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 of response—and then he was gone, walking round the corner of the cottage, heading for the front gate and his car.
CHAPTER TWO
‘YOU’RE very quiet, Georgy. You’re not still worrying about me, are you?’
Georgia focused on her aunt’s pale face, forcing herself to try to smile. She had in fact been thinking about Mitch Fletcher and his extraordinarily intimate disclosure just as he was leaving the cottage. She really would have to tell him that he was mistaken about her, to explain—if not everything, then at least enough for him to understand that it was her aunt who took up so much of her time and not some non-existent married lover.
She frowned a little, acknowledging how hard it must have been for him to witness the disintegration of his parents’ relationship, to have his own love for and trust in his father destroyed, as it obviously had been destroyed. Poor little boy... She caught herself up, shaking her head angrily. What on earth was she doing, feeling sympathy for someone who had suggested that she...? She bit her lip in vexation, unwillingly acknowledging that if he had misjudged her it was at least partly her own fault.
She wasn’t really sure why she was so reluctant for him—for anyone—to know the truth. Was it because in facing their concern and sympathy she would be forced to make herself confront the reality of how seriously ill her aunt was? No...no! Her thoughts scattered, frantically fleeing from what she could still not bring herself to face—fleeing from the enormity of that realisation... Her aunt was getting better... Only this morning she herself had said how well she felt, and yet as Georgia looked at the tiny figure in the bed, her fear was like cold, cold fingers tightening around her heart.
Unwillingly she looked into her aunt’s face and saw the tiredness there. She was holding her hand and it felt so frail, so cold.
‘Georgy—’ her aunt smiled at her through her tiredness ‘—you mustn’t...you mustn’t—’
She stopped speaking and, before her aunt could finish what she had been about to say, Georgia began to tell her about the garden, describing for her the new flowers that were opening, her voice high with denial of her terrible fear. ‘But you’ll be seeing them for yourself soon. Just as soon as you get well enough to come home...’ She thought she heard her aunt sigh. Certainly the pressure of those frail fingers holding her own tightened a little. She could feel herself starting to tremble, as fear and love rolled through her.
As always, the precious time she was allowed to spend at her aunt’s bedside was gone all too quickly, and it was time for her to leave. The sister in charge