But she said, making him sure that falling in love with her had put his brain permanently to sleep, ‘You said it was Bill. The last time you spoke of your friend you called him Bill.’
Smothering a groan, he conjured up a smile coupled it with a minimal shrug, took the bottle of wine from her hands and drew the cork. ‘William. Robert. He always hated both his given names,’ he invented. ‘And he never could decide which of the diminutives he preferred and so answers to either.’
It sounded fairly reasonable, she supposed, especially as his explanation had been delivered so smoothly. At least it had eased away the sudden suspicion that his ‘friend’ was nothing more than a figment of his imagination, that he had somehow discovered that the owners were absent and had decided to make free with a temporarily empty property.
She didn’t want to think badly of him, to believe he was a sneaky cheat, going through life taking what he could get. It was very important to her, although she didn’t quite know why. Nevertheless, watching him pour the wine, she pressed, ‘What’s Bill-Bob’s surname?’
He didn’t blame her for being suspicious. He seized his senior PA’s name—he wouldn’t forget that!—and gave it to her. ‘Abbot.’
God! But he hated this stupid, devious game! For a moment he was sorely tempted to come clean, tell it as it was. But if he did she would wonder why, not needing her money, he had agreed to a marriage that sailed under the flag of convenience. And she would come up with the right answers and run a mile, because she sure as hell didn’t want what he wanted—a real and loving marriage.
Not yet. But she would. And as soon as she did he would tell her the truth and hope she would forgive him for the deception, understand why it had been necessary.
‘Shall we eat?’ he suggested, and was ready for her inevitable ‘Tell me about him’ as she sat at the table and lifted her fork.
‘What do you want to know?’ He took a healthy gulp of wine. Curiosity was endemic in the female of the species; she would want to know every last detail of the fictional Bill-Bob’s life! He would stick to the truth, describe himself. No more fairy tales, because he now knew for a fact that he wasn’t any good at making things up and remembering what he’d said.
‘Everything,’ she said, deciding that it would fill what could otherwise be a conversational vacuum. Hearing about someone she’d never met, and probably never would, would be infinitely preferable to an uncomfortable silence or venturing into the realms of the personal.
‘You got it,’ he conceded. He’d been expecting that. Besides, it would save time on lengthy explanations later, when he came clean about who he was. Because when that time came it would mean she had fallen in love as deeply and permanently as he had, and talking wouldn’t be on his agenda! He would simply refer her back to the conversation they were about to have, and—
Hastily he emptied his wine glass, and tore his eyes from the way the tip of her tongue came out to capture a speck of savoury sauce from the corner of her mouth. He applied himself to his neglected meal and gave her his own potted biography.
‘He’s my age. We attended the same prep and public schools, and, later, the LSE.’
So that explained the clipped, cultured accent, she decided, sipping her wine. He’d had a good education, so why had he ended up, at thirty-four, trying to earn a living cleaning windows? Some time in the future, before their final parting, she would ask him. She gave her ruptured attention back to what he was saying. She was supposed to be interested in his altruistic friend, not speculating about him!
‘While he was at the LSE he began playing the stock markets in a modest way. He anticipated the ’87 crash by a couple of months and sold his holdings while prices were sky-high, turning a modest outlay into a modest fortune—under a million. After that he began buying up failing businesses, turning them around and selling them on. Today he has an empire that covers most of the globe, and he has to be amongst the wealthiest men in the country.’
‘Bully for him,’ Allie said, almost dismissively. ‘But what about his family? His parents, wife, children?’
His eyes hooded, Jethro poured more wine for them both. Clearly she wasn’t wildly impressed by stories of fabulous wealth. The eyes of most of the women he knew would have been glittering with at best interested speculation and at worst naked avarice. But Allie, his Allie, was more interested in the human side of the man, and that reinforced his already rock-solid opinion that she was the only woman for him.
And now he was going to tell her things about his past life that he’d never shared with anyone else. She wouldn’t know it, of course; she thought he was talking about his fictional friend. But, all the same, the relief of opening his heart to her was sweet. And right.
‘My—’ He bit the word back. He had to remember he was not supposed to be talking about himself. ‘His parents lived in what I suppose you could call a minor stately home. They lived above their means and spent very little time with their son. Before he went to the local prep school the only time he left the nursery was to take a walk in the grounds with his nanny.’
‘Oh, the poor little boy!’ Allie interjected softly. Her eyes were misty. ‘He must have been so lonely.’
So, as well as the sensual side of her nature she was at pains to hide behind that cool façade, she had a soft and tender heart. His own heart swelled with love, and he had to force himself to stay in his chair and not leap up and snatch her wonderful body into his arms, take those soft lips with his and kiss her until they were both breathless and then come back for more.
‘Not a bit of it.’ He denied her tender-hearted statement. He was keeping himself on a very tight rein here, and his voice sounded rough around the edges. Decidedly unsympathetic. ‘His nanny, Nanny Briggs, gave him everything he needed, taught him to be independent, taught him right from wrong. She was firm, but she was fair, and she gave him far more mothering than the beautiful woman who barely noticed his existence because she was too busy hav
ing a good time, looking for—and getting—male admiration,’ he explained, setting the record straight.
Her deep blue eyes thoughtful, she asked, ‘You met his mother? You certainly seem to know a lot about her.’
‘A couple of times,’ he replied laconically. And that was as near the truth as dammit was to swearing. Vague and rare memories of a graceful form, beautifully dressed, expensively perfumed, a lilting laugh. No love.
Before she could probe any deeper on his out-of-school relationship with his ‘friend’ he added, ‘He was twelve and away at school when his sister Chloe was born. A month after that his mother disappeared altogether—he found out later that she’d done a bunk with a Greek tycoon, and that Chloe was, in fact, only his half-sister. There was a divorce, and his father—always a remote man—withdrew completely into himself. When Bill was home on school vacations he noticed that his father totally ignored Chloe’s existence. Which isn’t too surprising when you consider that his wife had dumped her child on him and taken off with someone who could spend serious money on her.’
‘It wasn’t the baby’s fault!’ Allie disputed hotly. Poor children. How awful to have parents who didn’t love them. And how lucky she was to have such a close bond with her own mother!
‘No, it wasn’t Chloe’s fault,’ Jethro agreed, smiling at her vehemence. ‘To give the old man his due, he did keep Nanny Briggs on to care for Chloe, even though at that time he was heavily in debt—although no one was aware of it. Later, when he began to amass a fortune, Bill could have helped. But it was only when the old man died that the extent of his debts became known.’ He struggled to keep the aching regret out of his voice, shared the remainder of the wine between them and continued levelly.
‘The family home was sold to cover the debts—neither Bill nor Chloe had any fond memories of the place—and he sent Chloe, who was fourteen at that time, to a good boarding school, and bought this place for them to use during the holiday times—a more teenage-friendly place than his house in Mayfair. Though for the last couple of years she’s been more inclined to spend her vacations with a bunch of her student friends. She’s almost through a course in interior design and seems to be doing well. For a time, after leaving school, she went haywire, got in with a group of seedy drop-outs. He had one hell of a time—’ And wasn’t that the truth! He’d been worried out of his mind. ‘Getting her to see she was on the way to ruining her life.’
‘It will be her room I’m using now,’ Allie mused, twisting the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. ‘I hope she won’t mind. Bedrooms are such personal places. Is she OK now?’ It was strange, but she’d become so involved in their absent host’s story. She felt as if she knew the man, that there was a weird kind of empathy here. She shook her head to get rid of that kind of airy-fairy nonsense, and, smiling softly, Jethro reassured her.