From Mistresses To Wives?: Mistress to a Bachelor / His Mistress by Marriage / Accidental Mistress

‘On occasion. Playing it safe all the time makes for a very dull life. I haven’t fallen on my face yet.’

‘There’s always a first time,’ Jessica retorted. ‘Your grandfather still has to be convinced.’

‘He will be.’

She looked out of the side window, hoping he was right. To be caught out in a lie of this magnitude at such a time was beyond contemplation.

They were at the airport by ten fifteen. Zac, it turned out, had already phoned through before leaving the hotel, and managed to book two seats on a scheduled flight leaving at midday. Jessica took the time to cancel her reservation on the following day’s flight, accepting the lack of refund due to short notice as a matter of course. Right now it was a minor consideration.

Flying first class was an event in itself. Cocooned in soft leather comfort, a glass of champagne at her elbow, Jessica was forced to concede the advantages. If the engagement was for real, this was the kind of lifestyle she would be living from now on. Few people could honestly claim to find nothing appealing in that notion.

Only it wasn’t for real. Once the weekend was over, she and Zac would go their separate ways—with any subsequent fallout from the deception his problem. The fact that she was going to find him difficult, if not downright impossible, to forget was her problem. How did one go about forgetting a man who set every nerve ending on fire?

She stole a glance at him, relaxed in his seat, head back against the rest, eyes closed. The firm lines of his mouth aroused an aching desire to know its touch again; she felt her nipples spring to life at the very thought. A weakness she’d better get a hold on if she was to emerge from this encounter with some shred of self-respect left, she told herself hardily.

Zac had a car at Heathrow. By two o’clock English time, they were on the road.

After a week of warm sun, the pouring rain was hardly scheduled to lift any spirits. Jessica found hers sinking ever deeper as the miles went by. However good the intention, she was entering into a conspiracy to deceive a dying man. If Zac himself felt no shame, she certainly did.

‘I’m not sure I can go through with this,’ she said.

Zac gave her a swift glance, his jaw firming. ‘You can’t back out now!’

‘You can’t make me carry on with it!’ she responded.

‘Not physically, perhaps. But ethically you’re…’

‘You’re a fine one to talk about ethics!’ Jessica shot back. ‘If you hadn’t lied in the first place, none of this would be necessary!’

‘I’m aware of it. As time travel isn’t yet possible, unfortunately, we’re all of us stuck with the mistakes we make. You agreed to do this for my grandfather’s sake, not mine. He’s the one you’d be letting down.’

Jessica bit her lip. ‘All right. I’ll do my best.’

‘Thanks.’ His tone had softened. ‘You’re one in a million, Jess!’

For once she allowed the shortening of her name to pass. There were far more important things to think about.

It was coming up to six o’clock when they finally reached their destination. Lying a couple of miles from the coast, Whitegates turned out to be a converted nineteenth-century farmhouse set within several acres of land. Getting from the car on the wide fronting driveway, Jessica stood for a moment to view the place, loving its timelessness, its air of tranquillity.

‘Not what you were expecting?’ asked Zac, moving back to open the boot.

‘I hadn’t actually thought about it,’ she admitted. ‘I suppose if I had, I might have imagined something built to order.’

‘More suited to a retired elderly couple?’

‘Well…yes. This is wonderful, but it must be a lot of work.’

‘A fair amount,’ he agreed. ‘But help isn’t too much of a problem. They have a daily maid-cum-cook, plus a whole army of cleaners, gardeners, whatever, to call on.’

Silly of her to think otherwise considering the family background, Jessica reflected. Finances would hardly be strained.

The woman who appeared at the top of the steps leading up to a side door fitted no conventional grandmother image for certain. Tall and slim in a pair of tailored blue trousers and matching shirt, her silvered hair superbly cut to frame her face, she looked nowhere near her age.

‘I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to get here,’ she said. The smile she gave Jessica was strained. ‘It’s so nice to meet you at last.’

‘I’m only sorry it had to be under these circumstances,’ Jessica rejoined, hating herself for her part in this travesty—hating Zac even more at the moment for involving her in the first place.

‘Where is Grandfather?’ asked Zac.

‘In the sitting room waiting for you.’ The faded blue eyes appraised the bags he was carrying, lingering on Jessica’s so much larger suitcase. ‘How long are you planning on staying?’

‘No set plan.’ Zac ignored Jessica’s swift glance. He pressed a kiss to his grandmother’s cheek. ‘How’s he taking it?’

To Jessica, the expression that flickered across the older woman’s face was more reminiscent of discomfiture than distress. Her tone when she answered was oddly evasive.

‘As he takes everything. He’s very much looking forward to seeing you both.’ The pause was brief. ‘He’d prefer you didn’t mention his condition. Just treat him as normal.’

The side door led directly into a big stone-floored kitchen. Apart from the dark green Aga range fitted into a wide recess that had probably once been the fireplace, the room was unmodernised, with solid old cupboards and dressers, its rough plastered walls painted a deep warm terracotta. Exposed beams ran across the ceiling.

The woman preparing vegetables at one of the two Belfast sinks looked round with a smile at their entry.

‘Nice to see you again, Mr Zac.’ The glance she cast Jessica’s way was frankly curious. ‘Congratulations to you both!’

Zac returned the smile. ‘Thanks. Jessica, meet Dulcie.’

Jessica made a suitable acknowledgement of both introduction and wishes, gearing herself for what was still to come. She felt terrible again already, and this was only the beginning. The thought of facing a dying man with the same lies on her lips made her want to throw up.

They left the bags where Zac had dropped them, and followed his grandmother across a wide hall to a beamed sitting room beautifully furnished and decorated in period. The figure stretched out on a sofa beneath one of the mullioned windows appeared to be sleeping. Lean in build, with a full head of white hair above a thin but by no means emaciated face, he looked far from the frail old man Jessica had been anticipating.

‘Don’t waken him,’ she said impulsively as Mrs Prescott reached to touch his shoulder. ‘He must need all the sleep he can get.’

She was too late. He was already opening his eyes. Grey eyes, like his grandson’s, though lacking the steely clarity. She found a smile as they locked onto her face.

‘Hello, Mr Prescott. I’m Jessica.’

‘Welcome to the family, Jessica,’ he said, with none of the confusion that might be expected of someone just woken from sleep. ‘I’ve waited a long time for this.’

‘Let Zac help…’ she began as he made to lever himself upright, breaking off as she recalled his wife’s injunction.

‘I don’t need cosseting,’ he rejoined without particular inflection.

His wife looked as if she was about to make some comment, spreading her hands in a dismissive gesture as he gave her a frowning glance. ‘Pull up a chair for the girl, Zac,’ he commanded.

Zac did so, face revealing little of what was going on inside his head. Jessica could only hope his guilt was eating him up to the same degree.

‘So tell me about yourself,’ the old man invited. ‘You’ve certainly got the looks I’d have expected, but there has to be more to you than that to throw a noose round this grandson of mine.’

Jessica shook herself inwardly. Dying he might be, easy to fool he most certainly wasn’t. She was going to need all her wits about her to make this convincing.