The Bejewelled Bride

Then, her usual graceful movements clumsy, she got into the driving seat and, leaning forward, rested her forehead on the wheel.

After a moment or two, as if so much pain had caused a protective shield to drop into place, she raised her head and, neither thinking nor feeling, her entire being numb, drove back to Dundale like some automaton.

It was almost twelve by the time she reached the Inn to find Tony pacing the lobby, every bit as enraged as she had imagined.

‘So here you are at last! I wondered what the devil had happened to you. Have you any idea how long I’ve been waiting?’ he demanded angrily.

Her voice curiously flat and lifeless, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid I overslept.’

‘Overslept!’ He uttered a profanity. ‘So where the hell did you sleep?’

Briefly, she explained about the burst tyre and the mist and having to spend the night at a hotel that was still officially closed for the winter. She didn’t mention Joel.

‘Why didn’t you let me know?’ Tony sounded even more exasperated.

‘I couldn’t get a signal,’ she said shortly, and was pleased when he grunted and left it at that.

‘So how did you get on with old Mrs Deramack? Any good stuff?’

She shook her head.

He swore briefly.

Making an effort at normality, she asked, ‘How about Greendales? They seemed to have some extremely nice things.’

‘They did,’ he admitted grudgingly, ‘but their reserve prices were a damn sight too high. Private sales make a lot more sense…’

Bethany was aware that, translated, that meant a lot more money. James Feldon had cared about antiques. All Tony cared about was the bottom line.

‘That’s why I was hoping the old lady had something worth our while. As it is, the trip’s been a waste of time. And now you’ve managed to sleep in,’ he added nastily, ‘it’s been a waste of a morning too.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

‘I hope you weren’t expecting to have lunch before we start?’

‘No, I’m not at all hungry. I’ll just fetch my things.’ She couldn’t wait to get away.

Except for a short stop to refuel and have coffee and, in Tony’s case, a packet of sandwiches, they drove straight back to town. Still in a foul mood, apart from occasionally cursing another motorist, Tony barely uttered a word.

It was a relief in one way, but it allowed too much time for brooding. The numbness had passed and, her thoughts bleak as winter, Bethany found herself going over and over everything that had happened the previous night. Picking at it. Dissecting it. Exposing the pain, so that it was like doing an autopsy on a living body.

By the time Tony dropped her at her flat she was feeling like death and only too pleased that Catherine, who was an airline stewardess, was away until the following week and she had the place to herself.

Quite unable to stomach the thought of food, even though she’d had nothing to eat that day, Bethany made herself a pot of tea and sat down to drink it. She would have an early night. She needed the blessed oblivion of sleep.

Tomorrow, though her beautiful dreams had turned to dust, she would have to get up and face the day as if nothing had happened. If that were possible.

But it had to be. She must make it possible.

She recalled a motto in one of last year’s Christmas crackers: When your dreams turn to dust, Hoover. It seemed appropriate.

Her tea finished, she was heading for the bedroom when the phone rang.

For a moment she considered not answering. But old habits died hard and, before she could make herself walk away, she had picked up the receiver.

‘Hello?’

‘So you’re back…’

It was Michael Sharman. Over the last few months she had got to know and like him and they had been out together on quite a number of occasions but she saw him as nothing more than a friend.

‘Bethany?’

She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody. She sighed, ‘Yes, I’m back.’

‘It doesn’t sound like you.’

‘I’m a bit tired.’

He went on regardless, seemingly oblivious to her overwhelming tiredness. ‘I tried to phone you earlier. Been home long?’

‘No.’

‘Care to go out for a spot of supper?’

‘I don’t think so, Michael.’ She wasn’t in the right kind of mood to go out.

‘Why not?’ he asked.

‘I was just on my way to bed.’

‘Bed?’ he exclaimed, surprised. ‘But it’s barely eight o’clock. Look, what if I pop round now and pick you up?’

‘No, thank you. I’m tired.’ Then, aware that she’d sounded a bit curt, she added apologetically, ‘I’m sorry. I guess I’m even more tired than I thought.’

‘Sure I can’t change your mind? Going out might be just what you need to liven you up.’

‘I doubt it.’

He was a young man who was used to getting his own way with women. But this woman was special, not like the rest, and he didn’t want to spoil his chances.

‘In that case,’ he said reluctantly, ‘let’s make it tomorrow night.’

‘Well, I—’

‘What if I pick you up around seven? We’ll go to the Caribbean Club and have a good time.’

Before she could argue, he was gone.

Sighing, she replaced the receiver.

If she found she couldn’t face it, she would just have to call him and put him off.

But what would she do if she did stay at home? What was she likely to do?

Mope. Which would get her precisely nowhere.

Going out with Michael had to be preferable.

After first thinking him somewhat cocky and immature, she had come to enjoy his company and almost envy his carefree, sybaritic attitude to life.

They had first met when, after inheriting his grandmother’s house and its contents, he had brought a blue and white porcelain bowl into Feldon Antiques, saying he needed to raise some ready cash.

Bethany, who had been in the shop at the time, had thought the bowl was Ming, which would have made it extremely valuable. But an expert on Chinese porcelain that Tony had later taken it to had identified it as Qing, which made its value a great deal less.

However, it was still worth a considerable amount and Michael had been more than happy to part with it.

After selling them the bowl, he had produced several smaller items which Tony had dismissed but Bethany had been pleased to buy for her collection.

The bracelet Joel had admired had been one of them.

But where was the bracelet?

A moment’s thought convinced her that she had taken it off in the bathroom the previous night before getting washed. She hadn’t noticed it that morning, nor had she given it a thought, but she had had other things on her mind.

Just to be on the safe side, she found her shoulder bag and searched through it, but there was no sign of the bracelet in its capacious depths.

She must have left it at the hotel.

It was a blow, even though she hadn’t really expected to find it—looking in her bag had been an act of sheer desperation.

If it were possible, her spirits sank even lower. Until then, despite all the pain, she hadn’t shed a single tear, but, as though leaving her bracelet was the last straw, she began to cry.

She cried until she had no more tears left, then, feeling empty, drained, hollow as a ghost, showered and crawled into bed.

In the morning she would have to try and get in touch with the caretaker…

Following closely on that thought came a sense of helplessness. She didn’t even know the name of the hotel they had stayed at. All she knew was that it lay at the foot of Dunscar.

But if she contacted the nearest information centre, supposing there was one open in early February, they should be able to give her the name of the place…

After a night spent tossing and turning, Bethany got up feeling heavy-eyed and heavy-hearted. Though she had no appetite, before setting off for the shop, she made herself eat some breakfast—a triumph of common sense over despair.

It was a bleak, grey morning that perfectly matched her mood. The only bright spot was when Tony, still noticeably surly, announced that when he’d dealt with the morning’s mail he was going out and would be gone for the rest of the day.

After working several weekends in a row, she was entitled to three days off, which meant she wouldn’t have to come in again until Monday, and, as things were, she could only be glad.

In their absence, her colleague Alison had been her usual efficient self and there was no backlog of work.

With nothing pressing to do, Bethany set out to find the name of the hotel at the foot of Dunscar. The area’s central information bureau was open and able to tell her that it was called The Dunbeck. They even provided the phone number.

Somewhat heartened, she dialled the number.

There was no answer.

Though she tried periodically for the rest of the day, she met with no success.

Just as she was about to close the shop a couple of browsers came in and it was turned six before she was able to lock up and leave.

By the time she reached her basement flat, tired and frustrated, it was almost six-thirty and Michael would be picking her up at seven.

CHAPTER THREE

FEELING anything but sociable, Bethany was tempted to ring and put Michael off, but better sense prevailed. It would do her a lot more good to go out than sit at home brooding.

Her decision made, she drew the curtains against the dark, frosty night and went into the bathroom to have a quick shower.

Dried and scented, she touched a mascara wand to her long lashes and glossed her lips with pale, shiny lipstick. Then, as though making up for her previous lack of enthusiasm, she donned her best dark blue cocktail dress and fastened pearl studs to her small, neat lobes.

Leaving her hair falling loosely around her shoulders in a dark silky cloud, she was ready when the bell rang.

She opened the door to find Michael was waiting beneath the lantern, a bouquet of crimson roses in his hand.

‘Wow!’ he exclaimed at the sight of her. ‘You look fantastic!’ Then, handing her the flowers, ‘I hope you like roses?’

‘Thank you, I do. They’re lovely. If you come in for a minute I’ll put them in water.’

Following her inside, he leaned against the kitchen counter while she stripped off the cellophane and found a vase to arrange the roses in.

Slimly built and a couple of inches taller than herself, he was well-dressed and well-groomed, a personable young man with dark curly hair and more than his fair share of charm.

From a wealthy background and with a private income, he was, she supposed, quite a catch.

Watching her arrange the flowers, he queried, ‘Was it a successful trip?’

She shook her head. ‘Not very.’

‘I thought you seemed depressed. Oh, well, let’s forget our troubles and go and have a good time.’

Wondering what troubles he had in what she had hitherto regarded as a carefree life, she locked the door behind her and followed him up the basement steps to his red Porsche.

During an evening spent dancing and dining at the Caribbean Club, Bethany did her best to hide her misery and appear cheerful. But, despite all her efforts, Michael picked up her low spirits.

When they returned to their table after a slow foxtrot, he remarked sympathetically, ‘You really are down, aren’t you?’

Feeling guilty, she said, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve spoilt your evening.’

He shook his head. ‘Of course you haven’t spoilt it.’ Then, with a sigh, ‘I wasn’t exactly ecstatic to start with.’

‘You have a problem?’

‘Too true…I’m in a mess. I need a substantial sum of money and I need it fast.’

Catching her look of surprise, he said, ‘If you’re thinking of what I got for the bowl…I invested it in a new stage show that was looking for backers.

‘If it comes off, it should make everyone involved, me included, multi-millionaires.

‘But there’s still months to go before it’s due to open, and I learnt today that they’re running out of cash.’

He sounded so despondent that Bethany’s heart went out to him.

‘Can’t they find extra backers?’

‘They’ve tried, but once it gets around that a project is rocky, no one wants to take that risk. So one way or another, I’ve just got to come up with some more cash.’

‘What about your grandmother’s house?’

‘Unfortunately I can’t sell that.’

‘You’re fond of it because it was the family home?’

‘God, no! Now all the staff are gone, apart from a cleaning lady, it puts me in mind of a mausoleum. I was rattling round the blasted place like a grain of rice in an empty tin until my stepbrother suggested I could move in with him for a while…’

‘So you’re living with your stepbrother?’

Michael shook his head. ‘It didn’t work. All he wanted to do was keep an eye on me. He started to tick me off about the hours I kept, so I’m bunking with a mate of mine in a very small flat.’

Gloomily, he added, ‘I was hoping to rent a place of my own but my allowance won’t stretch to it.’

Then, with a sudden flare of temper, ‘I could afford to buy a flat and still have a tidy bit left if I was able to put the blasted house on the market.’

Seeing her puzzled frown, he went on, ‘But even when things are through probate, thanks to the terms of the will, I can’t sell it before I reach the age of twenty-five. That’s in two years’ time. Until then my stepbrother has control.’

‘Couldn’t your family help out in the meantime?’

‘He’s the only family l have left.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He’s an entrepreneur,’ Michael said sourly. ‘As well as owning JSM International, he has a finger in a great many different pies.’

‘So he’s a lot older than you?’

‘Only six years.’

Seeing her surprise, Michael explained. ‘He made his pile young by buying up failing businesses, putting them on their feet again and selling them at a hell of a profit.’

‘Well, surely he’d help if you asked him?’

Michael’s laugh was bitter. ‘You have to be joking! The last time I was forced to ask him for extra cash, he grudgingly paid off my debts. But when I asked him for a bigger allowance, he said it was high time I got a job.

‘I pointed out I hadn’t been trained for anything.’ Miael sighed and went on, ‘He offered me a position in his Los Angeles branch. I’m sure the climate would be great, but who in his right senses wants to be tied to an office five days out of seven?

‘My only hope is that amongst the rest of my grandmother’s antiques there’s something really valuable…I suppose you wouldn’t be prepared to take a quick look and advise me?’

‘Of course. When would you—?’

‘Tonight,’ he broke in eagerly. ‘We can call in there on the way back to your flat…’

Bethany’s heart sank. Tired and headachy, it was the last thing she wanted to do, but feeling she owed it to him, she agreed, ‘All right.’

Having signalled the waiter, he paid the bill, collected their coats and hurried her out to the waiting car.

In spite of the traffic, in a matter of minutes they were drawing up outside his grandmother’s elegant porticoed townhouse in Lanervic Square.

Michael let them in and, closing the door behind them, switched off the alarm.

As he led the way across the spacious hall to a vast and silent living room, Bethany began to realize why he had described the place as a mausoleum.

At first glance all the furniture appeared to be antique, and there were several glass-fronted display cabinets crowded with Chinese pottery and porcelain.

Staggered by the sheer amount of stuff, she stared at it in silence.

After a minute or so, Michael asked eagerly, ‘Do you think there’ll be something I can raise a good amount on?’

‘Almost certainly. How many pieces do you want to part with?’

‘One…Two, at the most. Otherwise it might be—’ He broke off abruptly.

‘Examining even a few pieces is going to take time and care,’ Bethany said, ‘so it would make more sense to come back tomorrow.’

He took her hand. ‘I’ve a much better idea…Why don’t you stay the night?’

Before she could refuse, he had pulled her close and was kissing her with an ardour that just for a second or two swamped her, then she tried to draw away. But his arms were wrapped tightly around her and he was so much stronger than she had imagined.

She was gathering herself to struggle in earnest, when all at once she was free and Michael, his startled face an unbecoming brick-red, was goggling at something behind her.

Turning to follow the direction of his gaze, she saw that there was a tall fair-haired man with wide shoulders lounging in the doorway.

Feeling as if she’d walked slap into a plate glass window, she found herself staring at Joel.

Michael was the first to break the silence with a stammered, ‘H-hell…you startled me.’

‘So I see,’ Joel said smoothly.

With a hint of bravado, Michael asked, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I could ask you the same question.’ A bite to his tone, Joel added, ‘Only the answer seems obvious. Unless I have the wrong end of the stick?’

All the colour draining from his face, Michael stammered, ‘Well I—I just brought Bethany in to…to…see where I used to live.’

Joel glanced at her as if he’d never met her before in his life and, his little smile contemptuous, drawled, ‘Really?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?’ Michael blustered. ‘In any case we were just on the point of leaving.’

‘Then I’ll say goodnight to you both.’

Throughout the little exchange, shocked and stunned, incapable of coherent thought, Bethany had stood there, transfixed, her wide eyes on Joel’s face.

Now she found herself hurried out of the house and across the pavement to the red Porsche as if the hounds of hell were baying at their heels.

‘That’s blown it!’ Michael exclaimed as he slid behind the wheel and started the car. ‘He must have overheard everything. What rotten luck for him to walk in just at that minute.’

While Bethany was still fumbling to fasten her seatbelt, they set off with a whoosh that threw her back in her seat.

‘Was that…?’ Her voice failed. She swallowed hard and tried again. ‘Was that your stepbrother?’

‘Yes, for my sins. And now you see what I mean?’ he went on as he joined the traffic stream. ‘See what a swine he is?

‘He’s always been an arrogant bastard, but now he holds the purse-strings he thinks he rules the world and other places.

‘Well, at the moment he might have the whip hand. But one of these days I’ll be my own master. I won’t have to kowtow to him any longer…’

During the silence that followed, Bethany made an attempt to gather herself and come to terms with the almost unbelievable.

It seemed so strange, so bizarre, that Joel was Michael’s stepbrother. She felt as if fate was playing the jester. Mocking her. Making fun of her. Having a game at her expense.

Meeting him again out of the blue like that had shaken her to the core. But what had disturbed her even more was the way he had looked at her. As if she’d crawled from under a stone. As if he held her in contempt.

Obviously he had heard Michael asking her to stay the night and presumed they were already lovers. After what had happened in the Lakes, he must have thought her immoral. A woman who had no principles, who would sleep with a man she knew nothing about, a man she had only just met.

If he’d respected her at all, he wouldn’t have left the next morning without a single word.

It was the old double standard. Yet somehow it still held sway.

Her unhappy thoughts were interrupted when the car drew up outside her flat.

Michael got out and accompanied her across the pavement. When she paused at the top of the area steps, he asked, ‘Can I come in?’

It was the last thing she wanted. She felt much too churned up. Too agitated.

She was about to make some excuse when he added, ‘God, do I need a brandy!’

As a rule, when he was driving he made a point of not drinking but, glancing at his face in the glow from the street lamp, she could see that he really did need something to steady him.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.