Kitabı oku: «Mistress On Loan», sayfa 3

CHAPTER THREE

SHE said thickly, ‘Is this some kind of sick joke?’

‘Do you see me laughing?’

No, she thought, swallowing. The grey eyes meeting hers in challenge were cool, direct—even insolent. The firm mouth was equally unsmiling. No—it seemed he was shockingly—incredibly—serious.

‘So you’re just adding insult to injury.’ She tried to laugh, but the sound choked in her throat. ‘Time hasn’t mellowed you, Chay. You’re still a bastard.’

He smiled. “‘Now, gods, stand up for bastards!’” he quoted softly. ‘However, I see myself more as a white knight riding to your rescue.’

‘Very chivalrous.’ Her voice bit.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m a businessman. You claim to be a businesswoman, and you’re in financial trouble. I’m offering you a lifeline.’ His gaze touched her parted lips and travelled down to her breasts. ‘A very personal loan,’ he added softly.

Adrien bit her lip. She said savagely, ‘Mr Davidson needs to learn some discretion.’

‘Mr Davidson didn’t tell me a thing.’ Chay propped a shoulder against the doorframe. ‘He didn’t have to. I could sense the shock waves as soon as I arrived. And when I was here earlier today, a plasterer and an electrician turned up waving major bills which had been refused payment. I’d make an educated guess that they’re just the tip of the iceberg. That you’re facing serious trouble.’

Adrien lifted her chin. ‘And if I am,’ she said curtly, ‘I’ll manage. I can survive without your particular brand of knight errantry.’

‘Then I wish you luck,’ Chay said silkily. ‘But I hope you’re not counting on a bank draft arriving from Brazil. You’d do better to rely on the National Lottery.’

‘You utter swine,’ she said unevenly. ‘You’ve got everything you’ve wanted, haven’t you? How you must be enjoying your moment of triumph.’

‘I’ve had to wait long enough,’ he said. ‘But they say that revenge is a dish best eaten cold.’

‘I hope it poisons you,’ she flung at him. ‘Now let me out of here.’

He straightened. Moved out of the doorway. ‘You’re not a prisoner,’ he pointed out mildly.

‘No,’ she said. ‘Nor do I intend to be, either.’

‘Do you imagine I’m going to keep you chained up like some sort of sex slave?’ He had the gall to sound amused. ‘What a vivid imagination you have, darling.’

‘Don’t you dare laugh at me.’ Her voice shook. ‘You can’t pretend what you’re suggesting is a normal arrangement.’

‘On the contrary, very little in your life would change.’ He sounded the soul of reason, she thought incredulously.

‘After all, you’re already living here,’ he went on.

‘That,’ she said swiftly, ‘was just a temporary convenience.’

‘Which would become a permanent one.’ The return was incisive. ‘But you’d have your debts paid, plus a free hand to finish the house exactly as you want, and staff to manage it for you. You’d go on running your business quite independently. And when I have guests you’d act as my hostess.’

‘And that’s all there is to it?’ Adrien enquired ironically.

‘No,’ he said equably. ‘My work takes me abroad a great deal. I’d expect you to accompany me sometimes. But not always.’ He paused. ‘I take it your passport’s in order?’

‘Of course,’ she said, staring at him. ‘And this conversation is totally surreal.’

‘Before commencing any project I like to establish the ground rules,’ he said silkily. ‘When I’m away, you’ll be free to come and go as you please. Entertain your own friends. Live your life.’

‘It sounds too good to be true,’ she said. ‘Which of course it is. Because when these business trips were over, you’d come back.’

‘Naturally.’ He was smiling faintly.

‘Expecting precisely what?’

‘You’re no longer a child, Adrien.’ There was a sudden harshness in his voice. ‘Or a romantic teenager, dreaming of first love. I’d expect you to fulfil your side of the deal.’

‘Just the idea,’ she said, ‘makes me physically sick.’

‘Once,’ he said slowly, ‘you didn’t feel like that.’

‘What do you mean?’ She stiffened defensively.

‘It was your birthday,’ he said. ‘You were eighteen, and you looked as if someone had lit stars behind your eyes. I wished you many happy returns of the day, and you came flying across the room and offered me your mouth to kiss. Or had you forgotten?’

There was a brief, loaded pause. Then, ‘A moment of weakness,’ she said. ‘And a long time ago.’

‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘So you do remember?’

His glance brushed her mouth in overt reminiscence, and she felt her skin warm suddenly.

She said between her teeth, ‘And before I discovered what a treacherous, money-grabbing sneak-thief you really were.’

‘Ouch,’ Chay said thoughtfully. ‘Well, at least neither of us will be embarking on this liaison with any illusions about each other. That bodes well for our future, don’t you think?’

‘You don’t want to know what I think. And, thanks to you, I don’t have a future.’

‘How do you reason that?’

She spread her hands, then realised there was an element of weakness in the gesture and let them fall to her sides instead.

‘You say I could live my life, but that’s rubbish. What kind of existence would I have, living here as your kept woman? Who the hell would want to know me under those circumstances?’

‘Get real,’ he said wearily. ‘You’re not some Victorian virgin, ruined by the wicked squire. What difference will it make to anyone?’

‘It will make a hell of a difference to me,’ she threw back at him.

‘You didn’t mind selling yourself to Piers Mendoza.’ The casual contempt in his voice cut through the uneasy turmoil of emotion within her, bringing only swift, searing anger burning to the surface.

She said, ‘Bastard,’ and her hand came up to slap him across the face.

But his fingers caught her wrist, not gently, before the blow could reach its target.

‘I see time hasn’t soothed that temper of yours,’ he remarked with a touch of grimness as he released her. ‘Keep the fires damped down, Adrien, and don’t trade on your gender. It won’t work.’

She rubbed her wrist, staring at him with resentful eyes. ‘I thought that was exactly what you wanted me to do.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But on my terms, not yours.’

‘Which I’m not prepared to meet. So, buy someone else to share your bed. Because I’m telling you to go to hell,’ she added fiercely.

He shrugged, unperturbed. ‘That’s your privilege, Adie. Go off—explore what other avenues you like. But don’t be surprised if they all lead back to me.’

‘I’m sure you’d like to think so,’ she said. ‘But if I have to degrade myself, I’d prefer to do it in my own way.’

‘As you wish.’ He paused. ‘My offer stands, but it has a time limit. So, if you decide to change your mind, don’t wait too long to tell me. I can be reached at the King’s Arms.’

‘Slumming at a hotel, Mr Haddon?’ Adrien asked with contempt. ‘I thought the new lord of the manor would have taken immediate possession.’

His glance went past her to the camp bed, standing forlorn and solitary beneath the window. His brows lifted mockingly. ‘On that, darling? I prefer comfort—and room to manoeuvre.’ He watched sudden colour invade her face, and laughed softly. ‘I’ll be waiting for your call.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Don’t hold your breath,’ she advised scornfully, and walked past him, out of the room.

He said, ‘You’ll be back.’

‘Never.’

‘If only,’ he continued, ‘to collect this bag you’ve packed with such care.’

Adrien swung round, mortified, to find he was holding it, his mouth curved in amusement.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘Catch.’ And tossed it to her.

She clutched it inelegantly, caught off-balance in more ways than one, then gave him one last fulminating look before turning and heading for the stairs.

Walk, she told herself savagely, as she descended to the hall. Don’t run. Don’t let him think for one minute that he’s got to you—even marginally.

But for all her bravado she was shaking when she got into the Jeep. She sat gripping the steering wheel until her hands ached, fighting for her self-control.

She thought, There must be something I can do. Oh, God, there just has to be…

Somehow she had to find a way out—a way of escape. But her immediate priority was to start the engine and get away. The last thing she wanted was to give Chay the satisfaction of finding her, sitting there as if she’d been turned to stone.

She drove home with immense care, using every atom of concentration she possessed. Not relaxing until she found herself turning the Jeep into the parking area at the rear of Listow Cottage. As she switched off the engine a small group of women came out of the workroom and walked past her, laughing and talking. When they spotted her, they gave a friendly wave.

And one day soon I’m going to have to tell them that they’re out of work, Adrien thought, feeling sick as she lifted a hand in response. As she climbed out wearily, a football bounced towards her, with Smudge running behind it. His small, rather pale face was alive with excitement.

‘Adie—Adie, guess what? We’re getting a puppy. Mum says we can go and choose it this weekend.’

Adrien paused, forcing her cold lips into a semblance of a smile. ‘Well—that’s terrific,’ she said, trying to ignore the sudden hollow feeling inside her.

Zelda had hesitantly asked a couple of weeks before if Adrien would mind her acquiring a dog.

‘Smudge would really love one,’ she’d said wistfully. ‘And so would I. Dad would never let me have a pet of any kind when I was little.’

‘I think it’s a great idea,’ Adrien had immediately approved. ‘Have you any idea about breeds?’

Zelda laughed. ‘I guess it’ll be strictly a Heinz,’ she’d said cheerfully. ‘They’ve got a couple of litters at the animal sanctuary that’ll be ready soon.’

I’ll have to talk to Zelda straightaway, Adrien thought now, her heart sinking. Warn her that she may not be able to stay on here. That the whole place could be repossessed.

Zelda’s door was standing ajar, so Adrien tapped and peeped round it, scenting the aroma of freshly ground coffee. Zelda was chopping vegetables at the table, but she looked up with a welcoming grin.

‘Hi, stranger. I saw Smudge nail you. It is still all right about the puppy?’

She waved Adrien to a chair, set a couple of mugs on the table, and checked the percolator.

It was an incredibly warm and welcoming kitchen, Adrien thought, looking round. Zelda had chosen rich earth tones to complement the stone-flagged floor, and homely pine units. Smudge’s paintings occupied places of honour on the terracotta walls, and several of them, Adrien saw with a pang, featured dogs.

Zelda had changed her own image too. The dark hair was now cut sleekly to her head, and she was wearing the black leggings and tunic that comprised her working gear. She looked sophisticated and relaxed, Adrien thought, a young woman in control of herself and her environment. But what would happen to her new-won confidence if she had to go back to the crowded family house and her father’s unceasing complaints and strictures?

And how would Smudge cope? He’d been a quiet, almost withdrawn little boy when Adrien had first met him. A child who’d never had his own space. Who’d not been allowed to play in the garden in case he damaged the prize-winning begonias that his grandfather exhibited with such pride at the local flower show. A kid whose every word and action had been subject to restriction.

‘Are you OK?’ Zelda was staring at her. ‘You’re very quiet.’

Adrien smiled constrainedly. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind.’

‘You certainly have.’ Zelda grinned at her. ‘The Grange to finish—a wedding to plan. In between it all, can you bend your mighty brain to the Westbrook Hotel? They’ve accepted my estimate for redoing all the bedroom curtains and covers, but now they’re looking at a total revamp for the lounge and dining areas. Maisie Reed says she can’t live with all those Regency stripes any longer. I said you’d go to see them.’

‘Oh—fine.’ Adrien rallied herself. ‘When would they want the work doing?’ If it was this autumn, she thought hopefully, and there was other work on hand too, she might be able to stave off the creditors for a while. Look for another lifeline.

‘They’re planning to close for January and February.’ Zelda unwittingly dashed her hopes. ‘Have a grand reopening next Easter. It would be a good advertisement for us.’

‘Yes,’ Adrien said. ‘Yes, it would.’

‘Well, don’t turn cartwheels.’ Zelda brought the percolator to the table, with a jug of milk. ‘There is a real world outside the Grange, and we need it.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Adrien steeled herself. ‘It’s just—there’s a problem.’

Zelda gave her a long look, then poured the coffee carefully into the mugs. ‘Major or minor?’

‘Fairly major.’ Adrien gulped down some of the black, fragrant brew to give her courage. ‘The Grange has been sold—to a property developer called Chay Haddon.’

‘Who plans to pull it down and build a theme park, I suppose.’ Zelda reached a commiserating hand across the table. ‘Love, I’m so sorry. I know all the time and effort you’ve put into the place. You must be gutted.’ She paused, her eyes narrowing. ‘When did Piers tell you?’

‘He didn’t.’ Adrien withdrew her hand, clamping icy fingers round the mug instead. ‘He left that to Chay Haddon himself—and the bank manager.’

Zelda said a short, sharp expletive. ‘And where is Piers now?’

‘In Brazil,’ Adrien said tonelessly. ‘Apparently on his honeymoon. I—I don’t expect to hear from him.’

Zelda said, ‘Oh, God,’ and there was a brief, loaded silence. ‘Honey, you won’t believe me if I tell you that you’re better off without him, but it’s true. So who’s this other bird?’

Adrien managed a shrug. ‘Some rich Brazilian lady. I gather he’s in financial trouble,’ she added.

There was another pause, then Zelda said carefully, ‘Is all this as bad as it sounds?’

‘It’s worse.’ Adrien swallowed some more coffee. ‘He—he cancelled his deposit to the payment account, and the bank’s returned all the cheques. As my name’s on the account, I have to carry the can. So—I’m broke.’

All Zelda’s colour had faded, leaving a faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose.

She said, ‘The new owner—isn’t he liable? Couldn’t he be…?’

Adrien bit her lip. ‘No. And I’ve pulled out of the—the Grange project anyway. But he isn’t going to pull it down. He plans to live there.’ She forced a smile. ‘On the whole I’d prefer demolition.’

‘Chay Haddon,’ Zelda said thoughtfully. ‘The name’s familiar.’

Adrien stared fiercely into her mug. ‘He used to live at the Grange years ago,’ she said. ‘His mother was Mr Stretton’s housekeeper.’

‘I remember now,’ Zelda said slowly. ‘He used to come into town sometimes. Blond, sexy, but didn’t say much.’

‘His powers of speech seem to have expanded over the years.’ Adrien’s voice was wintry.

‘But you must have known him quite well,’ Zelda persisted, ‘if he was at the Grange when you used to visit?’

‘Yes,’ Adrien said tightly. ‘But we were never—friends.’

No, she thought, but for a while—when I was a little girl—he was my hero. And I worshipped him.

‘Pity,’ was Zelda’s dry comment. ‘It could have been handy.’ She paused. ‘So, what are we going to do?’ She swallowed, her glance flickering round her clean but cluttered domain. ‘Sell up and start again?’

‘Oh, I hope it won’t come to that,’ Adrien said quickly, without any optimism at all. ‘I’ll find some way out. But I felt I ought to tell you before the rumours started flying.’

‘Yes.’ Zelda smiled with an effort. ‘Thanks, babe.’

It was as if a light had been switched off inside her, Adrien thought wretchedly as she walked over to Listow Cottage and let herself in.

And Smudge had been even worse. He’d come dashing in, talking nineteen to the dozen about his puppy, and Zelda had put an arm round him and said gently that he might have to wait a little while longer.

Most children would have thrown some kind of tantrum, but Smudge had simply gone silent, his small face closed off and stoical, as if disappointment was nothing new to him.

It shouldn’t be like that, Adrien thought angrily. He doesn’t deserve it. And nor does Zelda.

She noticed without surprise that the answer-machine was winking furiously. The calls were from contractors who’d worked on the house, or suppliers, and without exception they wanted to know when they would be paid. And a few of them sounded frankly hostile.

She couldn’t believe how rapidly she’d gone from being a valued colleague to a potential enemy.

She listed down their names and set them to one side. There was no point in calling them back until she had a solution to offer, and at the moment there wasn’t one.

Or nothing that she was prepared to contemplate, she amended stonily.

She tried to do some sums, but none of the numbers seemed to make sense, and the eventual total horrified her. It appeared that even if she was able to sell the business, plus the cottage and the outbuildings, including Zelda’s conversion, there would still be a shortfall.

I’m ruined, she thought blankly. We all are. And it’s Chay Haddon’s fault. Forcing his way back into our lives. Using his money like a sledgehammer to get what he wants.

Shivering, she wrapped her arms protectively round her body.

Piers, she thought with anguish. Why didn’t you tell me that you were in financial trouble? I could have stopped work on the house. Why didn’t you warn me…?

But it wasn’t simply the money, a small, cold voice in her head reminded her. There was also the personal betrayal of the affair in Portugal, and she couldn’t reasonably blame Chay for that, although she wished she could.

But it had been entirely Piers’s own decision to dump her and run. To leave her abandoned and practically destitute while he married someone else without even a word…

Up to that moment she seemed to have been numbed by disbelief. Now, pain came over her like a black wave, swamping coherent thought, constricting her throat and dragging her mouth into a rictus of grief. She heard herself moan, and found, suddenly, that she was free-falling into some dark chasm of hurt and fear.

She groped her way to a chair by the table, put her head down on the smooth wooden surface, and began to weep without restraint, her whole body convulsed by the sobs that tore through her, so that she ached with the force of them.

When, at last, they began to subside, she stayed where she was, her face buried in her folded arms, an occasional shiver curling down her spine. She felt utterly drained, and when she got to her feet her legs were shaky.

Not altogether surprising, she reminded herself, as she’d had nothing to eat since breakfast, and those two slices of toast now seemed to belong to another lifetime.

She felt empty, but at the same time the thought of food was repulsive. She felt hot and disorientated, and her bout of weeping had left an odd metallic taste in her mouth. She filled the kettle and set it to boil, then realised she didn’t really want tea or coffee either.

I need something stronger, she thought, and headed down to the cellar, emerging a few minutes later with a bottle of white burgundy.

She found the corkscrew and took a crystal glass from the wall cupboard in the dining room, then carried them all into the sitting room.

It was showing signs of her absence. There was a film of dust on the polished surfaces, and a vase of dead flowers on the table below the window.

She sat down in one of the big chairs that flanked the fireplace, and leaned back against the cushions.

Outside, the light was fading rapidly, and there was a faint chill in the air which spoke of autumn. The days are drawing in. That was what people said, and they hung heavier curtains at their windows, and lit fires in the evening, and started to make plans for Christmas. All the usual, normal things.

Only this year it would not happen. Not for her, or Zelda.

In the course of one day her life had changed for ever. All its certainties gone.

By Christmas, heaven only knows where we’ll all be, she thought bleakly, and drank some wine. Its crisp, cold fruitiness filled her mouth and caressed her dry, aching throat, and she savoured it gratefully.

There were tall shelves in the recesses beside the fireplace which had been filled with books and ornaments. There was a radio just beside her, and she switched it on, turning the dial until she found a station playing classical music.

The sound filled the room, haunting and wistful—an orchestral version of Debussy’s ‘Girl with the Flaxen Hair’.

Adrien closed her eyes as the music washed over her, seeing the girl, her blonde hair shining in the sunlight, walking through a meadow, dreaming, perhaps, of her wedding, as she made her way back to some solid French farmhouse. Her life, she thought, would be safe, and secure, and full of hope.

Whereas I—I have no hope at all. I’m going to lose everything I’ve worked for. Every dream I ever had.

Maybe I should change my hair to blonde, she thought with bitter self-mockery. They say blondes have more fun.

She drank some more wine, and refilled her glass.

So much of her future had been wrapped up in Piers it seemed impossible that he was no longer part of her life. She’d created this image of their relationship in her mind, and invested all her emotional energy in it.

He dazzled me, she thought, from the first moment I saw him, even though I was only a child. He was so glamorous, and so different. And, after Chay let me down, he made me trust him.

And he knew it. My God, when he came back, I must have been a sitting duck. I just accepted everything he told me—went along with his schemes. Walked blindly into his trap.

But now that he’d gone she felt strangely numb—hollow—as if nothing mattered any longer, she thought, almost dreamily. As if every bit of emotion had been drained out of her, leaving only a shell. As if the girl she had been simply didn’t exist any more.

She drank again, feeling the wine spreading warmth through her chilled veins. Seeing the difficulties surrounding her with a new clarity.

Because, she realised with cool finality, she didn’t have to be a loser. She had a choice. Not an enviable one, but a serious option.

Piers didn’t want her, but there was another man who did. All she had to do was agree to his terms and her problems would be solved. Well—most of them, anyway, she amended, wincing.

He’d offered her a business arrangement, so she didn’t have to pretend to be in love with him—or even to want him. He could have the shell—the empty husk she’d become. Because there was nothing else.

She emptied her glass, staring into space. She would loan herself to him for a set time—a finite term. That was the only way she’d be able to bear it: if she could remind herself each day—and each night—that the situation was temporary. If she could know for certain that she would eventually be free of him, and that he would have no further claim on her.

She shivered violently. It all sounded so—cold-blooded. Yet that was the deal he’d suggested, and that was the bargain she’d made. No more and no less.

That way the business would be safe, and so would this house. And Zelda and Smudge would be secure too.

So many good reasons for degrading herself. For offering herself for sale. For going against every principle she possessed.

But I can’t afford principles, she reminded herself harshly, refilling her glass again. I have to be pragmatic. Do the expedient thing.

And I must do it now. While I still have the courage.

She got up so quickly that her head swam, and made her way to the telephone, dialling the King’s Arms hotel. Not giving herself time to think—to change her mind, or clutch at sanity.

A girl answered, briskly polite. ‘King’s Arms—Reception. How may I help you?’

Adrien cleared her throat. ‘You have a Mr Haddon staying with you. May I speak to him, please?’

‘I’m sorry, madam, Mr Haddon isn’t here at the moment, although we’re expecting him to return for dinner. May I take a message?’

Yes, thought Adrien, feeling a crazy giggle trying to escape. Tell him I’ll sleep with him if he pays all the debts on the Grange.

Aloud, she said, rather more sedately, ‘Will you tell him that Miss Lander called, please?’

‘Of course, madam. Is he expecting to hear from you?’

There was a pause, then, ‘Yes,’ Adrien said with difficulty. ‘Yes, I—I rather think he is.’

And gently she replaced the receiver.

She lifted her head and stared at herself in the wall mirror above the telephone table. Her face was white, except for a trace of hectic colour on her cheekbones, and her eyes were blurred with weeping.

‘Some bargain,’ she derided herself shakily. ‘But I’ve done it now—and I can’t afford to turn back. The stakes are too high.’

She lifted her glass in a parody of a toast.

‘To the future,’ she said huskily. And drank.