Kitabı oku: «At His Service: His 9-5 Secretary», sayfa 7

‘They weren’t scathing.’ She averted her gaze to the hyacinths. She supposed they had been.

‘No? I’d hate to be in the firing line if you really get the bit between your teeth, then.’

She should never have agreed to stay the night, Gina told herself miserably, every nerve in her body as tight as piano wire at the closeness of him. ‘Harry, you must do as you please,’ she said quietly after a few moments had ticked by. ‘This is nothing to do with me.’

‘I guess not,’ Harry said levelly. ‘It’s just that I’ve an appointment with the local vet this afternoon. I want him to look the puppies over and start their inoculations, if he thinks they’re old enough. I was going to ask you to stay long enough to help me with them. I thought you might help me choose some bedding, leads, collars, that sort of thing, and of course I need to pick up some food and so on.’

She stared at him, feeling slightly hysterical. Today was supposed to have been spent clearing out the flat of the last bits and pieces, ready to spring-clean it from top to bottom before the new occupants took over on Saturday. She’d arranged to leave work on Wednesday evening so she had two clear days to sort everything out. Now that was already severely curtailed, and he was asking her for more of her time. This was utterly unreasonable and the whole situation was surreal. Harry didn’t do permanence, dependability and personal responsibility, not where other people—or, rather, females—were concerned. But then these weren’t people, they were dogs.

‘Eat your food.’ His voice came quiet and steady. ‘I’ll take you home after lunch. I shouldn’t have asked.’

No, he shouldn’t. And she shouldn’t be considering his request for one second. She swallowed, her tongue stumbling over her words as she said, ‘Are you absolutely sure you want to keep them? Have you really considered what you’re taking on? It’ll mean twelve, thirteen years of commitment, maybe longer. Have you really changed your mind so completely from yesterday, Harry? I … I need to know.’

He looked back at her, and she was aware that a tiny detached part of her mind was thinking that the hard angles of his chiselled face and body made him look older than his thirty-three years. But then he had the sort of bone structure that was ageless; at fifty, sixty, he’d still probably give the impression of being in his forties.

He reached across and took her hand as though he had the perfect right to touch her, and she had to remind herself the gesture was an expression of the easy friendship he felt for her as a sharp tingle shot up her arm with the power of an electric shock. ‘I can understand your scepticism,’ he said softly, ‘But I mean every word, Gina. Perhaps there’s been a part of me hankering for a more settled existence for some time, I’m not sure, but our conversation yesterday, finding the puppies …’ He shrugged. ‘Something gelled over the last twenty-four hours. They’ll be company.’

She wondered how she could retrieve her hand without it being a big deal, and decided she couldn’t. The trouble was, loving Harry as she did, wanting him, made any physical contact acutely painful in an exhilarating, pulsing kind of way. Stiffening her spine, she aimed to look at him levelly, face expressionless. ‘So you’re saying you intend to be around for some good time?’ Even more reason for her to get away, then. ‘Have you had a change of heart about taking over the firm too, when the time comes? Your father would like that.’

‘Whoa, there.’ He smiled, leaning back and letting go of her hand. She felt the loss in every pore. ‘I didn’t say that. To be truthful, I don’t see myself in Dad’s role, I never have. We’re two very different people. I’d like to steer towards business consultancy, something which will enable me to decide where and when I work. That way, if I want a few weeks off at any time, it’s no big deal. I pick and choose.’

Gina stared at him doubtfully. ‘Could you afford to do that? And would enough people want you?’

His eyes were deep pools of laughter. ‘If I had a problem with the size of my ego you’d be the perfect antidote. But, in answer to your question, I have enough contacts to succeed.’

Independent to the last. Nothing had changed, not really. He might have decided to establish some kind of base in his life but he was still a free spirit, not willing to be answerable to anyone, even in his work life.

Smothering her anguish with difficulty, Gina nodded. ‘Lucky you,’ she said as nonchalantly as she could manage. ‘It sounds the perfect scenario.’

‘I think so,’ he agreed. Taking another large bite of the flan, he chewed and swallowed before saying, ‘What do you think of my cooking expertise, then?’

Surmising he’d had enough intense conversation for one day, she tried to match his lightness. ‘Marks out of ten?’ She tilted her head, as though considering. ‘Eight, nine, perhaps.’

‘Not the full quota?’ he asked in mock disappointment. ‘I can see you’re a very hard lady to impress.’

‘Absolutely.’ A shaft of sunlight was touching the ebony hair, slanting across the hard, tanned face and picking out the blue-and-red pattern on the plates. She wondered how you could love someone so much you ached and trembled with it and yet it didn’t show. ‘But you’ve won regarding the pooches. I’ll help this afternoon. For their sake, though,’ she added with what she thought was admirable casualness. ‘Not yours.’

She’d expected some laughing words of thanks, or a teasing remark, along the lines that he knew she wouldn’t hold out against him and the puppies. Instead, his eyes stroking over her face, he said gently, ‘Thank you, Gina. You’re a very special lady.’

Don’t. Don’t do tender. She could cope with almost anything else but that. The lump in her throat prevented speech, and she wasn’t going to risk her luck by trying to force the words past it. Instead she compromised with a bright smile.

It seemed to satisfy him, if the warmth in his eyes was anything to go by. Feeling as though she was swimming against the tide and liable to drown at any moment, she applied herself to the food on her plate, even though each mouthful could have been sawdust for all the impact it made on her taste buds.

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHEN Gina and Harry left the house a couple of hours later the puppies were contained in a large robust pet-carrier Mrs Rothman had popped round just as they’d been finishing lunch. Snuggled on one of Harry’s jumpers on top of a layer of newspapers, they seemed perfectly happy gazing out of the wire front as they travelled to the veterinary surgery, apparently suffering no bad memories of their fateful car trip the day before.

After a thorough examination the vet pronounced them fit and well, but declined to start their inoculation process for another two weeks. He also wryly wished Harry good luck.

Gina and Harry came back armed with a mountain of feeding and drinking bowls, pet beds, rubber toys, puppy collars, leads, brushes, combs and special puppy-feed, and once home the utility room quickly resembled a pet shop. Gina stood, gazing around at all the paraphernalia, unaware her thoughts were mirrored on her face until Harry said drily, ‘No, I haven’t taken on more than I can handle.’

‘I didn’t say a word.’

‘You didn’t have to.’ He smiled. ‘I’m a big boy, Gina, or hadn’t you noticed?’

She’d noticed all right. If anyone had noticed, she had.

‘And I’m more than capable of taking care of this little lot. I shall build a temporary pen in the garden for when they’re outdoors, like the vet suggested, and put some strategies in place, OK?’ He gestured at the book the vet had recommended—Your Dog from Puppyhood To Old Age—and which they had bought on the way home. ‘And I’ll read that from cover to cover tonight.’

His enthusiasm melted her. Realising it was imperative she maintained her cool facade, she nodded. ‘Good, you’ll have to. And I hope Mrs Rothman’s pay rise is going to be a huge one.’

He grinned. ‘Massive. Now, what are we going to call them?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘Any ideas?’

‘Call them?’ We?

‘You had as much to do with their rescue as I did. I’d like you to choose their names.’

‘I couldn’t.’ How could something so simple cause such pain? ‘They’re your dogs, Harry.’

‘And I’d like you to name them. Women are so much better at these sorts of things than men. I’m getting into the mental habit of referring to them as One, Two, Three and Four, and that’s no good. Don’t worry—I shan’t turn up in London with them in my arms, demanding you make an honest man out of me for the sake of the babies,’ he added, his grin widening. ‘You’re only naming them.’

Not funny. She laughed obligingly, hating him and loving him in equal measure. He could talk about her being so far away with total unconcern now, apparently. Bully for him. Well, she could show she didn’t give a hoot either. ‘Well, it’s spring,’ she said slowly. ‘How about flower names? Daisy for the little one, Rosie for the biggest, and perhaps Poppy and Pansy for the middle two.’

Harry eyed her in horror. ‘If you think I’m standing in the middle of a field shouting Pansy you’ve got another think coming,’ he said bluntly.

‘OK, perhaps not Pansy, then. How about Petunia?’

‘I don’t think so, for the same reason.’

‘Primrose?’

‘You’ve already got Rosie.’

‘Iris?’

‘The name of my mother’s best friend. She might take it personally.’

‘Violet?’ Gina was getting desperate.

‘Mrs Rothman’s christian name. I’d rather keep her on side, if you don’t mind.’

‘Oh, I don’t know.’ She glared at him. ‘I’ve named three out of the four, the last one you’ll have to think of.’

‘OK.’ He stood leaning against the wall, watching her with unfathomable grey eyes.

His hair had been slightly ruffled by the spring breeze outside, and his black-leather jacket was slung over his shoulder. He looked good enough to eat.

‘I’ll take you home now, if you’re ready,’ he said calmly.

It felt like a slap in the face. Somehow, and she wasn’t sure from where, Gina found the strength to nod casually and smile.

She said goodbye to the puppies—who were curled up fast asleep in a heap in the corner, worn out by their afternoon excursion—as though her heart wasn’t breaking, and then fetched her handbag and jacket. It felt like the end of the world as they walked out to the car, and she was vitally aware of Harry whistling under his breath. Silently calling him every name she could think of, she smiled her thanks and slid gracefully into the car when he opened the passenger door.

The late afternoon was one of bright, crisp sunlight and bird song, but already the shadows of evening were beginning to encroach across the garden. She’d get nothing done today, Gina thought as she watched Harry. Not that that mattered. Nothing mattered. This was the last time she was going to see him, and the swine didn’t give a damn. He was whistling. He was actually whistling.

Harry didn’t say much on the drive back, and for this Gina was thankful. She would have found it terribly difficult to make polite conversation the way she was feeling.

When they drew up outside the house in which her flat was situated, she was out of the car before he had even left his seat, saying, ‘No, please don’t get out,’ when he opened the driver’s door. ‘You need to get back to the puppies.’

‘A minute or two will make no difference.’ He walked round the bonnet, handing her the satellite-navigation system the folk had bought her as he said, ‘You’ll need this, won’t you?’

Forcing a smile, she took the box. ‘Definitely. Well, I’d better get cracking on cleaning the flat. Goodbye, Harry.’

His eyes narrowed, glittering in the gathering twilight. ‘I thought you were going to let me have your new address.’

As if you really care. Hurt causing a constriction in her chest that made it difficult to breathe, Gina nodded. ‘Of course,’ she lied flatly. ‘I’ll phone it through tomorrow, if that’s all right? I’ve got your mobile number.’

‘Thanks for all you’ve done over the last twenty-four hours,’ he said very softly. ‘I appreciate it.’

Of course you do. I fell in with what you asked me to do, like the weak fool I am where you’re concerned. What’s not to appreciate? ‘It was nothing. Glad to help.’ Please go. Go before I break down completely or grab hold of you and can’t let go. Something that was becoming more likely with each moment.

He still didn’t move. ‘I’ll let you know how the puppies get on,’ he said pleasantly.

‘Thank you.’

‘You must come and see them when you’re next up visiting your parents.’

‘Yes.’

‘By then I’ll have sorted out a name worthy of her sisters for Number Four.’

Gina nodded.

Whether her lack of enthusiasm got through to him she didn’t know, but he studied her face for a long moment as she stood perfectly still and tense. ‘I must let you go, I’ve delayed you long enough.’

You could delay me for ever if I thought I had the slightest chance of meaning anything to you. She knew she ought to say something light and casual, something which meant they would part on easy, friendly terms, but words were beyond her. The ache inside overpowering, she made to turn away just as he bent and lowered his mouth to hers.

She froze. His lips were warm and firm, and it was no brief peck but more a caressing exploration that deepened moment by moment. Utterly captivated, she couldn’t have moved away if her life had depended on it, but she fought responding to his kiss with every fibre of her being, knowing once she did she would be lost. He thought she was in love with someone else, but if she kissed him back in the way she wanted to it might set that intimidatingly intelligent mind thinking.

Grasping the box in her hands so tight her knuckles were shiny white, she told herself over and over again to remain absolutely impassive, but it was no good. This was Harry and he was kissing her. As her mouth began to open beneath his, she told herself she didn’t want to think or reason, she wanted to feel. In thirty-six hours she would be gone for good, and this would have to last her a lifetime. What did self-respect and dignity matter compared to that?

It was the box in her hands that saved her, preventing her from throwing her arms round his neck and pressing against him as she wanted to. As it made its presence felt by digging into her chest, he became aware of it too, straightening and smiling a faintly rueful smile as he said, ‘Sorry.’

The blood thundering in her ears, she couldn’t match his cool aplomb. Hoping the trembling inside wasn’t visible to those intent grey eyes, she lowered her flushed face, her voice a murmur as she said, ‘I have to go, Harry.’

‘I know.’ A moment passed, then another. ‘Goodbye, Gina.’

‘Goodbye.’ This time she did turn from him, walking towards the front of the house by instinct rather than sight, her eyes dry but unseeing.

It took enormous self-will to turn after she had opened the front door to the house and wave, but somehow she did it. She was aware of his arm lifting in response, and then she almost fell into the hall, shutting the front door and leaning against it as her heart beat a violent tattoo.

How long she stood there after she heard his car start and then draw away she didn’t know, a mixture of crushing regret and sheer undiluted dread at never seeing him again turning her into a frozen statue. He had gone. Nothing she had experienced in her life thus far had prepared her for this moment, for desolation so consuming she could taste it.

Eventually she made her way to her flat on leaden feet, her head thudding. She felt physically sick. Opening the door, she walked in, carefully placing the box on the small table in the tiny square of hall before continuing into the sitting room. It was all exactly as she had left it the morning before, several cardboard boxes half-filled with this and that standing on the carpet, and the loose cream covers of her two two-seater sofas in a pile on the coffee table waiting to be ironed. The young couple who were renting the flat after her had made her an offer for her furniture, and she had been glad to accept it, the flat in London being already furnished.

Numbly she walked across to the big picture-window and looked out over the river and rolling fields beyond. This view had thrilled her soul when she had first found the place; it still did, normally. This evening she felt as though nothing would ever touch that inner place wherein lay joy and happiness and everything good ever again.

As though in an effort to prove her wrong, the sky slowly began to flood with colour as the twilight deepened. A blaze of deep scarlet and gold turned the evening shadows into vibrant mauve and burnt-orange, all nature conspiring to put on a breathtaking display. All Gina could think of was Harry. She pictured him returning home in the quiet of the scented evening, the peacefulness of the old thatched cottage, the puppies scrambling to meet him when he walked into the utility room.

It was worse now she had seen where he lived, this constant stream of images in her mind. How was she going to escape them? How was she ever going to live the rest of her life with this leaden emptiness weighing her down? And why couldn’t she cry? She had expected to cry when the last goodbye was over.

Eventually the sunset was blanketed by darkness, a crescent moon hanging in the velvety blackness surrounded by tiny, twinkling stars.

Her legs stiff with standing in one position for so long, Gina roused herself to walk through to the kitchen where she made herself a cup of coffee before checking her answer machine. Two somewhat plaintive messages from her mother, reminding her she was due to have dinner with them the next evening, one from Margaret, checking up on how she was on leaving work, and another from Janice, wondering where she’d got to that morning. The last two had also come through as text messages on her mobile, but she hadn’t replied to them, partly because it would have been difficult to explain she had gone home from work with Harry and stayed the night. Some things were best said face to face, or at least voice to voice.

She rolled her shoulders, attempting to stretch the tension from her neck. Considering she’d only had a few hours’ sleep in the last twenty-four hours, and that the nights before last hadn’t been particularly good either as she’d gnawed at the prospect of leaving Yorkshire and Harry until the early hours, she didn’t feel particularly tired. Odd, light-headed, numb, but not tired.

One long hot bath, and two aspirin for the headache drumming at her brain later, Gina sat in her pyjamas, staring at a TV programme she had no interest in as she sipped at another cup of coffee. She forced herself to eat two chocolate biscuits, a separate segment of her brain expressing amazement she could quite easily stop at two rather than half a packet, as was normal.

The telephone rang at eleven o’clock, but she made no attempt to answer it, not wanting to talk to anyone. After the answer machine had delivered the perky message she’d thought so funny when she’d first recorded it, Harry’s voice said quietly, ‘You’re probably asleep by now, but I just wanted you to know I’ve thought of a name for the puppy, and it is one I could yell in the middle of a field. Zinnia. What do you think? My gardening book tells me it’s a plant of the daisy family with showy rayed flowers of deep red and gold, like your hair. I thought it appropriate.’

There was a pause, and Gina found she wasn’t breathing.

‘Oh, and the book also said in the language of flowers it means “thoughts of absent friends”,’ he finished even more softly. ‘Goodnight, Gina. Sleep well.’

Sleep well? You’ve made me a mental and emotional wreck, and you calmly say ‘sleep well’? And talking about her hair, and naming the puppy in memory of absent friends! All nice and chatty and ‘I don’t give a damn’, while she was in pieces here. The anger that suddenly consumed her was so strong it was palpable.

He was a heartless so-and-so, that was what he was. She began to pace the room in her rage. Keeping everyone at a distance, pushing them away, not caring how many hearts he broke along the way.

No, that wasn’t quite true. She stopped for a moment before beginning to pace again. He had his affairs with women who knew the score; it wasn’t his fault she’d fallen in love with him so irrevocably. And one thing was for certain: if he’d had the faintest idea of how she felt, he’d have run a mile. She’d only got the invite to his home because he’d thought she regarded him as a friend. She smiled bitterly. Friend!

After a few minutes she took control of herself and played back the message again. This time there was no anger, but Harry’s voice released the dam of tears that had been building all day. She cried until there were no more tears left and her face was a mess, whereupon she walked into the kitchen and made herself another coffee. She stood staring at it, and then very purposefully walked across to the sink and tipped it away.

She needed milky cocoa to help her sleep, she told herself firmly. And perhaps a couple of slices of buttered toast too. Her heart might be in shreds, she might be looking at an empty future devoid of husband and children and all the things she’d thought she’d have one day, but she wasn’t going to crumble into tiny pieces now or at any other time. She wouldn’t let herself. And she wasn’t going to let this sour her either, not if she could help it.

The cocoa and toast helped. As she ate, she felt she was becoming herself again rather than the desperate, partly unhinged creature she’d felt since walking in the door earlier.

After finishing her supper, she washed the mug and plate and put them away. Tomorrow they would be packed with all her other bits and pieces, ready to be transported to her new life.

She didn’t want to go. She bit hard on her lip as tears threatened again. But she would. Not for ever; she realised that now. But maybe for a year or two, long enough to come to terms with the fact that Harry would never be hers. She just couldn’t do that here. All the time she would be hoping, hoping. It had sapped her strength over the last months, turned her into someone she didn’t want to be.

But she would come back home. Not to this flat, or to Breedon & Son, not even to this town where she’d been born and grown up. But somewhere close. She wasn’t a city girl and she never would be. The country was in her blood, in her veins and bones: swelling moorlands, wooded valleys where rivers wind over ageless stones and rocks, empty moors with the curlews crying and swooping; that was her. She had been born into a land of wide expanse, of pure summer air heavy with the sweetness of warm grass, and winter winds so cold they could take your breath away. She would never be happy for long hemmed in by buildings and concrete.

Straightening her shoulders, she walked out of the kitchen and into her pretty gold-and-white bathroom. She brushed her teeth thoroughly, refusing to dwell on the reflection of pink-rimmed swollen eyes in the mirror, eyes that held an expression that actually pained her. She didn’t want to look like the lost, sad girl in the mirror.

Once in bed Gina lay quietly in the darkness, her arms behind her head. She was doing the right thing. She was doing what she had to do, it was as simple as that.

Within a few minutes she was fast asleep.