Then abruptly he stood back. `Go home,' he ordered her sternly-and Yancie went.

CHAPTER SIX

YANCIE recalled Thomson's sternly voiced `Go home' many times in the days that followed. And the more she thought about it, the more she began to wonder, rather lovingly, it had to be admitted, if his sternness had stemmed from him being more affected by their lovemaking, by that final kiss, than he was showing; more affected than he wanted her to see?

It was wishful thinking, she decided, when all days merged into one and she didn't so much as get a glimpse of him. If Thomson had been anywhere at all affected-perhaps more than was normal when male biological urges were let off the leash for a little while-then he had a peculiar way of showing it. She knew darn well he was in business, and that from time to time he'd call for a driver. But did he ever call on her to drive him? Did he blazes!

Unhappily, Yancie was discovering the very hard fact that being in love was painful. Being in love left her open to all manner of hurts and imagined slights. She had tried to deny that she had fallen in love with the brute, but that denial hadn't taken long to come and trip her up. She had known for sure how she felt about him on Saturday night. He'd taken off his jacket and wrapped it around her-and she'd known. It was just there, her love for him. And it was no good hoping it would just as swiftly go away again, because it just wouldn't, and no amount of wishing would make it.

She had fallen in love with Thomson, and she could do nothing to change that fact. Though, having fallen in love, she instinctively knew that he was the only man she wanted to be with. She just knew she would feel tremendously outraged should any other man attempt to kiss her in the way that he had done.

This self-knowledge brought her enormous relief. Because not only had she discovered that she had all the same natural wanting emotions of any other woman in love; Yancie now knew that she no longer had any need to fear she was like her flighty, fickle-hearted mother, or either of her aunts. Yancie realised that she had feared needlessly in those years of guarding against being like her mother. She was nothing like her in that fast and loose respect. Yancie knew then that she was not in the least permissive, nor ever likely to be. While she had truly wanted Thomson, her wanting was all part of her being so totally heart and soul in love with him.

But, while she was truly in love with him, she would not fully give of herself easily, but only when the time was right. And the time hadn't been right last Saturday, she now realised. She started to cringe at her intimation that, because he'd turned up at the party, she'd had to leave early, thereby depriving herself of a goodnight kiss from her escort. Oh, how could she have invited Thomson to do the honours instead?

It was that invitation that had instigated their lovemaking, and from which had come her recent awareness of her love for him-and her need for the solace of his arms.

Yes, even then she'd felt starved of lovehis love. Her love for him had been growing in her all the while. But-and that was the crux of the matter-Thomson did not love her.

Making love with him would mean everything to her-but absolutely nothing to him.

But, throughout her present despond, Yancie found that life went on. She had delivered Douglas Clements to the airport on time. Matthew Grant, obviously having obtained her address from Greville, had sent her `Thank You' flowers, so presumably all was well again with him and his ex. Fennia's mother wasn't any more friendly to her daughter, and Astra was working as hard as ever.

Like somebody else I know, Yancie sighed, wondering how much more of what she saw as being ostracised by Thomson Wakefield she could take. She didn't know what else she could call it but ostracism, she mused unhappily when she went into work on Friday morning. He hadn't asked for her to drive him anywhere-she might just not exist so far as he was concerned.

Pride at that moment came to her aid. Well, bubbles to him. She didn't care. If he asked her to drive him now she jolly well wouldn't. Ralph had phoned only last night practically begging her to go home-Estelle had upset the housekeeper and the housekeeper had walked out. Ralph had said if she was still too upset to accept her allowance then he would pay her to do his housekeeping, but, whether she took over that role or not, he wanted her home. So there, Mr lordly Thomson Wakefield-I can easily get another job if I want to.

She looked up from some paperwork she was completing-everybody had to fill in forms, apparently-to see Kevin Veasey heading her way. She pinned a smile on her face. `How do you feel about a trip to Manchester?' he asked.

'Love to,' she answered; she had intended to do a little household shopping in her lunch hour, but she could as easily do it tomorrow.

'You won't be back till late,' he warned.

'No problem,' she smiled. `Who's my passenger?"

'Mr Wakefield,' he replied, and while Yancie felt a roaring in her ears as her heart went into thunderous overdrive he added, if you'll explain to him that Frank's wife has started to have her baby a month early…'

'Frank was going to drive him?'

'Nothing personal,' Kevin smiled. `Frank was going to come in late because this trip means getting back late, but he's just phoned in. You'd better get off now, if you wouldn't mind.'

She should have minded. If her pride hadn't chosen that moment to go into hiding, what she should have done-knowing full well that all the other drivers were out on other assignments, and that she was the only one available-was to tell Kevin Veasey that she was leaving, as of now, to take up another job. But so much for her proud determination that she wouldn't jolly well drive Thomson Wakefield again, even if he asked her. What she did say to Kevin was, `May I take the Jag?'

It was another miserable, murky day, yet for Yancie, as she pulled up the Jaguar outside Thomson's house, the sun was shining. She'd missed him so much, and hadn't seen him since the very early hours of last Sunday morning when he'd stood on this same drive with her and told her to `Go home'.

Her heart was pounding against her ribs and she felt nervous suddenly, torn between a desire to stay exactly where she was in the car until he came out looking for his driver, and wanting to go and knock on his door the sooner to see him.

Be professional, she urged, and left the car to go and report that his driver was here. At his door she raised the heavy knocker and clouted the striking plate with it. She swallowed hard as she waited, issuing useless instructions to her brain not to make her face go crimson when she saw him again.

The door opened-but it wasn't him. A tall, angular woman of about sixty who looked as if she'd been on a diet of vinegar and lemons-no prizes for guessing whose mother she was-looked her over. And, obviously recognising the brown suit and beige shirt for the uniform that it was, complete with the name badge identifying Yancie as working for the Addison Kirk group, she ordered arrogantly, `Wait in the car! My son will be with you presently.' And, with that, she closed the door.

Well! Even Thomson had had the manners to invite her in and to go and get a cup of coffee, Yancie fumed, in two minds about getting in the Jaguar and driving it straight back to the transport section again.

She didn't, however-her need to see Thomson overrode that-but some form of protest was needed. She took off her name badge and tossed it into a pyracantha shrub growing against a wall.

Perhaps the old trout improved with knowing, Yancie mused as she waited. She recalled how Thomson had seemed a sour individual too when she had first known him. And then she'd heard him laugh, seen him laugh, seen how laughter lightened him, made him…

Yancie snapped out of it. If she went on like this she'd be a drooling wreck by the time he appeared. She picked up the car phone and dialled. Astra was working from home that morning. `Hello, it's me,' she said when her cousin answered. `Just ringing to say I'll be late home tonight,' she went on, and Astra, for once giving work a rest for a few minutes, seemed ready for a chat.

Yancie was still on the phone when the door of the house opened, and briefcase in hand, Thomson came out. Hot colour seared her skin, she turned her head so he shouldn't see, and concentrated hard on keeping her voice even as she started to wind up her call.

Thomson was in the car, the door snapped to, before she'd finished. 'I'll see you when I get back,' she said down the phone, her eyes meeting his in the rear-view mirror-he didn't look as if he'd got out of bed on the sunny side, a glare of impatience her reward for dropping everything to come and get him-even if she was paid to do it! `Manchester beckons,' she said light-heartedly to her cousin-well, she'd be darned if she'd let him know how ridiculously out of sorts just one frown from him could make her. `Bye,' she smiled down the phone to Astra, and, replacing the phone, she kept her smile in place as, `Good morning,' she greeted her employer.

'Where's Frank?'

And how are you this morning, Yancie? Not suffering nightmares from the time I almost seduced the pants off you, I hope. Calm down, calm down. `He and his wife have gone into premature labour,' she replied, and set the car in motion.

Thomson ignored her, and undid his briefcase. My stars, to think she'd been overjoyed to get this unexpected assignment today! She drove out onto the main road, flicking a glance into the rear-view mirror. Their eyes met; she loved him, but last Saturday night could never have been-and she hated him.