Innocent on Her Wedding Night (17 page)

By the time his door opened, and she heard his quick stride approaching, her preparations were complete.

She was aware of him halting in the doorway, clearly thrown by her presence in the kitchen at this hour, and turned, offering him a bright, friendly smile.

‘Hi, I’ve made you some breakfast. Toast and coffee.’

He didn’t smile back. ‘I thought we had a ruling in place on that.’

‘Well, yes, I suppose so. But I thought it would be a way of saying—thank you.’ She paused. ‘You were—very kind last night.’

‘Really?’ His mouth twisted sardonically. ‘Now, I thought I was a bloody saint.’

‘And I’m very grateful,’ she added.

‘I see,’ he said. ‘And am I supposed to pat you on the head and say, Anytime, darling? Because you can forget it.’

She bit her lip. ‘You don’t make it easy to be grateful.’

‘I don’t want it to be easy,’ Dan said shortly. ‘I’d prefer it to be unnecessary.’

She stared at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘No? Then I’ll explain. You really pushed your luck last night, sweetheart. To the limit. But try a trick like that again, and you won’t get off so lightly.’

She said in a low voice, ‘It wasn’t intended as a trick. Truly it wasn’t.’

‘You mean that’s your normal routine for nightmares—to invite the nearest available man to sleep with you but offer nothing in return?’ he asked scornfully.

‘It’s never happened before…’

‘And I suggest it never happens again.’ He walked over to her, putting a hand under her chin, making her look up at him. ‘Understand this, Laine. I’m not your brother, your guardian, your parent, or your maiden aunt. And when a woman asks me to bed I expect to have sex with her, not to be treated as if I was the resident bloody eunuch.’

The atmosphere between them seemed suddenly charged—resonant. The pressure of his fingers too intimate.

She jerked her chin away, forcing herself to return his hard gaze.

She said huskily, ‘I apologise if I’ve insulted your manhood in some way. It was unintentional.’ She paused. ‘But you once said, if you remember, that you’d be content—to hold me, and ask for nothing else.’

‘I remember only too well,’ He said. ‘It was my wedding night, and I thought I’d married a very young, very nervous, very innocent bride. But those criteria, of course, no longer apply—if they ever did. However, at the time I believed that some initial forbearance on my part would bring its own rewards. That before the honeymoon ended you’d be my wife—belong to me in absolute reality.’

And that’s how it might have been if I hadn’t read that letter, she thought.

Laine, the blissful, besotted dupe, believing she was more than just a convenient body. I wonder when light would have dawned?

‘Oh, dear.’ She attempted a flippant note. ‘How wrong is it possible to be?’

‘With you, Laine,’ he drawled, ‘I’d say the margin for error stretches into infinity. And it’s also occurred to me that, given your casual attitude to bedtime, your boyfriend might have felt justified in passing you on to this Clemmens guy.’

She went white. ‘How dare you say that? You know nothing—nothing.’ She drew a quivering breath. ‘For God’s sake, he was going to rape me.’

He shrugged cynically. ‘Why didn’t you try telling him you’d rather die than let him touch you? It worked for you the last time you were faced with a similar dilemma.’

She cried out and swung back her hand to slap his face—to hurt him in return.

But only in a physical sense, because there’d be no breaking the emotional firewall he’d built around himself.

But Dan seized her wrist before she could make contact, holding it ruthlessly.

‘No,’ he told her grimly. ‘You don’t do that. Not now or ever.’ He paused, adding reluctantly, ‘But I shouldn’t have said what I did. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.’

He let her go, and she leaned back against the work surface, looking at her wrist, at the marks his fingers had left, as she tried to control her breathing.

At last she said, ‘Dan—about last night. There’s probably no excuse except that you—used to be very kind to me, and I—suddenly needed kindness.’

‘It’s not hard to be kind to a lonely child,’ he said quietly. ‘Particularly when you’ve experienced the same situation.’

He paused, then added flatly, ‘But you’re not a child any more, Laine. You became a woman quite some time ago—on the night of your seventeenth birthday, as a matter of fact. I know, because I was there when it happened.’

And he turned and walked away, out of the kitchen and out of the flat, leaving her staring after him, her lips parted in shock.

It might not have been the job she’d have chosen, but Laine was thankful to start work the following Monday morning.

Denise, her ‘pair’, was a considerably older woman, who whiled away the bus ride to the block of flats which would be the centre of their operations with a recital of her many and various ailments. She seemed remarkably robust for someone whose life had been despaired of so many times, Laine thought, her expression of polite interest pinned in place.

‘I expect you go out clubbing at weekends, like all the youngsters,’ Denise remarked, as she showed Laine round the basement where their cleaning materials and appliances were kept. ‘But if you take my advice you’ll start staying home and resting like me—if you want to be fit for Mondays.’ She groaned. ‘The times I’ve barely raised myself up.’

Far from socialising, Laine thought dryly, she’d spent the weekend alone, Daniel having left a curt message on the answering machine to say he would be away until late Sunday evening.

She found herself wondering wryly if he’d planned to be absent prior to her making an utter fool of herself the other night, and thought he probably hadn’t.

All she knew for certain was that the flat seemed completely dead without him, and that she felt restless enough to scream.

The only interruption to her solitude had come from Jamie, who’d called on Saturday evening but wanted to speak to Daniel, his exchanges with her being faintly perfunctory as a result.

She’d taken care to be in bed and asleep long before Daniel’s return, whenever that had been, and out of the flat before he was awake this morning. Work, she hoped passionately, would give her something else to think about.

‘Monday’s always the hardest day, dear,’ Denise was continuing, ‘because they’ve all been at home for two days, making a mess.’

It seemed to Laine that most of the occupants of the flats led perfectly orderly lives. Denise, she thought, should have cleared up after her mother—or some of the clients on the boat.

And the flats themselves presented no particular problems. They’d been recently renovated to a very high standard, all wooden floors and clean lines—the minimalist look which would appeal to young professionals, as most of the tenants seemed to be.

‘I thought you’d be too hoity-toity to get stuck in, but you’re a good little worker, I’ll say that for you,’ Denise remarked as they ate their sandwiches at midday. ‘Good and thorough. Where did you learn that?’

‘I went on a crash course,’ Laine said, blowing an inward kiss to Mrs Evershott.

‘And the flats are easy to clean.’

Denise sniffed. ‘I prefer a bit of comfort myself. A nice carpet, and proper curtains instead of those fiddly blinds.’ She brightened. ‘When I started I used to work about a mile away, in Greenlaw Mansions. Now, they were really luxurious—like palaces, most of them, and big with it. Took some keeping up, I can tell you.’

Yes, Laine thought. I know. I thought I was going to live in one of them once with the man I loved. Before we found a house. Made a real home together.

And swiftly changed the subject.

She was bone-weary at the end of the day, but at least she knew now what was expected, and was confident she could stay on top of the work.

She’d cooked a small beef joint the previous night, and had the remainder cold with salad for supper.

The evening wore on, with no sign of Dan, and if this was going to be the shape of her days then she had no choice but to live with it.

After all, she supposed wearily as she trailed into her room, she only had herself to blame.

Yet she couldn’t put his parting words from her mind.

How much, she thought, had she betrayed of her feelings in those few delirious seconds when she was seventeen? Enough, probably, to suggest that she was his for the taking—if he wanted her. And that, shamefully, he wouldn’t even have to try too hard.

Which must have made her total rejection of him a double shock. And, anyway, being turned down at all would have been a new and unwelcome experience for him, she thought, her lips twisting painfully.

She found herself wondering suddenly why Candida had delayed so long in showing her the letter. Why hadn’t she produced it as soon as Daniel proposed, or at least in the run-up to the wedding, when not so much harm would have been done?

Apart, she thought, sighing, from my heart, which would still have broken.

But Daniel would have survived with his pride only slightly dented if

I’d backed out before the ceremony. Far better to find out now, friends would have told him, before it’s too late. That’s what engagements are for.

As it was, there was small wonder that his anger and bitterness had not perceptibly faded.

But I, she thought, have reason to be bitter too. So why do I seem to feel nothing but a regret that goes beyond tears?

Days passed, and work became a not-too-testing routine. Home life, however, was another matter altogether, with Daniel seeming to spend less time than ever at the flat.

I come in, he goes out, and vice versa, Laine thought. We’re like the men and women in those little weather houses—only one of us visible at a time.

And when they did encounter one another he was coolly civil, with no sign that he’d ever experienced any stronger emotions towards her.

I’d almost rather he was angry again, she thought with a pang. At least then I’d feel he was actually seeing me.

Soon, she supposed, his house—wherever it was—would be ready for him, and he’d be moving out altogether. And she would never see him again. Perhaps, in time, she’d even stop thinking about him—stop wanting him.

But, looking on what passed for the bright side, at least she didn’t have housework to face all over again when she returned in the evening, Daniel having arbitrarily changed Mrs Archer’s hours so that she was now coming to the flat on a daily basis.

‘Fastidious gentleman, that,’ the good woman had commented to a startled Laine, at the start of the new regime. ‘Clean sheets and towels every day, and his shirts having to be ironed just so. Funny to think of him being Mr James’s friend.’ She added hastily, ‘Of course, miss, I don’t mean to imply…’

But Laine had laughed. ‘It’s all right, Mrs Archer. You don’t have to spare my feelings. I know my brother would make a troll seem fussy.’

However, she had challenged Daniel on his return that night. ‘You might have consulted me over Mrs Archer. She is supposed to be a shared expense, and I can’t afford to pay any more for her services.’

‘You don’t have to. She’s here for my convenience, not yours.’

‘So I gather.’ She turned away. ‘Providing an endless supply of clean sheets, no less. How hedonistic.’

He shrugged. ‘One of life’s last great luxuries,’ he retorted. ‘Why shouldn’t I indulge myself?’

‘No reason at all,’ she said colourlessly. ‘You’re very fortunate that you’ve always been able to buy everything you want.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Not everything, darling, if you remember.’ He paused. ‘Perhaps you weren’t the only one to make a mistake two years ago, Laine. Maybe I made one too.’ His voice was hard-edged with derision. ‘Was that it? Did I fail to offer a high enough price for your favours? You should have said so at the time, and we could have—reopened negotiations.’

She bit back the instinctive cry of pain—of negation. Lifted her chin and met his gaze without outward flinching.

‘You seem to forget,’ she said, keeping her voice even, ‘that I turned down all offers of a settlement from you. So it was never—ever—about money.’

‘What, then? What brought about the change? Because there was one.’

Daniel spoke harshly, urgently, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘Or did you think I’d also forgotten the way you once came into my arms—how your body trembled against mine—the taste of your lips? You wanted me, damn you.’

She was trembling again—quaking inside—realising she’d been only too right about that brief but telling moment of self-betrayal.

‘Yes,’ she said defiantly. ‘I admit it—I was tempted. Once. How could I not be? You were the most glamorous, sexy guy I’d ever met. A young girl’s dream. But dreams don’t last, and fortunately I woke up just in time, with no harm done.’

He said with cold grimness, ‘How interesting you should think so.’ And walked away into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Well, Laine thought, sinking her teeth into a lower lip, at least that’s one conversation we’ll never need to have again.

And wished, quietly and desperately, that she could find it more of a

consolation.

‘What’s going on?’ Laine demanded. ‘Why can’t we pass?’

It was the middle of her third week with Citi-Clean, and she’d arrived for work with Denise to find the entire street cordoned off, choked by police cars and other emergency vehicles.

‘They won’t say.’ Denise had gone to enquire and come puffing back in high excitement. ‘Just that there’s been an incident, and no one’s being allowed in or out. But they did say that the road probably won’t be cleared until at least this afternoon, and that we shouldn’t hang around waiting.’

She paused. ‘I suppose I’d better phone Old Mother Moss—give her the bad news.

But we’ve got a morning off, gal. So enjoy it, because as soon as the police give the word Mrs M will have us back in those flats, working until all hours.’

I’m glad to hear it, because I could do with less leisure, not more, Laine thought as she went home. I’d rather work all day, go home dog-tired, and fall asleep without thinking. Find a place where this slow, grinding ache of need inside me can finally sink into oblivion and give me a few hours’ peace.