Читать книгу Australia: In Bed with Her Groom - Emma Darcy - Страница 15

ASHLEY PONDERED HER position as she dressed for the day. Harry had reaffirmed his mission, leaving little room for the pipedream that she might be able to keep him in Australia with her. He would go back to England. That was the inevitable reality, and it ill behove her to let it slip from her mind and think other foolish thoughts.

England represented Roger’s side of the family. It also represented closer memories of Harry’s beloved Penelope. The prospect of taking up residence in Springfield Manor held no attraction for Ashley. Unless Harry overcame all her objections to it.

He had openly declared that he would test her resistance to the limits and he was not inclined to take no for an answer. Ashley wondered how far he would use the tug of attraction to get his own way. He found her desirable. She no longer had any doubt about that.

For several electric moments, when he had first entered her bedroom, she had felt the strong swirl of wanting from him like a physical touch on her skin, a clamp on her heart. He had tried to hide it, tried to ignore it, but it had been still pulsing from him as he poured her coffee. All her senses had been alive to it, treacherously responding to it even as she struggled for the same self-control he imposed upon himself.

But desire wasn’t love, Ashley cautioned herself. Desire could be manipulated for purposes that had nothing to do with love. Men and women had been doing that to each other since Adam and Eve. Desire could be a trap that would cost her dear in the end if she succumbed to it. Ashley had been the victim of one man’s ego. She didn’t intend to ever let that happen again.

Was winning uppermost in Harry’s mind?

Did he want to be with her as much as she wanted to be with him?

The wise thing to do, Ashley decided, was wait, watch and listen while keeping a good sparring distance from Harry Cliffton. Having settled on this sensible course of action, she headed downstairs for breakfast, confident of holding true to herself despite all the persuasive tactics Harry could come up with.

William was discussing the merits of spin bowling with Harry, swapping reminiscences of the great masters of the art. There was not the slightest hint of being patronising from Harry. They chatted away as equals, and William was very much enjoying the company.

Ashley suddenly felt inadequate as a single parent. It was impossible to be both mother and father to a child, to be the full complementary mixture that answered all needs. Not many people achieved that ideal, she assured herself, dismissing a twinge of guilt at her emotional rejection of her dead husband and her indifference about actively looking for another.

‘Hi, Mum!’ William greeted her cheerfully. ‘I’m going to have bacon and eggs, too.’

Ashley’s guilt returned and persisted when the three of them sat down to the cooked breakfast. Like a proper family, she thought, beginning the day together, sharing amiable conversation. Usually William had his cereal and was about his business before she got up in the morning. Her routine was to read the newspaper as she ate her muesli. They only really shared the evening meal, and more times than not the television was on so conversation was mainly limited to ad breaks.

She remembered Harry saying that although there were television sets at Springfield Manor, interesting conversation always took priority over watching programmes. Ashley decided to revise the habits she and William had fallen into. Good communication was important and time should be made for more of it. Families that talk together, stay together. Harry was right about that.

‘Do you have a busy day ahead of you, Ashley?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’ She explained what had led up to Gordon Payne’s visit yesterday and Cheryn Kimball’s present predicament. ‘Cheryn thought she had a good, secure job and was counting on the income. Given the circumstances, I doubt he’ll even pay her what he owes for the week’s work. I must try to place her again as quickly as I can. The poor girl was completely distraught yesterday.’

‘Can I help you with anything?’

‘No. It’s kind of you to offer but this is my job and I know how to handle it.’

‘You can help me paint my soldiers,’ William chimed in, eager to fill in any gap in Harry’s time.

‘This afternoon,’ he agreed. ‘Since your mother doesn’t need me here, there’s a few other things I’d like to do this morning. Reprovision the fridge and pantry, for one. I can’t be eating all your mother’s food without contributing something.’

‘There’s no need…’ she started.

He smiled, melting the protest on her tongue. ‘I want to. Let me surprise you. It will give me great pleasure to provide a few special meals for you.’

‘The kind of meals you have at Springfield Manor?’ she asked sharply.

He tilted an eyebrow. ‘Is that forbidden?’

It probably made her a closed-minded bigot if she said it was, yet she resented the subtle pressures Harry was applying to undermine her negative attitude to his mission. She forced a smile. ‘Please feel free to provide whatever you like. As I understand it, you take full responsibility for the money you spend on us.’

‘You do?’ William’s eyes lit up like Christmas trees. ‘Can I come shopping with you, Mr. Cliffton?’

‘You might find it boring, William,’ Harry warned.

‘Are you going in the Rolls Royce?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I won’t find it boring.’

‘You need your mother’s permission.’

‘Mum?’

Ashley eyed her son sternly. ‘You may go, William, but you are not to ask Mr. Cliffton to buy you anything.’

‘I promise I won’t ask him,’ he agreed quickly. A fair bit of hinting could easily be achieved, William thought, his mind leaping to certain shops that could be artfully included in the itinerary.

Ashley retired to her office once breakfast was over, leaving Harry and William to make whatever arrangements they liked between them. She heard the Rolls Royce arrive and hoped William wouldn’t find it too pleasant and addictive. They popped their heads into the office to say goodbye, and the house felt strangely empty when they were gone.

Ashley did her best to settle to work. She carefully scanned the Positions Vacant lists in the local newspaper, mentally matching them against the files of her clients for possibilities to pursue. There was nothing that would really use Cheryn’s abilities.

She made several telephone calls, scouting employers who had used her agency to find good employees in the past. One of them had a friend who had mentioned a need for an attractive front-office girl with superior secretarial skills. Ashley wasted no time in making the contact and interesting him in the service she could provide. An appointment was made to discuss the matter further, and Ashley hoped it would result in a suitable position for Cheryn.

A few calls came in asking for temps. Ashley had no problem in filling these requirements. She wondered how Gordon Payne was getting on with finding someone to fit his needs and was glad the responsibility was no longer hers. She couldn’t, in all conscience, place anyone in such a demeaning situation.

Her gaze drifted to the Lladro clown that Harry had rescued for her, and the scene replayed itself in her mind, pausing over the sense of connection when their eyes had first met. Had it merely been some spark of chemistry ignited by the tension of the moment, or was it an instinctive recognition of fellow travellers on a plane that was subtly removed from other people?

Ashley realised that since her escape from marriage to Roger, she had been content to hibernate emotionally from all other men. She suspected Harry had done the same after Pen’s death, withdrawing himself from any close involvement with other women. Had their meeting snapped them both awake, seeding an awareness of needs they had buried? Were they meant to come together or was this encounter simply a turning point in their lives, a spur to reappraising where they had been and where they would go from here?

The realisation came to her that she had been building a safe self-containment. Harry tapped a yearning in her for all she was missing out on. Perhaps it was self-defeating to cling to the control she had achieved. Could what she most wanted be gained without risk? What if she was to go to Springfield Manor with Harry… .

She shook her head over such impulsive madness. She had only known the man one short day. It was far too soon to consider throwing up everything on the chance that Harry Cliffton was the man to fill the empty places inside her with the satisfaction she craved.

The buzz of the telephone was a pertinent reminder she should be concentrating on work. She picked up the receiver and crisply identified the agency and herself.

‘Ah, Mrs. Harcourt…Gordon Payne here.’

Ashley instantly tensed, expecting his demands and threats to be renewed. ‘What can I do for you, Mr. Payne?’ she said coolly, determined not to lose her temper this time no matter how provoked she was.

He cleared his throat. ‘I was out of line yesterday, Mrs. Harcourt. Said things I didn’t mean. I’m a man who’s set in my ways and I like things to run smoothly, you know?’

‘Perhaps mistakes of judgement were made on both sides,’ she offered, astonished at the conciliatory tone and happy to meet it halfway.

‘Very upsetting. A bad day all round. I regret my behaviour with you, Mrs. Harcourt, and I hope you’ll accept my apology.’

Incredulity billowed through Ashley’s mind. Roger had never apologised. Maybe she had overinflated Gordon Payne’s ego and it wasn’t quite so monstrous, after all. ‘Thank you, Mr. Payne,’ she said, struggling to gather her wits and say something gracious. ‘I’m sorry we couldn’t have reached a better understanding.’

‘I’ll put two cheques in the mail today. I presume you’ll pass Miss Kimball’s on to her.’

‘Yes, I will. Thank you. She’ll appreciate it.’

‘I don’t want any trouble.’

‘Neither do I, Mr. Payne.’

‘You’ll have no cause to bring any harassment charges against me. I promise you that.’

Ashley’s eyebrows shot up. She hadn’t even begun to consider such a means of redress. Even if Gordon Payne had carried through on his threats, how on earth could she have proved he was behind the harassment? People like him always covered their tracks.

‘I’d be obliged if you’d assure Mr. Cliffton I’ve put everything he demanded in train and there’ll be no reason to get into litigation.’

Harry?

Enlightenment blossomed.

Harry had overheard the threats. He was a witness. He must have gone shopping for a peaceful and fair resolution to the Gordon Payne problem, as well as food to lead her into temptation.

Images of Harry deftly turning Gordon Payne inside out with clever arguments and putting the fear of messy legal action into him flashed through Ashley’s mind. She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a wild giggle. She wished she’d been there to watch him run rings around the pompous power monger. It must have been a marvellous performance. A Rolls Royce definitely had the weight to buy more lawyers than a Daimler, and undoubtedly Gordon Payne respected that kind of money.

Having sobered herself enough to speak, Ashley blithely said, ‘I’ll certainly repeat the content of this call to Mr. Cliffton.’

‘Thank you, Mrs. Harcourt. I won’t trouble you any further. Good day to you.’

Ashley put the receiver down and laughed out loud, joy and relief bubbling through her amusement. She felt like dancing. Harry had done it again! The dragon had been slain by her irrepressible white knight. Was it any wonder that she was in danger of falling in love with him? If he kept on righting the wrongs in her world…

But what if he saw it as simply settling her affairs, smoothing the path for her to wind up her business without any hassles before leaving it behind? That was part of his mission, wasn’t it? This act of gallantry might not be inspired by any personal wish for her well-being at all.

On the other hand, she was very grateful for the outcome, so why should she quibble about motives? She snatched up the telephone and dialled Cheryn Kimball’s number, delighted that she could pass on some good news and brighten Cheryn’s day.

Despite the many question marks in her mind, Ashley could not repress her high spirits when Harry and William arrived home from their shopping trip. She heard the Rolls Royce purr to a halt and hurried out of the office to open the front door for them. Harry and William emerged from the back seat, Harry using his silver-tipped walking cane with elegant panache as he stepped out, his beautiful three-piece suit stamping him as a man of class, William following, happily clutching a bag emblazoned with the toy shop logo.

Ashley moved out to the porch, eyeing her son with exasperation. ‘William, I told you… .’

‘I didn’t ask, Mum,’ he expostulated. ‘Mr. Cliffton said we couldn’t have a proper war game without model cannons and cavalry. It was his idea. I just showed him where they could be bought.’

‘Led him there by the hand, did you?’

‘Aw, come on, Mum. Mr. Cliffton doesn’t need leading. He’s the smartest man I know.’ William broke into a run. ‘I’ll duck upstairs and put these away. Then I can help the chauffeur with the other shopping bags.’

Such virtue was highly suspicious, but Ashley let it pass. She looked at the smartest man William knew and was inclined to agree with her son. Harry’s mouth was twitching with amusement as William bolted past his mother. His blue eyes danced with mischief.

‘I don’t suppose you’d know anything about the cavalry arriving in Gordon Payne’s office this morning,’ she said archly. ‘I got the impression that a few cannons were fired there, as well.’

‘I love cavalry charges. Did you know in the Battle of—

‘Let me guess. One of your ancestors led it.’

‘No. He blew the bugle.’

‘As you did with Gordon Payne.’

He grinned. ‘It seemed like a good tune to play.’

Ashley couldn’t help laughing. ‘It worked. The enemy has been routed, and the money is in the mail.’

‘A celebratory lunch is in order?’

‘It certainly is. And thank you, Harry, both for Cheryn and myself. You’re a great bugle player.’

He laughed, and a sweet harmony danced between them, dispelling the defensive reservations Ashley had meant to hold. Harry was a prince amongst men, and there was simply no sense in dimming the pleasure he brought into her life.

They had a positively sinful lunch. Moet and Chandon champagne, cold lobster and an array of exotic salads, plus a selection of temptations from a French patisserie. William made short work of a large slice of chocolate mud cake. Ashley succumbed to an exquisite mille-fleur. Harry produced everything with irresistible flair, and it would have been absurdly churlish to stand on some independent dignity in the face of such treats.

Last but not least, he presented Ashley with a box of Belgian chocolates. ‘To help pass the time sweetly in your office this afternoon,’ he said with a smile that would have charmed the stoniest heart.

By this time, Ashley’s heart was well and truly under siege. She retreated to the safe confines of her office, which was the sensible thing to do, but she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling it was a stupid waste of time. How long would she have Harry in her life?

She found it impossible to settle to any productive work. Her mind kept wandering to what she could be doing with Harry—lazing the afternoon away on the beach, showing him some of the scenic beauty spots on the central coast, revelling in his sparkling company.

She wondered how he would look stripped down to a brief pair of swimming trunks. It occurred to her that his skin should be very pale, particularly since he had come from an English winter, yet it wasn’t. Where had he got the light golden tan that gave his face and hands such a warm glow of vitality?

Perhaps he accompanied the master of Springfield Manor to the Caribbean to escape the cold. Ashley could well imagine Harry arranging vacations he would find attractive. She suspected he organized quite a lot to suit himself, then used his persuasive powers to make others feel pleased he had gone to so much trouble for them.

A clever manipulator. She mustn’t forget that. Under-neath all the charm, there burned a steady, relentless and ruthless purpose. He would wear her resistance down until she surrendered to his will. But what precisely was his will? Simply to get William to Springfield Manor for his master? Or did he have some personal desire to have her there for himself?

The doorbell rang.

As she rose from her desk she heard Harry and William come into the hallway from the kitchen. It was a butler’s job to answer doorbells, Ashley reminded herself, but she was drawn to the office door to see who was calling anyway.

It was a florist. Harry took receipt of a magnificent bunch of white carnations, thanked the delivery person, shut the door and turned to present them to Ashley as she came forward.

‘Wow! Chocolates and flowers!’ William remarked with unconcealed glee. ‘You’re doing real good, Mr. Cliffton.’

It drew an ironic smile from Harry. ‘They’re not from me, William.’

His face fell. He frowned at Ashley as Harry handed her the carnations, two dozen of them prettily set off with sprays of baby’s breath. ‘Who’s giving you flowers, Mum?’ he demanded.

Ashley was at a loss to answer until she read the accompanying card. Then she laughed. ‘It’s a peace offering from Gordon Payne.’ Harry must have fired a whole salvo of cannons to wring these expensive blooms out of her erstwhile enemy.

William was not amused. ‘Who’s Gordon Payne?’ he asked in a darkly disapproving tone.

‘A gentleman who did some business with me,’ Ashley replied, and took the opportunity to deliver an appropriate rebuke. ‘He was here yesterday afternoon and but for some very timely intervention, young man, you would have broken the windscreen of his Daimler.’

‘Wish I had,’ William muttered.

‘I beg your pardon?’

Mutiny looked her in the eye. ‘I don’t want him coming around to our house and giving you flowers. You didn’t even tell me about him,’ he went on accusingly.

‘I’m not in the habit of discussing my business with you, William,’ Ashley reproved, taken aback by what was plainly an aggressively rebellious stance.

‘If he’s sending you flowers, it is my business,’ he argued. ‘I want Mr. Cliffton to be my uncle. I reckon he’ll be tons better than any uncle Rodney Bixell’s ever had.’ He marched over to Harry’s side. ‘So I’m telling you right now, Mum. This is where I stand.’

Ashley was stunned speechless. She knew children were growing up rather too fast these days, but to have her nine-year-old son claiming the right to choose a live-in lover for her was a bit much to swallow. Even if he was echoing her own secret fancies.

A flood of embarrassment swept a tide of heat up her neck. She couldn’t meet Harry’s eyes. What had William been telling him? Or worse, proposing to him? Did he think she was to be had as easily as Rodney Bixell’s mother?

Harry, characteristically, took William’s declaration in his stride. ‘Thank you for your vote, William,’ he said with superb aplomb. ‘I don’t think you need worry about Gordon Payne.’

William looked up, eyes glistening with hope and something suspiciously like hero-worship. ‘You mean you’ll fight him for Mum?’

‘A duel to the death,’ he promised, blithely uncaring that William was taking a personal and not a professional slant on this totally misdirecting piece of gallantry.

Ashley found her voice. ‘That’s enough!’ she snapped, her eyes flashing a fury of pride between the two of them. ‘I will not have either of you arrange my life for me.’

‘It’s my life, too,’ William pointed out with irrefutable logic.

‘Go upstairs this instant, William,’ Ashley commanded, losing patience with him. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’

She thrust the bunch of carnations at Harry. ‘You finagled these. You deal with them. And after you’ve done that, I want to see you in my office.’

Having seized control out of threatening mayhem and impressed her displeasure on both of them, Ashley strode into the private sanctum where she had always ruled the roost. She slammed the door behind her to drive home the fact that she was the boss here. Her own boss. Those who lived under her roof had better toe her line.

Which was all very well, but as Ashley paced around her office in a ferment of passionate conviction about her own autonomy, an insidious little voice in her mind persisted in questioning what her line was. It was utter hypocrisy to deny that her own desires ran parallel to her son’s feelings as to Harry’s role in their lives. How, in all honesty, could she reprimand her son for virtually giving her the go-ahead to take what she had been dreaming about most of the day?

But Harry shouldn’t have encouraged him to believe there was a chance of him becoming his uncle, going so far as to suggest he would fight any other man for the position. It was wrong, without conscience.

Unless he meant it.