An Affair to Forget (3 page)

“
I’m fine, thank you.”

“
If you’re sure.” He began to close the door, then opened it again to say, “Sleep well. There’s a key in the lock, but don’t feel that you have to use it. You’re quite safe.”

Somehow
he managed to make it sound like an insult instead of an assurance.

When
the door finally closed soundlessly behind him Morrin took a deep, ragged breath, and picked up the hairbrush with trembling fingers. She felt so drained that she scarcely had the energy to climb into bed. She did not turn the key in the lock.

Lying
awake in the darkness she listened to the muted roar of the storm and heard Gareth come upstairs, the dogs thumping ahead of him, his voice low and easy as he spoke to them. She closed her eyes and began to count sheep, but as the bedside clock ticked steadily on sleep drew further and further away.

She
tossed in the comfortable bed, finally sitting up and turning the pillow over, thumping it viciously into place. Love-making might be a new experience for her, but to Gareth Sinclair it was a way of life and she had been a fool to make such a fuss over what, to him, was nothing more than a few kisses. The women he was used to, women like Camilla and, no doubt, Cass, who had made him laugh on the phone only an hour before, would have enjoyed the episode in the sitting-room that evening then dismissed it from their minds. That was what Gareth expected, and what she herself should have done.

The
problem was that Camilla and Cass and Morrin belonged to different worlds. The other two fitted easily into Gareth’s world and Morrin didn’t. Perhaps that was why he had kissed her, Morrin thought, turning over in bed for the umpteenth time. Perhaps it amused him to make love to someone who was unsophisticated and naïve.

The
idea only made her feel worse about herself. At least he was going away for a few days. She could finish typing his manuscript, send it to the agent, and have time to pull herself together before he came back. Then there would be another book to work on, taking dictation in the mornings, checking it over in the afternoons, when he was usually away from home. That was what she needed now, a few days without his distracting presence, a chance to return to her normal routine.

She
was certain of one thing… never again would she stay late to finish work. She had tempted Fate, and Fate had well and truly slapped her down.

If
you
can’t
stand
the
heat
,
get
out
of
the
kitchen
… Recalling the phrase, Morrin smiled wryly in the darkness. She definitely could not stand the heat. The kitchen was not the place for the likes of her.

And
yet, she thought as sleep finally relented and returned to claim her, it had been wonderful while it lasted. Something that she would never forget; a glimpse of the unattainable and a memory to hold forever.

Three

Morrin woke to find the room filled with light. Expecting to see her familiar little bedsit she was confused and disorientated for a moment. She half sat up, staring round the sunny room, then fell back on to the pillows as Gareth turned from the window, where he had been opening the curtains.

“
Good morning.”

“
What are you doing here?”

“
Protecting your good name.” He had shaved and the ends of his dark hair were still wet from his shower. He was wearing a cream shirt with brown slacks and a soft brown cravat tucked into the open shirt collar. “You were sleeping so soundly that I scarcely had the heart to wake you, but I have to leave soon for Wales and I don’t know when Mrs P plans to come back. I thought that you might not want her to find you here, in bed. She’s fairly used to finding girls in my bed, but not in this one.”

“
Is that the time? Thank you, I’ll get up now.”

“
Fine,” he said, then, “Did you sleep well?”

“
Yes, thank you.”

“
Good. You look as though you had a much more interesting night than I did,” Gareth said, then grinned as his eyes travelled down to her throat.

Following
his gaze, Morrin realised for the first time that all the tossing and turning she had endured before falling asleep had loosened the top buttons of his pyjama jacket. She caught the quilt in both fists, pulling it up to her throat.

“
Get out of here!”

The
grin spread, and his eyes sparked green fire at her embarrassment. “On my way.” He nodded towards the bedside table. “I brought some tea. I find that women like little thoughtful touches like morning tea.” He began to leave, then turned. “By the way, you look delicious first thing in the morning, especially in someone else’s pyjamas. I don’t suppose any man’s had the chance to tell you that before.”

“
Thousands!” She tossed the word at him, trying to match his poise. And knew as the door closed on a faint chuckle that she had failed miserably.

She
washed and dressed swiftly, not daring to take time to drink the tea in case he came back. Once she was wearing her blue sweater and pleated skirt again she felt a little safer. She brushed out her hair, which had been whipped into a tangle of curls during her restless night, and tied it back with her chiffon scarf then drank the tea, now lukewarm, before carrying the tray downstairs.

A
delicious aroma of bacon and coffee wafted through the house. As Morrin went into the kitchen the two dogs greeted her excitedly, then retired to the hearthrug on a sharp order from Gareth.

The
kitchen was a large room, complete with brand-new cooker, stone-flagged floor and a huge Welsh dresser bright with patterned crockery. The back door stood open to the soft autumn morning and the garden had a freshly scrubbed air after the previous night’s storm. A few wispy clouds were to be seen, high in the blue sky.

“
There’s been a lot of storm damage,” Gareth said from the cooker. “One of the old trees at the bottom of the garden’s come down. It’s made a bit of a mess of Joe’s compost heap.”

Joe,
the part-time gardener who looked after the garden, was an expert on compost heaps and had lovingly built one up at the end of Gareth’s large garden.

The
table was already set for breakfast. Gareth dished up bacon and eggs, sat down and picked up a pile of letters. “You don’t mind if we go through the post while we eat, do you? I’ll have to head for Wales as soon as I can.”

It
was a relief to have something impersonal to talk about, and it meant that Morrin could slip back into the role of efficient secretary without any further delay. She cleared the table when they’d finished eating and stacked the plates by the sink.

“
You don’t have to do that,” Gareth objected when she turned the tap on. “Mrs P can put them in the dishwasher later.”

“
I’d rather get them out of the way,” she said, then coloured as he caught her meaning and laughed.

“
Covering your tracks, are you? Don’t want Mrs P to know that we actually breakfasted together? My dear girl, she’s more broad-minded than you are.”

Morrin
dipped cups into the steaming water, her face bent over the sink. “I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.”

“
You mean that you don’t want her to think that you’re just another of my floozies, is that it?” Suddenly the amusement was gone; a hard edge had crept into his voice.

“
No…” she began to protest, then stopped as he swept on.

“
Why don’t you change the spare room bed while you’re at it? Put the sheets into the washing machine before you start work. If we’re lucky you might get them dried before Mrs P comes home. I mean it,” he insisted when she tried to argue. “See to it, will you? You might not realise it, but I’ve got my pride as well, you know. I wouldn’t want my housekeeper to think that an overnight guest of mine had actually slept in another room.”

Morrin
felt tears prickle the backs of her eyes. Did he have to keep reminding her of his conquests? She set her jaw and vowed silently to herself that he wasn’t going to upset her. A strand of brown hair, curling at the end, fell forward, tickling her face. She tried to push it back with one soapy, wet wrist, and only succeeded in spreading soapsuds across her cheek.

Unexpectedly,
Gareth’s hand reached out and caught the curl, tucking it back behind her ear. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was unkind.”

“
I deserved it.”

“
No you didn’t. Morrin, change your mind about coming to Wales with me. You’d enjoy it, and I’d like you to meet my grandmother.”

She
turned back to the sink and picked up another plate. “I’m your secretary; it’s my job to see that your book goes off on time.”

When
he had gone out, closing the door behind him more sharply than was necessary, she finished washing and drying the dishes, put them away, then changed and remade the bed she had used. She put the bedclothes into the washing machine then went to the study where Gareth, a weekend case by his side, was looking through the pile of papers beside her computer.

“
Any questions before I go?”

She
sat down at her desk. “I don’t think so. I’ll see that your manuscript gets posted in good time.”

“
I’m sure that you will.” He picked up his dark blue anorak from the back of a chair. “Perhaps we should have a talk when I get back.”

“
What about?” Morrin had switched on the computer; now she keyed her password in and waited as it booted up. When Gareth let the silence between them lengthen, she was forced to turn in her swivel chair and look at him. A sudden, unwanted memory of him touching her, kissing her, made her feel weak. “What about?” she repeated.

“
We need to clear the air, don’t we?”

“
I don’t think so.”

“
I think we do. I’ll talk to you when I get back from Wales,” he said abruptly, and walked out.

She
began to type, but when the front door closed her fingers stilled on the keys. She got up and went to the window. Gareth was walking along the flagged path leading to the garage, the anorak slung over one shoulder, his light suitcase swinging by his side. He disappeared round the side of the garage and she stayed where she was until she heard the deep roar of his car engine.

From
the study window she couldn’t see him leaving, but she waited until she heard the car emerge from the garage, pause at the entrance to the drive, turn into the road, and dwindle into the distance before she went back to her desk. All at once the house seemed lonely, now that he was no longer in it.

*

By the time Mrs Plover arrived back in the early afternoon, bursting with news about her new grandchild, the bedclothes had been tumble-dried, folded, and put away. After they had shared a pot of tea Morrin returned to the study, followed by the two dogs, who settled on the carpet in a patch of sunshine. Music from the kitchen radio, Mrs Plover’s constant companion, drifted to her ears. The house had returned to normal, though Morrin knew that for her it would never be the same again.

She
activated the printer and sat back, stretching her arms over her head, as it began to chatter its way through a chapter. Gareth was a talented writer. He had travelled widely and this book, like his two earlier novels, was set abroad, this time in Africa. Morrin had enjoyed every minute of her work on it, even the final editing.

Kate
Thorne, Gareth’s sister, arrived an hour later, elegant in a deep brown trouser suit over a pale yellow roll-neck sweater. She shook her head at Morrin’s offer of coffee.

“
No time, I’m on my way to collect the children from school. I just wanted to have a word with Gareth. Does he know that Gran’s not so well?” Kate sat on the broad window sill, her long legs stretched out in front of her, and picked up the little black poodle. “Hello, Polly my love. Yes, Daniel, I can see you, but when are you going to learn that you’re too big to sit on my lap!” she scolded the sheepdog, who was trying to scramble on to her knee. “Settle down, now.”

“
Gareth left for Wales this morning.”

“
Gone already?” At thirty, two years younger than Gareth and the ‘baby’ of her family, Kate was an extremely beautiful woman. Sleek, glossy black hair was swept back into a chignon and her eyes were the same clear translucent green as Gareth’s, but with a more Eastern slant to the corners. She was married to a banker and lived some ten miles away with her husband and two children. “I thought we could travel there together. Isn’t it just like him to forget to get in touch with me. How did he find out about Gran so quickly? If I hadn’t telephoned her this morning I wouldn’t have known that she was under the weather.”

“
He got a phone call last night, from someone called Cass. He said that she’s your grandmother’s god-daughter,” Morrin said, and could have bitten her tongue out. If Mrs Plover had been there she would have wanted to know what Morrin was doing at the house in the evening.

Fortunately,
Kate didn’t notice anything untoward. “Ah.” She nodded understandingly. “So that’s it. Did he say when he’d be back?” She put the poodle down and got up, wandering about the room, picking up a page of manuscript and reading it with absent-minded interest.

“
In a few days.”

“
Mmm. So perhaps she isn’t terribly ill after all. It’s difficult to tell with Gran. She’s one of those fiercely independent old ladies who refuses to admit to illness, even at her age. But on the other hand she likes to summon us all occasionally and clock us in, just to find out who cares the most. Pots of money, you see. She holds our inheritances over our heads, just as a matter of discipline. It’s all so silly,” she added with the casual shrug of one who already had more than enough wealth. “Still, we all love her, even Gareth, though they’re always quarrelling. Gran doesn’t approve of the way he earns his money. She thinks he should be helping Tom in the family business. Doesn’t approve of his lifestyle, either.” She waved the paper at Morrin. “This looks quite interesting. Do you think my brother’s a good writer?”

“
I think he’s a superb writer.”

“
You’re not just saying that out of loyalty, are you?”

“
I read a lot, and I’m not just saying it out of loyalty. One of these days Gareth’s going to write an outstanding book.”

“
Really? It’s funny,” Kate mused, “writers are a bit like murderers… you know that they exist, but you don’t expect to actually have one in your own family. I should really make a point of reading one of his books but it’s difficult to find the time with children underfoot. Talking of which…’ She glanced at her watch and headed for the door.

“
I expect Tom and I will have to pop over to see Gran,” she said as Morrin and the dogs escorted her to the front door. “She might be really ill this time.”

“
I don’t think Gareth would have rushed off first thing this morning if it hadn’t been fairly serious,” Morrin offered, and Kate gave a light laugh.

“
My dear, Grandmother’s illness hasn’t really got anything to do with it. It’s Cass, her god-daughter. Didn’t Gareth tell you about her?” Without waiting for a reply she swept on. “Cass is a schoolteacher, and she’s going to marry Gareth.”

The
bright oblong of sun outside the front door beyond Kate’s smooth neat head seemed to shift suddenly, then steady. “I didn’t realise that he was engaged,” Morrin said carefully.

“
He’s not, but Cass has adored him since we were all children together. She was the little one that tagged around after us and got in everyone’s way, particularly Gareth’s. Unfortunately for him, Grandmother and her best friend… who just happens to be Cass’s grandmother… have been planning the match for years. They’re just waiting for him to finish sowing his wild oats. In the meantime, Gran likes to send for him now and then so that she can see him and Cass together. She seems to think that in that way they’ll manage between them to wear down his resistance.”