Jordan, Penny Page 5

  But why this man? Was it because of their enforced intimacy, because she was completely if temporarily removed from everything and everyone that was familiar to her? An opportunity in fact to behave in a way she would never normally have contemplated? Or was it simply because she knew that in desiring Daniel she was completely safe from indulging in anything more dangerous than silly daydreams? Because she knew that he felt no corresponding desire for her. She tried to imagine how she would feel cooped up alone here with a man who was sexually interested in her, a man who did desire her. She would be horrified of course ... Unless-unless that man was Daniel. Ridiculous! Of course she didn't want him to desire her. She had made an irrevocable decision after Giles that she was never going to get involved emotionally with a man again. And she intended to stick with that decision.

  So why was she allowing herself to dream these stupidly impossible daydreams about Daniel, a man she had known for less than a week, a man who, despite the fact that he had drawn her into revealing to him a good deal about her own life, had told her nothing of his?

  She knew little more about him now than she had done when she first recovered consciousness. His name was Daniel Forbes. He had been living here in the cottage for the past six months. Where he had lived before that she had no idea. Nor did she know how he earned his living, or if indeed he did actually work. When she had tried clumsily to question him about this he had either ignored her or turned the conversation in another direction.

  She was beginning to suspect that his limp was the result of some kind of accident, but again he had told her so little about himself and his life that this was only an assumption, and remembering her gullibility over Giles's past had led her to reminding herself that surely only someone with something to conceal would refuse to be open about themselves. She found that entangled with her growing physical awareness of Daniel was a knotted thread of suspicion.

  Was she, she wondered, doomed to be attracted only to men who potentially would cause her pain?

  And yet there were other times-times when Daniel had made her forget her suspicions, when he had made her laugh with his rueful descriptions of his first attempts at sailing and fishing, times when they had played Scrabble and he had astounded her with the breadth and depth of his knowledge, pointing surely to a man with considerable intelligence.

  But that did not necessarily mean that he used that intelligence constructively. He spoke casually about going out with the small local fishing fleet, about working on the farm helping to bring in the crops, but in such a way that she gained the impression that, while he was flexible enough to make himself at home in either world, he was in reality not a permanent part of them, that he was in essence an itinerant.

  And of his past he told her almost nothing at all. She knew from an idle comment that he was thirty-five years old and that he was not and never had been married, but she had no idea whether he had any other family.

  She, on the other hand, she realised to her own chagrin, had told him so much about herself that he could virtually have written her biography. Only when it came to Giles had she kept silent, partly out of a desire to conceal her own folly, and partly because some deeply rooted feminine instinct made her reluctant to admit to him that she, at close to thirty, was as sexually inexperienced as a girl of eighteen.

  She had talked a lot about Tom, about his role in her life, about their friendship and her gratitude to him, and it was only then that she had seen a deeper glimpse of the hidden Daniel. 'You're lucky,' he had told her quietly. 'Good friends are hard to find.'

  Later she had wondered if she had been imagining the aloneness behind the quiet words; if she had foolishly allowed herself to read into them a suggestion that he needed friendship. And if he did, was friendship really what she wanted from him?

  It was certainly safer than this compelling, urgent need that seemed to grow more intense with every passing day, rather than less.

  She had hoped that living in such close proximity to him would reveal flaws in his nature which would quickly ensure that she saw him in a more realistic light, but so far this had not happened, and tomorrow morning she was moving into Tom's cottage. She ought to have been glad. After all, privacy was what she had come down here for, a time alone to recoup her mental and physical strengths, to recharge her batteries. The company required her full-time attention and she was all too conscious that of late it had not been getting it, that she had been relying more and more often on her second-in-command.

  Not that Paul seemed to mind. He was young and ambitious and he seemed to thrive on the challenge -just as she had once done? Was it purely because of Giles that she no longer enjoyed that challenge, that the responsibility for the company had become almost an onerous burden? That she felt almost as though running it was depriving her of the right to live her own life, to find fulfilment of a different kind?

  The weather had been blustery and wet, but before leaving for the farm Daniel had told her that the forecast was promising warmer, brighter spells.

  'If it's fine tomorrow, we could start you off with a gentle stroll ... See how you feel after that. It's surprising how long it can take to get over something like this.'

  She had wanted to ask how he knew, but had refrained, knowing her question wouldn't be answered.

  Their relationship, if you could call it that, was decidedly one-sided, she reflected frustratedly now. Sometimes she felt like a child under the control of an adult-that she was vulnerable to Daniel in a way that he could never be vulnerable to her. And yet tomorrow, when she had moved into Tom's cottage, there would be nothing to compel her to continue with their acquaintanceship. She could if she wished simply thank him for everything he had done and then quietly and firmly close her door on him. And yet she knew already that she wouldn't do so, that she would give in to the dictates of her foolish and unwary heart.

  He was gone far longer than she had anticipated. She actually found that she had started to pace the kitchen anxiously, glancing towards the window, her determination to occupy herself preparing for her move next door forgotten.

  This was ridiculous, she told herself, sitting down and trying to concentrate on the book she had picked up randomly from the packed bookshelves in the small sitting-room. She wondered how many, if any, of the books were Daniel's. They showed a wide-ranging span of interests, and included some of her own favourite works of fiction as well as technical and scientific manuals, and biographies on many leading historical and political people.

  The book, a relatively new one by one of her favourite authors, failed to hold her attention. Normally when Daniel went to the farm he was back within the hour, an hour and a half at the most. This time he had been gone for over two hours. Supposing something had happened to him? With his limp ...

  She was being ridiculous, she told herself, and added to her anxiety was a self-defensive anger that she could actually allow herself to be so concerned over a man who was virtually a stranger.

  It was almost as though in some subtle and dangerous way he had become important to her, that she had actually almost become dependent on him, and that terrified her, making her tense and shiver, as she refused to give in to the impulse to snap her book closed and rush outside to look for him.

  What was the matter with her? She who had learned the hard way how necessary it was to be self-sufficient, first through her father's death and then the subsequent realisation that from now on she was going to have to find a way of supporting her mother both emotionally and financially, and of keeping the company going, and then later with Giles.

  She hadn't realised until recently, until her illness had forced on her time to think, how much she had come to dread the heavy weight of her own responsibilities, and how much a part of her longed to escape from them.

  But now she had something far more dangerous and invasive to worry about.

  How could she have become so dependent on Daniel in such a short space of time? Was it because of her illness, of her helpless
ness, then? Or was it because of something deeper, something more worrying?

  Half an hour later, when he had still not returned, it took every ounce of will-power she possessed to stop herself from setting off down the track that led to the farm to look for him.

  She told herself that there were any number of reasons why he could have been delayed, that if he chose to disappear without any explanation it was his affair and not hers.

  And yet when eventually she heard him opening the back door, the feelings that engulfed her were so intense that she could actually feel tears of anger and relief burning her eyes.

  As she blinked them away she heard him saying easily, 'Sorry I was so long, but it occurred to me that since this is our last evening together we ought to mark the occasion in some special way, and so I walked down to the village to buy a bottle of wine to go with the beef Mrs Davies sold me.'

  He was smiling at her, casually removing his jacket so that she was momentarily distracted by the subtle movement of taut male muscles, her emotions on a dangerous roller-coaster of instability that held her caught between rage and remorse as she listened to his explanation for his absence.

  'What's wrong?' he asked her perceptively, putting his purchases down on the work-top and frowning as he came towards her.

  As first she tried to lie, shaking her head in denial of his question, but when he caught hold of her shoulders and shook her in gentle reproof her constraint gave way and she found herself telling him shakily that she had been worried about him- concerned.

  'Because of this, you mean?' he questioned her, releasing her and briefly touching his leg.

  She flushed uncomfortably, recognising that she had no right to feel concern, and that, moreover, he like most men would probably not welcome her emotional reaction, but, instead of appearing annoyed or irritated, he simply looked at her for a long time, a slow, searching look that made her muscles tense and her heart start to beat increasingly fast.

  'I was thoughtless,' he said at last. 'I should have realized you'd be concerned. It's been along time since anyone worried about my welfare.'

  It was a strange moment. A tense silence enveloped them both. Angelica discovered that she was holding her breath as though in anticipation. But anticipation of what? Why did she suddenly feel it was imperative for her to rush into husky, too fast speech as she almost gabbled, 'Never mind. The thought of eating that steak more than makes up for it.'

  And she turned away from him, picking up the milk and eggs, saying with false brightness, 'I'll put these in the fridge, shall I?'

  'Not all of them,' Daniel cautioned her. 'Half of it's for you-for tomorrow-but you might as well put them in this fridge here for now.'

  The reminder that tomorrow she would be on her own brought home to her how unwise it was of her to allow herself to become so involved with him, and made her question why she was doing it. He had certainly not encouraged or invited her to do so. No her folly was her own responsibility, and so was anything she might suffer because of it.

  But she wasn't going to suffer ... Not this time. She had learned her lesson with Giles, hadn't she? Hadn't she?

  CHAPTER FOUR

  As ANGELICA had already discovered, Daniel was a proficient cook, and indeed proficient in every way domestically, but without any of the self-conscious flourishing of his talents she had often found so irritating in some of her married friends, whose husbands seemed to make a tremendous issue of their domestic talents, adopting a boring air of self-righteousness, or even worse becoming more expert and vocal on such matters than their partners. Angelica fully believed in a mutual sharing of domestic chores, especially when both partners in a relationship had careers, but hadn't been able to help wondering if the assistance received was sometimes worth the enormous amount of ego-stroking and lavish praise the female halves of such partnerships had to lavish upon the male in return for it.

  When Daniel expressed concern over the wisdom of her eating steak when she was so newly recovered from her food poisoning, she assured him firmly that in normal circumstances she possessed an extremely sturdy digestive system.

  Her vehemence made him laugh, and after her initial surprise-laughter was something she wasn't used to sharing with other people, not even with her closest friends-she too laughed at her own determination .

  'You're obviously an only child,' Daniel commented as he started to prepare their meal.

  'Yes, I am,' she agreed. 'But how did you know?'

  'Simple-you aren't used to being teased. Most only children aren't. I wasn't myself until I went away to school.' He must have seen the pity in her face, because he added calmly, 'It wasn't that bad, and my father didn't really have any option. My mother was killed in a car accident when I was eight, and, given the choice between employing someone to take care of me full-time, and perhaps isolating me from contact with other children, or sending me away to school, he opted for a boarding-school.

  'I thought we'd just have a salad with the steak, and I managed to get Mrs Davies to part with some of her precious wild strawberries for afters.'

  'I'll do the salad, shall I?' Angelica offered.

  'Mm. If you wouldn't mind.'

  It surprised Angelica how companionably they could work together; she wasn't used to this kind of domestic intimacy. Her father had been a rather reserved, withdrawn man, old-fashioned in his outlook, firmly believing that man was the provider and woman the homemaker and that the two spheres should not overlap.

  Consequently, as a child she had seen very little of him, and had grown up knowing very little about the male sex, which was probably why she had been such a fool where Giles was concerned.

  A more aware, more knowledgeable woman would never have fallen so easily for his facile charm. It galled her now that she could ever have been so stupid.

  The rich smell of the sauce Daniel was preparing made her mouth water. Her stomach felt hollow and empty after her illness. She was very, very hungry, she realised, as she busied herself with her salad.

  'I hope you don't mind eating in here,' Daniel asked her when the steaks were nearly ready. 'The cottage doesn't boast a separate dining-room,and since I don't normally do much entertaining .. .'

  'In here's fine,' Angelica assured him. 'I like this room.'

  She was telling him the truth. There was something warm and comfortable about the kitchen with its shabby furniture and its warm Aga; she felt at home here, relaxed and at ease. Which was very strange given the fact that she had not grown up in these kind of surroundings, and so had no nostalgia for them; neither was she used to the kind of domestic intimacy she was now sharing with Daniel, and yet she felt completely relaxed with him, reluctant to accept that this would be their last evening together, reluctant for this odd and totally unexpected interlude to end. As always, the moment these traitorous emotions hit her she panicked, whipping herself up into a state of mental alert and tension, forcing herself to deny what she was feeling, telling herself that she would be glad when she was safely alone in Tom's cottage, that in fact she would find it infinitely preferable if there had never been a cottage next door to Tom's, if there had never been a Daniel.

  'Steak's ready,' Daniel told her, breaking into her panic-stricken thoughts.

  She discovered as she sat down that she was trembling slightly, a physical reaction to her emotional turmoil, and a sharp reminder that, despite the fact that she felt she was fully recovered, her bout of food poisoning had left her physically weakened. Daniel had warned her that it could be months before her body fully returned to normal after such a very bad attack. She had responded testily that she was as strong as a horse and that she was already fully recovered, but now, feeling the spasms of weakness seizing her muscles, knowing that the faint beads of perspiration dampening her skin weren't caused only by her panic over her dangerous emotions, she found herself mentally admitting that she was still not one hundred per cent recovered.

  She was hungry though, and the steak had a flavour like none she
had ever known. The wine Daniel had bought to go with their meal was smooth and mellow, and gradually, as they ate and talked, she discovered that she was telling him far more about herself than she had ever told anyone.

  Several times she told herself she must put a guard on her unruly tongue, blaming the richness of the wine and the fact that she so rarely drank for her unusual openness.

  It was only when Daniel remarked casually, 'I know you're not married, but have you--?' that she became aware of danger and interrupted him quickly, saying,

  'I haven't pried into your private life, Daniel, so--'

  'I'm not prying,' he retaliated just as quickly. 'I was simply wondering if there was a man in your life who might object to the fact that I find you a highly desirable woman.'

  The total unexpectedness of it took her breath away. She had just raised her glass to her lips, and now she took a quick gulp of wine and then almost choked on it as her whole nervous system went into frantic overdrive.

  She blinked and focused uncertainly on Daniel's face, wondering dizzily if she was imagining things. He looked so calm and normal sitting there eating his steak. He looked as he had looked the whole time she had been staying here: pleasant and slightly remote, not at all like a man who had just said what she thought she had heard him say.

  'What's wrong?' Daniel asked her, suddenly curt and slightly forbidding. 'Is the fact that I find you attractive so offensive to you that--?'

  'No-no-it isn't that,' Angelica managed to stammer. 'And there isn't anyone special in your life,' he pursued. 'Not now,' Angelica admitted flatly, and then cursed herself as she saw him frown.

  'You've been married. You're divorced,' he guessed.

  Angelica shook her head, unable to lie. 'No-no, I was engaged-well, almost. I'd made a commitment to-to someone. I thought he'd made the same commitment to me.'