Reckless Conduct

Frightened by the pain that the thought caused, she said baldly, ‘I think you should go now…’

She turned and walked unsteadily back to the lounge, where she dragged his jacket out of the closet and held it out to him.

‘Why? Have I offended you?’ he murmured, crooking his arm to catch the jacket as she let it fall. She couldn’t stop looking at his chest and he glanced down and ruefully touched one of the red marks, just below his glossy brown nipple.

‘Were we too rough? I should have warned you that I tend towards a certain primitiveness in my lovemaking, perhaps because the rest of my life is necessarily so highly civilised.’ His fingers drifted lightly across his skin. ‘Somehow you make me feel even more vulnerable, stripped of every ounce of control and inhibition.’

Harriet stiffened, fighting off an attack of dizzying panic. She didn’t want to be responsible for anyone’s feelings, not when she couldn’t even cope with her own…

‘That’s because you don’t really trust me. You can’t; how can you? I’m a blonde!’ She said it in the same awful tones she might have used to announce that she was a bride of Satan.

‘I had noticed,’ he said drily.

‘Of course you had.’ She clutched at the straw. ‘Maybe that’s the problem…maybe it was my hair that triggered you off. We were talking about your disillusionment with synthetic blondes, and you were remembering…and then you were looking at—at those pictures in the book and…and, well, maybe you’re not quite as cured of your—uh—fatal weakness as you thought you were,’ she ended lamely.

It sounded thin even to her own ears and she watched nervously as he quietly began to button up his shirt with his free hand.

He didn’t hurry, and he finished by neatly tucking the tails under his narrow belt before commenting finally, ‘Interesting theory. Of course, that doesn’t explain your behaviour. You melted like wax the moment I touched you…you were mine every step of the way—until you got a bad case of cold feet.’

‘That’s not what happened—’

‘I was there; I know what happened; and I know why,’ he added, picking up his briefcase and strolling over to the door. ‘Face it, Harriet, you’re not and never will be a genuine risk-taker. You don’t have the temperament for living life on the edge. You’ll always think of a logical reason to hold yourself back, to do the sensible thing. You’re so busy running that you haven’t even bothered to look around and see that what you’re so frightened of is only a chimera—’

‘I’m not running from anything,’ she cried angrily, marching after him.

He paused, hand on the doorknob. ‘No? Let’s put that to the test, shall we? I dare you to cancel your date with Sam tomorrow night and have dinner with me.’

‘It’s Nigel,’ she retorted hotly. ‘And if you think you can manipulate me with a childish ploy like that you’re very much mistaken.’

* * *

So how was it that the next night, instead of painting the town red with Nigel, she was dining by candlelight at the Fox residence, eating glazed lamb cutlets and sedately carrying on a conversation with a complacent and relaxed Marcus and his well-mannered daughter?

Harriet wasn’t quite certain herself; she only knew that Marcus was far more skilled than she at winning arguments and an expert at burying his opponent in confusion.

Tonight, for instance, when she had driven up to his imposing residence, primed for battle and dressed accordingly in a severe black dress that covered her from throat to ankle, emphasising the uncompromising whiteness of her hair, she had been taken aback to be welcomed by Nicola, serenely playing hostess for her father.

It had been Nicola who had shown her around the beautiful old house, with its ornate, high ceilings and gracious rooms filled with lovingly cared-for antiques, Nicola who had brought her a pre-dinner drink and generated the small talk that bridged the initial awkward gap between Harriet and her unexpectedly reticent host.

Harriet’s intention to behave badly and make Marcus regret ever having forced the invitation had died without a whimper when she’d found out that Nicola had not only been responsible for the romantic table setting in the sumptuous dining room, but had also helped prepare the meal and took her social duties very seriously.

‘Granny says that every woman should know the key elements of giving a good dinner party,’ she’d said as she’d shown them their places at the table with a mixture of naive pride and maturity. ‘And Daddy said it’s a useful business tool to have the ability to put people at ease in a social setting.’

‘Even for a filing clerk,’ Marcus had teased gently, waiting until the two ladies were seated before sitting down himself.

‘I won’t always be a filing clerk,’ Nicola had pointed out, and the conversation had flowed into a discussion of what else she might be, given the options available to her, and Harriet had been startled to find her own opinions solicited and dwelt on as if she actually had influence on the matter.

Against all odds, Harriet found herself relaxing and forgetting that she was supposed to be here under duress. It was a bitter-sweet experience to find herself dining once more en famille, talking about events both momentous and mundane. Meals after her mother’s death had tended to be scrappy, due to her father’s lack of interest in anything other than his grief, and later he had been too ill to sit at the table.

‘Glad you decided to change your mind after all?’ Marcus leaned towards her at one point to murmur, the stern lines of his face flattered by the candlelight, the smile on his lips echoed in his eyes.

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. ‘Oh, is that what happened?’ Harriet replied with gentle sarcasm, conscious of a faint anxiety in Nicola’s observant gaze, as if she sensed the surging undercurrents.

‘Well, you’re here now, and that’s all that matters…’

Was it? Why?

She couldn’t make him out. He had been charming, urbane and kind. He had said nothing that was designed to make her feel nervous or uncomfortable…and still he seemed to grow ever more threatening in her awareness. He had dressed formally, and so had Nicola, and yet his manner was flatteringly informal…the three of them, laughing and talking around the table, being served by a smiling housekeeper to whom Harriet was introduced on a first-name basis.