Читать книгу To Tame the Playboy - Kate Hardy - Страница 14

AT ABOUT eleven o’clock the next morning, Fleur made her final preparations to go home. Sebastian had already left the house, but not before wishing her a casual goodbye and a safe journey, adding a slightly non-committal invitation to come and visit again some time. He had already brought her car around to the front entrance, and put her case in the boot.

Now, she gave one last look around the bedroom to make sure that she’d not left anything behind, then zipped up her hand luggage, slung her bag over her shoulder and went downstairs. Pat was in the kitchen and Fleur was aware of the tangibly sad atmosphere which prevailed. She bent down to smooth the head of the sleeping dog.

‘I shall miss you, Benson,’ she said softly. ‘Even if you did disobey me the other day.’

‘Not as much as we’re going to miss you,’ Pat sniffed.

They made their final goodbyes, with Fleur making vague promises to come back to Pengarroth Hall some time in the near future—though she knew that that was not likely to happen. She felt in her bones that her time here should have a final line drawn under it, and that now she should get back to the safety of work.

She smiled faintly as she passed the big gate at the top end of the estate—the one she’d mistaken for the main entrance, remembering Sebastian’s reaction when he’d spotted her sitting there in the semi-darkness. And, automatically, her mind did a rerun of everything that had happened since and her smile deepened. She had had a great time, as she’d told them all, but she finally admitted that the towering influence over the holiday had been that of her reluctant host.

Pausing for a moment at the crossroads before joining the B road which would eventually lead her to the motorway, Fleur made a face to herself as she thought about Sebastian. He hadn’t been reluctant at all, she decided, or, if he had been, he’d covered it up very well, because after his initial antipathy to Mia’s request that he should look after Fleur, he appeared to have warmed to the task with every day that had passed. If he’d wanted to avoid her, he could have done it easily enough. And, although she had deliberately tried to shut out of her mind all the things which Pat had said yesterday, the woman’s remarks would keep floating back into her consciousness. To imagine, even for a second, that Sebastian fancied her was too ridiculous for words! He was clearly not looking for another emotional relationship—he’d made that abundantly clear during one of their early minor discussions on the subject, and, even if he was, there’d be a plentiful selection of women in the elevated life he led from which to choose. She would not be top of his list, that was for sure. Then, having hardened those thoughts in her mind, Fleur experienced the familiar tingle of sensuousness when she remembered what had happened a few nights ago in her bedroom…how she’d clung to him and, more importantly, how he’d responded. Did he fancy her? Or had that been the automatic, passing reaction which any red-blooded male might have made in those circumstances? She shrugged. It was difficult to tell but, anyway, it was too late now. That incident had passed like water under a bridge, and neither of them had alluded to it since.

As she drove swiftly along the smooth, well-maintained road, her mind flipped to the time they’d spent together in Truro. They had both enjoyed their time together there—she had certainly enjoyed experiencing the city and then, when he’d joined her in the cathedral, his attitude had been so…so special. It had been a simple, yet magical day and he had been so considerate, so warm, and there seemed to have been that certain thread of familiarity between them which only a couple—a devoted couple—might expect to enjoy.

Irritated with herself for dwelling on things—things which were now of the past—she put on a CD and let the music of one of the Verdi operas swell around her like a comforting tide, filling her mind with its beauty.

The traffic began to thicken as she sped along, hampered largely by various delivery trucks and milk and petrol tankers, but as the distance between herself and Pengarroth Hall—and its owner—lengthened, Fleur felt distinct relief, a lightening of her mood. She was glad she’d decided to invent the excuse to go home early—because, right there in the centre of all her other thoughts, was the uncomfortable memory of Sebastian’s behaviour yesterday morning at breakfast. His suggestion that she had given Rudolph Malone undue attention, or that she had been making up to him, had upset her more than she wanted to admit. It was an offensive, preposterous suggestion, but it was Sebastian’s manner which had been the worst part. He had been almost aggressive—accusing—and she had given him no reason to be either.

Fleur’s lips set in a tight line. That little episode had been a demonstration of the real Sebastian, she thought with a trace of bitterness. He had obviously felt an unusual lack of control in that particular scenario, and he hadn’t liked it. She shrugged. Well, was she surprised? He fitted perfectly into the mould of men to avoid.

Working up in the top fields with Frank as they stood listing and marking the trees needing attention, Sebastian felt moody and annoyed with himself. He’d deliberately left the house early because he hadn’t wanted to stand there in the drive and wave goodbye to Fleur. And he just didn’t understand that, didn’t understand himself. Didn’t understand the minor agony he was going through.

She was just another female. Yes, she was gorgeous to look at, but he’d met plenty like that, and yes, she was highly intelligent, but his law firm had its fair share of bright females. So what was the big problem? The problem was that he felt thwarted. He had expected her—wanted her—to be staying for several more days and instead she’d gone with barely twenty four hours’ notice. It had seemed to him an unduly hasty departure. Especially as he’d made plans to entertain her—as Mia had asked him to—and he’d looked forward to it. He knew he was being petty-minded and he could kick himself for his feelings, his folly. But, unfortunately for him, he’d been drawn to Fleur—drawn to her like a pin to a magnet—from almost the first moment he’d set eyes on her. He knew he should resist these impulses, because it was safer, in his own best interests to remain emotionally unshackled…wasn’t it? So why wasn’t he pleased that she’d gone? He kicked idly at a clod of earth beneath his boot. The damnable thing was that he knew she wasn’t in the least interested in him—and that only fired his longing to have her, to have his own way. He knew it to be one of the frailties—or strengths—of his character that when anything was denied him he didn’t rest until he’d succeeded in getting it. And now she’d gone and he somehow didn’t think it would be easy to entice her back to Pengarroth Hall.

‘So what do you reckon about this one then, Sebastian?’ Frank asked for the third time, and Sebastian looked back at the man quickly.

‘Sorry, Frank—what did you say?’

‘This one.’ Frank tapped a tree trunk with his stick. ‘I think it should probably come down.’

‘Yes. Yes, I agree,’ Sebastian said vaguely, and the older man stared at him, his shrewd eyes narrowing slightly.

‘What the ’ell were you thinking about just then?’ he asked. ‘You were miles away.’

‘Um…sorry, Frank,’ Sebastian muttered, thinking that he’d been about fifty miles away, which was where she’d be by now.

Much later, back at home, Fleur made herself a large mug of tea and started to unpack. As she pulled everything out of her case, she realized that she’d brought one of Mia’s tracksuit pants with her by mistake. She shrugged—it didn’t matter because she’d be sure to meet up with her friend again soon. And Mia would expect a blow-by-blow account of everything she’d done at Pengarroth Hall. She paused for a second, her mind going backwards again. One thing she would not be describing was her ghostly nightmare. She must try and pretend that had never happened—and she was certain that Sebastian would never bring the subject up. Least said, soonest mended, she thought.

As she took the last of her things from the case, she suddenly spotted Sebastian’s handkerchief—the one he’d so thoughtfully passed to her in the cathedral—nestling in amongst her tights. What was it doing there? And why hadn’t she given it back to him straight away, or given it to Pat to go into the laundry? She bit her lip. Well, she’d give that to Mia as well, when she saw her, she thought. There’d be no need for any explanations. But, as she picked up the handkerchief, she held it to her nose for a second. It could only belong to Sebastian, she thought…It had his distinctive smell—a mixture of aftershave or cologne and the pervasive fresh, sweet scent of country air and leaves and bracken. She stared across to her window, where the only sight she could see was the tall brick wall of the building next door…Why had she come home early? she thought. She could still be there in Cornwall, she and Benson could go for a gentle stroll before she sat down with Sebastian to one of Pat’s mouth-watering meals! No regrets, she told herself crossly. She’d made the right decision.

She switched on the television to distract herself, then stood back and looked around her with some distaste. The flat needed a good clean, she thought. It was time to roll up her sleeves and get stuck in. Energetic housework had been the time-honoured way she’d found usually lifted her from any feelings of ennui. She had to confess that for several weeks before Christmas when they’d been so busy at work, and had then gone on to one or two festive gatherings afterwards, she’d not spent much time at home at all. Certainly not enough to move furniture about and do some cleaning and polishing. Counting the weekend, she still had six days left before her holiday was finally over, so that ought to be long enough to bring the place back up to standard. She’d begin tomorrow.

She was about to unwrap the small packet of ham she’d bought for her supper from the deli nearby when the phone rang. It was Mia.

‘What are you doing at home?’ Mia demanded ‘You should still be on holiday!’

Fleur hesitated for only a second…She just could not go on with this deception, not with her friend, anyway. Although she would have to manipulate the truth, just a tad.

‘Oh hi, Mia. How…how did you know I was back?’ she asked—but thinking that there could only be one answer to that.

‘I rang home to talk to you, and was told by Pat that you’d been called back to work. Honestly, what a pain.’

Fleur took a deep breath. ‘Mia—look, I’ll come clean. The lab hasn’t been in touch at all. It was just that I thought…I got the impression that…’

‘What? Don’t tell me Sebastian was being difficult…’

‘Oh, no, no, of course not,’ Fleur replied quickly, ‘but I did think that I might be outstaying my welcome. He’s very, very busy with everything, and I began to think I was in the way…’ The words petered out as she tried to give a rational explanation. ‘And Pat has put in so much effort on my behalf—I’ve never eaten meals like it in my life.’ She patted her waistline as she spoke. ‘But it was a wonderful break, Mia, thanks to your kind offer that I should stay, and I felt so well the whole time. In fact, I’ve had to keep reminding myself to take those tablets.’

‘I think you were probably over-sensitive, Fleur, because Pat couldn’t stop going on about how much she liked you,’ Mia said. ‘Now, tell me everything. I hope Sebastian showed you around the area, took you one or two places…’

‘Sebastian was extremely kind,’ Fleur began carefully, sitting on the arm of her sofa and preparing herself for a long discourse. Mia liked all the details in Technicolor.

After making plans to meet up next week, they were about to ring off when Fleur said casually, ‘By the way, Mia, don’t tell Sebastian, you know, that I came back because I felt in the way…It’s best that he thinks I’m indispensable at work.’

‘OK,’ Mia replied cheerfully, though thinking that she’d jolly well find out what her brother had said, or done, to give Fleur the impression she was in the way.

Much later, curled up comfortably in her dressing gown, Fleur rang her parents. Philip answered the phone and his pleasure on hearing his daughter’s voice was tangible.

‘Hello there, Fleur! Well, my word, you are having a good break, aren’t you, dear? All raring to go back to work, I expect? What? Oh, yes, Mum and I are fine, enjoyed Boston, but it’s good to be back in harness. Holidays are fine but too much of it addles the brain.’

Fleur let him go on, interspersing everything he had to say with casual remarks of her own about Cornwall. ‘Is Mum there?’ she asked.

‘No, she’s gone next door. New grandchild staying there, I believe.’ He sighed, clearly mystified as to why anyone should be interested in babies. ‘When she’s stopped drooling, I’ll get her to ring you, OK? Thanks for the call, and all the best. Let’s hope for a successful year for all of us.’

Fleur snapped the phone shut, smiling faintly. Dad’ll never change, she thought—and anyway, would she really want him to? At least he was consistent—and he was never unkind. Everyone had their faults, but no one was all bad, she mused.

She decided to go to bed. She’d had a lengthy drive and the day had seemed incredibly long. Snuggling under her duvet, she lay there staring up at the ceiling for a moment…It felt quite strange to be back home amongst her own things and she realized how quickly she’d settled into Pengarroth Hall—she’d felt at home there straight away. She wondered whether Pat was still there, or whether she’d returned to her cottage to be with Beryl. That potato cake had been absolutely scrummy, Fleur thought sleepily—she’d have a go at doing that herself one of these days. What was the recipe again…flour and suet and sugar and…?’

With a start, she was brought back from almost-sleep by the ringing of her phone and she sat up quickly. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was eleven o’clock and she frowned—her mother wouldn’t ring at this hour because Philip always said that telephone calls from, or to, anyone should cease after nine p.m., other than in emergencies.

‘Hello?’ she said sleepily—and the voice that answered sent a rush of pleasure right through her.

‘Oh, good—you’re home, safe and sound,’ Sebastian said. ‘Good journey?’

‘No problems to speak of,’ Fleur replied, smiling. It was so good to hear him.

‘I haven’t disturbed you, have I?’ he said. ‘You weren’t asleep?’

‘No,’ she replied truthfully, ‘I wasn’t asleep—though I am in bed.’

There was a pause after that, and Fleur imagined him lounging there alone, probably in the sitting room, fingering a glass of red wine or a whisky. And Sebastian pictured Fleur’s graceful, feminine curves as she lay in bed, pictured her hair spread out on the pillow, imagined the creamy smoothness of her skin.

He cleared his throat. ‘Actually, I’ve been talking to my sister, so I knew you were home,’ he went on. He would like to have said that he’d wanted to hear her voice—but didn’t think that was a good idea. ‘But I thought I’d ring anyway,’ he added.

‘I’m glad you did, because now I can thank you again for my holiday, Sebastian,’ Fleur said. ‘I…I did love every minute of it.’ Well, not quite every minute, she thought, but most of them. ‘I think Pengarroth Hall and the surroundings are just…idyllic,’ she went on, ‘and if I were in your shoes, I’d be counting the days before living there permanently.’

He ignored that last remark because it only reminded him of the distance which would soon separate him from the city life he enjoyed, from the people he was close to…And from any chance he might have found to spend time with this woman—a woman who had slipped so effortlessly into his life and to such significant effect! He still had difficulty in believing it because vulnerable was not a word he’d ever use to describe himself.

‘Oh, we were happy to have you stay…Pat’s gone into a sulk because it’s only me here now.’ He paused. ‘And you don’t need to thank me—it was all Mia’s idea, anyway.’

Fleur froze at that last remark, feeling an uncomfortable chill run through her. Yes, of course it had been Mia’s idea that she should prolong her holiday—plus the fact that he should spare some of his valuable time to act out the genial host. Let there not be any doubt about that! she thought. She bit her lip, wondering what to say after that.

‘Oh, by the way, I very stupidly forgot to give you back your handkerchief—the one you lent me when we were in Truro? I’ll let Mia have it when we get together next week.’

‘Oh, yes…I remember,’ he said casually. ‘But don’t worry about it, Fleur, I’ve got others.’

For some unaccountable reason, neither of them wanted to be the one to hang up first, and Sebastian said seriously, ‘Don’t let them harass you at work, Fleur. I don’t want all that rest and relaxation to be swallowed up now, and ruined by undue pressure.’

Fleur was frankly amazed at his genuine concern. Did he really care whether she was hassled or not? She swallowed and said quickly, ‘No, I promise to do only my fair share, and to be sensible, not to stay on too long after hours.’

‘Well, I hope you mean it,’ he said firmly. It had been noticeable how well she’d begun to appear after the first day or so at Pengarroth Hall, how that winsome, wistful, rather tired look had been replaced by a healthy glow to her cheeks, by a tantalizing sparkle in her large eyes. Cornish air had obviously suited her, he thought.

She stifled a yawn. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better go to sleep,’ she said softly. ‘I know it’ll be a busy day tomorrow.’ She crossed her fingers as she said it. Yes, she would be busy—cleaning her flat!

He paused before answering. ‘Yes, of course. So…I’ll be back in town myself in about ten days…and I’ll be seeing Mia at some point. Perhaps we could all get together for a drink.’

‘Perhaps.’ Fleur smiled. ‘Goodnight, then, Sebastian.’

As he rang off, Sebastian stared moodily into the dying embers of the fire. More than anything in the world at that precise moment, he wanted to be somewhere else. And he knew where that was. He wanted to be with Fleur, wanted to be holding her close to him, to mould her body to his, to possess her…fully…and all his senses rushed at him as he remembered the feel of her mouth on his when they’d kissed the other night. But he didn’t think she’d given it another thought…there’d been no look, no word, not the slightest sign that it had had the impact on her that it had on him. She liked men—oh, yes, he was sure that she liked men. She just didn’t want to be…how could he put it…cornered by anyone in particular. She wanted to be a beautiful Mary Celeste, sailing alone.

He stood up, kicking aside a footstool irritably. There was not the remotest chance that the relationship he wasn’t sure he wanted would ever come to anything. The best thing for him would be to try and forget that he’d ever met Fleur. But how the devil was he going to do that?