Читать онлайн книгу «The Wrong Kind Of Wife» автора Roberta Leigh

The Wrong Kind Of Wife
Roberta Leigh
I stopped being interested in him years ago. Lindsey and Tim Ramsden were married - but in name only these days. Their once passionate relationship hadn't survived a bitter understanding. Now they had met again. Was it possible to recapture the love they had shared?Or should Lindsey accept that what she felt for Tim was over and it was time to move on? Would her past always haunt her, or was life offering her a fresh chance at love?



The Wrong Kind of Wife
Roberta Leigh





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u73f20e28-6d92-53f2-8761-fa7db27d4de9)
CHAPTER TWO (#uffdbac7f-e671-516f-bf7e-b2e4ec63590c)
CHAPTER THREE (#u930ad35f-3ba3-5404-84c0-aae488c94c6d)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u6cb3a06e-2911-5b3d-946d-fdc64e5cbf34)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u538f6c63-b291-5d1a-97dc-de9fa01d2d05)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ONE
AS LINDSEY handed over her charge card at the supermarket checkout, her thoughts were not centred on the bill but on how she was going to tell her husband she had to go to Paris again. It was the second time this month, and Tim had barely got over his annoyance at her last trip.
It wasn’t as if she enjoyed going, but travelling to interview celebrities was part of her job as a television researcher, and if she wished to further her career there was no way she could refuse. Because of this she had just splashed out on an expensive bottle of wine, instead of the usual plonk, to accompany tonight’s meal. Tim would appreciate it, and hopefully would be in a better humour when she broke the news.
Balancing the carrier bags in one hand, she unlocked the front door with the other. A smell of burning fat greeted her and she sighed. Tim was cooking again!
Hurrying into a kitchen so tiny one couldn’t swing a cat in it, she saw him in the act of pouring a soggy black mess down the drain.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he greeted her, one hand raking back the errant lock of blond hair that was always falling across his forehead. ‘I thought I’d make the supper for a change, but I guess I misread the recipe!’
‘I wish you’d leave the cooking to me,’ Lindsey retorted. She was tired, cold and hungry, and her temper was at flash-point. With an effort she controlled it and moved towards the sink. ‘Fix me a drink, darling, and I’ll clean up,’ she said more gently.
‘Let’s have dinner out,’ Tim said, putting his arms around her.
As always, his touch excited her, even though she found his suggestion irritating. Had he forgotten they were supposed to be economising?
‘I’ve bought a stack of food,’ she pointed out.
‘It won’t go to waste. Come on, sweetheart, it will do you good to relax.’
‘I can relax better here. I’ve been out with a questionnaire the whole day.’
Tim frowned. ‘I hate the thought of you tramping round the freezing streets while I sit in a warm office doing nothing.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’m only “tramping the streets” until I’ve finished my survey. And you don’t do nothing all day—you work damned hard.’
‘As dogsbody to a drunk! Beats me why Turlow hasn’t been fired.’
‘He’s considered an institution,’ Lindsey said drily. ‘Though I heard a whisper that he’ll be through in a year. And if you play your cards carefully—’
‘I still won’t get his job. I haven’t enough experience to be political correspondent on a national daily.’
‘Turlow wouldn’t have chosen you as his assistant if he didn’t think you capable of taking over from him. What’s happened to your confidence? If you—’
Tim’s mouth on hers silenced her, and though she was still cold and tired she responded to his touch.
‘How hungry are you?’ He nuzzled his face in her neck and breathed in the scent of her.
‘For food, or—?’
‘For or.’
‘Getting hungrier by the second,’ she murmured, relaxing as he swung her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, the one place where they were assured of perfect harmony.
Their coming together was quick and intense, expressing the fierce need they still aroused in each other, and with Tim’s manhood inside her Lindsey revelled in being the woman he loved, marvelling, as she so often did, that she was the one he had chosen to make his wife.
‘I love you,’ she whispered, running the tips of her fingers down his sweat-slicked skin. His sharp intake of breath and the swell of him inside her excited her, and she pressed her lips to the golden whorls of hair on his chest that arrowed down to his stomach.
Triggered by her touch, his thrusting movements grew stronger and he was no longer able to hold back, his body responding in a flash-flood of urgency that matched hers, sending them both spiralling among the stars, from which they seemed to descend a long time later.
Lindsey awoke first. Tim was lying on his side, an arm flung across her, his hand resting on her breast. Asleep, he looked younger than his twenty-six years. He often acted younger too, she reflected, then pushed aside the thought, feeling guilty for thinking it. Yet it was true. In every respect except years she was the more mature. Not surprising, given that she had spent most of her adolescence in an orphanage after her mother and stepfather had been killed in a motorway crash. It had been a tough grounding, and it had required determination and tenacity to escape from it and win a scholarship to university.
Even now she cringed at the memory of the raw, naïve young girl she had been. Luckily her outward appearance had not given her away. Tall and fashionably thin, with wild, dark red hair cascading past her shoulders, blazing green eyes and a naturally voluptuous red mouth that drew attention to her pale, creamy skin, she had looked every inch the confident feminist of the eighties.
Her aura of self-assurance had deceived Tim as well, and after their marriage she had made an effort to put the bitter memories of the past behind her, determined not to let them sour the happy present; and though there were occasional times when they returned to haunt her, she allowed no one to be party to her tears.
As if sensing her thoughts, Tim stirred in his sleep and pulled her close, and with a returning surge of tenderness Lindsey snuggled into the warmth of him and switched her mind back to how they had met.
It had been at a party in Cambridge—where else would two people of disparate backgrounds cross paths? Tim had grown up on the family estate in Somerset, near the town of Evebury where his father owned a successful engineering plant.
Within moments of seeing Lindsey across the room, Tim had pushed his way across to her. She had been flattered that the best-looking man in the room had eyes only for her, and felt as if she were Delilah and Jezebel rolled into one!
An hour later they were seated in a small but expensive restaurant on the outskirts of town—one that was way out of the price-range of herself and her friends—and Tim had teased her for weeks afterwards about her appearing more interested in the menu than him!
It was untrue, of course. Her concentration on the food had been a device to hide her discomfiture, for it was the first time she had been taken anywhere so elegant, and by someone who was clearly at home there. She had always dated men from her own background and avoided mixing with the rich set.
But with Tim it had been different. He had disarmed her with his warmth and natural charm, his innate good manners that made him treat her as if she were someone special. And to him she was special, her sharp tongue and fiery spirit a great contrast to the girls he usually escorted. Within days they were in love, spending every possible moment together, and regarding their hours apart as wasted ones.
‘You’re so caring about everything,’ he had commented on one occasion. ‘When I’m with you I see the world through your eyes.’
‘It isn’t such a comfortable world as yours,’ she had stated.
‘I know, and I’m sad for you. I want you to be happy always, Lindsey.’
Lindsey had wanted this too, but was afraid it was not to be, for she knew her happiness was with Tim and did not believe their relationship would turn into a permanent commitment. She had grown up in too tough a school to believe in fairy-tales, and Cinderella was strictly a story in a book. So she was dumbfounded when he’d asked her to marry him.
She had accepted instantly, and they were married shortly after they graduated, with a small reception given by Tim’s parents for their close family and a select few of their friends.
‘A big wedding wouldn’t be quite the thing,’ Mrs Ramsden had explained with a cool smile. ‘I mean, it isn’t as if you have any family to invite...’
The implication being that, even if she had, they would have felt out of place and been unacceptable. Mrs Ramsden had not expressed her antipathy to Lindsey in any concrete manner, but Lindsey had sensed it the instant they met. Mr Ramsden had tried to be friendly, but since his wife was the dominant personality she realised she would never have anything other than a constrained relationship with either of them.
To begin with the knowledge had distressed her, making her nervous of saying or doing the wrong thing. How she had envied Tim his genial social manner which enabled him to mix with people from every stratum, an ability that her relationship with him had shown her she did not possess. She felt alien with his friends, and was unable to relate to his political views and opinion of world events.
Yet their physical attraction for one another had been stronger than their dissimilarities, and as Tim’s love for her had deepened and his dependence on her grown, her self-confidence had reasserted itself; not that he was ever aware of her fears and doubts, for she was adept at concealing her innermost feelings.
Tim stirred in her arms, bringing her back to the present. ‘You have the most gorgeous eyes,’ he whispered, looking into their green depths.
‘I was thinking the same about yours,’ she smiled as he drew her closer, but resisted him as her closeness made him harden.
‘Not again?’ she teased, easing away and slipping out of bed.
‘Again and again! The more I have you, the more I need you.’
‘You’re just greedy!’
‘Mmm. But at least it doesn’t make me fat!’ He studied her as she slipped into an emerald silk wrap. The skirt swung round her shapely legs and the tightly cinched belt revealed the contours of her firm, high breasts and small waist. ‘All you need to complete the 1920s illusion is a long cigarette holder,’ he teased. ‘You look like a Scott Fitzgerald heroine.’
Pushing off the duvet, he followed her to the kitchen, grabbing a bathrobe en route. ‘I thought we were going to a restaurant?’
‘It’s a waste of money,’ she replied, deftly making a salad before putting a small French bread into the oven to crisp. She hummed to herself as she did so. Sex with Tim always made her feel good.
He watched her for a moment, then methodically set the table and opened the wine. ‘For someone who dislikes wasting money,’ he grinned, studying the label, ‘isn’t this extravagant? Or are we celebrating something?’
‘I felt like spoiling us,’ she replied, and from his pleased expression knew the Australian Shiraz was going to have the effect on him that she desired. But she would wait until he had drunk a couple of glasses before imparting her news.
She put slices of gammon under the grill, then made a four-egg omelette, her movements deft with long practice.
‘Get the coffee going, Tim.’
Whistling tunelessly, he did, then set out the cream and gold coffee-cups, a present from his mother. And how like his mother they were! Lindsey thought: elegant, fragile, yet extremely durable if handled carefully. Mrs Ramsden was used to a household of servants, and her two daughters and son had been equally cosseted. Now Tim was roughing it, according to his mother’s standards, and no doubt she blamed her daughter-in-law for it, though she had not put her feelings into words.
Discarding the unpleasant thought, Lindsey divided the omelette and gammon into two while Tim took the bread from the oven and poured the wine. The meal was simple but appetising and he did justice to it, though Lindsey, rehearsing how to tell him of her forthcoming trip, merely toyed with her food.
‘Not hungry?’ he asked.
‘Lovemaking has that effect on me,’ she said, knowing this would please him, and, seeing it did, she quickly took advantage of it. ‘I have to go to Paris for a few days. I was only told today.’
‘Not again!’ he exploded. ‘That’s the second time in three weeks.’
‘It isn’t for long,’ she placated.
‘That’s what you said last time, and you were away a week. Do you have to go, Lynnie?’
‘Yes. And I wish you wouldn’t call me that.’
‘Sorry, angel.’
She forced a smile. She hated the abbreviation because it was one her stepfather had used. She had been a scrawny eight-year-old when he had married her mother, but at twelve she had started to bloom, and he had begun hanging around her in a way that had instinctively frightened her. Even now she loathed thinking about it, and had never mentioned it to Tim.
‘Why not go down to Evebury while I’m away?’ she said aloud, hoping the suggestion would placate him. ‘You have several days due.’
‘I don’t enjoy going without you.’
She knew the reason too well and stifled her irritation. It would have been an opportunity to impress on his parents that he was making his own way, but he obviously couldn’t do it unless she was there to give him moral support.
‘I can’t take my father going on at me to join the business, and mother stoically holding back the tears,’ he explained.
Lindsey sniffed. ‘Pity they don’t realise how happy you are.’
‘Happy with you, darling, not with my job.’
Morosely Tim pushed back his chair and rose, and she feasted her eyes on him. Tall, slim and strikingly handsome, he had wide shoulders and athletically co-ordinated movements. His face reflected his patrician lineage: high cheekbones, wide forehead, and finely chiselled nose and mouth. His thick, dark blond hair was soft and faintly unruly, and unusually well-shaped eyebrows marked genial grey eyes. With his bathrobe knotted casually around his waist, he epitomised the well-bred man about town.
‘Why can’t they send someone else to Paris?’ he asked. ‘You aren’t their only researcher.’
‘They consider me one of their best,’ Lindsey admitted. ‘But I promise it will be the last time. I told Grace I don’t want to do any more out-of-town interviews.’
‘Well, if it’s really the last time...’
‘How was your day?’ she asked, anxious to change the subject.
‘I spent the morning editing Turlow’s article and the afternoon finding photographs for him. It’s a job anyone with a half-decent education could do. I’m wasting my degree.’
‘It would have been equally wasted if you’d gone to work in your family business.’
‘I never committed myself to working there.’ Tim was instantly on the defensive.
‘Your parents took it for granted, and if you hadn’t met me I think you’d have joined your father like a shot.’
‘Perhaps, but you’re more important to me than any job.’
‘Thank you, but I don’t fancy having it on my conscience that you aren’t doing what you want.’
‘Who the hell knows what I want?’ he questioned bitterly.
‘Well, at least you won’t waste your training if you stay on in Fleet Street.’
‘As a hack journalist?’
‘Give yourself a chance. I’m sure they’ll ask you to do Turlow’s column when he goes.’
‘Is that your ambition for me?’ Tim asked slowly. ‘To be a political leader writer?’
‘What’s wrong with it?’
‘Nothing. Except it isn’t my ambition. The thought of spending my life criticising what others have done—’
‘And putting forward your own views,’ Lindsey intervened silkily. ‘Imagine the influence you could have on public opinion.’
‘It would be years before anyone listened to me.’
‘You have to begin somewhere,’ Lindsey said irritably. ‘Or would you prefer to waste your talent going into the family business and being your father’s dogsbody?’
‘I’d hardly have been that. It’s not a one-man business, you know. It’s a sizeable engineering firm, and—’ Tim hesitated, then clamped his lips and said no more.
But Lindsey knew what he had held back, and, realising how important it was to clear the air, she finished the sentence for him.
‘And if you don’t join your father, he’ll eventually have to sell the company to somebody else, who probably won’t have the same caring attitude to the workforce.’
‘Exactly. So what’s wrong with that attitude?’
‘Nothing. Except that you aren’t interested in business, and your parents shouldn’t make you feel guilty because you don’t want to conform to their ideas. That’s why they don’t like me. Because they blame me for what they see as your disloyalty.’
‘That isn’t true. They don’t blame you, though I admit they’re upset that I’m not joining Ramsden Engineering.’
Lindsey bit back a sigh. She understood Tim’s dilemma but didn’t see how it could be solved, for if he toed the line it would mean returning to live in Evebury, and that would put untold strain on their marriage, for she knew she would never be happy living there.
‘Don’t look so upset,’ Tim said quickly, his words intimating knowledge of her feelings. ‘You’re my first loyalty, darling, and you always will be.’ Moving forward, he caught her round the waist and rubbed his cheek against hers, his passion, as always, very near the surface.
Lindsey’s breasts swelled at his touch, and she traced the nape of his neck with her fingertips, fiercely glad to know that, whatever their difficulties, their love would always overcome them.

CHAPTER TWO
LINDSEY flung down her pen and stretched her arms lazily above her head, easing her tired muscles. By dint of working long hours she was two days ahead of her schedule, which pleased her because she knew it would delight Tim.
She reached for the telephone, called Air France, and secured a reservation on an early evening flight to London. Replacing the receiver, she picked it up again to call Tim and tell him, then, smiling, put it down. How much nicer to surprise him!
With one eye on the clock, she continued transcribing material from her tape recorder on to her lap-top word processor. She had come to Paris to research the life of a famous French movie star who, twenty years earlier, at the age of forty, had married an out-of-work twenty-year-old French guitarist. Everyone had said it wouldn’t last, but they had been proved wrong, for not only were they still blissfully happy, but the guitarist was now one of the most popular musicians in France.
Lindsey knew that Grace Chapman, who was the programme’s producer and her immediate boss, would be delighted with the material she had obtained, for she had great aptitude in gathering information, and Grace had recently suggested she would let her appear in a documentary instead of being a backroom girl.
‘You have the looks, intelligence and personality to be a presenter,’ the woman had stated. ‘But telly fame means you’d become a target for every gossip columnist in Fleet Street, and you might not want that.’
‘They’d find nothing to gossip about in my life,’ Lindsey had replied.
‘I’ll put your name forward, then.’
Since Grace’s word carried enormous weight, Lindsey was delighted, yet she had not said a word to Tim, uncertain how would he feel if she suddenly became famous while he was still struggling. Perhaps it might be wiser to soft-pedal her prospects for another year.
Arriving at the airport with time to spare, she wandered into the duty-free shop and, spying Tim’s favourite aftershave, which even for her was wickedly expensive, she decided to buy some for him. The bottle she had given him for Christmas was down to the last inch, and she had noticed him using it sparingly.
Deciding in for a penny in for a pound, she also purchased a bottle of champagne as a nice way to mark her earlier than expected return. Tim’s favourite brand was Dom Perignon, but the cost was almost double the one she had chosen, and given the amount she had spent on the aftershave it was an extravagance she could ill afford.
Although the flight took only an hour, it was interminable to Lindsey as she envisaged Tim’s surprise and pleasure at seeing her. Would they drink the champagne before going to bed, or make love first? When they had been apart for more than a night, he was always impatient to possess her, and as she walked in he would gather her into his arms and carry her into the bedroom, his hunger such that there was no time for foreplay. But she was always wet and ready for him, and their coupling, though swift, was lusty and satisfying.
As her taxi drew to a halt outside the red-brick Edwardian house where they had their apartment, and she saw the light in the sitting-room of their second-floor apartment, she breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness Tim was home. In the last half-hour it had occurred to her that her desire to surprise him would backfire if he had gone to the films, or was visiting friends.
Hurrying up the stairs, she quietly unlocked the front door and noiselessly closed it. She wanted Tim’s surprise to be total when she walked into the sitting-room.
It certainly was! And a damned unpleasant one too, for he was on the sofa, locked in a passionate embrace with a voluptuous blonde.
Staring at them in shocked silence as they swiftly drew apart, her eyes took in the scene: open hamper stuffed with goodies in Harrods’ distinctive green wrapping, two glasses beside an empty champagne bottle—Dom Perignon, to add insult to injury—and black leather Gucci bag flung carelessly on the floor, beside matching low-heeled shoes. While the cat’s away, the rat did play! And with no expense spared for his new little sex-kitten!
‘Shall I go out and ring the bell?’ she finally managed, tight-lipped.
‘It isn’t what you imagine,’ the girl said.
‘Then it’s an award-winning imitation!’
‘Don’t be silly, Lindsey.’ Tim’s smile was a travesty, and he avoided her eyes as he began doing up the buttons of his shirt, which was undone to the waist. ‘Patsy is Peter’s sister—the best man at our wedding. Patsy wasn’t there because she was in Australia.’
‘I suppose she called in tonight to congratulate you?’ Lindsey’s tone was heavily sarcastic as she eyed the girl.
There was no denying she was stunning: silky, corn-coloured hair falling around slender shoulders, a full bust, small waist, and nicely rounded hips. As she gracefully rose, the long legs exposed by her black kid skirt were fabulous too.
‘Patsy and Peter grew up with me,’ Tim was saying. ‘Remember me telling you, darling?’
Lindsey had a vague memory of it, and jealousy mounted as she remembered her mother-in-law saying she had wanted Tim to marry someone like Patsy Selwyn, who hailed from a similar background.
‘Please don’t be angry with Tim,’ the girl said now, in a well-bred drawl. ‘This is more my fault than his.’
‘It takes two to tango,’ Lindsey bit out, throwing her husband a contemptuous look as he raked his hand through his tousled hair in an attempt to tidy it.
‘What I mean is, I’ve known Tim most of my life, and when I called him and heard you were away I came over with some food and bubbly—too much bubbly, I guess. That’s why—’
‘Thanks for the explanation,’ Lindsey drawled. ‘It’s made me feel a lot better.’
Patsy flushed and looked at Tim for help. But none came, and she lost patience. ‘For heaven’s sake, Lindsey! You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.’
‘I don’t happen to think finding your husband passionately kissing another woman is a molehill.’
‘But we were a bit tight. It didn’t mean a thing. We’ve known each other for years and—’
‘Why don’t you just go?’ Lindsey cut in wearily. ‘And if you think Tim will be faithful to you, take him with you!’
Turning on her heels, she walked into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. As she crumpled on the bed, she heard the front door close, and a moment later Tim came in and put his arms around her.
‘Please let me explain, darling,’ he murmured. ‘Patsy was speaking the truth. I was missing you like hell, and when she offered to come over and keep me company—’
‘You decided to use her as my stand-in!’ Lindsey shook herself free of him. ‘You’d have been in this bed together if I’d arrived an hour later!’
‘Don’t be crazy! I couldn’t make love to anyone except you.’
‘What were you doing on the sofa—playing patience?’
He shrugged guiltily. ‘Things got a little out of hand, I agree, but you’re blowing it up out of all proportion.’
‘Perhaps I’m not as sophisticated as you,’ Lindsey cried. ‘But in my world, if a man loves his wife he doesn’t make love to someone else the instant her back’s turned.’ Jumping to her feet, she went to stand by the window. ‘I was a fool to work myself into the ground so I could come home earlier than planned. I should have stayed in Paris and lived it up. I had plenty of offers.’
‘I’m sure you did,’ Tim said softly, from just behind her. ‘You’re a very beautiful girl.’ Catching hold of her shoulder, he swung her round to face him. ‘Come to bed, Lindsey, and let me show you how much I love you.’
‘The only thing going to bed with me will prove is how horny you are!’ she flung at him, furious that he was so insensitive to her mood. Did he think she could discover him in the arms of another woman one moment, and forget about it the next? ‘The way I feel right now, I don’t want to make love to you ever!’
‘For heaven’s sake, be reasonable.’
‘Reasonable?’ Lindsey stormed. ‘How reasonable would you be if you came home and found me half-naked in another man’s arms!’
‘I wasn’t half-naked,’ Tim replied. ‘Nor was I making love to Patsy. I was just kissing her. Dammit, I’ve known her since I was six. Her brother’s one of my closest friends.’
‘Perhaps you should divorce me and marry her! Then you can work for Daddy and live on the family estate instead of in a poky flat on the wrong side of the river!’
‘Stop it!’ Tim bit out. ‘I’m happy here because I’m with you, and that’s all that matters to me. You should know that by now.’
‘Should I?’ Lindsey was suddenly gripped with insecurity. ‘I don’t know anything about you at all.’
Catching the weariness in her voice, he took a tentative step towards her. ‘Why don’t you get into bed and I’ll bring you a hot drink? You look exhausted.’
‘Hardly surprising when I’ve been working flat-out.’
‘That’s your choice.’
‘I was talking about Paris!’ she snapped. ‘I love my job and I can easily cope with it. It was only pressured because I wanted to get home ahead of schedule. Pity I didn’t save myself the trouble.’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ Tim’s temper rose to meet hers. ‘I’m a normal, red-blooded male who was missing his wife and stepped a bit out of line. Stop turning it into the crime of the century.’
‘Missing your wife?’ Lindsey spluttered. ‘Four days without me and you can’t control your lust!’
‘That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it.’
‘I certainly do. All I am to you is a good lay, and when I’m not here you’ll settle for anyone else!’
‘That’s a disgusting thing to say.’
‘It’s the truth!’ She was screaming like a harridan yet couldn’t stop herself. ‘You’re sorry you didn’t marry Princess Patsy. She’s one girl who’d meet with your parents’ approval.’
‘That’s what’s bugging you, isn’t it? That they don’t approve of you? Well, why should they?’ Tim flung at her harshly. ‘You abhor everything they stand for and you’ve shown them nothing but contempt. You can’t bear anyone who’s well off, can you?’
‘I don’t believe in privilege unless it’s earned.’
‘Dad may have inherited the company from his father, but it’s his efforts that have made it bigger and more successful.’
‘I suppose you resent me because you aren’t working there too?’
‘I don’t resent you, Lindsey. You made it plain you wouldn’t live in Evebury, so I had no choice. That’s the difference between us. You’d have walked away from me, but I couldn’t have walked away from you.’
Dismayed, Lindsey stared at him. Did he genuinely believe what he had just said? Didn’t he know how much she loved him? The knowledge that he didn’t, hurt her deeply, showing how little he understood her.
‘I’m beginning to see why you didn’t want to live in Evebury,’ Tim went on. ‘You were scared you’d lose control over me.’
‘Why should I want to control you?’
‘Because you have a king-size inferiority complex and it’s time you faced it. The main reason you dislike my parents is you’re jealous of them. As you’re jealous of anyone who has the things you’ve never had.’
‘I was waiting for you to bring up my background,’ she cried.
‘I never have until now. You’re always the one bleating about being working class. I don’t give a damn where a person comes from. It’s what they make of themselves that counts.’
‘It’s easier to make something of yourself if you start with the advantage of money,’ she said scornfully.
‘You haven’t done so badly,’ he retorted.
‘Because I chose a profession that recognises ability. What you know instead of whom you know.’
‘That applies to most professions these days,’ Tim said. ‘Face facts, Lindsey, or can’t you bear to admit you’re wrong?’
‘I was wrong to marry you,’ she flared, not meaning it.
‘That’s something we can easily rectify,’ he rejoined, striding from the room.
‘If you walk out now,’ Lindsey screamed, ‘don’t bother coming back.’
‘What makes you think I’d want to?’
Before she could answer, the door slammed behind him.
For a long moment she stared at it, then she collapsed on to the dressing-table stool and rested her head in her hands. The evening she had anticipated with such pleasure had turned into a disaster. Tim hadn’t meant the things he had said, any more than she had. But words, once spoken, weren’t easy to forget. Yet forget them they must, or their marriage was doomed.
Shivering, she undressed, deciding a hot bath might help her unwind. If past arguments were anything to go by, Tim was sure to appear before she had finished and offer to wash her breasts! Her heartbeat quickened. One thing would lead to another, and hurt and anger would fade beneath the stronger force of passion. Not that the reason for their quarrel could be overlooked; too many bitter things had come to the surface for them to be swept aside. But it was better to discuss them when tempers had cooled and realism, rather than emotion, was the arbiter.
But though Lindsey stayed in the bath for ages, Tim did not return, and she finally dried herself and went to bed.
She touched his pillow as she did, and began to cry. Was she really the envious young woman he had accused her of being? She refused to believe it. She had simply wanted him to be independent and not dutifully do his father’s bidding. She had assumed he had realised this, but it seemed she was wrong. Resenting his lack of understanding, her anger returned.
Time passed and she lay wakeful, her anger giving way to fear as midnight became two and two became four. Where had he gone? An image of Patsy rose before her, and jealousy brought her upright.
Dammit, she wasn’t going to lie awake like this! If Tim thought he could make her jealous he could think again. Storming into the bathroom, she rummaged in the cabinet for a sleeping pill.
Tomorrow, she assured herself, he would return chastened and apologetic, and they would sit down and calmly discuss everything that had taken place tonight. He had behaved stupidly over Patsy, but perhaps the stagnancy of his career, allied to her own burgeoning success, was responsible for it.
But at rock bottom they loved each other, and they must acknowledge this, for it was the cornerstone on which to rebuild their marriage.

CHAPTER THREE
TIM had still not returned when Lindsey finished breakfast next morning.
It was the first time a quarrel between them had lasted so long, and she wondered if she had over-reacted with Patsy. Yet she could not dismiss it as though it had not happened. Her trust in Tim had taken a beating and she needed assuring it would not recur.
Glancing at her watch, and seeing it was after eight-thirty, she gulped down her coffee and dumped her mug and cereal bowl in the sink, then virtuously washed them and put them on the draining rack. At least Tim would find the kitchen spick-and-span when he got back—he hated mess, though he rarely complained. But then he rarely criticised anything; not even the furniture they had purchased second-hand, which she was positive he loathed. But she had adamantly refused to accept anything from his parents’ home. The mere sight of an antique chair or valuable rug would have compromised their hard-won independence, and reminded her of the parents-in-law she preferred to forget.
Tim adored his mother, which made it all the more remarkable that he had married a girl she had not liked.
‘I’ll have to change my accent if you ever decide to become a tycoon!’ she had teased him on one occasion.
‘Rubbish!’ he had grinned. ‘With your gorgeous mane of auburn hair and stunning figure, you’ll be my greatest asset!’
In fact Lindsey had lost her Midlands twang at university, though she still didn’t speak in the plummy tones of Tim’s friends. Yet deep down she was the same girl she had always been. Her insecurity was less—Tim’s love had lessened it—but it was still there, ready to rise when she felt threatened.
As she had felt last night.
Biting back a sigh, she donned the jacket of her suit and set off to work.
Arriving there, she was told Grace Chapman wanted to see her. It had been an achievement for Lindsey to be taken on as one of her researchers, for it was a post normally given to an experienced person. But Grace had been impressed by her intelligence, and within a few months was sending her out on the most difficult assignments.
‘I’m glad you’re back from Paris ahead of schedule,’ the woman greeted her with a sigh of relief. ‘I want you to interview Howard McKay urgently.’ She named a renowned biographer of political figures.
‘But he lives in Glasgow!’
‘If you catch the next shuttle, you can be back tonight.’
As Lindsey was at the door, Grace spoke again.
‘Have you considered my offer?’
‘About going to America? It sounds marvellous, but I can’t accept. I haven’t even mentioned it to my husband.’
‘I realise six months is a long time,’ Mrs Chapman sympathised, ‘but it would be invaluable experience for you.’
‘I know, and if I’d been single I’d have jumped at it.’
‘Think it over again. I’ll keep the offer open for another week.’
Returning to her desk, Lindsey realised she had barely an hour to get to the airport. She didn’t even have a moment to call Tim. But he was bound to ring her some time today, and she asked Joan Barker, another researcher who shared her office, to explain she had to go to Glasgow unexpectedly, but would be back later that evening.
She reached Howard McKay’s home at midday, and was dismayed to find he had gone to the dentist.
‘Broke a crown,’ his housekeeper explained. ‘He said to relax and have a coffee. He shouldn’t be long.’
But it was well into the afternoon before the author returned. Tall and thin, he had a craggy, attractive face, and a thatch of grey hair.
‘Sorry to have kept you,’ he apologised, the teeth he flashed at her bearing witness to the efficiency of his dentist.
Recollecting Mrs Chapman warning her he could be tetchy, Lindsey assured him she hadn’t minded waiting to see someone as important as he was. This put him in an excellent humour, and the interview went well.
‘Perhaps you’d like to have a look at some of my notes for my latest biography?’ he volunteered.
This was a bonus she had not anticipated, and for the next couple of hours she pored over them with him, asking pertinent questions, most of which he didn’t answer.
It wasn’t until she rose to leave that he invited her to stay to dinner, insinuating he might answer the questions he had previously avoided. Since this would give her interview greater bite, she accepted, giving up hope of flying home that night.
‘I’d like to telephone my husband and let him know,’ she explained, and was disconcerted when McKay did not offer to leave the room.
In the event it did not matter, for it seemed Tim had not gone to his office today, and she called Joan to see if he had been in touch.
‘Afraid not,’ Joan answered. ‘But if he calls before I leave, do you have a number where he can reach you?’
Lindsey thought quickly. If he rang her here she would not be able to talk freely with Howard McKay listening, and a stilted conversation would do neither of them any good.
‘Best not,’ she replied. ‘Tell him the interview’s taken longer than I expected, and I have to stay in Glasgow overnight.’ Maybe she could ring Tim from the hotel. As she set down the receiver, she noticed her host’s eyes on her ringless left hand. ‘I don’t wear jewellery,’ she explained.
‘A wedding-ring is hardly jewellery. Do you see it as a sign of bondage?’
She shrugged. ‘It could be, but not in my case.’
‘What does your husband do?’
‘He works for Frank Taplow, the political correspondent.’
‘He’s interested in politics, then?’
‘Very,’ she lied.
‘Do you come from a political background?’
Lindsey nearly laughed. ‘Hardly. My mother always voted for the best-looking candidate, and my stepfather never voted in his life. From the age of twelve I lived in an orphanage, so my background wasn’t a privileged one.’
‘Beautiful women make their own background.’
‘I prefer to rely on my brains.’
‘Most commendable. But if one also has beauty, one has an extra advantage!’
‘Spoken like a man,’ Lindsey chided. ‘But one day soon—when women take their rightful place in world affairs—no man will dare say that!’
Chuckling, McKay rose and extended his arm. ‘Shall we go in to dinner?’
It was well after midnight before she booked into a hotel, too late to call Tim, and she ordered an alarm call for six, anxious to catch the earliest shuttle to London. But again fate conspired against her, for the airport was blanketed by fog, and she kicked her heels the entire morning.
Several times she went to call Tim at the newspaper, but each time stopped herself. The more she thought of their quarrel, the wiser it seemed to wait until they were face to face. In the context of her love for him, and their future together, the Patsy episode was best forgiven, though she doubted she could ever forget it.
She had also mulled over his accusations regarding her attitude to his parents, and knew they weren’t unjustified. Because of her insecurity, she was afraid of their power over him, refusing to see that by marrying her he had shown his independence, and endorsed it further by refusing to join the family firm. So surely she could afford to be less defensive with her in-laws? Perhaps if she made an effort to be nice to them, they would respond in kind.
It was well into the afternoon before she finally reached her office.
‘Did Tim call yesterday?’ was her first question to Joan.
‘About an hour after you rang. He left a number.’
Lindsey looked at it, but it meant nothing to her. Anyway, there was no point calling him there now.
‘I’m off,’ she announced. ‘I left McKay after one this morning, and what with the journey back, I’m whacked.’
Arriving home, she showered and changed into one of her prettiest dresses, then wandered from one room to the other, nervous as a girl waiting for her first date.
It was only as she decided to have a cup of coffee that she saw her breakfast cup and saucer on the draining board where she had left them yesterday morning. Odd that Tim hadn’t put them away. His tidiness was something she teased him about. When he had learned she was remaining in Glasgow for the night, he must have stayed over wherever he had gone.
She rummaged in her bag for the number Joan had given her, started to dial it, then, on an impulse, went over to the desk for Tim’s address book. Leafing through it, she could find no number corresponding to the one she had, and she went into the hall for the telephone directory.
With trembling fingers she picked up the L to Z. Yes, there was a P. Selwyn listed and the number tallied with the one Joan had given her. Did the ‘P’ stand for Patsy or Peter? There was one way to find out, and she took it.
She hardly remembered the cab ride to Knightsbridge, and was in a cold sweat when she reached the entrance of a luxury apartment block near Harrods. There was an entry-phone at the door but she was reluctant to use it, unwilling to warn Patsy—if it was her and not her brother—that she was here.
After what seemed an age but was only a moment, a well dressed couple emerged, and she slipped past them into the foyer. Luckily the porter was talking to another resident, and Lindsey darted into the lift.
Apartment twelve was on the top floor, and her heart was thudding madly as she rang the bell. Footsteps sounded on parquet, then the door was flung open and Patsy stared at her, dumbfounded.
‘Good lord, you!’
‘Is Tim here?’
‘He’s in Evebury.’
Lindsey was taken aback. ‘But he—he’s stayed here the last two nights, hasn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ Patsy said, ‘and frankly I don’t blame him. If you were childish enough to throw him out, what did you expect?’
Lindsey felt sick. How could Tim discuss their quarrel with the girl who was the cause of it? Didn’t he realise how disloyal it was, or didn’t he care?
‘I was angry,’ she said, then wondered why she should excuse her behaviour to Patsy. Without another word she turned and ran down the stairs.
Her worst suspicions had been confirmed. After their quarrel, Tim had spent the night with Patsy, and had done so again when she had been stuck in Glasgow. Lindsey tried to assure herself that they might have slept in separate rooms, but she could not believe it. Bearing in mind that he had had no qualms about kissing the girl while his wife was in Paris, it was difficult to imagine he had only gone to Patsy’s apartment for tea and sympathy!
Ignoring the taxis that passed by, Lindsey strode along the hard, unyielding pavements, and by the time she reached home the soles of her feet were burning. No swift, silent lift here to whisk her to a luxury apartment; just steep stairs, with each landing exuding its own distinctive smell. Lavender water from the elderly woman who had originally owned the house before converting it, dog from the Coopers, whose Basset hound was not house-trained, and nothing from their floor, Lindsey realised miserably as she reached her front door, and for once would have welcomed the aroma of Tim’s burnt cooking.
Desolated, she went straight to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. The working class panacea, she thought wryly. Patsy would no doubt have poured herself a glass of champagne.
To hell with Patsy and what she would have done! Lindsey sat down at the kitchen table and waited for the water to boil. Tim’s departure for Evebury meant only one thing: he was leaving London to join the family company. She was hurt that he had not seen fit to talk it over with her first. Was it because he wanted to prove he was his own man?
Angrily she poured boiling water over her teabag and some of it splashed on her hand. With a cry she put down the kettle, the shock of the scald shattering her frayed nerves.
Tears streaming down her face, she ran into the living room and flung herself on to the sofa. Her life was over. At the first trouble between them Tim had fled to his family like a chicken to its coop. Lindsey felt as though a door had been slammed in her face, leaving her broken, crushed, and completely alone.

CHAPTER FOUR
THE piercing ring of the telephone at her side roused Lindsey from her stupor, and dazedly she reached for the receiver, sitting up swiftly as she heard Tim at the other end.
‘Why haven’t you called me?’ he said curtly. ‘Didn’t you get my message?’
‘Yes. But I didn’t return from Glasgow till late this afternoon. I understand you’re at Evebury?’
‘Yes, I am. So you rang the number I left?’
‘I went there,’ she said as casually as she could. It was pointless not telling him, given that Patsy would.
He was silent, as if surprised, and Lindsey’s resentment became savage. ‘So you’ve gone back to Mummy and Daddy?’
‘Dammit, Lindsey, I’m here because—’
‘You were tired of pigging it with me!’
‘We weren’t exactly starving in a garret!’ he responded irritably. ‘My father’s had a stroke and is in hospital.’
Lindsey was shocked into silence.
‘Will you come down?’ Tim asked.
‘Is he...how serious is it?’
‘Thank God it wasn’t a severe one. The specialist says he should recover completely. But it was totally unexpected.’
‘These things often are.’ Lindsey was surprised to find her voice husky. ‘Please give him my best wishes.’
‘Does that mean you won’t be coming here?’
‘There isn’t much point, is there? Your heart’s in Evebury and mine’s in London.’ She had a sudden inspiration. ‘Not for much longer, though. I’m going to America for six months.’
‘You can’t be serious!’ Tim exclaimed.
‘Yes, I am. Grace offered me the chance a few weeks ago and I’ve finally decided to accept it. It’s for the best.’
‘The best for whom? If you’re going because of Patsy, you’re mad!’
‘Mad because I can’t be as sophisticated about it as you?’ Lindsey stormed back, longing for him to say he was sorry and that he loved her more than anyone in the world.
But he said none of these things, his tone icy as he spoke. ‘You’re making too much of something that’s totally unimportant and—’
‘I consider it bloody important!’
‘I’m in no mood to plead with you, Lindsey. Do what the hell you like. You always have, anyway. But I’ll say one thing for you—you certainly choose your moments!’
‘Our marriage was a mistake and the other night proved it.’
‘Stop using Patsy as an excuse,’ Tim exploded. ‘You’ve obviously been looking for one from the moment you were offered the job in the States. And if that’s what you want—go!’
The receiver was crashed down, and Lindsey drew a shaky breath and returned to the kitchen. She was trembling as though with fever, and she forced herself to make another cup of tea and a cheese sandwich, then sat in an armchair and watched a programme she had researched a month ago.
But for all the attention she paid to it it might as well have been in Chinese. All she could think of was Tim, and the lie she had told him. Should she call back and admit she’d no sooner leave him for six months than fly to the moon? Or was it better to go to Evebury and do it in person? It was probably the surest way of repairing their quarrel.
Lindsey glanced at her watch. It was eight-thirty, too late to catch a train now—and Tim had taken the car so she could not drive down. She would have to wait until tomorrow. By then, he’d have realised he had over-reacted and ring to apologise.
When morning dawned with no word from him, her anger resurfaced. Why should she be the one to patch things up, when it was his behaviour that had caused their row? Their marriage had been far from smooth, and he might have been looking for a pretext to end it. If so, Patsy had provided the perfect solution, for he would blame their parting on her jealousy—brought on by her inferiority complex!
If that was the case, she would go to the States.
She told Grace Chapman of her decision as soon as she arrived at the office.
‘I’m delighted,’ the woman said. ‘It’s a marvellous career move for you. And your husband doesn’t mind?’
‘No,’ Lindsey lied, the implication of all she was saying suddenly overwhelming her. ‘I can leave at the end of the week if you wish,’ she added.
‘Marvellous. I’ll notify New York.’
The next few days were filled with preparations for her departure. Lindsey still hoped to hear from Tim, and worried how to tell Grace that she didn’t want to go to New York after all. But though she rushed to answer the telephone when it rang, it was never Tim at the other end, and she gradually accepted that she wouldn’t hear from him.
Although she had had little contact with her father-in-law, she contacted the hospital to see how he was getting on, pleased to learn he was going home at the end of the week.
On the Thursday night before her departure she hardly slept, tossing and turning as she debated what to do. Her marriage might have reached an impasse, but that didn’t mean it was over. She and Tim could use her stay in America as a cooling-off period, and given goodwill on both sides they could get back together on her return. She would tell him this before leaving; it was the adult way to handle the situation.
Having reached this conclusion, she was on tenterhooks to speak to him, but controlled her agitation until eight a.m., when she deemed the Ramsden household to be awake.
To her surprise the telephone was instantly answered by her mother-in-law, making her realise that the family were still on the alert regarding Mr Ramsden.
‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ Lindsey said after the usual polite greetings had been mouthed, ‘but may I have a word with Tim?’
‘He’s already left for the factory. Can I give him a message?’
‘No, thank you. I’ll call him there.’
‘I doubt if you’ll get him. He went in early to collect some papers before going on to an appointment.’
‘Do you know where? I must talk to him.’
‘Hold on a moment, I’ll ask Patsy. She spoke to him before he left the house.’
Patsy! So she was there with him! If Lindsey had harboured a secret hope of a last-minute reconciliation, it was shattered now.
‘Don’t bother,’ she said quickly. ‘Don’t—don’t even tell him I called.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes,’ Lindsey answered. ‘I—er—I’m glad to hear Mr Ramsden is coming home this weekend.’
‘You know?’ There was surprise in her mother-in-law’s voice, and Lindsey guessed that Tim had told her they had quarrelled.
‘I called the hospital to see how he was,’ she explained, and before Mrs Ramsden had a chance to say anything else she hung up, her sense of despair turning to fury as she thought of Patsy.
Going into the bedroom, she finished her packing. The apartment was in Tim’s name so he could dispose of it as he chose. Clearly Patsy was remaining in his life; having lost him once, she wasn’t going to let him get away again.
Lindsey stared round the room, her eyes brimming with tears as her glance fell on the bed where she and Tim had made such passionate love. Unbidden, she recalled some of the happy incidents in their life together: Tim teaching her to water-ski on their honeymoon and both of them tumbling into the water; the pancakes he had determined to cook for her birthday breakfast, the first one tossed so high it had stuck to the ceiling! So much to laugh over, so many tender moments to remember.
She shook her head. Nostalgia would get her nowhere. Their marriage was over—for the time being at least, she qualified instantly—and she had to concentrate on the next six months.
But first she had to write to Tim. Plenty needed saying, but face to face, not cold-bloodedly in a letter. If only his father hadn’t been taken ill... If only he didn’t have to be at Evebury... If only she could relive this last week...
In despair, Lindsey finally put pen to paper.
As you know, I’ll be in New York for the six months, though if I do well I may be asked to stay longer.
I enclose my share of last quarter’s gas, electricity and telephone bills, but if I owe you for anything else, please let me know. I’m not sure where I’ll be staying, but the office will forward any letters.
Firmly she signed her name. She had been deliberately ambiguous, leaving Tim to read into her note as little or as much as he liked. Sealing the envelope, she went out at once to post it, afraid that if she didn’t she might change her mind and remain in England.
* * *
Lindsey was swept off her feet by the frenetic atmosphere of New York. Everything was larger than life here, and moved at breakneck speed, so that nothing seemed permanent, not even emotions—and that suited her fine.
For the first few weeks she was booked into a small hotel, courtesy of Universal TV, but before the month was out she was sharing an apartment near Fifth Avenue with Mary Brompton, another girl working as a researcher. Mary was New York born and bred, and she quickly introduced Lindsey to the city, and made her feel at home.
Lindsey’s day started earlier than in London, and she was always at the office by eight. Her particular project was to collect material for a documentary series on immigrants and their influence on the country’s culture, which was being co-financed by a big American network. The research was exhaustive, and she often stayed late collating it. It left her little free time, other than at weekends, and with Mary’s help these were soon fully occupied.
Museums, art galleries, concerts, theatre, movies—Lindsey enjoyed them all, as she also did the mind-boggling choice of ethnic restaurants and discount clothing stores! But though her social life flourished, Tim kept intruding into her thoughts. What was he doing? Was he still with Patsy? More important, was he wondering the same thing about her?
She spent hours remembering their whirlwind courtship. Though she had not considered herself a romantic, she had been delighted with the white rose delivered to her room at college each day. There was also perfume, books of poetry, and a gold bracelet with a single, ‘I love you’ charm. She had frequently protested at his extravagance, but he had assured her he could afford it, and how better to spend his money than on the girl he loved? It was sad to admit how short a time his love had lasted.
In spite of the lifeline she had offered in her letter to him, he had not attempted to contact her. It was as if he wished to sever their relationship completely, and even the cheques she had left for him remained uncashed.
Would their relationship have succeeded if they had settled in Evebury and Tim had gone into the family business? Yet, if he had, her own career would not have taken off, and the independent girl Tim had fallen for would have disappeared. No, she reflected, whatever way they had played it, given their respective backgrounds their life together had been doomed from the start.
Eventually she would forget him; at least sufficiently to consider another relationship. But unfortunately the men who appealed to her were all Tim lookalikes, though none of them had his charm, and she was never tempted to launch into an affair.
A month before she was due to return to England, Phil Marsham, Grace Chapman’s American counterpart, asked if she was interested in remaining in New York.
‘For how long?’ she enquired, gratified by the compliment but unwilling to risk losing her position in the London company.
‘For as long as you like.’
‘I’m tired of doing research. Grace said I could front some of the shows when I went back.’
‘Stay here and you can front them all.’
This had been her goal for the future, but she had not envisaged grasping it so soon. ‘You mean that? You’re not just holding out a carrot?’
‘Sure it’s a carrot—but it’s yours to eat!’
‘Then I’ll stay!’ Lindsey beamed.
Later that evening she wrote to tell Tim of her plans.
In spite of its down side, New York’s a great city and I enjoy living here. I’m sure you’re managing very well without me, and I’ll understand if you wish to make our separation permanent.
Here she paused, wondering if she was being too brief, too final. She thought not. She had stated the facts as she saw them, and if he didn’t agree he was free to say so. Damn him, he’d said nothing since the day she had left London. Not a call, not a card.
A week later she had a stilted reply saying he was in no hurry for a divorce, and preferred to wait the statutory two years, when it would be granted with the minimum of fuss. If she wanted one sooner, she would have to furnish the necessary evidence herself.
Furiously she flung his letter aside. What a nerve! Did he think she was born yesterday? If she needed evidence to divorce him, she’d cite Patsy. Yet deep down she knew she wouldn’t. Not unless she fell so madly in love with someone else that she wanted to marry them immediately, about as likely as pigs flying, in her present emotional state. No, she’d play it as coolly as Tim, and if he was content to wait, so was she.
With great determination Lindsey began building a new life. She was happy to stay for the foreseeable future; certainly her career would move forward at a faster pace than if she returned home.
Quite how fast it did go took her by surprise, for three months after accepting Phil’s offer she researched, produced, and appeared in her own documentary. The ratings were excellent, and to show their appreciation Universal TV gave her a bonus, large enough for her to rent an empty apartment of her own. She filled it with pieces bought from the numerous second-hand stores that flourished in the city, and was pleased by the admiring comments from friends at the William-Morris-papered walls, polished wood floorboards scattered with rugs, and delicate sprigged fabrics on the squashy sofas.
‘You’ve created an English-country-house look in the heart of New York!’ they exclaimed.
It had been a totally unconscious act, but once it was brought to her attention she realised that the country house she had unconsciously copied was Ramsden Manor!
A burgeoning bank account brought other advantages too. When money was tight she had given little thought to clothes, but now she no longer had to skimp she discovered she had an excellent eye for what suited her, and her tall, graceful body was shown to advantage in the elegantly casual look of Ralph Lauren and Armani.
For the next two years Lindsey did all she could to forget the past, but it came forcibly back to her during her second summer in New York when she picked up an English newspaper one morning—left in the office by a visiting British VIP—and read that Ramsden Engineering had been bought out by Semperton Trust, a large company with its fingers in many different businesses.
So Tim’s joining the family firm had not saved it! What a blow it must have been to his pride. Still, he was young enough to build another career for himself. It was his father for whom she felt sympathy, for he would find it difficult to start something new in his mid-fifties, yet was too young to settle for retirement.
She read on, and was glad she had done so, for it appeared that Mr Ramsden’s aggressive price-cutting in the past year had caused blood to be spilt in Semperton’s engineering arm, and the best way of stemming it, according to the article, was to ‘invite the enemy on board’.
Lindsey couldn’t help smiling. Tim’s father had always been kind to her, though fairly remote—a fact which she had put down to his wife—and she was pleased that he wasn’t going to be put out to pasture. Crumpling the newspaper, she tossed it into the bin, wishing she could as easily toss out the memories of Tim that came crowding into her brain.
‘It’s over,’ she said aloud. ‘I’ve made a new life for myself and you have no part in it.’
‘You calling me?’ her assistant enquired, putting her head round the door.
‘No. Just reminding myself of something important.’
Another year went by and, aware that for the past twelve months Tim could have obtained a divorce with the minimum of fuss, she waited for his lawyer to write and say it had come through. When he didn’t, she was puzzled. Surely Tim wanted his freedom, given that he had made no move towards a reconciliation? Not that she’d have him back anyway; she still resented his apathy, his total lack of caring.
By the fourth year his image had blurred, and it was as if he belonged to another life; one she recalled with neither pain nor pleasure, only numbness.
Around this time Phil Marsham and his wife invited her out to celebrate their wedding anniversary. She dressed for the evening in a body-hugging cream silk suit, its simplicity suiting her tall, slender figure. Her free-tumbling curls were long since gone, replaced by a silky auburn swath brushed back from her face to fall smoothly to just below her ears.
Everything about her today was sophisticated, though many of her friends thought her too thin. Yet this emphasised her beautiful bone-structure, throwing her high cheekbones into relief, and drawing attention to her full red mouth and luminous green eyes.
Lowering her head, she fastened the clasp of her chunky gold necklace and matching bracelet. Strange that she, who had once scorned jewellery, should today regard it as part of her persona. Grabbing a light wrap and small Chanel purse, she went down to the foyer, where Phil was waiting.
He was a wiry man of medium build and height. Yorkshire by birth, though no one would have guessed it from his accent which, after twenty years in the States with an American wife, had become authentically New York.
‘The one person I know who’s always punctual,’ he greeted her. ‘Belle’s waiting in the car.’
‘I was going to suggest you both come up for a drink.’
‘I can’t face the aggro of parking. Besides, Robert Lawson’s meeting us at Rico’s in ten minutes.’
Rico’s she knew of—it was a chic restaurant on the East Side—but Robert Lawson she had difficulty placing, though the name rang a bell.
‘Should I know him?’ she asked as they went outside.
‘Think of mega-bucks and take-overs.’
Lindsey stopped in her tracks. ‘That Lawson!’
‘None other.’
‘How come you know him?’
‘What an unflattering question to put to your boss!’ Phil tried to look pained, and she laughed.
‘Don’t give me that. You’re the most confident man I know.’
‘Because I’m a happy one. Happy in my job, happy in my marriage. I’d like that for you.’
‘Right now I’m happy to settle for my job.’ Quickly she changed the subject. ‘So how come Lawson is honouring you with his company?’
‘We grew up in the same village near Manchester. Plus the fact that he likes to maintain a high profile, and I’m willing to help him if you think there may be a story in it for us. We’ll know better when we find out what he’s shopping around for in the States.’
‘I thought it was going to be an anniversary celebration for only the three of us,’ Lindsey teased as she joined Belle in the back seat. ‘Now it turns out to be a business dinner!’
‘Don’t you know Phil?’ his wife sighed. ‘Fifty years from now he’ll be organising business dinners for St Peter!’
Lindsey laughed. As a top television executive, Phil met most of the leading personalities visiting New York, and within weeks of starting to work for him she had been caught up in his frantic social activity. Not surprisingly, given her stunning looks, she was propositioned with unremitting frequency, but she had developed enough poise to keep all would-be lovers at bay without offending them.
‘What’s Robert Lawson like as a person?’ she asked Phil.
‘Belle will tell you.’
Lindsay turned to her.
‘A self-made millionaire, who makes no pretence about it,’ Belle said. ‘He’s tough but charming, and would be death as a husband, though I think he’d be great as a lover.’
‘What category am I in?’ Phil enquired.
‘Both!’
Belle’s description of Robert Lawson might be right, Lindsey mused as they entered the restaurant and he rose from his table to greet them. In his late thirties, with glinting brown eyes marked by heavy brows as dark as his thick, curly black hair, he was a big man with a well-proportioned body: wide shoulders, broad chest tapering to slim hips, large hands with carefully manicured nails, and bronzed skin that had the cared-for look that went with a first class fitness club.
‘So you’re Lindsey,’ he murmured as, introductions made, she sat beside him. ‘Have you deserted England for good?’
‘I’m not sure. At the moment I love my work too much to consider going home.’
‘It is only your work that keeps you here?’
Knowing what he meant, she gave him an innocent look. ‘There’s Angus, of course.’
‘Of course,’ he said smoothly. ‘I thought you might have someone special. He sounds a Scot.’
‘Siamese, as it happens.’
For an instant he was taken aback, then he chuckled. ‘A cat! You caught me there, my dear.’ He eyed her speculatively. ‘I’d have thought you more the Saluki type.’
‘I’m not sure whether to be flattered by that,’ she said. ‘I always associate them with well-bred idleness!’
‘I associate them with elegance and beauty,’ he replied softly.
Aware of the amused looks passing between Belle and Phil, Lindsey resolved to keep the conversation general, and as if aware of her intention Robert Lawson did the same. He was an excellent raconteur, and listening to his stories—which were mainly political—she began to feel homesick.
It was not until they left the restaurant and were waiting for Phil’s car to be brought to them, that Robert quietly asked if she was free to have dinner with him the following evening.
‘I’ll have to check my diary,’ she said equally quietly.
‘Is that a polite turn-down?’
‘It means I have to check my diary.’ Her voice was devoid of expression. ‘I have a heavy week.’
‘I’ll call you in the morning,’ he said, shepherding both women to the car.
They did not talk again, and he allowed Phil to accompany her to the door when they reached her apartment block, which would have piqued her had not feminine intuition told her he had behaved this way to exploit the abrasive quality in his personality, an abrasiveness that she was sure attracted many women.
But did it attract her? Not at the moment. All she knew was that he was as different from Tim as chalk from cheese, and that, she reflected as she closed her apartment door and went into her bedroom, might be the reason why she would go out with him tomorrow night.

CHAPTER FIVE
‘MR LAWSON phoned twice,’ her secretary announced as Lindsey came into the office next morning. ‘He left a number for you to call.’
Lindsey was surprised by his keenness. Smiling, she dialled, and he picked up the phone himself.
‘I thought you’d be at the office bright and early,’ he greeted her, his voice deeper than she remembered it. ‘Have you checked your diary?’
‘Yes, I’m free.’
‘Good. I’m staying at Bedford House, Park Avenue. Apartment eleven. I’ll expect you at seven-thirty.’
The line went dead and she gave a gasp of astonishment. What cheek! Ordering her to call for him as if she were his personal assistant.
‘Anything wrong?’ her secretary asked.
Lindsey shook her head. Maybe she was being childish. Robert Lawson probably had a tight schedule and shouldn’t be judged by normal standards.
Despite her irritation, she arrived on time at his apartment that evening.
When she refused a second drink, he suggested they leave for dinner and, expecting him to take her to a restaurant where he might possibly make an item in a gossip column next day, he surprised her by taking her to Mr Albert’s, a discreet dining club in an elegant brownstone house.
‘Have you been here before?’ he asked as they were immediately shown to their table. Mr Albert’s guests did not sit at the bar drinking with strangers!
‘Yes.’ Lindsey was glad she could answer affirmatively. She didn’t want Robert thinking only he could take her somewhere special. ‘The head of a rival network brought me here last month to try to bribe me away from Universal.’
‘Did you accept?’
‘No. Doing a chat show isn’t my scene. I believe the documentaries we do are worthwhile.’
‘So you turned down fame and fortune for—’
‘Job satisfaction,’ she cut in abruptly.
To his credit, Robert instantly saw she was in no mood to be taken lightly. ‘I can appreciate that. Job satisfaction means everything to me too. The day I decide I no longer enjoy the cut and thrust of business, I’ll sell out and retire.’
‘Sell out? Wouldn’t you prefer to appoint someone to take over from you?’
‘I’d be watching him like a hawk to make sure he carried on the company the way I would. And nobody is as good as I am. That’s why, when I’ve had enough, I’ll give up completely.’
‘Are you always so modest?’ Lindsey couldn’t help asking.
‘I believe in being honest. I started with nothing and now have one of the biggest engineering companies in the country. I’m negotiating to buy another one, and if I can persuade them to sell it to me I’ll be the biggest.’
‘Which is the biggest at the moment?’
‘Semperton Engineering. It’s a part of Semperton Trust. A damn octopus that has its tentacles into everything.’
Lindsey wondered whether to tell him that they had bought her father-in-law’s engineering company a few years ago. Indeed, only last week she had read a flattering article about him in Time magazine, saying that Semperton Trust rated his business acumen so highly that they had just elected him chairman and managing director of the main board; a remarkable achievement for a man who had only come into the organisation three years ago.
As she opened her mouth to speak, the waiter presented them with the menu, and by the time they had chosen their meal, she decided that she didn’t know Robert Lawson well enough to disclose anything about her private life.
‘Let’s not talk any more about me,’ he said as their first course was set before them. ‘Tell me about yourself. You’ve been married, I believe. I asked Phil, and he couldn’t evade a blunt question.’
‘You could have waited to ask me.’
‘You seemed to have some doubts about seeing me, and I wanted to know what I was up against.’
‘And do you?’
‘I think so. You’ve been hurt once and have put up your guard. It’s usual when a person has been divorced.’
‘Are you speaking from experience?’
He shook his head. ‘Until recently I’ve been too busy building my fortune to have time to build a private life.’ He set down his fork. ‘How long have you been free?’
‘I’m not. I’m still married.’ She was pleased to see he looked put out at being wrong-footed. ‘Didn’t Phil tell you that too?’
‘No. He said as little as possible.’ A blunt-fingered hand, the nails well kept, rubbed the side of his face. ‘Look, it’s no crime to be curious about you. If we’d met in London I’d have played it differently, but I’m not here long and—’
‘I’m flattered,’ Lindsey cut in. The poor man had suffered enough for his curiosity, and she genuinely was flattered by his interest. ‘Are you always so inquisitive about the women you date?’
‘Only when they’re as beautiful and bright as you.’ He leaned towards her. ‘Are you hoping to get back with your husband?’
He was blunt all right! No one had asked her this, and she found it painful to answer. Yet perhaps there was catharsis in pain.
‘My marriage is over. We’ve just been rather dilatory in making it official.’
Robert pursed his lower lip. It drew her attention to his mouth, which was well shaped but thin. ‘Is your husband in entertainment too?’

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