by Penny Jordan
Although she loved her small cottage, Jessica couldn’t help feeling slightly envious as she studied the impressive bulk of the building. The cream stone had weathered over the years and in places the window mullions were either worn or missing.
‘It doesn’t look so bad from the front,’ Daniel told her wryly. ‘Wait until you see what some idiot did to the windows, presumably in an attempt to let in more daylight.’
As he spoke he guided her up the steps to the front door, and unlocked it. The hallway was windowless and dark until Daniel switched on the light. The solitary bulb dangling from a ceiling cord at the top of the building illuminated a good-sized rectangular room, its walls covered with linen-fold panelling which at some stage in its life had been painted black. Damp from an upstairs room was causing the varnish to peel back in one place to reveal the natural colour of the wood. The room smelled musty and uncared for. The plasterwork ceiling was cracked, with large pieces missing. Jessica gave a soft cry of protest when she looked down at the floor and saw the desecration of the once elegant parquet. A staircase led up to a galleried landing, part of which looked dangerously unsafe.
‘I’m afraid most of the other rooms are much worse than this,’Daniel told her grimly, watching the expressions chase one another across her expressive face. ‘Want to have a look at them?’
Jessica nodded.
It took them just over an hour to go over the house, and once they were back downstairs in the hall she could see exactly why Daniel had fallen in love with the place. She had also seen just how much work needed to be done, and as she listened to Daniel commenting determinedly and energetically about what needed to be done her admiration of him increased.
He had not taken on an easy task and, although he teased her about her indignant claim that houses had feelings, he had admitted to her that something in the house in its appalling dereliction had called out to him, and that, although half of him had said that it would be far more sensible to find a house that needed much less expensive restoration, he had not been able to resist the silent pull of the house on his senses.
‘Now you see why I need a good builder,’ was his final comment as they both gave one final look at the hallway.
Nodding, Jessica turned to head for the front door, and almost missed her footing on the uneven floor.
Instantly Daniel was at her side, his arm coming out to steady her, and then sliding so naturally and easily round her shoulders, drawing her into the warmth of his body, that she could find no worthwhile reason to make any move away from him as he asked her if she would like to see round the garden.
‘I’d love to—if we’ve got time.’
‘Plenty,’ he assured her. ‘I thought, if you were agreeable, that we’d stop for lunch on the way to Bath. I’ve heard there’s a very nice place a couple of miles outside the city. An old manor house that’s been converted into a hotel-cum-restaurant.’
Jessica thought she knew the place he meant. Somewhere she had only heard of by repute, from her more wealthy clients. She had been expecting they would have a quick snack lunch somewhere, and she couldn’t help but feel flattered that Daniel should choose to take her somewhere so exclusive. Even so, she felt bound to demur, pointing out hesitantly, ‘It’s rather up-market, and I’m not really dressed for that kind of place.’
Instantly Daniel frowned, the look in his eyes making her flinch a little. ‘It isn’t your clothes I’m taking out to lunch, it’s you, Jessica,’ he told her roughly. ‘You’re the first real woman I’ve met in one hell of a long time. Clothes don’t matter. People do…but if you’d rather lunch somewhere else…’
His unexpected compliment followed by his thoughtfulness touched her unbearably. She shook her head, unable to trust her voice, unprepared for the suddenness of it when Daniel abruptly stopped walking and swung her round so that they were standing breast to breast, thigh to thigh.
The warmth of his mouth moving against the coldness of her skin, touching the outer corners of her eyes with their betraying moisture before moving to her lips with a sudden, almost fierce urgency, obliterated every single atom of common sense she had ever had.
While his hands cupped her cold face and his mouth moved on hers with such piercing intensity, nothing else mattered other than that she respond to him—give herself up to him with equal intensity. When his hands moved beneath her jacket, seeking and then finding the fullness of her breasts, she gave a voluptuous sigh of pleasure against his mouth.
Hazily she was aware that if he chose now to lie her down against the crisp dying leaves and the long, untidy grass, and make love to her, she wouldn’t want to do a thing to stop him.
When he didn’t after all do any such thing, but instead broke the kiss, murmuring soft, regretful words against her mouth, withdrawing his hands from her body, she told herself stoically that it was just as well, that the grass would have been wet, that the wind was cold, that they could easily have been seen, while all the time her body cried fiercely in protest that none of that mattered, that it wanted him, and that it wanted him here, now, this minute.
Of course, it was impossible for her to completely conceal what she was feeling. Her face had gone pale and strained with the effort of fighting her desire.
‘Are you all right?’ Daniel asked her in concern, watching her, and then before she was forced to think up a fib to explain her pallor he swore softly under his breath, and apologised.
‘Your arm—I forgot…Did I hurt you?’
Quickly she shook her head.
The gardens were, as Daniel had told her, overgrown and neglected to such an extent that it was impossible to imagine what they had once been.
‘One of the local libraries might have some kind of archive material that might give you some clues,’ Jessica suggested thoughtfully, listening to Daniel disclosing his concern about how to best deal with the problem of redesigning the garden. ‘And, of course, there are books which give quite detailed illustrations and descriptions of period gardens from which perhaps you could establish a new design.’
Dreamily she studied the untidy, dying meadow grass and stubby saplings, seeing in their place hedges of dark green yew leading the eye down tantalising vistas into walks that hinted at secret, hidden arbours. She shivered, recognising how dangerously involved with Daniel she had already allowed herself to become—to such an extent that she could easily slip into thinking of this house as her own…this garden…
Daniel saw her shiver and, mistaking its cause, said firmly, ‘Come on. You’re getting cold—my fault for keeping you out here so long. Let’s go and have some lunch.’
Half an hour later, still protesting that a sandwich and a cup of coffee would suit her admirably, Jessica found her arm being taken in a firm grasp as Daniel led her across the immaculate gravel forecourt of the small country hotel.
This was a house of much later period than his—early Victorian, Jessica guessed from its solid appearance. It had grounds of several acres, and a classic drive set between mature trees. Even from outside it was obvious that every conceivable care and thought had been lavished on its refurbishment and maintenance, and yet she found herself thinking loyally that she preferred Daniel’s house in all its decay and decrepitude.
The restaurant was pleasantly busy, but they were lucky enough to get a table.
Daniel suggested that Jessica might like a pre-lunch drink, but she saw that he himself ordered only spa water, explaining that since he was driving he preferred to keep a clear head.
Mentally Jessica applauded him. She had known too many high-flying businessmen who seemed to believe that the country’s drink-drive laws did not apply to them.
The hotel specialised in fresh food of the highest quality, served with light, delicate sauces that did not overwhelm or destroy its flavour. Jessica, who ordered salmon, discovered that the sauce served with it was one of the most piquant and delicate she had ever enjoyed.
Like Daniel she refused a pudding, enjoying instead the ri
chly flavoured coffee and a piece of fruit.
Although Jessica had expostulated that she could find her own way from the architectural salvage firm’s headquarters, where Daniel had his appointment, to the shop where they sold her tapestries, Daniel insisted on accompanying her there, and Jessica noticed the way her friend’s eyes quickened with interest when they both walked into her small, pretty shop.
Very few women would be indifferent to Daniel’s physical appearance, she suspected as she performed the necessary introductions.
Laura Grey had started her small interior design business four years ago, slowly building on her excellent reputation, careful not to allow the business to grow so quickly that she lost control of it, and thus of the quality of the work they did.
Now the cognoscenti considered her to be one of Bath’s best interior designers, possessing as she did that happy blend of innovation plus sympathetic understanding of her clients’ desire to have their own input into the finished appearance of their homes.
Discreetly she waited until Daniel had left before pouncing on Jessica and demanding to know, ‘Where did you find him, you lucky thing?’
Tersely Jessica explained what had happened. It shocked her that she should feel this reluctance to discuss it with her friend.
She had met Laura shortly after she moved to the village, and liked her very much indeed. If pressed, she would have admitted that she was as close to Laura as she was ever likely to allow herself to get to anyone. She admired the other girl’s business flair and respected and valued her judgement, and yet now, with Laura discussing Daniel’s good looks with such obvious relish and sexual curiosity, she was conscious of a sharp pang of resentment coloured with a strong desire to let Laura know in no uncertain terms that Daniel was out of bounds, both as a subject of conversation and as a man.
Uncomfortable with her own feelings, she cut across Laura’s flow of enthusiasm and said almost sharply, ‘I only came in to see if you’d received the Thomson order safely.’
Laura paused, eyed her thoughtfully, and then said calmly, ‘Yes. It came this morning. It’s lovely, and I know the Thomsons will be thrilled with it. I’m taking it out to them tomorrow.’ She paused, and then said frankly, ‘You can tell me to mind my own business if you wish, Jess, but am I to take it that Daniel Hayward is someone special?’
Someone special… Jessica felt her heart race with a mixture of panic and happiness.
Half of her, the old cautious, protective half, was strongly inclined to deny the suggestion, but the other half, the new, feminine, joyful side of her personality that had suddenly flowered inside her, said recklessly, ‘Yes…Yes, he is.’
Laura chuckled and then teased, ‘There now, that wasn’t so difficult to say, was it? I must say I’m impressed. All this time we’ve known one another there’s never been a man in your life, and you’ve made it plain that that’s the way you wanted things, and now you turn up with Daniel in tow, with such an obvious metamorphosis having taken place.’ She laughed, her eyes twinkling. ‘Mind you, I can’t say I’m surprised. He is rather gorgeous. What was he doing in Little Parvham, anyway? Just passing through?’
‘No. He’s bought a house there.’ Briefly Jessica explained the situation, and added generously, ‘I don’t know what he intends to do with the interior of the house once all the renovations have been completed, but if he does want an interior designer I’ll recommend you to him.’
‘He won’t need me,’ Laura told her, equally generously. ‘You know far more about houses of that period than I do, Jess.You’re an expert in the fabrics of that era—crewelwork, tapestries…’
‘Not all of the rooms are true to the original period of the house,’ Jessica told her. ‘And I’ve no idea whether Daniel intends to restore the whole of the house to its original state. The drawing-room, sitting-room and dining-room have all been remodelled several times; the last remodelling evidently took place during the fifties,’ she added ruefully, ‘and involved the most deplorable modernisation of the windows, and a hideously unsuitable lowering of the ceiling height which has totally ruined the proportions of the rooms. All the original fireplaces have gone. There’s some serious damp damage upstairs.’ She gave a brief shrug. ‘Daniel has an appointment with the builder who worked on the cottage for me. He’s hoping he’ll agree to undertake the restoration work.’
‘Mmm…speaking of which, I was visiting a potential client today and she showed me the most marvellous old tapestry which has been in her family for umpteen generations. It’s very badly worn in places, and I told her I’d have a word with you, and perhaps make an appointment for you to see it, to see whether you can repair it. I’ve sold nearly all the cushions you did, by the way, and if you could see your way to letting me have a fresh supply for Christmas…
‘I also think it’s time you were thinking about putting up your prices. Your stuff is ridiculously cheap, you know. I was in London last week, looking at things nowhere near the quality of your work, and the price—’
‘Bath isn’t London,’ Jessica pointed out.
‘Maybe not, but with the influx of people from the city…’
‘I’ll think about it,’ Jessica promised her, and they were arguing amiably over the matter when the shop bell rang and Daniel walked in.
Her heart lifted at the sight of him as Jessica turned round and saw him. He was smiling at her, looking at her, as though he wanted to draw into himself the sight of her, his glance lingering for a moment on her mouth before he turned to make polite conversation with Laura, who was asking what progress he had made with the salvage company.
‘Excellent. They think they may be able to match the panelling in the library, and provide fireplaces for most of the rooms. I fell in love with a staircase they’ve got there. It’s after the school of Grinling Gibbons,’he told Jessica, ‘but I’d like you to see it before I commit myself.’
The staircase in the house was badly damaged and abominable anyway, but it wasn’t the thought of replacing it with something far more suitable that was making her pulse race so ecstatically, it was the look Daniel was giving her, the way he was consulting her, including her, making an open statement about her place in his life, and so naturally, so easily that she might always have been there. As easily and naturally as he slipped his arm around her as they left the shop, drawing her against his side, solicitous about her bruised arm, eager to hear how she had got on with Laura, and genuinely pleased for her when she passed on Laura’s flattering comments about the standard and appeal of her work.
‘Perhaps I ought to commission you now for a tapestry for the library,’ he teased her. I might not be able to afford you once you put up your prices and your work becomes the “in” thing.’
Jessica shook her head. ‘I won’t allow that to happen,’ she told him firmly. ‘I love my work, and it’s always a pleasure to work for people who share my love of it. The last thing I want is for my tapestries to become a fashion fad. Shown off today, like a new designer frock, and then thrown to the bottom of a cupboard tomorrow, because it’s no longer the “in” thing. Just as long as I can earn a reasonable living, I’m content.’
He had stopped walking and she, perforce, had to stop as well. He turned to look at her, a grave, searching look that made her quiver inwardly.
‘I love you, Jessica,’ he told her quietly.
The middle of a windy, busy Bath thoroughfare was the very last place she had ever imagined receiving a declaration of love, but as she stood gazing back at him Jessica discovered that it wasn’t the place that mattered, but the words and the man who said them.
A fervent response trembled on her lips, but she was too shy to make it, too unsure still—not of her feelings, or even really of his, but of trusting that this happiness could last, as though in some way she doubted her worthiness to be the recipient of such pleasure, like a child receiving the munificence of a longed-for and wholly unexpected Christmas gift of such magnitude that it feared the gift had really been in
tended for someone else.
‘The builder,’ she said shakily. ‘We’re going to be late.’
Was it disappointment that darkened his eyes, or irritation? His arm was still around her, but she couldn’t be sure.
She heard him sigh, and then he said quietly, ‘You’re right. Come on, then. Can you direct me there?’ he asked her as he opened the car door for her.
‘Yes,’ Jessica assured him. ‘It isn’t very far. Just a couple of miles outside the city centre.’
* * *
The builder ran his business from a small yard with an office attached to it. The building had originally been part of the stable block attached to a large Georgian house, and the sympathetic way the restoration work had been carried out was an excellent advertisement for his skills.
Jessica waited patiently as Daniel paused to inspect the stonework. The yard was a fascinating place. The builder was also involved in a small way in architectural salvage, though nowhere near as large or as well known as the company Daniel had visited earlier, and her eye was caught by some iron railings which she paused to admire as she waited for Daniel.
‘These windows are very much the sort of thing I want for the house,’ Daniel told her, pointing out the stone-mullioned windows to the building.
‘They’re new ones,’ Jessica informed him. ‘Alan Pierce employs a stonemason.’
She had offered to wait in the car while Daniel saw the builder, but to her pleasure he had insisted on her joining them.
He had talked of loving her, and, for her, love—real love—went hand in hand with permanency, marriage, children…but did loving someone mean the same thing to him? He had indicated that it did, but caution warned her not to take too much for granted. Life had made her wary, reluctant to trust her own emotions and judgements.
Daniel said he loved her; she certainly knew that she loved him, but somewhere deep down inside there were shadows…doubts. Was it because she had never considered herself to be the kind of person to look at a stranger and know instantly and irrevocably that she loved him? Was it because she had always had the vague idea at the back of her mind that love, when and if it ever came into her life, would grow from a relationship which was already well established, and not be this sudden, lightning thing, striking into her between one heartbeat and the next? Or was it because the feelings Daniel caused within her were so alien to her normal wary, controlled approach to life that she was half resentful of them—resentful and just a little afraid?