Kay Thorpe - The Wedding Deception

‘I apologise,’ proffered Ross smoothly. ‘I was labouring under some degree of shock myself.’

Claire returned his gaze with determined containment. If he thought that such tactics would disarm her, he was mistaken. His intimation earlier that Scott might not be Jill’s only sexual experience had cut too deep to be so easily dismissed.

‘I’m sure you were,’ she said. ‘Shall we leave it at that for the moment, and go and eat?’

She led the way, sensing Ross at her back—a little too close for comfort. She placed him at the foot of the oblong table, opposite her own seat, with Jill and Scott on either side, where they could gaze into each other’s eyes to their hearts’ content. One only had to look at the pair of them to see that they both felt the same way. Scott came across so differently from what she had anticipated after meeting his brother. There was a resemblance in looks, perhaps, but no resemblance whatsoever in personality.

She made no apologies for the lack of a starter, but gave both men two trout apiece, leaving them to help themselves to potatoes and salad. The succulent pinktinged flesh gave off a delicate aroma as Ross slid the skin aside and eased out the whole skeletal framework with an expertise that Claire could only envy. No matter how carefully she dissected trout, she almost always at some point managed to get bones in her mouth, and disposing of them politely in public posed quite a problem.

Conversation was desultory while they ate, most of it prompted by Ross himself. Claire regarded his overtures with suspicion, sensing an attempt to lull the lot of them into believing him reconciled to the situation. There was no way a man of his kind would have changed his views so radically in the space of a couple of hours. Which meant that the crunch was still to come.

Whatever his motives, he finished every last morsel of the trout, laying down his knife and fork with a sigh of what appeared to be genuine satisfaction.

‘Congratulations,’ he commented. ‘Those were beautifully cooked!’

‘All down to the microwave,’ disclaimed Claire, unwilling to accept the compliment under false pretences. ‘Modern technology has its uses.’

‘Especially when unexpected guests turn up,’ came the dry rejoinder. ‘Congratulations anyway. Not everyone can time a microwave correctly.’

It had done that itself too, but she let it pass, seizing the initiative before he could take it from her. ‘We’re not here to talk about food, are we?’

‘No, we’re not.’ Scott sounded abrupt. ‘Stop playing around, Ross.’

Still fixed on Claire, the grey eyes gave little away. ‘All right, so let’s talk. Marriage aside, we can surely come to some other mutually agreeable arrangement.’

‘If you mean money, you can keep it!’ Jill burst out, face flaming. ‘And if you’re thinking I might agree to have an abortion, you can think again! Do you hear?’

‘I imagine half the neighbourhood heard,’ he replied with irony. ‘Let’s try and stay rational about it, shall we?’

‘I already told you what we’re going to do about it,’ said Scott forcefully. ‘I don’t need your approval!’

His brother regarded him for a moment with brows drawn together. ‘Have you thought about what it’s going to do to Dad?’

‘That’s emotional blackmail, and you know it!’ The younger man’s eyes were bright with resentment. ‘We don’t have to tell him about the baby right away, if it comes to that—just that I’m going to be married.’

‘And where exactly were you planning on getting married?’

Scott exchanged glances with Jill, as if seeking confirmation of a previous agreement. ‘Registry Office, probably.’

Ross lifted a sardonic eyebrow. ‘At the risk of sounding pedantic, it’s Register not Registry. That aside, you think he isn’t going to guess why? The stroke affected his motor responses, not his reasoning power. He can still add two and two.’

‘Is another stroke imminent?’ asked Claire. ‘I mean, have the doctors actually said he mustn’t be put under any kind of stress?’

‘Where there’s been one, there’s always danger of another. Any fool knows that.’

She bit her lip, bound to acknowledge a degree of justification in the rebuttal. She had spoken without thinking, intent only on calming the situation. All the same, she had no intention of taking it lying down.

‘You must win a lot of friends with that line,’ she said, without attempting to mute the tartness.

Surprisingly, his lips twitched. ‘A figure of speech. Nothing personal.’

Like hell! she thought.

Scott made a sudden impatient movement. ‘Look, we’re not getting anywhere like this.’ He eyed Claire with determination in the line of his mouth. ‘Are you on our side?’

She wasn’t wholly, but neither was she prepared to join forces with his brother. ‘Yes,’ she said firmly.

His smile was brilliant, his whole face relaxing. ‘Thanks.’

‘Seems I’m outnumbered.’ Ross sounded resigned.

Claire regarded him sceptically. He had given in far too easily for someone so much against this marriage. Committed to it now herself, regardless of the doubts still there, she wasn’t going to let him put a spanner in the works whatever he might have in mind.

She got up to clear the plates, avoiding contact with Ross’s long, lean fingers as he passed his across to her. His hands were well-kept; skin tanned a smooth golden brown, nails neatly trimmed. Capable of what, she didn’t stop to consider.

‘I’ll bring the other dishes,’ he offered unexpectedly. ‘Save wheeling the trolley through.’

Claire would have preferred the trolley, but she wasn’t being given the choice. Ross was already on his feet, gathering up both salad and potato bowls. He slanted a quizzical glance as she hesitated.

‘Any problem with that?’

She shook her head, unable to frame a refusal. If he had any idea of talking her round to his point of view once they were alone, he could forget it. She had given her word. She couldn’t and wouldn’t go back on it now. What good would it do anyway? As Jill herself had said, they were both of them of an age to please themselves, and equally determined to do so.

Small as the kitchen was, Ross made it smaller still. He deposited the bowls on the work-surface where she indicated, but made no immediate attempt to return to the dining-room, leaning a hip against the cupboard to watch her transfer the apple pie from the pan in which it had been baked the previous evening on to a plate.

‘You made that yourself,’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said shortly. ‘In the proper oven this time. Pastry doesn’t come out too well in the microwave.’

‘You must have found life very difficult being left with so much responsibility so young,’ he observed. ‘You said you had no other relatives?’

‘There’s a cousin on my mother’s side in New Zealand, but he has a family of his own to take care of.’ Claire kept her tone neutral. ‘We’ve managed.’

‘To keep your heads above water, maybe. I doubt if that business of yours brings in more than a bare living.’

‘That depends on your idea of a bare living. Our needs are fairly simple.’

‘How about desires?’

Claire swung to face him, the pie-slice clutched in her fist like a weapon. ‘Are you by any chance suggesting that Jill might have deliberately set out to entrap a wealthy husband?’

She had taken off the jacket of her pale grey suit on coming home, but there had been no time to change. He took his time replying, his gaze moving down to the vulnerable hollow of her throat revealed by the open collar of her thin lemon-coloured blouse, and from there to linger for a moment on the swell of her small firm breasts, before lifting again to view her stormy face with an expression that made her feel inadequate in every sense.