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The phone rang, and she knew before she picked it up that it would be Joss.
She was right; his clipped, slightly accented voice was abrasive on her ear.
‘I’m coming over at twelve, and I’ve arranged for Williams to be there at one. There’ll be certain legal arrangements to be made and I thought you’d want him there, seeing as he’s your solicitor …’
He was moving too fast. Bullying her … pushing her in a direction she wasn’t sure she wanted to go; but when she tried to protest he hung up on her. She could picture him without even trying. He would be standing in his study, an anonymous square room, which like the rest of his house looked more like an expensive hotel than a home.
He would probably be wearing one of those fine Savile Row wool suits in some dark, formal fabric. Joss liked good clothes and he wore them well, but nothing could totally disguise what her grandfather had described as his buccaneering quality; that arrogant maleness that no amount of city suiting could tame.
His dark hair would be lying flat to his skull, thick and clean, his mouth curled into that thin, taunting smile he gave her so often; nothing like the smile he gave other women.
She got up unsteadily and called to the dog, Heicker. She came to heel obediently. Joss had trained her.
Outside it was one of those crisp September days when frost and the scent of woodsmoke mingled in the air and the sky was a clear pale blue with the sun dappling yellow and bright through the turning leaves.
Deliberately Nell avoided walking past the greenhouses and the stables which had once housed her grandfather’s hunters. She herself liked to ride, but she did not enjoy hunting other than for its pageantry. She was too squeamish, too conscious of the purpose for which the hounds were bred, and as a teenager she had always drawn a sigh of relief when the day ended without the fox being caught.
Her grandfather had had no such qualms, of course. To him, fox were vermin and hunting a sport. Right up until his death, the local hunt had started their Boxing Day meet at Easterhay. The traditional stirrup cup prepared in the kitchen for the huntsmen came from a recipe supposedly brought back from France by a de Tressail who had been exiled there by Henry VII and whose French wife was supposed to have been connected to the powerful de Guise family, uncles of Mary Stuart through her French mother. Whatever its true origins, it went down well with the huntsmen. She wondered if Joss would want to continue the tradition. Did he hunt? she wondered. Certainly not from birth as her father and grandfather had done, but at some point or other in his life Joss had taken enough time away from making money to acquire a sophisticated degree of polish.
Despite Joss’s taunts, Nell was no snob. Although he didn’t seem to realise it, she admired Joss for what he had achieved, and her doubts about the wisdom of marrying him had nothing to do with the fact that he had been born in a Glaswegian slum and she in an expensive private nursing home.
Twelve o’clock, he had said … it was gone ten now. And then David arriving at one … He was determined to make her agree, then. Even to the extent of involving the family solicitor. Poor David, how little he understood the Josses of this world. Nell suspected that David was terrified of Joss, although he hid it beneath a stiffly formal manner more suited to a man of fifty-odd than one of twenty-six.
Like her, David had been brought up in an old-fashioned tradition, knowing almost from the cradle that he was destined to succeed his father as a country solicitor. There had been a time when she had wondered if she might fall in love with him. But that had been before she saw Joss.
For some reason she couldn’t entirely analyse herself, she chose to wait for him, not in her grandfather’s library, the room with which she was most familiar in the house, but in a small, north-facing sitting-room which three centuries before had been the preserve of the ladies of the family, and which was now never used, as testified to by the fine film of dust on the small French escritoire. She touched it idly, admiring the delicate marquetry work. This desk had been part of the dowry of the family’s second French bride, Louise, a shy, prim-looking child of fourteen who had died giving birth to her first child, and whose portrait hung next to that of her husband in the long gallery.
The air in the room was faintly musty. A distinct chill penetrated through Nell’s thin blouse, and when she saw Joss drive up she shivered violently, hugging her arms around her body.
He wasn’t in his Rolls, but driving the Aston Martin. Its rich plum paintwork went well with his dark colouring, she noted idly, as after swinging long legs from the car, he straightened up and closed the door.
Even the way he moved had a certain animal assurance; no hesitation or doubts there, Nell reflected wryly as he walked towards the main entrance looking neither to his left nor his right, his head not downbent as so many people’s were when they walked, but tilted at an arrogant angle.
Anyone not knowing him would think he was more at home here in this house than herself, Nell acknowledged.
Her grandfather’s staff were old-fashioned and set in their ways, and she knew that Johnson, who had been her grandfather’s batman and then his valet, and who was now supposed to be retired, but who had begged her to allow him to stay on at the house, rather than retire to the estate cottage her grandfather had left him, would insist on announcing Joss formally to her before allowing him admittance to the room.
Against one wall of the small room, painted to pick out the soft colours of the faded blue silk wallpaper, was a small table decorated with gilded flowers, and above it a matching mirror.
It gave Nell back her reflection with the cruel honesty of the room’s northern light. Not plain precisely, but certainly not lushly beautiful like the women she had seen photographed with Joss. Her features were neat and regular, surprisingly dark lashes surrounding the clear grey of her eyes, her skin, that delicate, translucent, very English skin that looked its best under softly rainwashed skies.
All her life, almost, she had worn her hair plaited, and the neatly twisted coils lying flat against her skull heightened the delicacy of her bone-structure, but Nell saw none of the rare delicacy of her features, seeing instead only that she was a pale, washed-out shadow of her stepsister’s dark beauty.
As a teenager she had experimented with make-up, trying to copy the effects she had seen in magazines, but on her the effects had been garish, and so now she rarely wore more than pale pink lipstick.
Liz had tried to persuade her into Harvey Nichols the Christmas before last when they had met in London for a shopping trip, telling her that modern make-ups with their subtle colours were far more suited to her delicate colouring than those which had been fashionable during their early teens, but, all too aware of the fact that Grania was coming home for Christmas, Nell had shrunk from inviting Joss’s mockery by doing anything that might be construed as an attempt to catch his attention.
The salon door opened and Joss walked in, making her step back from the mirror.
‘Where’s Johnson?’ she asked him huskily, flustered to see him standing there when she had anticipated a few more moments’ grace.
Something gleamed in Joss’s eyes, something predatory and intimidating, but when he spoke his voice was cool and distant.
‘Since I’m shortly to become a member of the family, I told him there was no need to stand on ceremony.’
Nell gripped the edge of the table.
‘You told Johnson that we’re going to be married?’
‘You object? Why? We are going to be married, aren’t we, Nell?’
She looked mutely at him and then said sadly, ‘Do I have any choice?’
‘No—and I haven’t said a word to Johnson,’ he told her calmly. ‘I’m not totally without awareness, Nell … some of the rough edges have been rubbed off, you know. I know you will want to tell the staff our good news yourself …’
There was an ironic look in his eyes as he said the words ‘our good news’ and, despite her firm determination not to do so, Nell felt herself flushing … although surely there was nothing for her to feel guilty about. Joss was the one who had proposed their marriage. Joss was the supplicator, no matter how hard she found it to visualise him in that role. When she gave him her answer … And then she realised that she already had. Her lips parted on an uncertain breath, and, as though he read her mind, Joss said mockingly, ‘Too late, you’ve already committed yourself, Nell. Besides——’
He broke off as there was a discreet tap on the door and the housekeeper came in carrying a tray of coffee.
‘Thank you, Mrs Booth.’ Joss reached out and took the tray, giving the older woman a far warmer smile than Nell had ever received from him, making a faint flush of colour rise up under her plump cheeks as she left.
‘I didn’t ask for any coffee,’ Nell told him once they were alone.
She had been astounded by the way he already seemed to have taken control … by the way the staff, her staff, were already responding to him.
‘No? Just as well I did, then. When Johnson told me you were waiting for me in here, I thought we’d need it. As I remembered it, this room gets as cold as charity … No doubt that was why it was chosen by the French martyr …’
He looked amused at the astonishment on her face.
‘Did you really think me totally ignorant of the family’s history, Nell? Your grandfather told it to me … I am right, aren’t I? This sitting-room was furnished by Louise de Roget, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Nell told him bleakly.
‘Poor, unhappy little French child. I believe she spent more time at her prayers than in her husband’s bed. Our marriage won’t be like that, Nell.’
She looked up at him, shocked by the note of steel certainty in his voice.
‘I know you want a son, Joss,’ she told him with dignity.
‘More than one,’ he told her frankly. ‘And not just sons … I want a family, Nell.’
‘And if I don’t?’ she returned with spirit, but he ignored her challenge, smiling that cruel smile, and taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger so that she was forced to look directly at him.
‘Ah, but you do,’ he told her softly. ‘You were made for motherhood, Nell, and if you’re thinking of Williams as the father of your children, then forget him.’
‘David? But …’
‘Your grandfather seemed to think you might be fancying yourself in love with him—forget him. Nell, he might be able to afford you, but he can’t afford this house.’
What he said was in essence true, but that didn’t make it any the less insulting, not just to herself but to David as well.
To cover up the tremor in her stomach, she said sharply, ‘That remark is chauvinistic in the extreme.’
But Joss only laughed. ‘Give in, Nell. Admit that marriage to me will solve all your problems. No more closed-off cold rooms … No more pinching and scraping … No more nights lying awake, worrying about how you’re going to cope …’
How little he knew … Now her sleepless nights would be spent worrying about about how she was going to cope with loving him, living with him and trying to hide how she felt.
‘There’s another thing,’ he said as he released her chin and she jerked her head away.
As far as he was concerned, it was settled—they were to be married; and yet he had made not the slightest attempt to touch her … to embrace her … to make her feel that he felt something for her other than a mere desire to use her.
‘You’re going to need to buy yourself some new clothes. I’ll organise a credit card for you so that the bills can be sent direct to me. Fiona, my secretary, will help you. You’ll probably need to arrange to spend a couple of days in London. I’ll get her to organise something.’
Nell was furious. She had heard the gossip in the village about the relationship which was supposed to exist between Joss and the elegant woman who worked for him, commuting each day from her home in Chester to Joss’s house. But, even more than his assumption that she was not capable of choosing her own clothes, she resented the contemptuous glance he had given the outfit she was wearing, no matter how much it might merit it. With that single look he had made it more than clear how very unattractive he found her.
‘Thank you,’ she told him arctically, ‘but I really don’t need any new clothes, Joss. I already possess a perfectly adequate wardrobe.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed drily, ‘and I’m sure it’s as antiquated as its contents. What’s the matter with you, Nell?’ he demanded, rounding on her. ‘What possible pleasure can it give you to dress like a retired schoolteacher? Tweed skirts … twin sets. Wake up, Nell; not even the Royal family dress like that these days.’
It struck her as she listened to him that he was probably ashamed of her; embarrassed about how she would look in comparison with the women he normally favoured; worried that the outside world might take one look at her and know immediately why he had married her; and that hurt.
‘I’m sorry if my present appearance doesn’t please you, Joss,’ she told him when she had control of herself. ‘What a pity you can’t simply wave a magic wand and transform me, without all this tiresome fuss.’
She saw that he was about to say something and hurried on bitterly, ‘Of course, one other alternative would be to simply allow me to fade into the background of your life. After all, I can imagine how awkward it will be for you … Joss Wycliffe having a plain, dull wife …’
‘Oh, no, you don’t, Nell,’ he interrupted her harshly. ‘I’m not having you sneaking off with Williams behind my back. I want a wife who is going to play her full role in my life, in public and in private.’
Nell looked at him, astonished that he could actually think she was romantically interested in David, but forbearing to say anything. Let him think what he liked, she decided rebelliously, still deeply resentful of his insults about her clothes, even if she knew at heart that they were justified.
‘No need to look so tragic. I thought you’d be more sensible than this Nell. Your grandfather was almost proud when he pointed out to me the rich brides brought into the family through arranged marriage. Even down to the mill-owner’s daughter whose father’s millions came into the family after Waterloo. Pity her son turned out to be such a gambler and lost the lot. If he hadn’t …’
She lifted pain-blinded eyes to his face, desperately seeking some softness there, some glimmer of compassion, but there was none. She meant nothing to him, other than a means to an end, and she never would; she would die before she allowed him to guess how much she loved him.
She saw him glance at his watch. ‘I have to leave immediately after we’ve seen Williams, and there are several things we still have to sort out. The staff … As far as I’m concerned you are free to make whatever arrangements you choose, but Audlem, my chauffeur, will come with me, and I’d like you to make sure that there’s always a spare bedroom ready for Fiona. As you know, I prefer to work from home when I can. I suspect that the only place we’re going to be able to install my computer equipment is in one of the cellars. I’ll get someone round to check on that … I want it in before we get married. How much time will you need? I thought a month. That will give Williams time to draw up the agreements …’
He saw her face and smiled mirthlessly. ‘We may as well do this properly, Nell. I’ll make you a monthly allowance, for yourself, and open another account for you to run the house from. You’re going to find yourself very busy over the next few months with interior designers and the like. I want this place completely refurbished.’
‘All of it?’ Nell demanded faintly.
‘All of it,’ he confirmed. ‘So, Nell, can you be ready in a month? We’ll have the wedding breakfast here, of course. I’l give you a list of the people I want inviting. Fiona will help you with the invites, etc.’
‘Joss … Surely a quiet wedding …’
‘As though we’ve something to hide? I think not.’
He broke off as David Williams drove up.
This time Johnson did announce the visitor, and David came in, looking slightly flustered and concerned.
‘Nell!’ he exclaimed, going towards her, and Nell suspected he would have kissed her if Joss hadn’t suddenly placed himself between them and said forcefully,
‘You can congratulate me, Williams. Nell has agreed to become my wife …’
For a moment David looked too shocked to speak, and when he did it was to Nell, not to Joss.
‘Is this true, Nell?’
‘Yes,’ she told him quietly.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Joss watching them narrowly and then tranferring his attention to his watch, a slim, gold masculine timepiece. Odd, in someone so devoted to modern technology, that he should choose a very traditional kind of watch; traditional and expensive, but discreetly so; not for Joss the status symbol of the ‘in’ designer watch, she reflected acidly.
‘We’ve a lot to discuss, Williams,’ Joss announced, coming between them. The shock of his hand resting proprietorially on her arm made Nell flinch in surprise and then wince as she felt his fingers bite warningly into her flesh before he released her. She was trembling, slightly horrified at how very vulnerable she was to him physically.
David looked dazed when Joss had finished telling him exactly what was happening.
Nell felt equally dazed as she heard him name what seemed like an impossible sum, adding carelessly that he was giving it to her as a marriage settlement.
‘And I take it that Nell will be free to take it with her, should the marriage ever come to an end,’ David said stiffly.
Instantly Nell saw the golden eyes flash dangerously.
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