was addressing the photograph that she kept on the sideboard, showing the wedding of Grandmother Dee and Grandfather Mark. Dee had once confided to her that there had been complications about that wedding.
‘I was pregnant,’ she’d said, ‘and that was scandalous in nineteen forty-three. You had to get married to stay respectable, and I wondered if he was only marrying me because he had to.’
‘And was he?’ Pippa had wanted to know.
Dee had smiled mysteriously. ‘Let’s say he had his own reasons, but it was a while before I discovered what they were. On our wedding day I still couldn’t quite believe in his love.’
Yet the young Dee in the picture was beaming happily, and in Pippa’s present mood it all looked delightfully uncomplicated.
‘Fancy having to be married before you could make love,’ she mused.
In her mind she saw Roscoe dancing with Teresa, holding her in an embrace that spoke of passion deferred, but not for long. Right this minute they were on their way to her home, or perhaps to his, where he would sweep her into the bedroom and remove her clothes without wasting a moment.
She knew the kind of lover he would be: no-nonsense, not lingering over preliminaries, but proceeding straight to the purpose, as he did with everything. As well as pleasuring his woman efficiently, he would instruct her as to his own needs, with everything done to the highest standards. Afterwards, Teresa would know she’d received attention from an expert.
For a while Pippa’s annoyance enabled her to indulge these cynical thoughts, but another memory insisted on intruding—his care for his mother, his patience, his kindness to her. All these spoke of a different man, with a gentle heart that he showed rarely. Was that gentleness also present in the lover?
‘And why am I bothering? ‘ she asked aloud. ‘Honestly, Gran, I think you had it better in your day.’
Dee’s smiling face as she nestled against her new husband seemed to say that she was right.
Pippa sighed and went to bed.
The night that followed was the strangest she’d ever known. Worn out, she had expected to sleep like a log, but the world was fractured. Two men wandered through her dreams—one gentle, protective and kind, the other a harsh authoritarian who gave his orders and assumed instant obedience. Both men were Roscoe Havering.
In this other world he danced with her, holding her close, not briefly but possessively, as though claiming her for ever. Unable to resist, she yielded, resting against him with a joy that felt like coming home. But then she awoke to find her flesh singing but herself alone.
In a fury, she threw something across the room. It was time to face facts. Roscoe had appeared at The Diamond the night before in order to study her and see if she was doing her job as a hired fancy woman. Whatever gloss he tried to put on it, that was the truth. Curse him!
Unable to lie still, she rose and began to pace the room, muttering desperately. ‘All right, so I felt something. Not here—’ she laid a hand quickly over her heart ‘—no, not there, but—’ she looked down at her marvellous body ‘—just about everywhere else. Only for a moment. And he needn’t think I’m giving in to it. I’ve done with that stuff for ever. So that’s settled. Now I need to get some more sleep.’
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