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CHAPTER FIVE
THE next week in London was hectic but Marianne welcomed this. She worked late every night at the hospital in an effort to begin setting the wheels in motion for an easy takeover by her replacement, who was yet to be appointed, making copious lists and notes to assist the new therapist. Once home, she ate her evening meal and then had an hour or so cleaning out cupboards and things of that nature before falling into bed about midnight. She wanted to leave the flat in pristine condition when she left.
As promised, she duly returned to Cornwall at the weekend to help Crystal with the heart-rending task of sorting out her parents’ belongings and clothes. Most of these they packed away and put up in the roof space for the time being, neither of them being able to face actually disposing of them for the present. Thankfully, she saw nothing of Rafe Steed while she was home, but when she and Crystal accepted an invitation for Sunday lunch from Tom and his wife, Gillian mentioned that Rafe had taken Victoria to dinner in the previous week.
‘I didn’t know he was up in London.’ Crystal turned to her. ‘Did you see him?’
‘Me? Of course not.’ She kept her voice nonchalant, her smile untroubled. ‘Why would I? He wouldn’t have got the details from the architect yet.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ Crystal agreed, and then the conversation turned to Victoria and how well she was doing in her chosen career.
Marianne joined in and acted relaxed and interested, but inside there was a peculiar feeling which she couldn’t put a name to. She didn’t want to see Rafe Steed again, even though she knew it would happen, so why was she bothered that he had been in London and hadn’t contacted her but had taken Victoria on a date?
But she wasn’t, she assured herself silently in the next moment. Of course she wasn’t. That wouldn’t make sense. Nevertheless, she was glad when Sunday evening came and she drove back to London to begin another strenuous week which left her no time to think.
It was on the Wednesday evening and she had just got home from work and run herself a warm scented bath when her mobile phone rang about eight o’clock. One foot poised over the tub, she deliberated whether to ignore it and then bent down and rummaged in her handbag, which she had taken into the bathroom with her. These days, with Crystal all alone at Seacrest, she kept her phone by her night and day.
She didn’t recognise the number. Even as she spoke, her heart began to hammer. ‘Hello, this is Marianne Carr.’
‘Hi, Marianne. It’s Rafe.’
The deep voice was cool and smoky, the accent causing her toes to curl. She cleared her throat and then said carefully, ‘Hello, Rafe. What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve a few ideas I need to put past you. Have you eaten yet?’
‘What?’ Think quickly. Say yes. Simple.
‘I’ve had a hell of a day and I’m starving. If you haven’t eaten I thought we could thrash things out over dinner.’
Not like a date, then. And she was absolutely starving, having skipped lunch to fit an extra patient in. Cautiously, she said, ‘A business dinner. Yes, that’d be fine. Where and when?’
‘I’ll call for you in say…fifteen minutes?’
‘No need.’ Distant and businesslike. She could do this. ‘I’ll meet you there, wherever there is.’
‘Perhaps you could recommend somewhere? I’m still finding my way around.’
She’d bet Victoria chose somewhere glitzy-glam that cost a fortune. Mind, she would have paid very nicely for her dinner afterwards.
Horrified she could think such a thing and not knowing
where the thought had come from, Marianne chose a steak house where the food was good, the service excellent and the whole was unpretentious. After agreeing to see Rafe there at eight-thirty, she stood staring at the phone in her hand for some seconds before coming back to life.
She had the quickest bath she’d had for a long time, washing her hair and then blow-drying it with one hand as she rifled through her wardrobe with the other, bringing out one garment after another and then discarding it until she had a pile a foot high on her bed.
What was she doing? At eight-twenty she caught hold of herself. This was not a date. This was so not a date. It didn’t matter what she wore. Reaching for a pair of cream wide-legged linen trousers, she teamed it with a short-sleeved top in violet cashmere. It had rained earlier in the day and the evening had a slight bite to it. Slipping her feet into flat cream pumps, she ran a comb through her hair, which she left loose, and applied just a touch of mascara to her eyelashes. Finished. No titivating beyond a pair of silver hoops in her ears.
Grabbing a cream cardigan and her handbag, she left the flat at eight twenty-five. She had purposely chosen a restaurant that was a couple of minutes’ walk away, and arrived dead on time.
Rafe was standing outside. He looked good. More than good. Much more.
He levered himself off the wall he’d been leaning against at her approach, smiling slightly. ‘A woman who is punctual,’ he drawled lazily. ‘Are you real?’
‘Very real,’ she assured him evenly. Real enough to register it was time to admit he was the most attractive man she had ever met. Which would have given him an unfair advantage if it hadn’t been for the fact that they disliked each other so thoroughly.
Once inside the restaurant they ordered steaks with all the trimmings and then sat facing each other over a bottle of red wine. ‘So you’ve had a bad day?’ Marianne asked politely. He looked tired. Perversely, it added to his appeal ten-fold.
Rafe shrugged. He had spent hours with the architect over the last few days but he still wasn’t happy with what the man had proposed. The trouble was, he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong, which was unusual for him. He didn’t like that, considering he thought indecisiveness one of the cardinal sins. ‘I need to get back to the States,’ he said quietly. ‘I guess I’m getting impatient.’
