A Guilty Affair. Diana Hamilton
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‘Helen apart, you seem to have a very cynical attitude to women,’ she told him gruffly, wondering waywardly if he regarded her, along with the rest of the female sex, as stupid, false and vacillating. Wondering why it should hurt.
She saw something hard and sharp in his eyes as he looked at her. ‘I have reason to, believe me.’ Then he shrugged slightly, as if the subject bored him—or she did—and pushed a hand into his jacket pocket and produced her missing ring.
‘Jessica found it in a pile of dirty dishes.’ He took her nerveless hand in one of his and dropped the ring into her palm. ‘Now, I’d call that a Freudian slip, wouldn’t you? Think about it. And think about the things I’ve said to you. Or not. It’s your life.’
He swung gracefully round on the balls of his feet and left, and whether it was because he’d looked as if he was bored silly or because she wanted to call him back and slap him for calling her a mouse she wasn’t sure, but she was agitated enough to want to scream the walls down.
Instead, after counting to fifty, forcing herself to calm down a notch or two, she stamped down the stairs and made two decisive phone calls.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘SURE you won’t come?’ Niccy asked. ‘I’ll wait while you change.’ She was dressed for partying, her beanpole figure looking sensational in scarlet silk leggings topped by a black glittery tunic, and Bess grinned at her, pushing a hand through her rumpled copper hair as she settled more comfortably into the squashy brocade-covered sofa.
‘Thanks, but, as I told you, I need a clear head in the morning.’ Besides, she had nothing festive to change into.
‘If that’s really how you feel,’ Niccy said thoughtfully. ‘But don’t get uptight—it’s only a new job, remember.’
‘I’m not in the least uptight!’ Her wide smile backed up her words. ‘But we’re lunching with some hot-shot financier. Mark’s ninety per cent sure he can persuade him to back us. I wouldn’t want to wreck his chances by falling asleep!’
The phone buzzed then, and Niccy held out the receiver. ‘It’s for you. I’ll be off if I can’t change your mind. Don’t wait up.’
Somehow Bess knew it was Tom, and her face flushed a rosy pink as her hunch was confirmed. She felt apprehensive. He’d been so angry when she’d phoned to tell him that she’d decided to take the job and was moving in with Niccy.
‘I thought we’d discussed it and decided you’d turn the wretched job down. Tell him you’ve changed your mind. Let him find some other idiot who’s prepared to be made redundant in a couple of months. As for moving from Brenda’s—I’ve never heard anything so stupid. You won’t find living with your flashy friend anything like as economical.’
Bess had ignored that. Until they were married she could live where she chose. And she’d reminded him, surprised by the cool steadiness of her voice, ‘You decided I’d turn down the job. I thought it over and decided I’d like the challenge.’ Which wasn’t exactly true. She hadn’t reasoned it out at all, but had acted on impulse, goaded by the way that supercilious Italian had looked at her room and pronounced it a fitting hole for a mouse. ‘I’ve accepted the job and I don’t go back on my word. And I don’t know why you’re so against it.’
‘Then you have less common sense than I gave you credit for,’ he’d snapped right back. ‘And don’t bother coming home on my account this weekend. I’ll be too busy to see you.’
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