by Helen Brooks
‘Hi.’ He was smiling with his eyes as well as his mouth as he opened the door to her, and before she could protest he’d kissed her swiftly on the mouth before taking her coat. ‘Come and have a drink,’ he said easily once she’d finished fussing the dogs. ‘Sherry, wine or one of my famous cocktails?’
It was impossible to remain on edge for long; Morgan had a witty and slightly wicked sense of humour and within a short time she was laughing at something he’d said and the atmosphere had diffused. By the time he saw her home under a moonlit sky things were back to normal.
Or were they? Willow asked herself later that night, curled up in bed but wide awake in spite of the sleepless hours the night before. Like it or not, their relationship had gone a little deeper, moved up a gear, call it what you would. He’d kissed her warmly on the doorstep but hadn’t prolonged the contact, taking the key from her fingers and opening the door for her as the kiss ended, and pushing her gently into the house as he’d blown her one last kiss before shutting the door. She had stood immobile for some moments, overwhelmed by such mixed feelings she wouldn’t have been able to name any one as uppermost. Regret, longing, confusion, relief, but overall a curious kind of restlessness, which was compounded by the fact she wouldn’t see Morgan for another five days.
And she wanted to see him. A rush of longing swept through her, intensifying to a physical ache as she stared into the quiet darkness. How would she feel if he suddenly said he didn’t want to see her any more? If he’d had enough of this ‘friendship’?
She clenched her muscles against the rawness of the thought, then forced herself to slowly relax. She’d cope, she’d survive. She’d got through the break-up of her marriage, hadn’t she? And nothing could be worse than that.
Really? Her mind seemed determined to play devil’s advocate. Was she sure about that? Had Piers ever stirred her inner self in the way Morgan did? Piers had been like a beautifully wrapped gift that turned out to be an empty box, worthless and of no lasting value. Morgan, on the other hand, was like tough brown paper done up with string, which held something priceless inside.
The thought shocked her and she sat bolt upright in bed, telling herself she was being ridiculous. Her heart was pounding and there was a lump in her throat, the feeling that she wanted to cry uppermost. Her head was trying to tell her something.
If only he had swept her off her feet last night—literally—and carried her inside and up to bed and made love to her all night so the decision wasn’t hers. That was what most men would have done in his place. Then it would have been a fait accompli. No going back.
But Morgan’s dead right, isn’t he? the nasty little voice pointed out. If he’d done that she would have felt terrible in the cold light of day and probably hated him as much as she loved him. Loved him? Where on earth had that come from?
Her body went rigid. She didn’t love him. She hugged herself, shivering, but the chill was within. She did not love Morgan Wright. She wouldn’t be so monumentally foolish as to fall in love with a man who had made it clear from the outset that he wasn’t interested in permanency or for ever or anything remotely approaching it. A man who conducted his lovelife with a ruthless determination to stay clear of the trap of matrimony.
Willow sat for long minutes, her head whirling, and when she slid down under the covers again she gave a short mirthless laugh. She had to be the most stupid woman on the planet. How could she have gone from the frying pan into the fire? She had loved one man who had turned out to be so, so wrong; how could she have fallen for another who was equally wrong, if for different reasons? This couldn’t be happening.
What was she going to do? She lay, fighting for composure and telling herself she was not—she was not—going to cry. He didn’t know how she felt and she hadn’t, thank goodness, made the fatal mistake of sleeping with him, which would have complicated things further. She was his weekend ‘friend’ she had no idea what he got up to in the week and she didn’t want to know. She had to face the fact she was only on the perimeter of his life and that when this desire for her body he had spoken of began to fade, most likely their weekend dates would become less and less. And that was OK, it really was. It had to be.
Over the next few weeks this resolve was tested. Morgan had taken to calling her now and again in the evenings; pleasant, warm, amiable calls, which sometimes lasted as long as an hour. He’d ask her how she was and what she’d been doing before telling her about his day, putting an amusing slant on his conversation, which often had her giggling helplessly. And the weekends—oh, the weekends… He took her to the theatre and to the cinema; dancing at a couple of nightclubs in the first big town some distance away from the cottage, and for some delicious meals out. Other times they’d dine at his home, watch TV or listen to music, and take the dogs for long walks when the weather permitted.
On her birthday in October he whisked her off to a superb restaurant where he’d reserved a cosy table for two; presenting her with an exquisitely worked little gold and ruby brooch in the shape of a tiny fire over celebratory champagne cocktails—lest she forget how they met, he murmured with a quirk of a smile.
Willow grew to know Kitty and Jim well, discovering the couple were lovely people with hearts of gold. She was even able to distinguish each of the dogs by name after a while and appreciate their varying personalities. Although she was uncomfortably aware her love for Morgan was growing the more she got to know him, she couldn’t seem to do anything about it, and he seemed determined she did get to know him. He shared more of his thoughts and emotions each time they met or spoke to each other on the phone during the week, but on the other hand his lovemaking was more restrained if anything, often leaving her frustrated and unhappy once they’d parted.
Monday to Friday became an eternity each week; she felt the longing for Morgan’s presence like a physical pain. In spite of that she continued to ruthlessly dissect her feelings and was honest enough with herself to acknowledge part of her was relieved Morgan wasn’t a for-ever type. It kept things strangely safe. He wasn’t for her. And because of that she didn’t have to decide whether she could trust him completely or if she was seeing the real man—all of him.
It was on the first weekend of November, a weekend which had ushered in the new month with a sudden drop in temperature and hard frosts, the glinting sparkle of spider webs and satisfying crunch of stiff white grass proclaiming it was going to be a cold winter, that things came to a head. In hindsight, Willow knew she had deliberately engineered the conversation which led to the row that followed. Seeing Morgan had become so bittersweet, her nerves were stretched as tight as a drum.
They were walking home as the sun set, the dogs gambolling in front of them in spite of having had a five-mile walk. Fleeting wisps of silver tinged the pink mother-of-pearl sky and the weather forecast had spoken of imminent snow. As they cut across a ploughed field towards the lane and home, the flash of a pheasant’s iridescent plumage lit the sky as the bird rose just in front of the lead dog and flew into the air, squawking loudly in protest at being disturbed.
They stopped, and as Willow watched the pheasant disappear into a small copse some distance away, she murmured, ‘Thank goodness it got away, I’d have hated for the dogs to kill it.’
Morgan nodded. ‘So would I, but that’s part of life in the country, I’m afraid.’
She glanced at him. ‘And you would have been able to look at it like that? If the worst had happened?’
‘You can’t take instinct out of the dogs or the bird,’ he said reasonably. ‘The dogs will chase for the fun of it and the bird will flutter and excite them as it flies. They’re being what they are and doing what they’re programmed to do.’
‘The age-old argument,’ she muttered under her breath, but just loud enough for him to hear.
‘I’m sorry?’ He’d caught the sarcasm and as she met his gaze she saw the change in his eyes, the sudden wariness.
‘The age-old argument the male population trot out to
excuse all manner of things,’ she said steadily, her heart thumping hard. ‘You don’t even realise you’re doing it, do you?’
They had stopped walking and she raised her chin slightly as he studied her. ‘I’ve never “trotted” anything out in my life, Willow. Nor do I hide behind excuses for my actions.’
‘No?’ She forced a disbelieving smile. ‘I thought the nature thing all led up to most males’ favourite theory, that it’s unnatural for them to be monogamous? The old “bee gathering pollen from umpteen flowers” philosophy.’
A muscle twitched in Morgan’s jaw. ‘What’s the matter?’
She tossed her head. ‘Nothing’s the matter.’
‘I’ve obviously upset you in some way,’ he said with infuriating calmness. ‘I’m asking how.’
‘I’m not upset. I’m just stating what is a well-known fact. Men in general are incapable of being faithful to one woman for the whole of their lives. I think it’s something like eighty per cent or more will have an affair of some kind or other, even if their wife or long-term partner never finds out. And the most well-worn excuse is that they couldn’t help it and it didn’t mean anything, it was mere physical attraction.’
‘Well, it looks as though I’ve learnt something more about that slimeball you married,’ Morgan said coolly.
She drew in a gasp of shock. Whatever reaction she’d expected, it wasn’t this. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I think you do. Faithfulness wasn’t one of his strong points.’
Willow stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat and said overloudly, ‘Every opinion I have doesn’t relate back to Piers. I do actually have a mind of my own.’
The blue eyes glittered in the fading pearly light. ‘Then I suggest you start using it.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she said angrily.
‘You met and married one of life’s emotional rejects and he put you through hell until you finished it. It was a mistake and we all make them. Deal with it and move on.’
Her life summed up Morgan-style. The anger was welcome; it provided the adrenalin needed to fight back. She glared at him. ‘I don’t need you to tell me how to conduct my life.’
‘I think you do, because no one else can get near enough, can they? You’ve made sure of that. Even Beth watches what she says around you.’
‘She does not!’ She’d never been so furious. ‘And what do you know about my relationship with my sister anyway? You’ve only met her once. Hardly a basis to judge anything by.’
The look on his face alerted her to the fact she’d inadvertently stumbled on something. She stared at him for a moment that seemed to stretch and swell. The dogs had gathered in a puzzled group about their legs, sensing all was not well.
‘You’ve been talking to Beth,’ she said flatly. ‘Haven’t you?’
He didn’t deny it. ‘I can talk to whomever I like.’
‘You’ve been discussing me with my sister? How dare you, Morgan? How dare you contact Beth and talk to her about me?’
‘As you have been so at pains to point out over the last little while, we’re free, independent spirits, Willow,’ he said with heavy sarcasm. ‘That means I can do what I like, when I like and with whom. Or have I got that wrong?’
‘I can’t believe Beth would be so disloyal.’
‘For crying out loud, will you listen to yourself?’ Now he was glaring and she knew she’d pushed him beyond his limit. ‘Your sister loves you very much and she’s concerned about you—what’s so terrible about that? Or is she now condemned to be placed with all the other untouchables that are kept on the perimeter of your life? When are you going to face the fact that you can’t live as an island, Willow? Sooner or later you’re going to have to let someone in.’
‘That’s rich, coming from you,’ she tossed back with equal ferocity. ‘Say as I say and not as I do. Is that your philosophy, Morgan? Because it stinks. If anyone is an island, you are, as you’ve made very plain from day one. No for ever for the great Morgan Wright, but if someone else dares to say the same thing it’s wrong. Now what does that make you?’
‘An emotional child, or at least I was,’ he said, suddenly very calm. ‘Until I met you. Then things changed. I changed. Not easily, I admit. I fought it every step of the way but I finally understood that I could no longer put my feelings and desires into neat, separate compartments any more. I don’t want an affair with you, Willow. Until this very moment I hadn’t realised how much I don’t want that. I love you, not as a passing fancy or a temporary stopgap, but as my woman.’
‘No, no, you don’t.’ She stepped backwards, stumbled but quickly righted herself as his arm reached out to steady her. As it fell back by his side, she said again, ‘You don’t. You said what you felt was physical attraction. You said that.’
‘It is.’ For a long moment he studied her face, his eyes searching hers. ‘But that’s only part of it.’
‘No.’ Panic had gripped her, she felt smothered, unable to breathe. She had done this, forced this thing that had been between them since the night he had stopped himself making love to her, out into the open. Now she couldn’t pretend any more. And she had been pretending, fooling herself, lying. Instinctively she had known from that point on things were different and he hadn’t been playing games. She wanted to believe in his sincerity now, to cast all doubts and fears aside and trust he was speaking the truth, that Morgan was as solid and genuine as Piers had been hollow and shallow, but it was too huge a step of faith to take. ‘No, Morgan.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Yes. Whether you want to hear it or not, I love you, and it’s about time I told you because something was threatening to give and it was my sanity.’
‘You said we were carrying on as friends.’
‘We were never friends.’ There was brusqueness in his voice along with rawer emotion.
He was right. Friendship was far too tame a label. She tried to speak, failed, then cleared her throat. The air, the dogs, even the birds were still, everything—all nature—seemed suspended. She was conscious of bare-branched trees against the frosty sky and the delicate beauty hurt in view of what she was going to say.
Her throat had locked and she had to swallow hard before she could say, ‘I’m sorry but I don’t love you.’
She saw him flinch and for a moment the temptation to fling herself on him and take it back was strong, but what would be the outcome? Panic won and she stayed where she was, her gaze dropping from his. This had to end now, for good.
‘If this was the movies or a love story I’d do the noble thing and say it doesn’t matter, that we can carry on as we are, that I’ve got enough love for the both of us,’ Morgan said tersely. ‘But it matters like hell and the last weeks have shown me my control can only be tested so far. I guess what I’m saying is that it has to be all or nothing with me, having come this close. Anything else is not an option any more.’
Struggling to match his control, Willow nodded. ‘I—I can understand that.’ It was like that for her too, if he did but know it. The trouble was, she didn’t know if she could trust Morgan—any man—for the all. Raising her eyes, she looked into the ruggedly attractive face. He didn’t deserve a nutcase like her, not after the childhood he’d endured and the knocks life had dished out. She was doing the right thing here.
Knowing she was going to howl like a banshee and make a total fool of herself, she said quickly, ‘I’d better go. Th-thanks for everything. I’m sorry it’s turned out this way.’
The blue eyes were boring into her soul. ‘Willow—’
‘It’s for the best. Really, it’s for the best.’ She began to walk, knowing her movements were jerky but unable to do anything about it. She half expected him to walk with her and when he didn’t, she waited for him to call her back. The call didn’t come. She walked on but still it didn’t come.
Willow reached the end of the field and stepped onto the small style that led into the lane. Then she was in the lane and walking
swiftly, woodenly, aware of the cold air on her face and the smell of woodsmoke. Jim must have lit a bonfire, she thought vacantly. He often did on a Sunday afternoon.
By the time she reached the cottage the tears were streaming down her face and she fumbled with the key for what seemed like an age before the door opened. She all but fell across the threshold, pulling the door shut and then sinking down with her back against the wood as she sobbed and sobbed.
It was over. As she had wanted it to be. He thought she didn’t love him and, Morgan being Morgan, that would be enough to keep him from contacting her again. No more hour-long phone calls, which had changed mediocre days into something wonderful; no more weekends filled with laughter and music and life; no more being able to watch his face as he talked and smiled; no more Morgan. What had she done? What had she done?
He had told her he loved her and she had flunked it big time, ruining any chance for them in the future. She couldn’t have put the final seal on this relationship more effectively if she’d planned it for a lifetime, she thought sickly. She had lied to him and, in lying, sealed her fate.
Willow couldn’t have said how long she sat there wallowing in misery, but by the time she dragged herself into the kitchen it was dark outside and beginning to snow. Fat, feathery flakes were falling in their millions from a laden sky. Willow wondered briefly if she was going to be able to get to work tomorrow, and then dismissed the thought just as quickly. What did work matter? What did anything matter? she asked herself wretchedly. If this was all there was, if life was going to continue to be as horrible as it had been the last few years, she might as well hibernate in the cottage and become a recluse.
After making herself a mug of hot chocolate she put a match to the fire and curled up on the sofa, staring unseeing into the burgeoning flames. Morgan said he loved her, but how could she know he wouldn’t change once they were together? She didn’t let herself consider marriage; togetherness was too frightening as it was. And he hadn’t mentioned marriage anyway.