Tomorrow's Bride Read online

  'You hadn't meant it to happen!' Anger and misery brought the burst of accusation which would doubtless have been better repressed. 'How can you expect me to believe that?'

  Frowning, looking at her intently, he nodded slowly. 'Maybe because it's the truth. Simple as that.'

  'You must take me for a fool.' Biting furiously at her lip, she whirled away, staring through the window, with its panoramic view of roofs and trees, but seeing nothing. 'A complete fool.' Shivering, she wrapped her arms about herself and turned, about to face him with her angry accusation.

  'No.' His calmness was an insult, when it must have been apparent to him that she was suffering, that he was the source of her suffering. 'I've always known you to be a highly intelligent, rational woman, not a fool...'

  'A fool where-----' How close she had come to making the fatal error of saying 'you'. She managed just in time to change it to, 'Where men are concerned.' In the present circumstances that still wasn't particularly clever.

  'Ah!' To her ears the single exclamation was an acceptance of her supposed lifestyle, but before she could react he continued, 'You still haven't explained what you were hinting at. There was, unless I'm wildly misinterpreting, the suggestion that I had planned-----'

  'And of course you didn't.' Sarcasm could be so very satisfying, and though it was a pity that it had come to the stage of trading insults there was a certain relief in letting him know how clearly, even if it was retrospectively, she had seen through his plotting.

  If she hadn't been so completely overwhelmed by her emotions, so totally dominated by her sensual yearnings, last night need never have happened. She would have summed up the situation the moment her foot stepped on to his luxurious carpet, the instant her ears were assaulted—or insidiously caressed might be a better description—by that erotic music. Even now she could hardly believe she had been so gullible.

  'All those soft lights.' It was difficult to subdue her urge to spit the words out at him. 'So much sweet music.' She managed a faint smile, an amused lift of an eyebrow. 'Rachmaninov, am I not right? Are you telling me they were all mere coincidence?'

  The expression on his face was inscrutable and somehow deeply wounding. 'What a devious little mind you have.' He gave a short, contemptuous laugh. 'Have you changed so much, I wonder?' He paused; she listened to the violent beating of her heart. 'Or is it merely my memory of you...?' Then he said, more briskly, 'You still haven't explained how I was supposed to know who was going to be there, or is that irrelevant? Was I so crazed, do you suppose, that I might have pounced on whoever turned up?'

  'Holly could easily have mentioned my name.'

  'She could have, but she didn't. In fact I knew nothing of the invitation until I got home and found the message on the machine, and believe it or not my first instinct was to refuse, since I had a pile of work to catch up on. Come to think of it, it seems a great pity that I didn't stick to my original inclination—don't you agree? Oh, and by the way, the lights, the sweet music—that's another thing you got all wrong. The flats have a series of security devices; one of them switches things off and on at irregular intervals. But you are right on one thing: it was Rachmaninov. Not my choice, in fact, but one of the rather sentimental pieces which tend to appeal to the electronic companies.'

  They stood there looking at each other for a long time, then he turned away with a sigh.

  'Anyway, to go back to something that you said some time ago, you're probably right on that top—I ought not to have come rushing over here raising Cain. Especially, I ought not to have asked impertinent questions about your private life, and for that I ask your forgiveness. Now the only thing left is for me to go.' He reached the hall and turned. 'But Leigh-----' the eyes searching her face were so intense and probing that his next words should not have been surprising '—that girl I once mentioned to you—I'm beginning to wonder if she ever existed.'

  When the door had closed behind him, she stood for a while staring blankly at the smooth pale wood, remembering only his final words, the ones that had reached down into the core of her being, searing, wounding. You might have thought that he too...that he had suffered through the years of separation, though she knew he could never have endured as she had.

  But, possibly for the first time, she admitted a tiny doubt about her own position. If she had been less determined to protect her own pride, if she had been less abrasive, less resolved to hide her own loneliness, then—who could say?—they might have ended up as friends, Bt least.

  Except, she reminded herself, before she could go far along that regretful road, she could never forgive the betrayal with Gillian Place. But, in spite of everything, some of the sting had gone even from that. It was impossible to whip up the anger and indignation which had once come so easily, and which had probably hurt her more than anything else.

  And, in any case, wasn't that what love came down to in the end? Certainly it was what many people believed. Everyone had human weaknesses, relied on those who truly loved them to pardon. To forgive.

  And was it possible that she had just thrown away the perfect opportunity to show how forgiving she could be? The treacherous thought was difficult to accommodate. Last night. A shudder ran through her as various scenes forced themselves into her mind. Last night had been a graphic illustration of what was missing from her life, and she had spent the greater part of the day confidently predicting a change in her lifestyle.

  And yet... and yet if he had been willing, and she had absolutely no reason to imagine he hadn't been, what was there to stop her repeating what had happened last night? To put it crudely, what was to stop her using Patrick Cavour just as she vast planning to use other men? Yes, and to be used by them—she wasn't foolish enough to ignore that aspect of such a relationship. As she once heard in a corny old film, why settle a penny candle when you could reach for the moon?

  Ah, well, films were one thing, but now, after seeing him, even after having that stand-up row with him, she knew it was all wishful thinking, She was no more free now to exploit, to keep her notional life separate, than she had been all those years ago. Less, in fact, much, much less, for last night had been clear proof that she had never quite escaped. And now she was forced to ask herself if it had all been worth it, for pride certainly didn't keep you warm at night. How bitter to begin to recognise the perfect scenario about five years too late.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AT LEAST that was one worry she could dismiss from her mind. Vigorously Leigh cleaned her teeth, wide eyes scrutinising her reflection in the bathroom mirror, wondering why she didn't feel a more positive sense of relief.

  Her head was hidden by a white towel wrapped turban-style about her newly shampooed hair. Possibly that was why she looked so woebegone, but it certainly wasn't due to the time of the month. It was... Hastily she turned away, went to the bedroom and took a moment plugging in the hairdrier. It was almost as if there was some half-buried disappointment that she didn't, after all, find herself pregnant with Patrick Cavour's child.

  Incredible. She made a lukewarm attempt to laugh at herself. For the three days since that awful scene with him she had been desperately worried, toying with all sorts of impractical plans, wondering how her parents would react—with dismay and disappointment, that was one certainty. She knew other women who had chosen to bring up children on their own, but when she had visualised herself in the mother role there had always been some man there alongside her. Impatient with herself, she carelessly dragged at a strand of hair. Oh, why not be completely honest...? One man by her side—not some man. Always the same man...

  That, of course, could explain a lot. Her questioning violet eyes were shadowy with pain. Had she, perhaps, been harbouring a secret fantasy of confronting Patrick, telling him that in spite of her earlier assurances she did find that she was expecting his child, and what did he suggest they should do?

  It wasn't, was not, as if she had had any idea that he might suggest marriage. Of course not. Even if they had been
in a permanent relationship she would neither have expected nor wished for such a thing, but... He would most likely have been frightfully decent and correct, would have assured her that she need not worry, that he would assume full responsibility, that she need have no worries about finances and...

  Tears stung unexpectedly at her eyes. She blinked several times and sniffed. And naturally it would have given her enormous pleasure to refuse, to say that of course she would manage perfectly, that she was informing him solely because he had been so insistent about it.

  In an effort at distraction she ran her fingers through her hair approvingly. What a relief to be self-approving for once, to like the way it shone with cleanliness, the way it floated softly about her head. She shrugged off her towelling robe and reached for her clean things. Anyway, it was a great relief to consign that particular worry to history. Tonight she planned to go to the nearest bistro and eat a pleasant meal. A pity she would be on her own—she had thought of calling Holly, but there was no way she was going to risk an invitation to that particular apartment...

  When the telephone shrilled, she jumped, sighed when she realised how shot to pieces her nerves were, and walked into the hallway to pick up the receiver.

  'Oh, Kyle.' It was a relief to hear her employer's voice. 'I didn't expect-----Is there anything wrong?'

  'Nothing at all, love. I just wondered... I had to come to Paris unexpectedly, and now I f hid I have the evening free. I'm booked back on a late flight but I wondered—can I persuade you to take pity on me and come out to dinner? There's a new place I've just heard of, should be worth a visit, and you know I always hate the idea of eating alone. So, how about it?'

  'Oh, Kyle.' Her immediate reaction was reluctance. 'I was just about to pop down to Verdier's on the corner.'

  'Change your mind! The place I have in mind is an old mill-house on the river; on a balmy evening like this it must be worth going to. You could bring me up to date on the last few days and I promise to get you back before midnight.' 'I'd rather bring you up to date during working hours, if you don't mind, and I would like to be back here long before midnight, but...' She wavered, knowing instinctively that the worst thing for her in her present mood would be too much of her own undiluted company.

  'Go on.' Sensing her weakening, he pressed his advantage. 'You shall come home the moment it suits you.'

  'And you promise you won't talk shop?'

  'I promise. Thanks, Leigh; I'll pick you up in about thirty minutes.' And he rang off, leaving her wondering why she had given in so easily.

  However, when they reached the small, elegant restaurant, having strolled across beautifully clipped turf to the little terrace on the banks of the Seine, and when they had lingered a while over clinking glasses of Campari and soda, she found that her mood was very nearly mellow.

  It was a positive relief not to be dining on her own, and Kyle was just the land of undemanding male companion who suited the occasion. They got on well together, and if at one time he had rather given the impression that their relationship could develop into something warmer, at least he had quickly picked up the message that she wasn't into entanglements with married men and had moved on. There were rumours about him and a number of his colleagues, but she had never troubled to find out if they were true. Now his manner towards her was that of a good friend as well as employer, and that suited both of them.

  Another plus was that the prospect of dinner in a smart restaurant had forced her to take a little more trouble with her appearance, which meant that her morale had risen slightly. At least, she was confident that the aquamarine shirt suited her and the navy patterned skirt wasn't too casual. Round her neck she had linked a short string of glass beads, blue shot through in a variety of shades, which gave the entire outfit a lift.

  'Ah.' When he had come into the flat to collect her, Kyle had allowed an appreciative gaze to skim over her. 'You're looking better.' He had smiled amiably. 'I was beginning to worry about you.'

  'You needn't.' Her tone had been very slightly sharp, possibly because she had known he was right. There had been shadows beneath her eyes— too many sleepless nights, she imagined—but it was amazing what a few moments with paint and powder could do to restore one's credibility. And a good blast of that delicious perfume she had bought the other day.

  Inside the restaurant, amazingly busy for an evening mid-week, they were shown to a large round table with four place-settings, two of which were speedily whisked away. A waiter flicked once or twice at the immaculate pink linen before they were seated and offered menus.

  'Mmm.' Realising she was very hungry, Leigh studied the list with interest. 'Clever of you to find this place, Kyle. Who told you about it?'

  'Hmm? What?' He glanced across at her. 'Oh... must have been someone in Strasbourg. I can't remember exactly who, but you know how interested they all are in food.'

  'I am too, right now. And I've made up my mind.' She laid aside her menu, waited while Kyle had a conference with the waiter, then gave her order. 'I suppose Anna is still in Strasbourg?'

  'Anna?' For just a split-second the comment, casual as it was, appeared to throw him. 'Yes, so far as I know. Though at this time in the evening—-' he glanced at his watch and shrugged '—who knows?'

  'Mmm. I confess I'm not sure what she does in her free time.' First courses arrived, napkins were shaken out, draped across knees. 'We meet from time to time, but since we live at opposite ends of the town...'

  'Don't let it get cold.' Kyle held out a huge pepper-mill.

  'This-----' she savoured the first mouthful of asparagus '—is absolutely heavenly.'

  'I'm glad. It would have been an awful letdown if the food had been disappointing after all I'd been told.'

  'No chance of that.'

  They were just starting on the main course of duckling when Kyle looked up with an expression of surprise and... and something else, too instantly veiled to be identified, as he recognised who had just come in.

  'Inés.' His voice was neutral, indicating neither interest nor pleasure, but it was impossible for Leigh to forget how consistently their names had been linked at one time. But then wasn't that true of practically every presentable female employed at the Palais de 1'Europe?

  Preparing her own expression to one of friendliness, she looked up, but the smile on her lips froze as her eyes were drawn beyond, to the man whose hand was placed so protectively on the Spanish woman's elbow. And the expression in Patrick Cavour's eyes as he returned her look was stony with indifference, so cold, in fact, that conversely Leigh was incandescent with fury.

  But that didn't stop her habit of registering so many meaningless details—the dark suit, single-breasted so that it showed off the tall, powerful figure, the broad shoulders of the sportsman, the narrow waist... God...

  Without her realising, her fingers began to play nervously with the blue beads... She would never forget the first time at Loughskerrie, when she had seen him on that enormous black gelding with the raking stride, more the Centaur of ancient myth than two distinct animals. It had been later that same day—such memories, once set in train, could not be aborted—that he had taken her off in to the Wicklow Hills, mounted in front of him, one arm pulling her taut back against him... The images were insistent, doubtless made more forceful by her recent entanglement. She was back in that secret dell, lying on the moss, soft and deep as a feather-bed, while Patrick...

  No... She dropped her fork with a clatter, smiled a wan apology to Kyle ...No. This time she thought she had hold of her treacherous thoughts. This was madness; if anyone were to guess—if he were to guess...

  She forced herself back to the present, struggling against waves of heat, determined to make her smile convincing, but surely her expressive eyes, wide and panic-stricken, must have betrayed dismay when she realised that arrangements were being made for the other two to join them. Even now the waiter was rearranging things; cutlery and glasses were being replaced...

  'I do hope we're not i
ntruding?' In6s—and it was a small relief—had been placed opposite Leigh and was being all charm. 'I can't understand how there could have been such a mistake when I booked last week.'

  Last week? Leigh forced her stiff lips into a smile. So, last week, when she and Patrick had been... together... this dinner had already been arranged. Applying herself to rapidly congealing duck, she found that her appetite had disappeared; even the tiniest slivers she could swallow only with difficulty.

  As always, it was best to concentrate on the mundane. Ines was the essence of chic good taste: a dress in dark red silk emphasised the slightly voluptuous figure which might—oh, the relief of uncharitable thoughts—run slightly to fat in middle age, but which in the meantime would cause most men to drool. The glossy black hair was coiled into its usual knot, which in spite of its severity seemed so right for her exotic style...

  Leigh's attention was diverted when she became aware of Patrick's fixed stare. She directed a flicking sideways glance in his direction, hoping he might pick up on her disapproval, but if he did he certainly gave no sign. His swift, chilly assessment swept over her in an instant, then, with a narrowing of his eyes, it moved to her companion. And back again. That contemptuous searing expression told her as clearly as if he had spelled it out that he was coming to some conclusion, solving some problem...

  And then her mind focused on Kyle, and the penny dropped. Of course. He was putting two and two together and making a complete mess of the answer. How dared he? she thought angrily. How dared he assume that she would choose someone like her employer, a married man, whose reputation was...? Especially when he was escorting a woman like Ines da Silva. How dared he judge? Oh, if only she could summon an equally opinionated expression then he would be under no illusions...

  And even if she and Kyle were... But on the other hand—and it was little comfort to remember—wasn't this exactly the impression she had been so keen to convey? So what had she to complain about...? It could hardly have worked better if it had been carefully planned, only... it hurt so much having him thinking-----She pulled her thoughts up short.