The Ultimate Surrender

‘Celibacy is easy when you…when there’s only one man you love—only one man you want,’ she had managed to retort; and, after all, it had been and still was the truth.

CHAPTER THREE

‘AHA! I thought so. No way are you wearing that.’ Briony pounced, coming into Polly’s bedroom just as she was zipping up the plain, faithful black dress she’d decided to wear for Briony’s dinner party.

The meal was in the capable if somewhat nervous hands of her young trainee chef, Andrew, and before coming upstairs to get ready she had gone into the conservatory where they were going to be dining to check that everything was in order.

The round table, rather smaller and far more intimate than the long dining table in the dining room, gleamed with crystal and silver, and the conservatory itself was illuminated by the dozen or more heavy floor-standing candelabra which Polly always lit for such occasions.

The simple muslin drapes which had been unfastened to cover the windows added to the wonderful delicacy of the room creating a glimmering, misty, low-lit effect which, as Polly already knew, did wonders for female complexions and—so she had been reliably informed—male libidos!

As she’d come upstairs she had congratulated herself with amused tenderness that Briony was bound to be pleased with her efforts, but it seemed now that she had congratulated herself a little too soon.

‘What on earth do you mean?’ she responded. ‘I always wear this dress for dinner parties.’

‘Exactly,’ Briony agreed. ‘It’s the kind of dull, anonymous thing that all fifty-something women play safe with.’

‘Er…well, yes,’ Polly agreed. ‘That’s why I bought it.’

‘But, Mum, you aren’t fifty-something, and anyway if Marcus sees you in it he will go mad. He told me the last time you wore it that I ought to burn it.’

‘Oh, he did, did he?’ Polly said grimly. ‘Well, in that case…’

‘Oh, help, I shouldn’t have said that, should I?’ Briony yelped. ‘What is it with you and Uncle Marcus these days, Mum? You know, when I was little I used to pretend that Uncle Marcus was my father and I used to close my eyes and make a wish that you and he would get married.’

‘Never,’ Polly told her instantly. ‘Never. I…’

‘Mmm; that’s exactly what Uncle Marcus said too,’ Briony murmured, adding, ‘Anyway, never mind about all that now…Look what I’ve got for you.’

Triumphantly she produced the bag she had been holding behind her back and, with a flourish, removed its contents.

‘You can’t possibly be expecting me to wear that,’ Polly protested faintly as she saw the tiny tube-like piece of fabric her daughter was holding in front of her.

‘Oh, but I am,’ Briony grinned.

‘It won’t fit me,’ Polly told her positively.

‘Yes, it will; it stretches,’ Briony informed her smugly, proving her point by gently pulling out the sheer black fabric with its delicate sprinkling of small jet beads.

‘Briony, there’s no way I can wear that.’ Polly gasped in shock as she saw how see-through the fabric actually was.

‘Relax, Mum,’ Briony laughed. ‘There’s an underslip that goes with it. It’s perfectly respectable, I promise you. Come on, take that horrid old thing off and let me see this on you.’

Polly tried to refuse but Briony was determined to get her own way, reminding Polly that her boyfriend and his godparents were amongst their dinner guests.

‘You want to make a good impression, don’t you?’ she cajoled. ‘And what about Suzi and her boss?’

‘I thought it was Marcus you were hoping would impress Suzi?’ Polly reminded her through gritted teeth as she saw what time it was and realised that if she didn’t get downstairs soon and into the kitchen to calm the young chef’s nerves it might be more than her clothes her guests were likely to pull a face over.

And besides, once the dress was on she was forced to admit that Briony had been right and that with the addition of the underslip the dress was discreetly opaque.

‘See, I told you it would fit,’ Briony crowed as she stood back to admire her handiwork.

‘And how,’ Polly agreed dryly as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Was she really as slim as that? She looked tiny, fragile, ethereal almost, the black of the dress surely far denser and somehow more…more sensual than any black dress she had ever worn before.

Pulling it on over her head had disturbed the sleekness of her bob slightly, so that her hair was falling round her face in a much more softly tousled look than she normally wore.