Guilty Love (Completed)

Chapter Seventeen

Ritchie was a well-known figure right across the middle of England, he was wealthy and influential and had a number of girlfriends, none of whom had so far managed to get him to the altar. The Press found Ritchie fascinating, they often gossiped about his love life. Obviously, they'd taken it for granted that Linzi was having an affair with him and without risking a libel case, the newspaper had sailed pretty close to hinting that she and Ritchie were lovers.

"What on earth are we going to do?" she thought aloud, reading the story again and even more horrified. Ritchie gave her a frowning, searching look. "If your husband sees that might it cause trouble?" White to the lips, Linzi nodded. "But, he's away, isn't he?" Ritchie slowly said. "In Manchester," she told him. "Well, I don't think this paper circulates there, so he isn't likely to see the story."

Ritchie was infuriatingly casual about it, dismissing her anxiety as meaningless, but Linzi remained worried all day. She kept praying that Barty would not see the story. She was afraid of his reaction. She had been hungry when she woke up, but now she wasn't hungry any more.

She didn't eat any breakfast, just drank some strong black coffee before they went to the police station. A reporter was hanging about when they emerged, but Ritchie brushed him off without too much trouble. Two hours later, they arrived back at their office and Linzi had to face the fascinated curiosity of all the other girls, who had heard about the crash, it seemed, on local radio news early that morning.

Linzi winced. What chance was there that Barty wouldn't hear about it. "I'd have been petrified!" Petal said, staring at her as if she had grown two heads. "When it was going down, you must have thought you were going to be killed!"

"I did,"

Linzi admitted. But she hadn't been scared, she remembered. A strange sort of fatalism had gripped her. She had almost, crazy though it seemed, been glad, relieved, anyway. As if fate was taking care of all her problems at one stroke. And yet, afterwards, there had been a moment of intense happiness, a new sense of the beauty of the world, the possibilities of life. . .

"It was a miracle you didn't get killed," Petal told her, as if she might not have realised that, and Linzi laughed rather wildly. Ritchie was out of the office again that afternoon, but returned at five and asked Linzi to work for a further hour or so.

"I'm sorry, I know you must be tired, but I won't keep you long this time," he promised, looking with compunction at her pale face. She wryly shrugged. " I'll manage. Don't worry about me, I'm tougher than I look." His eyes were brilliant and tender. " Impossible! No woman could be that tougher."

The gentle mockery made her laugh, a little unsteadily. "And you haven't got your car yet, have you?" Ritchie added, smiling. "I'm sorry, I forgot all about it, but I've made arrangement now for it to be driven back tomorrow morning, and tonight I'll drive you home myself."

"There's no need, I can get a bus..,"

"Don't be silly, it's no problem to me," he insisted. "Now, can you find me the Lambett contracts?" It was seven before they left the office and Ritchie quietly asked, "As it's so late, will you have dinner with me?"

She had been half expecting it. He knew her husband was away. She didn't look at him, her pale face averted, just shook her head. "I can't, I must go home. If my husband rings I want to be there." All day she had been on tenterhooks, her nerves stretched to breaking point, in case Barty might walk in, in one of his savage tempers because he had heard about the chopper crashing, and about her staying at the Green Man with Ritchie overnight. She was in no mood to go out to dinner and pretend to be calm, not while she knew Barty might arrive home at any minute.

"We need to talk," Ritchie said roughly.

"She stiffened, still not looking at him. "What about?" But she knew, before he answered, and her stomach plummeted.

"You and me," he said in a deep, harsh voice. "No, Ritchie," she whispered. "Don't...., don't say any more. You mustn't. I can't listen, I don't want you to say anything." "OK, we won't talk about us, but whatever happen you can't stay with him, Linzi," Ritchie muttered, giving her a look that she felt even though she had turned away from him. "The man's going to hurt you badly one day, if he goes on hitting you, you know that. Why stay with him and wait for it to happen?"

"He's my husband and I love him. I'm not discussing him with you, Ritchie." She swallowed and on a wave of sheer misery said, "I can't go on working for you, this can't go on, I should have left long ago. You know I should. I'll give formal notice on Monday.

Ritchie pulled up outside her home and sat staring ahead, his long fingers drumming on the wheel. She reached for the door handle to get out and he suddenly broke out, "Don't go, Linzi! I've got to tell you how I feel, I'm going crazy..." Her heart hurt and she could barely breathe, torn between a strange joy and that aching grief. "Don't!" she muttered. "Can't you see, that's why I must go!"

She heard his long-drawn breath, "You know how I feel," he said very quitely. "Don't you, Linzi?" A little silence and the harsh drag of his breathing grew faster, then he whispered, "Linzi, do you----?" "No," she said wildly. "Ritchie, don't! I can't hear any more," and, on the point of tears, she dived out of the car.

She didn't stop running until she got to her front door. As she put her key into the lock, the door opened from the other side, and her heart stopped as she saw Barty looming there. "Barty!" she froze in the doorway, biting her inner lip. He was in shirt-sleeves, his tie off and his collar undone, his hair dishevelled, his face darkly flushed.

From the way he stood there, on his heels, swaying slightly, she knew at once that he had been drinking. "You're back early," she said uneasily, trying to smile but beginning to be frightened of the darkness in his staring eyes.

"Not expecting me, eh?" he muttered thickly.