by Sara Craven
Theirs was a non-personal relationship—most of the time. But to hear that Silas thought she looked a touch gorgeous was what she needed to hear. ‘Just something I threw on,’ she murmured offhandedly, every bit as though she had not changed three times before deciding to stick with the first outfit she had tried on. And, feeling unutterably shy suddenly, she thrust the flowers at him, ‘Here,’ she said, ‘take a hold of these before they die.’
His face was alight with laughter as he took the hint and invited her in. She felt good suddenly. Perhaps the evening would not be such a trial after all.
‘Where do you keep your vases?’ Colly asked as they went along the hall.
‘Good question.’
She wanted to grin—it was good just to be with him. ‘I’ll try the kitchen,’ she decided, and found he was right there with her when she went in that direction.
In the kitchen was where Mrs Varley was, putting the finishing touches to a smoked salmon and watercress starter. ‘Oh, Mrs Livingstone.’ Mrs Varley beamed before Colly could say a word, and Colly hid her small moment of shock—but owned she was delighted at being so addressed. ‘Mr Livingstone has told me of your marriage.’ And, clearly a born romantic, ‘I know you’re both going to be very happy.’ She beamed again.
‘Thank you,’ Colly answered. She felt stumped to know what to say next, but beamed a smile back and asked, ‘Am I going to be in your way if I arrange the flowers in here?’
It took longer for her to arrange the flowers than she had thought—they just did not go right—and Colly was glad she had arrived ten minutes early. But by a quarter to seven there were two flower arrangements brightening up the otherwise masculine-looking drawing room, and one arrangement in the dining room.
Her chores, if chores they were, completed, Colly was starting to feel more nervous than ever. Mrs Varley assured her she had everything under control, so Colly left her and went to the bathroom to check her appearance. She ran a comb through her hair, touched up her lipstick and left the bathroom. Wishing the evening were over, she went to the drawing room. Silas was there waiting for her.
Whether or not he could tell she was being attacked by nerves she had no idea, but he smiled a smile that warmed her heart, and, coming over to her, asked, ‘What would you like to drink?’
How he could sound so unconcerned when she felt such a wreck, she had no idea. But she drew strength from his easy manner. ‘Nothing, thanks,’ she refused. She had warned him that she was no good at subterfuge, but if he still wanted this evening to go ahead, so be it.
He took her refusal to have a drink without comment, but continued to come towards her, halting barely a step away. ‘Perhaps you’d better wear this,’ he said, and, putting his hand into his pocket, took out the wedding ring she had returned to him.
‘I forgot!’ she exclaimed, realising that while some women might prefer not to wear a wedding ring, she was not one of them. And, as he had once before, Silas took a hold of her left hand and slipped the gold band over her marriage finger.
‘You’re shaking!’ he remarked in surprise at her trembling hand.
She felt absurd. He was so sophisticated, so able to carry off any situation. ‘It’s all right for you!’ she accused snappily. ‘You know my in-laws. I don’t!’
He burst out laughing. ‘Oh, I do l—like you, Colly Livingstone,’ he said, and while her heart raced at the sudden warm look in his eyes, so the doorbell sounded.
‘They’re early!’ she gasped.
‘It’s the season,’ he said, and to her gratitude did not leave her alone to wait while he went to let his parents in, but caught hold of her hand. ‘Come on—let’s go and get it done,’ he said, and led her to the door.
The next few minutes passed in a haze of beaming smiles of hugs and kisses that left Colly, who had missed a mother’s love, feeling very emotional.
‘How beautiful you are!’ Paula Livingstone exclaimed, tall, distinguished and all heart. ‘And, oh, how pleased I am to meet you.’ She was still bursting with joy when she pulled Colly to her and just had to give her another hug.
Silas’s father, Borden Livingstone, was more subdued than his wife, though it was possible that he had not spent the last few years waiting for this very day the way his wife had.
Colly recognised him as the man who had been with Silas at her father’s funeral, and warmed to Borden Livingstone when he offered his condolences and apologised that he had not spoken to her then.
‘Would you like something to drink first, or are you ready to eat?’ Silas asked as they ambled into the drawing room.
‘We’d better eat,’ his mother declared, her eyes approvingly flicking from one flower arrangement to the other. ‘I’ve hardly been able to eat a thing all day. I’d better get something solid down before I attempt anything alcoholic.’
Colly liked her mother-in-law. She was such a warm and natural person and Colly felt it would be difficult not to like her. She wished she could be as natural in return, and did try her very hardest so to be. But she was aware that she had to be on her guard; any small slip and she could see they would have to confess the truth.
Though as they chatted all through the first course, and enjoyed each other’s company, so Colly did begin to feel a little more relaxed.
It was midway through the main course, however—Mrs Varley having excelled herself with crispy roast duck in a black cherry sauce—that Colly realised she just could not afford to relax.
Paula Livingstone made some passing reference to the tropical bug Silas had picked up, and said how heartily relieved she had been to know that someone he might be serious about was going to collect him from the hospital and would look after him. ‘Of course I didn’t know then that you and Silas were married,’ she went on warmly, with a happy glance at Colly’s wedding band before going smilingly on, ‘We very nearly met then, when I came to check on him—but you’d already left.’
Oh, grief, what could she say? Colly recalled that she had left the apartment before nine that morning—she had no idea how soon afterwards Silas’s mother had arrived.
‘I don’t think Colly will mind me telling you—she’s been having a few problems in connection with her father’s will,’ Silas slotted in smoothly. Colly glanced to him and supposed that, given the problems that had faced her when she had thought herself left out of her father’s will, Silas was speaking only the truth.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Colly.’ Paula was instantly sympathetic. And, turning to her husband, ‘I’m sure our legal advisers would be—’
‘It’s no longer a problem,’ Silas informed her.
How could he say that when the consequences of the action she had taken when thinking herself homeless, jobless and penniless were still reverberating around her? And what consequences! For heaven’s sake, unless she could think up something close to brilliant, she was going to have to share a bedroom with him tomorrow night!
‘I’m so glad you’ve been able to resolve matters,’ Paula said kindly.
‘The house is being sold.’ Colly, not wanting to think about anything to do with that trip to Dorset, was ready to chat about anything to keep her mind off it. ‘It’s a large house, with years of accumulated impediments to sort through. I’ve been spending most of my days there.’
‘I shouldn’t know where to start should we ever decide to sell our house,’ Paula sympathised. ‘Borden has so much clutter.’
‘Clutter?’ he came in, effecting to look amazed.
‘I swear he’s hoarded every engineering magazine that was ever published,’ his wife replied. ‘He has years and years of back issues.’
When Mrs Varley served the last course, Silas, with a look to Colly as if to seek her confirmation, a gesture that was purely for his parents’ benefit, thanked Mrs Varley and said that they would see to everything else themselves. Colly thanked her too. In her view Mrs Varley was a first-class cook.
All in all it had been a happy meal, Colly considered. If feelings of guil
t had come along and given her a nip every now and then, she hoped she had been too well mannered to let it show.
She did not feel she could breathe easy, though, until, with hugs and kisses and a very firm suggestion that she and Silas should dine with them before too long, they went to wave his parents off.
‘Was that so bad?’ Silas asked as they came back along the hall.
‘Your parents are super,’ she answered, adding coolly as they headed towards the kitchen, ‘The guilt I shall have to live with.’ They went into the kitchen and she owned she felt somehow on edge with Silas. ‘But if you can get me out of another dinner I’d be glad.’ Ready to tackle the remaining dishes, Mrs Varley having already loaded up the dishwasher, Colly began to fill the sink. ‘I’ll leave it fifteen minutes, then I’ll be on my way,’ she commented, thinking to wait until his parents were well clear.
She began to wash the pots and pans, but to her surprise Silas picked up a cloth and began to dry them. ‘You could stay if you like?’ he offered equably after some moments. She looked at him, startled, and caught a glimpse of his smile as he added, ‘I’ve a spare bedroom. It wouldn’t…’
She knew he had a spare bedroom; she had used it. And she would love to stay, but…Was love always about denial? ‘I think it’s enough that I shall have to put up with you tomorrow night,’ she said sharply, fearful that her need to be with him might yet see her give in. But, since the subject was there, just crying out to be addressed, ‘I—er…’ she murmured, her voice already losing its sharp edge. She looked away from him. ‘I suppose there’s no chance I’ll have a room of my own tomorrow night?’
She had to look at him again. She saw he was unsmiling, but she heard a note of sensitivity in his tones when, his glance gentle on her, he answered, ‘I’m afraid, Colly, that is very unlikely.’
Her heartbeats suddenly started to thunder at his gentle look. And all at once—perhaps it was partly to do with the strain of the evening; she could not have said—she just knew she needed to be by herself.
‘Hard-hearted Hannah’s leaving you with the dishwashing and the drying,’ she announced, taking her hands from the water and drying them.
She went into the drawing room, where she had left her small evening purse, and picking it up took out her car keys. She heard a sound and looked up to see that Silas had come to stand in the drawing room doorway.
She went towards him. He did not move out of her way, and even though her heart was thundering she managed to find a little acid to tell him bluntly, ‘Might I suggest that as soon as you’ve done the dishes you go and get as much sleep as you can?’ He raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘And it might be an idea if you had a lie-in in the morning.’
‘You reckon?’ he drawled.
Oh, she did. She very much did. ‘From where I’m viewing it, unless that room in Dorset has twin beds, it very much looks as if you’re in for a very uncomfortable night tomorrow,’ she said sweetly, adding for smiling good measure, ‘Sleepless in a chair.’
He was not taken in by her phoney sweetness. Nor was he put out by what she had said either. But he managed, effortlessly, to take the fake smile off her face when, as nicely as you please, he enquired, ‘Did I say that to you when you insisted on getting into bed with me that time?’
Speechlessly she glared at him. It had not been like that, and he knew it. But, having effectively silenced her syrupy tones, Silas stood away from the door to let her pass.
She was already on her way when, ‘I’ll call for you round about two,’ he said, going to the door with her.
Don’t bother, sprang to mind—but, against that, she loved the man; she knew she could not let him down.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THERE were five minutes to go before two o’clock on Saturday afternoon when Silas called for her. Colly was ready and waiting. Although inwardly she felt that she would never be ready.
She swallowed hard before she could open the door to him. And had to again remind herself of the lecture she had given herself about forgetting her guilt, her feelings that she was deceiving some octogenarian. She must see the other side of this coin. Think of Silas. He had not been thinking of himself when he had decided he must marry, but thinking of the good of the company, its workers and its shareholders. As he had said, his grandfather wanted to meet his wife and she—she was his wife.
She opened the door. ‘Sorry to have kept you.’ She apologised for her delay in answering his knock. Silas was casually dressed in trousers and shirt and she was basically simply pleased to see him. ‘I’ll just get my overnight bag,’ she murmured.
Silas carried her bag to his car, and a minute or so later they were on their way. ‘My mother rang to thank you for a wonderful evening,’ he thought to mention.
Obviously he had made the appropriate excuses for her not being there. ‘On reflection, I think the evening went off quite well,’ she commented.
‘My parents loved you,’ Silas answered.
‘Oh, don’t!’ she cried, guilt having another stab at her. ‘They were ready to love any woman you married before they met me.’ She told it as she saw it, knowing in her heart that she would love to be a true daughter-in-law to Paula Livingstone. ‘Your mother’s so warm.’
‘You’ve missed that,’ he said softly, perceptively, and asked, ‘How old were you when you lost your mother?’
‘Eight,’ she replied, but did not want to dwell on that. ‘You will get us out of dining with your parents again, won’t you?’
‘You worry to much,’ he said, which to her mind was no sort of an answer.
She fell silent, and as mile after mile sped by Silas seemed occupied with his own thoughts. Though he did think to ask after some while, ‘Anything else worrying you, Colly?’
‘Where would you like me to start?’ she answered snappily. But was then instantly ashamed of herself. ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised. ‘All this is more my fault than yours.’
‘What a sweetheart you are,’ he replied, and her heart did a tiny kind of giddy flip—he had sounded as though he really meant it.
‘I’ve been thinking only of myself and my guilt, but you too must be hating like blazes that you don’t feel able to be open about our—er—relationship with your family.’
She did not know what she expected him to answer to that, but she was momentarily floored when, quite out of the blue, he quietly let fall, ‘You know, Mrs Livingstone, I think I quite enjoy being married to you.’
Her mouth fell open in shock, and she was glad he had his eyes on the road in front. Silas quite enjoyed being married to her? A song began in her heart—until plain and utter common sense flooded in. Why wouldn’t he enjoy being married to her? They were living apart. He had the marriage certificate he needed, but that was as far as his commitment went.
Which in turn had to mean that, of anyone he could have chosen to do a marriage deal with, he was happy he had made the right choice. Well, bully for him!
Realising she was getting nettled and uptight again—which was no sort of mood to be in to meet her grandfather-in-law, Colly made a more determined effort.
‘Uncle Henry phoned yesterday,’ she said brightly.
‘He’d read of our marriage?’ Silas guessed. And, straight on the heels of that, ‘You didn’t tell him…?’
‘Thank you for your confidence!’ she snapped, but knew she was in the wrong and gave a heartfelt sigh. ‘Why am I always apologising to you? I know, I know,’ she went hurriedly on, ‘I slipped up before with Tony Andrews. But I didn’t with Uncle Henry.’
‘Was he very put out?’
‘He was very understanding, actually. I told him the apartment belonged to your grandfather, by the way. And,’ she felt obliged to go on, ‘that you go abroad from time to time, but that when you are home you sometimes stay at the apartment.’
‘Have I made a liar of you?’ he questioned with a kind glance.
‘That’s what you told me,’ she defended. ‘That you sometimes stay overnight.’
‘Remind me to do it more often,’ he responded dryly.
She laughed—this man did that to her.
Silas Livingstone Senior was tall, like all the Livingstone men. He had a thatch of white hair, was upright, and came out to greet them. He did not hug her, but after shaking hands with Silas took her hand warmly in his. His words were warm too, as he feasted his eyes on her, and demanded, ‘How dare that grandson of mine run off and marry you without me there to wish you well?’
Colly smiled at him, a natural warm smile, as she replied, ‘We didn’t want to wait and we didn’t want any fuss.’ And, because they had done him out of attending his grandson’s wedding, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘With a smile like that I’ll forgive you,’ he replied gallantly, and invited, ‘Come in. Gwen’s got the kettle boiling.’
Gwen, it appeared, was his housekeeper, a plump little lady who had been with the Senior Livingstones for years. And Gwen it was who wheeled a trolley into the drawing room.
But it was Colly who poured the tea and, over tea and cake, accepted Grandfather Livingstone’s regrets that he had not attended her father’s funeral.
Colly realised that her father’s funeral had not been all that many months after Silas Senior had lost his wife. And that, his age apart, perhaps he had not been emotionally up to attending a funeral.
‘You knew my father?’ she enquired.
‘Not personally. But most people in the engineering world knew or had heard of him,’ he answered, and spoke of several of her father’s achievements.
Colly felt very proud, and suddenly realised that she felt quite relaxed. She was proud of Silas too, when he and his grandfather had a short conversation about something to do with engineering—all Greek to her—that cropped up as a side issue.
But, both men plainly thinking it not too polite to talk on a subject she could not join in, they swiftly abandoned the topic, only for her feeling of being relaxed to go plummeting when Grandfather Livingstone suggested to Silas, ‘You’ll want to freshen up, I expect. Your room’s all ready for you. It’s the one at the front.’