'Hang on. You haven't said where you intend taking me tomorrow night,' he reminded her.
'Do I have to take you somewhere? I'll give you a meal here if you like.' Even as the words left her mouth Verity regretted the impulse, but it was too late. Ben was obviously very pleased.
'I'd like that very much. Thank you. Good night, Verity.'
'Good night,' she said faintly, her words lost in the sound of the engine as he put the car in gear and drove away.
CHAPTER FIVE
Verity fully expected to lie awake all night, worrying about the deeply regretted dinner invitation, but she slept like a log all night, surprised when she opened her curtains on grey drizzle the following morning. The heat-wave had petered out into rain instead of the expected storm. With no temptation to lie in the garden Verity did her tidying up early, making as little noise as possible to avoid disturbing Jenny, her mind busy with thoughts of what to give Ben to eat. It was only when she was making her bed that she realised she had a problem not only of what to feed her guest, but where. The one-time dining room was now her bedroom, and the kitchen was very much a kitchen, with no dining area as in more modern houses. The garden would have been the answer if the weather had held up, but as it was Ben Dysart would just have to picnic in the sitting-room and like it.
She was still abstracted as she drank a mid-morning coffee, looking up with an absent smile as Henrietta came in and sat down at the table sleepily.
'Can I scrounge a cup, darling? I've run out—must do some shopping this morning.'
Verity obliged, Henrietta watching her closely.
'Something the matter, Vee?'
Verity nodded, sighing. 'I've invited Ben Dysart here for dinner tonight.'
'Here? Crumbs, love, what came over you?'
'Good question. Must have had too much to drink.'
'He wined and dined you right royally, then?'
Verity brightened. 'He did. A pub somewhere near Broadway. We had a very good meal. In fact I enjoyed the evening much more than I expected.'
'Did you now! Niall's nose will be put out of joint good and proper.' Henrietta smiled knowingly. 'How come you're not seeing him tonight?'
'We had a slight difference of opinion,' said Verity, and changed the subject. 'Come on, if you want to go into town I'll give you a lift. Got any suggestions about my menu for tonight?'
Verity was a fair to middling cook, with two or three recipes kept for special occasions, all of them provided by Henrietta who advised her to stick to one she already knew. A Basque recipe was decided on, chicken breasts cooked with onions, tomatoes, peppers and garlic, and Verity bought cheese to follow it, with the idea of keeping things simple. The money that would have been spent on a first course and a fancy pudding was used to purchase a good wine, and Verity and Henrietta went home to eat a sandwich lunch together before the latter went off to her matinee and Verity put the finishing touches to her housework. As soon as Jenny was up and away to her Richard, Verity ran the vacuum cleaner over her domain, before setting to with Henrietta's version of 'Poulet Basque'.
When Ben Dysart arrived Verity was sitting on the sofa watching a film on television, halfway through a Campari and soda, perfectly cool and collected, with everything in hand. She opened the door to him with a smile which widened as he held out a bottle of wine with one hand and a bunch of perfect apricot-tinted roses with the other.
'Good evening,' he said, smiling. 'A small token of appreciation.'
'Why thank you.' Verity sniffed the roses with delight as she showed Ben into the sitting-room. 'What a heavenly colour.'
'From my mother's garden—Beaute is the official name, her particular passion.' Ben gestured towards the wine. 'Chambred, Verity, if I may make the suggestion.'
She gave him a mocking little curtsy. 'You may. You may have the privilege of opening it too—this is where we're eating, so I'll leave it here.'
Verity flew to the kitchen for the gin and tonic Ben requested and found a white Coalport bowl of her mother's in one of the cupboards for the roses. She took it back with the drink and proceeded to arrange the flowers unselfconsciously while she was talking to Ben.
'When I thought about it afterwards my offer of a meal wasn't much use as far as your alcohol consumption is concerned, Ben.' She smiled at him apologetically and turned back to the roses. 'You still have to drive yourself home.'
Ben sat relaxed in one of the chintz-covered armchairs, watching her deft, graceful movements as he sipped his drink.
'The success of an evening is not how much, or even what one drinks.' His sudden smile lit his face as she looked up from the completed rose-bowl. 'It's the company in which one drinks it.'
'Prettily said!' Verity returned to her seat on the sofa and picked up her glass in salute. 'I'll drink to that.'
'How do you normally spend Saturday evening?' he asked casually.
She shrugged. 'It depends. A meal out somewhere, like last night, sometimes just drinks, occasionally the cinema or the theatre.'
'And always with Gordon?'
Hazel eyes met black ones levelly. 'Yes, but invariably with a group of other people too—most of us in the same line of business, or something connected. We tend to talk shop rather a lot, which makes us a bit insular, I suppose.'
'And last week you had me on your plate as well.' The corners of Ben's wide mouth went down. 'You must have cursed John Randall when he wished me on to you.'
'Yes,' agreed Verity candidly. 'Especially after—' she stopped abruptly.
'After the inauspicious manner of our first meeting,' he finished for her. Verity nodded, looking at him speculatively for so long his eyebrows rose in query. 'What are you thinking about, Verity?'
'I'm beginning to realise that you laugh at me most of the time behind that poker-face,' she said. 'Why do you wear such a mask?'
He hesitated for a moment. 'I've never told anyone this before, but when I first went away to school the only way I could stop myself howling from sheer homesickness was by keeping my face rigid. I missed my parents like hell. One was not expected to get emotive at school, so I learnt to hide my feelings the best way I could. I got over the homesickness eventually, but the facial habit stuck.' Ben kept his eyes on his drink while he was talking, almost as if he were embarrassed, then he drained his glass, looking up to meet the warm sympathy in Verity's eyes head on. She got up to take his glass.
'Poor little boy. Gussie and I cried our eyes out every night at the beginning, but everyone else did as well, so we soon got over it. Let me get you another drink.'
Ben shook his head. 'I'd rather reserve my palate for whatever smells so inviting in your kitchen.'
'It might be as well to reserve judgment until you've eaten it,' Verity warned gaily. 'I'm not much of a cook.'
Ben's rather touching little confession seemed to add a further measure of warmth to the evening, which flew by on wings. The chicken dish had turned out well, to Verity's relief, enhanced by the full, smooth red wine brought by Ben, and they talked easily while they ate, the informality of eating from plates balanced on their knees making for an intimacy a more formal meal might have lacked. Verity was gratified when Ben polished off a second helping of her casserole, and ate quite a quantity of the Stilton that followed it. She was enjoying herself immensely, and was fairly sure that Ben was too, which made her pang of disappointment all the sharper when he rose to go just before midnight. Outside the rain had stopped and the atmosphere was thick and oppressive as she walked to the gate with him. Ben paused before opening it.
'I've enjoyed this evening very much,' he said, taking her hand. 'More even than last night.'
Verity said nothing, wondering why he felt it necessary to vanish before twelve on each occasion if he meant it.
'Shall I see you next week?' he asked.
'It's highly likely if you're still coming into the office every day,' she said, deliberately obtuse.
Ben raised his other hand and touched her cheek with a hard fo
refinger. 'You know quite well that wasn't what I meant.'
Verity kept her eyes steadfastly on the glimmer of his white shirtfront and said nothing. He waited, then laughed softly, with an indulgence that relegated her to the nursery. 'May I take you out again on Monday evening, Miss Marsh?' he asked with exaggerated formality.
'Why?' asked Verity baldly.
'Must I have a reason?'
'Yes.'
'I enjoy your company. Isn't that the normal thing?'
'I suppose so.' Verity sounded doubtful. 'But it's slightly different in our case—'
'I fail to see why. Now. Answer me. Monday—yes or no?'
'I suppose so,' she said almost grudgingly.
'Don't overwhelm me with enthusiasm! I'll pick you up at seven-thirty.' Ben squeezed the hand he held and let it go. 'Thank you for a delicious meal. Good night Verity.'
'Good night,' she echoed automatically, and turned on her heel and stalked up the garden path before he had time to start up the Morgan. There is nothing more annoying, she thought, than to feel annoyed without any real basis for the emotion.
During the week that followed Ben not only took her out for a drink on the Monday, but monopolised the rest of the week as well. Verity insisted on leaving Tuesday and Thursday free for a game of tennis, but under the circumstances neither evening proved very happy, as she came in for a lot of stick from Niall, who was so off-hand as to border on rudeness. She was surprised at how much she enjoyed her evenings with Ben. His company was stimulating and he was a good listener, interested in her childhood and background, and sometimes coming out with odd bits of reminiscence about his own. He was inclined to reticence on his military career, unwilling to discuss his Falklands experiences on the one occasion Verity made a tentative overture on the subject from sheer interest, but now and then coming out with one of the more humorous incidents in his service life.
'Do you miss it?' Verity asked. The fine weather had returned, and after a meal at Marlowe's in the town they were stretched out on garden chairs on the lawn, watching the stars pierce the ink-blue dusk one by one.
'Not so much now—I've been out quite a while. My time's taken up with trying to pour myself into a new mould.' Ben sounded resigned, with an underlying note of sadness. Accustomed by now to his undemonstrative face Verity was learning to detect nuances of expression in his voice as guidelines to his feelings. She wondered if the sadness was due to his brother's death, or whether Ben still felt some lingering regrets in his heart for Gussie, despite his denials. Telling herself to stop indulging in sentimental twaddle, she got up and took his glass.
Ben caught her hand. 'No more for me, Verity. Would you sit down again, please? I'd like to talk to you.'
'I thought we were talking.' Verity was glad to sit down as it happened. Some new note in his voice seemed to have affected her knees.
'I was working up to changing the subject,' he said, and was silent for a while before going on. 'Verity, are you involved with anyone? Romantically or sexually, I mean?'
Verity stiffened. 'No,' she admitted reluctantly.
'Have you ever been in love with a man?'
'No, I don't think so.'
Ben chuckled softly. 'I think you'd be sure if you had.'
'You, no doubt, are better qualified to judge,' she said acidly.
'Possibly. Let me put it this way. I know we made our acquaintance in just about the worst possible manner—and it took you some time to rid yourself of the opinion that I was a two-timing bastard ready to jump into bed with another man's wife at any convenient opportunity.'
'Circumstantial evidence was rather against you,' said Verity reasonably. 'To be very honest I don't know that I'm entirely sure on that particular issue even now.'
She could hardly see Ben in the gathering darkness, but she knew very well he was angry, his tension communicating itself to her quite plainly.
'Only time will substantiate my assurances, apparently,' he said with irony. 'For the moment I rest my case. What I was trying to say, however, is that now I think we're on a different footing. I enjoy being with you, and I'm fairly certain you enjoy being with me. You're too honest to spend time with me if it isn't at least moderately agreeable to you. Am I right?'
'I suppose you are,' she said slowly, half afraid of where all this was leading. 'But I know several men whose company comes in the same category.'
'Do any of them want to marry you?' he said swiftly.
'Well, no.' Verity frowned in the darkness. It was galling in the extreme, she found, to be forced to admit it.
'Have you been waiting for the love at first sight of popular romance, Verity? Were you hoping that some day your prince would come?' The sarcasm stung her on the raw.
'I'm not aware that I've been waiting for anything, or any one,' she snapped. 'Why should I? I have a job I love, a lot of friends, I already possess a home, not to mention a loving mother and a very nice stepfather ready to welcome me with open arms any time I wish. I've never been conscious of the slightest lack. This romantic love you talk about just isn't my style. I'm fairly sure it would embarrass me if ever it did rear its unlikely head!'
'Exactly!' The satisfaction in his voice was positively smug. 'My reading of your character in a nut-shell. From the start I felt you were more interested in the practicalities of life rather than the world well lost for love.'
Verity had had enough. She got to her feet irritably. 'I'm going in for some coffee,' she said curtly. 'Do you want some, or is it already past your bed-time—I can't see my watch.'
'As I've by no means finished yet,' he said patiently, 'perhaps you won't mind if I have some coffee too. At my age one needs a stimulant to keep awake after eleven.'
The irony in his voice made Verity grin unwillingly as she switched on the lights in the kitchen. He sat on a corner of the kitchen table, looming large in the small room as she poured boiling water into two mugs and handed him one.
'Only instant, I'm afraid. Sugar and milk on the tray.'
Ben looked at her curiously, as if wondering why she seemed annoyed.
'Shall we sit in your drawing-room for a few minutes while I finish my spiel?' he suggested. 'Having gone this far I'll finish if it kills me, or at least before I begin to wonder if it's worth it.'
Verity stalked ahead of him with dignity, switching on the lamps in the homely, comfortable room that had never rejoiced in the title of 'drawing-room' before. She sat down on the sofa with an air of exaggerated patience, stiffening when Ben turned off all the lights except one before sitting beside her.
'Right,' he said, in a businesslike way that antagonised her even further. 'Let me map out my suggestion. You apparently neither require nor welcome the idea of the so-called grande passion. Having experienced it myself I think you're very wise—it's not to be recommended as a way of life, I assure you.' He paused, as if expecting her to say something, but Verity preserved a dignified silence. 'On my part,' Ben went on, 'I like you a great deal, Verity. You're not only very attractive, but practical and clever, and I admit freely you could be a great deal of help to me.'
Verity turned bright, cold eyes on his watchful face. 'Are you offering me a job?'
Ben stared at her, exasperated. 'No! I'm asking you to marry me.'
She nodded dully. 'I rather thought you were.'
There was a tense silence. Both of them sat very still, each holding an untouched mug of coffee. Verity looked younger than usual in a dress of pink-and-white striped cotton, its dropped waist and demure round collar a contrast to the tailored sophistication of most of her clothes. Warily she cast a look at Ben, who was waiting for her to make some kind of response. He too looked different, his black linen trousers and white shirt conventional enough, but something in their combination with curling black hair giving him the look of an elegant brigand.
'The idea obviously doesn't appeal,' he said at last.
Verity's chin lifted. 'I don't see how you thought it would!'
'Why?'
/> 'Why!' She turned to him angrily. 'You may look on marriage as a business proposition, but I don't. I wouldn't choose a husband merely because he's well-qualified for the post; I'd need—want—something much more than that.' She calmed down a little, adding, 'What exactly would be required from me if I accepted?'
'A child,' said Ben curtly. 'Otherwise I'm the one bestowing the worldly goods.'
Verity looked away. 'I see. From the way you put it I rather felt you wanted me to run the estate for you.'
'Thank you, no.' Ben was offended, and for once showed it. 'With the help of a farm manager my father does that, and as soon as I'm able to I shall take over. My view was that your involvement in land management would provide us both with a great deal more common interest than most couples.' He stared at his coffee mug blankly as though he had no idea how it came to be in his hand, and Verity relieved him of it, glad of something to do as she put it down with her own on a table. Ben frowned and began again. 'My parents are getting rather insistent on the subject of a wife, and I feel sure you're exactly the type of woman they have in mind. To me you seem the logical choice, and frankly I don't see why you should be upset.'
'I can see that,' said Verity sadly. 'I'm sorry. The answer is no.'
Ben jumped to his feet and stood with legs apart, staring down at her, his brows meeting in a face less deadpan than usual. Verity met his hostile look with a composure that hid her inner quaking.
'Am I allowed to ask why? he asked, with considerable control.
'We don't know each other well enough,' she said colourlessly. This was the merest tip of her iceberg of reasons, but she felt disinclined to explain further.
'A deficit soon remedied,' he said at once.
'I don't think it would make any difference.' To her dismay Verity gave an involuntary little yawn, due to nerves more than weariness.
Ben turned on his heel. 'I'll say good night, Verity, before I bore you to death.'
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