Desirable Property

by Catherine George

  'What a day!' Verity shook her head and cut a large slice of meat pie. 'I'm very glad you got home so quickly, Ben—I wasn't relishing the prospect of a night alone here by candlelight—even with Taff here to keep me company.'

  'Nice to know I'm welcome.' Ben strolled over to the sink with his empty mug.

  Verity eyed him warily as she cut some thick slices of bread and buttered them, but the flickering, dim light hid his expression. In the worn, functional clothes he looked tough and somewhat unapproachable, but there was no hostility in his manner as he asked what he could do to help.

  'Nothing. It's not exactly exciting, but luckily I did some baking this afternoon to pass the time, so there's meat pie and some salad. No unnecessary plates as hot water's a slight problem.' Verity put the plate of food in front of Ben at the table, and sat down to join him, appropriating one of his hunks of bread to eat with a piece of cheese.

  'God this tastes good,' he said, mouth full. 'This pie is first-rate—my compliments.'

  'Thank you.' Verity felt absurdly pleased as she rose to make Ben some coffee.

  'I rang you from Birmingham airport to say we were back, but of course I couldn't get through,' Ben said. 'So I drove Dad home first, heard Mother's frantic outpourings about the water rising down here and told her I'd see to everything and she could stop worrying.'

  'It's very sweet of her. There was no way of letting her know I was all right unfortunately.'

  'I never doubted for a moment that you'd cope,' said Ben matter-of-factly.

  'No.' Verity sighed, then smiled cheerfully. 'It's always seemed much more logical to me to get on with things rather than flap about and wait for someone else to do them.'

  'And quite right too.' Ben patted her hand and drained the last of his coffee. 'Thank God for practicality or I'd still be starving—I presume that's poor old Nick's store you found?'

  Verity nodded and cleared away the dishes. 'Once I had Taff for company I was braver about poking about out there in the dark. Would you see to the fire while I wash these?'

  Ben saluted solemnly and went off to pile more logs on the fire in the drawing-room while Verity tidied up. She thought half-heartedly about going upstairs to make some repairs to hair and face, but decided not to bother. In the dim light her shiny nose and untidy hair would go unnoticed, and her black wool trousers and cream-and-grey Fair Isle sweater were as attractive and practical as anything she owned, added to which she felt suddenly weary. The mental and physical demands of the day suddenly hit her as she joined Ben and the dog in front of the leaping flames. Ben stood back in satisfaction as the last log caught, glancing down at Verity as she curled up on the settee with a sigh of satisfaction. 'Tired?'

  'A bit—and happy to be able to relax.' She scratched Taff's head contentedly. 'If you hadn't arrived I wasn't going to bother with lighting the fire.'

  'Why not?'

  'My plan was a thermos of coffee, a couple of hot water bottles to take up to bed and a read by candlelight huddled under the duvet.'

  'My arrival seems to have spoiled your cosy little programme,' Ben said without expression, and sat beside her.

  'Quite the reverse. I was never so glad to see anyone in my whole life,' said Verity candidly, too tired to bother with evasion.

  There was a companionable silence for a while, broken only by the crackling of the fire and an occasional snore from Taff, who was stretched out in abandon to the warmth.

  'I think I'll take a look outside and see what the river's doing,' said Ben eventually with a yawn. 'This chap had better take a walk too. Come on. Here, boy.' Verity lay full length after the dog followed Ben outside, her eyes hypnotised by the leaping flames, wondering how Ben had taken her remark, but too warm and comfortable to worry much. Wrestling with the elements was inclined to reduce personal differences to size, altering the perspective considerably. When Ben came back into the room he was alone. 'Where's our furry friend?' asked Verity. 'I've settled him on the rug under the kitchen table and told him that's his bed,' said Ben, smiling. 'Want a drink?'

  'Mmm, please. Anything.' Verity sipped the brandy and ginger ale he handed her, swinging her legs to the floor to make room for Ben as he returned with a glass of whisky and sat down with a sigh.

  'I must be out of condition,' he said in disgust.

  'No wonder—skinny-dipping in this weather! I only hope you don't get a cold, or worse.'

  Ben drank half the whisky in one swallow.

  'Not very likely. I've weathered worse conditions than these. But I was worried, to say the least. Mother was in a bit of state when I arrived, as she knew the river was rising, and with no power and no phone she thought you might be terrified.' He glanced sideways at her. 'Were you?'

  'Not terrified exactly,' she answered thoughtfully. 'I was more concerned with possible damage to the house, I suppose—'

  'Needless to say!' Ben's teeth glinted in the firelight, but Verity refused to rise.

  'I must admit I wasn't very happy without light, but once I had the candles lit, and batteries in the radio I was better, and then Taff arrived, which made an amazing difference.'

  'And then I came,' he said quietly.

  Verity turned her eyes to meet Ben's. 'Yes. That was best of all.'

  'You say that as though you mean it.'

  Verity finished her drink and handed him the glass. 'I do.'

  Ben rose and put their glasses on the silver tray on the cabinet.

  'I thought I was permanently cast as villain of the piece.' He kept his back turned, apparently intent on pouring another drink. 'Would you like another?'

  'No, thank you.' Verity eyed him in exasperation as he sat down again. 'Sometimes talking to you is virtually impossible, Ben Dysart. With that poker-face of yours it's heard to tell whether you feel pleased, or angry, or whatever. I said I was glad when you came and I meant it.'

  'Presumably any human being to arrive at that point would have merited the same welcome,' he said dryly.

  Verity gave up, and curled up into the corner of the settee, her head on a cushion. 'Of course, Ben. There must be dozens of people only too delighted to strip and swim a freezing river to my rescue. You just happened to get here first!' From the corner of her eye she saw him frown and put down his empty glass.

  'I've had about as much as I can take,' he said abruptly, turning towards her. 'Look at me Verity.' Verity looked, but said nothing. 'I swore I'd never say this,' he said huskily, 'but these last weeks have been purgatory. I've had enough.' Her chin lifted. 'I have too. Do you want a divorce?' 'No I do not,' he said, glaring at her. 'Do you?' She shook her head mutely. 'Then why have we been living in such bloody stupid misery?' he bit out, then checked himself at the mutiny in her eyes, breathing deeply as he began again with as much patience as he could muster. 'I have never seen Gussie alone since the day she met me in town to give me the original deed to Tern Cottage; about a week or so before the wedding.'

  Verity stiffened, her eyes narrowing. 'You had lunch together.'

  'No. Just a cup of coffee. She insisted. I was taking Mother in to town to do some shopping anyway, so I agreed to see Gussie for a few minutes when she rang to say Peter had turned up the original sixteenth-century document. You were out on an evaluation job somewhere.'

  'No. I wasn't. It was postponed. I saw you with Gussie at the restaurant,' said Verity without inflection.

  He looked at her in disbelief. 'Why didn't you mention it?'

  'Why didn't you?'

  'As the mere thought of Gussie seemed to cause trouble I didn't bother.' Ben sighed heavily. 'And so this is when you thought Gussie and I were cooking up our little plan for extra-marital fun and games behind our respective partners' backs.'

  'It wasn't even that idea that made me cringe,' said Verity, with truth. 'It was the thought of both you and Peter Middleton as co-fathers to Gussie's offspring.'

  Ben's facial control deserted him completely, his face rigid with distaste at her words.

  'Any child of Gu
ssie's was fathered by Peter Middleton—at least, for his sake I sincerely hope so,' he said with emphasis. 'In any event, not by me. I thought I told you once—other people's wives aren't my scene.'

  'Perhaps the circumstances of our first meeting were somewhat to blame for my misapprehension on the subject.' Verity fought down the hostility she had vowed never to show again. 'What sticks in my throat, Ben, is that you couldn't just say all this on our wedding night!'

  'It was like a punch in the stomach.' Ben moved restlessly to the fireplace, kicking a log back into place. 'I was hurt and disgusted, and just plain bloody-minded, I suppose. The fact that you could even wonder if Gussie's story was true knocked me for six.'

  'I'm just like anyone else, Ben, a human being who needs reassurance. No one knew better than I you were in love with Gussie once, and I needed you to say it was all over between you. I told you I was no heroine.' All at once Verity wanted nothing more in life than sleep, and she got wearily to her feet, not meeting Ben's eyes. 'I'm going to bed. As I said before, I'm glad you came. Let's leave the rest for the morning.'

  'Yes, of course,' he said quietly. 'Off you go—I'll see to the fire.'

  With a tired little nod Verity took one of the candles and went to pat the dog's head before she went upstairs. The bedroom was icy after the warmth of the drawing-room fire and Verity threw off her clothes at top speed, gasping as she washed hurriedly before diving into her bright red nightgown, glad of its high, frilly neck and long sleeves as she huddled, shivering, under the duvet in the darkness. Her teeth were chattering so much they drowned out Ben's footsteps on the stairs, and she almost jumped out of her skin when he slid beneath the covers and took her in his arms.

  'Hello,' he whispered, and held her close.

  'Hello,' she answered breathlessly.

  'You forgot a hot water bottle, so I thought I'd volunteer as substitute.'

  Verity chuckled. 'The hot water bottle stays at my feet.'

  'Where I've been from the moment I met you,' he said promptly.

  'I bet you say that to all—'

  'Wrong. Only to you.'

  Verity lay very still, hardly daring to breathe.

  'Do you want me to go now you're warmer?' he asked softly after a while, his breath warm against her ear. She shook her head silently, and they stayed quiet for a long interval, his steady heartbeat solid and comforting against her cheek.

  'I've been a fool, Verity,' Ben said at last. His arms tightened and she burrowed closer instinctively. 'Am I forgiven for the way I treated you on our honeymoon?'

  'If you mean the nights I must be honest—I rather enjoyed them.'

  He shook with laughter. 'You might have let me know!'

  'No fear. I wouldn't have given you the satisfaction!'

  'Oh but you did, darling. Repeatedly!' Ben's voice was hardly audible, but something in its cadence made Verity's toes curl and colour rise in her cheeks.

  'A good thing it's dark,' she said breathlessly. 'I'm blushing. I probably match my nightgown!'

  'Of which there is a great deal too much, for my taste, regardless of colour.'

  Verity pushed her hot face against his throat.

  'This sounds silly, but I feel shy; stupid isn't it?'

  Ben turned her face up to his and kissed her with a tenderness that melted her diffidence instantly.

  'No moonlight and magic tonight, nor the heat and skirmishing of our honeymoon. This is just how it should always be; the two of us together at the end of a tiring day. Am I making sense?'

  'Yes, Ben.' Verity returned his kiss with warmth, but the old reservation still niggled at the back of her mind. He sensed it and held her away slightly.

  'What is it? Tell me.'

  This seemed the night for clearing the air, and Verity took the plunge. 'When you asked me to marry you liking and respect were the only emotions you seemed to consider necessary. Love was left out of it.'

  'Pompous, stupid fool, wasn't I?' Ben kissed her lingeringly. 'I could no more help loving you than breathing, but it seemed too sudden to be credible—I thought you weren't ready for any declarations at the time.'

  Verity could have hit him. 'You mean you've put me through all this grief and misery for nothing?'

  'You seemed to believe Gussie, not me,' he said, frustrating her efforts to get free, 'which hardly provided an auspicious atmosphere for protestations of undying love—besides I was furious, as perhaps you noticed. Then when we came home I was disgusted with myself and thought I'd move into the other room until we got things on a more normal footing.'

  'Only we never did,' murmured Verity.

  'You were so remote and businesslike—'

  'Hurt and miserable, you mean!'

  Further argument stopped as Ben kissed her for some time, effectively banishing Verity's indignation, then he lifted his head a little.

  'Do you love me, Verity?' he asked, his voice deadly serious.

  'Of course I do,' she retorted impatiently. 'Why else do you think I married you?'

  'I thought this house was the main attraction!'

  'It helped.'

  'We've been quite a pair of idiots, in one way and another,' he said huskily.

  'You have.' She put up a hand to touch his face. 'And to put the record straight, you didn't really need Tern Cottage for bait, desirable property though it is—your best move was to turn up at the Conways in your gamekeeper rig. Very sexy.'

  He gave a smothered laugh and bit her earlobe. 'So were you, with your blouse sliding off your shoulders and that silly mobcap on your head. I was bowled over completely.'

  'You still haven't actually said the words,' Verity reminded him.

  'What words?' he teased, and began kissing her all over her face. 'What do you want me to say? What more do you need to convince you? I bought a house for you, I've swum a river to come to your rescue— quite unnecessarily, as it happened, but the thought was there—'

  'A lady likes a little verbal confirmation as well as action,' she said primly.

  Suddenly Ben was serious. 'I've loved you almost from the beginning, Verity, and always shall.' His lips met hers hungrily, and she responded with such fervour there were no more words necessary, until minutes later he took his mouth from hers to whisper, 'Do you still need convincing?'

  She slid her arms round his neck and brought his face down to hers.

  'Yes, please, Ben…'