mind slid, for the umpteenth time since last Friday evening, to Elliot Knight.
Elliot would tell her how it was. Elliot was honest, to the point of being blunt. Elliot...
He had driven her home in grim silence, depositing her on her doorstep with some very strong parting words.
‘I refuse to apologise again for what happened, Audrey,’ he said sharply. ‘You must take some of the responsibility. You’re a grown woman, and it’s about time you started acting and thinking like one. Firstly, in future don’t go letting any personable stranger talk you into going back to his place as you did with me this afternoon. It’s naïve and dangerous. Secondly, don’t go to bed with any man unless you, yourself, want to go to bed with him. Thirdly, be your own person in every way. Form your own opinions about who you are and where you’re going. You only have one life, Audrey. In the end, you’re the one who has to live with your decisions. Make sure they are yours.’
He had gone to leave her, then added over his shoulder, ‘I won’t be calling you, Audrey. Don’t take this personally. Any continuing friendship with me at this point in time is not in your best interests. Of course, if you’re ever in any real trouble, please don’t hesitate to ring and I’ll help in any way I can.’
Audrey sank down on the end of her bed with a sigh. She had to admit that wanting some advice about fashion hardly constituted real trouble. Not that she would dare ring him anyway. Quite frankly, she wouldn’t have the nerve. Just thinking about Elliot answering in that unswervingly direct voice of his made her quiver. In fact, thinking about Elliot at all was proving unnerving.
Her stomach curled as she recalled how it had felt when he’d kissed her, when his tongue had thrust deep into her mouth. Her heart had leapt madly, and the blood had roared around her head for a few seconds. At the time, she had been stunned by the raw sexual desire that had flared within her. She had never felt anything like it with Russell. Even now, just thinking about it sent her into a spin. She kept wondering what would have happened if her shock hadn’t made her struggle, if Elliot hadn’t stopped.
The thought started her heart racing. Audrey strongly suspected that it was these intense physical reactions Elliot could evoke in her—not so much Russell’s treachery—that had caused her such distress on Friday night. She’d been upset because she had not wanted Elliot to take her home. She had wanted him to take her to bed. There! She had admitted it. In fact, if she didn’t know better she might believe she had fallen out of love with one man and fallen in love with another in a single afternoon! Which was crazy!
Though perhaps not so crazy, Audrey conceded, if she had never been in love with Russell in the first place. Perhaps she’d merely been attracted to his good looks, flattered by his attention, seduced by his lies. Silly little Audrey, craving love, desperate to believe any assertions of affection. She shuddered as she recalled all his lies whenever he’d coaxed her into bed. Clearly he’d been laughing at her the whole time.
And rightly so, she decided wretchedly. She was a gullible young idiot. She was still being an idiot, imagining she was in love with another man now, just because he had aroused her with a passionate kiss.
Audrey shook her head in dismay. Dear me, when was she ever going to grow up and see things as they really were, and not as her romantic heart wanted to see them? Elliot was a handsome, sexy, sophisticated man who had acted gallantly towards her, then stirred her with a kiss at a vulnerable moment. That didn’t mean she was in love with him. Infatuated, perhaps. That was all.
But if she wasn’t in love with Elliot, why did the thought of never seeing him again produce such wrenching feelings inside her? Such black despair?
Audrey jumped to her feet, infuriated with herself. She was sick of feeling down, sick of self-pity, sick of romantic confusions and delusions. You’re young and healthy and not that bad looking, she told herself sternly. You’ll find someone to really love you one day, someone you’ll love back, without doubt, without distress. Now stop moaning and groaning and get down to breakfast!
Her father was already in the sun-room that served as a breakfast-room, devouring his habitual steak and eggs, when she made an appearance. Elsie was standing at his shoulder, refilling his coffee-cup.
‘Good morning,’ Audrey said with determined brightness as she pulled out a chair at the circular table. ‘Just coffee and one slice of toast for me, Elsie.’
‘Righto, lovie.’ Elsie waddled off. Having been a cook all her life, Elsie had sampled a few too many of her own makings. But she was a sweet old dear, without a mean bone in her body. Audrey was very fond of her.
Warwick Farnsworth looked up at his daughter with a reproachful frown on his face. ‘You’re not going to become one of those anorexics, are you, Audrey?’
She glanced across the table at her father and conceded that at fifty he was still a handsome man. Broad-shouldered and fit as a fiddle, he had thick brown hair, elegantly greying at the temples, and sharp blue eyes. For a brief moment, Audrey wished she’d inherited a few of his genes.
But not his lack of tact.
He had no idea how to relate to his daughter as a parent. Most of his conversations with her started with an exasperated-sounding question.
‘I’m not anorexic, Father. I’m five feet four and weigh eight stone two. That’s exactly what I should be.’
Audrey had learnt to answer her father with facts. He was a ‘facts’ man.
‘Hmph!’ he pronounced and picked up his coffee-cup, turning to flip open the morning paper next to him to the business section.
Elsie arrived with the toast and coffee, and Audrey settled down to spreading margarine and jam. Once her father had his nose in the newspaper, all conversation ceased. Which meant she was surprised when he suddenly spoke up again.
‘You do realise, Audrey, that Lavinia is going to a lot of trouble for your birthday on Friday night?’
Audrey tried not to have ungrateful thoughts. Shy in any social situation, she had requested no celebration at all, but Lavinia had insisted on a dinner party with some people from work. Audrey had only given in graciously when Russell had liked the idea.
‘She’s been a good stepmother to you,’ her father went on. ‘Very good. Even in the beginning, when you were hardly welcoming. She never once lost patience with you, despite your uncooperative, sullen disposition at the time.’
Sullen?
Resentment flared within Audrey. Hardly sullen. In pain maybe, from her own injuries from the car accident that had also claimed her mother. Two badly broken legs took a long time to heal. Not to mention her emotional pain of losing a mother she adored. But of course her father wouldn’t understand that. He’d shown how insensitive he was by remarrying within six months of his wife’s death.
With a clarity that had previously eluded her, Audrey finally accepted the rumours she had heard all her life and had blindly denied to herself. That her father had not loved her mother; that he had married her for the company.
She glared over at her father, recognising in him a man similar to Russell, a ruthlessly ambitious and mercenary man who had little love to give. He probably didn’t even really love Lavinia. She was merely a decorative hostess, a beautiful and convenient body to have in bed, a possession, much like the paintings and sculpture he’d started collecting recently.
What
