Guilty Page 5
‘I—I—don’t mind,’ she said at last, not altogether truthfully. ‘Um—would you like some sugar? I—know men usually do.’
‘And how would you know that?’ enquired Jake, still holding her gaze, and she knew a sudden spurt of indignation.
‘Why shouldn’t I? Just because I’m not married, doesn’t mean I haven’t had any experience where men are concerned,’ she retorted, resenting his implication, and then could have bitten out her tongue at the recklessness of her words. She had no idea whether Julie had told him of the circumstances of her birth. And if she hadn’t…
But Jake was speaking again. ‘I know about that,’ he countered mildly. ‘You had Julie while you were still in high school. And I didn’t imagine that was an immaculate conception.’
Laura flushed then, his cool, faintly mocking tone reminding her of how inexperienced she was when it came to his kind of verbal sparring. But she refused to let him think he had disconcerted her, and, squaring her shoulders, she added crisply, ‘I am almost forty, you know. Why do young people always think sex wasn’t invented until they came along?’
‘Is that what they think?’ Jake arched one dark brow, and, wishing she had never started this, Laura nodded.
‘You tell me,’ she responded tautly. ‘It’s your generation I’m talking about.’
‘My generation?’ Jake pressed his left hand against his chest, his expression mirroring his amusement. ‘Dio, how old you think I am?’
‘It doesn’t matter how old you are,’ declared Laura, trying to steady the cup of tea in her hand. ‘All I’m saying is, you shouldn’t jump to what you think are obvious conclusions.’
‘Did I do that?’
‘Yes.’ Laura drew a trembling breath. ‘And I wish you’d stop answering everything I say with a question of your own. We—we hardly know one another, and I—I don’t want to fall out with you.’
‘Fall out with me?’ Jake adopted a puzzled expression. ‘What is that?’
‘Argue with you—quarrel with you—oh, I’m sure you know exactly what it means,’ declared Laura crossly. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to do it.’
‘Do what?’
‘Have an argument with you,’ repeated Laura shortly. ‘And there you go again. Making fun of me.’
‘Was I doing that?’ Jake grimaced. ‘Oh, damn, that’s another question.’
He was teasing her. Laura knew it. And, although she knew she ought to be able to take it all in good part, she couldn’t. He disturbed her too much. She returned her attention to her tea, hoping he would do the same, but she didn’t sit down with him. At least when she was standing, she felt she had some chance of parity, albeit in a physical sense only. And perhaps, after he had drunk his tea, he would go for a walk, she speculated. He surely didn’t intend to hang about the house until Julie chose to put in an appearance.
‘So,’ he remarked, after a few silent moments, ‘you live here alone, is that right?’
‘Well, I don’t have a live-in lover,’ replied Laura tersely, and then, catching the humour in his eyes, she struggled to compose herself. ‘I—yes, I live alone,’ she conceded, putting her empty cup down on the drainer. ‘But I don’t mind, if that’s what you’re getting at. After dealing with noisy teenagers all day, it’s quite a relief to come back here.’
‘I can believe it.’ Jake wasn’t teasing now. He had folded his arms along the back of the chair, and was regarding her with a steady appraisal. ‘And it’s very peaceful around here, isn’t it?’
‘Mmm.’ Laura endeavoured to relax. ‘That’s what I love about it. The peace and quiet. I’d hate to live in the city again.’
Jake frowned. ‘You lived in London?’
‘No. Newcastle.’ Somehow, she didn’t mind his questions now. ‘I moved here just after—Julie went to London.’
‘Ah.’ Jake nodded.
‘I work in the city, of course,’ Laura added. ‘It’s only about fifteen miles away.’
‘Newcastle.’
‘Yes.’
Jake absorbed this. Then, quite obliquely, he said, ‘You’d like Valle di Lupo. It’s very peaceful there, too. If slightly less civilised.’
Laura hesitated. She was loath to appear too curious after the accusation she had made towards him, but she had to ask, ‘What is—Valle di Lupo?’
Jake smiled, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as his lean features assumed a disturbing sensuality. ‘My home,’ he said simply. ‘Or rather—my family’s. It’s in the wilds of Toscana—Tuscany. A few miles north of Firenze.’
‘Florence,’ ventured Laura softly, and Jake inclined his head.
‘As you say—Florence,’ he agreed. ‘Have you been to Italy?’
‘Oh, no.’ Laura shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. Apart from a school skiing trip to Austria, I haven’t travelled much at all. Not outside England, anyway.’
‘A pity.’ Jake pulled a wry face. ‘I think you would like it.’
‘Oh—I’m sure I would.’ Laura hoped she didn’t sound too eager. ‘Um—is that—is that where your—daughter lives?’ She moistened her lips. ‘At Valle di Lupo?’
‘Sometimes.’ Jake was thoughtful. ‘When she’s not at school. And when I’m not able to take care of her.’
Laura was interested in spite of herself. ‘You—don’t live at Valle di Lupo?’
Jake smiled again. ‘Who’s asking questions now?’
Laura’s face flamed. ‘I’m sorry—–’
‘Don’t be. I don’t mind.’ Jake shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide!’
Laura pressed her lips together, and glanced awkwardly about her. ‘I—er—I think I’d better go and get dressed,’ she murmured, and then caught her breath again, when Jake propelled himself up from the chair, and swung it round, so that it fitted back under the table.
‘I thought you wanted to know where I lived?’ he protested. ‘Or were you just being polite?’
Laura caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘I—just wondered, that’s all,’ she improvised, smoothing her damp palms down the skirt of her dressing-gown. ‘It’s really none of my business—–’
‘I have an apartment in Rome, and another on the coast near Viareggio,’ he told her softly. ‘But my real home is at Valle di Lupo. That is where I was born.’
‘Oh.’
It all sounded very extravagant to Laura. Two apartments, and a family home. It was the kind of lifestyle she had only read about in glossy magazines, or seen portrayed in American soap operas. It was quite amazing to meet someone who actually lived like that. It seemed a long way from Burnfoot, and the modest appointments of this cottage.
‘You don’t approve?’ he suggested now, and Laura was guiltily aware that she had been frowning.
‘Oh—no,’ she murmured. ‘I mean—it all sounds very beautiful. Your home, that is. I’m sure Julie is longing to see it.’
‘Are you?’
Jake rested his hands on the back of the chair, and Laura’s eyes were drawn to their narrow elegance. It reminded her of how they had felt the night before, and how strongly they had supported her weight…
But he was waiting for her answer, and, lifting her shoulders, she said quickly, ‘Of course.’ A sudden thought occurred to her, and she felt the colour invade her cheeks once again. ‘Unless—unless she’s already—–’
‘No.’
Jake was adamant about that, and Laura’s eyes widened. ‘No?’
‘Julie isn’t interested in the provincial life,’ Jake informed her carelessly. ‘She doesn’t care for fields, and trees, and rolling vineyards. Only in what they produce.’
Laura swallowed. ‘That’s a little harsh—–’
‘Is it?’ Jake’s eyes were enigmatic. ‘How do you know I don’t feel the same?’
She didn’t, of course. And on the evidence she had so far, she had little reason to believe otherwise. And yet…
‘I—really think I must go and get dressed,’ she insisted, moving towards t
he door. ‘Er—if you’d like another cup of tea, help yourself. I—won’t be long.’
She made her escape before he could say anything else. And, as she went up the stairs again, she realised she was trembling. For heaven’s sake, she thought impatiently, what was wrong with her? It wasn’t the first time she had had a conversation with a strange man, and certainly he had given her no reason to feel this consuming sense of vulnerability in his presence. It wasn’t as if he’d made a pass at her or anything. He’d been a perfect gentleman, and she was behaving like a silly spinster. For God’s sake, she told herself, locking the bathroom door and taking a good look at herself in the mirror, she was too old and too jaded to be attractive to a man like him. Even if Julie had not been on the scene, there were probably dozens of women like her, waiting to take her place. She was just a middle-aged housewife, with a pathetic lust for something she had never had.
CHAPTER FOUR
SO MUCH for her efforts to move quietly earlier, Laura reflected half an hour later, having made as much noise as possible as she’d got dressed. Even though she had slammed drawers, rattled hangers, and dropped a make-up bottle on to the dressing-table, Julie hadn’t stirred. She was curled languorously in the middle of the bed, and nothing her mother could do would wake her.
Of course, she could always take her by the shoulders, and shake her daughter awake, Laura considered grimly. After all, Jake was Julie’s guest, not hers, and she should be the one to entertain him. But that particular alternative was not appealing. The girl was probably tired, and it wasn’t fair to deny her the chance to catch up on her sleep.
The reasons why Julie might be tired were less easy to contemplate. Even though she had denied them the chance to sleep together at the cottage, Laura had no doubt that Jake had slept at Julie’s apartment in London. And although her experience of sexual relationships was fairly negligible, she had a more than adequate imagination.
The brush she had been using on her hair slipped out of her sweaty fingers, and landed on the carpet, and she glanced round, half apprehensively, at the bed. But Julie slumbered on, undisturbed by her mother’s vapid fantasies, and, clenching her teeth, Laura wound the silky mass around her hand, and secured it on top of her head with a half dozen hairpins.
She was a fool, she told herself irritably. This simply wasn’t the time to have a mid-life crisis, and the sooner she pulled herself together, and started acting her age, the better.
She went downstairs a few minutes later, slim and workmanlike, in an unfussy cotton shirt, and her oldest jeans. As soon as breakfast was over, she was going to make a start on the garden, and, if Jake Lombardi didn’t like it, it was just too bad. Maybe he would have more luck in waking Julie than she had had. He was unlikely to want to spend the rest of the morning on his own, but it really wasn’t her problem.
However, when she entered the kitchen, she found Jake wasn’t there. The teacups had been washed and dried and left on the drainer, but there was no sign of her visitor. He had either retired to his room—and she certainly hadn’t heard him come upstairs—or he had gone out. The latter seemed the most likely, but she couldn’t help remembering that he had had no breakfast.
Still, it was only half-past seven, she discovered, looking at her watch. She wondered what time he usually had breakfast. Later than this, she was sure. But she wondered where he had gone all the same.
Conversely, now that she was on her own, she found she didn’t know what to do. It was too early for gardening. If Mrs Langthorne, next door, saw her in the garden at this hour, she would wonder what was going on. After all, she wasn’t a professional gardener, just a rather enthusiastic amateur. And enthusiastic amateurs didn’t start digging up weeds at half-past seven!
She sighed, feeling definitely peevish. This was Jake’s fault, she thought, needing someone to blame. If he hadn’t come down so early, she would probably still be in her dressing-gown, having another cup of tea, and trying to do the previous day’s crossword in the newspaper. That was what she usually did on Saturday mornings. But today, her whole schedule had been thrown off-key.
She was making a desultory inspection of the fridge, when the back door opened, and Jake came in. And with him came the delicious scent of newly baked bread.
‘Miss me?’ he asked incorrigibly, depositing a carrier-bag on the table, from which spilled plain and sweet rolls, scones, and a crisp French stick. ‘I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got a selection.’
Laura stared, first at the table, then at him. ‘But—where—–?’
‘The bakery,’ declared Jake, pulling a chair out from the table, and flinging himself into it.
Laura’s brows drew together. ‘The—village bakery?’
‘Where else?’
‘But—Mr Harris doesn’t open until nine o’clock!’
‘No?’ Jake gave her a quizzical look. ‘Well, I didn’t steal them, if that’s what you’re implying.’
‘Of course, I’m not implying that, but…’
Laura was lost for words, and, taking pity on her, Jake leaned forward to rest his elbows on the table. ‘He was just getting his delivery,’ he explained, with a disarming grin. ‘And I—persuaded him to let me be his first customer. He didn’t mind. I mentioned your name, and he was happy to oblige.’
Laura shook her head. ‘But—I hardly know the man.’
‘No. He said that, too.’ Jake’s eyes were warm with humour. ‘You should patronise the local shops. They depend on your custom.’
‘I do.’ Laura was indignant. ‘Well, the general stores anyway. I usually get my bread there.’
‘Pre-packed, no doubt,’ remarked Jake drily, and she bridled.
‘It’s good enough for me,’ she retorted shortly, ignoring the mouth-watering smell of the warm rolls. ‘I don’t find food a particular fetish. I eat to live, that’s all. Not the other way about. As you probably noticed last night.’
Jake’s features sobered. ‘Now what is that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing.’ Laura refused to say anything else she might regret later, but Jake was on his feet again, and his height and the width of his shoulders dwarfed her slender frame.
‘Come on,’ he said, and, although his tone was pleasant, his expression was less so. ‘What about last night? What am I supposed to have noticed? I said the meal was good, didn’t I? What else was I supposed to say?’
‘Nothing,’ said Laura again, half turning away from him, and fiddling with the teapot on the drainer. ‘I shouldn’t have said what I did. It—it was just a defensive reaction, that’s all.’
‘And why do you feel the need to be defensive with me?’ demanded Jake, evidently unprepared to give up so easily, and Laura sighed.
‘I don’t know—–’
‘Don’t you?’ Now it was her turn to look at him with unwary eyes.
‘I beg your—–?’
‘Don’t,’ he said harshly. ‘Don’t say that again! Ever since I got up this morning, you’ve been on edge with me. Everything I say, you take exception to—–’
‘That’s not true!’
Laura was indignant, but Jake simply ignored her. ‘You don’t like me,’ he went on. ‘Well, OK, I can live with that, I guess. If I have to. But what I want to know is why. What did I do to make you turn against me?’
‘I didn’t. I don’t—–Oh, this is silly.’ Laura pressed her lips together for a moment, to steady herself, and then continued evenly, ‘I—don’t dislike you, Mr Lombardi—–’
‘Jake!’
‘Jake, then.’ She paused a moment, after saying his name, trying to restore some sense of normality. ‘I don’t know you well enough to make any kind of assessment—–’
‘Grazie!’
‘—and Julie cares about you. That’s what matters.’
‘Scusi, but I am not talking about Julie,’ retorted Jake, and when she would have turned her back on him completely, his hand came out and took hold of her wrist. ‘Don’t walk out on me again.’
‘What is it with you?’ he demanded, and she noticed how his accent was suddenly glaringly pronounced. Was that what happened when he lost his cool? she wondered dizzily. When the heat of his emotions melted the ice of his control?
But more important than that was her own reactions to his nearness. This time, his hold on her was deliberate, not the involuntary result of circumstances, and the blood his fingers were constricting rushed madly to its source. Her heart was pounding. She could hear the sound echoing hollowly in her ears. And its palpitating beat throbbed through every vein in her body, its rioting tattoo causing her temperature to soar.
‘I think,’ she said carefully, ‘you should let me go.’
‘Come? Oh…’ He looked down at his hand curled around the fragile bones of her wrist, and his mouth twisted. ‘Am I hurting you?’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘Then what is the point?’ he asked provokingly. ‘I am allowed to look, but not to touch, hmm? Is that what you are saying?’
Laura couldn’t look at him. She was half afraid of what he might see in her eyes. ‘I—this is ridiculous—–’
‘I agree.’
‘Then why can’t you—–?’
She broke off, her eyes darting towards his face and away again, and Jake’s brows arched enquiringly. ‘Go on. Why can’t I what? Perhaps now we can get down to—how do you say it?—basics?’
Laura sighed. ‘You know exactly how to say it,’ she told him huskily. ‘Don’t think you can fool me by pretending you don’t understand the language.’
‘And don’t you think you can fool me by persistently avoiding answering my questions,’ he countered softly. ‘I thought we could be friends.’