After a moment or two she went on, ‘Though quite a few years have passed, I’ve never forgotten it, and my first sight of Dunbar brought it all back. Now I know why.’
Then a shade uncertainly she added, ‘Of course, it might not be Dunbar. I only saw it once, so I could be mistaken. But it all seems to fit.’
So far Ross, who had been listening intently, had made no comment beyond that terse, ‘Go on’. Now he said, ‘You’re not mistaken. It is Dunbar. As a child, the snowstorm used to fascinate me, and when I asked about it I was told that it had been specially made for my great, great-grandmother.
‘According to letters and diaries that have survived, all the Dunbar women seem to have loved the house and lived here happily—apart from my mother, that is. But though she wasn’t happy with my father, she still loved Dunbar, and when she left, she took the snowstorm, which had been a gift from my grandmother, with her.’
‘How strange,’ Cathy breathed.
Ross agreed. ‘Whoever said fate works in mysterious ways wasn’t far wrong.’
‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘I just feel so—’ she sought for a suitable word ‘—privileged to have met your mother.’
Then, recalling abruptly just what he thought of her, she braced herself for some stinging rejoinder.
But none came, and, glancing his way, she saw that he appeared to be deep in thought.
After a moment, she asked the question that was in her mind. ‘What happened to the shop after she died? Did her husband keep it on?’
He shook his head. ‘Toby died first. Oddly enough, as if they couldn’t bear to be apart, they died within a few weeks of each other. The shop was willed to me, and I asked Toby’s elder brother, who was semi-retired and had often helped out there, to run it for me. Which he was very pleased to do.’
There was a drifting silence, broken only by the rustle and crackle of the logs as they burnt through and settled afresh and the comfortable ticking of the grandmother clock that stood in the far corner.
Once again, Ross seemed to have lapsed into thought, his fair head slightly bent, his expression preoccupied as he gazed unseeingly into the flames.
Realizing that, whilst his mind was on other things, it would be a good time to slip away, she felt for her bag.
Then, rising to her feet, like any ordinary polite guest about to leave, she murmured, ‘It’s time I was getting back. Thank you for a delicious meal.’
He glanced up, instantly alert, but his voice was lazy, posing no threat, as he remarked, ‘I’m sure there’s no hurry to get back to an empty flat.’
‘I’m tired,’ she told him, putting her bag on her shoulder and moving as unobtrusively as possible towards the door. ‘I’d really like an early night.’
‘Well, I’m quite sure that can be arranged.’
Wondering why such an apparently bland statement managed to sound almost like a threat, she stayed on course for the door.
She was aware that he had risen to his feet, as he added with a touch of mockery, ‘But don’t you agree that nine-thirty is just a shade early?’
Ignoring that, she reached to open the door, but, without appearing to hurry, he got there first and neatly blocked her way.
‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to leave,’ she said, and was annoyed to find that she sounded flustered.
When he showed no sign of moving, she repeated jerkily, ‘I’d like to leave. I’ve had dinner with you as you asked, so you’ve no further reason to keep me. Now I have my keys I can—’
She broke off in confusion as a single fingertip began to stroke her cheek, his light touch making her heart start to race and effectively rooting her to the spot.
‘Before you think of rushing off, wouldn’t you like to know why I brought you up here?’
As she hesitated, he smiled at her, a white, slightly crooked smile that made her heart turn over, and coaxed, ‘Why don’t you come back to the fire and sit down? Then eventually—as the old thriller writers were fond of saying—all will be revealed.’
Her resistance vanquished by that smile and the unstudied charm that always affected her so strongly, she allowed herself to be escorted back to the chair she had just vacated.
‘Now, as we’ve decided to have an early night,’ he remarked, as though they were an old married couple, ‘what about a nightcap? There’s a good selection of liqueurs, so shall I choose something?’
‘Maybe just a small one.’ Her voice was husky.
He poured them a drink each and handed her a glass. ‘Try that.’
She sipped obediently and found it was creamy and apparently innocuous.
‘Okay?’
‘Yes, fine. Thank you.’
He took a seat opposite and put his glass of whisky on the low table. Then, studying her bare hands, he remarked, ‘I see you’re still not wearing your wedding ring.’
Her voice as level as she could make it, she reminded him, ‘I lost it.’
‘So you said.’
‘And you didn’t believe me.’
‘Had you been wearing it when we first met, I might have done. But you weren’t…’ Then, with no change in tone, he said, ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me why…’
She half shook her head. ‘But it wasn’t what you think…’
‘Can you blame me for thinking you’d taken it off to hide the fact that you were married? To enable you to have a little “fun” should the opportunity present itself? Well, can you?’
‘No,’ she admitted in a small voice. ‘But it wasn’t like that.’
‘So why weren’t you wearing it?’
‘I wish I could explain,’ she said helplessly.
‘Try.’
‘I can’t,’ she admitted. ‘But last night when I told you I’d lost it, it was the truth.’
‘Marley certainly believes you. She and Janet have spent a good part of the day searching Beinn Mor, without success.’ Then casually he added, ‘But I suppose if the ring can’t be found Carl will replace it.’
Thinking of the cherished memories she had of seeing her mother wearing it, Cathy shook her head sadly, ‘It wouldn’t be the same.’
He pounced. ‘So, tell me, what makes that particular ring so special?’
Swallowing, she told him the exact truth. ‘It has great sentimental value. It means a lot to me.’
‘As you could only have been wearing it for a matter of weeks, and you had no hesitation in taking it off when it suited you, you’ll have to excuse me if I find that rather hard to believe.’
‘No matter what you believe, it does mean a lot to me,’ she repeated stubbornly.
‘Was it engraved?’
‘Yes, it was.’
‘So, what was the engraving?’
‘W-what?’ she stammered.
With exaggerated patience, he repeated the question.
‘Just initials entwined in a love knot.’
‘Yours and Carl’s?’
Trapped, she said, ‘Of course.’
‘Anything else?’
‘The word always.’
‘How very romantic.’
‘It was romantic,’ she flared. Then, suddenly feeling a bitter desolation, a certainty that the ring was gone for ever, her eyes filled with tears.
Her distress hit him like a blow over the heart, and, despite the anger he still felt at her refusal to tell him the truth, he regretted pushing her so hard. As she stared into the fire, trying desperately not to let the tears fall, he leaned forward and, taking her left hand, which was clenched into a fist, he straightened and kissed each finger one at a time, before sliding a wide band of chased gold onto her wedding finger.
Surprise made her blink and, as twin tears rolled down her face in tracks of shiny wetness, through a watery haze she found herself looking down at the ring she had just despaired of ever seeing again.
The rush of relief made her cry in earnest, and when Ross lifted her and settled her on his knee she was incapable of protest.
Crad
led against him, she struggled for control, but somehow the comfort he was offering only made the tears flow faster.
When she was all cried out, he produced a folded hankie and with a muffled, ‘Thank you,’ she dried her wet cheeks before handing it back.
He seemed content to hold her, and she wanted to stay where she was, wanted the comfort of his arms, but a kind of perverse pride made her struggle off his knee and resume her seat.
As soon as her voice was steady enough, she asked, ‘Where did you find it?’
‘Iain Mackay, one of the estate workers who lives in the village, brought it to me late this afternoon. It was Iain who, in the guise of Father Christmas, was running the lucky dip.
‘I’d told him that should there be any presents left over he could take them home to give to his family. He did that and found the ring at the bottom of the sack. Presumably it slipped off when you had your lucky dip.’
‘I can’t thank him enough for returning it,’ she said in a heartfelt voice. ‘Does your sister know it’s been found?’
‘Yes, I rang to tell her. Both she and Janet were delighted.’
‘That’s nice of them.’
Though touched by her glowing face, he hardened his heart and returned to the attack.
‘You’ll have to be careful not to lose it again.’
‘Yes.’
Reaching out, he took her hand and moved the ring round and round between his thumb and forefinger, before remarking, ‘It’s so loose it’s a miracle it hasn’t slipped off before. It might be a good idea to get it made smaller.’
‘I wouldn’t want to—’ About to say, have it altered, she stopped abruptly and changed it to, ‘I wouldn’t want to lose it again, so I’ll take your advice. In the meantime I’ll wrap some wool or cotton round it.’
‘How did you come to buy something that was obviously the wrong size?’
Weakly she said, ‘I happened to like that particular ring.’
He made no comment, and she was breathing a sigh of relief when he observed, ‘You don’t wear an engagement ring?’
‘I’ve never had one.’
‘Why was that?’
Thinking of Neil, she said, ‘We were only engaged a short time before getting married.’
‘I would have thought that someone who—according to Carl—has a romantic streak a mile wide would have liked an engagement ring.’
‘I would have liked one. But when we got engaged we didn’t have much money.’ That, too, was true.
He made no further comment, and she was just trying to assure herself that she was out of the wood, when he said casually, ‘There’s a couple of things that don’t add up.’
‘Oh?’
‘How do you account for the fact that the edge of your wedding ring is slightly worn, as though for a number of years another ring had rubbed against it? And, secondly, the initials engraved inside aren’t C and C, as one might expect, but A and D?’
With no option but to tell the truth, she admitted, ‘The initials are A and D because the ring belonged to my mother. Her name was Anne and my father’s name was David.’
Keeping her voice flat, dispassionate, she went on, ‘When they fell in love and agreed to marry, he bought her a matching pair of rings which she wore for twenty years. After the plane crash that killed them both, her wedding ring was amongst the few personal possessions that were returned to us, but her engagement ring was never found.’
‘I see,’ Ross said slowly. ‘That explains why the ring means so much to you.’
Then, like a cobra striking, he said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me straight away that it was your mother’s? Why pretend the initials inside were yours and Carl’s?’
Something inside snapped, and she cried, ‘I’m tired of being interrogated and I absolutely refuse to answer any more questions.’
Having slotted all the pieces of the puzzle into place, he already knew why, but he’d wanted to hear her admit it.
From the start things hadn’t added up, and the hesitant answers she had given when he’d questioned her about her marriage, coupled with Carl’s brotherly attitude towards her, had aroused his suspicions and prompted him to do some checking.
When the results had amply confirmed his suspicions, relief had flooded through him.
Hard on the heels of that relief had come anger. Though in a way he was forced to admire her loyalty, he was angry that she’d lied to him, furious to think of all the pain she had caused him.
Determined to make her confess the truth, he had pushed her hard. But though in some ways she appeared fragile, yielding, she had a strength of character that, vexed as he was, he could only appreciate.
And though he knew—couldn’t fail to know—how strongly she was attracted to him, perhaps due in part to his previous failed relationship he wouldn’t be happy until she had surrendered herself completely, until she was his, heart, mind, body and soul. And willing to admit it.
It would mean pushing her even harder, but only that admission, freely given, would compensate for all she had put him through.
And only then could he tell her how very much she meant to him…
After her bold words she had braced herself for a further onslaught, but when he merely sat gazing at her, a strange, preoccupied look on his handsome face, she jumped to her feet and announced shakily, ‘I’d like to leave now.’
He uncoiled his long length in one graceful movement and stood looking down at her. ‘What’s the hurry? It isn’t as if your husband will be waiting for you.’
‘Please, Ross, let me go.’
She thought his face softened for an instant, but, ignoring her plea, he pressed her gently back into her chair.
‘I don’t know what you want,’ she said helplessly. ‘I’ve had dinner with you, I’ve done everything you asked me to do…’
‘Why do you suppose I brought you up here?’
‘I don’t know.’
He tossed fresh logs onto the fire, before saying, ‘I’m sure you do, if you think about it.’
She felt too weary to think, but still she tried.
‘Well?’
‘Because of the ring?’ she hazarded. ‘Like a showman, you wanted to stage-manage its return.’
He looked amused. ‘Try again.’
The only other thing she could think of was the little scene that had ensued when she had thanked him for saving her life. The strange, lopsided little smile on his face as he’d told her, ‘There’s an old oriental belief that if you save another person’s life, from then on they belong to you.’
And her own light retort, ‘Well, as I know you don’t want me, I won’t worry about it.’
Then his rejoinder which, just momentarily, had shaken her rigid, ‘Suppose I said you were mistaken, that I do want you?’
But he couldn’t have meant it. Certainly not in the literal sense.
As she half shook her head, he observed, yet again reading her thoughts with devastating accuracy, ‘You didn’t think I meant it?’
Baldly she said, ‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you’d already made it clear that you wouldn’t touch me with a bargepole.’
‘I might just have changed my mind.’
Agitation brought her to her feet. ‘I don’t believe it.’
‘Try.’
As she turned away he came over and, holding her upper arms lightly, touched his lips to the warmth of her nape, scattering her wits and making her heart thump against her ribs.
Telling herself that this was just another of his games, she stood still as a statue, her teeth clenched, while he brushed her silky top aside so that his mouth could explore the side of her neck and the smooth skin of her shoulder.
‘Don’t!’ Unable to stand any more, she jerked away.
But, drawing her back against him, he bent his head to put his cheek against hers. ‘There’s no need to pretend,’ he told her softly. ‘I already know what kind of woman you are.’
&n
bsp; She played the only card she held. ‘A married one.’
One arm holding her, his free hand beneath her chin, he tilted her head back on his shoulder.
For a helpless moment she glimpsed his strong face, intriguingly inverted, before she was forced to close her eyes.
As his lips explored her exposed throat and the pure line of her jaw, he observed softly, ‘Being married has never held you back before.’
Swallowing, she tried to ignore the havoc his kisses were creating as she reminded him, ‘Yesterday you told me that you never got involved with married women, that you hated the idea of having slept with an employee’s wife.’
‘That was yesterday morning. But last night, when I saw you flirting first with Robert and then with Cunningham, and realized that even with your husband close at hand being married meant nothing to you, I decided I was being overscrupulous. I might as well have my share of what was on offer.’
Rage lending her strength, she wrenched herself free and turned on him like a fury.
‘Absolutely nothing was “on offer”, as you so insultingly put it. And as for you “having your share”, if you were the last man on earth I wouldn’t give you so much as a kiss under the mistletoe.’
He laughed, adding to her fury. ‘Believe me, I intend to have a great deal more than that.’
‘Or what?’
He shrugged. ‘Or I might be tempted to tell your husband just what kind of woman he’s married to. Would he be comfortable staying on here if he knew what had happened at Ilithgow House?’
Her heart sank. Suppose Ross did tell him? Carl knew her well enough to be certain that she would never have gone to bed with a man who hadn’t been very special. So for her sake he might throw everything away by admitting that his ‘marriage’ was just a sham.
And it would all be for nothing. It would simply be robbing him of his happiness when it was too late to save hers.
For a moment she wavered. Dared she chance it?
But Ross wouldn’t tell him. She had never been more certain of anything in her whole life.
Studying her changing expressions, as if he were following her train of thought, he asked, ‘Well? Have you decided?’
She gave him a steady look and said clearly, ‘Yes. You can tell him and be damned.’
The Boss's Forbidden Secretary Page 11