Guilty

It was after one by the time she had loaded her purchases into her car, and striking half-past as she turned into the school car park. One or two stragglers were still sauntering across the playground, and they gave her a knowing look, before turning to whisper to their friends. Laura could almost hear the comments about her being late as well, and she tried not to look too flustered as she strode towards the school buildings.

The afternoon seemed endless. Now that the time for Julie’s arrival was approaching, Laura could feel herself getting tense, and it didn’t help when her class of fourth-years started acting up. Usually she had no trouble with her pupils, and she had gained a reputation for being tough, but fair. However, today she found it difficult to keep order, and it wasn’t until she apprehended how hoarse she was getting that she realised she had had to shout to make herself heard.

But at last three-thirty arrived, and after dismissing the fourth-years Laura packed what exercise books she could into her briefcase, and tucked the rest under her arm. By her reckoning, she had at least two hours left to prepare herself for Julie’s arrival, and the way she was feeling she was going to need every minute of it. She didn’t know why she let Julie tie her up in knots like this, but she always did, and Laura intended to have a bath and wash her hair, so that she could have confidence in her appearance, if nothing else.

Burnfoot was situated in some of the most beautiful country in Northumberland. A small community of some one thousand souls, it was surrounded by the rolling fields and hills of the border country, with the crumbling remains of Hadrian’s Wall providing a natural barrier to the north. It was farming country, with tumbling streams and shady forests, and long, straight roads, unfolding towards the old Roman forts of Chesters and Housesteads.

Laura had always loved it. Even though she had been born and brought up in Newcastle, this was the area where she felt most at home, and when the opportunity to buy the cottage had presented itself she had jumped at the chance. She knew Julie had thought she was mad; a single woman, on her own, going to live in some ‘God-forsaken spot’ as she’d put it; but Laura had never had cause to regret her decision. The cottage had been in a poor state of repair when she’d got it, it was true, and it had taken years to get it as she wanted. But that was all behind her now. It was still small, and the ceilings were still too low, but she had had central heating installed, and on a cold winter’s evening she could light the fire in the living-room, and toast her toes.

She was perfectly content, she thought, except on these occasions when Julie invaded her life, and then she was forced to see the cottage’s shortcomings. Julie was adept at pointing out its disadvantages, and never once had she admired the garden Laura had worked so painstakingly to tame, or complimented her mother on providing a home that was both attractive, and full of character.

Laura had decided to prepare fish for dinner. It was a Friday, and she couldn’t be sure that as an Italian, and no doubt a Roman Catholic, Julie’s boyfriend would be prepared to eat meat. She had bought some plaice, and she intended to cook it in a white wine sauce. She had decided not to provide a starter, and instead she had bought a strawberry shortcake to supplement the cheese and crackers that she herself preferred. She knew Julie had a sweet tooth, and, although she was generally on some diet or another, she could be relied upon to be tempted by the dessert. It also meant she could prepare everything in advance, and leave the fish on a low heat while she took her bath.

Before she could attend to her own needs, however, there was the bed in the spare room to make up, and fresh towels to put out. She drew a pretty, chintzy cover on to the duvet, and then surveyed the room critically, trying to see it through a stranger’s eyes. She couldn’t imagine what a man, who evidently came from a wealthy background, would think of this tiny bedroom, with its accent on feminine tastes. The carpet was cream, the walls were a delicate shade of pink, and the curtains matched the cover on the duvet. Laura herself had made the pleated skirt that swagged the small dressing-table, and even she had to duck her head to look out of the window.

Oh, well, she thought after opening the window and inhaling the cool air of an April evening, at least the view from the window was worth looking at, even if the spring was dragging its heels in this part of the world.

The bathroom was modern anyway, she reflected some time later, soaking in a warm, scented tub. Until she had been able to afford the renovations to the plumbing system, she had had to make do with rather primitive conditions, which was probably one of the reasons why Julie had only visited the cottage once before the new bathroom was installed. But now, although again everything had had to be scaled down to fit its surroundings, the tub was satisfyingly deep, and there was even a shower above it. Of course, it wasn’t a proper shower cubicle, such as Julie had in her bathroom in London. But Laura didn’t mind. She was usually the only one who used it, and she realised with a pang that, apart from Julie, this would be the first time she had had anyone to stay at the cottage.

She wondered what her daughter had told…Jake…about her mother. How had she described her, for instance? As a middle-aged frump, she supposed. She knew Julie thought she didn’t make the best of herself, and her daughter was always saying that Laura ought to pay more attention to her appearance. Julie said she was a woman of thirty-eight, going on fifty, and in her opinion Laura ought to shorten her skirts and take advantage of the fact that she had nice legs.

But Laura was so accustomed to living alone and pleasing herself that she seldom considered what might or might not be flattering when she bought clothes. She was happiest in jeans and sloppy shirts or sweaters, pottering about the garden at the cottage, or taking Mrs Forrest’s Labrador for long walks through the countryside. She would have had a dog herself, except she didn’t think it was fair, as she was out all day. But when she retired…

She smiled, soaping her arms, and enjoying the sensation of the creamy compound against her skin. It was silly to think of retirement yet. She was only thirty-eight. But the truth was, she saw no evidence for change in her life, and she had to think of the future. She might get married, of course, but apart from Mark she could think of no one who might want to marry her. In any case, it was not an option she considered seriously. Having remained single all these years, she was probably too set in her ways to adapt to anyone else’s, she decided ruefully. Besides, she could think of nothing a man could offer her that she didn’t already have.

Washing her hair, however, she had to acknowledge that it did need cutting. The trouble was, most days she just coiled it into its usual knot at her nape, and by the time she thought of it again she was back at the cottage. In any case, it was essentially straight, and it was probably easiest to handle in its present condition. She was not the type to go for fancy cuts or perms. At least she didn’t have many grey hairs, she thought gratefully. Her hair was still that nondescript shade between honey-blonde and chestnut, and if it was also thick, and shining, she scarcely appreciated it.

She heard the car as she was drying her hair. She had been sitting on the stool, in front of the mirror in her bedroom, trying to make an objective assessment of her appearance, and when she heard the powerful engine in the lane outside she knew a moment’s panic. Obviously, she had spent longer over her toilet than she had intended, and now she met her own reflected gaze with some trepidation. For heaven’s sake, she wasn’t even dressed, she thought frantically. And the door downstairs was locked.

There was nothing for it. She would have to go down in her dressing-gown, she decided, shedding the towel she had worn sarong-wise around her body and snatching up her towelling bathrobe. If she hurried, she might be able to unlock the door and escape upstairs again without anyone seeing her. Julie would not be pleased if she met the man her daughter was going to marry in such a state of disarray. Although her hair was dry and silky, it was simply not suitable for a woman of her age. She looked like an ageing hippy, she thought frustratedly. If only she had paid more attention to the time.

Not stopping to put on her slippers, she started down the narrow staircase, and then stopped, aghast, when the handle of the front door was tried and rattled impatiently. It was immediately below her, the cottage having only a minuscule hallway, from which the stairs mounted on the outer wall. A second door led into the living area, which Laura had enlarged by having the wall demolished between what had been the parlour and dining-room, and there was no way she could unlock the door now without being seen.

Taking a deep breath, she gave in to the inevitable. She couldn’t ask them to wait while she put on some clothes. That would be foolish. Besides, if this man was going to become her son-in-law, the sooner he saw her as she really was, the better.

But, even as she was making this decision, the flap of the letterbox was lifted, and Julie called, ‘Mum! Mum, are you there? Open the door, can’t you? It’s raining.’

‘Oh! Is it?’

Without more ado, Laura hurried down the last few stairs, and hastily turned the key. The door was propelled inward almost before she had time to step out of the way, and Julie appeared in the open doorway, looking decidedly out of humour.

‘What were you—–? Oh, Mum!’ Julie stared at her with accusing eyes. ‘You’re not even dressed!’

‘I was taking a bath,’ replied Laura levelly, trying to maintain her composure. ‘Besides,’ she lifted her shoulders defensively, ‘you’re early.’

‘It is after six,’ retorted Julie, pushing her way through to the living-room. ‘God, what a drive! The traffic was appalling!’

Laura’s lips parted, and she stared after her daughter with some confusion. What did she mean? Surely she hadn’t driven herself up to Northumberland. Julie did have a Metro, she knew that, for getting about town, but the engine she had heard hadn’t sounded anything like Julie’s Metro. It had been low and unobtrusive, that was true, but there had been no doubting the latent power behind its restrained compulsion.

Shaking her head, she moved to the open doorway, and peered out into the rain. And, as she did so, a tall figure loomed out of the gloom, with suitcases in both hands, and Julie’s Louis Vuitton vanity case tucked under one arm. He was easily six feet in height—tall for an Italian, thought Laura inconsequently—with broad shoulders encased in a soft black leather jerkin. He was also very dark; dark-skinned, dark-haired, and dark-eyed, with the kind of hard masculine features that were harsh, yet compelling. He wasn’t handsome in the accepted sense of the word, but he was very attractive, and Laura knew at once why Julie had decided that he was the one.

CHAPTER TWO

THEN, realising that by hovering in the doorway she was forcing him to stand in the rain, Laura made a gesture of apology, and got out of his way. He stepped into the tiny hall with evident relief, immediately dwarfing it by his presence, and Laura backed up the stairs to give him some space.

‘Hi,’ he said easily, and his deep, husky tones brushed her nerves like black velvet. With apparent indifference to her hair, or her state of undress, he put down the suitcases, and allowed the vanity case to drop on top of them ‘You must be Julie’s mother,’ he added, straightening. ‘How do you do? I’m Jake Lombardi.’

He spoke English without a trace of an accent, and Laura thought how awful it was that she couldn’t even greet him in his own language. ‘Laura Fox,’ she responded, coming down the stairs again to take the hand he held out to her. And as the damp heat of his palm closed about hers, she had the ridiculous feeling that nothing was ever going to be the same again. ‘Um—welcome to Burnfoot.’

‘Thanks.’

He smiled, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners, and shaded by thick lashes. For all he had shown no obvious reaction to her appearance, she had the feeling that no aspect of her attire had missed his notice, and in spite of herself, a wave of colour swept up from her neck to her face.

She wasn’t used to dealing with younger men, she thought impatiently, chiding herself for her lack of composure. And particularly not a man who displayed his masculinity so blatantly. Against her will, her eyes had strayed down over the buttons of an olive-green silk shirt, to where the buckle of a black leather belt rode low across the flat muscles of his stomach. The belt secured close-fitting black denims that clung to the strong muscles of his thighs like a second skin. The fact that Laura also noticed how they moulded his sex with equal cohesion was something she instantly rejected. For God’s sake, she thought, horrified that she should even consider such a thing. What was the matter with her?

‘Are you going to close that door and come in?’

Julie’s peevish complaint from the living-room came as a welcome intervention, but when Laura would have stepped round Jake to attend to it, he moved aside, and allowed his own weight to propel the door into its frame.

‘It’s closed,’ he said, still looking at Laura, and, with the panicky feeling that he had known exactly what she was thinking a few moments ago, she turned towards the stairs.

‘I won’t be a minute,’ she said, not looking to see if he was watching her, and, without giving Julie time to lodge a protest, she ran up the stairs to her room.

Her mirror confirmed her worst fears. Her face was scarlet, and, even to her own eyes, she looked as guilty as she felt. But guilty of what? she wondered. It wasn’t as if she had done anything wrong. Heavens, she was no femme fatale, and she was a fool if she thought he had been flattered by her attention. On the contrary, he had probably found her unwary appraisal amusing, or pitiful, or both. Right now he was probably regaling Julie with the news that her mother had been lusting after his body. Oh, God, it was embarrassing! What must he be thinking of her?

However, right now she couldn’t afford to let that get to her. She was probably exaggerating the whole incident anyway, and the best way to put the matter behind her was to go down and behave as if nothing had happened. Then, if Jake Lombardi had been discussing her with Julie, it would look as if he had been imagining things, and not her.

Earlier, she had laid out the dress she had intended to wear on the bed, but now, looking at it with new eyes, she saw it was far too formal for this evening. Made of fine cream wool, it had a soft cowled collar, and long fitted sleeves, and, bearing in mind Julie’s remarks about not making the best of herself, Laura had bought it at Christmas, to silence her daughter’s criticisms. In the event, however, Julie had not come home at Christmas, and the dress had hung in the wardrobe ever since, a constant reminder of her extravagance.

Now, she picked it up, and thrust it back on to its hanger. The last thing she wanted was for Julie to think she was dressing up to impress her fiancé, she thought grimly. Or for him to think the same, she added, pulling out a pair of green cords, and a purple Aran sweater, that had seen better days. Whatever Julie thought, she was almost forty, and she refused to behave like a woman twenty years younger.

Her hair gave her no trouble, and she coiled it into its usual knot without difficulty. And, as the colour receded from her face, she began to feel more optimistic. She had allowed the fact that she had answered the door in her bathrobe and nothing else to upset her equilibrium, and now she had had time to gather herself she could see how silly she had been. It had probably amused Jake Lombardi that she had been caught out. And why not? He was no doubt used to much more sophisticated surroundings, and more sophisticated women, she acknowledged drily.

She leant towards the mirror to examine her face. Should she put on some make-up? she wondered, running her fingers over her smooth skin. She had intended to, but, now that she had been seen without it, was there much point? She didn’t wear much anyway, and she was lucky enough to have eyelashes that were several shades darker than her tawny hair. Golden eyes, the colour of honey, looked back at her warily, and she allowed a small smile to touch the corners of her mouth. Compared to her daughter, she was very small change indeed, she thought ruefully. So why try and pretend otherwise?

The hardest part was going downstairs again. She entered the living-room cautiously, steeling herself to meet knowing smiles and shared humour, but it didn’t happen. Although Julie was stretched out in front of the fire her mother had lit when she’d come home, Jake wasn’t in the room, and Laura’s expression mirrored her surprise.

‘He’s gone to lock up the car,’ remarked Julie carelessly, extending the empty glass she was holding towards her mother. In a fine suede waistcoat over a bronze silk blouse, and form-fitting black ski-pants, she was as sleek and indolent as a cat—and her attitude said she knew it. ‘Get me another Scotch, will you? I’m badly in need of sustenance.’

Laura caught her lower lip between her teeth, but she took the glass obediently enough, and poured a measure of malt whisky over the ice that still rested in the bottom. Then, handing it back to her daughter, she said carefully, ‘Is this wise? Drinking spirits so early in the evening?’

‘What else is there to do in this God-forsaken place?’ countered Julie cynically, raising the glass to her lips, and swallowing at least half its contents at one go. She lowered the glass again, and regarded her mother through half-closed lids. ‘So—what do you think of Jake? Pretty dishy, isn’t he? And he tastes just as good as he looks.’

Laura couldn’t help the frisson of distaste that crossed her face at her daughter’s words, and Julie gave her an impatient look before hauling herself up in the chair. ‘I hope you’re not going to spend the whole weekend looking at me with that holier-than-thou expression!’ she exclaimed, using the toe of one of her knee-length boots to remove the other. Then she held out the remaining boot to her mother. ‘Jake is tasty. Even you must be able to see that. Even if your criterion for what might—or might not—be sexy is based on that wimp Mark Leith!’

‘Mark is not a wimp,’ began Laura indignantly, and then, realising she was defending herself, she broke off. ‘I—gather you didn’t enjoy the journey here. I believe Friday evenings are always busy.’

‘Hmm.’ Free of her boots, Julie moved her stockinged feet nearer the fire. ‘You could say that.’ She shrugged. ‘I hate driving in the rain. It’s so boring!’

‘Even with Jake?’ enquired Laura drily, unable to resist the parry, and Julie gave her a dour look from beneath curling black lashes.

‘You still haven’t told me what you think of him,’ she retorted, returning to the offensive. And Laura wished she had kept her sarcasm to herself.

‘I’m hardly in a position to voice an opinion,’ she replied guardedly, escaping into the kitchen. To her relief, the fish was simmering nicely, and the strawberry shortcake had defrosted on the window ledge. At least checking the food and setting out the plates and cutlery distracted her from the more troubling aspects of her thoughts, and it was only when Julie came to prop herself against the door that Laura fumbled with a glass, and almost dropped it.

‘Would you like to know how we met?’ Julie asked now, making no effort to assist her mother with the preparations, and, deciding it was probably the lesser of two evils, Laura nodded. ‘It was in Rome actually,’ Julie went on. ‘D’you remember? I told you I was going there about six weeks ago, to shoot the Yasmina lay-out. Well, Jake’s father—Count Domenico, would you believe?—sits on the boards of various governing bodies, and this ball had been organised to benefit some children’s charity or other. Harry got an invitation, of course, so we all went. It promised to be good fun, and it was.’ Her lips twisted reminiscently. ‘Oh—Jake wouldn’t have been there if his mother hadn’t raked him in to charm all the women, so that they’d get their husbands to contribute more generously than they might have done. But he was; and we met; and the rest is history, as they say.’

Laura managed a smile. ‘I see.’

‘Yes.’ Julie studied the liquid residing in the bottom of the glass she was cradling in her hands. ‘Events like that are not really his thing, you see.’ She looked up again, and her eyes glittered as they met her mother’s wary glance. ‘I intend to change all that, naturally.’

‘You do?’

Laura didn’t know how else to answer her, but then the sound of the front door closing made any further response unnecessary. Julie turned back into the living-room to speak to the man who had just come in, and Laura bent to lift the casserole out of the oven.

She knew she would have to join them shortly, of course. Although she generally ate at the pine table in the kitchen, the room was scarcely big enough for two people, let alone three, which meant she would have to pull out the gatelegged table at one end of the living-room.

However, before she had summoned up the courage to leave the comparative security of the kitchen, Jake himself appeared in the doorway. He had shed his leather jerkin, somewhere between entering the house and coming to disrupt her fragile composure, and as he raised one hand to support himself against the lintel Laura was not unaware of the sleek muscles beneath the fine silk of his shirt.

‘I’ve left the car parked behind yours beside the house,’ he said, and she noticed how the drops of rain sparkled on his hair. He wore his hair longer than the men she was used to, and where it was wet it was inclined to curl. Otherwise, it was mostly straight, and just brushed his collar at the back. ‘Is that OK?’ he added softly, and Laura realised rather flusteredly that she hadn’t answered him.

‘What…? Oh—oh, yes,’ she said hastily, taking a tablecloth out of a drawer, and starting towards him. Then, realising he was blocking the doorway, she halted again, and waving the cloth at him, murmured, ‘If you’ll excuse me…’

Jake frowned, but he didn’t move out of her way. ‘Can’t we eat in here?’ he suggested, looking about him with some appreciation. ‘This is cosy.’ He nodded at the begonias on the window ledge. ‘Did you cultivate those?’

‘Cultivate? Oh…’ Laura glanced behind her, and then nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, I enjoy gardening. You wouldn’t notice today, of course. I think the rain has even beaten down the daffodils.’

‘The rain!’ Jake grimaced. ‘Oh, yes, it is certainly raining. It reminds me of home.’

‘Home?’ Laura frowned. ‘But I thought—–’

‘You thought that the sun always shines in Italy?’ he asked, grinning. ‘Oh, no. Like the fog in London, it is somewhat overrated.’

Laura felt herself smiling in return, but then, realising she was wasting time, and the meal was almost ready, she caught her lower lip between her teeth.

‘Um—do you really think we could eat in here?’ she ventured, not at all sure how Julie would respond to such a suggestion, and then her daughter appeared behind Jake. Sliding possessive arms around him from behind, she reached up to rest her chin on his shoulder, before arching a curious brow at her mother.

‘What’s going on?’

‘Your mother was going to serve the meal she had prepared in the other room,’ Jake interposed swiftly. ‘I thought we should eat in here. I always enjoyed eating in the kitchen, when I lived at home.’

‘Yes, but how big was the kitchen you used to eat in?’ countered Julie, turning her head deliberately, and allowing her tongue to brush the lobe of his ear. ‘Not like this rabbit hutch, I’m sure. I bet there were acres and acres of marble tiles, and dressers simply groaning under the weight of copper pans.’