A Pretend Engagement. Jessica Steele
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he wanted to know.
‘He stayed at a hotel I worked at one time.’ And she’d thought she hated liars!
Though of course Johnny had stayed at the hotel. But why wouldn’t he? Their parents had owned it. Leon Beaumont opened his mouth to ask another question she was sure she wouldn’t want to answer either, but she butted in first. It made a change.
‘Talking of staying, how long were you thinking of staying on here?’ she asked, and felt herself go a touch pink. She saw his glance on her delicate colouring, saw his glance go to what had once been described as a very kissable mouth, and she hated him when he ignored her question and made an observation instead.
‘You’re looking guilty about something?’ he questioned grimly. ‘What have you done?’
‘Nothing!’ she denied hotly. ‘Honestly, you’re the most, most…’ she got stuck for a word ‘…most I’ve ever met!’ Oddly then, his lips twitched, as though she amused him. Though his smile never made it. Abruptly she dragged her eyes from his well-shaped mouth. ‘It was a quite innocent question,’ she defended. ‘I like to know where I am. If I have some idea of how long you intend to be here, then I’ll have some idea of what to do with regard to the catering arrangements.’ She was starting to feel a fool. ‘Just how long are you staying?’ she demanded. As if she expected an answer! She didn’t get one.
‘I’m on holiday,’ was as much as he revealed. And that annoyed her.
‘It’s November! Why can’t you holiday abroad like everybody else?’ she snapped, exasperated.
‘I’ve done the “abroad” bit,’ he answered, and while she was wondering what the penalty was for fratricide—she felt like murdering her brother—Beaumont went silkily on, ‘You’ve got something against my holidaying here?’
Who am I to complain? I’m only the skivvy! This was helping Johnny keep his job? ‘No, of course not,’ she swallowed her ire. ‘I feel very lucky that Johnny…’ Bother, she should have said John. Too late now. ‘Er—Johnny Metcalfe thought of me when he wanted emergency cover. It’s just that I should hate to let him down should a job offer come before your—um—holiday is over. Naturally I’d honour my contract with John Metcalfe first. He was insistent that I didn’t let you down…’ Oh, grief, was she laying on John Metcalfe’s efficient reliability too thickly? ‘There’s more bacon there if you’d like…’
‘You sound as if you’re fond of him, as if you’d do anything for him?’
Varnie had had quite enough of Beaumont’s observations. ‘Well, I’ve always found him to be a man of the highest integrity.’ She found she was spreading more on—grief, she was sounding like a talking reference.
‘You’re in love with him?’ Blunt, to the point.
‘No, I’m not!’ she denied, realising that perhaps she had been singing Johnny’s praises a little too highly. She tried for the middle ground. ‘He’s a very nice person, that’s all, and I’m very fond of him.’
‘But not in love with him?’
Varnie gave him an exasperated look. ‘I said not!’ she exploded. And, before she could stop herself, ‘And, contrary to your opinion that I might fancy you—I’m off men, quite severely, right now.’ And, with barely veiled innuendo, ‘In particular men to whom the state of marriage means nothing!’ There, pick the bones out of that!
He did. But to her further annoyance chose not to see her remarks as a dig at him for his disgraceful goings-on—that woman—what was her name?—Antonia King—was still living with her husband, for goodness’ sake. ‘Some man refused to marry you?’ Beaumont leaned back in his chair to enquire coolly.
Varnie sent him a filthy look for his trouble. She didn’t mean her! She meant him! ‘It didn’t get that far,’ she erupted. ‘I found out he was married!’ She looked away in disgust. Had she really openly just told Leon Beaumont that? For goodness’ sake! Okay, she accepted that to be a successful businessman probably meant having an investigative mind, an enquiring mind, a mind that determined to find out that which he did not know. But…
He proved it. ‘You dumped him?’
Honestly, this man! ‘Quicker than that!’ she snapped. And, having had quite sufficient of his company, thank you, she abruptly got to her feet. ‘If you’ve had enough to eat, I’ll wash these dishes,’ she said shortly.
He carried his own used dishes over to the sink, but wasn’t yet done with his questions, apparently. ‘This man, the one you had coffee with—is he the married one who…?’
‘I never said my friend was a man.’
Leon Beaumont looked loftily down at her. ‘You’re saying your friend was female?’
She felt a fool again. She did not like the feeling. ‘Do you give all your—your staff this—um—third degree?’ she questioned hostilely.
He smiled. He actually smiled. It did wonders for the mostly severe expression she was more used to. She wasn’t sure that her heartbeats did not give a little flip—utter nonsense, of course—but it did make her see, as Johnny had told her, why women fell for him like ninepins. Not her, of course. Heaven forbid.
‘Not all of them,’ he drawled. ‘But you’re so delightful to wind up.’
The pig! He was baiting her for his own amusement! While she admitted that there was not very much going on around here in the way of entertainment, she did not take kindly to the fact that he was amusing himself by getting her to rise—that she was the star turn! How she hid the fact that she would like to crack the plate in her hands over his head, she did not know.
‘Thanks a bunch!’ she told him huffily. ‘I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready.’
‘Your friend knows you’re here at Aldwyn House?’ he stayed to enquire, ignoring her hint that she hoped not to see him again before dinner.
‘I expect so,’ she answered carefully.
‘You didn’t say what you were doing here?’ Leon Beaumont’s tone had hardened, as he reminded her how much he wanted his whereabouts kept secret.
For about two seconds she played with the idea of saying that she had. Then thoughts of Johnny were there again. Perishing brothers! ‘No,’ she replied. ‘I didn’t think you’d like me to tell him.’
‘Are you having coffee with him again?’ he wanted to know, taking in his stride the information that her friend had been male, as he had thought.
She shook her head. ‘Russell is returning to his home in Caernarvon soon,’ she replied.
‘Good!’ Leon Beaumont grunted, and, taking up the newspaper from the top of one of the units, where she had put it, he went casually out from the kitchen.
Varnie did not mistake that that ‘Good!’ was anything other than good because it meant there was someone less for her to blab to about his whereabouts. The man did not care a jot how many men she had coffee with, that much was certain. His privacy was all that concerned him. She wouldn’t have it any other way.
CHAPTER THREE
SOMEHOW the weekend passed without Varnie putting rat poison in Leon Beaumont’s food. They were sparky with each other—she couldn’t always remember to be nice.
Well, who would? she thought mutinously on more than one occasion. He still did not seem totally convinced that she wasn’t there trying to make capital of the situation of them being under the same roof alone together. Huh!
She sat in front of her dressing table mirror on Monday morning and brushed her long blonde hair, then flipped it up into an elegant bun. She allowed her large sea-green eyes to study her dainty features and clear complexion, then took her eyes from the mirror