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BOOK 4
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Being Yours BOOK 4
'I'm sorry we've interrupted your dusting,' she said, polite as a visiting vicar. 'I don't suppose you get much time for chores, with your busy life.''I'd done most of it,' Sarah admitted ungraciously. 'You should have seen the dust and cobwebs - it was like Miss Havisham's wedding.''It . . . it certainly looks nice now,' Amy offered. 'Very welcoming.' She spoke from an half-conscious desire to conciliate, but quickly realized that what she said was true. Though the room might not be to everyone's taste it had a timeless, traditional charm which eased the eye and the spirit. With the fire lit and a trolley of homemade cakes and scones, it would be an agreeable place to be invited for afternoon tea.Sarah acknowledged the compliment only with an indeterminate noise, but dipped her head and regarded Amy from below thick, dark, untrimmed eyebrows.The idea of tea inspired Amy to another gambit. 'You said you were baking?''Sponge cake,' Sarah answered.I knew it, Amy thought, amused in
Being Yours BOOK 4
He's not such a conventional dreamboat, Amy thought, but he's good to look at and much, much stronger.Especially now, when Robert was giving that phoney laugh at the mention of the police. Remembering how contemptuously he had always spoken of her drama lessons, Amy reflected as so often how much he could have learnt from just one of them. He really was a lousy actor.Tolice? I don't think so,' he said. 'Anyway, who the hell are you?'He strode into the circle of chairs round the fireplace, turned his back on the empty grate, and belligerently straddled the hearthrug facing the couch. With his hands half-clenched at his side he loomed over the seated Paul as if he might any minute pull him up and knock him down.'What makes you think,' he demanded, 'that you can come into my house and threaten my . . . my wife like this?''I'm one of the Clarks,' Paul responded, coolly stating his interest.Robert's mouth set in a mulish line. 'I don't know what you're talking about.''Oh, come on .
Being Yours BOOK 4
'This afternoon?' In his relief he slumped back like an unstrung puppet. 'I was in a meeting all afternoon. Two till five.''Who else was at it?' Amy asked.'Julius Drew.' Robert sat up straight again, and brought out the name of Lang and Drews' chairman with a certain grandeur. 'And his son Tommy. And some of the other branch managers.''Phew! Thank goodness for that.' Sarah demonstrated her relief by fanning herself, a huge gesture that involved her entire forearm.She does everything on a big scale, Amy thought, and just as she feels it. No wonder she loves animals, she's as instinctive as they are. It came to her that Sarah's admiration for Robert's looks was another aspect of her feeling for animals. She appreciated him much as she would have appreciated the beauty of a horse, say, or a dog.'I never thought those stuffed shirts at Lang and Drews would be good for anything,' Sarah continued, 'but I see now they have their uses.'Amy wondered how even she dared say such things in
Being Yours BOOK 4
Suddenly she realized he was asking her a question. So he hadn't lost interest after all. He was asking where they went from here, which showed he thought they were going somewhere. I've got to get this right, she told herself desperately, and did her best to brush away the cobwebs of fatigue.'I . . . suppose I was sort of wondering that myself.''I could just take you to Stribble . . .''To Stribble?''It's where you live,' he reminded her with gentle sarcasm.'Yes.'Her new hope collapsed like a burst balloon. She had been wrong. He didn't want to talk about their future together, just about the simple, practical matter of where he should drive next. He wanted to know where he should take her before he put her down and left her, presumably forever.'That's right, please take me to Stribble,' she said, trying and failing to keep the leaden flatness from her voice. 'Thanks to you, I don't think I've anything more to fear from the Dawlishes.''Not from them, no.' He made no move to st
Being Yours BOOK 4
'Wha . . .' She lifted her heavy head above the exercise books and blinked, glad to be awake again. Gradually she managed to focus on the mug of dark amber liquid Paul had set before her on one of her green and gold placemats. He must have taken the mat from the table drawer right under her ear, that would explain the thunder noise.'Where's the milk?' she asked.'It helps better with shock if you have it without.'She turned to him with blurry indignation, the last of her nightmare fled. 'I'm not shocked.''Drink up,' he urged, quiet and steady as ever.'I never have tea without milk . . .' She stopped because she sounded so childishly crotchety, yet this was a serious objection. 'Without milk it'll be too hot. I won't be able to drink it for ages.''I cooled it.''How did you do that?''Added cold water.''You put cold water in my tea?There she went again, that childish whine. To cover her embarrassment she sipped the tea. Finding it surprisingly palatable and exactly the right tem
Being Yours BOOK 4
But then, she hadn't so much stayed as simply spent two nights in Paul's austere little spare room. She had left at eight each morning and returned at ten each night too tired to do more than drag herself to bed; so tired that tiredness seemed a way of life; so tired that events and ideas and imaginings ran together in her brain and would not be separated into their individual parts.If she worked at it she could dredge up a vague memory of her first arrival here. Paul had helped herout of his van and guided her across the narrow street, and the outside air must have brought her round a bit. She could remember the wet pavement, and the shuttered shopfront, and the question she had asked about the name on the fascia.'Why Gemini? Is it your birth sign?'She was fairly sure he'd said no, he just liked the sound of it, but after that it all went vague again. They must have gone through the side door and up the walled-in stairs to the little landing, but she couldn't remember. He must ha
Being Yours BOOK 4
'Thanks,' she repeated with more enthusiasm, and half-rose. 'The keys are in my school bag . . .''Don't move.' As usual he was on his feet long before her. 'I'll fetch it.'But her house keys weren't in her bag. Not in their own special front pocket, not loose in the main part of the bag, not in any of its other sections. After five minutes of ever more frantic searching, she had to admit that she must have lost them.It was the last straw. Tears of self-pity welled up, and she wanted nothing but to put her face in her hands and sob and choke and hiccup like a two-year-old. Jim must have sensed her distress; he emerged from under the table with a clatter of claws, laid his head on her lap, and looked up at her. She took a hasty gulp of her coffee, and stroked him.Then suddenly Paul was there too, kneeling at her other side, his arms round her and her chair together. 'Want to cry it out?'It felt so good to have him close again, so warm and safe, that she was almost tempted to accept
Being Yours BOOK 4
She didn't feel strong enough to ask the question direct, but she could try a roundabout route. 'What does your mother think of you running an antique shop?''It worries her, of course,' he admitted readily. 'She doesn't say so, but she fears I may take after my father.''And do you?''No.' The single word came out serene and unassertive, a simple statement of fact. 'I take after the Clarks, but not my father.''It must be a bit uncertain though?' she offered cautiously. 'As a way of earning a living?''I don't need to earn a living.' He smiled, with a certain edge of irony. 'My father left me three million dollars.''What?' Amy put down her cup, suddenly weak. 'Real money? In the bank?'Paul nodded. 'He financed movies. It seems that after a while, he got a reputation as somebody who could pick winners.''So in the end, his gambling paid off.' Amy sat back, taking it in. 'That means you're rich.''It certainly means I've got enough.' He regarded her over the gleaming tea things. 'Do
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