Читать книгу The Bejewelled Bride - Lee Wilkinson, Lee Wilkinson - Страница 5

‘MORE?’ Joel queried when the plate was empty.

Replete, Bethany shook her head with a little sigh of contentment.

Noting the sigh, he raised a well-marked brow and teased, ‘That bad, huh?’

‘As a matter of fact I’ve thoroughly enjoyed them,’ she said, made breathless by his teasing smile.

‘I thought at first that you might be too concerned to eat.’

‘Concerned?’

‘About spending the night with a total stranger.’

He wasn’t a total stranger. She had known him for six years. But she could hardly tell him that. He would think she was mad.

Aware of his eyes on her, she said jerkily, ‘I’m not at all concerned.’

‘You seem a little…shall we say…flustered?’

Not knowing quite what to say to that, she remained silent until he queried, ‘So what brings you to these parts?’

‘I’m here on business.’

The mention of business broke through the spell his presence wove, reminding her that she ought to let Tony know she couldn’t get back.

Reaching for her bag, she took out her mobile.

Joel gave her an enquiring look.

‘I must just call the Dundale Inn and let Tony know I can’t get back tonight.’

‘I’m afraid you’ll be wasting your time,’ Joel told her. ‘You won’t get a signal here.’

‘Oh…’ As she glanced around, wondering if there was a phone she could borrow, he added lightly, ‘And knowing we’re marooned together with just one bed, might give him a sleepless night.’

‘He wouldn’t be worried.’ But, remembering his attempts at seduction, she found her colour rising. The intimacy that ‘marooned together with just one bed’ implied, and thinking a strange man might succeed where he’d failed would make him furious.

Watching her companion note that blush, she added hastily, ‘Tony’s my boss.’

‘I see,’ Joel said in a way that showed he didn’t see at all.

‘I—I mean he’s not my boyfriend.’

‘Well, either way, if he has any sense he won’t be expecting you back on a night like this.’

He was no doubt right, Bethany thought, and abandoning any idea of phoning, dropped the mobile back into her bag.

Stretching long legs towards the fire, Joel asked idly, ‘What kind of business are you in?’

‘Antiques,’ she answered quietly, still a little overawed by his presence.

‘Your own business?’

She shook her head and her hair, listened in the candlelight. ‘No. Tony, my boss, owns Feldon Antiques.’

‘Of course,’ Joel murmured.

‘But I am picking up small, affordable pieces that Feldon Antiques wouldn’t touch, with a view to one day starting my own business.’

‘You’re the buyer?’

She hesitated. Respecting her judgement and knowledge of antiques, a year before his death James had made her the firm’s buyer, trusting her to buy at a keen but fair price.

Since Tony had taken over, however, though he relied on her to seek out and identify the rarer items they dealt in—items they sold on to collectors worldwide—he hadn’t allowed her to put a price on them.

But she was still the official buyer, she reminded herself, and answered firmly, ‘Yes.’

‘Does the job involve much travelling?’

‘An occasional visit to Europe or the States.’

He raised an eyebrow and questioned, ‘So what do you think of The Big Apple?’

‘I think New York’s wonderful. I remember first falling in love with it when as a young girl I saw Breakfast at Tiffany’s.’ Bethany smiled at the memory.

He grinned. ‘And I remember falling in love with Audrey Hepburn.’

For a little while they discussed their favourite old films, then he harked back to query, ‘Presumably with your job you put in long hours?’

‘Yes, but then I get time off in lieu. This week I’ll be in the shop on Wednesday, then I’ve got until Monday off.’

‘What sort of things do you look out for when you’re on your travels?’

She thought for a moment then replied, ‘Silver and porcelain mainly, but really anything that’s rare and valuable.’

‘Like this pretty bauble, for instance?’ He touched the bracelet she wore, an intricate gold hoop set with deep red stones.

Her heart beating faster, she looked down at his hand, a strong, well-shaped hand with long lean fingers and neatly trimmed nails.

‘How did you come by it?’ There was a strange note in his voice, an undercurrent of…what? Anger? Condemnation?

But when she looked up the only emotion his face was showing was polite interest, and she knew she must have imagined it.

‘Someone brought it into the shop. Though I originally intended it for my collection I loved it on sight, so I decided to keep it.’

‘I’m a complete ignoramus when it comes to things like this,’ he remarked, turning it round on her wrist. ‘I’ve no real idea how old it is—my guess would be Victorian?’

Only too aware of his touch, she strove to sound cool and unmoved as she told him, ‘It dates from the early eighteen hundreds.’

A shade breathlessly, she added, ‘Often that kind of bracelet was accompanied by a matching necklace and earrings, which would have made it a lot more valuable. I would have loved a set, but unfortunately it was sold as a single item.’

‘May I ask what kind of price a thing like this would fetch?’

She told him what she’d paid for it.

A muscle jumped in his jaw as if he’d clenched his teeth, but his voice was even as he remarked, ‘I would have thought—as it’s gold and rubies—that it was worth a great deal more than that.’

She shook her head. ‘Had it been gold and rubies it would have been, but the stones are garnets.’

‘They look like rubies. I always understood that garnets were transparent?’ he pursued.

‘They are. It’s the way these stones are set that makes them look like rubies. Even the seller thought they were.’

‘I see.’ His expression relaxed.

There was a short silence before he changed the subject by saying, ‘I suppose you must meet some interesting people in your line of business?’

Noting how his thick, healthy-looking hair had now dried to its natural ripe-corn colour and longing to touch it, she answered distractedly, ‘Yes, you could say that.’

When he waited expectantly, she added, ‘The old lady I went to see this morning looked as if she’d stepped out of the pages of some period novel.

‘She was dressed all in black, with jet earrings, and was still talking to her husband, who’d been dead for over five years.’

Joel smiled, then, his voice casual, queried, ‘She had some antiques she wanted to sell?’

‘An attic full,’ Bethany said drily.

‘Did you find anything worth having?’

She shook her head. She had been hoping to discover something rare and valuable, both for the old lady’s sake and—needing to appease Tony’s anger—her own. But the ‘antiques’ had turned out to be, at the best, collectibles, at the worst, junk.

‘No valuable silver or porcelain?’

Wondering why he was displaying such interest, she answered, ‘The only thing we might have considered buying was a Hochst group of porcelain figures. But unfortunately it had been damaged and mended so badly that it’s virtually worthless.’

Leaving his chair to pile more logs on the fire, he remarked, ‘So it was a fruitless journey.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

In reality it had been anything but. She was with Joel at last and they had the whole of the night in which to get to know one another.

Watching his broad back, noticing how the fine material of his dark sweater stretched across the mature width of his shoulders, she felt a fluttery excitement in her stomach.

The fire blazing to his satisfaction, he gathered up the crockery and put it on the draining board before washing his hands.

While they talked, almost imperceptibly the light from the lamp had got dimmer, and beyond the glow from the fire shadows were gathering.

Picking up the lamp, Joel moved it from side to side gently. ‘I’m afraid we’re almost out of oil.’

After a quick search through the cupboards he said, ‘There doesn’t appear to be any more, so it’s a good thing it’s almost bedtime.’

He filled the kettle and put it on the stove, remarking, ‘It might not be a bad idea to get the bed made up while we can still see what we’re doing.’

Recognizing the truth of that, she went to the cupboard and took out bed linen, pillows and a duvet.

Instead of presuming it was woman’s work and leaving her to it, as some men would have done, Joel came to help.

The moment she moved away from the fire the cold air had wrapped around her, and she began to feel thoroughly chilled.

As they made the bed together, seeing her shiver, he remarked, ‘The duvet appears to be a reasonable weight, so it should be warm enough in bed.’

Suddenly focusing on the fact that there was only the one bed, she felt her stomach start to churn.

Picking up her excitement and apparently interpreting it as alarm, he said, ‘Don’t worry, the bed’s all yours.’

In a strangled voice, she queried, ‘Well, if I have the bed, where will you sleep?’

‘I’ll make do with the armchair and a blanket.’

‘There aren’t any blankets, and only one duvet.’

Sounding anything but worried, he said, ‘In that case I’ll have to keep the fire well stoked…

‘Now, as I estimate that the lamp has only a few minutes’ burning time if we’re lucky, you’d better have the bathroom first.’ Tongue-in-cheek, he added, ‘There’s soap and towels, but I suppose you don’t fancy a cold shower?’

‘You suppose right,’ she said with feeling.

He grinned. ‘A kettle of hot water?’

‘Absolute luxury.’

‘Not a difficult woman to please.’

‘The only thing I mind is not being able to clean my teeth,’ she admitted.

Opening the nearest cupboard, he produced two cellophane-wrapped courtesy packs each containing a disposable toothbrush and toothpaste. ‘As to all intents and purposes we’re hotel guests, I suggest we borrow a couple of these.’

‘Wonderful.’

He handed her the packs, then carried the lamp and the kettle through to the bathroom and set them down on a shelf.

‘Will you manage at that?’

‘Very well, thank you,’ she said gratefully.

‘Then I’ll leave you to it.’ He went out, closing the door behind him.

Bethany cleaned her teeth in water so cold it almost made them ache, then slipping off her bracelet, washed in half a kettleful of hot water, leaving Joel the other half.

It was so cold in the bathroom she could see her breath on the air, but just the knowledge that he was close at hand made her feel warm inside. Being together like this, she could almost imagine they were married.

When she had finished, she hastened back to the fire to comb out her long dark hair while he took her place in the bathroom.

When he returned he brought the oil lamp, which was on its last expiring glimmer, and the empty kettle.

‘Generous woman,’ he remarked, adding, as he refilled the kettle and lit the gas, ‘I thought you might like a hot drink before we turn in?’

‘I would, please.’

Having washed their two mugs and made coffee, he came to sit beside her again, stretching his long legs towards the hearth.

The lamp flame had finally died, leaving the rest of the room full of shadows and making the circle formed by the flickering fireglow cosy and intimate.

Their coffee finished, she had just taken a breath to ask him about himself when he invited casually, ‘Tell me how you got into the antiques business.’

‘It was something I’d always wanted to do. Though my father is an accountant, he’s always been fascinated by old and beautiful things. A fascination he passed on to me, along with quite a bit of knowledge, so when I left school I got a job with Feldon Antiques in London.’

‘London’s a big place…and I’m quite sure we’ve never met. It’s just…’

Studying her lovely heart-shaped face in the firelight, the long-lashed grey eyes and dark winged brows, the neat nose and generous mouth, the determined chin that added such character, he went on with a half smile, ‘I have the strangest feeling I’ve seen you somewhere before…You have a face I seem to recognize. To remember…’

When, suddenly transfixed and with her heart racing wildly, she just gazed at him, he went on, ‘But perhaps you don’t know the feeling of something half-remembered…?’

As she held her breath a log settled with a rustle and a little explosion of bright sparks.

‘Maybe it was in my dreams that I met you…’ He reached out and ran a fingertip down the curve of her cheek to the little cleft in her chin. ‘Maybe in some dream I’ve kissed your mouth, held you close, made love to you…’

Tracing her lips, he added softly, ‘It’s what I’ve wanted to do since the first moment I saw you…’

Caught up in the magic, she sat quite still while her heart swelled and every bone in her body melted.

‘It’s what I want to do now…’ he added softly and, leaning forward, touched his mouth to hers.

His kiss was like no other she had ever experienced before. It held all she’d ever wanted—the delight, the excitement, the warmth and comfort, the sheer joy of belonging.

As her lips parted beneath his, he deepened the kiss until she was on fire with longing, a quivering mass of sensations even before he rose and, lifting her to her feet, drew her against his firm body.

When, still kissing her, he began to run his hands over her, she leaned into him, making soft little noises in her throat.

Even the feel of the cold air on her skin when he removed her clothes and the coolness of the sheets when he lifted her into bed didn’t break the spell he’d woven.

And when he slid into bed beside her and drew her against the naked warmth of his body it was like coming home.

He was a good lover, strong, masterful, passionate, yet those qualities went hand in hand with skill and caring, a boundless generosity. Not once but twice he sent her sky-rocketing to the stars with an effortless ease, before gathering her into the crook of his arm and drawing her close.

Snuggled against him, all passion spent, her body sleek and satisfied, her mind euphoric, she knew she had never been so wildly happy, so blissfully content. She was with him at last.

Thinking how wonderful it was that he was under the same kind of spell that she was under, that the enchantment was mutual, she slipped into sleep saying a silent but heartfelt prayer of thanks.

When Bethany awoke, just for a second or two she was completely disorientated, then memories of the previous night, of Joel, came crowding into her mind filling her with gladness.

Sighing, she reached out to touch him. The space beside her was empty and cold. Pushing herself up on one elbow, she looked around in the semi-darkness.

There was no sign of him and though her clothes still lay where they had been discarded, his had vanished. But, of course, he would be in the bathroom getting washed and dressed.

The fire, though still in, had burnt low and, her naked body goosefleshing, she got out of bed and began to hurriedly pull on her own clothes.

As soon as she was dressed she piled on some logs and went to draw back the curtains. The fog had cleared but the morning was gloomy and overcast with a sky the colour of pewter.

Wondering what time it was, she glanced at her watch. Almost a quarter past nine.

She grimaced. Tony would be livid. He had made it abundantly clear that if they didn’t need to stay another day he wanted to make an early start back to the great metropolis.

But even the thought of how furious he would be when she turned up so late and with nothing to show for her visit to Mrs Deramack failed to spoil her new-found happiness.

Though, as yet, she still knew little about Joel except that he came from London, they were together at last. Lovers. In love for ever. A glowing future ahead of them.

While she waited for him to emerge, she put the kettle on, rinsed two mugs and spooned instant coffee into them, before going back to the fire.

Reaching for her capacious bag, she flipped it open and started to unzip the compartment that held her comb and cosmetics.

But something—it looked like the corner of a facial tissue—was caught and the zip had jammed, though it had seemed all right the previous night when she had replaced her comb.

And her mobile wasn’t in the pocket she usually kept it in, but no doubt she had been too excited to care where she put it.

A little frown of concentration marring her smooth brow, she worked the zip free, then, having combed her hair, took it up into its usual gleaming coil.

As she clipped it into place, it began to impinge on her consciousness that, apart from the crackle of burning logs and the kettle starting to sing, everywhere was silent. There wasn’t another sound. No movement. No running water. And when she’d put the kettle on it had been cold.

Trying to subdue a sudden, completely unreasonable panic, she went and tapped on the bathroom door. ‘Joel…Will you be long?’

There was no answer.

She threw open the door to find the room was empty.

He must have gone across to have a word with the caretaker, she told herself, and, judging by how low the fire had been, he’d been gone for some time, so no doubt he’d be back at any moment.

When another five minutes had passed with no sign of him returning, an icy vice began to tighten around her heart.

But after all they had shared the previous night, he wouldn’t have just gone. Walked away without a single word. He couldn’t.

Of course! All at once the solution struck her. He’d gone to fetch his car. If he had woken her up, she could have driven him there. Though the road had been too narrow at that precise spot for any manoeuvring, there must surely be somewhere on that stretch a car could turn round.

When the kettle boiled she made a single cup of coffee and drank it sitting in front of the fire.

After another half an hour had crawled past she knew with dreadful certainty that he wasn’t coming back. Perhaps, subconsciously, she had known from the very beginning.

Joel had gone for good. Had gone without a word. Without so much as leaving a note.

He had walked in and out of her life like some wraith. All she knew about him was his name and the fact that he came from London. He might even be a married man.

Gripped by an icy coldness, a pain so intense she might have been in the grim embrace of an iron maiden, she could neither move nor breathe.

Last night had meant nothing to him. Just a seized chance. A one night stand. All the talk about seeming to know her, to recognize her, had just been part of his seduction technique.

Perhaps he had believed Tony was her lover? Had decided she was easy?

Well, she had been, she thought bitterly. Stupidly, idiotically easy.

In love with a dream, she had behaved like some silly little adolescent who hadn’t yet learnt to curb her impulses and respect herself.

She stood for a long time staring blindly into space before she was able to move, to find her coat and bag and make her way to the car.

The keys were in the ignition where Joel had left them the previous night. Thinking of how excited she had been when they arrived here, how hopeful, she felt as if a knife was being turned in her heart and was forced to lean against the car until the worst of the agony had passed.

Then, her usual graceful movements clumsy, she got into the driving seat and, leaning forward, rested her forehead on the wheel.

After a moment or two, as if so much pain had caused a protective shield to drop into place, she raised her head and, neither thinking nor feeling, her entire being numb, drove back to Dundale like some automaton.

It was almost twelve by the time she reached the Inn to find Tony pacing the lobby, every bit as enraged as she had imagined.

‘So here you are at last! I wondered what the devil had happened to you. Have you any idea how long I’ve been waiting?’ he demanded angrily.

Her voice curiously flat and lifeless, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid I overslept.’

‘Overslept!’ He uttered a profanity. ‘So where the hell did you sleep?’

Briefly, she explained about the burst tyre and the mist and having to spend the night at a hotel that was still officially closed for the winter. She didn’t mention Joel.

‘Why didn’t you let me know?’ Tony sounded even more exasperated.

‘I couldn’t get a signal,’ she said shortly, and was pleased when he grunted and left it at that.

‘So how did you get on with old Mrs Deramack? Any good stuff?’

She shook her head.

He swore briefly.

Making an effort at normality, she asked, ‘How about Greendales? They seemed to have some extremely nice things.’

‘They did,’ he admitted grudgingly, ‘but their reserve prices were a damn sight too high. Private sales make a lot more sense…’

Bethany was aware that, translated, that meant a lot more money. James Feldon had cared about antiques. All Tony cared about was the bottom line.

‘That’s why I was hoping the old lady had something worth our while. As it is, the trip’s been a waste of time. And now you’ve managed to sleep in,’ he added nastily, ‘it’s been a waste of a morning too.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

‘I hope you weren’t expecting to have lunch before we start?’

‘No, I’m not at all hungry. I’ll just fetch my things.’ She couldn’t wait to get away.

Except for a short stop to refuel and have coffee and, in Tony’s case, a packet of sandwiches, they drove straight back to town. Still in a foul mood, apart from occasionally cursing another motorist, Tony barely uttered a word.

It was a relief in one way, but it allowed too much time for brooding. The numbness had passed and, her thoughts bleak as winter, Bethany found herself going over and over everything that had happened the previous night. Picking at it. Dissecting it. Exposing the pain, so that it was like doing an autopsy on a living body.

By the time Tony dropped her at her flat she was feeling like death and only too pleased that Catherine, who was an airline stewardess, was away until the following week and she had the place to herself.

Quite unable to stomach the thought of food, even though she’d had nothing to eat that day, Bethany made herself a pot of tea and sat down to drink it. She would have an early night. She needed the blessed oblivion of sleep.

Tomorrow, though her beautiful dreams had turned to dust, she would have to get up and face the day as if nothing had happened. If that were possible.

But it had to be. She must make it possible.

She recalled a motto in one of last year’s Christmas crackers: When your dreams turn to dust, Hoover. It seemed appropriate.

Her tea finished, she was heading for the bedroom when the phone rang.

For a moment she considered not answering. But old habits died hard and, before she could make herself walk away, she had picked up the receiver.

‘Hello?’

‘So you’re back…’

It was Michael Sharman. Over the last few months she had got to know and like him and they had been out together on quite a number of occasions but she saw him as nothing more than a friend.

‘Bethany?’

She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody. She sighed, ‘Yes, I’m back.’

‘It doesn’t sound like you.’

‘I’m a bit tired.’

He went on regardless, seemingly oblivious to her overwhelming tiredness. ‘I tried to phone you earlier. Been home long?’

‘No.’

‘Care to go out for a spot of supper?’

‘I don’t think so, Michael.’ She wasn’t in the right kind of mood to go out.

‘Why not?’ he asked.

‘I was just on my way to bed.’

‘Bed?’ he exclaimed, surprised. ‘But it’s barely eight o’clock. Look, what if I pop round now and pick you up?’

‘No, thank you. I’m tired.’ Then, aware that she’d sounded a bit curt, she added apologetically, ‘I’m sorry. I guess I’m even more tired than I thought.’

‘Sure I can’t change your mind? Going out might be just what you need to liven you up.’

‘I doubt it.’

He was a young man who was used to getting his own way with women. But this woman was special, not like the rest, and he didn’t want to spoil his chances.

‘In that case,’ he said reluctantly, ‘let’s make it tomorrow night.’

‘Well, I—’

‘What if I pick you up around seven? We’ll go to the Caribbean Club and have a good time.’

Before she could argue, he was gone.

Sighing, she replaced the receiver.

If she found she couldn’t face it, she would just have to call him and put him off.

But what would she do if she did stay at home? What was she likely to do?

Mope. Which would get her precisely nowhere.

Going out with Michael had to be preferable.

After first thinking him somewhat cocky and immature, she had come to enjoy his company and almost envy his carefree, sybaritic attitude to life.

They had first met when, after inheriting his grandmother’s house and its contents, he had brought a blue and white porcelain bowl into Feldon Antiques, saying he needed to raise some ready cash.

Bethany, who had been in the shop at the time, had thought the bowl was Ming, which would have made it extremely valuable. But an expert on Chinese porcelain that Tony had later taken it to had identified it as Qing, which made its value a great deal less.

However, it was still worth a considerable amount and Michael had been more than happy to part with it.

After selling them the bowl, he had produced several smaller items which Tony had dismissed but Bethany had been pleased to buy for her collection.

The bracelet Joel had admired had been one of them.

But where was the bracelet?

A moment’s thought convinced her that she had taken it off in the bathroom the previous night before getting washed. She hadn’t noticed it that morning, nor had she given it a thought, but she had had other things on her mind.

Just to be on the safe side, she found her shoulder bag and searched through it, but there was no sign of the bracelet in its capacious depths.

She must have left it at the hotel.

It was a blow, even though she hadn’t really expected to find it—looking in her bag had been an act of sheer desperation.

If it were possible, her spirits sank even lower. Until then, despite all the pain, she hadn’t shed a single tear, but, as though leaving her bracelet was the last straw, she began to cry.

She cried until she had no more tears left, then, feeling empty, drained, hollow as a ghost, showered and crawled into bed.

In the morning she would have to try and get in touch with the caretaker…

Following closely on that thought came a sense of helplessness. She didn’t even know the name of the hotel they had stayed at. All she knew was that it lay at the foot of Dunscar.

But if she contacted the nearest information centre, supposing there was one open in early February, they should be able to give her the name of the place…

After a night spent tossing and turning, Bethany got up feeling heavy-eyed and heavy-hearted. Though she had no appetite, before setting off for the shop, she made herself eat some breakfast—a triumph of common sense over despair.

It was a bleak, grey morning that perfectly matched her mood. The only bright spot was when Tony, still noticeably surly, announced that when he’d dealt with the morning’s mail he was going out and would be gone for the rest of the day.

After working several weekends in a row, she was entitled to three days off, which meant she wouldn’t have to come in again until Monday, and, as things were, she could only be glad.

In their absence, her colleague Alison had been her usual efficient self and there was no backlog of work.

With nothing pressing to do, Bethany set out to find the name of the hotel at the foot of Dunscar. The area’s central information bureau was open and able to tell her that it was called The Dunbeck. They even provided the phone number.

Somewhat heartened, she dialled the number.

There was no answer.

Though she tried periodically for the rest of the day, she met with no success.

Just as she was about to close the shop a couple of browsers came in and it was turned six before she was able to lock up and leave.

By the time she reached her basement flat, tired and frustrated, it was almost six-thirty and Michael would be picking her up at seven.