The Wrong Kind Of Wife. Roberta Leigh

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ matched hers, sending them both spiralling among the stars, from which they seemed to descend a long time later.

      Lindsey awoke first. Tim was lying on his side, an arm flung across her, his hand resting on her breast. Asleep, he looked younger than his twenty-six years. He often acted younger too, she reflected, then pushed aside the thought, feeling guilty for thinking it. Yet it was true. In every respect except years she was the more mature. Not surprising, given that she had spent most of her adolescence in an orphanage after her mother and stepfather had been killed in a motorway crash. It had been a tough grounding, and it had required determination and tenacity to escape from it and win a scholarship to university.

      Even now she cringed at the memory of the raw, naïve young girl she had been. Luckily her outward appearance had not given her away. Tall and fashionably thin, with wild, dark red hair cascading past her shoulders, blazing green eyes and a naturally voluptuous red mouth that drew attention to her pale, creamy skin, she had looked every inch the confident feminist of the eighties.

      Her aura of self-assurance had deceived Tim as well, and after their marriage she had made an effort to put the bitter memories of the past behind her, determined not to let them sour the happy present; and though there were occasional times when they returned to haunt her, she allowed no one to be party to her tears.

      As if sensing her thoughts, Tim stirred in his sleep and pulled her close, and with a returning surge of tenderness Lindsey snuggled into the warmth of him and switched her mind back to how they had met.

      It had been at a party in Cambridge—where else would two people of disparate backgrounds cross paths? Tim had grown up on the family estate in Somerset, near the town of Evebury where his father owned a successful engineering plant.

      Within moments of seeing Lindsey across the room, Tim had pushed his way across to her. She had been flattered that the best-looking man in the room had eyes only for her, and felt as if she were Delilah and Jezebel rolled into one!

      An hour later they were seated in a small but expensive restaurant on the outskirts of town—one that was way out of the price-range of herself and her friends—and Tim had teased her for weeks afterwards about her appearing more interested in the menu than him!

      It was untrue, of course. Her concentration on the food had been a device to hide her discomfiture, for it was the first time she had been taken anywhere so elegant, and by someone who was clearly at home there. She had always dated men from her own background and avoided mixing with the rich set.

      But with Tim it had been different. He had disarmed her with his warmth and natural charm, his innate good manners that made him treat her as if she were someone special. And to him she was special, her sharp tongue and fiery spirit a great contrast to the girls he usually escorted. Within days they were in love, spending every possible moment together, and regarding their hours apart as wasted ones.

      ‘You’re so caring about everything,’ he had commented on one occasion. ‘When I’m with you I see the world through your eyes.’

      ‘It isn’t such a comfortable world as yours,’ she had stated.

      ‘I know, and I’m sad for you. I want you to be happy always, Lindsey.’

      Lindsey had wanted this too, but was afraid it was not to be, for she knew her happiness was with Tim and did not believe their relationship would turn into a permanent commitment. She had grown up in too tough a school to believe in fairy-tales, and Cinderella was strictly a story in a book. So she was dumbfounded when he’d asked her to marry him.

      She had accepted instantly, and they were married shortly after they graduated, with a small reception given by Tim’s parents for their close family and a select few of their friends.

      ‘A big wedding wouldn’t be quite the thing,’ Mrs Ramsden had explained with a cool smile. ‘I mean, it isn’t as if you have any family to invite...’

      The implication being that, even if she had, they would have felt out of place and been unacceptable. Mrs Ramsden had not expressed her antipathy to Lindsey in any concrete manner, but Lindsey had sensed it the instant they met. Mr Ramsden had tried to be friendly, but since his wife was the dominant personality she realised she would never have anything other than a constrained relationship with either of them.

      To begin with the knowledge had distressed her, making her nervous of saying or doing the wrong thing. How she had envied Tim his genial social manner which enabled him to mix with people from every stratum, an ability that her relationship with him had shown her she did not possess. She felt alien with his friends, and was unable to relate to his political views and opinion of world events.

      Yet their physical attraction for one another had been stronger than their dissimilarities, and as Tim’s love for her had deepened and his dependence on her grown, her self-confidence had reasserted itself; not that he was ever aware of her fears and doubts, for she was adept at concealing her innermost feelings.

      Tim stirred in her arms, bringing her back to the present. ‘You have the most gorgeous eyes,’ he whispered, looking into their green depths.

      ‘I was thinking the same about yours,’ she smiled as he drew her closer, but resisted him as her closeness made him harden.

      ‘Not again?’ she teased, easing away and slipping out of bed.

      ‘Again and again! The more I have you, the more I need you.’

      ‘You’re just greedy!’

      ‘Mmm. But at least it doesn’t make me fat!’ He studied her as she slipped into an emerald silk wrap. The skirt swung round her shapely legs and the tightly cinched belt revealed the contours of her firm, high breasts and small waist. ‘All you need to complete the 1920s illusion is a long cigarette holder,’ he teased. ‘You look like a Scott Fitzgerald heroine.’

      Pushing off the duvet, he followed her to the kitchen, grabbing a bathrobe en route. ‘I thought we were going to a restaurant?’

      ‘It’s a waste of money,’ she replied, deftly making a salad before putting a small French bread into the oven to crisp. She hummed to herself as she did so. Sex with Tim always made her feel good.

      He watched her for a moment, then methodically set the table and opened the wine. ‘For someone who dislikes wasting money,’ he grinned, studying the label, ‘isn’t this extravagant? Or are we celebrating something?’

      ‘I felt like spoiling us,’ she replied, and from his pleased expression knew the Australian Shiraz was going to have the effect on him that she desired. But she would wait until he had drunk a couple of glasses before imparting her news.

      She put slices of gammon under the grill, then made a four-egg omelette, her movements deft with long practice.

      ‘Get the coffee going, Tim.’

      Whistling tunelessly, he did, then set out the cream and gold coffee-cups, a present from his mother. And how like his mother they were! Lindsey thought: elegant, fragile, yet extremely durable if handled carefully. Mrs Ramsden was used to a household of servants, and her two daughters and son had been equally cosseted. Now Tim was roughing it, according to his mother’s standards, and no doubt she blamed her daughter-in-law for it, though she had not put her feelings into words.

      Discarding the unpleasant thought, Lindsey divided the omelette and gammon into two while Tim took the bread from the oven and poured the wine. The meal was simple but appetising СКАЧАТЬ