Beyond Compare. PENNY JORDAN
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so at home with Drew, so comfortable. When Howard put his arms round her her heart started thumping, and her pulses raced.
But when he kissed her all that excitement disappeared somehow.
She frowned unhappily, not wanting to dwell on such unpalatable truths. She and Howard had never been lovers, not because she hadn’t wanted him to make love to her, but because, for some reason or another, they never seemed to find the time or the place. Their dates were always short, snatched affairs sandwiched into their mutually busy lives; and on those rare occasions when they had had both the time and the opportunity to make love, Howard had always made some excuse to leave.
Of course, when she had lived at home it had been impossible for them to be lovers, her parents had very old-fashioned ideas; but she had fully expected that this would change once she was living in London.
Sadly, she leaned her head into the comforting warmth of Drew’s chest. Was that another advantage that Rosamund had over her? Did she have the power to excite and arouse Howard’s desire?
Whenever she had plucked up the courage to ask him about it, he had grown angry with her, and pointed out that they had known one another a long time, that she ought to be pleased that he respected and cared for her too much to see her merely as a partner for sex. Making love was something that would happen in its own good time, he added, and because she loved him she had accepted what he had said, although she had to acknowledge with painful honesty that five years was a long time to wait for a man to desire you.
‘Something wrong?’
They had reached the back door, and Drew shifted her weight slightly, nestling her against his chest as he opened it.
‘I was just thinking about Howard and Rosamund. Drew, can I ask you something?’
They were in the kitchen now, and Holly was amazed to see how much it had changed. Gone were the shabby cupboards and ancient gas stove she remembered Drew’s mother using, and in their place were new units in plain unstained or varnished wood, and a modern Aga in golden sunny yellow.
‘This is nice,’ she approved, giving the units a professional inspection. ‘Who made them for you?’
‘I did,’ Drew told her, surprising her, adding in a dry voice, ‘It’s something to do in the winter.’
‘You made these? But, Drew, they’re marvellous! Dragged and then varnished, and perhaps even stencilled-well, you wouldn’t get much change out of twenty thousand pounds for that kind of kitchen.’
‘Yes… I thought of getting someone to do something like that,’ Drew told her, surprising her even further, ‘but I just haven’t got round to it.’
Decorative paint finishes were one of Holly’s specialities, and she itched to get to work on the clean, untouched wood, but she remembered that she had wanted to ask him something.
He was still carrying her, even though they were now safely inside the kitchen, and she was glad because their intimacy gave her the courage to ask the question which had been burning an acid brand on her heart ever since Howard had told her he was engaged to Rosamund.
Turning her head even further into his chest, she asked in a muted voice, ‘When you and Rosamund made love, was it… was it like it is in the books? You know…’
Drew had gone very still. She shouldn’t have asked him, Holly acknowledged, cursing her rashness. She gave a little shiver of tension and lifted her head to apologise.
Close to, the bones of his face looked hard and masculine, the brown skin drawn firmly over them. His eyes behind the obscuring frame of his glasses were golden brown… like sherry, she realised with an odd start, puzzled that she had never noticed their distinctive colour before. But then, come to think of it, she had never been this close to him before. He was still holding her, and not even breathing heavily, as though her weight were the mere nothing he had claimed.
‘Why do you ask?’ he said quietly. ‘You’ve never struck me as the kind of girl who wants to pry into people’s personal lives, so it must be because you fear that Howard will make an unfavourable comparison between you and Rosamund. Is that it, Holly? Are you worried that Howard will compare your lovemaking to Rosamund’s, to your disadvantage?’
She hung her head. She had not expected his comprehension to be so acute.
‘Yes,’ she acknowledged in a small voice.
She felt his chest lift as he drew in a deep breath, and then expelled it in a faint sigh.
‘I wonder—am I to infer from that, that when you and Howard made love it was not “like it is in books”?’ he asked drily.
‘Well, not exactly.’ She ducked her head, not wanting him to look directly at her. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. It was… it was silly of me.’
‘But understandable,’ Drew commented, further astonishing her when he added obliquely, ‘To the best of my knowledge, the only books Neston has ever opened were text books! We men are at a disadvantage when it comes to pleasing women sexually,’ he told her calmly. ‘We can’t always be sure what does please you unless you tell us, and you can be remarkably reticent about doing just that.’
‘Oh, Drew, I keep forgetting that this is just as bad for you as it is for me. It must be awful for you, wondering if Rosamund…’
She broke off, confused and cross with herself for her thoughtlessness, but Drew didn’t seem to mind. Quite calmly he finished for her, ‘If Rosamund is comparing my lovemaking to Neston’s, do you mean?’
‘Well, I don’t suppose you’ll have had as much experience as Howard,’ she comforted. ‘I mean, living here… and always only going out with Rosamund.’
‘Neston has only ever gone out with you,’ he pointed out mildly. ‘So there shouldn’t be much difference.’
‘Well, no. But Howard has dated other girls. Oh, he’s always told me about them,’ she hastened to add. ‘And of course, when he was at university and I was still at school it was only natural that he should be tempted, and then when he was working abroad for a year… Besides, men do like to…’
‘Experiment,’ Drew suggested.
‘Er—yes.’
‘And yet it seems that you never enjoyed the benefit of these experiments, or have I misunderstood?’ he questioned with deceptive mildness.
He hadn’t, and she could only flush defensively and miserably, and say huskily, ‘Could you put me down, please? I must ring the garage.’
‘I’ll do that for you,’ he told her easily, carefully putting her on a convenient stool. ‘You just sit there.’
The telephone was obviously not in the kitchen. He came back within a few minutes, his face grave.
‘No luck, I’m afraid. The garage doesn’t have a spare, and they say that they doubt they will be able to get one before Monday at the earliest, and maybe not even then.’
‘Oh, no! Well I’ll just have to try somewhere else.’
‘At this time on a Friday? By the time they get out here it will be gone five.’
‘Well, I’ll have to find a twenty-four-hour service garage.’
‘Well, yes… but they mainly operate on motorways. Aren’t you in the AA or something?’
‘No,’ she told him miserably. It was something she had been meaning to do, but just not got round to. ‘Oh, what on earth am I going to do? I can manage to walk to the village from here, but to get to the party tomorrow night and then back to London on Monday…’
‘I’ve got a suggestion,’ Drew told her easily. ‘I can probably tow the car back here with the Land Rover. You could spend the weekend here, and I could give you a lift to and from the party tomorrow. Then on Monday morning I could drive