Sirocco. Anne Mather
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living room.
‘Rough day?’ she asked, automatically picking up the boots and putting them away. ‘You look tired. Did Roger ring?'
‘I gather from that he hasn't rung here,’ commented Rachel, bending to rub her aching instep. ‘No, he didn't ring. I suppose if he doesn't turn up, I'll have to ring him. Steve and Laura are expecting us this evening.'
‘He'll turn up,’ said Jane carelessly. ‘Particularly as Steve and Laura are his friends, not yours. He won't want them to think there's anything wrong.'
‘You could be right,’ Rachel grimaced. ‘Er—there haven't been any other calls for me, have there?'
‘Who? Your father?’ Jane shook her head. ‘No.'
‘I wasn't thinking of my father, actually,’ said Rachel, deciding to confess. ‘I—er—I had a visitor at the office today. A man I met late last night. I just wondered how he'd found out where I worked.'
‘A man? What man?’ Jane was, intrigued. ‘Someone you met at Roger's party? Hey, that's not why he's mad at you, is it? Because you went off with someone else?'
‘No.’ Rachel sighed. ‘It was after I left the party I met him.’ Briefly, she explained what had happened, omitting to mention her own disturbing reactions to Alexis Roche. ‘He—he turned up at lunchtime. I thought perhaps he might have rung here first.'
‘Not that I know of.’ Jane pulled a wry face. ‘So who is he? What's he like? You say he's French?'
‘I said he spoke French at first,’ said Rachel, not wanting to go into details. She had thought quite enough about Alexis Roche as it was. ‘I don't know anything about him.'
‘But why did he go to the office?'
Rachel bent her head. ‘To ask me to have lunch with him.'
‘He did?’ Jane whistled. ‘And did you?'
‘Of course not.’ Rachel looked up at her friend half indignantly. ‘How can you ask?'
Jane shrugged. ‘Well, he's obviously made an effort to find out all about you.’ She paused. ‘Is he good-looking?'
‘I really couldn't say.’ Rachel got to her feet abruptly and deposited her empty cup and saucer on the nearest table. ‘I'm going to have a bath. If Roger rings, let me know, will you?'
Jane's eyes twinkled. ‘All right. And what if anyone else rings?'
‘I'm out,’ said Rachel brusquely, walking towards the door. ‘And stop looking like that! It wasn't at all funny, believe me. Sophie Tennant was in the office when he turned up, and you know what she's like! It'll be all round the office tomorrow.'
Jane's expression softened. ‘So what? You've done nothing wrong, have you? Oh, go and get your bath. I don't want to have to entertain Roger because you're not ready.'
Soaking in the bath, Rachel managed to get things into perspective. She was overreacting, she knew it. It was perfectly reasonable that Alexis Roche should come to thank her for what she had done, even if he had been less than grateful the night before. No doubt he had regretted his behaviour and wanted to make amends. And as for asking her out to lunch—well, men had asked her out to lunch before without arousing such a strong sense of indignation. It was her awareness of his physical attraction that had made her behave as she had, and he could not be held responsible for that.
Nevertheless, there remained the niggling worry as to how he had found her. As she dried herself and dressed, in the cream shirt and slacks she had laid out before her bath, she could not explain that particular puzzle, however the sound of the doorbell dispelled all other considerations. Holding her breath, she waited for Jane to answer the door, and presently she heard the familiar sound of Roger's voice in the living room. Only then did she relax, putting a final touch of eyeshadow at the corners of her eyes before putting down her brush and going out to meet him.
Her first, infuriating impression was of how pale Roger looked compared to Alexis Roche, but hard on the heels of this came the more apposite realisation that he was nervous. He was a little above medium height and stockily built, and it was unusual to see him in anything but a confident position, however right now he looked distinctly uneasy.
‘Hello, Ray,’ he said, running uncertain fingers through the dark strands of his hair, and although she normally disliked his diminutive use of her name, Rachel was too relieved at his apparent diffidence to give it a second thought.
‘Hello, Roger,’ she responded, as Jane melted away into the kitchen, and shaking his head he moved towards her.
‘I'm sorry,’ he exclaimed, taking her shoulders and drawing her unresistingly towards him. ‘About last night, I mean. I was rotten, wasn't I? I've thought about it all day, wondering if you got home okay, wondering if you forgave me ...'
Suppressing the thought that if he had been so worried about her, why hadn't he rung, Rachel allowed him to cover her mouth with his. His kiss was warm, affectionate, a balm to her troubled emotions, and she responded to it eagerly. But although she linked her arms about his neck and parted her lips invitingly, Roger drew back after the briefest of caresses, murmuring: ‘Jane,’ with irritating insistence.
‘Jane's not in the room,’ protested Rachel impatiently, but although Roger assured himself of this fact, he did not pursue their embrace.
‘Laura and Steve are expecting us,’ he reminded her firmly, tightening the knot of his tie and adjusting the jacket of his suit. ‘We can talk later. Are you ready?'
Rachel shrugged and went to collect a warm tweed jacket to wear over her shirt and slacks. If only Roger wasn't so conscious of what other people might think, she thought irritably, checking the silky swirl of curls about her shoulders. Still, at least they were not at odds with one another. She ought to be grateful for that.
The evening spent with the Curtises should have been pleasant enough, but Rachel found she wasn't enjoying herself. Perhaps if she and Roger had been alone it would have been better, she thought. As it was, she was conscious of what had been said the night before, and conscious also of the fact that although Roger had apologised for his behaviour, he had not said anything about retracting his words. There was still the prospect of who was to arrange the wedding to resolve, and she wished she had put her pride aside and rung him this morning before he left for Sunningdale.
Driving back to the flat later, she determined to have it out with him, and taking a deep breath, she said: ‘We've been avoiding the subject all evening, but we have to talk about the wedding, Roger.'
‘I know.’ He took his eyes off the road for a moment to glance her way. ‘I suppose that's why you've been so quiet, isn't it? I just wish you wouldn't involve other people in our affairs.'
Rachel blinked. ‘Involve other people?’ she echoed faintly. ‘I don't understand.'
‘I think you do.’ Roger was precise. ‘Last evening you walked out of the apartment, without even wishing our guests goodbye, and tonight you've done your best to make Steve and Laura feel uncomfortable.'
Rachel gasped. ‘How?'
‘Well, you've hardly opened your mouth all evening.'
‘You and Steve were talking. I was listening.'
‘You could have talked to Laura. Steve and I were talking about work. It can't have been of much interest to you.'
‘On the contrary,’ Rachel was indignant, ‘I was interested. After all, when we're married I'll expect you to discuss your work with me. Just as you do with your mother.'
‘My mother is my business partner,’ exclaimed Roger impatiently. ‘That's hardly the same thing.'
‘So you would rather I talked about knitting and cooking with Laura?'
‘Of course. They are the things women usually talk about, aren't they?'
‘No.’ Rachel dug her nails into