Alien Wife

Abby hadn’t known that. It surprised her. Although as it was twelve years since his divorce, he must have been very young when he got married. Not so easy now to bring a man like him to the altar.

‘What about you?’ he asked, his eyes narrowed and questioning. ‘Do you want to get married?’

Abby bent over the oars to hide her flushed cheeks. ‘I—I suppose so. When—when the right man asks me.’

Luke drew out a case of cheroots and placed one between his teeth. ‘Ardnalui’s not a big place. If the right man hasn’t asked you yet, surely he can’t be here. Or are you waiting, as your mother did, for someone up from Glas—–”

‘No!’

Abby shipped the oars and let the small boat drift with the current, staring out blindly across the loch. She had no intention of marrying a man like her father—a charming man, but weak, drifting as this boat was doing with the current, only struggling for survival when it was too late …

‘So what will you do?’

Luke’s voice was soft as he applied the flame of his lighter to the cheroot, and she turned to look squarely at him. ‘I don’t know,’ she answered, pushing her hair back from her face with both hands, drawing his eyes to the pointed swell of her breasts surging against the thin nylon material of the windcheater. ‘You tell me.’

CHAPTER THREE

FOR several minutes Luke looked at her, and even in her innocence, she knew he was enjoying the experience. Her heart pounded heavily, the blood thundering in her head, and her palms moistened where they rested against the sides of her neck. Then her pulses steadied when he looked away, taking the cheroot out of his mouth and saying in a curiously flat voice: ‘What do you mean?’

She took a couple of quick breaths. ‘Perhaps—perhaps I should leave Ardnalui. Aunt Ella did, and look how successful she’s been. I could go to London. Maybe I could become an actress.’

Luke’s eyes turned back to her, cooler now and more penetrating. ‘I shouldn’t advise it,’ he told her harshly.

‘Why not?’

Luke shifted restlessly, putting the cheroot back between his teeth, reaching forward to take the oars. ‘It’s time we were getting back.’

Abby stared at him frustratedly. ‘Aren’t you going to answer me?’

Luke dipped the oars into the water. ‘What time is lunch?’

She clenched her fists. ‘I shall do it, you know. Whatever you say.’

Luke heaved a sigh, regarded her tense expression for a moment, and then shipped the oars again. ‘All right, all right. If you want it bluntly, I don’t think you stand a chance of doing what Ella has done.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you’re not like her. You need to be a certain sort of person to become a successful actress. You have to be—hard, if you like. Dedicated, ambitious! I don’t think you have that kind of ambition. If you had, you’d have done something about it before now.’

‘What could I have done?’

‘Left Ardnalui, for a start. Pushed yourself into Ella’s life, whether she liked it or not.’

Abby bent her head. ‘I don’t think she would have let me.’

‘How could she have stopped you? You’re sufficiently like her to cause quite a bit of an upset, one way and another.’

‘Do you think so?’ Abby hunched her shoulders. ‘Well, there’s still time.’

Luke regarded her compassionately. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘So what am I to do? Look after the Dalrymples’ children until I’m an old maid?’

Luke half smiled. ‘You’ve a long way to go before that happens.’

‘Have I?’

His eyes narrowed. ‘I really think it’s time we were going back,’ he said. ‘It must be the air here. I’m feeling decidedly hungry.’

And with that, Abby had to be content. As Luke rowed them back to the shore, she reflected that the morning had proved much more productive than the previous evening, in spite of its doubtful beginnings …

That evening, Abby had a telephone call from Scott Anderson.

Fortunately, Luke and her uncle were out at the time. Daniel McGregor was showing Luke over his church, St Cecilia’s, and Abby had been amusing herself setting out the chess pieces in the study when the phone rang.

Abby lifted the receiver tentatively. She was not wholly convinced that her aunt would not discover where Luke was and try to contact him here, and she had no desire to speak to her—yet. But it was Scott, and Abby sank down weakly into her uncle’s chair, cradling the receiver against her shoulder.

‘Now then, young Abby,’ Scott sounded amused. ‘What have you been getting up to?’

Abby shook her head, realised he couldn’t see her, and said: ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Don’t you?’ Even faraway, the disbelief in Scott’s voice was unmistakable. ‘Did you know I had Luke on the phone again this afternoon? What have you been saying to him?’

Abby straightened her spine. ‘What did he tell you?’

Scott laughed. ‘I’m asking the questions.’

‘Oh, come on, Scott. Why did he ring you?’ She paused. ‘Did he tell you he was coming back?’

‘N—o, I don’t think that was mentioned.’

Abby didn’t realise she had been holding her breath until at his words she felt the tension go out of her. ‘So?’

‘He thinks I sent him up there because you have some latent desire to go on the stage.’

‘And what did you say?’ Abby pressed her lips together.

Scott snorted. ‘What was I supposed to say? You didn’t tell me you were going to use those tactics.’

‘I’m only playing the cards as they’re dealt to me.’

‘Really?’ Scott sounded sceptical. ‘Don’t you think you’ve bitten off more than you can comfortably chew, Abby?’

‘No!’ She was vehement. Then: ‘You didn’t—you didn’t—–’

‘—let you down? No, I won’t do that, honey. But if I think this thing’s getting out of hand, I’ll get Luke back here so fast, you won’t feel the passing.’

Abby’s fingers tightened round the receiver. ‘Don’t be silly, Scott. What could get out of hand?’

‘Luke could!’ retorted Scott dryly. ‘Look, Abby, he’s not like your regular Scottish gentleman, nor is he like those boys you play around with in the village. They have respect for you—and for Dan. You can trust them. Don’t trust Luke Jordan.’

‘I’ve told you, Scott, I—I can handle it.’

‘Can you?’ He sounded less than convinced. ‘Well, I just thought I’d warn you.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Huh? Don’t thank me. I’m not at all sure I did the right thing in letting you persuade me to send Luke up there.’

Abby’s teeth caught at the soft inner flesh of her lower lip. ‘I think you owed me a favour, Scott,’ she reminded him quietly, and heard his impatient exclamation.

‘Well, you take care, d’you hear?’ he told her severely, and she assured him she would before replacing the receiver.

When Luke and her uncle came back she learned that they planned to play chess together. Daniel McGregor was going to teach his guest the finer points of the game and her presence was superfluous. With a sense of impotence, she went up to her room, wondering how much longer she had before Luke decided to pack his case literally and return to London.

The following day was Saturday. It meant that Abby was free for two whole days and she wondered if it would be enough. She doubted it. She doubted it very much.

To her surprise, Luke was at the table when she went down for breakfast, and for an awful moment she thought he intended leaving that morning. But Uncle Daniel reassured her.

‘Mr Jordan has decided to stay on for a few more days, Abby,’ he told her. ‘He’s never seen anything of this part of the country, and I’ve persuaded him to do a little sightseeing while he’s here. I’ve suggested he ought to drive up to Keilaig, and Achnaluin Forest. Then there’s Loch Keil, and Lucifer’s Bowl, and the Kyle of Storfar. Any number of places he should visit. Don’t you agree?’

Abby could not bring herself to meet the old priest’s eyes. Why was he doing this? she asked herself in confusion. Did he suspect? No, he couldn’t, or knowing Uncle Daniel as she did, she knew he would never countenance her plans. And yet he had told her he knew that she had wanted to meet Luke Jordan, and he must also know how Ella would feel about that …

She risked a brief glance in Luke’s direction and was disconcerted to find him watching her. His eyes were thickly lashed and enigmatic, and she had no way of knowing what he was thinking.

‘Well, Abby?’

Uncle Daniel was waiting for her reply and she moved her shoulders in a careless, dismissing gesture. ‘It’s a good time of year for driving on these roads,’ she agreed offhandedly. ‘Before they become jammed with holiday traffic.’

‘I don’t believe your—niece—is too enthusiastic about my staying on,’ remarked Luke mildly, and Abby found herself glaring resentfully at him.

‘That’s not true,’ she protested, conscious of Uncle Daniel’s interest. ‘I—maybe you would like me to come with you. To be your—guide.’

Luke regarded her steadily for several seconds and then he inclined his head. ‘Why not?’

Ridiculously, a wave of panic swept over her. ‘It could only be over the weekend,’ she said hurriedly. ‘I have to go back to work on Monday.’

‘I’m sure Mr Jordan appreciates that you have a job of work to do, Abby,’ Daniel McGregor assured her quietly. ‘As for you acting as his guide, I venture to suggest that he might prefer to make his own way to our local beauty spots. They’re not difficult to find. And besides, didn’t you promise to help Mrs Jameson this morning?’

Mrs Jameson was the local police sergeant’s wife, as well as being a keen horsewoman. Abby had completely forgotten her promise to go up to the stables and help Mrs Jameson whitewash the stalls. Panic gave way to irritation at the realisation that she was committed. Without doubt, Uncle Daniel had taken this into consideration.

Luke, who had finished his breakfast, pushed back his chair. ‘Now that’s a shame,’ he observed wryly, and Abby looked infuriatedly up at him.

‘I could ring Mrs Jameson,’ she exclaimed. ‘Explain the situation …’

‘Oh, don’t do that on my account,’ Luke objected calmly. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, hmm?’

‘Mrs Tully will prepare you a picnic lunch, Luke,’ put in Daniel. ‘There are few eating places where you’re going.’

‘Thank you,’ Luke nodded. ‘I’ll have a word with her. See you—both—later.’

The door closed behind him and Abby looked fretfully down at the toast on her plate. Her appetite had evaporated and she could have cried with frustration. It didn’t help when Daniel said: ‘Cheer up, Abby. Think of the horses. You know how much pleasure you get out of exercising them. Mrs Jameson has always been very generous with you. Don’t begrudge the chance to help her when it comes your way.’

Abby hunched her shoulders. ‘I’m not, but—–’

‘—but you’d rather go with Luke. I know.’ For a moment she tensed, expecting a lecture, but it didn’t come. Instead, he said: ‘I have to go. Mrs Lewis is worse. I’ll give her your good wishes, shall I?’

‘Oh, yes. Please.’ Abby felt ungrateful. ‘I’m—I’m sorry if you thought I was selfish.’

The priest shook his head, his eyes gentle. ‘You’re young, Abby, that’s all.’

After he had gone, Abby drank a second cup of coffee before leaving the table. As she opened the dining room door she came face to face with Luke, and she stepped back in surprise.

‘Where does this Mrs Jameson live?’ he asked, and her lips parted in astonishment.

‘Er—at Dun Ifor.’ She made a futile gesture. ‘It’s a tiny village two miles round the loch.’

‘And how do you propose to get there?’

Abby had no time to question this catechism, and she answered automatically: ‘On my bicycle.’

‘A bicycle!’ Luke stared at her, half amused.

‘Yes.’ A trace of resentment coloured her tone now. ‘Why not? Cycling is very good for you.’

‘I’m sure it is. But I was going to suggest I took you—in my car.’

Abby gasped. ‘Why should you do that?’

Luke hesitated. ‘Shall we say I’m prepared to wait until this afternoon to go—sightseeing?’

Abby coloured then. She couldn’t help it. Success was intoxicating. ‘I—but—I might be hours at the Jamesons’.’ She had to say something.

‘Perhaps I can give a hand,’ remarked Luke, and she stared disbelievingly at his cream corded pants and heavy cashmere sweater.

‘In those clothes!’

‘I can change,’ he replied steadily. ‘Well?’

Abby’s hand involuntarily sought the open vee of her cotton shirt. ‘All right,’ she agreed. ‘If that’s what you really want to do. Only—–’

‘Only?’

‘—I don’t know what Uncle Daniel would say.’

‘Uncle Daniel won’t know, until it’s too late,’ Luke returned dryly, and Abby felt a tremor of apprehension sweep over her as she turned away.

By the time she had paid an unexpectedly urgent visit to the bathroom, and pulled on the crimson windcheater and Wellington boots, Luke was waiting for her in the hall, lean and workmanlike in faded denims and a waist-length leather battle jacket. He held open the door for her and they emerged into the brisk air, overlaid this morning with the threat of rain. The dark green racing lines of the Lamborghini rested on broad tyres on the cobbled forecourt, much like some hungry predator waiting to spring. Even the prospect of riding in such a monster filled Abby with excitement which intensified when he swung open the door beside the wheel, and said: ‘Would you like to drive?’

‘Me?’ Abby stared into his dark face disbelievingly. ‘I—I couldn’t.’

‘Why not? You have a licence, don’t you?’

‘Well, yes, but …’

‘Don’t you want to drive?’

Abby wrapped her arms around herself. ‘I’d love to.’

‘Come on, then. I’ll show you how it works.’

Behind the wheel, with a seat belt securing her in place, Abby’s hands trembled as they clasped the wheel. Luke walked round the bonnet and levered himself in beside her, smiling at her tense face.

‘Relax. It’s as simple as learning your alphabet. All you’ve got to remember is that you’ve got five forward gears instead of four.’

‘It’s air-conditioned!’ she exclaimed.

‘Yes. And the windows are electrically operated, if you should wish to open them.’

Abby looked at the comprehensive dashboard. ‘It’s like flying an aircraft.’

‘I can assure you it’s much simpler.’

She turned to look at him with wide eyes. ‘Can you fly?’

‘Not without a plane,’ he conceded derisorily, directing her attention back to the dashboard. ‘Now, it’s power steering. Probably lighter than what you’re used to.’

Abby looked at the milometer and caught her breath. ‘That says two hundred and—–’

‘They’re kilometres,’ he corrected her dryly.

‘Even so—–’

‘You’re not likely to take off along two miles of the lake shore.’

‘The loch! The loch shore.’

‘All right, the loch shore, then. Right. Can you get us off this forecourt?’

The powerful engine roared to life, and Abby unknowingly had her tongue jammed between her teeth as she found bottom gear and the car crept forward. Driving through the village, she was intensely conscious of the curious glances cast her way, but she had no time to acknowledge anyone’s greeting this morning. Instead, she concentrated on avoiding the bicycles they passed, and the butcher’s van as it swung carelessly away from the kerb.

At last they emerged on to the open road, and she breathed a sigh of relief, taking the opportunity to rub first one palm and then the other over the knees of her pants.

‘You’re doing fine,’ observed Luke beside her, and she stole a glance at him.

‘Am I?’ she asked breathlessly. ‘Am I really? Oh, I nearly died when Mr Smith pulled out in front of us like that.’

Luke relaxed against the curving headrest. ‘Open her up a bit,’ he advised. ‘She’s baulking at this speed. You haven’t even reached top yet.’

Abby depressed the accelerator and allowed the needle on the speedometer to creep upward. The road beside the loch would not allow for much more than fifty, but even at that speed the sensation of latent power was exhilarating. All too soon the gates of the Jamesons’ property came into view, and she had to change down rapidly to negotiate the cattle grid.

Pauline Jameson was a woman in her late forties, whose family had owned this stretch of land for generations. Tall and rangily built, she had been brought up with horses and they were her passion. When she had first met and married Robert Jameson, a Glaswegian police constable, and gone to live in the city, no one had expected the marriage to last. But they had not taken Pauline’s determination into account, and soon she had persuaded her husband to leave the city force and return with her to the Highlands of her birth. Now everyone knew Robert Jameson almost as well as his wife. Their only regret was that they had had no children to carry on the tradition, and consequently Abby, orphaned at quite a young age, had always been welcome there. In the summer months, Pauline hired out ponies for trekking, and Abby had always enjoyed going over there to exercise the animals through the off-season months.

If Pauline considered there was anything unusual in a man of Luke’s evident wealth and ability desiring to help her part-time stable hand in cleaning out the stables, she succeeded in hiding her feelings admirably. Soon they were all wielding brushes of one kind or another while the Jamesons’ two retrievers bounded about excitedly, jumping up and barking, and generally making nuisances of themselves.

The horses had been turned into the field behind the Jamesons’ bungalow and when, halfway through the morning, Pauline called a halt while she went to make some coffee, Abby and Luke strolled over to the fence and leaned on it, talking to the animals. Luke had shed his jacket and with his denim shirt sleeves rolled back to his elbows, and the neck open to reveal the light mat of gold-flecked hair which covered his chest, he looked more disturbingly attractive than she had ever seen him. For the first time, she wondered what it would be like being married to such a man, and something inside her palpitated at the thought. But then, she told herself severely, situations altered cases.

Luke’s bare arm brushed against hers as he reached out to offer a handful of straw to a chestnut gelding and his eyes switched sharply to hers as she flinched away from him.

‘What’s wrong?’ he frowned, and quickly she shook her head.

‘Nothing,’ she denied, and then hurried on ‘That’s Paris, by the way. Mrs Jameson calls all the horses by legendary Greek names. Paris—and Athena, and Clytemnestra. Oh, and that’s Agamemnon over there. Isn’t that a terrible name for a horse?’

Luke was watching her confusion closely and she guessed that her attempt at diversion had not succeeded.

‘Why did you jerk away from me like that when I touched you?’ he demanded harshly. ‘Haven’t you ever touched a man before?’

‘Don’t be silly!’ She refused to argue with him, turning aside to fondle Paris’s muzzle. ‘You’re beautiful, aren’t you?’ she murmured to the animal, but Luke would not let it go.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but I understood you were not averse to my company,’ he snapped, and she turned reluctantly to face his annoyance, aware that she was in danger of losing all the ground she had made.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said uncomfortably. ‘You—startled me, that’s all.’

‘Did I?’ He sounded unconvinced. ‘So come on—show me you don’t object to touching me.’

Abby’s breathing had quickened. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Like this!’ He grasped her wrist and brought her hand up to his forearm. ‘Go ahead. Take my arm.’

Abby looked up at him a little wildly. ‘I—this is silly,’ she protested, but he was uncompromising, and with a sigh she allowed her fingers to close round the hard muscle.

It was a peculiar sensation, particularly as in grasping her wrist he had brought her closer to him than she had been even in the car. She could smell the heat of his body after the hour of exertion, and the clean male scent of him was disturbing. Her eyes were on a level with the opened buttons of his shirt, and when she dared to look up, she found he was looking down at her. At once, she was conscious of the unbuttoned neckline of her shirt, and the way his eyes left her face to linger on the shadowy hollow just visible between her breasts. She shivered uncontrollably when his free hand slid up over her hip to her waist, his fingers probing the bones of her rib cage. She could feel herself stiffening, but before he could become aware of her resistance, he uttered an oath of self-disgust and turned away, long strides putting some distance between them.

Weakness enveloped her—weakness, and a clammy moistness all over her body which owed nothing to the effort she had expended. Oh God, she thought unsteadily, she had almost ruined everything. If only she had more experience! If only every time he came near her she wasn’t so overwhelmingly aware of his strength and her immaturity. He had been married, and latterly his relationship with Ella left little to the imagination. How could she expect him to understand the fears she nurtured?

Running her hands over the seat of her pants, she saw to her relief that Mrs Jameson had emerged from the bungalow carrying a tray which Luke had gone to take from her. She watched him through averted eyes. Would it have been easier if he had been a less attractive man? Undoubtedly, from her point of view—although the prospect of sleeping with any man would be equally terrifying.

‘You’re looking rather pale, Abby.’

Mrs Jameson voiced an opinion which Abby had no doubt was an honest one. She felt pale—drained! A trembling facsimile of her normal self. But she knew Luke was looking at her, and with admirable nonchalance she indicated the overcast sky.

‘It’s this heavy atmosphere,’ she claimed, accepting the cup of coffee Mrs Jameson handed her. She took a quick sip. ‘Mmm, this is good.’

Mrs Jameson gave Luke a cup and then turned her attention back to Abby. ‘Are you sure, my dear? You haven’t got a headache, or anything? If you have, just say the word—–’

‘I haven’t! Honestly!’ Abby took a deep breath. ‘We’re making quite good progress, aren’t we?’

‘Very good progress,’ Mrs Jameson agreed, smiling at Luke. ‘With your help, Mr Jordan.’

‘Please—call me Luke.’ Luke was perfectly controlled, and Abby wondered if she had imagined his momentary weakness. But then he looked at her, and she knew she had not as the hot colour flamed up her throat to her cheeks.

‘You’re a writer—Luke.’ Pauline Jameson rested against the stable wall. ‘I do very little reading, I’m afraid, but I should like to read one of your books.’

‘I’ll send you one,’ Luke told her easily. ‘If you really mean it.’

‘Oh, I do.’ Pauline laughed. ‘And how do you know Father McGregor?’

Luke finished his coffee and replaced his cup on the tray. ‘I didn’t,’ he amended. ‘But I work with Scott Anderson.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Pauline’s expression grew speculative as it shifted to Abby. ‘So you must know Abby’s aunt—Ella Mackay.’

‘Yes,’ Luke spoke flatly, ‘I know her.’

And how well! thought Abby fiercely.

‘It’s strange.’ Pauline was thoughtful. ‘That two sisters should be so totally different from one another. Abby’s mother seldom if ever left the village, while Ella—–’

‘Oughtn’t we to be getting on, Mrs Jameson?’

Abby didn’t care that she was being rude, or that Luke was staring frowningly at her. She had no desire to get into conversation about her parents, wading into waters that were both treacherous and forbidden.

‘Of course.’ Pauline straightened away from the wall, regarding her sympathetically for a moment. ‘That’s all old history,, isn’t it, Abby? Now, where did I leave that broom?’

It was after twelve when Abby and Luke left the Jamesons’. Pauline had invited them to stay for lunch, but Abby insisted that Uncle Daniel would be expecting them back. This time Luke took the wheel, and there was a tension between them that had not been there before.