A Woman Of Passion. Anne Mather
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combed and stood out around her head. A tall woman, whose adolescent athleticism hadn’t continued into adulthood, Tricia had a constant battle to remain slim. It was a fact that she resented and which caused her some irritation. She regarded the little group around the table now without liking, and when Sophie would have slid off her chair and run to greet her mother she waved her back.
‘D’you have any aspirin, Maria?’ she asked, with a weary tilt of her head. ‘I’ve got the most God-awful headache. It must have been that seafood you served us last night. Are you sure it was fresh?’
It was hardly the way to gain Maria’s sympathy, and before the woman could make any comment, Helen pushed back her chair. ‘I’ve got some paracetamol,’ she offered. ‘It’s good for headaches.’ Particularly hangovers, she added silently, recalling how Tricia had drunk the best part of two bottles of wine the night before.
‘Oh, have you?’ Tricia turned to her with some relief. ‘D’you think you could bring them to my room? I think I’ll stay in bed this morning.’
‘But you said you’d take us into town this morning,’ Henry protested, not yet old enough to know when to keep his mouth shut, and his mother turned on him angrily.
‘What a selfish boy you are!’ she exclaimed. ‘Always thinking of yourself. Perhaps you’d like to spend the morning in bed as well. It might make you realise I’m not doing it for fun.’
‘Oh, Mummy—’
‘I don’t think Henry meant to upset you,’ put in Helen hurriedly, earning a grateful look from her young charge. ‘Why don’t you go back to bed, as you say, Tricia? I’ll get the paracetamol, and then bring your breakfast on a tray. I’m sure you could manage a croissant, and Maria’s brought some mango jelly and it’s delicious.’
‘Well…’ Tricia adopted a petulant air. ‘That does sound nice, Helen, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat anything. My head’s throbbing, and I’m sure I’m running a temperature. I may have to call the doctor if it doesn’t let up soon.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Helen could sympathise with her. Having a headache in a hot climate always seemed so much worse. The light was so bright, for one thing, and there seemed no escape from the heat.
Tricia sighed. ‘Perhaps if you brought me some coffee?’ she suggested. ‘And a little orange juice to wash the tablets down. Oh—and maybe a lightly boiled egg, hmm? And do you think you could find a slice of toast?’
‘Leave it to me.’
Helen ushered the other woman out of the room, before she could remember the threat she’d made to Henry. Then, when Tricia was safely installed in her bedroom, she returned to the kitchen to find Maria grinning broadly.
‘Just a lightly boiled egg,’ she declared wryly. ‘And some coffee and some orange juice and some toast…’ She paused to give Helen a wink. ‘Did I miss something?’
Helen wouldn’t let herself be drawn. All the same, it wasn’t the first time Tricia had spent the morning in bed. When they were in London, she had seldom seen her employer before lunchtime. If Tricia wasn’t attending some function or other, she rarely got up before noon.
When the tray was prepared, she collected the paracetamol from her room and delivered it in person. Tricia was lying back against the pillows, shading her eyes with a languid wrist, which she removed when Helen came into the room.
‘Oh, there you are,’ she said. ‘What have you been doing? I’ve been waiting ages.’
‘Just five minutes,’ Helen assured her, depositing the legs of the tray across her knees. ‘Now, if you want me, I’ll be on the beach. I’m going to take the children to search for shells.’
Tricia shuffled into a sitting position, and reached for the orange juice. ‘Well, don’t be long,’ she said, swallowing the tablets Helen had given her with a mouthful of the juice. ‘You’re going to have to go and pick Drew up from the airport. I can’t possibly do it. His plane is due in just after two.’
Helen stared at her. ‘But that’s this afternoon. You’ll probably be feeling perfectly all right by then.’
‘I won’t. I never feel all right until the evening,’ replied Tricia firmly. ‘And driving all that way in these conditions—well, it’s simply out of the question.’
Helen took a breath. ‘He’ll be expecting you to pick him up,’ she said carefully.
‘Then he’ll be disappointed, won’t he?’ Tricia regarded her testily. ‘My God, you’re almost as bad as Henry. Does no one care that I’ve got a migraine? I can’t help it if I’m not well.’
‘No.’ Helen moistened her lips. She’d already learned that there was no point in arguing with Tricia when she was in this mood. ‘Well—will you take care of Sophie and Henry, then? I don’t think Maria is willing—’
‘Can’t they go with you?’
Tricia stared at her impatiently, and Helen realised she wasn’t being given a choice. She couldn’t leavethe children to look after themselves. But it was almost an hour to the airport, and Sophie, particularly, didn’t travel well.
‘Can we leave it until nearer lunchtime?’ she suggested, hoping against hope that Tricia might have changed her mind by then. She’d have thought her employer would have been keen to see her husband again. It was several days since they’d come away.
‘I expect you to go and meet Drew,’ Tricia informed her inflexibly, and Helen couldn’t help thinking that there was no sign of the frail invalid they had encountered earlier. ‘Must I remind you that if it wasn’t for me you might not have a job? Let alone a well-paid one in enviable surroundings.’
‘No.’ Helen felt her colour deepen. ‘I mean—yes. Yes, I do appreciate it.’ She turned towards the door. ‘I’ll-tell the children.’
‘Good.’ Tricia attacked her egg with evident enthusiasm. ‘Just so long as we understand one another, Helen. I don’t like pulling rank here, but it really had to be said.’
MATTHEW AITKEN lounged behind the wheel of the dust-smeared Range Rover, waiting for his assistant, Lucas Cord, to emerge from the arrivals hall. He was getting impatient. The plane from New York had landed more than twenty minutes ago, and as Fleur had been booked into a first-class seat her luggage should have been cleared some time ago.
It was hot where he was sitting. There was little shade at this time of day and, despite the air-conditioning in the vehicle, which had been working fairly adequately on the journey to the airport, a prolonged period of waiting was causing the heat to rise. The annoying thing was that he wouldn’t have been here at all if his phone hadn’t been out of order. He’d discovered that when he’d tried to call New York that morning, and as he needed to speak to his publisher rather urgently he’d had no choice but to try elsewhere.
In consequence, it had made sense to continue on to the airport. Lucas had offered to make the call for him, but he’d wanted to speak to Marilyn himself. It was so much easier to deal with the matter personally. And the delay in the completion of the manuscript was his problem.
All the same, he disliked giving Fleur the impression that he had nothing better to do than come and meet her. It wasn’t as if he was even eager to have her here. But she was still his sister-in-law, even if his brother was no longer around. Chase’s death at the age of forty-two had been such a bitter blow.
Which, of course, was why the latest manuscript hadn’t been completed. Although it was eight weeks now since Chase’s fall, he was finding it hard to work. Dammit, he thought irritably, what had Chase been thinking of to attack his opponent so recklessly? It wasn’t