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make up her mind and stick to a decision? Why did she keep changing her mind? What mind? she thought bitterly. She had no mind; she was just a fool. A fool whose emotions were in total flux, changing every other minute. She looked up again and found Mark watching her with that black-browed frown, his mouth a white line, his face hard. Fiercely, Sancha broke out, 'What decisions do we have to make, Mark? About us? Before we get to that I'd like to hear the truth about you and Jacqui Farrar. Are you having an affair with her or not? And how long has it been going on?' He got up and walked across the room with a fierce, loping prowl. His back to her, he muttered, 'Nothing's been "going on", as you put it. I haven't had an affair with her.' Her first sharp relief gave way to angry doubt as he added, 'Not exactly.' 'Not exactly?' she repeated. 'What does that mean?' 'It all depends what you mean by an affair. I haven't been sleeping with her, if that's what you mean.' She wanted so badly to believe him that she had to bite down on her Kp to stop herself giving a little sob. When she felt able to speak without bursting into tears, she asked huskily, 'What do you mean that's the point! If you haven't been sleeping with her, what has been going on? I know something has, Mark, it's obvious from the way you reacted when I showed you that letter. It was obvious you were guilty of something. A blind man could see that.' Mark made a noise like a groan. 'You see, we... I mean, I... She's so... Oh, God, it's so hard to put it into words.' 'Try telling the truth!' she told him angrily. 'All you have to do is tell me the truth, Mark. That shouldn't be hard.' 'It is, though. We're not talking about facts here we're talking about feelings, and those aren't so easy to pin down.' 'Your feelings or hers?' Sancha asked, watching him with jealous, hurt eyes. Was he admitting he was in love with the blonde girl? 'Both,' he confessed, not looking at her. She drew a long, harsh breath. 'OK,' she said a moment later, sounding surprisingly calm to her own ears, and, she hoped, to his. 'Let's start with yours. Are you in love with her?' He was a long time answering, and as the seconds ticked by Sancha's body pulsed with a worsening pain. He was going to say yes. He was going to admit it. She knew he was and she couldn't bear to hear him say the words. Mark sighed then. 'I think I could be.' Could be? Did that mean he wasn't, yet? 'I think I almost am,' he added huskily, and her stomach sank again. Did that mean he was, after all, but didn't like to say so too openly? He was playing with her like a cat with a mouse; every word he said was like having claws dug into her. Hoarsely she broke out, 'Stop talking in riddles, Mark! Either you are or you aren't. For God's sake, which is it?' His grey eyes darkening, he said, 'I told you, it isn't easy to talk about feelings! It all happened so gradually. I was under terrible pressure at work; I needed someone to talk to. You never had time to take any notice of me but Jacqui did. She listened to my worries; she was supportive and sympathetic- very kind to me. She's a nice girl!' And in love with you? thought Sancha. She must be. Every word Mark said made that much clear. Jacqui Farrar wasn't just a good assistant, ready to be there for him whenever he needed a sympathetic ear. Their relationship had gone beyond a business one, The anonymous letter-writer must have picked up something, or why would he or she have written that letter? Jacqui's feelings must be easy to read, even if Mark denied it. Maybe she had even talked about how she felt to friends? Perhaps dropped hints that Mark felt the same way? 'But we've never been to bed together,' Mark added flatly. She watched him intently. His eyes met hers: level, steady, very serious was he telling the truth? Yes. She was convinced by that gaze; Mark was not lying. A deep, thankful relief filled her, but then he said offhandedly, 'Although we almost did, once.' The admission made her stiffen, her colour going again. Mark saw the look on her face and said fiercely, 'Well, what can you expect? We haven't made love for months. Months, Sancha! I'm [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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