He slid down beside her and wrapped his arms around her strongly. 'You'll never be alone again, my darling. Never so long as I'm alive.'
'But I don't really understand. You kept on saying you weren't in love with me and I thought—'
'I was trying to fool myself,' he cut in. 'I'd told myself I'd never risk giving my love to any woman again, and when I found myself getting out of my depth with you I overacted more than somewhat. All those days in Paris I was getting in deeper and deeper, but still I wouldn't admit it to myself. By the time we got home I was beginning to break out of that hard shell I'd built round myself. And then—when you moved your bedroom to get further away from me, I think I went a bit crazy. I'd been wrong about you all the time, I told myself, you didn't give two hoots for me, it was only Jules that you were interested in. After my—outrageous behaviour that night I really believed I'd lost you, and I told myself I was glad.'
He drew her a little closer and pressed his lean hard cheek against the soft curve of her breast. 'I even tried to find a kind of consolation elsewhere.'
'Esmée Clark?' said Polly.
He lifted his head quickly. 'You knew?'
'She called on me as soon as we arrived,' Polly told him. 'To collect her clothes and belongings—from your bedroom.'
Piran groaned. 'That was all before I even knew you existed, my sweet.'
'But afterwards—you found—er—consolation? She told me she had a cosy little cottage up the coast somewhere.'
'Does it matter to you?'
Polly shook her head thoughtfully. 'Not now. I was screaming with jealousy at the time, though.'
'Jealousy? You did love me, then?'
'I did love you,' said Polly. 'I did. I do. I'm afraid I always shall. In spite of the Esmée Clarks of this world.'
He laughed shortly. 'O.K., I suppose I deserve that last crack,' he said. 'But for the record, she did not provide consolation—or anything else. I admit I intended to use poor Esmée as a kind of disinfectant that would wash you out of my mind and my heart for good. My God—' he pulled himself up and buried his head in his hands, '—what bloody fools we men can be! But when it came to the point she revolted me. I ran like a hare and spent the rest of the night wandering about the heath, thinking about you and feeling sorry for myself.' He took his hands away and looked down at her ruefully. 'Can you still love me, Polly, after all this self-indulgent outpouring?'
She reached up and pulled him down to her, winding her arms round his neck. 'Oh yes,' she said placidly, against his mouth. 'Quite easily.'
His lips against hers, he breathed, 'You know what you're doing to me, don't you?' And her reply seemed to satisfy him.
Hours later they drove home through a golden October evening. They had called in briefly to see Alice, who had looked into Polly's shining eyes when they had a moment alone, and whispered, 'I'm so very, very glad I was wrong,' and then waved them off cheerfully with the invitation to 'come back soon, and bring that delightful child Jules with you.'
'We will, we will!' they called as they drove away.
Piran drove the powerful car with a kind of controlled prudence, very different from the reckless driving that Polly had noticed on the last occasion they drove to his home. Gradually the darkness closed in and they seemed to be taking so long over the journey that at last she raised herself out of her rainbow dream to say, 'I do hope Mrs Joe hasn't been too inconvenienced, having Jules to look after.'
'She won't mind,' Piran told her easily. 'She was delighted when she knew I was hot on your trail last night. If I'd come to my senses half an hour earlier I'd have caught you at the station before your train left. Would you have come back with me then, if I'd asked you?'
'Perhaps,' said Polly with a mischievous little grin, and he raised his hand from the wheel in mock threat.
After another mile or so Piran pulled into a layby and switched off the engine and the headlights. Outside the car the darkness was black velvet, enclosing them in a little world of their own, with only the dim reflection of the sidelights. He turned to her. 'There's just one more thing to clear up before we make a fresh beginning. Last night—I expect you thought I behaved like an absolute bastard when you arrived home with Aubrey. You see, I'd meant to stay overnight in London, after interviewing my publisher. But you were there all the time, I couldn't get you out of my mind. So eventually I decided to come back home and surprise you, possibly even to tell you I loved you, if I could get up enough courage. And when I got home the house was empty. Dark and empty—and you and Jules had gone. It seemed as if it was all happening again.' He ran a hand roughly through his hair in a desperate gesture. 'It was pure hell. I thought—'
Polly reached up and put a hand gently over his mouth. 'Don't say it,' she said. 'Don't say any more. I know—Alice told me what happened before. I'll always remember that, and try to understand.'
His arm went out and drew her near and he buried his cheek in her soft hair. 'Polly, my darling,' he said huskily, 'you're a lovely, kind, wonderful girl and I adore you. You deserve the very best. I want us to start all over again without any ghosts. I want us to have a real home and a real family. I want to make a good life for us and I swear I will—can you believe me?'
'I believe you,' she said. She turned her head and they kissed slowly, almost solemnly, as if they were making their vows all over again.
They drew apart and for a long moment looked into each other's eyes in silence. Then, 'Home now!' Piran cried exultantly, and switched on the engine and the headlights and a white beam shone out along the road ahead.
The powerful car purred steadily on through the darkness, and as it went a different scene arose vividly before Polly's eyes.
There was a long, sloping lawn bordered with trees and at the end of it a green hill rose against the sky. Clusters of sheep were dotted here and there, like grey toys in the distance. Smoke from a farmhouse chimney plumed into the still air, and beyond that the sea glinted deep blue under a summer sun. On the lawn, under the big apple tree, there was a pram with a linen canopy, and there was a small boy sitting on the grass beside it, his dark head bent over a book. Polly sighed as the picture faded and looked up at the strong profile of her husband etched against the darkness.
Her eyes misted with love and compassion and trust in the future. 'I'll tell him tomorrow,' she promised herself happily.
One Who Kisses Page 17