The Language of Love Read online

  The Language of Love

  Jean Saunders

  © Jean Saunders 1983

  Jean Saunders has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 1983 by Silhouette Books.

  This edition published in 2017 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter One

  The brief fall of snow had vanished by midday, and a watery sun cast a silver-gray sheen on the London streets. Outside, the February air had a bite to it, but there was a cleanness about it that was far preferable to the smoky yellow of winter fogs. Besides, Annette told herself firmly, it would soon be spring, once February was over.

  She had a special reason for disliking February. It was in that month that Tony had died – not slowly or inevitably, but suddenly and unbelievably, one Saturday morning very much like this one, when the ice had been thick enough for skating on the ponds in the parks. At least, it had appeared to be. The local children hadn’t waited to make sure, and as Tony walked the dog on that fateful morning, he hadn’t hesitated to rush to the aid of the panic-stricken boys when one of them disappeared beneath ice that was cracking like a splintered mirror beneath his feet.

  The child had been saved, but the shock of the freezing water had revealed a defect in Tony’s heart that had been unsuspected until then, and it had killed him with horrifying speed.

  It had been a traumatic time for Annette, widowed at twenty, when she and Tony had been married barely a year. He had been her whole life, and they had dreamed of one day moving out of London and into the country, to start up a garden market and flower nurseries. It was partly to keep Tony’s spirit alive and because she needed to work to keep herself sane that Annette had used all their savings and Tony’s life-insurance money to buy a small flower shop in the city.

  She had stayed in London because she’d never known any other life and all their friends had been there to support her, but merely running a small shop hadn’t been enough. She had hired some help in the shop and taken a year’s course at the London School of Floristry. Upon learning the art of flower arranging for functions large and small – from weddings to funerals and everything in between – she’d discovered to her own pleasure that she had a real flair for it, with an eye for color and design that delighted her tutors.

  Now, eight years later, the name “Annette” on a floral decoration at a garden party or society wedding was synonymous with success. Her services were sought by the elite of society and even by television companies for advertising campaigns, but she was just as happy to provide the floral decorations for an autumn bazaar run by a Women’s Guild. In every way, Annette Granger was a successful businesswoman, and as beautiful as the flowers her skillful fingers shaped into intricate arrangements. No one, seeing her pleasure at the compliments her work invariably produced, would have guessed at her loneliness.

  Annette rarely admitted even to herself that she was lonely. In public she was acclaimed as one of the very best women in her field. Her services were always in demand for some function, and she didn’t lack invitations for her personality and charm. Among the personnel of Covent Garden, where she made her personal choice of flowers in the crisp early mornings, she was liked and respected for her expertise. She had a small circle of close friends, for whom dinner at Annette’s flat was to be treated to a very special experience, for as well as good food and conversation, there would be some kind of floral artistry suited to her guests. And everyone who knew her liked her. Yet she was lonely.

  In the eight years since Tony died, Annette had discovered a resilience, a strength and determination she hadn’t known she possessed. Since she was also very attractive and an unconsciously sensual woman, eventually there had been male friends. None of them had meant anything serious to her, and for a while she had almost gloried in the fact that emotionally men couldn’t touch her. She still belonged wholeheartedly to Tony.

  But lately that very fact had begun to disturb her. In idealizing Tony’s memory the way she had, she seemed unable to form any new relationship without thinking how the man matched up to her young husband. None of them ever did.

  Annette turned with a bright smile at the sound of the shop doorbell. The sharp morning air made the scent of jonquil and mimosa swirl in her senses for a moment as the dark-clad figure seemed to fill the doorway. He must have been well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders encased in a tan sheepskin car coat, the collar well turned up around his ears. As he came into the shop, he shrugged the collar down. Annette saw the glint of a large square ring on his finger as he smoothed the ruffled dark hair with its distinguished flecks of gray. He looked vaguely familiar, and yet Annette was sure they hadn’t met before. The thought flitted through her mind that if they had, she would certainly have remembered. As soon as he moved toward her in the little reception area and began to speak, she knew at once who he was. His slight accent told her, as well as the smile that was so like Elena’s.

  “Mrs. Granger, it’s so good to meet you at last. My sister has done nothing but sing your praises for the last two years!”

  The voice was deep and well-modulated, with a maturity about it that matched its owner. The man’s gray eyes smiled into Annette’s, and her heart gave a sudden jolt. She removed her free hand from his grasp, but she could still feel the pressure of his fingers gripping hers. Before she could speak, he went on, searching fruitlessly in an inside pocket as he spoke.

  “You must forgive this intrusion without any warning, Mrs. Granger. My sister entrusted me with a letter for you, both to introduce me and to explain the purpose of my visit, but I seem to have left it at my hotel...Ah, no, here it is!”

  He waved a long white envelope triumphantly, on which Annette quickly recognized the square blunt handwriting, together with the continental figure seven that was part of her address.

  “Let me guess,” she said. “Elena has spoken of you, of course, so much so that I feel I should know you already. That is, if you are Pieter Van Ness!”

  His laugh was rich, widening his generous mouth and fanning the little lines at the corners of his eyes. His eyes were looking at her in a way she recognized all too well, Annette thought fleetingly, and she met his bold admiring stare with her usual directness. It usually disarmed potential admirers, but she had the feeling nothing so obvious would deter this man if he wanted a woman badly enough.

  How ridiculous she was being to sense such things on a few minutes’ acquaintance, she thought, half-amused, half-angry at herself. It wasn’t a particularly good-looking face that she saw, but interesting, definitely interesting. The kind of face belonging to actors advertising farming implements or North Sea oil rigs on television. She could imagine this man braving all kinds of rigors in all weathers.

  “Ten out of ten, Mrs. Granger.’’ He laughed into her eyes now. “Yes, I am Van Ness, but it would please me if you would call me Pieter – and since I have heard Elena refer to you as her dear Annette for so long, I trust I may be permitted to do the same?”

  His voice teased her, even though it held a kind of old-world charm that was missing in a lot of men Annette met these days. She nodded perfunctorily, but a small frown creased her wide brow as she ripped open Elena Van Ness’s letter.

  “I hope your sister is not ill...Pieter,” she said, using his Christian
name after a second’s hesitation. But it would be churlish to stand on ceremony with the brother of such a good friend as Elena. “She usually comes to England herself at this time of year, and I’d been hoping to see her soon.”

  “And so you shall, I hope. And, no, she is not ill.” He smiled. “At least, not with a sickness that requires healing! But you’ll read it all in Elena’s letter.”

  Annette was reassured by his words, and also aware that her two assistants were glancing curiously at the stranger who clearly had not come into the shop to buy flowers. She stuffed the letter back in its envelope for the moment.

  “Will you come upstairs to my flat and have some coffee with me, Pieter?” she invited. “Then I can read Elena’s letter in comfort, and you can tell me what you’re doing in England.”

  His reply startled her.

  “I’m hoping to take you back to Holland with me, dear Mrs. Granger,” he said blandly.

  Annette felt her gaze held by his clear gray eyes, and sensations she hardly recognized flowed through her. It was a tingling that was as unnerving as it was exciting – a feeling that came between two people when the fact that their lives were destined to be interwoven was acknowledged without any need for words.

  Annette was angry with herself for letting her emotions get the best of her, knowing her reaction left her more vulnerable than she’d been for years. It made her voice cooler when she spoke again, and she didn’t move, as if she were holding back from too close a contact with a man she instinctively sensed could be caring and tender, and everything a woman could want – a man who could break down all the careful defenses she had armored herself with since Tony had died.

  “I hardly think that’s likely to happen. I don’t take my holidays until the end of September, when the summer weddings have finished, and before the Christmas orders begin to come in – ”

  “Haven’t you heard the saying that all work and no play makes Jill – and Annette – a dull girl?” Pieter Van Ness said lightly. “Actually, I wasn’t referring to a holiday. But you’ll read it all in Elena’s letter, and I’ve no intention of spoiling her surprise. And did you say something about coffee just now, or did I dream it?” She felt her face go hot. Whether he intended it or not, he made her feel as young and gauche as one of her own assistants, she thought in annoyance, and yet he had really said nothing to which she could honestly object. She couldn’t understand why she felt so edgy toward this brother of the nicest Dutch girl she’d ever met. Usually Annette could laugh and flirt her way harmlessly out of the most difficult situations, and this was certainly not one of those occasions. Her graceful wit had always helped her charm her way into the hearts of the bawdy Covent Garden porters when she turned up regularly on her five-A.M. flower-buying stints, but suddenly her sense of humor seemed to have deserted her.

  She turned abruptly, to call to one of the girls in the shop to relieve her in the reception area, and then led the way up the narrow staircase to where she lived, over the shop. It was a light airy flat, with a view over the Thames from the living room, comfortably and tastefully furnished. Right now the wintry view through the picture window was enhanced by a huge floral decoration of daffodils and mimosa, silver-leafed branches and rich glowing evergreens.

  Pieter looked around the room with interest before he sank into one of the easy chairs. He looked totally at ease, in the way of a man who knew what he liked and liked what he saw, and that included Annette. He had already removed his sheepskin car coat and thrown it carelessly over the back of the chair, just as if he had every intention of settling in, or as if he already belonged.

  “Excuse me while I see to the coffee, Pieter,” she said shortly. “I’ll take Elena’s letter to the kitchen to read – ”

  “Of course.” He smiled, and she admitted that his smile could really transform his face. It came alive. It was a rugged, lived-in face that had no need for conventional good looks. “I’ll sit here for a few minutes. It’s always interesting to absorb people’s auras from the rooms in which they live. Seeing the pictures on the wall, the types of magazines they read, things they collect, where they sleep – ”

  “Excuse me.” Annette fled. She was furious with herself, knowing she was behaving more like a naive schoolgirl than the mature woman she was. No one had ever made her feel that way before. Normally she was completely self-possessed. She’d had to be in the last eight years. It was either fight or go under, and Annette had fought her way up from a whirlpool of despair to be the confident, successful businesswoman she was now. The fact that men found her attractive and desirable was an asset she sometimes gently exploited but had always been able to handle without letting it ruffle the serenity of the single life she had chosen for herself. She had always remained in control, until now.

  She plugged in the kettle, ignoring the tremor in her hands. Pieter Van Ness was nothing more than a stranger to whom she was offering a brief half-hour of hospitality because of her friendship with his sister. She remembered the letter from Elena, and pulled it out of the envelope again, skimming through the closely-written pages. It took less than a minute to sense the bubbling excitement in Elena’s message. She didn’t notice the little exclamation she made out loud.

  “Surprised?” Pieter Van Ness’s voice sounded right behind her. Annette looked up to see him leaning against the kitchen door, amusement in his eyes. The prickliness she’d felt earlier evaporated temporarily like morning mist, and she gave a delighted smile.

  “She’s getting married!” she stated unnecessarily, waving the letter about.

  “So I understand,” Pieter said gravely.

  “And she wants me to do the flowers for her wedding,” Annette went on. Her soft, generous lips curved upward. Nothing could give her more pleasure.

  She read on. “All the bouquets, the flowers at the church and at the hotel in Amsterdam where the reception is to be held...” Something clicked in her mind. “The Van Ness Hotel, of course. Your hotel!” Pieter gave a laugh, walked toward her and switched off the kettle that was now boiling and steaming up the small kitchen. The homely little act and the steamy warmth put an unexpected intimacy between them, and Annette put the letter down swiftly and made the coffee.

  For dinner parties she always provided the very best coffee, but for odd moments in the day and when she was alone, it was always the instant variety. Remembering little snippets Elena had told her now, about her wonderful brother and his canal-side hotel with its fabulous cuisine and floorshows, she suddenly felt embarrassed, but he made no comment. He would be used to dealing with awkward situations, of course. Elena had once told her that Pieter was the world’s best diplomat when meeting people. And unlike other aloof hoteliers who never knew half their staff, Pieter treated all his employees as if they were his own family.

  “Shall I carry the tray while you recover yourself?” he was saying. Annette felt the warm color creep into her cheeks again. He was merely being polite, but at that moment she could only see his consideration as patronizing. She almost snatched the tray from his hands and strode past him into the living room.

  “Is it such a shock that Elena is getting married?” She could hear the taunt in his voice. “It’s what most young women want, despite their assertion that careers mean everything to them these days!”

  “Spoken like a real man!” She gave him a frosty smile and handed him his coffee.

  “Oh, I assure you I’m a real man, Annette,” he said, grinning broadly. “And as I’m only in London for a few days on business, I can't waste time on preliminaries. So will you please dine with me tonight?"

  It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse. There were any number of excuses she could make. For some reason, she had the strangest feeling she was being manipulated...but of course she wouldn’t refuse. It would hurt Elena to learn that Annette refused to dine with her brother. She gave in.

  “Thank you, I’d be delighted." She could be as formal as Pieter. “You can tell me more of Elena’s wedding plans. Sh
e says very little in her letter, except that it’s to be at the beginning of May, and the rest is all head-in-clouds stuff about Nels. I gather he’s the lucky bridegroom?"

  Memories of herself in a lace wedding dress and misty veil, floating up the aisle to where Tony had waited for her, spun into her mind. Involuntarily her gaze lingered for a moment on the large wedding photo on the mantelpiece. She saw Pieter glance at it, and tried to concentrate on what he was saying.

  “I’m sure you’ll like Nels. He has a government post at The Hague, and they met when Elena took a group of schoolchildren there for a day’s educational outing. It was love at first sight, even with all the kids milling around!"

  He looked steadily at Annette, as if daring her to deny such things could happen.

  She spoke a little jerkily. “I’m not sure I believe in love at first sight, but I’m very happy for Elena. Will her marriage mean she’ll give up her teaching job and move to The Hague, then?"

  “I’m afraid so. Nels’s house is very grand, his family home, since he comes from an old Dutch family, and he and Elena will have to do a lot of entertaining."

  “She’ll miss Amsterdam – ’’

  “Oh, do you know it?" Pieter said in surprise. “I understood from Elena you had never been there before. I was planning all sorts of excursions for us to take when you see it for the first time.”

  She ignored the banter in his voice.

  “No, I haven’t been there yet, though Elena has told me so much about it, I feel as if I know it already. She’s always wanted me to go for a visit, but it’s never fitted in with work or my other plans.”

  “Then it’s time you came now.” It was a statement, not a question. Without waiting for a reply, Pieter got to his feet and pulled on the sheepskin coat. He held out his hand to her, and she felt the pressure from his fingers once more.

  “I hope you’ll agree to come, Annette,” he said quietly. “It means a lot to Elena, and now that I’ve met you it would mean a lot to me too. Come for a few days to discuss plans with us, and then decide whether or not you’ll take on the job.”