Expectant Mistress. SARA WOOD

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СКАЧАТЬ me something. Have I become a total peasant from living like a swineherd?’ she asked, trying to make that sound more like a joke than a desperate bid for reassurance. Her sea-blue gaze lifted to Petra’s amused and affectionate face.

      Petra looked wonderful. Expertly made-up and flawless. The natural look had been perfected. Trish had tried some of Petra’s foundation but she’d felt strange with it on her skin so she’d washed it off. Her brows and lashes were dark enough not to need mascara and her lips and cheeks had their own rosy tint, but she did feel that she lacked glamour without artificial aids.

      In the elegant surroundings of her hotel room she looked totally out of place. No wonder people had stared at her as she’d crossed London and headed for South Kensington! They must have thought she’d fallen from a tractor and lost her way! She vowed to buy moisturiser and slap it on every night.

      ‘I look terrible, don’t I?’ she said in despair.

      ‘Stop fishing for compliments! You’re so lovely, I’m tempted to stick a paper bag over your head. You positively glow with inner health, have a fab tan and legs up to your armpits. You’re a breath of fresh air, you vile woman,’ said Petra warmly, hugging her. ‘Every artificially enhanced female at the party will queue up to scratch your eyes out.’

      Trish wasn’t flattered to be called a breath of fresh air. Right now, she’d swap the goose-girl look for a classy outfit, an alabaster skin, false eyelashes and long nails She tucked her work-worn hands beneath her bottom. Too much washing up, hauling boats up slipways and building stone walls! Hand cream was hastily added to her shopping list.

      ‘Enough lies, I know my place,’ she said ruefully, casting vanity and her dreams into oblivion.

      Having given up any hope of looking wonderful, she let her entire face relax. Petra was treated to one of Trish’s dazzling grins, her teeth gleaming white in the darkness of her bronze-gold complexion.

      ‘I’ll be the one who makes everyone else look elegant and sophisticated,’ Trish decided. ‘I’ll do my bumpkin act and Adam’s intended will adore me because I’m such a cute, folksy character.’

      Petra gave her an odd look. ‘Don’t think so, oh, wizened old peasant. It’s my guess that Louise is cheesed off with hearing about the sainted Trish. I bet she’s tried on a million outfits and is, at this moment, agonising over her appearance, just like you. Ready?’

      Stunned into silence by that remark, Trish let Petra lead her to the lift. Adam couldn’t have been talking about her ..could he? A smirk of pleasure tilted the corners of her wish-softened mouth before she ruthlessly subdued it.

      Too late. He’d made his choice. A beautiful, talented and witty partner who knew how to eat and pronounce taglia-telle without hurling it into her lap while she did so. Someone close to his age and on his wavelength, who could program computers, like him, and organise a dinner party for seventy Japanese businessmen while checking the stock market and painting her perfect toenails. Trish groaned at the paragon she was inventing and wished she hadn’t let Petra browbeat her into coming.

      After her friend’s tireless and unrelenting bombardment of letters and phone calls, she had reluctantly agreed to travel up to London and join the family celebration. She was, so her friend had said, virtually family, after lodging with them for two years. And so she had to wish Adam and his fiancée, Louise, all the happiness in the world.

      Gloom descended on Trish as she mentally practised her opening remarks. Hi, Adam! Wonderful party. Congrats. Is this Louise? Mwa, mwa. Love your dress. ‘Scuse me, promised two panting tigers over there I’d hurry back before they—

      No. Stupid. Too chirpy and revealing—Adam would see through her pretence of throwaway confidence immediately. He’d look her deep in the eyes with that intense, melted-toffee gaze...

      She found herself trembling, and hurriedly put her mind to the problem in hand. Hell, what was she going to say?

      Petra chattered engagingly as they walked along the damask-walled corridor towards a pair of imposing mahogany doors and the Garden Suite beyond. It was a luxurious hotel with ankle-wrecking carpets, impressive oil paintings and antique furniture. All far too beautiful for Trish to dare sit on or risk touching with her sticky fingers. And the silver cutlery looked so heavy that she feared she’d get repetitive strain injury if she tried to wade through the entire five courses for dinner.

      As they swept past vast urns and baroque marble hall tables groaning under the weight of stiff floral displays, Trish barely heard a word her friend was saying.

      She was too busy keeping her nerves under control and rattling around the pathetically sparse contents of her brain, searching for something casual and witty for her opening lines. Increasingly she longed to turn tail and run like a frightened rabbit back to her burrow.

      Apart from worrying about the effort of keeping a bright, see-how-I’ve-forgotten expression on her face the whole evening, she felt stranded, like a fish out of water. London had reduced her to wide-eyed silence. It was horribly noisy and unfriendly—terrifying, even. She’d made a hash of using the underground, and hadn’t a clue about tipping taxi drivers or doormen. Judging by their open-mouthed amazement, she’d funded their children’s private education for life.

      City life was all about speed. People spoke faster, their movements were quick and frantic, as if there wasn’t enough time in the day to get things done. After just two days, she felt edgy and stressed.

      But this was Adam Foster’s preferred environment. He’d relocated his computer software business from Truro to London four years ago and become a powerful mover and shaker in this alien world. He must love the hectic pace. Perhaps he was hooked on exhaust fumes. A diesel junkie.

      Trish bit her lip, encountering the unfamiliar taste of lipstick. She and Adam were from two different planets. Chalk and cheese. Right now, she wanted to be back home where she belonged.

      Yet stubborn curiosity kept her heading for the party. She wanted to see him gazing adoringly at Louise. Needed to, for her own peace of mind. Then she’d be able to shrug off the lurking feeling of something unfinished and life-changing. Once this party was over, she’d feel capable of making a commitment to her ever-patient boyfriend.

      Time would have changed Adam and she’d probably find that he wasn’t a patch on the man she’d once idolised. He might be more Cardigan Man than Danger Man. More socks than sex. She’d changed too. After all, she’d been an impressionable eighteen when she’d last seen him.

      Seen Touched, scoured with her tongue, felt her body dissolve during that long, heart-stopping moment when he’d looked at her and murmured her name... Every detail of their coming together was still fresh and hot in her mind, etched like acid on silver.

      Only much later, after she’d fled home in agonies of self-recrimination, had she realised that he’d lost control for one reason only. Adam’s grief over the loss of his wife two months earlier had made him reach out blindly for someone to hold. She should have realised that.

      Darling Christine’s death, after five years of battling with cancer of the spine, hadn’t been unexpected. But Adam had been too upset even to attend the funeral. Trish sighed. When he’d looked at her longingly, spoken her name and stretched out his hand, the poor man could never have anticipated that she would react as if he’d made a wholehearted invitation of love!

      Never in the whole of her life had she behaved so badly or felt so ill from guilt and shame. Even now, she stumbled on the teetery СКАЧАТЬ