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‘Of course not.’
‘How did you manage at such short notice?’
Doing her best to sound her normal self, Raine endeavoured to answer her father’s questions and allay his. concern.
‘Well, don’t try to go into work as well as taking care of Martha,’ he said eventually.
‘I’ll see how things are,’ she hedged.
‘And let me know if you need me.’
‘I’m sure I won’t. I’d much rather you stayed with Uncle Harry... Give him my love.’
‘Don’t go,’ Ralph said. ‘Nick’s waiting to speak to you...’
‘Raine...’
She heard the urgency in the deep voice as, trembling in every limb, she put the phone down.
Common sense told her it would have been better to speak to him, to pretend, for her pride’s sake, that the little incident had meant nothing to her. But she knew only too well that she would have been unable to hide her pain and misery, her humiliation and shame.
The next weeks were the worst of her life. Feeling as though she was slowly bleeding to death, Raine somehow struggled through the long days and even longer nights.
Martha, having been told only that Raine had needed an excuse to come home, looked at her with anxious eyes, but, never one to pry, said nothing.
Nick tried several times to ring her, but Raine refused to speak to him, and, recognising his bold scrawl, destroyed the letters he sent unopened.
She went back to the office and tried to lose herself in her work, but the thought of Nick was always at the back of her mind, and a black weight of emptiness lay on her spirit.
She missed him and longed for him constantly, even while she reminded herself that he was hard and callous and uncaring—that he’d not only used her but betrayed his fiancée.
Ralph was reluctant to leave his brother, and it was a month before he came home. Though Raine was still fighting a desolation of spirit so intense that she felt she would never recover, she was able to hide it better by then, and met her father’s shrewd eyes with relative composure.
When, apart from asking how Harry was, she avoided mentioning Boston, Ralph took the bull by the horns. ‘What did you and Nick quarrel about?’
‘What makes you think we quarrelled?’
‘Don’t take me for a fool, girl. I know you’ve been refusing to speak to him, and, though Martha did her best, she’s no better at lying than you are.’
When Raine said nothing, her father went on, ‘It must have been something pretty serious to send you running home like a scalded cat, but I’m sure—’
‘Please, Dad,’ she broke in desperately. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
Seeing her set face, the stubborn line of her mouth, he sighed. ‘Perhaps you’ll change your mind when Nick comes over.’
Feeling as though she’d been punched in the solar plexus, she croaked, ‘Over here? When is he coming?’
‘He said as soon as he can get away. Probably this weekend.’
CHAPTER TWO
AFTER a night spent tossing and turning, and with her mind finally made up, Raine rose early and pushed a few necessities into a case. That done, she wrote a note to her father saying that she was going up to London for a few days, then, while the household still slept, she quietly let herself out.
No doubt it was cowardly, but she couldn’t bear to stay and face Nick. Whatever it was that was bringing him here—a pricking conscience? Belated guilt at not having told her he had a fiancée?—she didn’t want to know.
Nothing he could say or do would wipe out the past or mitigate her shame. Seeing him again, hearing him apologise, would only add unbearably to her humiliation, strip away any remaining shreds of self-respect.
It was a dark, chilly November morning, with mist lying over the herbaceous borders and shrouding the trees, and, feeling like a fugitive, she hurried down to the old stable block that many years previously had been converted into garages.
The engine of her small car sprang into life immediately, and, its lights feeling the mist like the antennae of some insect, she drove down the drive and turned left towards the station.
Leaving the car in the station car park, she caught the early train into town. By breakfast-time she was booked into a quiet hotel near Green Park, confident that she could safely lose herself in London until Nick had given up and gone back to the States.
Over the next few days she did her level best not to think about him, but the memories refused to be banished completely.
Whenever she relaxed her guard she recalled the smile in his voice when he spoke to her, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at her, the swift mental affinity which had made them enjoy each other’s company so much... And a great deal more she would rather have forgotten.
And would forget, she vowed. She wouldn’t let herself keep on recalling the past, thinking of a man who belonged to another woman. A man who had only wanted to use her.
Knowing it would drive her mad to sit in her room, she forced herself to go out each day—walking, window-shopping, visiting museums and art galleries, passing the time somehow, anyhow, until she could go home.
On the fifth day of her self-imposed exile her phone call to White Ladies shook her, making her drop the receiver as though it were red-hot when Nick’s deep voice answered.
Though she had no appetite, she made herself eat, and at night, refusing to let herself brood, she went to concerts, to the opera and to a couple of the long-running shows.
Leaving the theatre on Friday night, after seeing a musical, she found that it was raining. Rather then just stand being jostled by the crowd, she had started to walk down Shaftesbury Avenue, keeping her eye open for a taxi, when she cannoned into a tall, slimly built man hurrying the opposite way.
The impact made her step back and drop her clutch-bag, which opened, spilling its contents all over the wet pavement.
‘I’m so sorry,’ the well-dressed stranger apologised, and, stooping, he began to gather up her belongings and drop them back into her bag.
Thanking him, she admitted, ‘It was my fault. I was trying to find a taxi and not looking where I was going.’ As she spoke she put weight on her right foot and winced.
‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked, his voice clear, with a distinctly upper-class accent.
‘I’ve just stepped awkwardly and turned my ankle. It’s nothing serious.’
‘Can you walk?’
‘Oh, yes.’ She took a step to prove it, and winced again.
His look held concern. ‘Perhaps I’d better give you a lift. My car’s quite close.’
When she hesitated, he added, ‘You won’t stand much chance of finding a taxi on a night like this.’
He was young and good-looking, with gold-rimmed glasses and a reassuring air of quiet respectability.
‘Well, if it’s not out of your way...’ she said slowly. ‘I’m staying at the Wirral Hotel, near Green Park.’
‘I know it. And it’s not out of my way. I have a flat in Curzon Street, and the family home is in Mayfair.’
‘Then, thank you. It’s very kind of you.’
‘Not at all,’ he said politely, meaninglessly, as he offered her his arm with old-fashioned courtesy. As they began to walk—Raine hobbling slightly—he added, ‘My name’s Kevin ... Kevin Somersby.’
‘Raine Marlowe.’
‘Raine?’ he echoed blankly.
‘Short for Lorraine,’ she explained.
‘Oh.’ Judging from his frown, he didn’t approve of shortening names.
His car was an extension of himself—an expensive, well-polished, rather sober saloon. He handed her in with care, and she found herself thinking that his excellent manners must have been instilled from birth.
During the short drive they chatted, and it came as no surprise to discover that he worked in the Foreign Office and that his mother was Lady Maude Somersby.
Though he was handsome, it was in an oddly negative way. His looks didn’t raise her blood pressure one iota, and he was so prosaic that he neither stimulated nor disturbed her. In short, he presented no threat, and she found herself relaxing in his company.
Having escorted her into the hotel lobby and been duly thanked, he wished her a pleasant goodnight.
‘Goodnight...and thank you again.’ Raine offered him her hand.
He held it for a moment, then asked a shade diffidently, ‘May I call tomorrow to enquire how the ankle is?’
‘Of course.’
He was a very nice, correct young man, she thought as she took the lift up to her room, and the complete antithesis of Nick.
When Kevin turned up after breakfast next morning, with a dozen long-stemmed roses and an invitation to lunch, she had no hesitation in accepting.
The lunch-date stretched into the afternoon, and they ended up having dinner and spending the evening together.
Before leaving her that night, he asked hopefully how long she would be staying in town.
Telling herself that Nick would surely get the message and go home soon, she answered vaguely, ‘I’m not sure ... probably another day or two.’
Clearly crestfallen, Kevin rallied to ask, ‘will you come to Manton Square tomorrow for lunch? Mother would like to meet you.’
Not sure how she could get out of going, and not even sure that she wanted to, Raine answered politely, ‘Thank you, I’d love to.’
‘Then I’ll pick you up about twelve.’ Kevin looked relieved, and Raine felt a sudden conviction that the invitation had been issued so that she could be vetted as a suitable companion for Lady Somersby’s only son.
Such was the case.
The next day she found herself greeted with the utmost courtesy by a regal lady with a cast-iron hairdo, several strings of pearls and pale eyes like gimlets.
After an excellent lunch, having been politely but minutely grilled about her background and social standing, Raine was given what was evidently the seal of approval when Lady Somersby suggested that Kevin might take her to see the family portraits.
The following evening, after a phone call to Martha had reassured her that Nick had returned to the States, Raine told Kevin she would be going home the next day. His obvious disappointment was somewhat alleviated when she added, ‘You’ll be very welcome at White Ladies any time you care to call.’
‘Have you a car in town?’ he queried.
‘No, I came by train.’
‘Then perhaps I could drive you home?’
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said automatically, ‘but won’t you be at your office?’
‘I have some days due to me,’ he announced firmly. Raine found herself wondering what her father would think when she arrived home with a strange man in tow. But after some consideration she decided it was the ideal solution. Kevin’s presence would prove that she wasn’t mooning over Nick, and it should help to smooth over what might otherwise have been an uncomfortable homecoming.
Safe in the knowledge that no matter how vexed he was with her, her father would be polite and pleasant to any guest, she suggested, ‘If you have nothing planned for the evening, perhaps you’ll stay for dinner?’
Kevin gave her his charming smile. ‘Thank you, I’d like to.’
From then on he became a constant visitor, and early in the spring, with due ceremony, he proposed to her.
Raine had seen it coming, and she didn’t need to think about it. With Kevin, everything would be ordered and placid. He would never tear her apart emotionally and leave her bleeding to death. It might not be the most exciting of marriages, but they were happy and comfortable together. They wanted the same things out of life.
She said yes.
He bought her a discreet diamond solitaire and they began planning the wedding and their future together. In the following months there were only two things they disagreed on—working wives and where to live.
Raine wanted to continue with her job, at least for a time, but Kevin proved to be unexpectedly obdurate about it.
The contentious topics were shelved several times, and then, on Friday evening in September, as they strolled through the garden at White Ladies, Kevin reintroduced them.
‘It’s time we came to a decision, old thing,’ he said, and then, almost as though it clinched matters, ‘I have to tell you that Mother strongly disapproves of these modern marriages where the wife keeps working to the detriment of family life. And in any case,’ he continued, ‘my flat is too far away to make commuting every day feasible.’
‘I’d rather hoped not to have to leave Dad,’ Raine replied. ‘He’s looked after me ever since Mum died, and I’m all he’s got.’
Seeing Kevin frown, she added persuasively, ‘There’s a large, self-contained apartment here at White Ladies, and, with your office situated where it is, it wouldn’t be any further for you to travel to work than you’re travelling now.’
But once again he was adamant. ‘I’ve always felt that a wife should move into her husband’s home, not the other way around.’
‘But what would I do all day, cooped up in a London flat?’
His pale grey eyes looked hurt. ‘I hope we’ll entertain quite a bit when we’re married, and there’s voluntary work and committees and things... Mother will be pleased to help and advise you. And we’ve agreed we want to start a family.’
She seized on that. ‘Surely a town flat isn’t the ideal place to bring up children?’
‘When the time comes we’ll look for a house in the country,’ he promised. ‘Agreed?’
She nodded, and said reluctantly, ‘Very well. I’ll tell Dad I won’t be going back to work after the wedding.’
Having got what he wanted, Kevin was willing to be gracious. ‘If you’d like to be close to your father, when we do buy a house we can try to find something within a reasonable distance of White Ladies as well as London.’
He kissed her cheek. ‘I must go. I’m taking Mother to a charity function in the morning and then on to lunch, but I should be here some time in the afternoon. By the way, we’ll be dining in Lopsley. I’ve booked a table at that new place you said you wanted to try.’
