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‘I’m fine. Why?’ she asked defensively.
Sheila shrugged. ‘Well, it’s just that it’s such a beautiful day, and you’re all wrapped up in that thick woollen sweater.’
Sheila herself was wearing a very pretty short-sleeved blouse which showed off her feminine figure, and Charlotte, who with that incident in the pantry very much to the forefront of her mind had deliberately dressed in the most body-muffling clothes she could find, felt her face burn with guilt and humiliation.
In actual fact she felt almost stifled in the sweater, which was more appropriate for cold mid-winter wear than a soft late spring day, but, with her mind still full of mental visions of how she had looked this morning, she had writhed in mental torment and deliberately wrapped herself in as many muffling layers of clothing as she could endure.
‘I…I didn’t realise how warm it was going to be,’ she mumbled, knowing that she was flushing and hoping that Sheila would put her high colour down to the warmth of her unseasonal clothes.
During the afternoon, Charlotte took Sophy with her when she drove out to Hadley Court to measure up the house and to start taking details of those items of furniture which were going to be auctioned.
Sophy proved very quick to follow her directions, and by the end of the afternoon Charlotte was ready to acknowledge that, in doing the younger girl a favour by giving her a job, she had probably done herself one as well, providing always that Oliver left her with enough business to merit employing both Sheila and Sophy.
Oliver had indicated repeatedly that he didn’t want to put her out of business, that he believed the area was large enough to provide sufficient business for both of them. There was something about him, some intrinsic basic honesty that compelled her to believe he meant what he was saying, but was he right? Only time would tell.
But if they both stayed in the area, how was she going to cope with her feelings? Already it was getting harder to conceal them, and, although she knew it was the best possible thing for her, she was dreading the time coming when he would move out of her home and into his own.
Common sense told her that her best course of action would be to put as much distance between them as possible. Perhaps if she didn’t have the business and Sheila and Sophy to consider, she might consider selling up and…
Who was she trying to deceive? she asked herself tiredly as she dropped Sophy off at home and then drove back to the office. She had no intention of doing any such thing. Her brain might tell her one thing, but her heart was telling her something entirely different.
She wanted to be close to him. She wanted to be where he was, self-destructive though she knew such a desire was.
She was a fool, she berated herself tiredly at half-past six when she finally locked up the office and went out to her loaned car. If she had any sense…but what woman in love ever exhibited that particular virtue?
Halfway home, tired and hot, she pulled off the road and crossly removed her bulky sweater. She was aching to get home and shower the sticky heat of the day off her body. The fine wool shirt she was wearing beneath the sweater was clinging uncomfortably to her skin, and, as she wound down the windows and restarted the car, she pushed her fingers into her hair, savouring the cooling effect of the light breeze on her hot, tense scalp.
Oliver’s car was parked outside the house, a reminder of his generosity in offering to lend it to her. She had been wrong about him in so many ways; it was tempting to allow herself to daydream that she might be wrong in others…that the occasional, disturbing glint of sensual awareness she had surprised in his eyes when he looked at her might actually mean something…that that kiss he had given her, the words he had said to her, could have sprung from something other than pity.
Telling herself not to be such a fool, she stopped the car and got out.
The workmen had left for the day, and as she walked round to the back door she found herself hoping that she would not find the same chaos in her kitchen she had discovered the previous evening. The door was open, making her stop and frown over the carelessness of the workmen.
While she was still staring at the open door, she suddenly heard Oliver saying cheerfully behind her, ‘Ah, good, it is you. I thought it must be.’
She turned round to be confronted by the unexpected sight of his naked torso, tanned still with a faint golden residue of the previous summer’s sun, the dark hair that was such a disturbingly visual reminder of his masculinity damp with sweat.
As she stared at him, he pushed a grimy hand through his already ruffled hair, leaving a streak of dirt on his forehead and making her stomach muscles clench against the wave of sensuality and desire that rose up inside her at the sight and scent of his sun-warmed body.
