A Passionate Affair Page 11

  ‘ ’Morning,’ he responded, subsiding on to a stool at the breakfast bar and looping one leg round its stem. ‘It’s a cold day, isn’t it? I hope we’re not going to have any more snow.’

  ‘The daffodils are out in the park,’ remarked Mrs Temple, pouring him some coffee. ‘I saw them on my way over. Real pretty they looked, too.’

  Jay nodded, thanking her for the coffee, and as he put his newspaper aside, Mrs Temple pursed her lips with importance. ‘Mr Conway rang,’ she announced. ‘About fifteen minutes ago. I said I’d ask you to ring him back.’

  ‘Guy?’ Jay frowned. ‘Did he say what he wanted?’

  ‘No.’ Mrs Temple shook her head. ‘But I don’t suppose it’s anything that can’t wait until after you’ve had your breakfast.’

  Jay grimaced. ‘I doubt he’d agree with you,’ he remarked humorously. ‘It’s not like Guy to be out of bed before nine o’clock. It must be something important, or he wouldn’t have made the effort.’

  Mrs Temple snorted. ‘Well, don’t you go letting this meal spoil, or I’ll have a few words to say to Mr Conway next time he comes here.’

  Jay grinned, and levered himself up from the stool to go and ring his friend and colleague. Guy Conway worked for the commercial television station who had offered Jay a job. They had been friends since their student days, and the fact that Guy was married now had made little difference to their friendship.

  ‘Hi there!’ Guy’s response to Jay’s call was characteristically enthusiastic. ‘How are you? You haven’t forgotten Helen and I are expecting you for dinner on Friday, have you?’

  Jay lounged lazily on to a soft green velvet sofa. ‘I’m sure you didn’t ring me at eight a.m. just to ask me that,’ he countered drily. ‘What is it? Can’t it wait until Friday?’

  ‘Actually, no.’ Guy was serious now. ‘I wanted to catch you before you left for Frankfurt. You did say you were going to Frankfurt today, didn’t you?’

  ‘This evening,’ agreed Jay blandly. ‘But you could have caught me at the office.’

  ‘I didn’t know what time you were leaving,’ Guy explained, ‘and ringing your office doesn’t always work—you’re so seldom in it!’

  ‘Okay, point taken.’ Jay lifted one booted foot to brush a speck of lint from the hem of his slacks. ‘So what is it that can’t wait? Helen’s not ill or anything, is she?’

  ‘No, no.’ Guy was impatient. ‘It’s nothing to do with Helen. Only—well, were you really serious the other night when you spoke about finding yourself a house out of town?’

  Jay sat up. ‘Yes, I was serious. You know that.’

  ‘Okay, okay, don’t get uptight about it.’ Guy was also perceptive. ‘It just so happens we may be able to help you.’

  ‘Indeed?’

  ‘Yes. There’s a house in Combe Bassett, that’s a village in Oxfordshire, that sounds exactly what you want.’

  Jay’s interest kindled. ‘You’ve seen an advertisement?’

  ‘No.’ Guy hesitated. ‘As a matter of fact, it belongs to Helen’s aunt and uncle.’

  ‘And they’re selling?’

  ‘No, again.’

  ‘Guy—–’ Jay was growing impatient, but his friend interrupted him.

  ‘Let me tell you. I know you said you wanted to buy somewhere, Jay—–’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘—but—well, we don’t want to lose touch with you, and if you buy some place miles from anywhere, you’re going to find it bloody hard to sell again when the time comes.’

  Jay sighed. ‘Don’t you mean—if the time comes?’

  ‘Okay.’ Guy acknowledged the point. ‘Even so, I think you’re crazy if you go ahead and buy a house without finding out whether you can stand that kind of life.’

  Jay breathed deeply. ‘I guess you have a point.’

  ‘Sure I do.’ Guy was eager. ‘At least think about it.’

  ‘What about Helen’s relations? Where do they come in?’

  ‘They don’t.’ Guy paused. ‘They’re retiring, and they plan to pay a prolonged visit to Helen’s other aunt in Australia. They need someone to caretake the house for them. When I told them about you, they were delighted.’

  Jay drew a deep breath. ‘I’ve not said I’ll take it, Guy.’

  ‘I know that. But promise me you will think about it.’

  Jay shrugged his shoulders. ‘Okay, I’ll think about it.’

  ‘You can let us know your decision on Friday.’

  ‘Fine.’ Jay changed the subject. ‘How’s Helen?’

  ‘Oh, she’s okay.’ Guy was matter-of-fact. ‘How about Mrs Roland? Have you seen her lately?’

  ‘No.’

  Jay was abrupt, and his mood of well-being dispersed beneath a sudden wave of irritation. Two months ago, in an alcohol-induced state of melancholy, he had confessed his admiration for Mike Roland’s widow, and although he had not told Guy everything, he had regretted it ever since. His abortive attempts to see Cassandra since that night in Cambridge were a source of bitter self-contempt, and although they, too, were several weeks ago now, his pride was still smarting.

  ‘I only wondered,’ Guy ventured now, sensing the uncertain ground he was treading, ‘because as a matter of fact, I saw her myself last night, at Paul Ludlum’s party.’

  The muscles in Jay’s stomach tautened, and although he knew he was all kinds of a fool, he asked: ‘Who’s Paul Ludlum?’

  ‘Don’t you know him?’ Guy was tentative. ‘He’s an accountant. Mrs Roland’s accountant, I gather, although my guess is he’d like to be something more.’

  ‘Really?’ Jay found he wanted to end this conversation now, but Guy wasn’t quite finished.

  ‘Yes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘And I have to agree with you, she is a very attractive lady. Though I did think she looked a little pale. Maybe she’s working too hard. Ludlum tells me she has a very successful interior-designing business.’

  ‘I’m really not interested in Mrs Roland’s commercial abilities,’ Jay remarked, with cutting emphasis. ‘I’ll think about your proposition while I’m away, Guy, and I’ll get back to you.’

  ‘You do that.’ Guy was forced to accept his dismissal, and Jay rang off without offering Helen his usual good wishes.

  His breakfast was waiting for him, and he gulped down a glass of orange juice before looking at the food on his plate. The sight of grilled bacon and mushrooms, and lightly fried eggs, revolted him suddenly, and ignoring Mrs Temple’s speculative gaze, he picked up the newspaper and assumed an interest in its pages.

  He hoped Mrs Temple would leave him to get on with it as she often did, going about her work in the flat with her usual attention to detail. He could scrape the contents of his plate into the waste disposal unit in the sink, and she would be none the wiser. But this morning Mrs Temple chose to linger, and eventually tutted at the congealing food.

  ‘What did Mr Conway have to say to make you lose your appetite?’ she exclaimed, with the familiarity of long service. ‘Goodness me, you haven’t touched your meal. I thought you were hungry.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Temple.’ Jay forced a politeness he was far from feeling. ‘It must be because I’ve got other things on my mind. I promise I’ll do better tomorrow.’

  ‘You won’t be here tomorrow,’ retorted Mrs Temple, sighing as she picked up his plate and herself emptied its contents into the sink. ‘Have you forgotten? You’re off to Frankfurt. And I don’t suppose you’ll get a proper breakfast there.’

  ‘You’d be surprised.’ Jay determinedly cast his black mood aside. ‘Anyway, I’m glad you reminded me. Did you pack a dinner suit?’

  ‘I put in your black velvet dinner jacket,’ Mrs Temple agreed thoughtfully. ‘But you’re coming back tomorrow night, aren’t you?’

  ‘Late,’ said Jay, nodding. ‘I have to attend a reception before I leave, and I’ll come straight on to the airport. The black jacket is ideal. Thanks.’

  Mrs Temple sighed. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Mr Rave
k? I’ve thought myself that you’ve been looking a little tired lately. Are you sleeping properly?’

  Jay grimaced. ‘Well, I’m sleeping alone,’ he remarked, refusing to allow her words to rekindle his frustration. ‘Maybe that’s what’s wrong with me.’ His dark eyes danced. ‘I must be lonely.’

  Mrs Temple chuckled, though her face had turned red with confusion. ‘I know you’re teasing me, Mr Ravek. You’re not short of a young lady to—well, you know what I mean.’

  ‘Do I, Mrs Temple?’

  ‘Away with you, of course you do.’ Mrs Temple waved a teasing hand at him, and then left the kitchen to attend to her other duties.

  After she had gone, Jay poured himself another cup of coffee, and thought about the house Guy had suggested. It might be a good idea to rent a property. He didn’t want to sell this apartment, and keeping two homes going was an added expense. As yet, Mrs Temple knew nothing of his plans, but he was reasonably sure she would be prepared to go with him. She had said several times that since her son had left for Canada she had few ties in London, and as her husband had died before she started working for Jay, she would probably welcome the change.

  As to the rest of what Guy had said, Jay refused to let his friend’s comments about Cassandra arouse his antagonism. So far as he was concerned, she no longer existed, and any compunction he had felt for the way he had behaved had been savagely dispelled by her contempt for his feelings. He had thought she was different. He had actually believed he had at last found a woman he wanted to share some time with. But he had been proved wrong, and his bitterness towards her was compounded by the suspicion that she had been fooling him all along. He had even begun to doubt the kind of relationship she had had with her husband, and had almost succeeded in convincing him that her innocence had all been just an act.

  It was this that irritated him most, this and the unwilling awareness that no matter how he tried, he could not forget the satisfaction he had found with her . . .

  It could be said that Jay’s health was in an infinitely sweeter state than his temper when he flew into Heathrow late the following evening. He had drunk steadily throughout the two-hour flight, an unusual circumstance for him, and by the time he walked into the arrivals lounge at Terminal 2, he was in no mood to be civil to anyone.

  The whole trip had been a waste of time. He had been sent out to Frankfurt to interview Johann Richter, a German politician, whose right-wing tendencies were causing the democratic government some embarrassment, without even gaining a private conversation with the man. Richter had been surrounded by bodyguards every time he left his apartment, and the reception he was supposed to have attended this evening had been cancelled at the last minute. Jay’s interview with him had been meant to coincide with his current election campaign, but his advisors had warned him off, and Jay’s journey had been for nothing.

  The taxi ride into the city gave him plenty of time to review the reasons for his foul mood, and honesty compelled him to admit that Herr Richter’s attitude had not been entirely to blame. All day he had fought off a crippling feeling of depression, engendered by something that had happened the night before: an attractive German girl had attracted his attention in the bar of his hotel. She had been young and blonde and beautiful, and in the normal way Jay would have had no compunction about taking what she was so obviously offering. Instead, he had ignored her invitation, smiled, and said a polite goodnight—simply because she had aroused no sexual urge whatsoever!

  It was not a satisfying situation. He had not felt any interest in the opposite sex for more than two months now, and although up until now he had succeeded in convincing himself that he was tired of all the familiar faces, that compromise no longer held true. It didn’t make sense, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

  Guy rang him on Friday morning, ostensibly to remind him he was coming to dinner that evening. ‘Did—er—did you give the house some thought?’ he asked, revealing his real reason for ringing, and Jay concealed his impatience and said he was prepared to go and look at it.

  ‘I’ll give you the details this evening,’ Guy exclaimed delightedly, evidently well pleased, and Jay hoped he would not live to regret agreeing so impulsively.

  It was a bitterly cold day, and when Jay left his office at four o’clock that afternoon, a biting wind was blowing up the Strand. It was a relief to get inside the Ferrari, cold though it was, and he tried to dispel his dour mood by giving the vehicle its head. One could rely on machinery, he reflected gloomily, pulling ahead of a slow-moving pantechnicon. If one treated machinery correctly, it remained in good working order, and no stupid reflex like emotion could foul up the gears.

  He parked the Ferrari in the garage below his apartment and carried his leather folder into the lift. He had brought some work home with him, hoping he could concentrate more easily away from the distracting influences of the press room, but he doubted it. Lord, he wasn’t impotent, was he? he asked himself savagely, and then thrust the disquieting thought aside as the lift stopped at his floor.

  Mrs Temple had gone home. She knew he was dining out this evening, and Jay tossed his fur-lined parka on to one of a pair of sofas and went to fix himself a drink.

  Mrs Temple had left a list of calls that had come in for him on the pad beside the phone, and while he swallowed a double Scotch and soda he scanned the names. His mother had phoned, he noticed wryly, and there had been a call from a fellow correspondent, who had just returned to England after a spell in the Far East. The only other call had apparently been from a woman who had not left her name, and he could only assume it was someone who preferred to keep their association private. Even so, Jay was slightly perplexed. He couldn’t think of anyone offhand who might fit into this category, and he cast the pad aside, too restless just now to return anyone’s call.

  He was engrossed in the file he had prepared on Johann Richter when the doorbell chimed, breaking his mood. Swearing to himself, he got up from the couch and went to answer it. He was only just beginning to get interested in what he was doing, and only the thought that it might be Mrs Temple who had forgotten her key forced him to be sociable. Massaging the muscles at the back of his neck, he jerked open the door, and felt an immediate—and unwanted—stirring in his loins.

  ‘Hello, Jay.’

  With a feeling compounded of anger and outright disbelief, he regarded the young woman facing him with raw hostility. What the hell was she doing here? After the way she had hung up on him last time he phoned her, he had felt an intense desire never to set eyes on her again, and now here she was, disrupting what little sanctuary he had left.

  ‘I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you.’ She was speaking again, and he forced his mind back from the chasm of his thoughts. ‘I—I did ring earlier, but you weren’t at home, and I—I thought it might be better if—if I came to see you.’

  Jay stared at her grimly, aware for the first time that her face did look thinner than he remembered. What had Guy said—that she looked pale? She didn’t look pale now. Her colour was almost hectic. But he suspected it was on account of the apprehension she was feeling in coming uninvited to his apartment. She was still attractive, though, that much he had to concede, her fair hair longer than it had been previously, curling in soft tendrils about her cheeks. She was wearing a dark red cape, that hid her slender figure, but the hood was thrown back and the black fur lining etched her face. It angered him that he still found her appearance captivating, and his voice revealed his anger as he was obliged to make some response.

  ‘What do you want?’ he demanded, and there was no trace of compassion in his tone. ‘I’m rather tied up just now. I don’t have time for—social calls.’

  ‘This isn’t a social call.’ Cassandra’s soft lips drew into a troubled line, and she glanced with obvious emphasis over her shoulder. ‘Do—do you think I might come in for a moment? I—well, I have to talk to you.’

  Jay made no move to allow her to cross his threshold. On the contrary, he knew an alm
ost paranoic desire to keep her out of his apartment, and his voice was harsh as he repulsed her.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mrs Roland?’ he taunted. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind and decided to accept my proposal after all. I’m sorry.’ He was derisive. ‘It wasn’t an open-ended offer. I’m afraid it’s been withdrawn.’

  He knew he had hurt her by the suddenly pained expression he glimpsed in the long green eyes. Long lashes, silver-tipped like her hair, swept down to hide that knowledge from him, but not soon enough. He saw the bruised hollowing of their depths, and in spite of himself his conscience smote him.

  But she was already turning away, groping almost blindly along the corridor towards the lift. The unexpected compunction that made him speak her name went on deaf ears, and he was forced to stride along the corridor after her to bring her to a standstill.

  She fought him then, her arm moving uselessly in the effortless grip of his fingers, and his mouth compressed tightly before he gestured back to his door.

  ‘I was rude, and I apologise,’ he said grimly, the reluctance of his apology evident even to his ears. ‘I suggest you come back and tell me what it is that’s so important, and I’ll try and remember you’re a lady.’

  Cassandra caught her breath at his insolence. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she declared tautly. ‘I—I didn’t want to come here in the first place. If you’ll let go of my arm, I’ll go away as you obviously would prefer me to do, and I’ll try and forget your ignorance!’

  Jay looked down into those determinedly defiant green eyes now, and knew a violent urge to smother her protests with his mouth. She was so stiff, so indignant—and despite everything that had gone before, he couldn’t forget how she had made him feel . . .

  ‘You’re coming back with me,’ he said, his tone brooking no argument. ‘Now, do you come willingly, or do I drag you by your hair?’

  Cassandra tore herself free of him, brushing down the skirt of her cape with unknowing provocation. ‘As you can threaten me with brute force, what choice do I have?’ she demanded, and he acknowledged her unwilling capitulation. They walked back to the apartment in silence, and after urging her into the lamplit living room, Jay closed the door and leaned back against it with apparent indolence. Only he wasn’t indolent: anything but. And the discomfiting awareness of his own arousal was by no means reassuring in these circumstances.