The Trouble with Trent!

by Jessica Steele

  `I had a sandwich at the office about an hour ago,' Trent answered. While the contradictory side of her felt uplifted at his confirmation that he had been at work the whole while, she also scoffed at her elation.

  `I've things to do upstairs, so I'll say goodnight,' she informed him crisply, and was on her way past him when his hand snaked out and, catching hold of her arm, he brought her round to face him. She stared at him warily and saw that his half-smile was a thing of the past; he was not best pleased with her.

  `You've no need to be nervous of me, Alethea!' he told her curtly.

  Not much! Anger put her nervousness to flight. 'This from a man whose sole purpose in having me to live with him is so he can have his—his—way with me?' she charged, glad to have her spirit back.

  `Only ever with your consent!' he rapped.

  `You should live that long!' she fired. She wanted to hit him when he burst out laughing, as if she amused him.

  She didn't wait for anything more. Pulling her arm from his hold, she marched from the room. Swine! Swine! How dared he laugh at her?

  Strangely, she slept soundly again that night. And, once more, she awakened just in time to hear Trent leaving. This time he did not come back.

  It had been Alethea's intention to check out apartment agencies in her lunch hour. But late that morning she had a call from the company accommodation section to say they had just taken delivery of the keys of a very nice flat; would she like to take a look at it?

  `Yes, please,' she said without hesitation. At least she wouldn't be put onto the street when Trent got fed up with waiting for her consent.

  She took a look at the basement flat in her lunch hour. Given that it was in an area that wasn't as plush as the location where Trent had his home, the situation was still quite good. There were iron railings curtaining off the basement from the road, and, after going down stone steps, Alethea inserted one of two keys, and quite liked the idea of having her own front door.

  She went into a small hall and liked most everything else about that too. The kitchen wasn't anything to rave about, but the sitting room was large, and led out into a garden. The only thing she did not like, and which she knew she could not live with, was the colour of the bedroom walls.

  If you liked dark green with splashes of red, fine. First things first; Alethea went back to Gale Drilling International and told the accommodation section that she would like to take the flat. And, having agreed to

  take it straight away, she went back to her office trying

  to calculate how many gallons of pastel-shaded paint it

  was going to take to cover the dark green and red walls.

  She could not resist going to take another look at what was now 'her flat' on her way home. She felt good about it. It was hers. A place of her own.

  Alethea was late getting back to Trent's home, but he was going to be even later. Well, bubbles to him! She was glad she had her basement flat. If nothing else, it would give her something else to think about than him.

  Only then did she realise how much Trent was in her mind. But then, why wouldn't she think of him often? Who wouldn't in her situation?

  She had already decided she was going to have another early night when, just after eight-thirty, Trent came home. She did not make the mistake of asking him if she could get him anything.

  He asked her. 'Going to make me a cup of coffee?'

  Sprained your wrist? She looked at him and surmised from the fine lines round his eyes that he must have had a wearying day. 'Love to,' she heard herself say, and took herself off to the kitchen, only to feel thoroughly exasperated when Trent followed her and stood and watched her. He could just as easily have made his own coffee!

  `Aren't you going to have one too?' he asked when she took out only one cup and saucer.

  Plainly he was asking her to join him. She had been going to go upstairs. Then she remembered how last night he had spotted that she was nervous of him. It then seemed a point of honour that he did not continue to think so.

  `How was your day?' she asked, opening the cupboard again and getting out another cup and saucer.

  `Full,' he answered.

  `Is your work highly confidential?' She found she was interested in what he did.

  `Some of it,' he agreed, and, even though there was a most comfortable drawing room in which to sit and drink coffee, they found themselves seated at the kitchen table with their cups in front of them. 'Some of our scientists are asked to help with projects abroad when some sort of problem crops up.' He had said that he was away a great deal too, so she rather guessed that he went to lead his team when extra expertise was called for. 'How about you?' he asked. 'How was your day?'

  Her honesty was such that she wanted to tell him about the flat the accommodation section had found for her. But, somehow, she found herself holding back. 'Full,' she answered, and, having repeated his word back at him, she had to smile.

  She saw his glance go to her curving mouth, and felt all over the place when, his look steady, he transferred his gaze to her eyes. 'You know,' he said quietly after some moments just looking at her, 'I find it incredible that you're sitting here like this.'

  Alethea made valiant attempts to get herself together. `That makes two of us!' she said crisply, got up and went to bed.

  She did not sleep so well that night. She seemed to be in bed half a lifetime before she heard Trent coming up the stairs. She tensed, but his footsteps came no nearer than to his own bedroom door. Her confidence that he would only ever make love to her with her consent started to grow. Although she rather supposed she had believed that from the moment he had first given his word that he would wait. It was just that she'd had a big adjustment to make. It had been more easy to believe his

  word when she had been able to say goodnight and go to her own home. But it was unnervingly different in these initial hours in the close, intimate confines of Trent's home—the place where she temporarily lived.

  She heard the faint sounds of him moving about next door. But even when those sounds had long since faded, she was still no nearer to falling asleep. She slept only fitfully and was awake early.

  Having lain there awake for what seemed like hours, Alethea had suddenly had enough of bed. All was silent next door. Quietly, not wanting to disturb Trent if he was in the habit of having an extra hour in bed at the weekends, Alethea got up, donned her dressing gown and slippers, and tiptoed from her bedroom and went down the stairs.

  Going into the kitchen, she set about making a pot of tea, with her thoughts anywhere but on what she was doing. She found herself reflecting on the long hours Trent put in. Not that she was concerned about him in any way; it was just that, working so hard, when did he play?

  The weekend, that was when, she didn't doubt. Why, only last Saturday—was it only last Saturday?—he'd been going to have a party... Grief, she hoped he wasn't thinking of having another tonight, of having people round. She was going to make herself scarce if he was.

  Alethea looked down at what she was doing, and discovered that, from force of habit, she had poured out two cups of tea. She took one with her to a kitchen chair, but before she could start sipping, she found her eyes going again and again to the other cup on the work-top, sitting there accusingly.

  He worked so hard. Oh, dammit! She was on her feet, finding a tray. Why was she so mean-spirited when he

  worked so hard, when she had actually poured a second cup, as not to take one up to him?

  All the way up the stairs Alethea fought a losing battle against doing a smart about-turn and taking the tray back down the stairs again. Outside Trent's bedroom door she engaged in another battle. She wasn't mean-spirited, she knew that she wasn't, it was just that ... Oh, don't be ridiculous!

  Impatience with herself won the day and, in the next moment, after a brief tap on his door, Alethea opened it and went in. It was too late then to change her mind.

  A swift glance to the bed showed that Trent was awake. Indeed he was sit
ting up in bed and had been reading what looked like some business report or other, the pages of which he slowly lowered as, tea-tray in hand, she approached the bed.

  Oh, grief, the duvet was a little way up to his ribcage. But, from the naked upper half of him, she had an idea that he hadn't anything on!

  `Good morning,' she said briskly, and intended to place his cup of tea on his bedside table and get out of there quickly. 'I didn't put any sugar in,' she added in a rush.

  `I'm sure it will be good for me,' he drawled, and she didn't know whether to laugh or hit him!

  That confusion again! Nerves, of course, simply nerves. She found a small space on his bedside table and took the cup and saucer from the tray and placed them there. But when she went to execute a rapid turn and make a hasty exit, Trent caught a hold of her wrist. She looked down at his long, muscled but naked arm, and froze.

  `Don't rush off,' he said easily, and she glanced at him again.

  The outstretched movement of his arm had caused the duvet to fall down to his waist. His chest was broad, had dark hair on it, and she could see his nipples.

  Oh, Lord! She swiftly raised her eyes to his face, hoping that she didn't look as pink about the cheeks as she felt. 'You need a shave,' she blurted out, needing to say something, anything.

  `Shall I get out of bed and do that now?' Trent volunteered wickedly, and Alethea knew for a certain then that he was stark naked underneath that duvet! Also, he was tormenting her for the pure hell of it. But he relented and gave her wrist a small tug, which caused her to sit on his bed next to him 'Thank you for the tea; it was a very sweet gesture,' he smiled.

  She didn't know quite how she felt, sitting on his bed with barely a yard separating them. 'I—um—always took my mother a cup of tea in bed,' she managed.

  `I hope you don't look on me as your mother,' Trent drawled, letting go of her wrist, and she had to laugh.

  `You work so hard.' She felt she should further explain her action. 'Off at first light, returning late,' she documented.

  `You've noticed?' She thought he seemed pleased. `Do you miss me? My...'

  `I hardly know you!' She let him know that straight away. Though, given that he hadn't got a stitch on under that cover—Heavens above, how had she ever got herself into this situation? —and that, although respectable, she was not dressed herself yet, she reckoned they could no longer be said to be just mere acquaintances.

  `Then I suggest we remedy that without delay,' Trent answered. Her eyes flew to his in sudden panic. She wasn't sure that she hadn't jumped a few inches. But she soon discovered that she had not the smallest need

  to panic, that he wasn't suggesting that she join him in his bed. Even while his eyes were watchful, Trent's voice was calming as he asked, 'How about we spend the day together?'

  Alethea at once started to feel less panicky. 'Oh, I'm...' She wasn't sure how she felt about spending her day with him, wasn't sure she wanted to know him any better. `I've a lot to do today,' she excused, but found that the decision of whether or not to spend the day with him had just been taken from her.

  `It will wait,' Trent stated decisively. 'I'm flying to South America early tomorrow for three weeks.'

  `Some people have jam on it!' she snorted, to cover the fact that, quite unexpectedly, she didn't feel at all happy that it would be ages before she would see him again. What rot! she scolded to herself. But she discovered that she had weakened—sufficiently, anyhow, to offer, 'Well, I suppose I could put my plans on ice—if that's what you want.'

  `That's what I want,' Trent agreed. 'Got a good morning kiss for me?' he teased.

  `Make do with a cup of tea!' Alethea told him tartly, and saw him grin. The oddest feeling came over her that she would quite like to feel the briefest touch of his mouth over hers again, and she knew it was time to get out of there. She left him abruptly and, her own tea forgotten in the kitchen, she went to get showered, feeling a little mixed-up.

  While Trent had a car that could outpace many others on the road, he drove without hurry. Sometimes they chatted, at other times they didn't. By the time they drove into Wiltshire, taking the scenic route, Alethea was feeling totally relaxed with him. She again acknowl-

  edged that she liked him, must do, or she wouldn't be here with him now.

  `Have you been in touch with your family since you

  left?' Trent asked as they sat sipping coffee in a hotel. `I only left last Wednesday,' she reminded him. `Any problems?' he enquired.

  `Thanks for asking,' she muttered. But he heard, and seemed amused at her hint that she'd have appreciated him putting that question to her last Wednesday.

  `Bad as that, was it?'

  She was about to deny it but, remembering her mother's attitude, it could not have been said to be good. `Do you take sugar in your tea, by the way?' she asked, and saw his mouth twitch as she swiftly changed the subject.

  `As a matter of fact, no,' he answered, and she wanted to laugh—there was just something about the man.

  They left the car in the hotel's car park and went for a leg-stretching walk around. Then they drove on for a while, and Trent, seeming to instinctively know a good place to stop from a bad one, pulled up at an unpretentious-looking hotel for lunch, which just happened to serve the most delicious food.

  `I've just got to have another walk after that,' Alethea told him. She had a good appetite, but was lucky enough never to put on a spare pound.

  `You and me, both,' Trent agreed. He looked across at her lovely face. 'May I say what a pleasure it is to be with a woman who isn't afraid to walk a yard or two.'

  `Too kind, sir,' Alethea replied primly. 'And may I be permitted to say, you've been going out with the wrong type.'

  Again he looked at her, seemed to enjoy looking at her, and she stared back at him, wondering just what

  type of woman he usually went for. By the sound of it, sophisticated types like him. The bring-the-car-roundto-the-door-James-type. Sultry, elegant, beautiful, undoubtedly.

  Abruptly she stood up. 'I'll find the ladies' room and see you presently,' she managed to get out, and took herself off in haste.

  In the ladies' room she ran a brush through her blonde hair and tried to come to terms with the dreadful feeling she had experienced at the table with Trent a short while back. Several reasons presented themselves for why she had felt almost wounded, but she dismissed them.

  She would have liked to blame that dreadful feeling on something she had eaten. But the roast duck with black cherry sauce had been superb. It was with a great deal of reluctance she acknowledged at last that, when thinking of the other women in Trent's life, she had been jealous.

  Jealous! She had never been jealous in her life! It took some minutes before she could accept that she was jealous of the other women Trent went out with. But it was a fact.

  Did that then mean that she wanted to be like them? Did she want to be sophisticated and elegant? She looked at her reflection in the cloakroom mirror. She wore a knee-length fine wool dress and, she supposed, looked smart enough. But, she hadn't reached sophistication yet, and didn't know about elegant—and you could forget all about sultry.

  Honest, if nothing else, Alethea probed deeper. So, why was she jealous? If not because of his women, then perhaps because Trent went out with such women. She liked him, she faced that. But would that alone account for her jealousy?

  The answer proved elusive, but then Alethea found she was wondering if Trent truly normally went out with such sophisticated types as she imagined. She realised he must when she considered his remark about a woman who wasn't afraid to walk a yard or two. So why, then, was he going out with her?

  Grief, she thought a moment later, she knew why: he wanted her in his bed, and she was proving resistant to the idea. A man like Trent thrived on challenges. Oh, Heavens!

  It took Alethea another five minutes before she felt ready to go and join Trent again. Not that he seemed to be fretting at her absence. He was standing in the foyer in conve
rsation with a sombrely suited member of staff.

  He spotted her straight away, though. 'All right?' he asked, coming over to her and escorting her from the hotel.

  `Fine,' she answered, and realised that she was all at once feeling fine.

  `Good. Let's walk,' Trent said. 'I've just been talking to the hotel manager. He said if we turn right at the end here it leads to a lane, which leads to a public right of way, at the end of which there's a bridge with a stream.'

  `Sounds idyllic,' she answered, and discovered twenty minutes or so later that it was.

  There was something fascinating about watching rippling water meandering on its way, Alethea decided. There was also something quite enchanting about the peace and quiet of their surroundings, in the many shades of green in the grass and leaves on the trees. There was something quite harmonious about it all.

  So why did Trent have to go and spoil it by asking, `Do you ever see your father?'

  She felt a flicker of irritation. 'Not now,' she answered. `Which means you did?'

  Honestly! Watch the water! Look at the trees! 'At first,' she replied crisply, and wanted to thump Trent when he would not let the subject go. Where, she had to pause to wonder, did all her aggression come from? She was normally calm, not easily roused to anger—but this man! From almost the first he had turned her nice, calm, safe world upside-down.

  `What happened?' he had the sauce to want to know. `Nothing happened!' she snapped.

  'Except?'

  Alethea turned to look angrily at Trent, sparks flashing in her eyes. He, however, seemed totally unperturbed, and appeared quite casual while he waited for her to reply.

  `If you must know,' she found she was answering heatedly, 'while Maxine was off doing her own thing, I couldn't take the scenes that took place every time my father called at the house to take me out. I think my father saw that and he stopped coming. I—' She broke off and looked away from him and over the parapet of the bridge to the brook.