CHAPTER EIGHT
Katy put the finishing touches to the delicate drawing in front of her, and, dropping the pencil in the holder, with a contented sigh she sat up straight and stretched her slender arms above her head. Another job completed successfully.
She rolled her head around on her shoulders and wearily looked across the room. The calendar on the wall caught her eye: a photograph of the Alps, but it was the date that caused her to drop her hands to her lap and slouch back in her seat.
Two days to Saturday the first of December, her goddaughter's birthday, and she did not relish the prospect of telling Jake she was going to Paris for the weekend.
She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, her smooth brow creased in a frown. Jake was her problem; she would never understand him in a million years. In the month they had lived together he had confused, irritated, and made wonderful love to her until she didn't know if she was on her head or her heels. But there was no genuine closeness; even in the ultimate act of love an indefinable barrier existed between them.
Oh, they could talk about music, books, theatre or work for hours, all safe subjects. But under the polite surface of the relationship Katy felt the anger and resentment festering, though was incapable of doing anything about it. It was a classic love-hate relationship, she thought bitterly. She loved Jake but hated the way he used her. His sexual expertise overwhelmed her puny efforts to resist him, and she no longer bothered to try. While Jake simply hated her...
He had always avoided publicity like the plague, but over the past few weeks he had taken her out to dine in every well-known restaurant in London. They had been to two first nights at the theatre, a film premiere with royalty in attendance, a bankers' ball, of all things, and every fashionable nightclub Jake could find.
Their names were now linked in the gossip columns of half the newspapers in the country, and Katy was exhausted. She had come to the conclusion Jake was doing it deliberately, so that when he finally threw her over it would be a very public humiliation. There was no other explanation...
Katy shook her head to dismiss her troubled thoughts. Jake was coming to collect her and that damned white Rolls-Royce hardly blended in with the surroundings. Irritation tightened her full lips as she swung around on the chair to stare blankly out of the window. That was another bone of contention. He hardly let her out of his sight. He insisted on driving her to work. She supposed she should thank her lucky stars he allowed her to come to work. But she didn't feel like it.
Everyone in the factory was perfectly well aware she lived with him. She brazened out the knowing grins and sideways looks because her one source of comfort was her job. At her instigation her father had agreed to the expansion of the limited-edition market.
Katy had just finished a design for commemorative plates for the Chelsea Flower Show next year, and they were good. The buyer at Harrods had been impressed with the samples and ordered accordingly. Her confidence in her work grew day by day. In that one area of her life she was a success, even if the rest of her life was a mess...
The door opened. 'Ready to go, Katy?' Jake's deep, melodious voice vibrated on her over-sensitive nerves.
She jerked upright, her eyes unerringly finding his. He filled the studio with his presence and her heart did its familiar leap in her breast. Resentment burned within her along with a hopeless love for the man. 'You're early,' she snapped.
'I know, but we are going away for a few days, so jump to it, love.' He rubbed his long hands together; whether it was with cold or excitement Katy couldn't be sure. Restlessly he prowled around the room. 'Hurry it. We have to get home and pack.'
'Where to now?' she enquired drily, getting to her feet. There was no point in arguing with him—she had found that much out over the past few weeks. He flattened any objections she made with the thoroughness of a steamroller, or he made love to her and got the same result.
'Let me guess: dinner in Sicily for the seafood, or perhaps Scotland for the haggis.' She glanced at his handsome face and almost laughed out loud at the puzzled look in his dark eyes. 'No, I've got it!' she exclaimed, flinging out her hand in an exaggerated gesture. 'Lapland for the aurora borealis.'
'Katy, what are you going on about?'
'Nothing; nothing at all,' she said, and, picking up her handbag, she moved towards the door. Jake collected her cashmere overcoat from its peg on the wall and helped her on with it.
His hands lingered on her shoulders; his lips brushed the top of her head. 'Katy, you work too hard; you look tired. What I have planned for the weekend will revive you, I promise. Trust me.'
She stiffened and pulled away from his hold. What she had planned for the weekend certainly would not please him, she thought wryly. Meekly she allowed him to take her arm and lead her out of the building to the car. She watched him walk around the front of the vehicle and slide in to the driving seat. How was she going to tell him? He obviously had plans of his own for the next few days.
Angrily she snapped her seatbelt shut. Why shouldn't she have a weekend off? Even mistresses must be entitled to a holiday...
'Why the hell you drive a car like this I will never understand. It is the most pretentious bloody vehicle.' She took out her frustration on the inanimate object-it was easier.
'But I thought you liked it.' Jake's dark head swung round in amazement.
'Like it? You've got to be joking!' she snorted. It reminded her of a bridal car—the last thing she needed under the circumstances. 'And keep your eyes on the road.'
He stared straight ahead, but Katy was stunned to see his lips quirk at the corners in the beginnings of a smile; then he chuckled, and then he laughed out loud.
'I don't see anything funny in this great monstrosity.' But Jake just laughed all the louder.
'I'll tell you one day, Katy,' he vowed, still laughing.
'Don't bother...' she muttered angrily.
Jake cast her a sidelong glance, all humour gone. His brown eyes assessed her pale face, the resentment bubbling just beneath the surface of her set features. Thoughtfully he drove the car straight into the underground car park of the apartment building. He got out of the car and, walking around to the passenger-door, he solicitously took Katy's hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm.
'There is something wrong, Katy. What's the matter? Don't you feel well?'