Marriage By Deception

Ros turned back to her computer screen, but found she was thinking about Janie’s three wishes rather than her story.

More disturbingly, she was questioning whether any of the wishes would relate to Colin.

A year ago I’d have had no doubts, she thought sombrely. And Colin is still practical, reliable and kind—all the things I liked when we met. And attractive too, she added, a mite defensively.

He hasn’t changed, she thought. It’s me. I feel as if there’s nothing more about him to learn. That there are no surprises left. And I didn’t even know I wanted to be surprised.

It was the same with the house, she realised, shocked. She hadn’t needed to do a thing to it. It looked and felt exactly the same as it had when Venetia Blake was alive, apart from some redecoration. But that had been her choice, she reminded herself.

She found herself remembering what the will had said. ‘To my beloved granddaughter, Rosamund, my house in Gilshaw Street, and its contents, in the hope that she will use them properly.’

I hope I’ve done so, she thought. I love the house, and the garden. So why do I feel so unsettled?

And why am I so thankful that Colin’s miles away in the north of England?

I’m lucky to have this house, she told herself fiercely. And lucky to have Colin, too. He’s a good man—a nice man. And I’m an ungrateful cow.

Janie bounced into the kitchen that evening, triumphantly waving a letter. ‘It’s “Lonely in London”,’ she said excitedly. ‘He wants to meet me.’

‘I didn’t know you’d had any mail today.’

‘Actually I used Pam’s address,’ Janie said airily. ‘Covering my tracks until I’ve checked him out. Good idea, eh?’

‘Wonderful,’ Ros said with heavy irony. ‘And here’s an even better one—put that letter straight in the bin.’

Janie tossed her head. ‘Nonsense. We’re getting together at Marcellino’s on Thursday evening and he’s going to be carrying a red rose. Isn’t that adorable?’

‘If you like a man who thinks in clichés,’ Ros returned coolly. She paused. ‘What about Martin?’

Janie shrugged. ‘He’s called on my mobile a couple of times. He wants us to meet.’

‘What did you say?’

‘That I was getting my life in place and wanted no distraction.’ Janie gave a cat-like smile. ‘He was hanging round outside the store tonight, but I dodged him.’

‘I just hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘I know exactly. Now all I have to do is write back to “Lonely in London” telling him I’ll see him at eight—and pick out what to wear. I’ve decided to go on being “Looking for Love” until we’ve had our date.’ She paused for breath, and took a long, surprised look at Ros. ‘Hey—what have you done to your hair?’

‘I said I was having it cut.’ Ros touched it self-consciously. But it hadn’t stopped at a trim. There’d been something about the way the stylist had said, ‘Your usual, Miss Craig?’ that had touched a nerve.

‘No,’ she’d said. ‘I’d like something totally different.’ And had emerged, dazed, two hours later, with her hair deftly layered and highlighted.

‘It’s really cool. I love it.’ Janie whistled admiringly. ‘There’s hope for you yet, Ros.’

She vanished upstairs, and Ros began peeling the vegetables for dinner with a heavy frown.

This is all bad news, she thought. Janie may be using an alias, but Pam’s address is real, and in an upmarket area. And I’m ready to bet that old ‘Lonely’ would prefer to target someone from the more exclusive parts of London.

This is not a game. It could have serious implications. But, apart from locking her in her room next Thursday, how can I stop her?

Janie threw herself headlong into the preparations for her blind date. She spent a lot of time at Pam’s, coming back to Gilshaw Street only to deposit large boutique carrier bags. When she was at home she was having long, whispered telephone conversations, punctuated by giggles.

There was another communication from the wretched ‘Lonely’, which Janie read aloud in triumph over breakfast. It seemed her letter had jumped out from the rest, and convinced him they had a lot in common.

A likely story, thought Ros, sinking her teeth into a slice of toast as if it was his throat.

But when Thursday came Janie’s shenanigans were not top of her list of priorities. She’d sent off the first few chapters of her book to her publisher, and had been asked to call at their offices to discuss ‘a few points’ with her editor.

She returned, stunned.

‘Frankly, it lacks spark,’ Vivien had told her. ‘I want you to rethink the whole thing. I’ve got some detailed notes for you, and a report from a colleague as well. As you see, she thinks the relationship between the hero and heroine is too low-key—too humdrum, even domesticated. Whereas a Rosamund Blake should have adventure, glamour—total romance.’ She had gestured broadly, almost sweeping a pile of paperbacks on to the floor.

‘You mean it’s—dull?’ The word had almost choked Ros.

‘Yes, but you can change that. Get rid of the sedate note that’s crept in somehow.’

‘Maybe because I’m sedate myself. Stuck in a rut of my own making,’ Ros had said with sudden bitterness, and the other woman had looked at her meditatively.

‘When’s the last time you went on a date, Ros? And I don’t mean with Colin. When’s the last time you took a risk—created your own adventure in reality and not just on the page?’

Ros had forced a smile. ‘You sound like my sister. And I doubt if I’d recognise an adventure even if it leapt out at me, waving a flag. But I’ll look at the script again and let you have my thoughts.’

She let herself into the house and climbed the stairs to her study, carrying the despised manuscript.

Everything Vivien had said had crystallised her own uneasiness about the pattern of her life.

What the hell had happened to the eager graduate who’d thought the world was her oyster? she wondered despairingly. Has the beige part of me taken over completely?

The first thing she saw was the letter in Janie’s impetuous scrawl, propped against her computer screen.

Darling Ros,

It’s worked. I knew if I gave Martin the cold shoulder he’d soon come round, and he was waiting outside the house this morning to propose. I’m so HAPPY. We’re getting married in September, and we’re going down to Dorset so that I can meet his family. I’ll E-mail the parents when I get back.

By the way, will you do me a big favour? Please call Marcellino’s and tell ‘Lonely in London’ I won’t be there. I’ve enclosed his last letter, giving his real name. You’re a sweetie.

Love…

“‘By the way”, indeed,’ Ros muttered wrathfully. ‘She has some nerve. Why can’t she do her own dirty work?’

She supposed she should be rejoicing, but in truth she felt Janie had jumped out of the frying pan into the fire. She’s too young to be marrying anyone, she thought.

Reluctantly, she unfolded the other sheet of paper and scanned the few lines it contained.

Dear Looking for Love,

I’m very much looking forward to meeting you, and seeing if my image of you fits. I wish you’d trust me with your given name, but perhaps it’s best to wait.

‘Perhaps’ is right, Ros thought. Yet his handwriting was better than she’d anticipated. He used black ink, and broad strokes of the pen, giving a forceful, incisive impression. And he’d signed it ‘Sam Alexander’.

She wished he hadn’t. She’d had no sympathy for ‘Lonely in London’, but now he had an identity, and that altered things in some inscrutable way. Because suddenly real feelings, real emotions were involved.

And tonight a real man will be turning up with his red rose, she realised, only to be told by the head waiter that he’s been dumped. And he’ll have to walk out, perfectly aware that everyone knows what’s happened. And that they’re probably laughing at him.

Supposing he’s genuine, she thought restlessly. He’s advertised for sincerity and commitment, and wound up with Janie playing games instead. And maybe—just maybe—he deserves better.

She still wasn’t sure when she made the conscious decision to go in Janie’s place. But somehow she found herself in her stepsister’s room, rooting through her wardrobe, until she found the little black dress and the shoes and thought, Why not?

There were all kinds of reasons ‘why not’. And she was still arguing with herself when she walked down the steps and hailed the cab…

Now, sitting on her sofa, the black shoes kicked off, she castigated herself bitterly for her stupidity. She’d prophesied disaster—and it had almost happened. But to herself, not Janie.

She shook her head in disbelief. How could someone who looked like that—who dressed like that—possibly have got under her skin—and in so short a time, too?

Because sexual charisma had nothing to do with surface appearance—that was how.

And Sam Alexander was vibrantly, seductively male. In fact, he was lethal.

He also had good bone structure, and a fine body—lean, hard and muscular.

And she knew how it had felt, touching hers, for that brief and tantalising moment. Recalled the sensuous brush of his mouth on her lips.

For an instant she allowed herself to remember—to wonder… Before, shocked, she dragged herself back from the edge.

She shivered convulsively, wrapping her arms round her body, and felt the sudden pressure of the rose stem against her breast.

She tore it out of her dress and dropped it on the coffee table as if it was contaminated.

‘You’re not the adventurous type,’ she said grimly. ‘Back to the real world, Rosamund.’

On her way to the stairs she passed the answer-machine, winking furiously.

‘Ros?’ Colin’s voice sounded querulous. ‘Where on earth are you? Pick up the phone if you’re there.’

For a second she hesitated then gently pressed the ‘Delete’ button.

And went on her way upstairs to bed.

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