When they reached the pleasant resort town of Calistoga, with its many local tourist attractions and hot springs, he brought the car to a halt outside a pretty little open-air café.
As they had tea beneath a fringed umbrella, glancing around, Perdita remarked, ‘I really like this place; it’s interesting and friendly.’
‘I think you’ll find the whole area is well worth another longer visit,’ he agreed. ‘Only a mile away is California’s Old Faithful Geyser. It erupts every forty minutes or so and shoots a sixty-foot fountain into the air.’
Forgetting for a moment her reason for being here, she said enthusiastically, ‘I’d love to see that.’
‘Well, late autumn is a nice time to visit. Fewer holiday makers around.’
Autumn. It sounded very much as though he was expecting her to stay.
The realization kept her subdued and silent while they returned to the car and headed back south to the Wolf Rock Winery.
When they reached the entrance, he drove through tall wrought iron gates and drew up outside the main reception and sales area.
For some reason she had expected everything to look up to date and modern and she was surprised to find that the buildings were old-fashioned and elegant, more in the style of the French chateaux.
They appeared to be manned, however, mainly by Californian youths in cut-off jeans and flip-flops.
The contrast made Perdita smile.
When she had seen what there was to see, they left by the rear entrance. From there, partly hidden by a row of Spanish chestnuts, she could see the main bulk of the winery, with its huge external hoppers and enclosed conveyor belts.
Once inside, she found that if the reception buildings were old-fashioned, the winery itself was bang up to date with all the latest technology.
All the workers seemed open and friendly and, as they walked through the place, Jared greeted each man by name.
After a fascinating tour of the computer room and the fermentation rooms, with their huge stainless steel vats, Jared took her into the lab.
A tall, nice-looking man wearing a white coat and rimless glasses came to meet them. ‘Hi, good to see you back,’ he said cheerfully.
‘Hi, Don. Good to be back,’ Jared answered.
‘Only the other day Estelle was saying it’s about time you were home.’
‘How is your wife?’
‘She’s fine, thanks.’
‘When’s the baby due?’
‘In about six weeks.’
‘Not long then before celebrations are in order.’
‘I can’t wait,’ Don said fervently.
Putting an arm around Perdita’s waist, Jared drew her forward. ‘Darling, I want you to meet Don Macy, my chief oenologist and right-hand man…Don, this is my wife.’
Clearly surprised, Don said warmly, ‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Dangerfield.’
Perdita had never been addressed as Mrs Dangerfield before and it threw her. But she managed to smile a greeting and they shook hands cordially.
‘I hadn’t realized you were married,’ Don remarked to Jared. ‘I take it congratulations are in order?’
Drawing Perdita closer, Jared answered, ‘You could say that.’
Feeling her stiffen, he released her and changed the subject. ‘What results have you had so far on that new project?’
‘Quite good, though it doesn’t show the same promise as Sunset Flight did at that stage…’
The two men talked wine for a minute or so before Perdita was shown over the lab, with its benches full of formidable-looking gadgetry.
She asked some pertinent and intelligent questions and, flattered by her interest in what he obviously considered one of the most satisfying jobs in the world, Don seemed only too delighted to explain the various procedures.
After some talk of pH levels, critical temperatures and chemical volatility, Jared asked, ‘About ready to make a move?’
She nodded. ‘If you are.’
Having thanked Don for his time and been assured that he’d enjoyed their visit, they made their way back to the car.
As Jared slid in beside her, he queried, ‘You didn’t find all that too boring?’
‘Far from it,’ she said with complete truth. ‘In fact I would have liked to know more about the fermentation process.’
‘Well, I’ll be very happy to take you over whenever you want to go, though you’ll find that one of the most exciting times is when the grapes have just been picked and are being unloaded…’
Once again he seemed to be taking it for granted that she would still be here later in the year.
When they drew up by the house, Jared suggested, ‘Perhaps you’d care to go ahead and freshen up while I garage the car?’
As she made to get out, he reminded her, ‘Don’t forget your swimsuit.’ With an ironic smile, he added, ‘You might want to wear it.’
Still a little rattled by the way he had calmly ridden roughshod over her, she had planned to leave it behind. But, unwilling to do battle, she picked it up reluctantly, her mouth set in a mutinous line, and saw by the gleam in his eyes that he was aware of, and amused by, her tacit rebellion.
When she reached her room she tossed the package on the bed, which had been neatly made, and feeling hot and sticky went through to the bathroom.
After a refreshing shower, she brushed her hair into a gleaming curtain before returning to the bedroom. Then, with absolutely no intention of following Jared’s mocking suggestion, she found fresh undies and a sheath dress patterned in sea colours.
But a certain curiosity to see just what the swimsuit looked like on made her take it out of the box and try it.
It slipped on smoothly, seductively, and flowed over her slender curves like liquid honey.
There was no denying that it felt wonderful against her bare flesh, but what did it look like?
A glance in the long mirror sent a ripple of shock running through her.
The woman gazing back at her was slim as a willow wand, yet curvaceous, with shapely breasts, a narrow waist and nicely rounded hips.
Was that gorgeous creature really her? It was hard to believe that one single garment could make her look like that.
While she stared at herself, rooted to the spot, a movement in the mirror caught her eye. She became aware that the communicating door had opened and Jared was standing in the doorway, fully dressed, his hair still damp from the shower.
Spinning round, she demanded breathlessly, ‘What are you doing in here?’
Eyes lingering on her delectable curves and long slender limbs, her silken hair and smooth skin, he answered almost reverently, ‘Admiring a vision. When I last saw you, you were a lovely young girl; now you’re a stunningly beautiful woman.’
Oddly moved, as much by the look on his face as by his words, she took refuge in anger. ‘How dare you just walk in without knocking?’
‘I did knock. You must have been too engrossed to hear.’
As her eyes fell, he added, ‘There are drinks waiting on the terrace and I’d like you to join me.’
‘I’ll just take this off and—’
‘Why not leave it on, and we’ll have a quick swim before dinner?’ Turning away, he closed the door quietly behind him.
No, she couldn’t leave it on. She would feel too exposed, too vulnerable.
With unsteady hands she took off the swimsuit and thrust it back into the box, before donning the undies and the blue-green sheath she had put ready earlier.
She was about to pin up her hair in the neat coil that Martin favoured when she recalled how Jared had once buried his face in it.
Her heart swelling, she let it fall in loose curls around her shoulders and, feeling oddly flustered, made her way through the cool, silent house to the hot, sunny terrace.
Sam came galumphing to meet her, nearly bowling her over in his excitement. ‘Anyone would think you hadn’t seen me for years,’ she told him, laughing.
Jared looked up and said, ‘
Chickened out, I see.’
‘I thought I’d better cover up. I’ve had enough sun for one day.’
Though clearly he recognized that as the excuse it was, he merely said, ‘In that case you’d better come and sit in the shade.’
When she was settled in a lounger he tilted an umbrella to shield her from the sun which, though low in the sky, was still powerful.
As she looked up to thank him, his hand gentle, he stroked her hair. Then picking up a silky tendril and winding it around his finger, he remarked, ‘I’m pleased to see you’ve left your hair down.’ His voice sounded strangely husky.
A moment later, the huskiness gone, he queried politely, ‘Now, what would you like to drink? A dry Martini? A gin and tonic? A fruit cocktail?’
‘A fruit cocktail, please,’ she answered.
While they sipped their drinks, the sun slipped below the horizon and the remaining brightness faded from the sky.
As the silence stretched, twilight began to drape perfumed veils, gauzy and insubstantial as a fairy’s wings, over the garden. A solitary star shone brightly and the ghost of a thin crescent moon hung just above the treetops, promising yet another perfect summer evening.
But Perdita was unable to enjoy it.
In the past their silences had been warm, companionable, intimate, a quiet sharing of self, but since he had touched her hair so tenderly she had been tense, on edge, filled with a mixture of longing and doubt.
Uncomfortable with her own emotions, she wanted to break the silence but could think of nothing to say.
She found herself wondering if by any chance his feelings were following the same path as hers.
Flustered by the thought, she stared at the dusky slopes where lamps were being lit, while in the distance on the valley floor the highway they had driven down earlier that day was wearing a string of lights like a jewelled necklace.
The sight of the highway and the occasional arc of car headlights reminded her of their visit to the winery and, armed with a subject, she began, ‘The wine Don Macy mentioned, Sunset Flight, was it…?’
‘That’s right. I’m surprised you remembered.’
‘It’s a lovely name and a memorable one, but it struck me that I’ve never heard it before.’
‘No, you won’t have done. It’s a new rosé wine we’re just launching. Don, who is a romantic at heart, named it.
‘The grapes are a new variety we’ve been growing experimentally and, in order to produce something really special, we’ve tried marrying them with various other grape varieties. Don has put a great deal of time and skill into the project and, if he’s got the balance right, which I believe he has, we should have a winner…’
He sounded relaxed, easy and after a moment or so her own tension began to drain away.
‘As a matter of fact there’s a bottle chilled and waiting to be opened,’ he went on, ‘so, when you’re ready to eat, you can try some and tell me what you think of it.’
‘I’m ready whenever you are.’
‘If that’s the case, I’ll give Sam his supper and then we can make a start.’
Supper.
Watching him put the dog’s bowl down, she thought that very soon her twenty-four hours would be up and he would want an answer.
But she was no nearer a decision.
How could she say yes and put herself in thrall to him once more?
Yet how could she say no and condemn her father to purgatory?
As Jared accompanied her to the table a thought struck her that made her feel hollow inside. If, in the end, she was forced to accept his proposition, how soon would he want her in his bed?
CHAPTER SEVEN
WHEN Jared removed the protective table cover Perdita saw that it had once again been set with linen napkins and crystal glasses.
But this time, as well as a candle, there was a beautiful centrepiece of fresh flowers and, in each of their places, an elaborate starter of crab claws and smoked salmon, while on a nearby trolley a range of silver dishes kept warm.
‘It looks as though it’s a special occasion,’ she observed. ‘A celebration.’
‘It is.’
She waited for him to go on but, without elaborating, he pulled out her chair and seated her. Then, still standing, he lit the candle.
The sudden flare of light from beneath turned his handsome face into a mask, bringing some of his features to the fore and making black shadows in the hollows.
Sitting down opposite, he reached for a bottle of wine that stood in a cooler and, having opened it, he poured a glass and passed it to her.
The label, she saw, had the black silhouette of a graceful swallow-like bird soaring into an evening sky of palest pink and gold.
She lifted the glass and savoured the fragrant bouquet before taking a sip. The wine was fresh and dry and smooth as silk, with a light delicate flavour and deeper undertones that she found extremely pleasing.
Taking another sip, she remarked, ‘It’s very distinctive. Though it’s so smooth, it leaves just a hint of sparkle on your tongue. I don’t recall ever having had anything quite like it before.’
‘I agree it’s very different. That’s why I wanted to know what you thought of it.’
‘I think it’s lovely,’ she said sincerely.
‘Don believes it might eventually take its place alongside pink champagne as a wine that’s perfect for birthdays and weddings and celebrations in general.’
The delicious taste still lingering, she said, ‘I’m sure he’s right.’
‘Which makes it ideal for tonight.’
Having topped up her wine, he poured himself a glass and raised it in a toast. ‘To us.’
A little uncertainly, she echoed, ‘To us.’ She took a sip before asking, ‘So what is this special occasion? What are we celebrating?’
His lips twisted in a wry smile. ‘I thought you might have guessed.’
But, even as she started to shake her head, she knew. Of course she did.
He was supremely confident that she would accept his proposition and go back to him.
Quivering inside, she waited until she was quite sure her voice would be steady before saying, ‘Don’t you think that, as I haven’t yet given you an answer, your celebration may well be a little premature? I might say no.’
Candlelight gleamed in his eyes. ‘I hope not. But, in any case, you’ve guessed wrongly.’
‘Then what…?’
‘I thought you might remember. Today is our third wedding anniversary…’
A shockwave ran through her. Of course. Usually she remembered only too well.
For the past two years, when the ninth of June came round she had struggled to push the knowledge and the memories to the back of her mind. Struggled to appear her normal well balanced self in front of her father and Martin, while all the old wounds reopened and she bled inwardly.
On this occasion, however, all the trauma, instead of reminding her, had somehow managed to crowd it out of her mind.
‘And as this will be the first time we’ve spent our anniversary together,’ he went on, ‘a celebration seemed to be called for.
‘Now, shall we start before Hilary’s best culinary efforts are wasted?’
The starter, which proved to be delicious, was followed by melt-in-the-mouth chicken fillets stuffed with smoked oysters, tiny new potatoes, garden peas and a béchamel sauce. A dessert of raspberry shortcake and cream that was to die for made a fitting end to a special meal.
In spite of the lingering aftermath of shock, Perdita had enjoyed it and, when her plate was empty, she sat back with a sigh.
‘Cheese?’ Jared asked.
She shook her head. ‘Just coffee, please.’
He rose to get it while she moved to sit in one of the comfortable loungers.
Out of range of the candlelight it was very nearly dark. Beyond the terrace the pool was as black as the Styx and on the crest of the hill the trees made inky silhouettes against the night sky.
; When he reached the bar he touched a switch and the terrace, the patio and the pool area were lit by lanterns which gave the scene a romantic fairy tale appearance.
Returning with the coffee, he took a seat by her side and, stretching his long legs indolently, asked the question she had been dreading.
‘So, have you made up your mind, Perdita?’
Shaking her head, she stammered, ‘N-no, you’ll need to be patient.’
His eyes on her face, he insisted, ‘Considering everything, I think I’ve been patient. The twenty-four hours are up, and now I’d like an answer.’
‘I can’t give you one,’ she cried in desperation. ‘I just can’t. I haven’t had enough time to think.’
Which was rubbish and they both knew it.
‘What is there to think about? You know as well as I do that you don’t really have a choice.’
‘But I have,’ she insisted jerkily. ‘I could always say no.’
His confidence in no way shaken, he asked, ‘Could you really stand by and see your father made bankrupt and homeless?’
Her failure to answer answered for her.
‘No, I didn’t think you could.’ His voice held the faintest hint of triumph. ‘With his heart in the state it is, the strain might even kill him, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want that on your conscience.’
‘Whereas you have no conscience,’ she flashed.
Jared shook his head. ‘That’s where you’re wrong. As he’s my father-in-law, I would much prefer not to have any part in his demise. However, knowing how much you love him, I’m quite sure that while you have the power to prevent it, you wouldn’t put his life at risk. And of course it wouldn’t only be your father who would suffer; there’s your ex-fiancé and his father to think about.’
Hounded into a corner, she turned at bay. ‘Neither my father, nor Martin, nor Elmer would want me to sacrifice myself.’
‘How very melodramatic,’ Jared said derisively.
‘Mock all you like,’ she cried, ‘but if you honestly think I could come back to you and pretend to love you, you’re mistaken.’
Claiming His Wedding Night Page 10