Outsider (18 page)

worthy, I suppose, but a rough diamond to say the least.'

Eliot said drily, 'The rough diamond you mention happens to be Natalie's

father.'

'Oh!' Oriel clapped her hands to her mouth in a pretty show of penitence.

'My dear, how incredibly tactless of me! Now, how can I make it up to you?

I know. Both of you must—simply must have dinner with me tonight at my

hotel.' She shrugged. 'I can't vouch for the food, of course, but we'll just have

to pray ;it's edible.'

Natalie set down her cup, not looking at Eliot. Let him make some excuse,

she begged silently, let him refuse. Oh, please...

After a pause, he said, 'That's kind of you, Oriel. We'd like to accept,

wouldn't we, darling?'

She was saved from having to reply by the insistent burble of the telephone.

She excused herself, and hurried to answer. It was Beattie.

'Well, you're a pair of sly-boots, creeping back like this,' she scolded. 'Not

that we're not grateful, you understand. Have you met that appalling

woman?'

'Yes.' Natalie's taut mouth relaxed into a reluctant smile. 'Oh, Beattie, you're

wonderful! You do cheer me up.'

'A bride-on her honeymoon shouldn't need cheering up,' chided Beattie. 'But

acting on the twin premise that the cupboards in that wonderful kitchen of

yours are probably bare, and no one can live on love alone, in spite of what

they say, I thought you might like to have dinner with us tonight?'

'Oh, I'd have loved to.' Natalie could have wept. 'But you're just five minutes

too late. We—we've got another invitation.'

'Not to worry,' Beattie said cheerfully. 'We'll arrange another time. And your

father will be down to see you as soon as the coast is clear.' She giggled. 'I'm

afraid the glamorous Miss Prince isn't his kind of owner at all. He says that

scent she uses has started up his sinus trouble!',

Natalie's grin widened involuntarily. 'Well, for once Dad and I are in

complete agreement,' she said, and rang off.

Back in the sitting room, Oriel was preparing to take her leave, sliding her

arms into the sable coat which Eliot held for her, staying close to him just a

few seconds too long.

She tapped Natalie's cheek with a careless finger as she went past her to the

door.
'Au revoir,
my dear. It's been delightful meeting you. Eliot's a very

lucky man.'

Eliot accompanied her to her car. Natalie carried the tray of dirty cups back

to the kitchen, and ran hot water into the sink, while she tried to think what

to do next. Did Eliot have so poor an opinion of her mentality as to assume

she didn't know what was going on? she wondered bitterly. Because that

hurt almost as much as the jealousy.

By the time he came back to the kitchen she was almost at shouting and

screaming point, ready to throw each and every one of the carefully washed

dishes at his head, only to discover, as she turned to face him, that Grantham

was looming behind him in the doorway.

'So you're back.' His embarrassed hug was accompanied by a searching look.

'You look pale.'

'I feel fine.' She kept her voice light and noncommittal. 'How about you?'

'I saw the doctor yesterday. He seems satisfied.' Grantham pursed his lips.

'Though after what I've been through in the past couple of days, it's a wonder

I'm notback in intensive care. That bloody Midstream tipped young Micky

off, bad-tempered devil, and took off like a bat out of hell. We caught him on

the main road—the damned main road, would you believe!' He shook his

head in a mixture of disbelief and admiration. 'By rights, he should have

broken his cranky neck. But he can't half jump.'

'How's Micky?' asked Natalie.

Her father snorted. 'Broken collarbone, and serves him right. Just sheer lack

of concentration. Claims something shone in his eyes.'

Eliot's brows lifted. 'Did anyone else notice anything?'

'Of course not. There was nowt to notice,' her father retorted testily. 'It's

never their own bad riding with these lads when they get thrown.'

Eliot said slowly, 'Micky isn't usually a bad rider.' He paused. 'And it's bad

news that he's going to be out of action for a while. We're going to be

damned short- handed.'

'Well, there we did have a bit of luck,' Grantham said with satisfaction. 'This

other lad turned up yesterday— said he'd heard we were expanding and

wondered whether there might be a vacancy.'

Natalie stared at him. 'But we never take on casuals like that,' she objected.

'He's not some fly-by-night,' said Grantham impatiently. 'He's been working

up in a small stable in Northumberland, but the trainer's retiring at the end of

the season. He's got his cards and his references all right and tight. They're in

the office, waiting for you.' He exchanged a look with Eliot. 'And while

we're on the subject, you may as well know I'm advertising for another

secretary.'

'But why?'

'Because Eliot and I think you should start to take things easy,' he said flatly.

'You're too thin, for one thing.'

'I'm as strong as a horse!' Natalie protested furiously.

Grantham was unmoved. 'And a lot of funny things can happen to mares

when they're foaling, as you should know, my girl. So you're going to be

wrapped in cotton wool. You're going to rest more—and eat more too. I

want my grandson to be born strong and healthy.'

Eliot's tone was mild, but there was an unholy gleam of amusement in his

eyes as he looked at his father-in- law. 'Has it occurred to you that

this—er—colt you're expecting could turn out to be a little filly?'

At any other time, the look of dismay on Grantham's face would have

appealed to Natalie's sense of the ridiculous too, but she was feeling too

bruised for laughter.

She said tautly, 'Would you please stop talking about me as if I was a brood

animal! And I'm not impressed by all this—talk of tender loving care. You

don't want me involved in the stables in any way—not even

marginally—either of you!'

Her voice rose hysterically, and Eliot's face sobered immediately.

He said, 'Natalie, that isn't true. The work you do is invaluable, and I know

you're capable of more. No one's trying to shut you out, believe me. When

the baby's born...'

'Oh, yes,' she said bitterly. 'The scrap of humanity around whom the

universe revolves. The excuse to shuffle me off to the sidelines. Well, I'm

beginning to hate this baby—almost as much as I hate both of you!'

She burst into tears and ran out of the room, ignoring her father's outraged

bellow, 'Natalie!'

She flew into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her for good measure,

before flinging herself across the bed. She wept until all the tension,

wretchedness and misery of the past weeks seemed to have been purged out

of her. Somewhere amid the storm of tears, she thought she heard Grantham

leaving, but she couldn't be sure.

The door didn't open for another half-hour, however. Eliot came in carrying

a cup and saucer which he placed beside the bed.

'I've brought you some tea,' he said.

Natalie struggled to a sitting position, scrubbing her wet cheeks defensively

with a handkerchief. 'I'm not an invalid.'

'No,' he said grimly. 'A pain in the neck would be a more apt description just

at the moment.'

She might have expunged some of the bitterness, but her temper still

remained. She gasped, and her hand swung back, aiming to make contact

with his unsmiling face, but before the blow could reach its target, his

fingers had closed implacably round her wrist.

His voice was like steel. 'Forget it, Natalie. You don't hit me now, or at any

future time, because I can't retaliate—much as I might like to,' he added

icily.

He released her almost contemptuously, and said, 'About your little outburst

just now, I've already come to terms with the fact that I've ruined your life.

So say what you like to me—although I'd prefer you to reserve your

strictures for when we're alone together. But leave your father out of it. He

has nothing but your well-being at heart, and he doesn't deserve to be hated

for that.' He paused. 'Now, wash you face and drink your tea. You're going to

dinner tonight, not a funeral.'

Natalie said, 'I'm not going anywhere tonight. I'm staying here.'

His brows snapped together. 'What the hell are you talking about?'

She said coldly, 'I'm not a complete fool. I know quite well tonight's

invitation doesn't really include me. It was only extended—for form's sake.

Well, I haven't the slightest wish to intrude on your reunion with your—

lady-friend.'

Eliot said sharply, 'You don't know what you're talking about. Of course

you're coming with me.'

Natalie shook her head. 'No, I'm not. It's you she wants—your

unencumbered presence. Well, go to her.'

He sat down wearily on the edge of the bed. 'Natalie, I never pretended you

were the first woman in my life. But, for God's sake, this is history you're

talking about. That—episode was over a long time ago.'

'Well, Miss Prince doesn't seem to think so. She was practically eating you

with her eyes this afternoon!'

'She probably did the same to Grantham,' he said drily. 'And to Wes—and

every other lad in the yard. It's part of her stock in trade—as natural to her as

breathing.'

She said breathlessly, 'But I bet she didn't kiss Grantham—or any of the

others. Or are you trying to tell me that's part of her stock in trade too?'

Eliot was very still. 'No, I'm not trying to tell you that.'

'Good.' She was shaking inside. 'So now you know why I don't believe your

protests, Eliot—and why I won't be joining you. I'd only be in the way. At

least...' She stopped abruptly.

'At least—what?' His voice bit.

At least Tony never made me meet any of his mistresses, let alone have

dinner with them,
had been the unspoken words which had leapt so

betrayingly to mind.

She said drearily, 'It doesn't matter.'

'No,' he said, too quietly. 'You could be right.'

He got up and went out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Natalie

sank back against her pillows. The inner trembling was spreading through

her entire body now. She hadn't meant to say all that. She'd meant to be very

calm, very controlled. To invent some minor ailment, a headache, more

nausea, a pain in her back-- something to keep her at home.

Something, too, which might have kept him at her side, she confessed to

herself. She was beginning to realise how and why some women used vague

ill-health as a weapon to hold over their husbands' heads. One hint that she

wasn't feeling well would have been enough to arouse his concern, even if

that concern was for his child rather than herself, she thought, wincing.

She began to drink some of her tea, grateful for its consoling warmth.

It was beginning to occur to her that she might have played straight into

Oriel Prince's hands. That the actress's invitation to her, her whole attitude,

might have been intended to provoke this very reaction in her. She groaned.

Hadn't she learned anything from those bitter years with Tony?

She shook her head. By the time she'd realised what was going on, their

marriage had been virtually over anyway.

She bit her lip. She hadn't fought for Tony because she hadn't wanted him.

That last appalling, fatal row had been sparked off by hurt pride rather than

any deeper emotion. She'd come to terms with that in guilt and regret a long

time ago. If she'd let him go he would probably be alive now, and married to

the woman he was leaving her for.

Yet within a few hours of realising she loved Eliot, she was passively

surrendering him to another woman, instead of fighting for him.

I should be going with him, she thought, sitting bolt upright. I should be

playing her game—using the body language, sitting close to him, fluttering

my eyelashes, touching him all the time—letting her know that I'm the^»

lady with his ring on her finger.

And at the same time I'd be telling Eliot, without words, that I love him and

want him.

Faint colour rose in her face as she contemplated what that would lead to.

Perhaps tomorrow she would wake in his arms in this golden room. And she

would see to it thereafter that they were never parted again, she told herself

vehemently. She would be all the wife, all the woman Eliot would ever want.

Starting now. She scrambled off the bed and dashed to the wardrobe, rooting

through it until she found what she was looking for.

It was a simple floor-length gown in emerald green silk, with heavy gold

embroidery round the deeply slashed neckline. Like the velvet lounging suit,

it had been another impulse buy which she'd instantly regretted, but now the