Rival Attractions & Innocent Secretary(14)

       
           



       

Over his shoulder Charlotte watched as Vanessa gaped at his back like a  stranded fish. She would not have been human if she hadn't relished  Vanessa's discomfort a little, she told herself as she saw the hard,  angry colour darken the other woman's face, suddenly making her look far  less attractive and much, much older.

However, it was only after the door had slammed after Vanessa that she  realised too late that she had virtually committed herself to agreeing  to Oliver Tennant's becoming her lodger. She opened her mouth to tell  him that there had been a misunderstanding and that there was no way she  was going to allow him to set a single foot inside her home, when she  suddenly realised that, if she did so, Vanessa would undoubtedly assume  that she had changed her mind because of what she had said.

The thought of anyone thinking that she placed the slightest bit of  importance on Vanessa's ridiculous suggestions about her reputation was  so revolting that the words of denial remained locked in her throat.

Somehow or other, she found herself upstairs in the office, with Oliver  standing beside her desk while she read quickly through the document he  had given her.

It seemed simple and straightforward enough. A month's notice on either  side of any termination of their agreement which was to run for a period  of six months and thereafter to be renewed, subject to mutual consent.

The rent Oliver was prepared to pay was more than generous, and as she  read the document he was saying something about making sure that he did  not impinge on her privacy.

'Sheila has explained to me about your kitchen alterations. I'll be  eating out most of the time anyway. Between us we can organise things so  that there's no conflict … no invasion of one another's privacy.'

He was so rational about everything, so organised, that she couldn't  find the words to object to what he was saying to her. Somehow or other,  when he left the office half an hour later, it seemed that willingly or  not she was going to have him as a lodger.

'I told you he was nice,' Sheila said approvingly when he had gone. 'I  loved the way he defended you to Vanessa. My goodness, the look on her  face,' she chuckled, until Charlotte said sharply,

'I'm not a child, Sheila. I could quite easily have defended myself.'

Listening to Sophy and Sheila congratulating her on finding such a  perfect tenant, gritting her teeth while Sheila said triumphantly, 'I'll  feel so much better now, knowing that there's a man living there  again,' Charlotte wondered why it was that everyone seemed so oblivious  to the fact that she was far from delighted by the way things had turned  out.

It was her own fault, though. She had had her chance. She could have  said in front of Vanessa that the latter was quite right and that it was  completely impossible for Oliver to lodge with her … so why hadn't she  done so?

Because she hadn't been able to endure Vanessa's triumph if she did. So  now she was paying for her moment of pride and rebellion with an  unwanted lodger. She had no one to blame but herself.

Now, of course, she would have arrangements to make, and Mrs Higham  would have to be informed. Heaven alone knew what she would think of  Oliver's residence at the house.

Behind her, Sheila and Sophy were chuckling over the way Oliver had so  successfully routed Vanessa. Charlotte listened absently to them,  gnawing worriedly at her bottom lip. What on earth had she done? She  couldn't share her home with Oliver Tennant, of all men.

Why not? an inner voice demanded acidly. Do you really have so little  faith in your own self-respect? Do you honestly believe that, just  because you'll be living under the same roof, you're likely to do  something stupid like … ?

Like what? she asked herself bitterly. Like falling in love with him? Of  course she wasn't; she was far too sensible for such folly.

Gordon had described her personality very accurately when they had broken their engagement.

'You're so sensible, Charlie,' he had complained. 'You always do the right thing.'

Even though their engagement had ended by mutual consent, even though  she had acknowledged a thousand times since then her relief at not  finding herself trapped in a marriage she realised now would never have  worked, there was still a small raw place inside her that hurt from time  to time, and which was hurting now.

Would Sheila be encouraging her so warmly to take Oliver Tennant as a  lodger if she were a different type of woman, an attractive, sensual  woman to whom Oliver Tennant was likely to be drawn as a man?

No, Sheila had no qualms about foisting Oliver off on her because she  knew quite well that any relationship which developed between them was  bound to be free of any sexual connotations, on Oliver's part at least.                       
       
           



       

What was wrong with her? Charlotte asked herself angrily. Surely she was  long past the age for yearning after the impossible? Surely she had  long ago accepted the kind of woman she was? Did she honestly want to be  like the Vanessas of this world? Did she honestly want every man she  met to assess her only in terms of her sexuality?

Hadn't she decided long, long ago that she was better off the way she  was? So why had she experienced that hot flare of resentment when she  had watched Oliver smiling at Sophy with a male appreciation she just  knew he would never show her?

Damn Oliver Tennant. Until he had arrived to disrupt her life, she had  been perfectly happy. She had had a good business, she had been content,  and now suddenly both were being threatened.

'What's wrong?' Sheila asked in concern, registering her fierce frown and silence.

'I was just thinking I'd better warn Mrs Higham about Oliver Tennant,'  Charlotte lied, her frown deepening as she realised how quickly she had  gone from fiercely denying that she would allow Oliver Tennant to put so  much as a single foot inside her house, to, not only accepting the fact  that he was going to be her lodger, but actually making practical plans  for accommodating him.

She chewed bitterly on her already bruised lip, ignoring the pain she  was causing herself as she realised how perilously close she had come to  actually worrying about the paucity of food in her fridge and cupboards  to satisfy the appetite of a large healthy man.

She herself was careful about her diet, although not to the point of  obsession. While not a vegetarian, she rarely touched red meat,  preferring more easy to digest fish. She still missed the fresh  home-grown vegetables she had enjoyed in the days when her father had  employed a gardener. Mirthlessly she acknowledged that, if Oliver  Tennant's arrival as a competitor affected her business as badly as  seemed possible, she could always put her spare time to good use by  recultivating the old vegetable garden.

She enjoyed cooking in a modest way, and had even begun to think about  trying her hand at breadmaking once her new Aga was installed. Mentally  visualising the new kitchen she had planned, she caught herself up with a  start, her face suddenly flushing bright pink.

Sheila, who was watching her, and who of course could not see the two  dark-haired, blue-eyed children who had materialised so treacherously  easily through her imagination, asked anxiously if she was all right.

'Fine,' Charlotte told her briskly, hurriedly escaping from the office before her mind could play any more tricks on her.

On her way over to her solicitor's office to give him the tenancy  agreement to look over, she told herself severely that she was losing  her grip, and then palliated this harsh denouncement by allowing that  the size of her kitchen did lend itself to visions of family rather than  single life. She had always loved and wanted children … those two could  have been any of the children she knew … but they hadn't been … that dark  hair, those blue eyes. She gave a small shudder and closed her mind to  any more inadvertent wanderings down such dangerous byways.

Paul's secretary told her that he was free to see her. When she  explained the purpose of her call, far from looking surprised as she had  expected, he, like Sheila, was full of approval.

How many more people were going to surprise her by telling her how  worried they had been at the thought of her living alone? she wondered  half an hour later, when Paul had given his approval to the document  Oliver had produced.

'I am an adult,' she told him severely as she left. 'I can look after myself, you know.'

'No one's doubting that,' he assured her. 'But these days … a woman living  alone somewhere so remote …  Well, it has given me one or two sleepless  nights. I've wanted to talk to you about it, but I didn't want to  frighten you.'

Frighten her? If only he knew! She was far more frightened by the  prospect of having Oliver Tennant living in her home than she was of the  remote possibility of someone breaking into it.