Tomorrow's Bride(7)

'Sorry. I was dreaming. No, we're expected to make our own way.'

'Then I shall drop you off.' It was a statement rather than a question.

Simply because she was weary-at least, that was how she tried afterwards  to justify her weakness-because she was tired, she allowed him to brush  her protests, half-hearted in any case, to one side. It wasn't always  easy to pick up a taxi and there was no reason why she shouldn't make  use of him since he was offering.

A few minutes later, sitting well back in one corner of the rear seat,  she tried with a land of desperate futility to concentrate on the grey  peaked hat in front of her, but found that all her attention was on the  man by her side.

Paris. The moment she had stepped from the plane at the airport the  magic of the place had simply seeped into her bones. Even with him.  Or...blindly she looked out on to sun-baked pavements... especially with  him. As they drove along the Champs-Elysees, it ought to have been  everything that was romantic. At least, she made the correction with  firm accuracy, once it would have been. But, right now, sheer unrelieved  torture would have been a more apt description. Everywhere she looked,  it seemed, her eyes sought out particular pairs of lovers, who had few  inhibitions about telling the world just how tender, how delicate, how  overwhelming their feelings were...                       
       
           



       

Oh, this was so idiotic. She closed her eyes tight as they drove past a  smiling, entranced young couple. He had been brushing a finger across  the outline of her lips and... And causing havoc with the wholly  detached feelings of someone he had never even met. Leigh tried to find  some amusement in the situation but the struggle with her emotions was  intense, and even when she heard his voice she could not bring herself  to reply until he had repeated the question.

'What?' Her tone was impatient, verging on the aggressive, and she  opened her eyes wide as she turned her head, hoping he might realise  that he was intruding into her private space. But then the expression in  his eyes held her. She who had once been able to read and sense his  every mood was for an instant shocked by the look of stormy anger,  something very close to dislike in the dark, searing gaze which raked  her. But in a moment it had changed, as if a blank, impassive shutter  had been lowered.

Shaken, she tried to warn herself. Be careful. Detachment is what you  must show. Tm sorry, I was miles away again.' Her voice was admirably  calm.

'I was asking about what you've been doing... since... since we last met.'

'I presume you mean since last week.' It was a half-hearted attempt to turn it into a joke.

'You know that's not what I mean.' For a second time she sensed his restrained edginess.

'Well, let me see.' By pretending to consider she regained a little  self-confidence. 'I started off doing some research for an MP.'  Difficult to resist the word 'tinpot', but why give him the satisfaction  of knowing how it had rankled over the years? 'Then I was with an  advertising agency for some time-not exactly the career profile I had  mapped out when I was slogging for my degree, but there... Anyway, about  two years ago I was approached by Kyle to see if I'd be interested in  working for him. And of course I was, couldn't resist the challenge,  and... well, here I am. Things couldn't have worked out better,' she  added triumphantly.

'So... no regrets?'

'None at all.' And even if she had, then this man was the very last one  who would hear about them. 'I love the work and Kyle is a very  considerate boss-demanding too, but I like that. And, of course, working  abroad is a bonus.'

'Of course.' His tone was so dry, so very nearly sarcastic that in spite  of herself she swung round to study his face, and was able to see from  the lights of passing cars his cynically smiling mouth.

'You sound surprised.' Her sharpness betrayed the anger she felt.

'A little, perhaps.'

'Why? I wonder. Don't most people these days look for at least a spell abroad?'

'I do so agree.' The sarcasm again. 'Only... I thought in your case...'  As her brain was trying to latch on to the way his mind was working she  was thrown by another question, which at first seemed wholly  disconnected. 'How are your parents?' His tone was deceptively casual.  'I meant to ask about them earlier.'

'My par-----' Of course, how could she have been so foolish, handing him  sticks to beat her with? Her skin burned guiltily, and she turned  swiftly aside in an effort to conceal it. 'My parents are fine. My  father is still at Great Whencote.' Maybe he wouldn't ask about her  mother. Some time later she might let it drop about...

'And your mother too, I presume?' How lightly it was tossed, innocently, as if nothing lay behind his persistence.

'Yes, she's well. Better than she's been for many years. In fact she's  in New Zealand right now; she's spending some time out there with her  sister.'

'I see.' A simple comment, but his tone implied that he was placing all  kinds of interpretations on the information, and nothing, she told  herself with silent passion, nothing would induce her to make excuses on  her mother's behalf. He wasn't the type to be sympathetic towards other  people's weaknesses. Families like the Cavours, so strong and healthy  in every way, just wouldn't understand. Her mother was entitled to a  long holiday with relatives she hadn't seen for years, and besides, it  wasn't that he was interested in her mother; he merely wanted to remind  her of her refusal to go to Bangladesh, and she was damned if she would  allow herself to be reminded, much less excuse herself or apologise.

Instead she decided that she would attack, and sat quietly trying to  compose a pertinent question about Gillian Place without-most certainly  without-giving a clue to the corrosive jealousy which had afflicted her  for years. But before she could find the right words he was leaning  forward, speaking to the chauffeur in French so fluent that it was a  moment before she took in what was being said.                       
       
           



       

'But--' she was breathless with indignation '-there is no need for that.'

'Nonsense.' Even as he spoke they were leaving the main traffic stream,  turning into one of the quiet squares and slowing down. I'll see you  safely inside and-----'

'But...' Almost at once she was being helped from the car. 'But I heard you telling the driver that-----'

'That's right.' Patrick retrieved her bag from the boot, slammed it  shut, waved the driver off and strode across the pavement to the  entrance of an apartment block. 'I told him I would walk back. It's only  a short distance and I enjoy stretching my legs.'

She found herself ushered through the glass doors, heard the concierge  being asked for the key, then she was being guided towards the lift, and  all without the slightest reference to her.

'You know-----' her irritation was barely controlled '-I am quite  capable of asking for my own keys. Even in a foreign language.'

'Of course you are.' To her surprise and, rather more unexpectedly, to  her pleasure, he gave a tiny shamefaced grin. 'I'm sorry. I'm inclined  to be bossy at times, or so my mother tells me.'

'"Overbearing" is the word I would have used.' But at the same time she  softened towards him; his attitude had done much to defuse her anger. At  one time, the thought fluttered unbidden into her mind, long ago, she  would have chosen the word 'masterful', would even, such had been her  na?veté", have approved. How simple could one be, for heaven's sake? Now  she asked, knowing that she ought to have done so before, as soon as he  had mentioned his mother, 'How are things at Loughskerrie?'

'Oh, everything's all right. Lots of changes, of course.' They reached  the door of the service flat and he held out the key. 'I won't come in,  thank you. But...'

Quickly glancing at his face, she saw no sign of mockery, but decided he  needed putting in his place. 'I had no intention at all of inviting  you.' But it was impossible to control her mouth completely, which was  curving, faintly, it was true, but with a distinct suggestion of  amusement.

'But,' he continued, as if she hadn't spoken, the dark eyes holding hers  in a way that invited her to share memories, with a look which she  remembered so well and which she discovered could still threaten havoc,  'there's a lot I could tell you about Loughskerrie and the family-they  still speak of you, you know. So I was going to suggest that, if you  agree, I could come and pick you up later. We could have dinner-there's a  quiet little bistro-and... I could bring you up to date...'

'Oh...' How could she, in spite of all her determination, have let it  come to this? She might have guessed what was in his mind, seen the  invitation coming. 'Oh, no, thank you. I have plans for this evening  and...' She shook her head, feeling the dark mass of hair float out, but  because her face was so deliberately averted she missed the way his  eyes followed its filmy movement, missed, too, the sudden naked pain so  swiftly contained in their depths.