‘Frankly I’m tired of the whole affair. I’ve taken your advice. From now on Tim can do as he likes, which, as you once tried to tell me, is exactly what he does, anyway.’ James shrugged. ‘I’ve no intention of stopping his allowance. He can go and live with Francesca tomorrow as far as I’m concerned.’
‘He wants to marry her first.’
‘So I gather. Now I’ve given my blessing I suppose he’ll rush her into it as soon as he can.’ James paused. ‘Tim told me something else today.’
‘Oh?’
His eyes took on a gleam Harriet viewed with disquiet. ‘He thinks you may also have thawed towards me. Is that true?’
All the answers Harriet thought of stuck in her throat so long James turned to go. ‘I dislike the role of mendicant,’ he said tersely.
‘Don’t go!’ she said urgently. ‘Or better still come back sometime when I’m clean.’
He turned back, the sudden leap of heat in his eyes sending her backing away in alarm. ‘You don’t want me to touch you?’ he said softly, stalking her round the furniture.
‘Of course I don’t. I’m hot and filthy and I probably smell,’ she said despairingly.
His deliberate, relishing sniff sent a wave of scarlet to join the paint streaks on her face. ‘You do, Harriet, of your own irresistible blend of pheromones. A pity there’s no space to throw you on the floor and ravish you.’ He laughed at the shock on her face, and stood back. ‘You don’t fancy the idea?’
‘Not right now, no,’ she lied.
‘I should have rung first as Tim advised,’ he said with regret.
She stared. ‘You, taking advice from Tim?’
‘On the subject of Harriet Verney he’s an expert, he tells me.’
‘In his dreams!’
James grinned. ‘One thing he said made sense. Subtlety and finesse are vital, according to Tim, if I want to make any headway with you.’
‘Tim, preaching subtlety and finesse?’ said Harriet, dizzy with euphoria at the mere thought of James wanting to make headway.
‘In this case he has a point. So in accordance with his instructions I shall leave you in peace right now, and let you get into that bath you’re obviously desperate for, on condition that you have dinner with me tomorrow evening.’
‘Sorry, I can’t tomorrow, I already have a date.’
‘Tuesday then,’ said James firmly.
Pride salvaged, she inclined her head graciously. ‘Tuesday’s good.’
‘I’ll come for you at eight,’ said James.
Harriet closed the door, wishing she had space to dance for joy. Thank you, Tim, she thought gratefully.
When he arrived on the stroke of eight James was wearing a pale, lightweight suit of masterly cut, his slightly darker shirt open at the collar in deference to the hot summer evening, and Harriet could have flung herself into his arms there and then to relieve the tension of getting ready too early in the terracotta linen dress he’d seen twice before.
‘Nothing’s changed,’ said James, looking her up and down, ‘I still feel the urge to throw you on the floor and ravish you, even now you’re clean.’
‘Not enough space for that,’ she said, pulse racing.
‘I would have brought you flowers, as Tim instructed,’ he informed her as they went down in the lift, ‘but it seemed best to wait until you’ve finishing painting.’
‘Sensible,’ she approved, and grinned up at him. ‘James, I can’t believe you’re acting on Tim’s instructions.’
‘Every step of the way,’ he assured her earnestly.
To her surprise James took her to the restaurant she’d dined in with Giles Kemble.
‘To make up for the last time we ran into each other here,’ he said, once they were seated.
Harriet smiled. ‘You were so hostile I had indigestion on the way home!’
He reached out a hand to take hers. ‘And I invited myself to the Mayhews’ place in Umbria the following weekend just so I could call in at La Fattoria to see you again. Doesn’t that tell you something, Harriet?’
‘What do you mean, exactly?’
James released her hand as a waiter interrupted to pour wine, but once they were alone again he leaned forward, his eyes urgent. ‘That night in Tuscany was a revelation. And not just because we made love for the first time, though God knows that was wonderful enough. But learning the truth about you and Tim changed everything. From now on I want you in my life, Harriet.’
James sat back as their first course appeared, and Harriet, still trying to take in what he’d said, stared blankly for a moment at the exquisite arrangement of antipasti in front of her.
To her relief James kept to less emotive subjects during the meal. He asked her about her working day, told her about his own, teased her about her home decorating, and Harriet eventually relaxed, enjoying the evening she’d been looking forward to from the moment he’d left her forty-eight hours before.
‘I put the first coat of primrose on last night,’ she told him.
He raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘I thought you were going out last night.’
She smiled demurely. ‘My date was a pot of paint. Tomorrow I roll on another coat, and with a bit of luck that should do.’
‘What was the original colour?’
‘A murky sort of blue.’
‘Not your taste, obviously. Unlike the colour of that dress.’ His eyes moved over her bare arms like a caress. ‘Did I mention that you look good enough to eat tonight?’
‘No, you didn’t. Thank you, kind sir. I wore the dress,’ she added, ‘because the colour reminds me of the flower-pots at La Fattoria.’
‘So your memories of the place aren’t all unpleasant, then.’
‘No.’ She looked at him squarely. ‘As I said at the time, my holiday there was memorable. My vacations don’t normally provide such extraordinary value for money.’
James raised an eyebrow. ‘I didn’t charge you any money.’
‘I know. Thank you.’
‘But I think I deserve something in return.’
‘What would you like?’
‘I’ll tell you on the way home.’
This, Harriet found, involved a taxi ride to James’ home, not a short walk to hers.
‘You might have asked me first,’ she said as he gave the address to the driver.
He slid an arm round her. ‘It’s only a little after ten, there’s no space to stand up in your flat, let alone sit down, so another hour of your company in comfort at my place is my fee for letting you stay at La Fattoria. Reasonable?’
‘I suppose so,’ she conceded, secretly thrilled with the idea. Sitting close to him in the taxi, she was filled with delicious anticipation by the scent and warmth of his body. James might not have said so in so many words, but after all his talk of ravishing she had no doubt he was taking her home to bed to make love to her, a prospect that sent her blood racing through her veins.
When they arrived at the familiar redbrick building James paid off the taxi, and held her hand as they went up in the lift to his floor. He unlocked his door, switched off the alarm and pressed a switch to bring a pair of lamps to life alongside the white crescent-shaped sofas. Certain she would be swept into a passionate embrace the moment they were through the door, Harriet was rather taken aback when James led her to one of the sofas instead.
‘Sit down, Harriet, and I’ll make some coffee, or would you prefer wine?’
She regrouped hurriedly. ‘Tea, perhaps?’ she said, crestfallen.
James switched on spotlights in the kitchen area, slung his jacket over a chair and made two mugs of tea he carried over on a tray that had been laid ready, and even included a container of biscuits. ‘You didn’t eat enough dinner,’ he commented. ‘Do you take milk in your tea?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Harriet, thoroughly deflated. Tea and biscuits seemed an unlikely overture to red-hot sex on that great bed of his in the other room.
‘Have a biscuit,’ he ordered. ‘You’v
e lost weight.’
‘Paint is quite an appetite depressant.’ Harriet nibbled obediently on a biscuit. It was easier than arguing.
‘When Tim marries Francesca, will you go to the wedding?’ James asked.
She shook her head. ‘Probably not.’
‘Why?’
It was hard to tell a man of James’ financial situation that she couldn’t afford another trip to Italy. One of the great benefits of the holiday at La Fattoria had been that it came free. All she’d had to do was save up for her flight. Tim had paid for the food she ate there, by way of appreciation for her help with his romance. But in Florence she’d bought a handbag for Dido, and pretty coin purses for her friends at the office. James’ cheque for the furniture had gone on the deposit on the new flat, and a few basic necessities for it, but now, after the outlay on home decorating equipment, her finances were at an all-time low.
James turned to look closely at her. ‘You’re taking a long time to answer.’
‘If I get an invitation—’
‘Of course you’ll get an invitation. Tim will probably want you to be bridesmaid at the very least!’
Harriet pulled a face. ‘Francesca won’t want that.’
‘Why not?’
‘She’s jealous of me, according to Tim. Only because of my age,’ she added.
‘I can think of other reasons,’ said James dryly.
Harriet braced herself. ‘Without sounding horribly mercenary, could I ask how soon I can expect the money for End House?’
‘Any time now, I should imagine.’ He gave her a searching look. ‘Are you saying that without it you can’t afford a trip to Florence?’
‘Yes,’ she said baldly.
‘For God’s sake, Harriet, I’ll pay for your flight and anything else you need, including a new dress—’
‘No, thanks,’ she said quickly. ‘I can’t let you do that.’
‘Why the hell not?’
‘Pride,’ she said simply.
James leaned nearer and took her hand. ‘So you let me have End House because you really needed the money?’
She nodded unhappily. ‘I just have what I earn. Livvie didn’t have much cash to leave. She’d used most of her capital on my education.’
‘So why did you turn me down when I first asked you to sell me the house?’
‘Two reasons. One because it was you,’ she said bluntly. ‘At the time you were my least favourite person, if you recall.’
‘Vividly!’
‘And secondly I just couldn’t bear to part with it. When my parents died my grandmother sold the big London house we’d all lived in together and took me to live in Upcote where she grew up. From the time I was thirteen years old End House was my home.’ Her eyes shadowed. ‘But now Livvie’s gone it’s not the same. Without her I don’t belong there any more. So in the end I sold it to you.’
James was quiet for a moment. ‘If the money means so much to you, Harriet, why did you move out of your friend’s flat?’
‘The rent on the new one is less than my share of Dido’s mortgage, and I can walk to work now, so financially I’m better off. And Dido won’t see so much of Tim, too, which is all to the good, because she’s in love with him,’ explained Harriet.
‘Good God, how does he do it?’ said James in amazement. ‘Does every woman he meets fall for him?’
She laughed. ‘It’s a trait worth thousands to Jeremy Blyth. When a woman comes to look round at the gallery Tim invariably makes a sale.’
‘Tim told you that?’
‘No, Jeremy did. Interestingly enough,’ added Harriet, ‘Jeremy was never taken in for a moment about Tim and me. He told Tim I was the wrong wife for him.’
‘Probably wants to marry Tim himself,’ said James acidly. ‘But he was right about you.’
Harriet got up to put her mug on the tray. ‘Time I was going, James.’
‘Why not stay here tonight?’ he said, and took her hand to lead her past the kitchen and dining area towards what Harriet had assumed to be a blank wall. ‘I didn’t show you this last time.’ He touched a discreet button and a section of wall slid back to reveal another bedroom. ‘This is where Tim sleeps when he stays here. A bathroom’s concealed behind that glass panel, and on this side you get another view of the Thames.’
Harriet smiled politely to mask her fierce disappointment. Instead of sharing a bed with James a night in the spare room appeared to be the only thing on offer. ‘Very nice, but I’d better get back.’
‘Sure?’ he said gently.
‘Positive. Will you ring for a cab, please?’
James made the phone call, and turned to take her in his arms. ‘Harriet, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ She smiled up at him. ‘Thank you for dinner.’
‘Will you tell me something?’
‘If I can.’
‘Are you in pressing need of this money?’
She stiffened. ‘Why?’
‘I just want you to know you can come to me if you have a problem. Of any kind,’ he added with emphasis.
‘James, I’m fine, honestly,’ she assured him. ‘I want the money as an investment to give me the security of an additional monthly income to add to my salary. Which is quite respectable, by the way, so you really don’t have to worry about me.’
‘I’ll try not to make a career of it. But I suppose this means you won’t take up my offer on Florence,’ he said, resigned.
‘I appreciate it, but no, thanks—and there’s the doorbell. My taxi’s here.’
This time James went down in the lift with Harriet, and the moment the doors closed on them he swept her into his arms at last, his mouth on hers in a kiss that lasted until they reached ground level. He smiled into her startled eyes as he raised his head. ‘If I’d done that upstairs I couldn’t have stopped. And you’re obviously not ready for that yet.’
How wrong could a man be? thought Harriet irritably as James handed her into the waiting taxi.
‘I’ll ring you,’ he said, and bent to kiss her again before handing a banknote to the driver.
Her phone rang five minutes after she got in.
‘You’re home, then,’ said James.
‘Is this what you meant when you said you’d ring me?’ she asked, laughing.
‘Yes. It may have slipped your mind, but I made certain overtures about the future before dinner. I want a response, Harriet Verney. Do you like the idea?’
‘Yes, James. I do. I like it a lot.’ Harriet wished he’d mentioned it again at the flat so she could have shown him exactly how much she liked it.
‘Thank God for that! I’ll see you on Friday.’
‘Are we meeting on Friday?’
‘Of course we are. Only this time you stay over and we spend Saturday and Sunday together to give your walls a chance to dry out.’
Harriet blinked. ‘I thought you were proceeding step by step, like Tim said.’
‘I am. But I’m taking them two at a time.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
BY SEVEN on Friday evening Harriet had changed her clothes twice and repacked her weekend bag more than once, wishing she had some idea of what James had in mind so she could have chosen her weekend gear accordingly. They’d talked on the phone twice, but last night she had been out when he left a message, and when she rang him back she’d had to do the same. And now she was at a fever pitch of anticipation.
This excitement over a man was new in her life. Except for one brief, disastrous encounter, her relationships with men other than Tim had been relaxed, undemanding affairs. With James it was different. Dido was madly in love half the time, and for the duration of each affair became blind to all faults in the man in question. Harriet saw James very clearly, but had no doubt at all that she was in love with him. And would probably stay that way for the rest of her natural life.
She had been waiting for half an hour that seemed twice as long as that by the time her doorbell rang. She snatched up the receiver to hear James’ voic
e and moments later he was at her door, smiling as he handed her a white hydrangea in a yellow porcelain pot.
‘Step two,’ he said, looking so smug Harriet couldn’t help laughing.
‘Why, thank you, James,’ she said, batting her eyelashes as she took it from him. ‘What a lovely surprise.’
He looked round in approval. ‘This looks a lot better than on my last visit. You’ve worked hard. Do you intend painting your bedroom as well?’
Harriet smiled at him pityingly. ‘This is my bedroom. It’s a studio flat, which is a posh name for a bedsitter. The sofa turns into a bed at night, and the kitchen and bathroom are shoe-horned into a sliver of space behind those doors over there. But it’s very convenient for my job, and now my walls are sunnier I think it looks rather good.’ She put the plant down on a small wicker table between the two windows, and stood back to admire the effect.
James moved close behind her, sliding his arms round her waist. ‘You’re supposed to kiss people who give you presents,’ he reminded her, his breath warm against her neck.
Harriet twisted round, and reached up to put her arms round his neck. ‘So I’ve heard.’ She brought his head down to hers and kissed him with warmth he responded to in kind. ‘You weren’t in when I rang back last night,’ she said gruffly when he raised his head.
‘I had dinner with the Mayhews. By the time I picked up your message it was late and it seemed a shame to wake you. Were you out with Dido when I rang?’
‘No, with Paddy Moran. He’s the Ibsen fan you saw me with one night. We met for a coffee. Paddy’s a financial adviser. I rang him to ask for his advice on the best way to invest the money for End House, and he suggested we meet near his bank for a chat before he caught his train home.’
James smiled wryly. ‘It didn’t occur to you to ask my advice?’
‘Of course it did. But you’ve done so much for me already over End House I was determined not to impose on you again.’
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