A Guilty Affair

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 time, 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.

Tom didn’t own her. He couldn’t dictate where she should live during the week. He was happy enough while she was under Brenda’s watchful eye, but she knew he would feel uneasy if she moved in with the bubbly, fun-loving Niccy because she, Bess, might find herself having a wonderful time. Without him.

So she couldn’t decide if moving in with her friend for the next twelve months would be worth all the aggro. And it was strange, she thought, her teeth worrying at her lower lip, how Tom and Vaccari had both told her to be herself. Yet their concepts of that were wildly different.

‘Just be yourself,’ Tom had said. ‘That’s good enough for me.’ Thrifty and sensible Bess, thankful for what she had and was, making no waves, never yearning for the impossible or trying to make it happen. Excellent, dutiful, undemanding type wife material.

Vaccari had put it differently, telling her to break away, find herself, realise her full potential. In other words, forget Tom.

She made a sad little snuffling sound, feeling miserable. She had been so contented until this weekend—settled in her job, enduring her weekday lodgings because they weren’t worth making a fuss about, looking forward to her future with Tom. She asked herself why things had changed and angrily pushed away the thought that Vaccari had a lot to do with it.

Utter nonsense. For some reason the wretch got his kicks out of tormenting ordinary, decent people. Throwing a spanner in the works was probably his idea of a fun thing to do. She could safely dismiss him and his troublemaking taunts from her mind. She would pretend he didn’t exist. And if and when he ever married Helen, well, she’d—well, cope with having him as an in-law somehow.

What she had to do was examine her relationship with Tom, reinforce it in her mind, concentrate on his good points, forget the silly pique his remark about her not being high-flyer material had conjured up and get back to being sensible and reasonable again.

And she would never again give Vaccari room in her head.

But that wasn’t going to be easy.

An irritated rapping on the bedroom door heralded her landlady’s formidable presence.

‘There’s someone to see you. He’s waiting downstairs. See what he wants and get rid of him. You know I said no visitors unless by arrangement. Answering doors and running up and down stairs isn’t my idea of a peaceful evening.’

Waiting downstairs he wasn’t. When Bess saw the Italian looming behind Brenda something intensely primeval lurched deep inside her, and her heart flipped over in her chest then dropped like a stone. Wearing an impeccably tailored business suit now, he was enough to stun anyone, and she gaped at him stupidly as he said to Brenda, ‘My apologies, signora. My business here will take moments only.’

The smooth voice was warm enough to melt frost, the purring quality making Bess’s skin curl. And it had an obvious effect on the other woman too, because her, ‘I don’t allow callers, especially not upstairs,’ had lost a hefty dose of vitriol.

‘I congratulate you on your good sense.’ His white smile seemed to light up the gloomy landing, and Bess couldn’t be sure but she thought she saw her landlady simper. She would have found it highly amusing if she hadn’t been desperately wondering why she reacted to him the way she did, and trying to work out why he was here, knowing that, whatever the reason, it wouldn’t be good. Not for her.

Vaccari said, as if he was sure there could be no objections, ‘As I said, my business won’t take long. And please don’t put yourself to the inconvenience of waiting. I’ll see myself out.’ And he smoothly inserted his magnificent body into the room, gently but firmly closing the door behind him.

Bess shot to her feet, her heart beating erratically, watching him with wide green eyes as he weighed up the room: the clumsy furniture, the narrow bed.

‘A suitable hole for a mouse.’ He finished his minute examination and turned tarnished-silver eyes on her, the flickering gleam showing cool amusement. ‘Complete with a dragon to make sure the little mouse doesn’t stray.’

She made herself ignore that. ‘Why are you here?’ Her throat felt tight. ‘Is Helen with you?’ She was probably waiting in his car. Her glamorous sister wouldn’t be seen dead in such dull surroundings.

‘She’s still in Braylington.’ His white teeth gleamed. ‘She and your mother are deep in portfolios of wedding-dress designs. I don’t think either of them will come up for air for at least a fortnight.’

‘Oh.’ That was all she was able to say. She was drained-suddenly and totally drained. For no good reason. Except that what she had feared had come true.

This man was about to become part of her family. This morning’s session with her father made sense now. They had been formally announcing their intention to marry, making plans, setting dates.

She wondered acidly if he would be faithful to Helen. Or would he still go around kissing and manhandling all and sundry when the mood took him?

Probably.

Marriage didn’t make people change.

‘Congratulations,’ she forced out, her tongue feeling thick and heavy in her mouth. ‘I hope things work out for you both.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say, I hope you’ll be wonderfully happy; she didn’t know why, she only knew the words would choke her.

He gave her an odd look then shrugged, as if he thought her stupid. Which, privately, she thought she probably was.

‘I wouldn’t have agreed to sign the contract if I hadn’t been sure,’ he said drily. ‘Unlike most women, Helen is intelligent, totally trustworthy and single-mindedly dedicated to making a success of the coming change in her life. And so, yes, it will work out. For both of us.’

Suddenly, and for the first time in her life, she felt sorry for Helen. This man would be easy to fall obsessively in love with—provided you didn’t look too far beneath the surface, she reminded herself quickly. Did her sister know he regarded their marriage as a contract? That he had only decided to commit himself because he could trust her to devote herself to making him the perfect wife—properly dedicated and single-minded about it?

‘Helen apart, you seem to have a very cynical attitude to women,’ she told him gruffly, wondering waywardly if he regarded her, along with the rest of the female sex, as stupid, false and vacillating. Wondering why it should hurt.

She saw something hard and sharp in his eyes as he looked at her. ‘I have reason to, believe me.’ Then he shrugged slightly, as if the subject bored him—or she did—and pushed a hand into his jacket pocket and produced her missing ring.

‘Jessica found it in a pile of dirty dishes.’ He took her nerveless hand in one of his and dropped the ring into her palm. ‘Now, I’d call that a Freudian slip, wouldn’t you? Think about it. And think about the things I’ve said to you. Or not. It’s your life.’

He swung gracefully round on the balls of his feet and left, and whether it was because he’d looked as if he was bored silly or because she wanted to call him back and slap him for calling her a mouse she wasn’t sure, but she was agitated enough to want to scream the walls down.

Instead, after counting to fifty, forcing herself to calm down a notch or two, she stamped down the stairs and made two decisive phone calls.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘SURE you won’t come?’ Niccy asked. ‘I’ll wait while you change.’ She was dressed for partying, her beanpole figure looking sensational in scarlet silk leggings topped by a black glittery tunic, and Bess grinned at her, pushing a hand through her rumpled copper hair as she settled more comfortably into the squashy brocade-covered sofa.

‘Thanks, but, as I told you, I need a clear head in the morning.’ Besides, she had nothing festive to change into.

‘If that’s really how you feel,’ Niccy said thoughtfully. ‘But don’t get uptight—it’s only a new job, remember.’

‘I’m not in the least uptight!’ Her wide smile backed up her words. ‘But we’re lunching with some hot-shot financier. Mark’s ninety per cent sure he can persuade him to back us. I wouldn’t want to wreck his chances by falling asleep!’

The phone buzzed then, and Niccy held out the receiver. ‘It’s for you. I’ll be off if I can’t change your mind. Don’t wait up.’

Somehow Bess knew it was Tom, and her face flushed a rosy pink as her hunch was confirmed. She felt apprehensive. He’d been so angry when she’d phoned to tell him that she’d decided to take the job and was moving in with Niccy.

‘I thought we’d discussed it and decided you’d turn the wretched job down. Tell him you’ve changed your mind. Let him find some other idiot who’s prepared to be made redundant in a couple of months. As for moving from Brenda’s—I’ve never heard anything so stupid. You won’t find living with your flashy friend anything like as economical.’

Bess had ignored that. Until they were married she could live where she chose. And she’d reminded him, surprised by the cool steadiness of her voice, ‘You decided I’d turn down the job. I thought it over and decided I’d like the challenge.’ Which wasn’t exactly true. She hadn’t reasoned it out at all, but had acted on impulse, goaded by the way that supercilious Italian had looked at her room and pronounced it a fitting hole for a mouse. ‘I’ve accepted the job and I don’t go back on my word. And I don’t know why you’re so against it.’

‘Then you have less common sense than I gave you credit for,’ he’d snapped right back. ‘And don’t bother coming home on my account this weekend. I’ll be too busy to see you.’

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