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Poor girl; was it her love for Chris that was the cause of them or was there someone else? If so...
As she made a pretence,of studying the menu Claire sent up a small, heartfelt prayer that whatever unhappiness was presently clouding Poppy’s life would soon be lifted and that she would enjoy the happiness and fulfilment that a girl of her age should have.
And as she made her private wish it struck Claire how much she had changed...how much knowing Brad had caused her to change. Three months ago her prayer would not have been as heartfelt simply because she would not have known what the three of them were missing...what true emotional and sexual fulfilment was.
Now that she had known fulfilment, if only fleetingly and briefly, she hated to think of the two younger women seated at the table going through their lives without knowing it.
Women, her sex, she was convinced, no matter how strong or successful they might appear in public—in the eyes of the world—had a need to focus their lives at an emotional, personal level that was so deep-seated, so intrinsically a part of their nature that it could never be totally ignored.
That, she suspected, was her sex’s greatest weakness...and its great strength?
‘To us—to single, unfettered emotional freedom and to celibacy,’ Star toasted when they had all been served with their main course and the waiter had left.
Dutifully Claire raised her glass to join in the toast, but as the glass touched her lips she discovered that they were trembling slightly, her mind filled by an achingly clear image of Brad.
If she closed her eyes now she knew that she would almost be able to taste his mouth...his kiss...him on her lips in place of the suddenly too bitter sharpness of the wine. Now it was her turn to blink away unwanted, betraying, emotional tears.
Brad! If she could wipe away her memories, expunge the knowledge of how it felt to love him, of how it had felt to be physically loved by him—if she could forget for ever the sound of his voice as he’d gently coaxed her to confide in him...would she do so?
Claire was jolted back to reality as Poppy suddenly jumped up from the table, pushing back her chair, her face a sickly shade of grey-white, perspiration beading her upper lip.
‘I’d better go and see if she’s all right,’ Claire told Star, getting up. ‘You don’t think she’s suffering from some kind of eating disorder, do you?’ she asked anxiously, conscious of how very thin the younger girl looked and the way she had been toying with her food without really eating anything.
‘I don’t know,’ Star told her, ‘but if the gossip I’ve heard is true it’s...’ She paused as the head waiter came hurrying to the table to announce that there was a telephone call for her.
‘I’d better take it,’ she told Claire. ‘Will you excuse me?’
Nodding, Claire hurried across the conservatory. To her relief, when she walked into the cloakroom Poppy was standing in front of the mirror brushing her hair, a little more colour in her face than there had been when she had rushed away from the table.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ she apologised wanly to Claire. ‘It must have been something I’ve eaten. But...er...not here...’ she added hastily as Claire looked concerned. ‘I—’
‘Of course; you’ve been away on business, haven’t you?’ Claire remembered. ‘Your mother mentioned it when I rang to check if you were going to be able to make it for lunch. A conference, wasn’t it? In Italy?’
To Claire’s astonishment a dark tide of colour had swept over Poppy’s previously too pale skin, leaving it a bright scarlet.
Why on earth should her mentioning her business trip to Italy have provoked such a self-conscious response? Claire wondered as they both made their way back to their table, but she was too kind to draw attention to Poppy’s embarrassment or to make any comment about it when Star joined them.
‘So, same place, same time...same rules in three months’ time?’ Star said when Claire had settled the bill. ‘Unless, of course, either of you have been withholding anything...?’
‘Three months,’ Claire confirmed, quickly getting out her diary and flicking through the pages. ‘That’s fine by me...’ Did her voice sound as hollow to the other two as it did to her? she wondered.
Outside the restaurant, Star announced that she had an afternoon appointment with Tim. ‘That was him on the phone just now. He wanted to tell me that head office are considering the outline PR plan I put forward, but it seems that I might have to fly over to America to discuss things in more detail. Not that I mind, just so long as they’re paying the bills.
‘You’ve met this Brad who heads the business, haven’t you?’ she asked Claire. ‘What’s he like?’
‘He’s...he’s very...very pleasant,’ Claire managed to stammer, and ignored the way Star’s eyebrows lifted interrogatively as she waited for her to expand on her admittedly unenlightening comment.
‘I...I didn’t... I hardly knew him, really,’ she told her bleakly, telling herself that it was, after all, the truth; the man she had thought she had known could not really have existed, otherwise he would not have walked out of her life in the way he had. The man she’d thought Brad was had been created by her own imagination, her own need, she told herself bitterly. She had created him and, in doing so, had also created her own heartache and misery.
‘Mmm...well, it seems that he’s now taken over the running of the company and that he intends to realign the working of the British side of things so that it runs efficiently and generates more sales; hence the new PR programme.’
Claire gave her a painful smile. It seemed that Star knew more about what was going on in Brad’s life than she did, but why should that surprise her? She had purposely not mentioned Brad to Tim or Irene, not given in to the temptation to ask any questions about him and what he might be doing, but it hurt almost unbearably nonetheless to hear someone else discussing his plans...his life...his future... A future that did not, could not include her.
As Star drove off Claire turned to Poppy and was just about to ask her if she felt well enough to drive or if she would prefer a lift when a Jaguar suddenly came to an abrupt halt in front of them.
Claire heard the swift indrawn hiss of Poppy’s breath as the driver got out. She almost seemed to shrink back as he strode towards her, grimly taking hold of her arm and pushing her unceremoniously in the direction of his car.
Claire watched them thoughtfully. She didn’t envy Poppy her ride home with him, she decided ruefully as he slammed the door on the young woman and then walked round to the driver’s side of the car.
Claire had virtually driven all the way home when, on a sudden impulse, she turned the car round and, parking at the side of the road, climbed out and walked towards the entrance to the small park where she had first seen Brad.
There weren’t many children in the park today. Claire paused to watch a duck with her now half-grown babies paddling purposefully across the small pond towards her. A slight smile touched her lips as she shook her head and told her, ‘Sorry, Mama Duck, but I don’t have any bread.’
‘I do,’ a warmly rough male voice said in her ear, transfixing her with disbelieving shock. ‘Or, at least, I have an airline sandwich.’
Claire couldn’t move, couldn’t speak...couldn’t so much as look over her shoulder just in case the unthinkable had finally happened and she had begun to suffer daytime delusions that Brad was with her as well as night-time longings for him.
‘Claire...speak to me...say something, please, even if it’s only “Get the hell out of here”...’
All at once Claire felt her self-control snap. She started to tremble—physically violent shudders that made her whole body shake—tears blinding her as she struggled to focus on Brad’s face, seeing only his blurred outline through the humiliating self-betrayal of her uncheckable tears.
‘Claire, Claire, please don’t,’ she heard Brad groan. ‘I never meant to give you such a shock. I came here on impulse to try and find the courage to call you and...Claire...’
Claire tensed as he suddenly reached for her, wrapping her fiercely in his arms, holding her so tightly that she could feel the heavy thud of his heartbeat.
The familiar, ached-for scent of him enveloped her, dizzying and deluding her senses into the belief that he wanted her, and, of course, her body reacted immediately and passionately to that belief—so much so that she was scarlet-faced with embarrassment as she felt him check slightly when he saw and, she suspected, felt the betraying thrust of her nipples against the soft silkiness of her shirt.
It was a thoroughly modest and proper shirt, buttoned well past her cleavage, with a neat, small V-neck and made of a sensible mixture of man-made fibre and natural silk—not the kind of blouse that could ever be described as either deliberately alluring or provocative—and yet suddenly, humiliatingly, she was uncomfortably aware of the way her breasts were pushing openly against it and the way...
