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pale. 'My patients need a doctor with his head firmly screwed on!' He glanced at his
watch. 'Which reminds me, time I was moving on. I've got a hundred things to do
before tonight and you wouldn't want me to miss this fantastic dinner party, would
you?'
She saw him to the door, angry with both him and herself for what had happened.
She had exposed her feelings to him and he had rejected her. Confused, wounded,
angry, she went on with the preparations for the dinner party, her mind far more
occupied with Tom than with what she was doing. Even though he had quite
definitely and unmistakably refused to follow up _her kiss, she could not help
believing he was not indifferent to her. His reaction was bewildering. Her instincts
had told her he was giving her a positive reaction, yet on the surface he had been
decidedly negative. Were her instincts at fault? Or was Tom himself confused?
When she told her father that evening that she had invited Tom, he was taken aback
and looked at her irritably. 'What on earth did you do that for? That makes the
numbers uneven. If you had to ask him you should have asked that lady friend of his,
the social worker with the plain face.'
'I'm sorry, I didn't think of that,' she said, extremely glad she had not invited Pat. 'It's
too late now. I don't suppose Mr Mercier will mind.'
Her father looked at her oddly, but said nothing. He had bought some wine for the
party and was busy fussing over the correct temperature at which to serve it, so she
escaped to her room to change.
She expected Tom to be the first arrival, but to her surprise Randal was there before
him. When the doorbell rang she skipped lightly along the hall, her spirits high,
expecting to find Tom on the doorstep. Opening the door, her smile brilliant, she
stared at the tall, dark man leaning negligently there, and her face dropped visibly.
'Oh, it's you,' she said without enthusiasm.
He raised his thin brows. 'Who did you expect?' The grey eyes surveyed her keenly.
She flushed. 'A friend of mine is joining us for dinner,' she explained.
She had an extraordinary feeling as she said the words, as if she had somehow
switched on an electric current in him. The surge of power almost seemed to hum
audibly. Her eyes opened wide and she stared at him.
He looked just the same, his handsome face lazily ironic, his smile casual. But she
still received this impression of hidden menace.
From behind his back he produced a huge silver basket of dark red roses. 'For my
hostess,' he drawled.
'Mother will be thrilled,' she said in astonishment, staring at the beautiful things.
His eyes narrowed. 'I meant you,' he said succinctly. 'Oh.' Laura blushed. 'Thank
you,' she mumbled, carrying them through into the sitting-room. Her parents were not
yet downstairs. James Hallam had been unable to decide which suit to wear and
halfway through putting on one had changed his mind and taken it off.
She placed the basket of roses in a corner of the room where they glowed darkly
with a rich damask sweetness which seemed to fill the room with overpowering
perfume, particularly once the warmth of the room had brought out their heady scent.
'My parents won't be a minute,' she said shyly, unable to look at him without
remembering their last meeting.
A long mirror hung on the wall behind her. Randal's eyes switched to her pale,
floating reflection, her silvery hair, curled in tiny strings of plaits, giving her an almost
barbaric splendour which somehow altered her usual appearance. Her dress was an
old one; white muslin over pink taffeta. Originally it had been a bridesmaid's dress,
and she had altered it herself, giving it a new scooped neckline and a wide pink satin
sash which emphasised her tiny waist. Around her throat she wore a single string of
small pink pearls.
Uneasy under his long scrutiny she plucked nervously at the pearls, pulling the
rather ramshackle clasp undone. The necklace slid away down into her bodice.
Scarlet now, she hesitated, not knowing what to do.
Randal gave a soft chuckle. 'Need some help?'
Before she knew his intention he had moved towards her, his slim fingers deftly
retrieving the end of the necklace. Laura would have fled if her legs would have
carried her, but for some reason her knees seemed on the point of buckling.
She ventured a glance upwards at his face, her gilt tipped lashes flickering. He was
smiling that tormenting, quizzical smile of his and prolonging quite deliberately the
business of re-fastening the clasp, his hands fiddling at the back of her neck while he
stood in front of her, looking down.
Suddenly the bell rang sharply and she jumped. Randal stood back, watching her, as
she turned and ran to the front door. This time it was Tom, flushed and unusually tidy
in his best suit, a dark one. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]