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And she wanted her first time to mean more than just a notch on a Giles-type bedpost.
She stopped dead as the thought hit. She wasn’t seriously thinking about sleeping with Zac, was she? Of course she wasn’t. That would be emotional suicide and she didn’t have a death wish. She’d make sure her bedroom door was locked each night.
A desultory flake of snow drifted in the wind as she began walking again, the cold nipping at her ears and nose. She sighed deeply. Nature was conspiring against her to make this a Christmas-card-perfect weekend. She didn’t doubt that by morning every tree and bush would have a fairy-tale coating of snow, the sky would be a clear cerulean blue and the air would be crisp and perfumed with winter. Zac’s colleague’s weekend place was absolutely bound to have huge log fires, oak beams and twinkly leaded windows and be set in its own magnificent grounds. It was written in the stars, she just knew it.
Was she destined to meet men around Christmastime who would break her heart? Again she stopped, only to continue walking on in the next moment but now giving herself a good talking-to. Giles had not broken her heart, although she’d thought he had for a week or two until reason had kicked in. And Zac couldn’t because he simply wouldn’t get the opportunity. She’d had her fingers burnt by one shallow egomaniac, and once bitten, twice shy. And who needed men anyway? Contrary to what Jennie might say, a girl could still have a fulfilling and happy life without a man in tow. Or this girl could, anyway.
The pep talk continued once she got home and had a quick shower before getting ready. Assuming the mode of dress would be warm casual in the day for outside pursuits and smart for evening, she packed accordingly, and had just closed the lid of the case when Zac knocked on the front door.
Her heart gave an almighty leap and then hammered away in her chest like a mad thing, and she took a few seconds to breathe deeply before walking through to the hall.
‘Hi.’ He’d taken a step back from the door and was standing on the pavement with his hands thrust in the pockets of his big charcoal overcoat, his black hair dusted with snow and his tawny eyes narrowed. Christmas come early.
Rachel swallowed hard. ‘Hi.’ Help!
‘All packed?’ He still hadn’t smiled.
She nodded, ridiculously flustered. ‘I’ll just get my things and turn off the lights. I won’t be a moment.’
She felt rather than saw the big body relax and then he said softly, ‘I wondered if you’d change your mind.’
She swallowed again. ‘I said I would come, didn’t I?’
‘And your word is your bond?’
She didn’t hesitate. ‘Yes, it is.’ The house phone began to ring and she turned, saying over her shoulder, ‘Come in a minute while I answer the phone.’
Immediately she picked up the receiver she knew it had been one of her more unwise decisions. Her mother’s voice was as cold and clipped as always: ‘Is Rachel there?’
‘It’s me, Mum.’ Every muscle had tightened at her mother’s tone.
‘Rachel? I haven’t heard from you in over a month.’
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask why—when her mother phoned Lisa and Claire daily—she always had to be the one to pick up the phone, but conscious of Zac feet away, she said carefully, ‘I’ve been busy, a crisis at work.’
‘I see.’ The wire fairly froze over. ‘So busy you couldn’t talk to your own mother? You expect me to believe that?’
Don’t react, keep calm. The normal mental drill when dealing with her mother was activated. ‘I’m sorry, Mum, but I can’t really talk now. I was literally walking out of the door when you phoned,’ she said woodenly. ‘I’m away for the weekend.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Her mother’s voice was full of disbelief. ‘Where are you off to and with whom?’
‘I’m going to a weekend house party at Guildford with a friend,’ she said stiffly, hating the fact she couldn’t handle her mother better. Two seconds of talking to her and she always felt guilty and wretchedly at fault.
‘Male or female?’ her mother sniffed frostily.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘I asked you if your friend—’ her mother’s voice was laced with scepticism ‘—is male or female. Surely that’s simple enough to answer, girl?’
Rachel wasn’t aware that Zac could hear both ends of the conversation—although her mother’s voice had always been as sharp and penetrating as a surgeon’s scalpel—until he whisked the receiver out of her hand. ‘Male, Mrs Ellington,’ he said smoothly, ‘and we really do have to leave. Perhaps you would like to ring back next week and have a word with Rachel? Have a good weekend and goodbye for now.’
When he replaced the receiver she was too shocked to do more than stare at him. She couldn’t believe he’d just done that.
He raked a hand through his damp hair, the look on his face telling her he expected her wrath to break over his head in a consuming flood. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘That was out of line and I know it. It’s just that Jennie told me a little about your mother and I didn’t like hearing you treated like that, added to which I didn’t want the weekend spoilt before it began with her upsetting you.’
She looked at him, incredulous, mouth slightly open. It was a moment or two before she recovered sufficiently to speak coherently, and then she said, ‘That was incredibly presumptuous, whatever your reasoning. I’m not a child.’
‘I know it,’ he said again. ‘And I am truly sorry.’
