‘Reed! Are you listening to me?’
He turned, as the petulant tone of his fiancée’s voice became a little shrill. ‘Yes, I’m listening,’ he assured her equably, moving away from his office window and resuming his seat behind his desk. ‘You were saying Claire can’t go to Paris, because she’s discovered she’s going to have a baby.’
‘Well! You might show a little sympathy,’ exclaimed Celia grumpily. ‘I mean—what is she doing, getting herself pregnant! It’s not as if Paul wants to marry her. He’s far too happy running that club of his, to want to settle down to being a father!’
‘Do you know that?’ inquired Reed drily, trying to take an interest in the conversation. ‘Aren’t you forgetting Claire’s a bright, intelligent woman? Paul may be flattered that she wants to marry him.’
‘Oh, I don’t know that she does,’ retorted Celia restlessly, getting up from her chair and pacing about the room. ‘She told me she’s quite prepared to become a single parent. I mean, I ask you: what are her parents going to say about that!’
Reed shrugged, looking down at his fingers playing idly with his pen. ‘I doubt if you’d be feeling so concerned if Claire was not letting you down, too,’ he remarked flatly, his interest waning. ‘Send someone else to Paris. What about Liz?’
Celia came back to the desk and rested her scarlet-tipped fingers on its surface. ‘Liz won’t go,’ she declared ruefully. ‘You know she hates flying, and going on her own … No, she’s out of the question.’
‘So—what’s the alternative?’ Reed looked up at her.
Celia grimaced. ‘I go myself, I suppose.’
Reed shrugged. ‘Problem solved.’
‘No, it’s not.’ Celia’s lower lip jutted. ‘Will you come with me?’
‘No.’ Reed’s response was final. ‘I’ve already told you—–’
‘I know, I know. You’re going down to Stonor this weekend. But couldn’t you change your mind?’
‘Celia—–’
‘Oh, all right.’ His fiancée lifted her hands from the desk and turned their palms towards him in a gesture of submission. ‘I know you don’t like fashion shows. But really, someone has to go, and I’m afraid it’s going to have to be me.’
‘As I said—problem solved.’ Reed lay back in his chair and regarded her through his lashes. ‘No sweat. I can go to Stonor on my own.’
Celia pursed her lips. ‘I was looking forward to it; us being alone for two whole days!’
‘Yes.’ Reed averted his eyes. ‘So was I. But there’ll be other weekends.’
‘Yes, there will, won’t there?’ Celia’s smile appeared. ‘After we’re married, I expect we’ll spend lots of weekends there.’
‘After we’re married, we’ll be living there,’ Reed reminded her tersely. ‘Or had you forgotten?’
Celia wrinkled her nose. ‘Well—not all the time, darling.’
‘Stonor’s near enough to London to commute,’ Reed pointed out evenly. ‘And I don’t want my children growing up in this polluted atmosphere.’
‘Your children! Darling, aren’t you being just the teeniest bit premature?’ Celia uttered a light laugh. ‘Honestly, the way you talk, you’d think I was going to spend all my time breeding!’
Reed arched his dark brows. ‘I did tell you I wanted a family, Cee.’
‘I know you did.’ Celia shifted beneath his steady gaze. ‘But not straight away, surely? We need some time to ourselves.’
‘If you say so.’ Reed lifted his shoulders. ‘We’ll wait a year.’
‘A year!’ Celia sounded appalled. ‘I thought—five years, at least.’
‘That’s too long.’
‘We’ll compromise.’ Celia was eager to dismiss the subject. ‘Besides, there’s absolutely no need to condemn oneself to a rural existence, just because one has a family!’
‘I don’t want any child of mine left for days on end in the hands of a nursemaid,’ retorted Reed curtly, aware that he was being unreasonable, but unable to prevent himself. ‘When are you leaving?’
Celia looked sulky. ‘Is that all you have to say? You pick an argument at the most inopportune time, and then ask me when I’m leaving, as if my feelings don’t matter!’
Reed put down the pen before it snapped between his fingers, and looked up at her again. What a bastard he was, he thought, noticing the tremulous vulnerability of her mouth and the suspicious brightness of her eyes. Dear God, what was happening to him? This was Cee; the girl he intended to marry. Why was he forcing her into a position of confrontation?
‘I’m sorry,’ he said softly, pushing back his chair and coming round the desk towards her. ‘I’m a brute; I know. I guess I’m just a bit disappointed. About tomorrow, I mean.’ He put his hands on her shoulders, and drew her gently to him. ‘Take no notice of me. I’m feeling my age, that’s all.’
‘Your age!’ Celia looped her arms around his neck, and gave him a tearful smile. ‘You know that’s not true. What is it? Is Gallaghers on the brink of bankruptcy or something?’
‘It’s nothing,’ said Reed, his lips against her cheek. ‘Put it down to simple bloody-mindedness. Now—do you want me to drive you to the airport? What time is your flight?’
‘The flight is at eleven-thirty,’ Celia replied, emphasising the definite article. ‘And if I go, I’ll get Daddy to take me. He’s flying off to the Common Market conference in the morning. Besides,’ she paused, ‘I know you hate driving across town in the rush-hour. Remember?’
Reed brushed her lips with his and then let her go. ‘I remember,’ he conceded evenly. ‘When will you be back?’
‘Sunday night. But honestly, darling,’ Celia gurgled, ‘I’d love to have seen your face when Mrs Francis caught you knocking at Antonia’s door. I mean—she must have thought the worst!’
Reed’s thick lashes lowered. ‘That’s not what she told you.’ It was a statement, not a question.
‘No.’ Celia conceded the point. ‘She just said what you had told her: that you were delivering a message from me.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know why you didn’t just tell her the truth. It’s not as if Antonia is some sort of femme fatale. She surely couldn’t think you’d be interested in her.’
His instincts were to round on her, savagely, for the patronising way she dismissed the other girl, but he held his tongue. ‘It was easier to tell her what I did, than explain that I’d forgotten you’d still be at the shop,’ he replied lightly. ‘Besides, she’d have wondered why I didn’t knock at her door first. I don’t suppose she regards herself as a nosey old witch!’
‘That’s because she’s not!’ protested Celia, laughing all the same. ‘And you should have knocked at her door first. I mean—you hardly know Antonia!’
‘I only wanted to use the bathroom, not invite myself in for refreshment!’ retorted Reed flatly. ‘I didn’t think—Antonia would mind. She seemed a pleasant girl.’
‘Oh, she is.’ Celia adjusted the neckline of her jacket. ‘She’s sweet. A little passé in the way she dresses, perhaps, but that’s probably because she doesn’t have a lot of money. I mean—she works at some institute, where they teach young people—skills; that sort of thing. I understand she’s not just a shorthand typist, but I doubt if she’s paid awfully well.’
Reed walked round his desk again. ‘Do you like her?’
‘Like her?’ Celia sounded surprised. ‘Well—yes, I suppose so. I mean, she’s not like us, but she’s all right. We don’t have much in common. I honestly don’t know how she affords that apartment! It’s small, I know, but prices in that area …” Her voice trailed away expressively. Then, as if aware that Reed was waiting for something more, she shrugged. ‘Anyway, I don’t see much of her. I only asked her to the party because I felt sorry for her! And Liz thought I was mad to do it.’ She grimaced. ‘Actually though, I think that was because Gerry Stockwell seemed so taken with her. Antonia, I mean. Liz was livid!’
Reed pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘Stockwell?’ he echoed quietly. ‘Who is Gerry Stockwell?’
‘You know!’ Celia fluffed her hair with delicate fingers. ‘His father’s in steel, or aluminium, something like that. Gerry’s the eldest son, heir to the family fortune, that sort of thing. Liz says he’ll inherit a title one day. Anyway, she’s been trying to get her claws into him for months, and it was pretty galling when he stood and chatted to Antonia for the best part of an hour.’
‘As I recall it, she was speaking to several men at once,’ Reed remarked levelly. ‘No one in particular.’
‘No—well, that’s true.’ Celia outlined her lips with her little finger. ‘I mean—you spoke to her yourself, didn’t you? Before I realised she was there.’
‘No one else was doing so, at that time,’ observed Reed drily, flicking back his cuff. Then he drew his features into a polite expression of dismay. ‘Heavens, it’s nearly five o’clock! Mrs Drysdale will be having fits. I haven’t even looked at the letters yet.’
‘Oh, aren’t you free to go?’ Celia looked disappointed. ‘I thought you were going to drive me home’
Reed stifled the impulse to refuse point-blank, and made a compromise. ‘If you can hang about for another half-hour,’ he offered. ‘Don’t you have to go back to the shop?’
‘No. I told Liz I’d go straight home.’ Celia sighed. ‘Oh, all right. I’ll just pop out for a few minutes. There are one or two things I need from the chemist, and that will give you time to sign your letters.’
But after she had gone, Reed did not immediately summon his secretary into the office. Instead, he went to stand by the window—where he seemed to be spending too much time lately, he reflected sourly—and considered the idea, which had entered his head and refused to be dislodged.
The notion of taking Antonia to Stonor with him was a reckless one, he knew. His staff, at his house in Oxfordshire, were trustworthy enough, but he could hardly bring a strange young woman into his home without arousing some comment. It had been different at the apartment. For one thing, Maria had not known who he was asking her to prepare supper for, and even if she had, he acknowledged, she would not have demurred. Maria did not care for Celia. His fiancée’s decidedly patronising attitude with people she did not consider her social equal, did not wear well with the German woman, and Maria had already made it clear that she would not be staying on after they were married. Which was a pity, Reed thought, who had known Maria since he was a child at home in Ireland. In those days, she had worked at his family’s house in County Wicklow, and he hoped that if she did insist on leaving, his parents might find a place for her again.
He sighed. Maria’s future was not in jeopardy for some months yet, and that was not his present problem. What he had to contend with, he acknowledged grimly, was his growing infatuation for a girl who was not his fiancée; a consuming need, that was disturbing his normally easy-going disposition and disrupting his life.
He lifted a hand to massage the muscles of his shoulder with some impatience. He must be crazy, he thought bitterly, recalling all the abortive phone calls he had made to the ground floor flat in Eaton Lodge. During the past week, he had tried to contact Antonia at least a dozen times, and if her phone was not out of order, he could only assume she didn’t wish to speak with him.
He shouldn’t have warned her, he reflected, remembering his impulsive promise to ring. If she hadn’t known he might be phoning, he would have no reason to suspect that she was avoiding him: and the raw frustration he felt every time his calls remained unanswered would have no basis for its inception.
But he had told her, and his inability to get through was beginning to prey on his nerves. He knew he was becoming tense, and irritable, and the conversation he had just had with Celia was an example of his souring temperament. He had never felt so dissatisfied with his lot before, and the extent of his self-pity filled him with contempt. He had to pull himself out of this before he did something really stupid, he told himself severely, walking back to his desk. But it was Antonia’s image that filled his mind as he rang for Mrs Drysdale.
Antonia let herself into the flat and leaned back gratefully against the door. The little carriage clock on her mantelshelf informed her it was almost eight-thirty, and she straightened her spine determinedly. She had approximately fifteen minutes to wash and change her clothes, and get herself something to eat, if she needed it. She owed it to Mr Fenwick to turn up for work this morning, even if it was Friday. He had been kind enough to give her the time off to go up to Newcastle. The least she could do was report for work as soon as she got back.
Of course, her mother had suggested she stay over until Sunday. ‘There’s not much point in going back on a Friday!’ she had protested, but Antonia had been adamant. She felt guilty enough as it was, abandoning Mr Fenwick for three days at a stretch. And because he had been so understanding, she didn’t want to betray his trust.
Shaking her head, she pushed herself away from the door and walked through to her bedroom. She was stiff, and if she had had more time, she would have welcomed a bath. Eight hours, cramped in the front of her cousin Tony’s truck, had left her spine feeling as if she had done it a permanent injury, but she supposed she should be grateful. He had, at least, saved her her train fare.
It was not as if her rushing off to Newcastle had achieved anything, she reflected, stripping off the sweater and jeans she had worn to travel in. But when her mother had rung and said Susie had had an accident, the three hundred miles between them had seemed an interminable distance.
As she washed and cleaned her teeth, Antonia remembered vividly how she had felt when the call had come through on Tuesday morning. Mrs Lord had panicked, and the fact that Susie had fallen off a friend’s bicycle and had been taken to hospital with a suspected fractured skull, had sounded reason enough.
As it turned out, Susie spent Tuesday night in the hospital, ‘under observation’, as the Staff Nurse put it, and returned home on Wednesday, pale, but otherwise unharmed. It was Antonia’s mother who had begged her daughter to stay on for at least another night. ‘Just in case there are any complications,’ she had pleaded, and realising what a shock Mrs Lord had sustained, Antonia had agreed. Susie was her daughter, after all. Her responsibility, not her mother’s.
She managed to get to work on time, and Mr Fenwick looked relieved when he walked into her office and found her already ensconced behind her desk. ‘I was half-afraid you wouldn’t get back until Monday,’ he confessed ruefully. ‘And I’ve got those chaps from the Ministry coming this afternoon.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Antonia had forgotten the official visit from the education department which had been planned for today. ‘Well, I’m here now, so you can relax.’
‘Yes.’ Mr Fenwick smiled. ‘And what about your little girl? How is she?’
‘Much better,’ said Antonia at once. ‘You know what children are like: down one minute, and up the next. They kept her in hospital overnight, but there were no complications, thank goodness. It was my mother who took it hardest. I think she blamed herself.’
‘She would,’ agreed Mr Fenwick sympathetically. ‘Looking after a six-year-old is quite a responsibility for a grandmother. Anyway, I’m glad Susie’s all right. I should hate to lose you now.’
‘You won’t.’ Antonia was confident. ‘Now—what do you want me to do first? Shall I attend to these estimates, or start on the agenda for next week’s meeting?’
Although she had been away and consequently everything in the flat was likely to be stale, Antonia gave up any thought of going shopping at lunchtime. Instead, she collected a sandwich from the dining-hall and ate it at her desk, working right through the break. It was tiring. The disturbed night she had spent in the front of Tony’s truck meant she had had little sleep, and it was difficult to keep her eyes open at times. But several cups of strong black coffee served the purpose, and by the time the delegation from the Ministry arrived, she had made some headway with the backlog.
She collected her immediate needs on her way home that afternoon. The buses were full so she walked the distance unhurriedly, enjoying the distinct indications that summer was not as distant as she had thought. The trees were burgeoning with greenness, the birds were twittering in the park; and outside a florist’s great bucketfuls of tulips and narcissus nodded their heads as she passed. On impulse, Antonia bought herself a bunch of tulips, inhaling their fresh fragrance as she turned into the gates of Eaton Lodge.
The flowers conjured thoughts of the man, whose image she had been keeping at bay all week, and she permitted herself to wonder if he had tried to ring her. The memory of Sunday evening had remained in her subconscious throughout the trauma of the past three days, and while it had not interfered with her anxieties about Susie and her mother, she had not been able to dispel the unworthy suspicion that Reed had played a part in her decision to return so promptly. It was foolish; allowing their association to continue was foolish; but the fact remained, she had thought about him, and to deny it would be less than honest.
The flat looked drab and dusty after its week-long neglect. Tomorrow, she would have to set to and give it a thorough cleaning, she reflected, without enthusiasm, noticing how the sunlight streaming through showed up the murky smudges on the windows. But tonight she was too tired to worry about housework, she decided, pulling out the pre-cooked leg of chicken she had bought for her dinner. After she had eaten, she was going to have an early night. Perhaps tomorrow she would feel more optimistic about tackling her chores.
The sudden knocking at her door interrupted her unpacking of the shopping, and she sighed. Mrs Francis must have seen her come in, she realised wearily. She had had to tell the caretaker she was going away for a few days, and no doubt his wife was curious to hear what had happened.
Suppressing her annoyance, Antonia went to answer the door. It was kind of her to be concerned, she told herself firmly. She ought not to be so ungrateful. But to her astonishment, it was not the garrulous Mrs Francis waiting outside. It was Reed; and her lips parted indignantly when he propelled the door open against her hand and came uninvited into the flat.
‘Close it,’ he said grimly, when she opened her mouth to make a protest, and she didn’t know whether he was referring to her or not. ‘The door,’ he defined impatiently, and because she really didn’t want to attract the caretaker’s wife’s attention, Antonia complied. But she was furious that he should think he had the right to force his way into her home and it showed.
‘Just what do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded, as he rested against the wall beside the door, and he regarded her with dour intensity.
‘That’s my question,’ he responded, his narrowed eyes moving over her angry face. ‘Is your phone out of order?’
‘My phone!’ Antonia gazed at him blankly. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Your telephone,’ enunciated Reed harshly. ‘The instrument people use when they want to get in touch with one another. You do have one, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do.’ Antonia nodded.
‘So, why haven’t you been answering it?’ he enquired oppressively. ‘Or does that question require notice?’
Antonia caught her breath. ‘You’ve been phoning me!’ she exclaimed, suddenly understanding, and he pushed himself away from the wall, a scowl marring his lean features.
‘Quick,’ he remarked sardonically, his lips twisting. ‘I revise my opinion. You’re pretty sharp!’
‘Oh, don’t be so sarcastic!’ she retorted, linking and unlinking her fingers. ‘I couldn’t answer the phone because I haven’t been here!’
‘No?’ He regarded her sceptically. ‘Don’t tell me they’ve started a night shift at the institute!’
Antonia flushed at his contemptuous tone. ‘No,’ she conceded stiffly. ‘I haven’t been at work.’
Reed expelled his breath heavily. ‘So where have you been?’
Antonia held up her head. ‘I’m not obliged to tell you.’
‘But you will,’ he informed her bleakly, moving closer, and her breathing quickened in concert with her accelerating pulse rate.
‘Why should I?’ she countered, standing her ground. ‘It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘Isn’t it?’ He was so close now she could see the muscle jerking at the corner of his mouth. ‘Not even if I tell you I’ve been ringing this number constantly since Tuesday evening?’
Antonia moistened her dry lips. ‘I didn’t ask you to.’
‘No.’ He conceded the point, his nostrils flaring only slightly as he controlled his temper. ‘But the least you could do is be honest with me.’
‘I am being honest with you.’ Antonia sighed. ‘As—as a matter of fact, I went home again.’
‘Home?’ Reed frowned. ‘You mean—to Newcastle?’
‘Yes.’
‘Oh, come on …’ He took a backward step. ‘You’re not trying to tell me you went back to Newcastle on Tuesday, when you only got back from there on Sunday night!’
He shook his head. ‘I wasn’t born yesterday, Antonia. If you don’t want to tell me where you were, then—I guess I’ll have to live with it. But don’t lie to me!’
‘I’m not lying …’
‘No?’
‘No.’ She saw his scornful expression and came to a sudden decision. ‘My—my daughter had an accident. My mother sent for me.’
Reed’s astonishment was palpable. ‘Your—daughter?’
‘Yes.’ Antonia straightened her spine. ‘I have a child. Now—if you don’t mind, I’m very tired …’
‘Wait a minute.’ Reed grasped her arms just below her shoulders. ‘You’re telling me you’ve got a daughter? So—where does she live? With your ex-husband?’
‘Simon?’ Antonia uttered a short laugh. ‘No. She lives with my mother. Now, will you please …’
‘Cool it, will you?’ Reed shook her with controlled violence. ‘Let me take this in.’ He looked down at her impatiently. ‘How old is she? What’s her name?’
‘Susan—Susie,’ amended Antonia unwillingly. ‘And she’s six.’
‘Six!’
‘I’m not a teenager, Reed,’ she exclaimed, stung by his ejaculation, and his lips turned down ironically.
‘I never thought you were,’ he assured her drily, and she had to concentrate on the knot of his tie to avoid the disturbing warmth that invaded his eyes. ‘I guess I should apologise. For jumping to conclusions, I mean.’
‘That’s not necessary.’
‘Yes, it is.’ He sighed. ‘What happened? You said she had an accident. Is she all right?’
‘She’s fine.’
Her tone was as stiff as her spine, and he lifted his shoulders ruefully. ‘You don’t know what it’s been like for me,’ he declared. ‘I thought you were deliberately ignoring me.’
‘A crime, indeed!’ she retorted tensely, and his hands slid up over her shoulders to her neck.
‘Don’t bait me, Antonia,’ he advised roughly, his fingers abrasive. ‘I mean it. I don’t entirely trust my instincts, even if you do look as if you haven’t slept for a week!’
Belatedly, Antonia remembered her worn appearance, her pale cheeks and dark-ringed eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she responded bitterly, turning her head aside from his assiduous appraisal. ‘This must be quite a shock for you seeing me as I really am! Not to mention discovering I have a child of school age!’
‘Antonia—–’
His use of her name was a warning, but she paid it no heed. ‘What are you doing here anyway?’ she demanded wearily, her hands against his stomach providing a necessary barrier. ‘Aren’t you afraid Celia might see you? Isn’t it rather—indiscreet—to come here in daylight?’
‘Celia’s in Paris,’ replied Reed flatly. ‘She left this morning and she won’t be back until Sunday. Does that answer your question, or would you like more?’
‘Oh, no.’ Antonia’s lips twisted. ‘I should have known. You don’t take unnecessary risks, do you, Reed?’
‘What are you trying to do to me?’ he enquired, in a low violent tone. ‘What do you want me to say? That I’d come here anyway, and to hell with Cee and our engagement?’
‘No—–’ Antonia coloured.
‘Then stop provoking me, will you?’ His heated breath fanned her cheek. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve been sitting out front since about four o’clock, just waiting for you to come home. And that wasn’t exactly without hazard!’
Antonia permitted a brief glance up at him. ‘You haven’t!’
‘Oh, I have.’ He shrugged. ‘Didn’t you see the car? It’s parked right across the street.’ And then he added derisively: ‘No. Of course, you wouldn’t. I forgot. You were too engrossed in the tulips you were carrying to notice me.’
Antonia shook her head. ‘You shouldn’t have come here,’ she protested, his nearness rapidly overwhelming her objections, as his fingers moved sensuously against her nape. ‘You—you should have rung!’
‘Again?’ he put in wryly, and she had no answer to that.
‘Reed …’
‘Tell me later,’ he suggested softly, bending his head to find her resisting lips with his mouth. ‘And stop fighting me,’ he added, looking down at her splayed palms against his midriff, and with a little moan of helplessness, Antonia slid her arms about his waist.
‘We can’t do this,’ she exclaimed, as his tongue found the delicate cavity of her ear, and he expelled an unsteady breath.
‘We’re doing it,’ he pointed out huskily, his hands sliding into her hair. ‘After the week I’ve had, don’t you think I deserve it?’
‘I—no!’ With a supreme effort, Antonia pulled herself away from him, trying to steady her breathing as she ran smoothing hands over her hair. ‘Reed—you can’t stay here!’
He took a few moments to answer her, but when he did her spirits slumped considerably. ‘I don’t intend to,’ he said, walking round the sofa and subsiding on to the chintz-covered cushions. ‘You remember I told you I had a house in the country? I’m going to spend the weekend there.’
‘Oh!’ Antonia endeavoured not to sound as deflated as she felt. ‘I—how nice.’
‘It is,’ he confirmed, looking up at her with lazily assessing eyes. ‘It’s just over the Buckinghamshire border into Oxfordshire. Not far from Chalgrove. A village called Stonor’s End. My house is just outside the village. Very quiet. Very rural.’
‘It sounds lovely.’ Antonia forced a note of enthusiasm into her voice.
‘Yes.’ Reed rested his head back against the upholstery, and sighed. ‘It’s beautiful at this time of the year. The woods are full of crocuses and there are hundreds of those tulips you admire growing by the lake.’
Antonia moistened her lips. ‘There’s a lake?’
‘Just a small one,’ he conceded reflectively. ‘We use it for swimming in summer. It’s pretty cold, but we enjoy it.’
‘We?’ Antonia expelled her breath. ‘You mean—you and Celia?’
‘Occasionally,’ he admitted, regarding her through narrowed lids. ‘But mostly it’s Tricia and her friends who use the place. It’s her second home.’
‘Tricia?’ Antonia frowned. Was she another girlfriend?
‘Patricia Gallagher,’ put in Reed humorously, defining her expression. ‘My sister. She’s at Oxford. University,’ he added drily.
‘Oh!’ Antonia shook her head. ‘I see.’
‘Do you?’ Reed looked sceptical. ‘Did you think I kept a harem down there?’
‘I never thought about it,’ she lied, and he gave her a wry look.
‘Anyway, it takes about an hour-and-a-half to get there,’ he remarked casually. ‘Unless it’s the rush hour, and then it can take considerably longer.’
‘So why don’t you go?’ exclaimed Antonia tensely, moving to the hearth to make an unnecessary adjustment to the clock on the mantelshelf. ‘It’s going to be a fine weekend. At least, that’s what Mr Fenwick told me. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.’
‘Come with me,’ said Reed softly, so softly she thought for a moment she had imagined it. She swung round, her pale face flushed with disbelieving colour, and he pushed himself up from the couch to meet her anxious eyes. ‘Come with me,’ he said again, pushing his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. ‘Spend the weekend with me. No strings—just a friendly arrangement. I’d like to show you Stonor, and I’d really appreciate your company.’
Antonia blinked. ‘You can’t be serious!’
Reed sighed. ‘Let’s not get into another discussion of what’s right and what’s wrong,’ he said flatly. ‘Like I said, I want your company, that’s all. I’m not suggesting we share a room or anything crass like that. I like you; and I think that you like me. Why shouldn’t we spend some time together?’