Tomorrow...Come Soon

by Steele, Jessica

  How long she sat there being pulled first one way and then the other, she had no idea. She was on a see-saw she couldn't get off, and she was growing more confused the longer she thought about it. There was one very big thank you owing to Grant, but that was getting mixed up with

  thoughts on her own integrity, thoughts that she owed him more than a thank you, countered by thoughts that their bargain had been rendered null and void by what he had said to her. And anyway, as she remembered his bossing her about—but only when she thought about it, in the interests of getting her to rest—how could she go to him and tell him that the Johnstons always paid their debts? And did she want to? Though, if she was being so high-minded about wanting to settle with him, what did whether she wanted to have anything to do with that dishonourable debt?

  Her insides churning, Devon left her bench and left the park, her mind still full of Grant and the debt she owed him. Her head no clearer, she found she was in that part of town where if she went one way she would be going in the direction of her own home, and if she went the other way she would be going in the direction of the home she had shared with Grant.

  I love him, she thought, and without her having to think further, her feet had moved off in the direction of The Limes

  For the rest of the way, Devon tried to freeze all thought. She felt mixed up enough without going all through the thoughts she had had again. She owned she was so confused that she had no clear idea what she was going to say to Grant when she saw him. And she wasn't at all sure why she was going anyway, other than that something inside her seemed to be compelling her to go and see him.

  She checked her watch when she had made it to the avenue where Grant lived, and was shattered to see it was half past six. Mr McAllen had been overrunning as usual, and that had made her late going in to see him, but surely she hadn't sat in the park all that time?

  One thing, though, she thought, feeling faint inside, by

  her arriving at Grant's house at this time of day, there was a very good chance that he would be in.

  Doubt, uncertainty, knowing one careless arrogant word from him could have her wanting to die from embarrassment, Devon turned up the drive of The Limes, and felt anti-climax. Grant's car was not there—Grant was not there.

  Why she kept on going she could not have said; too mixed up to think of turning about, she was able to reason later, she kept going forward. And she even rang the door bell once she had mounted the steps.

  That no one answered was a foregone conclusion. But still she didn't seem able to move away. Stubbornness was with her not to admit defeat, not after she had got this far, for she knew with conviction that if she did not see Grant today, then she would never see him, because never would she have the nerve to come here again.

  She had been standing on the wide doorstep for some five minutes with still no sign of Grant returning from work, when she suddenly remembered she had a key to the house in her bag. And her memory started to awaken through the fog of her thoughts, so she remembered that her father would be at home and, by this time be starting to get worried that she hadn't arrived.

  That seemed to settle the matter for her. Depending on traffic, her father could have another three-quarters of an hour worrying about her before she could make it back.

  The front door open, she walked through into the sitting room where she knew she would find a phone. But having dialled her home number, when her father answered and she had told him that she was fine, and that Mr McAllen had told her Dr Henekssen had done a perfect job on her, she realised she was not so clear of the fog that enmeshed her as she had thought. For she had not a clue what her father was talking about as he said something incompre-

  hensible about there being a `foul-up' before he went on to ask:

  `Where are you phoning from, Devon?'

  She had put the phone down after saying goodbye to him, before it dawned on her how scrambled her thinking had become. And she stared mortified at the instrument as she wondered what her father would be thinking, for as her words bounced back at her, she realised she had told him, 'I'm at Grant's home.'

  Her legs feeling suddenly weak, she sat down and made herself concentrate on getting herself together. And at the end of ten minutes, she felt more composed, and able to comprehend that with her spirits never higher at Mr McAllen' s good news, consumed by her love for Grant as she was, consumed by a need to see him—she had been making excuses to see him when, quite simply, she had wanted him to be the first to hear her good news. Which just went to show, she thought, how all over the place her thinking had been; for she had quite overlooked the fact that, in her need to share her news with the one she loved, she had forgotten completely that the one she loved did not love her!

  Hurriedly she got to her feet, her thanks and gratitude to Grant relegated to letter form. Speedily she moved across the sitting room carpet, feeling hot at just the thought of what Grant would have to say if he came in and found her, as nice as you please, taking her ease on his settee.

  She made it across the hall, and outside the front door. And then the roar of a car being driven fast and furiously up the drive had her turning, the front door still open behind her, and then, promptly, she froze.

  The car had stopped, and as she saw Grant leap from it and come striding up to her, she did not have to wonder what he would have to say on returning from work to find

  her making free with his home. For his whole thunderous expression said it all, before he took the steps two at a time, grabbed her by the arm, and nearly shattered her eardrums as he bellowed:

  `What the bloody hell are you doing here?'

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THAT Grant was in a rage such as she had never seen him in before made her quail where she stood. All too clear was the fact that he was deeply offended at her cheek in coming to his home and then having the effrontery to let herself in. Equally obvious, too, was the fact that he might have desired her at one time, but with or without principles, Grant Harrington had no time for her now.

  `I was—just leaving,' she said, and took a step away from him, only to find, as his grip tightened on her arm, that she was going nowhere until he said so.

  `Like hell you're leaving!' he snarled.

  And in case she hadn't got the picture, the next second Devon found she was being manoeuvred back through the door she had just come through. And while she guessed she was in for a dressing down at her audacity in gaining entry and making as free with his home as if it were her own, she was being dragged after him.

  Not another word did he have to spare for her until he had pulled her round, and they were standing facing each other on the sitting room carpet.

  Telling herself she wasn't afraid of him even if his dark eyes were glinting dangerously, she tried to get herself together to think up some excuse for being there. But she was to find she had no time. For, looking as though he could cheerfully choke her, Grant was pitching into her, though to her astonishment, not taking her to task for treating The Limes as if it was a lodging house. But he had her staring at him witless, as he roared:

  `Where the blazes have you been?' And, not giving her

  chance to reply or question, 'You should have been home an hour ago at least!' Then, too angry, as uncomprehending of why that should cause him to be so infuriated she continued to stare, he thundered, 'And don't come the innocent blue eyes with me! You've given us one hell of a fright by not going straight home.'

  -fright?' she queried, wondering how she had thought she had been confused before. Then she was trying hard to grasp what it was he was saying. 'Us?' she asked.

  `Your father and me,' he bit, his jaw jutting pugnaciously as he let some light into her darkness.

  `You've been—to my home?' she asked faintly, dearly wanting to sit down, but the mood he was in, guessing he would have her hauled to her feet for doing so uninvited.

  `I was there when you eventually condescended to phone through,' he tossed at her.

  `I'm sor
ry,' she said, her insides all of a flutter, hoping an apology might go some way to cool the heat of him as it registered that he must have driven like a madman to have got from her home and to The Limes so soon.

  `So you damn well should be!' he blasted her, no let-up in his aggression as he flung at her, 'We were worried sick about you.'

  `Worried?' she dared to query, her heart's erratic pumping making her feel breathless.

  `We thought you must have had bad news about your hip,' he said, searing her with a look.

  Was Grant saying that he, as well as her father, had been worried about her? Her breath catching in her throat even as she discounted it, she found her voice to state, `I'm—er--sorry if—er—if y . . . if anybody has been worried. But there was no need—I'm—er—fine. Mr Mc...'

  `We know that,' he barked. 'I rang the clinic when you didn't arrive.'

  `You—phoned?' she choked, her palms starting to grow moist. And she was then on the receiving end of his irritated look.

  was all for coming to look for you,' he said grittily, `but your father was of the opinion that you could appear at any moment from one of half a dozen routes.'

  `You were going to come to meet me?' she exclaimed, her surprise overriding that he still wasn't looking too well pleased with her.

  `I'd have blasted well taken you to keep your appointment,' he retorted impatiently, 'had you not told me your father was going with you.'

  `Oh,' she said, thinking from what she could remember of his offer, it had only been if he could spare the time from his office. Though, on the defensive, she felt obliged to explain, would have come with me, only—well, with the paperwork he was doing for you being so important to him, he . .

  `Nothing,' Grant flattened her, 'is more important to him than you are.'

  And before she could rush in to tell him that he didn't have to remind her, that they both had unsurmountable proof of that, he was going on to make her more confused than she already was, by saying:

  `Do you think paperwork or anything else would have stopped him from going with you today—if it wasn't that your happiness means so much to him?'

  Desperately Devon tried to make sense of that, and failed. `But I don't understand,' she had to confess. didn't argue when, seeing how involved he was with the work he's doing for you, I told him I wanted to go on my own.'

  `Of course he didn't argue,' Grant said sharply. Then he paused, and looked exasperated suddenly. `Oh, sit down,' he told her edgily.

  Devon sat in the seat nearest to her, which happened to be the settee, more she thought because some of his aggression seemed to be fading, but that there was no saying it wouldn't be on the rampage again if she didn't comply with his order. Grant followed suit and claimed another part of the large settee, and either because she had acquiesced or because the first flash of his temper was over, she thought his voice was sounding more level as he said:

  `Your father didn't argue with you because . . .' He stopped then as though choosing his words, when before he had thrown words at her in the heat of fury without caring. 'Your father thought,' he resumed after a moment, `from the—discussion I had with him last night—that if I was not exactly going to take you to your appointment, then he was damn sure that I'd be meeting you from it.'

  Panic hit her on the instant. 'You haven't told him about our bargain?'

  `Oh, for God's sake!' and she had thought his fury had left him! `To hell with any bargain we made!' he roared, making her jump.

  `There's no need to shout!' she flared, her own voice rising, pride soaring. 'I heard you the first time when you said you'd gone off wanting me.'

  `Dammit, woman,' he shouted, his voice none the quieter, 'of course I want you! Wanting you has been driving me bloody barmy!' Her heart threatening to leap from her body, Devon swallowed as he went on, 'But I didn't tell your father about the pact we made, simply because . .

  `Because you thought he would sooner go to prison than have me give myself . .

  Devon broke off as Grant's hands clenched, and she looked likely to be on the receiving end of one of those fists as he strove for control. She saw his hands uncurl, and her

  breathing became a little easier when, his hard-won control showing in that his voice was no longer a roar, but quiet and almost even, he said:

  `Because I knew you didn't want him to know any of it.'

  That took her aback for a moment. She recalled his astonished look last night when she had told him to 'Shut up' when she had thought her father might hear what he had been saying about them living together. She knew full well it was in him to tell her father everything, and she could only love Grant more that because he knew she did not want her father to know, he had kept quiet.

  `Thank you, Grant,' she said huskily. And remembering that was not all she had to thank him for, she excused her calling at The Limes first before going home, 'I wanted to thank you personally for . . .' she faltered as she recalled she had been ready to leave without thanking him. `I—was going to—write to you to—to thank you for . . .' she faltered again, her skin going pink as it struck her—he had not actually volunteered the money, had he? `. . . for—er—providing the money for my operation,' she made herself finish. Tor not prosecuting my father.'

  `To hell with the money,' he said, dismissing the thousands of pounds he was out of pocket as if it were nothing. And when her eyes were fixed on his face, quietly he dropped out, 'Perhaps I should tell you that your father never was under any threat of being prosecuted.'

  `Never was . . . ?' she gasped. But she just could not believe that. 'But you . . . When I came to your office . .

  `When you came to my office I was amazed that after the years of loyal service your father had given both me and my father, anyone should think, even as shaken as I felt by it, that I could do that to him.'

  `But . . .' She was still staggering.

  `But,' he went on, 'shaken as I was, bitterly disappointed as I was, angered as I was,' he admitted, 'when

  maybe with another employee I wouldn't have taken such a personal interest. Because of my father's friendship and my own respect for your father, I had to find out why.' He broke off, then paused for a moment, and went on, his look severe, but, she was glad to see, his anger with her seemed to have gone, 'I have a—certain experience of life, so to my mind the money he'd stolen must either have been spent on gambling, or on some woman.'

  `You—chose the latter,' she put in quietly.

  `The latter chose me,' he said, unsmiling. 'I went to see him. I pulled-up outside a small detached house that was well within your father's salary range. I observed a car standing on the drive that shouldn't have broken the bank even had it been this year's model. And my thought then was that he'd turned to gambling. That was,' he went on, `until I saw those suitcases in the hall, until I saw you, beautiful, looking as though nothing in life had ever been denied you, a look of greedy anticipation in your eyes, I thought, as, too idle to shift yourself off the settee, you took your ease while your father looked about ready to collapse.'

  `You—hated me on sight, didn't you?' she asked chokily.

  `What I thought you stood for, yes,' he agreed. 'All I could see then was that regardless of how the father who had robbed for you fared, all you could think of was the good time that awaited you in Sweden. I couldn't bear to be in the same room with you.'

  `Was that why you refused to see me when I came to your office?'

  `I had no time for you,' he replied, but she had known that anyway.

  Though when she was on the way to thinking that having thanked him, however inadequately, that the time had come for her to leave, and she glanced at him, there

  was that in his look that had her legs feeling watery again.

  For, not taking his eyes from her, Grant was favouring her with a sort of—was it—a nervous expression? It couldn't be! And yet he looked to be a man with a lot on his mind, a man with a lot to say—and a man who, strangely for Grant, was not totally sure of the outcome!<
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  Which was crazy, she thought, for Grant was always so absolutely sure of everything. She blamed what she thought she saw in him on her imagination. Hadn't she been so confused these past few hours as to have her thinking all over the place?

  I think I'd better go,' she said, and made to rise from the settee.

  `No!' Grant said sharply.

  And Devon was rapidly rethinking that he was in any way unsure of anything. For it was a decisive hand that came to her arm and pulled her to sit down again. And there was a firm control in his voice that belied the fact that he was in any way apprehensive—though it did nothing for her nerves to hear him state:

  `To get back to that Friday—I did see you in my office, didn't I, Devon? And in consequence,' he said after a moment's pause. spent the whole of the following weekend trying to get you out of my mind.'

  `Oh!' she exclaimed, unable to hold the exclamation in. But her heartbeats evened out as she recalled how it had been. B-because you wanted me to pay,' she said. 'You had me on your mind because you were trying to think of a way to . .

  `That's what I told myself, when wherever I went that weekend I was haunted by a pair of innocent-looking, pleading blue eyes, I didn't believe in.'

  `Told—yourself?' she asked, and her heartbeats were erratic again when a slow smile came her way, and he owned:

  'I didn't want to admit I was attracted to you.' And while she tried to make her heart behave, because she had to know he had been physically attracted to her or all of this would never have got started, he went on, 'That was why I phoned asking you to come to see me.' He shrugged self-deprecatingly. 'Of course when I saw you again, I had to admit to myself that I wanted you—but only, as I thought then, in a sexual way.'

  Pink coloured her skin, but she rather thought it was more from the fact he had said 'but only, as I thought than' rather than the fact that sex had been brought into it.