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She plucked her sunglasses from the top of the table and put them back on, hiding her eyes, unwilling to have him know how shattered she was inside, how near she had come to breaking apart, going down on her knees and begging him not to cut her out of his life. ‘Shouldn’t you make those phone calls? You don’t want to cut it too fine.’ She got to her feet, willing her legs to hold her upright. ‘I’ll wait for you at the harbour.’
‘Georgia—’ He had got to his feet, towering over her. Again she had to summon all her inner strength to fight the humiliating desire to burst into tears, cling to him, beg him not to leave her, not ever, to tell him how much she loved him. In a turmoil of emotion she heard him say, his voice soft, ‘Don’t think I won’t remember these last few days—’
‘Oh—please!’ She had to stop him. She just had to! If he tried to be kind then she would go to pieces; no amount of will-power could stop that happening. ‘Spare us both. It was fun while it lasted. Let’s just take that as read.’ And she turned her back and walked away, and felt the scalding heat of tears on her face.
CHAPTER TWELVE
FOR once traffic on the motorway was relatively light, and although the winter morning was overcast it was at least dry. Georgia glanced in her mirrors, indicated, pulled over into the fast lane and put her booted foot down and listened to the engine sing. Her hands were feather-light on the steering wheel, and she felt herself begin to relax for the first time since her happiness had been so cruelly shattered on San Antonio.
She’d left Blue Rock twenty-four hours after Jason, and had spent the two days she’d been back in England adjusting to the change in temperature, readjusting to the prospect of a loveless future and trying to decide what to do with the rest of her life.
One thing was certain: she wouldn’t be looking back.
So work would fill her future, of course; there wasn’t anything else. No plans now for marriage and children. That cosy scenario was right out of the frame. And she only had herself to blame for the misery and heartache. She’d forgotten all she’d learned and let her emotions rule her head.
She’d been seriously considering giving the bulk of her inheritance away to charity, because she had no real use for it; she could support herself. She needed her work, needed it to fill her mind. She’d just keep enough back to buy herself a small home in the country, within reasonable travelling distance of the agency, because since her return from the Caribbean Ben had made her flat untenable, forever hovering, hanging around, leaving when she told him to but always, always coming back.
Yes, she had been planning to spend the day trawling round the local estate agents when the phone call had come from Harold’s solicitor.
She throttled back, brake-lights flashing, when she saw the advance warning signs for roadworks ahead, automatically glancing in her rearview mirror, noting the silver Jaguar.
Keeping her speed down, she filtered into the contraflow system. She hadn’t meant to be returning to Lytham Court so soon, if ever. But Harold’s solicitor had said, making it sound like a mystery, ‘A letter has turned up, addressed to you, with the instruction that you read it only in the event of your stepfather’s death. Mrs Moody, quite rightly, handed it to me. Now…’ She had heard the rustle of papers and wondered what on earth Harold had wanted to say to her that couldn’t have been said while he was still alive, and then the solicitor had gone on, ‘I’ve also got papers here that need your signature—pertaining to the provisions you wish to make for Mrs Moody and Albert Baines out of your late stepfather’s estate. As I would like them both to be present, I suggest I meet you all at Lytham—three this afternoon would suit me, if you can make it. Otherwise, perhaps you could suggest some other day.’
She’d told him that today would be fine. Might as well get it over with. She wasn’t due back at work until the beginning of next week. House-hunting would have to wait until tomorrow.
The sign for rejoining the main carriageway was in front of her; the silver Jaguar was still hugging her tail. Nice car, she thought idly, with elegant, classic lines.
Past the last of the cones, the traffic sped up, and the Jaguar kept close company; she would almost miss it when she left the motorway. But it was right behind her as she cut back her speed on the exit road, and she wondered if she could lose him on the trunk road ahead.
Of course she could! The prospect filled her with the first feeling of being alive she’d experienced since Jason had effectively told her, Wham-bam, thank you, ma’am, and walked right out of her life.
As she depressed the accelerator she felt the eager, thrusting response of the powerful engine in every cell of her body, and this was the type of road she enjoyed—plenty of straights spiced with fast, open curves, and just enough traffic to challenge her driving skills.
She overtook an articulated lorry and slipped back on to her side of the road in a single, neat manoeuvre. A brief glance in her mirror told her that her silver shadow was still with her, and its headlights flared—in challenge or in warning?
The needle hovered around ninety miles per hour. She reined in the engine until it dropped to a sober eighty. Let him pass, if he wanted to. The driver was either the macho type, who couldn’t bear to see a woman in front of him, or, horror of horrors, a policeman in an unmarked police car!
He didn’t pass, just stayed in her slipstream. She was beginning to feel distinctly annoyed, the exhilaration of driving to the best of her considerable ability ebbing away because she couldn’t shake him off her tail.
They were approaching a largish village, and she slowed, sticki
ng strictly to the speed limit, ignoring the silver Jaguar behind. Once past the traffic lights, a couple of miles on, she would be turning off into a tangle of country lanes, heading for Lytham. It would be too much of a coincidence if he was also heading that way.
She braked gently at some traffic lights, and although she’d told herself to ignore the irritating driver behind curiosity got the better of her, and she lifted her eyes to her rear-view mirror and took a long, hard look.
Jason! She felt herself go white, every ounce of strength draining from her body until her limbs were shaking.
As far as she was concerned, he was nothing but bad news.
His first betrayal she could now understand and forgive, because it had been the result of a massive misconception. The second she could understand—he’d wanted sex and she’d been willing—but she would never forgive. The hurt had been too much.
The lights changed, and, half stupefied, she eventually found the right gear and eased across the junction.
He was still following her, and that she would not tolerate. Unless, the thought flickered, he too had been summoned to Lytham. But why should he have been?
She would find out soon enough. She indicated well ahead of the turn-off to the narrow minor roads, and, yes, he was turning, too.
Tense, her jaw clamped tightly, she drove slowly, looking for the right place, then found it, braking, pulling the car into a passing place that had been carved out of the verge.
