Marriage On The Agenda. Lee Wilkinson

had been fairly pressing, and several times, deciding she was being stupid in holding back, she had almost given in.

      He was a handsome, virile man, and she had little doubt that he would make a good lover. Yet each time when it came to the crunch, perhaps still inhibited by the past, she had changed her mind.

      Understandably, this had enraged Mark, who had sulked for days. He would be perfectly normal with everyone else, but only address her when he absolutely had to, and then be brief and glacial.

      Reading the signs, Isobel had once said seriously, ‘I know sleeping together is almost the norm these days, but I think you’re right to hold back until the wedding ring’s on your finger.’

      It was the first time her mother had ever broached the question of sex and, wondering if she had somehow guessed what had happened with Nigel, Loris had asked, ‘Why do you say that?’

      ‘Because Mark’s the sort of man who, when he’s got what he wants, might well lose interest and start to look elsewhere…’

      Like Nigel.

      ‘Of course once you’re his wife it won’t matter so much. After one divorce, I imagine he’ll be fairly discreet.’

      Profoundly disturbed by what her mother was suggesting, Loris had said, ‘You sound as if you think he’ll stray.’

      ‘Don’t most men? And I can’t imagine a man like Mark being satisfied with one woman.’

      Seeing her daughter’s expression, Isobel had added, ‘After all, what does it matter? You’ll have money and position, a good lifestyle. Mark seems generous enough. Unlike your father.’

      ‘I don’t happen to want that kind of marriage,’ Loris had said quietly.

      ‘Well, of course I could be totally wrong.’ Isobel had hastily backed off. ‘Mark is getting to the age where he might be ready to settle for the faithful husband bit…’

      Becoming aware that Mark was waiting for a response to something she hadn’t heard, Loris said, ‘Sorry?’

      ‘I merely remarked that if you’re jealous of Pamela, you know what to do about it.’

      ‘But I’m not jealous,’ Loris denied calmly.

      Looking distinctly put out, Mark asked, ‘Then why did you rope in that wimp to dance with you?’

      ‘I didn’t “rope him in”. He asked me.’ Remembering Jonathan Drummond’s quiet self-assurance, his firm refusal to be used, she said, ‘And I certainly wouldn’t describe him as a wimp.’

      Eyes narrowing, Mark queried, ‘Had you met him before?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Did he know who you were?’

      ‘Yes.’ Remembering his comments about Mark, she added, ‘I gather you and he know each other.’

      Mark looked down his nose. ‘I’d hardly say know. I’ve seen him knocking around the offices.’

      ‘Who is he?’

      ‘Just some Johnny-come-lately. He’s over from the States with the Cosby crowd.’

      Of course. She recalled that his attractive voice had had a slight American accent.

      ‘What does he do exactly?’

      ‘No idea,’ Mark said dismissively. ‘He’s sat in on most of the meetings, but I gather he’s there in some minor capacity. Secretary or PA to one of the executives, or something of the sort. Why do you want to know?’

      Unwisely, she admitted, ‘I found him interesting.’

      Looking at her as if she’d lost her senses, Mark echoed, ‘Interesting?’

      ‘He seemed unusually cool and self-possessed. Very much his own man.’

      Mark snorted. ‘Though he had the infernal cheek to ask you to dance, I noticed he didn’t have the nerve to kiss you.’

      ‘I don’t think it was lack of nerve.’

      ‘Then he probably remembered his place.’

      ‘Remembered his place?’

      ‘Well, he’s definitely not in our league.’

      ‘I wasn’t aware we had a league.’ Her voice was as brittle as ice.

      Sounding human for the first time, Mark said wryly, ‘I thought you came over to apologise, not pick a quarrel.’

      ‘I did. I’m sorry, Mark. Let’s not talk about Jonathan Drummond.’

      ‘Drummond, that’s his name. I’ll keep an eye on him from now on.’

      ‘What do you mean by “keep an eye on him”?’

      ‘Just that. It strikes me he could get too big for his boots.’

      Well aware that Mark could be quite petty if he took a dislike to anyone, Loris wished she’d said nothing about Jonathan Drummond.

      Wanting to change the subject, she asked lightly, ‘So, now I’ve apologised for being late, are we friends again?’

      Ignoring the question, he went off at a tangent. ‘You do realise that when we’re married you’re going to have to give up this ridiculous job. I refuse to have my wife working all hours.’

      ‘I won’t be working all hours.’

      ‘You are at the moment.’

      ‘Only because I have to pay an exorbitant rent for my flat.’

      ‘You could have gone on living at home.’

      ‘I didn’t want to.’ Her desire to be independent had made her move as soon as she was able to support herself.

      She made an effort to placate him. ‘Once we’re married the financial pressure will ease and I’ll be able to choose just a few special clients.’

      ‘When we’re married you won’t need any clients.’

      ‘But I want to work.’

      ‘I flatly refuse to let any wife of mine go about telling other people how to decorate their homes. It reflects badly on me. You must see that.’

      ‘But what will I do all day?’

      ‘Whatever it is that other rich men’s wives do.’

      Loris, who was about to argue, thought better of it. ‘Well, I’m sure we don’t need to discuss it just at the moment.’

      ‘No, there are more important things to sort out.’ He put an arm around her waist.

      ‘Such as what?’

      Bending his head, he said in her ear, ‘I’ve had more than enough of your stalling. I want you to sleep with me tonight.’

      ‘But we’re at Monkswood.’

      ‘All the rooms have a double bed. Either you come to me, or let me come to you.’

      ‘No. I couldn’t. Not in my parents’ house.’

      ‘Don’t be an idiot, Loris. They need never know if you don’t want them to. And even if we shared a room openly I know your father wouldn’t mind. After all, we are going to be married. Oh, come on! You’re living in the twenty-first century, not Victorian times.’

      ‘Yes, I know, but I still don’t feel comfortable about it.’

      ‘Then come back to my flat with me now, and we’ll go on to Monkswood afterwards.’

      About to make the excuse that she wasn’t in the right mood, she hesitated. Perhaps it was time she cut herself free from the past.

      With today’s sexual freedom there was little real justification for holding back,