The Boss's Virgin(20)

'Okay, I'll leave-but you promised to come with me to see Johnny. Will you at least keep your word about that?'

She made a weary gesture. 'What good would it do? I'm not going to be part of your life. There's no point in my meeting him.'

Randal was as serious as she was now, his grey eyes level and silvery,  like cooling metal, hardening and losing colour as if all the passion  had drained out of him, leaving him icy cold. 'I think there is. I'd  like him to know you. The two of you matter more to me than anyone else  in my life. I want you to know each other.'                       
       
           



       

She bit her lower lip, frowning. 'Why? What's the point?'

'I just told you, I want you to meet, even if it's only once. And you  promised you would. A few hours of your time, that's all I'm asking  you-surely you can spare a few hours?'

Pippa groaned. 'Why are you so obstinate. You never give up, do you?'

He shook his head 'Not when something really matters to me.'

She sighed deeply, thinking. 'Oh, very well, I'll come, just once. And  then … that's it, okay? You understand? You accept that I do not want to  see you ever again after that?'

He nodded. 'I hear what you say. I'll pick you up on Friday,  mid-morning, around eleven. Bring a change of clothes and a nightie.  We'll be spending the weekend at a hotel.'

'Oh, will we?' she bit out, body tensing in immediate alarm and distrust.

He caught her quick sideways, suspicious look and laughed in light  mockery. 'Oh, don't worry, I'm not planning a seduction scene. Johnny  will be sharing my room; you'll have one of your own. You'll be quite  safe.'

She had never been safe with him; since the beginning he had made her  desperately happy, then bitterly unhappy, and she was determined never  to let him risk her happiness again. Next time she fell in love she  wanted it to be with someone who loved her the way she needed to be  loved, who put her first.

She walked away from him to the front door, opened it Randal came after  her, looked down at her searchingly. 'By the way, did I hear you  agreeing to sell this cottage to Tom?'

'I knew you were eavesdropping! You have no shame at all, do you? When  you're after your own way you'll do anything to get it' She shrugged  contemptuously. 'But, yes, Tom asked me to sell it directly to him  instead of putting it on the market We were going to live here together,  you know, once we were married; he likes the cottage.'

'I hope you're going to have it professionally valued!'

'Of course, but it's going to make selling it much easier. It will save  me the ten per cent the agent would charge, and I trust Tom.'

'I can't say I do!' Randal snorted.

'You don't know him! He's a good man.'

'So he isn't buying the cottage just to stay in constant contact with you?'

She resented the dry, ironic note in his voice. 'No, certainly not. He's  buying it because he loves it, he always has-and after all, I was going  to sell it anyway. The sale will be handled through our solicitors; we  won't need to be in contact.'

'I was jealous,' he coolly retorted. 'He had your lipstick on his mouth,  it was obvious he'd been kissing you, and I was jealous.'

She felt hot colour bum along her throat and face, and looked down,  taken aback. The fierceness of his voice made her melt internally, made  her legs weak.

He watched her briefly, his face unreadable, then said, 'See you on Friday.'

He walked down the short drive, got into his car and drove off. Pippa  watched him vanish, then went in and shut the front door before going  upstairs to have a cooling shower and put on a thin cotton shirt and a  pair of cream linen trousers. Love was altogether too exhausting. She  could not bear many more scenes like that. Fighting Randal had left  scars on her heart and mind. She felt mauled, as if she had been in a  cage with a tiger and barely escaped with her life.

She sat down to write her letter of resignation to the insurance  company. Before she started looking for another job, it might be a good  idea to have a long holiday. She felt she needed one.

She spent the warm spring afternoon in her garden, mowing the lawn,  pruning and weeding; it was a peaceful occupation, and she didn't need  to think too hard, but her body used up a lot of the buzzing energy  inside her. The weather stayed fine and bright; it was pleasant in the  sun. By the time she had eaten a salad and watched TV for an hour or so  she was fed enough to go to bed and sleep without difficulty, keeping  thoughts of Randal at bay when she was awake but finding him invading  her dreams when she slept.

On Thursday Tom came round with a surveyor to price the cottage. While  the man wandered around, measuring rooms and testing various parts of  the building for signs of woodworm or damp, or other problems, Pippa and  Tom sat outside in the garden with coffee and biscuits.

'You should make quite a bit of money on the deal,' Tom said in his  calm, practical way. 'You got the place very cheaply and you did the  bulk of the redecoration yourself so you didn't really spend too much on  it. It was a very good investment. You'll finish up with a considerable  profit. Will you buy another place at once, or invest the money and  rent somewhere for the moment?'                       
       
           



       

'First I've decided to have a holiday.' That reminded her of something  she had forgotten. 'Did you manage to cancel the honeymoon?'

'It was far too late for that. I've decided to go alone.'

She bit her lip. 'Oh. I'm sorry, Tom … '

'I'm sure I'll enjoy it. I was due a holiday anyway. Where were you thinking of going?'

'I haven't thought about it yet. When I come back, though, I'll have to  get another job, then I'll see what properly values are like wherever I  move. I sent my resignation in, by the way. They should have it by now.'

Tom nodded, staring at two robins squabbling over some nesting material,  a few scraps of twine Pippa had used to tie up lupins months ago, in  the summer. They had frayed and broken, were hanging loose; the robins  each had hold of one of them and were pulling and squawking crossly at  each other.

'What about … him? Are you seeing him? Going on holiday with him?'

She sighed. 'Tom, don't keep asking about Randal, please. I don't want  to talk about him.' She shaded her eyes to look up at the sky. 'It's  such a lovely morning; don't waste it.'

Tom looked sulky, then said, 'What will you do with your wedding dress? Keep it for next time? When you marry him?'

She winced at the sting of the question. She couldn't blame him for  feeling bitter, though. She hadn't broken Tom's heart, she didn't think  he was madly in love with her, but she had damaged his ego, his sense of  himself, and to the sort of man Tom was that would be very painful. His  dignity was very important to him.

'I've talked to the dressmaker and paid her. I'll put the dress away for  the moment.' She put a hand on his arm tentatively. 'I'm sorry, Tom.  I've made a mess of your life, I know that, but I never intended to. It  was just bad luck that we had that crash and I met … him … again. But  although it was bad luck in one way, I do think it was just as well in  another. How could we have been happy when I didn't really love you the  way you should be loved? Sooner or later you would have realised  something was missing and then it would have been ten times worse for  both of us.'

He grunted, head turned away. She couldn't tell what he was thinking from the grim profile which was all she could see.

'You'll meet someone else, Tom,' she offered uncertainly. 'And this time it will be love on both sides.'

The surveyor, a thin young man with horn-rimmed spectacles and a very  serious expression, came out to join them, looking around the garden.  'Very pretty out here, isn't it? This is a really charming property, in  fact I'll have to measure the land too, before we go. But you've done a  very good job with the cottage. I gather it was in a pretty poor  condition when you bought it, and you did most of the decorating  yourself?'

'All of it, apart from the retiling of the roof and the plumbing. I even  put in most of the kitchen myself, modernised it all. The old man who  lived here hadn't touched the place for years and years.'

'Well, I'm impressed. You're very clever.'

'Thank you. Coffee?' She picked up the vacuum jug of coffee; it would still be hot.

'Black, no sugar,' he said, smiling at her, his blue eyes twinkling  behind the heavy spectacles. 'Do you do the garden yourself, too?'

'Mostly, yes. I can't afford to pay people to do things for me. I enjoy  gardening, anyway. In fact, I like doing things well; it gives me a  buzz.'

He sipped his coffee. 'I know what you mean. I suppose most of us like doing things well. And you make good coffee, by the way.'

She laughed. 'Thanks.'

Tom shifted impatiently in his chair, irritated by this light-hearted  conversation. 'Have you talked to your solicitor yet, Pippa? About  selling the cottage?'