by Liz Fielding
He could not have looked more shocked if she had hit him, and the pendant clattered onto the dressing table as he discarded it, apparently no longer interested in what became of it. ‘The chain was beyond repair. I have replaced it.’ He opened a drawer and took out a small box which he held out to her.
Lizzie had to remind herself that she had done nothing to be ashamed of. Standing her ground, she made no move to take it; instead she turned round. ‘Will you fasten it for me?’ she asked, looking back over her shoulder.
‘Damn it, Elizabeth—’
‘If the contents of the locket matter to you so much, Noah, I suggest you open it.’
He opened the box and lifted the locket from the velvet bed. For a moment he held the bright golden oval in the palm of his hand. ‘They don’t matter in the least,’ he said hoarsely.
And Lizzie took considerable comfort from the fact that the cool Noah Jordan spent rather a long time in the fastening of one very plain catch—for the simple reason that his hands were shaking.
They arrived at the gallery to a burst of applause from the staff. Lizzie was taken round and introduced to everyone and a bottle of champagne was broached to drink their health.
Lizzie sipped the champagne. Just a tiny sip. She wanted to keep a very clear head. Then, as the staff dispersed to their stations, Noah took her glass and said a little urgently, ‘Elizabeth—’
‘Oh, look, Dad and Olivia have come early. Heavens, doesn’t she look gorgeous?’ She left Noah’s side and went over to them, kissing them both.
‘Lizzie you look absolutely stunning,’ her father said.
And Olivia beamed. ‘I knew that dress was right for you. But I was sure you’d be wearing Grandma’s fancy baubles tonight.’ She dropped her voice a little. ‘It was when I saw them on you in that photograph in the paper that I knew I’d got it right.’ She turned to Noah. ‘Why didn’t you let Lizzie wear—?’
But he wasn’t given a chance to defend himself before Lizzie’s father intervened. ‘She’s wearing her mother’s locket.’ His eyes were a little brighter than usual as he turned to Olivia a little uncertainly. ‘It was the first present I ever gave her. She wore it on her wedding day.’
She felt Noah stiffen at her side as Olivia bent to examine it. ‘It is lovely. So heavy. May I peep inside?’ And before Lizzie could stop her she had slipped the catch. ‘Oh, Lizzie, you are so like your mother.’ Then she laughed. ‘James, is this really you? Your hair! It’s down to your shoulders!’ She turned to her husband. ‘Darling, were you wearing flares?’ she demanded. ‘Look, Noah, it’s absolutely hilarious.’
And Lizzie knew that Olivia had done it quite deliberately, to make her husband laugh, show him that she understood how much he had loved his first wife, that she didn’t feel threatened.
Very slowly, very painfully Noah directed his eyes to the two small photographs that smiled across at each other—very hippy, very sixties.
‘Hilarious,’ he agreed. But he wasn’t amused. Not in the least. And, without so much as a glance at Lizzie, he detached himself from the group to go and greet the first arrivals who had come to see the exhibition and meet the new Mrs Jordan.
‘Elizabeth.’ Noah squeezed through the crowds some time later. ‘It’s time to get back to the house. I’ve promised Fran and Peter a lift. Could you find them?’
Lizzie had glimpsed Noah talking to Fran, taking her around the exhibition, telling her about the artists. Beseiged by well-wishers, she was unable to join them, but even if she had been alone she didn’t think she would have intruded. They seemed so private, so apart from the noisy chatter that filled the gallery, that her heart felt as if it was being squeezed very hard. She had looked for Peter, had seen him talking to her father, but Peter too had seemed intensely aware of the other couple, following them jealously with his eyes.
She found Fran and Peter now, and extricated them from a discussion about the economy. ‘Noah said you were coming home with us. If you’re ready...’
‘Oh, yes. But this has been wonderful,’ Fran said enthusiastically. ‘I suddenly want to collect modern art.’
‘I’ll throw a few cans of paint at a wall for you, if you like,’ Peter offered.
Fran flushed. ‘Peter, for goodness’ sake...’
‘Well, you’re not taken in by all this, are you?’ he sneered. ‘Or perhaps you are? You wouldn’t be the only one.’
And with a sinking heart Lizzie realised that Peter wasn’t referring to the paintings.
CHAPTER NINE
THE house was a glittering showcase when they arrived, and Fran was justifiably awestruck. ‘It’s just so beautiful, Lizzie. I’d love to look around. Is there time?’
Before she could suggest that Noah would be a better guide he intervened, I’ll give you the grand tour when we’ve more time,’ he promised. ‘But perhaps you would like to freshen up.’ He turned to Lizzie. ‘Why don’t you take Fran upstairs, darling, while I have a chat with Peter?’
Lizzie’s heart turned a somersault. The hostility between the two men was well-disguised beneath the civilising veneer of politeness, but her nerves were strung out so tight that she was sensitive to the most subtle inflexion. ‘Chat’ had an almost ominous ring to it.
But Fran was blissfully unaware that anything was amiss. ‘You’d better stay off the subject of art,’ she advised mock-seriously. ‘You may have already noticed, Noah, that my husband is a philistine.’
‘Then perhaps I should try to... convert him to my viewpoint,’ Noah replied, opening the study door.
‘Don’t bank on it,’ Peter almost growled. ‘Besides, there’s something far more important we have to discuss’ His voice was cut off as Noah shut the door behind them.
‘Come on, Lizzie.’ Fran was bubbling with excitement. ‘I’m absolutely dying to see this famous four-poster.’
‘Famous?’ Lizzie repeated dully. She remained rooted to the spot, staring at the study door, half expecting to hear the crash of furniture as the men came to blows.
‘Noah’s been telling me that it has quite a history,’ Fran insisted.
Lizzie finally managed to drag her attention back to Fran. ‘Noah has an interesting line in historical detail,’ she said, and with a last glance back turned to lead the way upstairs. ‘I hope it wasn’t too shocking?’
Fran laughed. ‘Oh, I didn’t believe a word of it, but it was great fun. He’s so amusing...’ Her voice died away as Lizzie opened the door for her. ‘Oh, Lizzie!’
The great Jacobean four-poster dominated the room. On either side tall lamps threw soft illumination over the heavy drapes and coverlet, and the tumbled creamy silk and lace of the most exquisite nightgown-a gown that Lizzie had never seen before. And everywhere there were roses, rich and darkly red, scenting the air. It was quite beautiful. Like something from a Hollywood movie. In fact, she had the strongest feeling that that was precisely what it wasa stage set. ‘Why don’t you take Fran upstairs, darling?’ Of course. The final, convincing touch. But who was Noah trying to convince?
Fran took a step towards the bed, touched the heavy, embroidered hangings. ‘You must feel like a queen, sleeping in a bed like this,’ she murmured.
‘I don’t know about that,’ Lizzie murmured absently as her fingers stirred the soft silk of the nightgown; she felt deeply disturbed by sharp desires that had bubbled up to almost choke her. ‘I haven’t actually slept in it...’
‘Oh, Lizzie! You are outrageous,’ Fran said, laughing. ‘You’re just trying to make me jealous!’
‘No...’ Then colour flooded to her cheeks as she realised what she had said, what Fran had thought she’d meant ‘I’d better get downstairs,’ she said quickly. ‘People will be arriving any minute. The bathroom is through there. Can you find your own way back down?’
Noah was standing at the foot of the stairs as Lizzie descended. ‘Well, was she impressed?’
‘How could she fail to be?’ Confirmation that all that effort had been expended to reinforce Fr
anceca’s sense of security sent a cold, painful shiver through her. ‘Where is Peter?’ she asked quickly, not wanting to dwell on the unexpected intensity of her feelings. ‘What have you been saying to him, Noah?’
Noah regarded her with a slightly puzzled expression. ‘I think you should be worrying about what he said to me.’
Lizzie paled. ‘What?’
He raised his hand to her shoulder and briefly trailed his fingers across her skin. ‘I like this dress.’
The simple touch of his fingers seemed to rob her of the ability to think, to breathe. The sight of his bedroom—their bedroom—that nightgown...had shaken her new-found purpose. She glanced uncertainly up into his eyes. They glittered darkly back at her, offering no clue to his feelings. And she remembered with a jab of pain that, for him, nothing had changed. Any loving attention was like that bedroom—window-dressing. Just for show.
Well, she could put on a show of her own. She lifted her hand to touch the soft material that clung to her breast. ‘I’m glad you like it, Noah.’ And she lowered her lashes. ‘It cost you a small fortune.’ Then she moved forward as the door was opened to the first of their guests.
The evening was the longest she could ever remember. Smiling, conversing brightly with people she had never met before, she found it almost a relief, she thought guiltily, to escape for a while when Fran, briefly overcome with dizziness, left the party early.
‘Would you like me to come with you?’ Lizzie offered with some concern as Peter settled her in the car.
But Fran smiled a little wanly. ‘You can’t leave your own wedding party, Lizzie. Peter will look after me.’ She tightened her hold upon his hand. ‘Won’t you, honey?’
Lizzie felt almost sorry for him. Ever since his conversation with Noah he had been very quiet, glancing first at Fran and then at Noah, as if trying to make sense of something. Now he could do little other than nod.
‘Take good care of her, Peter. If you need anything, give me a call. I’ll ring you later.’
‘Thanks, Lizzie. Thank you ... for everything.’ His eyes said it all. Whatever crisis his marriage had been through seemed to be passing as he realised that his wife was carrying his child.
‘Is she all right?’ Noah asked, coming out into the hall to find Lizzie.
There was such a tender concern in his voice that Lizzie for one crazy moment felt the most appalling flare of jealousy—foul, bilious-green jealousy. She longed for that concern, that tenderness. ‘Yes. They’re both all right. How did you know that she was pregnant?’
Noah regarded her steadily with smoky eyes that told her nothing. ‘Women get a special look when they’re pregnant.’
‘And you’re an expert?’
‘I’ve spent a lifetime learning to use my eyes...’
‘And you’ve done that most attentively ever since you met her.’ Lizzie’s eyes darkened to indigo, and she had to dig her nails into the palms of her hands to stop the tears. ‘I can’t imagine why you didn’t encourage me to run away with Peter. Then you would have had the field to yourself.’ She turned and began to move rapidly away, but his hand snapped out and stopped her.
‘You have my assurance, Elizabeth, that for the rest of the evening you will have my undivided attention.’ It was a promise that offered no comfort.
As the last of their guests departed lizzie went to the phone. ‘What are you doing?’ Noah asked.
‘Ringing Peter to see how Fran is.’ Her eyes challenged him. ‘I’m sure you’d like to know.’
He paused, then shrugged. ‘Give her my love.’
‘I’ll leave you to do that yourself when you see her.’
He frowned. ‘Was that supposed to mean something, or were you just being unpleasant?’
‘Work it out for yourself.’ She turned her back on him and punched in the number of the hotel.
‘Well?’ Noah had discarded his jacket, pulled his black tie loose and undone the top button of his shirt, exposing his powerful throat as he threw his head back in a characteristic gesture. He was tired. She longed to go to him, put her arms around him, comfort him ...
She jolted herself back to reality. Just how many kinds of a fool was it possible for one person to be? ‘She’s sleeping. Peter said to pass on his thanks for an enjoyable evening...and that he’ll ring in a couple of days.’ She hesitated. ‘What about, Noah?’
Noah, pouring brandy into a glass, waved the decanter in her direction and, ignoring her question, said, ‘Can I offer you a drink?’
‘No, thanks. I’ve had more than enough.’
‘You’ve drunk nothing but mineral water all evening.’ She had been aware of his eyes apparently riveted upon her, but then that was all part of the game. People would expect it. It might have been his sister who was the actress, but Noah could easily have succeeded in the same profession. Only she had seen the gentler glances that Francesca had drawn from him. ‘It seemed wise to keep a clear head. I would be grateful if you could manage to do the same.’
‘Frankly, my dear, tonight a clear head offers very little to commend it.’
‘I can sympathise with your feelings. But this little farce was your bright idea, and I would like to be reassured that, since we have to share that monstrous bed, you’ll remember that it’s your wife you’re sleeping alongside. I wouldn’t want to be confused with some more enthusiastic acquaintance.’
He turned to her. ‘You’re wrong, you know. I never sleep with mere acquaintances. To be honest, right now I don’t even feel much like sleeping with you. And we both know how enthusiastic you are.’
It was frightening how much that hurt. ‘Alongside,’ she repeated, hanging onto her poise despite the hot patches that flared on her cheeks. ‘Not with. But please don’t force yourself, Noah. You’re quite welcome to sleep on the sofa.’
‘Sorry, sweetheart, the show must go on.’ He drained the brandy in his glass and poured another, then turned to her. ‘So, tell me, did you enjoy your wedding day? Did it live down to your expectations?’
‘It had its moments. Mostly it was just exhausting.’
‘Surely not? Not for the perfect Miss Lizzie French?’ He regarded her steadily. ‘You are perfect, aren’t you? People keep telling me you are—your father, Peter, Francesca. Sugar and spice and all things nice. Even Olivia chose tonight to confess that she hadn’t been exactly honest when she blackened your character...’
‘Oh?’
‘I was sharp with her for being so insensitive to James’s feelings this evening. It’s so unlike her.’ He leaned against the sideboard. ‘She thought I was cross with her for matchmaking. Since I clearly hadn’t a clue what she was talking about, she had to explain. She seemed surprised that you hadn’t told me.’
‘There really didn’t seem any point.’
‘No point?’
‘Would you have believed me?’ She made a gesture of pure defiance. ‘Have you ever believed me?’
‘I don’t recall you trying very hard to convince me of your probity. Not even about the locket.’ He reached out and lifted it from her throat, his knuckles grazing her skin as he flipped it open. ‘You made no attempt to correct my mistake. Did you?’
‘In my shoes, Noah, would you have bothered to protest your innocence?’
‘Maybe not,’ he conceded. ‘But to ask me to fasten it about your neck tonight, knowing what I thought... A nice touch.’ He snapped it shut and let it fall against her skin. ‘Very... human.’ He took another sip from his glass.
‘I’ve never pretended to be anything else.’
‘No. And I have good reason to know just how human you can be. Don’t I?’
Her skin burned at this reminder of how human her response to his lovemaking had been. No. No. Not lovemaking. Just sex. She turned abruptly away, desperate to shut out the memory of it. ‘Olivia’s little story was a great deal closer to the truth than she imagined,’ she said quickly. Anything to distract him. ‘I didn’t deliberately snoop, but I did overhear a telephone conversa
tion. She was talking to her lover—’
‘Lover?’
‘Telling him that she was keeping on her apartment in London so that she could meet him there—a married man, apparently, since she was particularly pleased to have convinced my father that the child she is carrying is his.’
If she had hoped to make Noah angry, she was disappointed. He seemed, on the contrary, to be totally nonplussed. ‘Olivia?’ Lizzie didn’t bother to answer. ‘I think you’d better tell me exactly what you heard. Word for word.’
It wasn’t difficult. It was burned into her brain. When she had finished he simply shook his head.
‘Tell me, Elizabeth,’ he said, ‘if you really believe this nonsense, didn’t you feel just a shade awkward spending the last three days with Olivia, letting her do everything for you...?’
‘I wasn’t given much choice about that.’ But a deep flush darkened her cheeks.
‘You must know it is some kind of misunderstanding. It isn’t in Olivia’s character to do anything so...deceitful.’
She gave him a wry look. ‘Matchmaking aside?’ Then with an awkward little shrug she added, ‘You’ll be happy to know that Dad took the same view.’
‘You went to James with this infernal rubbish? My God, if he’d believed you—’
‘But he didn’t. And after tonight, the way she understood, helped him with all that nonsense over the locket, I know somehow that he must be right, that there must be some explanation—’
‘Of course there’s an explanation...’ He spun around, turning his back to her, and stared up at the ceiling with a sharp expulsion of breath. ‘I suppose I should be grateful that you aren’t quite as perfect as everyone would have me believe. No one with a shred of decency could have carried on as if nothing had happened, stood as her bridesmaid—’
‘Did you think I enjoyed it? I did that for my father.’