Читать книгу To Claim His Mistress: Mistress at a Price / Mother and Mistress / His Mistress's Secret - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 9

CHAPTER FIVE

‘I CAN’T let him go like this. I can’t…’ Cat whispered, as finally she shook free of her trance-like state and forced herself to move. She ran to the door and flung it open, but the corridor outside was empty. All the other doors were inimically shut.

Slowly, she retired back into her own room and sat down on the edge of the bed, wrapping her arms round her body in a gesture of bewildered self-protection as she struggled to master her breathing.

She could hardly believe his uncompromising reaction to her plan. She’d expected initial incredulity—even to be laughed at—and probably an argument. But not the kind of anger that flayed the skin from her bones. Nor had she anticipated that he’d walk out on her with such finality.

And if I had caught up with him? she thought. What could I have said? That I was sorry? That it was all a joke and I didn’t mean it? Because it wouldn’t be true.

She had wanted to be honest with him. Had needed to make him understand the limitations of any relationship between them.

But Liam hadn’t wanted the secret, passionate affair she’d offered. In fact it wasn’t certain that he’d been in the market for an affair at all, she thought, feeling her face warm as she recalled his scathing comment. Maybe, as he’d told her, she’d taken far too much for granted, and his only intention had been a brief sexual interlude to enliven a dreary weekend in the country.

After which it would have been thanks and goodbye.

Which hardly justified him seizing the moral high ground, but some men seemed adept at taking the double standard in their stride, and perhaps he was one of them.

Except that she didn’t really believe it, Cat told herself in sudden fierce negation. Whatever he might have said or done.

He wanted me, she thought. I know he did. But not enough to accept my terms. But I can’t offer more. I dare not. Not to him, or anyone.

Dear God, I’ve only known hi m for a few hours, and I already feel as if the heart’s being ripped out of my body. How could I possibly allow him closer, to become a real part of my life, when I’m halfway to falling in love with him already? And, however absurd that may be, I simply can’t risk it.

In a way, Belinda’s wedding had been a catalyst, showing her clearly the sorrow and disillusion that could await those who loved and trusted, turning into iron her determination to go her own way.

A cloud of unhappiness and disaffection had hung over the whole event, she thought, and now, in spite of herself, she’d been caught in it too.

A long, shuddering sigh escaped her.

Love’s a game, she thought. A game where the rules change every minute. And my life’s in place, so I have no room for that. I can’t afford it.

But if we’d spent the rest of the day and the night together, as Liam wanted, I might never have been able to let him go. And I knew that. I recognised the temptation. Saw the danger I was in. I had to try and regain control over the situation—and myself.

And in doing so I lost him.

She bent her head, hugging herself closer still as she acknowledged the pain of that and tried to deal with it. She could smell the soap he’d used on her skin. Was aware of the faint tenderness between her thighs from the fierce rapture they’d shared. Felt her throat tightening, and the harsh prickle of tears at the back of her eyes.

How could things change so suddenly? she asked herself, almost despairingly. Only fifteen minutes ago she’d been lying happily in his arms, her body glowing from his lovemaking. Everything to play for. Now he was out of her life for good, and she was left stunned and shocked at her sense of desolation.

The room, she thought, shivering, still seemed to carry echoes of his anger. It would be a long time before she forgot the contempt in his eyes, or his scornful words as he walked away from her.

But then it would be an even longer time before she’d be able to erase anything about Liam from her mind, she realised unhappily. When she closed her eyes he was there, as if he’d been somehow etched into the lids of her eyes.

One thing was certain. She would not be searching for anyone to take his place, as he’d so harshly suggested. She had been taught a harsh lesson, and she needed to gather her resources. Rethink her strategy.

One day, far in the future, someone might cross her path who also wanted a no-strings affair.

But he would not be Liam, she thought, and one tear trickled scaldingly down the curve of her cheek.

She stared down at her feet. The pale pink polish on her toes matched the colour on her fingernails, unflawed, without the slightest chip. Ironic, she thought, to look so groomed and orderly on the outside and be falling apart inside.

She drew a harsh breath, then jumped determinedly to her feet. This kind of emotional turmoil was exactly what she wanted to avoid, and the room itself did nothing for her mood.

Instead of sitting here, moping, she should take positive action.

She picked up the damp bath sheet and folded it, then replaced it in the bathroom and collected her bag of toiletries, dropping her soap into the wastebin.

Time for a change there, she told herself, biting her lip as she made a last check that she’d packed everything.

Her last action was to glance in the mirror, making sure that she didn’t look as wrecked as she felt. Her mouth was still slightly swollen from Liam’s kisses, and there were weary shadows beneath her eyes, but she’d pass, she told herself.

There was a different receptionist today. Cat placed her key on the desk. ‘I hope the computer’s recovered,’ she said briskly. ‘Because I’d like my bill, please.’

‘The computer?’ The girl gave her a puzzled look. ‘Has there been something wrong? No one’s mentioned it to me.’

‘Then it must be all right again.’ Cat produced her platinum card, and stood waiting as the receptionist busied herself at the screen.

She could always enquire about Liam, she thought, touching the tip of her tongue to dry lips. Forget her own rules and find out who he was. Keep it casual, keep it feasible. A magazine he’d lent her, perhaps, which she wanted to return.

For a moment she found herself regretting the absence of one of those old-fashioned hotel registers, the kind that people used to sign along with their personal details, and private detectives used to consult on the sly when the receptionist’s back was turned. It was all done with cards these days, which was no help at all—least of all to private detectives.

But what good would it do? she asked herself ironically. She’d be far better off taking a solemn vow to stop beating herself over the head like this.

The receptionist turned back to her, looking even more bewildered. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Adamson, your bill has already been settled.’

‘No,’ Cat said firmly. ‘That can’t be. I tried to pay last night, but the computer was down. I told you.’

‘But I assure you it has been paid—in full.’ The girl ran off a copy of the statement and handed it to her. ‘See?’ She was smiling brightly. ‘You don’t owe us a thing.’

‘And you don’t understand,’ Cat returned. ‘I haven’t paid it.’

‘Well.’ The smile faltered for a moment, then redoubled its efforts. ‘Maybe someone’s treated you to it. After all, you

were here with yesterday’s wedding party.’

‘Yes,’ Cat agreed slowly. ‘That must be it.’

She was nearly at the door when the girl called to her. ‘Miss Adamson, I’ve just found this note in your pigeonhole. It must have been left while I was on my break.’

Hotel stationery, Cat thought as she took it. And her name in one angry slash on the envelope.

Woodenly, she tore it open and extracted the single sheet.

The message was brief. ‘I don’t usually pay for sex,’ it read. ‘But last night was exceptional.’ And Liam’s initial.

She restrained an impulse to crumple it into a ball in her hand, or tear it, screaming, into a million pieces.

‘Are you all right, Miss Adamson? You look very pale. Not bad news, I hope.’

Cat started, and began to hastily reassemble the rags of her composure. ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, not at all,’ she said, thrusting the note into her bag.

You need to leave with your head high, she told herself. And you can do it. You have to.

She looked back at the receptionist, whose smile must surely be making her mouth ache by this time.

‘I’m fine.’ Her voice was clear and strong. ‘And thank you—for everything.’

And she walked out into the sunshine, to her waiting car.

Cat was thankful to find herself back in the office on Monday morning.

All things considered, it had been a hell of a weekend, and it would be good to put her personal problems on hold and deal with issues she had some chance of solving.

She had driven back to London without even stopping for lunch—in Richmond or anywhere else. Traffic had been heavy for a Sunday, and by the time she’d reached her flat she’d had a splitting headache, not improved by finding imperious messages from both her parents on her answer-machine, demanding she contact them without delay.

Later, Cat had thought, pressing the ‘delete’ button. When I’m feeling stronger.

She’d taken a couple of painkillers, then undressed and had a bath, washing herself from head to foot with almost minute care. When she was dry again she had got into the ancient velour robe which was her equivalent of a comfort blanket then she moulded some kitchen foil into a container and burned Liam’s note, washing the ashes down the sink.

One lot of memories dealt with, she had told herself. Although the remainder might not be so easily erased.

She had found a can of vegetable soup in one of the kitchen cupboards, and some cold chicken in the fridge, and put together a scratch meal which she’d eaten doggedly, without any pretence at enjoyment.

After that she had gone to bed, falling almost immediately into a heavy but restless sleep, fragmented by brief, disturbing dreams.

‘Still hung over?’ Andrew, her boss, enquired, brows lifted in amusement when she arrived for the morning conference. ‘Must have been a good wedding.’

She smiled back calmly. ‘We don’t do things by halves in our family.’

It was a typical Monday, with decorators going sick, solemn promises on delivery dates for furniture and fittings blithely abandoned, and recently ordered fabrics and carpets suddenly becoming discontinued.

Cat spent most of the day alternately arguing and cajoling with workmen and suppliers on the phone and by e-mail.

But her tender to redesign the workspace in an elderly office block on the edge of the City had been successful, and there was a string of enquiries from potential clients to be fielded too.

By the end of the day she felt sufficiently ahead of the game to return her parents’ calls.

‘So lovely to have seen you, darling,’ Vanessa purred. ‘Let’s get together, shall we, for a lovely long chat—girlfriend stuff?’

That indicated that Gil would not be present, which was one blessing, Cat thought wryly. She said, ‘I had the impression we were mother and daughter.’

‘Don’t get technical, my sweet.’ Vanessa’s tone was waspish. ‘Gil says there’s no way I look old enough to have a grown-up daughter.’ She paused. ‘Shall we say Wednesday evening at eight—my treat?’

Cat sighed silently, but agreed. Presumably the idea of becoming a grandmother had lost its popularity, she thought as she put the phone down. But that, too, was all to the good, she told herself defiantly, fighting the sudden rawness in the pit of her stomach.

‘You seemed a little out of sorts on Saturday,’ was her father’s greeting.

‘It was hardly the event of the year,’ Cat pointed out drily.

‘No.’ David paused. ‘There’s been a development,’ he added heavily. ‘It seems your uncle has moved out of the house and gone to live with his secretary.’

‘Oh, God.’ Cat felt slightly sick. ‘Poor Aunt Susan.’

‘He must be out of his mind,’ said her father shortly. ‘Ditching an incredible woman like that.’

‘You feel you have any place to criticise?’ Cat asked, her voice hardening.

‘There’s no comparison between the two situations,’ he defended. ‘Your mother’s temperament was a nightmare. For heaven’s sake, girl, you were there.’ His tone was injured. ‘You saw what went on.’

‘Yes,’ Cat said curtly. ‘I also know it was a long time ago, and maybe you should stop apportioning blame and move on.’ She hesitated. ‘Have you talked to Aunt Susan?’

‘Briefly,’ he said. ‘To be candid, I found it a little awkward. She didn’t say a great deal, although I did offer to go down there, of course.’

‘Did you plan to take Sharine with you, by any chance?’ Cat played restively with a pen on her desk.

‘Well, naturally. I can hardly leave her in London by herself.’ He paused. ‘I gather from your silence that you think it’s a bad idea?’

‘I’ve seen the secretary,’ Cat mentioned drily. ‘Another young blonde.’

‘Ah,’ David said quietly. ‘I see. In that case, this could be something you might tackle.’

‘And I think she might need time and space to deal with it, initially,’ Cat said. ‘Without being inundated by her husband’s relations, however well-meaning.’

‘That’s rather harsh,’ he protested. ‘I’ve always been devoted to Susan, and she knows it.’

‘Of course,’ Cat returned. ‘And you should think well of her. After all, she brought up your only daughter.’

There was another longer silence, then he said grimly, ‘Thank you for reminding me, Cathy,’ and put the phone down.

Cat disconnected more slowly. I did not, she thought, intend to say that. And maybe I’m the one who needs to move on.

It only served to demonstrate how on edge she felt, and how insecure, and she wasn’t used to that. Didn’t know how to handle it.

Next I’ll be snapping at the clients, she thought wryly as she closed down her computer. I need to be careful. And to keep my mind on my work. This is the life I’ve chosen, after all, so I should nurture it.

Dorita from Accounting appeared in her doorway. ‘We’re off to the wine bar. Coming with us?’

Cat pulled a face. ‘I’m still a little whacked from the weekend.’

‘Then what you need,’ Dorita told her cheerfully, ‘is some of the hair of the dog that took your leg off. Cindy and Megs are in a champagne mood.’

‘And why shouldn’t they be?’ Cat slipped her arms into the jacket of her dark work suit. ‘Sounds good to me. What are we celebrating?’

Dorita shrugged. ‘The start of another working week. The fact that Megs has met a fella and thinks he’s the one. Just pick a number.’ She fluttered her fingers and vanished.

Cat didn’t feel like a heavy after-work session, but the prospect of going home to an empty flat to brood had no great appeal either.

I need, she thought, a suitable distraction. And this could be it. Besides, as one of the firm’s directors, it was a good thing for her to stay in touch with her junior colleagues. They were a talented and hard-working bunch, and immensely loyal in a marketplace where every contract had to be fought for.

With the shadow of recession never far away, people were reluctant to invest enormous sums in upgrading their working environments, and ImageMakers were maintaining their position by offering sensible, workable designs, using quality sub-contractors, and keeping each project strictly within budget.

Their reputation was high, but it was still a struggle, and it was impossible to relax, even for a moment—except, of course, when work was over for the day.

Or over for some, Cat amended ruefully, looking at the bulging briefcase that was accompanying her home.

The wine bar was already filling up when they arrived, but they managed to grab one of the last tables and Cat bought the first bottle of champagne. Penance, she thought as she handed over her credit card, for being ratty with her father.

At first most of the chatter was work-related, but as they began to unwind it started to get more personal.

During a sudden lull, Megs leaned forward. ‘So, how was your cousin’s wedding? You did go, I suppose? Any tasty men there?’

Cat drank some wine as she considered her response. ‘Loads of them,’ she drawled at last. ‘All of them, alas, with equally tasty women.’

She hoped that would be an end to it, but soon found she was out of luck. Cindy was getting married the following year, and wanted exhaustive details about the hotel and what it had to offer. Megs, who seemed to be on the verge of having stars in her eyes, demanded a full description of Belinda’s bridal gown. So she had little choice but to comply with their demands for information.

Maybe I can use it as a kind of exorcism, she thought wryly.

By the time she’d finished the bottle was empty, and Dorita was at the bar buying further supplies.

This would be the perfect opportunity to slip away, Cat thought, reaching for her bag, which hung from a hook under the table. As she straightened, she saw that Dorita was on her way back, and that her place at the counter had been taken by a tall man with dark, curling hair, wearing an elegant charcoal suit.

His back was turned to them all, but Cat felt herself freeze, her gaze fixed on him with painful incredulity.

Oh God, she thought. It can’t be him—it can’t…

‘Did you spot him, girls? The new guy at the bar?’ Dorita rolled her eyes. ‘I’ve never seen him in here before, but seriously fanciable, I’d say.’

‘And already fancied, by the look of it.’ Cindy nodded significantly at the petite blonde who was threading her way towards him through the crowd.

Cat felt as if she’d been turned to stone as the girl joined him, sliding her arm through his with possessive familiarity. She wanted to look away. She longed to get up and run, but doubted whether she was capable of making it to the door. Her legs felt weak, and hurt seemed to be punching holes in her stomach.

Then he turned slightly, smiling as he bent to kiss his companion, and she realised that he was a complete stranger.

She swallowed, her body sagging in relief. What on earth had she been thinking of? she berated herself silently. This guy didn’t bear even a passing resemblance to Liam. He was shorter, for one thing, and his shoulders weren’t as broad. How could she not have realised?

If every glimpse of a tall, dark man is going to reduce me to bug-eyed paralysis, I’m in real trouble, she told herself impatiently. I need to get a grip. Claw my life back from this limbo.

‘Are you all right, Cat?’ Megs was studying her. ‘You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’

Cat forced a laugh. ‘Nothing so romantic. I’ve just remembered I’m nearly out of milk and everything else, and I need to fit in a trip to the supermarket on my way home. So I’d better get going.’

She firmly refused any more champagne, and headed for the door. On the way, she stole a glance at the bar, wondering how she could have been such a fool. The pretty blonde was chatting animatedly to some people beside her, showing off the sparkling ring on her left hand, but he was leaning against the counter, looking round him.

As his glance met Cat’s it sharpened with unconcealed interest, stripping her naked as it swept her from head to foot. He gave her an ingratiating grin, and lifted his glass in a furtive toast.

My God, Cat thought in revulsion. Someone attractive and apparently sane has staked her future on this piece of human debris.

And who was to say that Liam wasn’t standing in another bar, looking into some other girl’s eyes, telling her what a lousy weekend he’d had and how lonely he’d been without her?

The thought nearly made her gag. She half stumbled into the street, drawing deep breaths of stale air as she tried to recover her equilibrium.

She had to put the events of the weekend behind her, before they drove her crazy, and she knew it. But if only someone would tell her how.

She couldn’t face the struggle with the Underground, she thought, hailing a cab. She got out at her neighbourhood supermarket and wandered the aisles with her trolley, trying to summon up some interest in feeding herself over the coming week. In the end she settled for the usual staples, adding a cold roast chicken, pâté and salad, as well as dried pasta.

Spaghetti carbonara would be quick and easy tonight, she thought as she turned the corner towards her block of flats.

She was just fitting her key into the door when her neighbour emerged from the flat opposite, smiling over a dozen cellophane-wrapped red roses.

‘For you, dear. You’ve got an admirer,’ she added roguishly. And not before time was clearly the silent coda to that.

At any other time Cat would have found it amusing, but she was too stunned to do anything other than mutter a word of thanks through dry lips, and carry the flowers into the flat.

‘Have dinner with me,’ begged the message on the card in a florist’s rounded script. ‘Thursday 8 p.m. at Mignonette.’

There was no signature, but they had to be from Liam, she thought, her heart thudding wildly. Somehow, once his anger had cooled, he’d found out where she lived and was making contact—and far sooner than she could ever have dreamed. Her throat was constricted with excitement mixed with incredulity as she put her shopping in the kitchen and took a tall vase from a cupboard with hands that shook a little.

At the same time she had to suppress a tiny pang of disappointment that he’d fallen into the red rose cliché trap. And he was also assuming that she’d automatically be free on Thursday.

Which I am, she thought, but that’s not the point.

Because he’d not offered her any way to communicate with him in turn, she realised. So she would have to choose whether to arrive meekly at the rendezvous—and she didn’t do meek—or to stand him up, which she guessed would sever any connection between them for ever.

Well, I don’t have to decide at once, she told herself as she arranged her flowers, and carried them back into the living room.

But in her heart she already knew what her decision would be, and she threw her head back and laughed with jubilant anticipation.

It seemed, of course, as if Thursday would never come. During the days, Cat was positive and dynamic, throwing herself into her work with renewed energy, her expectations carrying her along. But her nights were very different. She slept fitfully, her dreams wild and disturbing with an undercurrent of sensuality that often woke her, her body on fire, and a moan of sheer yearning on her lips.

‘Mignonette, eh?’ said Dorita, the company’s restaurant guru, responding to Cat’s studiedly casual query. She whistled. ‘It must be a heavy date, Cat, because it’s the top place for couples right now.’ She observed Cat’s flushed face with benevolent interest. ‘Going there tonight?’

Cat shook her head. ‘Tomorrow.’

Tonight, she thought ruefully, was her twosome with her mother at the Savoy—something she would have happily foregone.

But Vanessa greeted her with a radiant smile and champagne cocktails.

‘Darling.’ She kissed Cat on both cheeks, then stood back to scrutinise her plain grey shift dress with its matching jacket. She nodded. ‘You look wonderful,’ she approved.

‘And so do you,’ Cat returned with total sincerity, returning her embrace. Her mother seemed to have shed years since the weekend. The almost palpable tensions had disappeared, and she had that magical look of being lit with inner happiness that had been missing for so long.

If this was Gil’s doing then Cat could only be grateful, in spite of her reservations about him.

Or did she simply recognise it because she shared it?

‘I went down to see Susan yesterday,’ Vanessa said when they were seated at their table, with their first course of seafood ravioli in front of them. ‘She’s planning to sell the house and move to France when everything’s settled.’

Cat put down her fork, her eyes widening. ‘She’s really divorcing Uncle Robert? That’s rather quick, isn’t it?’

Vanessa shrugged. ‘She says that when it’s over, it’s over, and she doesn’t want to waste a moment of the rest of her life. She taught French before her marriage, and has always wanted a place there, only Robert wouldn’t consider it.’

Cat shook her head. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Obviously there’s more than one actress in the family,’ Vanessa said drily, and applied herself to her food.

‘But won’t she be lonely?’ Cat persisted.

‘I wouldn’t think so for a minute,’ her mother said with a touch of asperity. ‘She’s still a very attractive woman. Once she’s got Robert out of her system I can see her having a whale of a time.’

Cat raised her eyebrows. ‘With you, no doubt, acting as her mentor?’ she suggested.

Vanessa laughed. ‘Not I, darling. At long last I’m planning to settle down for good, and I refuse to be distracted from that.’ She gave Cat a long look. ‘Well—I didn’t expect you to turn cartwheels in the Savoy, but I thought you’d be a little pleased to hear I was aiming for respectability.’

With Gil, Cat thought, aghast. With a muscle-bound toyboy? Oh, God, is this what she wants to tell me? Why she brought me here tonight for a girlie chat? And I was scared she just wanted to have another go about my father.

She felt infinitely depressed, but managed to summon a smile. ‘If that’s really what you want,’ she said quietly, ‘I wish you every happiness.’

Vanessa stretched a manicured hand across the table and laid it on Cat’s. ‘And I wish the same for you, dearest.’ Her voice was oddly gentle. She paused. ‘Just don’t take as long as I’ve done to find it.’

Cat looked down at her plate. ‘I’m perfectly content with my life, Ma.’ And in twenty-four hours’ time I could be on the edge of bliss, she added, silently and exultantly.

But less than twenty-four hours later much of her exhilaration had evaporated as she searched despairingly through her wardrobe, trying to find something which would look good without seeming as if she was trying too hard.

Eventually she decided on a cream georgette skirt, cut on the bias, with a matching jersey top, short-sleeved and round-necked, and a plain jacket the colour of sapphire. She put gold studs in her ears, and a tiny sapphire pendant in the shape of a star nestled at the base of her throat. She wore her favourite pale rose lipstick, and her nails were varnished in a similar shade.

She drew a deep breath as she looked at herself in the bedroom mirror.

‘You’ll do,’ she said aloud.

It would have been far more cool to arrive late, she knew, but her taxi delivered her at Mignonette punctual to the second.

She paid off the driver and walked slowly into the restaurant.

She saw him at once, standing at the bar with a drink in his hand, and this time her eyes did not deceive her. He was wearing casual dark grey pants, and an open necked shirt that was almost silver. His jacket was slung across one shoulder. He was talking to the barman, and not looking at the door, so she could feast her eyes on him as greedily as she wished.

For a moment she indulged herself to the hilt, then started towards him, her stomach churning and a tight knot of excitement in her chest.

‘Cat—you came.’ A man’s voice intruded into her happy dream. Someone stood blocking her way. ‘I was so afraid you’d turn me down.’

Dazed, Cat focused on him, her brows snapping together as recognition followed.

Oh, God, she thought. It’s Tony, the best man.

‘This is just so great.’ He was smiling happily, oblivious to her sudden pallor as shock and disappointment kicked in. ‘Have you been here before? One of the guys at work recommended it. Our table’s ready, so we may as well go in,’ he added eagerly. ‘We can have a drink while we’re ordering. Better than standing at the bar.’

But then, anything was better than standing at this bar.

‘Yes.’ It didn’t even sound like her voice. ‘Yes, of course.’

As she followed him, putting one foot somehow in front of the other, like a mechanical doll, she risked one swift glance at Liam.

He had turned, probably to see what all the excitement was about, as Tony had not lowered his voice. The world shrank suddenly to enclose them in some echoing void, and their eyes met in one stunned, coruscating flash.

I thought it was you. She wanted to shout the words aloud in her despair. It should have been you.

But she said nothing, making herself look straight ahead, her silence drowning Tony’s chatter.

Then they were moving under the archway into the restaurant, but Cat could still feel Liam’s gaze burning into her back every step of the way, until, at last, she was safely out of his range of vision.