‘Mmm. Yes. I think I could have fitted in there. I did once think about journalism as a career.’ And, chatting light-heartedly, they wandered along a sun-dappled path to the bend of a bluff where Jake slid to the ground and reached into the saddlebag for the lunch which had been prepared for them.
When they had eaten Ginny lay back with a sigh of contentment, comfortable on the soft dry vegetation, drowsy with the heat and unusual exercise, at last giving in to the temptation to close her eyes for just a moment. It was simply... irresistible.
Straightaway she was in a dream—not entirely asleep, but drifting in that delicious half-world where the impossible began to take on an aspect of probability, where... Her lips parted on a sigh of sheer longing and were brushed by...
Her eyelids flicked open and she caught the gleam of white teeth, eyes an even darker violet than... Her heart was hammering against her chest, her mind glazed with yearning, but at least she didn’t panic, she congratulated herself.
‘Jake!’ Her voice was lazily reproving, and she flapped a hand, as if at an irritating insect, and pulled her sunglasses from her pocket and adjusted them so they afforded maximum protection. ‘Jake, are you one of those irritating people who hate to see others peacefully enjoying...?’
‘It was a momentary lapse, m’lud. I don’t know what came over me.’ The humour faded, the intense eyes searched her features. ‘Except...I can’t promise not to reoffend.‘ He sighed deeply and lay back on one elbow. ‘In any event, I thought you had slept long enough and I have so many questions I want to ask. You do realise I know very little about you—just that your father was in the army and that you might have become a journalist instead of an attorney.’
‘Ah.’ Ginny half-smiled at the last remark but replied seriously. ‘Dad was in the army before I was born.’ She rose and began to busy herself with minor adjustments to Lucy’s reins. ‘I remember nothing about that. He left the army just before I came on the scene, went into practice in Berkshire, dropped the “Martyn” from his surname and we never moved from the house where I was born.’
‘And what were they like, your parents?’
‘Well...’ How strange to be talking of her father to this man, and yet it was less fraught than she might have feared. ‘Dad was a quiet man in a way, a bit older than Mum but with a brilliant sense of humour. We laughed a lot. He could find something amusing in most circumstances. And Mother...’
Remembering, her lips curved. ‘The very first thing you’d have noticed was that she was so very attractive. And bright. And popular, but also...’ She was expressing an idea which had lingered vaguely at the back of her mind for a long time. ‘Also unfulfilled, I suppose you would say. She would never have said so, but I think she regretted not having gone to university, or art college, perhaps.’
Suddenly she remembered the picture that she’d given to Hugo last night, and decided that avenue was best avoided. ‘She married young and missed out on having a career. Life was different in those days.’ She sighed reminiscently. ‘As far back as I can remember she was determined I should do something with my life.’
‘Well.’ Jake studied her averted profile. ‘In that respect she must have been pretty happy with the outcome.’
‘Yes, she was.’ Ginny’s smile won over her sorrow. ‘She and Dad were pleased as punch—even more so when I started with such an old company in London.’
‘And marriage? Did she never long for you to meet a suitable young man, settle down with him and start a family?’
‘If she did—’ her tone was slightly sharp ‘—she kept it very much to herself.’ How could this man know how much anguish he was causing? Standing there looking at him, knowing how she felt, conscious that her first and only duty was to hide those feelings, she knew she must not allow this conversation to continue. ‘Shall we go on?’
‘If that is what you want.’ Lazily he got to his feet and stretched. ‘For myself, I am perfectly content to stay here for the rest of the afternoon, but we can head back via the lake. With luck we might be in time to see some ducks coming in. Now...’ He took a step closer. ‘If you want a hand up...’
But Ginny was disturbed by the very image of placing her foot in his cupped hands, by the thought of the easy power which would lift her up and into the saddle. So disturbed that she didn’t wait, just put her foot into the stirrup and swung herself up, and spent a moment fussing with the reins before she judged herself calm enough to look at him.
She found him standing there, hands on hips, eyebrows raised in mild amusement. Turning away, he casually tossed the word ‘Chicken’ over his shoulder, and it seemed so very apt that vexed colour flooded into her cheeks, making her glad he was no longer looking in her direction.
When they at last got back to the house, the sun was dropping down beneath the horizon and she dismounted at the house while Jake led Lucy back to the stables. It was a relief to have a quick swim followed by a leisurely hot shower, with all the time she needed to lavish on hair and skin.
Then, dressed in a simple skirt and blouse, she went down to the kitchen where she set about making tea. Inside she was surging with all kinds of rampant emotions, feelings she would not admit had anything to do with the knowledge that she and Jake were alone in the house. And yet the very fact that Martha, the housekeeper, was taking a few days’ holiday was right at the forefront of her mind—reason enough for nervous dismay as well as rising excitement.
Reflecting on this contradictory state of mind, she poured herself some tea, and was just reaching for a second cup when Jake strode into the kitchen.
‘I’m taking you out to dinner tonight.’ His back was to her as he scrubbed his hands, and then he swung round and paused, his attention caught by her unguarded expression. ‘I thought you might like to go to the country club.’
‘Oh.’ It was ridiculous to feel even a twinge of disappointment, but she had been so busy planning, looking forward to an entire evening alone... And yet, how much more sensible to avoid the temptations of such an intimate situation. ‘I hope you don’t feel you have to lay on an outing for me. In fact, if you’d prefer to go on your own...’
The violet eyes were very intense and searching. ‘Is that what you really think, Ginny?’
‘I...’ Her skin grew warm. ‘I would hate to think I was being a nuisance.’
‘For God’s sake.’ Reaching out for the biscuit tin he wrenched off the lid with barely controlled anger. ‘Do you work at being obtuse? Can’t you get the message? I like having you here. Repeat, I don’t actually find you a nuisance. At least, not that much of one.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She wanted to soothe him. ‘Tell me, what does one wear to go to the country club? I didn’t come prepared for a series of sophisticated outings.’ With relief she saw him relax.
‘Oh...casual more than sophisticated.’ He was standing in the doorway, long legs crossed at the ankle, drinking tea and looking at Ginny who was now sitting, gently rocking, in one of the chairs by the fireside. ‘And I would think whatever you wear you’ll outshine every other woman there by a factor of ten.’
There was a moment of leaping, searing pleasure when she allowed her mind to float free before struggling to bring things back into perspective. ‘Jake!’ The reprimand was designed to repress her own joy and trepidation. For if he was to speak like this, behave like this, even without touching her, for heaven’s sake, what hope was there? ‘It will have to be the same skirt I wore in New York.’
‘That old thing.’ He sighed provocatively and grinned. ‘Well, if you must...’
And later on, slipping it over her head, she smiled to herself, made up her mind to keep things cool, to enjoy herself and make the most of the occasion. So long as she maintained a sensible degree of control there was no reason whatsoever why they shouldn’t have a perfectly pleasant evening.
Riffling through the hangers in her wardrobe was not an exhausting task, but she wished she had something other than the white blouse—but then she saw her favourite black
stretchy silk top. How could she have forgotten? Eagerly her hands reached out for it.
And it was perfect. True, it showed a vast amount of honey-coloured skin, a generous curve of breast, but it was demure in a subtle way, with long tight sleeves. And so elegant. She rummaged in her small jewellery box and found a velvet choker with her grandma’s gorgeous brooch... A tear stung unexpectedly at her eyes. Except that she hadn’t been her grandmother, any more than Tom had been her father...
Damn. Impatiently she blinked and decided to redo her hair, using some combs to twist it into a casual knot on top of her head.
There! Her reflection pleased her. This was more stylish. It made her neck seem longer and showed off the dangling earrings to match the choker. High heels tonight, rather than boots, and she was ready. Face lightly made-up, eyelashes a mite longer and darker than usual, lips just touched with a soft pink... She didn’t dare keep Jake waiting a moment longer.
Down the long curving staircase she walked, head high, fingers lightly skimming the balustrade. There was no doubt about it—looking good was synonymous with feeling good. Then Jake stepped from the shadows and stood there, watching. It made her hesitate, aware of the blood pounding in her veins, before she calmed herself again and reached the hall.
Jake came forward then, stood looking for so long that she could feel temptation, sweet and dangerous, flooding through her. He took her hand and raised it to his mouth. ‘By a factor of twenty.’ His voice was slightly ragged. He turned and led her to the door.
Afterwards, Ginny wondered how she had ever reached it, for she could have sworn her legs were incapable of supporting her.
CHAPTER SIX
A BALMY night, an open roadster, a tape of the most insidiously romantic music, a devastatingly handsome man at the wheel—what more could a girl ask for? she asked herself with a desperate determination to mock. Nothing, was the daunting reply to the cynical query. There was nothing more in the world she would ask for, and if she were fated, like the Flying Dutchman, to travel like this through all eternity, then she would happily, joyfully, embrace her fate.
But all too soon they were turning from the road into a wide driveway, then pulling up beside a cluster of low buildings with Spanish-style arches, wrought-iron and tumbling bougainvillea.
Jake’s touch was protective as he helped her from the car. ‘I hope the wind hasn’t blown your hair about.’ A finger tracing across her forehead set off tiny shock waves.
‘No.’ Did her voice sound strangled? ‘No, I’m sure it’s fine.’ Reaching up for a businesslike examination, her hand encountered his, and was instantly captured. He led her towards the subdued light of the foyer.
‘You’re right, of course.’ He held open the glass door. ‘You’re quite perfect.’ Gentle mockery was a perfect antidote for the compliment—a blessing, since she mustn’t allow herself to be convinced. That would be the most stupid thing of all...
Then they were in the bar, threading their way through the amiable chattering crowd of people, several of whom exchanged greetings with Jake. She was seated at a table while he wandered off to speak with one of the waiters.
At the far side of the room she caught sight of the Colonel, distinctive in carriage and dress even with his back to them. Switching her gaze to Jake, she was just in time to see a woman detach herself from one of the groups and greet him with extreme affection. She kissed him on each cheek before, wide-eyed with wonder, she gazed up at him, both hands flat against his chest.
More of a girl than a woman, Ginny decided with a jealous pang, hardly more than twenty.
Blonde hair tumbled over gorgeous sun-tanned shoulders, rippling in waves very nearly to her waist. Her navy minidress did nothing to hide her shapely figure and long legs... They were coming across. Jake was smiling down at some remark, while she...she flashed her white teeth and the gleam in the blue eyes suggested she had just won the State lottery.
Why, Ginny asked herself with a feeling of despair, was she being so bitchy?
Seconds later Jake was murmuring introductions which were barely acknowledged on the girl’s part. ‘Oh... Hi.’ The cursory glance told Ginny she did not rate highly—an attitude she could only admire since she hated the tearing envy she was feeling for Jake’s ‘friend and neighbour, Bonnie White’. Hated that sun-streaked blonde hair, those long legs. Hated the way the baby-blue eyes widened when Jake said anything even remotely amusing.
‘I think your friends are going in now, Bonnie.’ Oh, yes, and she hated that soft, indulgent note in Jake’s voice when he spoke to this...ingénue.
‘Oh, yes.’ The child pouted, fluttered her lashes. ‘But I shan’t go unless... I want to see you while you’re here, Jake...you promise you will call me? Promise?’ She wheedled.
‘I promise.’ He smiled patiently. ‘As soon as I can.’
‘Don’t forget.’ There was a hint of imperiousness as she rose and began to move away. Then she tossed back, ‘Oh, goodbye Miss... It’s been so nice.’ And she was at once absorbed into the group being shepherded in the direction of the restaurant at the same time as a waiter came and placed long glasses of icy drinks on the table in front of them.
‘What a very pretty girl.’ Her voice rang with insincerity even though she was speaking the simple truth.
‘Yes.’ His tone was dry as he followed the direction of her glance. ‘Yes, she grows prettier each time I see her.’
‘A neighbour, you say?’ Her voice was clipped, and she refused to look at him, concentrating her attention on the comings and goings of others.
‘Yes.’ His attention was concentrated on her face; she had the odd idea that he was in some way amused. ‘Her parents own the land adjoining ours.’
‘I see.’ Such scrutiny was making her feel foolish, slightly embarrassed and maybe even overwrought—which might have been why her next comment was very nearly a blunder. ‘I suppose all these old families—’ She had been about to say ‘intermarry’. She bit the word off. ‘Are lifelong friends...allies.’
And, since it was becoming impossible to resist the strong pull he exerted, she flicked back her lashes and looked at him. She was immediately taken aback and confused by his smiling expression.
‘Mmm.’ He composed his features. ‘Yes, they are both of those. And often, very often, they do marry each other. Is that what you were about to ask?’
‘No.’ Indignation and embarrassment fought for control. ‘Why should I ask that when it’s of no interest?’
‘Oh.’ There was sighing mockery from Jake. ‘How disappointing. I was sure you were going to say how foolish it would be for me and Bonnie to...’
‘You are being ridiculous.’ But his attitude was a relief. She felt the beginnings of a smile. ‘But, since you mention it, and if my opinion were sought, then I should be forced to say there would seem to be positive advantages...’ A weary sigh from him was ignored, but she couldn’t resist another tiny barb—it was a way of getting back at Bonnie. ‘Besides, your parents would be delighted.’
‘You think so?’ He appeared to consider her comments seriously.
‘Bound to be, I imagine. Isn’t it what all landowners do? Try to match their acres with their children?’
‘Mmm.’ He frowned, raised his glass and drank without taking his eyes from hers. ‘Tell me, Ginny, did your father have a partner?’
‘Ye-es.’ She was suspicious. ‘A junior partner.’
‘And did your parents ever point out the advantages of you marrying his junior partner?’
A picture of Donald Mackay flashed into her mind—short, stout and, she suspected, middle-aged before he’d reached primary school. But she repressed her desire to laugh and shook her head soberly as she prepared to perjure her way out of this absurd conversation. ‘No. You see, you didn’t ask if his partner was a man...or a woman.’
‘Well...’ His eyes sparkled as if he could see right through her deceit but was prepared to go along with the joke. ‘I admit that could affect the outcome.
’ And then, before any more could be said on the subject, a waiter came to tell them their table was ready and they moved into the dining room.
Ginny’s first impression was of discreet lighting, trees and plants in huge pots, and a rich and elegant clientele eating and talking against a background of subdued but rhythmic music. When they were shown to their table at the far end, she saw the room was entirely open to a small terrace with a parquet area where already one or two couples were moving in time to the Latin beat.
The staff were attentive and the meal delicious: spicy guacamole, barbecued seafood kebabs with salad and passion-fruit mousse for dessert.
‘You must have been hungry.’ Jake leaned forward to refill her glass.
‘I was.’ She grinned as she manoeuvred the last tiny spoonful of mousse from her dish, sighing with pleasure as she dabbed her mouth with her napkin. ‘I was, and the food was quite wonderful. Thank you.’
‘Perhaps you would like another of those?’ He indicated the empty dessert glass.
‘No,’ she replied, with a shade of reluctance. ‘Though I confess, I am tempted. But, no—too much might just spoil the overall effect. But...I would love to have the recipe, if that could be arranged.’
He grinned, shaking his head. ‘Michel would be flattered, and would doubtless be happy to give you the recipe—minus one or two ingredients so the results would compare unfavourably with his. No, best to ask Martha. I’m sure she can make something very similar. She should be back within a week or so.’
‘Jake.’ Her tone was outraged. ‘You know I can’t possibly hang on here for that length of time.’
‘Relax. Relax.’ He was smiling. ‘I was teasing.’ His hand reached out and covered hers. The smile faded, his expression grew serious, carefully persuasive, which puzzled her until she remembered how unpredictable she had been—alternately encouraging and discouraging. ‘But why don’t you take my advice, make it easy for yourself and stay for a day or two?’
How she wished she could allow herself to do just that—even remembering the reason why she must not was like a blow to her heart. How she wished she could blot it all from her mind, longed for the innocence which would give her the freedom to follow her own instincts and...
A Reckless Affair Page 8