Marriage On The Agenda. Lee Wilkinson

we had, I would have remembered,’ he replied.

      ‘So how do you know me?’ she asked curiously.

      ‘Who doesn’t?’

      ‘Most of the people here, I imagine.’

      He shook his head. ‘I’m sure they all know the lucky woman who has one of the big bosses for a father and the other for a future husband.’

      ‘You sound as if you disapprove?’

      ‘It seems like an eminently suitable arrangement to keep all the money and power in the same family.’

      ‘Money and power have nothing to do with it.’

      ‘Really?’

      ‘Yes, really.’

      ‘Then why are you marrying Longton? Apart from the fact that he’s a divorcé and much too old for you, he’s not a particularly nice character.’

      ‘Being a divorcé isn’t a crime, and he’s only thirty-nine.’

      ‘I notice you haven’t defended his character.’

      ‘As that’s only your opinion, it didn’t seem necessary.’

      ‘Neither have you answered my question.’

      ‘We happen to love each other.’

      At that moment Mark came into view. His partner’s arms were round his neck, and he was saying something in her ear.

      ‘He has a strange way of showing it.’

      ‘I’m afraid he’s angry with me for being late.’

      ‘Has he any right to be?’

      ‘Some, I suppose,’ she answered honestly.

      In response to Jonathan Drummond’s raised brow, she briefly explained the circumstances.

      Coolly, he said, ‘As Longton was pre-warned, I don’t see any justification for him behaving like a spoilt child. Do you?’

      Challenged, without thinking how it might sound, she spoke the truth. ‘Not really. That’s why I’m dancing with you.’

      ‘I see. Tit for tat. I guess it was too much to hope that you actually wanted to.’

      As he finished speaking the dance ended, leaving Mark and his partner standing close by.

      As couples began to kiss, Jonathan Drummond waited quietly, making no move.

      Mark glanced in Loris’s direction and, seeing that she was watching him, bent to kiss the blonde, who responded with enthusiasm.

      Vexed by such deliberate provocation, Loris slid her palms beneath the lapels of her companion’s dinner jacket and raised her face invitingly.

      For a moment he stood perfectly still, then, taking her wrists, he lifted her hands away. ‘I don’t care to be used,’ he said coldly.

      ‘I-I’m sorry, she stammered, feeling cheap and foolish. ‘I didn’t mean—’

      ‘Oh, I think you did. Goodnight, Miss Bergman.’

      As she stood unhappily and watched him walk away, Isobel appeared by her side. ‘Your father and I are leaving now.’

      Loris pulled herself together and, knowing how her mother loved social occasions, asked, ‘I thought the party went on until twelve?’

      ‘It does, but it’s almost eleven now, and with such heavy rain your father thought we should get started. Most of our guests came to Monkswood last night and are settled in, but one couple weren’t due to arrive until this evening.’

      Fretfully, she added, ‘It’s all a bit of a mess. If I’d realised earlier that this company party coincided with our house party I’d have done something about it. But by the time I discovered the muddle over dates it was too late and I—’

      ‘Is Simon there?’ Loris tried to stop the flow.

      ‘No, he’s staying in Oxford with some friends. I presume you’ll be driving down with Mark as soon as the party’s over?’

      ‘I suppose so,’ Loris said uncertainly.

      ‘You mean he’s still with that blonde creature? Yes, I see he is. She’s probably after his money… Well, you’ve only got yourself to blame. All in all you’ve managed to make a real mess of the evening.’

      ‘It’s not entirely my fault,’ Loris protested. ‘If Mark had been a little more understanding…’

      ‘When have men ever been understanding?’

      ‘I’m sure some are.’

      ‘Well, not the macho ones like Mark and your father.’ Obviously wondering if she’d said too much, Isobel added hastily, ‘Though who wants to be married to a wimp?’

      ‘Not me.’ For the first time that night, Loris smiled.

      Peter Bergman thrust his way through the crowd and addressed his wife. ‘About ready?’

      ‘I only have to get my coat.’

      Giving his daughter a look of extreme displeasure, he asked brusquely, ‘I suppose you realise you’ve spoilt the entire evening? Have you any idea just how angry and disappointed Mark is?’

      ‘He’s made it quite plain,’ she answered wearily.

      ‘Then it’s up to you to apologise. And as soon as possible.’

      ‘Do,’ Isobel urged as she prepared to follow her husband. ‘Otherwise they’ll both sulk for the rest of the weekend and it’ll be murder.’

      Loris was surprised by her mother’s caustic observation. Though Isobel frequently criticised her husband, she had never been known to admit to even the slightest imperfection in her future son-in-law.

      ‘You may well be right,’ Loris admitted as she kissed the proffered cheek.

      ‘I expect we’ll be in bed before you get to Monkswood, so I’ll see you in the morning. By the way, you and Mark have your usual rooms.’ Isobel hurried away.

      Knowing that the only possible chance of saving what was left of the weekend would be to get her apology over as quickly as possible, Loris began to look for her fiancé.

      She finally spotted him standing, tall, dark, and powerful-looking, apparently bidding goodnight to some people who were leaving early.

      Though he was still what most people would have called ‘a fine figure of a man’, she noted, with almost a feeling of betrayal, that his black, crinkly hair was showing signs of grey, his jawline had lost its firmness, and he had the beginnings of a paunch.

      Relieved to find the blonde was nowhere in sight, she hurried over, and said quickly, ‘Mark, I’m terribly sorry I was so late. I know you have every right to be angry with me, but please don’t let it spoil the weekend.’

      His brown eyes showing no signs of forgiveness, he snapped, ‘The party’s almost over. Isn’t it a bit late for apologies?’

      ‘I would have told you I was sorry straight away if you’d been alone.’

      ‘Pamela’s a beautiful woman, don’t you think?’

      When Loris said nothing, knowing he was just rubbing it in, he added, ‘She comes from the States. Her father is Alan Gresham, the American newspaper magnate, which makes her heir to the Gresham millions.’

      ‘How nice.’

      So her mother was wrong. It wasn’t Mark’s money the blonde was after.

      ‘She’s made it quite obvious she fancies me.’

      Loris’s lips tightened in distaste. ‘Don’t you find her just a bit blatant?’

      ‘She