The accuracy and the inaccuracy of his words brought a faint blush to her cheeks and a further sense of maltreatment to her heart. ‘You can’t have it both ways, Justin. You did marry me, even if it was for all the wrong reasons, but they don’t know that, so—’
‘Lucy,’ he interrupted gravely, ‘let me set your mind at rest. I don’t give a damn what people think about my private life; I never have. My concern about how you might behave this weekend was motivated by this—when you invite people to spend time with you, especially way out in the backblocks like this where they can’t get up and go that easily if they want to, I think you’re fairly obliged not to make them feel uncomfortable and as if they’re in the midst of a domestic brawl. Don’t you agree?’
She opened her mouth, closed it then said scathingly, ‘Of course! That doesn’t explain the cradle bit, though.’
‘Well, as to that,’ he said musingly, and picked up a strand of her hair, ‘I wondered if it mightn’t be part of your strategy, that’s all.’
Lucy blinked at him. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Don’t you? I thought since I’d made it plain that your femme fatale act—your words, not mine, but not inappropriate—was something I wouldn’t approve of you might—change tack.’
Lucy closed her eyes. ‘Funnily enough, it didn’t occur to me at all,’ she said bleakly.
‘You wouldn’t be losing your grip on this—war, would you, Lucy?’ he queried, slipping her hair through his fingers then smoothing it back into place and standing back a step.
For the briefest moment Lucy wondered if she was. But she said, ‘I’m rather tired, Justin, that’s all.’
‘Is it, Lucy?’
The way he said it, on a different note entirely made her open her eyes. ‘What more could there be?’
‘Unless you tell me, I don’t know.’ His eyes searched hers.
She looked away and found herself considering telling him that she didn’t have Mrs Milton and her sister, only one flustered and anxious substitute—and Adrian, and that if the rest of the weekend went well it would be something of a miracle—he’d probably find out soon enough, anyway. But almost immediately she decided she couldn’t stand his scorn, not tonight, so she said wearily, ‘There’s nothing,’ and lay back exhaustedly.
‘Perhaps you’re trying too hard, Lucy.’
She stretched her throat and rubbed it. ‘I really don’t know what I have to do to make you approve of me, Justin.’
He moved so his face was in the shadows and she couldn’t read his expression. ‘Just the one thing you won’t do.’
For the life of her she couldn’t help it, couldn’t stern the images that flooded her mind, of lying in his arms and being made love to, of not being lonely, at least. Images of surrender in the most complete way a woman could to a man, but... ‘But then I might not approve of myself. It’s a real dilemma, isn’t it?’ she whispered, and sat up suddenly with her hands to her face as hot tears sprang to her eyes. ‘Please, just go away, Justin. I can’t cope with you and all this at the same time.’
He stared down at her shaking shoulders for a long moment, then he said evenly, ‘All right, I’m going. But if there is a problem you don’t have to—’
‘There’s nothing!’ She raised her tear-streaked face abruptly. ‘Other than that you’ve now managed to undermine my self-confidence.’
‘Why, Lucy, I never thought to hear you say that. Goodnight, my dear. Don’t do anything stupid, will you?’
She didn’t, not then, but before the weekend was over she seriously interfered with Adrian’s freedom and committed a social solecism of considerable proportions.
CHAPTER THREE
IT WAS Sasha, who else, who broke the news on Sunday morning.
She came into the veranda room where everyone was lounging around comfortably just prior to getting ready to leave, still commenting on the great dinner party last night and lovely day they’d had yesterday, and she said into a lull in the conversation, ‘Justin, there’s a child handcuffed to a fence outside. He says Lucy did it and that she threatened to shoot him.’
Everyone sat up with wide eyes and turned to Lucy.
‘Oh,’ she swallowed, ‘that’s Adrian. He’s only been there for about ten minutes. I...’ She stopped and blushed bright red.
Incredibly, it was Justin who came to her rescue. ‘What’s he done now?’ he said resignedly, and added for everyone’s benefit, ‘Adrian is the son of our cook, Shirley—a great cook, I’m sure you’ll all agree.’
Lucy stared at him open-mouthed but he murmured gently, ‘Tell us, Lucy, otherwise people will think you’re some sort of a monster.’
‘He...’ Lucy licked her lips. ‘Yesterday he handcuffed me to the towel rail in the kitchen. Um—one of his uncles is a policeman and he gave him this set. Fortunately his mother came to the rescue—eventually... And today,’ she said hastily, ‘he actually picked the lock of the gun cupboard—I caught him at it but of course luckily we keep the ammunition in a safe and I didn’t threaten to shoot him... but in light of the fact that he laid waste every tomato plant in the vegetable garden yesterday, lit a fire in the chicken shed and downed all the washing on the line in the duck pond, I thought some of his own medicine might be good for him... You knew!’ she said to Justin. ‘All the time you knew.’
‘Not all the time. Where are the keys? I’ll...let him out on parole.’
But a combination of all sorts of factors worked powerfully in Lucy and she was deaf to discretion. ‘How could you?’ she accused. ‘Of all the low-down things! To let me go on pretending...oh!’ She ground her teeth. ‘I hate you, Justin Waite, you’re the most arrogant, self-opinionated man I’ve ever met and that’s only some of the things I hate about you.’
The silence was electric but Justin laughed, as if he was really amused. ‘Well, we nearly made it,’ he said obliquely. ‘Sorry, friends, but Lucy has had a traumatic weekend, haven’t you, my love? I’m sure you only need to apologise, though. To them, not necessarily to me,’ he added, and his eyes mocked her.
Lucy glanced round, flinched visibly as no one’s eyes quite met hers, then became aware of an agitated murmuring she was coming to know well behind her. She dug into the pocket of her jeans and removed a set of keys. ‘Here you are, Shirley,’ she said swinging round. ‘He hasn’t been there long and if I were you I’d confiscate those handcuffs—they’re more of a temptation than some people can bear. I am sorry,’ she said contritely, swinging back. ‘I’ve been short-staffed this weekend and I have an unfortunate temper, apparently. I do hope you’ll all forgive me.’
She lay on her bed with her eyes closed but knew it was Justin when she heard the door open and close. She’d heard the plane take off about half an hour earlier but she’d made her farewells—she winced as she thought
