'No,' she said. 'You thought you saw it. Like I thought I saw you at the treehouse.'
'You weren't exactly fighting him off.'
She stared at him, reading the condemnation in his voice, the contempt. And felt her own anger kindle, in response.
She said slowly, 'How dare you judge me? And what concern is it of yours, anyway? I'm working my notice at the Grange, Chay Haddon, and you have no right to interfere in my private affairs.'
He said harshly, 'Tell me this isn't happening, Adrien. That you're not contemplating any kind of relationship with that piece of scum.'
'And he speaks so well of you,' she said mockingly. 'My life's my own, Chay, and I make my own decisions. I don't need your approval.'
'Are you going to see him again?' His hand closed on her arm urgently. 'Answer me.'
'He's asked me.' She couldn't believe she was saying these things, but some demon drove her on. The hurt inside her lashed out at him. 'He wants me to meet him in London.'
'And you're considering it? God.' He shook his head, his face suddenly haggard. 'You're a fool, Adrien.'
'And you're a hypocrite,' she bit back recklessly.
'Don't forget that you're the one who put me on the market in the first place. You can hardly complain if there are other buyers.'
'I'm not likely to forget.' He was white. 'It's going to haunt me for the rest of my life. But you can't do this, Adrien. You don't know what he's really like.'
'And you're so much better?' she challenged, and shook her head derisively. 'No, Chay. You have your life and I have mine. I'll make my choices, and you won't stop me.'
'Ultimately, perhaps not.' His tone was hard. 'But while you're working for me you won't chase him back to London. My car's down the road. You're coming with me.'
'I have the Jeep...'
'It can stay here. I'm keeping you chained to my wrist this weekend, Adrien. When it's over you're free to ruin your future in any way that seems good to you. Until then, you still belong to me.'
'Oh?' She lifted her head defiantly. 'How do you plan to explain that to your lady guest?'
'She'll understand,' he said. 'Unlike you, Adrien, she trusts me.'
Her laugh rasped her throat. 'And you call
me
a fool.'
'Piers is a married man,' he said. 'I am not.'
'Not yet, perhaps.' The knife inside her twisted slowly, but she didn't falter. 'But you plan to be. Isn't that right?'
'Yes,' he said. 'But, unlike Piers, when I'm married my wife will never have cause to doubt my fidelity. My woman, her man, until death parts us.'
He paused. 'Now, let's go home.'
'I am at home.'
He smiled bleakly. 'Of course you are. I phrased that badly. Is there anything you need before we return to the workplace?'
'My bag and some letters.' She went in and scooped them up from the hall table, then turned to find him standing just behind her.
She said between her teeth, 'The world lost a great policeman when you decided to become a property tycoon.'
He said equably, 'Lack of trust works both ways, darling. Now, is there any possibility of declaring a truce—at least until my guests depart? The continual sniping could be a serious embarrassment—and very boring for the audience.'
'Fine,' she said. 'Truce declared. As long as I can go when the guests go.'
'Agreed,' he said wearily. 'I won't try to stop you again.' She supposed, in its way, it was a small victory. But as she followed Chay to the car it felt far more like a crushing defeat.
Whatever her personal feelings, Adrien had to admit as they drove home from the Country Club on Saturday that the weekend seemed to be going well. To her surprise, she had found she genuinely liked the three couples whom Chay had invited, although apart from Madame Byron, who was in her thirties, they were all considerably older than she was. The oldest of the wives was Arlena Travis, a plump, grey-haired, exquisitely groomed American with a Southern drawl like warm honey.
Barbara James lived in London's Holland Park, but confessed to Adrien that her long-term ambition was to persuade her husband to move back to Suffolk, where she'd been born and raised, because she missed the countryside so much.
Nathalie Byron's English was nowhere near as good as her husband's, and she'd tended to say little at dinner the first evening. When they'd adjourned to the drawing room for coffee, Adrien had dragged up her 'A' level French course from the recesses of her memory and had begun to talk to the elegant Parisienne slowly and carefully, in her own language, with the other two eventually joining in with much laughter and pauses for correction in grammar and pronunciation. Adrien had wondered how the wives would regard her, even though Chay had introduced her formally as his associate. She certainly doubted her ability to play her part adequately. Yet they seemed to accept her without question. Even the all-purpose black dress had acquired some belated chic with Zelda's waistcoat.
'Why, that's so lovely,' Mrs. Travis had said before they'd gone into dinner. 'Where did you get it?'
'My business partner made it for me,' Adrien said, aware that Chay was standing within earshot. 'It was a surprise.'
Another, less welcome surprise was how devastating Chay looked in formal evening clothes. It was the first time Adrien had ever seen him in a dinner jacket, and she was stunned, her heart beating painfully, her stomach lurching whenever he came into her line of vision.
She was seriously glad when the evening drew to an end, and no one wanted to stay up to the small hours. The day had been a strained one, and she was tired. She was wearing her hair up in a loose knot, and she'd just unfastened it and shaken it loose when she heard a tap at her door.
When she opened it, Chay was standing there. He'd unfastened the top buttons of his shirt, and his black tie was dangling from his fingers.
He said gravely, 'I wanted to thank you for the effort you put in with Nathalie Byron. Henri was very impressed. He worries that she sometimes feels isolated on this sort of occasion.' His smile did not reach his eyes. 'I'm—grateful.'
'It was my pleasure,' Adrien said. 'She's
charming.'
'You did well,' he said. 'And you looked very beautiful, very relaxed.' He brushed the shoulder of the waistcoat with the tip of his fingers. 'I like the surprise,' he added. 'Goodnight.'
Her lips framed her own goodnight, but it was a soundless whisper that followed him as he walked away. All evening he'd shown her the same polite friendliness, and it terrified her.
Because it showed her the bleakness of a future where she would never know what it was to be truly a woman. Because it was Chay, and Chay alone, who could awaken her body's responses. And without him she was condemned to physical and emotional sterility. She wanted to run after him and throw herself into his arms. She wanted to plead with him to take her and make her complete. To join his nakedness to hers and compel her surrender.
But she didn't dare to do any of those things, because another rejection could destroy her. Zelda had told her to fight for him, she remembered as she turned slowly away and shut her door. Instead, because of Piers, she'd ended up fighting with him. And now they were strangers, facing each other across some endless abyss.
And today she'd hardly seen him, she thought now, because all the men had gone to play golf. At the Country Club she'd played tennis with Nathalie, and two other women whom the professional had introduced to them. They'd all had a swim in the pool, and a massage, and visited the beauty treatment rooms.
'My stars, but I'm looking forward to my dinner,'
Arlena Travis said happily as the car turned into the Grange's drive. "There's nothing like a day's pampering to give you a healthy appetite.'
Adrien agreed, but her own stomach was suddenly churning nervously. She'd caught sight of a strange car—a red Peugeot—standing outside the house. The other guest had arrived at last, she realised, swallowing.
Perhaps the new formality between Chay and herself might help her get through the next difficult few hours, she told herself, without much hope.
'She's in her room, Miss Lander,' Mrs. Whitley returned when Adrien asked, with a certain constraint, where the newcomer was. 'She's had a trying journey, and she's resting.'
Not only shy, but fragile too, Adrien thought wryly, as she went up to change for the drinks party. Was that really what Chay wanted?
She showered, dried her hair, and pinned it into a topknot again. She applied cosmetics with more than usual care, blotting out the violet shadows under her eyes and smoothing blusher delicately on to her cheekbones. She needed a public face to hide behind tonight. She hesitated for a long time in front of the wardrobe, then chose a slim-fitting black skirt and a white silk blouse. She had just finished buttoning the blouse when there was a peremptory rap at her door and Chay's voice called, 'Adrien—are you ready yet? People will be arriving soon.'
'Almost there,' she returned, slipping her feet into high-heeled black pumps. 'I'll be down in two minutes.'
She'd expected him to leave it at that, but when she opened her door he was still standing there, his frowning gaze sweeping her.
He said abruptly, 'I asked you to wear the dress I brought you.'
'I'd—rather not.' Her voice sounded stifled. His voice gentled. 'Adrien—it's your last evening in my employ. Indulge me—please.' His mouth twisted. 'You can always look on it as a uniform.'
She looked past him rigidly. 'Just as you wish,' she said at last, and turned back into the room.
'I'll wait,' he said. 'In case you need help with the zip.'
She shook her head as she closed the door. 'I can manage—really.'
The silken dress slid over her head, clinging to her slender curves as if it loved her. Closing the zip was a struggle, but she persevered, knowing unhappily that she dared not risk even the most fleeting intimate contact with Chay. She turned slowly in front of the mirror, watching the subtle flare of the skirt and the play of the dark crimson sheen that altered her every movement. It was beautiful, she thought, and probably the most sophisticated dress she'd ever worn.
At least, she thought, I'll be bowing out in style. And, sighing, she went downstairs to join the others. As she hesitated in the drawing room doorway they all turned to look at her, and the involuntary murmur of appreciation brought real colour to her face. Only Chay was silent, his face coolly expressionless as he studied her.
'Honey, you look like a million dollars,' said Mrs. Travis, herself resplendent in a silk knit suit in shades of mother of pearl. 'That colour's like something from an old painting.'
'It's called Venetian red.' Adrien came forward, recovering some of her composure now that a lightning glance round the room had revealed only familiar faces.
'Ah, Venice.' The older woman sighed pleasurably.
'One of my all-time favourite cities.' She gave Adrien a slight conspiratorial nudge. 'And heaven for a honeymoon.'
Adrien, burningly aware of Chay's cynical glance, murmured something indistinguishable and escaped to talk to Nathalie Byron instead.
She was standing with her back to the door when she heard Chay's voice, warm with affection, saying,
'So there you are at last, darling. Come and be introduced to everyone.'
For a moment Adrien felt herself freeze, then she mustered a too-bright smile and braced herself to turn and look at the woman framed in the doorway. And halted, her eyes widening incredulously. The newcomer was tall and slim, dressed elegantly in black. Her silver hair was cut in a sleek bob, and there were pearls at her throat and in her ears.
She said in a quiet, clear voice, 'Not everyone, Chay. I see one old friend, at least.' She walked across the room and took Adrien's nerveless hand in hers. 'How are you, Adrien?'
Adrien said numbly, 'Mrs. Haddon? But I don't understand...'
'I'm actually Mrs. Stretton now.' Grey eyes just like her son's surveyed her calmly. There was a sadness in their depths, and a network of fine lines on her skin. 'Angus and I were married just after he went to Spain.'
Adrien shook her head, feeling winded. 'I had no idea.' She turned accusingly to Chay. 'You didn't tell me.'
His voice was cool. 'You never asked.'
It was true, Adrien realised to her shame. She'd not even enquired whether his mother was still alive, let alone what had happened to her.
Oh, God, she whispered silently. How could I be so thoughtless—so unthinking?
She said quietly, 'I'm so sorry. It's good to see you again, Mrs. Stretton.'
'Do we have to be so formal? I'd much prefer you to call me Margaret.' Her glance appraised Adrien again, and she nodded at Chay. 'You were right about the dress, darling. It's quite perfect for her.' She patted her arm. 'Now, please introduce me to your other guests.'
How many shocks could you absorb in one day before you fell to pieces? Adrien wondered as she dazedly complied.
It was better when other people started arriving and she was fully occupied in making sure everyone had a drink and someone to talk to, ensuring the trays of nibbles were being circulated. Because it gave her no time to think, or weigh up the implications of it all. Or contemplate all the unanswered questions. The time for that was still to come. She stayed on the move, carefully maintaining the length of the room between Chay and herself.
'Such a lovely party,' she heard on all sides. 'You must come to us for dinner—for drinks—for bridge...' And she smiled and said something grateful and noncommittal, allowing them to think she would still be around to accept those obligations.
'What a wonderful surprise.' Lady Gilmour cornered her. 'I knew Angus Stretton's first wife had died, poor thing, but I had no idea he'd married again.'
'I really don't know anything about the background to it all, Lady Gilmour...'
Lady Gilmour lowered her voice discreetly. 'She was a complete invalid. She lost a baby quite early in the marriage and had a terrible nervous breakdown. She spent several years in a nursing home, and just as she seemed to be better they realised she'd contracted one of those terrible wasting diseases with an impossible name.
'Angus was quite heartbroken, of course. He used to visit her faithfully, and made sure she had the best of care and all the latest treatment.'
She sighed faintly. 'No one blamed him for finding happiness with Margaret, and they were both very circumspect. She pretended to be a widow with a child, and we pretended to believe it. It would have been terrible if Ruth had heard so much as a whisper, but I don't believe she ever did.'
Adrien stared at her. She was remembering Chay, seated at Angus's desk, and the feeling that she was seeing a ghost.
She said, stumbling a little, 'Chay is Angus Stretton's son? Is that what you're saying?'
'Yes, of course, my dear.' Lady Gilmour's face was astonished. 'I thought you of all people would have known.
Your father and Angus were such friends—and you—well, you were almost part of the family.'
She gave Adrien a warm smile. 'And we're all delighted to know that you're at the Grange again. How well everything's turned out, after all. Now, I must have a quick word with Mrs. Grimes about the Garden Club. I don't believe the new treasurer will do at all...' And she disappeared purposefully. Adrien stood clutching her untouched glass, her mind spinning as she tried to assimilate what she'd just been told. Chay was Angus's son, she thought, yet he'd been sent away twice in disgrace and Angus had allowed it to happen. Allowed Piers to remain as his official heir. But why?
Chay said softly, 'People are beginning to leave.'
Her own voice was urgent. 'Chay, I need to talk to you. I've only just realised about you—and Angus...'
'Well?' he said. 'What about it?'
She stared up at him. 'How can you ask? It—it changes everything.'
'No,' he said, quite gently. 'It doesn't change a thing. And I think everything necessary's been said already. Now, help me say goodbye.'
She went with him mutely, wincing from the hurt of his dismissive words. It occurred to her that the door into his life had just been finally closed against her. That she was now doomed to stay outside, cold and alone, for the rest of her days. And the realisation filled her with terror.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The success of the drinks party carried over into dinner. Mrs. Whitley had excelled herself. An exquisite seafood salad was followed by baby chickens cooked with white wine and grapes, and an amaretto soufflé. Margaret Stretton's arrival had pro-vided a new focus for attention, and, far from seeming shy, she was coping with great charm and aplomb.
The laughter and talk gave Adrien a perfect opportunity to be quiet with her bewildered and unhappy thoughts. It was as if all these years she'd been staring into a distorting mirror. And now for the first time she was free to see things as they really were.
And realise, too, what a culpable fool she'd been, she lashed at herself.
There was sudden quiet round the table, and Adrien looked up with a start to see Chay push back his chair and rise to his feet.
He said, I'd like to propose a toast to Adrien—who took a neglected house and turned it back into a home. She's been working as my assistant to make sure everything was ready to welcome you all this weekend, and now it's time for her to move on—return to her own life—her own career.'