The Perfect Lover. PENNY JORDANЧитать онлайн книгу.
us,’ Katie had warned her. ‘He’s guessed that I’ve been sitting in at lectures to cover for you. He actually called me Katherine yesterday...’
‘So...?’ Louise had said grittily. ‘That is your name, isn’t it?’
‘It’s my name,’ Katie had agreed. ‘But at the time I was attending one of his lectures pretending to be you.’
‘He probably made a genuine mistake,’ Louise had told her irritably. She had gone home to Haslewich, on the pretext of having left some of her books behind on her last visit home, but in reality so that she could see Saul. To her chagrin, though, Saul had been away on business, and the whole exercise had proved to be a complete waste of time.
In those days she had not always treated her twin as considerately as she might have, Louise acknowledged now, as the boiling kettle disturbed her reverie, and in fact it was probably very true to say she had often been guilty of bullying and browbeating Katie into doing as she wanted.
Things were different now, of course. She had done what she could to make amends, and, as she was the first to acknowledge, there were areas in which her twin had shown considerably more strength of purpose and determination than she could ever have exhibited herself.
She had been in her late teens then, though, and so totally obsessed with Saul that nothing else, no one else, had been important.
Briefly she closed her eyes. This afternoon, when Saul had put his arms round her to give her that firm fraternal hug, initially her body had totally recoiled from his touch—not out of rejection but out of fear, a deep-rooted, instinctive, self-protective fear that there might be some hidden part of her that was still susceptible to her old romantic dreams. But to her relief what she had actually felt, all she had actually felt, had been a warm and very reassuring sense of peace and release, coupled with the knowledge that there was nothing, after all, for her to fear. Being hugged by Saul, being held in his arms, had meant no more to her than if he had been Olivia’s husband Caspar, or one of the Chester cousins, or indeed any other man of whom she had reason to be fond in a totally non-sexual and uncomplicated way.
She had known then that she was truly and totally free of the past, at least where Saul was concerned.
Frowningly she stirred her coffee.
She had behaved foolishly when she had been at university, there was no getting away from that fact, but she wasn’t alone in having done that—many other students had done the same.
She picked up her coffee mug too quickly and some of the hot liquid spilled onto her hand. She cursed angrily under her breath.
Damn Gareth Simmonds. Why on earth couldn’t he have stayed safely where he was in Oxford—and in her past?
The last thing she needed right now was having him around studying her... watching her with those too perceptive, too knowing evening-sky-blue eyes of his...judging her...just waiting for her to make a mistake...
Louise started to grind her teeth.
Well, she’d got news for him. She wasn’t the Louise she had been at Oxford any longer. She was a woman now, an adult, holding down a highly responsible and demanding job, proving that she could control and run her own life, that she didn’t need the constant back-up and support of her twin sister to be there at her side all the time, to do her bidding, to make her feel whole and complete. God, but she had hated him for throwing that accusation at her—just one of the scathing criticisms he had made of her!
It should have been Saul’s denouncement of her, after she had so dangerously tricked Tullah into following her into the maze and left her there at the masked ball, that should have remained like a scar on her consciousness, a dialogue that ran for ever through her head as she tried to argue her way out of it, but oddly it wasn’t. It was her arguments, her confrontations with her tutor about which she still had bad dreams, and still, in times of stress, played over and over again through her memory.
Oxford, the time after she had finally been forced to realise that Saul would never love her, that in fact he loved someone else. Oxford and Gareth Simmonds. Oxford, Italy—and Gareth Simmonds. Italy and Gareth Simmonds.
Picking up her coffee, Louise walked into her small sitting room and curled up on the sofa, closing her eyes. She didn’t want to relive those memories, but she could feel the weight of them pressing down on her, pushing their way into her consciousness just as Gareth Simmonds seemed to be pushing his way into the new life she had made for herself.
As though the debacle of the masquerade ball had not been punishment enough for her to contend with, that following week she had received a letter from Gareth Simmonds. A curt letter informing her that he wished to see her as there were certain matters concerning her work which he wished to discuss with her.
Her parents knew she had received the letter, and there had been no way she had been able to keep its contents a secret from them—although Katie had been sworn to secrecy over the worst of her excesses in skipping tutorials. If her mother and father had not actually stood over her while she went through the humiliation of telephoning Gareth Simmonds and making an appointment to see him, they had certainly left her in no doubt about their feelings of shock and disappointment at the way she had been abusing both her intelligence and the opportunity that going to Oxford had given her.
Furiously she had blamed Gareth Simmonds for adding to her problems, while having to give way to her parents’ firm insistence that they would drive her to Oxford for the interview, where she planned to stay for a few days in order to try to catch up with her work.
They had set out after breakfast, her mother patently unhappy and trying to control her tears and her father unexpectedly grim-faced and distant, and Louise had known what was going through both their minds. Was she, like her elder brother Max, going to turn out to be one of those Crightons who had inherited the same genes as her uncle David—the ‘S’ gene, as she and Katie had nicknamed it as teenagers. The ‘S’ standing for selfish, stupid and self-destructive.
She had wanted to reassure them, to tell them that there was nothing for them to worry about, but she had still been deep in shock herself, still traumatised not just by what she had done but by the frightening emotions which had given rise to her dangerous behaviour.
‘I can’t believe you could behave so appallingly,’ her father had told her grimly, his voice shaking slightly with emotion as he’d confronted her with the full enormity of what she had done after the ball.
‘What were you going to do? Leave Tullah in the maze until—’
‘No... No... I just...’ Tears streaming down her face, Louise had turned her head away from him, not able to bring herself to admit that she had been so obsessed by her need to make Saul see her as a woman, to make him love her as a woman, that she had simply seen Tullah as a hindrance who was standing in her way. Someone who was preventing Saul from seeing her, Louise, properly, and recognising that they were meant to be together.
Katie had travelled to Oxford with them to give her some moral support. She was also going to use the time to see friends who’d stayed up in Oxford to earn some money waiting at the local bars and restaurant. While her mother had fussed around her rooms, tidying up Louise’s discarded clothes and books, Katie had simply taken hold of her hand and gripped it tightly in a gesture of sisterly solidarity and love.
It was only when her mother had gone to shake her duvet and straighten up her untidy bed that Louise had finally moved, pushing her away and telling her fiercely, ‘I can do that...’
What had already happened was shameful enough. To have her mother move her pillow and discover that she slept with Saul’s purloined shirt beneath it would have been the ultimate humiliation.
When they were on their own Katie asked her awkwardly, ‘Do you...do you want to talk about it...?’
Angrily Louise shook her head.
‘Oh, Lou,’ Katie whispered sombrely, her voice full of pain and despair at what her twin had done, and love and pity for Louise herself.
‘Stop