Читать книгу Australia: In Bed with Her Groom - Emma Darcy - Страница 18

THE DAYS SLID by, magical summer days. Even more magical nights. Ashley was loath to bring any note of discord into the happiness of simply being with Harry. She asked no questions about his life in England. It was easy to pretend that was something far off when the immediacy of now overflowed with so many pleasures.

In many ways it was like some idealistic dream, too intoxicating to bring her head down from the clouds. Harry brought gaiety and spontaneity into her life. Inhibitions and planning flew out the window. Over and over again she found herself thinking, ‘Why not?’ and saying yes to whatever he suggested or initiated.

Their family outings were marvellous fun—a lazy afternoon at the beach, an exhilarating morning spent riding the breeze and the waves in a catamaran, a hilarious evening competing at minigolf, then eating monstrous hamburgers with the works. They picnicked by Somersby Falls and dined on fish and chips at Woy Woy wharf, watching the fishermen and the seagulls.

Both Harry and William inveigled her into sharing their interest in the test match cricket, abandoning work for the day, as she did most days except for following through on absolute-must situations like setting up Cheryn Kimball in the new job she had scouted.

They rode to Sydney in the Rolls Royce, and were ensconced in a private box in the Brewongle Grandstand with a wonderful view of the cricket ground. Drinks were readily available at any time, and a scrumptious buffet lunch was served. She enjoyed watching Harry and William enjoying the game, both of them indulgently explaining the finer points of the batting and bowling to her.

But the nights far transcended the less intimate joys of the days. If their initial coming together had lacked style, Harry more than made up for it, imbuing all that followed with romance. They danced by candlelight and feasted on suppers of strawberries and caviar and lychee nuts washed down by French champagne. Ashley learnt the pleasures of sensuality and for the first time revelled in being a woman, desired, loved, adored and cherished by a man who made her feel she was utterly perfect for him.

When it came to the night of Olivia Stanton’s party, Ashley didn’t want to go, didn’t want to waste the time away from Harry. Nevertheless, the agreement had been made, and Harry took it for granted she would keep her word. He arranged for the Rolls Royce to be standing by to take her in the style Olivia expected, and he and William had their war game all set up to play while Ashley was out.

She felt quite flat-spirited as she dressed, although not to be completely outshone by her mode of transport, she made every effort to achieve an elegant appearance. It was also a matter of personal pride to feel at least equal to Olivia Stanton, who liked to queen it over everybody. Perhaps a touch of vanity entered into it, as well, an underlying urge to show the world, at least her little corner of it, she now knew what it was to be a woman.

Ashley didn’t have a wardrobe full of party clothes to choose from. Normally she had no need of them. The only appropriate choice was a black crepe wrap dress that she’d bought for a chamber of commerce dinner.

It had a halter neckline, which she dressed up with gold chains. She fiddled with her hair, achieving a smooth dipping loop across Her forehead before sweeping the bulk of it into a soft chignon. A few strands were left curling around her ears, to which she attached long dangly earrings in jet and gold. Her T-bar black suede high heels had been an extravagance—she loved shoes—but they lent a touch of true class.

She applied more make-up than usual, darkening and adding definition to her eyelashes with mascara and deepening her lids with a smoky eye shadow. The black dress demanded red lipstick and a touch of blusher on her cheeks. A dusting of powder took the shine off her nose and added a smooth matt finish to her skin.

An examination of her reflection in the full-length mirror assured her she couldn’t look any better. She dabbed some Beautiful perfume on her pulse points, picked up the black Oroton evening bag that had been a gift from Roger so long ago, then went downstairs, still feeling at odds about having to mix with other people when she would much rather stay at home.

It was a measure of how deeply Harry had infiltrated her life. When she had accepted the invitation from Olivia she had felt quite pleased about it. Her social calendar usually ran to lunches with friends she had made through business, or casual barbecues with families who had a child in the same class as William. She was neighbourly and supported community interests, but she wasn’t really close to anyone.

It had seemed enough before Harry. She had not been discontent with her life. Being single was a relief after marriage to Roger, and having kept so much to herself for the sake of appearances during the unhappy years with her husband, she had never developed the knack of cultivating bosom friends to whom she might pour out her heart.

She was a good listener, a sympathetic listener, and she thought she was generally liked by others, but no-one really knew her. Not as Harry did. She had told Harry things about herself, thoughts and feelings, she had never told anybody. He had somehow drawn that depth of intimacy from her, and now she wasn’t sure if it was good or bad.

It struck home that if she didn’t commit herself wholly and solely to him, Harry would leave an enormous hole in her life when he returned to Springfield Manor. In William’s, too, she suspected. Perhaps it was time she stopped existing in a wonderful dream and started considering the reality of a future in England. This party tonight might serve to put Harry’s influence on her in perspective, bring her feet to the ground.

He and William were in the dining room, their miniature battle lines in place on the table. They were discussing the rules of their war game when she entered, but they broke off their conversation as soon as they saw her.

‘Wow, Mum! You’re sure dressed up tonight!’ William remarked in surprise. ‘Is it a special party?’

She shrugged, feeling somewhat self-conscious about her uncharacteristic attempt at glamour. ‘I just wanted to look good and feel good.’

‘Then you’ve more than achieved your aim,’ Harry said warmly, his eyes agleam with appreciative interest as they skated over her from head to foot and returned to linger on the loosely tied bow at her waist, obviously the key to unwrapping the package. ‘Feeling good is important,’ he added, his gaze lifting to hers in wickedly innocent inquiry. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

Her pulse leapt in anticipation of how he would help later tonight. She could feel her body prickling with excitement as she imagined his hands teasing her dress apart, his head bending to…

The telephone rang.

‘I’ll get it,’ William offered, oblivious of the shimmering tension between Harry and his mother. He darted to the kitchen, leaving them together.

‘I’m not sure I should let you out of my sight, dressed like that,’ Harry murmured, his eyes ablaze with desire.

‘Afraid of competition?’ she teased, secretly revelling in feeling sexy.

‘No. But if the men at Olivia Stanton’s party get out of hand, don’t hesitate to call in the cavalry.’

She laughed. ‘That’s never happened to me.’

‘Ashley, you’re radiating your awareness of your own sexuality. That stirs a man’s hormones. All my hormones are rioting over you right now. I have an intense urge to smudge your lipstick and—’

‘Mr. Cliffton,’ William called excitedly. ‘It’s for you. Come quick. It’s from England.’

‘Uh-oh!’ Harry grimaced an apology and left her to answer the summons.

Trouble at Springfield Manor? In some trepidation, Ashley followed him into the kitchen, not wanting anything to change now, irresistibly drawn to eavesdrop on his side of the conversation. William handed the receiver to Harry and shamelessly stood by to listen, fascinated by the fact of an international call.

‘Cliffton.’

Apparently that was identification enough for the caller. What followed was not exactly enlightening.

‘Yes, sir,’ Harry said.

After a pause, ‘No, sir.’

It had to be his boss at Springfield Manor. Ashley couldn’t imagine Harry sirring anyone else. The heat that had been pumping from her heart cooled into a frightening chill. She desperately didn’t want any interference to what Harry had started with her and William.

‘That would seem improbable at the moment, sir. I have my hands full. Given more time…’

The interruption must have been a very peremptory one because Harry instantly stopped to listen. The reference to time did not bode well.

‘I understand, sir.’

A long pause. Ashley felt her whole body tensing with apprehension.

‘Arrangements can’t be made in a day, sir.’

A brief reply.

‘Very well, sir. I’ll keep you informed.’

That gave Ashley hope of a longer stay for Harry. However, the ensuing silence was obviously thick with words from the other end of the line. Instructions, orders…

‘Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best, sir.’

Harry hung up with a heavy sigh and turned to the two expectant faces hanging on his news. He addressed Ashley, a rueful smile accompanying his announcement.

‘That was George Fotheringham, the master’s voice.’

‘What does he want?’ she asked anxiously.

‘He misses me.’

Who wouldn’t miss Harry?

‘He says a good butler is irreplaceable.’

He was. Irreplaceable in every sense. Ashley couldn’t argue with that.

‘Does that mean you can’t be our butler any more?’ William asked plaintively, and Ashley sensed her son feeling a pit of emptiness opening before him, just as she did.

‘He insists that he needs me at the Manor,’ Harry stated in a tone that made it an inevitable reality.

Ashley frantically sought a delaying tactic. ‘What about your mission?’ she pleaded.

‘Yes,’ William instantly backed her up. ‘You haven’t learnt nearly enough about us yet, Mr. Cliffton. I haven’t told you any of the stuff Mum doesn’t know about.’

‘William!’ Ashley was distracted by the horrors of misbehaviour this confession implied.

‘It was for your own good, Mum, so as not to worry you,’ he hastily and piously explained.

‘As it happens,’ Harry drawled, capturing their attention again, ‘Mr. Fotheringham has come up with a solution that he hopes will prove satisfactory to both of you.’

‘What?’ William asked eagerly.

Ashley held her breath. Her eyes clung helplessly to Harry’s. Was he about to reveal the truth about William’s position?

His smile had a winning appeal. ‘That you accompany me to England for a month’s visit at Springfield Manor. All expenses paid, of course.’

‘You mean we get to fly on a jumbo jet and…’ William raved on, delirious with excitement at the prospect of the great adventure being held out to him. ‘Every night ghost hunting…’

A month, Ashley thought dazedly. A month of learning what Harry’s life was like. She could put up with any amount of condescension and feeling like a fish out of water as long she could be with Harry whenever he was free. And if she could never feel comfortable with the life over there, the option was open for her to return home. It was like a miracle, handing her what she needed but not locking her into an irrevocable position.

‘Ashley?’ Harry asked quietly.

‘You can’t say no, Mum,’ William expostulated, his eyes as big as saucers and his mind whirling with visions of plenty.

No doubt George Fotheringham would be subjected to her son’s entrepreneurial skills for the entire month. And since William was his heir…Was this offer a trap to keep them there? She looked uncertainly at Harry.

It was as though he read her mind. ‘You retain all authority where William is concerned, Ashley,’ he stated unequivocally.

His word was good enough for her. Harry had never done her any wrong. She trusted him. Implicitly.

‘Please, Mum. Please, please, please…’

Her relief and joy broke into a happy smile. ‘We’d be delighted to accompany you, Harry.’

‘Yippee!’ William cried in an ecstasy of anticipation. ‘I forgive you for all your other wrongs, Mum.’

Done, thought Harry, his answering smile widening to an irrepressible grin. The gamble had paid off. Of course, he’d loaded the odds on his side. The timing and execution of the critical telephone call had been perfect, the outcome reasonably assured with William as dependable an ally as Harry had ever had. Not that the boy was aware of it. He was simply a natural at going after what he wanted with whatever means was available to him. As Harry was.

Good and faithful George could protest and scold as much as he liked, but he would carry out Harry’s will. George’s sense of service and duty would always prevail, no matter how disapproving he was of the scheme in hand. Not that he should be disapproving. After all, if Harry made everything turn out right, George would have the very result he desired when he had so purposefully reminded Harry of his duty.

It was up to Harry to pursue his chosen course with vigour. ‘Do you have current passports?’

‘You bet we do,’ William supplied. ‘Mum got them last year when we were booked to go to Fiji, only I came down with the chicken pox and we couldn’t go. But just about everyone’s gone to Fiji. England will be heaps better.’

William wouldn’t have time for much bragging. Harry moved into step two of his new mission, focusing his attention on Ashley. ‘I’ll see to your visas on Monday and book a flight to London for Tuesday if there are seats available.’

‘So soon!’ She looked stunned.

‘Those are my instructions.’

‘But what about my business?’

‘We’ll attend to whatever is necessary. Everything will be looked after.’

He could see she instinctively recoiled from being rushed, her cautious nature wanting to think it all through. That could invite trouble he’d rather avoid.

‘You’ll be late arriving at Olivia Stanton’s party if we don’t move now,’ he reminded her, stepping forward to usher her to the front door. ‘I’ll be back shortly, William.’

Ashley felt her mind was split into at least a dozen pieces, zigzagging off in all directions. As she reached the hallway she gathered enough wits to admonish her precocious son. ‘You behave yourself, William,’ she said sternly. ‘And you are not to ask for anything. Do you hear me?’

‘Loud and clear, Mum. I promise I’ll be as good as gold. Cross my heart.’ He grinned. ‘I wouldn’t risk not going to England with Mr. Cliffton.’

And that was the crux of it, Ashley thought wryly as she accompanied Harry to the Rolls Royce. William was getting totally out of hand. He needed a father. But was Harry any different to her son? Everything seemed to be suddenly out of hand. She didn’t feel in control of anything any more.

Harry saw her settled in the front passenger seat, wanting her beside him. As he rounded the bonnet to the driver’s side he felt the exhilaration of having crossed another critical line. Not only had becoming lovers exceeded all his hopes and expectations, he had successfully put in place the process of moving Ashley to his home ground.

It had niggled at him all week that not once had Ashley questioned him in any practical sense about his life. A woman who was considering him as a husband surely would. It had seemed to him she was satisfied with collecting beautiful memories while Harry had progressed to absolute certainty about what he wanted.

It was possible that she saw a visit to Springfield Manor as a chance to fill a treasure chest of memories, but it was a step towards him, a step towards the future he could give her. Surely she would see that what he offered was entirely different from the life she had suffered with Roger. He couldn’t lose now. No way. She wanted him. And they were great together. No doubt about that.

Ashley didn’t look at him as he slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. She appeared deep in private thought. Not worrying, he hoped. He drove slowly, considering how best to make his next move.

‘Do you always do what Mr. Fotheringham tells you to?’ she asked.

It was a tricky question. Harry didn’t want to lie to her. Soon, very soon, he would have to lay out the truth, but that was better done in England when she was under his roof. He could more easily counter a negative reaction there. He chose his words with as much care as he had in explaining George’s telephone call.

‘We tend to come to an agreement, Ashley. I did tell you that George Fotheringham’s family and mine have been connected for centuries. Since the Battle of Flodden in 1513. There is a line of respect kept by both sides and an affection and indulgence that comes from long familiarity.’

‘A sense of belonging,’ she murmured.

‘Yes.’

‘That must be…comforting.’

‘You can share it, too, Ashley. You and William.’

She made no reply to that. She pointed ahead. ‘There’s the house. The one where people are out on the front balcony.’

The Rolls Royce was definitely on show, Harry thought with a flash of irony, but status symbols were totally irrelevant to what was on his mind. The driveway to the Stantons’ double garage had been left clear, and he drove the Rolls into it for Ashley’s convenience. He switched off the engine and turned to her, reaching over to take her right hand and hold it.

She looked at him, her eyes mirroring a fearful uncertainty, but she left her hand in his, perhaps needing the comfort of the contact. Without hesitation, Harry gave her one rock-solid certainty to hang onto.

‘I want to marry you, Ashley. Will you think about that while you mix with your friends tonight?’

‘Harry…’ It was a breathless little gasp as though he’d punched the air out of her lungs. Her eyes widened wonderingly.

‘Don’t answer me now. I just want you to know,’ he said with quiet seriousness. To imprint it firmly on her mind, he repeated, ‘I want to marry you.’