‘I know,’ Adam said comfortably, ‘and I wouldn’t be too surprised if she knew it as well. And, my dear—’ he leant forward and whispered confidentially ‘—you should be quite confident that that child isn’t a patch on you. You have a far more interesting face.’
‘Interesting? I’m not entirely sure that ‘interesting’ is the sort of look that most women would kill for...’ But she laughed anyway, and threw him an affectionate look. At least, she decided, he hadn’t told her that she had a lived-in look. One of her friends had told her that her husband had made the mistake of paying her that particular compliment and she had instantly tipped a plate of salad on his lap, complete with dressing.
Adam was settling the bill, and the waiter returned with his credit card and a note. A note for her. Of course, she knew what it was the instant she took it from the tray. Who else would be sending her a note in a restaurant? Who else in the restaurant knew her?
She read it, smiled frozenly as her mind blanked out for a couple of seconds, and then explained that someone across the room had recognised her.
‘Who?’
‘The man who just happens to be sitting with the eye-catching blonde whose looks aren’t a patch on mine.’
‘Really?’
‘He’s asked me to join them for a cup of coffee. Adam, if you don’t mind waiting for a few minutes while I say hello, I’ll just inform him that I can’t possibly as I’ve got to return to work.’
‘Nonsense!’ He smiled at her. ‘Today’s special. You’re a damn fine worker, Jessie, and no lunch can repay you enough for the years of dedication you’ve put into the company. You just go along for that cup of coffee and take your time. Half the afternoon’s gone already, anyway!’
‘No, really, Adam, there are a few things...’
‘Have a break, my dear!’
Maybe another day, she wanted to tell him. Any other day. ‘But...’
‘No buts! You can pop in to work if you like a bit later, but personally I don’t think there’s much point. You live just around here, Jessie. Take the afternoon off!’ He stood up and said briskly, ‘Now, off you go!’
Jessie looked at him with alarm. She didn’t want to go anywhere! Apart from in the direction of the office. She plastered a smile on her face and walked briskly across to where Anthony and his girlfriend were sitting. It was every bit as nerve-racking as she had anticipated. He looked at her as she approached with an assessing directness that very nearly bordered on insolence but somehow managed to stop just short. And the blonde, who close up looked even younger, followed the direction of his gaze, but suspiciously. ‘Jessica!’ He stood up as she sat down on the chair which a waiter had obligingly pulled out for her. ‘I wondered whether you’d spotted us over here.’
‘No! I was... too busy listening to my lunch companion...!’
‘This is Fiona Charleton.’ His voice was thick with charm, and Jessica had a sneaking feeling that she was missing something. ‘An old friend of the family.’
Twenty-two, Jessica thought, if not younger. What on earth was Anthony Newman doing with a child who was almost young enough to be his daughter? Who was, in fact, probably only a handful of years older than her own daughter? She smiled stiffly, shook the thin, cool hand, and hoped that neither of them would see the disapproval in her eyes. Perhaps this thing went on all the time in rich, fast circles. Who knew? Perhaps Anthony Newman liked the uncomplicated subservience of youth—the blank sheet of paper waiting to be written on.
‘And how long have you known Anthony?’ Jessica asked politely, making sure that she didn’t look at him, although she could feel his eyes on her.
‘Years...’ Large, limpid blue eyes drifted adoringly in the direction of Anthony.
‘Like I said,’ he said hastily, ‘Fiona’s a family friend. A neighbour, as a matter of fact.’
‘In London?’
‘Warwickshire. Her family had a house next to ours. Coffee?’
‘Really, I can’t stay.’ She forced herself to face him, and felt the full impact of his overpowering, masculine charm. Whatever he was radiating, it was lethal, particularly as she had no inkling as to the reason for its abundance. ‘I have to get back to work.’ She looked significantly at her watch and wondered whether it would be ridiculous to exclaim something along the lines of Oh, is that the time?
‘I’m sure your boss could spare you for a few minutes.’ He didn’t give her time to debate the point. He signalled a waiter over and a cup of black coffee was in front of her virtually before she could protest.
‘And how’s Lucy?’ Quick glance in the direction of Fiona. ‘Lucy is a good friend of Mark.’
Fiona seemed to be working this one out. It has to be said, Jessica thought, that, beautiful though the package might be, not much seems to be happening in the head. He clearly liked his women fairly vacant and undemanding.
‘Fine.’ She looked him over coldly. ‘And Mark?’
‘Fine.’ He paused. ‘Glad I bumped into you, as a matter of fact,’ he said, sipping his coffee, his body slightly inclined away from the table.
‘You are?’
‘Absolutely.’ He smiled a devastating smile that had Jessica diving into her cup of coffee for refuge.
Whatever was going on with her body? Her heart felt as though it was about to burst, and her skin was hot and uncomfortable. She smiled at Fiona, reminding herself that this was the sort of beauty that attracted a man like Anthony Newman. Glamorous as opposed to interesting. ‘And do you work, Fiona?’ she asked. Any vacuous question to take her mind off this alarming effect he was having on her.
Fiona frowned, as if trying to puzzle this one out. Work? her face seemed to be saying. What on earth is that?
‘Do you have a job?’ Jessica asked helpfully.
‘Oh, yes.’ The smooth, alabaster-white face cleared into a dazzling smile. Really, Jessica thought, she should be a model.
‘I do. I work at my godfather’s gallery twice a week. It’s super, really, because he gives me as much time off as I want for holidays!’
‘You go on holiday a lot?’ The conversation seemed to be getting surreal. She wished that Anthony would join in and rescue her—after all, the woman was his lunch companion—but he seemed quite happy to remain silent. She glanced in his direction and saw that he was, if anything, vaguely amused, which made her want to click her tongue in annoyance. ‘Oh, yes!’ Fiona’s face lit up with another radiant smile. ‘Skiing every winter, then there’s tennis, and Henley. And Mustique for summer. Mummy and Daddy own a house there. It’s super!’ Jessica felt a little faint at this glib description of a life that was so far removed from her own. Or anyone else’s that she knew, for that matter.
‘Fiona doesn’t consider work an essential part of life,’ Anthony drawled, though not unkindly. ‘Do you, Fi?’
‘Well, I quite like the gallery...’ She pouted, which reminded Jessica of Lucy, except that Lucy’s pouts tended to look rather more sullen. ‘But I don’t suppose I shall ever have a real job.’
‘What do you mean by a ‘real’ job?’ Jessica asked, lost. ‘Oh...’ Perfectly shaped brows met in a fleeting frown. ‘I mean something where I would have to get up before nine and stay until after three.’
‘Oh, one of those!’ Jessica was about to make a sarcastic rejoinder to that little observation, but the simple innocence on Fiona’s face made any such temptation almost seem criminal. Thank God Lucy wasn’t around, Jessica thought; she would have eaten this poor girl for breakfast in under thirty seconds. She felt a warm flow of deep love for her daughter. ‘Anyway,’ Anthony’s deep voice said from alongside her, ‘you still haven’t asked me why I’m so pleased to have bumped into you.’
There was no choice. Jessica turned slightly and looked at him, and immediately felt another one of those little electric frissons of awareness shoot up her spine.
The sun over the past few weeks had worked wonders on him as well. His skin was bronzed. He didn’t look like someone who worked
in an office. He looked like someone who worked on a yacht—out in the open somewhere, doing something vigorous that built up muscle and body tone. Any wonder Fiona seemed to be hanging onto his every gesture? He probably ran circles round all the young, beautiful things in his social set, not to mention the older, less beautiful ones.
It was just as well that she was inured to that kind of obvious charm and good looks. Eric had been good-looking too. A good-looking bounder, as he would have been known decades ago, with an edge of real cruelty that he had cleverly kept hidden at the start.
She shook her head to clear it of unwelcome thoughts. What on earth was wrong with her? She hadn’t given that no-good cad this much attention in years!
‘I’m sorry, I hadn’t realised that it was a question waiting for an answer.’ Her voice sounded normal, polite. Thank heavens. ‘I would have called you, actually...’
‘Would you?’ Jessica frowned suspiciously at him. She almost wished that he was as cold and distant as he had been the first time she had met him. Cold and distant she could deal with. ‘Mark and I are going to Elmsden on the weekend. How would you and Lucy like to come along?’
‘Elmsden?’ She gaped at him in utter confusion. ‘Anthony...! You promised that you would take me up with you the next time you went! You know how much I adore it there...!’
‘It’s purely a utilitarian visit, Fi,’ he said kindly to the distraught girl whose eyes were glazing over with tears. She blinked rapidly and gazed miserably down into her coffee.
Jessica, for reasons unknown, felt like an ogre, even though she had done nothing to provoke this obvious show of disappointment.
‘I really don’t think...’
‘Elmsden’s my parents’ country house. They no longer live there. They retired to sunny isles about four years ago, but it’s fallen to me to make sure that it keeps ticking over, so I do my duty once every six weeks or so...’ He smiled at her, and she had a passing sensation of dizziness. ‘I thought that you and Lucy might enjoy the break.’
‘Because we’re forced by circumstances to remain cooped up in London?’ Jessica said stiffly, and the smile was replaced by a quick frown.
‘Actually, that wasn’t the reason.’
‘No?’ It was almost a relief to be having an argument, though she couldn’t understand why.
‘Oh, Ants, if Francesca doesn’t want to go...’
‘Jessica,’ said Jessica.
‘Then let’s you and I go together. We’ll have a wonderful time! It’s so hot and stuffy here in London at the moment, and you know how divine it is there. We could laze around the pool, doing nothing...’ She gazed at him pleadingly, and Jessica smiled in turn, encouraging him to accept the simple request. It was as if Fiona hadn’t spoken. His attention was focused solely on Jessica. She could feel the intensity of it draining her. ‘To be honest,’ he said lazily, ‘I thought that Mark and Lucy might benefit from it.’ He shrugged lightly. ‘Of course, if you don’t agree...’
Jessica thought rapidly. Hadn’t she spent the past few weeks bemoaning the fact that she hadn’t actively encouraged Mark? Hadn’t she been pleasantly surprised at how stable, well adjusted and normal he was? And this coming weekend couldn’t have been a better one. Lucy had been making noises about vanishing on the Saturday for a party—an all-night party —which had sent shivers down Jessica’s spine. A weekend in the country, she thought, where Lucy would be out of harm’s way, and where Mark would have some undiluted time to preach his gospel on the wisdom of continuing her education. True, there was the drawback of having Anthony around, but there was nothing to fear from that quarter. He had a girlfriend and, even if he hadn’t, he was as uninterested in her as a fish was uninterested in discovering what lay outside the pond.
And from her point of view he was no threat. Her pulses might speed up whenever her eyes happened to tangle with his, but she could handle it. She had spent years mastering the art of handling men.
And, besides, Mark and Lucy would be around, and knowing her daughter there wouldn’t be a moment’s peace. For all her pretence at maturity, Lucy still had the clinginess of a child. ‘Yes, it might be a very nice idea...’ she said slowly, and she glanced apologetically and reassuringly at Fiona. ‘If I could explain. Lucy, my daughter...’
‘Oh, Fiona would be bored rigid by explanations,’ he said, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. He summoned the waiter for the bill, and while they were waiting offered, in a placatory way, to spend the rest of the afternoon dragging himself around Harrods, if that was how Fiona wanted to occupy herself.
‘Not,’ he added, ‘that your parents will love that idea, when the bills come back to them.’
But it worked. Fiona looked cheered at this, and, with some chagrin, Jessica realised that the child obviously had no jealousy of her whatsoever.
Still, it was too late to back down now, and at the end of the day it was a good idea. Wasn’t it?
He turned to her as they stood outside the restaurant, getting their bearings, and said in a low, amused voice, ‘Now, don’t forget—I shall pick you both up on Saturday morning at nine-thirty. That way we can have as much of the weekend as possible.’
Jessica felt a few doubts settle in, but she politely smiled them away.
Nine-thirty. Saturday morning. Yes, it might well do that stubborn daughter of hers a world of good.
CHAPTER FIVE
JESSICA waited until Friday evening before she broke the news about Anthony’s invitation.
She gallantly told herself that this had nothing to do with cowardice. She was merely giving herself time to work out whether she really wanted to go at all. What had seemed a good enough idea at the time had gradually become less and less inviting.
Theoretically, yes, it made sense—throw Mark and Lucy together, and his stabilising influence must wear off on her after a while. A process of osmosis.
On the other hand, might not the whole idea work against her? Mark as the creative rebel, pursuing a career against his father’s wishes, might appeal. Mark, however, as champion of her mother’s causes might hold considerably less appeal. The more Jessica worried at the question, the more uncertain she felt about the whole thing.
But then, a change of mind would involve the fuss of having to get in touch with Anthony Newman and make her apologies, and that held even less appeal.
So a vacillating frame of mind took her to the end of the week until cancelling was out of the question without appearing out-and-out rude.
She waited until Lucy was beginning to nod off in front of the television before she made her announcement. It was still only nine-thirty—surprisingly early—but she had discovered that Lucy, while capable of partying until the wee hours of the morning, seemed to spend most of her time in a state of perpetual drowsiness.
‘Oh, Luce!’ she said, looking up from the newspaper and rousing her daughter from near slumber. ‘I forgot to tell you, but guess who I bumped into at that little French restaurant I went to with Adam?’
‘Miss Evans, roaringly drunk and doing a striptease on a table?’ Miss Evans was the school principal, a spinster in her fifties who ruled the school with a rod of iron. Personally, Jessica felt that she was single-handedly responsible for the high calibre of the teachers and the academic success of the school. Lucy, on the other hand, frequently complained that she had missed a promising career as a prison warden. ‘Anthony Newman,’ she said, ignoring Lucy’s remark. ‘Who’s Anthony Newman?’
Jessica sighed and looked at her daughter with fond exasperation. There were times when she wondered whether Lucy was connected to planet earth at all.
‘Mark Newman’s father. Remember him? We met them at that very same restaurant a few weeks ago.’
‘Oh, yes.’ She tucked her legs under her and appeared to lose interest in the conversation.
‘Anyway,’ Jessica persevered patiently, ‘we had a little chat, and...’
‘I think it’s very odd that you ran into that man. Are you follo
wing him?’ Lucy gave a little snort of amusement at this. ‘It’s not really that odd,’ Jessica replied sharply. ‘It’s obviously a favourite haunt of his.’
‘Some haunt. Most people’s favourite haunts are their local pubs. Well, Mark did say that he’s one of a kind.’ She managed to make this sound as though ‘one of a kind’ implied an undesirable alien of sorts.
‘He’s invited us to go and spend a weekend with them at their country house. He’s coming to collect us tomorrow morning.’ At this Lucy sat up as though she had been struck by a bolt of lightning. The drowsy, semi-bored expression had given way to a ferocious scowl.
‘No way! You can go if you like, but I can’t go. There’s a party tomorrow night, and Robin—’
‘You’re not going to any party,’ Jessica said quietly. ‘I accepted his invitation on behalf of both of us, and you’re coming along if I have to drag you there kicking and screaming.’
‘But, Mum! I have to go to that party! It’s one in a lifetime! It’s an open-air rock concert, and it’s only going to be on for that one night!’
Open-air rock concert? Jessica had an image of unsavoury, long-haired men, and girls dressed in next to nothing, steadily consuming alcohol and Lord only knew what else. You go to that sort of thing over my dead body, she was tempted to say. Instead, she smiled and moderated her voice. ‘Well, you’ll just have to give it a miss, Luce.’
‘I can’t!’
‘It’s not the end of the world. There’ll be another open-air concert some time...’
‘The same could be said for a weekend in the country. I can’t imagine how he’s managed to drag Mark along to that...’
‘Lucy. No arguments. I want you to go upstairs and pack a bag. There’s a pool, apparently, so you can take your swimsuit with you...’
The Unmarried Husband Page 7