Diana Hamilton - A Guilty Affair

‘I wish you could find some good in her,’ she sighed. Helen had her faults, but she had her good points too. But Tom would go to his grave believing that everything about her was suspect. ‘She’s my sister, after all. Family. And if you’re going to be at each other’s throats every time you meet it won’t be very comfortable for the rest of us.’

For a moment she thought he wouldn’t answer, but when he took her hand and squeezed it, making her ring dig painfully into her finger, she guessed it was an apology and suggested, ‘Let’s go for a walk after lunch. Just the two of us. There’s something I need to discuss with you.’ And there wasn’t time now, she realised. Not if she had to have lunch ready by the time her parents returned.

‘And that is?’ He carried his cup over to refill it from the coffee-pot on the tray and Bess wondered why he was distancing himself from her. He had never been demonstrative, yet on the all too rare occasions when they’d been alone together he’d always taken the opportunity to cuddle her, his tender kisses making her feel that she counted, was secure.

Could it possibly be that now they were officially engaged he had decided he had no more need to bother with physical assurances of his love and caring? She knew he wasn’t highly sexed, but—

Swallowing an unhelpful spurt of anger, she explained mildly, ‘I’ve had the offer of another job. It would be exciting and challenging, but there would be disadvantages. There’s not time to discuss it now, not with lunch to see to. That’s why I suggested a walk. I’m going back to town tomorrow afternoon and I have to give an answer on Tuesday.’

‘You have a job,’ he pointed out unnecessarily. He took his cup and stood with his back to the fire. ‘It isn’t as if you have a career, as such. You won’t be working at all once we have a family. Why bother to change, especially if there are disadvantages? Why put yourself through the hassle of having to adapt to a new employer?’

‘I won’t have to adapt—’ She bit off her explanation and stood up. She’d known she would have to discuss every detail, pick the subject over endlessly before he would feel able to give a considered opinion. But he appeared to be discounting it entirely without hearing the full story, and she hadn’t known he could be like that.

Moreover, he was looking at her as if he disliked her, and she didn’t understand what was happening. This should have been such a happy weekend but it had turned topsy-turvy, like a bad dream.

She began to stalk out of the room. She really couldn’t bring herself to continue the discussion. She didn’t want to have to talk to him at all. And that horrified her so much that she turned back, dismayed.

‘Let’s talk it through this afternoon. You haven’t heard the details.’

She hadn’t meant to sound antagonistic but hadn’t been able to keep the edge out of her voice, and Tom snapped back, ‘I don’t need to. You’re settled where you are, so why change things? It’s not as if—’

‘I’m a high-flyer,’ she inserted crossly. Part of her brain was seething because he’d written the subject off, as if he couldn’t be bothered to summon an interest. The other part was amazed that they were having their first quarrel.

‘One career woman in the family’s one too many. And no, you’re not a high-flyer, thank the Lord. Stick with what you know, and just be yourself. That’s good enough for me.’

Bess sucked in a painful breath. She felt as if he’d slapped her face. And she felt even worsemortified—when Vaccari’s cool drawl sliced through the heated, ragged atmosphere.

‘Squabbling, my children? We can’t have that, can we?’ His silver eyes mocked her as he sauntered across the room, dropping with boneless grace onto the sofa, long legs stretched out in front of him as he purred, looking deeply, devastatingly, into her wide green eyes, ‘Anything I can do to make things better?’

CHAPTER THREE

‘I SUPPOSE he thought he was being funny,’ Tom muttered, following Bess out to the kitchen.

‘I suppose so,’ she shrugged, tight-lipped. She hadn’t bothered to dignify Vaccari’s remark by making a reply. She’d be a much happier woman if she knew she would never have to speak to him again.

Then, swept by a wave of contrition, she turned and wound her arms around Tom’s waist. ‘I’m sorry I was snappy.’

‘Me too.’ His arms enfolded her briefly. ‘There’s a funny atmosphere this weekend; it’s getting to both of us.’

He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and Bess thought, We both know who’s to blame for that, don’t we? and held onto him with quiet desperation until he untangled her arms and offered placatingly, ‘Tell me about your job offer after lunch. But I warn you, I don’t think you should give it any real consideration—’

‘Fine, we’ll just talk about it.’ Miffed, Bess swung briskly away, cutting him off before he could repeat his opinion that she was not, and never would be, high-flyer material.

He was probably right, and she shouldn’t feel hurt because he’d voiced his opinion. This time yesterday she would have agreed with him and possibly even felt a little bit smug about being the sensible sort of woman who knew her limitations and was perfectly content with what she had.

So why was she feeling hurt and undervalued for no reason? No good reason, she amended swiftly, pushing the things Vaccari had said to the bottom of her mind. She couldn’t imagine why. And wasn’t even going to try to work it out.

She became quite cynical when, over lunch, Helen said with sugary surprise, ‘This is perfectly cooked. Well done, little sister. You should have woken me; I could have helped. This is supposed to be your weekend—and Tom’s, of course.’

She was toying with a small slice of beef and looking spectacularly golden in a daffodil-yellow sweater, and her belated offer of help had to be for the Italian’s benefit. Any reply Bess might have made was swamped by Jessica’s, ‘Bess needs the practice. Twelve months from now she’ll have to give Tom three good meals a day. And you need your rest. You told me how tiring your assignment in the Bahamas was—you have to look after yourself. Don’t you agree, Luke?’

‘How awful for you.’ Bess didn’t want to hear gooey, solicitous sentiments from Vaccari, especially not if they were directed at her got-it-all sister. She helped herself to another roast potato. ‘Personally, I’d love the opportunity to tire myself out in the Bahamas.’

And, so saying, she effectively silenced the lot of them.

The afternoon walk with Tom hadn’t been a success either, Bess ruminated as she drove herself back to London on Bank Holiday Monday afternoon.

As soon as they’d set out she’d explained it all. How Mark Jenson, her former boss at the agency, had set up on his own six months ago, renting elegant premises in Knightsbridge, working hard to establish the kind of travel agency that specialised in holidays for the discerning, seriously wealthy traveller.

‘He’s offering off-the-beaten-track unadulterated luxury to people who are willing to pay top whack to be pampered,’ she’d explained. ‘It’s really taking off, and now he needs an assistant to seek out and vet new venues in the more exotic parts of the world to make sure everything meets his high standards. And do you know what? He thought of me! The job’s mine if I want it, but he needs to know by Tuesday.’ Her face had lit up. A little squirm of excitement had built up inside her. It was there whenever she thought about the offer.

But she’d said honestly, ‘The only downside is the newness of the venture. He’s got more prospective clients than suitable places to send them—so he needs new venues and more employees. But to get them he needs more capital, and if he can’t get it the agency will stagnate and probably sink.’ She’d tucked her arm through Tom’s and reassured him happily, ‘But he’s a fighter. He’ll raise the capital somehow.’