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‘Ah, Mr Garston, Yes, of course we can find a table for you. Please come this way.’
Scott was obviously well known here, Philippa reflected, trying hard not to be impressed by the decor and luxury of their surroundings. ‘Le Jardin’ the restaurant was called, and was rather like a huge conservatory with its mirrored walls and profusion of plants. Vines trailed overhead, mingling with the bougainvillaea blossoms, attractive cane furniture, white with patterned green and white cushions, was scattered among the banks of plants, and they were led to one of these tables, discreetly set apart from the others so that they could eat without being overlooked.
Who else had Scott brought here? Cara? At the thought of the American girl a pain like sharp steel knives cut into her heart, her face paling so suddenly that she was conscious of a brief sensation of faintness. She must have swayed slightly because almost instantly she felt the hard grip of Scott’s fingers against her arm.
‘Something wrong?’ he demanded, watching her keenly. He always seemed to be watching her these days in that sharp, far too keen-eyed way of his, as though he was waiting to pounce.
‘It’s just the heat in here,’ she lied. ‘I’m all right now.’
He released her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, and while Simon was sitting down said cruelly, ‘Of course, forgive me for jumping to assumptions… but then I suppose you have learned something in the past eleven years, even if it is only not to repeat your past mistakes.’ He was looking at Simon as he spoke and she realised on a fierce stab of pain exactly what he meant.
If they hadn’t been in the middle of a crowded restaurant; if Simon hadn’t chosen that moment to look up at them, she would surely have hit him, wanting to lash out and hurt as he had hurt her.
Afterwards she couldn’t remember what food she ordered, only that it tasted
of nothing in her mouth and that she could barely force any of it down. Simon seemed immune to her desperation, talking avidly to Scott. He was hungry for his father’s attention Philippa recognised; he seemed to want to store up as much of it as he could. How was he going to react when all this was over; when they were back in London? Giving in to Scott had been a mistake; she should have tried to find some other way to pay for the damage to his car… but what could she have done?
Against her will she was forced to accept his offer of a lift home, and in vain she protested that she would be quite happy to sit in the back of the Ferrari, leaving the front passenger seat to Simon. She was to sit in the front, Scott insisted, and shakily she did as he bid. The seat belt mechanism refused to respond to her fumbling fingers and Scott, who had been securing his own, leaned forward, brushing away her hands, completing the task for her. As she looked down at his downbent dark head a wave of love so strong that her body pulsed with it washed over her. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to tell him how much she loved him, and her whole body shook with the intensity of her emotions.
Simon was talking to Scott, something; about computer-electronics that passed completely over her head and made her marvel at her son’s ability to grasp and be excited by such complexities; her talents lay in other directions. She had a flair for languages and literature, although she could remember that she and Scott had always found plenty to talk about. The meal she had just consumed plus the heat of the car combined to lull her into drowsiness so that the male voices became peripheral to her concentration. Her senses relayed to her the smooth play of Scott’s muscles as he changed gear; the male scent of him, the unbearable familiarity of his body that tensed hers in tight coils of excitement.
‘Wake up, Mum.’ With a sense of déjà vu Philippa opened her eyes. They were back at Garston Place. How long had she been asleep? Her face flamed as she became aware that the something hard and warm beneath her cheek was Scott’s shoulder, and that in her sleep she had curved towards him.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ she apologised stiffly as she drew away, her movements jerky and uncoordinated, ‘Too much wine with my lunch.’
Scott looked at her briefly. His mouth had thinned, his eyes glittering as he watched her. It jolted her to realise how much he must have resented her unguarded intimacy. He was looking at her as though he would like to hurt her. She shivered slightly as she stepped out of the car, her glance falling on an unfamiliar Rolls parked outside the house.
‘Looks like we’ve got visitors. An old friend of yours, unless I’m mistaken. You’d better come and say “hello” to him.’
She was about to protest that his visitors were no concern of hers when she caught the warning note in his voice, and then it was too late to escape. His arm fastened tightly round her shoulders, the pressure of his fingers against the bone physically painful.’
‘This way.’ He wasn’t taking any chances on letting her escape. Simon was at her side, looking slightly perplexed, as Scott thrust open the drawing-room door. Three people were sitting there, Eve, and another couple. Philippa’s heart plunged as she recognised Geoff Rivers. ‘Quite a surprise.’ Scott’s voice was heavy with irony and Philippa knew he hadn’t missed the sudden tension in her body, but he didn’t know its real cause.
Across the room Eve looked at her and Philippa wondered if it was faintly apologetic guilt she read in the older woman’s eyes as she greeted their arrival, and said lightly to Geoff. ‘Here she is, now do you believe me?’
‘Pippa, my dear.’
Scott had released her, leaving her to combat a slightly drunken feeling of being cast adrift without support. It was a frightening feeling, somehow, and she wanted to cling to him for support. Fighting against the sensation she managed to smile at Geoff. He was the only person apart from Sir Nigel who had ever called her Pippa, adopting the nickname in those few short weeks when she had worked for him; a holiday job translating some of the documents he received from foreign companies in connection with the racing stud he ran on his estate.
‘Darling, this is Pippa, she worked for me for a few weeks, oh it must be over ten years ago now.…’
Scott’s dark head inclined towards her as Geoff turned to include his wife in their conversation. ‘See how well he remembers you,’ he murmured sarcastically. ‘It must be ten years ago now,’ he mimicked. ‘He can’t even remember when it was, unlike me… I remember exactly how long ago it was, Pippa!’
Philippa remembered Mary Tatlow from the photographs she had seen of her. She had often appeared in the local paper, and Philippa had searched avidly for any small item about her when Jeffrey Garston had told her of his plans. How would she be feeling right now if Mary was being introduced to her as Scott’s wife; the mother of his children? She went white and then realised that both Mary and Scott had witnessed her small betrayal, Mary with compassion, Scott with bitter comprehension.
‘Of course. How nice to meet you, Philippa. And this must be Simon.’ Her smile widened to include him.
‘Yes, Eve has been telling us about him,’ Geoff put in, his eyes resting thoughtfully for a moment on the downbent dark head.
‘I must say he’s very cool,’ Scott murmured to her, while his mother rang for more tea. ‘He didn’t bat an eyelid when he was introduced to Simon, but then he must know you’ve nothing to gain by betraying him. I doubt he would ever tell Mary about Simon—and of course you already knew that he had no intention of marrying you.’
‘Seeing as you disapprove so much I’m surprised that you’re so indulgent towards my son,’ Philippa spat back, infuriated by his arrogant assumptions.
‘Ah, but you see, Simon isn’t responsible for his fathering, and you are. Besides, I like him. Don’t you ever feel guilty for depriving him of a father? Surely there have been applicants for the—er—position over the years?’
‘Yes, there have,’ Philippa gritted at him, goaded beyond endurance. ‘But you see none of them have ever come near comparing with his natural father.’
It was Scott’s turn to lose his colour, an ugly fury twisting his facial muscles in an unpleasant mockery of a smile, the muscles in his throat corded with effort. Philippa looked down at his hands and knew that it was only with a very great effort that he was keeping them from tightening round her throat. ‘I’m surprised at my mother bringing Geoff here when she knows.…’
