Читать книгу Guilty - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 8

LAURA slept badly, and it wasn’t just the unfamiliar experience of sharing her bed with her daughter. She was hot and restless, and although she longed for it to be morning, she was not looking forward to the day ahead.

Of course, it didn’t help that Julie had appropriated at least two-thirds of the space, and every time Laura moved she was in fear of waking her. Indeed, there were times during the night when Laura half wished she had not been so adamant about the sleeping arrangements. If Julie had been sharing Jake’s bed, she would not have been so conscious of him, occupying the room on the other side of the dividing wall.

As it was, her senses persistently taunted her with that awareness, and images of Jake’s dark, muscled body, relaxed against the cream poplin sheets, were a constant aggravation. It was pathetic, she thought, disgusted by her thoughts. Apart from anything else, he was Julie’s boyfriend, her property—if a man like Jake Lombardi could ever be regarded as any woman’s possession. Somehow she sensed he was unlikely to let that happen. Nevertheless, whatever label she put on it, he was the man her daughter intended to marry, and any attraction she felt towards him was both loathsome and pitiful. For heaven’s sake, she chided herself, he was probably ten years younger than she was, and, even if Julie hadn’t been involved, he simply wasn’t the type of man she attracted.

She was just a middle-aged school-teacher, who had wasted any chance of happiness she might have had by getting herself pregnant, when she should have been old enough to know better. And since then, she had never felt the need for a serious relationship. Over the years, there had been one or two men who had attempted to push a casual association into something more, but Laura had always repelled invaders. Only Mark had stayed the course, and that was primarily because he made no demands on her. She had actually begun to believe that, whatever sexual urges she had once possessed, they were now extinct, and it was disturbing, to say the least, to consider that she might have been wrong.

And what was she basing this conclusion on? she asked herself contemptuously. It wasn’t as if anything momentous had happened to shatter her illusions. How stupid she was to read anything into Jake’s almost knocking her over, and preventing it. It was what anyone would have done in the same circumstances, man or woman, and she was fooling herself if she thought his brief awareness of her had been sexual.

But he had grabbed her, she argued doggedly. He had propelled her into his arms. It didn’t matter that on his part it had been a purely impersonal reaction. She could still feel the grip of his fingers, and the taut corded muscles of his legs…

God! She turned on to her back and gazed blindly up at the ceiling. How old was she? Thirty-eight? She was reacting like a sixteen-year-old. But then, she thought bitterly, her sexual development had been arrested around that age, so what else could she expect?

She was glad Julie had known nothing about it. By the time her daughter came down from her bath, clean, and sweetly smelling of rosebuds, her slender form wrapped in a revealing silk kimono, Laura had swept the floor, and restored the kitchen—and herself—to comparative order. That disruptive moment with Jake might never have been, and she was able to excuse herself on the pretext of being tired, without revealing any of the turmoil that was churning inside her. She left them sharing the sofa in the living-room, where Jake had been sitting since she had insisted on clearing up the broken china herself.

She got up at six o’clock. She had been wide awake since five, and only the knowledge that she would have no excuse for being up any earlier had prevented her from going downstairs as soon as it was light. But six o’clock seemed reasonably acceptable, and as the others hadn’t come to bed until some time after midnight Laura doubted she would disturb anyone.

Drawing the blind in the kitchen, she saw it was a much brighter morning. The sun was sparkling like diamonds on the wet grass, and the birds were setting up a noisy chatter in the trees that formed a barrier between her garden and the lane that led to Grainger’s farm.

The cottage was the second of two that stood at the end of the village, the other being occupied by an elderly widow and her daughter. Laura knew that people thought she was a widow, too, and she had never bothered to correct them. In a place as small as Burnfoot, it was better not to be too non-conformist, and, while being a one-parent family was no novelty these days, people might look differently on someone of Laura’s generation.

After putting the kettle on to boil, she opened the back door and stepped out into the garden. It was fresh, but not chilly, and she pushed her hands into the pockets of her dressing-gown and inhaled the clean air. The bulbs she had planted the previous autumn were beginning to flower, and the bell-shaped heads of purple hyacinths and crimson tulips were thrusting their way between the clumps of wild daffodils. The garden was starting to regain the colour it had lost over the winter months, and Laura guessed that sooner or later she would have to clear the dead leaves, and dispose of the weeds.

It was a prospect she generally looked forward to, but this morning it was hard to summon any enthusiasm for anything. She felt depressed, and out of tune with herself, and, hearing one of Ted Grainger’s heifers bellowing in the top field, she thought the animal epitomised her own sense of frustration. But frustration about what? she asked herself crossly. What did she have to be frustrated about?

The kettle was beginning to boil. She could hear it. It was a comforting sound, and, abandoning her introspection, she turned back towards the house. And that was when she saw him, standing indolently in the open doorway, watching her.

He was dressed—that was the first thing she noticed about him. He was wearing the same black jeans he had been wearing the night before, but he wasn’t wearing a shirt this morning; just a V-necked cream cashmere sweater, that revealed the brown skin of his throat, and a faint trace of dark body hair in the inverted apex of the triangle. Unlike herself, she was sure, he looked relaxed and rested, although his eyes were faintly shadowed, as if he hadn’t slept long enough.

And why not? she thought irritably. She had still been awake when Julie had come to bed, even if she had pretended otherwise, and by her reckoning he could not have had more than five hours. Hardly enough for someone who had driven almost three hundred miles the day before, in heavy traffic, with goodness knew what hangover from the night before that.

Laura was immediately conscious of her own state of undress, and of the fact that she hadn’t even brushed her hair since she’d come downstairs. It was still a tumbled mass about her shoulders, with knotted strands of nut-brown silk sticking out in all directions.

Laura’s hand went automatically to her hair, and then, as if realising it was too late to do anything about it now, she clutched the neckline of her robe, and walked towards him. Pasting a polite smile on her face, she strove to hide the resentment she felt at his unwarranted intrusion, and, reaching the step, she said lightly, ‘Good morning. You’re an early riser.’

‘So are you,’ Jake countered, moving aside to let her into the house. ‘Couldn’t you sleep?’

Laura went to take the tea caddy out of the cupboard, and dropped three bags into the pot before answering him. The steady infusion of the water sent up a revitalising aroma from the leaves, and Laura breathed deeply, as she considered how to reply.

‘I—er—I’m always up fairly early,’ she said at last, putting the lid on the teapot, and having no further reason to avoid his gaze. ‘Um—would you like a cup of tea? Or would you rather have coffee? I can easily make a pot, if that’s what you’d prefer.’

‘Whatever you’re having,’ he said, closing the back door, and leaning back against it. ‘I’m—what do you say?—easy.’

Laura’s lips twitched. ‘Milk, or lemon?’

‘You choose,’ he essayed flatly. ‘Tea is tea, whatever way you drink it.’

‘I doubt if the connoisseurs would agree with you,’ declared Laura, setting out three cups and saucers. ‘Tea used to be regarded as quite a ritual. It still is, in other parts of the world. China, for instance.’

‘Really?’

He didn’t sound as if it interested him greatly, and she guessed her line in small talk was not what he was used to. He evidently enjoyed the kind of sexual innuendo Julie employed to such effect. But Laura wasn’t experienced in innuendo, sexual or otherwise, and, aware of how she had monopolised the conversation at dinner the previous evening, she knew she had to guard against being boring.

Then, remembering her hair, she started towards the door. That was something that couldn’t wait any longer, and she paused, uncertainly, when he asked, ‘Where are you going?’

‘I—won’t be a minute,’ she answered, loath to admit exactly where she was headed. ‘Um—help yourself; and Julie, too, if you want.’

‘I’ll wait,’ he said, leaving the door, to pull out a chair from the table, and straddle it with his long legs. ‘OK.’

Laura hesitated a little bemusedly, and then nodded. ‘Of—of course.’

Brushing her hair entailed going upstairs again, and as she stood at the bathroom mirror, tugging the bristles through the tangled strands, she felt a helpless sense of inevitability. The last thing she had expected was that she would have to face another one-to-one encounter with Jake so soon. Her assessment of the day ahead had already gone badly awry, and she hoped the rest of the weekend was not going to prove as traumatic.

There were men’s toiletries on the glass shelf above the handbasin, she saw, with an unwelcome twinge of trepidation. No doubt they were responsible for the spicy smell of cologne that lingered in the atmosphere, the unfamiliar scents of sandalwood and cedar. There was a razor, too. Not some sophisticated electrical gadget, as she would have expected, but a common-or-garden sword-edge, with throwaway blades. The man was a contradiction, she thought, frowning, hardly aware that she was running her fingers over a dark green bottle of aftershaving lotion. He was rich, and sophisticated; he wore handmade shirts, and Armani jackets, and he drove a Lamborghini. All aspects of the lifestyle to which he was accustomed. And yet, he had seemed genuinely pleased with the simple meal she had served the night before, and he had dried the dishes afterwards, as if it was a perfectly natural thing for him to do.

She realised suddenly that she was wasting time. It was at least five minutes since she had come upstairs, and, apart from anything else, the tea would be getting cold.

The hairpins she usually used to keep her hair in place were in the bedroom, and although she wouldn’t have minded waking Julie, it was going to take too much time. Instead, she found the elastic headband in the pocket of her dressing-gown that she sometimes used when she was pottering about the garden, and, sliding it up over her forehead, she decided that would have to do.

Going downstairs again was harder, but she steeled herself to behave naturally. After all, so far as Jake was concerned, she was just Julie’s mother: a little eccentric, perhaps, and obviously nervous with strangers.

He was still sitting where she had left him, but he got politely to his feet when she came into the room. However, Laura gestured for him to remain seated, and he sank back on to the chair, stretching the tight jeans across his thighs.

Laura knew her eyes shouldn’t have been drawn to that particular area of his abdomen, but somehow she couldn’t help it. He was disturbingly physical, and her stomach quivered alarmingly as she endeavoured to pour the tea.

‘W—would you like to take Julie’s up?’ she ventured, the spout hovering over the third cup, but when she reluctantly glanced round at her visitor Jake shook his head.

‘I doubt if she’d appreciate being woken at this hour, do you?’ he remarked, his dark eyes intent and wary. ‘When she’s not working, she considers anything short of double figures the middle of the night. But you must know that yourself.’

Not as well as you, I’m sure, Laura was tempted to retort, but she restrained herself. After all, it was really nothing to do with her how they chose to live their lives, and just because she was finding the situation a strain was no reason to blame Jake.

However, he seemed to sense her ambivalence, for as she set a cup of the strong beverage in front of him he said quietly, ‘What’s wrong?’ and the anxieties of the last fifteen minutes coalesced.

‘I—beg your pardon?’

‘You don’t have to be so formal, you know,’ he told her, making no attempt to touch his tea. ‘I asked what was wrong. Do you resent my getting up so early? Would you rather I had stayed in bed?’

Yes. Yes! The simple answer sang in Laura’s ears, but she couldn’t say it. Not out loud. Besides, she wasn’t even sure she meant it. It might be reassuring to pretend she would rather avoid talking to him, and quite another to consider the reality of doing so. The truth fell somewhere in between, and she was too conscientious to deny it.

‘I—I—don’t mind,’ she said at last, not altogether truthfully. ‘Um—would you like some sugar? I—know men usually do.’

‘And how would you know that?’ enquired Jake, still holding her gaze, and she knew a sudden spurt of indignation.

‘Why shouldn’t I? Just because I’m not married, doesn’t mean I haven’t had any experience where men are concerned,’ she retorted, resenting his implication, and then could have bitten out her tongue at the recklessness of her words. She had no idea whether Julie had told him of the circumstances of her birth. And if she hadn’t…

But Jake was speaking again. ‘I know about that,’ he countered mildly. ‘You had Julie while you were still in high school. And I didn’t imagine that was an immaculate conception.’

Laura flushed then, his cool, faintly mocking tone reminding her of how inexperienced she was when it came to his kind of verbal sparring. But she refused to let him think he had disconcerted her, and, squaring her shoulders, she added crisply, ‘I am almost forty, you know. Why do young people always think sex wasn’t invented until they came along?’

‘Is that what they think?’ Jake arched one dark brow, and, wishing she had never started this, Laura nodded.

‘You tell me,’ she responded tautly. ‘It’s your generation I’m talking about.’

‘My generation?’ Jake pressed his left hand against his chest, his expression mirroring his amusement. ‘Dio, how old you think I am?’

‘It doesn’t matter how old you are,’ declared Laura, trying to steady the cup of tea in her hand. ‘All I’m saying is, you shouldn’t jump to what you think are obvious conclusions.’

‘Did I do that?’

‘Yes.’ Laura drew a trembling breath. ‘And I wish you’d stop answering everything I say with a question of your own. We—we hardly know one another, and I—I don’t want to fall out with you.’

‘Fall out with me?’ Jake adopted a puzzled expression. ‘What is that?’

‘Argue with you—quarrel with you—oh, I’m sure you know exactly what it means,’ declared Laura crossly. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to do it.’

‘Do what?’

‘Have an argument with you,’ repeated Laura shortly. ‘And there you go again. Making fun of me.’

‘Was I doing that?’ Jake grimaced. ‘Oh, damn, that’s another question.’

He was teasing her. Laura knew it. And, although she knew she ought to be able to take it all in good part, she couldn’t. He disturbed her too much. She returned her attention to her tea, hoping he would do the same, but she didn’t sit down with him. At least when she was standing, she felt she had some chance of parity, albeit in a physical sense only. And perhaps, after he had drunk his tea, he would go for a walk, she speculated. He surely didn’t intend to hang about the house until Julie chose to put in an appearance.

‘So,’ he remarked, after a few silent moments, ‘you live here alone, is that right?’

‘Well, I don’t have a live-in lover,’ replied Laura tersely, and then, catching the humour in his eyes, she struggled to compose herself. ‘I—yes, I live alone,’ she conceded, putting her empty cup down on the drainer. ‘But I don’t mind, if that’s what you’re getting at. After dealing with noisy teenagers all day, it’s quite a relief to come back here.’

‘I can believe it.’ Jake wasn’t teasing now. He had folded his arms along the back of the chair, and was regarding her with a steady appraisal. ‘And it’s very peaceful around here, isn’t it?’

‘Mmm.’ Laura endeavoured to relax. ‘That’s what I love about it. The peace and quiet. I’d hate to live in the city again.’

Jake frowned. ‘You lived in London?’

‘No. Newcastle.’ Somehow, she didn’t mind his questions now. ‘I moved here just after—Julie went to London.’

‘Ah.’ Jake nodded.

‘I work in the city, of course,’ Laura added. ‘It’s only about fifteen miles away.’

‘Newcastle.’

‘Yes.’

Jake absorbed this. Then, quite obliquely, he said, ‘You’d like Valle di Lupo. It’s very peaceful there, too. If slightly less civilised.’

Laura hesitated. She was loath to appear too curious after the accusation she had made towards him, but she had to ask, ‘What is—Valle di Lupo?’

Jake smiled, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as his lean features assumed a disturbing sensuality. ‘My home,’ he said simply. ‘Or rather—my family’s. It’s in the wilds of Toscana—Tuscany. A few miles north of Firenze.’

‘Florence,’ ventured Laura softly, and Jake inclined his head.

‘As you say—Florence,’ he agreed. ‘Have you been to Italy?’

‘Oh, no.’ Laura shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. Apart from a school skiing trip to Austria, I haven’t travelled much at all. Not outside England, anyway.’

‘A pity.’ Jake pulled a wry face. ‘I think you would like it.’

‘Oh—I’m sure I would.’ Laura hoped she didn’t sound too eager. ‘Um—is that—is that where your—daughter lives?’ She moistened her lips. ‘At Valle di Lupo?’

‘Sometimes.’ Jake was thoughtful. ‘When she’s not at school. And when I’m not able to take care of her.’

Laura was interested in spite of herself. ‘You—don’t live at Valle di Lupo?’

Jake smiled again. ‘Who’s asking questions now?’

Laura’s face flamed. ‘I’m sorry—–’

‘Don’t be. I don’t mind.’ Jake shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide!’

Laura pressed her lips together, and glanced awkwardly about her. ‘I—er—I think I’d better go and get dressed,’ she murmured, and then caught her breath again, when Jake propelled himself up from the chair, and swung it round, so that it fitted back under the table.

‘I thought you wanted to know where I lived?’ he protested. ‘Or were you just being polite?’

Laura caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I—just wondered, that’s all,’ she improvised, smoothing her damp palms down the skirt of her dressing-gown. ‘It’s really none of my business—–’

‘I have an apartment in Rome, and another on the coast near Viareggio,’ he told her softly. ‘But my real home is at Valle di Lupo. That is where I was born.’

‘Oh.’

It all sounded very extravagant to Laura. Two apartments, and a family home. It was the kind of lifestyle she had only read about in glossy magazines, or seen portrayed in American soap operas. It was quite amazing to meet someone who actually lived like that. It seemed a long way from Burnfoot, and the modest appointments of this cottage.

‘You don’t approve?’ he suggested now, and Laura was guiltily aware that she had been frowning.

‘Oh—no,’ she murmured. ‘I mean—it all sounds very beautiful. Your home, that is. I’m sure Julie is longing to see it.’

‘Are you?’

Jake rested his hands on the back of the chair, and Laura’s eyes were drawn to their narrow elegance. It reminded her of how they had felt the night before, and how strongly they had supported her weight…

But he was waiting for her answer, and, lifting her shoulders, she said quickly, ‘Of course.’ A sudden thought occurred to her, and she felt the colour invade her cheeks once again. ‘Unless—unless she’s already—–’

‘No.’

Jake was adamant about that, and Laura’s eyes widened. ‘No?’

‘Julie isn’t interested in the provincial life,’ Jake informed her carelessly. ‘She doesn’t care for fields, and trees, and rolling vineyards. Only in what they produce.’

Laura swallowed. ‘That’s a little harsh—–’

‘Is it?’ Jake’s eyes were enigmatic. ‘How do you know I don’t feel the same?’

She didn’t, of course. And on the evidence she had so far, she had little reason to believe otherwise. And yet…

‘I—really think I must go and get dressed,’ she insisted, moving towards the door. ‘Er—if you’d like another cup of tea, help yourself. I—won’t be long.’

She made her escape before he could say anything else. And, as she went up the stairs again, she realised she was trembling. For heaven’s sake, she thought impatiently, what was wrong with her? It wasn’t the first time she had had a conversation with a strange man, and certainly he had given her no reason to feel this consuming sense of vulnerability in his presence. It wasn’t as if he’d made a pass at her or anything. He’d been a perfect gentleman, and she was behaving like a silly spinster. For God’s sake, she told herself, locking the bathroom door and taking a good look at herself in the mirror, she was too old and too jaded to be attractive to a man like him. Even if Julie had not been on the scene, there were probably dozens of women like her, waiting to take her place. She was just a middle-aged housewife, with a pathetic lust for something she had never had.