For One Night. PENNY JORDAN

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СКАЧАТЬ She could not even do more than mildly berate herself for the manner in which her child had been conceived; her rare flashes of guilt totally overwhelmed in the following rush of delight that flooded her every time she thought about the baby.

      This would be her child, and hers alone, and she was quite happy that it should be that way. This new life had been started accidentally, and she could only look upon it as a god-given gift to show her that death, however painful, is merely another chapter of life, and not its end.

      The morning sickness which had plagued her on and off since the start of her pregnancy returned with full force in the morning, and briefly she contemplated canceling her appointment at Whitegates Farm. However, after a cup of tea and two dry biscuits, she began to feel a little better, and by ten o’clock she was quite looking forward to the drive out to the farm.

      It was another warm day, with the sun shining and, knowing how hot it would be in the car, she dressed comfortably in a loose white cotton T-shirt top, and a gently gathered matching skirt.

      Although to the discerning eye her pregnancy was beginning to be visible, and she herself could certainly see the changes in her body, she was still able to wear her normal clothes. Bright espadrilles, the same deep pink as her nail polish, adorned her feet, and matching sunglasses shaded her eyes.

      It wasn’t until the landlady gave her a rather startled second look that Diana realized how very different her clothes were from those worn by the locals. Working in TV she had naturally adopted the same attitude toward fashion and design as her colleagues, and she coordinated and chose her clothes with this in mind almost automatically.

      On the way to her car she collected a few more appreciative glances, mostly male. It was rather flattering to be studied with such interest, in London her appearance would have merited no more than the briefest glance.

      As she had known it would be, the car was like an oven with the sun beating through the glass, so she opened the windows and turned the fan on to “cold”.

      The directions she had been given were easy to follow, and soon she found herself driving along a road bordered by rich farmlands, both arable and pasture. Fields, heavy with crops, and crisscrossed by hedges, stretched away to the horizon, their colorscope of greens and golds occasionally broken up by a sprinkling of cattle.

      The farm was larger than she had anticipated, a mingling of Tudor and Queen Anne, and very beautiful.

      She had not expected the gardens that surrounded it either, and she realized the moment she turned into the open white gates and drove down the immaculate gravel driveway that this was more than merely a working farm. This was a showplace, she thought breathlessly, as she parked and admired the view in front of her.

      The morning sunlight glittered on the mullioned windows set amongst dark beams and sparkling white plasterwork. It turned the red brick of the Queen Anne walls deeply rosy, and shimmered on the surface of the ornamental pond framed by willows and green lawns.

      The drive had brought her to the front of the house, but now she could see that it continued around the side, and she frowned, wondering if perhaps she ought more properly to have driven round there. When she set out she had not envisaged that she might be coming to the sort of place where it mattered whether one chose the front or the back entrance.

      Just as she was pondering her dilemma the front door opened and a tall stately woman in her late fifties came out, and called her name.

      “I saw you drive up,” she said, when Diana stepped forward. “I’m Mrs. Jenkins, the housekeeper. I’m afraid Mr. Simons is going to be delayed for ten minutes or so. If you’d like to come inside, I’ll take you to his study.”

      The elegant rectangular hallway was in the older part of the building, the stairs going up from it were dark oak and very warm. A richly patterned carpet in reds and blues emphasized the cream walls and dark woodwork. A refectory table in oak gleamed with polish, reflecting the copper bowl of roses standing on its surface.

      “If you’ll just come this way, miss.”

      A traditional latched door led down a step to a flagged stone passage. Through a tiny window Diana caught a glimpse of buildings and a cobbled yard, and realized that the passage must lead to the back of the house.

      At the end of the passage was another door. The housekeeper opened it and stood to one side to allow Diana to enter the room.

      “This is the most beautiful place,” she murmured appreciatively, unable to hold back the comment.

      “Yes, it is. This part of the house used to be the old still rooms. It was converted into office space in Mr. Simons’s uncle’s time, but things have changed a lot since those days.”

      Diana realized what she meant as she walked into the room and saw the array of modern technology arranged before her.

      One entire wall of the room was filled with filing cabinets. On a very utilitarian desk stood a computer terminal with all the ancillary equipment, plus a modern computer-linked telephone.

      Like the passage, the floor was flagged, and struck a chill through the thin soles of her sandals. Central heating had obviously been installed at some time, and there was also a huge open fireplace. A modern filter coffee machine stood next to an electronic typewriter.

      “The men are in and out of this room constantly, that’s why Mr. Simons uses it. It’s convenient for them, and they don’t have to worry about treading muck and dirt in. Farming isn’t what it used to be. Would you like something to drink while you’re waiting. Tea … coffee?”

      All her adult life Diana had been a coffee fiend; now all she could tolerate was tea—weak tea.

      “Mr. Simons won’t be very long,” the housekeeper promised her as she withdrew.

      Alone in the room, Diana was conscious of the thickness of the walls and the stillness of the air inside. She sat down on a leather chair and looked out of the window.

      In the yard outside were several pieces of farm machinery. She saw a man trudge out of one of the barns; he was small and gnarled, and she watched his progress as he swung himself up into one of the tractors and then trundled off.

      Obviously not the man she had come to see. The phone chirped, and was answered somewhere else in the house. The housekeeper returned with her tea and a selection of what looked like homemade biscuits.

      “Sorry about the delay,” she apologized, “only Mrs. Simons needed me.”

      She must have frowned, Diana realized, because the housekeeper explained, “Mrs. Simons is confined to a wheelchair. She caught polio when she was twenty-seven.”

      Poor woman, Diana thought compassionately. She knew for herself what pain could do to the human spirit; she had seen at first hand what it could do to a person to lose their mobility and independence. And for a farmer’s wife, even an obviously wealthy farmer’s wife …

      She thanked the housekeeper for the tea and sat down again. The cold was beginning to make her shiver. Her thin top and skirt, so suitable for the heat of the sun, were not suitable attire for this stone-flagged room.

      She drank her tea, sipping it, and giving in to the temptation to eat one of the biscuits. They tasted as good as they looked. Once she was over her morning nausea, she was beginning to get so hungry; the weight she had lost during the long months of worrying about and СКАЧАТЬ