Tomorrow's Bride Read online

  His face was blank with anger now, she could tell that, and it gave her a fleeting moment of satisfaction. 'It looks as if you've made up your own mind, doesn't it?'

  'Yes,' she said and, turning, picked up her hat and bag from where she had placed them earlier. 'Just as you have been doing. But now, if you would be kind enough to call a cab for me, I shall wait downstairs for it to arrive. She went to the door and opened it. He made no move to stop her, allowing her to leave and walk out into the emotional wilderness.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT WAS a blessing that she'd had this short time with Holly, Leigh decided as she sat back in the chair of the hotel lounge and stirred her coffee. There was nothing like a few hours' window-shopping in Paris, especially in the company of such a dedicated shopper as her friend, to take the edge off one's nervous tension.

  'Now-----' Holly drew her chair a little closer '—that's all about me and mine, and bless you for listening, love. It's been wonderful bringing you up to date on everything that's happened since I threw in the towel in Strasbourg. If anyone had told me then... Well-----' she shrugged and grinned '—I won't go into it all again, but finding Paul was just the last thing I was hoping for. In fact, as you know, I was quite off men, determined not to get involved again.'

  'You've been lucky,' said Leigh, and she hurried to add, 'And so has Paul—very lucky.'

  'Mmm.' There was a touch of complacency in the smile, but then Holly looked more specula-lively towards her companion. 'But what about you, Leigh? When I left I honestly didn't expect to see you in the same old job and-----' she hesitated '—if you don't mind my saying so, you don't seem your usual bright self.'

  'I'm fine.' Leaning forward to help herself to more cream, Leigh turned her face towards the window, watching a pair of swans gliding across the surface of the small lake in the hotel grounds. 'Working hard.' Turning back, she smiled ruefully, stirred thoughtfully at her coffee. 'A bit tired, perhaps. There has been a bit of trouble in the office recently with-----'

  'Not Kyle again?' Holly spoke sharply. 'If he's being difficult then you really must do something ...'

  'No, of course it's not Kyle.' For some reason Leigh felt herself colouring up, doubtless giving all the wrong signals. 'He hasn't been a problem since the early days; he isn't the kind to persist when he knows there's no point.'

  'Well...' Holly was not wholly convinced. 'I just remember what it was like. We're all assumed to be fair game and no one knows better than I do just how much misery can be caused...' 'Well, in this case, I declare my boss to be entirely innocent.'

  'If you say so, I'll take your word for it. Reluctantly. So...?'

  'Well, things in the office have been a bit overwhelming. We had trouble with a new computer and I'm wondering if I made a mistake in letting Kyle persuade me to take on his business interests. All this travel back and forward. I know I'm not stuck in a hotel when I come here but it still seems like living out of a suitcase.'

  'You know you can always come and stay with us when you come to Paris, Leigh. We'd be-----'

  'Oh, no!' How vehement she sounded, and of course Holly would have no idea what she was suggesting... She managed a smile. 'Bless you for asking, but I wouldn't dream of inflicting myself upon you. No, the flat is reasonably comfortable; it's just...'

  'Sounds as if it's just that Kyle is expecting too much of you. Of course it suits him to unload all the boring details on you while he's raking in the money. Mind you, I hope you won't give it up, because I'm looking forward to seeing much more of you in the future. I missed you a lot when I left Strasbourg. No sympathetic shoulder to cry on.' She grinned, then pulled a face as she looked at her watch. 'But, sadly, I think I'll have to tear myself away. I promised to be back so Marie could get away.'

  'Me too. I've got to get packed and out to the airport. But we'll meet again soon.'

  ‘Thank you again,' Holly said later, getting out of the cab they had shared, 'for being such a wonderful godmother yesterday.'

  'I loved doing it.' Leigh smiled. 'And I hope Paul likes that nightie.'

  After that, it was back to Strasbourg, and for the next three weeks Leigh threw herself into work with the dedication of a zealot, emerging at the end if not cleansed, at least calm, and able to cope with the visit of a friend whom she had invited that Saturday evening.

  It had been an inconvenience that Anna had failed to appear at the office, had, according to her landlady, been summoned to London. The result had been an increased workload for Leigh, with piles of additional typing and filing. When she had spoken to Kyle about the desirability of finding a temp he had seemed barely to hear, had given the impression of being lost in a private world, totally immersed in his own not very happy thoughts. Undoubtedly he had things on his mind just now. Several important matters, ones which affected his own constituents, were pending, so...she must just wait and hope that Anna would return as abruptly as she had left, and if not...

  Anyway, the weekend had come as a relief. She was looking forward to Jane's visit. The fish for the main course had been easily prepared and the cheesecake—well, even if it failed to reach the professional standard of the glossy illustration, she had no doubt that it would taste fine.

  The table in the corner by the window had been set with pretty mats and posies of flowers at each place and, in the centre, pink candles to tone with the linen. That, at least, could have measured up to a magazine illustration, and now there was nothing to do but enjoy a leisurely shower. Oh, but before that she would just pop a bottle of wine into the fridge...

  She was in the midst of drying her hair when the doorbell shrilled, startling her. Sure for a bent that she had misheard, she switched off drier, but there it was again. She felt a see's panic, till a quick glance at the bedside k confirmed that there was a good hour one.. .But whoever it was certainly wasn't in patient mood. The bell sounded again, so prolonged; so very peremptory that she stood still in sudden panicky suspicion... But that, of course, wildly unlikely.

  Belting her robe more securely about her waist, walked to the door and opened it tentatively. Eyes suddenly wide with shock, she went to slam it shut, but Patrick Cavour put his hand flat against it.

  ‘No, don't do that.' It was an order, certainly nothing as polite as a request, and in any case quite unnecessary as she had instantly changed her mind. It would be pointless and stupid not to let him in. There was nothing to be afraid of and this was an opportunity to convince him that she wasn't. As well as to convince herself.

  With a little gesture of resignation she walked ahead of him into the sitting-room, and found courage-to turn round to face him when she reached the centre. She was about to enquire what he wanted, in the most caustic tone she could muster, but as she opened her mouth to speak found herself hesitating, taking time out to…just to look at him.

  There was something unconsciously yearning in the way her eyes absorbed and recorded every detail of his appearance. Clothes, especially the expensive casual clothes he wore, could say so much about a man. The light grey crew-neck he had on picked up that silvery iridescent ring in his eyes, or—perhaps more likely—was that just a reflection of anger? There was no way she could convince herself that he was paying a friendly visit. The lightweight tweed jacket in a soft muted rust with a grey silk handkerchief, a shade or two darker than the sweater, spilling from the breastpocket, the grey trousers, the black loafer shoes, calf-leather, buffed to a fine sheen—every detail, even to the lazy way he lounged in the doorway, his hand thrust so carelessly into the trouser pocket, might have been planned to show a man laid-back and at ease, to conceal the incisive intelligence and keen observation...

  Except that these were qualities she knew too well ever to be deceived. And now she had no intention of... But, in spite of all her attempted bravado, she swallowed nervously, regretting the weakness which had diverted her momentarily, for she had never seen him so chillingly angry, never seen such distaste deeply etched on every feature.

  The mout
h was pressed in a single straight line, the eyebrows were pulled together, and the eyes... They were the most disturbing of all, looking at her with something very close to dislike. Even though she told herself that she didn't care—and she didn't, not in the least—there was something so wounding in such a silent unjustified attack that she had to struggle to hold back the tears that were stinging so painfully behind her eyes.

  But what on earth was she doing? Suddenly, angrily, she came to her senses, castigating herself for so much emotional self-indulgence. Why was she allowing him to barge his way into her home? Allowing him to dictate, make her feel guilty and inadequate and a hundred other negative qualities which she resented so fiercely?

  'Well?' she asked, with what she hoped he would recognise as impatience laced maybe with a touch of sarcasm. 'This is quite a surprise, but I don't imagine you came here simply for the pleasure of standing looking at me.'

  Still he seemed to be in no hurry to speak, but when he did it was slowly, and with a harshness she had not previously heard in his voice—one of his ways, she had little doubt, of intimidating his adversaries in court. 'I'm looking... trying to convince myself... that you are the same girl.' She held her breath; it hurt to breathe. ‘The one I knew... or thought I knew... in Oxford.'

  Anguish struck at her; she felt as if the vital blood, life itself, was draining from her heart. It took great courage, all the determination she could summon, to thrust her weakness aside, substituting cynical condescension. 'I rather think we've been here before—if you remember?'

  'Yes, I remember.' And if he sighed then—she thought she caught the very faint, weary sound of it—she put it down to boredom rather than regret of any sort. 'So...what happened? What changed you so much? Even when we met again I could see you were different. What I could never have guessed was just how deep, how profound those changes were.'

  How could he ask such questions—he of all people? Didn't he know what had happened? Was it so very difficult to guess? He was what had happened to change her, and-----Swiftly she caught tight hold of her thoughts, spoke with a patient detachment which she hoped he would see as boredom. 'I simply cannot see where this is leading.' How dared he, when she was feeling so vulnerable, so utterly defenceless? How dared he bulldoze his way back into her life, just when she was trying so hard to cope...? She said, with a rather desperate glance and a hand thrown out towards the table in the window, 'I do have someone coming this evening, and-----'

  "That's obvious.' Somehow his glance, as well as taking in the table with two places set, looked through the open bedroom door at the clothes spread out on the bed. But why should every word he spoke be thrown at her like some dire accusation? 'A quiet dinner for two, is it? Well, you needn't worry—I certainly have no inclination to disturb you. But, even in these liberated times, most people find this kind of thing unacceptable.'

  While her brain was busy with that, trying to follow some kind of thread, he raked his fingers through his hair, a distracted gesture which in different circumstances would have provoked a desire to comfort; but then he went on.

  'I wish...with all my heart I wish we had never met up again. It would have been better to hold on to at least some of my illusions.' Now he spoke softly, as if to himself, so softly that afterwards, reliving the scene, she wondered if she had misunderstood completely. ‘Then what at the time was like a miracle would not have turned into the present nightmare.'

  'Just a minute.' She frowned, struggling to sort out the confusion of words and emotions. There was some implication she didn't understand, wanted to have clarified...

  'No, you wait a minute.' All at once he was rough, as if control was slipping; the step towards her was threatening, the hands reaching out towards her were bruising through the thin material of her robe. 'Can't you see it yourself, for God's sake? What about your parents? What will they think when they find out?'

  A tiny shake loosened the robe, making it slip from one shoulder. The wide eyes staring up at him were brilliant with misery, and even when one hand was linked about her slender neck, when the blood surged in her veins as his finger trailed across her skin, traced the tender hollow of her throat, even then she refused to give way to her feelings, which were nothing other than sheer weakness and produced anger—for anger was so much more appropriate to the scene she was being forced to enact.

  'I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about.' Wrenching herself away before his touch could go further, before it could undermine all her resolve, she retied her robe with trembling fingers, then raised her head to glare defiance.

  'But, since it seems to be a time for dishing out home-truths, you have a damned nerve, I must say, coming here to my flat, without invitation, to let me know what you think of me, accusing me of heaven knows what and expressing your opinions on matters that have nothing in the world to do with you.'

  'I think I have a right to express an opinion simply because of what we once were to each other.'

  'Because you seduced me, you mean?' How the words did not stick in her throat she couldn't explain. He had only had to look at her, to touch her cheek, to smile at her in that warm and utterly seductive way... Yes, the word was very appropriate. When he had turned on the battery of charm, nothing on this earth could have stopped her.

  'Is that how you remember it?' There was a strange note in his voice; she wouldn't have said it was sorrow, maybe just a touch of regret at how things had gone sour. Whatever, his tone was enough to bring the aching soreness back into her chest, a pain which stifled any wish she might have had to contradict her own words. In any event, the moment had passed and he was continuing. 'It isn't at all like that in my memory, but perhaps—who knows?—I'm the one who is self-deluded. There's no doubt I was older, and I know ours was the first relationship you'd had that meant so much... But I can see I was probably wrong, and certainly if I had had any idea what it would lead to...'

  'What it would lead to'... Little else registered; the earlier words were submerged in a wave of righteous indignation which suddenly overwhelmed her, causing her to quiver with anger...

  'Lead to you thinking you had earned the lifelong right to interfere in my life? Oh, God, you sound so unbearably pompous.' Now that her attack had begun she found the words flowing on their own. 'You won't say why you've come; you hint at this and that in the most insulting way; you're kind enough to describe what I've become—at least, the version of my life according to Patrick Cavour. But tell me, what have you become since Oxford? Are you going to stand there and tell me you've led such a chaste life that you can afford to pass judgement on other people? Are you going to tell me there hasn't been a whole string of women, starting with Gillian Place?'

  Not pausing to allow him to answer, she went on in full spate—she was finding the experience almost liberating. 'And, since you have the impertinence to bring my parents into it, do tell me, what do your parents think of the life you lead? Or is it only women who are expected to allow themselves to be insulted by these questions?'

  'At least,' he answered hotly, 'I leave married women alone. I do credit myself with a certain amount of sense.'

  So intent had she been on her own line of questioning, so relieved to feel in control of the situation for once, that it took a few minutes for Leigh to gather the import of his words, and when she did she was heady with anger. "This really is intolerable—incredible. What right do you have to jump to conclusions the way you do? And why do you choose always to put the worst construction on relationships? Do you get a kick out of that? Or is it just that it boosts your ego to feel superior?'

  'I notice you're not denying anything.'

  'I don't think there's much point when you so clearly have your mind made up, and besides-----' she had to bank down a rising tide of hysteria '—it is none of your business.'

  He nodded coldly, as if her words were some due confession. 'Of course, I understand—in fact certain things are becoming increasingly obvious. I appreciate the need in certain ci
rcumstances to keep your nerve, to deny everything, and if you're clever enough you might even divert attention from the truth. For a limited period. I suppose, that first night in Paris, I might have guessed the way things were, but I didn't.' He sighed. 'Chances were I didn't want to see what was in front of my nose. Anyway, it's getting late now, Leigh. In a day or two I understand it will all be public knowledge.'

  'What?' She frowned, trying to follow his words, then wearily admitted that these days they no longer spoke the same language. ‘I’m afraid you’re too devious for me. I'm no longer willing to make the effort to try to understand.' There was an inexpressible sadness in recognising how deep and wide the chasm separating them was. 'And now, if you don't mind...' She half turned, just resisting the temptation to reach put to a table for support—she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing how close to collapse she was.

  Now he was right behind her—with all her senses she knew that—so she had to force herself to turn, calmly but challengingly. She could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, knew that if she placed her fingertips against the grey cashmere there would be clear confirmation of his fury. Not that there was any need, not with his teeth so tightly clenched, not with his eyes narrowed and looking at her as if he had murder in mind.

  And while they stared at each other, his arm moved, as if he was ready to grab her again, but instead his hand caught the edge of the table, dislodging something. It could have been nothing of importance, since there was no sound of a crash, and nothing, so far as she was aware, fell on to the carpet.

  But then he was bending down, picking something up, some scrap which was hidden in his palm as he straightened and they continued to stare. She could hear the echo of her heart pounding against her ribcage, was glad when he broke off the confrontation to replace a scrap of paper, a tiny card...