Dishonourable Intent. Anne Mather

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      Even before she and Will were married, when she had stayed for several weeks at Lingard, she’d always slept with him—in his suite, in his bed. Of course, when their relationship had become intolerable, Will had moved into one of the other suites himself. But she had always occupied the principal apartments, and it was odd to find herself in unfamiliar surroundings now.

      Not that they were unwelcome surroundings, she acknowledged wearily, sinking down onto the side of the canopied bed. At least here she didn’t constantly feel the urge to look over her shoulder, and she could go to sleep without being afraid of either phone calls or unwanted intruders.

      She shivered.

      It had been crazy to come here, though. In all honesty, she still didn’t know why she’d come to Will. Except that when she’d found the window broken, and then taken that awful call, she’d panicked. It was as if she’d reached a kind of breaking point herself, as if the knowledge that he could even see her in her own flat was the last straw. Until then, she’d regarded her apartment as a sanctuary. Despite the fear that he might have broken in, she’d had no proof. But suddenly she’d lost any sense of security. She doubted she’d ever feel the same about the place again.

      When she’d first left Will, she’d been forced to live in a bed-sitter, and after the clean air and space she had found at the Abbey, the room, in a hostel off Edgware Road, had seemed dark and poky. If he’d come after her then, if he’d shown even the slightest hint that he still cared for her, she’d have gone back to him, willingly. She’d have swallowed her pride and returned to Yorkshire without a second’s hesitation.

      But, of course, he hadn’t. Will had his pride, too. Her lips twisted. God, he’d been full of it. Still was, if she was honest enough to admit it. He might have sympathised with her dilemma tonight, but he didn’t really want her here.

      Perhaps she should have accepted Clare’s invitation to stay with her. She lived just a few streets away from Francesca’s home in Harmsworth Gardens, and at least that would have enabled her to go to work tomorrow. As it was, she would have to think of a convincing excuse for her boss at Teniko. He hadn’t been particularly sympathetic when she’d told him of her problems before.

      Still, tomorrow was Friday, and with a bit of luck she’d be feeling more herself by Monday morning. She knew she hadn’t been thinking too clearly when she’d begged Clare for the loan of her Mazda just hours ago. All she’d felt was an overpowering need to get away from London, and she’d come to Will because he was someone she could trust.

      And that was an irony, too, she mused bitterly, remembering how little he’d trusted her when she’d walked out. Why had she come to him, when he’d always been so willing to think the worst of her? Why had she sought his protection before that of anyone else?

      Maybe if she’d had close family of her own it would have been different, she reflected. But, like Will, she’d lost both her parents before she was old enough to leave school. She’d not been as young as Will when he’d lost his parents, but she’d had no fairy grandmother to come to her rescue. Just her mother’s elderly aunt, who’d considered caring for her orphaned niece a duty, but not a pleasure.

      Francesca drew a heavy breath and pushed herself up from the mattress. The temptation was just to sit there and feel sorry for herself, but she ought to try and get some sleep. Will had said to relax, that they would talk again in the morning. But in spite of being bone-tired her mind wouldn’t let her rest.

      She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror which topped a skirted dressing table and, moving nearer, she examined her features with a critical stare. Her eyes were puffy, and she smoothed the veined skin below them with unsteady fingers. She looked older than Will this evening, she thought disconsolately. He’d always used to say his two years’ seniority could have been ten.

      The bag Watkins had brought up earlier was resting on a padded ottoman, and, unzipping the top, she pulled out her toilet bag and the nightshirt she wore to sleep in. Apart from these items, jeans, underwear and a couple of shirts comprised her whole wardrobe. There was little point in hanging them up. They wouldn’t take up an eighth of the space in the enormous clothes closet.

      The adjoining bathroom was equally huge. Francesca washed and cleaned her teeth at the large porcelain handbasin, promising herself that she would use the clawfooted bath in the morning, when she didn’t feel so deathly weak. Her face looked pale and drawn, and she impatiently pulled the pins out of her hair so that it fell in crinkled disorder about her shoulders. At least it softened her profile, she thought, contenting herself with just threading her fingers through its thickness tonight.

      She was sliding between the crisp linen sheets of the brass bed when there was a knock at her door. In spite of herself, she automatically started, her stomach churning and her heart thumping heavily in her chest. But then the realisation of where she was, and the expectation of who it might be, reassured her. It was probably Mrs Harvey, to see if she had everything she needed.

      ‘C-come in,’ she called, annoyed to hear the tremor in her voice even so, but she forgot her irritation when Will stepped into the room.

      ‘I thought you might like a drink,’ he said flatly, and her eyes darted to the mug in his hand. ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you. It’s just hot milk. It might help you to sleep.’

      ‘Thanks.’ Francesca shuffled into a comfortable position against the pillows, making sure the sheet was securely covering her chest. She took the mug. ‘This is very kind of you. I can’t remember the last time I had hot milk.’

      Will arched a speculative brow. ‘Don’t you like it?’

      ‘I didn’t say that.’ She took a sip of the steaming beverage and then licked a smear of whiteness from her lip. ‘I just meant it’s a long time since—since I’ve been offered any.’ She’d nearly said since anyone had looked after her. She looked up at him, somewhat awkwardly. ‘I’m sorry I’m being such a nuisance. I—didn’t know where else to go.’

      ‘It’s no problem,’ he assured her evenly, and started back towards the door. ‘I’ll see you in the morning. Just tell Mrs Harvey if you’d like your breakfast in bed.’

      ‘I shan’t—’ she began, but the door had already closed behind his lean form, and she was left to take what comfort she could from the milk. But at least it showed he had some compassion for her, she thought wryly. In his position, would she have been so understanding with her ex?

      If it was Will, probably, she decided ruefully, taking another mouthful of the hot milk. In spite of everything that had happened, she still found him disturbingly attractive. Physically, at least, she amended swiftly. Which wasn’t the same as how she’d felt before.

      All the same...

      She sniffed and drank some more, gasping as the unwary gulp of liquid burnt the back of her throat. Dammit, she thought, her eyes watering, he was just a man, wasn’t he? And after her experiences of the past few months she ought to have more sense.

      She slept at once. As soon as her head touched the pillow, she was dead to the world, and it wasn’t until she saw sunlight pushing its way between the cracks in the curtains that she pondered the possibility that Will had put something more than just hot milk in her mug the night before.

      Whatever, she awakened feeling relaxed, and vastly more optimistic. She almost managed to convince herself that nothing could be quite as bad as she’d imagined, although once again, when someone tapped for admittance, her nerves tightened СКАЧАТЬ