The Only One

by Penny Jordan

  She would never go anywhere this Christmas where she could wear such a luxurious outfit, Brooke thought despairingly as she paid for her purchases, and yet the feminine side of her nature couldn’t regret them.

  ‘Now shoes,’ Madame LeBrun announced firmly when they had left the shop ‘and then for everyday wear Les Tweeds….’

  Shoes weren’t hard to find. Madame LeBrun knew a small sidestreet shop that specialised in cut-price Dior models and Brooke, with her long narrow feet, had no problem in finding a pair of softly supple suede shoes which exactly matched her outfit.

  Madame LeBrun’s idea of ‘Les Tweeds’ turned out to be a range of softly toning pastel tweed skirts and silk shirts and cashmere jumpers, and suspecting that she would bitterly regret it later Brooke allowed herself to be tempted into an incredibly soft tweed skirt in muted oatmeals with a toning russet silk blouse and a matching oatmeal cashmere sweater.

  To appease her feelings of guilt Brooke also bought herself a pair of jeans and several cheerful tops to wear about the villa. After all she was supposed to be recuperating, not socialising.

  On their way back to Juan Les Pins Madame LeBrun explained that the area was very quiet during the holiday season, very few visitors arriving. ‘Les Alps or cruising, that is what they prefer these days,’ she told Brooke with a smile.

  * * *

  It was a full week before Brooke stopped expecting to hear from Adam, but nothing could stop her imagination from tormenting her with pictures of him—both alone and with Susan.

  Madame LeBrun had told her that she was to make herself completely at home in the villa, but Brooke had been reluctant to do more than make the odd brief telephone call to Abbot’s Meade to check on Balsebar.

  On both occasions she spoke to Tod, who told her that her dog was fine. ‘Adam takes him for his walks when he’s down here, but he’s been spending a lot of time in London.’

  Tod hadn’t said any more, but Brooke had guessed who Adam’s time had been spent with.

  The weather changed, and became mild and balmy. Brooke felt well enough to wander down to the small pebbly beach the villa shared with several others on the small peninsula. As she had anticipated it was deserted, but she had enjoyed the clean fresh breeze coming off the water, huddled warmly inside the thick camel coat she had brought with her from London.

  She had written to her few friends in England, telling them where she was, and had a very anxious letter back from the Brockbanks.

  As Brooke had expected the couple had intended to invite her over for Christmas lunch and she sighed as she put the letter on one side. She was going to be lonely, but she had tried to keep such thoughts at bay. She couldn’t expect the LeBruns to change their plans merely on her account and Adam had doubtless not given a thought to Christmas when he had sent her away. She wondered about changing her flight and going home a week early, but the flight was already booked and she felt reluctant to change it in case Adam thought she was chasing him.

  As the days slid by Brooke knew that she was gradually recovering from her illness. She felt fitter, healthier, but underlying the soft glow colouring her skin, was a tension that had nothing to do with her illness. Despite Madame LeBrun’s appetising meals she hadn’t put on any weight, and knew that she was a little too thin. She could feel her ribs, and her hip bones projected noticeably. Even her face had a fine-drawn, fragile delicacy, and although the doctor Adam had instructed to call weekly and check up on her frowned over her weight he had to admit that in other quarters her health gave no concern at all.

  He was a plump, balding man with a harassed smile and warm brown eyes, and when he learned that Brooke was spending Christmas on her own, he had frowned, tapping his fingers against the door of her room while he considered the matter.

  ‘I am a widower,’ he said at last, ‘and because I have no family I normally spend Christmas Day in the children’s ward of our local hospital—this enables the other doctors to have time off to be with their families. If you would care for it, I should be able to arrange for you to join us—for the sake of the children we try to make their Christmas as joyful as possible—we have several long-stay patients who for one reason or another have no one of their own who can be with them on Christmas Day, and visitors are always much appreciated by them.’

  When Brooke realised that his invitation was quite genuine, she felt her spirits lift a little. Where better to lose her melancholy longings for Adam than in the busy bustle of the hospital?

  ‘I accept, but only on condition that I’m allowed to make myself useful,’ she told Doctor Beunne.

  ‘Oh you will do that all right,’ he promised her. ‘The children are always willing to be read to, or otherwise entertained.’

  After that Brooke found it easier to face the prospect of Christmas. Her cards had been bought and sent off several days before the doctor’s visit, but now she borrowed the Renault and drove herself into Cannes, raiding the stores for suitable presents for the children. On Christmas Eve she waved the LeBruns off in their own small car with a lighter heart than she could have thought possible a week before, her only indulgence being the half hour or so she spent dreaming of Adam as she sat in front of a log fire in the main salon, and wondered what he was doing, and whether he had given any thought to her.

  Hardly likely, she mocked herself, remembering that he hadn’t even sent her a card, or telephoned her. When she did go home would her job still be open, or would he find some excuse to get rid of her? Sighing faintly she stared into the fire, wishing the patterns they made did not always somehow resemble Adam’s profile.

  On Christmas morning she woke up early. For once there was none of the familiarly childish anticipation that there might have been snow during the night. She showered quickly, dressing in her new tawny velvet. Not just for her sake but for the children’s as well she told herself as she went downstairs and breakfasted off croissants and preserve.

  Enough food to withstand a seige filled the huge refrigerator, and tonight when she returned from the hospital she fully intended to make herself a traditional meal, using the turkey Madame LeBrun had cooked especially for her.

  In one corner of the salon stood the small artificial tree she had bought in Cannes, glittering with the decorations she had put on it. Turning swiftly away Brooke tried not to think of other Christmases when her parents and her uncle had been alive, family Christmases full of laughter and warmth. Nor was she going to allow herself to dwell on the sort of Christmas that would fulfil every one of her dearest held dreams; Adam and herself before a roaring fire in the Dower House drawing room, a huge tree glimmering in one corner, while a couple of toddlers played energetically with Santa’s munificence.

  Driving the Renault she arrived at the hospital in good time, having experienced no problem in locating it.

  By the time she had parked the car and extricated herself and her brightly wrapped presents from inside it Doctor Beunne was waiting for her.

  The hospital was only a small one, specialising mainly in children’s cases, he explained as he led the way down a gleaming corridor, Mingling with all the normal hospital smells were others … fragrant and tantalising … the eternal smells of Christmas, good food, excitement … pine needles….

  ‘We do cater for mainly private patients, but the profit we make on that side of things allows us to operate this ward for those who are not as financially well off.’ He paused as he spoke to push open a heavy door, and Brooke grinned at the scene she saw as she stepped inside.

  The ward had been decorated especially for the occasion, and with true French élan. No drooping streamers here, no tired balloons or tarnished tinsel…. Instead the walls of the ward had been painted with brilliant Christmassy scenes, one end of it dominated by a huge Christmas tree, laden down with decorations. A cheerful nurse was pushing a trolley from bed to bed, handing out glasses of fruit juice to those well enough to drink, and the level of noise was unbelievable.

  Children of all ages and in
varying stages of recuperation were stripping wrapping paper from gifts, and as Brooke saw one small child manfully struggling with a huge parcel and two heavy plaster casts she felt betraying tears prick her eyes.

  ‘The children are unbelievable,’ Dr Beunne whispered to her. ‘They throw themselves wholeheartedly into the festivities, even the sickest of them, and I’m afraid that many of them in here are extremely fragile.

  ‘At this hospial we specialise in diseases of the bone,’ he added in explanation. ‘In some cases we make good progress—almost miraculous progress, but in others….’ His expressive shrug said what could not be put into words, and forcing down her pity Brooke followed him to the first bed.

  Four hours later, exhausted but feeling more at peace with herself than she had done in months, she left the hospital, driving the Renault back to the villa. She had read until she was hoarse; had played a variety of silly games, eaten far too much food, laughed until she had cried and sometimes just cried for the sheer bravery of the children she was watching. Now she felt drained both emotionally and physically, but she would not have missed the experience for anything…. Not even to sit and daydream over Adam, she told herself bleakly.

  Dusk started to fall as she reached the villa. She parked the Renault and let herself in, telling herself firmly that she wasn’t going to brood. No one in good health had any right to do that after what she had seen today.

  After setting a match to the logs in the salon she went into the kitchen, still wearing her finery, and started to prepare the evening meal she no longer really wanted. But Madame LeBrun would be upset if she ate nothing, after all her careful preparations. It seemed silly to eat in solitary splendour in the attractive dining room with its delicate reproduction furniture and silk-panelled walls, but nevertheless that was what she was going to do.

  An hour later, having renewed her make-up and brushed her hair Brooke was just on the way to check on her dinner when the doorbell chimed.

  Her initial thought was that someone had come to the wrong house, followed by a quick stab of anxiety…. What if someone knew she was here alone…. ? The villa was expensively furnished with many fine antiques. Trying to dispel her nervousness she opened the door, keeping it on the safety catch. It was too dark outside for her to make out the features of the man standing there, but his voice was instantly familiar, and Brooke felt a wave of disbelief storm through her as Adam said, drawling mockingly, ‘I hope I’m not too late for dinner. What we were offered on the plane was like sawdust….’

  As she unhooked the safety chain with trembling fingers and stood back to let him in Brooke tried to gather together her disordered thoughts. Once he was inside she could see that Adam looked tired and drawn, his cheek bones harshly prominent, his eyes glittering with the intensity she remembered so well.

  ‘Adam, I wasn’t expecting you.’

  How trite her words sounded, and as he stood still and studied her Brooke felt the deep hectic rhythm of her pulses and the uneven thudding of her heart.

  ‘No….’ His look was searching, almost brooding as it slid over her satin and velvet outfit. ‘But obviously you were expecting someone.’

  ‘I was out earlier—visiting a children’s hospital—Dr Beunne knew I’d be on my own and invited me there. I got dressed up for the children….’ Unknowingly her chin lifted, her eyes defying him to guess that she had dressed up, aching with the knowledge that he would never see her in her finery.

  ‘I hope they appreciated it—them and Dr Beunne.’ His voice taunted and grated over delicate nerves, rasping against them until Brooke quivered in mute response.

  ‘I’m hungry,’ Adam announced briefly. ‘I’ll go up and shower, we’ll have dinner and then we’ll talk.’

  ‘Talk?’ Alarm feathered along Brooke’s veins. What had he come to talk about? Had he come to tell her that he didn’t want her working for him?

  But why on Christmas Day? And where was Susan?

  ‘Yes. You don’t have any objection to talking to me, do you?’ he asked sardonically. ‘Contrary to what you give every appearance of believing, my little virgin, talk on its own is not sufficient to accomplish a seduction.’

  As he moved past her Brooke caught the faintly sweet scent of alcohol on his breath. Had he been drinking? Was that the reason for his strangely cryptic remarks?

  ‘How long will dinner be?’

  ‘Half an hour.’ She swallowed tensely, wondering if she was actually participating in this bizzarre exchange or if she had somehow strayed into an illusory world.

  ‘Fine, I’ll be down in twenty minutes.’

  Adam was gone while she was still pinching herself. She flinched from the small pain. It was real enough all right. Adam was here.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  WHEN he reappeared Adam had changed out of his cords and sweater into a dinner suit.

  ‘It seemed appropriate in view of your own finery,’ he told her, deftly uncorking the bottle of red wine she had decided to drink with her meal. ‘Children’s hospitals seem to find favour with you. I remember you donoted most of the surplus cash from the sale of Abbot’s Meade to one.’

  ‘We all have out little foibles,’ Brooke retorted smoothly. ‘Yours seems to be a prediliction for old monasteries.’

  ‘At least for the buildings, if not the lifestyle, you mean,’ Adam mocked, shrugging lightly as he said, ‘In both instances it was the air of peace that attracted me, I can’t deny that, but that’s as far as my “prediliction” as you call it goes.’

  He followed Brooke into the kitchen and started carving the turkey while she removed dishes from the oven.

  ‘Traditional Christmas fare,’ he commented, pausing to watch her. ‘Planning to eat all alone were you?’

  ‘As this isn’t my home I’m hardly likely to invite other people into it,’ Brooke responded grimly. She was getting tired of the cat and mouse game Adam seemed to be playing with her. There was a finely drawn tension about him she couldn’t understand. It was almost as though in some way he resented her.

  ‘Why did you come here Adam?’ she asked him when they were sitting down, eating.

  ‘I already told you, I want to talk to you.’

  ‘On Christmas Day? Somehow I envisaged you having far too much to do to think about me.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  Shrugging lightly Brooke told him. ‘I anticipated that you would probably be spending the day with Susan and her parents.’

  ‘Did you indeed. That was a pretty spectacular piece of mental arithmetic, wasn’t it. As a matter of fact I was invited but I refused.’

  Hope, sharp and heady as champagne bubbles rose giddily inside her, her nerves tingling in nervous response as Adam suddenly pushed his plate away and stood up coming round to her side of the table.

  When his hands went to her shoulders, drawing her up out of her seat she followed their commands unresistingly. ‘Brooke, I’ve flown God knows how many miles to be with you today, and it wasn’t just so that I could eat Christmas Dinner with you.’

  ‘Then what was it for,’ Brooke heard herself ask, her voice an unrecognisable, provocative whisper, her body already melting towards Adam’s.

  ‘This.’

  Fiercely exultant joy swept tumultuously through her as Adam bent his head and kissed her savagely, the tension she had sensed in him before increasing as she felt the strain of his muscles compacting beneath the hands she slid up under his jacket. His heart thudded unevenly against her palm, his tongue prising her lips apart, subtlety abandoned as he shook with the hunger she could feel building up inside him.

  Strangely she felt neither resentment nor fear, only a leaping, excited response that enabled her to meet and match the intensity of his possessive kiss, giving herself up to it, and glorying in the fierce heat that raged through them both.

  When at last he lifted his head Adam’s breathing was ragged. He hadn’t made any move to touch her in any other way, but Brooke knew now irrevocably that they would make love
and the tiny ache in the pit of her stomach grew, and clamoured for appeasement.

  ‘You wanted that as much as I did.’ It was a statement rather than a question, and Brooke held his gaze as Adam stared at her. ‘You want me to make love to you,’ he persisted thickly. ‘You know you do Brooke.’

  ‘Have I denied it?’ Her quiet tone seemed to shock him. The grey eyes dilated and glittered brilliantly. ‘You were the one who sent me away, Adam.’

  ‘Because I didn’t…. Oh hell, why are we wasting time talking,’ he muttered rawly reaching for her, his hands moulding her along the length of his body, letting her feel the extent of his need and hunger for her.

  ‘I want to take you to bed and make love to you in all the ways I’ve dreamed of making love to you from the first moment I saw you.’

  The passionate words shivered across her skin, and misinterpreting the reason for her light tremor, Adam told her hoarsely, ‘Don’t be afraid, I shan’t hurt you … God, Brooke….’

  ‘I want you.’ ‘And I love you,’ she whispered soundlessly, as the words were torn from her aching throat. Her love was a secret she must keep to herself and not burden Adam with. By some miracle he was here with her now where she had dreamed of him being; wanting her almost it seemed to the point of madness, and she was going to take what he offered and treasure it for all time.

  ‘Then come to me now.’

  They went upstairs together hand in hand and Brooke knew that he was deliberately giving her time to change her mind. Outside the bedroom door which she now knew was his he paused, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders, his eyes sombre as he studied her. ‘This is your last chance to back out Brooke,’ he told her thickly. ‘Come with me now and I shan’t stop until I’ve made you completely mine.’

  ‘And I shan’t want you to,’ Brooke whispered back, deliberately pushing open the door and walking into the room.

  It was furnished in masculine creams and plums. She had been in it only once before, one morning when she had been looking for Madame LeBrun and on that occasion she hadn’t lingered, finding the thought of doing so, of imagining Adam lying in the vastness of the large bed, probably not alone, too much to tolerate. Now although she quivered with tension there was no thought in her mind other than that Adam would be her lover. Her first lover and possibly her only lover she thought achingly, watching him with eyes unknowingly dark gold.