His Pretend Wife. Lucy Gordon

was carrying her—there was the click of the front door, then the feel of climbing. It felt good to rest against him—safe and warm. Somehow her arm had found its way around his neck, her face was buried against him, and she could hear the soft thunder of his heartbeat.

      They were in her room and she was being lowered gently onto the bed. His face swam in and out of her consciousness, lean, serious, the mobile features full of expression—if only she could read it.

      But then the darkness obscured everything, and she was sinking down, down into deep sleep, leaving the dream and its mysteries for another time.

      Her very first hangover was a grim experience, but by late afternoon she’d rejoined the human race. Soon Andrew would drop by to see how she was. Their eyes would meet, and each would see in the other’s the memory of last night.

      She dressed plainly in trousers and top, and applied only the very slightest make-up. This elegant restraint would make him forget the juvenile who’d aroused his scorn. He would be intrigued. They would talk and he would discover that she had a brain and a personality as well as a beautiful shape. He would become her willing slave, and that would serve him right for dismissing her as a kid.

      But it wasn’t Andrew who called. Only Johnny.

      Rats!

      ‘Hallo, Johnny,’ she said, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt.

      ‘You better now? You were looking pretty green when I last saw you.’

      ‘I wonder why,’ she said pointedly.

      ‘Yeah, right,’ he mumbled. ‘It was my fault. No need to keep on. I’ve had it all from Andrew.’

      ‘Oh?’ she said carelessly. ‘What did he say?’

      ‘What didn’t he say?’ Johnny struck a declamatory attitude. “‘Pouring cider down the throat of a silly girl who hasn’t got two brain cells to rub together—”’

      ‘Who’s he calling silly?’ she demanded indignantly. This scene wasn’t going to plan, but how could it when the leading man was missing?

      ‘Why don’t we go back to your home now?’ she suggested casually. ‘Then I can thank him.’

      ‘He’s not there. This morning he took off to visit his girlfriend.’

      ‘What? How long for?’

      ‘Dunno! Lilian’s studying for medical exams too, so they’ll probably work together. I’ll bet they study far into the night, and then go to bed to sleep. And that’s all he’ll do. He’s got ice water in his veins.’

      As in a flash of lightning she saw Andrew’s face leaning over her as he began to remove her clothes. Not ice water.

      Then the lightning was gone, and she was here again with Johnny, suddenly realising how young he was. How could she ever have been flattered by the admiration of this boy?

      But for the next few days she still hung around with him, had supper at his house, just in case Andrew appeared. But he didn’t, and after four days she gave this up. She told Andrew’s mother that she was so sorry to have missed him, and she would write him a note of thanks. Sitting at the kitchen table, she applied herself.

      Dear Andrew,

      I shall give this note to your mother, and ask her to make sure that you get it. I owe you my thanks—for the help you gave me at the party the other night.

      Good. Dignified and restrained, and giving no clue to her real thoughts: You’re a dirty, rotten so-and-so for not coming to see me.

      ‘There are two “esses” in passionate,’ said Andrew’s voice over her shoulder.

      She jumped with sheer astonishment. ‘What—? I didn’t—’

      ‘And one “y” in undying, and one “u” in gratitude.’

      She leapt up to confront him. ‘What are you on about?’ she demanded. She could have screamed at being caught unawares after all her careful plans. Once again life had handed her the wrong script.

      But his face came out of the right script. It was tired and pale, as if he’d studied too long, but his eyes held a glowing light that made her want to smile.

      ‘I was writing you a note to thank you for your help, but I never said anything about passionate, undying gratitude.’

      He took it from her and studied the few words regretfully. ‘You just hadn’t reached that bit yet,’ he suggested.

      ‘In your dreams! Just because a person is being polite, that doesn’t mean that another person can go creeping up behind them and—and make fun of them—when all a person was doing was—was—’

      ‘Being polite,’ he supplied helpfully.

      ‘I’d have thanked you myself if you’d still been around next day.’

      ‘I thought I’d better not be,’ he said quietly.

      Suddenly she was growing warm, as though he’d openly referred to the way he’d undressed her. She turned away so that he shouldn’t see how her cheeks were flaming.

      The next moment the rest of the family entered the kitchen. There were greetings, laughter, surprise.

      ‘I thought you were staying until the end of the week,’ his mother said.

      ‘Oh, you know me,’ Andrew said carelessly. ‘Always chopping and changing.’

      ‘You? Once you’ve decided on something it’s like arguing with a rock.’

      Andrew merely gave the calm smile that Ellie was to come to know. It meant that other people’s opinions washed off him.

      ‘I feel sorry for Lilian, if she marries you,’ Grace teased.

      ‘She won’t,’ Andrew said mildly. ‘Too much good sense.’

      ‘Sense?’ Grace echoed, aghast. ‘Is that what you say about the love of your life? Don’t you thrill when you see her? Doesn’t your heart beat with anticipation, your pulse—?’

      ‘Whoever invented kid sisters ought to be shot,’ Andrew observed without heat.

      ‘Who’s a kid?’ Grace demanded. ‘I’m seventeen.’

      ‘From where I’m standing that’s a kid,’ Andrew teased.

      Grace took hold of Ellie’s arm. ‘Come on, let’s go upstairs and play my new records.’

      ‘No, let’s help your mother lay the table,’ Ellie said quickly. Anything was better than being bracketed with Andrew’s ‘kid’ sister.

      After the meal they all went out into the garden and watched fireflies, talking about nothing in particular. When the rest went in she hung back, touching his arm lightly so that he turned and stayed with her.

      ‘I didn’t say thank you properly,’ she said.

      In the darkness she could just make out his grin. ‘You were saying different at the time. Nothing was bad enough for me.’

      ‘Well—I wasn’t quite myself.’

      ‘You were smashed. Not a pretty sight. And very dangerous.’

      ‘Yes, I might fall into the hands of a man who’d undress me while I was unconscious,’ she pointed out. ‘That could be dangerous too.’

      She wasn’t really annoyed with him for undressing her, but for some reason she wanted to talk about it.

      ‘What are you saying? Are you asking me if I ravished you?’

      She smiled at him provocatively. ‘Did you?’

      ‘Stop playing games with me, Ellie,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re too young and ignorant about men to risk this kind of conversation.’