It was a particular twist of malicious fate which brought a telephone call from her mother later that afternoon, her tone of resignation somehow much more frightening than her more usual dramatic diagnoses as she described the small lump on her neck and the doctor's insistence on immediate investigation.
'So I'm wondering, Leigh, if you can possibly come down and keep Daddy company for a few days. Anyway, here he is now to have a word.'
And of course there was nothing to consider; she had no choice but to go home when the outlook was so fraught.
She could never explain afterwards why she was so devious with Patrick when she told him about it-most likely she was still smarting from his decision and wanted to get back at him. In any event, her deliberately casual explanation elicited only lofty disdain, coupled with what she interpreted as insincere insistence that of course she must go since her mother was ill, both of which increased her simmering indignation.
On the second day of her visit to Great Whencote the result of the biopsy brought overwhelming relief. The lump was a benign cyst and was scheduled for removal within the next month.
'Thank heaven for that.' Her father put down the telephone and turned to his daughter with an uncharacteristic grin. 'It's been such a worry. And now-----' he crossed the room and put an arm round Leigh's shoulder, squeezed it in an unusual demonstration of emotion '-now there's nothing to prevent you going back to Oxford and that young man you're so fond of.'
'Father.' She couldn't quite control the colour which rose so suddenly in her cheeks, and she grinned in acknowledgement. 'I don't have to dash away. I'll wait as long as you need me.'
'Well, what I'm saying is, now that the pressure is off, there's no reason why you should stay here right now. I know there will be lots going on back at college, and your mother and I can manage perfectly well now we know there's nothing serious. And, as well...' He hesitated, then went on, 'Your mother is inclined to fuss about her health. To be honest, she's not altogether cut out to be a vicar's wife. As you know, I was teaching in a prep school when we met, and I think that life might have suited her best. What I want you to know, Leigh, is that you mustn't be too ready to drop everything when she rings with some complaint or other. You have your own life and I don't want that to be sacrificed to us. You understand what I'm trying to tell you?'
'Yes, I think so.' He hadn't used the word hypochondriac, but she knew what he meant. On impulse she reached up and kissed his cheek. 'And thank you, Dad. Only, I want you to promise that if things ever get really serious you'll call me. I'll stay now, in any case.'
She made the deliberate decision to let her anger with Patrick, and maybe even his with her, cool down for a few days. It might be good for both of them to miss each other and for them- for him especially-to reflect on the unfairness of his decision and how adversely it was bound to affect both their lives.
Looking back on it afterwards, she was stunned by her own self-assurance. Crass self-delusion was a more apt description, she decided, for certainly then she had been wholly confident that things could be mended in line with her own inclinations.
But, unbelievably, that had been the end.
Now, lying in bed in Strasbourg, Leigh turned restlessly, unwilling to relive the final agony of that time. Right up to the end she had believed, had even prayed for him to come to her and say that he had changed his mind. But as the days had passed she'd found her convictions shaken. The London job had begun to lose a little of its glossy image and it had been an immense effort to stick to her decision. If he had come dashing up to Gloucester in an attempt at persuasion she was by no means convinced of how she would have reacted.
Then with relief, at last, she'd travelled back to Oxford, her mind fizzing with all kinds of contingency plans, had gone up to the flat and... found that he had gone. A friendly, civilised little note had assured her that there was no need to hurry to vacate since the rent was paid for three full months ahead, that his date had been brought forward and that he had just enough time to see his family before setting off for New York and the briefing by the aid organisation. All very friendly and entirely soul-destroying, especially the part assuring her that j he would always have the happiest memories of the time they had spent together. There was certainly no sign that he was sharing any of her anguish, no indication that he was even missing her.
Twice, pride in tatters, she lifted the telephone in the flat to ring him at his home. Twice she replaced the receiver as she struggled to find the right words for such an occasion, not for the first time doubting the practical use of all her years of study. Each time her courage failed. She couldn't bring herself to do what her instinct demanded, to speak to him, beg him to find a place for her on his team. Anything, she wanted to say. I don't care what it is so long as we can be together.
Then, at last, she considered she was word-perfect. She dialled the number and found herself talking to his sister, Grainne, who was more than willing to have a long chat, and who told her it was such a pity that she hadn't called just a few hours earlier since Patrick was due to be taking off from Shannon about now for his journey to the States.
Her only choice then, she realised, was to find his address and write to him. It might be possible to join the project a little later, and in the meantime, though the idea was much less cheering than she would have imagined earlier, she could gain a few months' experience in the Commons job. Perhaps it was a moment for independence, if only to demonstrate that she could manage on her own. Anyway, she thought, trying to make a virtue out of necessity, this way would be less humiliating, less frantic.
And there was little doubt that, but for a chance meeting with Deborah Fleetham in the supermarket, one day the letter would have been sent.
For Debbie had news which she was more than anxious to impart. It was about her friend who was a nurse at the John Radcliffe. 'You must remember Gillian. You would have met her at my twenty-first-the tall blonde with the marvellous figure. I thought you might have heard...' The wide, knowing eyes were eager for Leigh's reaction. 'She's off to Bangladesh with Patrick Cavour; they must be in New York by this time. It's all so exciting and romantic, don't you think?'
Only she never did hear what Leigh thought, for Leigh remembered very suddenly about an urgent message, turning away quickly so that Deborah would not see the tell-tale brilliance in her eyes.
Unhappiness she had expected, had been prepared for, in a way, but the physical pain had come as a total shock, she recalled now. She had lost weight, become exhausted with the sheer effort of trying to carry on as usual. It was an experience she remembered with something close to terror, and one she had no intention of repeating.
CHAPTER TWO
WHEN the tall figure swung his briefcase on to the seat beside her, Leigh, preparing for a much needed rest, glanced up in reproach at his intrusion into what she had been hoping was her space, registered someone stowing a grip in the overhead locker, then had to do a swift retake. Her eyes widened in dismay and shock, but the embossed initials on the brown document case, PJC, merely confirmed the message that her brain was determined to reject. Damn. Damn. Damn. Nervous irritation was loud in her voice before she had the wit to attempt a disguise.
'What on earth are you doing here?' No use hoping the shrewish note would be missed.
'Much the same as you, I expect.' If Patrick Cavour was rattled by her manner then he was much too cool and experienced an operator to let it show. But still, she could detect wariness in the way his eyes swept over her before he settled into his seat, wariness and something she liked even less-detachment verging towards dislike, or possibly just disapproval. Whatever, it was quite enough to have her nerves screaming as, from the corner of her eye, she saw the long fingers dangerously close, searching for the safety buckle and... She caught a whiff of the distinctive cologne which made the years simply evaporate. Unexpected tears stung; she found herself holding her breath, fascinated by the smooth brown skin, the scatter of dark hair across the knuckles, the heavy gold watch beneath the dazzling white cuff...
'Flying to Paris.' The words brought her from her musings. 'On business.'
Oh, no. Metaphorically Leigh closed her eyes. Surely it couldn't be? It mustn't be... Please God, she began to pray, but without much hope.