Mistress on Loan (14 page)

She'd no idea what she was going to say to Zelda, of course, she mused as she went towards the stairs. Some carefully edited approximation of the truth, perhaps. After which the subject would be taboo.

A loud peal from the front doorbell halted her in her tracks. She called, 'It's all right, Mrs. Whitley. I'll get it.'

There was a furniture lorry parked on the drive, and a man in waterproofs beaming at her. 'Nice to see you, Miss Lander. I've brought your bed.'

For a moment she stared at him uncomprehendingly, then realisation hit her like a brick.

'Oh, God,' she said. "The four-poster. I—I'd forgotten all about it.'

That was what had been nagging at her all week, she thought. The bed she'd bought all those weeks ago for Piers and herself. Which Fred Derwent had now restored and was now trying to deliver. Which she'd forgotten to cancel.

She forced a smile. 'Fred—I should have contacted you. There's been a change of plan, I'm afraid. The Grange has been sold, and the new owner doesn't want a four-poster bed, so I'd like you to sell it for me—in your showroom.'

Fred's ruddy face drooped. 'Well, that's a pity. It's a fine bed, and I've made a good job of it, if I do say so myself. Is the gentleman sure he doesn't want it?'

'Absolutely certain.' She looked at him beseechingly. 'Fred, you'll have no trouble selling it—'

'Selling what?' Chay's voice interrupted brusquely. He'd arrived unnoticed from round the corner of the house, and was standing on the gravel, hands thrust into the pockets of his trench coat.

Fred Derwent turned to him eagerly. 'A beautiful four-poster bed, sir. A genuine antique that Miss Lander found and meant for this house. For the master bedroom, I understand. And if you're the new master that makes it yours, I reckon,' he added with a chuckle.

Chay's eyes rested dispassionately on Adrien, framed in the doorway, her face flushed, her eyes wide with trouble.

There was a pause, then he said, 'Of course. Will you bring it in, please? Perhaps your men could move the existing bed up to the attics?'

'Glad to, sir,' Fred said heartily. 'You've made the right decision.'

Chay's smile did not reach his eyes. 'I'll take your word for it Mr—er—Derwent,' he added, glancing at the side of the lorry. 'Now, let's get out of this rain. I'll ask my housekeeper to make us all some coffee.'

As he walked past Adrien her hand closed on his arm, halting him. Mr. Derwent had returned to his lorry to superintend the unloading, and there was no one to overhear as she said quietly, urgently,

'Chay, you don't want it. You can't...'

His brows lifted. 'Why not? Because you planned to consummate your passion for Piers in it?' He shook his head, almost scornfully. 'That won't disturb my dreams, Adrien.'

Her hand dropped to her side. 'Then there's nothing more to be said.'

'Now there I disagree.' His tone was cool and brisk. 'Come to the library in fifteen minutes, will you? And tell Jean about the coffee, please. I'm going to change out of these wet things.'

It was the voice of a man who was used to being obeyed giving orders to a junior employee, Adrien realised furiously, finding herself trailing off obediently in search of Mrs. Whitley. Not someone who'd held her naked in passion the previous night.

Apparently he was even readier to forget the whole disastrous episode than she was herself. Well, that's good, she thought defiantly. Excellent, in fact. She supposed he wanted to give her some kind of formal notice, or to finalise any outstanding payment arrangements. Well, that was all right too. If she tried she could be out of the Grange before lunch.

She spoke to Mrs. Whitley, then went up to her room and began dragging things out of the wardrobe and tossing them into her case, closing her ears to the sounds, at the other end of the corridor, of a four-poster bed being brought upstairs and assembled. When fifteen minutes had elapsed, she went down to the library and knocked at the door.

Chay's 'Come in' held a note of weary exasperation. He was seated behind Angus Stretton's big desk, scanning through the morning's mail delivery, and as he looked up Adrien checked, her hand going to her throat.

The firm mouth tightened. 'Good God, Adie, I can't have startled you this time,' he rasped. 'You knew I was here.'

'I'm sorry.' She steadied herself. 'It's just—seeing you there, where Angus always sat. For a moment I felt as if I were seeing a ghost.'

He glanced back at the letter he was reading. 'I didn't know the Grange was supposed to be haunted.'

He sounded coolly indifferent.

'It's not,' she said. 'And that's not what I meant...'

'Ah, yes,' he said. 'I have no real right to be in this house, or at this desk, and if there was any justice I'd be serving a life sentence without remission for traumatising your childhood and stealing from you on your eighteenth birthday.' He delivered the words with stinging contempt. 'Isn't that the way it goes?'

She bit her lip. 'Believe it or not, I didn't mean that either. I—I came to tell you that I'm ready to leave within the hour. If that's all right.'

He put the letter he was holding down on the desk, crumpling the envelope and tossing it into the waste basket. Then he looked at her, the grey eyes expressionless.

He said, 'Take a seat, Adie. I think we need to talk.'

She remained standing. 'Everything necessary was said last night. You said I should leave.'

'And now I'm asking you to work a month's notice.'

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm afraid the terms of employment are unacceptable.'

T suppose that's a reference to last night's sexual fiasco,' he said softly. 'However, as I've already indicated, I can safely promise there'll be no repetition of that.'

He paused. Then, 'I think Jean told you I'm having people to stay next weekend. These are men I do business with, and their wives. I need a lady of my own to meet them, and act as my hostess. I'd like you to do this for me.' 'Give me one good reason why I should.' He said gently, 'I could mention thousands. But I'd like to think you were generous enough to help me out here.'

'Make it a week's notice,' she said. 'And I'll consider if
….'

Chay shook his head. 'It has to be a month. That's not negotiable.'

'But why? I want to get on with my life.'

'And I want to ensure that you can.' He paused again. 'Tell me, Adie, are you on the Pill?'

Her brows snapped together. 'Of course not—' she began, then halted, her lips parted in sheer consternation as she met his sardonic gaze. She said, 'No—it's not possible. It can't be...'

Suddenly she needed to sit down. She groped for the chair he'd indicated and sank on to it. Chay shrugged. 'We had unprotected sex, Adrien. Again, I hadn't bargained for your extreme state of innocence,' he added drily. 'I thought if you were sleeping with Mendoza, you'd be geared up accordingly.'

'How—dare you?'

His mouth twisted. 'It was an honest mistake, Adie. I only wish you'd been equally candid.' He allowed her to digest that for a second, then went on, 'But, as you can see, I have good reason for keeping you here until I can be sure I haven't made you pregnant.'

'If I am,' she said, 'it'll be my problem, and I'll deal with it.'

'No,' he said. 'It concerns me too, so cool the display of fighting spirit.' He sent her a mocking glance. 'I know you have red hair, Adrien. You don't need to keep demonstrating the fact.'

She glared at him. 'My hair is auburn,' she began, and then realised she'd fallen right into his trap. Remembered with heart-stopping clarity how he'd used to call her 'Ginger' and 'Carrots' all those years before, winding her up until she launched herself at him in fury.

She saw his mouth soften into a grin of pure appreciation, and found, astonished, that she was smiling reluctantly in response. She said, 'You brute.'

'Well, that's almost a term of endearment compared with some of the names you've called me recently.'

He leaned back in his chair, watching her from under his lids. 'So— are you going to stay, Adie?

Naturally, I don't want to pressure you...'

'But you will if you have to,' she supplied bitterly.

'Perhaps,' he said. 'But I'd rather you agreed of your own accord. Is it really so much to ask?'

More than you can ever know.
The thought swam into her mind, and was instantly banished. She looked down at her tightly clasped hands.

'I—suppose not. And, anyway, you'll only be around at weekends.'

Oh, God, she thought immediately. Why did I say that?

Glancing apprehensively at Chay, she saw his face harden.

'I shall be here,' he said, his voice biting, 'just as often as the mood takes me. This is now my home, and I'm not staying away to spare your feelings, Adrien. However, I'll take your response as grudging consent.'

He paused. 'After all, I now have an extra bill to pay— for the bed you so conveniently forgot about.'

She said in a stifled voice, 'You didn't have to keep it. I was quite prepared to send it back.'

'You were positively eager to do so.' His mouth curled. 'Poor Adrien. Did it revive too many unhappy memories?'

'It didn't revive any memories at all,' she said.

'As you know.'

Again, she wished the last words unsaid as soon as she'd spoken, but he only nodded.

He got to his feet and walked round the desk, standing looking down at her, his expression unreadable. He said quietly, 'Are you all right, Adie?'

Colour warmed her face. 'I'm fine,' she said quickly. 'Now, can we forget about it, please?'

His mouth twisted without humour. 'You can, I'm sure. I shan't find it quite so easy.'

He allowed the words to die into a tingling silence, then reached behind him and picked up a sheet of paper from the desk. 'Is this your work?'

'Yes,' Adrien said, swallowing, glad to move to the impersonal. 'It's something I was working on yesterday—a plan for the kitchen garden. I shouldn't have left it around.'

'It's good,' he said. 'When the contractors arrive next week, I'd like you to show it to them—get them to work on it.'

'The kitchen garden's a long-term project,' Adrien said hastily, getting to her feet. 'I—I really shouldn't get involved.'

He gave her a swift, wry smile. 'But you already are involved, Adrien,' he said softly. 'You know it, and so do I.' He went back to his chair and picked up another envelope. I'll see you at lunch,' he added casually.

Adrien closed the library door behind her and took a deep breath. It seemed, in spite of everything, she'd committed herself to another month under Chay's roof. Four weeks, she thought. Hardly a lifetime. Unless...

For a moment her hand strayed tentatively to her abdomen.

No, she told herself with determination. It's not true.
It can't be true.

But, at the same time, she wouldn't have a quiet moment until she finally learned the truth. And maybe not then, she reminded herself painfully, and went slowly back upstairs to take her clothes out of the case.

As she reached the head of the stairs, Fred Derwent hailed her cheerfully. 'Your bed looks wonderful, Miss Lander. This room really sets it off.

''Oh—good.' Adrien gave him a fleeting smile and turned towards her own room, but he was not to be gainsaid.

'Come and have a look,' he urged.

Reluctantly, she walked to Chay's bedroom doorway and peeped in. Mrs. Whitley was there, busying herself with sheets and pillowcases.

'Beautiful, isn't it?' She ran an approving hand over one of the carved posts. 'What it really needs, of course, is curtains, and one of those canopy things.'

'They'll be coming,' Mr. Derwent assured her.

'Miss Lander's partner was making them special. Isn't that right?'

Aware of their expectant glances, Adrien nodded feebly.

'When will they be ready?' Mrs. Whitley asked eagerly.

'They—they're already finished,' Adrien admitted. 'I— could go and fetch them.'

'That would be wonderful.' Mrs. Whitley beamed.

"The exact finishing touch.'

"Then I'll go now.' Adrien glanced at her watch.

'Would you tell Mr. Haddon I won't be here for lunch, please?'

The rain had stopped and a watery sun had broken through the clouds when she arrived at the cottage. She'd been gone for less than twenty-four hours, but already the cottage had an oddly disused air about it.

Only a month, Adrien comforted herself. And then it will belong to me again. And I'll come over as often as possible. Put fresh flowers around. Open the windows. She collected her post, listed the messages on the answering machine, and made herself some coffee to drink with the ham roll she'd bought at the village shop.

Then she locked up, and walked across the courtyard to Zelda's flat.

Zelda opened the door to her knock. 'Hi.' Her voice was surprised. 'I didn't expect to see you today.'

Adrien smiled constrainedly. 'I thought I'd come and collect the curtains and canopy that you made for the four-poster bed. It—arrived today.'

Zelda stared at her. 'Didn't you cancel it?'

Adrien bit her lip. 'I forgot.'

Zelda's face broke into a grin. 'I think that's what they call a Freudian slip.'

'Nothing of the kind,' Adrien said with a faint snap. 'I just had other things on my mind. Now, may I have the keys to the workroom, please?'

Zelda went with her, and helped her load the heavy bundles of fabric into the Jeep.

She said, frowningly, 'Are you all right?'

'Fine. Never better,' Adrien lied. She nodded.

'It's all going really well.'

'Really?' Zelda gave her a measuring look.

'Why don't I come back with you and help you hang these things? You know how you are with ladders.'

'Not any more,' Adrien said briskly. 'I've put all that nonsense behind me now.'

'Then let me come for moral support.'

Adrien climbed into the Jeep. 'Isn't this the day Smudge gets his puppy?'

'That could wait till tomorrow.'

Adrien shook her head. 'No,' she said. 'He's waited quite long enough. I'll be over to see you all very soon.'

'One day,' Zelda said grimly, T expect you to tell me exactly what's going on.'

I wish I knew myself, Adrien thought, as she put the Jeep in gear and drove off with a cheerful wave.

The Grange seemed deserted when she got back. It took several trips to take the bulky material up to Chay's room, and then she had to search the outbuildings for a pair of suitable steps. Not too high, she reassured herself as she carried them upstairs. Start in a small way, and build on that, and you'll be fine.

With her bottom lip caught in her teeth, she climbed up carefully, the swathe of fabric over her shoulder.

'Don't look down,' she muttered under her breath.

'Just don't look down.'

Ten minutes later she was wondering what had made her think this was a job for one pair of hands. Despite her best efforts, the heavy canopy refused to stay in place while she fixed the corners.

'Damn the thing,' she muttered, leaning over further to tug it straight, only to feel the steps begin to wobble as the balance of her weight altered. She gave a little cry, and clutched at the nearest bedpost to steady herself.

And heard Chay's voice say grimly, 'What the hell do you think you're doing?'

She looked down and saw him beside her. Below her, looking up. And suddenly the old nightmare took possession again, and the green carpet was grass, and she was a terrified child, realising how far she could fall.

'Don't touch me.' Her voice rose hysterically.

'Don't touch the ladder.'

He said grimly, 'Don't be a fool, Adie. I've got you. Down you come.'

'No.' As his hands gripped her waist she kicked out at him.

Chay swore, lifting her away from the steps, turning her in his arms so that she was pinned against him, her breasts crushed against the wall of his chest, her dilated eyes staring into his. Holding her there until she stopped struggling and the small dry sobs died away, leaving only the hurry of their breathing to disturb the tense silence.

He said harshly, 'You just don't get it, do you, Adie?'

Then, infinitely slowly, he began to lower her to the ground, still watching her, letting every inch of her body linger tellingly against his.

She felt the first dark shiver of arousal ripple through her. Heard herself whimper softly as her head fell back and her lips parted, inviting his kiss.

Then, abruptly, there was the quick tap of approaching footsteps, a gasp and a murmured apology, and Adrien turned her head to see Mrs. Whitley beating an embarrassed retreat.

Chay said, 'Jean—wait a minute.' He set Adrien gently and unhurriedly down on the floor, then turned to the housekeeper hesitating in the doorway. He said, 'Jean, you can hang these curtains, please?' He paused, adding silkily, 'Miss Lander has no head for heights.'

He divided a swift, impersonal smile between the pair of them, and walked out of the room.

Mrs. Whitley came forward, tutting. 'You should have come to me, madam,' she said reproachfully.

'Why, you're as white as a sheet.'

'I thought I'd fall,' Adrien said, half to herself, still staring at the door. Still seeing the image of Chay walking away from her, with that long lithe stride that she knew so well. It wasn't the first time, she thought, so why should she suddenly find it so disturbing?'

'Then I'll stand on the steps and you can hand everything up to me,' Mrs. Whitley said firmly. She stroked the material. 'Such lovely colours—and beautiful workmanship.'

She chatted quietly and inconsequentially as the curtains were hung round the bed and at the tall windows, and while the canopy was adjusted, and Adrien replied at random, her thoughts whirling as she tried to rationalise the feeling of unease which Chay's abrupt departure had triggered.

When everything was finished, and admired, and Mrs. Whitley had disappeared to restore the steps to their usual place, Adrien escaped to her room. She curled up on the window seat, looking down at the sodden garden.

She'd given herself a fright, but it was over now, and anyway, Chay had been there to rescue her. Just as he had been all those years before, guiding her down from the treehouse, she recalled. Trying to make belated amends, she had supposed bitterly, for stranding her there. Or pretending that he hadn't been the one to do it, not knowing that she'd looked down and seen him—walking away.

Except—except that it was all wrong, she realised, frowning. The figure walking away from her, imprinted in her mind, had had a much shorter stride. Had held himself differently. Hadn't been as tall. She thought, with a kind of anguish, I know Chay. I know everything about him and I always have. I've carried that knowledge with me all these years, no matter how it hurt. So how could I not have seen that it wasn't him at all—but someone wearing his grey jacket?

It had to have been Piers, of course, she recognised with an odd calm. Piers—the Grange's future owner—who had resented Chay as an interloper. Piers, who'd deliberately smashed Chay's field glasses and had been determined to wreck his private sanctuary too. Who had wanted Chay blamed and sent away.

But why? she asked herself in bewilderment. Why such an extreme reaction over the housekeeper's son?

'You don't get it,' Chay had said to her.

But I do now, she thought. I know exactly how it happened.

And maybe Chay himself could tell her why. She had to find him, explain to him the self-deception she'd been practising all this time. And ask him—somehow—to forgive her.

And there was no time like the present, she thought, steeling herself as she got up from the window seat.

She ran lightly downstairs, not giving herself time for second thoughts, and tapped on the library door. There was no reply, and she knocked again more loudly.

'Miss Lander?' Mrs. Whitley spoke from behind her. 'I was just coming to tell you that I've put some tea for you in the drawing room.'

'Oh, thank you,' Adrien hesitated. 'Has Mr. Haddon gone out again?'

'Yes, madam.' Mrs. Whitley's pleasant face took on a faintly wooden look. 'Unfortunately, he's had to go back to London. He asked me to make his apologies and say he'll see you next weekend.'

'When his guests are expected,' Adrien said quietly. 'Yes, of course.' She mustered a smile.

'Thank you, Mrs. Whitley.'

The tea looked delicious. Tiny triangular sandwiches, a sponge filled with jam and cream, and a plate of homemade biscuits. But Adrien could not have eaten a crumb.

Because Chay had not simply walked away. He'd walked out.

She thought, in desolation, I've left it too late—

and now he's gone. I've lost him. And tasted tears, hot and scalding, in her throat.

CHAPTER NINE

'If we're not careful,' Zelda said gleefully. 'We're going to have a full order book.'

'Seems like it,' Adrien agreed, brows furrowed as she checked an estimate. 'What's caused this sudden flurry of activity?'

'Christmas cards in the shops,' Zelda told her solemnly. 'People realise that, although it's only September, the countdown to hell has started, and they want to rethink the decor in their houses before the relations start arriving.'

She paused. 'At least there isn't that problem at the Grange. I hope Chay's guests will be duly impressed.'

'So do I,' Adrien said drily. 'But I doubt it. They all seem pretty high-powered.' She sighed. 'Chay's PA has faxed me details of all their interests and likes and dislikes, so that I can plan their entertainment with more precision.'

'Ouch,' said Zelda. 'Rather you than me.'

'Oh, it's not too onerous.' Adrien slid the estimate into an envelope and sealed it. 'The men want to play golf, which is easy. As for the wives, one of them is mad about tennis, another likes to swim, and the third collects antiques. So I've arranged temporary membership of the Country Club for the entire weekend, and a visit to the antiques fair at Lower Winkleigh on Sunday morning.'

She frowned slightly. 'On Saturday evening some of the local people have been invited to a drinks party.'

'Anyone interesting?'

'Sally Parfitt sent out the invitations from the London office some time ago. They're mostly the older generation,

I think. People who knew Angus Stretton.' Her frown deepened. 'Which is odd, really.'

'Or a shrewd move. Wooing the people who matter?' Zelda suggested. She put down the book of fabric samples she'd been examining. 'Anyway, I hope the master of the house appreciates your efforts. When does he plan to return?'

Adrien shrugged. 'Around lunchtime tomorrow, I suppose,' she said neutrally. "The guests will be arriving during the afternoon, and he'll want to be there to welcome them.' She hesitated. 'I feel as if I'm leaving you in the lurch, now that all this work has started to come in. But it won't be for much longer.'

Zelda sent her a half-smile. 'I'll take your word for it, honey.'

Adrien picked up the pile of envelopes from the desk. 'I'll take these to the post, then get back. I have to sort out something to wear at dinner tomorrow evening.' She pulled a face. 'I'm not expected to compete, so I guess my all-purpose black will do.'

'I'd like to think it had some purpose,' Zelda said, and dodged, laughing, as Adrien threw a ball of crumpled paper at her.

Out in the courtyard, Smudge was playing with his puppy, an eager, bright-eyed bundle with ominously large paws, whom Zelda had christened Bugsy Malone in tribute, she said, to his criminal tendencies.

Smudge was a different kid these days, Adrien thought, pausing to watch them affectionately. So perhaps some good had come out of the past fraught few weeks after all.

She'd waited the rest of last weekend, hoping for a message of some kind from Chay, explaining his abrupt departure. But there'd been nothing. And the only contact this week had been through his PA.

'Adie—watch.' Smudge had spotted her. 'Bugsy can do a trick. He can roll over.'

Adrien hid a smile as the puppy lay on his back, waving his paws in the air. 'Wow,' she said, crouching down to tickle the velvety tummy with a gentle hand. 'He's a very intelligent dog.'

'He's got to have injections,' Smudge said. 'I can take him for walks. Will you come too, Adie?'

'Whenever I can,' Adrien told him, rising to her feet again.

'You live at the Grange now,' Smudge persisted.

'Why do you? I liked it when you lived in the cottage. When are you coming back? I miss you.' He put his arms round her and buried his face in her skirt.

Adrien touched his hair. 'I miss you, too. And I'll be coming back very soon.'

She heard a slight sound, and looked up. Chay was standing a few yards away, watching her, his expression cold and bleak. She said, aware that her pulses had begun to behave erratically, 'What are you doing here? You're a day early...'

'You weren't at the house,' he said. 'I came to make sure you hadn't run out on me.'

Adrien gently detached Smudge's clinging hands.

'You said I could continue with my business,' she reminded him. 'It won't manage itself.'

'I haven't forgotten. However, this weekend is important to me, and your primary role is as my hostess.'

'You've bought my services,' she said. 'And you won't be short-changed. I think you'll find everything in place.'

'I hope so.'

Oh, why are we sniping at each other? she asked herself in anguish. This isn't how I planned it at all. But then Chay's unexpected arrival had wrong footed her completely.