Читать книгу Ordinary Girl, Society Groom - NATASHA OAKLEY, Natasha Oakley - Страница 9

SHE turned abruptly and pushed her way through the throng of silk and chiffon-clad women with their attendant dinner-jacketed swains, her heart pounding with an anger she’d never experienced before.

And sorrow. It had seeped into her bones. It permeated everything.

Her letter hadn’t even reached the man her mother had loved. It had been passed around strangers. Her mother’s secret had been shared with all the people she’d tried to keep it from.

Her own quiet, dignified request for answers, her need to understand what had happened, had been misconstrued. She felt violated and desperately hurt. Angry for herself—and for her mother.

Eloise found the ladies’ cloakroom by pure instinct. She could hardly see for the tears burning behind her eyes. She pushed open the door and stepped down into the marble opulence.

Thankfully it was empty. She stumbled forward and let the tap run cold for a second or two before splashing her face.

He didn’t believe her. She’d never expected that. She’d spent so much time imagining what kind of response her letter would receive. She’d never imagined for a single second it would be met with blatant disbelief and never reach the man she’d intended it for.

The door clicked open. Eloise glanced up at the two middle-aged women who paused in their conversation the minute they saw her. She forced herself to stand straight and calmly turned off the cold tap. She didn’t want their sympathy—or their questions.

As soon as they’d passed Eloise covered her eyes with her hand. She needed to go home. Decide what she was going to do now. Cry.

She needed to cry out the frustration and the anger. The sadness. The waste of it all.

Cassie wouldn’t like it but she couldn’t risk speaking to Jem Norland again. Why did he think her mother had lied? How dared he think that? She brushed away an angry tear.

The door at the end of the powder room clicked open. ‘Are you feeling unwell?’ one of ladies who’d passed earlier asked.

Eloise spun round. ‘I’m fine. Sorry,’ she answered briskly. ‘I’m fine. Really.’ She made a show of checking her make-up in the lighted mirrors and adjusted the narrow straps of her evening gown before leaving the ladies’ room.

The babble of conversation immediately hit her as a wall of sound. The heat was stifling and the air was full of heavy perfume. Eloise pulled a tired hand across her forehead, easing out the tension, and crossed the room towards her employer.

‘You look dreadful,’ Cassie remarked as soon as she joined her.

Eloise let her breath out in a gentle, single stream. They were friends to a point, but Cassie wasn’t the kind of woman you could confide in.

In fact, since her mother’s death she’d discovered she really didn’t have any friends she trusted in that way. Not for the things that were truly important, the things that touched your soul and defined your personality.

‘It’s nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure,’ she lied. ‘I think I’ll go home, though.’

Cassie’s mouth thinned. She didn’t like it. Eloise knew the signs of irritation well. Her employer ate and slept her job and expected everyone else to do the same. Nothing in Cassie’s life was allowed to impinge on the really important business of running a magazine.

‘Now?’

‘I’ve got plenty of material.’ Eloise glanced down at her watch and added, ‘Which is more than can be said for Bernadette Ryland.’

Cassie’s painted mouth relaxed into a half smile and she spun round to take another view of the actress’s skimpy gown. ‘True. But there are one or two people I’d still like to speak to, if I can.’

Failure wasn’t in Cassie’s vocabulary. She would speak to everyone she intended to—and stay until it was done. It was why she was as successful as she was.

Eloise followed Cassie’s eyes as they searched out Monica Bennington, whose affair with a disgraced Member of Parliament had been headline news for the past week. A salacious story and Cassie wouldn’t leave without some take on it.

‘If you give me half an hour I’ll come with you. We’re all a bit jittery after Naomi’s mugging.’

Naomi’s recent attack had traumatised the entire office—but even that couldn’t persuade Eloise to wait. Cassie’s half an hour would become an hour, then maybe two. She had to leave now. Her temples had started to thud and she felt as if needles were being pushed into her eye sockets.

And she wanted to cry. Tough, sassy woman about town that she was—she wanted to cry like a baby. ‘I don’t want to rush you. I’ll call a cab.’

Cassie’s eyes flicked back to Monica. Eloise could see that she was torn as to what she should do. ‘Alone? You’re sure?’

‘Positive. I’ll be fine. It’s not very late. I could even catch the tube but I’d look a bit daft dressed like this. Probably not the best idea for a fashion guru.’

Cassie laughed, as Eloise had intended she should. Her hard face softened slightly and she rested her hand lightly on Eloise’s bare arm. ‘Get them to call you a taxi from Reception. Bring the receipt in tomorrow. Keep safe.’

Eloise smiled her thanks and turned away. Thank God. Escape. Her eyes fixed on the double doors with the determination of a drowning man trying to reach shore. She’d never left an evening like this so early before. Had never felt such an overwhelming urge to run away.

But then she’d never met Jem Norland before.

The sudden cold blast of air was a relief. Eloise had never fainted in her life but she’d felt perilously close to it back in the ballroom. She took in a couple of steadying breaths, grateful for the comparative quiet.

Her fingers struggled with the stiff clasp on her evening bag before she managed to retrieve the small white ticket she needed to reclaim her wrap. With a nervous glance over her shoulder, she hurried down the wide-stepped staircase.

‘Miss Lawton?’

She didn’t need to turn round to recognise the voice of Jem Norland. Her fingers hesitated on the smooth mahogany banister rail and she stopped. ‘Go away,’ she managed. ‘I don’t want to speak to you.’

She carried on down the stairs, gathering up the fine silk of her skirt to keep it out of the way of her heels.

The marble-floored entrance hall was full of people and she had no choice but to take her place in a queue. He came to stand beside her. Tall and intimidating. ‘I’m sorry.’

Eloise kept looking staunchly ahead. ‘For what?’

‘I’ve upset you.’

Bizarrely, he sounded genuine. Eloise couldn’t quite understand that. He’d made a point of coming to speak to her when he’d known perfectly well who she was. He’d made it perfectly plain that he didn’t believe her story. What exactly did he expect her to feel?

‘I’m angry. Okay?’ She turned to look at him. ‘Not upset, angry. Very, very angry.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He kept his voice level and calm.

Eloise felt hot tears prick behind her eyes. ‘Oh, go away.’ Then, with a small break in her voice, ‘Please, Leave me alone. Just go away.’

The queue moved forward and Eloise resolutely concentrated on handing over her ticket and reclaiming her wrap. She draped the soft folds about her shoulders, aware that Jem Norland had moved to stand near the reception desk.

Eloise looked back up the staircase to the oppressive portraits above. The sound of laughter and the general hum of conversation wafted down. She’d have been better off waiting for Cassie. If only he’d leave her alone.

She looked at the queue, which was five deep, all waiting patiently for the receptionist, and with sudden decisiveness she turned towards the exit.

Jem stopped her. ‘We ought to talk.’

‘About?’ She pulled her wrap tightly about her shoulders. ‘I’ve got nothing to say to you and I’m not interested in anything you’ve got to say to me. My mum was right when she decided to have nothing to do with my father.’

As exits went, it was pretty good. Head held high, she stepped out on the stone steps.

But it was dark.

And she’d meant to wait for a taxi. It was stupid to be walking about London at night, alone, in sandals with three-inch heels and wearing an expensive evening dress. She knew it.

But she couldn’t go back. Stifling the panic she always felt about being alone at night, Eloise headed towards the main road. The street was deserted. Naomi had been unlucky. There was nothing to worry about, she told herself. This was a well-lit road in a good area and it would be easy to hail a taxi at Hyde Park Corner.

The wind whipped between the buildings and she pulled her deep purple wrap more closely about her shoulders as though it would offer protection. A shield against people who would do her wrong.

She pulled a wry smile. It wasn’t even doing a particularly good job at keeping her warm. What was really needed on a night like this was thermal underwear and a duffel coat. Oh, and a pair of comfortable shoes. She’d kill for a pair of loafers right now.

A quick glance over her shoulder reassured her. There was no one. Not even Jem Norland. It was eerily quiet and, after the bright lights of Alburgh House, unpleasantly dark. It was strange how night made such a difference and made familiar places uncomfortable.

A sensible woman would have called for a cab from Reception; she wouldn’t have let Jem Norland deflect her. She crossed the road and set out along the pavement at a brisk pace. Her skin seemed to prickle with an undisclosed danger. All the result of an overactive imagination, she chided herself immediately, but she still quickened her pace.

In the daylight this was a bustling affluent area. In the dark it seemed full of alleyways and litter. It was all fanciful nonsense, though, and the main road was only a short distance away. Lots of people. Lots of taxis. No problem, she muttered underneath her breath.

No problem at all. Keep walking, keep looking ahead, make it look like you know where you’re going….

The wind picked up and Eloise sensed the first droplets of rain hanging in the air. Blast it. A drenching would really be a perfect ending to a miserable evening. She pulled her wrap tightly around her body.

It was getting colder and the wind stronger. Almost before she heard them she was aware of footsteps behind her. A sudden sound in the darkness. Her heart pounded uncomfortably against her ribcage and she quickened her pace, listening for the slightest sound behind her.

The footsteps seemed to keep pace with hers—although they were some way back. She took a deep breath to steady herself. She was jumping at shadows. A few more metres and she’d be on the main road. Plenty of people there, she reminded herself, but her heart continued to pound painfully against her chest.

With a furtive glance behind her to confirm there was someone coming up behind her, she saw a man still someway in the distance. Turning back, she did a few rapid calculations. How far from the main road was she? If she made a run for it, could he catch her? Probably. With her shoes off? Maybe not.

She let out another long slow breath. Time to discover whether not waiting in the Reception area had been one of the dumbest decisions she’d ever made. With a defiant toss of the head she crossed the road. And then she listened.

The footsteps stayed steady. For a moment Eloise allowed herself to relax. How stupid was she being? She was walking towards the main road; it was highly likely other people would decide to do the same. Then she noticed the footsteps behind her had quickened—and she heard the man cross the road.

Every nerve in her body was screaming as she resisted the overwhelming temptation to turn round and look. If she did that she’d be committed to flight and it wasn’t much further. Not much further at all.

Eloise could see the corner approaching fast even as the footsteps sounded closer. The lights of the restaurants shone brightly. If this man got any closer she would kick off her heels and run for it. It was a question of timing.

Or she could turn and fight. Her mind struggled to remember what she’d learnt. Hand beneath the chin, knee in groin…

‘Miss Lawton.’

She stopped and spun round to confront Jem Norland. Hot, molten anger rose even as relief flooded through her. ‘Damn you. You stupid man! How dare you do this to me?’

Painful gulps of air shot into her lungs as she tried to control some of the anger bursting from her. ‘Hasn’t anyone ever told you that you shouldn’t go following women, particularly at night, and even more particularly when they’re on their own? It’s an incredibly crass thing to do.’

‘I didn’t mean to frighten you,’ Jem said, his footsteps slowing. ‘I thought you’d seen me.’

‘Just like you didn’t mean to upset me? Why can’t you leave me alone?’ Eloise asked in a burst of anger before her chest contracted and she suddenly found she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes opened in shock as she struggled to take in enough air, each shallow breath only serving to make her feel more frightened.

Jem took her face between his hands. ‘Just breathe. In and out.’ His blue eyes held her brown ones, the strength in them willing her to stay calm. ‘It’s okay. You’re okay.’

Eloise didn’t believe him but she kept looking up at him, the warmth from his hands giving her comfort. Her chest hurt and her breath was still coming in painful gasps. ‘I’m sorry. I—’

‘Don’t try and speak,’ he cut across her curtly. ‘You’re in shock. Just keep breathing steadily. In and out. If I had a paper bag I’d give you that to blow into.’ He looked about him as though he might be able to conjure one up in the middle of a London street.

Eloise laughed, a hiccup and then a sob. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘What for? I’m the one that’s frightened you. I should have called out earlier, made sure you knew I was there. I didn’t think.’

As her breath steadied he let his hands fall down by his sides. There was silence for a moment as they looked at each other. Then Eloise shivered. Within seconds he’d slipped off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders.

‘No. I can’t—’ she began but he stopped her.

‘It’s cold.’ He looked up at the sky as the soft drops of rain continued to fall. ‘And it’s started to rain.’

He moved to place a hand in the small of her back and urged her towards the main road. After a few steps, Eloise stopped. ‘What are you doing? What do you want?’

‘To talk to you,’ he said, as though he were speaking to a child. ‘We do need to talk.’

Eloise shook her head and her voice wavered. ‘Why? You don’t believe me.’

He put his hands in his pockets. ‘But you believe it,’ he said quietly.

His jacket hung heavy about her shoulders. She turned and walked towards the main road. He hadn’t said he believed her, only that he believed she believed it.

And he wanted to talk. Why? But all at once she didn’t really care. The most important thing was that she wasn’t alone in a dark street. She hadn’t been attacked. She was safe.

Still, after eight years, the memories of that night haunted her. She’d been one of the lucky ones, she’d got away unharmed, but in so many ways she was still a victim. Frightened of the dark, frightened of walking alone, frightened of being frightened.

Naomi’s mugging had brought it all back. Had made that fear fresh. A large drop of rain fell on the fine wool of his jacket. Eloise glanced up and then across at Jem. ‘You’ll get wet.’

‘I’ll survive.’ He gave a half smile and her stomach twisted in recognition of something. ‘Where are we going?’ he asked.

‘To the main road. To hail a cab.’

‘You could have got one from Reception.’

‘I know.’ She kept walking, her face turned away.

‘But I was there,’ he said slowly. ‘Is that it?’

‘Something like that.’ She risked a glance across at him. The rain had started in earnest and his crisp white shirt had begun to stick to his body.

It was a good body. Tautly muscled, as Cassie had noticed. She’d said he was sexy too, the tiny voice in her head reminded her.

And he was. Sexy. Strong. Safe.

Safe. Why had she thought that? Perhaps it was because of the way his eyes had held hers when she’d been panicked and fighting for breath. His hands had cradled her face.

Eloise looked down at her ruined sandals. ‘I’ll be fine now.’

‘I’ll find you a taxi.’

His voice brooked no argument and she was too relieved to protest. The lights of the main road ahead shone brightly, but she’d still prefer not to be alone. ‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome. Having scared you witless, it’s the least I can do.’

She looked up in time to see his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. Very sexy. But still the enemy.

He still thought she’d claimed to be Viscount Pulborough’s daughter when she wasn’t. What did he think she wanted? What could she possibly hope to gain?

‘Why don’t you believe me?’ she asked suddenly.

Jem drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘Laurence is a deeply religious man. He stayed married to his first wife for nearly thirty years, even when she was seriously ill with motor neurone disease. His opinions on the sanctity of marriage are very fixed.’

‘So you think my mum was lying?’

‘Laurence’s name doesn’t appear on your birth certificate—’

‘How could it?’ she responded swiftly. ‘He didn’t stay around that long.’

Jem turned towards her. His eyes were sad, compassionate, as though he didn’t want to hurt her but believed he had no choice.

‘I can’t see Laurence ever turning his back on a child. It’s out of character. He wouldn’t do it.’

‘But you didn’t ask him. Did you?’ Eloise hugged his jacket about her shoulders. ‘You didn’t show him my letter.’

‘No. Not yet.’ He stopped by the door of a lighted café. ‘Do you want a coffee?’

Eloise glanced up and then through the window. The staff were clearing the tables. ‘I want to go home. I’ll be fine now, you go back to the gala.’

‘I’m not going.’ He slicked back his dark hair. ‘I’m cold, drenched and I’m going to see you home.’

‘What about Sophia Westbrooke? Won’t she be looking for you?’

‘Sophy will go home with Andrew.’

‘Will she mind?’

‘Why would she? They know I hate these kinds of events. I don’t really like London. Too noisy. Too many people.’

They turned the final corner and stood beneath a street light, the rain glinting as it was illuminated in the soft beam.

‘I’d read that.’

He glanced across at her. ‘What else did you read?’

Eloise let her eyes scan the distance. She took a shallow breath. ‘Your father is the late Rupert Norland. He died in a speedboat accident when you were fourteen and your mother married Viscount Pulborough eighteen months later. You were expelled from school. You design furniture and you’re not married.’

‘That’s all?’

She glanced across at him. His hands were nonchalantly in his trouser pockets, his face mildly interested. ‘You’ve a half-brother called Alexander who’s at Harrow and who will ultimately inherit Coldwaltham Abbey. Rumour has it you were all but engaged to Brigitte Coulthard, heiress to the Coulthard retail empire. Since then, nothing particularly serious.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you want any more? I’m good at research.’

‘So I see. I’ve no secrets then,’ he said dryly.

Eloise pulled his jacket closely about her shoulders. ‘Have I?’

‘No.’ He gave a half smile. ‘I’m pretty good at research myself.’

There was a silence before Jem lunged forward and hailed a passing black cab. As the driver swerved over, switching off his ‘for hire’ light, Jem turned back. ‘Where to?’

‘Hammersmith.’

He nodded and Eloise noticed the way the rain was now dripping down the back of his neck, his shirt sticking to his back. His jacket around her shoulders was sodden, the bottom of her fine silk dress hung in miserable folds and her shoes were ruined.

She didn’t care. About that or about anything. A strange fatalism seemed to rest upon her. Jem seemed inclined to make decisions and she didn’t have the energy to stop him.

Settling back in the deep seat of the taxi, she didn’t even comment when he took the seat next to her. It seemed natural he should. She didn’t ask where he was going or whether this was taking him out of his way.

What if he were right? What if Viscount Pulborough wasn’t her father? It was a small chink of doubt which made her feel like she was betraying her mother. But he was so certain. So very certain.

She turned her head away and watched the raindrops bead and weave their way across the window. Beyond it was all a blur of night.

Would her mother have lied? Eloise couldn’t believe that. Wouldn’t.

‘Where to, luv?’ The taxi driver half turned his head to talk through the open window.

Eloise jumped. ‘Second on the left. Number fifteen.’ She glanced across at Jem. His face was hidden in darkness but she knew he was watching her. She shrugged out of his jacket. ‘You’d better have this back,’ she said, passing it to him. ‘Thank you.’

He took the jacket and felt inside the inner pocket for his wallet as the taxi pulled up outside her home. Jem opened the door and helped her out on to the pavement.

Eloise stood foolishly and watched him walk round to pay the driver. The rain had stopped but the pavements were dark and the air smelt damp.

Jem came back to join her as the taxi pulled away. As she watched the tail-lights disappear she glanced up at him. ‘You’ll never get another taxi round here.’

He shrugged. ‘Then I’ll walk.’

‘That’s silly.’ Eloise shivered, her thin wrap doing nothing to keep her warm.

‘Perhaps, but I’ll be happier if I know you’re safe.’

She turned and fitted her front door key into the lock. ‘Do you want to come in for a coffee? You could ring for a taxi.’ The words were out of her mouth before she even knew what she’d said.

‘Coffee would be good.’

In the ‘guide to all single women living alone in London’ this was another foolish thing to do. You didn’t ask a man you’d met that evening back to your flat. But even though Jem Norland was many things she loathed, she wasn’t frightened of him.

She wasn’t even sure she loathed him any more. It had burned itself out. It was the situation she hated and someone to talk to, anyone, was better than no one.

The traditional nineteen-thirties front door opened into a small lobby. ‘My flat is upstairs,’ she said unnecessarily. ‘The house was divided ten years ago.’

‘How long have you lived here?’

‘Six months. I was lucky to get it.’

Jem followed her up the staircase and waited while she unlocked the second door.

‘The lounge is through there. You’d better go in,’ she said curtly. ‘I’m just going to get changed.’

Eloise walked straight towards her bedroom, shutting the door behind her. She stood resting her back against the cold woodwork.

What was she doing? There had been no need to ask him in for coffee. No need at all.

There was no need for him to have accepted either, she reminded herself. No reason why he should have bothered to see her home. If he were so certain her mother was lying there’d be no reason for him to want to talk to her.

Eloise pulled out some dry underwear, jeans and a pale pink jumper from her chest of drawers, kicking off her Eduardo Munno sandals as she did so.

She slipped the narrow straps off her shoulders and let the damp fabric of her dress pool on the floor. Her skin felt cold and her hair was wet. It was so tempting to curl up beneath her duvet. To shut her eyes and let the day’s problems melt into sleep. To forget all about Jem Norland waiting in her lounge.

Waiting. She pulled on her jeans and pulled the soft angora jumper over her head. He must be frozen—but she hadn’t got anything for him to wear. She made a detour and grabbed a towel.

Why was he here?

She didn’t want to talk about her mother. Not if he was going to criticise her and question her honesty.

In many ways it would have been better if she’d just folded up the letter again and forgotten all about it. Or burnt it, maybe. She should have trusted her mum’s judgement. There must have been very real reasons why she’d decided to disappear quietly. Why she’d never tried to make contact.

Or had she? Perhaps she’d tried over the years but the Viscount hadn’t wanted to know.

She walked nervously into the lounge. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think. You must be cold. Wet.’

Jem stood with his back to her, gazing down at the road below. He turned to look at her. ‘It’s quiet here.’

Eloise hugged the towel against her body. ‘Yes.’

She had to pull herself together. To jump-start her brain in to some kind of working order.

What was the matter with her? She’d always had an answer for everything. Could cope with anything life threw at her. Just tonight it all seemed to have deserted her. She felt like a walking zombie. Like someone who’d had all their fire sucked out of them.

She tried again. ‘That’s why I bought it. That and the fact I could afford it. Plus it’s only a short walk from the tube.’ Eloise stopped. Total drivel. She was speaking total drivel.

He smiled. His blue eyes glinted down at her. Almost, Eloise thought as she was caught in their glare, she could almost forget he was the enemy. He had an uncanny knack of making you feel special. It was a rare gift.

Hesitantly she held out the towel. ‘I’ve brought you a towel.’

‘Thank you. Probably better to just lay it out on your sofa. Save the fabric. If I can sit down?’

Eloise shook her head. ‘That doesn’t matter.’ Then, as she realised what he’d said, ‘I’m sorry. Please do. Sit, I mean.’ She rubbed a tired hand across her eyes. ‘I can get you another towel, if you like.’ She moved towards the door.

His voice stopped her. ‘I’m fine.’

‘Something to drink? I’m making a coffee.’

‘Coffee would be lovely.’

His voice was rich and warm. A cultured voice. Safe. She watched him lay out the towel across her small green sofa before sitting down. Eloise closed her eyes for a second and forced herself to walk out of the room.

He made her small living-room seem tiny. He made her feel tiny, small enough to put in his pocket. She wasn’t used to that sort of feeling. Eloise rubbed at her cold arms and shivered. Jem Norland was still the enemy, firmly on the side of the man who’d betrayed her mother’s trust.

She had to remember that.

But Viscount Pulborough was fortunate in having someone so strong in his corner. There was no one looking out for her. No one to put their arms about her to hug her. She’d been strong for so long. Sometimes she just wanted…

Comfort.

She just wanted someone to tell her it would be all right. She missed her mum with an ache that was physical. It had been just the two of them for so long. She had always been supportive, loving and protective. And now…

Now she was alone. She’d been alone for such a long time. Six years.

For six years she’d fought her own battles and dried her own tears. There’d been no one to share the happy, triumphant moments of her life. She felt as if she was standing facing the sea and the tide was about to bear down upon her, an unstoppable force, and she would be swept away by the power of it.