Читать книгу Dishonourable Intent - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

FRANCESCA had never slept in one of the Abbey’s guest suites.

Even before she and Will were married, when she had stayed for several weeks at Lingard, she’d always slept with him—in his suite, in his bed. Of course, when their relationship had become intolerable, Will had moved into one of the other suites himself. But she had always occupied the principal apartments, and it was odd to find herself in unfamiliar surroundings now.

Not that they were unwelcome surroundings, she acknowledged wearily, sinking down onto the side of the canopied bed. At least here she didn’t constantly feel the urge to look over her shoulder, and she could go to sleep without being afraid of either phone calls or unwanted intruders.

She shivered.

It had been crazy to come here, though. In all honesty, she still didn’t know why she’d come to Will. Except that when she’d found the window broken, and then taken that awful call, she’d panicked. It was as if she’d reached a kind of breaking point herself, as if the knowledge that he could even see her in her own flat was the last straw. Until then, she’d regarded her apartment as a sanctuary. Despite the fear that he might have broken in, she’d had no proof. But suddenly she’d lost any sense of security. She doubted she’d ever feel the same about the place again.

When she’d first left Will, she’d been forced to live in a bed-sitter, and after the clean air and space she had found at the Abbey, the room, in a hostel off Edgware Road, had seemed dark and poky. If he’d come after her then, if he’d shown even the slightest hint that he still cared for her, she’d have gone back to him, willingly. She’d have swallowed her pride and returned to Yorkshire without a second’s hesitation.

But, of course, he hadn’t. Will had his pride, too. Her lips twisted. God, he’d been full of it. Still was, if she was honest enough to admit it. He might have sympathised with her dilemma tonight, but he didn’t really want her here.

Perhaps she should have accepted Clare’s invitation to stay with her. She lived just a few streets away from Francesca’s home in Harmsworth Gardens, and at least that would have enabled her to go to work tomorrow. As it was, she would have to think of a convincing excuse for her boss at Teniko. He hadn’t been particularly sympathetic when she’d told him of her problems before.

Still, tomorrow was Friday, and with a bit of luck she’d be feeling more herself by Monday morning. She knew she hadn’t been thinking too clearly when she’d begged Clare for the loan of her Mazda just hours ago. All she’d felt was an overpowering need to get away from London, and she’d come to Will because he was someone she could trust.

And that was an irony, too, she mused bitterly, remembering how little he’d trusted her when she’d walked out. Why had she come to him, when he’d always been so willing to think the worst of her? Why had she sought his protection before that of anyone else?

Maybe if she’d had close family of her own it would have been different, she reflected. But, like Will, she’d lost both her parents before she was old enough to leave school. She’d not been as young as Will when he’d lost his parents, but she’d had no fairy grandmother to come to her rescue. Just her mother’s elderly aunt, who’d considered caring for her orphaned niece a duty, but not a pleasure.

Francesca drew a heavy breath and pushed herself up from the mattress. The temptation was just to sit there and feel sorry for herself, but she ought to try and get some sleep. Will had said to relax, that they would talk again in the morning. But in spite of being bone-tired her mind wouldn’t let her rest.

She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror which topped a skirted dressing table and, moving nearer, she examined her features with a critical stare. Her eyes were puffy, and she smoothed the veined skin below them with unsteady fingers. She looked older than Will this evening, she thought disconsolately. He’d always used to say his two years’ seniority could have been ten.

The bag Watkins had brought up earlier was resting on a padded ottoman, and, unzipping the top, she pulled out her toilet bag and the nightshirt she wore to sleep in. Apart from these items, jeans, underwear and a couple of shirts comprised her whole wardrobe. There was little point in hanging them up. They wouldn’t take up an eighth of the space in the enormous clothes closet.

The adjoining bathroom was equally huge. Francesca washed and cleaned her teeth at the large porcelain handbasin, promising herself that she would use the clawfooted bath in the morning, when she didn’t feel so deathly weak. Her face looked pale and drawn, and she impatiently pulled the pins out of her hair so that it fell in crinkled disorder about her shoulders. At least it softened her profile, she thought, contenting herself with just threading her fingers through its thickness tonight.

She was sliding between the crisp linen sheets of the brass bed when there was a knock at her door. In spite of herself, she automatically started, her stomach churning and her heart thumping heavily in her chest. But then the realisation of where she was, and the expectation of who it might be, reassured her. It was probably Mrs Harvey, to see if she had everything she needed.

‘C-come in,’ she called, annoyed to hear the tremor in her voice even so, but she forgot her irritation when Will stepped into the room.

‘I thought you might like a drink,’ he said flatly, and her eyes darted to the mug in his hand. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you. It’s just hot milk. It might help you to sleep.’

‘Thanks.’ Francesca shuffled into a comfortable position against the pillows, making sure the sheet was securely covering her chest. She took the mug. ‘This is very kind of you. I can’t remember the last time I had hot milk.’

Will arched a speculative brow. ‘Don’t you like it?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ She took a sip of the steaming beverage and then licked a smear of whiteness from her lip. ‘I just meant it’s a long time since—since I’ve been offered any.’ She’d nearly said since anyone had looked after her. She looked up at him, somewhat awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry I’m being such a nuisance. I—didn’t know where else to go.’

‘It’s no problem,’ he assured her evenly, and started back towards the door. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. Just tell Mrs Harvey if you’d like your breakfast in bed.’

‘I shan’t—’ she began, but the door had already closed behind his lean form, and she was left to take what comfort she could from the milk. But at least it showed he had some compassion for her, she thought wryly. In his position, would she have been so understanding with her ex?

If it was Will, probably, she decided ruefully, taking another mouthful of the hot milk. In spite of everything that had happened, she still found him disturbingly attractive. Physically, at least, she amended swiftly. Which wasn’t the same as how she’d felt before.

All the same...

She sniffed and drank some more, gasping as the unwary gulp of liquid burnt the back of her throat. Dammit, she thought, her eyes watering, he was just a man, wasn’t he? And after her experiences of the past few months she ought to have more sense.

She slept at once. As soon as her head touched the pillow, she was dead to the world, and it wasn’t until she saw sunlight pushing its way between the cracks in the curtains that she pondered the possibility that Will had put something more than just hot milk in her mug the night before.

Whatever, she awakened feeling relaxed, and vastly more optimistic. She almost managed to convince herself that nothing could be quite as bad as she’d imagined, although once again, when someone tapped for admittance, her nerves tightened uncontrollably, and it was an effort to speak.

This time it was Mrs Harvey, with a tray of morning tea, and she regarded her erstwhile mistress with surprising compassion. Francesca would have expected the housekeeper to resent her being here; she had no doubt Will’s grandmother would. Lady Rosemary had never wanted Will to marry her, and finding her here now she would be bound to think the worst.

But Mrs Harvey took the sight of her employer’s ex-wife in her stride. Even though Francesca was fresh out of the shower—she had eschewed the delights of the bath in favour of a speedier alternative—with one of the fluffy white towels tucked hurriedly beneath her arms, she showed no bias. ‘His lordship asked me to enquire if you’d care to take breakfast in the morning room,’ she announced, setting the tray on one of the square bedside cabinets before straightening to face her. ‘Might I say, you look much more yourself this morning, madam. We were all quite concerned about you last night.’

Francesca wondered what Will had told them. She’d forgotten how much a part of the family the servants at the Abbey considered themselves, and although Mrs Harvey was in her late fifties she was still one of the younger members of the staff. The trouble was, most of Will’s employees had been at the Abbey since before he was born, and it was difficult maintaining any kind of detachment with people who had once dandled you on their knee.

‘Oh—I’m fine,’ she assured Mrs Harvey now. ‘And I would prefer to come down for breakfast. But just toast and coffee for me, if you don’t mind,’ she added, remembering the housekeeper’s penchant for eggs and bacon. ‘And thank you for the tea.’

‘Are you sure that’s all you want? Just toast and coffee? His lordship has fruit juice and cereal as well.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Francesca firmly. ‘Will fifteen minutes be all right?’ She touched her damp hair. ‘Oh, and do you have a drier?’

It turned out that there was a hair-drier in the dressingtable drawer, and after Mrs Harvey had left Francesca plugged it in. She was aware that the housekeeper would have liked to stay and chat, but thankfully her duties prevented her from wasting any more time.

Francesca drank a cup of tea between bouts of drying her hair. It was getting too long, she reflected wryly, aware that it was probably more trouble than it was worth. She’d always had thick curly hair, and when she was a student she used to wear it loose. But these days she almost always secured it in a knot. Her employers at Teniko did not like untidy hair.

Deciding she was not at work today, and that she could afford to be a little more adventurous, she eventually twisted it into a chunky plait. At least it made her look a little younger, she thought, though she didn’t know why that should be an advantage. It wasn’t as if she wanted to impress Will. He was far too cynical for that.

She dressed in her jeans and a bronze silk shirt that was almost exactly the same colour as her hair. Thankfully, she had stuffed a pair of Doc Martens at the bottom of the bag, so she put them on without any socks. At least they looked better than her high-heeled pumps.

She hesitated about making her bed, and then decided against it. She remembered there were definite lines of demarcation at the Abbey, and guests did not appropriate other people’s jobs. It was something she had found hard to get used to when she’d first come to live at Lingard, but by the time she left she had become as accustomed to the privilege as Will himself.

Leaving her room, she walked along the corridor to the galleried landing, and then descended the shallow carpeted staircase to the vestibule below. The row of portraits of Will’s ancestors that lined the walls seemed to regard her disapprovingly. They probably took their cue from Lady Rosemary, thought Francesca wryly. There was a definite look of disdain in their blank stares. She shivered. She was getting paranoiac. She was imagining people were watching her wherever she went.

The house felt decidedly chilly at this hour of the morning, before the warmth of the day had had time to penetrate its thick walls. She half wished she had brought a sweater, but she hadn’t considered such practicalities when she’d packed her bag. She consoled herself with the thought that the morning room faced south-east, and was probably much warmer than the hall.

Will was still seated at the square breakfast table when she entered the sunlit apartment. She had half expected him to be gone; she had taken much longer than the fifteen minutes she had promised Mrs Harvey. But, although he had apparently had his breakfast, he was presently occupied with opening the morning’s post. A copy of the morning newspaper, too, was crumpled beside his plate.

Telling herself she had no reason to be nervous of him, Francesca nevertheless hesitated in the open doorway. ‘Um—good morning,’ she ventured, instantly attracting his attention. ‘I’m sorry I’ve taken so long.’

‘No problem.’ Stuffing the invoice he had been holding back into its envelope, Will got immediately to his feet. ‘Sit down,’ he said. ‘Mrs Harvey’s getting you some toast. But the coffee’s still hot if you’d like some.’

‘Thanks.’ A place had been laid for her at right angles to his, and Francesca subsided awkwardly into her seat. In the light of day, her fears of the night before seemed much exaggerated, and she made a determined effort to appear composed as she picked up the coffee pot.

But, despite her best efforts, her hand trembled as she poured the liquid, and some of the coffee splashed onto the cloth. ‘Oh, damn!’ she muttered frustratedly. ‘This is getting to be a habit. I’m sorry I’m so clumsy, Will. I don’t know what’s the matter with me this morning.’

Will resumed his own seat and regarded her wryly. ‘Oh. I think you do,’ he said steadily. ‘After what you told me last night, I think you’re bearing up very well.’ He paused. ‘But you’re safe here, Francesca. You don’t have to worry about any intruders. And the only things that are likely to follow you are the dogs.’

‘I know.’ Francesca managed a faint smile. ‘Thanks.’ She added cream to her coffee without accident and gave him a rueful look. ‘And thanks for listening to me last night. I guess I just needed someone to talk to. I know it was a liberty coming here, but I think it’s worked.’

‘What’s worked?’ he enquired, his brows drawing together above eyes that were so dark, in some lights they looked black. He frowned. ‘I haven’t done anything except give you a bed for the night. You’re not telling me that’s made any conceivable difference to the situation?’

Francesca drew a breath. He was regarding her closely now, and she thought how much less intimidating he seemed this morning without his formal clothes. Tightfitting jeans and a baggy sweater might not detract from his innate air of good breeding, but they did make him seem more approachable, she thought.

‘I feel better because I’ve talked it out,’ she explained firmly. ‘I don’t feel half so tense this morning, and I’m even prepared to admit that perhaps the situation isn’t really as bad as I thought.’

Will’s eyes narrowed. ‘But your window was broken, wasn’t it? He did make that call?’

‘Oh, yes.’ She flushed defensively. ‘But he was probably only guessing about me finding the window. I mean—it could have been kids who broke it. He could have been using the fact that he’d seen it was broken to his own advantage.’

‘Do you believe that?’

She moved her shoulders. ‘It’s an idea.’ She hesitated. ‘We do get some vandalism, too. Everybody does.’

‘We?’

Once again, he questioned her use of the pronoun, and she gave him an indignant look. ‘I meant as a general problem,’ she declared, taking refuge in her coffee. But she sensed he was still suspicious of the situation. Perhaps he thought she was running away from an unhappy affair.

‘I believe you said you’d reported the broken window to your landlady,’ Will remarked now, and she nodded.

‘Yes. She said she’d inform the police, and get her son-in-law to replace it.’ She coloured. ‘I didn’t tell her about the phone call. It’s not something I like to talk about.’

Will lay back in his chair, regarding her with a disturbing intensity, and she knew a desperate need to defend herself. ‘I’m not lying,’ she said. ‘If you don’t believe me, ring Mrs Bernstein. She’ll confirm that the window was broken, and she’ll be thrilled if you tell her who you are.’

Will’s mouth flattened. ‘I haven’t said I don’t believe you,’ he responded, lifting his shoulders. ‘On the contrary, I’m wondering what the hell I can do. There has to be some way to stop this bastard. Breaking and entering is still a crime, isn’t it? It was the last time I checked.’

Francesca sighed, but before she could make any reply the elderly butler came into the room, carrying a tray. ‘Good morning, madam,’ he said, with rather more confidence than he’d shown the night before. ‘I trust you slept well?’

‘Very well, thank you, Watkins,’ said Francesca, giving him a smile. It was good to know that Will’s staff didn’t hold their separation against her, and she flashed Watkins a diffident look as he placed a rack of toast, a fresh dish of butter and a new pot of coffee beside her plate.

The butler departed, and although she wasn’t particularly hungry Francesca helped herself to a piece of toast. Despite what she had told Will, she was not looking forward to going back to London, and her mouth dried at the thought of sleeping at the flat tonight.

‘Well, isn’t it?’ Will prompted now, and she realised he was still waiting for a reply. ‘Breaking and entering, I mean. You have to tell them what happened, Fran. It’s something concrete they can work on.’

‘Who? The police?’ Francesca buttered the toast and then reached for the marmalade. Anything to buy herself a bit of time. ‘You don’t understand, Will. I can’t prove who tried to get into the flat, can I? There are dozens—probably hundreds—of robberies every day. And as far as I could see nothing was stolen. So...’

Will’s nostrils flared. ‘But in the circumstances—’ Francesca shook her head. ‘I’m not the only woman who’s being harassed, Will. Like I said before, I probably overreacted. I just need to get myself together.’

He made a frustrated sound. ‘I could kill him!’

‘Yes, so could I,’ she responded lightly, firmly lifting the toast to her lips. But her throat dried as she tried to swallow the tiny corner she’d nibbled, and she had to take a mouthful of coffee to enable her to get it down.

Will regarded her consideringly. ‘So what are you going to do? When you get back, I mean. Would it help if you moved house?’

‘And go and live with people I don’t even know?’ protested Francesca, putting the toast down again. ‘Will, I’ve got to handle this. I can’t go running scared every time he makes a move.’

Will’s lips compressed. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Okay, I can appreciate your feelings, but you’ve got to appreciate mine. Dammit, last night you were in a state of almost mental collapse. Forgive me if I find this sudden appearance of confidence hard to take.’

‘I’m not confident.’ Francesca couldn’t let him think that. ‘But I can’t let him—let him beat me. After all, I can’t prove he’s committed any crime.’

‘Apart from attempting to break into your apartment, and threatening you, you mean?’ pointed out Will sardonically, and Francesca gave him a troubled look.

‘I don’t know if that was him,’ she insisted, taking another mouthful of her coffee. And at his snort of disbelief she added, ‘He’s never broken a window before.’

‘That’s what worries me,’ declared Will shortly. ‘How do you know what the bastard will do next?’

Francesca sucked in a breath. ‘Well, it’s not your problem, is it?’ she said, with determined brightness. ‘And I am grateful to you for letting me stay here last night. I guess I just let the whole thing get on top of me. Which reminds me, would you mind if I rang my boss at Teniko, to explain that I might not make it into the office today?’

Will came forward in his chair. ‘You can tell him you won’t make it into the office today, if you like,’ he asserted flatly. ‘For God’s sake, Fran, you don’t think I’m going to let you drive back today? It’s Friday, for pity’s sake. I suggest you leave any heroics until Monday. Spend the weekend here at the Abbey. Don’t worry; no one’s going to touch you here, and at least it will give you a break.’

Francesca swallowed. ‘You’d let me spend the weekend at the Abbey?’ she exclaimed, and Will gave her an impatient look.

‘Why not?’ he asked. ‘You look as if you could use the rest. At the least, it win give you time to think.’

‘Maybe...’ Francesca moistened her lips. ‘But what will—what will Lady Rosemary have to say? It’s the middle of the summer, so I assume she’s staying at Mulberry Court. I don’t think she’d approve of you offering to let me stay here.’

A frown brought his brows together at her words, and, judging by his expression, she suspected he hadn’t given his grandmother’s feelings a thought until then. But the old lady had always been a force to be reckoned with, and years ago Francesca had been left in no doubt that . she was not the wife Lady Rosemary would have chosen for her grandson.

‘This is my home,’ he said, after a moment’s consideration, but she had the feeling he was not as casual as he’d have her believe. Still, what the hell? she thought. There was no reason why she should meet the old lady. She’d just as soon that Will didn’t tell her that she was here.

But, of course, someone was bound to. Even if she left today, her visit would not go unremarked. Watkins was an old gossip, and so was Mrs Harvey, and, although they were both extremely loyal to the family, when Francesca had left Will she’d forfeited any right to privacy.

‘All the same...’ she said now, giving him an out, but for reasons best known to himself Will chose not to take it.

‘Please stay,’ he said politely, though she thought his lips had stiffened. ‘But I am expecting guests for lunch, so if you’ll excuse me I have arrangements to make.’