The Christmas Marriage Mission

by Helen Brooks

  Kay took a deep breath. ‘A boyfriend?’ she said evenly. ‘No. I haven’t got the time or the inclination for romantic attachments of any kind.’

  He shifted in his chair, leaning towards her as he said, ‘That’s a little harsh, isn’t it? Was your marriage really that bad?’

  She had absolutely no intention of discussing her marriage or anything else of a personal nature with this man. She looked into the hard, handsome face, folding her hands in her lap to emphasise she was perfectly relaxed and in control. ‘It’s over,’ she said coolly, ‘and I never look back or discuss the past.’

  ‘In other words I can mind my own business?’ He folded his arms over his chest, contemplating her with the penetrating, astute gaze she found so disturbing. ‘What about a family in the future, children? Aren’t you a bit young to close the door on that?’

  She didn’t answer this directly. What she did say was, ‘What about you? Is that what you want—hearth, home and family?’ her tone disbelieving.

  He gave her a hard look before a grudging smile touched the carved lips. ‘Touché,’ he murmured softly. ‘No, as you’ve so rightly discerned, that is not what I want. I don’t see myself as a family man. Children deserve absolute commitment, both from parents to the child and from parent to parent, and the possibility of wanting to stay faithful to the same woman for the rest of one’s life seems ludicrous to me. And if one party does stray it can make family life hell on earth.’

  His face had remained the same as he’d spoken but there had been something, just the faintest note in his voice, that made Kay say, ‘Is that what happened to you as a child?’ before she could stop herself.

  For a moment she thought he wasn’t going to answer her, and then he said, his voice very even, ‘This is getting a little deep for a lunchtime chat, isn’t it?’ There followed the briefest of pauses before he added, ‘Yes, that is what happened to me,’ and, looking beyond her, ‘Ah, here comes the food. I trust you will find it enjoyable. I find the chef here one of the best I’ve come across.’

  Kay felt thoroughly put in her place. Why, oh, why had she asked him that? She hadn’t meant to. Here was she determined not to reveal a thing about herself and she had gone and asked him something so personal that even a close friend would have hesitated to intrude. She began to eat the soufflé without tasting it, her cheeks burning.

  ‘It’s all right, Kay.’

  The quiet voice brought her eyes up from the soufflé dish and she found he was looking at her, unsmiling but with a curious expression on his face. With anyone else but Mitchell Grey she would have thought it was gentleness.

  ‘If I hadn’t wanted to answer I wouldn’t have done. Okay?’

  He’d known she felt bad. She could feel her cheeks glowing still more as she nodded before saying, ‘I had no right to ask such a personal question; we’re strangers, after all.’

  ‘I would like to think that isn’t quite true.’

  She lowered her gaze and began to eat again, her taste buds telling her the soufflé was a dream and her mind screaming at her that she had to get out of here.

  Something had changed and shifted in the last few minutes, something intangible but very real and infinitely dangerous. And she didn’t mind admitting she didn’t know how to handle it—or perhaps she should say she didn’t know how to handle Mitchell Grey. Whatever, it was time to put her original idea into action.

  She had finished the soufflé and now she put the last portion of delicious home-made bread into her mouth, swallowing it quickly before she said, ‘Excuse me a moment; I need to powder my nose,’ and she reached for her handbag.

  ‘Sure.’ As she rose to her feet he stood too and Kay acknowledged that the old-fashioned courtesy surprised her. ‘The cloakrooms are over the far side of the room,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Thank you.’ She gave him a brief smile and then forced herself not to hurry as she walked in the direction he had indicated. Just before she went through the door to the ladies’ cloakroom she glanced back towards their table. He was seated again, his eyes on her as he drank his champagne. There was a brooding quality to his stance and for a second Kay found it difficult to look away. Then she opened the door to the cloakroom and stepped into the scented interior.

  For a moment after the door had closed behind her she stood quite still, her heart thumping so hard it was painful. There was no one else with her, and she glanced round the ultra-deluxe room with its beautifully tiled white and gold walls and granite surfaces in which three washbasins were set, before making her way to the window.

  Thank goodness the cloakroom wasn’t an inner room, but did the windows open, and, if so, onto what? The modern frame had one large fixed pane of glass with two top-hung smaller windows either side of it, all with heavily opaque privacy glass.

  Kay glanced at the locks on the smaller windows; there was no key that she could see. Please open, she prayed, please, please open. Her heart in her mouth, she tried the one nearest to her and felt a flood of relief as it swung outwards. It opened onto what appeared to be a small yard containing several large plastic dustbins in one corner and various other containers dotted about the limited space.

  Directly below the window the area was clear, but it looked to be something like a six-or seven-foot drop to the ground. That wouldn’t have mattered if she had been in jeans or trousers, but her short, slimline skirt didn’t lend itself easily to mountaineering.

  So, what were the options? Kay stepped back from the open window and turned to face the room as she ran things over in her mind. Did she let Mitchell Grey get away with tricking her here and all but forcing her to eat with him? No, not all but forcing her, she corrected herself in the next moment. He had forced her. She had decided to teach him a lesson in the car and she still intended to go through with it…didn’t she? The moment of doubt was enough to put steel in her backbone. He had been trying to charm her out there but he had picked the wrong girl and she wasn’t fooled for a minute. She wouldn’t let herself be fooled. Not ever again. Perry had had the sweet talk and beguilement down to a fine art and could be Mr Irresistible himself—when he was getting his own way.

  Kay bent down, slipping off her high-heeled shoes and holding them in one hand as she mentally prepared herself. She was going to look pretty silly if anyone came into the cloakroom in the next few minutes but that couldn’t be helped. Better that than letting Mitchell Grey think he could bully her into submission!

  There was a small upholstered chair in one corner of the cloakroom and now she lifted it over to below the window, taking a long deep breath before stepping up on it. She dropped her shoes out of the window onto the ground below, hearing them thud with a dart of fatalism. She was committed to the escape now; she could hardly pad back out there with bare feet.

  She moved her shoulder bag so it was hanging on her back and clambered from the chair onto the window sill, her skirt riding almost up to her waist. She had never felt so silly in all her life. What must she look like from the rear? she asked herself with a little giggle of near hysteria. So much for the cool, collected businesswoman image.

  The aperture was just about big enough for her to squeeze through although once or twice in all her wriggling and squirming she thought she was stuck. Only the thought of just how much Mitchell Grey would relish such a predicament kept her from giving up.

  She had twisted round on the sill before worming her way out of the window backwards, which was just as well, because suddenly she emerged like a cork out of a bottle onto the ground below, grazing her knees on the wall on her way down. The air turned a delicate shade of blue as she picked herself up, examining her torn tights and bloody knees. Great. Just great.

  Picking up her bag from where it had fallen in the rapid descent, she opened it, extracting a tissue and dabbing at her knees. Ow… She’d forgotten the pain of grazed knees but now she was transported back into childhood again. She must remember to give the twins due sympathy next time one of them fell off their bicycl
es, a fairly regular occurrence.

  After dusting herself down and bundling as much of her hair as she could back into the pony-tail, Kay pulled on her shoes and limped off to the gate set in the high brick wall that surrounded the yard. It was bolted in two places but the bolts slid easily beneath her fingers; obviously the gate was in regular use. She stepped out from the yard into the side street, glancing about her rather like a fugitive from the law who expected a Bonnie and Clyde ambush any moment. Apart from a fat tabby cat busily eating something disgusting from an overturned dustbin some yards away, all was quiet, but the main street was just a little way along the pavement.

  As she emerged into the busier road she saw the welcome sight of a taxi approaching and all but threw herself into its path, but it wasn’t until she had given her home address and the vehicle was on its way again that it dawned on her she had actually done it. She had left Mitchell Grey sitting waiting for her in that swish restaurant with his grand bottle of champagne slowly losing its bubbles. It wouldn’t be long before their main course would be brought to the table; how long would he continue to wait after that before he asked for someone, a waitress maybe, to find her? He was going to look such a fool…

  She stared out of the window at the shops and buildings flashing by, and wondered why there was none of the pleasure she had anticipated in her victory, but only a feeling of consuming flatness.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘GOOD grief, child, whatever will you do next?’

  Her mother had spoken as if she were a little girl again, and to be truthful that was exactly how Kay felt as she stood in the kitchen, clutching her torn tights and with her bruised and bloody knees on show. She had just given Leonora the bare outline of what had occurred, and the older woman had sat down with a sudden plump before she’d spoken.

  ‘He deserved it.’ There was more than a touch of defensiveness in Kay’s voice.

  ‘I’m not saying he didn’t, although there are worse crimes than abducting someone to the sort of restaurant he took you to.’ Leonora shook her head slowly, her still lovely face unable to hide her amazement.

  ‘That’s what he said.’ Kay surveyed her mother with guarded eyes. ‘But I don’t appreciate being lied to or forced into accompanying someone somewhere when I’d made it clear I wanted to leave.’

  ‘No, I can understand that.’ Leonora rose from the stool. ‘I’ll make us both a coffee, shall I, while you have a shower and change? Are you going back to the office today?’

  ‘No. Peter and Tom are both out and the answer machine can deal with any calls. People will have to try elsewhere if it’s urgent. I thought I might meet the girls out of school. They’d like that.’

  ‘They’d love it,’ Leonora agreed softly. She was well aware of the real reason her daughter was doing the unheard of and taking an afternoon off, but thought it advisable not to refer to it. If Mitchell Grey should go to the office she wouldn’t like Kay to be there alone, the sort of rage he would probably be in. No…a man like that—proud, ruthless—would almost certainly just cut his losses, Leonora assured herself hopefully as she watched her daughter leave the room.

  Once upstairs in the minute but pretty lemon and blue bathroom, which was just big enough to hold a shower, toilet and hand basin, Kay undressed quickly. She was feeling a bit shaky, she admitted reluctantly, but it was just reaction, added to which she’d had that enormous cocktail and eaten very little. She wasn’t in the least bothered about how Mitchell Grey would view her unceremonious departure from the restaurant and his life—she wasn’t.

  Just let him try any intimidation of any kind or turn nasty and she would— Well, she didn’t know what she’d do, she confessed weakly, stepping under the warm water and letting the silky flow caress her. But she was not going to be bullied—that much was for sure.

  After a minute or two she stirred herself to begin washing her hair, massaging her scalp with unnecessary vigour as though she could wash the thoughts tumbling about her head away with the perfumed suds. Once dry again, she daubed a liberal amount of antiseptic cream on her knees—gritting her teeth when it stung like sulphuric acid—before covering the raw patches with two enormous plasters.

  After pulling on a pair of jeans and a big fluffy cream jumper, she conditioned and dried her hair but couldn’t be bothered to engage in the normal fight to tame it. She let it fall about her face and shoulders in a mass of riotous red-brown silky curls and waves, aware it made her look about sixteen but uncaring. Her wild mop was the least of her problems.

  It wasn’t until she was ready to go downstairs just after her mother had called her to say the coffee was ready that Kay admitted to herself she’d behaved incredibly badly.

  She paused on the small landing, shutting her eyes for a moment. Not that he’d acted any better, she told herself in the next moment—lying to her and forcing her to enter the restaurant—but it wasn’t like her to be unkind. Oh, hell… She groaned softly, sitting down on the top stair and kneading the back of her neck, which was as taut as piano wire. But it was done now and he had asked for it—or some sort of retaliation at least. Sweet Revenge…She was sure it was that lethal cocktail that had given her the mother and father of a headache.

  Kay walked the half-mile or so to the twins’ school. The mild sunny day was mellowing into the sort of late October evening when woodsmoke and falling leaves provided a touch of pure English magic. It was usually at times like this that she reflected how lucky she was. She had her precious girls, a lovely home and the sort of job that made the nine-to-five slog interesting and absorbing. Tonight, however, was different.

  She was unsettled, she admitted irritably. All at odds with herself. And Mitchell Grey was to blame. Not only had he tried to kidnap her but he now had her almost apologising for resisting it! She must be mad. She wasn’t going to give him or the day’s events another thought.

  ‘If you can’t take the heat stay out of the kitchen,’ she muttered to herself aggressively as she reached the school gates. ‘And that’s for you, Mitchell Grey.’

  After seeing the neighbour whose turn it had been to take the twins home, Kay waited for the two little girls to come out into the playground. She wasn’t disappointed by their reaction when they caught sight of her and—as always at times like this—she felt the stab of guilt that she couldn’t meet them more often. But—and it was a big but—they still needed every penny the company could bring in to pay a living wage to herself, Peter and Tom. They all had families to support, and, although the company had proved itself to be a growing and successful one, the next step—that of taking on more employees and expanding—was a gamble. They’d all seen firms that had grown too quickly, and enlarged into disaster and liquidation, and with the girls and her mother depending on her she couldn’t take any chances.

  ‘Hard work, determination, wealth, success. The first two giving rise to the latter when combined with that magical element called luck.’ Mitchell Grey’s words rang in Kay’s ears as she and the twins made their way home through the dusky air. Well, unlike Mr Grey who only answered to himself if things went wrong, she had people depending on her, Kay told herself crabbily. She couldn’t afford the sort of Russian roulette speculation that could take a relative nobody to millionaire status in business. Of course someone like him, a self-confessed autonomist who had no time for long-term personal relationships, would have no such qualms.

  ‘We’re home!’ As she opened the front door Kay called to her mother in the kitchen before standing aside for Georgia and Emily to precede her. They raced across the sitting room, flinging open the door into the kitchen.

  As Kay closed the door behind her she became aware of two things in the same instant. The girls had skidded to an abrupt halt in the doorway and her mother was saying something, her words high and rushed, which indicated she was nervous. And then she heard the deep, smoky male voice, and she knew…

  By the time she reached the doorway she had herself under control again, only the whiteness
of her skin betraying that she was scared to death. Mitchell Grey was sitting at the table with her mother, a cup of coffee and an enormous wedge of Leonora’s carrot cake in front of him.

  Kay stared at him, knowing she had to say something but utterly bereft of words to meet the occasion. He stared back silently with unfathomable eyes.

  ‘Kay, darling, there you are.’ Leonora rose hastily from the table, all fluster, and moved round the long breakfast bar that divided the dining area from the kitchen. ‘Mitchell called by to have a word. I’ll take the girls into the sitting room, shall I?’

  ‘Not on my account, please, Leonora.’ He smiled at her as he spoke before glancing at the two little girls who were shyly clutching Kay’s legs. ‘Your grandmother has told me about you two. Now, which is which?’

  Mitchell and Leonora? She had only been gone for just under an hour and in that time her mother and Mitchell Grey had become best buddies?

  ‘I’m Georgia and she’s Emily.’ Georgia, always the least shy spoke up as she looked curiously at the big dark man dominating the tiny dining area. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Mitchell.’ He smiled at the two small figures who were like peas in a pod. ‘But you can call me Mitch if you like.’

  Georgia nodded, her red-brown curls dancing. Always a child of instant decisions, she now walked over to the figure sitting at the table before Kay could stop her, her voice loud as she said, ‘Do you want to know how you can tell us apart so you don’t get mixed up?’

  Mitchell stared into the earnest little face. The child’s tone had suggested she was doing him a great honour and his reflected he was fully aware of this when he said, ‘Very much, please, Georgia.’