An Affair to Forget (4 page)

She
stepped outside and glanced up at the sky. “Isn’t it a gorgeous day after that terrible storm? Oh, Lord, is that the time already? If I don’t fetch the children now their poor teachers will think they’ve been abandoned. Bye…”

Back
in the study everything was quiet and peaceful, as though Kate had never dropped her bombshell. The dogs settled down again with grunts of pleasure as the sun warmed them; Mrs Plover brought in some coffee and Morrin worked on until the liquid was almost cold before she realised that it was there.

At
the end of the day she switched the computer off, said goodbye to the housekeeper, and drove back to her bedsit without even noticing the rolling hills and gentle green valleys that she loved.

She
had planned to listen to a play on the radio that evening, but when it was over she realised that she hadn’t heard half of it. She had been sunk in memories – Gareth pacing about the study, running his fingers through his black hair as he dictated to her; Gareth scooping the dogs into his car, or setting off with them for a long walk; Gareth, immaculate and devastatingly handsome in evening dress, leaving for an evening out with one of his many girlfriends…

She
tuned the radio in to a pop concert, but the bright, catchy music became a background to Gareth’s voice as he sprawled in the chair behind his big desk.

“
If Elaine calls, tell her I’ve gone skin-diving in the Niger or something like that… she’ll never notice anything odd about it,” he had once said, then laughed at Morrin when the rejected Elaine did call, and she had to think up a more believable excuse.

“
Why bother?” he demanded when she finally hung up, pink-cheeked and flustered. “It’s over and that’s that.”

He
hated women who tried to hang on. As far as he was concerned, relationships were fun… and when they stopped being fun, the two people involved should have the sense to walk away from each other without a backward glance. No regrets. And all the time Cass, husky-voiced Cass, had been waiting in the wings. Gareth already knew where his tomorrows lay.

Morrin
curled up on her narrow bed and tried to picture her own future. Could she remain with Gareth, working on his novels, answering his phone, dealing with his letters, working close to him? What would happen when the future Mrs Gareth Sinclair swept in from Wales to claim her man and take up residence in the grey stone house?

A
job was a job. She was well paid and she loved the work. She might even have been able to put that one indiscreet night behind her completely if Gareth had continued to play the field and move from one lovely woman to another, the dedicated bachelor, a man nobody, particularly Morrin, could expect to tame.

But
now that she saw him as a man on the verge of marriage things were different. Gareth Sinclair had put his mark on her as surely as if she had spent the night in his bed. At the mere thought of his touch her body glowed and tingled, her heart flipped, her cool, sensible mind yearned for him. She glanced at her watch and realised that exactly twenty-four hours ago he had been sprawled on the rug at her feet, his shoulder warm against her thigh. She remembered the way he had turned to look up at her, touched her hair, drawn her down into his arms and…

She
picked up his latest book from a shelf and turned to the photograph at the back. It was a casual shot, a head and shoulders picture of Gareth with Daniel, the sheepdog. In it, Gareth wore the same black polo-necked sweater he had worn the night of the storm, and his hair was tousled, highlighting his rugged good looks. Although the photograph was in black and white his eyes had that clear quality that told of a pure blue or green.

Morrin
traced the features on the book jacket with a gentle fingertip, remembering how he had done exactly that to her face in the candlelight. To him, a kiss passed the time and one woman was very like another… with the possible exception of Cass. Marooned in the house with Morrin he had amused himself, that was all. It was probably forgotten already, now that he was in Wales with his intimidating grandmother and her god-daughter to occupy his attention.

But
it wasn’t as easy as that for Morrin. She had never, even at the full stretch of her imagination, believed that one man could bring her such conflict, such misery. Her love for him was no longer something that could be pigeon-holed and made to stay within limits. It overflowed, demanded her continuous attention, and she realised that until the night of the storm she had been fooling herself when she believed that she could continue to look on him as her employer only.

“
You’ve blown it,” she told herself aloud, putting the book back. “And you’ve just lost a good job, my girl.”

*

She worked feverishly all the next day, and by the time she went home she had almost finished the manuscript. One more morning would do it, and in the meantime she had a lot of planning to do.

Sitting
cross-legged on her bed, she surveyed her small room. She had enjoyed living there, but she had no real ties. She could walk away from this place without a backward glance. And she had to find the sense and the courage to do the same to Gareth. Faced with having to love him in silence, or never seeing him again, she knew the path she had to take.

“
Absence,” she told herself firmly, “makes the heart forget. And that’s the truth!”

She
stayed up late, packing her few belongings, taking down posters from the walls and stripping the room of the personal touches she had painstakingly applied to make it more homely.

On
the following morning she reached the house early. Now that she had made her decision she couldn’t get away fast enough. She felt as panic-stricken as she had been when Gareth had caught her trying to sneak out into the storm.

This
time she couldn’t afford to let him catch her. She had to be away well before there was any chance of his return, for she could no longer be in the same house, the same room as him, and pretend that nothing had changed.

Over
lunch she told Mrs Plover that she had to go home for a short while because of her mother’s ill health, then, seeing the concerned look on the older woman’s face, hated herself for the lie. “She’ll be all right, but I need to be there to help nurse her. I’ll just finish Mr Sinclair’s work, then leave him a note.”

“
Don’t you fret yourself about him, he’ll manage without you for a few days,” the housekeeper soothed. “You look really upset, love. Best to get home as soon as you can, and put your mind at rest. Your mam’ll be right glad to see you, I know.”

By
early afternoon the manuscript was neatly packed and addressed. Morrin sat before the computer screen for several minutes before laying her fingers on the keys. When the letter was written and printed out, her hands were shaking so badly that she had to lay it on a table in order to read it.

Gareth, I
’m sorry but I have to leave and I will not be returning. Please forget about the salary owing, in lieu of notice. Your book has been completed and posted. Best wishes with it and with your future work. Yours sincerely…

She
signed it, sealed it into an envelope, wrote his name on the outside, and propped it up on his desk, where he would be sure to see it. He didn’t know her parents’ address, and anyway, it was highly unlikely that he would want to trace her, so she knew that once she got away from the immediate area she would be free of him.

She
hugged the dogs, shooed them out of the study, and closed the door gently. Looking back at the house as she drove away, seeing Mrs Plover waving from the front door with Daniel and Polly prancing about her feet, she found tears filling her eyes, blurring her last sight of the lovely grey stone building.

She
blinked hard. She would have to save her tears till later, after she had posted the manuscript, seen her landlady, picked up her cases, and gone back to her parents’ home.

Then,
and only then, in the room that had been hers all her life until she went north to work for Gareth Sinclair three months earlier, she would have the time, the freedom, and the solitude to cry her heart out.

Four

The late December wind was bitter and as Morrin hurried along the busy London street she was glad of her long black boots and scarlet wool coat.

Passing
the front of the theatre she smiled as she glanced up at the billboards advertising the coming show, each proclaiming, ‘A Sam Kennedy Production’. She had been Sam Kennedy’s personal assistant for a year now, but she still got a thrill out of seeing his name up in huge letters over a theatre.

She
was so busy looking that she narrowly avoided falling over a toddler roaming at the length of his reins. Patting the small head and flashing a sympathetic smile at the child’s distracted young mother, Morrin went on, ducking round the corner into a quiet, narrow side street with nothing in it but the stage door.

When
she reached it, Morrin walked in with the confidence of one who is no stranger to a place. “Hello, George.”

The
doorman looked up from his newspaper and smiled as she pulled off her scarlet hat and ran her fingers through her hair to fluff it up. “That wind’s brought the roses to your cheeks, Miss Grey.”

“
And to my nose… it’s freezing!”

“
Mr Kennedy’s in the auditorium, and it’s parky in there today so you’d be best to keep that coat on.”

“
Thanks, I will.” She left him to his paper and his glowing electric fire and pushed through the second door, loosening the black silk scarf, splashed with glowing crimson poppies, from about her throat as she went.

The
play was in its final, frantic rehearsal period. The stage was brightly lit and the auditorium in darkness, but she knew just where to find Sam. He was concentrating intently on the actors, but he took time to smile at her as she slipped into the empty seat beside him. His hand reached for hers, fingers interlacing, as he turned back to the stage.

The
play was a comedy, and Morrin had no doubt that it was going to be a hit. Sam Kennedy was one of the youngest and most successful theatrical impresarios in Britain, and as far as audiences were concerned he had an uncanny talent for finding the right play and the right actors at the right time. Morrin had grown very fond of him, as a person as well as an employer. Thanks to Sam and the busy, demanding life she led with him, she was beginning to rebuild her life, something that, when she fled from Yorkshire all those months ago, she had not thought possible.

After
arriving home she had spent an unhappy few weeks at her parents’ house, dreading every phone call and letter, jumping when the doorbell rang, even though she knew that Gareth wouldn’t bother to look for her. Why should he, when secretaries were ten a penny?

In
those first miserable, empty days she had scanned the society columns in the papers, half dreading the sight of his name linked with that of Cass. ‘An engagement has been announced…’

Her
mother had worried and fussed. “You’re so quiet, and you’re not eating properly. Are you sure nothing’s wrong?”

Morrin
had explained away her unexpected arrival home and her announcement that she was not going back to Yorkshire by pretending that she had given in to a sudden bout of homesickness, for she could never have told her kindly, conservative parents the truth. But within a month of moving back in with them she realised that her original intention of finding work in the area was out of the question. She had to get right away from everything and everyone she knew, stand on her own feet, start a completely new life. And thanks to Sam she had succeeded.

Now
the pain had all but gone, although occasionally she came across a newspaper photograph of Gareth Sinclair at some function or another, always with a beautiful woman by his side. Each time it happened she experienced an ache around her heart, but soon, she told herself, the sight of him and the thought of him would mean nothing at all to her. Time, as everyone said, was a great healer.

She
had allowed herself only one luxury: when the new Gareth Sinclair book,
Charlotte
Dreaming
, came into the bookshops she hadn’t been able to resist buying it. This was the one he had written just after she left his employment, the one that she had not worked on with him. It was good… so good that she had read it several times, carefully avoiding the glossy photograph on the back of the cover each time she picked up her copy. And every time she read it she found something new in it, some hidden facet that had been overlooked before.

She
was quite unaware that she had allowed her thoughts to return so completely to her past until a sudden blaze of lights in the auditorium made her blink.

“
Well? What d’you think?” Sam wanted to know.

“
It’s good. It’s going to be another success.” She couldn’t let him know that she hadn’t been concentrating on the rehearsal.

“
I hope so. And just wait till you hear the great idea I’ve come up with for the next play!” He stood up, drawing her with him. “Did you have a good week?”

“
Lovely.” She had been on a short visit to her parents.

“
Missed you,” he said, then he glanced at his watch. “Give me half an hour to get some things ironed out here, then I’ll take you somewhere nice for lunch.”

*

Two hours later he grinned across the restaurant table at her. “I hope you went shopping for your opening night outfit while you were on holiday?”

“
I dropped it off at the office earlier. I think you’ll like it.” On the opening nights of his plays Sam expected Morrin, as his assistant, to accompany him. At first, it had been no more than an enjoyable duty, but as the months passed and the two of them grew closer, it had become a pleasure.

“
I’m sure I will.” He reached across the white tablecloth again and took both her hands in his. “You’re good at picking out exactly the right thing.”

Sam
liked her to look her best when she was out with him, and under his patient guidance she had become much more sophisticated. Her hair, below shoulder-length with the ends flicked up when she worked for Gareth Sinclair, was now cut short and shaped so that it fitted her head like a silky cap, and she had developed good dress sense. Now she said apprehensively, “It cost an arm and a leg, Sam.”

“
You put it on your business account, didn’t you?”

“
Yes, but –”

“
That’s all right then, it’s my arm and leg and I can afford it.”

“
I just wish you wouldn’t insist on spending so much money on me, Sam.”

“
But I’ve told you, dressing up for opening nights is part of your job, my darling.” The mischievous grin she liked so much flashed over his face. “I’m doing it for me, not for you. If the critics see you looking like a million dollars they’ll know that I’m doing well, and that’s important.”

She
laughed, glad to be back in his company. Sam’s work was his life, and being with him was stimulating and exciting, like a roller-coaster ride. In his early thirties, with humorous grey eyes and hair the russet shade of autumn leaves, he was always active, always planning ahead to the next meeting, the next show, the next challenge.

Back
in the office, situated in a modern block and run by a small staff, Morrin took the new dress from its box and held it up for her employer’s inspection. It was made of primrose-coloured lace, full-length and deceptively plain, with narrow shoulder straps. Both bodice and skirt were draped in soft, pointed tiers. As she lifted it from its wrappings the material lay in her hands like a cobweb.

“
Hold it up against you. You,” said Sam when she did as he said, “are going to be an absolute wow in that dress.” Then, his voice suddenly deepening, his eyes becoming serious, “I’ve missed you a lot over the past week, Morrin. You’ve become part of my life, d’you realise that?”

Morrin
flushed, smiled, and gave her full attention to the business of folding the dress back into the box. She was fond of him and she cherished the good working relationship she and Sam enjoyed, but she was well aware, now, of the dangers of emotional involvement between employer and employee. It would be a long time, if ever, before she could even consider becoming too fond of him or any other man.

“
Tell me about your new plans,” she suggested, repackaging the dress deftly. The ruse worked; Sam immediately sat up straight in his chair and beamed at her, as excited as a little boy with a new toy.

“
I’ve found my next play and it’s going to be a winner. Perhaps the best yet!”

“
Oh Sam, that’s marvellous!”

“
And I think I know the perfect actress for the title role. Her name is Vicki Queen.”

Morrin
frowned. “I don’t think I know of her.”

“
You will, believe me. She and I were drama students together. I wasn’t so hot, which is why I had the sense to change direction during the course and turn to production, but Vicki was a natural. She took all the awards going, and it was my ambition to put her into one of my plays. Then” – the smile disappeared – “she married and gave up the stage, just like that. Went off to live in Spain. The thing is, I heard recently that she and her husband divorced, so Vicki’s free to take up her career again. This play would be perfect for her.”

“
What’s it called? When can I read it?”

“
It’s not exactly a play; at least, not yet,” Sam admitted. “But it will be, and it’ll be great. And I owe it all to you.”

“
To me? What did I do?”

“
You drew my attention to it. I’ve seen it on your desk and in your flat, so when I saw it in a bookshop I bought it to find out what fascinated you so much. I couldn’t put it down, Morrin, and before I was halfway through it I could just see Vicki in the dramatised version. Ah hah, here we are!”

He
had been rummaging about among the papers littering his desk. Now, finding what he was looking for, he held it up, laughing as Morrin stared, dry-mouthed, at the bright jacket. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, darling. Isn’t this what you’ve been reading and re-reading during the past month?
Charlotte
Dreaming
by Gareth Sinclair?”

“
Y-yes, but…” Her voice shook. She swallowed, and tried again. “But that’s a novel, Sam, not a play.”

He
brushed the objection aside. “It can easily be adapted. The dialogue’s marvellous, just right for actors, and it could all be done on a single set. The main character, Charlotte… it’s as if she’d been written specially for Vicki. I’ve been in touch with her – she’s living in Tenerife, of all places. Apparently she got a villa there as part of her divorce settlement.”

“
Only part of it?”

“
Her husband was a millionaire,” Sam said, then rushed on, “I sent her a copy of the book, and we’re flying out next week, once the new play’s been launched, to talk it over with her.”

“
Sam, this is ridiculous,” Morrin said feebly. But there was no stopping him.

“
So look out some summer dresses and book two plane seats,” he said, then snapped his fingers. “No, hold on a minute… why don’t we ask this Gareth Sinclair to fly out with us, then he and Vicki can talk the play over face to face.”

“
You mean that he’s already agreed to turn his book into a play for you?”

“
Not yet, but I’m sure he will. I only got his home number this morning. Seems he lives in Yorkshire somewhere. Here…” Sam tore a sheet of paper from a pad and handed it to her. Gareth’s phone number, so familiar that she seemed to have said it to callers only the day before, jumped off the page at her. “Call him right now, love, and sweet-talk him into agreeing to fly to Tenerife with us.”

“
Sam, it won’t work.”

“
Why shouldn’t it work?”

“
You don’t know anything about this man!”

“
Do you?”

The
question hit her like an unexpected splash of cold water. She stared at him, wondering for a few crazy seconds how he had found out her secret. Then she realised that he had spoken in all innocence. This was the moment to admit that she did know Gareth, to tell Sam why she could not work with him in any capacity. But if she did that – the thoughts raced around her mind as she tried to meet his challenging gaze calmly – Sam would expect her to use her ‘influence’ with Gareth to persuade him to write the play. Once Sam Kennedy got an idea in his head nothing could stop him.

“
No,” she said. “Of course I don’t know him. How could I?”

“
Exactly, so how do you know any more than I do whether he’ll refuse or agree? It’s a gamble, Morrin, and that’s what my work’s all about. If you can just get him on our side and persuade him to come to Tenerife with us, I can almost guarantee that Vicki will agree.”