Grace was still at a loss. 'I'm sorry, you'll have to be more explicit.'
He was. 'Right, referring to your earlier question—yes, I think you're avoiding me in all sorts of ways. You've refused more dates than you've accepted from me, you keep telling me not to take you for granted, and I think you wanted to come here tonight because this restaurant is out of the way. Because you're not likely to be seen by people you know—seen with me.'
'Demetrius—'
'Let me finish,' he said, as if she had any choice. 'I think you're afraid to acknowledge what's happening between us, I think you want to keep a low profile on this relationship, because you're afraid.'
He had finally finished—but Grace was unable to respond for a full minute. She was speechless; she wasn't angry, she was confused. 'I swear I don't know what you're talking about! To start with, what have I got to be afraid of?'
'You tell me,' he said evenly, his eyes not leaving hers. 'Being hurt? Commitment? Another affair that might turn sour—albeit for different reasons.'
Another affair? Her mind went into overdrive. Firstly, she had never had an affair with Raymond, secondly—'My God!' she exclaimed, as anger made itself known. 'You really do take a lot for granted! If you have in mind an affair—'
'Oh, come on, Grace! Where else do you think we're heading?'
What happened to her in the ensuing minutes was strange. Her anger died as quickly as it had flared up. His question had been fair enough. Of course he was making assumptions, he knew how strongly she was attracted to him and—well, no doubt affairs were a way of life for him. It wasn't so for her. But he didn't know that, so she could hardly be angry with him. She was, after all, twenty-four years old, a successful businesswoman who was apparently sophisticated and experienced…
'Grace? Where have you gone?'
'I'm—I was just thinking.' She lifted her head, an unconscious gesture of determination. The evening was not going to be spoiled, she wasn't going to allow that to happen. Demetrius was looking at her, expecting a reasonable answer to what he saw as a reasonable question. 'I don't know,' she said softly, 'I really don't know where we're heading. But this much I can tell you, as far as I'm concerned we're friends. I didn't plan it,' she added, smiling, 'it just happened. So why don't we just wait and see what else happens?'
Later, much later, as she lay alone in her bed, she wished she had been more assertive, she wished she had told him that he had a nerve if he thought he was lining her up to be his next mistress—or one of several current ones.
For the moment, however, she said no more, because Demetrius' next words robbed her of speech once again. He inclined his head, considering her, his smile slow and wickedly attractive. 'No, Grace, I'll tell you what's going to happen. Sooner or later you and I are going to make love and it will be unlike anything you've ever experienced before. That's the kind of chemistry we have buzzing between us, and don't bother to deny it. As for the immediate future—tomorrow you will dress up to the nines,' he told her, 'and I shall wine you and dine you in London after the theatre. I shall show you off to as many people as I can. Do you understand me?'
She understood him all right. In spite of herself, his words brought a flush of pleasure to her cheeks. She didn't know about the first part of his threat… or promise… she knew only that she felt happier than she had felt in many years.
When they got back to the manor, he took the front-door key from her and looked around, flicking light switches. 'All's well. Right, who's going to make the coffee?'
Grace was looking at her watch, shaking her head. Tomorrow was a working day. 'I'm tired, Demetrius, I don't think—'
He advanced on her, telling her he wasn't interested in what she thought. Laughing, she retreated, both hands held up in front of her. 'Well, that's charming! You're not int—'
He wasn't put off, he never was. She was encircled in his arms right there in the hall, before she could finish what she'd been saying, and when his mouth came down on hers she forgot her protest, she was aware only of the masculine scent of him, of the feel of his body, so tall and solid against her own. His lips moved from her mouth to the side of her neck, the place he had discovered to be her weakness, and it was all she could do not to moan her pleasure aloud. Checking her response to him was almost impossible, yet she didn't dare encourage him further.
When at last he spoke her name, it was in a voice thick with desire. 'Grace—'
'Please, don't say it.' She seized her chance and stepped smartly backwards, away from him. He didn't need to say it, she knew he wanted her, right now. 'I'll—I'll put the kettle on.'
His eyes narrowed, searching hers as if searching for information. 'Forget it,' he said, but not impatiently. 'I said I'd give you time, and you want to hold me to that, don't you?'
Grace chose her words with care, knowing he was a man of his word. 'Yes, I want you to honour that promise, Demetrius.'
There was a momentary silence, during which he smiled appreciatively; he knew how clever she thought she was being. 'Very well,' he said quietly. Then his hand snaked out and caught hold of her chin, raising her face, obliging her to look at him. His eyes were glittering darkly, without any trace of humour now. 'But you'll remember what I said to you earlier. And remember something else: I'm going to take you out just as often as I can, here, there and everywhere, so I don't want any more reticence in that department. And there's one more thing, my lovely—don't play games with me, I've already warned you about that.'
It was because of those words that she found herself lying awake in bed again, wishing she had been more assertive. What was the matter with her? Why did she allow herself to be dictated to by him? She had known all along that Demetrius was the domineering type, but—what magic did he wield that made her not mind this? Perhaps it was stupid, but coming from him it made her feel feminine. He was so different from the other men she knew, vastly different from Raymond, of course, and— well, just different altogether.
He had surprised her all over again tonight. One thing was for sure, the more she learned about him, the more interesting he became to her. Perhaps too much so. She had to watch it. The last thing she wanted was to fall in love with him, that would make it an entirely different ball-game—too dangerous by half. She went to sleep, eventually, with that thought firmly in her mind.
It seemed perverse that she should wake at five the following morning. She looked at the clock and groaned. Why this, when she was so short of sleep? How could she be feeling so rested, so alive, at this ungodly hour?
She flung the bedclothes back. There was only one thing for it, she would get up and take some exercise. Annabel would be glad of it.
Annabel was glad of it—and so was Horace. She spotted Demetrius on the bridle path and caught up with him. He seemed as surprised as she that she was up and about. 'Well! Good morning, my beauty! Just a minute—aren't you the woman who protested she was too tired to make coffee last night?'
'The very same.' She laughed even as she shook her head. 'Blame it on springtime or something— I don't know, I'm just full of beans this morning.'
'I hope it lasts,' Demetrius said wryly. 'Because there's no way, and I mean no way, we're going to cut short our date tonight.'
It didn't occur to her to try. When he came for her that evening she was dressed up to the nines, as per instructions, and eager to go.
His eyes moved slowly over her as he greeted her. 'Fabulous! Black velvet is very sexy, it suits you. And it will set this off nicely.' To Grace's astonishment he handed her a small, dark blue jewellery box. In it was a gold chain, beautiful in its simplicity. She looked at it, not knowing what to say, and then she saw how intricately plaited its links were. It felt heavy and cool in her hand; it was solid gold and it was very expensive, of that she was sure.
'I—Demetrius, I can't accept a gift like this!'
'Of course you can, it's just a little token of appreciation. Now come here.' He took the chain from her, telling her to hold up her ha
ir while he fastened it in place. He stood behind her, then he turned her around to face him and he hooked his fingers under the chain, pulling her forward so he could kiss her. 'You're wearing that perfume again.'
'But of course, it's my favourite.'
'That makes two of us. Come on, let's get this show on the road.'
He seemed unable to take his eyes off her, and as they drove into the West End she teased him at regular intervals about keeping his eyes on the traffic.
'I'd much rather look at you,' he told her. 'What is that perfume? No, don't tell me. I shall simply think of it as you.' He was looking at her again. 'Should I catch a whiff of it anywhere else, I shall think of you—and in particular our very first meeting. I shall be haunted.'
Grace hooted at that. 'A pity.'
'A pity! Explain yourself, woman!'
'A pity that you'll have an unpleasant association.'
'Who says it's unpleasant? Just because you weren't on your best behaviour that day, it doesn't mean—'
'Do you mind?' She was indignant, 'I wasn't on my best behaviour? What about you!'
'Why, Grace! Whatever do you mean? I was being my usual charming self.'
'Humph. You might well laugh—and will you please keep your eyes on the road?'
The evening continued in a jocular vein. Tom Stoppard's play was hilarious and Grace loved it. Surreptitiously, she glanced often at Demetrius, gratified to see him enjoying himself so much. Time and again her hand moved to feel the chain at her neck; she was touched by his generosity, and curious about it. Discoveries, she was making discoveries about him every time she saw him, about his character, his sense of humour, sense of mischief, his likes and his dislikes.
They discussed in detail the play they had seen while they dined that evening—and no sooner were they headed for home than Demetrius was talking about their being together the next night. More than anything Grace wanted to say yes, but she couldn't. She explained about her brother coming home. 'I want to have a natter with him alone. I see so little of Thomas, I'm looking forward to spending the evening with him, before my father and Mrs Radcliffe descend.'
Demetrius' answer was a long time in coming. 'Are you telling me I won't see you on Friday, either?'
'Well… yes. I'm—I'll have to be at the manor, surely you can understand that?'
He merely grunted, his eyes firmly on the road at that point.
'Besides,' she went on, 'it doesn't seem right to leave Melissa alone night after night.'
This time, there wasn't even as much as a grunt. She glanced at him worriedly. 'Demetrius?'
'My sister,' he said at length, 'is perfectly able to entertain herself—the fact that she's housebound is entirely her own fault, remember.'
'Yes, I remember. By the way, has she said any more about going to college?'
'She said, and I quote, that she has it in hand, whatever that means.'
Grace turned to look out of the window, frowning. 'I hope she hasn't changed her mind.'
'So do I. Knowing her, she might well. But it's not your problem, Grace, and I won't have you worrying about it.'
The remark pleased her, it made her feel that he wanted to protect her. 'I shan't. She'll sort herself out, as I did when I was her age.'
When they got inside the manor, Demetrius surprised her yet again. He saw that she was safe, but that was all, he made no attempt to kiss her, to touch her in any way. 'Goodnight, Grace.'
'Demetrius!' She was staring at his back, he was opening the front door—leaving at once. 'What is it? What's wrong? Please tell me…' But she already knew. His mood had changed on the way home, when Melissa had been mentioned. Why? Why did he continue to be cross with his young sister? And he was, she remembered the tightening of his expression when she had first mentioned Melissa's name. She had the feeling there were things she didn't know, that as much as Melissa had told her about herself, there was more. She knew also that, whatever it was, Demetrius wouldn't tell her, he wouldn't talk about his sister in her absence, it wasn't his style. 'It's what I said about Melissa, isn't it? I was only thinking—'
'It has nothing to do with her. It's you.'
'Me?' She moved closer to him. 'What have I done? What have I said?'
'It's your attitude, Grace. Why avoid me just because your family's coming home?'
'Avoid—I'm not avoiding you! Please don't think that!'
'What am I supposed to think? I thought I'd made my point, but you still seem determined to keep a low profile on our—friendship, as you call it.'
'You're wrong,' she told him, repeating it firmly, 'I'd shout about it from the rooftops if you asked me to.'
For long moments he was silent, looking deeply into her eyes. Then, much to her relief, he laughed. 'That won't be necessary. Come for a ride with me in the mornings and I'll make do with that.'
'Done,' she said. 'Furthermore, I'll let everyone know about it, all right? Does that make you happy?'
'Happy?' He pretended to think about it, his eyes dancing with laughter now. 'I don't know. From now until morning is a long time. I need a little comfort, a little something to keep me going.'
Grace looked him in the eye, her own eyes big and innocent. 'Oh. Sorry, but I can't think of anything.'
'Is that a fact?' He was laughing openly, telling her she lacked imagination. 'Perhaps you need a little coaxing.'
'Coaxing? Or did you say coaching?'
'Oh, no, my lovely. I said nothing about coaching, that's one thing you don't need.'
That was what he thought! Nevertheless, she moved willingly into his arms and gave him what comfort she was prepared to give.
CHAPTER SEVEN
'My daughter's at Cambridge.' Mrs Radcliffe was looking at Thomas. It was Good Friday and they were all in the dining-room, enjoying the conversation and the superb meal Matty had produced.
'Really? I didn't know.' Thomas looked at her over the top of his spectacles. It was a gesture so like his father's that Grace couldn't help smiling. Apart from that, however, the two men were like chalk and cheese. Thomas was tall and thin, an intensely serious man, one who dressed purely to keep himself warm, without a thought for his appearance, and who was happiest when he was in a laboratory.
It was good to have him home, good that they were all together again. All? Grace looked at Phyllis Radcliffe with approval. The woman was slender and impeccable, seeming younger than her years. Her hair was dark brown and, if it had been rinsed, it was the most natural-looking colour. She was also diplomatic, a good conversationalist. 'She's studying medicine,' she was saying. 'I don't know where this trait has come from, because there are no other medics in my family, or in that of my late husband, but my son is a doctor and now Sally is well on the way. Still, as long as they're both happy…that's all one can ask for one's children. Nigel, this fish is delicious, I really must compliment your housekeeper. Matilda, isn't it?'
Grace answered before her father could. He had his mouth full. 'Yes, it's Matilda. We call her Matty. She's a gem, she's been with us for years and years.'
'Since the week before I was born,' Thomas put in, being precise, as was his wont. 'That's twenty-seven years, five months and two weeks.'
'And two weeks?' Phyllis twinkled at him, but her teasing went unnoticed. Thomas never noticed when he was being teased.
'And how many days, Thomas?' Grace asked.
'Er—three,' came the serious reply.
She laughed at him. Much as she was enjoying the company, her thoughts kept flitting elsewhere. It had begun well and had continued like that…but after separating from Demetrius this morning the extra sparkle had gone out of it. She was waiting for tomorrow morning, when she would see him again. During the afternoon, she was going next door to help Melissa with the final touches for the party. It was going to be a long day and she could hardly wait for it.
She was up and out with the crack of dawn, getting back to the manor in time for breakfast, wearing jeans and a sweater, no make-up, her black
hair tied back in a pony-tail. Phyllis and Sir Nigel were just finishing breakfast and announced that they were going out for a drive.
'Nigel's going to let me drive the Bentley,' Phyllis informed Grace, looking very pleased with herself. 'I don't expect we'll be back before lunch.'
'Well! You are honoured.' Grace was impressed. It must be love, she thought, her father had never allowed her to drive his car!
Thomas came in as the older two went out. 'What's Dad looking so smug about?'
'I think our father is in love.'
He snorted. 'Don't be daft, Grace. You don't fall in love at that age.'
'Who says? And what would you know?'
Thomas looked hurt. 'What's that supposed to mean?'
'It means, it's never happened to you, so you don't know what it feels like. Age has nothing to do with it.'
She regretted her words. Thomas looked down at the table, started fiddling with a spoon. 'As a matter of fact, it has happened to me.'
He said it so quietly his sister almost didn't catch the words. He looked down in the mouth, so much so that she was at a loss. 'It has? And it went wrong?'
'It's going wrong,' he said, in the same tone of voice. 'She's married.'
'Oh, hell! Oh, Thomas, I—you idiot. How did you allow yourself to get involved with someone who's married?'
'I'm not involved. I—she's on a Master's course and—I see her almost every day. She has no idea how I feel.'
Grace could have wept. So it had happened at long last. Here he was, twenty-seven years of age and loving someone from afar, having what she hoped was no more than a crush on a married woman. She changed the subject at once, deeming it the best thing to do. 'What are your plans for today? You are coming to the party tonight?'
'Yes. I'm looking forward to meeting your new neighbours. In the meantime I'm driving over to Windsor. I'm having lunch with Rodney.'
'Oh!' Grace had banked on having Thomas' company herself till lunch was over. It was only natural he would want to see Rodney, though. It would leave her at a loose end for a couple of hours; perhaps she would go next door earlier than she'd planned to.
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