In Want of a Wife? (13 page)

‘Right.’

Louis waited for her to ask him if he would be in touch, but she didn’t, which made him smile; if there was one woman on the face of the earth who seemed to have the power to make him jump through hoops, then it surely must be this one. ‘I don’t have your mobile number.’ He flipped out his phone to
put her in his address book and frowned when his request was met was silence.

Should she pretend that this was anything but a romp in the sack? Lizzy wondered. So she gave him her mobile number; then what? Try as she might to jettison her natural prejudice, she still couldn’t help but think that he was a one-way ticket to heartbreak. But surely, she thought, chewing her lips and staring off into the distance, her heart wasn’t his to break? And why should she let a sense of caution hold her back from an amazing sexual adventure—something she had never done in her entire life? What was so wrong about behaving out of character just this once? They connected on an instinctive level that blew away all her defences, and she liked that.

‘I suppose I
could
give it to you …’ She dragged out the sentence, thinking all the while and not noticing his deepening frown.

Poised to type it in, Louis was staggered that he was actually waiting for the number of a woman who might possibly not want to follow up on what they had just enjoyed. Worse, a woman with whom he should have so little in common as to be laughable. But, when she finally rattled it off, he typed it in and clicked shut his phone with something like relief.

‘When are you back in London?’ He traced the outline of her nipple with his finger, and she moaned softly and tapped away his hand. ‘I’ll call you.’

‘Okay. If you like.’ Lizzy sat up and pulled the quilt right up to cover her body. It was crazy, but she wanted to hang on to him like a limpet and never let him go. ‘I’ll be back at the beginning of next week.’

‘I can’t wait.’ His dark eyes held hers until she felt like she was drowning. Then he was on his feet, walking towards the bedroom door, leaving with just one backward glance and a satisfied nod of his head.

L
OUIS
found the school easily and was there now, sitting in his car with the engine off, trying to get his bearings. The place had the look of a miniature prison, especially at five-thirty in mid-winter with the few trees bare of leaves and groups of straggling pupils lurking in small groups outside. He was beginning to understand why she had roared with laughter when he had suggested visiting the school, should he decide to make a donation to its coffers. Regrets were surfacing over his decision to come in his Maserati.

He mentally shrugged to himself because there was no point getting stressed out over what couldn’t be changed and he certainly wasn’t about to drive back to his office without seeing her.

He had spent his entire time abroad in restless anticipation of when they would next meet. When he was away on business, women never crossed his mind, even when he had one waiting back in London for him. He never called because, quite literally, he never thought about them. For Lizzie, he had found himself making the exception, on several occasions and with increasing frustration when he couldn’t get through. Her mobile either rang and rang until he was obliged to give up or else he was immediately connected to voicemail.

Unbelievably, he had set a ferociously gruelling pace on his meetings and arrived back in the UK two days ahead of schedule. At some point, he had come to the conclusion that
she was avoiding him. It was almost unthinkable but, once it surfaced, the thought took root and refused to go away.

He told himself that if she was playing a game then she would be the inevitable loser, because there was nothing he hated more than someone thinking that they could generate his interest by playing hard to get. He reminded himself that she was hardly long-term-relationship material; he was just too wary of anyone who could conceivably see him as a meal ticket and she certainly fitted that category whether she liked to admit it or not. He had concluded that his best course of action would be to walk away.

And then he had touched down at Heathrow, gone to his apartment, showered and promptly driven to her place of work. Pride seemed to have taken a back seat, and see her he would. He was in possession of his cheque book; she would have no choice
but
to see him. What school in need of funds could afford to turn away someone with a cheque book?

And the school, from everything he could see as he headed for the reception area, could do with a few charitable donations. Underneath the array of school posters and notices, the paint was peeling. The little collection of hand-made
papier mâché
sculptures cordoned off to the side was desperately trying to inject some cheer but seemed to be losing the battle against the dour surroundings.

It was a far cry from the top-notch boarding school he had attended, where everything had gleamed with the patina of loving care and attention thanks to a school fund bursting at the seams with money.

Already he was attracting interested looks, and by the time he made it to the staff room, after a couple of wrong turnings, he was alert to the fact that he was in unknown territory. A life of privilege had cushioned him against the grimmer realities of life.

To a man, the staff room fell quiet as he strolled in and stood by the door, his eyes flicking around the box room
with its battered coffee-machine and tired arrangement of mismatched chairs interspersed amongst the desks, some of which sported computers but most of which did not.

‘I’m looking for a teacher here. Lizzy Sharp.’

‘She’s outside on playground duty for the kids who aren’t being collected until later.’ The oldest of the women there stood up and approached him. She had a warm, friendly face and a cloud of reddish-brown hair that had obviously started life as a bun but in the space of a frazzled day had evolved to a messy arrangement of straggling strands hurriedly clipped back. ‘And you are …? I don’t recognise you as being a parent.’

‘I’m … eh … a friend.’ There was a round of giggles from the room and Louis flushed and shifted on his feet. ‘We were discussing a possible donation to the school.’ This had the effect of killing the titters and the level of interest tangibly altered. Suddenly and unexpectedly, he was bombarded with a series of enthusiastic suggestions as to where any possible money could be spent, and he had a fleeting notion of why Lizzy enjoyed her working life so much. She was as passionate as this lot. She wasn’t into playing games; why had he ever thought that? Which meant that she was avoiding him, actively avoiding him, and it occurred to him that she was avoiding him because he really just wasn’t the kind of guy she either wanted or needed in her life.

He glanced around the room for any men who might be candidates for her affection but the three men were all in their mid-forties; there was no one. The irony of her prejudices struck him like a blow to the stomach. On and on she went about
his
outdated snobbishness while she was willing to jettison
him
because of
her
outdated stereotyping!

‘If you point me in the right direction …’ He held his hand up to signify silence. ‘I want to chat to her before I commit to anything.’

‘I’ll take you to the playground. I’m Mrs Evans, by the
way …’ The woman who had first approached him held out her hand by way of introduction and gave him a surprisingly firm handshake. ‘I’m the deputy head. And this rabble here …’ she grinned at all the other teachers ‘… are my mostly hardworking team.’ Which was met with cries of laughter and protest. ‘They’re a wonderful crew,’ she confided as she led him away. ‘And Lizzy is really a wonderfully talented teacher. The kids adore her and as you can see from the surroundings …’ she gestured to encompass the school ‘… many of them come from disadvantaged backgrounds, so a firm bond with their teacher is really important.’

Louis had a vivid image of these corridors crowded with stampeding kids. The conditions were far from inspiring, although every class he passed showed the valiant efforts of all the teachers to make up for the crumbling building. No wall was left unadorned.

They reached the playground and he turned to the deputy head with a smile. ‘If you don’t mind, I’ll just wait here a while before I go out—think about, eh, any possible donation and how the … discussion should proceed. Naturally, nothing will be decided without first consulting you and the principal.’

Which left him standing in the shadow of the doorway out to the playground, an unobserved spectator watching with keen interest the slight figure with the woollen hat firmly pulled down who was laughing and chivvying fifteen or so kids into some kind of game—which was clearly hilarious from the looks of it. He looked on as two of the smaller children ran towards her and she stooped down so that she was on their level and pulled one of the kids towards her for a hug.

He had no idea how long he remained standing there, watching her, but eventually he pushed himself away from the wall and headed in her direction. She didn’t notice him coming, and even when he was standing right in front of her it took her a few seconds to register that he wasn’t a parent.

Even in the barely-there lighting he saw the muscles in her face tighten as she stood up and brushed herself down.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I’ve been trying to get through to you. Why haven’t been taking my calls?’

‘Why do you think?’

‘If I knew, I wouldn’t be standing here asking you the question.’

‘You have to go. I’m busy, and anyway we have nothing to talk about.’

‘I don’t think your charming Mrs Evans would be too impressed if you sent me away. Not when I’ve already told her that I’m thinking of making a donation to the school. A very generous donation.’

‘If you’ve come to talk about a donation, then you should be talking to her or to the principal. You can make an appointment.’

‘God, Lizzy.’ Louis raked his fingers impatiently through his hair. ‘What the hell is going on with you? The last time I left you we’d just made love and were planning to see each other again. What happened in the meantime?’

Lizzy looked at him mutinously, her mouth downturned. ‘I don’t want to talk about this—and I can’t here, anyway. As you can see, I’m busy. I can’t afford to take my eyes off this lot for a second.’

‘In that case I’ll wait here with you.’

‘Okay. In
that
case, you can help.’ She didn’t give him time to consider that option. She clapped her hands and before he could object, she had managed to rope him into a schoolyard game that involved him having to run, having to hop, having to shout and having to look absolutely ridiculous in his expensive black cashmere coat and patent-leather shoes.

Except that he managed to pull it off—and take it one step further. He was giving orders, arranging them into neat little groups
and making up a game of his own that had them entranced. What, she thought sourly, were the chances of
that?

‘So …’ Louis walked over to her after the last small child had been collected and she was busily getting the playground back into order. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on or are you going to put me to another test? Enrol me to teach your most disruptive class tomorrow?’ She turned around to go and he caught her by her arm and pulled her towards him. ‘You
are
going to talk to me, you know.’

‘Or else what? The school misses out on your “maybe, maybe not” donation?’

‘I’m not that infantile. Is there somewhere close by we could go for something to drink?’

Lizzy looked at him, knowing that he wouldn’t go away. Had she expected him to turn up when she had ignored all his calls? No. But, now that he was here, she couldn’t suppress that familiar excitement that undermined all her good intentions.

‘There’s a pub at the corner.’ She turned away, desperate to create space between them, and conscious of him right behind her as she returned to the staff room. She tried to pin a smile on her face as he chatted to Laura Evans about the donation and made an appointment to return the following week.

Half an hour later, with a glass of white wine in front of her, she was still as jittery as when she had first looked up and seen him staring down at her as though he had stepped straight out of her imagination and materialised in front of her by force of magic.

‘How was your trip?’ she asked thinly, every muscle in her body rigid with tension.

‘You might have known had you picked your phone up.’ Louis sipped his beer and watched her carefully. She was dressed for school: trousers, flat shoes, a baggy jumper and hair tied back in braids that made her look like a teenager. As
far away from the glamorous woman at the party at Crossfeld as it was possible to be and yet just as alluring.

‘Well, you succeeded. You must be pleased.’ She drank half of the contents of her glass in one gulp and her stomach burned in immediate response.

‘What are you talking about?’ Caught on the back foot by the same sort of direct approach he himself was accustomed to taking, Louis could only look at her in bewilderment, which had the effect of making her give a short, dry bark of laughter.

‘Take a guess.’

‘I don’t do guessing games.’

‘Have you spoken to Nicholas since you got back?’

‘Get to the point.’

‘Don’t give me orders!’

‘You are the most challenging bloody woman I have
ever
met in my
entire
life!’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment if it means that you don’t walk all over me like you do everyone else.’

‘You’ve lost me.’

‘You went to Crossfeld with a mission to break up my sister and Nicholas because you thought that he was too good for her. Well, congratulations—you’ve succeeded.’ She polished off the rest of the wine and glared at him with angry resentment.

‘Explain.’ There was nothing to explain; that was exactly why he had made that arduous trip when he had. But, still, knowing that he had managed to succeed tasted like a hollow victory.

Rose hadn’t been the disagreeable, conniving gold-digger he had expected to find. Try as he had—and he
had
tried very hard—he had found himself warming to her even when his head told him that he was being a fool. He was a man of facts and figures, and the facts and figures had added up to a woman on the lookout for a man with a healthy bank
balance. Hell, she hadn’t even seemed all that much in love with Nicholas at the beginning. But he had seen those looks she had shared with Nicholas and there had been no pretence there. Even when he had been declaring his scepticism to Lizzy, he had already been walking away from a task in which he had less and less conviction.

‘Does it matter?’ She was finding him unnerving. It was also unnerving the way her body was reacting to him as a lover instead of as an antagonist, which she had spent the past few days telling herself that she was. Eventually she shrugged. ‘A couple of days after you left, Rose came home in floods of tears. She had gone to Crossfeld House to find your wonderful girlfriend there with her sister, about to pack and leave.’

‘Jessica?’

‘Who else?’

‘I won’t waste my breath telling you what you must already know. She was never my girlfriend and she isn’t my girlfriend now. She’s the sister of a close friend, and frankly a woman I could never envisage having in my life in anything like an intimate relationship. Although, please do feel free to be consumed with jealousy.’

Sensing the direction of the conversation, Louis’s voice was laced with biting sarcasm, although when he thought about her being jealous about him he felt a curious kick. Her jealousy was something he really would have enjoyed, although it was a trait he had always abhorred in other women.

‘I’m not jealous. I’m … I’m … No; I’m not disgusted. It was probably what I should have expected from you all along. You never gave Rose a chance, but I’m really disappointed that Nicholas couldn’t see for himself how much she was in love with him. I’m really disappointed that when it came to the crunch he decided that you were right. What does it feel like to have that much influence over someone else? Does it make you feel powerful? How does it feel to know that you’ve ruined my sister’s life?’