by Sara Craven
Sylvia was right about one thing, Joanna realised. Between the affectionate, exuberant greeting she received from Charles and the handing round of cups and plates of food, Gabriel’s cool politeness went almost unnoticed. Almost.
And as the conversation ranged, from the state of the garden to the amount of painting Sylvia had achieved in Portugal, the fact that Joanna and he barely exchanged a word with each other wasn’t so painfully evident either.
‘Did you know we’d let the Lodge at last?’ Charles turned to Gabriel. ‘We’d almost begun to give up hope, but the agents found someone while we were away and he’s already moved in.’
‘Pity we didn’t know that Cynthia Elcott was looking for a place.’ Sylvia busied herself with the teapot. ‘Not that I’d particularly want her for a neighbour, of course, but better the devil you know…’
Joanna stared down at her plate, not daring to see what effect this implied criticism of his new fancy might be having on Gabriel.
However, he only sounded amused. ‘Your tenant has demonic qualities?’
‘Well, he wouldn’t have been our first choice,’ Charles said. ‘We’d have preferred a couple to a single man, but at least the rent is guaranteed, and you can’t have everything.’
Good God, Joanna thought blankly. They must be talking about Paul Gordon, the man I met this morning. So, he’s actually living quite close by.
She was aware that her colour had risen suddenly, and, looking up, saw that Gabriel had noticed too, and was staring at her narrow-eyed. She took a hasty bite of a sandwich.
When tea was over, Charles asked Gabriel for a word of advice on a letter he’d had from his broker, and the two men went off together.
Joanna offered to help with the washing up, but was quietly relieved when her hostess scoffed at the very idea.
Sylvia accompanied her out to the car. ‘Don’t be a stranger,’ she said with mock severity. ‘If life at the Manor gets you down, you can always use this as a bolthole.’
Joanna returned her heartening embrace, and drove away.
She hadn’t really noticed the Lodge as she drove in, but now, as she approached it, she realised there was smoke coming from the chimney. As she slowed to negotiate the gateway Paul Gordon emerged from the front door and waved to her. She pulled over, and parked on the verge.
‘Well, hello again.’ He leaned in at the car window. ‘I thought I caught a glimpse of you earlier. Obviously you know my landlords.’
‘Yes, we’re old friends. I’ve been having tea.’
He looked disappointed. ‘Then I can’t offer you a cup.’
‘No, thanks.’ She gave him a constrained smile. ‘I have to be getting back, anyway.’
‘But you will some other time?’ He grimaced slightly. ‘I feel a bit isolated, to be honest. The landlords were abroad when I moved in, and they haven’t been all that sociable since their return.’
‘Perhaps they feel they should keep any relationship on a business footing.’ Joanna spoke coolly, disliking the implied criticism in his voice.
He groaned. ‘Oh, hell, please don’t freeze me too. I’m sure the Osbornes are really lovely people.’
‘Indeed they are.’ Joanna hesitated. ‘Maybe we take slightly longer to make up our minds about people in the country.’
‘Then I must be an inveterate townie,’ he said promptly. ‘Because I knew I liked you from the first moment I saw you.’
She was aware of that tell-tale blush again, and angry with herself because of it.
She said sedately, ‘Then that just shows the danger of snap judgements.’
‘I’m not afraid of taking risks either,’ he said. ‘Which is something we have in common, Mrs Joanna Verne.’
‘On the contrary.’ Joanna put her car in gear, preparing to drive off. ‘I’m extremely cautious.’
‘Not if you plan to ride that chestnut on a regular basis.’
In the mirror she could see Gabriel’s car turning the corner towards them, and cursed under her breath.
She said hurriedly, ‘Actually, it’s my husband’s horse, so I doubt if I’ll have much chance to take it out again. Now I really must go.’
‘Of course.’ He stood back from the car, his smile warm, lingering. ‘But I look forward to seeing you again soon.’
He went back into the Lodge, closing the front door behind him. Joanna waited on the verge for Gabriel to overtake her. She half expected him to stop the car and make some comment, but he simply drove past—almost as if she hadn’t been there, she thought crossly.
Yet she knew he’d seen her. Seen them. She’d felt his eyes boring into her all the way down the drive.
She followed at a safe distance until they reached the crossroads, when he took the road to Westroe instead of the turning to the Manor.
Off to Larkspur Cottage, no doubt, Joanna thought, cornering much too fast.
She straightened up, slowed down, and pulled over to the side of the road. Killing herself, after all, wouldn’t improve a thing.
It occurred to her that for the first time in her life she was experiencing male admiration from someone of her own generation. Apart from Gabriel, almost every man she knew was a contemporary of Lionel’s.
Now she’d met someone who seemed to look at her as if she was a woman—and a desirable woman at that. And she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t find it flattering.
Paul Gordon was also attractive, she admitted. In some other lifetime she might even have been tempted to respond to his charm.
Instead, she thought wretchedly, she was trapped in her hopeless fixation on Gabriel. And much good that would do her.
Oh, why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t love be a kind and mutual thing, instead of a destructive force that swept you away into a hell of your own making?
And why was the person you wanted more than life itself destined to be always out of reach?
She sat, staring unseeingly through the windscreen, her throat aching with unshed tears, letting her mind turn in endless, empty circles.
And, when she could bear it no longer, she started up the car again and drove back to the Manor.
Back, she thought, to her cage.
She was met by an agitated Grace Ashby. ‘The Persian rug from the morning room, madam. It’s gone. Mrs Elcott’s taken it to her cottage. And the porcelain candlesticks, and the set of Delft plates. A van came this afternoon while you were out, and collected them all.
‘The two armchairs from the small sitting room have gone too, and all the furniture from Mrs Elcott’s bedroom. It’s been totally stripped, even down to the curtains. And she’s got the Spode dinner service, and an entire boxful of household linen, not to mention ornaments, and Mr Lionel’s snuff box collection…’
Joanna groaned inwardly. She said quietly, concealing her private dismay, ‘Mrs Elcott has permission to take the things, Grace. Mr Gabriel said she could have whatever she wanted. I—I discussed it with him earlier.’
Although I didn’t expect her to be quite so quick off the mark, she amended inwardly. Or so thorough.
‘And I think you’ll find everything’s only on loan. The whole lot will be coming back to the Manor in due course.’ Along with its new mistress, she added silently.
‘Just as you say, of course, madam.’ Mrs Ashby sounded doubtful. She paused. ‘I understand neither Mrs Elcott nor Mr Verne will be dining at home this evening. Is there anything special you’d like?’
Just for a moment Joanna wondered if this was Grace Ashby’s way of telling her that she knew what was going on, but a swift look at the other woman’s patient, rather puzzled expression convinced her that she was wrong.
She said with an effort, ‘I’m not all that hungry. Some clear soup and grilled fish would be fine.’
She bathed and changed into a plain grey woollen dress, long-sleeved and full-skirted. Its severe neckline needed some enhancement, she decided, taking out the pearls Lionel had once given her and clasping them round her throat.<
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Her solitary dinner over, she took her coffee into the drawing room. She switched on the television but found herself unable to concentrate on anything being offered on any of the channels.
She thought, I’ll play some music.
Lionel had not been fond of what he termed ‘gadgets’, but he had invested in a handsome hi-fi system with a CD player, and they’d spent many companionable evenings listening to their favourite works.
Joanna made her selection from the rack of discs, and a moment later the emotive chords of Elgar’s ‘Cello Concerto’ filled the room.
Curled up in a corner of the sofa, eyes closed, Joanna gave herself up to the poignant, dramatic flow of the music.
The final movement was reaching its climax when instinct told her that she was being watched.
Her heart began to thud. Slowly she opened her eyes and turned her head, to see Gabriel lounging in the doorway.
Joanna sat up hurriedly, searching for something—anything—to say, when she saw him raise a quiet finger to his lips, indicating that they should both be silent until the music was over.
When the room relaxed into stillness again, he came forward. He was smiling faintly, his brows drawn together in a slight frown. ‘Do you always listen to such sad music when you’re alone?’
‘I don’t know,’ she returned stiltedly. ‘Solitary evenings are a comparative novelty.’ She paused. ‘And I don’t find it all that sad. I think it’s powerful and—exhilarating.’
‘I bow to your superior wisdom.’ Gabriel removed his jacket and tossed it onto a chair, before seating himself opposite to her. He met her startled look levelly. ‘Is something the matter?’
‘I—I wasn’t expecting you back so early.’
His frown deepened. ‘Did I say I was going to be late? I don’t think so.’ He slanted a faint smile at her. ‘Anyway, it means we can enjoy some domestic bliss together. Why don’t you put some more music on?’
She said stiffly, ‘Actually, I was on the point of going to bed.’
‘Really?’ His brows rose sceptically. ‘Now, I got the impression that you were totally relaxed, lost in some world of your own.’
‘Appearances,’ she said, ‘can be deceptive.’
‘Ain’t that the truth?’ he murmured. ‘But please don’t let me drive you away. You never know. Music might prove the common ground where we can meet without quarrelling.’
‘I doubt that exists.’
‘Well, we can try. And for starters you could stop being so uptight.’
Joanna bit her lip. ‘I’m—sorry. As I said—you startled me.’
‘I don’t know why. And I’m afraid, darling, you’re just going to have to live with my arrivals and departures.’
She said coolly, ‘I find the departures easier to handle.’
His mouth twisted, but he made no immediate reply. Instead the tawny eyes began a comprehensive survey of her, from the tendrils of soft hair brushing her flushed face, pausing momentarily at her exposed throat, then down over the cling of the grey wool dress to her rounded breasts, to the soft folds of the skirt outlining the slender length of her thighs. And back to her throat again.
He said softly, ‘You look like a ghost—a little grey ghost. But my mother’s pearls look good on you.’
‘Your mother’s?’ Joanna’s hand flew defensively to the smooth string. ‘I—I didn’t know—Lionel didn’t tell me…’
He shrugged. ‘Why should he? He gave them to her when I was born. Under ordinary circumstances they’d have come to you anyway—probably to mark the birth of our own first child,’ he added unsmilingly.
Her flush deepened. ‘Then I’m wearing them under false pretences.’ She put her hands up, fumbling for the clasp. ‘You can have them back now.’
‘Leave them,’ he directed briefly. ‘Pearls should be worn, or they lose their lustre.’
‘My—successor might not agree with you.’ Cynthia, she knew, had always coveted the necklace.
‘Let that be my problem, rather than yours.’ His tone brooked no further argument. ‘Consider them on loan, if you wish.’
‘After all, what’s one more thing among so many?’ Joanna muttered.
‘I beg your pardon?’ His brows lifted.
She said wearily, ‘It doesn’t matter,’ wondering at the same time if he’d gone to Larkspur Cottage to oversee the disposal of his property.
‘I’m going to have a nightcap.’ Gabriel rose and went across to the antique corner cupboard. ‘Care to join me?’
Prudence suggested she should refuse and go. On the other hand, she didn’t want to seem altogether churlish…
She said sedately, ‘Thank you. I’ll have a brandy.’
He nodded. ‘Then choose some more music for us to drink to.’
Joanna went reluctantly to the CD player. If he imagined she was going to allow this to develop into a cosy evening tête à tête, then he could think again. Just because his rendezvous with Cynthia clearly hadn’t worked out as planned…
A lot of the music was frankly too overtly romantic for the occasion. I need drama rather than passion, she thought, selecting Rimsky-Korsakov’s ‘Scheherazade’.
‘Good choice,’ Gabriel approved as he brought over their brandies. ‘This has always been one of my favourites.’
‘I—I didn’t know.’ Joanna cradled the brandy glass between her palms, breathing its heady aroma.
His mouth twisted. ‘Music is just one of the many gaps in our knowledge of each other.’
He added another log to the fire and stood up, dusting his hands.
‘I gather that’s Charles and Sylvia’s new tenant you were chatting to this afternoon.’ He reseated himself and picked up his own brandy. ‘Known him long?’
She shook her head. ‘I met him just this morning.’
‘You amaze me,’ he said equably. ‘I took him for an old and valued friend.’
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps one relates to some people more quickly than others.’
‘Clearly one does.’ His tone mocked her formal phraseology, and she stiffened. ‘As a matter of interest, how did you meet him?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought it was a matter of any interest to anyone except ourselves,’ she said coolly.
‘Then you’d be wrong.’ He studied the colour of the brandy. ‘While we remain married all your acquaintances—fascinate me.’
She hesitated. ‘I met him this morning while I was riding. He was walking along Wellow Lane.’ She paused, mentally skating over the exact circumstances of their meeting. ‘We—got into conversation, that’s all.’ She threw him a challenging look. ‘Is there anything wrong in that?’
‘You tell me,’ Gabriel murmured.
‘Or,’ she went on, ‘has some ban been imposed on my making friends at all?’
‘Not in the least.’ He took a meditative sip. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Gordon,’ she said with exaggerated clarity. ‘Paul Gordon. If it means anything to you.’
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘And I’d like to keep it that way.’
She stared at him. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning I’m sure I can rely on you to behave with discretion.’ His tone was silky.
Joanna put her brandy down on the sofa table with a bang that threatened to shatter the fragile crystal.
‘My God.’ Her voice shook. ‘Congratulations, Gabriel. You’ve just elected yourself king of the double standard.’
‘Meaning?’ He turned her own question against her.
‘Meaning your own record wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny,’ she flung back at him.
‘Harsh words, sweetheart. On what do you base this assumption?’
‘Your rake’s progress has been well documented,’ Joanna said scornfully.
‘Gossip columns,’ he said, ‘are not the most reliable sources—whatever they themselves believe.’
‘Are you saying you’ve passed the last two years in total celibacy?’
His mouth
tightened. ‘No. When you’re hungry, Joanna, you’ll take whatever crumbs are available.’
Her voice shook. ‘And your appetite is naturally prodigious.’
He gave her a thoughtful glance. ‘I’m sure you always thought so.’ His sigh was brief and harsh. ‘Yes, I’ve strayed, but not seriously, and not often. Is that what you wanted to know?’
‘Your love life is no concern of mine.’ She could feel the pulse hammering in her aching throat. ‘But the lady who follows me may take a different view.’
‘I hope so,’ Gabriel drawled. ‘I really couldn’t face another battery of wifely indifference.’
Joanna got to her feet, outraged. ‘You—you hypocrite,’ she said unevenly.
It was you, she thought, who was indifferent. You who didn’t care—who left me here, bleeding to death.
He rose too. ‘More harsh words?’ His voice bit. He walked over to the CD player and silenced it. ‘Perhaps I should teach you some manners.’
‘Take some lessons yourself—in fidelity,’ she hit back at him.
‘Oh, I’ve already learned that, my love.’ His smile seemed to grate across her shivering skin. ‘My bride-to-be will have nothing to complain about, I promise.’ He laughed harshly. ‘Isn’t it amazing what love can do?’
The pain that consumed her was intense. From some reserve of strength she hadn’t known she possessed she managed to raise her head. To smile, even.
She said, ‘That’s not something I feel qualified to judge. But—to return to Paul Gordon—I’ll be discreet if you are, Gabriel. And that’s all I’ll guarantee. So it’s up to you. Goodnight.’
She turned towards the door. He reached her in two strides, his fingers closing like a vise on her shoulder.
‘Joanna—listen to me…’
‘Go to hell.’ She glared at him. ‘And take your hands off me.’
Behind them the drawing room door opened quietly.
‘My goodness,’ Cynthia purred, her narrowed eyes flickering over them. ‘Is this a private fight, or can anyone join in?’
Joanna flashed her a glittering smile. ‘It’s the end of round one.’ Her voice sounded brittle. ‘And I’m ahead on points.’
Head high, she left the room, shutting the door behind her. Closing them in together. As she crossed the hall she could hear the murmur of voices, and Cynthia’s tinkling laugh.