A Guilty Affair Read online

  She made an impatient gesture with her hands, brushing the subject aside. She wanted to spend this time discussing her job offer. And for that she needed Tom in receptive mood, and enough time at their disposal to go into the pros and cons very thoroughly.

  But the reminder that it had been Helen who had foisted the Italian on them seemed to have added to his displeasure. Bess couldn’t understand it. On the surface, Vaccari was pleasant enough. Tom couldn’t know what he’d said and done to her. And he couldn’t possibly care who Helen got serious about. He couldn’t stand her.

  ‘What were you thinking of, sending him to wake her?’ Tom grumbled, his face going red. ‘It’s like giving him an invitation to—well—’ He went redder. ‘It’s hardly proper.’ He lifted his cup and gulped at his coffee, as if he needed something to hide behind. Bess swallowed a smile.

  Proper! He didn’t know how unintentionally funny he could be. He would hate it if he thought she was laughing at him. But his old-fashioned attitudes, his rock-like steadiness, were the attributes which had drawn her to him. He was comfortable, safe and utterly reliable.

  ‘Does it matter?’ She perched on the sofa, close to him. ‘Helen can take care of herself.’ The thought that taking care of herself would be the last thing on her sister’s mind right now made her breath snag in her throat and something painful claw at her midriff.

  Hating her stupid reaction, she twisted her hands together in her lap, wondering why everything seemed to be going so wrong, and shook her head despairingly when Tom muttered dourly, ‘I just bet she can.’

  ‘I wish you could find some good in her,’ she sighed. Helen had her faults, but she had her good points too. But Tom would go to his grave believing that everything about her was suspect. ‘She’s my sister, after all. Family. And if you’re going to be at each other’s throats every time you meet it won’t be very comfortable for the rest of us.’

  For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer, but when he took her hand and squeezed it, making her ring dig painfully into her finger, she guessed it was an apology and suggested, ‘Let’s go for a walk after lunch. Just the two of us. There’s something I need to discuss with you.’ And there wasn’t time now, she realised. Not if she had to have lunch ready by the time her parents returned.

  ‘And that is?’ He carried his cup over to refill it from the coffee-pot on the tray and Bess wondered why he was distancing himself from her. He had never been demonstrative, yet on the all too rare occasions when they’d been alone together he’d always taken the opportunity to cuddle her, his tender kisses making her feel that she counted, was secure.

  Could it possibly be that now they were officially engaged he had decided he had no more need to bother with physical assurances of his love and caring? She knew he wasn’t highly sexed, but—

  Swallowing an unhelpful spurt of anger, she explained mildly, ‘I’ve had the offer of another job. It would be exciting and challenging, but there would be disadvantages. There’s not time to discuss it now, not with lunch to see to. That’s why I suggested a walk. I’m going back to town tomorrow afternoon and I have to give an answer on Tuesday.’

  ‘You have a job,’ he pointed out unnecessarily. He took his cup and stood with his back to the fire. ‘It isn’t as if you have a career, as such. You won’t be working at all once we have a family. Why bother to change, especially if there are disadvantages? Why put yourself through the hassle of having to adapt to a new employer?’

  ‘I won’t have to adapt—’ She bit off her explanation and stood up. She’d known she would have to discuss every detail, pick the subject over endlessly before he would feel able to give a considered opinion. But he appeared to be discounting it entirely without hearing the full story, and she hadn’t known he could be like that.

  Moreover, he was looking at her as if he disliked her, and she didn’t understand what was happening. This should have been such a happy weekend but it had turned topsy-turvy, like a bad dream.

  She began to stalk out of the room. She really couldn’t bring herself to continue the discussion. She didn’t want to have to talk to him at all. And that horrified her so much that she turned back, dismayed.

  ‘Let’s talk it through this afternoon. You haven’t heard the details.’

  She hadn’t meant to sound antagonistic but hadn’t been able to keep the edge out of her voice, and Tom snapped back, ‘I don’t need to. You’re settled where you are, so why change things? It’s not as if—’

  ‘I’m a high-flyer,’ she inserted crossly. Part of her brain was seething because he’d written the subject off, as if he couldn’t be bothered to summon an interest. The other part was amazed that they were having their first quarrel.

  ‘One career woman in the family’s one too many. And no, you’re not a high-flyer, thank the Lord. Stick with what you know, and just be yourself. That’s good enough for me.’

  Bess sucked in a painful breath. She felt as if he’d slapped her face. And she felt even worsemortified—when Vaccari’s cool drawl sliced through the heated, ragged atmosphere.

  ‘Squabbling, my children? We can’t have that, can we?’ His silver eyes mocked her as he sauntered across the room, dropping with boneless grace onto the sofa, long legs stretched out in front of him as he purred, looking deeply, devastatingly, into her wide green eyes, ‘Anything I can do to make things better?’

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘I SUPPOSE he thought he was being funny,’ Tom muttered, following Bess out to the kitchen.

  ‘I suppose so,’ she shrugged, tight-lipped. She hadn’t bothered to dignify Vaccari’s remark by making a reply. She’d be a much happier woman if she knew she would never have to speak to him again.

  Then, swept by a wave of contrition, she turned and wound her arms around Tom’s waist. ‘I’m sorry I was snappy.’

  ‘Me too.’ His arms enfolded her briefly. ‘There’s a funny atmosphere this weekend; it’s getting to both of us.’

  He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and Bess thought, We both know who’s to blame for that, don’t we? and held onto him with quiet desperation until he untangled her arms and offered placatingly, ‘Tell me about your job offer after lunch. But I warn you, I don’t think you should give it any real consideration—’

  ‘Fine, we’ll just talk about it.’ Miffed, Bess swung briskly away, cutting him off before he could repeat his opinion that she was not, and never would be, high-flyer material.

  He was probably right, and she shouldn’t feel hurt because he’d voiced his opinion. This time yesterday she would have agreed with him and possibly even felt a little bit smug about being the sensible sort of woman who knew her limitations and was perfectly content with what she had.

  So why was she feeling hurt and undervalued for no reason? No good reason, she amended swiftly, pushing the things Vaccari had said to the bottom of her mind. She couldn’t imagine why. And wasn’t even going to try to work it out.

  She became quite cynical when, over lunch, Helen said with sugary surprise, ‘This is perfectly cooked. Well done, little sister. You should have woken me; I could have helped. This is supposed to be your weekend—and Tom’s, of course.’

  She was toying with a small slice of beef and looking spectacularly golden in a daffodil-yellow sweater, and her belated offer of help had to be for the Italian’s benefit. Any reply Bess might have made was swamped by Jessica’s, ‘Bess needs the practice. Twelve months from now she’ll have to give Tom three good meals a day. And you need your rest. You told me how tiring your assignment in the Bahamas was—you have to look after yourself. Don’t you agree, Luke?’

  ‘How awful for you.’ Bess didn’t want to hear gooey, solicitous sentiments from Vaccari, especially not if they were directed at her got-it-all sister. She helped herself to another roast potato. ‘Personally, I’d love the opportunity to tire myself out in the Bahamas.’

  And, so saying, she effectively silenced the lot of them.

  The afternoon walk with
Tom hadn’t been a success either, Bess ruminated as she drove herself back to London on Bank Holiday Monday afternoon.

  As soon as they’d set out she’d explained it all. How Mark Jenson, her former boss at the agency, had set up on his own six months ago, renting elegant premises in Knightsbridge, working hard to establish the kind of travel agency that specialised in holidays for the discerning, seriously wealthy traveller.

  ‘He’s offering off-the-beaten-track unadulterated luxury to people who are willing to pay top whack to be pampered,’ she’d explained. ‘It’s really taking off, and now he needs an assistant to seek out and vet new venues in the more exotic parts of the world to make sure everything meets his high standards. And do you know what? He thought of me! The job’s mine if I want it, but he needs to know by Tuesday.’ Her face had lit up. A little squirm of excitement had built up inside her. It was there whenever she thought about the offer.

  But she’d said honestly, ‘The only downside is the newness of the venture. He’s got more prospective clients than suitable places to send them—so he needs new venues and more employees. But to get them he needs more capital, and if he can’t get it the agency will stagnate and probably sink.’ She’d tucked her arm through Tom’s and reassured him happily, ‘But he’s a fighter. He’ll raise the capital somehow.’

  ‘You must be mad.’ He’d walked steadily on, staring straight ahead. ‘You’re secure where you are. Where will you be if you join him and the whole thing fails? Because fail it will. You’ll be unemployed. Safe jobs aren’t easy to come by. We’ve decided you’ll work for two years after we’re married. Or had you forgotten? We’ve agreed to invest your earnings to create a nest egg before we start trying for a family.’

  He’d given her a scathing look, shaken her hand from his arm and turned to go back to the house. ‘You can’t seriously consider jeopardising your chance to contribute to our future comfort and security? In any case, from the job description, you’d have to be out of the country looking for places to send people who probably wouldn’t want to go there anyway. We’d see even less of each other than we do now.’

  She’d had the definite impression that this last had been a complete afterthought. That the investment nest egg was of far greater importance.

  Still aggrieved, she parked her car outside Brenda Mayhew’s terraced house in Battersea, reached her luggage from the back seat and rummaged in her handbag for the doorkey.

  If he’d said, Go ahead and take the job if you want to try your wings, but I’ll hate having to see even less of you than I do now, she wouldn’t have given Mark’s job offer another thought. As things stood, though, she had the strongest urge to phone him right now and ask when she could start!

  Sighing over her contrariness, she unlocked the door and walked inside. Brenda shot out of her sitting room, all middle-aged, grey disapproval, and stated the obvious.

  ‘Oh, it’s you. I didn’t expect you back yet. You’ll have to go out for supper. Wasn’t expecting you; I haven’t catered.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Supper each Monday was fish fingers and mash. Bess wouldn’t pine over missing it. And not for the first time she regretted having agreed to board here during the week.

  When she’d first announced her intention of looking for a bedsit in the sprawling suburbs of the capital to avoid the daily drive into work and back, Barbara Clayton had come up with the perfect solution.

  A local woman, Brenda Brown, as was, had been her domestic help until she’d married and moved to Battersea. They’d kept in touch—just a short letter tucked in with a card each Christmas. And it was just as well, Barbara had declared, because since she’d been widowed Brenda had taken in a lodger from time to time to help make ends meet. It would be ideal for Bess—a sort of home from home, someone to keep an eye on her, look after her...

  Home from home it wasn’t. But Bess hadn’t felt uncomfortable enough to move out. She wouldn’t find anywhere cheaper, and if the suppers Brenda provided were unusually dreary at least she was saved the chore of having to cook for herself.

  She lifted her case and began to walk up to her dismal room, and Brenda called, making it sound like an accusation, ‘A Nicola something or other phoned. If you call her back, work out the cost and leave the money on the table. And don’t leave it too late. You know I don’t like being disturbed after I’ve settled down to watch telly.’

  Bess knew the older woman hated to miss a moment of her evening’s viewing. She’d paid her licence fee and meant to get her money’s worth. And when Bess used the phone she couldn’t resist turning down the sound, ungluing her eyes from the moving images and applying her ear to the opened door...

  Smiling wryly, Bess carried on up, looking forward to talking to Nicola. They’d been at school together before Niccy’s father had made his millions and spirited his adored only child away to some select boarding-school. But they’d kept in contact—closer contact since Niccy had been promoted to assistant producer on one of the more popular TV soaps and her father, in celebration, had bought her a long lease on a sumptuous apartment near Belgrave Square which she currently shared with a chronically out-of-work actress with the improbable name of Dearie.

  A nice long natter with her friend would help to cheer her up, she decided, tossing her case onto the narrow bed. She hated this new and unexpected feeling of being at odds with herself and Tom. It was as if the official engagement had unleashed a pack of demons neither of them had known were there, lurking in the background, waiting to pounce.

  On her way back downstairs, she wondered if Helen and Vaccari had left Braylington yet. They’d been closeted with her father all morning—with her mother bustling in and out—and when they’d emerged for lunch Helen had looked radiant. She had no idea what the Italian’s expression had been. She hadn’t looked at him.

  Annoyed with herself, she caught the thought and buried it deeply. He had no place in her head. Dialling her friend’s number, she heard the sittingroom door creak open. She ground her teeth, swung round and said coolly, ‘I’m timing the call, Brenda. You needn’t trouble to check. I don’t cheat.’ And she sucked her lower lip between her teeth as the door closed again with a thunderous clunk.

  She had never voiced her annoyance over the lack of this particular privacy before, enduring it grimly because her phone conversations were always innocuous. She didn’t know what had come over her. And put it out of her mind as she heard Niccy’s voice.

  ‘Well, was it all wonderful—the engagement party? What did you wear? What’s the ring like?’

  Her spirits lifted immediately. Niccy was fun. And because she didn’t want to sound like a misery she refused to say that the weekend had been far from wonderful, that her dress had looked dowdy against Helen’s glitter, that her sister had produced a fantastic man who had made her think and do things that were totally alien. So she concentrated on the ring.

  ‘A diamond cluster,’ she said, automatically holding out her left hand. But the ring wasn’t there and she went cold all over. Had she lost it already? Oh, how could she have done? Tom would be livid! Then she went limp with relief because she remembered now that she’d put it on the drainer when washing up after lunch. Jessica would find it and keep it safe. She would phone her later, just to make sure.

  ‘And?’ Niccy prompted. ‘A central stone?’

  ‘Just a cluster,’ Bess answered quickly, recovering from the shock of thinking she’d lost it and squashing the disloyal thought that the diamonds were few and very tiny. Tom wasn’t mean, she reminded herself. He simply disliked ostentation in any form—witness his disapproval of Helen. How often had he scathingly said that she looked like a Christmas tree with all the lights switched on?

  ‘Really?’ Niccy snorted. ‘If I’d been Tom I’d have given you a whacking great emerald to match your eyes! Some men don’t have a clue, do they? Listen, you must stop hiding him out in the sticks; get him up to town one of these weekends. We could have fun. I’ll have to meet him some t
ime, won’t I?

  ‘And talking of fun—which is why I called you in the first place—Dearie’s moving out. She’s met this guy—fabulous to look at, all teeth, muscles and long blond hair. But he obviously keeps his brains in his pants—it will all end in tears, I told her. But she’s besotted—won’t listen. The point of this being, will you move in?’

  Bess’s fingers tightened round the receiver. It was very tempting. Niccy’s huge apartment was sumptuous yet homely, the atmosphere wonderfully relaxing. But...

  ‘Thanks for offering, but I couldn’t afford it. I’m saving to get married, remember. Sorry.’

  She was sorry, too. The apartment, never mind being a world away from Brenda Mayhew’s linoleum-covered floors and ugly furniture, was so much nearer her workplace and, far more importantly, Niccy was so much nicer to be around than her present landlady.

  ‘Of course you could afford it,’ her friend argued lightly. ‘Peanuts. Just half-shares of the service bills. I like company—Daddy knows that; he doesn’t expect me to ask my friends for rent money. If Dearie could find her share of the bills on her meagre income, you could! Think about it. Promise?’

  ‘Yes. Promise.’ The only thing stopping her jumping at the opportunity there and then was the certain knowledge that Tom would disapprove. He liked to think that Brenda was looking after her and had once said, only half-jokingly, she now suspected, that her landlady would soon let his mother know if she was leading a double life—kicking over the traces while she was out of his sight.

  Ending the conversation after a few more minutes of light-hearted chat, Bess went up to fetch her purse to pay for the call, plus the one she intended to put through to check on her ring. But, the ring forgotten, she found herself sitting on the hard narrow bed pondering Niccy’s offer.