Reform of the Rake

by Catherine George

  ‘Let’s keep to neutral ground until—until afterwards,’ she said firmly. ‘Restaurants will do.’

  ‘Bloody waste of money.’ Adam eyed her barely touched dinner grimly. ‘You hardly eat anything. We might as well stay at home and have a sandwich—I could save money for my approaching commitments.’

  ‘Perhaps it might be better if we don’t meet at all until the wedding,’ she said stonily.

  ‘Don’t be—’ Adam caught himself up in time.

  ‘Look, Lowri, why won’t you come back to my place? I promise not to lay a finger on you until after we’re married if that’s what you want.’

  What utter idiots men could be, thought Lowri bitterly. Adam’s obvious distaste for laying a finger on her was precisely why she preferred to give his flat a wide berth. News of forthcoming fatherhood had been the kiss of death to his famed libido as far as she was concerned. He gave her impersonal goodnight kisses, it was true, but they were perfunctory gestures unworthy of the word caress. They spent less and less time together as the date of their nuptials approached.

  ‘Might as well get as much work in beforehand as possible,’ said Adam in extenuation. ‘My parents leave next week, remember. And while we’re on the subject I still think you should meet them before they go.’

  ‘No!’ Lowri was adamant. ‘Let’s leave it until they get back.’

  One evening, shortly before the date set for the secret wedding, Sarah surprised Lowri in tears, and proceeded to extract the entire story from her, then took her over to the house to repeat it to Rupert. Lowri talked with them into the small hours, glad at last to confide in someone, and feeling it was only fair that they, at least, should know the truth. Her gratitude was boundless when they hugged her close and reiterated their pledge of help and support as they walked her back to the flat through the starlit garden.

  The wedding-day dawned as bright and sunny as any bride could wish for. Lowri looked up at the sky with a wry smile, had a bath, washed her hair and dried it carefully, a process which took longer now her hair had grown. She took almost as long over her face, dressed with care, added the last bits and pieces to the luggage waiting near the door. Afterwards she went over to the house and bade a rather emotional farewell to Sarah and Rupert, and hugged Emily hard, grateful that Dominic was playing cricket, and spared the embarrassment of seeing her cry.

  When the taxi came she was ready and waiting, her tears dry, and her face composed. With one last round of goodbyes she got in the cab, waving to the others as it moved away, then turned in her seat to stare straight ahead, feeling that one chapter in her life was well and truly over. She hadn’t wanted to leave Sarah and Rupert to face the music, but Rupert was adamant. When Adam Hawkridge came storming round to the house, as he was certain to do, not only would he find the bird flown, he’d have Rupert Clare at his most formidable to contend with.

  Lowri stared out of the window, feeling no qualms at all about leaving Adam in the lurch. In fact, she discovered, it satisfied some deep, primeval need in her to think of him pacing up and down waiting for the bride who never came. Do him good, she thought fiercely. Who said revenge wasn’t sweet? In her mind’s eye she could just picture him jamming coins in a callbox to ring her, then driving like a maniac to St John’s Wood to pick up the terse letter Rupert had ready and waiting for him.

  Dear Adam,

  You’re saved. My pregnancy was a false alarm, after all. Put it down to panic, or maybe a faulty testing kit. Either way, the hole-and-corner wedding isn’t necessary. Not that I ever insisted on it. You did— probably afraid it would tarnish your image to be seen as shirking your responsibilities. You’ve got so many of these now you must be glad of one less. Especially this one.

  This is not an apology for standing you up at the register office, by the way. I did that deliberately—my little gesture of retaliation. You were not kind, Adam. And lately you’ve become a stranger. One I don’t want to know any more.

  Goodbye,

  Lowri.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LOWRI locked the shop door with a sigh of relief, stretched mightily, then called down the stairs to the basement.

  ‘Everything all right, Jenny?’

  ‘Fine,’ came the answer. ‘Just tidying up a bit.’

  ‘Could you hang on a few minutes while I nip to the supermarket? We were so busy at lunchtime I never got out to buy food.’

  ‘Take as long as you like, Boss. We’re perfectly happy down here. I’m in no hurry.’

  ‘Great. Won’t be long.’

  Lowri let herself out of the shop, took a quick, proprietary look at the window display, made a mental note to rearrange some of it, then got in her car to drive quickly through rush-hour Pennington. She eyed the clock, calculating another five minutes to the supermarket, a ten-minute dash round the store to do her shopping, five minutes for parking, another five to get back—suddenly she gasped and jammed on her brakes hard as the back of the car in front loomed close. She wasn’t quick enough. There was a grinding impact and she was flung back and then forwards, held by the seatbelt. To an accompaniment of irate tooting of horns a man leapt out of the car in front to inspect the damage, ignoring the traffic damming up behind them.

  Groaning in horror, Lowri fought to release the seatbelt, then got out to discover she’d driven into the back of a large, very expensive-looking car. The man bending over to inspect his property straightened and turned to confront her, his face grim with anger but so unmistakable under the street-light that the blood rushed to her face, then receded so suddenly that she felt sick as she sagged against her car in shock.

  ‘What the devil were you playing at?’ he demanded, incensed. ‘Didn’t you see the bloody lights change?’ He stopped short as he reached her, his eyes narrowing in abrupt incredulity. He stared at her for a moment then shook his head in disbelief. ‘Good lord, you, Lowri? I don’t believe it. Lowri Morgan, as I live and breathe!’

  Before she could find a word to say two policemen arrived on the scene, one of them directing the traffic, the other questioning Adam Hawkridge about the mishap.

  ‘Just one of those things, Officer,’ said Adam quickly. ‘The lady and I were together. She was following me and I stopped too quickly. My fault entirely.’

  On inspection Adam pronounced his car virtually unscathed, unlike Lowri’s modest little runabout, which was very much the worse for wear.

  ‘I’ll ring my garage,’ she said quickly. ‘They’ll tow it away.’

  ‘Can we leave it here, Officer?’ enquired Adam. ‘I’ll give the lady a lift.’

  Minutes later, with the help of the police Lowri’s car had been pushed down a side street ready for collection, she’d rung her garage on Adam Hawkridge’s car phone and she was sitting in the passenger seat of his Daimler, making a belated effort at apology to a companion whose aura of hostility was almost tangible now they were alone.

  ‘I’m very sorry,’ she said as he drove away. ‘I was in a panic to get to the shops. I just didn’t stop in time.’

  ‘I can’t say I’m altogether sorry myself,’ he said coldly. ‘I always hoped I’d bump into you again one day— though not quite so literally, it’s true.’

  ‘I’ll give you the name of my insurance company—’

  ‘Unnecessary. I shan’t hound you for the sake of a scraped bumper and a new rear light.’

  ‘Thank you. That’s very good of you.’

  ‘Good?’ he retorted savagely. ‘I think I’m being bloody magnanimous for a jilted bridegroom, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘I don’t,’ she flung back, her penitence vanished. ‘I meant that I’m to blame for the accident just now.’

  ‘From my point of view you’re culpable for a damn sight more than that!’

  Lowri’d had enough. She gestured towards a row of parking spaces at the end of the gardens lining the main street. ‘Stop here please. I’ll walk the rest of the way.’

  ‘If you’ve got some idea of disappearing again,
forget it,’ he said forcibly. ‘I’ll come with you, then drive you home. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I know where you live.’

  Lowri breathed in deeply, struggling for calm. ‘I’d much rather you didn’t do that.’

  He gave her a cold, encompassing glance. ‘I take it there’s someone who’d object if you came home with a strange man in tow.’

  ‘Yes, there is,’ she assured him. ‘You can drop me here. Thank you for the lift. My apologies again for running into you.’

  ‘I’ll park here for a moment, but you’re not going anywhere yet.’ A long, sinewy hand grasped her wrist. She eyed it, then looked up at him with hauteur, stiffening as Adam’s teeth showed in a brief, frightening smile.

  ‘Not so fast,’ he said softly. ‘I’m entitled to some explanations. You did quite a lot of damage to my life, Lowri Morgan. It’s time you repaired some of it.’

  Her mouth tightened. ‘The main damage was to your ego, Adam, and since that’s obviously alive and well I feel no obligation to give you any explanation at all.’

  He eyed her from head to foot without haste. ‘You’ve changed, Lowri.’

  ‘You mean I’ve grown up,’ she retorted. ‘I’m not the vulnerable, stupid little girl you once knew, Adam Hawkridge. It may be less than two years in actual time since we last met, but in other ways it feels like a lifetime.’

  They stared at each other in open antagonism, each one taking stock of the changes wrought in the other since their last meeting.

  During the halcyon days of their relationship Adam had looked younger than his age. Now he appeared more than the mere thirty-four Lowri knew him to be. Responsibility and leadership had etched lines on the familiar, striking face. There was a vertical crease between the heavy straight brows, strands of grey among the brown of his hair, but his eyes were as bright and searching—and cold—as ever.

  They took their time in moving over her from the glossy black hair, long now and tied back with a yellow scarf, to her face, which she knew was thinner, its contours emphasised skilfully with make up she hadn’t bothered with much in the old days. Adam’s eyes moved lower, over her suede bomber jacket and brown wool trousers tucked into fawn suede boots, and she moved restively under the hard, dissecting scrutiny. At last he released her hand, and Lowri stiffened as she caught sight of the dashboard clock.

  ‘I must get back this minute,’ she said urgently. ‘I’ll leave the shopping. Could you please drive me back to— to the place where I work? I’ve got a colleague waiting for me before she can go.’

  ‘If you insist.’

  It was only a short distance to the elegant little side street of shops, most of them converted from houses built when the town had been a fashionable spa in Regency days. Lowri directed Adam past the antique dealer and the jeweller and the shop selling expensive shoes and leather goods, and asked him to pull up outside a double-fronted shop where one window held cleverly arranged baby clothes, the other a beautiful antique cradle, overflowing with lace and ribbons.

  ‘Little Darlings,’ said Adam, eyeing the name above the shop. ‘Is this where you work?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Lowri unfastened the seatbelt swiftly and gave him a polite smile. ‘Thanks for the lift, Adam. Must dash. I’m sorry we had to meet again in such unfortunate circumstances—’

  ‘Don’t think you’re getting off as easily as that,’ he broke in. ‘We need to talk. I’m at the Chesterton, where I’ll expect you at eight for dinner.’

  ‘Out of the question!’

  He shrugged. ‘If you don’t, I’ll come round here tomorrow—and stay until you consent to a meeting.’

  Lowri stared at him, biting her lip.

  Adam smiled coolly. ‘Tell your husband, or lover, or whatever, that I’m an old friend who simply wants an hour or so of your time, nothing more. Which is the truth, lord knows.’

  Lowri caught sight of Jenny peering through the blinds on the door and capitulated suddenly. ‘Oh, very well. But I’ll be late.’

  ‘No problem. I can wait,’ he promised her, in a tone so obviously a threat it raised the hairs on her spine. Lowri dived out of the car and across the broad pavement, shivering as the shop door opened at her approach. She slid inside and banged it shut behind her, ramming the bolts home, then held out her arms for the little girl in Jenny’s arms.

  ‘Sorry I was so long, Jenny. Hello, my lovely. Have you been good?’

  Rhosyn Morgan beamed, displaying all six teeth as she said ‘Mum-mum,’ and struggled to get down. Lowri set her down in a playpen filled with toys, as she related her adventure to Jenny, who was the Montessori-trained assistant in charge of the crèche in the basement.

  ‘Gosh, Lowri, what rotten luck,’ said Jenny with sympathy as she shrugged into her coat. ‘Rosie’s been perfectly happy, only she’s getting hungry. Where’s your shopping, by the way?’

  ‘Never managed it, one way and another.’ Lowri blew out her cheeks. ‘Never mind, Rosie can have something out of a jar tonight.’

  ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ve got to go out, worse luck, if I can sort out a babysitter—anyone free on our list?’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ offered Jenny. ‘I’ve got nothing on tonight. I might as well look at your telly as mine.’

  Thanking her warmly, Lowri locked the door behind Jenny, then picked up her daughter and let her crawl upstairs to the flat on the upper floor of the building. Once there they had a romp together, then Rosie ate her supper with gusto, had a walk round the sitting-room, pulling herself along from chair to chair. Lowri sat on the edge of the sofa, watching her little daughter’s every move, raging against the fate which had sent Adam Hawkridge into her life again. The thought of the coming encounter scared her rigid. Yet if she didn’t turn up he’d probably carry out his threat and come to the shop next day—the very last thing she wanted.

  Rhosyn was hers, Lowri thought fiercely. Adam must never know the false alarm had been a lie. She didn’t want his intrusion into the new life she’d made for herself. Bringing up a child single-handed was no bed of roses, but with help from her family she’d managed to achieve control of life both as a mother and as coowner of the shop downstairs. She had no intention of letting Adam Hawkridge upset her hard-won little apple-cart.

  Rosie launched herself away from the nearest chair and toddled across the room to Lowri, holding up her arms in confident appeal.

  Lowri swept her up, hugging the little body as she gave her daughter a smacking kiss and took her off to a protracted playtime in the bath. After much splashing and delighted squealing, there were the usual roars of protest as Rosie was taken out and dried, and her dimpled, flailing limbs fastened into her sleeping suit. Then there was a hush as Lowri fed her daughter her bedtime bottle of milk, both of them cuddled close together to enjoy the part of the day Lowri treasured, when work was over and she was alone with her daughter as Rhosyn grew sleepy, and her little body heavy. Lowri put the empty bottle down and held her daughter close. Mine, she thought. All mine.

  Lowri hung over the angelic sleeping face once Rhosyn was in her cot, riven by an insecurity which kept her there for longer than usual before she could tear herself away to make reluctant preparations for the evening. Pride, if nothing else, prompted care with her appearance, and when Jenny came back Lowri’s hair was coiled up smoothly on top of her head, and she was ready in the raspberry-red dress recently acquired as a reward for her low-calorie diet and the merciless exercises she’d sweated over every night to get her figure back.

  Her ears glowing with Jenny’s morale-boosting compliments Lowri took a last look at her sleeping daughter, made sure Jenny knew where she was going, then went out into the December night to walk the short distance to the Chesterton, a hotel so far above her touch she’d never yet set foot in it. As she walked briskly she worried over what had brought Adam to the town in the first place, and prayed his stay was just overnight. The thought of him in the vicinity for several days gave her silent hysterics. As
she passed through the pillared portico of the hotel Lowri pulled herself together. Now she was here she might as well enjoy the meal. Tonight, she promised herself, the diet could go hang. Her bloodsugars had taken a nose dive at the sight of Adam Hawkridge earlier on. She badly needed some sinful calories to make the evening easier to bear.

  Adam was waiting for her in the hotel foyer, reading an evening paper in one of the comfortable leather chairs near the entrance. He sprang to his feet at the sight of her, and seeing him with suddenly objective eyes Lowri felt a pang of unwanted reaction to his physical presence. She stifled it at birth. All that, she reminded herself brusquely, was behind her. This evening was just a chore to be got through. The Adam she’d known no longer existed. The mature, arrogant man smiling at her was no longer a lover. He was a threat.

  ‘Hello, Lowri.’ He took her hand for a moment, his eyes gleaming as she withdrew it quickly. ‘You look good—roses in your cheeks from the cold.’

  ‘I only hope my nose doesn’t try to compete,’ she returned lightly. ‘It’s very warm in here.’

  Adam relieved her of her navy overcoat and handed it to a passing waiter. ‘Let’s have a drink in the bar while we decide what to eat.’

  The bar was a small, dimly lit place designed to foster an intimacy which made Lowri uneasy. To her regret most of its customers were quiet twosomes engrossed in each other. She would have preferred noise and laughter, some cheerful background music to alleviate the awkwardness of the situation, and for once would have liked a drink to calm jangled nerves. But in a conscious effort to keep her wits about her Lowri refused anything stronger than a glass of mineral water, ignoring her companion’s raised eyebrows.

  ‘Right. Fire away,’ said Adam, once their drinks had arrived. ‘Why Pennington?’

  Lowri settled back in her chair, glad to be spared any preliminary skirmish. ‘I’ve got relatives only a few miles from here. That’s where I went when I left London. I liked the area, so I stayed on after…’ She stopped, biting her lip.