Mistress for a Night. Diana Hamilton
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it was, how true and strong her love for him. He mustn’t think she’d made love with him on a whim.
Her chin jutting out, she defied him to say she was lying. He didn’t, just sounded drained and weary as he told her gently, ‘You’re eighteen years old, Georgia. And for this day and age incredibly innocent. If you feel anything for me at all it can’t be anything other than infatuation.’ He reached out a hand as if to touch her, then withdrew it, thrust it back in his pocket. ‘Believe me, my dear, you’re still too young to really understand your own feelings. And I’m not prepared to take any more advantage of your innocence than I already have. Try to forget it ever happened. You have the whole of your life ahead of you, and if it’s worth anything at all to you, I’ll be around for you if you ever need me. You know that.’
He left the room without another word, without a backward glance, and left Lytham an hour later.
The pain of his going was unspeakable.
She spent the next few weeks in a pit of misery, moping around the house, irritating her mother, making Harold give her knowing little winks and leers.
‘Don’t nag her, Vivvie. She’s pining for some boy; it’s obvious! Did he dump you, sweetheart? He’s a fool if he did—a curvy little handful like you!’
And still she couldn’t bring herself to get away. She’d told Sue and her parents that she’d decided to take up their offer, but hadn’t bothered to obey her friend’s telephoned command to, ‘Get your butt over to our place and we can make plans about what we’re going to do when we hit the Big Apple—provided Dad gives us any time off from our dogsbody jobs at the agency!’
For the first time ever, giggly girl-talk with the bubbly Sue held no appeal whatsoever.
She was waiting for Jason. Hoping he’d rethink his rejection, telling herself that he wasn’t trying to avoid her, that he might have had another disagreement with Harold. They’d never seemed close—just as she and her mother weren’t. Or maybe he was just too busy to come. Recently accepted as a junior partner in a prestigious firm of London solicitors which specialised in fraud in high places, he could be too focused on his work to find time to visit.
But in her heart she knew the excuses she made were futile. He didn’t come because he just didn’t want to have to see her again.
On the point of capitulating to Sue’s demands, telling her mother of her future plans and packing her bags, she made a discovery that shook her out of her torpor.
She was pregnant!
She panicked. She didn’t know what to do. Vivienne would show her no sympathy or understanding whatsoever, and would almost certainly urge her to have an abortion. And as for Harold, she couldn’t bear to encounter his knowing, hot eyes.
Jason was the only one she could turn to, because hadn’t he said he’d be there for her if she needed him? And hadn’t he helped to create this new life she was carrying inside her?
She phoned his London number late at night, when she was sure he’d be at his apartment. It took every ounce of courage she possessed. After she’d told him she held her breath, feeling her pulse-rate rise.
But all he said was, ‘I take it you’re sure?’
‘I wouldn’t be phoning—’
‘OK. Calm down. I’ll be with you first thing in the morning. We’ll make plans. And Georgia—don’t worry.’
As if she could help it!
She lay awake all night, wondering if his plans would include a discreet abortion, and knew that she would never, ever be pressured into ending the life of her unborn child. He or she would be a part of Jason she would have for ever. And she’d think about the practicalities of raising a child on her own when the dust had settled.
Jason arrived at Lytham at eight the next morning, well before Harold and Vivienne were up, declining Mrs Moody’s stiffly formal offer of breakfast. The housekeeper never spoke unless it was necessary, and Georgia had never seen her smile, but the look she shot between the two of them now spoke volumes.
So Jason took her arm and walked her out of the impressive house and into the garden, which was manicured to within an inch of its life.
‘We’ll marry just as soon as it can be arranged.’ Marriage to Jason was all she had ever yearned for. Her heart skittered around like a wild thing, then settled down to a heavy, solemn beat. She sat down abruptly on an over-ornate cast-iron bench seat, sweat breaking out on her short upper lip as she forced out, ‘You don’t have to.’
‘I know I don’t have to. No one’s holding a gun to my head.’
He was standing over her, his back to the morning sun, his face in shadow so she couldn’t read his expression. Yet she knew it would be as bleak and emotionless as his voice.
‘It’s the only option,’ he told her tonelessly. ‘A termination’s out of the question, so don’t even think about it. I’m the father, and I’m responsible for both you and the baby. My child will have the best possible start in life, and a stable background with both parents as permanent fixtures. And that means marriage.’
It was what she wanted, but would it work? He didn’t love her, and if she hadn’t been pregnant he would have avoided her where possible.
She twisted her fingers together in her lap and he told her, ‘I can’t stay, I’ve got a hell of a lot on at the moment, but during this coming week I’ll arrange the date and venue for the ceremony. After the wedding you can move in with me, and when I’m less pushed for time we’ll look for somewhere more suitable. A city apartment’s not the ideal environment for a child.’
As proposals went, this one rated rather less than one out of ten. She clamped her lips together to stop them quivering, and he said, his voice gentling, ‘It will be all right; I promise. We’ll make a good marriage.’ Briefly, he reached out to ruffle her boyishly cropped hair. ‘I have to go now, but I’ll be back a week today, early evening. We’ll break the news to the parents over dinner. Don’t say anything until then. If there’s any flak flying, I’ll take it.’
A good marriage. If he was willing to make it work then so was she. But to be the wife of a successful young solicitor she needed to change her image, and she spent most of the week hunting for suitable clothes, because how could he be proud of a wife who went around wearing fault-concealing baggy trousers and tops?
It was the afternoon, a week later, before she found the perfect dress for dinner that evening. She wanted to wear something that would make a statement, to appear older and more sophisticated in front of Harold and Vivienne, and to show Jason she was more than prepared to make an effort.
Hurrying into the house through the kitchen regions, clutching the classy carriers, she encountered Mrs Moody.
‘Mrs Harcourt’s been looking for you. You’ll find her in the conservatory.’
‘Thanks.’ No need to say more. Mrs Moody didn’t encourage chit-chat. For the first time ever Georgia didn’t feel intimidated by the severe mouth, the glacial, disapproving eyes. And as she sped up to her suite of rooms to get ready for Jason, for the announcement he would make over dinner tonight, her confidence soared. Vivienne could wait; she had more important things to do than listen to her endless complaints.
When her mother had married Harold Harcourt, after meeting him when she’d worked as his temporary personal secretary, Georgia had been over-awed, intimidated, even, by the opulence of this house and Harold’s staggering wealth. Unused to anything of the kind, she’d been out of her depth, afraid of putting a foot wrong.
But her mother had taken to her new lifestyle as if she’d been born to it, instead of having had to scratch a living to support herself and her unwanted child. She lapped up the luxury of having everything done for her, more designer clothes than she could wear, and a holiday home in the Caribbean.
Well, Vivienne was welcome to it! Georgia was about to embark