by Sara Craven
‘That,’ Lynne informed her drily, ‘is exactly the problem.’ And she got up to clear the table.
CHAPTER FOUR
MARIN FOUND IT difficult to sleep that night. She told herself it was because she was dreading the coming interview with Mrs Ingram, but in her heart she knew she was restless because she hadn’t been completely honest with Lynne.
Or, for that matter, with herself.
She turned over, punching irritably at her pillow. In retrospect, she now realised she’d been silly to think that, whatever the reason for it, she could remain totally immune to Jake’s company. Especially that kiss.
I just wasn’t expecting it, she thought defensively. That’s all. Besides, I was off-balance from the moment he walked and caught me in that damned towel. And he made sure I stayed that way.
But now that she knew his potential danger, she would be more on her guard.
Besides, it was a house party, she reminded herself defensively. There would be other people around, and, for at least some of the time, Jake and Graham Halsay would be off talking business, so they wouldn’t be in each other’s pockets.
As for the hours of darkness—well, she would just have to trust that the Halsays’ housekeeper would allocate the usual rooms, giving her privacy if not total peace of mind.
But she couldn’t allow herself to think like that. From here on in, it was going to be strictly business. Forty-eight hours, she told herself. That was all. And when it was over she would never have to see him again, unless it was as a guest at Lynne’s wedding next year.
Just two days and two nights and he would be out of her life.
She awoke later than she’d planned the following morning, to find the flat empty and a note from Lynne on the kitchen counter. ‘You looked as if you needed your rest, it ran. I took some croissants and a loaf out of the freezer earlier, and there’s cereal in the cupboard. Also plenty of eggs. I’ll be back around six.’ And, heavily underlined, ‘Try not to worry.’
Marin scrambled the eggs and ate them with grilled smoked bacon, followed by toast with cherry jam and some strong coffee.
Then, dressed in a neat grey skirt and white blouse topped by a navy jacket, she set off for the Ingram Organisation.
Tina, the office secretary, greeted her wide-eyed. ‘The phone line between here and France was burning up on Friday,’ she whispered, and nodded towards Wendy Ingram’s office door. ‘Go right in. She’s waiting for you.’
Mrs Ingram was on the phone when Marin entered, nodding briskly and making notes on a pad in front of her. She gestured to Marin to take a seat then, her call over, she put down her pen and leaned back in her chair.
‘That’s quite a can of worms you seem to have opened,’ she observed caustically. ‘According to Ms Mason, you’re a home-wrecker—a sex-mad wolf in sheep’s clothing who abused her hospitality, her kindness and her trust.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘So, any comment?’
Marin met her gaze steadily. ‘I think the lady is blaming the wrong wolf,’ she said quietly, and gave a succinct and unemotional account of what had happened. ‘I think, when she decided to hire me, she assumed it would be safe,’ she added. ‘That I wouldn’t be his type.’
Wendy Ingram gave a sharp, angry sigh. ‘I suspected as much. In the heat of the moment, Ms Mason said rather more than she intended. And she is now blacklisted.’ She clicked on her computer and looked at the screen. ‘But it leaves me with a difficulty about you. I have nothing until next week at the earliest, and that would be another residential job, running the admin for a veterinary practice in Essex.
‘Their office manager is the sister of one of the vets, but she’s off to Australia for a month, and her local replacement has broken her right arm quite badly so this is something of an emergency.’
She paused. ‘You’d need to spend a couple of days being shown the ropes, and you’d be using Ginny Watson’s flat.
She sighed. ‘I was sending Fiona, but it seems she doesn’t want to be apart from her boyfriend for four weeks, and this is a busy set-up, hardly likely to want someone moping about the place. So, how does it sound to you?’
Like the answer to a prayer, thought Marin. For so many reasons.
Aloud, she said, smiling, ‘You can safely tell Fiona she’s off the hook.’
She had a rich Bolognese sauce bubbling on the stove when Lynne returned that evening, a pan of water heating for the pasta and garlic bread waiting to go in the oven.
Lynne scented the air appreciatively. ‘I think I’ll hire you myself.’
‘Too late.’ Marin informed her. ‘I’m off to deepest Essex next week to work for some vets. Small animals a speciality, which would seem to cut out wolves.’ She smiled. ‘And, as I’m now working again, I don’t need any more money from Mr Radley-Smith. So next weekend is hereby cancelled.’
‘Ah,’ Lynne said quietly, and paused.
Marin stopped stirring the sauce and looked at her. ‘What’s the matter? I thought you’d be cheering.’
‘I probably would,’ Lynne said grimly. ‘If I hadn’t spent much of the day fielding phone calls from Diana Halsay.’ She shook her head. ‘She’s not giving up without a struggle.’ She gave Marin a long look. ‘I think Rad’s relying on you, babe. In fact, I know he is, because I have orders to take you shopping tomorrow.’
‘The only thing I’ll be shopping for is more jeans and some wellies.’ Marin lifted her chin. ‘Naomi worked for a vet in Norfolk a couple of months back, and she said she spent a lot of time tramping behind him over ploughed fields.’
Lynne sighed. ‘Well, before you go on this agricultural spree, could you turn your attention to a couple of evening dresses and all that goes with them instead—no expense spared?’ She added gently. ‘You know I wouldn’t ask you to do this unless I thought it was necessary. And if it’s any reassurance,’ she went on, brightening. ‘I told Rad that he wasn’t your type.’
Marin swung round from the stove, aghast. ‘Reassurance?’ She shuddered. ‘I bet that went down like a lead balloon.’
Lynne grinned. ‘Not a bit of it. He said he’d already worked that out for himself. Anyway, he was quiet for a moment, then promised me on all he held sacred that he’d look after you and that you weren’t to worry about a thing.’
‘All Jake Radley-Smith holds sacred?’ Marin gave a hollow laugh. ‘That must be one of the shortest lists in the universe.’
Lynne’s eyes narrowed as she poured the pasta into the boiling water and added a dash of olive oil. ‘Whoa there, missy. He may be allergic to marriage, but that’s not a hanging offence.
‘Last night you were assuring me there was nothing to worry about, that you could cope and only the cash mattered. Now he’s suddenly turned into Bluebeard. What’s changed?’
Marin shrugged defensively. ‘Perhaps I realised that you were right and I was wrong.’
‘But the money would still be handy,’ Lynne reminded her. ‘The rent you’re getting on your flat only covers the mortgage payments. You’ve nothing put away for contingencies.’
She added slowly, ‘Besides, during the time I’ve worked for him I’ve never known Rad break his word, and, as he’s said you’ll be safe with him, I’d be inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. But the final decision is yours, of course.’
And what happens, Marin thought wryly, giving her sauce a final stir, when the person I really don’t trust in all this is myself?
Twenty-four hours later, reluctantly committed, she found herself the wary possessor of what amounted to a new wardrobe.
‘But I don’t need all this stuff,’ she protested to Lynne as she was herded inexorably from one store to another. ‘It’s such a waste when I’ll never use it again. And I already have underwear,’ she added defiantly.
‘And very pretty it is too,’ Lynne said kindly. ‘But you may not be unpacking your own bag, and your hostess, who is well aware of Jake’s private tastes, may take an interest in what you’ve brought. So you have to remember that
you’re supposed to be his girlfriend, and that everything you wear needs to exude man-appeal.’
Marin pursed her lips. ‘And how degrading is that?’
‘That,’ said Lynne, a little smile dancing on her lips, ‘Might depend on how you allegedly feel about the man. So this weekend definitely calls for silk and a fair amount of lace.’
She added briskly, ‘And don’t scowl like that, my pet. You’re not paying for any of it, and when Sunday night comes you can stuff the whole lot into a bin liner, if you feel like it.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Marin said through gritted teeth. ‘I plan to.’
She dug her heels in, however, over the purchase of a bikini, insisting instead on a simple black maillot, and Lynne did not argue the point.
Her only comfort in all this, Marin reflected vindictively as she put each tissue-wrapped garment in the soft tan leather case, was that Mr Radley-Smith would never get to see most of these expensive trifles. Although he might wince when the credit-card bill arrived.
She was glad of the diversion that her Essex visit provided. The practice was busy and efficient, and the demands of the job well within her capacity. Ginny Watson was pleasant and friendly, and the self-contained flat over the garage that Marin would occupy was comfortable as well as compact.
She was going to Australia to see her boyfriend, Ginny confided, another vet who’d recently relocated there.
‘He wanted me to go with him,’ she said. ‘But it’s a big change, and I wasn’t sure. However, we miss each other terribly, so I’m off to see if I like it there too.’
‘How wonderful,’ Marin said, wondering rather wistfully what it would be like to be wanted and needed from half a world away. ‘I hope it all goes really well.’
Ginny eyed Marin thoughtfully. ‘You’re all right about staying down here for a whole month? Your boyfriend won’t mind?’
‘That was Fiona,’ Marin said. ‘I’m—free as air.’
Or I will be, she thought, her throat tightening. Once this weekend is behind me.
As she waited for Jake to come for her on Friday afternoon, tension was coiled inside her like a spring.
Punctual to the minute, he stood in the doorway of the living room, smiling faintly. ‘So you haven’t run away after all?’
The charcoal trousers he was wearing emphasised his lean hips and long legs, and the pale grey-and-white checked shirt was open at the neck, its sleeves rolled back over his forearms, revealing what she suspected would be an all-over tan.
‘Did you think I would?’ she challenged, suddenly dry-mouthed and despising herself.
She hadn’t wanted the clothes he’d bought for her but, as she endured his critical scrutiny, she knew that the deep-red sleeveless top gave warmth to her pale skin and looked good teamed with the plain cream knee-length skirt, while elegant cream sandals added at least an inch to her height, plus a much-needed boost to her confidence.
What she was wearing underneath would be her little secret.
Her hair, which Lynne had ordained should be trimmed slightly, was newly washed and shining, and she’d made careful use of cosmetics to bring a glow of colour to her mouth and darken her long lashes.
He shrugged. ‘I wasn’t sure.’ Once again he made no comment on her appearance, but simply picked up her case. ‘Just this bag?’
‘It’s a weekend,’ she said. ‘Not a lifetime.’ Words she’d been repeating to herself continuously over the past days.
His mouth twisted. ‘Although it may seem like a lifetime before it’s over,’ he commented brusquely. ‘Shall we go?’
The car waiting downstairs was low, sleek and powerful with a dashboard like the controls of a nuclear reactor.
‘Typical,’ Marin muttered under her breath as she slid into the passenger seat and adjusted her skirt. Yet, at the same time, the smell of expensive leather made her draw a swift, appreciative breath, and the comfort of the cushions which supported her was like a caress.
She desperately wanted him to drive badly, to be an arrogant, selfish risk-taker with a bad temper. Needed it, so that she could focus all her churning, fragmented feelings about him and channel them once and for all into dislike.
But she was to be disappointed, because of course he was none of those things and, instead, she was unwillingly forced to admire the skilful and patient way he dealt with the heavy traffic leaving London for the weekend.
‘Do you drive?’ he asked at last, breaking the tautness of the silence between them.
‘I have a licence,’ Marin said stiltedly. ‘So I can do so if my work requires it. But there isn’t much opportunity when I’m in the city.’
‘Do you want to take a turn driving this?’
She gasped. ‘My God, no.’ Adding, ‘Thank you,’ as a hurried afterthought.
‘As you wish,’ he returned casually. ‘I simply thought you might enjoy it. That it would start the weekend on a pleasant note at least, whatever happens later.’
‘Are you expecting trouble?’
‘If I was anticipating a restful break with close friends, I’d be travelling alone,’ he said caustically. ‘As it is, I don’t know what to expect, and that makes me uneasy. Let’s just say I’ll be glad when it’s over.’
‘Not nearly as much as I will,’ Marin retorted.
His brief smile held no humour. ‘I can believe it. Try to keep that particular viewpoint under wraps, will you?’
Once they were free of the capital, an hour’s steady driving brought them to their destination. Queens Barton was an attractive village, its houses clustering round a well-kept green.
The house, Georgian in style and built of mellow brick, was situated down a private road some three hundred yards past the church, and approached through a tall, pillared gateway. Jake parked the car alongside several others on the broad, gravelled sweep at the front and came round to open Marin’s door.
He said quietly, ‘It’s going to be all right. I promised your very scary stepsister I’d look after you, and so I will. Now stop worrying.’
He drew her towards him and for a brief instant Marin felt his lips brush her forehead, her eyes and her startled, parted lips.
When he stood back, she stared up at him, telling herself it was unimportant. A gesture. Trying to laugh about it but failing, she said huskily, ‘More window dressing?’
‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘Sheer self-indulgence, actually.’ He took her hand and walked her across the neatly raked gravel. ‘And here’s our host, waiting for us.’
Graham Halsay was standing at the open front door, smiling expansively. He said heartily, ‘Good to see you here again, Jake. And welcome, Miss…er…?’
She said in a voice that she managed somehow to make calm and pleasant in spite of her inner turmoil, ‘My name’s Marin, Mr Halsay, and it’s lovely to be here.’ She looked around her. ‘Everything smells so fresh and beautiful after London.’
He nodded, his glance approving. ‘My sanctuary,’ he said. ‘That’s how I’ve always regarded it. And how it always will be.’
He ushered them into a large entrance-hall, its floor tiled in black and white. ‘Diana’s conferring with the cook, I believe, but Mrs Martin will show you to your rooms.’
At the sound of the plural, Marin almost sagged with relief. Avoiding Jake’s ironic glance, she followed the housekeeper’s plump figure up the wide sweep of staircase and right along a galleried landing. At the far end, an archway gave access to another much briefer flight of stairs, leading to a short passage.
Mrs Martin paused at the first door they reached and threw it open.
‘This is your room, Miss Wade, and I hope you’ll find it comfortable. Mr Radley-Smith will be next door,’ she added, and Marin wondered if she’d imagined the slight emphasis in the words. ‘Shall I send someone to unpack for you both?’
‘I think we can manage, can’t we, darling?’ Jake said smoothly, and was accorded a faintly repressive smile before the older woman departed.
‘W
elcome to Queens Barton,’ he said when they were alone. He walked over to the communicating door and flung it wide. ‘As promised, I’m in here. The bathroom is across the passage, and I fear we have to share it. But the towels are twice the size of those at the flat, if that’s any consolation,’ he added silkily. ‘Also, the door has a bolt.’
To her annoyance, she felt her face warm. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice was curt. ‘I think I’ll unpack now.’
‘In other words, will I kindly retire to my side of the fence line and stay there,’ Jake supplied with faint amusement. ‘You don’t feel we should leave the door open and practise our conversational skills?’
‘I’d prefer a little time and space to myself,’ Marin countered. ‘To get my head together.’
He shrugged. ‘Then I’ll see you later.’
Left alone, Marin walked across to the window and knelt on its chintz-cushioned seat, lifting her face to the warmth of the sun, wanting it to remove the chill of unease within her that would not go away in spite of his assurances.
Their rooms were at the back of the house, she discovered, overlooking a sweep of manicured lawn and offering a glimpse of a swimming pool, currently unoccupied.
Under different circumstances, it really could be the setting for a perfect weekend, she thought, smothering a sigh.
She glanced across at the communicating door, now securely shut. It was an old door, stoutly constructed, and the walls were correspondingly thick, so there was no sound from the other room, no movement, or cough to remind her of Jake’s presence. Yet she was as conscious of him as if the barrier between them had been made from thin glass.
Aware of the beguiling touch of his lips so fleetingly against hers only a few moments ago.
Oh, calm down, she adjured herself impatiently. Think of something else. Like the new job. But instead she found herself musing about Ginny, in love, and maybe preparing to sacrifice everything dear and familiar for the sake of her man.
Her thoughts travelled seamlessly on to Lynne, her clear eyes dreaming as she planned her home and her marriage, safe and secure in the certainty of Mike’s devotion.