by Penny Jordan
Moping wasn't going to do her the slightest bit of good, she told herself firmly. There was any amount of things she ought to be doing, and work would help to take her mind off Marcus.
She worked all evening but she didn't stop thinking about him, and when she went to bed all she could remember was how they had made love here in her bed, and then how he had turned on her afterwards, after he had realised the truth. She supposed that it had been rather stupid to give her fictitious husband the same name as her dead friend, but she had panicked when she realised that Marcus was going to be living so close to her, and Leslie's had been the first name that came to mind.
The rest in hospital must have done her good, she decided two days later, on her way back from a check-up which had laid any lingering doubts at rest. Both she and the baby were perfectly healthy, and, as an extra bonus, she was riding on the crest of a wave of energy that was permitting her to get through much more work than she had envisaged.
As she drove she glanced at her watch. She had less than an hour before her first interview of the afternoon. All in all she had six girls to see. She had worked with younger girls under her control at the TV station, and had no qualms about employing someone.
She got back with half an hour to spare, and remembering the doctor's warning that she could still do with a little more weight she made herself a salad lunch.
She had just cleared away the plates, when she heard the doorbell to the shop. Her first applicant was a rather shy girl of eighteen, with a long mane of untidy hair, and frightened blue eyes. Diana put her at her ease and started to interview her.
It was almost six o'clock before she showed the last applicant out. She went back inside and studied the notes she had taken. She had already made her decision, but she just wanted to make doubly sure.
At seven o'clock she stood up and stretched. Yes, she had been right. The girl who had made the best impression on her had been perhaps a trifle off-putting to look at with her wild post-punk hair-do, and garishly coloured clothes. But her answers to Diana's questions had been intelligent ones; she was the eldest of a family of four, and therefore accustomed to dealing with children. She had managed to add up the columns of figures Diana had given her, accurately and without access to a calculator. She had also worked in a shop before, although only as a Saturday girl, and Diana felt that she would be able to teach her how to handle some of the paperwork involved in running the shop.
She nibbled the end of her pen and looked down at the names she had written on the paper.
Mary White had been the first girl she had interviewed. Too shy and withdrawn to handle full-time responsibility for the shop, but Diana had nevertheless sensed potential in the girl. With a little encouragement… She gnawed the pen again and then came to a decision. She would offer Mary a job as a part-time assistant—there would be times, like Christmas, she hoped, when she would need two girls.
She pulled out her small portable typewriter and started to work.
Ann's suggestion that she approach the Women's Guild and Mothers' Union concerning buffet food for her launch party had proved a good one. Given a generous budget both groups came up with a menu that sounded mouth-watering. Diana had stipulated quality rather than quantity, and she was highly delighted with the imaginative suggestions submitted.
She was keeping her fingers crossed that the weather would stay fine and that her guests would be able to go outside into the garden.
The boys' hard work had revealed the makings of two very attractive cottage garden borders of perennial plants—some of which had gone to seed, but which Ann had advised her could quite easily be replaced. With the benefit of Ann's advice, and her recommendation of a garden centre not very far out of town, Diana had high hopes that in a week's time, when she held her launch party, the garden would look as attractive as the shop and her home.
Not even to herself would she admit that all this frantic activity was designed, at least in part, to keep her mind off Marcus. Since her acceptance of his proposal and her return from hospital, she hadn't seen or heard from him; the classic case of a man having cold feet, she told herself, wryly. The problem was that she had tended to put Marcus up on a pedestal, without even being aware of it. He was so popular locally, and so well thought of, that she had made the mistake of investing him with all manner of virtues and qualities that only a perfect human being would possess.
He had offered to marry her in a fit of gallantry, and once he had had time to think about the consequences of his proposal he had had second thoughts—how could she blame him for being reluctant to take on the commitment of her and their child when she herself had fought desperately to evade any sort of commitment to any human being herself?
It was irrational of her to be so despairingly hurt by his rejection—but she was. She loved him. She realised it now, and she could only marvel that she had been able to deceive herself for so long.
Her invitations for the launch had already been sent out, and, of course, she had invited Ann and her husband, and Jane Simons. It was stupid to feel as excited as a young girl contemplating her first date, she told herself when she woke up on the morning of the launch party. After all, the situation being what it was, Marcus was all too likely not to come.
Both her new employees were joining in on the launch party. She had decided that it was a good way to break the ice, and to see how they reacted to the business.
In addition to some of her suppliers, and new friends in the locality, she had also invited one or two people from the TV station, plus several other members of the media world. You never knew, it might get her a little bit of extra publicity.
The new dress she had worn to dinner at Ann's was ideally suited to the warm late summer afternoon. The Mothers' Union and the Guild, true to their promises, arrived in the middle of the morning, complete with trestle tables, plates, glasses and cutlery.
Diana could only marvel at their efficiency as they set to work, and when she said as much to one of them, the woman smiled appreciatively. 'Oh, we're loving every minute of this,' she told Diana. 'It isn't often we get the chance to cater for an occasion where keeping the cost down isn't the prime concern. You'd be surprised how inventive one learns to be with potted beef sandwiches and Victoria sponges.'
The first of her guests started arriving at two-thirty; by half past three, the shop was full, and the overspill reached out into the garden.
Too busy in her role as hostess to linger too long with any one group, Diana kept hearing snatches of conversation, sometimes technical and barely comprehensible, between two of her major suppliers, who were talking about profit margins and the relative merits of printing in various countries; and at others, far more homely, as when she heard a group of mothers discussing the problem of steering children away from TV and into avenues that exercised their own imaginations.
Her mural occasioned a great deal of admiration and interest; the photographer from the local paper bemoaned the fact that they wouldn't be able to feature it in colour, and a friend of a friend, brought along at the last moment, turned out to be a journalist on one of the Sunday supplements, who was interested in doing a feature on her for his magazine.
'Quite a change from busy career woman working for a TV station to living in a small country town running a bookshop. A lot of our readers are really into this "back to the simple life" stuff now, and an article on you should go down very well.'
They discussed it for several minutes, and then out of the corner of her eye Diana saw that Ann and Michael had arrived.
Her heart sank when she realised that Jane Simons was with them. That must mean that Marcus wasn't coming. This was what she had dreaded, and her spirits plunged instantly. She had both looked forward to and dreaded seeing him all week, and now he wasn't coming. She excused herself to the journalist and went forward to greet the late arrivals.
'Sorry about this,' Ann apologised, kissing her, 'but Michael had an emergency and we were all delayed.'
&nbs
p; 'Marcus sends his apologies too,' Jane Simons put in. 'They're working desperately hard to get the last of the long meadow cleared of hay.'
A plausible excuse, but Diana wasn't deceived. Marcus would have been here if he had wanted to come.
As yet, Jane hadn't seen the mural, and she exclaimed over it with real pleasure.
'I'm thinking of having something similar done in the nursery, but not yet,' Diana told her.
'All's obviously well in that direction. You look positively blooming, conventional though it sounds to say so.'
'As you do,' Diana told her. 'I must admit I was terrified when you had your fall. It's so frightening to see someone lying there unconscious and not being able to help them.'
'Yes, I feel so guilty about it. It was all my own fault, and Marcus has started fussing like a mother hen. Mrs J barely lets me out of her sight, and it's tiring her out, poor soul, not to mention what it's doing to my temper, I'm afraid. I'm more worried about Marcus than I am about myself.'
Ann and Michael had wandered off, and Jane Simons glanced shrewdly at Diana before she went on.
'I don't know what's happened between my son and you, Diana, but I do know that it's making him very withdrawn. I know I've brought this subject up with you before, but if it's the farm…'
'No… No, it isn't that.' Diana shook her head decisively.
'Then what is it?' Jane asked gently. 'Or can't you tell me?'
For one awful moment, Diana thought she was about to burst into tears. She was behaving like a child herself, she derided herself.
'I know you must still grieve for your husband,' Jane continued, 'but…'
Diana couldn't let her go on.
'It… it isn't that…' she gulped miserably. 'Jane, I can't talk to you about it, but please believe me, there's nothing… There's nothing I want more than to have Marcus's love,' she admitted bravely. 'Marcus is the one with the doubts,' she went on quietly, reaching out to touch Jane pleadingly on her arm, as she begged, 'please, don't tell him that we've had this conversation. I should hate him to think I'm trying to pressure him into anything…'
'Don't worry. I won't say a word,' Jane assured her. 'I had no right to ask you such a question in the first place, and I'm touched that you felt able to confide your feelings to me, Diana. You know,' she added gravely, 'that I've become very fond of you, don't you? And I can't deny that I'd love to have you as my daughter-in-law. I was so pleased when I thought Marcus had fallen for you, and then I was worried because you seemed to be rejecting him, but if you ever need to talk to anyone, Diana, regardless of the fact that I'm Marcus's mother, please come to me, won't you? Your own family must seem dreadfully far away at times. I think, perhaps because none of us knew him, we all tend to forget what you've been through in losing your husband.'
Diana couldn't endure any more. She excused herself hurriedly, spotting a colleague from her TV days heading towards her, toting a glass of wine and balancing a plate of goodies.
'Fab food,' she commented, consuming a morsel of smoked salmon greedily. 'Lovely place as well—almost too quaint and olde worlde—but what's all this I hear about you being a widow, and a prospective mother to boot? You kept it all very quiet when you were at work!'
Mercifully, the other woman didn't seem to realise that there never had been a husband, merely believing that Diana hadn't mentioned him.
'Oh, you know how it is…' she shrugged dismissively, and heaved a soft sigh of relief when someone else came up to join them and the subject was dropped.
She had realised she was taking a risk in inviting people down here who knew her from her old life, but she had been so miserable since realising how much she loved Marcus that the dangers had barely impinged upon her.
No sooner had her old colleague gravitated back to the buffet, than Madge Davies cornered her.
'This food is out of this world,' she commented enviously. 'Perhaps I ought to get the ladies of the parish into the pub to exercise their skills there.'
'Maybe you should,' Diana agreed. 'Apparently they're always looking for ways to add to the church restoration fund—you've got enough land at the back of your place to stage weekend barbecues at lunch-times. You could get them to cater for you. I'm sure they would.'
'That's a great idea!' Looking excited and thoughtful, Madge hurried off.
Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves apart from her, Diana thought wryly. Even her two new employees were happily mingling with the general throng.
Susie's punk hair-do had been tamed down somewhat, she noticed, and Mary's shyness seemed to have eased slightly too.
At five o'clock, people started to drift away.
Ann, Michael and Jane were the very last to leave, after six o'clock, and it seemed to Diana that Jane in particular was anxious about something.
She ought not to have confided in her, Diana thought guiltily. It was bound to make her feel awkward and embarrassed.
'We've got to go,' Michael said at last. 'Evening surgery starts soon.'
Her two new employees stayed behind to help clear up. The Mothers' Union, who had supplied the china, cutlery and glasses, had told Diana not to bother washing anything, but simply to leave it and they would be round for it in the morning; but her new kitchen had a dishwasher, and it seemed just as easy to run everything through it and then pack it away, especially with Susie and Mary to help her.
The tablecloths she bundled into a plastic bin liner ready for the laundry, and between them the two girls managed to unfasten and stack away the trestle tables.
'Marvellous,' Diana approved, when Susie straightened up from vacuuming the carpet. 'You've both done wonders.' She unlocked her desk to remove the two envelopes she had prepared beforehand.
'Since you aren't officially employed yet, this is a small payment for today's services.'
'You're paying us?' Mary's eyes widened with surprised delight. 'But it wasn't like work, it was fun.'
'Yeah, it was real cool,' Susie agreed.
After they had gone, Diana suffered the gloomy effects of post-party let down. She wandered from room to room, hating the emptiness of the house. Her restless energy took her out into the garden. The greenhouse frame still needed a new coat of paint. She would do it now, she decided impulsively; anything to stop her from thinking about Marcus. Right up until the end of the party she had gone on hoping that he would appear; right up until his family left, she had gone on believing that he might relent.
A thought struck her. Was this his way of telling her that he didn't want to marry her? Tears blinded her for a moment as she went to collect her step-ladder, and she brushed them away with an impatient hand. What was the point in crying? Tears wouldn't bring him back.
She was half-way along one side of the greenhouse when she began to be aware of the nagging pain in her back. She straightened up, rubbing the tender spot, and stretching. Beneath her the steps wobbled slightly, and then suddenly she was snatched off them, and swung hard against a warm male chest.
'For Christ's sake, will you never learn! What the devil were you trying to do? I thought you wanted this child.'
Marcus… Marcus had come after all! She was too overjoyed to register the grim fury in his voice, too deliriously happy to do anything other than close her eyes and burrow closer to the male warmth of him; glorying in the sensation of his body against her own, his arms holding her close, his voice shivering in her ear.
'Diana… Look at me.'
Reluctantly she opened her eyes, wincing when she saw the fury in his. 'Just what were you trying to do?' he demanded again.
Her small bubble of happiness burst.
'I wasn't trying to do anything,' she told him flatly. 'I was simply painting.'
'Oh, you were simply painting, were you?'
She could feel the anger vibrating his chest. 'Forgive me, but, as I understood it, the doctors specifically warned you to take things easy. Didn't you hear them, Diana, or are you tired of carrying my child?' he demanded emotively. '
Are you…'
Ashen-faced Diana pulled away from him. 'No…' Dear God, how could he think that of her! Her revulsion showed in her face, and instantly his own expression changed.
'I'm sorry,' he apologised contritely. 'It was just seeing you there… after that last time.'
They were standing apart now and much as she longed to move back into his arms, Diana lacked the courage to make the first move. She ran her tongue over her dry lips. Why had he come to see her? Had he made up his mind? Was he…?
'I thought my mother would be here,' he told her, shattering all her hopes.
'She was, but she left half an hour ago with Ann and Michael.'
'Oh, she said she'd wait for me, but it took us longer than we expected to clear the field.' His forehead creased, and Diana was immediately conscious of the grim tiredness about him that she hadn't noticed before. He was wearing faded but clean jeans and an equally faded shirt. He must have stopped to shower before coming out, because she could still smell the soap clinging to his skin. It made her want to nuzzle closer to him and absorb the scent of him.
Closing her eyes against the prickle of tears stinging them she swayed slightly.
Instantly his hands bit into her arms. 'Why… why did you change your mind about marrying me, Diana?'
The harshness in his voice cut into her. She opened her eyes, and saw that his were dark with anger mixed with other more complicated emotions. She shivered. If she hadn't looked at him she could almost have thought she heard pain in his voice.
'What do you want to know for? You don't want to marry me now, anyway.'
'But you want to marry me, apparently. Why? You were so determined that you didn't want me.'
'I've already told you why.' She couldn't bear much more of this. If he kept on questioning her, hurting her, she would start telling him the truth—that she loved him.