Red Rose For Love. Кэрол Мортимер
of red roses in his hand. ‘Miss Meredith?’ he asked brightly.
She clutched her robe to her, aware of how bedraggled she must look, the cut and swelling on the side of her mouth making it look as if someone had punched her, bruises on her arms and throat.
‘Yes?’ Her voice came out husky, her throat sore from all the crying she had done during the night; she seemed to have cried even in her sleep.
‘These are for you.’ The boy held out the roses, waiting expectantly.
Eve took them dazedly, turning back into the room to find her purse, handing the boy a tip before slowly closing the door.
The roses were from Carl, of course, an apology for his behaviour the night before. ‘Sorry, darling,’ the card read. ‘I love you. Call you soon.’
He loved her, after the way he had treated her? His idea of love and hers differed greatly, and the sooner she got away from him and out of this apartment the better she would feel. She left the roses on the table untouched, then called Rosemary, one of her old roommates.
Of course she could sleep over with them, Rosemary had assured her, although she would have to sleep on the sofa, as they had already let her old room. Eve hadn’t cared where she slept, it could have been on the floor for all she cared, as long as it wasn’t in this apartment, like the kept woman she undoubtedly was.
She was halfway through packing when she heard the key in the lock. Carl! Heavens, he was back already! What was she going to say to him? What could she do?
She wiped her hands nervously down her denims, looking very young and vulnerable as she walked out into the lounge. She gasped as she saw the woman who stood there. Helen Prentiss, Carl’s wife!
The woman turned, cool blue eyes raking over Eve’s casual appearance with obvious disdain. Her own appearance was impeccable, from her sleek shoulder-length hair to the pale blue leather shoes that exactly matched the colour of the fitted blue dress she wore.
She arched an eyebrow at Eve, glancing fleetingly at the roses, her mouth twisting derisively. ‘Miss Meredith?’ she drawled, her voice huskily attractive, her precise English accent obviously acquired at a private school.
Eve licked her lips, wondering when this nightmare was going to end, or if indeed it ever would. ‘Yes,’ she confirmed shakily.
Helen Prentiss picked up the card that lay beside the roses. ‘So I see,’ she scorned. ‘He’s sorry?’ she said with amusement. ‘After the mess you made of his face I would have thought you would be the contrite one.’ Hard blue eyes suddenly probed Eve’s pale face. ‘You’re the one who did that to Carl, aren’t you? My God,’ she gave an abrupt laugh, ‘don’t tell me he’s cheated on both of us!’
‘No,’ Eve bit her bottom lip, ‘I—I did it.’
‘Really?’ Those hard blue eyes narrowed, a frown marring the beautiful face. ‘Strange, you don’t look the violent type. Oh well,’ she shrugged in a bored voice, ‘you never can tell. Would you mind if I sat down?’ she asked calmly.
‘I—No. Go ahead,’ Eve invited awkwardly.
The other woman did so, crossing one shapely leg over the other. She was a really beautiful woman, aged about thirty, and Eve couldn’t understand why Carl felt the need to be unfaithful to her.
Helen Prentiss looked up at her. ‘Now what do you intend to do about my husband?’
Again Eve licked her dry lips. ‘D-Do?’ she repeated, shaking her head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
The other woman sighed. ‘How old are you, my dear?’
‘Almost twenty,’ she answered awkwardly.
‘You’re the youngest to date,’ Helen Prentiss drawled in that bored voice.
‘Youngest…?’ Eve repeated dazedly.
‘Yes.’ The other woman gave an amused laugh. ‘You don’t think you’re the first, do you?’
‘I—Well, I—I hadn’t——’
‘Hadn’t thought about it,’ the other woman finished dryly. ‘Well, to my knowledge you’re the sixth one in this apartment.’
Oh God! Eve dropped into a chair, feeling suddenly faint. She wasn’t even the first woman Carl had kept in this way, she was just one in a long line, although by the determined tilt of Helen Prentiss’s chin she could be the last.
She frowned. ‘Don’t you mind?’
Helen Prentiss shrugged. ‘The first dozen or so times I did, now I’m past caring. But I have the children to think of. I wouldn’t want them to know what a bastard their father is.’
‘I—How old are they, your children?’
‘Nine, six, and four. The last two were attempts at reconciliations,’ Helen explained bitterly. ‘Not very successful ones.’ She snapped open her handbag, and took out her cheque-book. ‘Now, how much do you want to disappear from my husband’s life?’ She held a gold pen poised ready to write.
Eve went even paler, standing agitatedly to her feet. ‘I don’t want any money,’ she choked. ‘I’m leaving anyway. I was just packing when you arrived.’
‘Very well.’ Helen Prentiss put the cheque-book away, standing gracefully to her feet. She stopped at the door, her expression softening somewhat. ‘I’m sorry I had to do this, Miss Meredith.’
She shook her head. ‘You didn’t do anything—I told you, I was leaving anyway.’
Helen Prentiss nodded, her blue eyes shadowed. ‘He’s a brute, isn’t he?’ she said resignedly, and left as silently as she had arrived.
Eve must have broken all records packing her suitcase and leaving that hateful apartment. Carl had telephoned her several times at the flat, had even come round himself once, only to be turned away by an angry Rosemary.
Yes, she had learnt her lesson about men the hard way, but she had learnt it.
And now she had another spoilt rich man pursuing her, a man who also sent red roses. But Bartholomew Jordan wasn’t going to get anywhere with her, she would make very sure of that.
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