Tomorrow's Bride(18)

Cautiously sipping the ice-cold champagne, eyes only vaguely fixed in a  certain direction, she drifted casually across, exchanging a word here  and there until she was almost within earshot. The taller of the two  women, the one with the stunning auburn hair rippling to her shoulders,  was another American; she couldn't catch the accent of the other, who  was less flamboyant but, she guessed, more Patrick's type.                       
       
           



       

A joyful burst of laughter from the trio forced her to raise her head  disapprovingly, and at that very moment Patrick glanced her way. She  felt herself begin to colour as his smile faded; his words confirmed  that he was aware of her curiosity.

'Don't stand on the fringe, Leigh.' How dared he imply...? 'Let me  introduce you to Paul's cousin and a friend from LA.' And he completed  the introductions while she simmered quietly, barely giving her time to  take in their names. And then almost at once his presence was required  elsewhere and she was left, mind totally blank, unable to think of a  sensible thing to say.

'You know Patrick well, Leigh?' The redhead was following him with her eyes, and Leigh found that she was doing the same.

'Well?' She considered. 'I can't say I know him well, exactly.' How  easily lies came tripping from the tongue. 'I met him-oh, some time  ago.'

'Some time ago?' the woman queried in a gently mocking tone. 'You must  be spoiled with attractive men if you don't remember precisely. / can  remember precisely-date, time, place-where I first met him.'

'Oh?' It seemed safer to make no further enquiries about that, and in  any case a few more guests had joined them and the conversation moved  on, but she couldn't rid herself of awareness of him, even when she  deliberately turned her back.

A little later she saw that the redhead had cornered him again-or had it  been the other way round? Whatever, she was sparkling wildly and he was  lapping it up. A sudden unwelcome vision came into her mind. She saw  that beautiful Titian hair spread out on pillows-how seductive... You  could hardly blame a man for... Oh, damn it. Firmly she turned and  walked from the room. She was mad, persevering with this self-torture;  let them do what they wanted-it was nothing to her what he did. With  Ines da Silva or itinerant Americans, she simply didn't care, and the  pain that was tearing at her was bound to ease soon. But it was  impossible to escape for long. Soon Holly winkled her out. 'You must  come, love; the speeches are about to begin and I think Paul is going to  say nice things about you.' So she was ushered willy-nilly to that end  of the room, forced to smile at the flattering references, which  naturally included both godparents, and with Patrick standing close  enough to touch it took all her powers of self-control.

After all the more obvious toasts there was one to the godparents, and  she and Patrick had no choice but to turn to each other, glasses raised,  hypocritical smiles in place, while a few camera bulbs flashed. She  imagined it was as unwelcome to him as it was to her. Only by fixing her  eyes firmly on a pattern on the wallpaper, just to the left of his  shoulder, was she able to preserve an appearance of detachment and  enjoyment. But the moment the formality was over she turned abruptly and  sought the solace of the nursery.

Soon there were sounds of guests leaving. Her sense of relief and  release was enormous, and she emerged from the nursery just as Holly  crossed the hall and began to make her excuses. 'He refuses to wake up  for his godmother.' She smiled and shrugged philosophically. 'So I'm  having to hope that tomorrow things will be better.'

'Oh, love, do you have to go away so soon?'

'I think I should-and you still have your relatives with you. If it's  still all right I'll come round in the morning. You do remember I said I  wasn't going back till late afternoon? We can have a real heart to  heart then. Provided-----' she raised an eyebrow in the direction of her  host, who had just come forward to join them '-provided Paul III  assures me he'll have returned to his money-bags by then.'

'You're making me regret the important meeting I have at nine-thirty. I  would much rather listen to you two letting your hah- down.'

'But that would spoil all the fun, wouldn't it?' Holly kissed her friend  on both cheeks. 'And thank you, Leigh, for being such a perfect  godmother. In fact-----' she turned to her husband for confirmation'-if  we had searched the length and breadth of the country we couldn't have  found better-looking godparents.'

'I'll settle for the glamorous godmother,' Paul draped an arm round his  wife's shoulders. 'And that hat-it's been the talk of the afternoon.'

'Oh, yes, the hat.' Leigh wrinkled her nose. "That reminds me-I left it in the nursery. I'd better go and pick it up.'                       
       
           



       

There she and Holly found that Pauli was being fed, and somehow Leigh  was holding him again, while the girl who was helping consulted his  mother about some little adjustments to his cot. She even found she was  enjoying it. His cheek against hers was so incredibly soft, the tiny  fingers were reaching out to catch her hair, and she propped him against  her shoulder, walked up and down once or twice, rubbing his back in  what she thought was the approved way.

She had no idea she was being watched till she passed a mirrored  cupboard, and she stopped abruptly as she stared into the unwavering  eyes of Patrick Cavour. For just a moment she was transfixed, paralysed  by the rush, the deluge of emotions which tore at her senses...  Something in his eyes added to her pain-a slight frown, an expression  which made her long to rush forward, say something-anything that might  begin to soothe...

'Here, Leigh, let me.' Holly smiled as she appropriated her son.  'Leaving you all this time...' Then they walked into the hall to find-of  course; she might have guessed-Paul with Patrick by the door. 'It's all  arranged. Patrick volunteered to see you back, Leigh. He doesn't mind a  bit.' Holly grinned at Patrick and lowered her voice confidentially.  'Leigh imagines you have to be coerced into offering to take her  anywhere. As if any normal male wouldn't jump at the chance.'

Too incensed to say anything, Leigh remained silent until they were in  the elevator and then, hoping her voice wouldn't show exactly how  furious she felt, said, 'I'd be grateful, Patrick-' thank heavens she  sounded cool and detached '-if we could stop at the concierge's office. I  can call a cab from there. There's no reason for you to get your car  out again.'

'If that's what you want.'

For an instant she was shocked-in spite of apparently getting her own  way, she had not expected him to give in so easily. If not an argument  at least he might have gone through the motions, however insincere.

'Best thing-----' Patrick interrupted her thoughts '-would be to call  from my apartment. 'The concierge is often having a break about now.'

So she found herself following him along the corridor, hesitating  outside his door, then stepping reluctantly into the hallway, watching  as he crossed to the telephone alcove.

'You know...' He had begun to dial a number, and for a moment she was  too involved with her roused emotions to realise that it was to her he  was speaking. She swung round from the water-colour she had been  examining so intently. 'You have a mark down the back of that beautiful  jacket you're wearing.' She watched the receiver being replaced, aware  as he came towards her that her heart was beating madly in her chest,  that if he should touch her she couldn't guarantee what her reaction  would be... 'If you would like to take it off I could try...'

'Oh, yes?' Thank goodness she had found the strength to smile with cynical disbelief.

'It looks-----' his voice was clipped, matter-of-fact and crushing '-very much like milk.'

'Oh.' For an instant she was taken aback, then it began to register how  she had taken the baby, soothing him against her shoulder, and wasn't  regurgitation one of their favourite pastimes in those circumstances?  'Oh,' she said again, this time shaking her head in faint resignation.

'If you would like to give me your jacket, I'll do my best to clean it.'

'Thank you.' She undid the buttons, slipping the jacket from her  shoulders and handing it to him, conscious that her brief camisole top  was more than a little provocative. Only, she wasn't going to allow him  to imagine that she was nervous, that she was afraid of her own  reactions, and besides... she had herself to convince as well... She  followed him to the kitchen-all gleaming navy units, shining steel and  smoky glass-watching as he dealt quickly and efficiently with the  dribble, finishing off with a slightly damp cloth, rubbing it with a  clean tea-towel and then offering it to her.

'There you are. I don't think there's any permanent damage and it's not  damp enough to cause rheumatics.' He watched impassively as she shrugged  herself back into the garment, fastening it with shaking fingers, and  she was very relieved, so she told herself, that no decision was  required of her. She had been so certain-afraid, rather, she corrected  herself quickly-afraid that events might have been conspiring to lead  her in that direction, although it was something of an anticlimax to  discover that there was no need to fight him off, that he was apparently  as unwilling as she was to resume...