CHAPTER FOUR

 

Changmin was grateful at first for the quiet and the shadows. She felt light-headed, weightless, rocked on some infinite, swaying ocean. Soon, she thought drowsily, soon Tony would return. She lay back on the pillows, smiling to herself. Waiting for him. Wanting him.
The sudden brilliance of the overhead light snapping on was like a physical shock. She propped herself grog- gily on one elbow, staring towards the door.

Not Jongsuk at all, she registered dazedly, but a complete stranger in dinner jacket and frilled shirt, his black tie unfastened.

A tall man, with dark hair and eyes as grey and cold as a January sky. A man standing there as if he'd been transfixed. Clearly as startled as she was herself.

His gaze grated across her skin. He said slowly and harshly, 'What the hell are you doing here?'

The room was swaying again. She stared frantically past him, searching for Jongsuk—for anyone except this unknown man who was looking at her as if she was dirt. As if he despised her.

And then, in the long mirror beside the door, she saw herself, irrevocably and indelibly, as he did— and bedraggled, her face under the dishevelled blonde wig flushed and streaked with make-up. Someone she barely recognised, but knew must be herself.

He took a step closer and she shrank, grabbing at a sheet to cover herself. 'I said—what are you doing here? And who are you?'

'Changmin,' she mumbled from her dry throat. 'I'm Changmin. Jongsuk—brought me.'

He said bitterly, 'I should have known. Well, you're wasting your time. I can do without your kind of filth.' He bent, picked up the handful of her discarded clothing lying beside the bed, his mouth grim with distaste, and threw it at her. 'Get dressed and get out, you , before I throw you out.'

He walked across the room and flung open another door. Changmin could see gleaming tiles and the edge of a bath.

'And dress in there,' he went on bitingly. 'I don't want to watch.'

She couldn't move. She felt numb, paralysed with horror. She had to say something— to explain that it was all a terrible mistake. But the words wouldn't come. She could only stare up at him helplessly.

He completely misinterpreted her lack of response. Changmin found herself ruthlessly dragged off the bed by her arm and pushed forcefully into the bathroom.

'No more games,' he told her. 'You have exactly ten minutes to make yourself decent, or I call the police.'

The door slammed behind her. Changmin looked at the grotesque caricature of her own face in the mirror above the wash-basin, and was instantly and comprehensively sick. She had never been so ill. Each wave of nausea seemed more bitter, more all-engulfing than the last. And even when her stomach was empty she was still clinging to the lavatory bowl, retching weakly.

Eventually, she levered herself to her feet, splashed her face with cold water and put on her underwear. She mentally recoiled when she came to the outer clothing, but there was nothing else to choose, so reluctantly she dragged on the skirt and fastened the bustier. Her shaking fingers could hardly cope with the myriad buttons, but she persevered, urged on by his threat of the police. That, she thought, visualising her father's horrified face, would be the ultimate degradation.

She was ready at last—for whatever might be facing her, she thought, swallowing. Slowly, she opened the bathroom door and looked into the room beyond. It was empty. The bed, she saw, was stripped of everything— even the pillows and duvet. Gone to be decontaminated, no doubt, she thought, supporting herself against the doorframe, fighting another wave of nausea.

She went out onto the landing and cautiously down the stairs. She felt raw and hollow inside, and ached with vomiting.

The house was ominously quiet. No music, no sound of voices. Where was everyone? she thought, fighting down a feeling of panic.

He was waiting in the hall below, the dark face carved from stone.

'Where are the others?' Her voice was hoarse and strained.

'Long gone.'

Gone? she thought numbly. Leaving her behind? But they couldn't...

'Who are you?' she asked.

He tutted. 'Didn't they tell you that? I'm Jung Yunho and this—shambles you're about to vacate is my property.' He tossed her bag to her. 'This must be yours.'

Then he walked to the front door and opened it, letting in a wave of cold night air.

Despite herself, Changmin shivered.

V'A word of advice,' the hated, contemptuous voice went on. 'Next time you go , try and stay sober. It makes a better impression on the client.'

She said hoarsely, 'I'm not—what you think.'

"You're certainly not very good at it.' He gestured impatiently. 'Now get out.'

'But how am I going to get back?' She knew exactly what her bag contained—a lipstick, a comb, a hanky and a few coins. 'I've no transport. I haven't even got a jacket.'

'That's your problem,' was the curt dismissal. 'Presumably you got paid for your— services tonight. There's a call box in the village with the names of local cab firms.'

'I'm not a ,' she said desperately. 'I swear I'm not. I—I was with—Jongsuk. No one gave me any money.'

There was a taut silence, then he reached inside his jacket, produced a wallet and extracted a twenty-pound note, which he dropped onto the carpet in front of her.

'For the floorshow,' he said insolently, the grey eyes raking her, reminding her starkly of how he'd found her—stripped and vulnerable on his bed.

She wanted to hit him, to lash out with her nails and wipe the mockery from his face. But she couldn't afford to. It was as simple as that. She had to accept this final humiliation at his hands.

Every inch of her skin seemed to burn as she bent to pick up the note. Then, head
 bent, she went swiftly past him and out into the darkness. And heard the door slam behind her...

There were tears on her face. Changmin lifted her hands and wiped them angrily away. She hadn't cried then, so why was she allowing herself this weakness now?

She supposed she must be weeping for her lost innocence. For the sheer cruelty of the betrayal she'd been subjected to.

She remembered little of her journey back to the Bishops' house, except that the cab driver had been an older man who'd treated her with a mixture of kindness and disapproval, even offering her a rug to wrap round her.

She'd been miserably ill for most of the following day, and, when she had emerged from her room, found herself the target of some edged remarks about the stupidity of drinking to excess when you couldn't handle alcohol from Tiffany's mother.

'I'm surprised at you, Changmin,' she'd been told coldly. 'I thought you had more sense. And, if this is the kind of exploit we can expect, you'd better go home. You're not at all a good influence on Tiffany.'

Changmin had felt too wretched to mount any kind of defence in the face of this onslaught. She was already in Mrs Bishop's bad books through the ruin of her wig.

Jongsuk, she'd soon discovered, was nowhere to be seen.

'You surely didn't think he really fancied you?' Tiffany said derisively. She was sitting on the bed, watching Changmin pack. 'He just needed someone for this trick he was going to play on Yunho, and you were so obviously smitten, you made it easy for him.'

'Why did he do it?'

It hurt to ask. Her head ached terribly, and she felt as if she'd been kicked in the stomach, but that was nothing to the inner pain—the knowledge that people she'd trusted had degraded her, made a fool of her. Allowed a stranger to badmouth and humiliate her.

Tiffany shrugged. 'They've never liked each other, and Yunho was having this really stuffy birthday dinner with some boring old schoolfriends, so Jongsuk thought he'd liven it up for him. Simple as that.'

She giggled. 'When we all cleared off, he left this note for him to find—"Many happy returns. Your birthday present is unwrapped on your bed". We only wished we could have been there to see his face when he found you. Or yours, when you saw him,' she added spitefully.

She shook her head. 'God, you're so gullible, Changmin. You must be the only person in the world not to guess thece was vodka in that orange juice.'

'Yes,' Changmin agreed colourlessly. 'Gullible is the word.'

Tiffany eyed her speculatively. 'Tell me, did old Yun—you know—try anything on? Or were you too far gone to notice?'

'No. Fortunately, he didn't seem to be any more interested in me Than Jongsuk was.' Changmin looked her straight in the eye, and it was Tiffany who lowered her gaze uncomfortably.

'A word of warning,' Tiffany said, after a pause. 'Don't go whingeing to anyone about all this. Because it's our word against yours, and my parents believe that you were so far gone that you passed out and we had to leave you behind. I'm sure you don't want that to be spread about.'

'No,' Changmin said quietly. 'I wouldn't want that. I suggest we forget the whole thing.' Tiffany looked frankly relieved. 'I knew you'd see sense. And you should be grateful to us,' she added as she swung herself off the bed and walked to the door. 'At least you won't be so bloody naive in future.'

'I'll bear it in mind,' Changmin told her retreating back with irony.

She'd never managed the gratitude, but she'd done her damnedest to forget the whole sorry incident. To pretend that it was just one of those things. That she'd healed without scarring.

The fact that Tiffany hadn't returned to school in September, but had moved out to Spain with her parents, had helped.

But she hadn't bargained for the dreams, which had begun a few months later. And, the worse they had got, the more she'd tried to bury the cause of them in her subconscious, she realised now. She'd been afraid to examine what had happened. To confront the bitter truth and defeat it. And this had been compounded by her own lack of anyone to confide in. Not that she could have borne to confess what a fool she'd been.

She'd been young and vulnerable, and she'd been treated without mercy by Jongsuk and without compassion by Jung Yunho.

His birthday present, she thought with a flash of anger. Unwrapped on his bed. And she paused.

He was married then, she thought. And if Goo Ara had been with him when he found me, it could have led to all kinds of problems. It was worse than a practical joke. It was real malice.

But his marriage broke down, anyway. And I've carried my problems like a festering sore all this time. But now I've faced up to it, let the poison out.

Impossible as it seems, maybe meeting Jung Yunho like this has been a kind of therapy. Not, of course, that I ever want to see him again, she amended hastily.

She stood up. Tonight, she thought, I shall sleep without dreaming.

'I'm so sorry, dear.' Mrs Preston's pleasant face was wrinkled with anxiety. 'But I did say it was only a temporary job...'

Changmin smiled at her. 'Yes, you did, and I understood that, and it's quite all right,' she reassured her. 'I'm glad Debbie's better,' she added, without total sincerity, trying to ignore Kyuhyun pulling hideous faces in the background.

'And I wouldn't want you to leave right away,' Mrs Preston made clear. 'Poor Debbie hasn't regained all her strength yet, so she'll have to ease her way in.'

'Ease is right,' Kyuhyun muttered, when their employer had gone fussing off. 'I don't know why she doesn't put a bed in the kitchen for her.'

Changmin grinned, and went off to lay the tables for lunch.

For someone who was now virtually redundant, she felt remarkably cheerful. She would hand in her notice to Hanson the Hateful at the end of the week. Then, as soon as Mrs Preston released her, she could leave Westcombe. After that—the world was her oyster.
 It wasn't the most pleasant of days—cold, with squally showers driven by a biting wind —and the tea rooms weren't particularly busy.

Changmin was warming herself with a cup of tea when the bell tinkled, signalling the arrival of a customer.

'Your table,' Kyuhyun commented, peeping through the round window in the kitchen door. 'You lucky devil.'

'Very funny.' Changmin gulped down the rest of her tea, and picked up her order pad. 'I'm not kidding.' Kyuhyun rolled her eyes. 'He's gorgeous in a brooding way.'

'Let me see.' Changmin craned her neck, then stepped back, aware that all the colour had drained out of her face. She tried to sound casual. 'You think he's so lovely—you have him. I'll swap tables with you.'

'You're on,' said Kyuhyun instantly. But she was back within a minute. 'What's going on, Changmin? He's asked for you. Do you know him?'

Changmin bit her lip, cursing under her breath. 'Our paths have crossed,' she admitted. 'I didn't particularly want to repeat the experience.'

'But he clearly does.' Kyuhyun patted her back. 'Off you go, ducky, and put in a good word for me.'

Jung Yunho was sitting glancing through the menu as Changmin approached. He inclined his head formally. 'Hello again, Miss Shim.'

'Just what do you hope to gain from this, Mr Jung?' she asked in a furious whisper. 'In the first instance, some lunch,' he returned calmly. 'Do you recommend the macaroni cheese?'

'All our food is good,' she told him icily. 'The macaroni cheese comes with a side salad and granary bread. I meant, why did you ask for me?'

'I have an invitation from Sohee,' he said. 'She'd like you to come to supper tonight.''I'm afraid that isn't possible.' Changmin wrote down his order. 'Can I bring you something to drink?'

'A pot of coffee—Colombian. And what's so impossible about it? You did go out of your way to befriend the child, after all.'

Yes, she thought, but that was before I knew she was your daughter.

She said shortly, 'I'm busy tonight.'

He gave her a sardonic smile. 'Don't tell me. You have to wash your hair.' 'Oh,' said Changmin, somewhat nettled. 'Does it look as if it needs it?'

'Not at all, but that is the all-purpose excuse.' He leaned back in his chair, the grey eyes speculative. 'Would it make any difference if I told you I won't be there?'

'No,' she said. 'It wouldn't. I—I just think it's better for me not to see Sohee again.' 'Better for whom? Certainly not for Sohee. As far as she's concerned, you promised her,

and that's sacrosanct.' He paused, then continued levelly, 'As I told you, we only came down here a short while ago, and Sohee is finding it hard to settle and make new friends at school. Without Cindy, she's lonely.'

'That's emotional blackmail,' Changmin said angrily.

'It's also the truth. But, if you can't spare her a couple of hours, there's no more to be said.'
 She hesitated. 'And you definitely won't be there?' 'I'm having dinner with Miss Sinclair.'

She sighed. 'All right, then. I'll come over straight from work.'

'No,' he said. 'We'll collect you.' And as her lips parted in protest he went on, 'Sohee insists on it.'

Changmin had the feeling she'd been totally outmanoeuvred, but there was nothing she could do about it.

I'll pay this one visit, she decided as she retreated to the kitchen, but it will be the first and last. I won't make any more rash promises.

Kyuhyun was agog. 'Who is he?'

'He's that little girl's father,' Changmin admitted reluctantly. 'I met him when I took her home the other night.'

Kyuhyun nudged her. 'Perhaps he wants to give you a reward.'

Changmin shook her head. 'It's Sohee. She's asked me to have supper with her.' 'And Daddy makes three?'

'No, thank God. He's having dinner with a woman called Hazel Sinclair.' Kyuhyun looked disappointed. 'That's poor timing.'

'Not from my viewpoint.' Changmin gave her a faint smile. 'Mr Jung and I will never be friends.'

'Who mentioned friendship?' asked Kyuhyun.

From then on they were kept too busy for any further discussion, to Changmin's secret relief.

Jung Yunho ate his lunch with apparent appreciation and left a generous tip with his bill. Changmin, tightening, put the money straight into Kyuhyun's jar.

Almost before she knew it, closing time arrived. In the staff cloakroom, Changmin washed her face and hands then released her hair from its elastic band, combing it into the smooth bob she wore outside working hours. She applied a discreet touch of colour to , studying herself doubtfully in the mirror.

The door opened and Kyuhyun flew in to collect her coat.

'Your awaits,' she announced. 'Nice to see you tarting yourself up for once,' she added approvingly, and fled.

Tarting myself up? Changmin thought in utter dismay. Oh, God. Not down that path again.

She scooped her hair back, securing it firmly at the nape of her neck again, and scrubbed at her lips with a tissue. Then she put on her coat, picked up her bag and valked sedately out into the cafe.

'Out for the evening, dear?' asked Mrs Preston, who'd arrived to cash up. 'Have a lovely time.'

Changmin returned her smile with a certain constraint. Jung Yunho was waiting at the door, Sohee bouncing beside him.

She's too pleased to see me, Changmin thought, aware that her own heart had lifted involuntarily in response to the little girl's beaming smile. These are deep waters I'm getting into.
 Sohee tucked a hand into hers. 'We're having special shepherd's pie, and marmalade pudding,' she confided.

Changmin laughed. 'I can hardly wait.'

'And I helped lay the table. We're having candles, just like Daddy.'

'I've got a reservation at the Clair de Lune,' Yunho explained. 'Apparently it's hot on atmosphere. I'll reserve judgement about the food.'

'It has a good reputation,' Changmin returned stiltedly. She didn't particularly want to hear, she discovered, what arrangements he'd made for a romantic dinner a deux.

But he's divorced, she thought with a mental shrug. He's entitled. I could probably be heading for a candlelit dinner myself, if I didn't freeze off every man who comes near me.

She gave him a swift sideways glance as they went out to the Range Rover. He was wearing tailored charcoal trousers with a matching roll-neck sweater topped by an elegant cashmere jacket. There was no denying his unstudied attraction, she realised with a sudden pang. And swiftly turned her undivided attention to his daughter—where it should have been in the first place, she reminded herself tersely.

Sohee chatted happily about school—how many sums she'd got right, the page she'd reached in her reading book—but it was all about lessons, Changmin noted rather soberly. She didn't mention other children at all.

She was concentrating so hard on what Sohee was saying about the hamster who lived in her classroom that she missed the lurch of apprehension in the pit of her stomach as they turned in at the gate.

'Oh,' said Sohee in surprise, peering at the car parked outside the house. 'We've got a visitor.'

Carrie opened the door for them, looking rather po- faced. 'Miss Sinclair is here, sir. She's waiting in the drawing room.'

Hazel Sinclair was standing by the fire, one slim foot on the brass fender, gazing pensively into the flames. She wore a pleated skirt in ice-blue georgette with a matching tunic top, and her blonde hair was wound into a smooth coil on top of her head.

Nicely posed, thought Changmin, and chided herself for being y.

Hazel turned smilingly at their entry. 'Yunho, darling. Yes, I know you were supposed to be picking me up at my house, but I got your message that you might be slightly delayed, and Mummy wanted me to do an errand for her in the village—some crisis over the parish magazine—so here I am instead.' Her blue gaze travelled past him and sharpened slightly. 'Good evening, Sohee. Good evening, Miss er...?'

'Shim.' said Changmin.

'Of course.' She gave a little trill of laughter. 'Are we eating here, then?'

'No.' Yunho's brows lifted. 'I've booked a table at the Clair de Lune. Why do you ask?' She shrugged elegantly. 'I thought perhaps Miss Shim was here to help Carrie wait at

table.'

'Unfortunately not,' Changmin said affably, thinking of the pleasure of tipping hot soup into that pastel georgette lap.

'Changmin's having supper with me,' Changmin put in unsmilingly.

'Oh, dear.' That laugh again set Changmin's teeth on edge. 'Have I committed a faux pas?
 Actually, it was Carrie I was thinking of. She seemed to be limping when I arrived, and I was concerned about her arthritis.'

'Carrie claims she's as fit as a flea,' Yunho said rather shortly. 'And she doesn't take kindly to alternative suggestions.'

Hazel dropped a mock curtsy. 'Then my lips are sealed.'

Oh, that they were, thought Changmin. Preferably with superglue.

Aloud, she said to Sohee, 'Come on, chicken, let's go and find our supper, shall we?'

As they left the room she heard Hazel say in a low voice, 'Yunho, I don't wish to interfere, but do you really think...?'

Sohee was scowling as they went upstairs. 'I don't like her. Bridget Thomson says her mummy says that she's going to be my new mummy, and I don't want her to be.'

'On the other hand, you don't want your father to live on his own,' Changmin suggested fairly.

'He's not alone,' Sohee said indignantly. 'He's got me.'

'Yes, but you're usually in bed by seven-thirty, which means he has no one to talk to all evening.'

'Bridget's mummy says they used to go out together a long time ago and she's hoping for better luck this time.'

Bridget's mummy, thought Changmin, should learn to mind her own business.

All the same, she found herself wondering if the rumour was true. Could he really be planning to marry that obnoxious woman?

And if he is, she thought, startled, why on earth should if concern me?

And to that question, disturbingly, she could find no satisfactory answer at all.