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The unjustness of the accusation stung her. All her life she had wanted him, no matter how much he had—or didn’t have—in his wallet. ‘You know that’s not true!’
‘Do I?’ He shook his head. ‘All I know is that today you’ve discovered that I’m worth something and you can’t wait to fall into my arms like a windfall—overripe and juicy—just waiting to topple from the tree. Are you overripe and juicy, kitten? Want me to find out?’
The insults fired her up, his scorn and obvious dislike giving her back her power of speech. And pride. ‘You? You think you’re worth so much? Well, I’ll tell you exactly what you’re worth, Drew Glover—nothing! Nothing at all!’
‘But you couldn’t wait for “nothing” to engage in a vigorous bout of sex with you, could you, Shelley?’
She burst out with a high, nervous laugh. ‘You make it sound like a boxing match!’
‘Then tell me how you like to describe it, kitten,’ he suggested, on a silky threat.
And his question brought it crashing home to her how completely his love for her had died. Oh, he still felt desire, strong desire—yes—he had made that very clear. But what was desire without respect? Wouldn’t that just chip away at her self-esteem, and risk destroying it completely?
‘Your new-found wealth seems to have affected your judgement,’ she told him coldly. ‘You have become even more high-handed and right now I could almost hate you, Drew Glover!’
‘Maybe you could—but you still want me all the same, don’t you, Shelley? Just the same as I want you.’ His voice was like silk, his words rich and dark and sultry, and she could feel the tension between them gathering momentum, like a snowball rolling down the side of a hill.
‘You’d better get out before either of us does something we might really regret,’ she warned him.
‘I think I just have! I stopped before the home truths. I should have waited until afterwards—and at least that way I might have got you out of my system once and for all!’
And he slammed his way out of the house before she had time to think of a suitably crushing reply.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE resumption of power supplies to the house gave Shelley a feeling of having some control back in her life. It was just slightly galling that she had Drew to thank for the speedy arrival of men in vans wearing overalls.
‘It’s very sweet of you to come out so quickly,’ she ventured to the man from the Water Board.
He shrugged. ‘Drew Glover drinks with the boss—what do you expect?’
Guilt at the inequality of life nagged her. ‘That’s terrible!’
‘Not for you, it isn’t!’ The man grinned at her, and looked around curiously at the house. ‘You’re going to be living here, are you?’
The tone of his voice told her what he really meant—that she looked all wrong in a tiny semi, wearing her sleek designer clothes. And he was right.
‘For the time being,’ she said, aware that she was making her mind up as she answered his question. ‘But I’m going to decorate, first. Then decide.’
‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘The place could do with it!’
She spent the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening scrubbing the house from top to bottom and fell into bed exhausted after eating beans on toast. To her great pleasure and even greater surprise, she had a dreamless and Drew-less night’s sleep. Maybe she was slowly working him out of her subconscious. Maybe…
The next morning, following a delicious hot bath full of childhood memories, Shelley walked into the village centre to buy groceries and a newspaper. It was a cool, misty morning and in the distance the sea looked all fuzzy and indistinct, like a grey mohair scarf lying on the shore, stretching as far as the eye could see. The sea drew her like a magnet, and she decided that she would go for a bracing walk before she bought her shopping. If she had heavy bags to carry she knew she wouldn’t get round to it.
She peered into the windows of the shops as she passed, noticing that there was nothing which catered for clothes of either sex…not even a baby boutique. She wondered if the new-look Milmouth approved of that.
She was dressed more appropriately today in an outfit which was casual and warm. She had hung the linen suit at the back of her wardrobe where she suspected it would remain unworn. At least for the time being. In the meantime she found a pair of black jeans and a black sweater in her suitcase, which were the most suitable things for facing a blustery sea breeze.
Admittedly, the jeans were designer-made so they were cut to flatter rather than to stride around in—and a costly cashmere sweater wasn’t the best thing to wear if you were pottering around the house! But they were the best she could come up with and obviously she was going to have to invest in some new clothes. Maybe she would suggest that shopping trip to Jennie soon.
