Max's Proposal. Jane Donnelly

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СКАЧАТЬ He could do anything he damn well pleased. Her gaiety ebbed away, replaced by a reaction bordering on panic. She had been playing with fire, and now she headed for town, and her own little apartment, with her heart hammering.

      Her flat was over a delicatessen in the town square. She parked her car in the delivery yard and let herself into the building by a back door, into a narrow hall with a steep flight of stairs. The old red-patterned carpet was wearing thin, and the magnificent staircase in the Moated House came into her mind. Compared with that this was like climbing a ladder, and compared with that house Sara’s flat was a dump.

      Through the door at the top of the stairs she went into the living room where a small lamp on a side table had been left on. There were toys on the floor so Beth and the twins must still be here, and they were—all three of them lay in the same bed, the children nestling in their mother’s arms.

      A beam from a street lamp cast enough light to show Sara a picture that brought a lump to her throat. Her sister’s dark red hair fanned out over the pillow, and long, silky lashes lay like shadows on her pale cheeks. Sleeping Beth looked hardly more than a child herself, although she was only a year younger than Sara, and the flaxen-haired children were so fragile and so vulnerable that Sara wanted to put her own arms around them all, to protect them as she always did.

      ‘Oh, Lord, what is going to happen to you?’ she whispered, and she went quietly out of the room, closing the door very gently. At least she would have a bed to herself tonight. Last night it had been the sofa and the twins’ bilious turn.

      She tiptoed into the bathroom, undressed and washed, making as little noise as possible. She often came back from these high-fashion affairs feeling like Cinderella, and her dress tonight had been rather special. Silky, in deep pine-green with bootlace-thin shoulder straps, tight fitting to the low hipline then flaring to mid-calf. With a haute couture label, although Sara had found it in an up-market jumble sale:

      Most of her wardrobe came from sales and nearly-new shops, because she had to make every penny of her salary count. And she wouldn’t be wearing her ‘bargain’ shoes again. Worry and weariness were creasing her smooth brow so that her reflection in the bathroom mirror looked older than her twenty-three years. At this rate, she thought wryly, Beth will be mistaken for my daughter before long. And it was crazy that Beth’s troubles should make her seem more like a delicate child while Sara aged for both of them.

      The sisters had a family resemblance in features. And both were redheads, but Beth’s hair was dark auburn while Sara’s flamed, and Beth’s soft, pretty mouth was stronger, fuller, more sensuous in Sara. Beth faced the world with wide eyes while Sara’s eyes often narrowed as she assessed the situation, and that included the men in her life. There had been men in Sara’s life but she’d never taken them seriously enough for a deep relationship to develop. A touch of mockery at the wrong time had lost her several would-be lovers.

      Her reflection blurred in the mirror as a wave of fatigue swept over her. She had to get into bed before she slumped down on the bathroom floor. It was a narrow bed in the little spare room but Sara slid gratefully between cool sheets and was on the edge of sleep when a faint report brought her awake again. Somewhere they were still letting off fireworks, and her thoughts drifted back to the bonfire at the Moated House and to Max Vella standing beside her.

      His arm around her shoulders had been light, but she could imagine a heavier touch crushing her so that the sheets and duvet seemed suddenly unbearably weighty. His face was in shadow that could have been a mask, and she didn’t need that flash of waking nightmare interpreted. Common sense was warning her loud and clear: if he should get in touch she would have to come up with a very good reason why she couldn’t see him again.

      She could say that although she hadn’t taken a partner to the ball she did have a lover. Someone to whom she was completely committed. Max Vella’s world must be full of willing women. He wouldn’t bother with the likes of Sara if she played hard to get.

      He probably wouldn’t get in touch because he wasn’t that interested, and when she rang him about the interview he would have changed his mind about that. She tossed and turned for a few more minutes, and then fell asleep.

      She would have slept longer if she had not been woken by the sound of bells ringing in her head. The sound pierced the cocoon of her slumber, and still with her eyes shut she shook her head until the ringing stopped. When she did open her eyes very slowly daylight was streaming into the room, and she would have liked to pull the sheets over her head and go back to sleep.

      Her throat was dry, and she could hear the twins shrieking. She had to have a cup of coffee and a couple of aspirins or she would start the day with a thumping headache. This was a working day. She had to get into the office this morning, but first she had to find the strength to climb out of bed.

      Almost at once the bedroom door opened and Beth came in with the twins skipping behind her. ‘Didn’t you hear the doorbell?’ said Beth. ‘This just came for you.’ And Sara struggled to sit up, mumbling.

      ‘What?’ It was a very large box of chocolates.

      ‘With a card,’ said Beth. Written on a white card in black ink Sara read, ‘No rum ruffles, try the hard centres. The interview. My office twelve midday.’ And the initials M.V.

      ‘A chauffeur brought them. Grey uniform, peaked hat, the lot. Who sent them?’ Beth was agog with curiosity as Sara went on staring at the card. Sara would have recognised the writing anywhere. She couldn’t remember seeing any of his writing before, but she knew he would use a thick nib and write without any flourishes. She said, ‘Max Vella. I met him last night. He’s giving me an interview.’

      ‘You must have made a very good impression on him last night,’ Beth said. ‘I’ve never seen such a big box of chocolates.’ It lay on the bed beside Sara, a box of fine Belgian chocolates the size of a tea tray. Josh reached for the box and his mother said, ‘Don’t even think about it—and how you can after those truffles.’

      Sara would have to explain just what had happened before the gossip reached Beth about her sister and Max Vella. Beth would know that it was nonsense. It was quite funny, it should cheer Beth up, but Sara then realised that if she didn’t hurry she’d be late for work. She would have liked to take time and trouble, fixing her hair and her make-up, choosing something smart and efficient-looking for the midday interview. Getting an interview was a fantastic stroke of luck, but she would have been happier if she hadn’t been seeing him again so soon. In about a week’s time would have suited her better.

      Beth was still trying to persuade Sara to eat a slice of toast as Sara struggled into her coat and hurried out of the flat. Toast would have stuck in her throat. ‘I don’t have time for breakfast,’ she called, although it was the thought of facing Max Vella again that was playing havoc with her nerves.

      The offices of the Chronicle were across the town square from Sara’s first floor flat. That had always been great—from her door to her work in less than five minutes. But it meant that this morning she shot into Reception with her coat unbuttoned, still trying to smooth down her hair.

      The girl behind the counter said, ‘Hello, hello, you didn’t waste your time last night, did you?’

      ‘Oh, heck.’ Sara stood still and breathed deep. ‘Has Carl been talking?’

      There had been a Chronicle photographer at the ball. He must have come back with the news about Max Vella and Sara. ‘Believe me,’ said Sara, ‘it was not what it seemed.’

      A door from the front office led into the editorial department, and there she faced her colleagues, all of them waiting СКАЧАТЬ