Tomorrow's Bride(5)

It was a particular twist of malicious fate which brought a telephone  call from her mother later that afternoon, her tone of resignation  somehow much more frightening than her more usual dramatic diagnoses as  she described the small lump on her neck and the doctor's insistence on  immediate investigation.

'So I'm wondering, Leigh, if you can possibly come down and keep Daddy  company for a few days. Anyway, here he is now to have a word.'

And of course there was nothing to consider; she had no choice but to go home when the outlook was so fraught.                       
       
           



       

She could never explain afterwards why she was so devious with Patrick  when she told him about it-most likely she was still smarting from his  decision and wanted to get back at him. In any event, her deliberately  casual explanation elicited only lofty disdain, coupled with what she  interpreted as insincere insistence that of course she must go since her  mother was ill, both of which increased her simmering indignation.

On the second day of her visit to Great Whencote the result of the  biopsy brought overwhelming relief. The lump was a benign cyst and was  scheduled for removal within the next month.

'Thank heaven for that.' Her father put down the telephone and turned to  his daughter with an uncharacteristic grin. 'It's been such a worry.  And now-----' he crossed the room and put an arm round Leigh's shoulder,  squeezed it in an unusual demonstration of emotion '-now there's  nothing to prevent you going back to Oxford and that young man you're so  fond of.'

'Father.' She couldn't quite control the colour which rose so suddenly  in her cheeks, and she grinned in acknowledgement. 'I don't have to dash  away. I'll wait as long as you need me.'

'Well, what I'm saying is, now that the pressure is off, there's no  reason why you should stay here right now. I know there will be lots  going on back at college, and your mother and I can manage perfectly  well now we know there's nothing serious. And, as well...' He hesitated,  then went on, 'Your mother is inclined to fuss about her health. To be  honest, she's not altogether cut out to be a vicar's wife. As you know, I  was teaching in a prep school when we met, and I think that life might  have suited her best. What I want you to know, Leigh, is that you  mustn't be too ready to drop everything when she rings with some  complaint or other. You have your own life and I don't want that to be  sacrificed to us. You understand what I'm trying to tell you?'

'Yes, I think so.' He hadn't used the word hypochondriac, but she knew  what he meant. On impulse she reached up and kissed his cheek. 'And  thank you, Dad. Only, I want you to promise that if things ever get  really serious you'll call me. I'll stay now, in any case.'

She made the deliberate decision to let her anger with Patrick, and  maybe even his with her, cool down for a few days. It might be good for  both of them to miss each other and for them- for him especially-to  reflect on the unfairness of his decision and how adversely it was bound  to affect both their lives.

Looking back on it afterwards, she was stunned by her own  self-assurance. Crass self-delusion was a more apt description, she  decided, for certainly then she had been wholly confident that things  could be mended in line with her own inclinations.

But, unbelievably, that had been the end.

Now, lying in bed in Strasbourg, Leigh turned restlessly, unwilling to  relive the final agony of that time. Right up to the end she had  believed, had even prayed for him to come to her and say that he had  changed his mind. But as the days had passed she'd found her convictions  shaken. The London job had begun to lose a little of its glossy image  and it had been an immense effort to stick to her decision. If he had  come dashing up to Gloucester in an attempt at persuasion she was by no  means convinced of how she would have reacted.

Then with relief, at last, she'd travelled back to Oxford, her mind  fizzing with all kinds of contingency plans, had gone up to the flat  and... found that he had gone. A friendly, civilised little note had  assured her that there was no need to hurry to vacate since the rent was  paid for three full months ahead, that his date had been brought  forward and that he had just enough time to see his family before  setting off for New York and the briefing by the aid organisation. All  very friendly and entirely soul-destroying, especially the part assuring  her that j he would always have the happiest memories of the time they  had spent together. There was certainly no sign that he was sharing any  of her anguish, no indication that he was even missing her.

Twice, pride in tatters, she lifted the telephone in the flat to ring  him at his home. Twice she replaced the receiver as she struggled to  find the right words for such an occasion, not for the first time  doubting the practical use of all her years of study. Each time her  courage failed. She couldn't bring herself to do what her instinct  demanded, to speak to him, beg him to find a place for her on his team.  Anything, she wanted to say. I don't care what it is so long as we can  be together.                       
       
           



       

Then, at last, she considered she was word-perfect. She dialled the  number and found herself talking to his sister, Grainne, who was more  than willing to have a long chat, and who told her it was such a pity  that she hadn't called just a few hours earlier since Patrick was due to  be taking off from Shannon about now for his journey to the States.

Her only choice then, she realised, was to find his address and write to  him. It might be possible to join the project a little later, and in  the meantime, though the idea was much less cheering than she would have  imagined earlier, she could gain a few months' experience in the  Commons job. Perhaps it was a moment for independence, if only to  demonstrate that she could manage on her own. Anyway, she thought,  trying to make a virtue out of necessity, this way would be less  humiliating, less frantic.

And there was little doubt that, but for a chance meeting with Deborah  Fleetham in the supermarket, one day the letter would have been sent.

For Debbie had news which she was more than anxious to impart. It was  about her friend who was a nurse at the John Radcliffe. 'You must  remember Gillian. You would have met her at my twenty-first-the tall  blonde with the marvellous figure. I thought you might have heard...'  The wide, knowing eyes were eager for Leigh's reaction. 'She's off to  Bangladesh with Patrick Cavour; they must be in New York by this time.  It's all so exciting and romantic, don't you think?'

Only she never did hear what Leigh thought, for Leigh remembered very  suddenly about an urgent message, turning away quickly so that Deborah  would not see the tell-tale brilliance in her eyes.

Unhappiness she had expected, had been prepared for, in a way, but the  physical pain had come as a total shock, she recalled now. She had lost  weight, become exhausted with the sheer effort of trying to carry on as  usual. It was an experience she remembered with something close to  terror, and one she had no intention of repeating.





CHAPTER TWO



WHEN the tall figure swung his briefcase on to the seat beside her,  Leigh, preparing for a much needed rest, glanced up in reproach at his  intrusion into what she had been hoping was her space, registered  someone stowing a grip in the overhead locker, then had to do a swift  retake. Her eyes widened in dismay and shock, but the embossed initials  on the brown document case, PJC, merely confirmed the message that her  brain was determined to reject. Damn. Damn. Damn. Nervous irritation was  loud in her voice before she had the wit to attempt a disguise.

'What on earth are you doing here?' No use hoping the shrewish note would be missed.

'Much the same as you, I expect.' If Patrick Cavour was rattled by her  manner then he was much too cool and experienced an operator to let it  show. But still, she could detect wariness in the way his eyes swept  over her before he settled into his seat, wariness and something she  liked even less-detachment verging towards dislike, or possibly just  disapproval. Whatever, it was quite enough to have her nerves screaming  as, from the corner of her eye, she saw the long fingers dangerously  close, searching for the safety buckle and... She caught a whiff of the  distinctive cologne which made the years simply evaporate. Unexpected  tears stung; she found herself holding her breath, fascinated by the  smooth brown skin, the scatter of dark hair across the knuckles, the  heavy gold watch beneath the dazzling white cuff...

'Flying to Paris.' The words brought her from her musings. 'On business.'

Oh, no. Metaphorically Leigh closed her eyes. Surely it couldn't be? It  mustn't be... Please God, she began to pray, but without much hope.