The Ultimate Surrender

Although she was loath to admit it, Polly acknowledged to herself that the pain in her ankle was such that walking was extremely uncomfortable, and she knew too that, if she were to stay in the hotel, without meaning to her staff would probably forget her incapacity and within a very short space of time she would find herself doing exactly what her doctor had told her she must not do.

‘There’s no need to come with me,’ she informed Marcus determinedly as she headed for the lift.

In her room she hobbled from her wardrobe to her dressing table, packing what she thought she would need, reminding herself that it was only going to be for the one night. Tomorrow morning she would be back at her desk. She would soon find a way of convincing Marcus that she could manage perfectly well on her own.

When she walked back into the foyer Marcus was talking to her secretary-cum-assistant, Pat Chorlton.

‘Marcus was just telling me about your ankle,’ Pat sympathised as Polly hobbled over to them. A kind, motherly woman in her early sixties, Pat was excellent at her job—so excellent in fact that Polly had persuaded her to stay on to work part-time after she had passed her official retirement birthday at sixty.

‘Poor you, especially now we’re going to have this wedding to organise.’

So Marcus had told Pat about the wedding. Well, she shouldn’t be surprised. Like any man in love, he no doubt wanted to sing the praises of his beloved. Trying to ignore the searing pain of her jealousy, Polly assured her assistant, ‘Don’t worry; I’ll be here in the morning.’

‘You might be here in the morning, provided you are well enough,’ Marcus corrected her firmly.

‘Marcus…’ Polly began fiercely, but he was already picking up the overnight bag she had arranged to have brought from her room, grimacing as he felt the weight of it.

‘What the devil…?’ he began.

But Polly forestalled him, telling him quickly, ‘It’s the books. This is my evening for working on the month’s accounts and—’

‘Marcus, what do you think you’re doing?’ Polly protested with a small shriek as he put down her bag, unzipped it and removed the heavy account books she had packed into it.

‘The doctor said you had to rest…remember?’

‘He said I had to rest my ankle, not my brain,’ Polly told him trenchantly, adding sweetly, ‘You were the one who brought in the systems police, Marcus, and I don’t think they’re going to be very impressed if the accounts aren’t done in time.’

‘No—well, if they aren’t then they can take it up with me,’ Marcus responded equally grittily, while Pat, who was listening, laughed and shook her head.

She said teasingly, ‘You two sound just like a longtime married couple.’

Her teasing remark shocked Polly into white-faced silence. Surely Pat, who had always been so tactful and discreet, must know how inappropriate her comment was in the circumstances, with Marcus having so recently made public his relationship with Suzi?

‘A marriage made in hell,’ Marcus murmured sardonically in her ear as he zipped up her bag and picked it up, but for once Polly felt no impulse to fight back.

Just as soon as she felt strong enough she intended to tackle Marcus again about releasing her from her notice. He couldn’t possibly want her either living or working in such close proximity now.

The drive back to Marcus’s house was completed in silence. Once or twice Polly snatched a brief look at his set profile, wondering if he was thinking about Suzi and no doubt wishing that she were the one he was taking home with him.

‘Wait here,’ Marcus commanded Polly as he let her into the hallway of the house. ‘I’ll take your bag up and then come back for you.’

‘Marcus, I’m perfectly capable of walking up a flight of stairs,’ Polly protested.

The house had been painted since she had last seen it, and she had to admit that the warm Mediterranean colour scheme Marcus had chosen for the hallway looked very effective and welcoming, as did the heavy plain cream curtains that cloaked the windows and the hand-made light fittings Marcus had commissioned from a local designer. The sitting room she could see through the open doorway off the hall was decorated and furnished with a harmonious mixture of antique and modern, warm rich colours teamed with restful creams and heavy antique country furniture made sturdily of oak married with modern fabrics and designs.

It was easy to imagine Marcus living in this house, but for some reason Polly found it difficult to imagine Suzi here. She would want crystal light fittings, silk fabrics, delicate pieces of porcelain and Regency furniture. This was the kind of home that a child could play comfortably in, the kind of home where friends would feel welcome and formal dinner parties would be abandoned in favour of chatty suppers round the kitchen table.