Images Of Love. Anne Mather
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Running distraught hands through the silky weight of her hair, she caught a glimpse of herself in the long mirrors attached to the vanity unit, and on impulse she turned to face herself fully. In nothing but flimsy bikini briefs she studied her reflection critically, wondering whether, had Robert not suffered the amnesia, he would see any great change in her. She was older, of course, three years older, with the memory of her experiences adding a touch of mystery to eyes he had always found fascinating. Green eyes, they were, with long curling lashes, her best feature, she had maintained, in spite of Robert’s assertion that she had more desirable attributes. Certainly her figure was good, with full, rounded breasts, and a narrow waist above the swell of her hips. Her legs were long, slim, without being angular, and she had lived long enough to know that she had that indefinable something that men found attractive. Did Robert find her attractive now? she wondered, despising herself for the traitorous thought, but unable to prevent it. If she had met him as she had done before, without ties or complications, would he still have found her desirable? It was a tantalising idea, but one which she recognised as being the most dangerous notion she had had since first she learned of Mark’s identity.
In the event, she decided to wear the yellow bikini, teaming it with a wrap-around cotton skirt patterned in shades of brown and white. It left her legs and shoulders bare, but it was at least as concealing as a sundress, and she could easily shed the skirt when she had to.
Finding her way back to the patio was not as difficult as she had at first imagined. There were plenty of windows along the winding passages to keep her in touch with her whereabouts, and she emerged on to the balcony above the hall with a feeling of achievement.
To her relief, Mark was just mounting the stairs as she went to go down, and she waited at the top for him to join her. ‘Do I look all right?’ she whispered protestingly, as he reached for her, but his murmur of approval was muffled against the satiny skin of her shoulder.
‘Go and talk to my brother,’ he said huskily, when at last he let her go. ‘I won’t begrudge him a few minutes of your company. But remember, I saw you first, hmm?’
Tobie’s tongue circled her lips. ‘I—I’ll wait for you,’ she demurred, reluctant to leave the safety of his presence, but he urged her forward.
‘I shan’t be long,’ he promised, bestowing a last kiss on her parted lips. ‘And knowing you’re with Rob, I’ll make sure I don’t waste time.’
Tobie’s smile was uncertain, but she had no reason not to do as he asked, and besides, why should she feel so anxious? Robert had not recognised her. So far as he was concerned, she was his brother’s girl-friend, and nothing else. If all went well, she could leave here without even ruffling the surface of her relationship with Mark, and surely that was what she wanted.
Taking a deep breath, she descended the stairs, and walked briskly across the hall and out through the garden room. The gurgling fountain that kept the plants watered had a cooling sound, and she tried to emulate its unhurried progress.
Outside, the sun seemed more brilliant, and she wished she had thought to bring her dark glasses with her. Their shade would have provided anonymity as well as protection against the glare, but aware that Robert had observed her appearance, she could hardly turn and march back into the house again. Instead, she compelled herself to put one sandalled foot in front of the other, crossing the tiles to where his chair was situated with what she hoped appeared to be calm composure.
He was alone. No doubt Mrs Newman was attending to her duties as housekeeper and supervising the arrangements for lunch, but Robert remained much where they had left him, staring thoughtfully out across the sparkling green waters of the pool. There was a moment, before he turned to greet her, when Tobie could watch him unobserved, and her heart lurched at the remembrance of what they had once shared. It was almost impossible, seeing him sitting there so casually, so relaxed, to imagine he was incapable of getting up out of his chair, and she hardly understood the emotions that gripped her at that awareness. There was pity, of course, and sympathy, too, despite Mark’s assertion to her that Robert would welcome neither, but it wasn’t only compassion that brought such an unwilling sense of awareness. They had been too close to dismiss their relationship lightly. They had loved, they had been lovers. And for the first time, she could think of the past without so much bitterness.
‘Tobie!’ He had observed her approach and now hailed her with friendly enthusiasm. ‘Come and join me. Mark’s gone to get changed, but I don’t suppose he’ll be long.’
‘No—no. I—I saw him.’ Tobie automatically quickened her step and came to stand beside him. ‘I—er—isn’t this a marvellous view?’ She gestured towards the harbour and the wide expanse of ocean beyond. ‘I should think you never get tired of looking at it.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ he remarked dryly, glancing up at her with wry humour. ‘When it’s the only view you see, it can become a little—monotonous.’
‘Oh, I —’ Tobie flushed. ‘I didn’t mean—that is—I didn’t intend to imply—’
‘I know.’ His smile was heartbreakingly familiar. ‘So—won’t you sit down? Or must I get a crick in my neck looking up at you?’
‘I’m sorry.’ Tobie bumped down jerkily on to the low lounger beside him. ‘I didn’t think.’ Her fingers closed over the rim of the cushion she was sitting on. ‘Er—it’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? It was raining when we left London.’
‘Was it?’ Now his eyes were slightly above hers. ‘Yes, that’s one thing you can be sure of here. We usually have beautiful days.’
She sensed the irony in his tones and realized she was not making a good job of this. He probably thought she was one of those useless females, without a thought in their heads outside of the latest fashions and make-up, and certainly she had not displayed any particular intelligence in their conversation so far.
‘Do—er—do you work indoors, Mr Lang?’ she ventured now, choosing the subject least likely to prove controversial, and he inclined his head.
‘In a manner of speaking,’ he agreed, half turning in his seat to indicate a path that led around the side of the building. ‘I have a studio that’s attached to the house, but only accessible from the outside, if you know what I mean. It’s along there, if you’re interested. And the name is Robert, Tobie. I can’t have my future sister-in-law calling me Mr Lang.’
Tobie’s colour deepened again. ‘Very well,’ she murmured awkwardly. ‘I—are you working at the moment?’
‘At this moment?’ he asked provokingly, the dark eyes full of amusement, and Tobie sighed.
‘You know what I mean,’ she exclaimed, speaking without thinking for the first time. ‘I mean, have you a commission at present? I don’t suppose there’s much scope for portrait painting here.’
‘You sound very knowledgeable,’ he remarked, his dark eyes narrowing. ‘Do you know much about painting, Tobie? And don’t tell me again that you know what you like.’
This was deeper water, and Tobie immediately sought for the shallows. ‘I—I used to work in an art gallery once,’ she said, and instantly regretted the admission. Mark didn’t even know that, and by confessing such a thing to Robert she was stepping dangerously near disaster.
‘An art gallery,’ he murmured now, his eyes watching her closely. ‘What art gallery? Where? In London?’
‘I—in Reading, actually,’ she lied, saying the name of the first town that came into her head. ‘It was just a small place. Not a proper art gallery really, a sort of—adjunct to the—to the public library.’
Robert frowned. ‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘But—but I gave that up a long time ago. I work for an insurance company now, in Holborn. Do you know Holborn, Mr Lang?’
‘Robert,’ he amended dryly, and then shrugged. ‘I used to know London