A Mistletoe Proposal (11 page)

‘Nothing,' she said hastily. ‘Nothing.'

‘You're shaking.' He shut the window and drew her back. ‘Come back into the warm.'

But she tensed against his embrace, resisting him silently, unable to meet his eyes.

But joy hadn't been there for ever. Joy had ended in the next few moments, leaving her unable to hear that carol again without reliving terrible memories.

Roscoe tightened his embrace, tried to draw her closer, felt her fight against it.

‘Pippa, for pity's sake, what's the matter? It's not the cold, is it? There's something else.'

‘No, I…I just have to be getting to work. And so do you.' She gave a brittle laugh. ‘We still have to be sensible.'

‘Sensible? You dare say that to me after the way we were together last night? Was the woman who lay in my arms and cried out to me to love her being sensible? Was I being sensible when I gave her everything I was and received back everything she had in her soul?'

Pippa didn't reply. She couldn't. There were no words for the terror she was feeling. Roscoe's face darkened.

‘Or didn't I?' he said. ‘Was I fooling myself about that, because the woman in my bed would never have wanted to be sensible?'

‘Well,' she said brightly, ‘perhaps that wasn't me, just someone who looked like me.'

‘What's got into you? If this is a joke, it isn't funny.'

The music swelled. Now the carol was being played louder, sung by joyful voices, and her nerves were being torn. She had to get out of this or go mad.

‘It's not a joke,' she said breathlessly. ‘It's just that things look different in the morning.'

‘Yes, they can look different,' he said slowly. ‘Better or worse, depending on what you want to believe.'

‘But that's the problem,' she said quickly. ‘Wanting to believe is dangerous—talking yourself into things because it would be so nice if…if…'

Roscoe was still holding her, trying to understand the violent shaking he could feel throughout her body.

‘What is it?' he asked urgently. ‘Tell me. Don't bear it alone.'

She slumped against him in despair. How could she make him understand what she didn't understand herself? She only knew that she'd been brought to the edge of a deep pit, a place that many people found joyous but where she'd vowed not to venture. Now she stared down into the depths, appalled at herself for backing away but unable to do anything else.

Last night they'd talked happily about the risks they would take for their love. Now she knew she hadn't the courage and nothing mattered but to get away.

The words of the carol were still pouring from the radio.

That was how it should have been and how it never would be again. It was all folly, all illusion, and she must put right the damage now.

‘Pippa, my darling—'

‘Don't—it's better not to call me that. We had a wonderful time last night, didn't we?'

‘I thought so,' he said quietly.

‘But now it's time to wake up and return to reality.'

‘And what do you call reality?'

‘We both know what we mean by it.' She gave another brittle laugh. ‘I'm sure we'll see each other again, but nobody can live too long in that fantasy world.'

At last Roscoe released her. It was what she'd wanted but the feeling of his hands leaving her was achingly wretched because, deep inside, she knew he would never hold her again.

‘I see,' he said. And now his voice was ominous. ‘So that's how it is. We had a good time, now it's over and it had nothing to do with the real world. Is that what you're trying to tell me?'

Pippa summoned a carefree smile. ‘Why, that's just it. A good time. And it was great fun, wasn't it? But now…well, you knew from the start that I was a good time girl. I think you even called me a few worse things in your head.'

‘Before I
thought
I knew you,' he corrected harshly.

‘Well, maybe first impressions are the most reliable. Floozie, tart, heartless piece—'

‘Stop it!' he shouted, seizing her again. ‘I won't listen to this. I never thought that of you—or if I ever wondered for a moment you showed me how wrong I was—'

‘Did I? Or did I show you what you wanted to see? You were a real challenge, you know. Anyone can lure a man into her bed, but luring his heart—that's another matter.'

Pippa felt dizzy as she said these terrible words. In her desperation to escape she had gone much further than she'd meant to and for a moment she hesitated on the edge of recalling them, hurling herself into Roscoe's arms and swearing she meant none of it.

‘Do you mean that?' he whispered.

She had one last chance to deny her words, reclaim all the joy life could offer her.

‘Do you mean it?' he repeated. ‘Is that all there's been between us? You trying to bring me down, to punish me for my attitude in the first few days?
Is that the truth?
'

One last chance.

Frantically, she switched the radio off.

‘You know the saying,' she said with a shrug. ‘You win some, you lose some. I like to win them all.'

Now it was too late. The last trace of feeling had gone from him. His eyes were those of a dead man.

‘I suppose I should be glad you came clean so soon,' he said. ‘You might have taken it much further before you…but it's always wise to face the truth.'

A sneering look came into his eyes.

‘So all the worst I thought of you was right after all. I should have more faith in my own judgement. Are you pleased? Does it give you a nasty little thrill to have brought me down?'

She managed a cynical laugh. ‘I came to your bed and gave you a good time. That's hardly bringing you down.'

His eyes as they raked her were brutal.

‘Oh, but you did much more than that,' he breathed. ‘You put on the sweet, generous mask and it fooled me so thoroughly that I told you things that never before…' He drew a shuddering breath. ‘Well, I hope it gave you a good laugh.'

She was about to protest wildly that he was terribly wrong, but she controlled the impulse in time and offered him a smile precisely calculated to infuriate him. It would break his heart, but if it drove him away from her it would be better
for him in the long run. And for his sake she would hide her own broken heart and endure.

‘I see that it did,' he grated. ‘Well, don't let me keep you.'

‘You're right,' she said brightly. ‘We've said all we have to say, haven't we?'

He made no attempt to follow her into the bedroom as she gathered her things and when she came out he was waiting by the front door, as though determined to make sure that she left.

‘Good day to you,' he said politely.

‘Goodbye,' she told him, and fled.

 

A robot might have functioned as Pippa did for the rest of the day. Her efficiency was beyond reproach, her smile fixed, her work done to the highest standard.

‘What the devil is the matter with her?' muttered David, her employer and friend.

‘Why not ask her?' his secretary suggested.

‘I daren't. She terrifies the life out of me.'

At last it was time to escape back to the apartment that would now be her cage. As if by a signal, Pippa began to tidy the place, although it was already tidy. From now on order and good management would be her watch words. She would concentrate on her career, be the best lawyer in the business and never again try to break out of the prison created by her nightmares. Life would be safe.

At last, when she'd put everything else away, she came to the box rescued from the attic in Crimea Street. Taking out the gloves and scarves, she discovered some handwritten books at the bottom.

‘That's Gran's handwriting,' she breathed. ‘But surely she didn't keep a diary? She wouldn't have had time.'

Yet the diaries went back to Dee's early life, when she had
been a nurse, and had still sometimes found the time to jot down her thoughts about the life around her. Sometimes amusing, sometimes caustic, sometimes full of emotion, always revealing an ebullient personality that Pippa recognised.

There were the long, anguished months when she'd loved Mark Sellon hopelessly, becoming engaged to him, then breaking it off because she couldn't believe he loved her. But he'd been returned to her in the hospital, shot down by enemy planes, and she'd sat by his unconscious form, speaking more freely than she could have done if he'd been awake. Dee had written:

Pippa read far into the night, until she came to the passage that, in her heart, she had always known she'd find, written just after her grandfather's death.

Pippa dropped her head into her hands. That was how love should be, how it never would be for her. She knew that now.

She laid everything away tidily, turned out all the lights and went to bed. A faint gleam from the window showed her the toy bear on her dressing table. In this poor light his
shabbiness was concealed and his glass eyes seemed to glimmer softly.

‘No,' she told him. ‘I'm not listening to you. You want me to believe one thing, and I know it's different. I believed you once. I believed Gran. She used to talk to me about her and Grandpa, saying that one day it would happen to me. And I thought it had when I met Jack. He made me feel so safe and loved, and sure of the future. And now I don't
want
to feel safe and loved.
Ever.
Do you understand?'

But he had no reply for her.

C
HARLIE
called the next day, his voice full of excitement over the line.

‘Bless you for what you've done for me,' he said. ‘And I'm not talking about the trial.'

‘You've seen Lee?'

‘Yes, I've just had a long talk and it's looking good for a couple of weeks' time. Oh, boy, wait until Roscoe hears about this!'

‘Don't be in a rush to tell him, Charlie, and don't do anything rash. Wait until you're a little more certain.'

‘All right, Miss Wise and Wonderful. I'll do it your way. And thank you again.'

She wondered if she would hear from Roscoe but days passed in silence. Just as well, she told herself. If she saw him she might weaken, and that must not happen. Much better this way.

But the ache persisted.

Days passed, nights passed. She told herself that it was getting easier, except that every knock at the door was him. Until it wasn't.

But then, one evening, it was.

One look was enough to tell her that if anything had changed it wasn't for the better. Now his face wasn't just cold but furious.

‘We need to talk,' he said.

She stood back and he walked in, turning on her as soon as the door closed.

‘My God, I never thought you'd stoop to this,' he raged.

‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘Oh, please, you wreck his life and then you don't know what I mean?'

‘If you're talking about what I think you are—'

‘I'm talking about Charlie walking out of the firm, blowing his life chances to chase a chimera. I'm talking about you persuading him to do it. How could you sink so low? Were you really that desperate for revenge?'

‘Revenge?' she echoed, astounded. ‘I didn't want revenge. Why should I? You did me no harm. If anything, it was me who… What did you mean about Charlie leaving the firm? That wasn't in the plan.'

‘But there was a plan? You admit that?'

‘Yes,' she said, her temper flaring, ‘there was a plan—an innocent plan to help Charlie follow his own path in life. He's a natural entertainer and I have a friend, Lee Renton, who's in the business. He sets up those television programmes where amateurs perform and viewers vote. I recommended Charlie to him after that evening we spent at The Diamond. He did an impromptu performance for me at the table and he was so good that I thought he should take it further.

‘Lee has auditioned him and because he's the big boss he's been able to pull strings and include Charlie in a show in two weeks' time. If he's no good, OK, but the top two performers go through to the next round, and I'd back Charlie to be one of them.'

‘And then what?' Roscoe demanded scathingly. ‘An existence spent on the grubby fringes of show business?'

‘Or as a star, however it turns out.'

‘However—? That's how you see life, is it? Leave it to chance?'

‘What do you suggest instead? Opt for safety every time? Choosing safety doesn't always
lead
to safety. We know that, don't we? But it can, if it's your own free choice. But being a stockbroker isn't Charlie's choice. It was your choice for him, and it won't work.'

He turned away from her, walking about the room like a man who no longer knew where he was going.

‘You said Charlie walked out,' Pippa reminded him. ‘Did he? Or did you force him out because you were so determined to make him do it your way?'

He turned a haggard gaze on her. ‘I wanted him to go on a course to learn some more about the business,' he said. ‘He'd have acquired an extra qualification, boosted his prospects. He refused to go because it would have meant missing the television show. I told him he had to make a choice.'

Pippa groaned and clutched her forehead. ‘Tell me I'm not hearing this,' she muttered. ‘You forced him to choose and you're surprised that he chose his freedom?'

‘Freedom? You call that kind of life freedom?'

‘To him, yes. Freedom isn't just not being in prison. You could keep Charlie out of trouble with the law but you'd do it by trapping him behind the bolts and bars of finance. For him, that would be a life sentence. He's made his choice.'

‘Or you made it for him.'

‘No, I helped him do what he wants to do.'

‘Behind my back. You did encourage him to deceive me, didn't you?'

‘I advised him not to tell you too much too soon, in case you tried to interfere.'

‘Interfere? I'm his brother.'

‘Yes, his brother, not his keeper. And you did interfere with that damn fool choice you forced on him. “Do it my way or
get out.” The clever thing to do would be to leave the door open for him to come back if his new career failed. But you slammed that door shut so you're not really a clever man at all, are you?'

The next moment she was sorry she'd said it because his face changed. The anger died out of it, replaced by a weary sadness that broke her heart.

‘No,' he said slowly. ‘I guess the truth is that I'm a fool. I've always been a fool. I've trusted people who couldn't be trusted, and I never learned from my mistakes.' He gave a soft, mirthless laugh. ‘How big a fool is that? The biggest in the world.'

They weren't talking about Charlie any more. He was saying that he'd trusted her, and he felt betrayed by her. Nor could she blame him when she remembered how he'd confided in her that night, talking about his father, his fiancée, his desolation at the way he'd been abandoned. He'd confided in her as to nobody else in his life, and just a few hours later she'd rejected him, her rejection coming out of the blue, with no real explanation.

And it had to stay that way. She didn't dare tell him the whole story of her inner destruction in case he opened his arms to her in sympathy and understanding. Then she would weaken, seeking his love where once she'd found the strength to reject it. And she would destroy him.

Whatever happened, she would protect him from that. Protect him from herself.

‘I see you don't deny that you made a fool of me,' he said. ‘And that's all I was—just one more fool among many. I fell for you totally, nothing held back. Boy, that must really have given you a laugh.'

‘No, I'm not laughing,' she said quietly. ‘But I do know that I'm no good for you. I'm poison, and you're better off without me.'

‘Oh, please!' He warded her off again, this time actually backing away. ‘Spare me the pathos. You've done so well up to now. I was a scalp you had to add to your collection. You as good as admitted it.'

‘I didn't—'

‘As close as, damn it. You had your victory and then I was no more use. I congratulate you. Cutting out the dead wood is good business practice, although even a heartless robot like myself hesitates before using it on people.'

‘Don't call yourself a heartless robot,' she cried. ‘I've never said that—'

‘Can you swear you've never thought it?'

‘No…never…' she said jerkily.

‘You're lying. The truth is there in your face. You've thought that and worse. Charlie told you I'm a control freak, didn't he? And perhaps I am. But I'm not the only one, Pippa. Maybe I have pulled the strings of Charlie's life, but so have you. The difference is that I pull strings in the open, not behind anyone's back.'

Seeing that she was too stunned to speak, he turned with an air of finality and went to the door.

‘Be sure to send me your bill,' he said, and walked out.

She could hear his retreating footsteps, followed by the sound of the elevator going down. She felt cold—deeply cold, too cold to move—with a coldness that would last for the rest of her life, freezing her heart, turning her to something inhuman.

But Roscoe already saw her as inhuman. His contempt left no doubt about that.

And that was good, she told herself resolutely. He was safer that way. As long as he was safe, she could bear anything.

 

Charlie called her, full of excitement about his approaching big night.

‘Mum's giving a big party that night,' he bubbled, ‘and
she wants you as the guest of honour because you made it all happen. She's thrilled about my new career. Roscoe can't understand it.'

‘Obviously he isn't thrilled.'

‘He wouldn't be, would he? I don't see him any more now I'm out of the firm, and he won't be at home on the night. OK, so I'll tell Mum you're coming.'

‘Charlie—'

But he'd hung up, leaving her reflecting that Roscoe wasn't the only member of his family who liked to call the shots.

The day of Charlie's show started badly, with another car breakdown. This time Pippa faced the inevitable and dumped the vehicle. She took a taxi to the Havering house, arriving to find all the lights on and Angela waiting for her on the front step, flanked by neighbours who clapped and cheered as her taxi drew up.

‘Roscoe's not here,' Angela confided. ‘He's so annoyed about the programme that he's not coming.'

‘How do you feel about it?' Pippa asked.

‘It's what Charlie wants. And besides,' Angela added in a low, confiding voice, ‘he can be a bit of a naughty boy, and if he gets into a little trouble now and then, well—it won't matter so much, will it?'

So, despite appearances, there was a realistic brain beneath that fluffy head of hair, Pippa thought. More realistic than Roscoe about some things.

Dinner was a banquet, and then everyone crowded around the huge television screen on the wall. There was the opening music and the announcer came on.

‘Hello, folks! It's time for
Pick a Star
, the programme where you, the viewer, vote the star in and the dunces off. And tonight's contestants are—'

As soon as Charlie began his comedy act, everyone knew
this was the winner. None of the other seven contestants could hold a candle to him. Even Pippa, who knew how rigorously Lee had had him trained as a favour to her, was impressed by his quality.

‘Now it's voting time, folks—the moment when you choose the winner. Here are the phone numbers.'

When he got to Charlie's number everyone scribbled frantically and hauled out their cellphones to ring and cast their votes. Angela dived for the house phone and put her call through.

‘How long do we wait?' Angela asked.

‘Half an hour,' Pippa told her, ‘but Lee said there wouldn't be any question. He's sure Charlie will win and go on into the next round but, even if he doesn't, Lee's got an agent already interested in him.'

The minutes crawled past and at last it was time to gather around the set to learn the winner. When Charlie's name was announced, the room erupted.

There he was on screen, triumphantly repeating his act, his face full of delight, and more than delight: fulfilment. The applause grew, the credits rolled. It was over.

One by one, the guests departed. A beseeching look from Angela made Pippa stay behind the others and she understood that Angela didn't want to be alone. Her house was going to be very empty now.

She led the way into the conservatory and poured Pippa a glass of champagne.

‘It's so kind of you to stay a while, my dear. I know everything's going to change now, and I'm ready for it as long as Charlie is doing what will make him happy.' She added in a confiding tone, ‘I must admit that I hoped you and Charlie…but there, he says you're like a friendly big sister.'

‘I hope I am.'

‘Oh, dear, how sad.'

‘Sad?'

‘I would have loved to welcome you into the family as Charlie's wife.' An idea seemed to strike her. ‘You don't think you could make do with Roscoe, do you?'

‘What?'

‘I know it's a lot to ask, but you never know, you might make him human.'

‘Angela, please don't go thinking like that. There's no way Roscoe and I could ever…please don't.'

‘No, I suppose you're right. I'm being selfish, I suppose. I've always wanted a daughter because you can't talk to a man as you can to a woman, and I've had nobody to talk to since my husband died. Charlie was just a child and Roscoe…well, he's only interested in making money. To be fair, he gives it too, but he seems to think that's all that's needed.'

‘Gives it?' Pippa echoed cautiously.

‘He's got charities he gives to, hospitals in the Third World, that sort of thing, but signing cheques is easy. It's affection he finds difficult.'

‘But maybe it's just a different way of showing affection,' Pippa said urgently. ‘Putting your arms around a sick child is fine and beautiful, but if that child is dying for lack of the right medicine, then surely it's the man who signs the cheque that buys the medicine who's shown the real feeling? At any rate, I'll bet that's what the child's mother would say.'

Angela stared at her. ‘You sound like Roscoe.'

‘And he's right,' Pippa said robustly. There was a curious kind of satisfaction in defending Roscoe when he wasn't there. It was when he was there that the trouble started.

‘Have you ever tried to talk to him?' she asked gently. ‘You might find more sympathy in Roscoe than you thought.'

‘Do you think so? Have those wonderful all-seeing eyes of yours bored into him and found something the rest of the world missed?'

This was so close to the truth that Pippa was momentarily lost for words. She recovered enough to say, ‘Who knows? He works so hard at not letting people see what he's really like, almost as though part of him was afraid.'

‘Afraid? Him?'

‘Sometimes the man with the strongest armour is the one who needs it most for…whatever reason.'

‘You may be right,' Angela sighed. ‘It's just that I've always found it hard to forgive Roscoe for William's death. If he'd taken on a bigger share of the work—'