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When she finally steeled herself to walk into her father’s rooms she was disconcerted by her lack of emotional reaction. They were simply rooms, furnished with heavy but good furniture, their décor dull and uninspiring, although her father’s desk and the comfortable armchair behind it gave one room a certain austere masculinity.
She tried to picture Oliver Tennant sitting behind that desk, holding her breath tensely, relieved when she found it impossible to conjure up his image and superimpose it on to her father’s chair. In the morning she would insist on Sheila’s telephoning him and telling him that it was impossible for him to lodge with her.
Her mind firmly made up, she went back downstairs. She had some paperwork to do, which would fill her time far more profitably than mooching about the house the way she was doing at the moment.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE next morning the Volvo refused to start once again. This time Charlotte had to call out the local garage, and only arrived at the office after the mechanic had spent over half an hour coaxing the reluctant engine to fire.
In consequence she was both out of temper and out of patience when she eventually hurried across the square and opened the office door, and the last person she wanted to see standing there, somehow looking far taller than she remembered, was Oliver Tennant.
He had his back towards her as he studied their property brochure displays, but as she walked in he swung round, his eyes crinkling a smile that made her stomach somersault dangerously.
‘Mr Tennant.’ She said his name in as crisply professional a manner as she could. He was holding an envelope in his hand and her heart sank. This must be the tenancy agreement. He hadn’t wasted any time, but, in all fairness to him, she had to acknowledge that the chance of his finding somewhere else to rent at this time of the year was very small.
‘Miss Spencer,’ he acknowledged formally, and then frowned, asking far more personally, ‘Is everything all right?’
Charlotte stared at him, conscious of the fact that Sheila was watching them both.
‘Yes, of course it is. Why shouldn’t it be?’ she demanded aggressively, and was stunned as he casually stretched out one hand and brushed his fingers over her cheekbone in something that was so like a caress that she drew in her breath, shocked by the sensations evoked by his touch.
Her eyes must have registered her feelings because for a breathless second his own darkened, and then he said evenly, ‘You’ve got oil on your face. I wondered if your car had broken down.’
Oil on her face. Damn that mechanic. No wonder he’d been grinning when he drove away. Why hadn’t he said something? Charlotte fumed, resisting the impulse to rush to the nearest mirror and see how much of an idiot she looked.
‘It’s got a starting problem,’ she admitted through gritted teeth.
Behind her she heard the door open as someone came in, but before she could turn round Oliver Tennant was saying easily, ‘Well, perhaps, once I’ve moved into your place, I can repay your kindness by giving you a lift into town…at least until you’ve got your car fixed.’
Charlotte was furious; she opened her mouth to disabuse him of his idea that he would be ‘moving in’, as he termed it, but before she could say a word a familiar and decidedly shrill female voice cut in acidly.
‘You’re moving in with Charlotte, Oliver? Good heavens…why?’
Vanessa! Charlotte closed her eyes on a wave of disbelief. Of all people to have overheard Oliver’s comment, Vanessa was the very last one she would have chosen.
‘Charlotte has kindly offered to take me on as a lodger until I find a house of my own,’ she heard Oliver say smoothly to Vanessa.
‘But why? I told you we have a spare room. Heavens, Oliver, what can you be thinking of? Have you seen Charlie’s house? You’ll be very uncomfortable there.’
As Charlotte turned round, Vanessa said aggressively to her, ‘You can’t possibly be serious about this, Charlotte. I mean, think of what people will say. An unmarried woman…an unmarried man…living together.’ She gave an acid laugh. ‘Of course, I don’t suppose for a moment that anyone will believe Oliver is interested in you, his reputation will be safe enough, but people are bound to wonder about you…to speculate. You’ll be in a very vulnerable position, a woman of your age.’
Charlotte wasn’t sure what prompted the blinding anger that overwhelmed her, or what hurt her the most. Vanessa’s insinuation that Oliver couldn’t possibly be interested in her only underlined her own views, after all… perhaps it was the fact that she was voicing it, and so cuttingly, in front of Oliver himself. An Oliver who was oddly silent.
Carried along on a powerful surge of anger, Charlotte heard herself saying acidly, ‘I’m sure you’re exaggerating, Vanessa, and that no one will give the fact that Oliver is lodging with me a second thought. At least, no one with any common sense. It seems a very sensible arrangement to me. Oliver needs a place to live, and to be quite frank I could do with some temporary help with the running expenses of the house while I decide whether to keep it or sell it.’
‘Keep it? It’s a family house,’ Vanessa told her shortly. ‘What on earth would you do with it? After all, it’s not as though you’re likely to marry…not at your age.’
Seething with anger, Charlotte turned away from her, and was then shocked into immobility as unbelievably she heard Oliver saying coolly, ‘You’re rather behind the times, you know, Vanessa. In London very few women contemplate marriage these days until they’re well established in their careers and into their early thirties. The days when a woman’s sole aim in life was to secure a husband are long gone. It’s we men these days who are having to do the chasing and persuading.’
Vanessa stared at him, obviously taken aback by his criticism, and then rallied to say coquettishly, ‘Oh, come on, Oliver, don’t try to tell me that you’ve ever had to chase any woman.’
He had rescued her, Charlotte recognised in surprise. He had quite deliberately stepped in and rescued her from Vanessa’s malice.
His behaviour confused her, and left her feeling even more vulnerable and unsure of herself. Why had he done it? Because he felt sorry for her? Because it was in his own interests in view of the fact that he wanted to lodge with her? Or because he had genuinely believed what he had said?
Angry with herself for letting her thoughts wander, she said curtly to Vanessa, ‘What exactly did you want, Vanessa?’
‘Oh, I saw that Oliver was here and I came in to remind him that he promised to come round and value our house,’ Vanessa told her carelessly.
