Rachel Lindsay - Forgotten Marriage Page 3

  "Good morning, Sharon." He stood and indicated the chair opposite him.

  "The toast and coffee are still hot, but if you'd like anything else, Beryl will get it for you."

  "I never eat a big breakfast," she said and stopped, flushing as she saw the fine crescents of his eyebrows lift. "Little bits of information come back like that," she explained.

  He nodded and resumed his seat but remained silent till Beryl had departed. "Thank you for going in to see mother last night. She appreciates small courtesies."

  "She deserves them. She's very kind."

  "Too kind. She's always helping some lame duck or another—usually females who take advantage of her."

  Sharon buttered some toast. "You don't like women, do you?"

  "I don't dislike them."

  "But you aren't married?''

  As he shook his head Sharon noticed he was looking beyond her to a slim figure on horseback barely visible through a clump of trees.

  "Helen's just arriving," he said, rising to his feet.

  "If you'll excuse me…" On the threshold he paused. "Have you made any plans for today?"

  "Your mother said something about us going to

  London. I need some clothes and…" She nibbled her lip, embarrassed and reluctant to talk money with him. Yet she would have to do so sooner or later, and the longer she put it off, the more difficult it would become. "I don't want to buy anything until I know what I can afford. I don't even know if I have a bank account!"

  "You have no cause for alarm." Adam's voice was cold. "You'll get compensation from the airline, but in any event you're my responsibility now."

  "I don't want to be!"

  "Really? You may be suffering from amnesia, but it would take more than a blow on the head to alter your character!"

  Before she could think of a suitable retort, he walked out.

  Sharon's appetite went with him and she flung down her napkin. How dared he talk to her as if she were a gold digger! But maybe she was. After all, she had apparently encouraged Rufus in his gambling and had instigated the begging letters he had written to his brother.

  "I don't believe it! " she cried.

  "Don't believe what?"

  Swinging around, she saw Simon Lennox behind her. "I… I was thinking aloud," she stammered. "I didn't know anyone was here."

  "I hope I'm not intruding?"

  She shook her head. "Did you want to see Adam?"

  "I'd rather see you." His smile was warm.

  "Actually, I did come to see Adam, but I spotted him riding off with Helen, so I thought I'd drop in and say hello. Mind if I sit down?" He did so without waiting for her assent. "There wouldn't be any coffee going, would there?"

  She nodded and poured him a cup, aware of his eyes on her as she did so.

  "You're not the way I imagined," he said.

  "How did you imagine me?"

  "More sophisticated. And I never thought you'd be half as lovely as you are."

  "Thank you." Her tone was so dry he looked at her reproachfully.

  "I mean it. I don't give idle compliments, Mrs. Peters. One of my assets—or failings, depending on which way you look at it—is that I always say what I think."

  "At the moment I'd regard that as an asset," she replied.

  "Good. Then I hope we can be friends?"

  He helped himself to sugar and she asked idly, "Who's Helen?"

  "Helen Ferrer. She's your nearest neighbour. She lives at Tower Lodge and she and Adam have known each other since they were children."

  "They must have a lot in common."

  "Horses, chiefly. By the way, do you ride?"

  "I've no idea." She smiled at his look of astonishment. "I've lost my memory, Mr. Lennox."

  "Of course, I was forgetting. It must be damned awkward for you!"

  "It is. Still, I'm gradually learning about myself: I like spinach, I don't like carrots, and I'm almost sure I don't smoke."

  He laughed. "We must put your riding capabilities to the test some time." Pushing back his chair, he gave a brief salute, walked over the balustrade and set off down the garden.

  Sharon watched him go with regret, contrasting his cordial manner with Adam's sombre one. Apart from which, his obvious admiration was a much-needed boost to her self-confidence.

  "Excuse me, Mrs. Rufus," Beryl spoke from behind. "Madam wondered if you would go up and see her when you've finished breakfast."

  "I'll go right away."

  Mrs. Peters was dressed and sitting by her desk when Sharon entered her warm, flower-filled room.

  "Good morning, my dear. I hope you're looking forward to our outing?"

  "I will be if I know I can repay what you spend on me when the airline pays me compensation.''

  "What a foolish thing to be worrying about! You're the girl Rufus married and it's my duty—my pleasure—to take care of you."

  "It's kind of you to say that but-"

  "No, no, I don't want to talk about it any more."

  Mrs. Peters's heightened colour dissuaded Sharon from further argument, and watching her mother-in- law's face as they sat in Paul Duval's salon later that morning, she knew that any discussion about money would have to take place with Adam.

  "We must have at least half a dozen outfits to take with us," Mrs. Peters informed the couturier. "The poor child has absolutely nothing to wear."

  "Then I suggest you choose some clothes from our boutique. The couture ones require two or three fittings for every garment."

  "The boutique sounds much more my line," Sharon said at once.

  "But the clothes I've earmarked from the collection are so lovely," Mrs. Peters protested.

  "I'm sure the boutique ones are just as lovely."

  Determinedly Sharon headed for the ground floor, where she was joined by her mother-in-law who, seeing the rows of delectable garments, all with Monsieur Duval's individual stamp of creativity, promptly ordered three times as many as before, so that the money spent equalled the original amount.

  "Monsieur Duval must regard you as one of his best clients," Sharon remarked as they finally drove away. She had happily discarded the dress she had set out in and was now wearing a Duval two-piece in sheer wool.

  "I enjoy spending money," Mrs. Peters rejoined. "My father was a Yorkshire textile magnate and you know the Yorkshire saying, don't you?"

  "I'm afraid not."

  "Money is like manure—it does best when it's spread around!"

  Sharon laughed. "Is looking after lame ducks part of your spreading it around? "

  "I can see Adam's been talking to you. He's always trying to show me that the people I help are only out to use me."

  "Aren't they?"

  "Some are. But it doesn't bother me."

  The woman peered through the window and

  Sharon saw they had stopped outside a hairdressing salon.

  "If you feel up to it," Mrs. Peters suggested, "I'd like Gerald to do your hair. Now he's a lame duck who actually turned into a swan!"

  Full of curiosity Sharon entered the crowded salon. A wavy-haired young man rushed forward to greet Mrs. Peters as though she were his mother. Fairy godmother, Sharon decided, learning from the conversation that her mother-in-law had given him the money to open his own establishment.

  "I want you to work your magic on my daughter- in-law," Mrs.Peters informed him. "I hope you can fit her in?"

  "For you I can do anything," Gerald said grandiloquently and gave Sharon's hair a piercing appraisal. "It's frightfully out of condition, you know. Another week and it would start falling out!"

  "Then I've just got here in time," she said, straight- faced, and followed him to a cubicle.

  Late-afternoon traffic was clogging the West End when the chauffeur-driven Bentley headed for the West Country. Sharon felt like a doll that had been made over, in her new clothes and with her hair cut slightly and gleaming like platinum as it lay smooth over her head to show off her well-shaped crown and the nape of her delicate ne
ck.

  "I thought you were lovely the moment I saw you," Mrs. Peters commented, "but I'd no idea you were quite so beautiful."

  "Fine feathers make fine birds,"Sharon smiled.

  "It's more than feathers, my dear. You've a natural radiance. I can see why Rufus adored you."

  Mention of Rufus dimmed Sharon's pleasure in the moment and she huddled back in her seat, twisting her wedding ring round and round her finger. She could imagine Adam's scathing look when he saw her in her newly acquired finery and wished she could turn tail and run. But run where? And to whom?

  It was six-thirty when they arrived home and Mrs. Peters announced she was going to rest before dinner.

  "Why not have dinner in your room?" Sharon suggested. "I'll join you there, if you like. It's been a long day for you."

  "I want you to dine with Adam. I can't wait for him to see you. Put on the blue dress. It's the one I like best."

  "A lovely creation to be worn by a lovely creation." Sharon could not contain an upsurge of frustration. "Without my memory and with these new clothes and hairstyle I feel as if I've been manufactured!"

  "My poor child." Mrs. Peters clasped her close. "Perhaps it won't be so miserable for you if you try to think you've been manufactured for me. For years I waited for my sons to marry and give me daughters, and when Rufus did—but remained in Africa—I was heart-broken. But now you're here and…" The soft voice died away and the woman moved to the stairs.

  "Mrs. Peters!" Sharon ran after her and caught her hand as it rested on the banister. "Thank you for saying that. You've made me feel as if I belong somewhere."

  CHAPTER THREE

  Sharon walked down the stairs, self-conscious in the deceptively simple dress of sapphire blue velvet that skimmed her body like the tender hands of a lover.

  Instinctively she knew she had never before worn a dress as expensive as this, nor used as much makeup as that supplied by the beautician who had been another of Mrs. Peters's finds. Brown mascara accentuated her long, curling lashes and a glowing foundation hid the pallor caused by her accident.

  At least makeup gave one a mask to don, she decided, as she took a deep breath, pushed open the drawing-room door and walked in.

  Two figures standing close together in front of the fireplace drew swiftly apart. Sharon stopped short and Adam's pale grey eyes narrowed at the sight of her. But he said nothing and turned to the woman at his side.

  "Helen, I'd like you to meet my sister-in-law.

  Sharon, this is Helen Ferrer; a good friend and close neighbour."

  Sharon held out her hand and felt it taken in a firm, almost masculine grasp. Helen Ferrer was in her late twenties, almost as tall as Adam, her hair the same blue-black. She had small, symmetrical features redeemed from coldness by a wide, slightly artificial smile that showed neat, foxish teeth.

  "So we meet at last." Her voice, like her appearance, was as cool as a mountain stream. "I can see why Adam was surprised."

  "I seem to surprise a great many people," Sharon remarked as she sank down on a pouffe in front of the fire. "It's difficult trying to be someone I don't remember."

  "I wouldn't worry about it. You'll probably do just as well if not better, without recollecting the past. I wish / could forget the past few years."

  "It would help if you'd look to the future," Adam said gently.

  "I'm already doing that… with your help."

  Helen's expression was so intimate that Sharon looked away. Then she heard Adam move to the sideboard.

  "What will you have to drink, Sharon?"

  "I don't drink spirits."

  "Since when? Rufus said you were a great gin drinker."

  "Am I?" She was surprised; "A great gin drinker" seemed an uninspiring thing to be." I don't know why I refused. The words just popped out."

  "Then you'll have one?"

  She nodded and accepted a narrow tumbler from him. Cautiously she sipped, shuddered and held out the glass. "Not for me, thanks. It's awful."

  Adam took the glass. "Maybe the plane crash affected your taste buds."

  "It must have." She moved closer to the fire. "It's very cold here."

  Helen laughed. "We're supposed to be having a warm spring. What will you say in the winter?"

  "Sharon won't be here in the winter," Adam intervened. "She's only staying a month."

  Sharon fixed him with a cold stare. "Am I?"

  "That's what we agreed before you came."

  "Agreed what?" a thin voice enquired, and they all turned to see Mrs. Peters by the door.

  "Sharon came over only for a month," Adam said steadily.

  "I'm sure she'll stay longer if we make her feel welcome. A month is far too short to get properly acquainted."The old lady smiled at Helen. "What do you think of my daughter-in-law?"

  "That's a leading question to ask in front of me," Sharon interposed.

  "She hasn't been here long enough, either," Helen Ferrer said waspishly. "One can't form a judgment in a few hours."

  "I can." Mrs. Peters settled on the couch and regarded her daughter-in-law. "I feel as though I've known you for years. I wish Rufus could see how beautiful you are tonight."

  There was an uncomfortable silence, broken at last by Helen speaking to Adam.

  "I saw Simon coming out of the Bull this afternoon.

  He seems to spend most of his spare time there. I don't know why you keep him."

  "Because he's efficient," Adam replied shortly. "What he does in his own time is not my concern.''

  "Maybe not. But you should warn Sharon he has an eye for the ladies."

  "I've already met him," Sharon said, "and I found him charming."

  "He meant you to! Charm is his stock in trade."

  "He's coming over for coffee this evening," Adam interrupted, "so I suggest we drop the subject." He put out his arm to his mother. "Let's go in to dinner. I'm not going to let you take advantage of Sharon's presence by staying up late."

  "What a bully you are!" his mother pouted.

  "But you love it!"

  His smile was the warmest Sharon had seen him display as he bent to help his mother to her feet.

  Conversation at dinner centred on people Sharon didn't know. Mrs. Peters tried to steer it toward general topics, but Helen kept returning to the more intimate, "Do you remember?" Looking at the dark- haired girl, Sharon wondered what had prompted her remarks about the bailiff. Even if what she had said was true, it would have been less malicious to have kept quiet.

  When dinner was over, they retired to the drawing room. Sharon once more took her place by the fire and watched with mingled amusement and antipathy as Helen poured the coffee. She invested the simple task with a majesty that increased Sharon's dislike of her. It was obvious the woman saw herself as the future mistress of Green Spinney and, looking at Adam's dark countenance, wondered if the woman was already his.

  "Your coffee, Sharon." She saw him approaching her, a cup in his hand. His eyes rested momentarily on the curve of her breasts and she hastily straightened.

  "The firelight is turning your hair to pure silver," Mrs. Peters said suddenly. "It's easy to see what you'll look like when you're an old lady."

  "What a depressing thought," Helen commented. "As a brunette I'm dreading going through the pepper-and-salt stage. Is your hair natural, Sharon?"

  "I don't know."

  "Don't be silly!" Mrs. Peters expostulated. "Gerald said he'd never seen such a glorious natural colour."

  Adam's hand jerked and his coffee cup fell to the floor and shattered.

  "Damn!" He bent to pick up the pieces and dab the liquid with his handkerchief. "I hope I haven't stained your dress, Sharon?"

  "I don't think so."

  "How clumsy of you, Adam!" Mrs. Peters said.

  "I know."

  He kept his face averted as he went on dabbing at the carpet.

  At that moment Simon Lennox came in. He greeted Mrs. Peters and Helen, then turned to Sharon and did an undisguised doubleta
ke. "Good Lord! I hardly recognised you."

  "How unflattering. Was I a monster before or after?"

  "Neither. This morning you were great and this evening you're greater!" Accepting a cup of coffee from Adam, he took a chair between Sharon and her mother-in-law. "Have you thought any more about riding with me? There's nothing better for keeping you fit."

  "I'm still not sure I can ride. I don't remember."

  "I shouldn't think it likely," Helen said.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "You don't seem the type."

  Sharon bit back an angry retort, convinced Helen was deliberately being rude.

  "We can soon find out," Simon interposed cheerfully. "I have to ride over to the Rockforth farm tomorrow and Mrs. Rufus can come with me."

  Sharon glanced at Adam but he was pouring himself another cup of coffee.

  "Thank you," she said slowly. "I'd like that." She stood up. "I think I'll take a stroll in the garden. Being with a lot of people makes me feel a bit on edge.''

  "Would you like Adam to go with you?" Mrs. Peters asked.

  "I'll be fine on my own."

  Picking up a coat from the hall, she slung it around her shoulders and walked down the drive. A cool wind blew through her hair and she heaved a sigh of relief. It was good to be alone. The evening had exhausted her and the conversation, with its undercurrent of latent hostility—at least on the part of Adam and Helen—had filled her with futile anger. If only she could remember! Although convinced she was not like the woman Adam believed her to be, she was powerless to disprove his accusations until her memory returned.

  Deep in thought she didn't realise she wasn't alone until she turned and saw Simon.

  "I'm just leaving," he said. "You'd better go in. Mrs Peters is worried about you."

  "I'll go right away."

  "Don't forget our date tomorrow."

  "I won't." She stopped short. "Oh dear, I won't be able to make it after all. I haven't any riding kit. Not even a pair of slacks."

  He looked at her in dismay, then slapped his thigh. "I've a pair of my sister's jodhpurs at my place. She left them last time she came down. I'm sure they'll fit you. I'll bring them over first thing in the morning."

  "Please don't go to all that trouble. We can ride some other time."