Misleading Engagement. Marjorie Lewty

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      She felt herself flush very slightly. She supposed it might be taken for granted, in this day and age, that she and her fiancé should be living together. She didn’t quite know why she should be so eager to dispel that idea from his mind. ‘It’s my family home. I live quite alone here. My mother died soon after I was born and my father died only last month,’ she said quietly. She had to turn her face away quickly to hide the tears that sprang into her eyes; she hadn’t yet got over Daddy’s death. ‘Of course it’s too big for me. I shall have to try my luck in the house market soon, I suppose.’

      He nodded. ‘Yes, perhaps you should do that,’ he said gravely. He finished his coffee and the last piece of toast and stood up. ‘Well, mind you don’t let in any more wandering good-for-nothings to disturb you.’

      ‘I would let anyone in if they brought me back something valuable that I’d lost,’ she said, quite seriously.

      She walked to the front door with him. ‘Thank you for everything, Anne,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re a lovely, kind girl, and they don’t come like that very frequently these days. If ever I can do you a good turn to repay you just ask me.’ To her amazement he leaned forward and kissed her cheek gently before he picked up his case and carried it out to the car. He tossed the case on the back seat, got in behind the wheel and lifted his hand. She waved as the car disappeared round the corner of the road.

      It was like waving to a friend whom she would see again soon. It seemed strange that he was driving three hundred miles away and that they wouldn’t meet again. “‘Ships that pass in the night”,’ she quoted aloud. She couldn’t remember the rest of that rather sad poem.

      Her eyes were thoughtful as she went in and closed the door. She wouldn’t ever solve the enigma that was Mark Rayne.

      

      Anne worked all day and into the night before she was satisfied with the editing of the wedding tapes, and before she went to bed she did something unusual—she made a copy of the finished video to keep for herself and put it away carefully in her bedroom drawer so that it wouldn’t get mixed up with any of the other cassettes in the editing suite. She thought that some time she would watch it to see if she could find any trace of a smile on Mark Rayne’s handsome face.

      She knew that it was silly, but the man had caught her imagination and she found herself wondering about him. She put the cutting from the local paper with the tape, wondering what kind of books he wrote. She was a great reader but she’d never seen his name on any books in the library. She’d enquire some time. But of course he probably used a pen-name... Oh, stop brooding about the man, she told herself. He’s nothing to you.

      

      On Monday morning Anne went into the town and took her glasses to the opticians to be mended. While she was there she made arrangements to have a test for fitting contact lenses, keeping her fingers crossed that she would be getting a cheque when she delivered the video.

      In the afternoon she drove to the Brent mansion and delivered the video to Lady Brent, who invited her into an elegant drawing room and gave her tea as the video was played back on an enormous TV screen. Lady Brent was a handsome, grey-haired woman, friendly and with no nonsense about her, who seemed delighted to chat to Anne.

      ‘You’ve made a wonderful job of it, my dear,’ she said enthusiastically at the end. ‘I’m sure Elizabeth and Andrew will be delighted with it when they come back from their honeymoon. It will be one of their treasured wedding mementoes—so much more exciting than just a photograph. And Mark would like to have a copy too, to send to his parents. They’re retired now, and live in Malta.

      ‘Mark Rayne was Andrew’s best man, you know. They were at school together. He’s a very well-known writer—you may have heard of him; he writes under a pen-name...’ She looked up at the ceiling and clicked her tongue. ‘My memory for names is getting shocking. I know it’s something to do with gardens. He writes exciting mystery stories. I’m sure they’re very good, but not really my cup of tea.’ She laughed. ‘I’m afraid I only read gardening books.’

      Anne assured her that it would be possible. to make another copy and promised to bring it the next day.

      ‘Poor Mark.’ Lady Brent sighed. ‘He was so disappointed that Trudi couldn’t come to the wedding with him. She’s his fiancée, you know, quite a well-known model, and he seems completely obsessed by her. She had to go abroad on an assignment. I’m afraid I’m very old-fashioned and out of touch, living in the country. You young people dash about the world so casually these days. I hate to go far from my beloved garden.’

      Before she left, Anne had to be shown around the garden, whose full beauty could be appreciated now that the marquee had been removed. It was really lovely, and Anne received a pleased smile from Lady Brent when she expressed her admiration.

      But she was thinking more of what Lady Brent had said about Mark and Trudi, and felt she had found out the reason for his low spirits. To be without someone you love, even if only temporarily, made the world seem empty and colourless, as she had found when Keith left her.

      She hardly heard what the older woman was saying as she chatted on happily about the wedding and the house that Andrew had bought. ‘In the very next village, so they won’t be far away—Andrew will commute to his office in London.’

      Anne hoped that Lady Brent would suggest recommending her work to friends, but the fond mother was far too engrossed in her family affairs to think about anyone else.

      

      That evening Anne made a second copy of the video, and on Tuesday morning she drove out to deliver it. Lady Brent was away from home, the imposing butler informed her as she handed in the package, but her ladyship had left a letter for Miss Grey.

      Anne stopped in a lay-by on the way home and opened the envelope. Inside she found a note of appreciation and a cheque for the agreed fee plus a bonus for the extra copy. Well, she needn’t worry about paying for the contact lenses, she thought with relief. But as she drove on she felt almost sad that the unusual episode in her life was over.

      But, as it happened, it wasn’t quite over. Later that morning a florist’s van drew up outside the house.

      ‘Miss Grey?’ the girl enquired, and handed Anne a large wrapped bunch of flowers. Who could be sending her flowers? Anne wondered, carrying them into the kitchen. For a moment she thought it might be Keith and that he wanted to be forgiven and taken back. But when she had torn off the wrapping to disclose a huge spray of mimosa she found a tiny envelope, inside which was a card saying, ‘With gratitude and every good wish, M.R.’ Mark Rayne! How very nice of him—and how odd that the shop had selected her very favourite flowers.

      With a warm feeling of pleasure she filled a brown pottery jug with water, arranged the spray in it and carried it into the sitting room, looking round for a good place to put it down. The low table beside the sofa where Mark Rayne had made himself comfortable was the perfect place. Anne stood, holding the jug in both hands. The mimosa smelled gorgeous and she leaned close to smell the fragrance of the fluffy yellow balls.

      What an unexpected man Mark Rayne was! She remembered vividly the strong, hard face she had seen so intimately close in her camera lens, and then the smoothing out of all the unhappiness as he’d slept.

      She put the jug down on the table with an impatient thud, reminding herself that the man was nothing at all to her, and she shook her head at her own foolish fancy as she found herself wishing again that she could have seen him smile—just СКАЧАТЬ