Читать книгу Penny Jordan Tribute Collection - Пенни Джордан, PENNY JORDAN - Страница 54

A WEEK went by without Claire hearing anything from Brad, and then another, and then halfway through the third she received a telephone call from Tim advising her that Brad had been in touch with him.

‘He did try to ring you but he said there was no reply. His uncle—the one who runs the business—has had a heart attack and is in Intensive Care and Brad has had to step in and take over from him, so obviously there’s no question of him returning here in the immediate future.’

‘But what about his things? They’re still here,’ Claire protested. Her body felt numb with shock; until she’d heard Tim telling her that Brad wouldn’t be coming back she hadn’t realised how much she had been depending on him returning… how strongly she had been clinging to that frail link between them.

Now Tim had severed it, leaving her feeling that she was crashing through space, tumbling helplessly from a great height, her stomach seized with fear and nausea as her whole world dissolved around her.

‘I expect he’ll want us to make arrangements to ship whatever he’s left behind out to him,’ Tim told her. ‘Just let me know what there is and we can sort all that out for you.’

After she had replaced the receiver Claire went upstairs, moving like a sleepwalker as she went into the room that Brad had occupied. Was she imagining it or did the very air in there still carry a faint scent of him—of his soap, his skin, himself? Her whole body bowed with misery and loss.

She went across to the bed, smoothing her fingertips over the pillow, hot tears filling her eyes.

It was ridiculous for her to be behaving in this fashion, she derided herself. She was a grown woman. Grown women didn’t fall intensely and passionately in love in the space of a handful of days—or at least they weren’t supposed to. Their hearts weren’t supposed to ache with all the intensity and anguish with which hers was aching right now, and nor were their bodies.

Their bodies… her body… Her body. Oh, how it had deceived her, led her into a trap of false security, letting her believe that it was impossible for it to feel, to want, to need the way it was doing right now.

Brad had said that he’d tried to ring her, Tim had told her. Her head dipped defensively as she remembered those last, frantic hours before he had left, his sister’s resentment at what she had seen as Brad’s support of her husband in his insistence that she needed to return home to talk to him and that it wasn’t fair on her children—on their children—simply to walk out, no matter what provocation she might think she personally had had to do so.

Brad had tried to talk privately to her then and foolishly she had hoped that he had wanted to reassure her, to offer her if not his love then at least the reassurance that there was something between them worth pursuing. But now she wondered if she might have been wrong, if what he had wanted to say to her was more along the lines of Thank you, it was very nice, but now it’s over.

Over… Her throat constricted on a small half-sob, a painful spasm of emotion. It had never really properly begun. What was there, in reality, to be over? All they had had, all there had been was simply a… a one-night stand… a bit of a sexual adventure, and she had been a fool to believe that it was anything more.

And, that being the case, there was precious little point in compounding her folly by thinking about what might have been, tormenting herself with implausible, unrealistic daydreams. No, she would be better off simply forgetting about the whole incident… about Brad himself—forgetting it and firmly locking the door on it and throwing away the key.

It was an easy enough resolve to make, but a much harder one to keep, Claire discovered in the weeks that followed.

Irene commented in a slightly miffed manner on her lacklustre response to life in general and to her own good news in particular that Tim had responded so positively to Brad’s suggestions, including his recommendation that Tim should consider going on a self-assertion training course.

‘Of course it will mean that someone will have to come over from America to take charge of things for a while,’ Irene had confided. ‘But Brad says he has someone in mind for that—their top distributor over there. Tim is already in contact with him and they seem to be getting on very well.’

But even her sister-in-law’s plans for the future failed to move Claire to anything more than dull indifference—a reaction which she herself felt barely registered as a meagre one out of ten on the scale of her emotionally misery, but which apparently Irene had seen fit to accord a much higher anxiety-rating, as Claire discovered when she received an unscheduled visit from her stepdaughter in the middle of what had so far been a particularly harrowing day.

She had discovered earlier in the morning that the school where she worked was to be closed, its pupils amalgamated with those at another school on the other side of town.

It wasn’t so much the fact that her voluntary services would no longer be required that upset her but the knowledge of how difficult some of their children would find it to adapt to new and, to them, potentially threatening surroundings and routines, and she was still worrying about the fate of the children when Sally arrived unexpectedly.

‘Is something wrong?’ Claire asked her stepdaughter anxiously, knowing that she should have been at work.

‘According to Aunt Irene I’m the one who should be asking you that question,’ Sally told her forthrightly, adding more gently, ‘I haven’t wanted to pry, but it’s been obvious ever since we got back from honeymoon that something is wrong. Every time I’ve spoken to you it’s been almost as though you’re not really… You’ve been so… so distant almost that I had begun…’ Sally paused and bit her lip, her face flushing slightly.

‘It isn’t anything to do with the wedding, is it… and with that trick Chris and I played on the three of you with the wedding bouquet? Only when I rang Star the other day she was very curt with me and said she was too busy to speak to me, and as for Poppy—well, I know how she’s always felt about Chris, but she was so young when she first developed her crush on him.

‘I never meant to hurt any of you,’ Sally told her urgently, coming over to kneel down beside Claire and to lay her head on her lap as she had done when she was a little girl in need either of a confessional for some minor crime or some extra cosseting and reassurance.

Automatically Claire reached out to stroke the shining head of hair just as she had done so many times when Sally had been growing up.

‘If you’re cross with me about the bouquet, please believe me, we… I only did it because—well, because Chris and I… Well, I’m so happy myself, I just wanted all of you—but most especially you…’

Sally bit her lip, her voice slightly strained as she continued emotionally, ‘You’ve been… you are such a wonderful mother to me, much better than… a much better parent to me than Dad ever was. I’ve always known that and, well… I’ve always loved you… more… best… but it wasn’t until Chris pointed it out to me that I realised that your marriage, that my father…’

She raised her head and looked at Claire. ‘It must have been very difficult for you. After all, he never made any secret of the fact that Paula… that…’

‘He still loved your mother,’ Claire supplied for her. ‘She was your mother, Sally,’ she reminded her stepdaughter gently, ‘and I honestly don’t mind you referring to her as that… You see, I know I have my own place in your love and in your life, and if anything it isn’t jealousy or envy I feel for her, but sadness and pity because she was deprived of so much pleasure in not being here to watch you growing up.

‘When you have children of your own they’re going to want to know about her and you’re going to want to tell them, but I shall be the one who cuddles them and tells them stories and gives them forbidden treats…’

‘You’ll always be Mum to me,’ Sally told her tearfully. ‘Always… I know there’s been a bit of gossip about the bouquet and the pact the three of you made not to get married because of it—Hannah told me and I’ve heard it from someone else as well—but I honestly never meant to cause any of you any embarrassment or to hurt you…

‘I know that, Sally,’ Claire reassured her.

‘Well, if that’s not what’s wrong, then what is it?’ Sally persisted. ‘And don’t tell me “nothing”, because it’s obvious that something is wrong.’

‘I heard this morning that they’re going to close the school,’ Claire told her.

‘Oh, no. I am sorry… I know how much you’ve enjoyed working there.’ She stood up, her face and voice lightening with relief as she added, ‘Irene was convinced that the reason you’ve been so withdrawn has something to do with that American you had staying with you. Bart—’

‘Brad,’ Claire corrected her quietly, getting up to go and fill the kettle to make them both a hot drink and keeping her face carefully averted just in case something in her expression should betray her.

Just saying Brad’s name had made her heart somersault violently and it was now thudding so heavily against her chest wall that it was practically making her dizzy and slightly faint.

For the first time ever Claire actually felt glad when her stepdaughter had gone. Right now Sally was still living in a cloud of post-honeymoon euphoric bliss, but once that started to fade and she was back to being her normal sharp-eyed self Claire doubted that she would be able to keep the truth from her for very long. If Irene had already guessed that something was wrong—and, even worse, why—what chance did she have of concealing the truth from Sally?

The answer lay in her own hands, Claire told herself firmly. If she didn’t want the pain and humiliation of her nearest and dearest discovering how stupid she had been, then she was going to have to make much more of an effort to force herself to forget Brad and her love for him.

More of an effort. She gave a small, twisted smile. Right now simply getting through the day without him was just about as much effort as she was capable of making, which was pathetic and ridiculous given the fact that she had only known him a matter of days.

Maybe in that short space of time she had developed an emotional rapport with him, an emotional intimacy which had led to her telling him things about herself that she had never dreamed of confiding to anyone else. Maybe during that time she had developed an emotional need for him, an emotional hunger and intensity… which he quite plainly had not reciprocated, she reminded herself flatly. If he had…

As she cleared away her and Sally’s dirty coffee-mugs she paused to stare blindly out of her kitchen window. Next week it would be three months since the wedding. She had put a red cross by the date on her kitchen wall-calendar.

As she glanced desolately at it she reflected grimly that at least she of the trio who had fallen into Sally’s carefully orchestrated trap would be able to keep their rendezvous knowing that there was no chance of her breaking the light-hearted vow they had all made to remain single.

Quietly Brad watched from the sidelines as his family busied themselves with their self-appointed tasks.

Today they were holding their annual barbecue—an event that Brad himself had instituted the year after their parents’ death, when, instead of grieving and mourning their loss in the traditional way, for the sake of the younger siblings and to ensure that their parents were never forgotten he had decided to hold a small barbecue to celebrate the fact that they were still together, that their parents had loved them and still loved them, even if they could not be there with them to show it.

Over the years the original small, homely event had expanded until it was now almost a local institution, with virtually the whole town seeming to attend, its venue having moved from the backyard of their home to a site on the lake shore.

Spring was just beginning to give way to summer and the days were longer and warmer. Later in the year this tree-sheltered site would be enervatingly stifling, but right now it was just protectively warm enough for the younger members of the group to beg pleadingly to be allowed into the water.

Brad smiled ruefully to himself, witnessing the clumsy, unpractised flirtation that one of his nephews was attempting with a disdainful redhead who one day was going to be stunningly attractive but who right now still wore her hair in braids and had a sexually pre-adolescent, thin, leggy body.

Once it had hurt him almost unbearably, knowing that his parents had died at this time of the year when nature was so full of promise and vigour, when everything was green and fresh and growing, but over the years that pain had softened into acceptance.

‘You look very pensive.’

Brad smiled as Mary-Beth came over to him, slipping her arm through his and resting her head on his shoulder.

‘I still haven’t thanked you properly for insisting that I come back and talk properly to Abe. If I hadn’t done…’ She gave a small, rueful shake of her head. ‘That temper of mine; you’d have thought by now I’d have learnt not to trust it.’

‘I’d have thought by now you would have learnt to trust Abe,’ Brad told her dryly.

‘Well, you know how it is… Somehow, losing Mom and Dad… I guess I’m always going to feel a bit insecure… like thinking that Abe was having an affair when he was doing no such thing. But you’re not much better,’ she accused her brother. ‘Look at the way you’ve stayed single… avoided any emotional commitment.’

Avoided emotional commitment. Brad frowned as he looked back at her. ‘And how the hell do you work that one out?’ he demanded grimly. ‘Look around you, Mary-Beth, and tell me that again.’

‘Oh, I don’t mean you’ve avoided any emotional commitment to us,’ Mary-Beth protested. ‘You’ve been the best brother… the very best there could ever be. But… haven’t you ever wanted anyone of your own, Brad? I mean we’ve all married… Don’t you feel lonely sometimes, wish that you’d…?’ She bit her lip as she saw the way that he was looking at her.

‘Now don’t you go putting that stern elder-brother look on your face with me. We all know how much you’ve sacrificed for us, how much you must curse us all to perdition at times, especially the uncles…’

She paused, drawing an abstract pattern in the sandy earth with the toe of her shoe. ‘We all know you didn’t want to go to Britain… nor to come back and take over the business. And I know, even if the others don’t, that the old boat you’ve got down at the jetty is your equivalent of what us kids used to call our “running-away money”. But if you really left here to sail around the world on your own, Brad, you’d hate it. You’re a family man… a patriarch—’

‘Don’t bet money on it,’ Brad advised her harshly, preparing to walk away, but Mary-Beth tugged on his arms, restraining him.

‘Don’t go yet; there’s something else I wanted to say. We all know that Uncle Joe wouldn’t have survived his heart attack if you hadn’t come back… if you hadn’t been in there pitching for him, but he’s never going to be strong enough to go back to running the business, Brad, and we—’

‘You what?’ he asked her grimly. ‘You’ve been deputised to soften me up and make sure I won’t get any ideas about wanting to lead my own life, is that it?’

‘Brad…’

Brad knew how much he’d upset her and cursed himself under his breath as he saw the tears in her eyes.

‘You’ve changed so much recently,’ Mary-Beth accused him. ‘Become so withdrawn… so… so angry. All we want is for you to be happy.’

Later on, after they’d hugged and made up, Brad watched as she walked to join her husband and children.

Everyone here bar him had someone of their own, he reflected bleakly. Once that would not have bothered him; once he would not even have had such a thought, because they were all his family—a part of him, as he was of them; once he would never have spent an event like this standing on the sidelines wishing with all his heart that he were somewhere else, and with someone else.

Why hadn’t Claire returned his phone call? He had tried so hard to make time to talk properly, privately with her before he and Mary-Beth had left, but the opportunity had just not been there. And then arriving home to be greeted by the news that his uncle Joe was seriously ill and was not expected to survive had meant that his own personal emotional needs and desires had had to be pushed to one side whilst he dealt with the practical problems that his uncle’s heart attack had caused.

When he had finally got the time to himself to ring her she hadn’t been there and he had had to speak to Tim instead to explain what had happened. All week he had expected Claire to ring, rushing home whenever he could to check his answering machine.

But when one week had gone by and then another without her getting in touch he had told himself that he already had the answer to the question that he had secretly wanted to ask her, and that there was no point in going over and over in his mind… in his body those precious, gut-wrenching hours that they had spent together as lovers, that special, heart-aching time when he had hoped… believed… when he had finally recognised that he had at last found the thing—the person—that he had subconsciously been looking for all his adult life, and that without her in it his life would go on being incomplete.

He would go on being incomplete. This… she was the reason for all the dissatisfaction he had felt with his life over the years; she was the reason she had never felt able to reach out to any other woman in a way that would make her a permanent part of his life.

Was it his fault that she did not feel the same way? Had he rushed her… frightened her… put her off with his inability to control his sexual desire for her? Knowing what he did about her past, shouldn’t he have been able to take things more slowly, to let her set the pace for any physical intimacy between them?

But it hadn’t been any chauvinistic male need to prove either to her or himself that he possessed some magical ability to restore her sexuality to her, to reactivate it, that had motivated him; he knew that. He had simply wanted her so much… been so overwhelmed by his love for her that the sad, pathetic truth was that he had been totally unable to stop himself.

What kind of admission was that from a grown man… a mature man to have to make? he wondered in dry self-disgust. And he was surprised because Claire didn’t want anything more to do with him?

On the other side of the clearing his uncle Joe, still restricted to a wheelchair but very much back in control of his life, beckoned to him. Warily Brad crossed the clearing and crouched down beside his uncle’s wheelchair, asking him with a cheerfulness he didn’t feel, ‘How do you think it’s going, Joe? Seems like everyone is having a good time.’

‘Everyone but you,’ his uncle told him forthrightly. ‘No, don’t bother denying it,’ he added before Brad could speak. ‘I’ve been watching you this past half-hour and it seems to me…’ He paused and then said shrewdly, ‘Seems to me you haven’t been the same since you came back from England.’

‘Much you would know,’ Brad scoffed banteringly. ‘When I came back from England you were in Intensive Care, giving us all the fright of our lives.’

‘Well, I’ve made my three score and ten—and some besides,’ Joe reminded him virtuously, but Brad wasn’t deceived. He knew his uncle and his soft-spoken determination to live to celebrate his one hundredth birthday.

‘You’re an old fraud,’ he told Joe ruefully now.

‘And you’re a fool,’ the older man came back, watching him with fierce fondness. ‘None can deny that you’ve done a good job standing in for your parents, Brad, nor that you’ve always put others before yourself, but they’re all grown and gone now and unless you want to end up lonesome and alone…

‘Who is she?’ he asked craftily. ‘Someone you met in England…? I was stationed over there during the war, you know; nearly married an English girl myself… My, but they’re pretty. Would have married her, too, if she hadn’t decided she preferred a fighter pilot to me. Worse mistake I ever made.’

Brad gave his uncle a frowning look. Joe, as he knew from wide experience, was a shameless manipulator of the truth when it suited him and this was certainly the first that he had ever heard of a wartime romance. His uncle’s shrewdness in guessing about Claire had thrown him off guard, though.

‘I’ve never heard about any English girl before,’ he told his uncle.

‘That’s because I don’t mention her. Don’t like to admit to having made a mistake. That’s a trait we both share… Should have married her when I had the chance, only I thought I’d kinda make her wait a little. I was young and I dare say a little swelled-headed at times. She didn’t want to wait, though, and I lost her…

‘Oh, I got over it… kinda… I came home after the war, met your aunt Grace and we got married, but I never forgot my English girl. Margaret, her name was. Peggy, they called her. Pretty as a rose, she was, with the softest skin.’ He gave a sentimental sigh.

‘Oh, Grace and I got on well enough together. She’d lost a fiancé during the war herself and so we both knew the score. Kinda makes you think, though. When I look around me now, see all of you together… If I’d married Peggy perhaps my grandchildren would be here now. There’s nothing like having a family of your own, Brad.’

‘I have a family,’ Brad pointed out brusquely to him. And besides, she… my English girl… doesn’t want me, he wanted to say, but the habit of keeping his own problems to himself, which had begun with his parents’ death, was too deeply ingrained now to be overcome.

‘A man belongs where his heart is, Brad; that’s his true home,’ his uncle told him quietly.

His uncle was right, Brad acknowledged later as the first of the early-evening shadows started to fall and the family gathered around the fire, the little ones snuggling up to their parents, the older ones—the soon-to-be teenagers—hanging together in their own small, private group, too old now to want to mimic those they saw as the babies of the family by staying with their parents and still too young to be allowed to separate themselves from the family group.