‘But it isn’t true that we’re going to get married, you know that Simon.’
‘Well, I didn’t want her to marry him. What will happen now?’
‘Well, first you will have to go and apologise to Sc… to Mr Garston.… Cara is leaving tomorrow, so there won’t be time for you to go and apologise to her.’
She saw the relief lighten the strain in his eyes and tried to squash her feeling of sympathy. It was very hard at times, being a single parent, there were some situations she just did not feel equipped to deal with and this was one of them. The trouble was that she shared Simon’s feelings and yet she knew that she must make him see that his behaviour had been very wrong.
‘Will Scott… Mr Garston make us leave?’
If only he would, Philippa thought wryly. ‘I don’t know, Simon, we shall have to see, but we’ll have to leave sometime you know.’
‘I wish you would tell him about me.’
Here was the nub of the problem, and Philippa didn’t know what to say to him. In other circumstances she could have approached Eve and asked for the benefit of her experience and wisdom, but Eve had her own axe to grind in this matter, and Philippa suspected would recommend that Scott was told the truth.
‘Simon, I know how you feel, believe me, but I can’t tell him. Not at the moment.…’
‘Why? He’s my father and I want to be with him. It’s not my fault that you lied to him.’ His face was flushed and Philippa could see that he was working himself into a distressed state. The dreadful thing was that she felt she had no defence. How could she explain to Simon the complexities of adult relationships or expect him to understand them? What if he decided to take matters into his own hands and to go to Scott himself? She shuddered, forced to face the fact that Scott would probably reject him. What damage would that do to Simon psychologically?
‘Simon, I can’t tell Scott about you while we’re living here; that wouldn’t be fair to him or to you. Please try to understand. You’ve known the name and identity of your father for some time. Scott has no idea that he has a son. It’s bound to come as a shock to him, but I can appreciate that you feel he is your father and you want him to know, so, when we get back home, I’ll write to him and explain. But only if you promise me that you won’t say another word about this—to anyone—while we’re here.’
It was moral blackmail, something she had always avoided, but what alternative did she have? To say that Scott would be shocked was putting it mildly, but how could she explain to Simon without increasing his distress that Scott was more likely to reject than accept him?
‘All right then, but just a long as you promise to write to him?’
‘I promise. Now would you like some supper?’
‘I’m not hungry.’
Philippa had little doubt that he was punishing her, but she couldn’t find it in her heart to blame him, and tiredness dropped on her like a heavy cloak as she stood in the door of his room and studied his thin hunched body, his head turned away from her. He was so like Scott, no wonder Eve had spotted it.
She had to walk past Scott’s room to reach her own, and as she did so she caught the sound of activity inside, and remembered Sir Nigel’s message. Her ex-boss had told her that he would be in his office until eight, which left plenty of time for Scott to ring him, but on impulse she knocked on Scott’s door. He might be planning to have dinner out for all she knew and she didn’t want to miss him.
She heard him call out a muffled ‘Come in,’ and turned the handle, opening the door.
The bedroom was empty, the door that led into the bathroom standing ajar.
‘Yes, what is it, Mrs Robinson?’ she heard Scott call from inside it, and tensed, her voice suddenly deserting her. A lean brown arm thrust the door open followed by the rest of him, the brief towel secured round his hips brilliantly white against his tanned flesh.
‘Philippa!’ Just for a moment he seemed shocked, and she had a brief, unguarded glimpse of the Scott she had once known, but almost immediately he recovered, his voice a taunting drawl as he murmured, ‘Well, well, what a charming surprise. What happened. Did you get tired of your lonely bed? Or has young Simon been putting ideas into your head? Are you having second thoughts about my suitability as a husband? If you are I’m afraid you’re eleven years too late. I’m a good deal wiser now than I was then.
Colour flared in her pale face, and she was acutely conscious of how tired she was, how hot and sticky she felt, her body burning beneath her t-shirt and skirt, her eyes drawn against her will to the damp expanse of Scott’s chest. Dark hair formed a virile cross on his body and Philippa remembered with unwanted clarity the way her fingers had traced it not so very long ago. Her mouth was dry with tension and she touched her tongue nervously to her lips, shivering when Scott’s gaze locked on the betraying movement, his eyes darkening until they were almost black.
‘I’ve come to give you a message,’ she told him hurriedly, ‘from Sir Nigel, my ex-boss. He wants you to ring him.…’
‘Why, to plead with me to send you back? Is he the reason your body trembles whenever I come near you, Philippa? Is he your current lover?’
‘No!’ The denial was wrenched from her and she stepped backwards nervously as Scott came towards her. She could smell the soap he used, every one of her senses alive to him as he stood over her. How could he be unaware of the effect he had on her? Shamingly her breasts responded immediately to his proximity, heat filling her veins, her body yielding meltingly.
‘He thinks he may have a customer who could be interested in your new computer.… He wants to talk to you about that.…’
‘Does he now! What’s this supposed to be? Compensation for costing me the American contract?’
Angry colour flamed in her cheeks. ‘Certainly not. If you must know, it’s nothing to do with me, Sir Nigel’s idea entirely. He simply thought he’d do a fellow businessman a favour. He isn’t like you,’ she added sarcastically, gasping when Scott’s fingers grasped her arm and he hauled her round to face him. So close to she could see the fine droplets of moisture clinging to his skin, her nostrils full of the warm clean smell of him. She tried to take a pace backwards, wanting to put a safe distance between herself and the sensual torment of Scott’s body, but his grasp on her wrist only tightened.
‘No. I’ll bet he isn’t,’ he grated, watching her closely. His face looked taut beneath his tan, his eyes darkening with a savagery that made her muscles tense and coil in mute alarm. ‘But then he doesn’t know the real you, does he, Philippa? He doesn’t know how readily you sell yourself to the wealthiest bidder.’
‘Just as you were prepared to do to secure the American contract,’ Philippa flung back at him, too angry to heed the warning light glittering in his eyes. ‘How sanctimoniously you criticise me, Scott, but you aren’t exactly pure as the driven snow yourself, are you? Or are you going to tell me you are genuinely in love with Cara?’