Her Christmas Fantasy. PENNY JORDAN
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been a teacher or a nurse, they would have found it more acceptable.
‘In fact they’d probably prefer it if you didn’t work at all,’ he had told Lisa carefully when they had been discussing the subject.
‘Not work? But that’s—’ Hastily she had bitten back the words she had been about to say, responding mildly instead, ‘Most women these days expect to have a career.’
‘My mother doesn’t approve of married women working, especially when they have children,’ Henry had told her stiffly.
Firmly suppressing her instinctive response that his mother was very obviously rather out of touch with modern life, Lisa had said placatingly instead, ‘A lot of women tend to put their career on hold or work part-time when their children are young.’
She had hesitated outside the shop for long enough, she decided now, pushing open the door and walking in.
The young girl who came forward to help her explained that she was actually standing in for the owner of the shop, who had been called away unexpectedly.
The clothes on offer were unexpectedly wearable, Lisa acknowledged, and not too over-the-top as she had half dreaded. One outfit in particular caught her eye—a trouser suit in fine cream wool crêpe which comprised trousers, waistcoat and jacket.
‘It’s an Armani,’ the salesgirl enthused as Lisa picked it off the rail. ‘A real bargain… I was tempted to buy it myself,’ she admitted, ‘but it’s only a size ten and I take a twelve. It’s this season’s stock—a real bargain.’
‘This season’s.’ A small frown puckered Lisa’s forehead. Who on earth these days could afford to buy a designer outfit and then get rid of it within a few months of buying it—especially something like this in such a classical design that it wasn’t going to date?
‘If you like it, we’ve got several other things in from the same per…the same source,’ the girl was telling her. ‘Would you like to see them?’
Lisa paused and then smiled her agreement. She was beginning to enjoy this rather more than she had expected. The feel of the cream crêpe beneath her fingertips was sensuously luxurious. She had always loved fabrics, their textures, differing weights.
An hour later, her normally immaculate long bob of silky blonde hair slightly tousled from all her trying on, she grimaced ruefully at the pile of clothes that she had put to one side as impossible to resist.
What woman, having bought such a luxuriously expensive and elegantly wearable wardrobe, could bear to part with it after so short a period of time?
If she had been given free rein to choose from new herself, she could not have chosen better, Lisa recognised as she sighingly acknowledged that the buttermilk-coloured silk, wool and cashmere coat she had just tried on was an absolute must.
She was, she admitted ten minutes later as she took a deep breath and signed her credit-card bill, buying these clothes not so much for Henry and his family as for herself.
‘You’ve got an absolute bargain,’ the salesgirl told her unnecessarily as she carefully wrapped Lisa’s purchases in tissue-paper and put them into several large, glossy carrier bags.
‘I think these are the nicest things we’ve had in in a long time. Personally I don’t think I could have brought myself to part with them… That coat…’ She gave a small sigh and then told Lisa half enviously, ‘They fitted you perfectly as well. I envy you being so tall and slim.’
‘So tall.’ Lisa winced slightly. She wasn’t excessively tall, being five feet nine, but she was aware that with Henry being a rather stocky five feet ten or so he preferred her not to wear high-heeled shoes, and he had on occasion made rather irritated comments to her about her height.
She was just on her way out of the shop when a car drew up outside, its owner double parking in flagrant disregard for the law.
He looked extremely irritable and ill-tempered, Lisa decided as she watched him stride towards the shop, and wondered idly who he was.
Not a prospective customer, even on behalf of a woman friend. No, he was quite definitely the type who, if he did buy clothes for a woman, would not need to exercise financial restraint by buying them second-hand.
Lisa was aware of his frown deepening as he glanced almost dismissively at her.
Well, she was equally unimpressed by him, she decided critically. Stunningly, almost overpoweringly male he might look, with that tall, broad-shouldered body and that hawkish, arrogant profile, but he was simply not her type.
She had no doubt that the more romantic of her friends would consider him ideal ‘swoon over’ material, with those frowning, overtly sexual, strongly drawn male features and his dominant masterful manner. But she merely thought him arrogantly over-confident. Look at the way he had dismissed her with the briefest of irritable glances, stalking past her. Even the silky gleam of his thick dark hair possessed a strong air of male sexuality.
He would be the kind of man who looked almost too hirsute with his clothes off, she decided unkindly, sternly suppressing the impish little demon of rebellion within her that immediately produced a very clear and highly erotic mental image of him thus unclad and, to her exasperation, not overly hirsute at all… In fact…
Stop it, she warned herself as she flagged down a cruising taxi and gave the driver the address of the friend who had recommended the shop to her.
She had promised her that she would call round and let her know how she had fared, but for some reason, once her purchases had been duly displayed and enviously approved, she discovered that Alison was more interested in hearing about the man she had passed in the street than discussing the likelihood of her forthcoming introduction to Henry’s parents going well.
‘He wasn’t my type at all,’ she declared firmly to Alison. ‘He was far too arrogant. I don’t imagine he would have the first idea of how to treat a modern woman—’
‘You mean that Henry does…?’ Alison asked drily, stopping Lisa in her tracks for a moment before she valiantly responded.
‘Of course he does.’
‘You just wait,’ Alison warned her. ‘The moment he gets that ring on your finger, he’s going to start nagging you to conform. He’ll want you to stop working, for a start. Look at the way he goes on about what a perfect mother his own mother was…how she devoted her life to his father and himself…’
‘I think it’s rather touching that he’s so devoted to her, so loyal and loving…’ Lisa defended.
‘Mmm… What’s he like in bed?’ Alison asked her curiously.
Even though Lisa was used to her friend’s forthrightness, she was a little taken aback by her question, caught too off guard to do anything other than answer honestly.
‘I…I don’t know… We…we haven’t… We don’t…’
‘You don’t know. Are you crazy? You’re planning to marry the man and you don’t know yet what he’s like in bed. How long have you two known one another?’
‘Almost eight months,’ Lisa replied slightly stiffly.
‘Mmm… Hardly the type to be overwhelmed by passion, then, is he, our Henry?’
‘Henry believes in old-fashioned courtship, that couples should get to know one another as…as people. He doesn’t…he doesn’t care for the modern approach to casual sex…’
‘Very laudable,’ Alison told her sardonically.
‘Look, the fact that we haven’t…that we don’t…that we haven’t been to bed together yet isn’t a problem for me,’ Lisa told her vehemently.
‘No? Then it should be,’ Alison returned forthrightly. ‘How on earth can you think of marrying a man when you don’t even know if the two of you are sexually compatible yet?’