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Stunned by her rudeness, Charlotte swallowed her anger and said as pleasantly as she could, ‘Well, as the two of you obviously have business to discuss, I’ll leave you to it.’
However, as she turned to walk away, Oliver stopped her. The sensation of his hand resting lightly on her arm was like a small electric shock. As she reacted automatically to it, her eyes widening as she turned towards him, he said evenly, ‘This is neither the time nor the place for such a discussion, Vanessa. If you’d care to ring me at my office…’ And then, giving her a dismissive nod, he said to Charlotte, ‘I’ve brought a copy of the prospective tenancy agreement round for you to look at. You’ll want your solicitor to go over it, of course, but if you could spare me five minutes to discuss it with you…’
Over his shoulder Charlotte watched as Vanessa gaped at his back like a stranded fish. She would not have been human if she hadn’t relished Vanessa’s discomfort a little, she told herself as she saw the hard, angry colour darken the other woman’s face, suddenly making her look far less attractive and much, much older.
However, it was only after the door had slammed after Vanessa that she realised too late that she had virtually committed herself to agreeing to Oliver Tennant’s becoming her lodger. She opened her mouth to tell him that there had been a misunderstanding and that there was no way she was going to allow him to set a single foot inside her home, when she suddenly realised that, if she did so, Vanessa would undoubtedly assume that she had changed her mind because of what she had said.
The thought of anyone thinking that she placed the slightest bit of importance on Vanessa’s ridiculous suggestions about her reputation was so revolting that the words of denial remained locked in her throat.
Somehow or other, she found herself upstairs in the office, with Oliver standing beside her desk while she read quickly through the document he had given her.
It seemed simple and straightforward enough. A month’s notice on either side of any termination of their agreement which was to run for a period of six months and thereafter to be renewed, subject to mutual consent.
The rent Oliver was prepared to pay was more than generous, and as she read the document he was saying something about making sure that he did not impinge on her privacy.
‘Sheila has explained to me about your kitchen alterations. I’ll be eating out most of the time anyway. Between us we can organise things so that there’s no conflict…no invasion of one another’s privacy.’
He was so rational about everything, so organised, that she couldn’t find the words to object to what he was saying to her. Somehow or other, when he left the office half an hour later, it seemed that willingly or not she was going to have him as a lodger.
‘I told you he was nice,’ Sheila said approvingly when he had gone. ‘I loved the way he defended you to Vanessa. My goodness, the look on her face,’ she chuckled, until Charlotte said sharply,
‘I’m not a child, Sheila. I could quite easily have defended myself.’
Listening to Sophy and Sheila congratulating her on finding such a perfect tenant, gritting her teeth while Sheila said triumphantly, ‘I’ll feel so much better now, knowing that there’s a man living there again,’ Charlotte wondered why it was that everyone seemed so oblivious to
the fact that she was far from delighted by the way things had turned out.
It was her own fault, though. She had had her chance. She could have said in front of Vanessa that the latter was quite right and that it was completely impossible for Oliver to lodge with her…so why hadn’t she done so?
Because she hadn’t been able to endure Vanessa’s triumph if she did. So now she was paying for her moment of pride and rebellion with an unwanted lodger. She had no one to blame but herself.
Now, of course, she would have arrangements to make, and Mrs Higham would have to be informed. Heaven alone knew what she would think of Oliver’s residence at the house.
Behind her, Sheila and Sophy were chuckling over the way Oliver had so successfully routed Vanessa. Charlotte listened absently to them, gnawing worriedly at her bottom lip. What on earth had she done? She couldn’t share her home with Oliver Tennant, of all men.
Why not? an inner voice demanded acidly. Do you really have so little faith in your own self-respect? Do you honestly believe that, just because you’ll be living under the same roof, you’re likely to do something stupid like…?
Like what? she asked herself bitterly. Like falling in love with him? Of course she wasn’t; she was far too sensible for such folly.
Gordon had described her personality very accurately when they had broken their engagement.
‘You’re so sensible, Charlie,’ he had complained. ‘You always do the right thing.’
Even though their engagement had ended by mutual consent, even though she had acknowledged a thousand times since then her relief at not finding herself trapped in a marriage she realised now would never have worked, there was still a small raw place inside her that hurt from time to time, and which was hurting now.
Would Sheila be encouraging her so warmly to take Oliver Tennant as a lodger if she were a different type of woman, an attractive, sensual woman to whom Oliver Tennant was likely to be drawn as a man?
No, Sheila had no qualms about foisting Oliver off on her because she knew quite well that any relationship which developed between them was bound to be free of any sexual connotations, on Oliver’s part at least.
What was wrong with her? Charlotte asked herself angrily. Surely she was long past the age for yearning after the impossible? Surely she had long ago accepted the kind of woman she was? Did she honestly want to be like the Vanessas of this world? Did she honestly want every man she met to assess her only in terms of her sexuality?
Hadn’t she decided long, long ago that she was better off the way she was? So why had she experienced that hot flare of resentment when she had watched Oliver smiling at Sophy with a male appreciation she just knew he would never show her?
Damn Oliver Tennant. Until he had arrived to disrupt her life, she had been perfectly happy. She had had a good business, she had been content, and now suddenly both were being threatened.
‘What’s wrong?’ Sheila asked in concern, registering her fierce frown and silence.
‘I was just thinking I’d better warn Mrs Higham about Oliver Tennant,’ Charlotte lied, her frown deepening as she realised how quickly she had gone from fiercely denying that she would allow Oliver Tennant to put so much as a single foot inside her house, to, not only accepting the fact that he was going to be her lodger, but actually making practical plans for accommodating him.
