A Convenient Wedding

CHAPTER SEVEN

IT HAD been an inspiration that made Meryl point out that she’d nearly brought disaster onto Jarvis and thus had a duty to him. The truth of this helped him relax in the following days.

He showed her over the castle. It took nearly a day and brought it home to her just how huge this place was. There were four towers, three hundred rooms, counting the tiniest closets, and four floors including the dungeons.

‘We can’t use the dungeons these days because of the damp,’ he informed her, straight-faced. ‘It’s very inconvenient.’

‘You made a joke!’ she accused him.

‘Good grief! I believe I did.’

He even took her out in the little sailing boat he kept in the boat house at the castle rear, where it faced the sea. Like everything else here it was shabby.

‘But don’t dare buy me a new one,’ he warned her. ‘I used to sail this as a boy.’

‘I won’t buy you a new one as long as you promise to take me out again.’

‘Word of a Larne.’

This was Jarvis at his best, at his most charming, she might have said, if the idea of charm didn’t sit so oddly on him. But he smiled, and seemed happier for being relieved of financial care.

She had the same feeling of peace and happiness she’d known before, but now it was as much to do with Larne’s master as Larne itself. She wondered what the feeling would turn into. Perhaps she would know by the end of this delightful day.

But her hopes were ruined when the inevitable happened.

‘Rain!’ she cried up to the sky. ‘I don’t believe it’s raining again!’

‘I told you, it rains all the time here,’ he said, hurriedly wrapping her in oilskins. ‘You’ll soon get tired of it.’

Such remarks reminded her that he still didn’t really trust her, and his agenda was to secure the safety of his estate and bid her farewell. She put it aside for another day. It was foolish to think she was in love with him, anyway. Who could be in love with a man who lived in a permanent rainstorm?

Their trip around the estate was a triumph. Wherever they went people took Meryl to their hearts, not merely because she’d brought the good times with her, but because she exerted herself to charm them, and succeeded.

‘If the new Lady Larne doesn’t open our fête,’ the vicar of St Luke’s told her, ‘and judge the children’s fancy dress, everyone will be so disappointed.’

Meryl immediately promised and wrote the date on the back of her hand.

‘And what do I tell them when you leave?’ Jarvis demanded when they were driving away.

‘Say I didn’t come up to standard so you exchanged me for Sarah,’ she said blithely.

‘Can you be serious?’

‘What for? Jarvis, don’t you feel that any minute someone’s going to prick the balloon and you’ll find yourself back in reality?’

He nodded. That was exactly how he felt.

With the disconcerting change of weather that was normal in this country, the rain abruptly ceased, giving way to a pallid but valiant sun. In Little Grands Jarvis bought them beer, and they sat outside at a wooden table. He watched her leaning back to enjoy the sun on her face, and thought how at home she looked, how uncannily she fitted in. But it was a game, he reminded himself. To her this was like being on the hologram deck in Star Trek, where you could vacation by slipping into another life.

She’d agreed that it wasn’t real, and it was good to remind himself of that so that he wasn’t fooled by her air of joyous content. Otherwise he might have relaxed his guard enough to ask her where the joy came from, and how he could learn to share it.

‘What are you looking at?’ he asked, seeing her stare across the road.

‘That little shop-there’s a sweater in the window-’

She wandered across the road to gaze in the window of Sadie’s Wools. The shop sold wool, knitting needles and patterns, but also a few knitted clothes. One of these stood alone in the bow window, a staggering creation in five different wools, four textures and six colours. Meryl regarded it with awe.

‘That is really-’ she breathed. ‘Really-’

Anticipating her criticism, he bristled. ‘Let’s just leave it.’

‘I don’t want to leave it. You don’t see something like that every day.’

‘I know it probably looks very funny to you after New York, but up here we don’t go for high fashion. Life’s hard and serious. You’ve done wonderfully well today, why spoil it with a cheap laugh?’

She dug him in the ribs. ‘You ignorant man! That thing is hand-knitted by someone with real flair and creativity. It’s wild and wacky.’

‘Meryl, for Pete’s sake!’

‘I know. Life’s hard and serious.’

‘Well, we don’t do wild and wacky, that’s for sure.’

‘You might not, but whoever created that is concealing hidden depths.’

She went into the shop where Sadie, a smiling, elderly lady, was seated behind the counter. At Meryl’s request she fetched the sweater and helped her try it on.

‘I design these,’ she explained, ‘and some local women earn pin money making them.’

‘How much is this one?’

‘I’m afraid-’ Sadie’s voice sank to a whisper ‘-it is rather expensive.’

She named a price and Meryl’s eyebrows rose. The same garment on Fifth Avenue would fetch fifty times as much. ‘I’ll take it,’ she said decisively. ‘And can you arrange for me to see some others?’

As the sweater was packed up Jarvis was fascinated to see Meryl once more scribbling on the back of her hand.

‘Do you normally do that?’ he asked as they drove away with her acquisition carefully stowed on the back seat.

‘Of course. Then I can be sure I don’t lose it. If the rest of the knits are as good as this there’s a perfect little cottage industry here. Those women can earn far more money than they’re doing now.’

‘Meryl, please drop this. I know you mean well, but filling their heads with pipe dreams isn’t kind.’

‘Once you said it wasn’t kind to give them false hopes, but they weren’t false hopes, were they? Maybe you don’t always know what’s best for them-’

‘I think I have a pretty good idea what my people need.’

‘Your people? You mean you own them? Nobody else is allowed an opinion-including them?’

‘I don’t suppose anyone could stop you having an opinion-’

‘Just as long as nobody asks you to listen,’ she said, getting cross.

‘I’ll listen, but I don’t have to be convinced.’

Her voice rose. ‘But we’re discussing fashion, about which you know sweet Fanny Adams!’

‘No, we’re discussing my estate, about which you know nothing at all.’ He added in a gentler voice, ‘Don’t let’s quarrel about this, Meryl. I’m truly grateful to you but-there’s a line I can’t cross.’

‘You mean a line you won’t let me cross, don’t you?’

‘Perhaps I do. The best business arrangements work with well-defined limits.’

‘So they do,’ she said with a sigh.

They reached home to find a press photographer and interviewer anxiously waiting. The marriage of an English aristocrat and an American socialite oil heiress was too good a story to be passed up. Jarvis would gladly have ducked out but he’d resolved to do the thing properly, so he smiled and responded with apparent good humour.

Nonetheless, he was glad to leave most of the talking to Meryl. In answer to ‘How did you meet?’ he could never have come up with her blithe fantasy of taking a driving holiday in the area and impulsively deciding to visit the castle.

‘Just one more picture,’ the photographer begged, ‘the two of you leaning against the car-could you put your hand around her waist? That’s right-draw her a little bit closer-’

Jarvis obliged, trying to put his mind elsewhere so that he wasn’t so conscious of her slim waist under his fingers, the swell of her hips pressed against him. She was warm and soft, but he wouldn’t think of that. Nor would he let himself breathe in the scent of flowers that whispered from her, so faint and elusive that he couldn’t be quite sure…

‘Look into each other’s eyes,’ the photographer called.

Turning, she had to slip her arm behind him, the hand resting against his back. Of course, he told himself, she was adept at putting on smiles for show. But in her face he saw sunshine and laughter, and a wicked gleam of mischief. Somehow the sun was in his eyes, and when the photographer called, ‘Just one kiss,’ he bent his head instinctively and laid his lips on hers.

To Meryl the feel of his mouth was a shock. The kiss was like the man himself, firm, unyielding, intensely masculine. It invited her on and warned her off, and she felt herself helplessly accepting the invitation and ignoring the warning. She’d wanted this-only now did she know how much-and she wasn’t giving up now. It was her moment of triumph, and she was completely overcome, defeated, conquered, routed and exhilarated.

‘Jarvis.’ She barely knew that she spoke his name, but somehow her lips moved enticingly against his, and his own answered with purpose. His arms tightened around her, so that she had no choice but to melt against him while the world dissolved into nothing.

For a long moment neither of them moved, while the photographer danced about gleefully getting shot after shot until he finally yelled, ‘OK, that’s lovely.’

She felt the world come back into place, a subtly different shape.

Jarvis lifted his head just enough to see her face and know that she was as stunned as himself. Her eyes, raised to his, were vulnerable, giving him a silent message that he wanted to hear. If they’d been alone…

Don’t you realise that she has to bring every man to heel?

The voice in his head was so real that he almost thought Sarah was there. Then the mist cleared and he was saying goodbye to the press as though nothing had happened. But everything had happened. Everything that mustn’t happen had happened. And it was too late to stop it.

‘I’ll see you inside,’ he said curtly, and strode away.

‘Will you be needing the car, or can I take it?’ Meryl asked next morning.

‘You don’t need to ask,’ Jarvis said politely. ‘You bought it.’

‘But if I’d used it without checking with you, you’d have thought me very rude,’ she pointed out. ‘I can’t win, can I?’

Jarvis ran his hand through his hair. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said sincerely. ‘I don’t know what’s happened to my manners.’

In fact, it wasn’t his manners that had deserted him, but his wits. And they’d all gone a-wandering from the moment he kissed her. He might try to deny the truth to himself, but it was hard when, as now, she reminded him that he could hurt her. And even harder when she said gently, ‘Try not to resent me so much, Jarvis.’

‘Nonsense,’ he said quickly. ‘Of course I don’t.’ To make amends he asked, ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

‘No, thank you. I’m going to meet Benedict at the airport.’

He’d half stretched his hand out to her, but he drew it back again.

A few minutes later she left. Jarvis summoned Andrew Carver for a meeting to discuss his changed circumstances, and in that way he managed not to follow her with his thoughts.

If Larry Rivers caused interest, Benedict Steen was a sensation. It was late afternoon when they arrived, and as he jumped down from the heavy vehicle the sun caught his thick fair hair, giving him the look of a young Greek god. Together he and Meryl made a glorious couple as she seized his arm excitedly and they went, laughing, into the castle.

Hannah bustled forward to offer him refreshment. Jarvis, who’d watched his arrival from an upper window, took his time about descending.

When he finally did his duty it was to find his library strewn with the most gorgeous white fabrics, silks, satin, brocades. Hannah was gazing admiringly at Meryl, who stood wrapped in a swathe of glittering material. It had tiny flashing jewels sewn all over it, and even Jarvis, who knew ‘sweet Fanny Adams’ about fashion, could see the staggering luxury.

‘It would be fantastic with this to hold the veil in place,’ Benedict said, opening a black box and revealing a magnificent diamond tiara. ‘You must look like a goddess,’ he declared expansively. ‘When you walk down the aisle your diamonds will glitter, your dress will sweep out, and your veil will stream behind you-’

Jarvis coughed. They all turned to look at him.

‘I’m sorry, I was detained,’ he said politely.

Meryl tossed aside her finery. ‘Jarvis, this is my friend Benedict, who’s making my wedding dress.’

Jarvis said what was proper, but he was studying the young man with disfavour. As Larry had said, Benedict had the looks of a film star. He was almost tall enough to look Jarvis in the eye. His shoulders were wide, his skin tanned, his mouth finely chiselled and his eyes deep blue and expressive.

And this was the man that Meryl valued at millions, plus enduring a charade of marriage with another man. What, apart from his looks, did Benedict Steen have to make a level-headed woman-?

But this wasn’t a level-headed woman. This was Meryl, who flew off to challenge a stranger at a moment’s notice, who nearly got herself drowned and laughed it off, who scribbled all over her hand and had windmills in her head. If anybody needed protecting, she did. But who would protect her from Benedict Steen?

If it came to that, who would protect her from himself?

He kept this first meeting as short as was compatible with courtesy, informed them that he would see them at dinner, and hurried away to call Ferdy and demand his presence, and Sarah’s, that evening. He didn’t feel that he could endure it alone.

Everyone dressed for dinner, which was in the great dining room. This was Larne at its grandest, with walls covered with weapons in circular patterns, armour at every corner, the walls bearing portraits of Larne ancestors.

Benedict was in seventh heaven. ‘Such splendour! This is what I want to convey in the dress. I saw the grand staircase in the hall. Tomorrow, Meryl, I must see you sweep down it.’

Jarvis caught Ferdy’s hilarious expression and his lips twitched. He would have shared the joke with Sarah too, but somehow his eyes met Meryl’s instead and he realised that she too was amused at Benedict’s expense.

She looked glorious in a gown that he would have described as ‘something floaty in green and blue’ but which was actually one of Benedict’s most delicate creations in silk chiffon. All Jarvis could say for certain was that it enhanced the colour of her eyes in a way that made him watch her closely. Sarah had to speak to him twice before he noticed her.

It made a pleasant start to the evening, but from then on he grew more depressed. Benedict turned out to be the perfect dinner companion, able to listen to others with interest, and to talk knowledgeably on a variety of subjects. He was witty and charming, instantly at ease with Ferdy, and even making the severe Sarah laugh at his jokes.

With Meryl his manner was theatrically flirtatious. He kissed her hand, he praised her beauty, he called her ‘goddess’. But he didn’t actually do anything to which her fiancé could object without looking absurd. Confound him!

Then he remembered that Steen was her true fiancé. He could gather her into his arms without having to release her just when he wanted to explore further…

‘You’re knocking it back a bit, aren’t you?’ Ferdy muttered in his ear.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You don’t usually drink so much. I hope it’s going to be Seth who ferries us over tonight. I’m not sure how steady your hand is.’

‘Seth’s gone to bed,’ Jarvis growled. ‘You’ll have to take your chance with me.’

‘And leave your bride entertaining another man?’ Ferdy observed with a grin.

‘You can swim if you like,’ Jarvis told him in a low, savage voice.

‘Either way I think it’s time we were going,’ Ferdy said.

It took Jarvis half an hour to deliver his guests on the shore and return with the boat. Meryl and Benedict were nowhere to be seen. Climbing the stairs in search of them, Jarvis heard voices coming from behind Meryl’s door, and a moment later the door opened and Benedict emerged, closing it behind him.

‘She had a headache and asked you to forgive her for not waiting for you,’ he said.

‘Certainly. Will you have a nightcap with me, Mr Steen?’

They passed into Jarvis’s room. Benedict was still holding his empty glass, which Jarvis filled, and they sat and drank together with an appearance of comradeship, although only one of them was at ease.

‘Who’d have thought it would end like this, eh?’ Benedict said complacently.

‘Anyone who knew Meryl, I imagine. You must know her well. Why did you let her take such a risk?’

‘She likes risk. Thrives on it. Think how dull her life must be-all that money-no challenges.’

Jarvis’s hand closed tightly around the neck of the bottle-it was either that or Benedict’s neck.

‘Doesn’t it occur to you that you should be taking care of her?’ he asked through gritted teeth.

‘You mean tell her what she can and can’t do? She doesn’t take kindly to people who do that. And she somehow ends up doing things her way.’

Jarvis was about to protest when he realised that this was exactly what was happening. He had decided that he would not marry Meryl Winters. But she had decided that he would. And soon they would be married, all to suit the convenience of this insolent sponger who showed no appreciation of the woman who loved him, or the sacrifice she was making for him.

His dislike of Benedict was so strong that he could almost taste it, and it drove the next words out of his mouth.

‘Since you’re going to be here for a while, Mr Steen, why don’t you invite your wife to join you?’

Benedict’s eyes, so brilliant a moment before, went dead.

‘You’re very kind,’ he said in a flat voice, ‘but I’m afraid that won’t be possible.’

‘Why not? She’d be very welcome. Call her.’

If he’d doubted the other man’s intentions he knew better now. At this mention of an inconvenient wife Benedict gave him a look of sheer malevolence. ‘Mrs Steen is busy arranging our divorce,’ he said flatly. ‘How about a top-up?’

He held out his glass and Jarvis filled it. And filled it. And filled it.

‘Your friend drank himself legless,’ he observed to Meryl next morning. ‘I had to help him to bed.’

‘Poor Benedict, he doesn’t hold his drink well. Never did. Still, there’s nothing like booze for a little male bonding. I expect you two understand each other perfectly now.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Jarvis said grimly. ‘We do that all right.’

Soon everyone knew that things had changed. Hannah hired an army of domestics to prepare the castle for guests. Workmen flooded in, armed with hammers and nails. It was a makeshift job for the moment. The major repairs would have to wait until after the wedding.

Inch by inch Larne Castle resumed some of its former glory. Floors and furniture gleamed with polish, doors and windows no longer rattled. As Jarvis saw his home beginning to look loved again he found that he could relax, and even begin to think of happiness as something possible.

A package arrived from New York which he guessed was from Larry. Knowing she was upstairs, he took it up to her. Her bedroom door was slightly ajar and he ventured to look in without knocking. The next moment he wished he hadn’t.

Meryl stood by the window dressed only in wispy bra and panties. In the first stunned moment Jarvis took in every detail, the delicate lace of her matching underwear, and how little of it there seemed to be. He saw too the sweet curves of her slim, nearly naked figure, and how exactly it matched his haunting memories. But most of all he observed, with displeasure, that Benedict Steen was standing with his arms about her waist, carefully adjusting a tape measure.

They looked up at him, neither of them surprised or disconcerted. Meryl smiled. ‘Benedict’s just taking final measurements for my dress,’ she said.

‘Perhaps, when you’re free, we could talk,’ Jarvis said frostily.

‘You’d better go, honey,’ Meryl said.

‘Are you going to be all right?’ Benedict asked, watching Jarvis’s face warily.

‘Don’t be silly, of course I’ll be all right,’ she said cheerfully.

Benedict got out fast. The other two regarded each other, condemnation on one face, ironic defiance on the other.

‘I gather I’m not supposed to mind,’ he said.

‘Mind what? What is there to mind?’

‘That’s a very cool question. Do you make a habit of letting men into your bedroom when you’re naked?’

‘I’m not naked.’

‘As near as dammit!’

‘Benedict makes my clothes. He sees me wearing less than anyone else, and neither of us thinks anything of it.’ She gestured down at herself. ‘This isn’t naked-not naked as in “naked”. It’s not the same thing at all.’

But it was exactly the same thing, he thought, watching the urgent rise and fall of her breasts, barely enclosed in the flimsy lace. He knew how they looked without even that faint protection, and the knowledge tormented him.

‘The distinction is hidden from me,’ he said curtly.

‘Benedict doesn’t see me as a woman. We’re like brother and sister. Surely you’ve seen that?’

He hadn’t. To Jarvis it was inconceivable that any man could look on Meryl’s beauty and not be half mad with the longing to possess her.

The full bitterness of his position burst on him. In the eyes of the world he was a lucky man, privileged to gather this rich harvest. Only he knew that he must stand by with his nose pressed against the window while another man was free to enter her room, touching her at will. Brother and sister?

‘What you do after our divorce is no concern of mine-’ he said stiffly.

‘Isn’t it a little soon to be looking forward to our divorce?’

‘It’s never too soon to be practical. We both know why you’re doing this. If you’re fool enough to go to these lengths for him, that’s up to you-’

‘For heaven’s sake-’ Half-indignant, half-amused, Meryl threw up her hands and turned away, but Jarvis grasped her arm firmly and pulled her back to him.

‘Understand me, Meryl, I won’t be made a fool of. I won’t have people laughing at me and saying my wife is so infatuated with another man that she can’t behave herself properly. While you’re Lady Larne you’ll behave as Lady Larne.’

‘Oh, really!’ Meryl said, her temper beginning to rise. ‘And what would she do? Refuse to let her dressmaker near her?’

‘She’d refuse to let any man near her while she was like this-except me.’

‘Except you,’ she whispered. ‘Except you-’

Her anger faded. With her body pressed against his she could feel him trembling. Meeting his eyes, she saw in them the look she’d most wanted to see. It said that he wanted her-against his will, his reason, his reserve, even against his survival instinct. Everything in him was fighting her, but he was losing the battle. Just as she was.

Her body was growing warm under his gaze. She could sense her own colour rising and wondered if he saw and understood. His fingers burned her arm and she could feel his lips again, kissing her everywhere as she wished he would.

‘You-ought to let me go,’ she said slowly.

‘Yes.’ He spoke like a man who didn’t know what he was saying, and his fingers moved, but only to tighten their grasp on her arm.

‘Is this what Lord Larne does,’ she whispered, ‘when he visits Lady Larne?’

‘I think he doesn’t visit her at all.’

‘Not until after the wedding?’

‘Not even then. He’s too sensible for that.’

‘Oh, Jarvis,’ she breathed, ‘don’t you ever take a holiday from being sensible?’

‘Never,’ he said bitterly. ‘It’s too late for me.’

‘I don’t believe it.’

‘I can’t change now. Even you can’t do that for me.’

He released her arm and raised his hand just enough for his fingers to brush against her cheek, her lips.

‘We have a business arrangement,’ he murmured. ‘I think perhaps we should keep it that way. Let’s both be-sensible.’

She didn’t believe him. At any moment he would kiss her, as she was aching for him to do. But he didn’t. Instead he pulled quickly away and hurried out of the room, leaving her desolate.