Special Treatment

Apart from being rather in awe of his professional reputation, Susannah had no strong feelings about Hazard Maine. She had run out of feelings of any kind. She simply felt she wanted to be left alone to pick up the pieces of her life. She knew that she was going to miss Richard. One or two of the staff had teased her about him, but no one who knew Richard could ever seriously imagine that his interest in her was anything other than professional.

Richard was very much in love with his wife. He had to be to give up a job he loved to take one in which he had very little interest but, as he had told Susannah, he felt he owed it to Caroline.

‘Newspaper men don’t make good husbands, she says, and she’s quite right. Now that the boys are growing up, they need me around. At the moment, I only really see them at weekends, and then not always as much as I should.’

Like her, Richard had been brought up with what was now considered an old-fashioned code of ethics. Susannah liked and admired him. She knew she was going to miss him, as a boss and as a mentor.

Neil and Mamie’s ‘new’ home was a seventeenth-century manor house, approached by a narrow curling drive that hid the stone façade with its mullioned windows from view right until the last moment.

Mamie, with typical American energy and enterprise, had had the inside almost completely gutted since moving in. Experienced and expensive designers had been brought in, and Susannah, who had rather liked the original shabby comfort of the place, was not particularly looking forward to seeing the changes they had wrought.

Several cars were already parked in front of the house, and she reversed her Fiesta into a small space left to one side of a large and very new-looking Jaguar saloon. She always parked next to new cars if she could. It meant the owners were likely to be that bit more careful about opening their doors on her paintwork, or so she always hoped.

The front door opened as she walked towards it and Mamie hurried out to embrace her. The soft tweed skirt, the pastel cashmere sweater, the pearls, all of them were perfectly co-ordinated, and so obviously chosen to fit in with their wearer’s background, that Susannah had to suppress a faint grin. Typical Mamie!

‘You’re too thin,’ she was told firmly. ‘And too pale. What have you been doing with yourself?’

‘Working,’ Susannah told her. ‘And, as for being too thin, I thought no woman could be that.’

‘There’s thin, and then there’s thin,’ Mamie pronounced darkly. ‘And you, my girl, are thin. It doesn’t suit you.’

‘Thanks, Mamie.’

Elegant eyebrows lifted towards the older woman’s beautifully styled silver-grey hair. ‘My goodness, you are prickly today.’ The smooth, unlined forehead creased slightly. ‘Susannah, is something wrong?’

Oh, heavens, this was the last thing she needed! Susannah bit down hard on her bottom lip. ‘No, I … You’re right. I think I must have been working too hard. If I apologise for feeling grouchy, will you show me round the house?’

She linked her arm through Mamie’s, deliberately forcing herself to withstand the older woman’s concerned inspection.

‘Apology accepted,’ Mamie said at last, patting her hand. ‘And don’t worry. I won’t indulge myself by taking you up on your self-sacrificing offer.’ She made a small moue. ‘I know that you preferred the house as it was before. You’re just like Neil. He thought we would move in and not touch a thing,’ she scoffed. ‘You English. How you hate change!’

They laughed together, harmony restored, and Susannah allowed herself to feel a small surge of relief. She had forgotten how sharp Mamie could be. She would have to be careful not to betray herself again. She knew that both Mamie and Neil were deeply fond of her. She had no wish to spoil their party by giving them cause for concern.

‘Have Paul and Simon arrived yet?’

‘Last night.’ Mamie rolled her eyes heavenwards. ‘Much as I love my grandchildren, I have to admit that en masse …’

‘What’s that, Ma? Not tired of us already?’

Paul was the image of Neil, his father, Susannah reflected, as the younger of the two boys enveloped her in a bear hug.

‘And how’s our little red-headed godsister? Good heavens, girl, what have you been doing to yourself? There’s nothing of you!’

‘That’s just what I’ve been telling her.’

‘Where are Sarah and the boys?’ Susannah asked, disentangling herself from Paul’s hug.

‘We’re all in the conservatory. Come on in. Ethel’s just made coffee.’

Ethel was the housekeeper who had been with Mamie and Neil for as long as Susannah had known them. At first, she had flatly refused to leave London, but somehow Mamie had persuaded her.

As they walked into the conservatory, Susannah could see out into the large rear garden, where a marquee had been erected. The whole area was a busy hive of activity, with caterers dashing to and fro, and florists still putting the final touches to their work.

Susannah already knew the two girls Simon and Paul had married, although two new babies had been added to the family since she had last seen them, and they had to be duly admired and cuddled before she could turn her attention to their grandfather.

Retirement suited Neil, she admitted, smiling at him. He was a gentler character than Mamie. Not perhaps as shrewd, but very astute in his own way.

Lunch was a relaxed affair, the conversation flowing freely. It had been almost twelve months since the whole family had last been together, and there was a good deal of gossip to catch up on. Susannah was quite content to sit on the sidelines, putting in the odd comment where appropriate.

‘And what about you, Susannah?’ Simon asked. ‘Still with the magazine?’

‘Yes … and still loving it.’

Was that a touch of defiance in her voice? Much as she liked both men, there was no getting away from the fact that Paul and Simon were rather old-fashioned when it came to women and careers. Both their wives seemed more than content with their family and home lives, but Sarah had been a consultant before marriage, and Emma a highly successful model.

Neither of them, it seemed, missed their busy careers. Was that what love did for you? Susannah wondered bleakly. Did it rob you of all ambition and drive? Had she felt like that about David? Would she have been content to change her whole life-style and to stay at home while he …

While he betrayed her as he had done his wife?

The unpalatable thought wouldn’t go away. This, she knew, was what lay at the root of her determination to break away from him—this fear, this lack of trust.

‘Hey, where have you gone?’

Teasingly, Simon tugged her hair, bringing her out of her thoughts and back into the conversation.

This was the closest thing she had ever known to real family life, and yet even here she remained on the fringe … outside the magic, charmed circle, in some way.

Gradually, the lunch party broke up. Mamie had to talk to the caterers, Neil had some phone calls to make. The children were getting fractious and were borne away by their respective mothers. Paul and Simon were deep in some private conversation. Susannah got up and started to collect the empty plates. She might as well see if she could give Ethel a hand in the kitchen.

Susannah was upstairs in her room, getting ready, when she heard the first of the guests arrive. Late in the afternoon she had gone for a walk, and had been away longer than she had planned. Walking eased her thoughts, it also brought back painful memories. Why was it possible to miss a man she knew she was better off without? She did miss David, even though she knew she had made the right decision.

Sighing faintly, she towelled the last of the moisture from her shower off her skin. Her hired dress was still in its box, and belatedly she remembered that she ought to have got it out and pressed it. She shrugged fatalistically. It was too late now and, besides, Mamie was the star of the evening. No one was likely to notice a few creases in her rather drab dress.

She opened the box, frowning slightly as she caught the shimmer of blue through the tissue paper. Blue … The dress she had chosen was grey, surely?

Uncertainly she lifted it out of the paper, her mouth falling open in shock. This wasn’t the dress she had hired! Dry-mouthed with shock, she stared at it. This was nothing like the dress she had hired. This … Never in a thousand lifetimes would she ever have chosen anything as exotic, as downright … provocative as this dress, with its tightly moulded bodice and its flaring thirties-style fishtail flouncing skirt.

The ruched bodice glittered and sparkled beneath her fingers. She couldn’t wear it! But she had no option. Already she was late.

Cursing beneath her breath, she looked at the underwear she had already laid out. There was no way she was going to be able to wear a bra underneath it.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled it on, not daring to look at her reflection for several seconds.

When she did, she was amazed by how red the intense blue made her hair appear, and how white her skin. Aunt Emily would most definitely not approve; the dress was everything she deplored. It wasn’t so much that it was actually vulgar—indeed, the neckline was relatively modest—but it was the way the ruched fabric hugged every line of her torso right down to her knees before flaring out in that provocative fishtail froth of net and silk.

She couldn’t wear it. She was just about to take it off when Mamie walked into her room.

The older woman looked elegant and soignée in a dress of soft coral silk. Her eyebrows lifted when she saw Susannah.

‘Oh my, that really is something!’

‘They gave me the wrong dress,’ Susannah told her weakly. ‘This is nothing like what I was intending to wear.’

To her shock, Mamie chuckled.

‘Oh, my dear, if you could just see your face! It suits you, you know. The whole effect is very … very challenging: provocative and yet coolly remote. It will drive the men wild.’

‘I don’t want to drive them wild,’ Susannah told her crossly. ‘Mamie, I can’t wear this …’

‘Unless you’ve brought something else with you, you’re going to have to,’ Mamie told her crisply, adding caustically, ‘Susannah, for heaven’s sake! You aren’t your Aunt Emily, you know. There is nothing wrong with the dress, and it suits you to perfection. You’re a woman, not a child; just for once in your life be one.’

She was gone before Susannah could retaliate. Was that how people saw her? she wondered miserably. Mamie had made her feel like some kind of freak, like … Oh, for goodness’ sake, what was she getting so worked up about? It was only a dress. What did it matter if it wasn’t the one she had chosen?

Her head lifted, her chin tilting proudly. So Mamie thought she didn’t know how to be a woman, did she?

Head held high, she made her way downstairs.

Neil and Mamie weren’t having a formal receiving line, so Susannah was free to mingle with the guests who had already arrived: old friends of Mamie and Neil’s from London in the main, people she already knew and felt quite at ease with.

It wasn’t until she saw Simon that she realised how dramatically different the dress made her look. His eyebrows lifted, his mouth pursed in a silent whistle.

‘Wow! What happened to you, Red?’ he demanded teasingly.

‘Nothing,’ she told him flatly, both irritated and at the same time faintly embarrassed by his openly male inspection of her. ‘And don’t look at me like that.’

‘No, don’t,’ agreed his wife, Emma, joining them and giving Susannah a friendly smile. ‘Love your outfit. Lucky you to be able to wear it.’ She grimaced ruefully and patted her hips. ‘I do envy you being so slim.’

‘Nonsense, woman, you’re perfect as you are,’ Simon told her firmly. ‘Are you sure you’re up to the consequences of wearing an outfit like that?’ he teased Susannah over his shoulder as he took his wife’s arm. ‘If not …’

‘Stop tormenting her, Simon,’ Emma commanded him, firmly leading him away.

But it was too late, the damage was done; Susannah immediately felt awkwardly conspicuous, her small stock of courage dwindling away. The best thing she could do would be to find herself a dark corner and to hide away in it until she could safely escape to her room. Aunt Emily had been right, she thought grimly, men did judge a woman on how she dressed. She had never really thought about it before, but now she could see what her aunt meant.

Normally, she didn’t waste much time or concern over her clothes; her life was far too busy for that. Comfortable, loose-fitting skirts or well worn jeans comprised her normal working wear. Busy reporters didn’t have time to worry about looking glamorous.

Glamorous? She made a face at herself in the rococo mirror hanging in the hall. What an out-of-date word! But then, she was out of date, in some respects, at least. She still felt bruised and sore from her last meeting with David. He had accused her then of leading him on, of being a ‘tease’, although his language had been stronger and very offensive. She had seen him in a new light then—not just as a weak man, but as an unkind one as well. She told herself that she had had a lucky escape, but that didn’t make the pain inside go away.

The interior designers had done their work well, she admitted as she slipped into Neil’s study in order to avoid the chattering group of people making their way down the hall.

When she had first seen the house, before Neil and Mamie had moved in, this room had been very neglected, the panelling on the walls in a very poor state of repair. Now it had been cleaned and treated, the stone fireplace restored and Neil’s antique partner’s desk installed, the designer touches showing only in the clever co-ordination of fabrics and ornaments. She rather liked the richness of the paisley fabric chosen for the curtains, she admitted. It went well with the heaviness of the dark red leather chesterfield. This would be a comfortable retreat for Neil, somewhere where he could come to read his papers and escape.

Behind her, the door opened and she stiffened, surprised out of her resentment at being discovered by the unexpectedness of Richard’s familiar voice. ‘My goodness, you do look …’

‘Don’t, please,’ Susannah begged, interrupting him. ‘I think I’ve already heard as much as I want to hear about my changed appearance from Simon.’

She knew she sounded far more irritated than the circumstances warranted, and it wasn’t Richard’s fault that the shop had got their orders muddled up. She bit her lip and apologised.

‘I’m sorry, Richard …’

‘Don’t be. And don’t apologise. Truthfully, my dear, you look lovely. It’s just that I’m more used to seeing you in rather more mundane outfits. I didn’t realise you knew the Sunderlands.’

‘Neil and Mamie are the closest thing I have to a family. Neil and my father were at school together. I must admit, though, that I didn’t realise you knew them.’

‘I don’t—not really. Caroline and Mamie have become great friends though, both of them being newcomers into the area, so to speak. I came in here to escape the hustle for a while. Parties aren’t really my cup of tea.’

But he would never deny Caroline the pleasure of attending them, Susannah thought enviously. He was too kind, too considerate to spoil his wife’s pleasure. If only David could have been more like Richard … She sighed faintly, and instantly Richard frowned in concern.

‘Is something wrong? I must admit I’ve been worrying about you lately. It isn’t this change of editor business that’s worrying you, is it? There’s no need, I promise you. I’ve given Hazard a glowing report on you, and one that you well deserve. He’s not an easy man to get along with, I admit, but he’s a very fair one.’

‘It … it isn’t work.’

She could have bitten her tongue out for letting the admission escape, and the instant she looked into Richard’s face, she guessed that he had already known.

‘Romance troubles, eh?’ he asked sympathetically. ‘Poor Susannah! Would it help to talk about things?’

Susannah shook her head, appalled by the sudden rush of weak tears flooding her eyes and clogging her throat. What on earth was the matter with her? Aunt Emily had brought her up to keep her emotions strictly under control, and here she was, behaving like … ‘Come on, now! It can’t be as bad as all that.’ The comforting arm Richard put round her shoulders was the last straw. To her utter chagrin, she found herself bursting into tears.

‘Come on, now. Whoever he is, he isn’t worth getting into this state over. There are always other fish in the sea, Susannah. Besides, you’ve got a good career ahead of you …’

As she listened to Richard’s soothing voice, she fought to get herself back under control. He was so kind, so gentle, and she felt the worst kind of fool for crying all over him like this.

‘Come on,’ he coaxed gruffly, ‘it will be all right. You’ll see.’

As she lifted her head from his shoulder, Susannah thought she saw someone walk past the open study door. Suddenly conscious of the fact that anyone could walk in and see them, she pulled away from him, mustering a weak smile.

‘I’m being a complete idiot, and you’re quite right. He isn’t worth crying over.’

‘That’s OK, what else are ex-bosses for?’

‘I’d better go upstairs and do something about my face.’

As she turned to leave him, Richard caught hold of her arm and said soberly, ‘It’s a very good face, you know, Susannah. Even more important, there’s a very good brain behind it. Whoever he is, he just isn’t worth what you’re putting yourself through.’

With another watery smile, she left him and hurried up to her room. Apart from a suspicious pinkness round her eyes, she didn’t look too bad, but, as she discovered when she attempted to reapply the small amount of make-up she normally used, it took rather more eye-shadow and mascara than usual to conceal the evidence of her tears. She wasn’t quite sure if she liked the very heavy-lashed effect produced by the extra mascara; it gave her an unfamiliar, almost sultry look.

Shrugging aside the thought, she hurried back downstairs. She was here as Neil and Mamie’s guest, and she mustn’t spoil their party by letting them worry about her.

As luck would have it, Mamie was walking across the hall just as Susannah went back downstairs. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked suspiciously.

‘Fine. I didn’t realise you knew Richard, my exboss …’

‘Richard? Oh yes, of course, Caroline’s husband. Heavens, what a coincidence! I really had no idea …’

Having successfully distracted her, Susannah made her escape, pleading thirst.

In point of fact, there was nothing she felt less like doing than drinking champagne and chatting with people who were, in the main, strangers. She wanted to go home and be alone to nurse her hurts, she acknowledged painfully. But what was the point? David wasn’t worth her tears, or her anguish. Savagely, she told herself over and over again, almost as though she was repeating a powerful spell, that she was better off without him, that it was David’s wife who was to be pitied. She had been lonely and David had seen that loneliness and played on it, gradually drawing her deeper and deeper into a relationship which he had known all along was wrong.

Once inside the marquee, she headed for a quiet corner, close to one of the ornate floral decorations. Here she could see without being seen, and with luck escape Mamie’s alert eyes.

If she admitted the truth, she was still suffering from the after-effects of that appalling interview with Louise, David’s wife. The extent to which the other woman had had to degrade herself hurt Susannah; ridiculously, she felt both shame and resentment for Louise on behalf of their shared sex. She didn’t love David any more; how could she? She had deluded herself as to his real personality; the man she had thought she loved had been an ideal, an adolescent’s dream. The reality was the reason for her anguish and shame, she acknowledged, raw with the newness of her emotions. Her hand shook a little, and in a fit of self-disgust she took a deep swallow of her champagne. It tasted tart and sour, like her whole life, she derided herself bitterly, impulsively tipping what was left in her glass into a convenient plant-pot.

It was only as she turned round that she realised that she had been observed. Not by anyone she knew. The man watching her with such compelling eyes was a complete stranger.

His evening clothes had quite obviously been tailored for him; they fitted far too well to have been bought off the peg.

At some time or another in his life he must have indulged in some sort of punishingly physical sport, she guessed, noting the width of his shoulders and the leanness of his torso. He was tanned, not a summer holiday tan, but the tan of someone who had spent long, long hours in the sun. His hair was black and very thick. It was also a shade too long, she noted disapprovingly, its length rather at odds with the sophisticated elegance of his evening-dress clothes. Surely a man whose clothes fitted as well as this one’s did could afford to have a decent hair-cut? Her forehead creased in a slight frown, her reporter’s mind, trained to notice even the smallest anomalies, registered the oddly discordant note of the length of that thick dark hair and queried it. Was it simply that he preferred it that length and didn’t give a damn about what the rest of the world thought? Was it …

Abruptly, she realised that she was staring at him, and that, worse, he was regarding her with a look of insolent knowingness that made her blood burn in a dark red tide of betrayal over her body.

As clearly as though he had spoken the words across the space that divided them, she sensed his sexual appraisal. It was the dress, of course, she realised bitterly. That was why he was looking at her as though she were some sort of commodity for sale. And yet, behind the arrogant contempt, she had glimpsed, if only for a second, something more dangerous: something male and predatory that made her skin tingle and her body quiver. Sexual chemistry at its most potent. And, ridiculously, she had had the distinct impression that he had been as startled by it as she had herself in those few seconds of mental awareness they had exchanged before he had recovered himself and guarded his expression from her.

It was the dress. It had to be the dress. She just did not have that sort of effect on men, especially not on men as blatantly masculine as that one. Everything about him had shrieked that he was a man used to having his own way. It had all been there, in the narrowed, assessing scrutiny of his eyes, and that hard, chiselled outline of his profile. He was about Simon’s age, early thirties or thereabouts, and he looked as though he had lived every one of those years to the full.

He was no David, she thought ironically.

Annoyed with herself, she clenched her hands. It didn’t matter who he was, she wasn’t interested. The last thing she wanted was to get herself involved with another man, especially one who thought she was the sort of woman portrayed by the dress she was wearing.

‘What’s the matter? Wasn’t the champagne an acceptable vintage?’

The derisory sting of his voice shocked her into a frozen pose of surprise. Where had he come from? He must have moved so quickly and quietly. Instinctively, she looked across the room to where he had been and heard him give a soft, satisfied laugh.

‘Quite acceptable, thank you,’ she told him dismissively, hiding her shock.

Close to, Susannah realised she had been right about that sun. It had burned tiny lines either side of his eyes. Pale grey eyes, she noticed, rimmed by a much darker edge. It took a tremendous effort of will-power to drag her own gaze away from them.

Her whole body suddenly felt weak and vulnerable. She started to move away, her voice cool and dismissive. She wasn’t some cheap pick-up, whatever conclusions he had drawn about her from her outfit, and if he didn’t take her hint and take himself off right away he would soon discover his mistake.