'I understand, Mr Johnson, and you can rest assured that the matter will go no further. I'm only glad that it's reached such a happy conclusion.'
Martha made her farewells, refusing his offer to pay for any expenses she'd incurred, and hung up. She sat quietly at her desk, staring down at the file. She should have felt surprised by the revelation, startled that all her suspicions had been so wrong, yet, somehow, she wasn't. Somewhere during this past week she'd begun to realise that Quinn couldn't do such an underhand thing. If only she could have told him that before, he left. She had taken an innocent friendship and business arrangement, and turned it into something sordid. She had to apologise to him, yet she knew she couldn't bear to face him again just yet.
She ran her fingers lightly over the smooth, thin card, and suddenly it came to her exactly what she must do. She must send this whole file to Quinn, unopened, unread, and let him decide what to do with it. The best place for it now was the back of the fire!
She rang through to the courier service she occasionally used for urgent letters, then busied herself sealing the file into a thick envelope while she waited for it to be collected. When the driver came she handed it over and gave him strict instructions that it should be delivered to Quinn Maxwell personally, and no one else. There was no way she wanted this little time-bomb to go astray!
She settled down and started to work, trying hard to force aside the strange feeling of restlessness which filled her. Usually she enjoyed her work so much, yet today she found it difficult to concentrate on even the simplest task. Her thoughts kept wandering this way and that, before sliding back along a familiar path to Quinn. How she missed him!
There was a tapping at the door and Martha looked up, glad of the interruption.
'Yes, Jeannie. What is it?'
'This package, Ms Clark. I'm afraid the driver has had to bring it back.'
She held the neatly sealed packet out to her and Martha felt her stomach lurch in shock.
'Why?' she asked, her voice tight with the control she'd placed on it. 'Wouldn't Mr Maxwell accept it?'
She took it from the girl's hands and laid it back down on her desk, snatching her hands away as though it would burn her.
'Oh, no, nothing like that. It seems Mr Maxwell has gone away—back to Australia, so one of the neighbours said.'
She left the room and Martha stared down at the packet with tears in her eyes. He'd gone away, set the whole of the world between them. That really and truly was the end of the whole affair.
CHAPTER TEN
The days slipped past, Christmas came and went, and Martha tried hard to get on with her life again, but it was difficult when things seemed to have changed so much. The business which had once been all-important seemed less so. It was still a major part of her life, but no longer enough to fill it. Just after the New Year she made her offer of a partnership to George Bryant and he accepted. It meant she had more free time on her hands than she'd had for ages, time she tried to fill by building a social life for herself. Yet no matter how marvellous the play, how delicious the dinner, how stimulating the company, there was always something missing, and that something was Quinn Maxwell.
She loved him. There was no longer any way she could deny the fact or deceive herself into believing otherwise. She loved him with all her heart and soul, yet she could never tell him when there were all those miles between them.
One night she dined at Aristo's house and spent the whole evening remembering the last time she'd been there with Quinn. Everywhere she turned there seemed to be reminders of him, of how they'd talked, how they'd danced... how he'd kissed her.
It was sweet agony to remember those hours. She went home after dinner and sat on her bed for hours, staring at the photograph of Paul. For all these years she had tried to hold on to him, to keep her love for him vital and alive by denying her own feelings, but there was no longer any way she could continue to do it. She couldn't spoil everything they'd shared by living a lie. She had loved Paul and would always keep a special place in her heart for him, but now time had done its healing. She could look back on her love for him without regret, without guilt, and place it gently aside while she made a new life for herself. In her heart, she knew it was what he would have wanted her to do.
She wrapped the photograph in a layer of tissue paper and placed it gently in a drawer, no longer needing it beside her bed as a constant reminder. In her heart, Paul would always be alive. It gave her some measure of peace to finally come to terms with the fact, to take that first hardest step out of the shadows. If only she could have Quinn back in her life, then everything would be perfect. But this was real life, not a fairy-tale, and that could never happen.
January raced past, cold and dismal, followed by a blustery February, and Martha knew she just had to get away for a break. The events of the winter had taken their toll, and she needed some time to try and get herself together again. She loved Quinn, she always would, but there was no future in it and she couldn't let it destroy her life completely. It had been a long, hard struggle for her to get this far; she couldn't allow herself to slip back.
She stopped off at the travel agent's after lunch one day and arrived back at her office, her arms filled with glossy brochures, her mind awash with exotic places. The Bahamas, Bermuda ... the choice was endless. The only blight on the whole venture was that she wouldn't be able to share it with the man she loved. Humming softly to herself, she elbowed the office door open and staggered inside, scattering brochures in a shiny wake across the pale grey carpet.
'Oh, damn! Can you get them for me, please, Jeannie? Jeannie!'
With a cry of alarm she dumped the whole pile into one of the armchairs and crossed the room to catch her secretary by the shoulders, her eyes filled with concern as she saw the girl's shocked pallor.
'Here, sit down.'
She tried to push Jeannie into a chair but the girl resisted, freeing herself from Martha's hold and all but wringing her hands together in consternation.
'Oh, Ms Clark, I'm so sorry. I only slipped out for a minute, to get a sandwich. I know I should have locked the door, but I thought Mr Bryant was in the office. Oh, dear . . .'
Tears welled to her eyes and Martha stared at her in complete bewilderment. What on earth had happened?
'For heaven's sake, Jeannie, it can't be that bad, surely? Pull yourself together and tell me what's happened.'
Jeannie sniffed, then wiped her nose on a crumpled tissue and pointed towards Martha's office.
'In there, you'll see.'
Martha spun round and hurried towards her room, wondering what she would find, but nothing could, have prepared her for the sight which met her eyes. Roses . . . dozens and dozens of pale yellow roses, massed in vases, baskets, urns, on every available surface. For a moment she stood transfixed, her head reeling from the shock and the heady perfume of the delicate flowers.
'I . . .' Her voice dried up and she swallowed hard, trying to ease the tension which suddenly gripped her. 'Who brought them, Jeannie?' Her voice was a bare whisper, yet she felt as though she'd screamed the words aloud.
'I don't know, Ms Clark. I'm really sorry, but they were just here when I came back. I didn't see who brought them. Do you have any idea?'
'Yes,' Martha whispered. 'Yes, I think I have.' Once before she'd been sent flowers like these, perfect pale yellow roses: could the man who'd sent them then have sent these now? The idea was so staggering that she sat down abruptly and stared round at the flowers with wide, shocked eyes. If she was right, then it could mean only one thing . . . that Quinn was here. She put her head in her hands, feeling the fine tremor which raced through her body at the thought, making her heart pound and her legs turn to water.
'Martha, I . . . Good lord! What's going on?'
George Bryant stood in the doorway, his expression almost comical as he looked at the flowers. Then he grinned,, a slow, smug little grin, as though he'd suddenly added two and two, and come up with the perfect answer.
'Well, it explains one thing at least.'
There was a teasing note to his voice, and Martha glanced up at him, wondering what could have brought such a tone to George's usually ultra-correct manner.
'Explains what?'
'Explains what that Maxwell chap is doing standing in the newsagent's doorway across the street. I was wondering what he was up to.'
For a second Martha thought she would faint, as a wave of dizziness hit her. She clung hold of the desk, her fingers digging painfully into the hard wood.
'Are you sure?'
'Quite sure. Take a look yourself.'
Her legs felt boneless, but somehow she forced herself to her feet and walked to the window, pushing the blind aside to peer out into the street.
He was standing exactly where George had said he was, wearing the same leather jacket and jeans she'd seen him wear before, his blond hair tossing wildly in the icy wind. For a long second Martha just stared at him, wondering if he was real or a figment of her overwrought imagination. Yet nothing on this earth could have looked as beautifully real as he did at that moment!
Dropping the blind, she ran from the room, brushing past George and a startled Jeannie, terrified he would disappear before she got chance to speak with him. Outside it was pouring, a heavy, cold rain which soaked her clothes in seconds, but she didn't even notice it as she stood out on the pavement.
'Quinn!' She wasn't conscious of calling his name, but she must have because he looked up, his body tensing as he caught sight of her. He took one slow step forwards, then another, then held out his arms—and without another thought Martha raced across the road and flung herself into them.
'Quinn! Oh, Quinn!' She couldn't seem to find anything to say other than his name, but it was enough. He hugged her to him, his arms holding her so tightly that she was crushed against his body. For one long moment he stared down into her wet face, his eyes like silvery fires, burning with an emotion which made her breath catch and her heart leap in a crazy, joyful rhythm.
'Oh, Martha, I don't know how I've managed to stay away from you so long.'
He bent his head and kissed her, his lips cold and wet with rain, yet burning with a desire he couldn't hide. Martha kissed him back with all the pent-up love she'd held in check these long and lonely weeks.
Finally he drew away, resting his forehead against hers, his big body shuddering with emotion.
'This isn't how I'd planned it, Martha. I wanted our first meeting to be so perfect. I'd even come up with a nice, romantic speech about did you feel able to leave the shadows and come into the sunlight with me, but I guess the weather has put paid to that.' He cast a wry glance at the leaden sky and Martha laughed, snuggling closer into his arms.
'I don't need any fancy speeches, Quinn. I just need to hold you and have you hold me. That's enough.'
'Is it? Don't you even want to know if I love you?' His voice was deep and Martha raised her face to his, her green eyes filled with a desperation she couldn't hide.
'Do you?' she asked. 'Do you love me, Quinn? Because I love you.' Maybe she should have held back, waited until he'd answered, but this was no contest, no attempt to score points off each other. She loved him and she wanted him to know it; it was all that mattered.
Spasms of shock passed through him as he heard her words, and he drew her closer, pressing her body against his as though terrified she would suddenly disappear.
'Do you, Martha? Are you sure?' There was such desperation in his voice, such a need for reassurance, that Martha felt something tender flare to life inside her. She raised herself on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his as she whispered softly, 'Yes, quite sure.'
'Thank heavens! I love you so much, but I didn't dare hope that . . .' His deep voice broke and he pressed his cheek to hers, holding her close.
'Excuse me!' An elderly woman pushed past them, glaring her displeasure that they were blocking the doorway to the shop. With a murmured apology Quinn pulled Martha aside, his expression wry as he studied her soaked hair and clothes.
'Let's get out of here, shall we, before we get arrested for obstruction or something worse?'
Martha laughed and clung to his hand as they hurried along the street to his car. Inside, Quinn turned to her and kissed her hard, just once, but it was enough, like the seal on an unspoken promise. They drove in silence to his house and he let them in, forcing the rain-swollen door open with his shoulder. Martha looked round in surprise at the dust-sheets shrouding the furniture, the stack of leaflets behind the hall door.
'Haven't you been home yet?'
'No. I picked up the car, then came straight round to your office. I didn't want to waste any more time before seeing you. It's been too long already.'
He reached out and caught her shoulders, his hands running down her back to mould her against the full length of him, and Martha trembled as she felt the tension in his body. She lifted her arms and twined them round his neck, holding him tightly, never wanting to let him go again.
'I missed you, Martha,' he said softly, and his eyes spoke volumes of the torment he'd suffered.
'I missed you, too,' she answered, and knew she would spend the rest of her life making up for that suffering if he would let her.
He bent his head and kissed her, slowly, deeply, a kiss of such love and tenderness that Martha felt tears start to her eyes. When he raised his head, she sniffed loudly and he looked at her with concern as he saw the sparkling drops on her lashes.
'Hey, what's all this for?' He brushed his fingertips gently over her eyelids, wiping away the tears, and Martha smiled at him, a shaky little smile.
'It's just that I'm so happy to see you. I thought I'd never ...' Her voice broke and he crushed her to him, his arms holding her so tightly that she could feel the steady thud of his heart as though it was her own.
'I know, my love. I know exactly what you mean. There's a lot we have to talk about, but not yet. You need to get out of those wet clothes before you catch a chill. I don't want my future bride laid up with pneumonia, now, do I?'
'Your future bride,' she echoed, her face colouring at the expression in his eyes. He laughed and pushed her gently along the hall.
'Go on, that's an order. Get yourself out of those wet things while I light the fire in the sitting-room.'
With waves of delicious excitement racing through her, Martha walked through to the bedroom and stripped off her sodden clothes, praying he hadn't been teasing. His bride ... the idea was almost more than she could bear. She towelled herself dry, then slipped on one of Quinn's robes she found hanging behind the door, rolling the trailing sleeves up several inches and fastening the belt tightly round her waist before walking quietly to the sitting-room.
Quinn was sitting by the fire, feeding logs to the glowing flames. The firelight danced over his golden hair, deepening it to a burnished sheen, and Martha stopped in the doorway, drinking in the sight. It was one she would hold in her heart forever. He glanced up and smiled when he saw her, holding his hand out towards her, and she went and sat down on the floor beside him, resting her head against his knees.
'Feel better now?' he asked, running a gentle hand over her damp hair. She nodded, then felt herself grow tense as he spoke again, a serious note in his deep voice.
'There are a few things I think we should clear up first, don't you?'
'What sort of things?' She drew away, her body stiff with sudden apprehension.
He pulled her back, his hand smoothing down her cheek in a light caress.
'About what I do for a living for starters, and about Paul. I want us to build a new life together, sweetheart, but there must be no secrets between us, no shadows from the past. I know it might be painful for you to talk about him, but it has to be done.'
'It's not painful, Quinn, not any longer. You see, I've finally done what I should have done years ago, and let him go.' She looked up, her eyes very clear in the firelight. 'I loved Paul. We met when we were both very young and he was a
s much a friend to me as a husband. It was a tragedy that he should have died like that, but I've finally accepted it. I felt almost guilty that I was still alive, felt I would be betraying him if I fell in love ever again, but now I know that was wrong. He will always be a part of me, Quinn, you have to understand that, but the gentle love I felt for him is nothing like this fierce love I feel for you.'
A wave of relief seemed to wash through him, and Martha knew he had been steeling himself against the pain of her answer.
'Do you know, I've been dreading asking you about him. I've spent hours brooding over it. You see the main reason I left was because there was no way I could fight a ghost for your love. I felt so utterly helpless in the face of the hold he still had over you.'
'I understand.'
'I think I started to fall in love with you almost from the beginning; I know you made me furious with your prying and meddling! I was determined to make you admit that you were wrong about me, to get under your skin in such a way that you'd really have to stop and think. But very soon I realised that I had other reasons for seeing you. I began to enjoy our little skirmishes, to look forward to them as an excuse to be with you, but it took that accident to really ram home to me just how deeply involved I was becoming.'
'How did you come to be there that night? I never did get the chance to ask you.'
'Well, after you'd refused to let me drive you home, I knew I wouldn't be able to rest until I knew you were safe. I followed you, and when I saw that car coming round the bend on the wrong side of the road ... It was a good job they had to cut the driver out of his car, I can tell you. I think I could have happily killed him for what he did to you. I've never been so scared before in the whole of my life.'
There was remembered agony in his voice, and Martha swivelled round to take his hand in hers, tracing a gentle pattern over its tanned surface.
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