‘No, Josie, simply realistic. Dr Masters was very informative, and I thought you needed to know. After all, your past track record is not very good in that department,’ he drawled with biting cynicism.
Josie couldn’t believe he could be so cruel, reminding her of her one mistake—and anyway it wasn’t a mistake; she loved her baby to bits. She stared at him with hatred in her eyes, and all her pent-up resentment came flooding out.
‘But your track record with Angela, of course, is just great! Conan, her ever-present lover along with three husbands. Why don’t you ask her to live with you again? She did before, and you won’t have a problem. She told me herself she wouldn’t get pregnant and spoil her figure, not even for you,’ she sneered.
‘You think I lived with Angela, I’m having an affair with her?’ Conan exclaimed, his eyes widening in amazement on her furious face.
‘I don’t think. I know. Your precious Angela told me the very first time I met her that she’d lived with you, and if that wasn’t enough she kindly passed on your message last year: how sorry you were. You were stuck in New York. And she was calling from London, and all the time telling you to be quiet in the backg
round. The convenient wife in the country, and the mistress in the town. I’m nowhere near as blind as you would like me to be, buster.’
Conan stared at her for a long moment. ‘You believe Angela and I . . . ? That explains a lot.’ Then he flung back his head and burst out laughing.
‘Laugh as much as you like, but...’
‘Ah, Josie,’ he chuckled. ‘You don’t know how relieved I am. You’re jealous!’ he declared, his gold-flecked eyes capturing hers, and he curled her fingers into his palm. ‘You have no idea how good that makes me feel.’
‘Why, you big ape!’ she yelled, pulling her hand from his. ‘I am not jealous.’
‘Josie, I have never lived with Angela. She borrowed my house with her brother while I was in New York. I have never been intimate with her. I respect her brain but I would sooner make love to a barracuda. And whatever she led you to believe over the telephone were lies.’
‘So you say, but why should I believe you? At least Charles pretended to love me before taking me to bed. You just pretended I’d always slept with you, when I was in no fit state to know differently. You’re not half the man Charles was.’ She said it deliberately to hurt him, but she shrank back against the seat in real fear at the inimitable anger in his dark eyes.
The parking attendant knocking on the car window and gesturing them to move on stopped Conan’s full response. ‘Damn you!’ he swore, and, turning the key in the ignition he crashed the gears and the car took off like a rocket.
Josie immediately wished the words unsaid. She wanted to apologise, but never got the chance. On returning to the house he instructed Jeffrey to pack what was needed, as they were leaving immediately for Beeches Manor, and three hours later he deposited Josie and the baby at the Manor House. He did not even stay for dinner but turned the car round and went back to London. His final terse words to Josie had been, ‘You and Kathleen stay here. If you need anything, you have my telephone number; if I’m not there try the bank or Angela.’ And with eyes as cold as the Arctic he’d left.
The hall looked light and airy in the morning sunshine. The whole house had taken on a new ambience since the renovations had been completed. When Josie had arrived three weeks ago, she had suffered shock upon shock. First her father and the Major had moved to the newly converted stable block at the back of the Manor. Mrs M. had her own apartment in the same block. The suite Josie had used the last time now had a nursery adjoining it. The estate manager, Mr Dorking, his wife and their three children had moved into Josie’s old home, Low Beeches farmhouse.
Reaching the hall, Josie picked the mail up off the table on the way to the kitchen. She made herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table to drink it. The first letter was junk mail, but the second left her sitting open-mouthed in shock. The official-looking document fell unnoticed from her hand. She couldn’t believe it. From a firm of solicitors in Cheltenham, it was the deeds to the Beeches Manor estate made out in her name. Conan had given her the lot. But why? Mrs M. walked in and Josie glanced up at her, her face white as a sheet.
‘How is Kathleen today?’ Mrs M. asked.
‘Fine, asleep,’ Josie murmured distractedly.
‘Are you all right? You don’t look so good, lass.’
Josie looked at the older woman. ‘A touch of baby blues,’ she said—the first thing that came into her head. ‘Since I’ve had to stop breast-feeding.’
‘More like husband blues,’ Mrs M. remarked caustically. ‘When are you going to come to your senses and ring Conan? The poor man left here looking like his world had ended.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Josie murmured, but she didn’t understand herself. She looked down at the letter on the table, shaking her head in disbelief. Conan loved Beeches Manor. Why would he give it away?
‘I understand better than you think. I know you’ve had a hard time the last few months, what with the accident and all. But these things happen and you have to get over them. Just look at this house. Conan has done everything for you, and you sit there indulging in self-pity over some stupid argument. It’s time you snapped out of it and called him. You’re a fool, Josie, if you let the past spoil the present. Conan is a proud man, and whatever you’ve argued about has hurt him deeply. It’s up to you to put it right.’
‘I don’t want to discuss this,’ she snapped, and groaned as Mrs M. walked out in a huff. Mrs M. did not know the half of it.
Josie picked up the letter and wandered out into the hall. She had heard nothing from Conan directly, but two days ago she’d received a bank statement, in her name, that had knocked her for six. She had felt like a kept woman, until she’d thought of her baby. Much as she hated accepting Conan’s money, she was a mother first and her independence would have to wait until she was in a position to support herself without her child suffering. But this! She tapped the letter against her hand. This she could not accept. She glanced down at the telephone on the hall table, chewing nervously on her bottom lip.
Making up her mind, she picked up the receiver and dialled. She sighed with relief as Jeffrey’s familiar voice answered. There was no point in rushing to London if Conan was not there. Five minutes later she replaced the receiver and went looking for Mrs Dorking.
By mid-afternoon Josie was bathed and dressed in a lilac silk sheath dress and toning high-heeled sandals. She planted a soft kiss on her baby’s cheek before handing her to Mrs Dorking, who, with three children of her own, had no qualms about keeping Kathleen for the night. Josie stepped into her now repaired yellow car and started the engine.
On the drive to London, she had plenty of time to think about the past, and it slowly dawned on her that maybe she had been wrong about Conan. He had only ever shown her kindness and consideration from the day they married. He had been instrumental in helping her recover from the trauma of her ill-fated engagement to Charles. True, he had taken advantage of her when she’d had amnesia—But had he? She had wanted him just as much. Her jealousy over Angela he had dismissed with laughter, easily explaining the other woman’s presence in his house. But she had not believed him, and had lashed out at him in the worst way. He had even said he loved her, and she had not believed that either. Dear heaven! If it was true, and she had denied him...
Jeffrey opened the door before Josie had a chance to knock, and within minutes he had her seated in the drawing room, and left to make some tea. Josie glanced around her. Nothing had changed. She jumped to her feet and prowled around the room, too nervous to sit.
The door opened and, expecting Jeffrey, Josie froze as Conan strode in. His hand was at his throat, pulling at his tie, as he headed straight for the drinks cabinet, but something must have alerted him to her presence as he stopped in the middle of the room and turned to where she stood, frozen to the spot.