The word came automatically from Helen’s lips, and Morgan looked at her as he rolled down the sleeves of his cream silk shirt. ‘No,’ he said dispassionately. ‘It wouldn’t work. I can’t take Susan back there, even if she wanted to go, which I doubt. She and Andrea would have nothing in common. I doubt if she’d even get close to her. Andrea’s too—sensitive. Susan would scare her, and besides, she’s far too much of a liability. I have enough responsibilities as it is.’
‘I see.’
‘The pity of it is, I know that if I could get her to come to England, let her get to know my father, she’d be all right when—–’
He broke off abruptly at that point and strode through to the living room, and after a moment’s hesitation Helen followed him. He was standing before the fire, staring down into the flames, and she watched him for a few moments before saying awkwardly: ‘Are you cold? Shall I turn the fire up?’
He turned then and she saw the look of strain he had worn a few minutes before had been erased. In its place was the polite mask of detachment he had worn when she first met him, and she felt curiously disappointed. Not that she wanted him to confide in her, she told herself impatiently, but the silent protestation did not quite ring true.
‘I’m not cold,’ he said now, with a slight smile. ‘Are you ready to leave?’
‘To leave?’ Helen glanced behind her. ‘I—well, I had intended to do some housework this afternoon. To leave—to leave the flat ready for when we get back from—from Majorca.’
‘From your honeymoon,’ agreed Morgan dryly. ‘I see.’ He paused. ‘But how will you get back to town?’
‘I can catch a bus,’ declared Helen shortly, realising she sounded offhanded and despising herself for it. But she had hoped he would offer to wait for her, which in itself was a stupid thing to expect.
‘All right.’
Morgan reached for his coat from the back of the couch where he had thrown it before having lunch, and Helen stood by tensely while he pulled it on. Then, checking the knot of his tie, he walked towards the door.
‘Thanks for lunch,’ he said, and she forced a faint smile.
‘Thank you,’ she countered, wrapping her arms protectively about herself, and he made a dismissing movement of his shoulders.
‘Do I tell Barry I’ve been here or not?’
Helen shrugged. ‘Please yourself.’ She pressed her lips together for a moment to prevent them from trembling. ‘I don’t suppose it matters.’
Morgan stared at her for a long disturbing moment, and then with an exclamation, he wrenched open the door. ‘I’ll keep it to myself,’ he declared harshly, and the door slammed heavily behind him.
Helen’s hands went towards the panels after he had gone, fingers spreading against the dark wood as if to repel the feelings that swelled inside her. Then, withdrawing her hands again, she pressed them tightly together, forefingers resting against her parted lips. It took several minutes to get herself in control again, before she turned to face the room behind her with the tight ball of suppressed emotion in her throat almost choking her.
She was getting married on Saturday, she kept telling herself over and over again. This was to be her new home. In less than three days, she would be Mrs Carson, Mrs Barry Carson, and here she was, allowing herself to indulge in futile fantasies about his own stepbrother. A married man, moreover, who had never at any time given her reason to suppose that he found her attractive, too. All he had said was that he liked talking to her—talking to her, nothing else. But nothing could alter the fact that she was attracted to him, which seemed totally disloyal to the man who was to be her husband.
Yet as the immediacy of the situation passed, and practical issues reasserted themselves, she began to put things into perspective. What was happening to her was not so unusual, after all, she told herself reassuringly. It was natural that in these final few days before the wedding she should have second thoughts about giving up her freedom. It was probably quite common for girls to imagine themselves attracted to some other man, particularly if the other man was hard and tanned, and disturbingly alien to her way of life. Why, even Susan had said what an attractive man he was, and she was his sister. Even so, it took her a long time to summon any enthusiasm to do the dusting and vacuuming she had planned, and when she left the flat it was with a feeling of escape…
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