The Wedding Deception. Kay Thorpe

Claire demanded. ‘An offer of money, maybe?’

      From the look that flickered across the lean features, she had hit the nail on the head. Anger momentarily swamped all over emotions, and was held in check with the greatest difficulty.

      ‘I think you’d better go,’ she said, voice low and tight.

      The strong mouth took on a wry line, as if in acknowledgment of a tactical error. ‘All right, so money isn’t necessarily the answer. But you’d surely agree that marriage under these circumstances isn’t the best thing either?’

      ‘I don’t know what I think.’ Claire was close to losing her grip altogether. ‘I’m not even convinced of the basic fact yet. Why should I take your word for it?’

      ‘It isn’t my word, it’s my brother’s,’ he said. ‘He’s hardly likely to make such a claim for fun!’

      Claire doubted it too. What man would? She felt totally at sea.

      ‘I’d suggest you go and confront your sister with it,’ said Ross after a moment, watching her face. ‘Tomorrow being Sunday, we’ll all be available for discussion, I take it.’ It was more statement than question. ‘I imagine Scott has your address. We’ll come over together in the morning and talk it through.’

      Further protestation would be a waste of time and effort, Claire accepted. Her first priority was to get home and see Jill.

      Ross had taken her agreement for granted, and was already turning away to open the door again. A fine figure of a man, that part of her brain still functioning on normal levels registered: shoulders broad and powerful, hips lean, legs long and straight. A man she might well have found vitally attractive under normal circumstances.

      If what he had told her really did turn out to be true— and there seemed little chance that it might not—then where did they go from here? she wondered numbly. Jill had her whole life ahead of her, and university just around the corner. With or without marriage, she was far too young to be a mother.

      The rain had stopped some time before, although the pavements were still wet when she got outside. Carrying her raincoat, she locked the door securely, then walked down to the side-street where she had parked the little red Fiat Panda.

      Six years old, the car was in far from pristine condition, but it was all she could comfortably afford to run, along with all her other expenses. For once, the ignition fired on the first time of asking.

      Claire put the car into motion, trying to look at things rationally. Willing though Scott Laxton might be to ‘do the right thing’, as his brother had so scathingly put it, marriage didn’t have to be the only answer. Jill might not even want to marry him. It wouldn’t be easy bringing up a child, but between the two of them they could cope. At least there wasn’t the same stigma attached to single motherhood these days.

      She was getting way ahead of herself, she conceded wryly at that point. It might even turn out to be a false alarm. She hoped so. Oh, God, how she hoped so!

      Set right on the edge of the Derbyshire Dales, Rowsley was normally awash with weekend traffic at this time of year. Today there was little to mar her progress out to the suburb where she and Jill still lived, in the house they had once shared with their parents.

      Insurance money and savings left by her father and mother had taken care of the mortgage, and there had been enough left over to start up the boutique. Claire had sold off part of the over-large garden to the people owning the plot next door, who had wanted to extend, and this had served the dual purpose of providing a sum to invest for Jill’s future educational expenses, and shrinking the garden to manageable proportions. Claire spent much of her spare time in it, and was justifiably proud of the result.

      This evening she had no eyes for the colourful display fronting the white-walled house. She left the car standing on the drive and went straight indoors, gathering herself before opening the sitting-room door.

      Jill looked up from the magazine which she was flicking through, her lovely, if somewhat wilful face wearing an unusually diffident expression.

      ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Had a good day?’

      Still not certain of how best to approach the subject, Claire shook her head. ‘Not very.’ She hesitated, then decided that the only way was to go head in. ‘I had a visit from Ross Laxton.’

      If there had been any doubt left in her mind at all regarding the veracity of his accusation, it was instantly dispelled by the look which sprang into the younger girl’s eyes.

      ‘He had no right to interfere!’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘I was going to tell you myself tonight.’

      Claire pushed a shaky hand through her hair, struggling to stay on top of her emotions. ‘How come I never even knew you were seeing Scott Laxton? Why all the secrecy, Jill?’

      Defiance took over from annoyance. ‘Because I knew how you’d react. My A levels had to be top priority all the way through, didn’t they? Never mind what I wanted!’

      ‘I thought going on to university was what you wanted,’ Claire defended.

      ‘You never bothered to ask. You even decided which universities I should apply to.’

      ‘We decided that together. You never once—’ Claire broke off, taking a hold on herself. ‘There’s really no point in going into all that now, is there?’ she said, on as level a note as she could manage. ‘When did you discover you were pregnant?’

      Some unreadable expression flickered across the smooth young features. ‘A week or so ago.’

      ‘There’s no chance that you might be wrong?’

      ‘I did two tests.’

      ‘But you haven’t been seen by a doctor yet?’

      ‘Scott is arranging all that privately. We’re going to be married, no matter what anyone says!’ she added forcefully. ‘We love each other.’

      Claire sank into the nearest chair, searching her mind for some way of getting through the barriers that Jill was putting up against her. ‘How did you meet in the first place?’ was all she could come up with.

      ‘Scott likes discos,’ came the answer, as if that explained everything. ‘He’s a terrific dancer!’

      A typical teenage accolade, thought Claire wryly, recalling a time when she might have considered such a talent of prime importance herself. Jill was still so young in many ways.

      ‘Did you know he was going to tell his brother about all this?’ she asked, and saw her sister’s face cloud again.

      ‘He said he was going to tell them all as soon as he got back this afternoon.’

      ‘You were with him this morning?’

      ‘Yes.’ The defiance was back. ‘He took me into Buxton, so I didn’t lie.’

      ‘And that makes everything hunky-dory, does it?’ Claire caught herself up, recognising the futility of lashing out in that way. What was done was done. What remained was to make the best of the situation.

      ‘I’m afraid his brother doesn’t see marriage as the obvious answer,’ she said on a quieter note. ‘I’m not sure I do either.’

      Jill sat up straighter, expression determined. ‘It isn’t your or his decision to make! We’re both of an age to choose for ourselves!’

      ‘Of an age, perhaps, but there are other factors to be taken into account.’

      ‘Such as what?’ On her feet now, face flushed, hazel eyes flashing green lights, Jill looked ready to take on all comers. ‘You’d rather I got rid of it?’

      ‘No, of course not.’ Claire put everything she knew into keeping an even tone. ‘There are other alternatives.’

      ‘Like swelling the single-parent ranks, for instance?’