Mistress At A Price. Sara Craven
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does seem such a waste. And half my friends are grandmothers.’ There was an oddly wistful note in her mother’s voice.
Cat’s brows lifted. ‘In one of your recent interviews,’ she pointed out mildly, ‘you implied that I was still at school, and certainly below the age of consent. You can’t have it both ways.’
‘No.’ Vanessa paused, her smile almost wry. ‘I’m beginning to realise that.’
There was a sudden stir in the hotel foyer, and the guests began to surge towards the door of the Banqueting Suite. Cat found herself carried along with them.
Belinda was coming down the stairs, pretty in a pale blue dress and jacket, followed by a plainly sheepish Freddie. She paused theatrically, holding up her bouquet amid laughter and cheering, then tossed it high into the air. Cat realised it was coming straight for her and took a hasty side-step, clasping both hands behind her back for good measure.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a hand reach up and grab it by the streamers of its white silk bow. There was a moment of stunned silence, then the cheers began again with a sudden roar.
Looking round, Cat saw with real shock that it was Vanessa who was standing, smiling as she held the flowers clasped in front of her. Saw her mother turn to Gil, who’d materialised at her side, reaching up to pull him down triumphantly to her kiss.
And saw, too, her father, standing a few yards away, as if he’d been turned to stone. His face was like a mask, but it was the expression in his eyes that stunned her. There was a blaze of anger there, but there was pain too, stark and ocean-deep.
Cat took one horrified step towards him, then paused as Sharine got there first, sliding her arm through his as she pressed her body seductively against him. She murmured something that made him look down at her, his mouth relaxing into a smile.
Perhaps it had just been a trick of the light, Cat thought, turning abruptly away. But the moment was over, whatever it had meant.
She went back into the suite, deserted now but for one solitary figure sitting at a table, her fingers pulling at the spray of roses she was wearing, systematically destroying it petal by petal.
Cat said uncertainly, ‘Aunt Susan—they’re just leaving—Belinda and Freddie. Don’t you want to say goodbye?’
Her aunt shook her head. She said quietly, ‘I seem to have been saying that for a long time now.’ She paused. ‘Some things end—others begin. That’s the way it works—isn’t it?’
Cat knelt beside her impulsively. ‘Would you like me to come back with you tonight? Stay for a day or two?’
Susan Adamson stroked her cheek almost absently. ‘No, my dear, but thank you for offering. I have a lot of thinking to do, and I need to be alone for that.’ She paused, forcing a smile. ‘I may even go away myself for a while. I need a rest after all this—chaos.’ She gestured around her at the littered tables, but Cat knew she wasn’t merely referring to the wedding.
‘I’ll be in touch,’ she promised quietly.
With the departure of the bridal couple a sense of anti-climax had set in, and people were already beginning to drift away. As Cat went towards the stairs she glimpsed her uncle in a shadowy corner of the foyer, talking with soft urgency on his mobile phone.
No prizes for guessing who he was calling, she thought, remembering bitterly her aunt’s quiet, contained expression.
Even now people were stopping her. ‘So good to see you again, Catherine.’
‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t even try any more to match names to faces.
‘What a marvellous day it’s been. Gone without a hitch.’
‘Yes, fantastic.’
‘So lucky with the weather.’
‘Perfect.’
Were they all blind? she wondered incredulously as she finally won free and went upstairs to her room. Hadn’t they realised what was going on in front of them? Or were they too carried away by vintage champagne and their preconceptions of married bliss to care?
And what would they have done if she’d stood up and shouted the truth aloud?
Ignored me, probably, she decided with a wry twist of her mouth.
But everything that had happened simply confirmed and hardened her resolution to stay clear of entanglements—especially the emotional kind.
They’re not worth the suffering, she told herself.
Sighing, she unlocked the door of her room and went in. The deep sunlight of early evening was pouring through the window, bathing the pastel walls and the charming flower-sprigged fabrics in a mellow glow.
Cat found herself sending the wide, canopied bed a regretful glance as she discarded her wedding finery and put it into her case, after extracting clean underwear and a plain white skirt, to be teamed with a short-sleeved knitted top in dark blue silk. She’d been looking forward to spending the night here and waking to the sound of birdsong instead of London traffic.
She examined her sandals minutely before packing them, but apart from a tiny fleck of mud on the inside of the heel, which she removed with her thumbnail, they were as good as new. Apart, of course, from the memories they evoked. She wouldn’t rid herself of them quite so easily.
On the whole, rural peace offered rather too many opportunities for brooding, she decided, particularly over things that she could not change.
For an uncomfortable moment she found herself remembering the way her mother had spoken of grandchildren, and David’s immediate reaction when Vanessa had caught the wedding bouquet and smiled up into her lover’s face.
But they were actors, she reminded herself with sudden harshness. So who could say if the emotions she had glimpsed were genuine?
Apart from that, the Anscote Manor Eden had its own built-in snake, she thought, her mouth twisting. So it would be far more sensible to get back to the city, real life and sanity, and avoid unnecessary temptation. Because this Liam was simply not for her—and for all kinds of reasons.
She bit her lip. She was still ashamed of her unguarded response to his touch. And for all the other emotions he’d made churn inside her.
He knew exactly what he was doing, she thought bitterly, as she reached for the phone to call Reception. And I allowed it. Even though I am not—repeat not—into one-night stands.
‘This is Miss Adamson in Room Ten,’ she said briskly, when her call was answered. ‘I’ve decided not to stay the night after all, and I’d like my bill to be made up, please.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll be leaving in about three quarters of an hour.’
She went into the bathroom, cleaned off every speck of make-up, then took a leisurely shower, letting the warm water stream over her.
Washing away, she hoped, the residue of the day. And any lingering resonances there might be.
She towelled herself down, applied some of the lily-scented skin moisturiser she’d found in the array of toiletries provided, then, wrapping herself sarong-like in a fresh towel, she wandered back into the bedroom.
Collecting the hairdryer, she seated herself on the broad cushioned seat under the window while she finger-dried her hair into its usual sleek shape. The view below was of formal gardens, with gravelled paths bordered by teeming summer flowers.
The local Lothario seemed to know a lot about his job, too, she thought with an inward grimace, her eyes straying half-unconsciously to the golden gleam of the lake in the distance. He’d certainly created the perfect romantic backdrop for a little intimate adventuring.
So it would do him good to find himself ditched and left high and dry.
And it would make her feel better too, knowing that her moment of weakness had passed and she was