Читать книгу The Temptation Trap - CATHERINE GEORGE, Catherine George - Страница 8

ROSANNA rang her parents next morning, gave her mother a brief account of the meeting with Ewen Fraser, and told her Harry’s letters had been duly handed over.

‘He gave me Rose’s letters in return.’

‘How wonderful,’ said Henrietta Carey, the catch in her voice plainly audible down the line. ‘I can’t wait to read them. What did you think of Harry and his letters?’

‘Quite a man. Poor Rose. Poor Harry, too. Apparently he never married.’

‘How sad. Did you like Ewen Fraser, by the way?’

‘Yes,’ said Rosanna with perfect truth. ‘He’s—rather charming.’

‘Are you going to see him again?’

‘No, Mother.’

‘Have you heard from David lately?”

‘Yes, of course. He rang on Sunday, as usual. He’s working very hard.’

‘I’m sure he is, darling. Sam sends his love, by the way.’

‘Is he well?’

‘Fighting fit. He told you to come with us next time.’

After talking to her parents the house seemed empty to Rosanna. She’d slept very badly after Ewen’s departure the night before, burning with guilt over the disloyalty to David. But it was only a kiss, she told herself. David would understand. Not that she was going to tell 34 him, just in case he didn’t. News like that didn’t travel well.

In spite of her restless night she’d been awake at first light, and the day stretched emptily in front of her. Which was what she’d longed for last week when she was working like a dog for Charlie, she reminded herself irritably, so she’d better make the most of it, and start on some serious research for her novel.

A visit to the local library provided her with a stack of helpful literature, fact and fiction, including Siegfried Sassoon’s account of life in the trenches. And on the way home Rosanna called into a bookshop and bought a copy of Savage Dawn. Just out of curiosity.

From now on, thought Rosanna dryly, she could hardly complain about having nothing to do.

She resisted the temptation to read Ewen’s book first. Instead she went out into the garden with a picnic lunch and started on Sassoon’s memoirs to get herself in the mood.

Rosanna read all afternoon and evening, regularly dipping into the factual, pictorial accounts alongside Sassoon’s graphic, understated account of trench warfare. She ate her supper while she read, and made notes and drank endless mugs of tea and coffee. By eight in the evening her eyes were protesting and she was so stiff from sitting in one position she had a long, leisurely soak in the bath, watched television for an hour or so, then locked up and went to bed with Ewen’s book.

His style was spare, but so evocative. The African heat fairly sizzled from the pages as she read. Rosanna was drawn to the soldier hero from the first, and found herself identifying with the woman he loved to such a degree that her heart began hammering during the first love scene between them. Afterwards she lay awake in the dark for hours, shaken by the fact that Ewen’s written word conjured up his own lovemaking all too vividly. She burned with guilt, furious with herself for responding so helplessly. She was going to marry David Norton. She’d known David for ever, and his lovemaking was very… Very what? Rosanna let out a deep, irritated sigh. At the moment she couldn’t remember what it was like. Whereas she could feel Ewen Fraser’s kisses on her mouth even now.

Next morning Rosanna was up early again, in need of exercise before any more reading. To her surprise she found two letters addressed to her amongst her parents’ mail. One, as expected, was from David, but the writing on the other envelope was unfamiliar. She made herself read every word of David’s cheery, affectionate missive before she opened the other letter, her heart skipping a beat when she saw Ewen’s signature. He began rather formally by thanking her for his uncle’s letters, and the evenings Rosanna had given up to help him with his research. Then he went on to say how grateful he was to Harry Manners for leading him to a meeting with Rose Norman’s granddaughter.

In another way I regret it. Deeply. You were right. I am haunted. But not by Rose Norman. I can’t sleep for thoughts of you, Rosanna. I keep seeing your face, feeling your lips parting under mine, the warmth of your delectable body in my arms.

He went on in the same vein for several more lines, then signed himself simply as ‘Ewen’. Rosanna stared blindly at the black, slanted script of what could only be described as a love letter. Lust, not love, she told herself scornfully. Ewen Fraser had merely taught her a chemistry lesson, amazing her by her response to a virtual stranger. And for no particular reason that she could fathom. Ewen was no macho he-man bursting with testosterone. Nevertheless there was something lethally attractive about his tall, loose-limbed body, and the wide, expressive mouth that knew so well how to kiss a girl senseless… She took a deep breath, made herself some coffee, then went out for a run in the park to burn off feelings roused by a few words on paper. Clever devil, she thought bitterly. No wonder his books sold.

Next morning Rosanna received a second letter from Ewen, telling her how he was getting on with his book and asking about the progress of hers. And once more he ended with a few pulse-quickening lines which left her shaken and restless, and in need of a longer run than usual before she could settle to her research. Afterwards she went round to the Claytons’ house and used Charlie’s machine to send Ewen a fax, telling him to stop writing to her. And to her surprise, and utterly savage disappointment, he did.

On Saturday, a week later, Rosanna went round to the flat in Bayswater to collect some clothes, and found Louise on her way out to spend the weekend with a new man. This was definitely the one, said Louise, starry-eyed, but Rosanna had heard that one before. Often. She laughed affectionately, wished Louise good luck, then went off to do some solitary window-shopping. After a visit to the cinema later on Rosanna finally went home, feeling thoroughly out of sorts. There had been no more letters from Ewen, and none from David, either. He rang her instead, to apologise for lack of time to write, and promised to come home for a holiday soon. And, to make matters worse, she missed Ewen’s brief, passionate notes far more than she missed David’s accounts of life in Boston.

On impulse Rosanna rang David’s Boston number, but a recorded message was her only reward. She left a brief greeting and rang off, feeling restless and lonely, resigned to a Saturday evening with only the television and a novel for company.

When the phone rang later she was in the kitchen, trying to whip up the enthusiasm to make herself something to eat. She brightened, and raced into the hall to answer it. ‘Hi, David!’

‘Sorry to disappoint you, Rosanna,’ said a deep, husky voice very different from David Norton’s. But just as recognisable.

‘Who is this?’ she said, after a pause.

His laugh raised the hairs down her spine. ‘Ewen. As you well know.’

‘Hello, Ewen. This is a surprise. How are you?’

‘All the better for talking to you, Rosanna. Though I didn’t expect to at this time on a Saturday night.’

‘Why not?’

‘I was sure you’d be out, socialising somewhere.’

‘Louise is otherwise engaged.’

‘And is she the only one you go out with?’

‘No. I have another friend, Maxine, but she’s on holiday.’

‘You mean that while the good doctor’s in the States you do without male company of any kind?’

‘Not necessarily. Sometimes I see old college friends. But no one’s around at the moment.’

‘In that case would he object if you had dinner with me?’

‘I have no idea. Besides, it’s me you should be asking, not David.’

‘I am asking you, Rosanna. Will you?’

Rosanna wanted very badly to say yes. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ she said at last.

‘Why not?’

‘You can ask that, after the letters you sent me?’

‘Were they so offensive?’

She was silent for a moment. ‘Not offensive, exactly. But you shouldn’t have written to me like that.’

‘I haven’t since you told me to stop.’

‘I know. Thank you.’

‘Something’s wrong, Rosanna,’ he persisted. ‘Tell me.’

‘You’ll laugh,’ she said, depressed.

‘From your tone it doesn’t seem likely!’ He paused. ‘Rosanna, all I’m asking is an evening spent together. My intentions are of the best. Or are you convinced my sole object is seduction?’

‘I hope I’m not so conceited,’ she retorted. ‘Why do you want to see me?’

‘I can tell something’s wrong. I want to know what it is.’

Rosanna sighed dispiritedly. ‘It’s nothing you can do anything about.’

‘Rosanna,’ said Ewen after a pause, ‘is it something to do with David?’

‘No. Nothing at all.’

‘I see. Or rather I don’t see.’ He paused. ‘Let’s discuss it over dinner. Though if you don’t want to talk about it I won’t press you. Afterwards I’ll deliver you to your door without even a peck on the cheek.’

Why not? she thought defiantly, avoiding her eyes in the mirror. She couldn’t stay home all the time. ‘Then thank you, I’ll come. It’s very kind of you.’

‘Not really. It’s the journalist in me, scenting a story.’

Ewen rang back later to confirm dinner at a favourite restaurant of his in Shepherd’s Bush, as long as they didn’t mind eating late. Rosanna, who hadn’t intended eating very much at all, assured him she didn’t mind a bit, but told him not to come for her. She would meet him at the restaurant around nine.

Which, she thought, running upstairs, gave her a couple of hours to make herself look as contemporary as possible. Her spirits high, Rosanna put on the sleeveless, low-cut black dress she kept for special occasions, added sheer black stockings, strappy black suede shoes, and took a long time over her face. She brushed her waving dark hair back as severely as possible, and secured it at the nape of her neck with a tortoiseshell clasp, then, with a touch of defiance, pinned the gold rose to the shoulder of her dress. The result, she thought, satisfied, was a far cry from young Rose Norman.

Ewen was waiting when she arrived at the restaurant. He wore a fawn linen suit and his face looked tired under the thick black hair, dark smudges of fatigue under his eyes. But when he caught sight of her the eyes lit up, and Rosanna’s heart gave a sudden, unsettling thump as he came towards her, hand outstretched.

‘Rosanna, you look ravishing!’ He seated her in a corner of the crowded bar, his eyes moving over her with unconcealed pleasure. ‘That’s the famous rose, of course, but otherwise thoroughly modern Rosanna,’ he said with a grin, and she smiled back wryly. He really was a clever devil.

‘Just so there’s no confusion,’ she said lightly, and agreed to champagne when he told her he was celebrating the racing start he’d made on his book.

‘How about you?’ he asked.

‘I’m very well,’ she assured him.

‘I can see that.’ The look in his eyes brought such heat to her face, Rosanna gave fervent, secret thanks for the naturally matt complexion which disguised it. ‘What shall we drink to?’ he asked, filling her glass.

‘Rose and Harry,’ she said promptly.

‘Amen to that.’ Ewen drank some of his wine, then turned his attention to the menu. ‘Let’s choose, then we’ll be free to discuss this problem of yours.’

Rosanna was sorry now she’d ever admitted to having a problem. But if she hadn’t, she reminded herself, she wouldn’t be here with Ewen now. Where she was dangerously happy to be. The entire occasion was bringing light to a week which had felt like a dark tunnel of disappointment and frustration.

‘Could we leave my problem until after dinner, please?’ she said ruefully. ‘I’d like to enjoy the meal first. Tell me about your novel instead.’

Ewen’s eyes narrowed searchingly, but he made no move to press her. ‘As I told you, I started the research for it as soon as I finished Savage Dawn, and I’d already mapped out the story between the two friends. Then I read about Harry’s meeting with Rose and the love theme just fell into place.’

‘I’ll look forward to reading it.’ She smiled a little. ‘Savage Dawn was brilliant, by the way. I couldn’t put it down.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘You mean you actually bought it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Rosanna, I would have given you a copy if I’d thought you were interested.’ His smile was wry. ‘I tend not to force my efforts on the unwilling.’

‘I didn’t like to ask.’

His eyes gleamed suddenly. ‘Afraid I might expect something in return?’

‘Certainly not,’ she said loftily. ‘Just afraid you were still angry because I wanted to write on the same subject.’

He shrugged. ‘I admit I wasn’t too pleased at the time. I thought you let me see you again because you liked my company, not just to wheedle Rose’s letters away from me. My ego took a beating.’

‘You came to see me for the same reason, where Harry was concerned.’

‘Not the second time, as you know perfectly well,’ he said, so quietly she barely heard him above the conversations going on around them. But the gleam in his eyes made his meaning unmistakable.

‘Let’s talk about something else,’ she said hastily, looking away. ‘Have you been watching the new Jane Austen serial?’

‘I haven’t watched anything since I started the book. While the muse is with me I work until I can’t see straight, then microwave something vaguely edible, go to bed and fall asleep listening to the radio.’

Rosanna frowned in disapproval. ‘That can’t be good for your health. Or your social life.’

He shrugged. ‘The latter’s non-existent when I’m writing.’

‘I find it hard to believe that,’ she retorted. ‘Your social life is so well documented I recognised you almost at once. You’ve been photographed often enough with various beautiful ladies, Ewen Fraser.’

He looked at her very squarely. ‘But rarely with the same one, Rosanna. Lately, anyway. Most of it was just publicity. My lifestyle tends to put paid to lasting relationships. When I was a full-time journalist it was the long hours and my habit of turning up late for evenings out, or sometimes not at all. Now it’s even worse. The most recent lady in my life gave up on me rather than play second fiddle to my computer.’

‘Was she right about that?’ asked Rosanna curiously.

‘In a way. She wanted marriage, I didn’t, so we split up. Marriage doesn’t appeal, I’m afraid.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘What are your views on the subject?’

‘Very dull and conventional.’ She smiled. ‘I’m the original old-fashioned girl. It’s always been marriage for David and me.’

‘Everyone to their own taste,’ he said lightly as the waiter approached. ‘Good, our meal is ready. I’m hungry.’

Ewen made no attempt to press Rosanna about her problem over the meal, which they ate in a secluded little booth at the back of the restaurant, sharing the same bench seat. Which, she thought, had its disadvantages. The meal was delicious, but sitting so close to Ewen made it very difficult to concentrate on the food. She’d expected to face him across a table. Instead they were enclosed in unexpected intimacy, cut off from the rest of the room by a concealing array of potted greenery. And every time his arm brushed hers, or his foot came into contact with her own under the table, she felt such a surge of electricity it was difficult not to show it.

When the coffee arrived after the meal Ewen moved closer, half turned towards her, the dark rings under his eyes less pronounced now. ‘Aren’t you going to praise me for my forbearance?’

‘For not asking what’s wrong?’ Rosanna nodded, smiling wryly. ‘Particularly as you’d probably rather be tapping away at your keyboard than trying to cheer me up.’

‘Are you mad? Of course I wouldn’t. What man would?’ he said with emphasis, then grinned. ‘And to be honest it was a change to eat a proper meal for once.’

‘You certainly look better for it,’ she said reprovingly. ‘You shouldn’t resort to a microwave all the time. It doesn’t take long to throw a cold meal together.’

‘You sound like my mother,’ he said resignedly, then smiled crookedly. ‘But you don’t look like her.’

‘You mean I look like Rose!’

‘Actually you don’t tonight. You look so alluring it’s very bad for me.’ He slid closer still and took her hand in his, looking into her eyes. ‘Strange as it may seem— no matter what you’ve read about me—it’s not my habit to socialise with women already spoken for, Rosanna Carey. Talking of which, have you heard from young Dr Kildare lately?’

‘Of course I have.’

‘When’s he coming home to see you?’

‘As soon as he can,’ she said defensively. ‘He’s very busy.’

‘He’s also a fool,’ said Ewen flatly.

‘How can you say that?’ she retorted. ‘You don’t know him.’

‘I know you, Rosanna. And if the man’s not worried about leaving a woman like you alone for months on end—’ He raised his free hand. ‘I rest my case.’

‘I suppose that’s a compliment.’

‘It was intended as one.’

‘Then thank you.’ Rosanna hesitated, then gave in to temptation. ‘Are you very tired, Ewen?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’

‘Would you mind coming back with me to the house? There’s something I want to give you.’

‘I’d be delighted, as you know very well.’ He smiled into her eyes, his fingers tightening. ‘I intended to see you safely home anyway, Rosanna. Am I allowed to ask what I’m about to receive? Will I be truly thankful for it?’

‘I hope so,’ she said lightly. She detached her hand very deliberately and got to her feet. ‘If not I’ll keep it.’

‘I’ll treasure whatever you give me,’ he assured her. ‘Would you like a nightcap while we wait for a cab?’

‘No, thanks, not after champagne.’ She smiled at him. ‘Thank you for the meal.’

‘My pleasure, Rosanna. Not that you ate much of it,’ he added, and turned away to pay the bill, and a few minutes later they were in a taxi on their way back to Ealing. And rather to Rosanna’s surprise Ewen made no move to touch her on the journey home, but sat, circumspect, in his own half of the seat.

Rosanna saw the red light blinking on the phone the minute she unlocked the door. ‘Go into the sitting room,’ she told Ewen. ‘I’ll make coffee. Would you like some brandy with it?’

‘No, thanks.’ Ewen nodded towards the machine. ‘Aren’t you going to play that back? It might be urgent.’

He leaned against the newel-post, eyeing her with challenge, but she went past him into the kitchen to fill the kettle, then returned without haste to press the button.

‘Hi, Rosanna,’ said David’s familiar voice. ‘Got your message. Catch you later.’

‘The missing lover, I assume,’ said Ewen with irony.

‘That was David, yes,’ she returned. ‘Do go in and sit down. I shan’t be long.’

But Ewen followed her back to the kitchen. ‘He sounds rather transatlantic. Has he been out there long?’

‘Six months.’

‘And he hasn’t been back since?’

‘No.’ Rosanna poured boiling water on instant coffee, and handed him a beaker. ‘Black, no sugar.’