Love in Disguise Part 18

This part of the subterfuge was the one Anthea disliked most. But Mark had insisted she maintain the pretence with them too, and she recognised his continuous attention to detail as one of the reasons for his success in business. Nothing was too small for him to acquaint himself with, yet he also had the capacity to delegate. It was an unusual combination. She bit back a sigh. But then he was an unusual man. Only by falling in love with the predictable Claudine had his intelligence failed him.

At ten o'clock Lady Wittle retired to her room, but Anthea was too restless to follow suit and, conscious of Mark still in the library with his visitors, remained downstairs. It was nearly midnight before she heard the front door close and Mark's steps move across to the elevator. There was a pause and she guessed he had seen the light in the breakfast- room. The door opened and he came in.

'I thought you'd be in bed by now.'

'I wasn't tired.' She looked at him. 'I can see you are.

Would you like me to get you something?'

'Nothing to drink, thanks. I'm awash with coffee and brandy.'

'Who were the men?' she asked casually.

'Just men,' he shrugged.

'What did they want? This is the second time they've been here in a week.'

'Do you keep a note of everyone who calls to see me?'

'I happened to notice those two.' His fatigue gave her courage. 'One of them is an inspector, isn't he? I heard you say so the first time he came here. What do the police want with you, Mark?'

'So many questions,' he said with a slight smile. 'You don't expect me to answer them?'

'Why not? I'm your----- ' she stopped, discomfited to know she had been about to say she was his fiancee, and aware from the tight look about his mouth that he realised it.

'Are you my fiancee?' he questioned. 'And would you be as willing to know and share my problems if I were destitute? Or are you like the rest of your sex, interested only in security and capturing a rich husband?'

'I wouldn't have you, rich or poor,' she retorted and, intent on wounding him, added: 'I would hardly call Roger a millionaire.'

'True,' he agreed, 'but he does command a fair amount of respect in university circles, and women like that too. Riches and esteem. Both if you can get it; one or the other if you can't.'

'Why are you so cynical about women?' she could not help asking.

'I thought my aunt might have told you?' One dark brow raised. 'I was engaged many years ago and was jilted for someone richer. It spurred my ambition-for which I'm suitably grateful to my ex-lady-love-and of course she followed the usual course and offered herself to me again when she felt I could afford her. Unfortunately she was married by that time, and I didn't find the proposition attractive.'

'I thought you preferred married women?'

He stretched and yawned. 'Go to bed, Miss Anthea Wilmot, your claws are showing.'

'Yes, Mr. Mark Allen, sir.'

His eyes gleamed. 'One day I'll---- ' He stopped. 'Good night, Anthea. Sleep well.'

Anthea was in the drawing-room the next morning when Jackson Pollard arrived to see her, apologising for not having made an appointment but saying he had been with another client close by and had called on an impulse. She pretended to believe him and waited for him to get to the reason for his call, which he did with the ease she had come to expect from him.

When he had read of her engagement, he informed her, it had struck him she might wish to make alterations to the schemes Mrs. Goderick had approved for Bartham Manor. By chance he happened to have the colour charts and swatches of material with him, and if she would like to look at them he would be delighted to change anything to suit her.

Anthea's first inclination was to say she would leave things as they were, but an imp of mischief prompted her to take advantage of the situation she was in. It would serve Claudine right. Carefully she scrutinised all the layouts the interior decorator had prepared. The major structural alterations could not be bettered, but there were many colour schemes she considered either too feminine or too urban for the manor house, and these she ruthlessly changed.

'I see you want it as a country home,' Jackson Pollard stated.

'It is a country home.'

The blond head wagged approvingly and more swatches of material were brought out from the valise. Two hours later the man departed, expressing his delight with the alterations made and assuring Anthea that they would be carried out without any problem. But her pleasure in thwarting Claudine was dispelled by the sight of her that evening.

Mark had decided to give a party to introduce his fiancee to his friends, explaining that it was expected of him and that Claudine and Jasper would be among the guests. Typically, they were the first to arrive.

Jasper caught hold of Anthea's hand and chuckled at her in a way that made her long to slap his face. 'I feel as if I engineered the whole thing. I'm sure my seeing you together spurred Mark into making a decision.'

'How unchivalrous of you to say so,' she replied coolly, and was pleased to see him look discomfited. But not so Claudine, who was very much in control of herself and said all the right things, exclaiming with pleasure over the engagement ring. But momentarily alone with Anthea later that evening, when coffee was being served, she was not so polite.

'I hope you aren't making the mistake of thinking you're a permanent fixture here? There won't be any need for your engagement to continue once I leave Jasper.'

'Then you'd better be quick about it,' Anthea answered, 'or I might start pressing Mark for a quick marriage.'.

'He'd never agree.'

'He might not have any choice. If I threatened to tell the truth, it would make a marvellous story. The way you ran out of the house to escape your husband, and how I stepped in to save your reputation!'

Claudine's skin went mottled with temper. 'What about your reputation? Don't forget Jasper found you with Mark in the early hours of the morning. People might wonder if your story was true!'

'It might be worth losing my good name in order to tell the truth about yours.'

'You wouldn't dare!'

'Don't try me too far or I will.'

The rouge on Claudine's cheeks stood out in bright dabs of colour, making her look like the Doll in Petrushka. But she had the intelligence to know she had lost the argument and, with a shrug to signify it was unimportant, she moved away.

Resolutely Anthea remembered her duties as a hostess and moved from group to group, deliberately keeping away from Claudine and Jasper. It was nearly dawn before the party broke up, but as Anthea went towards the lift, Mark put his hand on her arm and stopped her.

'You did very well tonight. I've never seen Sir Roger Marrick so amused. What were you talking to him about?'

'The way I infiltrated into your life. He was laughing at the way I turned myself into a frump.'

Mark looked irritated and then wry. 'Laughing at my expense, eh?'

'I thought it best to turn the whole housekeeping episode into a joke. People will be less likely to remember it if they don't see it as some spicy sort of scandal.'

Mark immediately conceded the point. 'You're right, my dear. My apologies for not realising it myself.' He hesitated, then said: 'Why don't you go and see your parents in Portugal? I'm sure they would like to hear about our romance at first hand.'

'I would rather not lie to them, if you don't mind.'

'Tell them the truth. But I still want you to go away in a week's time.'

'Why?'

'You know I won't tell you,' he smiled. 'Just do as I ask and get out of the country.'

She struggled with the ring on her finger. 'There's no point going on with this pretence any-longer.'

'Please,' he said, and put his hand over hers. Anthea could feel his fingers trembling. 'I have my reasons. For heavens sake, don't argue with me. Pack a bag and go. We'll talk about breaking our engagement when you come back. It won't matter by then anyway.'

'What do you mean?'

'I'll book a ticket for you to Lisbon,' was his only reply. 'I'm sorry to spring it on you like this, but...'

He walked away from her and, puzzled at his demand, she went upstairs. Though she longed to disobey him, or at least to question him further, there had been something in his manner that told her she would get nothing out of him until he was ready to disclose it. He had made a request, and he expected her to obey it. If she were really his fiancee, if he truly loved her, she might have had the right to insist on knowing what was going on. But she meant nothing to him except a cover for an ugly truth. If he asked her to go away, she had no choice but to do as he wished.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

At six o'clock in the afternoon of the next day, Anthea was being hugged by her father at Lisbon airport. The urge to burst into tears and tell him the true story of her engagement was so strong that only Maude's garrulously happy congratulations prevented her from doing so.

Her father had rented a small villa outside Estoril which, though less picturesque than Algarve, had the benefit of being considerably nearer Lisbon. Anthea was given a bedroom facing the sea, whose great Atlantic rollers crashed noisily on to the beach some hundred yards from her window.

'You'll find the water too cold for swimming in,' her father said as she came out to join him on the balcony that led from the living-room.

'In June?' Anthea commented, surprised.

'Even in August. According to the locals, the water never gets warm. Most of the tourists use a swimming pool.'

'I'll still give the sea a try. It's so much more refreshing.'

'You look as if you could do with a tone-up. Been gadding around since your engagement?'

'Not really. A few parties-nothing more.'

'It was all rather sudden, wasn't it?' Professor Wilmot remarked.

'I've been in love with him for a long time.' Anthea was glad she could at least be truthful on one point.

'I guessed you were. I felt there was something between you that day we came over to the manor.'

'Mark never loved me then.'

'I'm not sure about that,' her father continued. 'You looked a bit strange in that get-up you were going around in, but he was still extremely conscious of you as a person. He's a nice man, Anthea. If you can forget who he is, you should be very happy with him.'

'Forget who he is?'

'Forget his wealth, I mean. Don't let who he is make you forget what he is.'

Maude came out on to the balcony. 'A pity Mark didn't come with you,' she said. 'Too busy, I suppose. It must be difficult for him to get away from his commitments.' She chattered on about Mark, needing little encouragement beyond an occasional comment from her husband.

Anthea only half listened, her mind still busy with Mark's reasons for wanting her out of England. Again she was certain it had something to do with the two men who, in the past ten days, had been frequent visitors to the house. Mark often saw business people at home, but it was rare for him to do so continuously, and she suspected it stemmed from a desire for secrecy; that he did not wish anyone to know he was having discussions with a police inspector and another official. Away from him, she was able to think more clearly, and she was convinced he wanted her absence in order to save her from something unpleasant.

The knowledge kept her on tenterhooks, and for the next few days she anxiously awaited a letter from him. None came and she chided herself for having expected one. After all, there was no reason for him to contact her, not even for the sake of pretence. But on the third day she was so restless that she almost put in a call to him, and was only prevented from doing so by the knowledge that in such a small villa any conversation she had with him would be overheard.

On the morning of the fourth day she was able to relax, and for the first time enjoyed the heat and the cooling breeze blowing in from the sea. It was still too early for many tourists, but there were sufficient people around to prevent the little town from being isolated, and she went for a stroll along the promenade and then took a detour back to the villa via the shops.

She had not read an English newspaper since she had left London, and passing a newsagent she went into see if she could buy one. There were none available and she was turning to walk out when she saw a picture of Mark and Jasper on the front page of a Portuguese paper. She bent to look at it, trying to make out the half-inch caption above it. But her knowledge of Portuguese was practically nil and she could make no sense of it.

'Please,' she asked the woman behind the counter, 'can you tell me what it says?'

The woman looked at her uncomprehendingly and Anthea picked up the paper and pointed to the photograph. Instantly she received a toothy smile and the paper was taken from her and carefully read.

'A beeg business has gone collapsed,' the woman said in fractured English. 'In-how you say-fraud scandal.' The head bent to the paper again. 'The police say he stand trial. It was discovered by-' the woman pursed her lips, having difficulty with the name-'by Jasper Goderick. He uncover truth. This one, he beeg crook.' A plump finger pointed at Mark's face. 'He crook and Senhor Goderick find out. Is terrible, no?'

Without replying Anthea fled. She had no conscious knowledge of returning to the villa, but she must have done so, for she found herself in her bedroom packing the case she had only unpacked a few days before. At last she knew why Mark had wanted her out of the country. At last she knew the reason for the police inspector's visits; for the long hours in the Library and the strain on Mark's face. She knew too why Mark had been so anxious for Jasper not to learn he was in love with Claudine. Perhaps even as little as two weeks ago he had still hoped to avert disaster by merging with Jasper's company.

Somehow it all began to make horrifying sense. Mannerisms and phrases floated into her mind: Mark's tenseness; his irritability; his talk of building on shifting sand and of the dangers inherent in doing so. It was the knowledge that his business was crumbling that had no doubt prompted him to try and merge with Jasper Goderick. Had he been successful it would have saved him. But unfortunately he had not reckoned on Jasper's discovery of the truth. Could Jasper-jealous of Claudine's interest in Mark-have gone into Mark's affairs with more caution than he might otherwise have done? Whatever die reason, the truth had been discovered and Mark, knowing he could not avert disaster, had wanted her out of the way when the crash officially came.

Snapping her suitcase shut, she carried it down to the hall, and had set it on the floor when her father came in from the garden.

'I'm going back to London,' she said. 'Something has happened to Mark.'

'Have you heard from him? Is he ill?'

'Not ill. It's to do with his business. I have to be with him.'

'What is it? You look like a ghost, Anthea. Would you like me to come back with you?'

Tears filled her eyes at the offer, but she shook her head. 'It's sweet of you to suggest it, darling, but I don't think Mark would want to see anyone. It's better if I go alone.'

'But you aren't booked on a plane.'

'I'll go to the airport and get on the first available flight. If you could arrange a taxi for me...?'

'I'll take you there myself.' He saw her expression and said: 'Don't worry, my dear. I won't pester you with questions. You've already made it clear you don't want to talk about it.'

This time her tears overflowed. 'You're more understanding than I deserve,' she cried, and flung herself into his arms.

'No more crying,' he said gruffly. 'All this dampness is bad for my rheumatism!'

She gave a shaky smile, and stepping out of his hold, wiped her eyes.

It was a quiet, composed Anthea who, some two hours later, boarded a Portuguese airliner bound for London.

'Telephone me as soon as you have any news,' her father said as she kissed him goodbye. 'And if you want to have me with you, just say the word and I'll fly home.'

She remembered his offer as the plane slowly taxied along the apron to its take-off position. Kind though it was, she could never avail herself of it; there would be too many explanations to give him-the truth about her engagement to Mark being the most difficult one of all.