Anne Mather - The Virgin's Seduction

‘It’s also very bad for your arteries,’ said Cassandra irritably. ‘So—where were you?’

‘When?’

Jake was being deliberately obtuse, but Cassandra was like a dog with a bone. ‘Earlier on. When I came to your room,’ she said, running the cord of her robe through her fingers. ‘And don’t tell me you were in the shower, because I looked.’

Jake finished the last morsel of sausage and put his knife and fork aside. ‘I went out,’ he said, relieved at having avoided another confrontation about their sleeping arrangements. Then, in the hope of diverting her, ‘Why don’t you get dressed and go and see how your mother is this morning?’

‘Do I care?’ Cassandra was bitter. ‘She obviously doesn’t give a damn about me. Did you hear her making fun of me—of my acting career last night? Just because I had more sense than to be satisfied with life in this provincial backwater, she takes every opportunity to make me feel small.’

Jake shrugged. He couldn’t deny that Mrs Robertson had been provoking. But he didn’t know the family history, so it was difficult for him to have an opinion. Eve was the one he felt sorry for—caught in the middle of two women who seemed determined to rub one another up the wrong way. Yet Eve had defended Cassandra to her employer, despite the way she’d spoken about her this morning.

‘Anyway, it’s early yet.’ Clearly Cassandra had other matters on her mind. Coming round the table to where he was sitting, she loosened the kimono. It fell open, revealing that his initial suspicions had been right. ‘Why don’t we go back upstairs?’

Jake pushed back his chair and got to his feet. Then he grasped the two sides of the kimono in his hands. But, although he knew she expected him to pull her closer, he jerked the two sides together instead. ‘Go take a cold shower, Cassandra,’ he told her flatly. ‘I want to go out and see something of the countryside around here. If you want to come with me, say so. I’ll give you forty minutes to get dressed.’

He suspected she swore then, but he couldn’t be sure of it. Whatever, she wrapped the kimono about her and marched towards the door. ‘I’ll need at least an hour,’ she said, glancing back at him. ‘Do you think you can entertain yourself for that long?’

It was not a good day. Fridays usually were, but today Eve found it almost impossible to concentrate on her work. The children knew it, and consequently played her up more than usual, and she was forced to use her strictest voice to bring order to the class.

The day didn’t get any better when she was summoned to a staff meeting when lessons were over for the day. They never had staff meetings on Friday afternoons. Most of the teachers who were employed at the small primary school were eager to get home to their families at the end of the working week. But the head teacher’s face was grave when she joined them in the staff room, and Eve had the uneasy premonition that whatever they were about to hear was not going to be good.

She was right. It appeared that Mrs Portman had heard, just that afternoon, that Falconbridge was to be merged with a larger school at East Ridsdale. The local education authority had decided that their school had simply not enough pupils to warrant the expense of keeping it open, and although every effort would be made to find the teachers new posts, by the end of next term Falconbridge Primary would be closed.

There was a stunned silence after Mrs Portman had finished speaking. The women who worked at Falconbridge—and they were exclusively female—considered themselves almost family, and the idea of being split up and sent to different schools was almost as bad for them as it was going to be for the children.

‘But can they do this?’ asked Jennie Salter worriedly. Jennie was a mother herself, and her children were still young enough to come to school with her. ‘I thought I read somewhere that parents were fighting these closures.’

‘Well, they are,’ agreed Mrs Portman ruefully. ‘But I doubt if the parents whose children attend this school will be prepared to fight our education authority—particularly if it means their council tax is going to go up. There simply aren’t enough of them to make a difference.’

‘So the school closes at Easter,’ said Eve, her heart sinking at the thought of having to look for another job.

‘Officially,’ agreed Mrs Portman. ‘But naturally I don’t expect you all to wait until then to look for other posts. Besides, as soon as the news gets out parents will start looking for alternative schools. Not all of them will want their children to travel to East Ridsdale every day—not when there’s a private school in the vicinity.’

‘That’s okay if you can afford it,’ muttered Jennie gloomily, and Eve put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

‘It’s months away yet,’ she said, trying to be optimistic. ‘You never know—you may get a job at Ridsdale and then you could continue taking the children to school yourself.’

‘Fat chance!’

Jennie refused to look on the bright side, and Eve couldn’t really blame her. It was hard enough to find work in this area as it was, without a dozen other people doing the same.

In consequence, she was in a rather downhearted frame of mind when she walked home later that afternoon, and she was in no mood to respond favourably when the Aston Martin swept through the gates ahead of her. Romero was at the wheel, of course, and Cassie was sitting proudly beside him, lifting a languid hand—almost as if she was royalty and Eve was just a paid retainer.

She wasn’t jealous, Eve assured herself fiercely. She’d never had anything from Cassie in the past and she didn’t want anything now. But just occasionally she wished the woman would acknowledge her responsibilities.

The squeal of brakes brought her out of her reverie. The Aston Martin had stopped and was now reversing back towards her. Oh, God, they were going to offer her a lift, she realised sickly. And she could guess whose idea that was.

A window was lowered and Romero looked out. ‘Get in,’ he said. ‘We’ll give you a ride up to the house.’

‘That’s not necessary,’ said Eve stiffly, and Cassandra gave a protracted yawn.

‘I told you she’d say no,’ she declared in a bored tone. ‘Come on, darling. Close the window, can’t you? I’m getting cold.’

Jake’s jaw compressed. Having spent most of the day humouring Cassandra, he wasn’t in the mood to listen to her griping now. But, dammit, Eve wasn’t making it easy for him either, and he was tempted to make some excuse and hightail it back to London before he did something he would surely regret.

Eve looked cold, he thought. Her exotic features were unnaturally pale in the light of the lamps that lit the driveway, and, although she was wearing a navy duffel, the coat didn’t look substantial enough to keep her warm. He forced himself to suppress the irritation he felt at her evident unwillingness to allow him to help her, and, ignoring Cassandra’s protests, he thrust open his door and got out of the car.

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