Accidental Mistress

‘I—I would never have come...’ she stammered in horror.

‘If you’d known? You coward.’

‘I really don’t think that I can... There’s been a mistake... It’s not your fault... I should have asked, but I didn’t think... I’m sorry, but...’

‘Don’t be foolish.’

‘I am not being foolish!’ Now she was beginning to feel angry as well as horrified.

‘Look at me.’

She did. Reluctantly.

‘Do I look like someone who is thoughtless enough to invite you out here, throw you into the deep end and watch you struggle with a smile on my face?’

Pretty much, she thought to herself.

‘No, no, I’m sure you’re not, but really...I don’t relish the thought of... I shall be an intrusion...’ Her voice was beginning to fail her under the sheer horror of the enormous misunderstanding that had landed her out here, a million miles away from home, like a stranded fish out of water. She tried to remind herself that she was capable of enormous self-control, a legacy of having spent much of her childhood living in her own world, but something about his commanding, powerful presence made it difficult.

‘Nonsense. An intrusion into what?’ He didn’t give her time to answer. ‘Let me have the key. It’s ludicrous to be standing out here having a lengthy discussion when we could be inside.’

She handed him the key and barely glanced around her as they entered.

‘An intrusion into your privacy,’ she explained in a high voice that bordered on the desperate. ‘You will be with your friends...’

‘What do you think of the cottage?’ He turned around from where he had been standing by one of the windows, looking out into the black velvet night, and faced her.

‘Super. Wonderful,’ she said miserably.

‘You’ve never had a holiday in your life before, Lisa.’ His voice was soothing and gentle, the voice of someone dealing with a child, a child whose wits were just a little scrambled, and who needed to be taken by the hand and pointed in the right direction. ‘You told me so yourself. When I booked this holiday, I thought about that. Why don’t you put aside your reservations for a moment and try and see the next two weeks for what they are? An eye-opener.’

‘You invited me along because you felt sorry for me.’ She spoke flatly, acknowledging the suspicion which had been there at the back of her mind from the beginning.

He shrugged and stuck his hands into his pockets.

‘That’s putting it a little strongly.’

‘But basically that’s it, isn’t it?’ She could feel tears of anger and humiliation springing to her eyes and she tightened her mouth.

‘I felt that I owed you something for having deprived you of a holiday abroad. I wouldn’t call that a crime, would you?’

He had a seductive way of talking. Great intelligence and great charm could be a persuasive combination. She sighed and suddenly felt overwhelmingly tired.

‘Not a crime, no. But you must understand that...’

‘You’re apprehensive.’

‘I wish you’d stop finishing my sentences for me,’ she said crossly. ‘I’m quite capable of finishing them myself.’

He smiled, not taking his eyes off her. ‘You’re scared stiff at the thought of mixing with a group of people you’ve never met in your life before.’

‘Wouldn’t you be?’ she flung at him.

‘No.’

‘Well, excuse me while I just fetch out my medal for bravery from my bag!’ she snapped, and he moved towards her, which she found, inexplicably, so alarming that she had to make an effort not to retreat to the furthest corner of the room.

‘That’s much better,’ he drawled, standing in front of her.

‘What’s much better?’

‘A bit of fire instead of passively assuming the worst before you’ve even tested the water. Now, tomorrow,’ he continued, before she could think that out. ‘We normally breakfast in our rooms. Less effort than trying to arrange a time to meet in the restaurant area. We’re going to meet at the yacht at twelve-thirty. Shall we come and collect you or would you rather have a look around here and make your way to the boat yourself?’

‘How many will there be?’ she asked, frowning.

‘Just six of us. One of my clients who also happens to be a close personal friend, his wife and their daughter, and a cousin of sorts.’

‘A cousin of sorts?’

‘We’re related somewhere along the line but so distantly that it would take for ever trying to work the link out.’

‘Oh.’

‘And you still haven’t answered my question.’

‘Question? What question?’

He grinned with amusement and shook his head slightly. ‘My God, woman, will you take me there some time?’

‘Take you where?’

‘To the world you live in. It certainly isn’t Planet Earth.’

‘Thank you very much,’ Lisa said stiffly, her face burning.

‘And that’s not meant to be an insult,’ he told her, still grinning. ‘I do wonder how you ever manage to stand on your own two feet, though.’

Had he, she thought, remembered every word she had told him all those months ago?

‘I’ll meet you at the yacht,’ she said, ignoring the grin which was now getting on her nerves as much as his fatherly, soothing manner had earlier on.

‘Fine.’ He gave her directions, told her how to get there, asked her again whether she wouldn’t be happier if he came to collect her, so that she wondered whether he thought that she would abscond the minute his back was turned for too long, and then gave her a reassuring smile before strolling out of the cottage.

She sat heavily on the bed and contemplated the suitcase on the ground. Why had she come here? What had possessed her? She had wanted to put to rest, once and for all, the gnawing suspicion she had always had that she was dull, unexciting, too willing to settle for the safe path in life. Her parents, her vibrant, roaming parents who’d somehow landed themselves with a daughter who had never shared their wanderlust, would have smiled at her decision. Was that why she had done it? Yes, she thought wearily, of course it was. Except that a few vital things hadn’t been taken into the equation.

Now she was here, the guest of a man whose ability to reduce her to a nervous, self-conscious wreck she had forgotten, a man who felt sorry for her, who saw her, even though he had not said so in so many words, as someone who needed a little excitement, someone whose eyes needed opening. From the fast lane in which he had been travelling, he had seen her standing on the lay-by and had reached out and yanked her towards him.

It was a gesture her parents would have appreciated, but, sitting here, she realised that the fast lane was not for her. Yes, he had been right; she was afraid. It was something which he could never in a million years understand because she sensed that fear of the unknown was not something that ever guided his actions. He was one of those people who saw the unknown as a challenge.

Whereas for her, she thought, running a shower and letting the water race over her skin, the unknown was always equated with anxiousness. The anxiousness of leaving one school for another, of meeting new people, of tentatively forging new bonds only for the whole process to be repeated all over again. And every time it had seemed worse.

How could an accident of fate have thrown her into a situation like this?

The following morning, after she had had her breakfast, which, as he had advised her, had been brought to her in her room, she removed herself in her modest black bikini to the beach, selected a deserted patch and lay in the sun, covered with oil.

She would just have to make the best of things. She had decided that as soon as she had opened her eyes and seen the brilliant blue skies outside.

It was impossible to have too many black thoughts when everything around you was visually so beautiful. The sea was crystal-clear and very calm, the sand was white and dusty and there was a peaceful noiselessness about it all that made you wonder whether the hurried life back in England really existed.

She stretched out on her towel, closed her eyes, and was beginning to drift pleasurably off, safe in the knowledge that she wasn’t due to meet the yacht for another four hours, when she heard Angus say drily, ‘I thought I’d find you here. You’ll have to be careful, though; the sun out here is a killer, especially for someone as fairskinned as you are.’

Lisa sat up as though an electric charge had suddenly shot through her body and met his eyes glinting down at her seemingly from a very great height.

He was half-naked, wearing only his bathing trunks, and a towel was slung over his shoulder.

Reddening, she looked away from the powerfully built, bronzed torso and said in as normal a voice as she could muster, ‘I know. I’ve slapped lots of suncream on.’

‘Very sensible.’

He stretched out the towel and lowered himself onto it, then turned on his side so that he was looking at her.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, keeping her face averted and her eyes closed behind her sunglasses. He was so close to her that she could feel his breath warm on her cheek when he spoke. It was as heady as breathing in a lungful of incense and she hated the sensation.

‘I came to your room and you weren’t there. I assumed that you’d be out here. Beautiful, isn’t it?’ He reached out and removed her sunglasses. ‘There. That’s better. I like to see people when I’m talking to them.’

‘May I have my sunglasses back?’

She looked at him and found that he was grinning at her.

‘Don’t put them on.’

‘Is that an order?’ she asked primly, and he laughed.

‘Would you obey me if it was?’

‘No.’

‘I didn’t think so,’ he commented lazily. ‘Which is why I’ll hang onto them for the moment, if you don’t mind.’

She glared at him and he laughed again, this time a little louder.

‘What a range of expressions you have,’ he said, with the laughter still in his voice. ‘From nervousness to fear, to stubbornness, to anger. How old are you?’

She debated informing him that it was none of his business, reluctantly reminded herself that he was her host and was owed some show of good manners, even if he constantly managed to antagonize her, and said coolly, ‘Twenty-four.’

‘Caroline is nineteen but she seems decades older than you.’

‘I’m sorry, I have no idea who you’re talking about.’ And frankly, her voice implied, I’m not in the least interested, believe it or not.

‘The distant cousin.’

Lisa didn’t say anything, but her heart sank. The picture in her head was beginning to take shape. The powerful client with his pretentious wife and their precocious child, Caroline, with her well-bred sophistication, Angus, and herself.

‘Why are you here?’ she asked politely. ‘Don’t you need to see to your boat? Make sure that all the sails or ropes or whatever are all in the right place?’

‘I do hope that there’s no implied snub in that question?’ he queried with lazy amusement.

‘Nothing could be further from my mind.’

‘What a relief.’ His voice was exaggeratedly serious and she wondered whether the real reason he made her so nervous was that she loathed him. Intensely.

‘Actually,’ he said, sitting up with his legs crossed and staring down at her, ‘I wanted to find you to make sure that you were all right.’

‘Why shouldn’t I be?’ Lying flat on the towel with only her bikini for protection against those gleaming, brilliant eyes made her feel so vulnerable that she sat up as well and drew her knees up, clasping her arms around them.

‘You seemed shaken by the prospect of enforced captivity with the man-eating cannibals I’ve invited along as guests on this trip.’

‘Very funny.’

‘No, not terribly,’ he said, very seriously now. ‘I wanted to find you so that I could reassure you that they’re all very nice, perfectly likeable people before you had to confront them.’

‘Thank you,’ she replied awkwardly. She kept her eyes firmly fixed on his face, stupidly aware of his animal sex appeal. ‘I’m sorry I was so garbled last night; it’s just that I was taken aback.’

‘I realised,’ he said drily. ‘And I wish you’d stop apologising.’

‘Sorry,’ she said automatically, and then she smiled shyly, dipping her eyes and gazing out towards the horizon, where the sharp blue line of the sea met the clear blue sky. It was easy to understand why some people believed that to venture beyond that thin blue strip would be to fall off the edge of the earth.

‘Did you tell your boss that you were coming on this holiday?’ he asked idly, and she could tell that he was staring at her even though she wasn’t looking at him. She couldn’t tell, though, what he was thinking. Could anyone do that?

‘Not exactly,’ Lisa admitted. ‘I told him that I needed to have a break, that I was tired. Well,’ she continued defensively, ‘it was more or less the truth.’

‘Rather less than more,’ he said blandly. ‘Did you think that he wouldn’t understand?’

‘Something like that.’ He would have fallen down in shock, she thought with amusement. He knew how much she liked the safe regularity of her job, of her life; she had told him as much when he had first interviewed her years ago for the position.

‘I don’t want to take on someone who’s going to stick around for six months, get bored, and look for more glamorous horizons,’ he had said.

‘Not me,’ Lisa had replied. ‘There will be no urge to hurry away from this job to look for another one. I have my flat, my roots are here and my job will be for as long as you want me.’

Over the years he had come to know her well enough to realise that her most prized possession was her security. She had bought her small flat with the money which had been left to her on her parents’ death, from insurance policies which had secured her future, and there she had been happy to stay, content in her cocoon.

‘Because you’re not given to taking risks?’ Angus prompted now, casually, and she threw him a sharp glance before returning her gaze to the infinitely safer horizon.

‘I guess,’ she said in a guarded voice.

‘Have I invaded personal territory here?’ His tone was still light and casual, but she knew that he was probing. Probing to find out about her. It was probably second nature to him, and in her case his curiosity was most likely genuine, the curiosity of someone whose life was so far removed from her own that it really was as though she came from another planet.

‘Why are you so secretive?’ he asked. He reached out and tilted her face towards his and the brief brush of his fingers on her chin was like the sensation of sudden heat against ice. It was a feeling that was so unexpected that she wiped his touch away with the back of her hand.

‘I’m not.’

‘You should try listening to yourself some time,’ he remarked wryly. ‘You might change your mind.’

He stood up abruptly, shook the sand out of his towel and slung it back over his shoulder. Mission accomplished, she thought, except there was a vaguely unsettling taste in her mouth, the taste of something begun and not quite finished.

‘Sure you know how to get to the yacht?’ he asked, and she nodded.

‘So, I shall see you around twelve-thirty.’

‘Yes,’ she murmured obediently, collecting a handful of sand in the palm of her hand and then watching it trail through her fingers.

‘And you won’t take flight in the interim?’ He raised one eyebrow questioningly and then nodded to himself, as though she had answered his question without having spoken. ‘No, of course you won’t, because, whatever you say, you’re as curious now as you are reluctant, aren’t you, Lisa?’ He stared right down at her and she felt his eyes blazing a way to the core of her. ‘This is a new experience for you. You won’t regret it. Trust me.’

Then he was gone. She watched him walking slowly away, his lithe body unhurried, and she thought, Are you so sure? Because I’m not.

CHAPTER THREE

WOULD she have been different if she had led a normal kind of life? It was a question Lisa had asked herself over the years and she had never come up with a satisfactory answer.

She was very self-contained, she knew that, just as she knew that most people found her aloof and far too composed for the sort of superficial small talk that made the world go round. Very few had glimpsed the lack of self-confidence behind the composure.

Looking back now, she was old enough and mature enough to realise that this was the real disservice which her parents had unwittingly done her. They had given her variety but her only point of stability had been them, when in fact, at the age of eight or twelve or fourteen, she had needed much more than that. She had needed the stability of a circle of friends, people with whom she could try out her developing personality, learn to laugh without the ridiculous fear of somehow getting it wrong, discover trust without the limits of time cutting it short before it had had time to take root.

When she found herself thinking like that, she never blamed her parents. She accepted it as a fait accompli. She had never lacked love; it had not been their fault that she had not been able to fall in with their never-ending travels from one place to another with the same thrill of possible adventure lurking just around the corner.

Her father, a biologist, had been consumed with a seemingly never-ending supply of curiosity. Nature, in all its shapes and guises, had fascinated him. He would take on a job as gamekeeper to acres of wilderness simply for the satisfaction of exploring the minutiae of the forest life.

Once, for eighteen months, he had worked on the bleak Scottish coastline and had indulged in a brief fling with marine biology, a love which had lived with him until he had died.

That, she thought now, had been the worst time. She could remember having to catch the bus to school in weather that never seemed to brighten. She could remember the smallness of the class, the suspicion of the other children who had treated her with the unconscious cruelty of long-standing village occupants towards the outsider. It had been hard then keeping her chin up but in the end she had made some friends.

Now she could see that it had done nothing for her social self-confidence.

She walked towards the yacht and she could feel the muscles in her stomach tighten just as they had done all those years ago, every time she had walked through the doors of yet another school building.

Everyone else had arrived. She could glimpse the shapes on the boat, the movement, and she hurried a bit more. Someone must have called out something to Angus, because he appeared from nowhere, half-naked, and came down to the jetty to greet her.

The air of restless vitality that seemed to cling to him swept over her and she licked her lips nervously.

‘I hope I’m not late,’ she began, and he reached out and took the suitcase from her, smiling with that mixture of dry irony and knowing amusement that made her feel so gauche and awkward because it always seemed to imply that he was somehow; somewhere, laughing at her.

‘We have a timetable of sorts,’ he drawled, ‘but we’re under no obligation to stick to it. One of the great advantages of a holiday like this. We would have waited for you.’

He turned towards the yacht and she followed him as he threw polite remarks over his shoulder and she made obliging noises in return.

Her legs were feeling heavy and uncooperative, but she took a deep breath and clambered aboard the yacht behind him, allowing him to help her up but then withdrawing her hand as soon as she was there.

From behind the relative protection of her sunglasses, she saw the small circle of people—his guests.

The whole situation inspired the same churning, sinking feeling she had had as a child when she had had to stand up in class, the newcomer, and introduce herself. She made a show of smiling and was swept along on a tide of introductions.

Liz, Gerry, their nine-year-old daughter Sarah, Caroline. They were relaxed, stretched out on loungers on the deck of the yacht, wearing their swimsuits and sipping drinks.

‘Now,’ Angus said, in that slightly amused, very assured voice of his, ‘I shall show Lisa to her cabin.’ He turned to her. ‘What would you like to drink? We thought we’d have a few drinks here and some lunch before we leave.’

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