Mistaken Adversary. Penny Jordan

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      An adversary? Why should she think of him in those terms? All she had to say was that she had changed her mind and that the room was no longer available, and he would be gone—safely out of her life.

      ‘That’s all right. I’m an early riser and likely to be gone by seven-thirty most mornings. Louise tells me you work from home?’

      The question, so neatly slipped in under her guard, had her focusing on his face in surprised bewilderment, as though she were not quite sure where it had come from or why.

      ‘Rather unusual in this day and age, to find a woman of your age and skills, living in such a remote spot and working from home...’

      Something about the cynical way his mouth twisted while he spoke made her reply defensively, almost aggressively, ‘I have my reasons.’

      ‘Yes, I’m sure you do,’ he agreed suavely.

      Another shock skittered down her spine. He knew about her aunt, but how? Why? Surely—

      ‘He’s married, of course.’

      Above her shock she was aware of the disgust, the anger almost in his voice, the condemnation held in the short flat statement that fell so shockingly against her ears.

      ‘What?’ Georgia focused disbelievingly on him.

      ‘He’s married. Your lover,’ Mitch Fletcher repeated grimly, apparently misreading her reaction. ‘It isn’t so hard to work it out, you know: you live alone, you’re obviously tense, anxious, on edge. You’re out most evenings, so Louise tells me.’

      He thought she was having an affair with a married man! Georgia was stunned. How on earth...?

      ‘He obviously isn’t wealthy otherwise you wouldn’t need to consider taking in a lodger. Don’t you ever stop to think of the consequences of what you’re doing—not just to his wife and family, but to yourself as well? The chances are he’ll never leave her for you. They rarely do. And what satisfaction any woman can get from having to share a man with another woman...’

      Georgia couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and yet, to her astonishment, instead of denying his allegations, she heard herself responding bitingly, ‘Well, since you so obviously don’t approve, it’s obvious that you won’t be wanting to stay here.’

      ‘I may not want to, but I don’t seem to have much option. Finding lodgings around here is like prospecting for gold in the North Sea! I’d like to move in tomorrow if that’s OK with you. I’m prepared to pay the full three months’ rent in advance.’

      Georgia had been on the verge of telling him that she had changed her mind, but now abruptly she stopped. Three months’ rent in advance! She did a quick calculation and was astounded to discover how much money that actually was. Enough to cover the cost of her aunt’s expenses and to help with the mortgage... She wanted to refuse—ached to do so in fact—but she couldn’t let her pride stand in the way of providing Aunt May with all the comfort and care she could give her.

      Swallowing hard on the impulse to tell him that his money was something she neither wanted nor needed in her life, she forced herself to say flatly, ‘Very well, then, if you’re sure.’

      ‘I’m sure.’ His voice sounded equally flat, hard and cold, unlike the warmth she had heard in it earlier in the day. He was walking towards her, and for some reason his easy cat-like tread made her retreat nervously on to the landing...

      She was being ridiculous, she told herself as she headed for the kitchen. Just because he had jumped to a totally erroneous and unfounded assumption about her...an assumption she had deliberately chosen not to correct... Why hadn’t she corrected him? Because she had been too shocked to do so? Had her behaviour been governed more by self-defence and shock than by a deliberate need to foster the antagonism between them?

      Tiredly, she put a hand to her forehead, disconcerted by her own thoughts, guiltily aware that for virtually the first time since they had moved to the cottage she had allowed someone else other than her aunt to dominate her mind.

      As she walked into the kitchen, he was right behind her, and yet when she tensed and turned round, he stepped back from her, as though he had sensed her feeling of uncertainty and being somehow overpowered by him—as though he was deliberately allowing her space, cooling down the heat of mutual antipathy which she had quite distinctly felt. As he stepped back he reached inside the jacket of his suit and removed a cheque-book.

      Nervously Georgia licked her lips, a habit left over from her childhood which she had thought she had long ago brought under control. Once he had written that cheque—once she had accepted it from him—it would be too late to say that she had changed her mind. Yet, as she watched him, she could not bring herself to utter the words which would have banished him from her life...

      When he had written the cheque he straightened up. Georgia left it where it was lying between them on the kitchen table. As she turned her head, she saw the time and immediately realised she was going to be late for seeing her aunt. Instantly everything else was forgotten, a strained, hunted expression tensing her face as she said quickly, ‘I have to go out. I...’

      ‘Such a devoted lover!’ he mocked her sardonically. ‘Is he equally devoted? I wonder... Do you ever think about the woman—the family—he steals the time from that he spends with you? Do you ever put yourself in her shoes? Do you?’

      The cheque was still on the table. Angrily Georgia picked it up, her voice shaking as she held it out to him and said, ‘You don’t have to stay here.’

      ‘Unfortunately I do,’ he told her curtly. ‘As I said, lodgings aren’t easy to come by round here.’ Ignoring her outstretched hand and the cheque, he turned towards the door. ‘Until tomorrow evening, then... Would seven o’clock suit you?’

      Seven was the beginning of visiting time. Shaking her head, she said quickly, ‘Six would be better, or later—say about ten?’

      Raising his eyebrows, he commented acidly, ‘He spends as much time with you as that, does he? His wife must be a saint—or a fool...’

      Too concerned about being late to see her aunt, Georgia didn’t waste time on any response, simply going to the back door and opening it for him. As he came towards her she felt herself pulling in her stomach muscles, instinctively avoiding any kind of physical contact not just with him but with his very clothes. He paused as he drew level with her, looking thoughtfully at her for a moment so that it was impossible for her to avoid the deep scrutiny of his narrowed gaze.

      ‘His wife isn’t suffering alone either, is she?’ he said quietly. ‘You know, I can never understand women like you; to waste so much emotional energy and in such a worthless cause...’

      ‘What would you know about it?’ Georgia challenged him, driven to give in to the impulse to defend herself even while her mind screamed at her that she must get rid of him and get on her way to the hospice.

      ‘A good deal. My father had a succession of mistresses before he finally divorced my mother to marry one of them. I saw the hell he put her through, and us. I grew up hating those other women for taking him away from us, until I realised that my father was the one I should really hate, and that they were just as much his victims as we were.’

      His quiet admission left Georgia too astounded to make any kind СКАЧАТЬ