by Penny Jordan
‘Can’t you see you’re embarrassing the poor girl?’ Alison criticised him bracingly, smiling briefly at India.
‘I’m embarrassing her?’ The dark eyebrows shot upwards. ‘My dear Alison, I wasn’t the one who came bursting in here, interrupting us almost on the point of…’
‘Yes, well, I’m sorry about that,’ Alison interrupted hastily, tucking her arm through Mel’s. ‘It was just that I couldn’t wait to tell you that Mel was back.’
‘Well, now you’ve told me, okay?’
‘See you at the Plough at one? Sorry about the intrusion. India—what an unusual name…’ Alison added.
‘My father chose it. He was an engineer and was working there when I was born,’ India explained, hating herself for the way in which the guilty colour seeped up under her skin. What did it matter what this woman thought of her? She wasn’t likely to see her ever again, and what if she did? These were the 1980s, no one thought twice about unmarried couples sleeping together. But she and Simon Herries weren’t a ‘couple’ in the recognised sense of the word, and it cut her to the bone to be seen as the type of easy lay who repaid a pleasant evening out with a night in bed. And then there was Mel. Since he had entered the room he had been avoiding India’s eyes; and she could hardly bring herself to look at him. What on earth must he be thinking? Although he had never pressed her sexually he had desired her, and she had pleaded an aversion to casual affairs; or indeed to any affairs, especially with married men. Simon Herries wasn’t married, of course, but as far as Mel knew she didn’t know Simon from Adam. Suddenly she remembered the last time they had dined together, and she had mentioned Simon to Mel. He had an opportunity then to tell her that he was Alison’s cousin, but instead he had pretended only a casual acquaintance. She prided herself on not being the vain type of woman who delighted on keeping men on a string, always promising but never delivering, but it was unpalatable to think of Mel leaving this house in the belief that she had spent the night with Simon. At the first opportunity she would set the record straight, she promised herself. Mel had surely known her long enough to believe her above Simon Herries.
‘Until lunchtime, then. Don’t worry, we’ll let ourselves out,’ Alison assured them.
‘Sorry to have interrupted your “fun”,’ Mel added in a voice that shook with fury and bitterness, his eyes dark with pain as he averted them from the sight of India’s body more revealed than concealed by the thin cotton sheet.
When he reached the door, a wild impulse to call him back and explain overwhelmed India, but as though he had read her mind, Simon bent his head, his fingers grasping her wrists, his mouth against hers as he drawled huskily,
‘Close the door behind you, will you, Mel, and tell Alison to lock up after her. I don’t want any more interruptions!’
‘Don’t try anything,’ he warned India as the door closed. ‘It wouldn’t do any good anyway. Not exactly what I’d planned, but effective nonetheless. There’s nothing quite so damning as the evidence one sees with one’s own eyes—after all, we all know that seeing is believing, don’t we?’
‘How could you?’ she protested in a thick, choked voice that shook with emotion. ‘How could you do such a thing…?’
‘Quite easily,’ came the prompt rejoinder. ‘Quite easily,’ he reiterated in a different tone, and India froze as she realised that his eyes were resting on the slender shape of her body beneath the sheet. ‘Oh,-it’s all right,’ he assured her grimly. ‘Physically you might be alluring, all creamy skin and enticing curves, but while my body might find momentary physical satisfaction in possessing yours, I’m no longer a teenager who finds physical relief sufficient in its own right—I look for something else in a woman—tenderness, the ability to give something of herself.’
‘And you—what do you give in turn?’ India demanded unwisely. ‘Nothing worth treasuring, if the gossip columns are anything to go by—the average life of your relationships is something like a handful of months, isn’t it; enough for your physical abilities to begin to pall.’
‘What are you hoping for—a demonstration?’ Simon Herries sneered. ‘Oh, come on,’ he added contemptuously. ‘I saw how you were looking at me earlier on. What’s the problem—can’t Mel satisfy you?’
Words of hot denial trembled on India’s lips, only to be swallowed as she realised the futility of protesting her innocence, or explaining that it was not him she had reacted to, merely the proximity of any male in such emotive circumstances. She might just as well try to convince him that Mel was not her lover, India acknowledged tiredly; that there had been no lovers; that he was the closest she had come to intimacy of the sort he obviously took for granted; that she had been so busy furthering her career that she was still a virgin.
‘You can use the bathroom first,’ Simon told her.
‘What am I going to wear?’ India murmured half to herself, suddenly remembering that the only clothes she had were her evening dress and these pyjamas.
In answer to her query, Simon swung himself up off the bed and pulled open one of the doors of a row of expensive fitted wardrobes which blended perfectly into the room.
‘Try these,’ he suggested, throwing a pair of faded denims on to the bed. ‘And this…’ A checked shirt followed the jeans. India hadn’t realised how suspiciously she was staring at them until Simon said dryly. ‘Forget it; they belong to Rick—Alison’s brother.’ He left them here one day when he was helping me work on the house. My daily must have found them and washed them out, since when they’ve been hanging in my wardrobe.’
India didn’t linger in the bathroom. The jeans, although tight, fitted, as did the shirt, but she avoided looking at her shapely outline, still too disturbed by the events of the morning.
‘How about some breakfast?’ Simon suggested when she emerged from the bathroom. ‘You’ll find everything you need in the fridge. I take it you can cook?’
It was on the tip of her tongue to deny it, but what was the point? Besides, she herself was hungry, much to her amazement.
‘And don’t try anything,’ Simon warned her. ‘All the doors are locked, and the keys are right here.’ He patted the pocket of his robe. ‘And you can forget about the telephone too. There’s an extension in my bedroom, and I’ll be able to hear if you lift the receiver. If you do, what happened this morning will be nothing compared to what I can do.’
With that threat ringing in her ears, India made her way downstairs. She had been considering ringing for a taxi while Simon was in the bathroom, but what was the point of risking a possible scene? He had achieved his purpose; he had nothing more to gain from keeping her here, and she intended to tell him so. As for Mel… A lump of misery lodged in India’s throat as she remembered the look of utter disbelief on his face. Perhaps in the end it was better this way, she acknowledged; better for him to have a concrete reason for despising her; that way he would be able to put her behind him all the more easily, and if the papers were anything to go by her own reputation was hardly likely to suffer if her name was ever coupled with Simon Herries, she thought cynically as she busied herself removing eggs, bacon, sausages and tomatoes from the fridge. There was even a basket full of mushrooms, and soon the kitchen was full of the mouthwatering smell of frying bacon.
‘Very domesticated!’
Engrossed in her task, she hadn’t heard Simon enter the kitchen. His hair was still damp from the shower, the lean jaw which earlier had rasped against her own tender flesh was now freshly shaved; jeans and a checked shirt similar to her own did little to mask the powerful masculine structure of his body as he bent to open a cupboard and removed a loaf of bread, deftly cutting off several slices.
‘Why the surprise? Every man ought at least to know the rudiments of cooking,’ he told her, ‘if only in the interests of self-preservation. I don’t pretend to be a Cordon Bleu, but I can manage the basics.’
‘I was thinking,’ India began, bending over the bacon to conceal her expression from him, ‘now that your plan
has worked so well, and Mel has seen me with you, couldn’t I just go back to London?’
‘And have Alison and Mel wondering why? Oh no. I want it firmly fixed in Mel’s mind that you’ve transferred your allegiance to me…’
‘Don’t you think you’re taking a risk? I could tell him the truth.’
‘You could try…’ he drawled.
‘What are you hoping to do? Appeal to the better side of my nature by forcing me to watch him with Alison?’
‘What better side? I’m a realist, not a romantic. If I’d thought for a minute that I could have persuaded you to give up Mel simply by telling you about Alison, do you think for one moment that I wouldn’t have done? Oh no, my dear, I want it firmly fixed in Mel’s mind that you’re a fickle, false character; a heartbreaker and home-wrecker whom he’s better off without.’
* * *
‘Well, we’re here. Out you get!’
The Ferrari wasn’t the only car parked on the forecourt of the low stone-built pub when they drew up outside it shortly after one o’clock.
Simon parked next to a Range Rover, which he told India belonged to Alison and Mel. ‘They find it useful during the schoolholidays. They used to go to France every year, to an old farmhouse in Provence.’
Another unsubtle reminder of Mel’s family obligations? India refused to be drawn.
Several of the men standing at the bar glanced admiringly at her tall, slender figure in her borrowed jeans as they walked into the pub. A large pale cream labrador rose from the floor with obvious difficulty and waddled over to sniff India’s outstretched fingers assessingly, and rub her head dotingly against Simon.
‘Never trust a man who doesn’t like animals,’ her father had been fond of saying, but obviously even fathers could be wrong.
Alison and Mel were waiting for them at a table by one of the small leaded windows, and India’s startled upward glance when Simon slipped his arm round her waist brought an extremely saturnine expression to his eyes, as he looked down at her in a parody of tenderness and murmured softly,
‘We are supposed to be lovers, remember.’
The casual manner in which he referred to the incident earlier in the day, which still had the power to bring burning colour to India’s cheeks, made her respond icily,
‘Really? Do you always make a habit of molesting your women friends in public?’
‘Oh, hardly that,’ he drawled in response. ‘But don’t tempt me. Something tells me that you’re the type of woman it would be fatally easy to respond to with physical anger.’
They had drawn level with Alison and Mel. India felt as though her face were frozen in a mask of rage, her fingers curled tightly into her palms. She was the victim of this unnecessary charade; she was the one who had been insulted and reviled, almost to the point of physical abuse, and yet he talked of him being roused to physical anger!
‘Tell me a little about yourself,’ Alison invited ten minutes later when Simon and Mel had gone to make arrangements for their lunch. As Simon had been standing up at the time it would have been quite natural for him to go alone, but instead he had suggested that Mel accompany him. Making sure she wasn’t given the opportunity to tell him the truth? India wondered.
Dragging her mind off Simon, she tried to concentrate on Alison. In other circumstances she could have liked the other woman, who was quite different from the wife she had envisaged from Mel’s conversation.
‘There’s very little to tell…’ she began.
Alison laughed goodnaturedly. ‘I’m sorry. Mel’s always telling me I’m too nosey. Well, tell me how you came to meet Simon, then…’
‘We were introduced by an acquaintance,’ India replied with perfect truth.
‘And he fell madly in love with you and you with him! You’re the first girl he’s ever brought down here and actually introduced to the family, you know.’
It was on the tip of India’s tongue to point out that ‘introduce’ was hardly the word she would have used to describe the morning’s contretemps, but as though she sensed her embarrassment Alison said quite easily,
‘I’m sorry about this morning. Simon’s housekeeper didn’t tell me he was bringing anyone down with him. I wanted to tell him that the boys are home for the weekend—they’re both at boarding school—I wanted to invite him over for dinner tonight. He’s James’ godfather, and both of them dote on him. He’s been so good to them.’
‘He told me how fond he was of you,’ India agreed noncommittally.
‘Did he?’ Alison smiled. ‘Really we’re more like brother and sister than cousins. He spent most of his holidays with my parents, you know. His own parents divorced when he was nine.’ For a moment her face clouded over, and then she smiled again. ‘A very bad age, I think; old enough to be aware of the undercurrents but too young to make allowances for adult emotions. For a while he was very bitter; he refused to have anything to do with his mother for several years. She’s dead now and I believe he’s grateful for the fact that he had the opportunity to make things up with her before she and her second husband were killed. She was the one to break up the marriage, you see. She was never really cut out to be the wife of a country farmer—which was really what Simon’s father was—I suppose years ago they’d have been called “landed gentry”—’ she pulled a slight face. ‘He adored Louise. He died shortly after she left him—overwork, the doctor called it, but I can remember Simon saying that his mother had killed him. Poor little thing; he flatly refused to go to the funeral. In fact it was weeks before my parents could get him to accept that John had gone. The estate had to be sold, of course; there were heavy debts. Fortunately there was enough left to put Simon through school and later university, but he’d changed; become not exactly bitter—wary, I think would be the best description, which is why we’ve all been holding our breath hoping that eventually he would find the right girl—the one who can break through that tough outer crust he assumes.’
What with? India found herself thinking. A pickaxe? Dynamite?
‘I haven’t known him very long,’ she said cautiously, aware that Alison was expecting some response from her. In some ways she could appreciate Simon’s desire to protect his cousin, in view of what she had told her, and her frank, confiding manner; unlike Simon, Alison was far from careful and cautious.
‘No, but I can see that you’re different from his other girl-friends,’ Alison told her earnestly.
‘What are you two discussing so seriously?’
India hadn’t seen Simon and Mel approaching their table, and she stiffened instinctively.
‘Nothing,’ Alison replied airily. ‘I was just telling her that she’s different from your normal run of girls.’
‘You’re so right,’ Simon agreed softly, his eyes on India’s over-bright eyes and trembling mouth. ‘You haven’t been exchanging any more secrets, have you?’
His hand slid along her shoulder and up into her hair, forcing India’s head back so that she had to look up at him.
India knew what he meant. He wanted to know if she had told Alison the truth. To punish him she said lightly, ‘Alison came over this morning to ask if you wanted to have dinner with them tonight.’
‘Yes, why don’t you?’ Alison interrupted eagerly. ‘The boys are both home, and they’re longing to see you… both of you must come.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t,’ India apologised, smiling with false sweetness at Simon and pulling a wry face. ‘Honestly, darling, I know every girl admires impetuosity in a lover, but sweeping me off here with nothing to wear apart from the clothes I stood up in!—a very inappropriate evening dress and cloak,’ she told Alison.
‘Simon did that?’ Alison enquired with delight. ‘Never!’
‘Indeed he did. Positively kidnapped me,’ India told her with another saccharine smile in Simon’s direction. While her pride exulted fiercely in the murderous look she saw in his eyes, part of her noted with dismay the clenching of his jaw, and the hard tightening of his mouth as his ey
es held hers.
‘You gave me no option,’ he answered truthfully, the hand he had wound into her hair sliding down to the base of her neck where the lean fingers exerted a pressure which made her want to cry out aloud with pain.
‘Besides, I’m tired of sharing you with other people. I wanted you all to myself.’
Mel had remained silent throughout this exchange, but suddenly he said abruptly,
‘They’re signalling that our table’s ready.’
‘I don’t think Simon and India are particularly hungry,’ Alison giggled, ‘at least not for food. Looking at you two makes me feel quite envious,’ she told India with a sigh, before turning to Mel to say softly, ‘Do you remember when you couldn’t bear to let me out of your sight; when you had to take that trip to Paris on business and you refused because it was our first wedding anniversary?’
Embarrassed at being forced to witness this small exchange, India glanced away, and immediately wished she hadn’t as she encountered the grimly aware look in Simon Herries’ eyes.
Lunch was a mainly silent affair, after which Simon announced abruptly that he had changed his mind about the weekend and had decided that they ought to return to London almost straight away.
‘Oh, but…’ Alison protested, falling silent, as she realised that no one else was supporting her protest. ‘Well, if you must,’ she said lamely. ‘But next time you come down give us some warning—and bring India with you. I definitely approve,’ she added irrepressibly.
After that the remainder of the afternoon passed in a haze, India was aware of them taking their leave of Alison and Mel; Mel’s fingers trembling against hers as they shook hands, his face unnaturally pale; she was also aware of Alison’s bright chatter, filling an aching silence when she suggested that the four of them go out for a meal together some time, but the return journey to the house to pick up her clothes seemed to be part of a dream world she had suddenly started inhabiting.
Simon drove back to London in almost complete silence, broken only when he said curtly at one point,