and addressed his wife. ‘About ready?’
‘I only have to get my coat.’
Giving his daughter a look of extreme displeasure, he asked brusquely, ‘I suppose you realise you’ve spoilt the entire evening? Have you any idea just how angry and disappointed Mark is?’
‘He’s made it quite plain,’ she answered wearily.
‘Then it’s up to you to apologise. And as soon as possible.’
‘Do,’ Isobel urged as she prepared to follow her husband. ‘Otherwise they’ll both sulk for the rest of the weekend and it’ll be murder.’
Loris was surprised by her mother’s caustic observation. Though Isobel frequently criticised her husband, she had never been known to admit to even the slightest imperfection in her future son-in-law.
‘You may well be right,’ Loris admitted as she kissed the proffered cheek.
‘I expect we’ll be in bed before you get to Monkswood, so I’ll see you in the morning. By the way, you and Mark have your usual rooms.’ Isobel hurried away.
Knowing that the only possible chance of saving what was left of the weekend would be to get her apology over as quickly as possible, Loris began to look for her fiancé.
She finally spotted him standing, tall, dark, and powerful-looking, apparently bidding goodnight to some people who were leaving early.
Though he was still what most people would have called ‘a fine figure of a man’, she noted, with almost a feeling of betrayal, that his black, crinkly hair was showing signs of grey, his jawline had lost its firmness, and he had the beginnings of a paunch.
Relieved to find the blonde was nowhere in sight, she hurried over, and said quickly, ‘Mark, I’m terribly sorry I was so late. I know you have every right to be angry with me, but please don’t let it spoil the weekend.’
His brown eyes showing no signs of forgiveness, he snapped, ‘The party’s almost over. Isn’t it a bit late for apologies?’
‘I would have told you I was sorry straight away if you’d been alone.’
‘Pamela’s a beautiful woman, don’t you think?’
When Loris said nothing, knowing he was just rubbing it in, he added, ‘She comes from the States. Her father is Alan Gresham, the American newspaper magnate, which makes her heir to the Gresham millions.’
‘How nice.’
So her mother was wrong. It wasn’t Mark’s money the blonde was after.
‘She’s made it quite obvious she fancies me.’
Loris’s lips tightened in distaste. ‘Don’t you find her just a bit blatant?’
‘She certainly knows her way around,’ he said admiringly. ‘And she’s not the sort to say no, which makes a nice change.’
So it wasn’t just her late arrival he was punishing her for. Her refusal to go to bed with him was a good part of it.
In the three months they had been engaged Mark had been fairly pressing, and several times, deciding she was being stupid in holding back, she had almost given in.
He was a handsome, virile man, and she had little doubt that he would make a good lover. Yet each time when it came to the crunch, perhaps still inhibited by the past, she had changed her mind.
Understandably, this had enraged Mark, who had sulked for days. He would be perfectly normal with everyone else, but only address her when he absolutely had to, and then be brief and glacial.
Reading the signs, Isobel had once said seriously, ‘I know sleeping together is almost the norm these days, but I think you’re right to hold back until the wedding ring’s on your finger.’
It was the first time her mother had ever broached the question of sex and, wondering if she had somehow guessed what had happened with Nigel, Loris had asked, ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because Mark’s the sort of man who, when he’s got what he wants, might well lose interest and start to look elsewhere…’
Like Nigel.
‘Of course once you’re his wife it won’t matter so much. After one divorce, I imagine he’ll be fairly discreet.’
Profoundly disturbed by what her mother was suggesting, Loris had said, ‘You sound as if you think he’ll stray.’
‘Don’t most men? And I can’t imagine a man like Mark being satisfied with one woman.’
Seeing her daughter’s expression, Isobel had added, ‘After all, what does it matter? You’ll have money and position, a good lifestyle. Mark seems generous enough. Unlike your father.’
‘I don’t happen to want that kind of marriage,’ Loris had said quietly.
‘Well, of course I could be totally wrong.’ Isobel had hastily backed off. ‘Mark is getting to the age where he might be ready to settle for the faithful husband bit…’
Becoming aware that Mark was waiting for a response to something she hadn’t heard, Loris said, ‘Sorry?’
‘I merely remarked that if you’re jealous of Pamela, you know what to do about it.’
‘But I’m not jealous,’ Loris denied calmly.
Looking distinctly put out, Mark asked, ‘Then why did you rope in that wimp to dance with you?’
‘I didn’t “rope him in”. He asked me.’ Remembering Jonathan Drummond’s quiet self-assurance, his firm refusal to be used, she said, ‘And I certainly wouldn’t describe him as a wimp.’
Eyes narrowing, Mark queried, ‘Had you met him before?’
‘No.’
‘Did he know who you were?’
‘Yes.’ Remembering his comments about Mark, she added, ‘I gather you and he know each other.’
Mark looked down his nose. ‘I’d hardly say know. I’ve seen him knocking around the offices.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Just some Johnny-come-lately. He’s over from the States with the Cosby crowd.’
Of course. She recalled that his attractive voice had had a slight American accent.
‘What does he do exactly?’
‘No idea,’ Mark said dismissively. ‘He’s sat in on most of the meetings, but I gather he’s there in some minor capacity. Secretary or PA to one of the executives, or something of the sort. Why do you want to know?’
Unwisely, she admitted, ‘I found him interesting.’
Looking at her as if she’d lost her senses, Mark echoed,
