The wrong kind of wife, p.11
The Wrong Kind of Wife, page 11
‘That much I remember!’
Only as they were finishing their coffee did Tim mention that he would not be in to dinner.
‘I’ve a speaking engagement, I’m afraid.’
Was he lying? His expression was unreadable and she had no intention of asking him.
‘In that case, you won’t mind if I have dinner with Robert, will you? We’ll be discreet and go somewhere quiet and unfashionable.’
‘Thanks.’ Tim hesitated. ‘I’ll have my secretary make up a diary for the engagements I’d like you to attend with me. If you require any additional clothes, please bill them to my account.’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘It’s money I’ve earned, Lindsey. I know you never liked me to take anything from my trust fund.’
‘I wouldn’t think the same today,’ she answered without thinking, and could have kicked herself when she saw him digest that comment.
‘You have indeed changed.’
‘Not where morals and ethics are concerned.’
A nerve twitched at the side of Tim’s mouth, and he glanced at his wristwatch. ‘Time for me to leave. I’m chairing a meeting in ten minutes. After Parker has dropped me off, he can take you home or wherever you want to go.’
When she was finally alone in the car, she asked the chauffeur to take her to St James’s Park, then told him not to wait. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts, and where better to mull over them than this most gracious of green areas in the capital?
Watching the ducks and swans gliding across the sunlit water of the lake, she reflected that her lunch with Tim had gone quite well. There had been a few awkward moments, but given the circumstances it was not surprising.
One thing she had learned, though. She had to guard her tongue. If she didn’t it could give away her feelings for Tim. And what a laugh he would have if he discovered she had never stopped loving him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
LINDSEY found it easier than she had anticipated to settle down in Tim’s house; the only drawback was having too much time on her hands. The house was run with super efficiency by Mrs Parker and a full-time daily, leaving Lindsey to arrange the flowers—her only household chore.
She had rarely been idle in her life, and couldn’t begin to guess what rich women did with their time, apart from shopping for clothes and lunching with friends—their children, of course, usually taken care of by a nanny. At least if she married Robert she could continue with her career. There was no way she would allow herself to merely be a suitable appendage for him on social occasions—as had happened to her with Tim in the two weeks since she had moved in with him.
His intention of taking her to Evebury their first weekend together had been scuppered when Robert had increased his bid for Malvini, necessitating Tim’s calling a meeting of his board of directors before launching a counter-bid, and they were going down this Friday instead.
At least she could be herself there. Pretence was not natural for her, and she found it difficult to parry the personal questions from the Press who had, as predicted by Jack Dunford, latched on to their reconciliation.
Her first encounter with the tabloids had been an ordeal, partly because she had been taken unawares.
Accompanying Tim to a dinner at Claridge’s, in aid of Save the Woodlands, she couldn’t help comparing it with the rare outings they had shared during their brief marriage. Because she had wanted to show his parents they could live well on their joint salary, she had persuaded him not to touch the money in his trust fund, and consequently they had sat in the ‘gods’ at the theatre, and eaten in restaurants noted for their cheapness rather than their food.
Even my clothes were cheap and cheerful, she mused, her mind’s eye visualising the hotch-potch of colourful ethnic garments that had once been her choice. But not any more. Tonight she was drop-dead sophistication.
Black silk jersey draped itself around her body, the sleeves long, the neckline only low enough to show the curve of her milk-white shoulders. But the soft folds drew attention to the gently curving line of her hips and her handspan waist, so that when the eye travelled higher the lushness of her full, firm breasts came as a shock.
She had piled her thick auburn hair on top of her head, and it emphasised her high cheekbones and voluptuous mouth. But she had allowed a few tendrils to drift free, and they softened the severe style. She wore no jewellery, having concluded that the other women guests were likely to be decked out in the real thing, and that if she couldn’t compete on equal terms she wasn’t going to enter the fray.
‘You’re very pensive, Lindsey.’
Tim broke the silence and she turned to him. God, he was handsome. The blackness of his dinner suit deepened the blondness of his hair, and it gleamed like a golden helmet, owing, she was pretty certain, to the vigorous brushing he had given it to ensure the errant wave in the front didn’t break free and fall across his forehead. She had loved it when it had, and her hand itched to reach out and ruffle the smoothness.
‘I was thinking how different tonight is from the way we used to go out,’ she admitted, marvelling that her words bore no resemblance whatsoever to the mad thoughts rushing round in her head. ‘They were fun evenings, weren’t they?’
‘Only in retrospect. Memories often play us for a fool.’
‘I guess you’re right,’ she confirmed lightly, chilled by the coolness of his voice and hurt by the words. Didn’t he look back with pleasure on any of the things they had done together?
To her relief she noticed their car was slowing, and she leaned forward expectantly.
The brilliance of flashlights blinded her when she stepped on to the pavement, and she was too startled to make any sense of the barrage of questions being hurled at her.
‘If you put your questions one at a time, we’ll do our best to answer them,’ Tim said smoothly, putting an arm around her waist and drawing her closer to him.
Lindsey tensed, her pulses racing as she caught the faint scent of his aftershave, and the more intimate scent of the man himself. Against her will she was again wafted back to the past: to sunlit walks in the park, candle-lit dinners and passion-filled nights. Scared of the longing she felt, it was all she could do to resist throwing off his hand and running away.
Sensing her panic, and misinterpreting it, Tim tightened his hold.
‘I know this is tough for you,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘but do your best to look madly in love with me!’
Forcing a smile to lips that seemed to be sealed together with SuperGlue, she nestled shyly against his shoulder. Despite looking as though he didn’t have a spare ounce of flesh, he was comfortable to lean upon, his strength and height diminishing her own tall slenderness and making her feel safe and secure. Odd that she never felt this way with Robert. But then she didn’t love Robert the way she— Stop it! she warned herself. The past is over and there’s another woman in Tim’s life. He may be holding you close but he’s only playing a part. It’s Francesca he wants, and don’t forget it.
‘When did you return to your husband?’ one of the reporters flung at her.
‘Shortly after I came back from America.’
‘Did he court you all over again?’ a hard faced young woman with enormous spectacles demanded.
‘We courted each other. This is the era of equality.’
Lindsey’s answer brought a ripple of laughter, and a squeeze of approval from Tim.
‘How about giving us a kiss for the front page?’ a photographer called.
This is the stuff of nightmares, Lindsey thought, knowing that if her lips touched Tim’s he would realise he could still arouse her. Deliberately she focused on the photographer.
‘You’ll have to introduce yourself first. I never kiss men I don’t know!’
There was a roar of laughter and, taking advantage of the bonhomie it engendered, Tim swiftly propelled her through the crowd and into the hotel.
‘You handled them like a trouper,’ he congratulated her.
‘I agree,’ stated Jack Dunford, who had materialised from nowhere. ‘It was a perfect performance.’
‘I didn’t know you were coming to the dinner.’ Tim eyed him in surprise.
‘I’m not. I just came to see how well you both did with the Press on your first “outing”.’ He grinned at Lindsey. ‘I bet the shot of you leaning against Tim’s shoulder will be the one most used.’
He was proved correct, and it resulted in requests to interview her alone, with even the upmarket papers joining the clamour.
Robert did not take kindly to the mass of publicity, and wasted no time voicing his disapproval when he saw her. She had only seen him twice since moving to Chelsea, and each time they had dined at a small restaurant in Barnes, its proprietor chef an old schoolfriend of his, guaranteed to be discreet.
On both occasions she had driven herself to the restaurant, and the last time Robert had promised to find another venue nearer to Chelsea.
‘I’ll wait for you to call me,’ were his parting words. ‘Don’t make me wait too long.’
This morning she had guiltily realised that it was more than a week since they had spoken. I’ll call him later, she promised herself as she shopped for flowers and returned home to replenish the vases, a weekly task she thoroughly enjoyed.
Tim had been out most evenings, not returning until well after midnight, when she was long since in bed. Because of it she made a point of seeing him at breakfast each day, and noticed he did not explain where he spent his time. Yet today, before leaving for his office, he had announced he would be in to dinner, and, remembering that when he had brought her here he had said his house was too like a set piece, she decided to make it look more lived in.
At that moment Nuisance—he refused to answer to anything else—padded into the living room and flexed his claws against a brocaded settee.
‘Stop it!’ she cried, scooping him up. ‘We don’t need claw marks to make the house look lived in. I know far better ways.’
To prove it, she decided to soften the formality of the room by repositioning the settees and the armchairs, removing the carefully composed clutter of china and silver ornaments on the side tables and replacing them with bowls of fruit and nuts, and scattering a pile of magazines on the low stool in front of the fireplace.
‘Much better,’ she approved out loud, then laughed as Nuisance completed the picture by jumping on to an armchair and curling up on the cushion.
The ring of the doorbell startled her, and a moment later Mrs Parker informed her that Miss Francesca Belloti wished to see her.
Lindsey was startled enough to show it, and the housekeeper’s expression of discomfiture made it clear she knew what role the Italian girl played in Tim’s life. The poor woman probably thinks Francesca’s come here to tear out my hair!
‘Please show her in,’ she said composedly.
The Italian girl was even more stunning on second viewing, clothed in emerald-green that made her black hair blacker, her creamy skin creamier, her jewels today cabochon rubies and pearls. Real, Lindsey knew, and, recollecting that at first sight she had guessed Francesca to have serious money, she now amended it to very serious money.
‘Forgive me for arriving without telephoning you first,’ the girl proclaimed in her prettily accented voice, ‘but I didn’t know if I’d have time to get here. I’m leaving for Rome in two hours.’
Lindsey smiled and waited, not sure what was coming. What did shook her rigid.
‘I wanted to return these.’ A pink-tipped hand dipped into an emerald-green snakeskin purse and withdrew a pair of gold cufflinks. ‘Tim’s,’ she announced baldly. ‘I only found them this morning. He dressed in such a rush the other night, he must have forgotten them.’
A wave of pure, unadulterated rage engulfed Lindsey, and as it receded, the pretence that she didn’t love him went with it. Of course she did! She was madly, crazily in love with him, and would never love anyone else.
‘I was going to put them in an envelope and send them to Tim’s secretary,’ Francesca went on, ‘but important things often get leaked to the Press these days, and I felt it was safer for me to bring them here.’
‘Wise of you,’ Lindsey agreed, marvelling at her ability to control her voice. How could she speak so softly when all she wanted to do was scream and shout? ‘How long will you be in Rome?’
‘Until Tim has won control of Malvini. If I continue staying here, he will insist on visiting me, and I’m terribly scared someone will see him. I told him the other night that I was leaving but he didn’t believe me.’ Francesca’s silky black hair swung upon her shoulders as she leaned forward, scenting the air with Femme. ‘I love him very much and I’d be desolated if our relationship leaked out and Carlo Malvini got to hear about it. He is such a rigid man, that one. If he had his way, no one would be allowed to divorce, and men and women who loathed one another would be forced to stay together.’
‘Many people agree with him.’
‘Fine. But let them not dictate what others should do.’ Francesca sighed. ‘I haven’t called Tim to say goodbye in case he persuades me not to go. I am so weak-willed where he is concerned.’ Tears glimmered in the dark eyes, and the girl dabbed at them with a lacy handkerchief. ‘I suppose you’ll part as soon as the battle is won?’
It was only with an effort that Lindsey hid the pleasure she felt at the question, which showed that the Italian girl was nowhere near as sure of Tim as she was making out.
‘I’m not sure exactly when I’ll leave. I shouldn’t think Tim will want to make our parting too obvious. You know how malicious the Press can be. If they feel they have had the wool pulled over their eyes, they could give him a hard time.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that. Still, as soon as Carlo is out of the way, I can come back and be the woman Tim turned to when he learned you were planning to leave him again!’
‘Ever considered writing romantic fiction?’ Lindsey asked drily.
‘I don’t have the imagination.’ Francesca took the question seriously. ‘I could only write about things I know, and Tim would be furious if I disclosed the intimacies between us, if you follow what I mean?’
‘Loud and clear. You really don’t need to lay such vociferous claim to him, Miss Belloti. I stopped being interested in him years ago.’
‘Oh, dear, I wasn’t implying you were trying to come between us. Please forgive me.’
‘It’s already forgotten. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go out.’
With another flurry of apology, Francesca left, and as the front door closed behind her Lindsey slumped low in the chair, unable to think, yet painfully able to feel.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IT WAS after eight when Tim arrived home, by which time Lindsey had buried her pain deep inside her. She was good at doing that; not surprising when she had done it successfully for nearly five years.
Lounging on a settee, casual in black silk trousers and pink chiffon blouse that increased the lustre of her auburn hair, she studied him from beneath her lashes. Although he’d had a long, hard day he managed to look as immaculate as an Armani advert—a fact that would have irritated her once, but which she now saw as an inherent part of him. Put him to digging ditches and he’d still have the same clean-cut aura! He came nearer and she noticed his face was lined with fatigue; not surprising given that he was playing the adoring husband while being Francesca’s passionate lover. Still, he’d be able to rest now!
‘You look exhausted,’ she commented, as he went to the drinks tray and poured a tot of whisky.
‘I’ve had a tough week. Lawson’s fighting tooth and nail to get control of the Italian company.’
‘I’m sure he’s saying the same thing about you!’
‘Probably.’ He reached for the soda siphon. ‘I suppose the showdown can’t come soon enough for you?’
‘For you too, I imagine.’
‘Not really. I enjoy a good clean fight.’
‘I was referring to the charade of our “happy marriage”.’
‘Oh, I see.’ His shoulders lifted. ‘It doesn’t bother me.’
‘Francesca wouldn’t like to hear you say that,’ Lindsey said, and Tim went motionless. ‘She was here this morning and asked me to tell you she left for Rome this morning, and won’t be returning until the takeover is finished.’
Tim splashed soda into his glass. ‘May I get you a drink?’
‘I’ll wait till dinner.’ Irritated by his cool reaction, Lindsey would not let the subject drop. ‘She also said that when she told you about it the other night, you didn’t believe her.’
If he noticed the words ‘other night’, he gave no sign of it. ‘Of course I believed her—and she knew it. Seems extraordinary for her to have come here to tell you.’
‘She actually came to leave these.’ Calmly Lindsey pointed to the little table beside her, where gold cuff-links gleamed beneath the light of a jade lamp. ‘You left them in her apartment.’
Nonchalantly Tim slipped them into his pocket, infuriating Lindsey by his lack of embarrassment.
‘I think Francesca decamped out of pique,’ he drawled. ‘I told her we should cool things for the moment, and this is her answer. She doesn’t like sharing me with you.’
Lindsey’s green eyes flashed. ‘I hope she doesn’t think we—’
‘Not at all.’ His denial was unflatteringly swift. ‘What I meant was that Francesca wants my entire spare time, and right now that’s not possible.’
‘You don’t seem upset by her departure.’
‘I’m not. I know her well enough to take these little things in my stride. She’ll come back when her temper has cooled.’
‘Are you going to marry her?’
An arched eyebrow rose. ‘Does that mean you care? Or do you want me off your conscience before you marry Lawson?’
‘You aren’t on my conscience, Tim. You never were.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ His tone was easy, his demeanour relaxed. ‘You did me a favour by leaving me. If you hadn’t, I might not be where I am today.’
