Читать книгу The Wedding Deception - Kay Thorpe - Страница 8

UNUSUALLY for her, Jill was up and about by eight, impatient for the promised phone call. She would eat no more than a piece of toast for breakfast, and kept an eye constantly on the kitchen clock.

‘Surely he must have told them by now!’ she burst out when nine o’clock had come and gone. ‘I mean, where’s the point in waiting any longer?’

‘I don’t suppose his parents will be around all that early, considering his father’s condition,’ Claire suggested. ‘Give him time. I’m sure he won’t let you down.’

She mentally crossed her fingers as she said it, not at all certain that she was right. Ross had had a whole night to work on his brother. Who could tell what persuasions he might have employed?

With the sun shining outside for once, and the temperature more in keeping with the time of year, it should have been a morning for good cheer, but cheerful was the last thing she felt. Whatever happened, Jill’s whole life was going to be so different from everything she had hoped for her. Eighteen was no age at which to be landed with a child, whatever the circumstances.

‘I’m going out to mow the lawn,’ she announced, unable to bear the inactivity. ‘You could come and do a spot of weeding, if you like. You’ll hear the phone ring if we leave the window open.’

Jill shook her head. ‘I might not.’

Claire sighed and gave in. Obviously nothing was going to shift Jill far from the telephone until she had received the call. It was only to be hoped that it would come soon.

Wearing jeans and a cotton shirt, she went out and manhandled the ancient mower from the garden hut. It was almost ready to give up the ghost altogether, but with care it should just about see out this growing season, The modern hover mowers were so much easier, both to use and to maintain, by all accounts; next spring’s budget would have to stretch to one.

Standing on his patio, contemplating his beautifully landscaped expanse of garden, their next-door neighbour lifted a hand in greeting as she wheeled the heavy machine into position for the first line of cut. The Johnsons were in their fifties, and had been very supportive during these past few years, but they had family of their own to care about. Their daughter, Susan, had been married a year, and was expecting her first baby in October. The way it should be, Claire reflected.

But that isn’t the way it is, so stop carping and accept it, she told herself firmly. People could say what they liked, think what they liked. All that mattered in the end was that Jill was all right.

With the mower going, she didn’t hear the phone ring. But Jill’s emergence from the house, looking radiant with relief, was enough to confirm that the call had indeed come through.

‘They want to meet me,’ she declared. ‘You too, Scott said. I told him we’d drive over this afternoon.’ Her laugh was carefree. ‘So much for all Ross’s spouting on about what it would do to his father!’

Leaning on the mower, trying not to let her trepidation at the thought of facing the Laxtons en masse gain too much ground, Claire said carefully, ‘It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re in total agreement with what’s to be done.’

‘Scott said they are.’ She paused, her face clouding a little. ‘At least, he didn’t say they weren’t.’ Her expression firmed again. ‘Anyway, they should be thankful we didn’t just go off and get married without telling anyone at all.’

Claire considered her with drawn brows. ‘You actually thought of doing that?’

‘Well, it would have saved all this, wouldn’t it? A fait accompli it’s called.’

‘I know what it’s called.’ Claire hardly knew whether to believe her or not. ‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

She looked at the stretch of lawn still to be cut, feeling anything but enthusiastic about completing the job. Only, if she didn’t, who would? Jill had shown little interest in the garden at the best of times. In any case, should everything work out as planned, she wouldn’t be here much longer.

It would seem strange to be on her own, Claire thought, depressed. Jill might not be much of a help around the house but she was someone to come home to in the evening, someone who made cooking a meal worthwhile. Life would be very empty without her.

She was running on ahead of herself again, she acknowledged at that point. Nothing was certain until it was an accomplished fact.

‘You’d better start thinking about what you’re going to wear this afternoon, if you want to create a good impression,’ she said with forced lightness. ‘There’s that white dress you’ve never had on yet.’

Jill pulled a face, looking even younger than her years for a moment. ‘I’m not dressing up like a dog’s dinner just to create an impression,’ she stated inelegantly. ‘I’ll wear what I feel comfortable in.’

What Jill felt comfortable in was either jeans or skirts more like wide belts, neither of which, Claire judged, would suit the Laxtons’ sartorial tastes. On the other hand, what was the point in her trying to conform to a standard set by others? Scott had fallen for her the way she was, and his opinion was the important one.

‘Fine,’ she agreed. ‘We both will. I’d better get on with this if I want to finish it before lunch. Heaven only knows when we’ll have another dry day.’

‘I’ll get lunch ready, if you like,’ offered Jill with a munificent air. ‘You have enough to do.’

Considering that they were only having tinned salmon and last night’s left-over salad, it would hardly take much effort, but Claire wasn’t about to turn the offer down. ‘That would be a big help,’ she agreed.

If Jill registered any irony at all, she wasn’t about to let it bother her. Hair swinging, hips slim as a boy’s, she trotted off back to the house.

Watching her go, Claire felt a moment’s near envy of her sister’s buoyant spirit. So far as Jill was concerned, everything was going swimmingly. She wished that she could feel as confident of it herself.

Lunch over, the dishes washed and put away and a few other essential odd jobs taken care of, she went upstairs to take a shower and put on a crisp tan and white-striped cotton dress with short sleeves and a narrowbelted waist, sliding her feet into tan leather sandals with her favourite if not particularly fashionable three-inch heels.

Jill had topped her by the age of fifteen, and was now around five feet seven without the aid of shoes. Attempting to assert authority over someone several inches taller was no easy matter, Claire had long ago realised.

Not that it always followed. Her father had been a sixfooter, her mother an inch shorter than Claire was herself, but her mother’s word had been law. It was all down to strength of character, she supposed. When it came to any real battle of wills, Jill could beat her hands down any day of the week.

Which made an absolute mockery of Jill’s claim to have been overruled when it came to choosing which universities to apply to for a place, she thought now, sitting down at the dressing-table to apply a light makeup. Jill had been only too vocal in stating where she wanted to go. That was before she had met Scott, of course. He had changed everything. It was only to be hoped that Claire’s own first impressions of him proved sound in the long run.

The green eyes looking back at her from the mirror were less than convinced. No matter how much she tried to be optimistic, there was no guarantee that this marriage would last. Scott appeared OK on the surface, but who could tell what he was really like underneath? He might come to regret being tied down with a wife and child at such a comparatively early age, while his brother still enjoyed the freedom to pick and choose.

However, there was little she could do about it now, she acknowledged fatalistically. Marriage was a gamble whichever way it began.

Jill’s choice of mid-thigh-length skirt and matching cropped jacket in pale blue was surprisingly demure. Her legs had lost the coltish look of a year or so ago and had gained a lovely shape. With her hair hanging straight and shining down to her shoulders, she was altogether a sight for sore eyes, thought Claire tenderly, though she was still so heart-breakingly young to be in this position.

Warmed by the sun after standing out on the drive, the Panda not only started first pull but sounded positively eager to be up and off. Which was more than she felt herself, Claire was bound to admit.

The Laxton home was out in Hope Valley, which meant going right through town. As anticipated on such a fine afternoon, the through-route was thronged with traffic heading for the Dales. Following a packed Ford Granada up a hill, she misjudged her gear-change on the steep bend, and received an irritated blast on the horn from the vehicle behind at her lack of acceleration.

‘Road-hog!’ shouted Jill as the car pulled out and roared past them, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with one coming down the hill. ‘Just because you’re driving a blasted Porsche!’

‘He can’t possibly hear you,’ Claire pointed out, and received a grin.

‘I know, but it lets off steam. You should try it instead of just sitting there being all cool and collected.’

Only on the outside, reflected Claire wryly. The coming meeting promised to be anything but an easy-going affair. There would be awkwardness on both sides, with her own position, as Jill’s guardian and supposed mentor, the most untenable of all. Who else could be held responsible for her young sister’s seeming lack of moral values?

Hopefully, having shot his bolt last night, Ross would be absent. The last thing she needed was another confrontation with that individual.

They were three miles out of town amid open moorland when the front off-side tyre blew. Claire fought with the steering, which had gone suddenly extremely heavy, and brought the car to a jerky halt at the roadside.

‘Damn!’ she said forcefully. ‘This would have to happen today of all days!’

‘It’s almost half-past three already,’ announced Jill, as if it made any difference. ‘What do we do now?’

Claire refrained from stating the obvious. Turning off the engine, she got out to go and open up the boot. She was hardly dressed for changing a wheel, but what choice did she have?

Next moment she was gazing disbelievingly at a spare tyre as flat as the proverbial pancake. Since she had had the last puncture repaired a couple of months back, it hadn’t occurred to her to make a check. She’d simply taken it for granted that everything was OK.

Whatever had caused the leak, they were going to get no further on this than the one already on the car, she acknowledged ruefully. Which left them well and truly stranded.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Jill, getting out to see what was holding things up. She looked at the deflated tyre in dismay. ‘Oh, no!’

‘Oh, yes, I’m afraid.’ Claire was apologetic. ‘One of those classic situations you generally only see on film.’

‘What do we do now?’ Jill repeated. ‘They’ll think we’re not coming!’

‘Hardly.’ Eyes on the fast-moving traffic, Claire tried to think. ‘If Scott telephones the house he’ll realise we’ve already left. He’ll know something must have happened when we don’t turn up inside another half an hour or so, and will probably come looking. In the meantime,’ she added, with determined practicality, ‘we’ll just have to sit and wait.’

‘We could thumb a lift,’ suggested Jill hopefully ‘There’s sure to be somebody going that way.’

Claire shook her head. ‘Hitching can be dangerous.’

‘Not if it’s a family.’

‘If it’s a family, there’s unlikely to be room for anyone else. Anyway, it would be an imposition.’

Jill put on her most stubborn expression. ‘Well, there’s no harm in trying.’

She moved to the kerb, all hair and legs and winning smile as she lifted a hand in the time-honoured gesture. Two drivers tooted their horns but didn’t stop, while the rest sailed past without acknowledgement.

Having pulled up just past a big bend, they were out of sight until it was too late for cars to signal a stop, Claire reckoned. A dangerous situation altogether, in fact. All it needed was for someone to take the bend too fast, and they’d be on them before they could pull out.

About to suggest that they push the car further along the road, she paused in consternation as the big silver Mercedes just flashing past signalled abruptly and pulled up some twenty yards or so ahead of them. Ross waited for a break in the following traffic before easing himself from behind the wheel to walk back to them.

Wearing a dark blue jacket and lighter blue trousers and shirt, he looked taller than ever—and certainly no less devastating. He took in the situation at a glance, face impassive.

‘First thing is to get it further along the road so you don’t cause an accident,’ he said. ‘You’d better get behind the wheel and make sure it doesn’t veer out into the road while I push.’

‘I can help,’ offered Jill. ‘I’m stronger than I look.’

It would have taken a heart of pure stone to resist the appeal in the wide hazel eyes, and Ross’s, it seemed, wasn’t totally hardened. His smile was reluctant but it was a smile, subtly altering the lines of his face.

‘I can manage, thanks,’ he said. ‘I’d hate you to get that suit dirty.’

The Panda had been washed a couple of days ago, though the rain hadn’t exactly kept it band-box clean, Claire had to admit. He would be lucky to get away without a mark on those pristine shirt-cuffs, to say the least.

She slid behind the wheel and released the handbrake, put the gear-shift into neutral and kept the car into the kerb as Ross pushed it steadily along. She could see the bent dark head and broad, blue-clad shoulders in the driving-mirror. Not formal dress, but not entirely casual either. Lunch with some woman-friend, perhaps?

No concern of hers whatsoever, she told herself. It was sheer bad luck that he had been passing at this particular time. He’d no doubt consider her a fool now, as well as a possible profit-seeker.

As she had expected, there were dusty streaks on the pale blue cuffs when he’d finished pushing. If he noted them himself, he showed no sign.

‘Which road organisation are you with?’ he asked. ‘You can call them on the car-phone.’

‘None,’ Claire admitted, refusing to allow any hint of embarrassment to show in her voice.

Ross showed no visible reaction himself. ‘It’s unlikely that you’re going to get anyone other than that out to see to it today,’ he observed. ‘You’ll just have to risk leaving it here.’

‘I have to be at the shop all day tomorrow,’ said Claire concernedly, speaking her thoughts aloud.

Jill made a restless movement. ‘You’ll have to get a garage to fetch it in.’

That would cost a bomb, Claire knew, but there seemed little alternative. She would have to get to the shop by bus.

Ross dusted off his hands and nodded towards the Mercedes. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I’m really sorry to put you to all this trouble,’ she said, doing her best to sound genuinely apologetic. ‘Especially if you were on your way somewhere.’

‘I’ve been somewhere,’ he returned. ‘Lucky I decided to come back this way.’ The grey eyes were derisive. ‘Rescuing damsels in distress is my forte.’

‘A real knight of the road!’ she mocked back, giving way to the animosity which he aroused in her. ‘You should choose a white steed next time.’

His glance rested a moment on her face, taking in the challenging tilt of her chin, the slight flush staining her high cheekbones; there was a glimmer of something approaching genuine humour in his eyes now. ‘I’ll bear it in mind. In the meantime, you’ll just have to settle for common silver.’

Jill was already at the car, looking back impatiently to where they still stood. ‘It’s going on a quarter to four!’ she called.

‘As your sister so rightly points out, time is marching on,’ Ross observed. ‘Shall we join her?’

Claire turned without another word and walked to the car, nerves still quivering. Ross Laxton totally undermined what poise she possessed. He made her want to hit out at him both verbally and physically.

Jill opened the rear door and slid inside as they approached, leaving Claire with little option but to take the front passenger seat. Ross opened the door before she could do it herself, inviting her in with a taunting sweep of his hand.

‘Your carriage awaits, ma’am. Don’t forget to buckle up.’

Sinking into the soft leather luxury, she reached for the seatbelt, only to feel it snag on the ratchet as she tried to pull it across. Ross slid into his seat, and leaned across to take the belt buckle from her, easing it back into the spool. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek, catch the faint scent of aftershave. The blue-clad arm brushed her breast as he drew the belt out again and clipped it home, sending a frisson down her spine.

‘You jerked it too hard,’ he said. ‘Inertia reels are sensitive to pressure.’

They weren’t the only things, she thought, still feeling the tingle. There was no denying her physical responses where this man was concerned; he created mayhem with her pulse-rate every time he came near. A purely instinctive reaction, and one she could do little about, unfortunately—except to make sure that he didn’t guess how he affected her.

‘Thanks,’ she said tersely.

He fired the ignition, a faint smile on his lips. Claire had a sudden feeling that he knew exactly how he affected her—the same way he probably affected every woman he came into contact with. Not that he’d find her particular response anything but amusing. His taste in women would run to the tall, blonde and sophisticated, if she was any judge at all.

The width of the car afforded plenty of room between the seats, but she still felt too close. His hand resting lightly on the gear-lever as he waited for a gap in the traffic was nowhere near her knee, yet she found herself shifting over to the left on the pretext of settling herself more comfortably in her seat, reluctant to allow even the slightest chance of any further contact.

‘We’re going to be awfully late,’ said Jill from the rear, with a note of concern. ‘Scott will think I’m not coming.’

‘I doubt it.’ Ross pulled out rapidly into the flow, accelerating smoothly away. ‘He has the utmost faith in you.’

‘No more than I have in him.’ She was quiet for a moment before asking hesitantly, ‘Were you there when he told your parents about us?’

‘I was,’ he confirmed. ‘He needed moral support.’

‘But you don’t support him, do you?’ Claire cut in. ‘You made that clear enough last night.’

He glanced in the driving-mirror before signalling for the approaching junction, slowing down to take the righthand turn with fine judgement. The road here was narrower, the low stone walls bounding it affording a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside, mellow in the afternoon sunlight.

‘I can hardly claim to be over the moon about it all,’ he returned, ‘but I’m not about to turn my back on him because of it.’

‘How did they take it?’ queried Jill.

‘How would you expect them to take it?’ He sounded abrupt again. ‘Oh, don’t worry. They’ll be civilised about it.’

‘There’s no point in being anything else, is there?’ said Claire. ‘What’s done is done.’

‘Well and truly,’ he agreed with irony. ‘All that’s left is to make the best of a bad job.’

Jill was silent after that, but Claire could sense her simmering resentment. Ross wasn’t making things any easier.

She kept a rein on her own tongue for the rest of the journey, saving herself for the coming encounter with his parents. Civilised they might be; acceptance was something else altogether. There was still a chance that, between the three of them, Scott could be persuaded to think again.

Big and square and covered in ivy, the Laxton house lay within beautifully maintained grounds. Even more imposing than she had anticipated, Claire acknowledged as Ross brought the car to a halt in the gravelled forecourt.

He got out and made as if to come round to the passenger side, shrugging when she disembarked herself and turning back to open the rear door for her sister, who accepted the courtesy as if accustomed to nothing else but.

Despite everything, Claire had to smile. Jill would have little difficulty in adapting to a new lifestyle. And it would be all of that. The Laxtons moved in a different world.

Scott came out from the house, his expression perturbed. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘Tyre blow-out,’ supplied his brother succinctly. ‘Lucky I was passing.’

‘The spare was flat, too,’ Claire put in before he could make any further comment. ‘It was supposed to have been repaired.’

Scott grinned. ‘The same thing happened to me a couple of months back, only in my case I’d simply forgotten to get it done. Come on in.’

He ushered the two of them through to a hall panelled in rich dark oak. An archway to the rear framed an oak staircase, while another to the side of it gave access to what appeared to be an inner hall. A faded, though still lovely carpet covered much of the polished wooden floor.

The huge vase of gladioli set on a table between the two arches created instant warmth and colour. A friendly house, Claire found herself thinking; a family house with a lived-in atmosphere which she found heartening.

Ross opened a door on the left and stood back to allow the two of them prior access. Jill hung back, reaching for Scott’s hand as if in search of Dutch courage, and giving Claire little choice but to go on ahead into the comfortably furnished sitting-room with its old stone fireplace filled with a further blaze of summer blooms.

Knowing about the stroke, it was still something of a shock to see Mr Laxton seated in a wheelchair. His face was gaunt, his left side obviously affected still, but there was nothing vague about the glance he turned her way, although he didn’t attempt to speak. Claire felt somewhat at a loss for words herself.

Looking every inch the lady in her cream skirt and matching silk shirt, Mrs Laxton rose from her chair. Her expression was guarded, but there were signs of strain in the fine blue eyes.