of her mother’s distorted features would have struck her as being hysterically funny, the twisted expression on her expertly made-up face and the raucous tone of her voice an almost surreal contrast to the perfect taste of the smoke-grey silk that hung so beautifully on her pin-thin body.
‘Just what the hell is going on in here? Hal? Answer me, Hal!’
Her flesh crawling with embarrassment, Georgia found herself thrust aside. She was shaking all over, not knowing what to do or say, grateful that the hateful mauling had stopped but horrified that her mother should have witnessed the degrading scene.
This was the worst thing that had ever happened to her, she thought wildly, and then proved herself wrong, because Jason was here, too, his face dark with bitter anger, and that had to be worse than anything she could possibly have imagined. ‘Vivvie, sweetheart,’ Harold said. ‘Don’t get the wrong end of the stick!’
He smoothed a hand over his thinning hair and Georgia just knew he would have straightened his tie had he been wearing one.
‘I hate to have to tell you this, but I can’t have you getting all the wrong ideas—I only came up here to pass on that message her friend left with you. That Sue somebody-or-other who’s been phoning all afternoon. Thought I’d save you the trouble, darling. But this little minx of yours was parading about in those skimpy things.’ He drew his brows down in an anxious frown. ‘I haven’t said anything before—didn’t want to upset you—but she’s been coming on to me for weeks now. And just now—well—she just threw herself at me, as you must have seen for yourself.’
All eyes on her, condemning her, Georgia could barely hold herself upright, let alone speak.
How could Harold say such disgusting things about her? She was shaking so badly, inside and out, that her denial when it came was barely audible.
‘I didn’t. No, I didn’t!’
She knew she hadn’t sounded convincing, and her mother was shouting at her, the words she said scrambled by her own panicking brain, making no sense. But she could tell by the look of loathing in Vivienne’s eyes that she didn’t believe her.
And why should she? Why should she believe the truth when it would mean that her marriage would never be the same again? Why sacrifice wealth, luxury and ease if by blinkering herself she didn’t have to?
And the look of deep and bitter contempt on Jason’s face said it all. He didn’t believe her, either. The offer of marriage had been made out of duty. He didn’t love her, never had and never could, and now he despised her. He had only let her into his bed because she’d been eager and offering herself.
Hadn’t Sue’s mother once asked, ‘Why are men ruled by their hormones?’ shaking her head over her twenty-year-old son’s latest folly. Guy had been chasing after a woman from the nearby village, twice his age, and rumoured to be no better than she should be.
Jason had been ruled by his hormones, his judgement clouded by alcohol, and now deeply—and probably bitterly—regretted it. If he thought anything of her at all he would be defending her now, at least asking to hear her side of the story.
But he didn’t say a word, and she just knew that this farce gave him the perfect get-out. If he believed Harold, he could free himself up to believe anything—believe that after her initiation she had thrown herself at every male she came across, greedy for sex, allow himself to believe that the child she was carrying wasn’t even his!
Blinded by a sudden deluge of tears, she stumbled from the room, her arms crossed tightly across her breasts in a vain and belated attempt to hide as much of herself and her stupid red underwear as she could from Jason’s bleak, contemptuous eyes.
He made no move to stop her, or to follow her, and the last tiny flicker of hope snuffed out and died. And as she scrabbled around in her bedroom, snatching up the jeans and sweater she’d discarded earlier, her shoes and handbag, she could hear the low, harsh sound of his voice, her mother’s shrill tirade, Harold’s low, placating mutters.
They would be discussing her gross behaviour, she decided hysterically, heading for the door. Deciding how to get her contaminating presence out of their lives.
She fled down the corridor until she could no longer hear their voices, pulled her clothes on, walked into her shoes and clattered down the stairs.
As she reversed the small car she had been given the use of out of the garage, with more speed than precision, she knew exactly where she would go. To Sue.
Mercifully, she’d been too busy wandering round the shops planning her future with Jason to even think about contacting her friend to tell her what had happened and that she’d changed her mind about going with them to New York after all.
Kate and Robin Ansley, Sue’s parents, wouldn’t turn their backs on her, she knew that. Though at the moment they were both in New York. Robin had been there for weeks, setting up the American branch of his London-based advertising agency, and now Kate had flown out for a couple of weeks to make the final decision about where the family should live.
They had always welcomed her into their close and loving family, and would do everything they could to support her through this; she knew that. And Sue would fight her corner to the bitter end.
CHAPTER THREE
GEORGIA came back to the present with a jolt. She felt numb all over, the rapid playback of the past stunning her brain. And the way Jason was looking at her now, with contempt and scarcely veiled hostility, told her that Harold had never owned up to the truth of what had happened that evening all those years ago.
Maybe he’d meant to, but had never raked up enough courage. Jason could be frighteningly forbidding when he wanted to be.
But she’d made her peace with her mother’s husband a long time ago. He’d flown out to New York to break the news of her mother’s death in a car accident the day after her funeral. She hadn’t wanted to see him, not after what he’d done, but his altered appearance had shocked her so much she had listened to what he’d had to say.
His wife’s death, and the manner of it, had made him take a long, hard look at himself, and he’d hated what he’d seen. He hadn’t been able to apologise enough for the lies he’d told on that traumatic evening, the damage he’d done to her, and ultimately to his wife.
It had been hard to forgive him, but, faced with someone as obviously tormented by guilt as he was, she’d had no option but to try. On his return to England he’d written often, and occasionally she had replied, and when she’d returned to the UK he’d travelled to Birmingham once a month to give her lunch.
She’d cancelled their last date, though. She’d been so busy with her presentation. Now she wished she’d made time. He’d always seemed so lonely, pathetically pleased to have her company. He’d never known about her pregnancy, and that had made things easier because not knowing, he couldn’t mention it.
Jason was tall, over six feet, and she had to tilt her chin up to look him in the face. There was nothing there to see but naked dislike. Did he ever wonder what had happened to their baby? Did he even care? Had Vivienne told him about the miscarriage, or had neither of them bothered to mention the subject?
He’d made no attempt to contact her in all these years. He’d washed his hands of her, and the child she’d been carrying.
She
