The Unexpected Pregnancy. CATHERINE GEORGEЧитать онлайн книгу.
know by now that he goes his own sweet way.’
‘I do.’ He got up. ‘But in spite of that, or maybe because of it, I still feel protective towards him.’
‘And you’re convinced I’m going to hurt him in some way.’ She looked at him challengingly. ‘Do you really believe I’m sneaking into other men’s beds behind Tim’s back?’
His eyes flared dangerously for an instant. ‘Are you?’
They stared at each other in taut silence for a moment.
‘I don’t have to answer to you, James,’ she said hoarsely, and turned away.
He moved round the table and turned her face up to his. ‘Tears, Harriet?’
She jerked her head away, blinking hard. ‘Would you go now, please?’
‘Harriet, I’m sorry. I’ve no right to question your private life,’ he said wearily.
‘No, you haven’t.’ Harriet reached blindly for a sheet of kitchen paper to mop herself up, and James caught her in his arms, pressing her face against his chest as he smoothed her hair.
‘Don’t cry, little one,’ he said, in a tone that brought the tears on thick and fast. For a few blind, uncaring moments Harriet sobbed with abandon, but as she calmed down she grew aware of James’ heart thudding against her own, and pulled away in panic.
‘It’s just reaction to all the drama,’ she said thickly, knuckling the tears away. ‘Go away. I’d rather cry in private.’
‘I’d rather you didn’t cry at all,’ he said huskily. ‘Particularly when I’m to blame.’
She turned to face him, careless of tousled hair and swollen eyes. ‘The man you saw with me at the theatre is an old college friend, and Tim was perfectly happy about it. It’s absolutely none of your business, James Devereux, but just for the record I don’t sleep around. Now let’s drop the subject.’
For once James looked at a complete loss. ‘Harriet—’
She held up an imperious hand. ‘Look, I’m tired. Could you just go now?’
On his way to the door he paused, and turned to look at her. ‘On an entirely different subject, Harriet, I need an assistant gardener to help Frank Watts. If I offered the job to his son, my bar manager could move here to End House and young Greg could take Stacy and the boy to the garage flat,’ he added. ‘Think about it. I’ll be in touch.’
She stood utterly still for a while after he’d gone, staring at the door James had closed so gently behind him. Clever devil, she thought resentfully, then gave a wry little laugh. He might think he was persuading her in the one way certain of success, but he’d actually given her the perfect, face-saving way out of a dilemma. She could now sell End House at a very good price without revealing her change of heart. And no one need know that living alone there on a permanent basis had lost its appeal after only a day or two.
CHAPTER THREE
THE drama of the afternoon left Harriet with no enthusiasm for a trip to Cheltenham to see a film, as she’d intended. Instead she stretched out on the cane sofa in the conservatory after supper, trying to read. But, restless for reasons she refused to analyse, she gave up after a while and went out to water the flowers in the herbaceous borders instead. She spotted a gap in the hedge she hadn’t noticed before, made a note to point it out to James and, reluctant to go back indoors on such a beautiful evening, she fetched her phone and sat on the rustic seat at the end of the garden to ring Dido.
‘About time,’ her friend said indignantly. ‘Don’t you ever look at your messages?’
‘I’ve had distractions.’ With suitable drama Harriet described her adventures of the afternoon.
‘Wow!’ said Dido, awed. ‘You must have been scared to death.’
‘Not really. He was only a kid. Anyway Tim’s brother came charging to the rescue—’
‘Are we talking the famous Jed here?’
‘That’s the one! He’s down here doing staff interviews for Edenhurst.’
‘And he just happened to be on hand in your hour of need? How come?’
‘No idea. He was just passing, I suppose. What’s new with you?’
In triumph Dido announced that she’d been given a pay rise, and told Harriet to be back in good time on Saturday. ‘I’m in a party mood, so I’ve asked some people round to celebrate. Make sure Tim comes, too.’
After she’d rung off Harriet sat staring down the garden, not too thrilled about going back to plunge straight into one of her friend’s parties. The flat would be filled to overflowing with glossy, perfectly groomed people who worked for the same famous cosmetics house as Dido. No one would leave until the small hours, and before getting to bed there would be an argument, as usual, when Harriet insisted the mess had to be cleared up first.
Then something Dido said came back to Harriet. Why had James appeared at her back door at just that particular moment? She curled a lock of hair round her finger as she tried to think of him objectively. If she’d met James Edward Devereux for the first time this week as a stranger, would she have been attracted to him on a purely man/woman basis? She bit her lip. She might have hero-worshipped him when she was a child, but she’d never thought of him in that way before, and right now the worrying answer was yes. Tim would laugh his head off when she told him—not that she would tell him. He wouldn’t understand. Nor would she blame him. She didn’t understand, either.
Harriet was on her way to bed when the phone rang, and because only one person ever rang her that late she chuckled as she lifted the receiver.
‘Some people keep respectable hours, Tim Devereux.’
‘Wrong brother, Harriet,’ said James coolly.
‘Oh—sorry. Hello.’
‘I had a word with Frank Watts and told him that if Greg wanted a job I’d see him tomorrow afternoon. I made no mention of accommodation, obviously.’
‘Will you give Greg the job even if I don’t let you have End House?’
‘Of course I will!’ said James impatiently. ‘I’m ringing at this hour because it would obviously help if I knew your decision about the house before I see him, Harriet. Think about it overnight. I’ll call round in the morning for your answer.’
Harriet locked up and went upstairs to lean out of the open bedroom window, the nostalgic, summer scent of roses reminding her that her grandmother would have strongly approved of James Devereux as the purchaser for End House. Olivia Verney had been very fond of Tim, but Harriet knew she’d had enormous respect for the brother who’d worked so hard to provide security for him.
Next morning Harriet was up early. After a shower she creamed her skin with one of the free samples that often came her way from Dido, brushed her hair until it shone, and instead of tying it back left it to cascade in loose waves to her shoulders. As the final touch she made her face up in City style, instead of the sole smear of moisturiser it had made do with since her arrival. Once she agreed to sell End House to James Devereux she might not see him again for ages and sheer pride urged her to leave him with a better impression than the tear-stained creature of yesterday.
The best Harriet could do from the limited choice of clothes she’d packed was a short ecru denim skirt and jacket and a vest top in a caramel shade that toned well with her hair. And instead of meekly waiting in for whenever James deigned to arrive she went on her usual trip to the shops to buy a paper and her daily pint of milk. She walked back slowly through sunshine that had a heavy, sultry feel to it, and found James, as she’d hoped, waiting on the rustic seat at the end of the garden, formal in a lightweight dark suit. He got up to take her carrier bag, and gave her a look that made all the primping and fussing worthwhile.
‘Good