Read Online A Question of Pride by Michelle Reid - Free Book Online

told her how much I wanted her!' That steely head shook again, his expression saying a lot about how James treasured memories of his courtship with Amy. Clea felt an automatic lessening in the tension that had gripped her for days now. Amy and James were like two star-crossed adolescent lovers, the way they behaved. It seemed unbelievable when you considered that, for the reputedly hard-bitten, successful stockbroker he was, when James had fallen for her mother, he'd lost seven tenths of his cynicism and all of his forty-six-year-old-bachelor ways.
    'The mistake you made was in the terminology,' Clea thought it fair to point out. 'It's the word "want" that offends, not the actual wanting.'
    James nodded, looking suddenly thoughtful. He glanced shrewdly at her, his blue eyes too all-seeing. 'I have a feeling that was spoken from some experience?'
    She shrugged the question in his tone away, turning her face to the side window so he couldn't probe any deeper beneath her fragile defences. 'How's the Stock Exchange?'
    There was only the slightest pause while James absorbed the fact that she was deliberately changing the subject, then he launched into a fascinating tale about the ups and downs of the unpredictable Exchange, and his talk continued all the way to the lovely mansion house he shared with her mother.
    Amy was waiting at the door when they drew to a stop, her loving embrace encompassing Clea the moment her feet stepped on to the driveway. Clea stood a good five inches over her blonde-haired, petite mother, but their hugs were equal, both physically and spiritually.
    Tension slid from her shoulders like a heavy mantle lifted away. Could it only be a week since that fateful visit to the doctor? It felt longer—much, much longer.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Cleasat in front of her dressing-table mirror, staring at her freshly made-up face, and wondered if she had managed to cover up the ravages of the last week enough to fool her mother. Amy was sharp, and had already sent Clea some frowning looks before she had managed to escape to her bedroom, on the pretext that she was in desperate need of a long soak in a warm bath. The latter had been true to a certain extent, and she had indeed indulged herself in the soak, but only as a way of delaying the return back downstairs. Now her time had run out, and dinner would be ready in a few minutes.
    Her eyes clouded, apprehension and the ever-present heartache mingling to form a constriction in her throat. The next few hours were, perhaps, going to be more difficult than her next meeting with Max. And she didn't relish that much—or doubt that it would take place once Max had found out about her defection from his employ. He was going to want to know why, and she was going to have to tell him.
    One thing at a time, Clea, she advised her reflection, realising how once again she had let her mind wander to Max. Max! The perpetual ache contracted into a sharp pain she was beginning to associate with his image.
    Sighing unhappily, she applied just a shade more blusher to her cheeks before getting up to check the snug fit of her red mohair wool dress. Long-sleeved and cowl-necked, it moulded her slender shape to her firm hips before flowing out to swirl gracefully about her knees. Red suited her. Max liked her in red, he said it enhanced the incendiary quality in her she liked to think was well hidden ... Stop it!
    She spun away from the reflection. If she carried on like this she would be in no fit state to go downstairs; her nerves were already jangling with dread. At least her slim shape showed no signs of what was happening inside her body—except, maybe, in the dark smudges beneath her eyes that were not entirely due to worry, but also a constant awareness of an unsettled tummy.
    With a determined pushing up of her chin, Clea made for the door and went slowly downstairs, convincing herself that she was ready to confess all.
    But in the end things didn't work out quite like that, because her