro lied, and the housekeeper's face lit up like a Christmas tree.

  'Did he really say that?'

  Touched by that delight, Caro nodded, then turned and headed down the hall towards the third door. She couldn't help noticing the casually elegant style of the furnishing, the polished wood-block floor, the gilt-framed mirror, the floor-length cream brocade curtains at the windows, the Georgian hall-table and the large Chinese vase into which were thrust umbrellas and walking sticks. Through the open door she passed she saw a spacious sitting-room furnished in much the same way, a very English decor, comfortably classy and in restful colours. She approved Gil's taste; it was something else about him she liked.

  She tapped firmly on the third door, taking a deep breath when she heard the voice inside say sharply, 'Who is it?' It was a very familiar voice, and one she disliked intensely.

  Caro tapped again without answering, and after a brief pause the door was pulled open and the Countess said crossly, 'Well, what do you want?' Her voice died away as she saw Caro. She stared, her eyes narrowing with hard suspicion.

  Caro stared back, bitterly noticing yet again just how lovely she was, slender as a reed in her lace-trimmed ivory silk négligé, her blonde hair shimmering. She looked perfect for an instant; radiant as daybreak, innocent as a white rose. You had to look closely to see the ice glittering in those big blue eyes, the selfish line of that beautifully modelled mouth. Men probably never looked at her hard enough. They were too dazzled by their first quick glance and then in too much of a hurry to catch this butterfly which had fluttered through their lives to bother to look any closer.

  The Countess was observing Caro in her turn, looking her up and down with a curling, dismissive smile. 'I've seen you before, haven't I?' she said. 'You were at Gil's grandmother's house the other evening, when I had dinner there. You're that girl, the Ramsgate girl. I gather your father's buying Westbrooks.'

  'That's right,' Caro said pleasantly, moving forward with such determination that the Countess had to fall back into the room. Caro let her gaze roam around, noting the disorder. Suitcases flung open with their contents displayed, clothes draped everywhere, dresses on hangers in a mahogany wardrobe, piles of silky undies on the bed, or dropped haphazardly into a mahogany chest of drawers. Clearly the Countess planned to stay here for a long time.

  A frown pleated the smooth forehead of the other woman. 'What exactly are you doing here, by the way?' she enquired with the casual arrogance of one accustomed to giving orders to servants. Caro met that blue gaze with a clear stare of her own.

  'I'm waiting for my fiancé.'

  Miranda looked blank. 'Your fiancé? Who's that?'

  'Gil.' Caro's voice was soft and sweet, her grey eyes wide with innocent unawareness.

  'What?' The shriek wasn't unexpected, yet it still made Caro jump. Miranda had turned first an ugly red and then gone white; not with pain, though, Caro sensed, watching her closely. No, Miranda was white with temper, her mouth was trembling with it and her blue eyes spat a rage that made Caro back slightly in alarm.

  'I don't believe you! You're lying. You and Gil? Gil, marry you? Don't make me laugh, as if he would look twice at you!' Miranda ran scornful eyes over her from head to foot. 'You're not just plain, you're downright ugly, and you have the dress sense of a blind camel. Look at that red thing! Vulgar. Horribly, embarrassingly vulgar. Neckline down to your waist and as for that slit up the side.. .well, really! I've no doubt you put it on to catch Gil's eye, but you're wasting your time, he doesn't go for anything that obvious. Gil has too much taste.'

  Caro kept very calm, although it was not easy. She went on smiling, even if it made her teeth ache, and she forced her voice to sound cheerful and polite, as though the Countess had not just insulted her grossly and was not at this moment looking at her with hatred and fury.

  'We're getting married next week,' she told Miranda ma conversational tone. 'Family and really close friends only; it's going to be a very quiet wedding. We both hate the idea of a lot of fuss and publicity.'

  'No!' Miranda yelled. 'It isn't true. He wouldn't…'

  'The announcement will come afterwards, once we're on our honeymoon,' Caro added, as if she hadn't heard a word of what Miranda was saying.

  Miranda grabbed her shoulders and shook her violently. 'Stop lying! It's all lies, all of it.'

  As if on cue there was a tap on the door and Mrs Greybury appeared, calm and polite, smoothing down her dress with pale hands. 'May I help you pack again, my lady?' she enquired and Miranda glared at her.

  'I'd forgotten you! You must know! Listen, is Mr Martell getting married?'

  'Next week, my lady,' Mrs Greybury said, picking up the piles of delicate lacy underwear and beginning to pack them back into Miranda's cases.

  'We'll be moving in here at first, and as I'm always so busy at work, Mrs Greybury will carry on just as she always has done—but then we thought later we might like a house nearer the park, near my father's house. We're very close, you know, and with Gil's grandmother living just a short walk away it will be perfect,' Caro said. She was enjoying this, in an angry way; enjoying making Miranda so furious, even though Miranda's long fingers and pointy red nails were quite painful, and il wasn't much fun being shaken like that. It made her feel slightly giddy.

  'I've packed these two cases; I'll take them into the hall and ring for a taxi for you, my lady,' Mrs Greybury said, departing with a case in each hand.

  'I'm not going anywhere!' Miranda yelled after her and gave Caro another shake to emphasise the point.

  'Do stop doing that,' Caro complained softly. 'I might be sick, and you wouldn't want that, would you?'

  Miranda's eyes rounded; she gave a gasp. 'I see it all now! Oh, you scheming little... I know how yon managed it. You've got yourself pregnant!'

  Caro couldn't help laughing. 'Now that would be one for the textbooks!'

  Miranda, however, had no sense of humour and didn't even smile. 'You know what I mean! If Gil is going to marry you, there has to be a reason—I know he can't be in love with you.' That stung, but Caro refused to let it show. She went on smiling. 'Either you're expecting his baby—or have told him you are!—because I simply don't believe he would ever bring himself to marry you.' Caro went on smiling. Damn you, damn you, she thought, tears burning somewhere behind her bright, shiny eyes.

  'Or else...' the Countess s
lowly said, staring at her. 'Or else he's marrying you to keep his store. That's it, isn't it? Your father means to buy Westbrooks and he will probably replace the top management—your sort of people always do, don't you? You buy a company and strip the assets and cut down on staff. So Gil will lose his store if your father buys it. But you're your father's only heir. You get all those department stores one day. My God, yes. I see it all now.'

  'Think what you like,' Caro said, somehow managing to hang on to her temper. 'Just get out of here, will you?' 'Not until I've seen Gil!' 'Gil does not want to see you.' 'We'll see about that when he gets home.' 'He is home,' Caro said. 'He is sitting outside, waiting for you to leave.'

  Miranda looked at her, ran to the window and pulled aside the curtain to stare out into the street. Caro felt sorry for her for an instant, seeing her body as tense as a violin bow. Was she genuinely in love with Gil? Was she unhappy? Then Caro hardened her heart against the other woman. Miranda had a husband and a life elsewhere; let her go to them and leave Gil alone. Gil had asked Caro to help him, and she was going to do just that, whatever the cost to herself.

  Miranda suddenly ran towards the door, screaming, 'Gil! Gil!' Caro followed her, realising that she could hardly stop her speaking to him. They passed Mrs Greybury in the hall.

  'The taxi is on its way, my lady,' she blandly said. 'I'll finish packing for you, shall I?'

  Miranda didn't answer; she had pulled the front door open and was running to Gil. Caro stood in the doorway and watched him open the limousine door and swing his long legs out of the Rolls. He straightened, then leaned casually against it, a very tall, elegant man, with dark, wind-ruffled hair, his expression unreadable at this distance. How did he really feel about Miranda? She wished she knew. Caro knew how she, herself, felt about Gil— her stomach plunged terrifyingly at the very sight of him. She couldn't blame Miranda for wanting him. She wanted him pretty badly herself.

  She let Miranda get there and start sobbing all over him, then sauntered over to join them. 'The Countess's taxi will be here soon, Gil, darling,' she said, her grey eyes meeting his dark ones over Miranda's bent head. 'I told her our wonderful news, by the way. What a pity we can't have everyone to the wedding, but Dad insists on just family and really close old friends. We'll miss Miranda and her husband, won't we?'

  'Oh, Gil, how could you?' Miranda accused. 'You're just marrying her to keep the store, aren't you?'

  'Miranda, really!' Gil said reprovingly. 'Is that nice? Now, go and get dressed, there's a good girl.'

  'I'm staying!' threatened Miranda. 'Send her away, darling. I must talk to you.'

  'Oh, I'm spending the night here,' Caro coolly informed her.

  Miranda made a violent gesture, gave a high-pitched whimper and then fled back indoors, her négligé flapping around her slender legs, her blonde hair dishevelled.

  Gil breathed a long, deep sigh of relief. 'Let's hope she's really going.' He watched Caro's averted face. 'You constantly amaze me. I can never guess what you'll get up to next.'

  She found it hard to keep cool now, in his presence; there was something about the way he was watching her that made her nerves prickle. 'You asked for help in getting rid of her, and this worked.' She tried to sound amused, and certainly he laughed.

  'A week doesn't give us much time to think of an alternative, though,' he softly pointed out. 'If we don't get married next week, Miranda will be back.'

  'You can always move,' Caro said. 'Or tell her frankly that you just aren't interested.' She lifted her grey eyes and met his stare. 'If you really aren't, that is!'

  'I have never wanted to marry Miranda,' Gil said shortly. 'She can be fun, she can be very silly, she's obviously very beautiful. But Colin is an old friend; so is she, in fact. We've all known each other for years; I pushed her on her swing when she was a tot. I had a few dates with her before she decided she wanted to marry Colin. I think she loved him in the beginning. And she wanted his title, of course. It gave him a lot of glamour; all the girls swarmed round him. He hadn't started drinking then. He was very athletic, very fit; rode and swam and played rugger. Oh, yes, I think Miranda was in love with him once. I was best man at their wedding, and she was radiant. The trouble only started much later, when Colin's glamour wore off and he started to drink.'

  'Sure that's the right way round? I mean, why did he start to drink? Could it be because he realised his wife preferred another man?' Miranda hadn't made any secret of it, either, Caro thought cynically.

  Gil frowned. 'No, that only started quite recently. Colin has been drinking for quite a while, and I know Miranda tried hard to get him to stop. He called it nagging him, but she hated it when he came home drunk night after night.'

  They both heard movements and fell silent just before Miranda reappeared, fully dressed again, her hair and face immaculate, her head up and her expression icily remote. Caro sighed, hoping they were not in for yet another scene, but at that instant a vehicle turned the corner and came towards them.

  Gil looked round, raking his wind-blown hair back. 'Ah, here's your taxi, just on time. And here's Mrs Greybury with the rest of your suitcases. How many did you bring, darling? What amazing quantities of clothes you must wear every day.'

  Miranda ignored him, flicking her eyes over the luggage to check that it was all there. The taxi pulled up beside her and the driver regarded the pile of cases with dismay. 'All that? How many passengers?'

  'Just one,' Gil said. 'Here she is, waiting for you. I'll give you a hand loading her luggage.' He put several cases into the back of the cab while the driver put the rest in the front. Gil turned and bowed to Miranda courteously, offering his hand to help her into the taxi. 'Goodbye, Miranda, darling. We'll see you after the honeymoon.'

  Miranda pretended not to see his outstretched hand; she climbed into the cab and sank back, crossing her long, slim legs elegantly.

  'Where to?' asked the driver and Gil shrugged, closing the door on Miranda.

  'Ask the lady.'

  'Jurby House, Park Lane,' Miranda coldly said, and the taxi pulled away.

  'She's going back to her husband,' Caro thought aloud, incredulously. 'I hope he throws her out again.

  What consummate gall. And I wouldn't mind betting that she'll complain to him about you, too.'

  'I'm sure you're right,' agreed Gil. 'I told you, Miranda is spoilt and self-obsessed, she only ever sees things from her own point of view.'

  'What did you ever see in her?' Caro asked him, her mouth twisting, and he gave her a wry, amused smile.

  'She's beautiful. One can't have everything.'

  'So you did have an affair with her?' Caro immediately bit back, her grey eyes fierce, and Gil observed her mockingly.

  'Every time you talk about her, you sound like a jealous woman.'

  She was appalled because it was true; she was jealous, bitterly, sickeningly jealous. First scarlet, then white to her hairline, she turned blindly to walk towards the Rolls. 'Will you take me home, please?'

  'Not yet,' he said coolly. 'Colin may arrive any minute and for the sake of our concocted alibi I think you had better be here with me, don't you?'

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he took her elbow and firmly led her back into the flat. Mrs Greybury was hovering in the hall. 'Can I get you both a nightcap, sir?'

  'Thank you, but I think we both need a brandy, and I'll get them. You get off to bed, Mrs Greybury. Goodnight, and thank you for all your help.'

  'Goodnight, sir. Goodnight, Miss Ramsgate.'

  'Oh...goodnight,' Caro said, turning to give the other woman a shy smile. Mrs Greybury smiled back and then vanished into another part of the flat.

  Gill wandered into the sitting-room Caro had glimpsed earlier. She reluctantly followed and stood looking around her at the cool green and white of the decor: tendrils of ivy on the wallpaper, floor-length green and white glazed chintz curtains, a green carpet and a white leather couch.

  Gil poured them both a drink and turned to watch her slowl
y walk around the walls, looking at the paintings hanging there. She felt the back of her neck prickle, knowing he was watching her. Being alone with him was nerve-racking.

  'Come and sit down,' he said in that deep dark voice, and she felt her heartbeat race out of all control.

  'I'm admiring your taste in art,' she evaded, turning away to stare, without really seeing it, at a large, modern landscape hanging over the fireplace.

  Gil came up behind her and she stiffened. He put a brandy glass into her hand. 'Drink this. It's been a rough evening.'

  She hesitated, then obeyed, gasping at the heat of the spirits as they hit the back of her throat. The fumes seemed to mount to her brain, making her head swim. Gil swallowed his own brandy, put the empty glass down, took her glass away and put it down next to his own. Caro seemed rooted to the spot, standing on the hearth, her eyes fixed unseeingly on the painting.

  Gil still stood behind her; she heard him breathing and her pulses went crazy. She wished he would go away, she wished he would...oh, do something! Not just stand there right next to her, almost touching her, tantalising her and driving her out of her mind.

  At last she felt him move and held her breath, but he didn't walk away. He put a long finger on the nape of her neck and she shuddered with tension. The finger moved. Slowly. Down over her neck. Down her back. Very slowly. Caro closed her eyes, trembling. Gil moved closer, his body now touching hers. His lips lightly brushed her nape and she couldn't stop the audible intake of her breath, the gasp of shock and pleasure. He was killing her by inches, and she could not move, she was helpless to resist or fight the way she felt. I shouldn't have drunk that brandy, she thought. But even if she hadn't, would she have stopped him? The long finger stroked upwards from her waist; it stopped at the neckline of her dress and then she heard the zip un-peeling. That was when she should have stopped him, but she didn't because Gil's mouth followed the opening zip downwards, brushing light kisses along the widening gap and she was shaking, eyes enormous, pupils dilated with desire.