Tomorrow's Bride(25)

'Almost.'

'And,' she raced on, without the word having registered, 'once we've  established that, then maybe we can compare lists and-----' Suddenly she  stopped, her wide violet eyes searching his with suspicion. 'What? What  did you say?'                       
       
           



       

'I said, almost.' His tone was aggravatingly patient, maybe even a  little smug. 'You implied a question and I answered it. And, before we  go on, may I say that more than anything I regret that I can't give a  different answer? I would like to say "entirely" but...'

She stared, her normally sharp brain like some ancient rusting machine,  but if she was right he seemed to be saying... 'But-----' it was close  to a wail, and she missed the flicker of a smile caused by her reaction  '-you've lived in California.'

'Washington,' he corrected her. 'And can I say, in defence of a country I  love, that it's not all sex and drugs, in spite of the images you see?  Not everyone in the States lives like a tomcat. Not even the women,' he  added wryly.

'Oh.' It was hard to know what to say.

'And am I right in thinking that in exchange for that information you  offered a quid pro quo? Some people in the profession call it plea  bargaining.'

She looked at him with suspicion. He was altogether too bland, was now  giving the impression of being wholly in control, but she had indicated,  foolishly as it turned out... She averted her head, conscious that her  earlier confidence and euphoria were ebbing fast. There was little doubt  that it was shaming in these liberated times. He would think no one had  been interested enough to...

'I've had only one partner in my life.' Accusingly, she faced him. 'Ever,' she added, to avoid future misunderstandings.

'Leigh.' That voice, so soft, so tender, was almost an encouragement to  tears, but she wouldn't risk a deluge even if it did wipe away the  miseries of the past years, and in any case his outstretched hand  stifled that inclination, tangling in her hair, delicately tracing the  line of her cheek, curving about the nape of her neck.

'What fools.' As he smiled he shook his head despairingly. 'What fools  we are. Me for jumping so readily to conclusions, and you-----' he gave  her a reproving little shake '-you for baling out as you did that  morning in Paris. When we woke up together I meant to...' He grinned  mischievously. 'At least, the second thing I meant to do was to put  something to you, a proposition, a pro-----'

'Oh, Patrick.' Her life was all at once a dazzling, blinding prospect;  joy was exploding inside her, taking her straight up to the  stratosphere. 'I think I know.' With just a touch of shyness she reached  out for his free hand, rubbed gently at the inner skin of his wrist.  'You want us to go back to how things were in Oxford; you're asking me  to come and live-----'

'No.' His denial was so fierce that her eyelids flicked back in  apprehension. His expression was so serious that the bubbles of pleasure  burst, and she was dipping to earth so fast that she was bound to hit  rock-bottom with a crippling crash. 'No,' he repeated less fiercely.  "There can't be any going back for us. That is the very last thing in  the world I want.'





CHAPTER NINE



LIGHT-YEARS might have passed as they stared at each other, though in  fact it was seconds. Leigh, wide-eyed, desperate, felt her mouth  tremble, and pressed her lips together, determined that Patrick would  never guess how she felt. Even though he was looking at her with such  intensity that he must be planning to say they must part forever. 'Oh...  I see.' Her tone of vague interest was masterly.

'Leigh.' It was a weary and in the end almost a reproving sigh. 'What on  earth are you thinking? Oh, I suppose it's my fault again. I'm making  such a muck-up of all this.' His hand was trailing down her cheek again,  and he could have no idea of the effect of his thumb brushing once or  twice against her trembling mouth. 'What I'm saying is, I don't want us  to live together-at least, not just live together.'

Emotions were building inside her; she was holding her breath in  superstitious fear of damaging the fragile hopes and aspirations that  his words were stimulating; it was dangerous to allow herself to  believe...

'Leigh, my darling.' She breathed again, all the stony fears inside her  seeming to ease and shift. 'Five years ago it was a terrible error not  to make a commitment, not to ask you to make one. I suppose...' He  shrugged, smiled down at her in a regretful kind of way. 'I suppose the  commitment was taken for granted, but I'm not going to repeat the same  mistakes. This time there's got to be more to it. It's not just a  question of slipping into bed with you, though God knows that's on my  mind most of the time. No, I want it to be permanent, acknowledged by  the whole world. I want you, in time, to have my children.                       
       
           



       

'So I'm afraid this time it's marriage, Leigh. Could you bear it, do you  think?' He gave, she thought, little indication that he had doubts  about her answer, looking down at her with typical Cavour confidence.

'For us to be married at the very earliest date it can be arranged? Tomorrow wouldn't be too soon for me.'

'Oh.' For a moment she seemed about to weep. 'Oh, Patrickl' There was accusation in both her tone and manner.

'Leigh?' His voice held perhaps just a shade of uncertainty. 'Patrick  Cavour, how could you do it? How could you ask me to marry you when I  was wearing this … this disgusting old T-shirt and a skirt I've had since I  was seventeen, while you … ? Quickly she took in his casual dark  trousers, the checked shirt with sleeves folded back to display strong  brown forearms, the dark green tie, highly polished shoes-he was always  so immaculate. 'You.' She gestured with one outflung arm.

'Oh.' He laughed then, and gave her a little shake. 'If it will make you  happy then I'll go and look out my sackcloth and ashes, but not before  you give me my answer, put me out of my misery and tell me you'll marry  me.'

'Try to stop me.' This time she put her arms about his neck and pulled  his face down to hers. 'Just try. Of course I'll marry you. I love you  and simply have no choice in the matter. But still, I would have  preferred it if you'd chosen a moment when I was wearing something  glamorous. Or even something slightly less revolting.' 'To me you look  beautiful no matter what you're wearing. And the important thing is that  you're wearing something' His mouth moved with tantalising slowness  against hers. 'Oh?' What on earth could he mean? 'That day-night,  rather-in Paris, I woke in the early hours and almost woke you up to ask  you-to tell you, rather-that you must marry me. But then I realised how  inappropriate it would be to propose to you when we were in bed  together, and besides, you looked so deeply, so innocently asleep...

'Now look-if you keep doing that-----' he caught at her hands, nibbled  reprovingly at her fingers '-we'll be back in a similar and  inappropriate situation, and I've never fancied making love in a  hammock. Besides which-----' he glanced up at the branch supporting the  top end '-I very much doubt if this tree is capable of supporting our  joint weights, and I don't want to appear at our wedding on crutches or  pushing a zimmer frame. And, apart from that, there's always the chance  of a surprise visit from your father, and I don't want him to draw any  wrong conclusions when I ask him to marry us next week.'

Leigh giggled. 'Oh...Father. I almost forgot about him. Tell me, what did he say when you appeared?'

'I think he was... slightly surprised, shall I say?...by my desperate  request to see you. In fact, I half expected him to slam the door and  ring the police.'

'Idiot.'

'But he remained perfectly calm and told me where I could find you.  Oh... and he did say he remembered me-picked me out from your large  gallery of admirers.'

'Mmm, he does have a tremendous memory.' Then, as his hands tightened  about her waist, she relented, with an abrupt change of subject. 'When  you said as soon as possible, Patrick  –  for the wedding, i mean  –  how  soon is soon?'

'Tomorrow?' he said hopefully, then smiled at the determined shake of her head. He compromised. 'Next week?'

'Impossible. My mother is due back from New Zealand next week. We couldn't possibly … '

'Ah, yes. Of course we couldn't. I want everyone to be happy for us and with us. But I do mean to set a time limit.'

'Do you, indeed?'

'I do. A five-year wait is enough for the most patient man. But tell me,  you've never been to the States, have you?' She shook her head without  speaking, the expression in her luminous eyes saying more than words  ever could. 'I do have to go to New York in three weeks. If we could  arrange things before then we could go together, and I know the most  perfect little cottage in Vermont where we could be completely alone  and-----'