‘I think everyone who sees you will know that.’
‘As she said, we’ve been lucky. I’ve been more than lucky to have had...’ His voice trailed away as he withdrew into his own thoughts and Ginny sat quietly, dreaming her own dreams, coming back to the present when she felt his eyes, colouring up when she met his quizzical expression.
‘One thing Marion said tonight—I want you to know how much I agree. Your parents were—oh, God—are very proud of you.’
‘Oh...’ Again she felt shaken, longing to weep.
‘And I’m sorry if at first I was discouraging. It all came as something of a shock, to hear the name and then...’ He looked down at the letter he was still holding. ‘And then to learn that, in contradiction of everything I’ve believed, I have a daughter.’
‘It must be strange.’ The build-up of emotions she dared not show was almost overwhelming, and in an attempt at diversion she reached out for the other things her mother had kept. She extracted a small painting. ‘This—I’m not sure if it means anything to you, but...I see Mother painted it.’ A finger touched the initials in one corner. ‘It’s just possible the “J” could be taken for a “T”, so conceivably my father Tom could have painted it. They were both arty.’
‘This...’ His voice shook, was very low. ‘This is the view from the balcony of our hotel. Where we spent the last few days.’ And where her life had actually begun. Ginny was surprised by the power of her own emotions.
‘And here...I’m sure you’ll recognise them—are two American cap badges, and one or two photographs—though... I don’t think I can identify either of you.’
‘Ah, that was a mess function. I remember one or two faces, but the names... Long since gone.’
‘And I brought a photograph—one of the last taken of my parents together.’ Ginny handed over the snapshot, saw his face contort as he recognised Jane.
‘Ah... Ah, yes. She...she had hardly changed, except perhaps to grow more beautiful, and Tom...well, I hardly remember him. We met so briefly.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Impulsively, forgetting her initial restraint, she leaned forward and touched his hand. ‘Sorry to bring you so much pain, but for myself—I can’t say I regret coming. Not even if I was quite wrong.’
‘Of course you weren’t wrong.’ Rising, he placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I know as well as anyone how powerful—’ From outside the sound of voices caused him to break off. ‘Anyway, I think Jake is back and... You know that Marion and I leave tomorrow?’
‘Yes, Jake did say. A cruise, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. All rather badly arranged. Originally it was scheduled for next week, but the sailing date was changed so... It’s all been too much of a rush. We sail to Hawaii then on to Singapore.’
‘Thank you for being so understanding.’
‘Thank you for having the courage. And, you know, when we get back home—’ He broke off again as the door opened and Jake stood there.
‘Have you had your talk, then?’
‘Yes.’ It was an effort to act normally but Ginny managed a smile. ‘Mission accomplished. I’ve done what I set out to do.’
‘And I was just about to suggest, Jake, that she stay on here for a day or two, to keep you company.’
‘Oh, I don’t think...’ It was important to nip this idea in the bud. ‘I snatched only a few days’ leave...’
‘Well...’ Jake held the door open. ‘I’m going to snatch you off for a swim now. The moon is coming up and when you see that...’ As he spoke Jake pulled loose his tie and began to unbutton his shirt. ‘So, I’ll meet you in the hall in five minutes.
‘Oh.’ He turned back. ‘I saw Mother—she’s almost asleep.’
‘Yes, I’m just going.’ Hugo spoke to his son’s retreating back, then to Ginny. ‘You’ll give me time to think about all this?’
‘As far as I’m concerned, the matter is finished. I’ve done what I wanted to do and now I feel life will return to something like normal. As soon as I can, I’m going back to London to get on with my life.’
‘Thank you, Ginny. And I shall be in contact.’ He smiled, and for a moment she could see just what had attracted her mother so powerfully. ‘Now off you go and enjoy your swim.’
CHAPTER FOUR
HOW could she? How could she enjoy her swim when her mind was teeming with so many contrary impressions? That the rhetorical question was inconsistent with her actions as she struggled into her bikini did not occur to her.
Her New York hotel had been advertised as having its own pool, which was why she had brought it with her, but it would have been perfectly easy to deny its existence. Only... She brushed the hair back from her face with half-amused cynicism... Only, she loved to swim—spent much of her spare time in the pool at her club—finding it the perfect way to relax after a stressful day. And the interview with Hugo...
But, enjoy herself? No chance. Mend herself. That would be more to the point. A blouse was draped about her shoulders, feet thrust into sandals, and she ran down the staircase, out of the side door and into the garden.
And what a place to unwind. At first she thought she had the garden and pool to herself—perfect, as far as she was concerned, for the ambience could hardly have been improved. The scented air was like silk against her skin and the full moon sailing above massive treetops had touched everything with silver.
She held her breath. She walked forward, tossing her blouse in the direction of a lounger, enjoying the touch of cool tiles against her feet, toes curling round the edge as she prepared to dive. Then, in the shadow of the rose arbour, something moved. Jake came slowly towards her.
Determined to be unaware of him, she tried to be unmoved by so much male perfection—wide, bronzed shoulders, narrow hips clad in dark trunks, long, powerful legs which were no surprise since she knew, from the dinner conversation, that he was a keen sportsman. But what misery that she must not allow herself to dwell... The professional woman in her strove to stay detached.
‘I was beginning to think you had changed your mind.’ There was amusement in the deep voice, forcing her onto the defensive. She could not allow him to find her in the least bit nervous... Or even to suspect a guilty secret...
‘Now, why should you think that?’
‘Oh.’
The amazing eyes had a black, silvery glitter in this light and were absorbing detail, making her regret that she had lingered on the edge. If she had dived beneath the surface...
Now his attention was on her hair which was surely in disarray. His gaze moved in a leisurely way across her face...shoulders...body...legs. She was irritated with herself that her reaction was so warm—where was all the detachment she had promised herself seconds ago?—but pleased that she was looking good.
Her legs had always been long and slender, her figure not too bad—certainly this navy polka-dot bikini was flattering, if a bit on the scanty side. She caught fiercely at her revealing thoughts—come to think of it, how much better if she had been a head shorter in the circumstances—and maybe fifty pounds heavier, or...
‘Oh, I thought...fatigue...or some other reason,’ he said mockingly.
‘Well, you could have a point, but the prospect of a moonlight swim...’ He’d better believe that, she thought. And, in an effort to bring the matter to a close, she turned and with a neat running dive broke the surface of the water.
She began a steady, powerful crawl, and realised at once that she was being paced. After several lengths, knowing escape was impossible, she paused, leaned against the end rail and settled into a half-seated posture, allowing her feet to float while he trod water, looking at her.
‘What a perfect night.’ Her face was raised to the heavens. ‘So warm and beautiful.’
‘We have lots of nights like this in Virginia.’ The pitch of his voice was a blatant invitation to flirtation.
‘So.’ She allowed him a casual, amused glance. ‘I hope you count your blessings.’
‘Oh, I do,’ he assured
her with mocking humility. ‘Every last one, Miss Ginny.’
‘Idiot,’ she laughed, splashing him with water.
‘No, seriously.’ He joined her at the rail. ‘I do know how lucky I’ve been.’ Then he reached out, twisted a lock of her sodden hair. ‘You ought to have worn a cap. You’ll be up until all hours drying it.’
‘Hmm. I forgot to bring one. I’d imagined a decorous little dip in the hotel pool instead...’
‘Instead of the abandoned time we’re having here?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t have put it in those terms.’ Refusing to look at him directly, she found herself nevertheless forced to exercise iron control. ‘Pleasant. Relaxing, perhaps, rather than abandoned.’
It was a mistake to repeat that last word when the mental images were so disturbing—his hair sleek against his head like a black cap, the broad chest with its scatter of dark hair and... The thought of touching it with her fingertips was so arousing... ‘But, I admit, it has much more going for it than a dingy hotel pool.’
Her pushed himself away from the side, ‘Well, come on. Another few lengths and then I invite you to hot chocolate and cookies in the kitchen.’
‘Oh, I think bed, don’t you?’
‘And then bed. I’m not suggesting an all-night rave.’
‘I do realise that.’ She replied a trifle sharply. Why did he persist with his efforts to distract?
‘Is there a hair-drier in your room?’
‘I don’t know, but in any case I have my own with me. It won’t take long...’
‘Right.’ They had reached the end near the house and he stood watching as she climbed from the pool, pausing at the top to hitch the strap of her bikini. ‘You go on in and dry your hair. I shall meet you in the hall in twenty minutes.’
‘I’m not sure—’ she began, but he had swum off before she had time to inform him that, in fact, she was sure—quite sure—she would not be taking him up on his offer.
Even after a swift shower and hair-rinsing session, when she sat in front of the dressing-table mirror wielding the drier, she was resolute. For one thing she really was tired—physically, at least. Emotionally she felt as if she were on some sort of high. Scarcely surprising since it had been a hectic day in every sense.
Her dried hair was looking its best—soft and bouncy, gleaming with highlights. And yet, what was the harm? When it was the one thing in the world she wanted to do, and when she knew the score, where was the harm?
Very soon she would be back in London and the memories would have to last for the rest of her life. She was entitled to some memories, for heaven’s sake. Rather like her mother in that respect, now she thought of it. Except that Jane had had glorious, vivid memories, whereas she could never...
No! No! She was shocked by the way her mind was betraying her.
But, in any case, she now knew that what she felt for Jake was liking, nothing more. A strong liking, certainly, but that probably had a great deal to do with their inherited genes. She had, in the past, met several men whom she had liked as much—well, almost as much as Jake Vanbrugh—it was simply this special situation which gave everything an extra edge.
Reassured by that knowledge, she sighed her relief and reached out for her kaftan, which she pulled on over her short nightie. Then a quick spray of Givenchy perfume and she was running down the curving staircase before she had time to think of an opposing theory.
It was only when she caught sight of Jake, appearing from the direction of the kitchen, that she became more circumspect. She must remember that he was in total ignorance. Putting one hand on the balustrade, she slowed down. He paused when he caught sight of her, watching as she took the last few steps, a faint smile curving his mouth as she stood in front of him.
‘So.’ The warmth in his voice brought surging excitement to her chest. She was perversely pleased when his glance took in all the shimmering peacock colours of her floor-length robe. ‘I wondered if perhaps you would change your mind...’
Best to be severe—to cool her own imagination if for no other reason. ‘As I recall, I was given very little choice. Any protest I made was swept aside.’
‘Which makes you the perfect guest,’ he teased, before propelling her with a touch on the elbow through a door and into the kitchen which, although obviously high tech, was very much antebellum in style.
A large oak table and chairs were in the centre of the floor, with various dressers round the walls—one displaying blue and white china, another filled with copper cooking pots. An arch led to an annexe where an enormous electric cooker, refrigerator and freezer, all white and gleaming, ruled supreme. And here was another dresser, displaying an assortment of simple pottery, most in a dark reddish clay. She leaned forward to examine them more easily.
‘Those are early American redware pieces—the everyday dishes used by the first settlers. Extremely common at one time, so therefore little valued. Now, though, they are becoming quite collectable.’
‘Interesting.’ Ginny turned, seeing the room from a different angle. The flagstoned floor was very much the colour of the dishes, dark terracotta, but with a modern treatment which gave it a soft gleam. Here and there peg rugs were scattered, with a very large one in front of the fireplace, which was a large inglenook where flames were flickering.
‘Not the real thing.’ Jake indicated that she should take one of the rocking chairs flanking the fireplace. As she did so she was given a long brass toasting fork, and a bowl of marshmallows was put on a nearby table. ‘The fire, I mean. When the house was built logs would have burned here day and night, but now the fire is part of the heating system—on and off at the touch of a switch. But it’s fine for toasting marshmallow, so, if you’d like to start, I’ll go and see to the hot chocolate.’
‘This is a job.’ She frowned, concentrating as she introduced the sweetmeat to the fork. ‘One I’ve never done before.’
‘No? Well, with your training, you can surely cope.’ The gentle irony made her smile as she lay back against the cushions, extending bare feet to the flames, watching a wisp of sugary smoke begin to rise. Behind her, from the annexe, there were the sounds of china clinking, water boiling and being poured. It was all so comfortingly domestic.
Then he was back, taking up the conversation where it had been left. ‘This is one of the things I remember from when I was a kid. We’d spend a winter’s afternoon tobogganing, then we’d come back here for hot drinks and toast.’ He sat opposite, and she watched intently as the strong planes of his face were illuminated by the flickering firelight. The little half-smile and the gleam in his eyes indicated how happy those days had been. Then he shot a swift glance towards her. ‘I suppose you did that too.’
‘Not that, specifically.’ Unexpectedly she was enveloped in a wave of sheer resentment—this ought to have been her background, these her memories, not simply ones to be enjoyed vicariously. Why had she missed out on so much? Her mother too. It was unfair...
Guilt took over then. How could she have even a second’s regret when her parents had been everything loving parents could be...? ‘But we had many other happy times,’ she said firmly. She took the large cup he was offering. ‘Mmm.’ It was heavy and needed two hands as she carefully replaced it on the saucer. ‘Quite delicious.’
Ginny nibbled on a cookie, then, as directed, dropped one of the toasted mallows into the cup and drank through it. ‘Help!’ She licked the froth from her upper lip, smiling as Jake handed her a tissue.
Lying back in his chair, he seemed content to watch her. His legs, clad in dark cotton, were stretched out to the blaze, pale silk shirt open at the throat. She marvelled, not for the first time, that she had allowed this man to dictate to her, to undermine her judgements with such ease, but...
They were so insidious, all her feelings. So novel, demolishing all her decisions. Worry began to gnaw at her again. She raised the cup to her mouth then replaced it with the kind of thump which might have been a statement.
‘Jake.
’ Now she looked away from him, though she sensed her tone had made his eyes narrow. ‘I must think about getting back to New York. Do you know anything about flights? I thought tomorrow...’
‘I thought we would go back together—as we came down.’ Under the contemplative tone she sensed irritation which she felt she ought to deflect. The last thing she wanted was open disagreement.
‘Well, of course, you know—you must know—and I’ve said it before—travelling by private jet is much more comfortable in every way...’
‘Really?’
Now she did look. And though he was unsmiling she caught a touch of humour.
‘I was beginning to think this determination to travel commercial meant you had misgivings about the pilot.’
‘You must know better than that.’ Time to be light-hearted, even slightly crushing—she imagined that he was not the kind of man who came across that reaction too often. ‘I made quite sure you did not see my crossed fingers during take-off and landing.’
‘No.’ He was perfectly straight-faced. ‘I was unaware of the crossed fingers, but I could see your feet firmly pressed on the floor as you tried to brake.’
‘Now that,’ she began indignantly, ‘is completely untrue.’ Then, when he laughed, she joined in with a little reluctance. ‘I had total confidence in you as a pilot. So there. And I didn’t mean to tell you that. But, to get back to the journey...’
‘Well, tomorrow is going to be rather awkward. The parents are going to Washington so the jet will be in use...’
‘Are you taking them there?’
‘No. Dad is piloting the plane himself and someone will fly it back here, so if you’ll have a little patience... Besides—’ now his expression was more cautious ‘—I have plans for us.’
‘You have?’ She raised what she hoped was a sceptical eyebrow. ‘But since the whole purpose of my visit has been accomplished...’
‘Ah, yes. I was meaning to ask, how was your chat?’
A Reckless Affair Page 6