Читать книгу His Rags-to-Riches Bride - Сара Крейвен, Susan Stephens - Страница 10

IT WASN’T an expensive wine. Neither Jamie nor she had aspired to acquiring a vintage collection, even if they could have afforded it. But it was chilled and crisp, and it soothed the dryness of her throat as Laine, curled up in a corner of the sofa, waited for Daniel’s return.

He’d said two hours, but it was now over three. That was, of course, if he planned to return at all. Because it had occurred to her that maybe he’d decided that sharing a roof with her wasn’t worth the hassle, and that he was, even at that moment, arranging alternative accommodation somewhere as far away from her as possible.

Which, in the short term, would solve some of her problems, but inevitably create others in their place.

Practically, she could not afford to occupy the flat alone—unlike Jamie, who’d always earned a much larger salary than she’d done, or at least while he’d still been working at Cowper Dymond.

And right now she couldn’t actually afford to live in the place at all, she reminded herself unhappily. Thankfully, there was no mortgage to pay, but there were plenty of other bills looming large on the horizon, and if she didn’t start earning at once she was going to find herself in real difficulty.

She sighed. As she’d headed home the flat had seemed like a safe refuge. But then investing in Andy’s boat had also appeared to be a good deal.

And there had even been a time when the prospect of becoming Daniel’s wife had been the answer to her prayers—the fulfilment of her most treasured hopes and dreams.

Oh, God, she thought with sudden anguish, the muscles tightening in her throat. How wrong is it possible to be in one short lifetime?

The sound of his key in the door brought her sharply back to the here and now. She leaned back against the cushions, trying to look perfectly relaxed, but realised at the same time that she was clinging to the stem of her glass as if it was a lifeline.

‘Hi.’ She forced a smile as he came in, attempting the nonchalant approach, as if she was quite accustomed to his returning from the office for dinner. As she would have been, of course, if their marriage had ever become a reality.

Don’t think like that—even for a moment. Don’t go there.

‘Good evening.’ He halted for a moment, studying her, his brows raised sardonically. ‘I was quite expecting to find you’d barricaded yourself in during my absence.’

She shrugged, pretending ruefulness. ‘The furniture was just too heavy for me to move.’ She paused. ‘Besides, I talked to Jamie. Found out what had happened.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe he could be such an utter fool.’

‘Isn’t that rather naïve of you—considering his past record?’ Daniel tossed the jacket he was carrying over the back of a chair and loosened his tie, before walking over to one of the shelved alcoves which flanked the fireplace and pouring himself a whisky from the tray of decanters which stood there.

He came back, dropping loose-limbed onto the sofa opposite, and for one sharp, unwary moment she felt the breath catch in her throat.

Hurriedly, she pulled herself together. ‘Well—perhaps. But I thought he’d outgrown that—unruly phase. Got his act together.’

‘Well, he now has a chance to do exactly that,’ he said. ‘Perhaps this girl of his can keep him straight. If not, he’s on his own next time.’

‘You think there’ll be one—after this?’

It was his turn to shrug. ‘Who knows? Maybe it isn’t simply a phase, as you put it, but an extra helping of the Sinclair wild streak and impossible to remove, even with surgery.’

She stared at him. ‘What are you talking about? What—streak?’

‘This overweening impulse to go looking for danger.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Simon had it too, remember?’

‘I remember nothing of the kind,’ Laine said curtly.

‘No? Then what took him back to those bloody mountains time after time, constantly pushing himself to go higher—faster—than anyone else?’ His voice was harsh. ‘And what the hell possessed him to go on that last trip—when everyone tried to talk him out of it?’

She stared down at the pale gold of her wine, her throat tightening. ‘I don’t know,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I’ve never known.’

‘Exactly,’ he said.

Her gaze met his with swift defiance. ‘Well, please don’t include me in this absurd generalisation about my family. I certainly don’t go looking for trouble.’

‘But you seem to find it, all the same,’ he said unanswerably. ‘How’s the ankle?’

‘Better,’ she returned. ‘I found some more bandages in the bathroom cupboard and strapped it up again, all ready for my trek to the job centre tomorrow.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Daniel said smoothly. ‘And you appear to have been busy in other ways.’ He glanced towards the kitchen. ‘Something smells good.’

‘You cleared Jamie’s room for me, so I’ve cooked dinner for you.’ She paused. ‘Chicken puttanesca. I hope you like it.’

‘Thank you, but sadly we’ll never know.’ There was no trace of regret in his tone. ‘I’m going out tonight. I merely came back to change.’

‘Hot date?’ She kept her voice light, faintly amused, ignoring the ludicrous, unreasoning disappointment that speared her.

‘Is there any other kind?’

‘Serious?’

He swallowed some of his whisky, watching her steadily. ‘Is that really any of your business?’

‘Well, yes, in a way,’ Laine countered. ‘I just wonder—if the pair of you are an item—why you don’t move in with the lady instead of living here? It would seem to make more sense—that’s all.’

His glance was cynical. ‘It’s not that serious.’

‘Poor girl.’

‘She can take care of herself,’ he returned curtly. ‘Speaking of which, this could be a good time to get something straight. Put some guidelines in place. Because we’re not playing happy families here, Laine. You’re not Si’s little sister any more. And I’m not your surrogate brother.’

He added icily, ‘Also, in case you’ve forgotten, you lost any right you ever had to enquire into my private life two years ago.’

He allowed her a moment to digest that, then went on, ‘We share this flat, but we maintain our own space at all times. So, if I intend to be here for a meal I’ll let you know, and we’ll make some arrangement about the use of the kitchen. But we both cook for ourselves, and there’ll be no cosying-up round the stove. Understood?’

‘Of course,’ she said tautly, aware that her face had warmed. ‘Although cosy is never a word I’d associate with you. And I’ll make very sure that I repay you for the food I’ve used this evening.’

He said wearily, ‘Don’t be so damned absurd. I’m not actually begrudging you a meal. Just don’t make a habit of it.’

His firm mouth tightened. ‘This is not a situation either of us would have chosen, Laine, but it exists, and we must make the best of it. And we do that by going our own ways and leading our own lives. Right?’ He added, ‘After all, you were the one who said privacy should be respected.’

He waited until she slowly nodded, then finished his whisky and got to his feet, taking the glass into the kitchen. She heard the faint rattle as he put it in the dishwasher.

It all seemed so normal—so domestic, she thought. Except, of course, that it was just the opposite. This was a battleground, and she had to make damned sure she wasn’t a casualty. Not again.

On his way back Daniel paused momentarily, looking down at her, the hazel eyes hard.

‘By the way,’ he added, his voice soft but not gentle, ‘please don’t bother to wait up for me—tonight or any other night.’

And he went across to his room and closed the door, leaving her staring after him from her corner of the sofa as if she’d been frozen there.

Laine was at the stove, draining the pasta to go with the chicken, when she heard the faint slam of the flat door, signalling his departure.

And goodnight and goodbye to you, too, she thought, grinding black pepper over her penne as if she was twisting someone’s throat.

Much of her earlier appetite seemed to have deserted her, but she forced herself to eat at least some of her solitary meal, sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, rather than at the elegant circular dining table in the living room.

I’d feel silly in there on my own, she thought. But I’d have felt an even bigger fool if I’d used the silverware and the crystal and set two places.

Jamie had told her to be nice, but it was difficult to see how that was to be achieved now that her first awkward attempt at rapprochement had been so signally rejected.

But maybe that was for the best too—under the circumstances.

You’re not Si’s little sister any more. Words which told her quite unequivocally—even brutally—that there was nothing left, not even a residual fondness. And certainly none of the reluctant sense of obligation that had led to their marriage.

He’d totally shrugged off his unwanted responsibilities and reclaimed his freedom. At the same time coldly emphasising that Daniel wanted the woman she’d become no more than he’d desired the girl she’d once been.

And that from now on she was on her own in every conceivable way.

Her heart felt like a stone in her chest. It had never occurred to her even for a moment that she could find herself in this impossible situation. All along she’d had just one simple plan—never to be alone with him again. There was no alternative scheme—no fall-back position—because she’d believed with painful confidence that they’d never be necessary.

Yet here she was, she thought wretchedly. Trapped and, for the foreseeable future anyway, helpless.

If it had been the same for him she could perhaps have steeled herself to bear it. Learned to move about in their shared space as if she was tiptoeing on eggshells. Taught herself to edge round him—live on some perimeter of this joint existence.

But the fact was that he didn’t care. Because she didn’t matter enough to make him do so. She’d once been a burden, now she was no more than a nuisance—a vague irritant in the smooth running of his life. Nothing more.

All the pain, the tears, the stumbling days and sleepless nights, and the yawning desolation of loneliness had been hers alone.

And just the knowledge of that was the kind of anguish she’d prayed she would never feel again.

An anguish she could never let him see in the weeks that stretched ahead. Because she wasn’t sure which would be worse to endure—his indifference or his pity.

She swallowed thickly, pushing her plate away, and slid off the stool. Don’t think, she told herself. Keep busy.

She worked like a robot, stacking the dishwasher and selecting a programme, then placing the extra chicken with its thick, aromatic sauce in a covered dish in the fridge, to provide her with her next evening meal, before tidying the kitchen and restoring the stove and surfaces to their earlier pristine gleam.

Making certain she’d leave no trace of her presence for him to complain about there either, she told herself with cold resolve.

It was a long evening. Laine tried watching television, but she soon realised she’d grown completely out of touch with current programming, and found herself flicking restlessly from channel to channel, searching for something that might grip her interest.

In the end she gave up in exasperation, and decided to read instead. There were some books on the alcove shelves that were new to her—most of them thrillers that she guessed had been acquired by Jamie, and each of them triumphantly claiming to be ‘the new number-one bestseller’.

They can’t all be that, surely? she thought, pulling a face as she picked the least overtly lurid. But the story failed to engage her particularly, and the identity of the villain seemed all too obvious even by chapter three, so, sighing, she abandoned that as well.

One of the things she’d managed to rescue from the boat was her address book, and she sat slowly turning over the pages, trying to summon up the courage to ring someone—anyone. Fiona from the gallery, perhaps? Or Celia Welton, her best friend from school, who’d been her bridesmaid at that ill-fated wedding.

At the same time she knew full well that she wouldn’t be doing so—or not yet, anyway. Because she wasn’t ready to face the inevitable questions—especially when it emerged that she and Daniel were back sharing a roof.

She’d been let off the hook when their marriage had ended with such startling suddenness, because people had recognised that she was in desperate pain, and suppressed their natural curiosity and concern, standing back to allow her to recover. Celia, in particular, bewildered but loyal and kind, had helped picked up the pieces.

But this new development would require answers that simply weren’t possible immediately.

Because she was still in shock. She needed time to think things through. To come up with some feasible explanation for everything that had happened to her. And make it clear that sharing a flat with Daniel was not the basis for some kind of reconciliation—and never would be.

She swallowed. Which meant, in turn, that at some point she might be asked about what had happened two years earlier. Why her marriage hadn’t survived the honeymoon, or even the wedding night, given the bleak significance of that swift annulment. Because after this length of time, tact would not be a primary consideration any longer.

And if they did ask, what the hell could she say? she wondered wearily. Certainly not the truth.

And if she tried saying that she’d realised she didn’t love him no one would believe her for a moment. She’d worn her heart on her sleeve too openly and for too long for that.

She didn’t even know when it had begun. When Daniel had stopped being just Simon’s friend, and the surrogate brother he’d alluded to so acidly, and occupied a very different role in her hopes and dreams.

But she could remember very clearly her first half-term at Randalls, when everyone else had gone home for the weekend, being told kindly by the matron that a visitor was coming to take her out to tea.

Simon, she’d thought joyfully. It had to be Simon. But she’d been wrong, because it had been Daniel who had waited in the front hall as she came down the stairs, her heart thundering in nervous excitement.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I went down to Abbotsbrook to see you, and you weren’t there.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t convenient this time. Mummy had other people coming to stay.’

He nodded. ‘So I gathered. Therefore, I decided to pay you a visit here instead.’

‘But you shouldn’t have,’ she whispered, looking anxiously around. ‘It’s against the rules. We’re only allowed out with immediate family. Mrs Hallam is terribly strict about that. Is Simon with you?’

‘No, he’s off to the Cairngorms, climbing.’ He pulled a face. ‘The ruling passion, once again. I’m here in his place.’

‘Didn’t you want to go with him?’ she asked shyly. Simon might not be here, she thought, but neither was the horrible Candida. The Daniel she knew was back, and she wanted to turn a cartwheel in sheer joy.

‘God, no.’ He shuddered. ‘I get vertigo if I climb a ladder. Now, are you coming out to tea, or not? It’s all fixed. We have your principal’s blessing.’

‘But how? I don’t understand.’

‘Friends in high places, sweetheart.’ He swept her out to the long, low sports car waiting on the drive. ‘My father just happens to be on the board of governors. Mrs H can refuse me nothing. Anyway, I want to know how you’re getting on.’

Over sandwiches, scones with jam and cream, and rich chocolate cake served in the hushed and luxurious environs of a nearby country house hotel, she told him everything, her face glowing. Told him about the challenge of the work, her favourite teachers, the ghastly savoury mince served on Mondays that she hated, the friends she’d already made, and the possibility that next term she might get into the junior swimming team.

‘And Celia Welton has asked her mother if I can stay with them during the Christmas holidays,’ she ended in triumph, adding breathlessly, ‘Coming here is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

‘Well,’ he said lightly, and smiled at her across the teatime debris. ‘That’s all right, then.’

Rules and regulations notwithstanding, his visits had become a regular and anticipated feature of her life at Randalls, and Laine had soon found herself being quizzed about him by some of the senior girls, who tended to be much in evidence when he was expected.

‘A kind of brother?’ one of them had echoed enviously after her stumbling explanation. ‘Daniel Flynn, no less. My God, I should be so lucky. Sex on legs, and rich with it.’

Was that when it had started—when her ideas about him had begun to change? Perhaps. All she could remember, as she’d progressed into her teens, was suddenly finding herself awkward and tongue-tied whenever he was around. Fantasising about him in ways she was ashamed to recall. Longing desperately to see him, but crippled with shyness when he appeared.

And eventually, unable to deal with the confused riot of emotion inside her, making excuses not to see him at all—citing too much work, an extra games practice. She had not, of course, been able to totally avoid him at Abbotsbrook, where she’d had less control over the matter.

But when he’d been there, he’d had little time to spare for her, anyway. When he and Simon had visited they’d invariably been on their way somewhere else, and accompanied by an ever-changing—and interchangeable—series of girls, usually blonde. Laine had privately and contemptuously dismissed them as ‘The Clones’, even while she had secretly bitten her nails down to the quick with the most savage and primitive form of jealousy, and despised herself for it.

But that had by no means been her only problem. Her mother had become more anxious about money, and more discontented all the time, and her complaints had made Laine feel embarrassed and inadequate.

‘You’d think Simon would help out more,’ Angela had said bitterly on that last occasion. ‘I thought that’s why he’d abandoned his plan to join the Forestry Commission and taken that job at the bank.’

Laine said nothing. She knew how much it had cost Simon to give up his cherished dream and work in the City instead. Small wonder he was devoting so much of his free time to his beloved climbing, she thought. He was now becoming known as a mountaineer, and had already been on a number of expeditions to the Alps and the Dolomites. But Laine knew that his sights were set on more distant horizons than that, and it worried her a little.

And, on a more personal level, Simon was causing her concern too.

‘I’m having dinner with an old friend,’ he’d told her casually a few months earlier, when he’d visited her at school. ‘Remember Candy, who used to date Daniel years ago?’

‘Yes,’ Laine had said quietly. ‘I remember.’ And had crossed her fingers that it would stop at dinner.

But it hadn’t. And it seemed that each time Laine went home Candy was there, all smiles and charm, cooing over Angela, praising the house, and rhapsodising over Graham Sinclair’s books.

‘I had no idea Simon was related to that Sinclair,’ she’d enthused. ‘My God, I’m such a fan.’

Laine had been tempted to ask which of the novels she liked best, certain that she hadn’t read any of them, but had controlled the impulse.

‘Mum,’ she said, one evening when they were alone. ‘Is it serious, do you think, this Simon and Candy thing?’

Her mother put down her magazine. ‘It’s certainly going that way. They’re talking about an engagement. Why do you ask?’

‘It just seems odd—when she was Dan’s girlfriend originally.’

Angela laughed indulgently. ‘My dear child, that was years ago, and a lot of water’s flowed under the bridge since then. Dan is very wealthy, of course, especially now that his father is dead, and he has charm to spare, but I think Candy knew quite early in their relationship that it was going nowhere.

‘And Dan certainly lost no time in replacing her many times over, so he was hardly heartbroken when they split. In fact, I understand that it’s all been very civilised, and he may well be best man at the wedding.’

She paused. ‘It doesn’t matter to you, surely, that she was once Dan’s girlfriend? For God’s sake, Elaine, tell me you’re not still harbouring that ridiculous childhood crush where he’s concerned. Because that would be too sad—and horribly embarrassing.’

‘No,’ Laine said quietly. ‘I don’t have a crush on Daniel Flynn.’

Although perhaps that’s how I should have tried to see it—before it was too late, Laine thought now, leaning back and closing her eyes, wearily. As the kind of worship I’d have probably given a film star or a rock musician in other circumstances. Something transient that I could look back on one day and smile.

Instead, I made him the sun in my sky. The centre of my universe. The focus of everything I wanted from life. And that made me—vulnerable. Especially when I was seventeen and came face to face with my first personal tragedy.

She’d had no presentiment that anything was going to happen. Her only real foreboding had concerned Simon and Candy’s wedding, which had been scheduled to take place in the summer. And for which she would be required to wear lavender taffeta.

But, quite apart from that, she had known in her heart that Candy was the last person in the world she’d have chosen as a sister-in-law. And suspected the feeling was mutual.

Their only common ground was the vexed subject of Simon’s climbing. Candy had been uneasy about it and so had she—especially when he’d been invited at the last minute to go to Annapurna in place of someone who was ill.

‘It’s the chance of a lifetime,’ he’d said buoyantly. ‘Serious stuff. A dream come true.’ His face had clouded slightly. ‘But I’ve promised Candy that I’ll cut down once we’re married. She says it’s no longer a hobby but an obsession, and she could be right.’

Laine swallowed, remembering how she’d been sent for by the headmistress, and had gone to her study filled with trepidation, wondering what she’d done to fall from grace. But Mrs Hallam’s expression had spoken of distress rather than severity, and she’d risen and came round the desk, taking Laine’s hands in hers. An unheard-of gesture.

‘My dear,’ she said gravely. ‘I’m afraid I have some very sad news for you.’ She hesitated, shaking her head sorrowfully, and Laine thought, Daniel—oh, please God, don’t let anything have happened to Daniel.

‘What—is it?’ She hardly recognised her own voice.

‘Elaine, dear, there is no easy way to say this. It’s—your brother—Simon. There’s been an accident, and he and another man have been killed.’

‘Simon?’ Shock mingled with shame that her first thought—her instinctive prayer—had been about Daniel. ‘Oh, no—please. There must be some mistake.’

Mrs Hallam bent her head. ‘Laine—I’m so sorry.’

She heard herself give a little moan, and was gently encouraged to sit in one of the armchairs normally reserved for visitors, told that tea had been sent for, and that matron was packing a case for her, because her brother was expected at some time during the next hour to take her home.

‘Would you like a friend—Celia, perhaps—to sit with you until he arrives?’

‘No, thank you. I—I think I’d rather be alone. If that’s all right.’

And Mrs Hallam nodded and quietly withdrew.

A member of the kitchen staff brought the tea, poured it out for her, and pressed the cup and saucer into her hands.

Where they remained, the tea cold and untouched, half an hour later, when the study door opened and Daniel came in.

She stood up, spilling some of the liquid on her skirt. She said numbly, ‘It’s you. I—I thought Jamie was coming.’

‘He was, but your mother became hysterical at the idea of being left.’

He took the cup and saucer from her shaking hand and replaced them on the tray. He said gently, ‘They’ve put your case in my car, Laine. We can go as soon as you feel able.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t seem to—feel anything at all. Not yet. You see, I—I can’t quite believe it.’

‘No one can.’

She stared down at the carpet. ‘What happened—do you know?’

He said quietly, ‘Details are sketchy, but it seems there was some kind of rock fall, and he and an Italian guy were swept away.’

‘Oh, God,’ she whispered, horrified.

‘Si had named Jamie as next of kin, and he was the one they notified before the newscasts went out. He was meeting your mother for lunch. She’d gone up to London to do some shopping with Candida, and he asked me to go with him to break the news.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘It was—truly bad. One of the worst moments of my life.’

He sighed. ‘Jamie drove them down to Abbotsbrook, and the doctor’s seen them and prescribed sedatives. But your mother still wouldn’t let Jamie out of her sight.’

‘I can hardly blame her for that.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m ready to leave now.’

They had been travelling for twenty minutes when she said, in a small stifled voice, ‘Could you stop, please? I think I’m going to be sick.’

Daniel pulled over onto the verge and she stumbled out, kneeling on the short grass, her shoulders hunched as she retched dryly and painfully over and over again, until at last the harsh sounds became gasping sobs, and tears followed.

He lifted her and held her close, his hand cupping the back of her head as she wept into his shoulder in a fierce, cleansing outpouring of grief.

Cry while you can, an icy voice in her brain seemed to be saying, even as she clung to him. But do it here and now. Because when you get to Abbotsbrook you’ll have to provide comfort to your mother, and the girl who was nearly Simon’s widow. And you’ll have to sort Jamie out too.

At last, when there seemed to be no tears left, she leaned against him, trembling a little, knowing that she did not want to move out of the warmth of his embrace.

He was the first to detach himself, holding her deliberately away from him as he looked down at her pale, unhappy face. He said quietly, ‘We have to get back. People will be waiting for us.’

He retrieved a bottle of mineral water from the cool box in the boot and made her drink most of it, before damping his handkerchief with the remainder and wiping away the worst of the tearstains.

‘You’re going to need all your strength, Laine,’ he told her almost abruptly as he started the engine. ‘These next few days are not going to be easy.’

If you would only hold me, she thought, I could face anything. Even—this.

But she said nothing, sitting beside him in silence for the rest of the journey.

When they arrived at Abbotsbrook, Daniel carried her bag into the house and set it down in the hall.

‘I have things to do, Laine.’ His voice sounded almost curt. ‘I’ll be back later.’

She watched him go, controlling an impulse to run after him. Beg him not to leave her. Because she had to be strong, she thought. Starting now.

As she heard the car’s engine die away someone said her name, and she saw Jamie emerging from the drawing room, his face pale and set.

He came over and gave her an awkward hug. ‘God, sis, I can’t believe it, can you? I keep thinking that I’m going to wake up at any moment, and find it’s all been a bad dream.’ He looked past her. ‘Where’s Dan? They’ve both been asking for him.’

‘He had to go.’ She hesitated. ‘Jamie, I don’t want to seem heartless, but wouldn’t it be better if Candida could be looked after by her own family? We’re going to have our hands full.’

‘I suggested it, naturally, but it seems she doesn’t get on with her mother.’ He shook his head. ‘The drive down was a nightmare. She kept saying that Annapurna was cursed, and she’d known something dreadful was going to happen. You can imagine the effect that had on Ma,’ he added heavily.

She nodded. ‘Is she using Simon’s room?’

‘Well, yes. She just walked in there and shut the door. I—didn’t know what to say. After all, it’s where she’s always slept when she’s stayed here, I suppose.’

She sighed. ‘I suppose so too—and yet.’ She patted his shoulder. ‘I’ll go and sit with Mother. Wait for her to wake up.’

And wait for Dan to come back too. Because he was Simon’s best friend, and for that reason, if no other, he’ll be here for us. Or for a while, at least. Until the mourning time is over, and we all pick up our lives again somehow.

She did not dare look any further into the future than that. Because she knew it would be like staring down into an abyss. A terrible place that she had never known existed until this moment. But which seemed, somehow, to have been waiting for her the whole of her life.