She shook her head, close to hysterical tears as it dawned on her that he was handing her the perfect alibi, making up a story for her to use. But she couldn't lie to him or put all the blame on Randal, even though he might deserve it.
She had asked him to go away and leave her alone but he wouldn't go. Briefly she was tempted to tell Tom what he clearly wanted to hear-that she was innocent, that Randal had been forcing her. But, no, she had to tell Tom the truth, however painful and embarrassing. She had lied to him by omission for the past four years, hiding a very important piece of her life from him. She had to tell the whole truth now.
'No, Tom. I know him. I knew him before the accident. I worked for him before I came to work with you.' She swallowed, very pale, holding herself rigid. 'I … we … ' What should she tell him? How should she explain? She and Randal had not been lovers, but they might have been, if she hadn't left.
Tom leapt to the obvious conclusion, face grim. She had always thought of him as boyish. That young, cheerful look had gone now. 'He was your lover?'
'No!' She hesitated, making herself expound on the flat denial, because he had to understand how it had been. 'Well … no, but … he might have been. That was why I left. He was married with a child. I couldn't break that up, but I wasn't prepared to be his mistress, so I resigned and left the firm. I haven't seen him since.'
Tom ran a hand over his face, as if to expunge all trace of emotion from it before he spoke. When he did, he sounded almost calm, his voice fiat, toneless. 'Why didn't you tell me the other night? You must have recognised him.'
'Yes, of course, at once.'
It had been a blinding trauma, the instant when Randal had got out of his car and she'd seen those long legs, the windblown black hair, the strong, sardonic face. Time had rushed backwards at an alarming pace. She had felt like a girl again, trembling and breathless.
'Then why didn't you tell me you knew him?'
'I couldn't bear to. I didn't know what to say. And I thought it wasn't necessary. After all, nothing had really happened. We were attracted to each other, and might have become lovers, but I went away, so it didn't happen. There was nothing to tell. And I didn't think I'd ever see him again after that night.'
'But today you did.'
'Yes.'
She knew what he must be thinking-and she couldn't blame him. She hadn't set eyes on Randal for four years until the accident, and today they had ended up naked in bed together within hours. Tom was justified in being shocked. She was shocked herself. She had thought she knew herself pretty well, could predict how she would behave in any given situation. She had had to learn that there were depths of her nature she hadn't had any idea about. But, after all, how well did anyone know themselves?
'I really am sorry, Tom. I never guessed what would happen,' she stammered, very flushed.
'Are you saying he did force you?'
She wished she could say yes, but shook her head 'No, he didn't use force-he's devious and scheming, but never violent.'
Randal had had no need to use force. He had used her own feelings and desires against her and had a walk-over because she was too weak to defend herself. Whatever she might say to him, however fiercely she rejected him, Randal had some way of seeing past all that and realising his power over her.
Tom took a long, rough breath. 'What exactly are you telling me, Pippa? That you're in love with him?'
She bit her lip, staring back in helpless silence.
Tom slowly nodded 'And not with me. You've always said so and that's the truth, isn't it? You'll never be in love with me.'
Pippa still couldn't find the words to answer him. She could not lie, and yet how could she tell the honto God truth without hurting him even more?
'Well, say something!' Tom shouted, his face white. 'Surely you can say something! Aren't I entitled to that, at least?'
Moistening her lip with the tip of her tongue, she took a deep breath, whispered, 'Tom … I'm so sorry … I don't know what to say. But it isn't love, that isn't what I feel for him, I don't even know what it is I do feel. Only that I don't seem able to control it.'
He laughed mirthlessly. 'And all this time I've been putting you on a pedestal. I was waiting until we were married before I laid a finger on you, because I thought you were a virgin, pure as driven snow. And now, less than a week before our wedding, I find you in bed with a stranger!'
'I'm's … ' she began, and Tom suddenly shouted at her.
'Don't keep saying that!'
For a second she felt danger in him, a rage surging under his pale skin, making his body tense. She even thought he was going to hit her, and as their eyes met she knew she was thinking that too, but in the end Tom's basic decency won out and his shoulders sagged. He turned away from her to stare out of the window.
After a minute's silence that felt more like hours, he said, 'So what now? The wedding's off, I presume? Do you want me to deal with all the cancel-lations and phone calls? It would be better coming from me.'
'What … what will you say?'
'I'll tell the truth. We've changed our minds at the eleventh hour.' There was another pause, then he said abruptly, 'Will you be okay?'
She was touched by his concern. 'Yes,' she whispered.
'Goodbye, then.'
Spinning on his heel, he walked out of the room. She stood there, listening to him going, feeling limp and exhausted. The front door quietly closed.
It was so sudden, this ending-a week ago they had been busy planning the last details of their wedding, yet now there would be no wedding.
Her brows knit. What about her job? Tom had said goodbye-had he meant she no longer had a job? His words had sounded so final and she wouldn't be surprised if he had been firing her by implication.
How could they work together after this? The office gossip was going to be horrendous. Humiliating for Tom. The girls were going to be sorry for him, and, worst of all, show it, which he would hate. And if she went back, it would be embarrassing for her, too. People would whisper behind their backs, stare whenever they met them; some would drop hints, even have the cheek to ask direct questions.
Why? Why call the wedding off? Is there someone else? Have you met another guy? Or has Tom found another woman?
She shuddered, imagining it. No, she couldn't bear to go back and face Tom's hurt eyes, his wounded bride, or one of those curious, insolent interrogations.
Tomorrow she would have to write, resigning, and then she would put her cottage on the market and move again. A sigh wrenched her. Last time there had been no problem moving home, that shabby little room hadn't mattered to her, but this time she was bitterly reluctant to leave her home, the cottage she had spent so much time and energy and money on improving. It had been the very first real home she had ever had. She did not want to leave it. But she knew she couldn't stay here, not now.
Standing at the window into the back garden, she watched sunlight sparkling on spring flowers: the few last white narcissi, pale, frail flowers, purple hyacinth, whose fragrance made them hypnotic for insects which buzzed between them, making deep splashes of colour against the green of the lawn, newly budding bluebells under the apple tree not yet in blossom. She would probably never see another spring here.
Tears filled her eyes. She leaned on the window frame, put her hands over her eyes, weeping.
The first she knew of Randal's arrival was when he took hold of her shoulders and turned her towards him, one hand behind her head, pushing her face into his chest She was too miserable to protest or struggle; she desperately needed comfort Weakly, she lay against him, sobbing.
His fingers stroked her hair, rubbing her scalp in a sensuous rhythm she found hypnotic. 'Was he very unpleasant?'
She drew breath, said shakily, 'Not at all. I almost wish he had been. He was hurt, which was far worse. I feel so guilty.'
Randal put a finger under her chin and lifted her head, stared down into her tear-wet green eyes. 'You didn't love him and he'd have realised it eventually after you married him, and then he'd have been a damn sight more hurt. Surely you see that?'
She didn't answer, her mouth trembling. Randal put his thumb on it and traced the weak curve, caressed her upper lip, watching her like a cat watching a mouse. To her, his grey eyes seemed cruel, predatory.
'I think you'd better go now,' she said, eyes flaring with hostility.
His arms tightened round her and he bent his head to take her mouth fiercely. The heat of the kiss melted her anger, made her knees give way under her, but she didn't mean to let him do this to her again. She had to get control of herself-and him.
She grabbed his shoulders to push him away but couldn't move him. It was like trying to push over a rock.