Page 13 of Savage Obsession

Two days of remembering that afternoon, over six weeks ago, when her child had been conceived. Two whole days of alternating between the in­credulous joy of knowing that her body harboured a brand-new life, a precious life, created with the man she loved, that the fear that the accident had impaired her ability to conceive had been un­founded, and the consequent despair that came of knowing that it was all too late.

Charles already had a child, a son he had wel­comed and acknowledged, the woman he had never stopped loving with a passion that amounted to ob­session ready and willing to take her place as his second wife.

Which left her, Beth, where?

In an extremely difficult situation.

Her parents would be returning from that world cruise by the middle of next month, and, although they would be saddened by the news of her im­pending divorce, they would be understanding and supportive. But she could hardly stay at her parents' home, waiting for the birth of her child, while, a scant quarter of a mile away, Charles, his new wife and their son were settling in at South Park. It would put them all in an impossible situation. A situation she couldn't face.

'Are you all right?'

Beth recognised the rough concern in William's voice and opened her eyes, straightening up over her work, feeling guilty.

'I'm fine. Just hot.' She gave him a tight smile. Lately, she had kept her smiles to a sparing minimum, tried to make their relationship more formal. Charles had seen what she had not—that William was more interested in her as a woman than as a secretary.

But then, she excused herself wearily, her love for Charles had been so staunch for so many years that it had blinkered her to the rest of the male sex.

'We're in for a storm.' He came to stand behind her, putting his hands lightly on her shoulders, and she felt her whole body tighten with rejection.

He was a highly intelligent man, a considerate and kindly employer, and he would make some woman an excellent husband. But she wasn't that woman. Her feminine intuition had picked up enough vibes to warn her that he thought she might be. He was an honourable man, not the type to want an affair. And, recently, her eyes had been opened, had seen what Charles had so quickly as­similated. It was all there, if one had the wits to look for it—the way his face lit up when she walked into a room, the way his eyes lingered on her lips, the way he touched her when there was no need to do so. As now.

She shifted abruptly, uneasily, in her seat, and his hands fell away immediately, but he told her quickly, 'Leave that. There's no rush to get it off. My publishers don't set deadlines.'

He moved to the other side of the room, and even though her back was to him she could hear him fiddling with the papers on his desk and her eyes stayed glued to the pages of shorthand waiting to be transcribed into neatly typed manuscript form.

His current book was finished, apart from the few pages to be typed, and when that was done her job here would be over and she would be free to go, and, although she had found security here, of a kind, she couldn't wait. She had her future life to sort out, not to mention that of her unborn child, and she needed to be alone, completely unpressured, before she could decide how best she could support herself and her baby.

'It's far too hot to work,' he mumbled from the other side of the room and then, more briskly, 'Be­sides, it's almost time for dinner. Mariette left cold beef and salad. Why don't you go and freshen up?'

And as she got to her feet, about to cry off dinner, plead a headache as an excuse for a really early night, he forestalled her. 'Your temporary job here is coming to an end. I'd like to discuss that with you over dinner.'

'Of course.' She covered the typewriter and walked to the door, her clothes sticking to her in the sultry heat. He was, first and foremost, her em­ployer. If he wanted to discuss the termination of her job then she had no right to refuse him.

A generous employer, too, she reflected as, ten minutes later, she stood gratefully beneath a cool shower in her own tiny bathroom. She had saved most of the excellent salary he'd paid her, and she knew how to live frugally—which she would do when she was back in England and looking for work which would enable her to provide for both herself and her baby.

It wouldn't be easy, she thought as she patted herself dry and pulled a loose-fitting light cotton dress over her scanty underwear, fastening the buttons that went all the way down the front. Although it was designed to be belted, she opted to leave the filmy garment loose. It was too close and sultry to be constricted by anything remotely tight.

William probably wanted her to stay on until the end of the week, for although the remainder of the typing would only take another few hours there was always the chance that, having read through it, he might decide to make a few minor alterations. And that would suit her fine, she thought as she walked back into the main house, astonished to find that William had already set the table and brought the cold food from the fridge.

Not a huge or daunting task, she knew, and her soft mouth curved in an amused smile. But William was old-fashioned, and he liked to make hi

mself appear incompetent where anything smacking of domesticity was concerned. Mariette was paid to put his meals in front of him and, on the rare oc­casion when she left early, that task fell to Beth.

'You look beautifully cool.' The appreciation in his voice as he looked at her from the other side of the room made Beth curse herself for her un­guarded smile. Over the past few weeks, when her eyes had been opened at last to his growing awareness of her as a woman, she had been careful to keep everything formal, on a very businesslike footing indeed.

Not that she was apprehensive about it; she wasn't. He wouldn't make a move, say anything out of place, without encouragement. She was quite sure he wasn't that type of man. And encour­agement she most definitely wasn't going to give. So she said tonelessly, 'Appearances can be de­ceptive. I just wish the storm would break to clear the air. I'm practically melting.'

'I've got just the cure for that!' William rubbed his hands, looking pleased with himself. 'Cham­pagne on ice. Just the ticket, wouldn't you say?'

Without waiting for a reply, he filled two flutes, the liquid foaming, spilling on to the carpet, then handed one to Beth, and stood awkwardly, licking the drops from his fingers.

She sat down on the sofa, setting the glass aside. She didn't want the drink; alcohol would turn the niggling ache at the back of her eyes into a full­blown headache. Besides, she was only here with him now to discuss the termination of her part-time employment. So she asked him, 'When are you ex­pecting me to leave? Would the end of the week suit you?'

The remainder of the typing would take a mere hour or so, and that would give her four whole days to make any alterations he might require, pack her gear, and decide how to tackle her future. Four days to get herself ready to leave the relative safety of this peaceful backwater cocoon.

'That's what I wanted to talk to you about.' He sat beside her, a little too close for her liking. He looked ill at ease, running a forefinger round the inside of his shirt collar. 'When my previous sec­retary ran out on me I immediately got in touch with an agency which specialises in placing people in full-time employment. And now, it seems, they've come up with someone who fits the re­quirements I laid down at the time. Fiftyish, a ded­icated spinster, very efficient, no family ties to speak of, willing to live and work in France and able to start in the autumn when I'm due to begin my next book.'

'Great.' Beth was pleased for him. He was one of the nicest men she had ever met and deserved to have things run smoothly for him. He led a peaceful, uncomplicated life, rarely socialising, his head full of plots and words, leaving little room for anything else.

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