A Reluctant Wife

When, the following day, she looked up at a little before twelve and saw him approaching her at the counter in the library she wasn’t sure if she was surprised or taken aback. Or both. She just knew that her stomach began to do weird somersaults and the counter, behind which she had been snugly cocooned, now felt like a cage from which rapid escape would be a problem.

In the cold light of day he was even more alarming than he had appeared the evening before. She could now see his face clearly—the harshly chiselled features, the intense darkness of his eyes, the aggressive line of his jaw. He walked with the confidence of a jungle animal, prowling its patch, and stopped on the way to her desk to say something to one of the people in the library.

For someone who had only just arrived on the scene he certainly had established himself, Sophie thought cynically. She assumed it was all that charm and good looks. Alan had had a similar effect on people. He had lived his life creating an outward impression, delighting in the adulation of people who only saw the smooth, easy charm and were ignorant of what lay beneath it.

She looked at him critically as he neared the desk, and remained silent as he finally arrived and stood on the opposite side of the counter.

‘I’m back,’ he said, as though she couldn’t see that for herself.

‘So I see.’

‘And has this bright, freezing day improved your temper?’ He looked at her, and even though he was only looking at her face Sophie had the unnerving impression that he was also taking in everything else about her—her body, her clothes, the way she was standing.

He couldn’t fail to be disappointed if what he’d had in mind had been a bemused country bumpkin eligible for chatting up. Her skirt was long, almost down to her ankles, in sobering black and grey, her tights were thick and her jumper revealed absolutely nothing of what lay underneath it. She had tied her hair back into a long, French plait and was wearing so little make-up that she might well have not bothered.

‘I take it that you’ve returned for your book on the wildly exciting history of Ashdown?’ She pointed to a section of the library just behind her and to the left. ‘You might find something there.’

‘Care to show me?’ He wasn’t smiling but she got the feeling that somewhere inside he was. Cool, urbane, amused by someone, she supposed, whom he considered quaintly lacking in social graces.

‘I’m afraid I can’t leave my post. I can get Claire to show you.’

‘You’re right. You can hardly wriggle out of your box for five minutes just in case there’s a stampede of people, wanting to take books out.’

‘That’s right,’ Sophie said coolly, not bothering to rise to the bait. She knew that she was being ungracious but she had unpleasant memories of men of his ilk, and if he didn’t care for her attitude then that was tough.

‘Why don’t we get Claire to man your post? Where is she?’

‘Oh, all right,’ Sophie told him. She lifted the flap of the counter and slipped out. ‘If you’d care to follow me?’ she said, glancing at him over her shoulder. Before he could reply she headed towards the local section of the library, stopping in front of the one shelf, which she pointed out to him.

‘I’m afraid that’s it,’ she said. ‘Your best bet is…this one.’ She flicked out a wafer-thin book, which she handed to him, and he obediently looked at it, turning it over in his hands.

‘Fine.’ He smiled at her and she grimaced politely in return.

‘Like I told you yesterday, Mr Wallace, if you want any detailed information it’s probably a good idea to chat to a few of the local residents.’ Not, she thought, that you probably haven’t already. Judging from what she had heard thus far, he was well on his way to having a bigger social life than she had, and she had been born and bred in Ashdown.

‘What about you?’ he asked, when she was safely back behind the counter and dealing with his membership of the library.

‘What about me?’ Sophie asked, looking up vaguely at him.

‘Why,’ he continued patiently, ‘don’t you have lunch with me now and you can tell me all about your charming little village?’

‘Sorry,’ Sophie said immediately, ‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I work through lunch.’

He looked around him, as though mystified by that statement. ‘Why?’

‘Because…because…’ She sighed heavily and folded her arms. The library was hardly the centre of a buzzing metropolis. Right now there were five people there, if you discounted a handful of pre-school children who were regulars at the library and were generally accompanied by their harassed mothers.

Usually Sophie took over when they came, reading books to the kids and teaching them the rudiments of the alphabet. She enjoyed it and it left their mums time to choose books without the stress of their children in their wake. But none of this necessitated working through lunch, she thought, following his train of thought.

‘Because,’ she said, ‘I just do.’ When he continued to look at her without comment she said irritably, ‘Well, all right. I don’t work through lunch, but I stay here and eat my sandwich and read.’ She threw him a challenging look, which appeared not to rattle him in the slightest.

‘Anyway,’ she carried on, ‘I’m surprised that you have time to have lunch here. Shouldn’t you be at your office in London? Working all the hours under the sun? Building your empires?’

‘Everyone needs a break from empire-building,’ he said, and the corners of his mouth twitched as though he was holding back a hearty laugh.

‘I didn’t think I’d said anything funny, Mr Wallace.’

‘Please stop calling me Mr Wallace. Not even my bank manager calls me that.’

Probably, she thought, because he wants to bend over backwards to be chummy just in case you decide to take your valuable business elsewhere. Alan had had a similar effect on people. They had always pandered to his need to be admired. Instinctively she scowled, remembering her naïveté at the beginning of their relationship when her head had been somewhere in the clouds and she had thought that her personality had drawn him to her.

Before she’d realised that all he’d wanted had been something strikingly ornamental to have draped on his arm. It made her hair curl now to think of how she had been so malleable. She had allowed him to dress her precisely as he had wanted—in dresses that she had found too revealing and shoes which had made her feel like a giant next to most of the other women with whom she had come into contact.

‘I’ve lost you,’ Gregory said, leaning against the counter with one hand tucked into his trouser pocket.

‘What?’ Sophie returned from her pilgrimage into the past and refocused on the man standing in front of her. She wished obscurely that she had never come into contact with him, then she reminded herself that she was being foolish because she hardly knew him and it was impossible for a complete stranger to have any sort of impact on her carefully regulated life. Still, it would help if he didn’t exude quite such powerful charisma.

‘You were a million miles away just then.’

‘Here you are.’ She ignored his remark and handed him his membership card, which he took and tucked away in his wallet.

‘So, now we’ve established that you needn’t stay here for lunch, will you accept my invitation?’

She heard the magnetic, charming persuasiveness in his voice with a vague sensation of terror.

‘No.’

He shook his head and gave her an impatient, perplexed look.

‘When do I need to get this book back to you?’ he asked, straightening and standing back from the counter.

‘Within two weeks or else I’m afraid I’ll have to apply a fine.’

‘Which is?’

‘I can’t remember. Everyone returns their books long before they become overdue.’

‘How virtuous of them.’

‘It’s a virtuous community,’ Sophie said politely, and he raised his eyebrows expressively.

‘Really…’ he said softly. ‘Yourself included?’

She could feel the colour rush into her face and she fought back an instinctive urge to slap his face. He hadn’t said anything rude or insulting, but the mere fact that he had made her blush with embarrassment, which was something she hadn’t done for longer than she cared to remember, made her hackles rise.

‘Especially myself,’ she said, meeting his gaze without blinking. ‘You might want to remember that.’ After a few seconds of silence she turned away and began to return books to their respective shelves.

CHAPTER TWO

FOUR days later Sophie decided to see for herself what was happening at Ashdown House.

She told herself that his was because she seemed to hear nothing but second-hand reports of massive reconstruction, and curiosity had finally got the better of her. Besides, she reasoned, she had a free day, with Jade at school and no work at the library. Despite the fact that it was bitterly cold, it was also temptingly sunny—too sunny to stay indoors, doing housework.

More to the point, Gregory Wallace was safely ensconced in London, according to Kat who seemed to know details of the man’s movements with remarkable intimacy. That was nothing unusual in Ashdown. There was no such thing as a secret life in the village. The smallness of the place made any such thing a complete impossibility.

As soon as she had returned to her cottage, having dropped Jade off at school, she hopped onto her bicycle. She’d made sure that she was securely wrapped up in as many layers of clothing as was humanly possible, without restricting movement, and headed off in the direction of the house.

The place wasn’t far from the village, but set right back from the road and picturesquely positioned on the sloping crest of a hill so that it commanded views in all directions.

In its heyday, before Sophie’s time, it had been the focal point of the village. Angela Frank had lived there with her son and her husband, and had entertained in grand style. Beautiful young things had gathered on the rolling lawns in summer, lazily sipping champagne and dressed to the nines. There had been croquet parties, which had started at lunchtime and supposedly meandered with ever more raucousness well into the late hours of the night. They were all second-hand and third-hand stories, which Sophie swallowed with a hefty pinch of salt since memories were usually unreliable when it came to accuracy.

All she knew for certain was that on the day Angela Frank’s husband and son were killed in a car crash the glamorous life at Ashdown House had come to a grinding halt. That had been over three decades ago, and until the place had been sold old Mrs Franks had lived there, surrounded by memories, with the house pitifully neglected and falling into a gradual state of disrepair.

Until now, Sophie thought as she cycled towards the house. The breeze whipped her hair around her face and promised at least two hours of hard labour to get the tangles out, and her hands, in their black fingerless gloves, gripped the handlebars of the bike. Until Gregory Wallace, that knight in shining armour, had descended on their village, kick-started it into a hum of activity and now, presumably, saw himself poised to become the lord of the manor.

At that thought she instinctively gave a little frown of distaste, and was still frowning when she finally arrived at the house, cutting through the back way so that she emerged facing the rear of the house, with a forested patch behind her and the fields stretching down towards the road.

She could hear the sounds of work in progress, drifting on the air towards her from the front of the house, but rather than head in that direction she climbed off her bike and left it lying on the grass. She began to stroll along the rear façade, peering into windows. Things were definitely happening inside. The carpets had all been ripped up and through some of the open doors she could see more signs of things happening.

As they would be, she thought to herself, when the man in question was rich, powerful and involved in the construction business. He probably, she thought as she peered into a room but found it difficult to make out anything because timber boards were leaning against the windows, just had to snap his fingers and an entire design team would appear in front of him. Willing, able and, of course, committed to putting his little pet project ahead of whatever else they had on their calendar. Because, frankly, he owned them.

He might come across as Mr Charm personified, but she knew enough about his type to know that any such charm was just a façade for the single-minded ruthlessness of the born opportunist. He would laugh and be warmly humorous to the outside world, but when he closed his doors and the mask slipped he would simply be another man whose only goal in life was to trample over those closest to him in order to remain at the top of his personal pecking order.

She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the breeze cut through her clothes to settle its teeth on her flesh, and peered into another room, where three men were working with impressive efficiency. Walls were being plastered and there were rolls of wallpaper in one corner of the room. She squinted and tried to decipher the pattern, but failed.

Katherine had not been lying when she’d said that the place was undergoing a major overhaul.

She stretched forward, avoiding the shrubbery underneath the window, and was leaning against the windowsill, with her body supported by her hands, when a voice said from behind her, ‘Enjoying yourself?’

The shock of being addressed when she’d believed herself to be unobserved almost made her fall forward into the shrubbery. Instead, she propelled herself backwards and spun around to be confronted by Gregory who was standing, looking at her, with his arms folded and an aggravating look of amusement on his face.

‘What are you doing here?’ Sophie said, highly flustered at being caught red-handed doing something she would not have dreamt of doing under normal circumstances. Namely, snooping.

‘What am I doing here?’ He appeared to give the question a great deal of thought, then his brow cleared and he said, as though bowled over by a sudden revelation. ‘Oh, yes, I remember. I live here!’

A sudden gust of wind blew Sophie’s hair across her face, and she pushed it aside, tucking it irritatedly behind her ear. ‘I was told that you were going to be in London.’

‘Aren’t gossips unreliable?’ He stared at her as her face became redder, then rescued her from complete humiliation by saying lazily, ‘Actually, I was supposed to be in London until tomorrow, but I rescheduled my meeting so that I could come up here and see what was happening to the work on the house.’ He was, she saw, still dressed in a suit of charcoal grey, visible beneath his coat, which seemed to add height and width to him so that he appeared even more daunting than she remembered.

‘I apologise if I was trespassing on your land,’ Sophie said stiffly, glancing around and making sure that her bike was where she had left it.

‘But you happened to be in the general vicinity…?’

‘No.’

‘Ah, in that case, you must mean that you made a special trip out here just to see what was going on.’

‘That’s right.’ Now that she wasn’t moving it was much colder than she had thought. Bitterly cold, in fact.

‘I didn’t see a car out front.’

‘I came on my bike.’ She nodded briefly in the direction of the abandoned bicycle and fought down the urge to sprint over to it, jump on and cycle away from the house as fast as she could pedal.

‘Cold out here.’ He looked around him, enjoying, she thought sourly, every moment of her discomfort. The breeze obligingly picked up, gusting through the empty branches of the trees and making the shrubbery rattle against the side of the house. ‘Why don’t you come inside? Then you can see exactly what I’m doing to the place and you can put your curiosity to rest.’

‘I’m not that curious, thank you.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake. What is your problem?’

‘I don’t have a problem, and it’s too cold to stand around here, arguing the point. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just hop on—’

‘Don’t be so bloody ridiculous,’ he cut in impatiently. ‘Everyone’s curious about what I’m doing to the place. It’s only natural, and if you can’t admit that you are as well then you’re a damned hypocrite.’

Sophie’s mouth fell open. ‘Just who do you think you are?’ she finally demanded, in a high voice.

‘The owner of this property and someone who is fairly intolerant of stupidly stubborn women who are afraid of saying what they’re thinking.’

Sophie looked at him, speechless. ‘You may see fit, Mr Wallace, to address the women in your life like that, but let me tell you—’

‘Oh, for God’s sake. This is the second time I’ve ever met you and I’m fast beginning to think that you are the most infuriating woman on the face of the earth. Now why don’t you just climb down off your high horse, escape the wind out here for a minute and come inside. You’re quite safe with me. There are dozens of workmen in the house.’ He glanced at her and his look was enough to tell her that even if his house had been completely empty of all signs of life she would still have been eminently safe with him.

She had no reason to even remotely doubt his word. She knew what she looked like. More than that, she revelled in what she looked like. Her face was bare of all make-up, her hair a mass of curls and knots, her curves well shielded in a long skirt, woollen tights, ankle-length, lace-up boots and two baggy jumpers under which nestled, even less erotically, a thermal vest and a T-shirt. The fingerless gloves were the final touch.

‘If it’s not too much trouble,’ Sophie said, because refusing now seemed childish.

‘If it was too much trouble,’ he said, leaning slightly towards her, ‘I wouldn’t have asked, would I?’

Sophie shrugged and looked away towards the gardens, wondering whether he had any plans for those as well. Perhaps a few fountains here and there, the odd statue sticking out from behind some plants. Who knew what the man’s tastes were?

She would be interested in seeing what he was doing to the house, though. She had been inside several times and had always been vaguely depressed at the gradual decline.

Wouldn’t Kat give her eye teeth for this? she thought with a sudden smile. Personal escort by the Big Man himself.

‘You’re smiling,’ Gregory said from next to her, and she suddenly realised that he had been observing her, which made her feel like a bug under a microscope. ‘I wondered whether you could.’

‘What exactly is that supposed to mean, Mr Wallace?’

‘Do you think we might dispense with the formalities?’ They began to walk around the side of the house, where builders were working in a manner never before seen by Sophie. Quite a few were local men, and she recognised them and nodded. One she stopped and spoke to.

‘James, can I ask how come you never seemed to work this hard for me when you were doing my kitchen?’ She smiled broadly and secured her hair with her hand. He was her age, married with four children and had gone to school with her a lifetime ago.

‘You would keep offering me cups of tea. Earl Grey is a killer on my concentration.’ They laughed.

‘How’s Claire and the children?’

‘Have four kids and you won’t need to ask that question.’ That made them laugh again.

‘You were lying about that gene pool,’ Gregory said, as they moved into the house.

‘What are you talking about now?’

‘You can relax. Which means it must just be me.’ He stood in the doorway and looked around him, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

Sophie ignored his remark. Ignored him, in fact, and began to walk around the hall, amazed at how much had been accomplished in a short space of time. The dingy carpets had all been ripped up, and black and white tiles had been laid, which opened up the hall. A new banister of oak was in the process of being constructed, and the walls were being primed for wallpaper.

‘I’ll show you around,’ he said, taking her by her elbow. She politely but pointedly removed his hand.

‘I’m not going to molest you,’ he grated, with an ill-humoured frown.

‘I never implied that you were,’ Sophie said coolly, looking at him and not blinking, ‘but I would still rather that you kept your hands to your sides.’

He muttered something under his breath, which she pretended not to hear, and began to show her around the bits of the house which had already been done.

It was a sprawling Victorian mansion. Her own cottage could have fitted several times into the downstairs alone. Everything was tasteful and immaculately done. Three of the rooms were already complete and the rest were fast on their way to getting there.

‘It’s rather a large house for one person, wouldn’t you say?’ she asked, as they strolled into the sitting room, which was now virtually unrecognisable from the fairly dilapidated affair it had been previously. She recognised several pieces of furniture, which he had clearly bought from Mrs Franks because, doubtless, they would have been too cumbersome to find a home for in her new premises.

‘Unless,’ she continued, walking around the room and reluctantly liking what she saw, ‘you’re very ambitious about having hordes of children.’

‘Oh, I think a dozen or so should do the trick.’ He looked at her, his eyebrows raised. ‘Does that come under the category of being ambitious about having children?’

‘No, it comes under the category of outright lie.’

He laughed and continued to watch her, which didn’t disturb her in the slightest. Let him watch as much as he liked, just as long as he didn’t touch. She didn’t feel threatened anyway because she knew that he was watching her with frank curiosity, and she suspected that that was because she so snugly fitted his idea of what a country girl would look like. He probably thought that things like make-up and fashionable clothes were difficult to get hold of so far out of London. No doubt he would change his mind when he met Ashdown’s semi-resident in-crowd. Much more his cup of tea.

‘Well,’ she said, when they were back in the tiled hall, ‘thank you very much for the tour of your house. It’s very nicely done.’

‘Why don’t you have a cup of tea before you leave?’ he said by way of an answer. ‘The kitchen is fully operational, as you’d expect with builders in the house.’

‘They do generally like their cups of tea, don’t they?’ Sophie said politely. She looked at her watch, shook her head and said that she had to go.

‘Where?’

‘What do you mean—where?’ The nerve of the man was beyond compare, she thought. Was it any of his business where she was going?’

‘To the library?’

‘No, as a matter of fact.’ Not that it’s any of your concern, her voice implied. When he remained, with his head slightly cocked, as though awaiting more on the subject, she said, clicking her tongue, ‘I have a lot of housework to do.’

‘Housework that can’t wait for half an hour?’ He began to stroll in the direction of the kitchen and, much to her annoyance, she found herself following. By the time she got there it seemed pointless to spend ten minutes pursuing the argument so she reluctantly took a seat at the kitchen table and waited while he made them a mug of tea.

‘Where do you live?’ he asked, sitting opposite her. He had removed his coat, but he still looked incongruous in the half-finished kitchen with his expensive suit. The units had been ripped out, as yet to be replaced, but there was a new Aga where the old one had been and, of course, the counter on which the kettle sat was littered with the evidence of builders in residence—mugs, sugar, a jumbo-sized bottle of instant coffee, an even more jumbo-sized box of teabags and two bottles of milk, both of which appeared to be on the go.

‘Within cycling distance of here,’ Sophie answered. ‘As does nearly everyone in the village.’

‘How long have you lived here?’

‘A long time.’ She sipped from the mug, cradling it in her hands, and hoped that he didn’t intend to pursue a personal line of conversation because she would soon have to steer him off firmly. He might not be interested in her as a woman, but any interest was unwelcome. She wasn’t in the business of dispensing confidences about her private life.