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His lips thinned a little. ‘Rather a new departure for you, isn’t it? Did the waiter talk you into it?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘But don’t worry. One is more than enough.’ She was ashamed to hear how acerbic she sounded, and it was all the fault of that—that creature across the room. But she was sharing precious time with the man she loved, and she wouldn’t allow it to be spoiled by anyone or anything.
She made herself smile at Nigel, and put her hand on his. ‘It’s so great to see you,’ she said gently. ‘Do you realise how long it’s been?’
He sighed. ‘I know, but life at work is so hectic just now I hardly have any time to spare.’
‘Your parents must miss you too.’
He shrugged. ‘They’re far too busy planning Dad’s retirement and giving the house a pre-sale facelift to worry about me.’ He shot her a swift glance. ‘You did know they’re moving to Portugal in the near future?’
‘Selling Oaktree House?’ Helen said slowly. ‘I had no idea.’ She gave him a blank look. ‘But how will you manage? It’s your home.’
‘Off and on for the past ten years, yes,’ Nigel said with a touch of impatience. ‘But my life’s in London now. I’m going to stop renting and look for somewhere to buy. Ah, my drink at last. My God, I could do with it. I’ve had a hell of a morning.’ And he launched himself into a description of its vicissitudes which was still going strong when their food arrived.
Not that Helen was particularly hungry. Her appetite, such as it was, seemed to have suddenly dissipated. Nor was she giving her full attention to the vagaries of the financial markets and the irresponsible attitude of certain nameless clients, as outlined by Nigel. Her mind was on another track altogether.
Something had happened, she thought numbly. Some fundamental shift had taken place and she hadn’t noticed.
Well, she was totally focussed now, because this involved her life too. She’d assumed that Nigel would live with her at Monteagle once they were married, and commute to London. After all, she couldn’t move away, use Monteagle as a weekend home. Surely he realised that.
But there was no way they could talk about it now. Not with Nigel glancing at his watch every couple of minutes as he rapidly forked up his steak.
Eventually she broke into his monologue. ‘Nigel—this weekend, we have to talk. Can you come over—spend the day with me on Sunday?’
‘Not this weekend, I’m afraid. It’s the chairman’s birthday, and he’s celebrating with a weekend party at his place in Sussex, so duty calls.’ His smile was swift and light. ‘And now I have to dash. I have a two-thirty meeting. The bill goes straight to my office, so order yourself a pudding if you want, darling, and coffee. See you later.’ He blew her a kiss, and was gone.
Once again she was sitting alone, she thought as she pushed her plate away. A fact that would doubtless not be lost on her adversary across the room. She risked a lightning glance from under her lashes, and realised with a surge of relief that his table was empty and being cleared. At least he hadn’t witnessed her cavalier treatment at Nigel’s hands. Nor would she have to grit her teeth and thank him for that bloody drink. With luck, she would never have to set eyes on him again. End of story.
She’d wanted this to be a great day in her life, she thought with a silent sigh, but since she’d first set eyes on Marc Delaroche it seemed to have been downhill all the way.
And now she had better go and catch her train. She was just reaching for her bag when Gaspard arrived, bearing a tray which he placed in front of her with a flourish.
‘There must be some mistake,’ Helen protested, watching him unload a cafetière, cups, saucers, two glasses and a bottle of armagnac. ‘I didn’t order any of this.’
‘But I did,’ Marc Delaroche said softly. ‘Because you look as if you need it. So do not refuse me, ma belle, je vous en prie.’
And before she could utter any kind of protest, he took the seat opposite her, so recently vacated by Nigel, and smiled into her startled eyes.
CHAPTER TWO
‘I THOUGHT you’d gone.’ The words were out before she could stop herself, implying that she took even a remote interest in his actions.
‘I was merely bidding au revoir to my friends.’ He filled her cup from the cafetière. ‘Before returning to offer you a digestif.’ He poured a judicious amount of armagnac into each crystal bowl, and pushed one towards her. ‘Something your companion should consider, perhaps,’ he added meditatively. ‘If he continues to rush through his meals at such a rate he will have an ulcer before he is forty.’
‘Thank you.’ Helen lifted her chin. ‘I’ll be sure to pass your warning on to him.’
‘I intended it for you,’ he said. ‘I presume he is the man you plan to marry at Monteagle with such panache?’ He slanted a smile at her. ‘After all, it is a wife’s duty to look after the physical well-being of her husband—in every way. Don’t you think so?’
‘You don’t want to know what I think.’ Helen bit her lip. ‘You really are some kind of dinosaur.’
His smile widened. ‘And a man with a ruined digestion is an even more savage beast, believe me,’ he told her softly. ‘Just as a beautiful girl left alone in a restaurant is an offence against nature.’ He raised his glass. Salut.’
‘Oh, spare me.’ Helen gritted her teeth. ‘I don’t need your compliments—or your company.’
‘Perhaps not,’ he said. ‘But you require my vote on the committee, so maybe you should force yourself to be civil for this short time, and drink with me.’
Smouldering, Helen drank some of her coffee. ‘What made you choose this restaurant particularly?’ she asked, after a loaded pause.
His brows lifted mockingly. ‘You suspect some sinister motive? That I am following you, perhaps?’ He shook his head. ‘You are wrong. I was invited here by my companions—who have a financial interest in the place and wished my opinion. Also I arrived first, remember, so I could accuse you of stalking me.’
Helen stiffened. ‘That, of course, is just so likely.’ Her tone bit.
‘No,’ he returned coolly. ‘To my infinite regret, it is not likely at all.’
Helen felt her throat muscles tighten warily. ‘Why are you doing this? Buying me drinks—forcing your company on me?’
He shrugged. ‘Because I wished to encounter you when you were more relaxed. When you had—let your hair down, as they say.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘It looks much better loose, so why scrape it back in that unbecoming way?’
‘I wanted to look businesslike for the interview,’ she returned coldly. ‘Not as if I was trading on my gender.’
‘Put like that,’ he said, ‘I find it unappealing too.’
‘So why are you ignoring my obvious wish to keep my distance?’
He lifted his glass, studying the colour of the armagnac. He said, ‘Your fiancé arrived late and left early. Perhaps I am merely trying to compensate for his lack of attention.’
She bit her lip. ‘How dare you criticise him? You know nothing at all about him. He happens to be working very hard for our future together—and I don’t feel neglected in any way,’ she added defiantly.
‘I am relieved to hear it, ma mie,’ he drawled. ‘I feared for your sake that his performance in bed might be conducted at the same speed as your lunch dates.’
She stared at him, shocked into a sudden blush that reached the roots of her hair.
Her voice shook. ‘You have no right to talk to me like that—to speculate about my private relationships in that—disgusting way. You should be ashamed of yourself.’
He looked back at her without a glimmer of repentance. ‘It was prompted solely by my concern for your happiness, I assure you.’
She pushed back her chair and got to her feet, fumbling for her jacket. She said jerkily, ‘When I get the money to restore Monteagle I shall fill the world with my joy, monsieur. And that is the only affair of mine in which you have the right to probe. Goodbye.’
She walked past him and out of the restaurant, her face still burning but her head held proudly.
It was only when she was outside, heading for the tube station, that she realised just how afraid she’d been that he would follow her—stop her from leaving in some unspecified way.
But of course he had not done so.
He’s just a predator, she thought, looking for potential prey and testing their weaknesses. He saw I was alone, and possibly vulnerable, so he moved in. That’s all that happened.
Or was it?
If only I hadn’t blushed, she castigated herself. I just hope he interprets it as anger, not embarrassment.
Because she couldn’t bear him to know that she didn’t have a clue what Nigel or any other man was like in bed. And she’d certainly never been openly challenged on the subject before—especially by a man who was also a complete stranger.
She knew what happened physically, of course. She wasn’t that much of a fool or an innocent. But she didn’t know what to expect emotionally.
She hoped that loving Nigel would be enough, and that he would teach her the rest. It was quite some time since he’d made a serious attempt to get her into bed, she thought remorsefully. But she couldn’t and wouldn’t delay the moment any longer. It was long overdue.
Perhaps it was the fear of rejection which had kept him away so often lately. She’d been so wrapped up in her own life and its worries that she hadn’t truly considered his feelings.
I’ve just been totally insensitive, she thought wearily. And the tragedy is that it took someone like Marc Delaroche to make me see it.
But from now on everything’s going to be different, she promised herself firmly.
* * *
I still can’t believe you’re back already,’ Lottie said, as she put a shepherd’s pie in the oven. ‘Your phone call gave me a real jolt. I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow at the earliest.’ She threw Helen a searching glance over her shoulder. ‘Didn’t you meet up with Nigel?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Helen said brightly. ‘We had an amazing lunch in one of the newest restaurants.’
‘Lunch, eh?’ Lottie pursed her lips. ‘Now, I had you down for a romantic dinner à deux, then back to his place for a night of seething passion. Supper with me is a pretty dull alternative.’
Helen smiled at her. ‘Honey, nothing involving you is ever dull. And, to be honest, I couldn’t wait to get out of London.’
Lottie gave her a careful look as she sat down at the kitchen table and began to string beans. ‘Your interview with the committee didn’t go so well?’
Helen sighed. ‘I honestly don’t know. Most of them seemed pleasant and interested, but perhaps they were humouring me.’
‘And is this Marc Delaroche guy that you phoned me about included in the ‘pleasant and interested’ category?’ Lottie enquired.
‘No,’ Helen returned, teeth gritted. ‘He is not.’
‘How did I guess?’ Lottie said wryly. ‘Anyway, following your somewhat emotional request from the station, I looked him up on the net.’
‘And he was there?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Lottie nodded. ‘And he’s into buildings.’
‘An architect?’ Helen asked, surprised.
‘Not exactly. He’s the chairman of Fabrication Roche, a company that makes industrial buildings—instant factories from kits, cheap and ultra-efficient, especially in developing countries. The company’s won awards for the designs, and they’ve made him a multimillionaire.’
‘Then what the hell is someone from that kind of background doing on a committee that deals with heritage projects?’ Helen shook her head. ‘It makes no sense.’
‘Except he must know about costing,’ Lottie pointed out practically. ‘And applying modern technology to restoration work. The others deal with aesthetics. He looks at the bottom line.’
Helen’s lips tightened. ‘Well, I hope the ghastly modern eyesore we met in today wasn’t a sample of his handiwork.’
‘I wouldn’t know about that.’ Lottie grinned at her. ‘But I’ve printed everything off for you to read at your leisure.’ She paused. ‘No photograph of him, I’m afraid.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Helen said quietly. ‘I already know what he looks like.’
And I know the way he looked at me, she thought, remembering her sense of helpless outrage as his gaze had moved over her body. And that glinting smile in his eyes…
She swallowed, clearing the image determinedly from her mind. ‘But thanks for doing that, Lottie. It’s always best to—know your enemy.’
‘Even better not to have an enemy in the first place,’ Lottie retorted, rinsing the beans in a colander. ‘Especially one with his kind of money.’ She went to the dresser to fetch a bottle of red wine and a corkscrew. ‘Did you tell Nigel how your interview went?’
Helen hesitated. ‘Some of it. He was really pushed for time, so I couldn’t go into details.’
‘And you’ll be seeing him this weekend, no doubt?’
‘Actually, no.’ Helen made her voice sound casual. ‘He’s got a party to go to. A duty thing for his chairman’s birthday.’
Lottie stared at her. ‘And he hasn’t asked you to go with him?’ She sounded incredulous.
‘Well, no,’ Helen admitted awkwardly. ‘But it’s no big deal. It will be a black tie affair, and Nigel knows quite well I haven’t anything to wear to something like that.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘He probably wanted to save me embarrassment.’
‘For the same reason he might have considered buying you an evening dress,’ Lottie said with a touch of curtness. ‘He can certainly afford it.’
Helen shrugged. ‘But he didn’t,’ she said. ‘And it really doesn’t matter.’ She paused. ‘Of course it will be different when we’re officially engaged.’
‘I hope so,’ Lottie agreed drily, filling their glasses.
‘And what about you?’ Helen was suddenly eager to change the subject. ‘Have you heard from Simon?’
Her friend’s face lit up, her blue eyes sparkling. ‘The dam’s nearly finished, and he’s coming home on leave next month. Only two weeks, but that’s better than nothing, and we’re going to talk serious wedding plans. He says from now on he’s only accepting contracts which allow accompanying wives, so I think he’s missing me.’
Helen smiled at her teasingly. ‘You can’t leave,’ she protested. ‘How are the locals to give dinner parties without you to cook for them?’
‘I promise I won’t go before I cater for your wedding reception,’ Lottie promised solemnly. ‘So can you please fix a date?’
‘I’ll make it a priority,’ Helen returned.
She was in a thoughtful mood when she walked home that night. There’d been a shower of rain about an hour before, and the air was heady with the scent of damp earth and sweet grass.
She was delighted at Lottie’s obvious happiness, but at the same time unable to subdue a small pang of envy.
She wished her own life was falling so splendidly and lovingly into place.
Yet Nigel seems to be managing perfectly well without me, she thought sadly. If only we could have talked today—really talked—then maybe we’d have had Lottie’s romantic kind of evening—and night—after all. And he’d have bought me a ring, and a dress, and taken me to Sussex. And he’d have told everyone, ‘This is my brand-new fiancée. I simply couldn’t bear to leave her behind.’
She’d started the day with such optimism and determination, yet now she felt uneasy and almost frightened. Nothing had gone according to plan. And miles away, in a glass and concrete box, her fate had probably already been decided.
I need Nigel, she thought. I need him to hold me and tell me everything will be all right, and that Monteagle is safe.
She walked under the arched gateway and stood in the courtyard, looking at the bulk of the house in the starlight. Half-seen, like this, it seemed massive—impregnable—but she knew how deceptive it was.
And it wasn’t just her own future under threat. There were the Marlands, George and Daisy, who’d come to work for her grandfather when they were a young married couple, as gardener and cook respectively. As the other staff had left George had learned to turn his hand to more and more things about the estate, and his wife, small, cheerful and bustling, had become the housekeeper. Helen, working alongside them, depended on them totally, but knew unhappily that she could not guarantee their future—specially from Trevor Newson.
