Love in Disguise Part 9

'It's less of a commitment,' she agreed. 'You can always get up and walk away!'

'I do that from women too!'

Knowing that he did was somehow painful, and she said nothing.

'I'm going to have the house redecorated,' he remarked.

The allusion did not escape her and she could not prevent a slight chuckle.

'What's funny about that, Miss Wilmot?'

'I get the feeling you'd like to redecorate me too.'

'I tried,' he said, eyeing the hem of her dress. 'But it wasn't as successful as I had hoped.'

'You can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear, sir,' she replied, lids lowered to hide the sparkle in her eyes.

'So it would appear. Let's hope I'm luckier with the house.'

'Who's going to do it?'

'Jackson Pollard. He has an excellent reputation. I'm leaving it all to him.'

'Is that wise? You might find yourself with a showplace instead of a home.'

'Claudine's going to keep an eye on it for me, and she has excellent taste.'

Anthea was pleased she had not been stupid enough to offer her own services. Besides, how astonished he would have been if she had done so. What did a dowdy-looking spinster know about colour integration and decor?

'I will leave you here, Miss Wilmot,' he said unexpectedly. 'I fancy walking a bit more.'

Anthea nodded silently, then murmured goodnight as he moved away.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Mark Allen returned to the Manor every night that week. Anthea managed to keep out of his way after their encounter on Tuesday evening, though his presence continued to make her strangely restless.

He had not been joking when he said he brought back work with him, for she knew from Leggat that he rarely left the library until one or two in the morning, and he was up and on his way back to London by seven-thirty.

On Thursday and Friday she was on tenterhooks to know if he would have any guests for the weekend, and was relieved when Friday morning came and went without any word from his secretary. This meant he would be coming down alone, and she hoped he would have the sense to relax. She glanced through the notes she had made about him during her apprenticeship with Mrs. Goodbody, and arranged with Mrs. Leggat to prepare the dishes he liked best. They were simple ones, she noted with surprise: roast chicken with tarragon, rib of beef with Yorkshire pudding and fried Dover sole. Nothing esoteric here!

At midday on Friday a blue Mercedes disgorged a silver- haired man and his equally silver-haired assistant. It was Jackson Pollard, and he gave Anthea a letter from Mr. Allen's secretary requesting her to show him over the house and to answer all questions relating to Mr. Allen's habits.

'It's so important for me to understand my client and know what he likes,' he drawled, waving a languid hand, though his eyes were far from languid as they darted round him, sizing up the potential. 'Mr. Allen has given me carte blanche, but it still has to be his home.'

'Is Mrs. Goderick meeting you here today?' Anthea asked.

'No, no. She wants to see what colour schemes I choose, but first I have to prepare them. And before that, I must get to know the house.'

He began a systematic appraisal of it. Beneath his feminine manner there lay a hard streak of realism and a Birmingham accent which came out in the flat vowels and occasional slurring of words. The misgivings Anthea had felt at the sight of him abated as the afternoon proceeded, and she answered all his questions as candidly as she could. No, she had no idea if Mr. Allen spent a great deal of time in the bathroom nor if he preferred a shower. Yes, he did like to have his meals in the breakfast-room when he was alone, and yes, he was very fond of formal dinners when he was entertaining.

'A long dining-table, then,' Jackson Pollard decided. 'I have exactly the one to suit him. Maple wood-absolutely divine!'

It was six o'clock by the time he left, and hardly had the car rolled down the drive when the Rolls purred up it. Quickly Anthea retreated down the hall. It was childish of her to keep on avoiding her employer. She would eventually have to see him for one reason or another, and the longer she put it off the more embarrassed she would be when it happened, even though it was difficult to know why she should be embarrassed at all. It certainly had nothing to do with his behaviour and stemmed only from her own emotions. Being1 alone so much was making her fanciful. It was time she saw something of her friends.

On an impulse she went into her sitting-room and dialled Roger Pemberton's flat. The bell rang several times and she felt relieved at getting no answer. It was unfair to ring him just because she had a fit of the blues.

She was in the act of putting down the receiver when it was lifted at the other end and Roger's voice came on the line. Deciding fate had made him answer, she gave him a bright greeting and said she was free on Monday, if he still wanted to see her.

'You bet!' he exclaimed. 'I'm free in the afternoon as well. I'll come and pick you up.'

Unwilling for him to see her disguise, she said a hasty no, and gave the excuse that she wanted to go home for a few hours first.

'Call for me between seven and half past,' she suggested, 'and I'll introduce you to my stepmama.'

'As your fiance, I hope?'

'Not a chance,' she laughed, and said goodbye before he could prolong the conversation.

Her chat with Roger, though short, had cheered her up, and for the rest of the evening she felt in a considerably better mood. She could even look at herself in the mirror without a shudder.

For the whole of Saturday Mark Allen remained in the library, his desk-so Leggat informed her-covered with a mass of documents. He had his lunch there as well, asking for sandwiches so that he could eat with the minimum of fuss.

In the evening he ordered sandwiches again, and Anthea, talking to Mrs. Leggat in the kitchen, was overcome by anger. How could he be content with makeshift meals when there was so much delicious food prepared and waiting in the refrigerator?

'Don't bother with sandwiches,' she said sharply. 'I'm going in to talk to him.'

'He'll bite your head off,' Leggat warned.

'I'll bite him back!' she snapped, and went out.

But the sight of him at his desk, his hair awry, the yellow of fatigue staining his skin, robbed her of temper and reminded her that as his employee she had no right to criticise or tell him what to do.

'Yes,' he said wearily. 'What do you want?'

'Merely to let you know that Mrs. Leggat has prepared your favourite dinner, sir. She'll be most upset if you don't have it.'

'Mrs. Leggat can go to Hades! I'm busy, Miss Wilmot.' He bent to his papers, but as if aware that she had not moved, he looked up. 'Well, why are you standing there on one leg? Practising to be a stork?'

She ignored the sarcasm. 'Dinner will be served in the breakfast-room at eight o'clock, sir. There's roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.'

'You know what you can do with it,' he said in the gentlest of tones.

Red-cheeked, Anthea stood her ground and pretended to misunderstand him. 'I don't enjoy eating roast beef on my own, sir.'

He pushed at his spectacles. 'Is that an invitation, Miss Wilmot?'

Too late she realised he had misinterpreted her words. 'Of course not, sir.'

'What a pity! The rare presence of your company might have gone well with the rare roast beef! But as you don't wish me to dine with you____ 'He lowered his head to his papers. 'Just sandwiches, please, Miss Wilmot.'

The tiredness in his voice was her undoing. 'I'm quite willing to have dinner with you, sir.'

'Are you?' He looked up again. 'A great concession made to save your employer from dying of an overdose of sandwiches!'

'We all enjoy working for you, sir. If you died on us, we would have to find other employment.'

He laughed outright, and dropping his pen on to his desk, leaned back in his chair and stretched. 'I'm exhausted. It will probably do me good to have a break for a few hours. I'll see you in the dining-room at eight.'

'Very good, sir.' She was at the door when he called after her: 'Better make it seven-thirty in the drawing-room. Then we can have a drink.'

Inordinately pleased at the suggestion, Anthea almost skipped upstairs to her room, and promptly to time was down in the hall again, hovering outside the drawing-room door until the chiming of a distant grandfather clock gave her the impetus to go in.

Her employer was already there, elegant in black velvet trousers and dark green velvet jacket. For a conservative businessman he had a stylish wardrobe, and she wondered what he wore when he was in London. Velvet suited his looks, the sheen of the material echoing the sheen of his jet black hair, and his white silk shirt emphasised his bronze skin. There was foreign blood in him somewhere, she decided, and was intrigued to know more of his background.

He did not ask her what she would like to drink, but handed her a silver goblet whose interior effervesced with champagne.

'I hope you drink champagne, Miss Wilmot?'

She sipped appreciatively. 'It makes a change from bitter lemon, sir.'

'Come now, don't tell me you can't drink champagne if you want to? There are cases of it in the wine cellar.'

Her head tilted sharply. 'None of the staff touch your wines or spirits, Mr. Allen.'

'Sorry,' he said quickly, 'it was just my little joke.' He perched on the arm of a chair and idly swung one leg. 'Seriously though, there's no reason why you can't open a bottle of wine if you want. Champagne too, for that matter. I'm perfectly happy for you to have the entire run of my home and its contents.'

She acknowledged the offer with a slight smile, but made no comment on it. He too seemed content to be silent, humming softly as he drank his champagne and then replenished both their goblets.

Leggat entered to announce dinner, and they followed him into the small dining-room.

'I understand Jackson Pollard was here yesterday?' Mark Allen said as they began to eat. 'What did you think of him?'

'I liked him. I didn't think I would.'

'Claudine's a good judge of decorators. She's had more practice than any woman I know.'

'She does it professionally, then?'

He shook his head. 'She re-does her house whenever the mood takes her-which is every year or so-and she's always changing the odd room around.'

'How strange. I like my home to be familiar-and it can't, if you keep altering things.'

'I agree.' He signalled Leggat to leave them alone, saying he would pour the wine himself and ring if he needed anything. 'I have the feeling you're on the defensive when Leggatt is around,' he remarked as the door closed behind the butler.

'Surely that's understandable? After all, I didn't get the impression from Mrs. Goodbody that you dined with her all that often!'

'Never,' he grinned. 'And if you were like dear Mrs. Goodbody, you'd be on the never list too!'

'I didn't realise I was so different.'

'You're younger.' He smiled and leaned forward. 'You shouldn't wear such pale powder, Miss Wilmot. In fact you don't need powder at all. You have an excellent skin.'

She concentrated on cutting her beef.

'Now I've embarrassed you,' he said. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do so.'

It was too genuine an apology for her to ignore, and she gave him a beaming smile which elicited another penetrating glance from him. But he made no personal remarks and they chatted desultorily until the meal was over and they returned to the drawing-room for coffee.

At ten o'clock he stood up reluctantly. 'I must get on with my work, I'm afraid. I have a meeting with Jasper Goderick in the morning.'

'So you won't be here for the rest of the weekend?' She could not keep the disappointment from her voice, but he did not seem to be aware of it, his mind already back in the library among his papers.

'Thank you for sharing my dinner, Miss Wilmot. I'll see you some time during the week.'

He left in the morning without saying goodbye to her. There was no reason why he should have done, and she was angry for being disappointed. If she had known he was going to leave on Sunday she would have arranged to see Roger. She looked at the telephone, debating whether or not to call him, and then decided against it. Instead she went home.

Only as Chrissy opened the door, her face looking first delighted and then upset, did Anthea discover that her father and stepmother had gone to the coast for the weekend.

'Mrs. Wilmot thought the sea air would do your father good,' Chrissy sniffed.

'It probably will,' Anthea said cheerily. 'Don't be so prejudiced !'

'She takes a bit of getting used to,' Chrissy said lugubriously, 'but she's better than I expected.'

'And my father is happy?' Anthea pressed home the point.

'Yes, he is,' the housekeeper agreed. 'Mrs Wilmot dotes on him and he enjoys it.'

'All men enjoy having women dote on them.' As Anthea spoke a picture of Claudine came into her mind. It refused to fade and marred her pleasure at being back among her own possessions and able to wear her normal clothes.

Was Mark Allen seeing Jasper Goderick alone this afternoon or was the beautiful Frenchwoman with them? She would have given a great deal to know the answer, and because there was no likelihood of her doing so, she telephoned Roger. An evening with him would make her forget her intriguing employer.

'How many girl-friends are sitting on your lap?' she asked as he answered.

'I'm as free as a bird,' he said promptly.

'Will you promise not to turn into a wolf if I go out with you this evening?'

'Try me,' he whooped. 'I'll be round pronto!'