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for anyone. 'It must have come as a shock.'
The truth in that statement made Gerald's mouth tighten, though not
for the reason Leon obviously had in mind as he placed a proprietorial
arm around Fliss's shoulders, hard determination replacing the formal
veiling of pity.
'Ready to go, darling?'
She could only shrug at that; there was nothing to be gained by
drawing attention to the way she really felt. It would upset Gerald too
much if he guessed the truth.
'Almost. I have one or two things to collect from my office. So I'll say
au revoir, Gerald.' Her eyes were soft as she held out a slim hand and
felt her boss's fingers tighten affectionately over her own. 'Keep in
touch.'
'I'll do that you just try to stop me! And, Fliss, be happy.'
She had to get out of the room quickly, before her expression
betrayed her. Apart from Netta, Gerald was the best friend she had
ever had, and Leon was forcing them apart, tearing her away from the
job she had worked so hard to deserve, and no way would she ever be
happy with the man who had once taken her loving heart and
trampled it beneath his feet!
Brushing past Leon with barely a glance at his stony, closed features,
she almost ran to her office, where she eihptied her desk-drawers of
the accumulation of personal bits and pieces, thrusting them
haphazardly into a plastic carrier she'd brought for the purpose. He
had followed her, she noted with irritation, and was leaning against
the door-frame, grim-faced and silent. To stop herself worrying over
the implications of what she was doing, she snapped, 'You told me to
be ready to leave on Saturday. Today, if you recall, is Friday!'
'So it is.' He didn't move, he was totally still except for his eyes, and
they followed her every movement. 'I decided to fetch you today.
Let's put it down to an understandable eagerness to resume our
married life.' He smiled suddenly, the lines on either side of his mouth
deepening sardonically, and she stuffed an unopened pack of tights
into the carrier and flashed him a look of intense dislike. He was no
more eager than she to re-embark on the farce of their marriage he
had no hair-shirt inclinations, as far as she knew.
But for some devious reason of his own he needed a wife at the
moment, even if only a paper one, and, having blackmailed her into
accepting the position, he was, quite characteristically, ordering her
around with no regard for her own needs or wishes.
'We'll leave as soon as we've picked up your gear,' he stated,
underlining her rebellious thoughts, and she turned on him, her hands
on her generous hips, her eyes glittering.
'And if I'm not ready to leave?' Her breath was coming quickly,
making her full breasts rise and fall rapidly, pushing against the thin
fabric of her blouse and commanding the attention of his knowing
eyes. His slow, assessing look made her pulses race it was as
though he were fondling her physically, and she recognised her
body's shaming reaction, felt her breasts harden and peak.
Disgust with herself for allowing him to affect her that way refuelled
her anger, and she bit out, 'Just because I was forced to agree to your
hateful ultimatum, it doesn't mean I'm willing to be treated like a
mindless idiot!'
'Felicity --' A long sigh escaped him as he levered his long body away
from the door-frame. 'Quit fighting me, can't you? I take it you are
packed?' And, without waiting for a reply to that, 'There's no paint at
all in our hanging around here. We may as well make tracks.'
He was right, damn him! She was finished in Marton Clee no job
and, as from tomorrow morning, no home. There was little point in
dragging the agony of departure out for longer than need be. But she
wasn't about to admit that to him, and she gathered lier things
together and walked out of her office for the last time, tight-lipped,
without a backward glance.
The short journey to her flat was accomplished in taut silence. Apart
from packing the clothes she had intended to wear tomorrow, there
was little to do. She had already sold her old Mini to a youngster on
the shop floor, and now she just had to lock the door behind her and
hand the key to Miss Pargeter, who had promised to let in the removal
men who would be arriving on Monday to take the personal odds and
ends she'd put into packing cases into store.
Leon had already taken her two large suitcases down to the car, and
Fliss was packing the unused foodstuffs from the store cupboards and
fridge into a carton. She would give them to Miss P, along with the
key, and she was concentrating on that, not giving herself time to look
around, because if she took a long look at the loved home she was
being forced to abandon she would burst into messy, childish tears.
'Almost finished?' Leon had walked into the room and was looking
out of the single, tiny window which afforded a view of the dustbins
in the yard and the single lilac bush which valiantly bloomed each
spring, its spicy perfume filling the small area.
She looked at him and she hated him. He was dragging her, mentally
kicking and screaming, away from the life she had made for herself,
and there was nothing she could do about it. She had never felt so
impotent. 'Where are we going?' She had a right to know. 'And don't
say "Feathergay" because I refuse to set foot inside that house ever
again.' She had spent the unhappiest eight weeks of her life there. She
would always associate it with heartbreak and humiliation, with the
death of her marriage. It seemed so strange that so lovely a place
could be so hateful.
He turned his head and looked at her coldly. 'No one's asking you to;
it would be the last thing Annabel could stomach.'
Fliss digested this in silence. His Statement came as no shock to her.
Annabel Draker had always hated her; she made a fit mother for this
man.
She made a small, throwaway gesture with one pretty hand. 'Where
are we going, then?'
'To the penthouse for the time being.' He took the unopened bottle of
milk she was holding and added it to the contents of the carton. 'Later,
of course, you will have to visit Feathergay. After all, you will be
mistress there one day.'
And wouldn't Annabel loathe the idea of that! she thought with bitter
humour. Her mother-in-law loved that house as though it were a
living thing, and her devotion had infected her only son. There had
been Drakers at Feathergay since the Restoration, when it had .been
built, and Annabel had made it crystal-clear that she didn't think Fliss
fit to cross the threshold.
She pushed the carton of groceries at him, and cast a last brief look
around the room, then ground out, through constricting throat
muscles, 'I have no interest in Feathergay now, and don't intend
taking any in the future. If it burned to the ground in the night, I
wouldn't blink an eyelash.'
He might have forced her to return to him, but he wasn't going to have
things all his own way. He would soon discover just how much she
had changed.
'If you want a mistress for your family home,' she advised coldly, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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