Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

Prologue

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

Copyright

As Elaine came out of her room, she bumped straight into Calum.

For a moment she didn’t know it was him. He was halfway through pulling off his shirt. “Oh!” Elaine put out her hands to protect herself and found them pressed against a broad, naked chest.

Calum pulled the shirt over his head. His skin was hot under her hands. His shoulders were broad, powerful and well proportioned. Seeing him in his businesslike dark suits, one would never have guessed that his body could be so beautiful.

“Elaine! I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?”

She blinked and stepped back. “No. It was-it was my fault. Excuse me.” She hurriedly stepped past him and went on her way.

Dear Reader,

The wild and primitive scenery of the Douro valley. The white baroque palaces. What men would live and rule here? Calum came first, a tall and golden god, but then Francesca pushed her way into my mind. Then Chris, very much a man of the world. A family, then—outwardly tamed, but with hidden emotions as deep and hot-blooded as the land they lived in. Three cousins who filled my imagination—fascinating, absorbing, clamoring to come alive. And three wishes that had to come true. Then I thought of an anniversary, and saw a girl, sitting entirely alone on the riverbank.…

Sally Wentworth

Calum
Sally Wentworth

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PROLOGUE
BRODEY HOUSE BICENTENNIAL

The magnificent eighteenth-century baroque palace of the Brodey family, situated on the banks of the River Douro in Portugal, will soon be en fête for a whole week to celebrate the two hundredth anniversary of their company.

The House of Brodey, famous the world over for its fine wines, especially port and Madeira, has now diversified into many other commodities and is one of the biggest family-owned companies in Europe. Originally founded in the beautiful island of Madeira, the company spread to Oporto when Calum Lennox Brodey the first went there two centuries ago to purchase thousands of acres of land in the picturesque Douro valley. That land is now covered with the millions of grape-vines that produce the port on which the family fortune is based.

A FAMILY AFFAIR

Just like any family, every member of the Brodey clan will be in Oporto to welcome their guests from all over the world to the festivities.

Patriarch of the family, Calum Lennox Brodey, named after his ancestor, as are all the eldest sons in the main line, is reported to be greatly looking forward not only to the celebrations but also to the family reunion. Old Calum, as he’s popularly known in wine-growing circles, is in his eighties now but still takes a keen interest in the wine-producing side of the company, and is often to be seen by his admiring workers strolling among the vines to check on the crop or tasting the vintage in the family’s bottling plant near Oporto.

STILL HAUNTED BY THE PAST

Although the anniversary will be a happy one, in the past there has been terrible tragedy within the family. Some twenty-two years ago Old Calum’s two eldest sons and their wives were involved in a fatal car-smash while on holiday in Spain, all four being killed. Each couple had a son of roughly the same age and Old Calum bravely overcame his grief as he took the boys into his palace and brought them up himself, both of them eventually following in his footsteps by joining the company.

It was rumoured at the time of this overwhelmingly tragic accident that old Mr Brodey looked to his third son, Paul, to help run the business. Paul Brodey, however, was hooked on painting and is now a celebrated artist. He lives near Lisbon with his wife Maria, who is half Portuguese and is herself a well-known painter. The good news is, though, that their only child, Christopher, has joined the family firm on the sales side and is based mainly in New York.

Only one of Old Calum’s grandsons now shares the splendour of the palace, which is mainly decorated in Renaissance style, with him. This is the only child of his late eldest son, who, following the family tradition, is also called Calum—Young Calum, in this case. The younger Calum Brodey, around thirty years old and one of the most eligible bachelors in the country, if not in Europe, has virtually taken over the running of the company, but will be gracefully taking a back seat to his grandfather during the week’s festivities.

MARRIAGE IN MIND?

Another extraordinary tradition peculiar to the family is that all the men maintain their links with their mother country by marrying blonde English girls. Every son of the family for the past several generations has travelled to the UK and returned with a beautiful ‘English rose’ on his arm. Will Young Calum and Christopher carry on the tradition, we wonder?

The third Brodey grandson, Lennox, who now lives in Madeira with his beautiful and adored wife Stella, who is expecting their first child later this year, will be among the family guests. Stella, of course, is a blonde and lovely English girl.

Old Calum’s fourth child, his elegant daughter Adele, is married to the well-known French millionaire, the gallant and still handsome Guy de Charenton, an assiduous worker for the Paris Opera and for the many charities that he supports.

Although the Brodey family has many connections with the upper echelons of society, especially in England, it was Adele’s daughter and only child, the sensationally beautiful Francesca, who finally linked it to the aristocracy with her marriage to Prince Paolo de Vieira a few years ago. This marriage, which took place in the Prince’s fairy-tale castle in Italy, looked all set to have the proverbial happy ending, but, alas, this wasn’t to be and the couple parted after only two years. Since then Francesca’s name has been linked with several men, including lately Michel, the Comte de la Fontaine, seen with her on her many shopping trips in Paris and Rome.

To all the glamorous members of the Brodey family we extend our warm congratulations on their anniversary, and we are sure that all their lucky guests will have the most lavish and memorable time at the bicentennial celebrations.

CHAPTER ONE

THEY were all there—the Brodeys—gathered together in the beautiful gardens of their magnificent baroque palácio near Oporto. All of them had come to celebrate the two hundredth anniversary of the House of Brodey.

Celebrating with them were a hundred and fifty or so guests, standing in groups around the lawn, drinking aperitifs before lunch was served, talking, laughing. The spring sky was an unclouded blue; there was just the faintest breeze from the nearby coast. The gardens were looking beautiful, carefully tended and full of flowers: a perfect day and a perfect setting. For the guests the lunch party was pure pleasure. For Elaine Beresford it meant work.

She stood as unobtrusively as possible in the background, making sure that the waiters were going to every group with their trays of drinks, that no one was left out. In the far garden the tables were already set for the exact number of guests who had accepted invitations. They would make their way to the tables in another halfhour or so, then she would have to oversee the serving of the food and wine, the clearing, and so on to the next course. A difficult enough task in England where she had staff that she hired frequently and knew and trusted, who spoke English. Here in Portugal she, and the two senior staff she had brought with her, had to cope through interpreters, dealing with supplies which hadn’t arrived on time, with temperamental chefs who wanted to do things their own way, and with a thousand other things which could, and usually had, gone wrong.

And mostly, of course, she’d had to cope with the Brodeys.

Things were running smoothly at the moment and she was able to watch them as they moved among their guests. They were something else, the Brodey family. The first of them she’d met had of course been Francesca, or the Princess de Vieira, to give her full title. They had known each other in London, before Francesca had married her Italian prince, and when Elaine, too, was married. Now neither of them was. Francesca’s marriage had ended in an ugly divorce, Elaine’s in the plane crash that had killed Neil, her husband, three years ago. They had become unlikely friends, the jet-set lifestyle that Francesca lived a million miles away from Elaine’s quiet country life. But after Neil had died, leaving little money, she’d turned a hobby into a business and started catering for weddings and parties. Francesca had asked her to organise her own wedding and that in turn had led to a whole lot more commissions and eventually to Elaine’s organising and catering for this whole week of celebrations that the House of Brodey had laid on to mark their bicentennial.

Elaine had seriously considered refusing the commission; there were so many difficulties involved, not least the language. But she was ambitious for her company, wanted to see it grow, and, when it came down to it, she was unable to resist the simple challenge of seeing if she could do the job successfully.

Francesca’s grandfather, old Mr Brodey, who was in his eighties, was the nominal head of the family and had taken a keen interest in the arrangements. But it had been to his grandson, the one they called Young Calum, that Elaine had sent her estimates and plans, had had long discussions with on the phone and pages of correspondence via the fax machine. Calum and Francesca were cousins; Elaine could see them both as they moved among their guests. Francesca was tall and beautiful in a brilliantly coloured outfit, Calum Brodey taller still, dwarfing most of the people there; both of them were fair-haired and English-looking among so many Portuguese. Francesca had a man in tow, some French count, but then, when didn’t she have a man around?

Calum, it seemed, wasn’t married, although he must be over thirty, Elaine guessed, and was very good-looking, in a hard, arrogant kind of way. She moved to direct a waiter towards a group with empty glasses, passing the circle round Calum as she did so. He was speaking to the guests in fluent Portuguese. Resuming her post on the steps leading to a door of the house where she could see easily, Elaine thought how strange it was to find this family who had been living and working in Portugal for the last two hundred years and yet still seemed so very English. They all spoke English as naturally and fluently as she did; their children were sent to England to school, and they all seemed to have married English people. Especially each heir: there was some strange kind of tradition that he should always marry an English blonde, so Francesca had told her.

There were few blondes here today; she could see only half a dozen among the women. And there was certainly no one with auburn hair like her own.

Glancing at her large-faced, practical watch, Elaine saw that it was close to the time they had arranged for the guests to go in to lunch. Again she approached the circle round Calum. Someone made way for her, thinking she was a guest, and she was able to say, ‘I think it’s time.’

‘Of course.’ Calum spoke to those near him, while Elaine moved to another group, saying her carefully rehearsed, ‘Por favor, senhor, senhora. Almoço,’ and gesturing towards the other garden. It was more difficult because she spoke some Spanish and tended to use that accent instead of Portuguese. So she added, ‘Lunch is being served,’ for those who could speak English.

There was an awkward moment when it was found that there was one too many guests and an extra place had to be hurriedly laid, but the little incident was soon forgotten as the first course was served and wine was poured. Elaine kept in the background as much as possible, making sure that all was well in the kitchen as well as in the garden, trying to be in two places at once and succeeding well enough. She’d had enough experience of catering for buffet parties to know how much food to provide, which dishes would be the most popular, which centre-pieces would attract the most comment. Today she had chosen, after consultation with Francesca and Calum, a large model of the Brodeys’ barco rabelo, a boat that was moored on the nearby River Douro, and which had once, long ago, carried the barrels of wine down from the vineyards further up the valley to their wine-lodge in Oporto.

The guests exclaimed at the boat, set on a bed of blue flowers to represent the river, with its sail emblazoned with the single word ‘BRODEY’. It was a name that signified the pride of the company and that of the family which bore it. And they were a proud lot; Elaine had soon found that out. Especially Calum. She had suggested one or two ways they could cut the costs of the celebrations, ways that many of her customers had been happy to accept, but Calum had vetoed the suggestion with a brusque refusal: only the best was good enough for the Brodey company’s guests.

The rest of the meal passed without incident, and afterwards Elaine was able to escape to the cloakroom for a few minutes. While she was there another girl came in, petite and blonde, one of the people who had been talking to the Brodey cousins before lunch, Elaine remembered.

Back outside in the garden, a post-prandial glass of port was being offered. Some of the guests had already gone, but there were still quite a few enjoying this last drink. Suddenly there was a sharp cry and the distinct sound of someone’s face being slapped. An astonished silence fell as everyone looked in that direction. Elaine started to hurry over, but saw with relief that no waiter was involved. It appeared that the blonde girl she’d seen in the cloakroom just a few minutes ago had taken exception to something one of the other guests had said. Chris Brodey had already taken the man’s arm and was escorting him out of the garden. Calum, too late, was standing in front of the girl protectively. Then Francesca went over and took the girl inside the house.

There had been a fascinated silence as everyone watched what was happening, but then people began talking again, many of the men giving rueful smiles and shrugging, evidently thinking it could have happened to anyone. Old Mr Brodey had been inside the house when it happened, but he came into the garden now, looked round and, seeing Elaine, beckoned her over. She started towards him but Calum came swiftly to her side and murmured, ‘Please don’t tell my grandfather what happened just now. I’ll explain later.’

Elaine gave him a surprised look, but nodded and walked over to the old man. Anyone seeing her might easily have mistaken her for one of the guests, come over from England for the party perhaps. She was wearing a well-cut but simple and practical suit, a silk shirt and low-heeled shoes, but there was something about her slim figure, her carriage and the way she walked that suggested good breeding and gracefulness of manner. Although she never pushed herself forward, she had an air of class and quiet dignity that made her stand out in any circle. Anyone seeing her at this party would immediately think that she came from a background of wealth and position.

It was partly true: she had been well-educated and did come from such a background, but it wasn’t her wealth, her position. Her father had been the youngest son of rather staid parents—a rebel who had loved life and lived it to the full, usually in direct opposition to his parents. He had met Elaine’s mother, an aspiring actress, while he was at college, and only a hasty marriage, again against his parents’ wishes, had made Elaine legitimate. He had been killed in an accident not long afterwards, and her mother, who had no money of her own, had appealed to his parents for help. It was they who had paid for Elaine’s education at a good school, who had let her visit them for several holidays. They had given her what they felt duty-bound to give, but no more, because they had always disapproved of her mother, who never rose above bit parts and commercials.

Old Mr Brodey gave her a smile of welcome as she walked up to him. ‘The party went off exceedingly well, my dear. You’re to be congratulated.’ He spoke with warm kindness, a man who knew how to treat the people who worked for him, in whatever capacity. He was a charming old man, one it was impossible not to like, not to warm to, but Elaine guessed that he could also be ruthless if necessary—how else could he have held together and widely expanded what had been just a wine company into the large business empire it had become?

They talked for a few minutes, but then the last of the guests came up to say goodbye, and afterwards Calum came over and urged the old man to go up to his room to rest. When his grandfather had gone, protesting only a little, Calum said, ‘I’m sorry I had to warn you, but I didn’t want Grandfather troubled. He hasn’t been too well lately.’

‘Of course. I quite understand.’

He nodded and walked away. Elaine watched his tall figure, wondering if he was worried about taking over as head of the Brodey empire. Some men might have been, but somehow she couldn’t see Calum being at all anxious; he seemed perfectly capable of doing anything he set his mind to, and doing it with imaginative, ambitious efficiency. And the ruthlessness that she suspected in his grandfather? Yes, she rather thought he had that too.

After the lunch, Elaine checked that everything had been cleared in the kitchen and that it had been left pristine clean, that the hired staff had been paid and the left-over food and opened bottles of wine distributed between them. Only then did she relax and go to her room.

It had been arranged that she should stay in the palácio while she was in Portugal, and had been given a pleasant room in a side-wing which overlooked a courtyard. One that had probably been used in former times by the upper-class servant of an upper-class guest, Elaine had thought with amusement when she was shown into it for the first time. It had no air-conditioning or heating, but there were shutters which could be closed to keep it cool in the summer and a fireplace for the winter, beneath one of the many pepper-pot chimneys which adorned the roof. It had a modern single bed and furniture, a hand-basin and a built-in shower, and was adequate for someone in her position, she supposed.

The two staff members she had brought over with her, both men, one a chef, the other an ex-head waiter, had been given similar rooms, and were having a siesta after their hard work that morning. Grateful to relax for a while, Elaine showered and changed into a casual skirt and shirt, then took a chair into the courtyard to sit and read in the sun for a while. She didn’t see any members of the family again until the internal phone in her room rang and Calum asked to see her.

She found him in his study—a large businesslike room fitted up with all the latest communications technology. A room which he had put at her disposal and where she kept all the paperwork to do with this week. He was leaning back against his desk and gave her a rueful smile. ‘I’m afraid there will be an extra guest for dinner tonight. I hope it doesn’t throw you out too much.’

‘Not at all.’ She went over to the small desk he had put in the room for her and took out the file for the family dinner that evening. ‘Is the extra guest male or female?’

‘Female.’ He came to stand beside her and look at the seating plan. ‘Now, where shall we put her?’

She was aware of his closeness, aware of his strong masculinity, but pushed it out of her consciousness, as she had trained herself to do over the last three years.

‘Here, I suppose, at the end of the table. Near Chris.’ He pointed with a long, well-manicured finger. ‘It’s the young woman who was involved in that incident earlier,’ he explained. ‘Francesca—we—have invited her to dinner.’

‘What’s her name? I shall have to do a place-card for her.’

‘Tiffany Dean.’

Elaine made a note of the name, then went over to the desk to write out a card in her elegant script, learnt specially for this kind of job at calligraphy classes. She expected Calum to leave, but he went back to stand at his own, very large desk and picked up some messages that had come in over the fax. When he’d looked at them, he said, ‘The lunch went well, except for there being one too few places.’

Elaine felt like telling him she strongly suspected that there had been one too many guests, but refrained from doing so. It was the smallest thing and not worth arguing about, although she rather resented having her efficiency rebuked. But she remembered the traders’ maxim—that the customer was always right—even though on this occasion she knew darn well that the customer was wrong.

‘The party at your vineyard—’ she began.

‘The quinta.’ He gave it the Portuguese translation.

‘Yes. Do you have any more information on the numbers for me?’

‘I haven’t, but I expect Francesca may have.’ He smiled at her. ‘Let’s go and ask her, shall we?’

She walked beside him through the cool corridors of the house, not quite sure yet which room was which, which door led where. They came to the big sitting-room that all the family seemed to use more than any other, but Francesca wasn’t there, or out on the terrace that overlooked the garden.

‘Let’s have a drink while we wait for her, shall we?’

Calum went inside and she sat at the table on the terrace, watching him through the open doors as he expertly opened a bottle of sparkling wine. He was, she realised, a very attractive man—not only to women, because of his handsomeness, but in the way that he drew people’s eyes, their attention. His arrogance should have been off-putting, could quite easily have created a barrier between himself and those he wasn’t close to, but he also had charming manners and a friendly smile which dispelled the hardness. This afternoon she had seen both men and women eager to meet and talk with him, not just because he was the heir to the Brodey Corporation, but because it was a pleasure to do so. Her eyes still contemplating him, Elaine wondered why he wasn’t married, and whether the social face that he showed to the world was his true personality.

He turned with the glasses of wine in his hands and caught her gazing at him. His left eyebrow rose slightly. Embarrassed at being caught, she flushed a little, then was angry with herself for doing so.

‘Your gardens are beautiful,’ she said hastily as he came out to join her.

‘They’re my grandfather’s pride and joy.’

‘But not yours?’

Calum gave a small shrug. ‘I take an interest in them, of course, and I like to see them looking at their best, as they are now, but I’m afraid I’m not very knowledgeable on the subject. How about you?’

‘I did get keen for a few years,’ Elaine admitted, glad that the topic gave her an excuse to look out over the gardens. ‘But then I moved into a flat that doesn’t have a garden. I tried window-boxes but I’m away such a lot that even those got neglected, I’m afraid.’

‘Does your work take you away a lot, then?’

‘Yes, I do seem to be travelling more as the business expands, but mostly in Britain, of course; we’ve only recently started working in Europe.’

His had been a polite, conversational kind of question and her reply had been on the same lines, that embarrassing moment safely forgotten, she hoped. So she was taken aback when Calum said, ‘I understand you’re a widow?’

Elaine’s face hardened. ‘Yes.’ Her reply was short and crisp, not because she was still sensitive about the subject, but because she’d learned from experience where that kind of question usually led. Inwardly she cursed herself for having watched him, for letting him think that she might be attracted to him.

Tensely she waited for the inevitable proposition that always came after that question from a man, and was ready to tell him to get lost as forcefully as she knew how, even if it did cost her this job. But Calum said, ‘And your business was entirely your own idea, and you’ve built it up yourself?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ve done well. It must have been hard at times.’

Beginning to be puzzled, wondering whether she’d been wrong, but still cautious, Elaine answered, ‘Yes, especially at the beginning.’

He looked at her expectantly, obviously presuming that she would enlarge further, but at that moment Francesca and Tiffany Dean came out on to the terrace. An interested light came into Calum’s eyes as he looked at Tiffany and he immediately walked over to them.

He said, ‘Francesca, do you have any further instructions for Mrs Beresford on the party at the quinta?’

Francesca nodded, although rather reluctantly, and when she went into the sitting-room with Elaine she stood in line with the terrace door so that she could look out to where Calum had now gone to sit next to Tiffany. She seemed abstracted, her attention more on the other two than on the papers she was supposed to be looking through. Her behaviour puzzled Elaine, until she thought of an obvious reason for it, then her eyes widened a little in surprise. Was Francesca jealous of the interest Calum was showing in Tiffany? Francesca had often spoken of her cousin, but it had never occurred to Elaine that she might feel more for him than a cousinly affection. But now Francesca made a move as if to go outside and confront the two of them, so Elaine said hastily, ‘Do you know how many fado dancers and singers we’ll have to cater for?’

With obvious reluctance, Francesca looked at a list and said, ‘About twenty, I should think.’ She added some more people, and then said, ‘Oh, and the bullfighters and their assistants.’

Elaine stared at her incredulously, not having known they were having that kind of entertainment. ‘Bullfighters?’

Francesca glanced at her, then said reassuringly, ‘Oh, don’t worry, we don’t kill the bulls in Portugal. In fact, it’s forbidden.’

‘But the poor horses?’

‘We won’t use those either. The matadors will be on foot. It’s rather like a ballet,’ Francesca explained patiently. ‘All very graceful and very harmless. Really. You must watch it.’

Mentally deciding that she would definitely give it a miss, Elaine made a note on her list. She went to ask another question, but Francesca was looking out on to the terrace again where Calum was laughing at something Tiffany had said. The angry look came into Francesca’s eyes again, but just then her other cousin, Chris, came into the room and Francesca gave him an expressive but silent order to go outside and break it up.

He frowned, but did so, and it was interesting to see how annoyed Tiffany was to see him, although she covered it quickly and Calum didn’t notice. So apparently there were two women who were interested in the heir to the Brodey empire, Elaine realised. Though she wouldn’t have thought that either was right for Calum; the Brodeys were such a close family that marriage to Francesca would seem like incest, and Tiffany—well, she just didn’t look right for the part.

‘Elaine?’

She became aware that Francesca was waiting for her attention. ‘Oh, sorry.’

They spent a further ten minutes or so discussing the details of the quinta party, then Francesca went outside to join the others. Elaine watched them for a few minutes, feeling herself to be the outsider, the lookeron. But interested for all that. But then, people were always interesting, especially if their basic feelings were aroused for some reason. Elaine found that she quite enjoyed watching others, especially as she always carefully fought down any feelings of her own.

She went back to Calum’s office and typed out a detailed list of all that would be required for the big estate workers’ party. They would need more cutlery and crockery, yet more glasses for the barrels of wine that would be drunk. It meant calling the local company that was supplying all these things, and no one there spoke any English. Picking up her lists again, Elaine went back to the sitting-room to get Francesca to put the call through for her.

Chris and Tiffany had gone, leaving the other two alone. They were sitting together on the wall surrounding the terrace and Calum had his arm round Francesca. As Elaine approached she saw Francesca give him a look of open entreaty. Calum drew her to him and kissed her. Admittedly, the kiss was on Francesca’s forehead, not on her mouth, but the look she gave him in return was almost one of adoration.

Calum said something to her, then glanced up and saw Elaine. Immediately he let Francesca go and stood up. ‘Here’s Elaine looking for you again.’ Was there a warning in his tone? Elaine wasn’t sure.

Francesca made the call for her and Elaine went back to the kitchens, wondering if the cousins were having an affair. Was that why Calum hadn’t married—because he was in love with Francesca? But both of them were free, so what was to stop them? Unless their grandfather had put his foot down and forbidden it because of the close family relationship. But would that make any difference to two such self-assured people? If they loved their grandfather it might, Elaine surmised. Or if they were afraid of being cut out of his will.

She made sure that the preparations for dinner that evening were in hand, then went into the dining-room to put the name-cards into silver holders and set them round the table, following the seating plan. This room, like all the rooms in the palácio, was sumptuously furnished with antique pieces that looked as if they’d been there since the house was built—which they probably had. Elaine spent a lot of time preparing the table, arranging a beautiful centre-piece of flowers which the gardener had brought up for her. When she’d finished, the table looked really beautiful, a fitting background to this family celebration dinner.

Late that night, her work done and the family dinner over, Elaine took a last look round the dining-room, then went into the hall. The front door was opened by a key and Calum came in. Elaine knew that the chauffeur had been sent for earlier and that Calum had taken Tiffany home. A host’s politeness perhaps, or because he was keen on the girl? He certainly couldn’t have lingered; he had been gone only long enough to drive into the city and back. The thought strangely pleased Elaine.

Calum gave her a questioning look and nodded towards the folders she was carrying. ‘You’re not still working, surely?’

‘Just a few things I want to check over.’

‘About the bicentennial? Can I help?’ He put out an arm as if to steer her into the library.

‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s for some functions back in England.’

‘You must learn to delegate,’ Calum said with a smile. It was a very charming smile, and he hadn’t taken his arm away. ‘Come and have a nightcap?’ he invited.

She hesitated, troubled, wondering if this was just wellmannered civility or whether he really wanted to. It flashed through her mind that it might be unwise to accept; not only was he her employer but he was also a very charismatic man. Having caught her watching him earlier, Calum might think that she was aware of him—as a man. He might make a pass. Might want to…Her thoughts fled in confused fright and she had to fight to stay calm. Fool! she chided herself the next instant; he’s just got back from taking another girl home and this afternoon he was kissing Francesca. ‘Thanks,’ she said lightly. ‘But it is very late.’

Calum gave a slow smile and Elaine had the distinct feeling that he could read her like an open book. A book that he’d read many times before and knew the text by heart? Was he that experienced with women, then?

‘Of course. And you still have work to do, don’t you?’

She thought she detected a touch of irony in his voice and said a hasty goodnight. He answered and she went on through the house, letting herself out of a side-door to cross the courtyard to her room. Sitting down at the desk, she opened the folders but found that she couldn’t concentrate. Going to the window, she looked across at the house. Had Calum gone straight to bed, or was he having his nightcap? And who was he thinking of as he held the delicate crystal glass between long, capable fingers—herself or Tiffany Dean? A car went by on its way to the garage, and she recognised Francesca at the wheel. Everyone, it seemed, was busy tonight.

The following evening there was to be a party for the Brodey Corporation’s local employees at their wine-lodge in Oporto. Elaine had been there once already to decide on the table layout, and had asked for a car to be available to take her there again early in the morning. At the specified time she came out of the house, dressed in her usual working outfit of trousers, with a sweater over a cotton shirt and her hair tied back in a thick plait, expecting to find one of the staff waiting to take her. Instead she found Calum standing by his car, and without his chauffeur, too.

He gave her his usual politely friendly smile. ‘I’m going to the wine-lodge myself, so I thought I’d take you with me.’

‘Thank you. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.’

‘Not at all.’

He opened the passenger door for her and Elaine put on her dark glasses against the glare of the sun, which was still low on the horizon this early. She found that being alone with Calum disturbed her a little, so she quickly made some comment on the weather when he joined her and they chatted about nothing very much until they neared the town, when Calum had to concentrate on his driving. Elaine glanced at his hard profile—the high, lean cheekbones and strong, purposeful chin—trying to read the personality behind it. A very masculine kind of man, she thought. Standing no nonsense and probably quick to anger if he was crossed. She recognised the type. Neil had been in the Marines and many of his superior officers had been like that. Having spoken to Calum several times on the phone, she had already formed the opinion that he was authoritative, but actually meeting him when she had arrived in Portugal had been something of a shock: she hadn’t expected anyone so young and so very good-looking.

She had quickly hidden her reaction, but supposed that many women must find him attractive; that he must be used to it. Involuntarily, she glanced into the back of the car, where Calum must have sat with Tiffany last night. What had they got up to? she wondered. Not much, of course, with the chauffeur there. But had he arranged to see the blonde girl again, to take her out to dinner as soon as he was free?

Elaine had hardly been out on a date since Neil had died, although there had been opportunities enough—and opportunities for far more than just a date. A grim look came to her face as she remembered some of the offers she’d received. And from Neil’s co-called friends, too.

‘Here we are.’ Calum pulled into the wine-lodge and glanced at her. ‘Is anything the matter?’

‘What? Oh, no. I was—miles away.’

He frowned. ‘It must be lonely for you here, I should have realised.’

‘Oh, no—please,’ she said in some alarm. ‘I’m fine, Mr Brodey. Really.’

He gave her one of his charming smiles. ‘Please call me Calum. Mr Brodey makes me feel on a par with my grandfather.’

She gave a polite murmur and got out of the car. Calum appointed one of the girls from the sale-room who spoke English to be her translator, and Elaine set to work to organise everything for that evening’s function.

Calum was busy in his own office there for most of the morning, but at about twelve he came to look for her. He found her at the huge doors of the lodge, where the wine-barrels were loaded and unloaded, supervising the arrival of all the chairs which they had hired for the evening, the same chairs that had been used at the palácio the previous day and which would be taken by lorry to the quinta tomorrow.

‘I’m going to have an early lunch, and I wondered if you’d care to join me.’

Elaine looked up from the clipboard she was holding, trying to hide her surprise, and gave him a smile which she hoped did not look harassed. When your client invites you to lunch, then you go, she reminded herself. ‘I’ll need to wash. Five minutes?’

He nodded. ‘I’ll be in my office.’

Finding Ned Talbot, the ex-head waiter she’d hired, Elaine explained and passed the job on to him, then quickly washed her hands, put on fresh lipstick, and joined Calum. He drove her down the steep hillside to the waterfront, to a café, one of several right on the riverside. They sat outside on a kind of pier, which jutted out over the river, at a table with a bright red cloth. The sun was hot even though it was only spring, and there was a continental atmosphere to their alfresco meal.

‘These places specialise in fish caught fresh this morning,’ Calum told her. ‘You mustn’t miss the opportunity to try some.’

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to translate the menu.’

He leaned closer, pointing with his finger as he went down the dishes. He was sitting opposite her and his knee brushed hers. She moved her legs aside but felt a frisson of sexuality that surprised and disturbed her. Even if he had been interested, even if he hadn’t already got his hands full with Francesca and Tiffany, this was no man for her. She wondered why he’d invited her to lunch—out of politeness, perhaps? But then she remembered his remark earlier about her being lonely. He’d asked her out of a sense of duty, then, taking pity on the poor widow they’d hired. Immediately she felt a fierce stab of anger. She neither wanted nor needed his compassion. She had her own business and her own life; no way was she to be pitied.

‘I’ll have that one,’ she said shortly, stabbing at the menu and cutting him off abruptly.

Calum glanced up, about to say something, but stopped short when he saw the flame of anger in her eyes. ‘Er—yes, of course. And I think we’ll have a vinho verde to go with it.’ Calling the waiter over, he gave the order, then glanced at her again.

But Elaine had regained her self-control now. There was just casual interest in her eyes as she pointed to the barcos rabelos with their cargoes of empty wine-barrels which she could see moored further along the river. ‘Do they ever sail, or are they just moored here all the time, for the tourists?’

‘Oh, yes, they still sail. Every year we have a race from the river-mouth back here to the main quay. All the port companies compete and there are great festivities in the town—lots of drinking and fireworks in the evening.’

He was watching her as he spoke, curiosity in his gaze, but she had herself well in hand and didn’t let him see into her soul again.

‘And do you ever win?’

He smiled. ‘It has been known. My cousins always come over for the race and we crew it with some men from the company.’

‘You race it yourselves?’ Elaine said in surprise, not having expected him to be the type and having to do some mental revision.

‘Why, yes. Grandfather always took us along as soon as we were old enough. But unfortunately he’s too old to go now.’

There was true regret in his voice, and she realised he was genuinely fond of the old patriarch. ‘That’s a shame,’ she murmured.

He nodded, but gave a sudden grin that was so different from his usual polite smile that it startled her. ‘Yes, but he always comes to cheer us along, and I think he expends more energy doing that than he would if he was with us crewing the boat.’

The waiter brought the wine and Calum turned away, leaving Elaine free to marvel at the change in him, to wonder whether there were depths to his character that he didn’t often show. But then she shrugged off the thought. What did it matter what Calum Brodey was like? He was merely a customer she had to be polite to, to keep happy until this week was over and he had paid her astronomical bill. His other side was none of her business, even though he seemed more interesting every time she met him.

She found that she’d ordered a dish of squid cooked with minced ham and onion in a tomato sauce: tasty but filling. During the meal Calum told her something of the history of the wine-lodge, and so of his own family. He made the story fascinating, describing the misfortunes that had hit his ancestors when they’d first come here, and told it so graphically that he made it seem like yesterday.

‘You ought to write a book about your family,’ she remarked.

He gave her an interested glance. ‘Do you think so? We have all the family records at home, of course, but no one has ever attempted to collate them. I suppose we’re all so used to the stories that we take them for granted.’

‘I think it would make an absorbing book.’

He acknowledged the tacit compliment to his ability as a raconteur with a nod. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I’ll give it some thought.’ But then Calum gave a rueful smile. ‘If I ever have time.’

‘Doesn’t your grandfather have time?’

She had his whole attention now. ‘My grandfather?’

‘Surely he knows more about your family history than anyone? If he doesn’t feel up to going through the archives and writing it up, then don’t you think he could write down his own story? That would be interesting for all your family and a must for anyone in the future who wanted to write a history of the House of Brodey.’

‘What an excellent idea. I’m sure that Grandfather will be feeling very flat once this week is over; I’ll put it to him then. It will give him a new interest.’ He gave her a warm smile. ‘Thank you, Elaine. I’m grateful.’

She shrugged. ‘It was the way you told me about your family that gave me the idea.’

She had eaten only half her meal and drunk sparingly of the wine; she didn’t like heavy lunches when she was working, and never drank very much anyway. But she had enjoyed this lunch, which was strange because she hadn’t expected to. Maybe it was sitting outside in the sun. Or maybe it was because of her companion.

Calum glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better get you back to the wine-lodge. I have to be back at the house this afternoon.’

‘Will you be working in your office there?’ Elaine asked. ‘I’m expecting a fax and I wondered if you could telephone it through to me,’ she explained.

‘I’ll arrange for it to be done,’ he told her. ‘We’re expecting Tiffany to call so I might be busy myself.’

‘Oh, of course.’

So he had made a date with Tiffany. It surprised her, though, that it was for the afternoon and at the house. Somehow Elaine had expected Calum at least to take his dates out to dinner. But then she remembered that he was a well-known and important figure in Oporto; maybe he didn’t want to be seen in public with Tiffany yet, didn’t want to give the gossips something to talk about.

Calum dropped her at the wine-lodge and lifted a hand in a casual wave as he drove on. Elaine watched him go, this handsome man in his sleek car, heading eagerly for a date with his blonde. Had he found the love of his life? she wondered. The fair English girl that his family tradition demanded? Well, whether he had or not, it was nothing to do with her.

Shrugging, Elaine went into the wine-lodge to get back to work, but again she found it difficult to concentrate and had to give herself a mental ticking-off before she could put Calum out of her mind.

CHAPTER TWO

BY ABOUT four Elaine had done as much work at the wine-lodge as she could before the actual event, so she and Ned Talbot took a taxi back to the palácio, intending to have a rest before the evening. Her chef, Malcolm Webster, was overseeing the preparation of the food in the kitchens of a nearby hotel and had telephoned in to say that all was going well.

Calum hadn’t telephoned her fax message through so Elaine went along to his office to see if it had arrived. It had, so it would appear that he was too engrossed in his date with Tiffany to have remembered her request. The fax was from London, detailing some changes that were being made for a business function for which she had already quoted. The organisers, of course, wanted her revised estimate urgently, so she spent the next hour sitting at the desk working it out. She was just typing it all out to fax through when Ned came in with tea on a tray.

‘I thought you’d like a decent cup of tea,’ he told her. ‘The people here don’t know how to make it properly even though they work for an English family.’

‘Have you had a rest, Ned?’

‘I napped for a while.’ He leaned towards her. ‘There’s great excitement here. They’re all talking about it in the staffroom.’

Elaine smiled; trust Ned to hear all the gossip, even if it was in a foreign language. He was in his forties, glossily clean, and still slim and pleasantly good-looking. He was single, and when she’d first hired him she’d been afraid that he might run after the waitresses, but soon found that he and Malcolm, the chef, were an item and had been for years. Now she had taken both men on to her permanent staff and all three of them worked in perfect harmony.

‘Why, what’s happened?’ she asked, knowing he would tell her anyway.

‘You know that big American—the one who got his face slapped at the party yesterday? It seems the Princess invited him here this afternoon at the same time as the girl who hit him. In the kitchen they’re saying that the girl and the American probably cooked up the whole thing between them. They said that there have been several girls over the years who’ve tried to attract Calum one way or another.’

‘Well, he seems to have fallen for this one,’ Elaine remarked.

Ned shook his head. ‘No, Calum sent for his car and the girl’s been taken home.’

‘He didn’t go with her?’

‘No, the chauffeur took her.’

So Francesca had spiked that budding romance, Elaine thought as she stirred her tea. She wondered how Calum would feel about it, and whether he would turn against Francesca for having spoiled it for him. But it was a risk the Princess had obviously been prepared to take. A thought occurred to her. ‘Didn’t the American leave with the girl?’

‘No. They said he left later in his own car.’ Realising what that implied, Ned said, ‘So maybe he and the girl didn’t plot it between them. Maybe she used him.’

It would seem that the latter theory was right, because when the family arrived at the wine-lodge that evening the American, Sam Gallagher, was with them. He was evidently a last-minute addition to the guest-list because Elaine hadn’t been told about him. Calum sought her out as soon as he arrived and, with a wry smile, asked her to set another place. He added, interestingly, ‘At least we know about this extra person; he isn’t a gatecrasher like the last time.’

‘The last time?’ Elaine questioned.

‘Yes. It seems that Tiffany Dean crashed the garden party,’ Calum said tersely. His mouth twisted, and for a moment there was a bleak look in his eyes, but then he recovered and said, ‘I blamed you for not setting enough places, didn’t I? I’m sorry.’

She shrugged, interested to see how it had affected him. ‘It’s nothing.’

Calum gave a short, wry laugh. ‘As you say—it’s nothing.’

He went back to join his family in the big room where the tourists came to taste the wines, cleared now of the tables and stools made from old barrels, except for one central table piled high with flowers which Elaine had arranged earlier. Waiting to greet the family were all their employees at the wine-lodge, as well as a great many other local people with whom they had business dealings. The Brodeys seemed to be held in great respect, Elaine noticed as she watched from a doorway, but there was no humility among the employees; owners and workers alike greeted each other with smiles and laughter, like old friends.

As soon as everyone had shaken hands, Elaine gave a signal and the waiters went round with large trays of white port. There were a couple of speeches in Portuguese, then everyone moved out into the huge wine cellars where a special cask was to be broached. These cellars had been a revelation to Elaine: so vast, so high and old, the smell of hundreds of years of maturing wine so strong that you could feel drunk on that alone.

More wine was poured and handed round, empty glasses had to be refilled. Elaine, standing unobtrusively in the background in her neat black velvet evening skirt and short jacket, kept an alert eye on it all, making sure that everything went smoothly. She had worked hard on the setting for this meal, taking the unusual surroundings as a challenge, and transforming the gloomy cellars into a warm and inviting bistro with brightly coloured tablecloths, lamps and candles. But there was nothing cheap about it: the glass was crystal, the plates the finest bone china. And beside each place-setting there was a gift of a wine glass engraved with the date and event, parcels that she had helped wrap herself.

A band of local musicians arrived and soon everyone was dancing, including Francesca, who literally let her hair down as she whirled around the floor, joining in the local folk dances with a young Portuguese. The male Brodeys didn’t dance so much, only doing so if it was a western number, when they dutifully asked the wives of some of their guests and employees.

But Calum had no duty towards Elaine when he asked her to dance. She had come into the cellar to replace some candles which were spluttering and was about to leave when he came over to her. ‘Elaine? Would you care to dance?’

She looked at him in surprise, only now registering that the band was playing a slow number that she recognised from the charts of ten years ago. Guessing that he had again asked her out of pity, she said at once, ‘Thank you, but I’m very busy.’

She went to walk past him, but he put a hand on her arm. Giving her one of his charming smiles, he said, ‘Surely you can take a few minutes off?’

Her heart jumped a little as she thought of being held in his arms, but stubborn pride made her say curtly, ‘Sorry. No.’

The smile didn’t falter. ‘But I insist.’ His grip tightened on her arm and he took a step towards the cleared space where people were dancing, drawing her after him.

Good God, couldn’t the man take no for an answer? Did he think he was doing her a favour, playing the rich man being kind to the lonely little hireling? Her face stiffening, striving to contain her anger but failing, Elaine stood her ground. Calum looked back and became still as he saw the fire in her glance. Tersely, she said, ‘Thank you, Mr Brodey, but I don’t dance.’ And, tugging her arm from his hold, she strode quickly away.

But at the door to the cellar she couldn’t resist glancing back. She expected Calum to have moved away already, to do his duty or be kind to some other female, but he was still standing where she had left him, looking after her with a coldly surprised expression on his handsome face.

She didn’t go into the big cellar again until the members of the family had left. The band played on for a while but Elaine left them to it, arranging for the senior employee at the wine-lodge to shut up the premises when the last guest had gone. It had been a long day and she was tired. Ned and Malcolm had already left, but one of the staff from the palácio drove her back there. It would have been nice to go straight to her room and bed, but Elaine went first to Calum’s office to see if there were any messages for her; taking on a week’s celebrations like this was lucrative but it was difficult to run her own office in London from such a distance.

Several messages had come through to the house on the fax machine, and some by telephone. Only two of them were for her, one acknowledging receipt of the faxed estimate she had sent earlier, the other from her mother-in-law inviting her to a family birthday party, and adding, ‘And perhaps you might like to arrange it.’

She wouldn’t go, of course; her mother-in-law should have realised that by now. But perhaps the older woman thought it her duty to ask her and had added that last sentence to nag Elaine’s conscience, to make her think of the duty she was supposed to owe Neil’s family. But Elaine was quite sure that she owed them nothing whatsoever—not duty, and certainly not affection or love. Her face grim, she crumpled the paper into a tight ball. As she did so, the door opened and Calum came in.

He paused when he saw her. ‘I saw the light was on and wondered who was here,’ he explained. He gave her a guarded look, evidently remembering the way she’d snubbed him earlier.

‘I came to see if there were any messages for me.’

Calum gave a rueful sigh, impatient with himself. ‘I’m sorry, I said I’d look earlier today, didn’t I? I’m afraid—something happened and it went out of my mind.’ He frowned. ‘But surely you were in here this afternoon?’

‘Yes, I received that message. I wanted to see if there was any problem with my answer to it.’ She flicked the ball of paper neatly into a waste-paper basket. ‘Goodnight.’ She went to leave.

‘One moment.’ He lifted a hand to stop her.

Elaine hesitated, then turned to face him. ‘Yes? You have some instructions for me?’ she asked in her most businesslike manner.

‘No. I merely wished to say.’ His eyes, grey and quizzical, met hers. ‘Well, that I hope I didn’t offend you when I asked you to dance this evening.’

‘Offend me? No, of course not,’ she lied.

He was watching her and she was uncomfortably aware that he didn’t believe her, and he proved it by saying, ‘I don’t usually get that reaction when I ask someone to dance.’

‘I was busy,’ she prevaricated.

‘You were furious,’ he countered. ‘Now, why, I wonder?’

‘Not at all,’ she said dismissively, and turned to the door.

But Calum was standing in the way and didn’t move. ‘Have you never danced?’

She thought of refusing to answer, but then said stiffly, ‘Yes, of course.’

‘Then I must have seriously offended you—and I’m extremely sorry. I didn’t mean to—awaken old memories.’

Elaine stared at him speechlessly, realising he was referring to supposed memories of her dead husband that dancing might have evoked. Realised, too, that he was watching her keenly to see if he was right. She suddenly found his presence, his overbearing masculinity, too much, and said shortly, ‘If you’ll excuse me, Mr Brodey, I think I’ll go to my room. I’m very tired.’

A frown flickered in his brows, but he murmured, ‘Of course,’ and moved out of the doorway. But as she went to pass him he put a hand on her arm and said, ‘I thought we’d agreed that you’d call me Calum.’

She found, unnervingly, that his touch sent a tremor of awareness sighing through her veins. But somehow she managed to control it and her voice was light, casual, as she said, ‘So we did. Goodnight, then, Calum.’

‘Goodnight, Elaine. I hope you sleep well.’

But when Elaine got into bed she lay awake for some time. Trying to ignore her stupid reaction to his touch, she went over that conversation in his study, wondering why Calum had bothered with her at all. Was it that he was piqued because she’d refused to dance with him? Did he expect all women to fall for his charm and good looks? Which they probably did, she thought cynically. Well, that made him a male chauvinist of the first order, as far as Elaine was concerned. She had seen too much of that type, lived with one for too long, and now had no time for it. In her case, it was once bitten forever shy.

Inevitably, her thoughts drifted back to the time when she had met Neil, nearly ten years ago. She had been so young then, only eighteen, innocent, impressionable. But Neil had been over thirty, a success in his chosen career, fully adult in every sense of the word. He had literally swept her off her feet, knocking into her one day at the tennis club, when he had run from his court into the next to hit a lob, and cannoned into her. She had fallen, and Neil, she remembered, had hit the lob back and scored the point before he’d turned to help her up. An action that was typical of him, although she hadn’t realised it for quite some time.

He had been staying with friends while on leave, but spent the rest of the time pursuing her—there was no other word for it—determined to capture Elaine’s heart as quickly as possible. He had done so quite easily; she had been overwhelmed by him, had never before met anyone with his masterful assertiveness, his clean-cut good looks, his easy charm. They had been married only a few months after they met, and it had been quite a lot later before she’d found out that his masterfulness hid an iron determination always to have his own way. His good looks attracted other women of whom he took full advantage, and his charm was used to make the lies he told acceptable, even believable.

Since then she had become extremely wary of any man who had any one of those qualities—and Calum Brodey had all three, in abundance. Which gave her every reason to steer well clear of him, even if all he felt towards her was a sort of conscience-pricked pity.

Elaine turned restlessly on her pillow, cross with herself for having even thought of Calum. It was, she realised, going to be one of those nights. Switching on the bedside lamp, she sat up and leaned against a pillow, picked up a novel which she kept for nights like these. But tonight reading didn’t work, didn’t leave her with buzzing eyes and a mind so tired that nothing would keep her awake. Her mind drifted from the book to that almost peremptory invitation from her mother-in-law. Again resentment filled her. Neil’s mother had always known he was a womaniser. She might have expected, if not hoped, that marriage to an innocent teenager would change him, but hadn’t cared in the least when it hadn’t. Neil might have been faithful for a year or so, but Elaine strongly doubted if it had been more than that.

She hadn’t known at the time, of course; Neil had been away a lot, taking courses and things, and he had been so ardent when he came home that she had been completely fooled. It had only been towards the end, when he’d had a post near home but was forever making excuses to be away, that she had begun to suspect. She had been pregnant at the time.

Lonely one weekend, because Neil was away—at a conference, he’d said—she’d thought she would please him by taking a couple of his suits to the cleaners. Going through his pockets, she’d found a hotel bill made out to Mr and Mrs Beresford. A hotel in a well-known chain, situated in a suburban town not too far away; a hotel at which she had never stayed, the bill dated at a time when Neil was supposed to have been on a course nowhere near that town. The kind of outdoor training course for new recruits where he was never near a phone, definitely not available, so she had never tried to contact him.

Trying to convince herself that she was wrong, Elaine rang the hotel and asked if Mr and Mrs Beresford were staying there again. She was told they were. For hours she walked round the house, wondering, trying to convince herself that there was some mistake; it wasn’t true. In the end she got in the car and drove over to the hotel, knowing that she had to see for herself. Only when she reached it did it occur to Elaine that finding out might not be so easy. The receptionist might not give her Neil’s room number; he might have gone out. Even with this terrible suspicion in her mind, she couldn’t bring herself to think of their room, that they might have gone out.

In the end it was terribly easy. It was late evening and the hotel entrance was deserted, the guests either out or eating in the restaurant. Looking through the glass doors of the latter, Elaine saw Neil sitting with a blonde girl. Even as she watched they rose to leave. Quickly, her mind panicking, Elaine hid in a darkened telephone booth. They passed quite close to her as they came out into the lobby and she saw that the blonde was very curvacious, her breasts almost falling out of her tight red dress. Neil had his arm round her and kissed her neck lasciviously as they waited for a lift. The girl giggled—and reached out to stroke him! Neil’s head came up and he looked round, making Elaine shrink back in her hiding place. Seeing no one, he put his hand over the girl’s and pressed it against himself.

The lift came and they got into it, Neil pulling the girl close, his hands low on her hips, even before the doors had closed.

For several minutes Elaine couldn’t move, then she rushed into the ladies’ room and was horribly ill. Immediately afterwards she ran blindly back to the car and drove away as fast as she could, tears streaming down her face. So much for her perfect marriage; so much for trust and love; so much for the father of this child she was carrying, the baby she had longed for for so longyears. Sobbing wildly, wiping the tears from her eyes so that she could see, Elaine just kept going, not caring where she was heading, only knowing that she couldn’t go home, that it wasn’t her home any more, the place on which she had lavished such loving care. All for Neil! All for Neil! Now it was just the place he came back to when he wasn’t with that girl!

She didn’t feel anger, not then; she felt only shame and a terrible certainty that it must be her fault, that he would never have gone to bed with someone else unless she had failed him sexually. That side of their marriage had not been a success right from the start. Neil had been a selfish lover, always taking his own pleasure, any excitement she might feel being incidental. He had wanted her to do things that she found unnatural and which she’d resisted, but instead of persuading her Neil had forced her to do them. She’d become afraid of sex, unable to relax, and Neil had got angry and hurt her, accused her of being frigid. During the first few years of their marriage she had blamed herself entirely; she hadn’t known that not every man treated sex almost as an assault course and left their wives bruised and frustrated. But she still loved him because she thought that she had made him behave like it.

That terrible night, Elaine found herself driving down an unlit country road. A car rounded a bend towards her, going fast, its headlights dazzling her. It hooted at her angrily. Her eyes blurred by tears, she swerved to avoid it, and ended up in a ditch. The other driver didn’t stop. She wasn’t hurt but it took an effort to climb out of the car and back on to the road. She waited for some time, expecting another car to come by, but the road stayed dark, deserted. Soon it began to rain. She began to get cold and had to climb into the car again and get her jacket and handbag. Reaching to where it had fallen, she felt a pain in her stomach.

Having no idea where she was, Elaine grimly began to walk to the nearest house so that she could phone a garage. But there was no house for miles and she ended up in a phone box, dialling for an ambulance, curled up in pain and knowing that she was losing her baby.

She didn’t tell Neil the truth about what had happened; never told him. And he never found out. By the time he had been ‘traced’ at his so-called conference, she was in hospital, the car retrieved by the AA and brought home with only a dented wing to show for what had happened. She told him she’d skidded off the road to avoid a cat when she was going shopping, the morning after she’d seen him with the girl. He didn’t bother to check her story, blamed her for what happened, yelling that she was a bloody rotten driver, that she ought to have had more sense and driven over the cat rather than avoid it. His parents blamed her too, and left her in no doubt of their feelings.

Neil was genuinely upset over the loss of the baby, Elaine was sure of that; he accused her of killing it often enough. Not that he needed to: as it was she felt consumed by guilt. She tried to make it up to him by taking better care of him: his clothes were always beautifully laundered, his meals cooked to perfection, and when he wanted sex she forced herself to be especially warm, especially loving; she even tried to please him by doing some of the things she found so abhorrent. But it seemed that wasn’t what he wanted from her any more. He told her to stop acting like a cheap tramp; she was his wife, for God’s sake!

The anger came back then, and the next time he took her she just lay there, not resisting but not taking part, her mind completely detached. That seemed to anger Neil even more, but he soon got tired of it, soon left her alone. He began to go away a lot more, sometimes staying away for weeks at a time. He had taken up flying, but never took her with him. Then one day he tried to do an acrobatic manoeuvre: it didn’t work, and he crashed the plane and was killed.

Shocked and stunned by his death, Elaine took a couple of months to get round to going through his desk. There were the usual papers, but in a locked drawer she found his diaries. It was all there, fully detailed and sometimes illustrated with erotic photographs—accounts of his affairs with women, some long-lasting, some one-night stands. Among the names, the faces in the photographs above the naked bodies, were some she recognised—girls she had thought to be her friends, wives of his fellow officers, even the barmaid from the local pub.

It had gone on for years. She looked back at the diaries for the years before he had met her and it had been going on then too. It was obvious from the comments when he had got some girl into trouble and his mother had bailed him out that she knew, had always known, even after he and Elaine were married. There was one very telling comment:

Ma was bragging about how I took one of the girls to bed at her anniversary party, right from under Elaine’s nose, while she was clearing the food away. It wasn’t a bad lay, although the girl was a bit tipsy. Can’t remember her name.

Reading through the diaries up until her wedding, Elaine realised she seemed to be the only one of his women that he hadn’t made love to at the first available opportunity. Maybe it had amused him to keep her a virgin until their wedding night. The diaries for the two years after her marriage she couldn’t bear to look at. Still couldn’t, she mused now. But she had kept them all, and whenever she felt down she read them, fuelling her strength and determination from the anger they created in her.

All grief gone, her heart a hard ball in her chest, Elaine had immediately sold the house, bought a small flat in London, and started her business on the remaining capital. Her mother-in-law had strongly objected, evidently expecting her to grieve like a dutiful widow for the rest of her life. But anger had given her life and still sustained her, so that tonight she had been able to treat Neil’s mother’s invitation with the contempt that she felt for the woman herself.

The next morning Elaine woke feeling heavy-eyed, but had to pull herself together and pack some clothes to take with her to the quinta where she would be staying for a couple of nights. She did some paperwork while she ate a belated breakfast, making out fresh check-lists and going through others, ticking off what had been done and underlining things that were becoming urgent. Afterwards she had a conference with Ned and Malcolm, making sure that they knew what they had to do.

This done, Elaine took her case out to the main hall and went to look for Francesca. She found her in the sitting-room talking to Michel, and would have excused herself but Francesca beckoned her in.

‘Oh, there you are, Elaine. I’m all ready to leave.’

‘Where are you going?’ Michel wanted to know.

‘To the quinta. We’re going on ahead to prepare for tomorrow’s party.’

Michel immediately offered to drive them there, but Francesca refused and they went out to her open-topped sports car. Michel hovered around, looking sulky, but Francesca merely said, ‘Goodbye, Michel. Maybe I’ll see you around some time.’

She drove down towards Oporto, crossing the road bridge and turning on to the road that wound along beside the river. When they were out of the town, Francesca gave a sigh. ‘Have you ever done something that you regretted immediately afterwards?’

Elaine laughed. ‘Loads of times. Why, what have you done?’

‘Invited Michel to spend the week here. I can’t think why I did it. Because I thought I’d be lonely, I suppose. And because he made it clear that he so much wanted to come that he made me feel guilty.’ She glanced at Elaine, saw the wind playing with tendrils of red hair that had come loose from the rather severe style she habitually wore. ‘You’re so sure of yourself; I’m sure you don’t really make mistakes like that.’

‘I used to,’ Elaine admitted, thinking back. ‘But I don’t now. I never let anyone use moral blackmail on me, and I don’t do anything that I don’t want to.’

‘Good heavens!’ Francesca’s eyebrows rose at the hardness in her tone. ‘What made you like that?’

‘I went to an assertiveness training course for women. It did me a great deal of good.’

‘So it sounds. Maybe that’s what I need.’

‘Well, you were quite terse with Michel; he surely won’t hang around after that?’

‘I hope not. But there are some men you just can’t get rid of, aren’t there?’ Elaine was silent, wondering if Francesca wanted to get rid of Michel so that she would be free to continue her affair with Calum. But the Princess mistook her silence and after a moment said, ‘Sorry, Elaine. I’m not being very tactful, am I, boring on about boyfriends?’

‘It doesn’t bother me.’

Francesca gave her an interested glance. ‘How long is it since your husband was killed?’

‘Nearly three years.’

‘You must miss him terribly.’ Again Elaine didn’t answer, so Francesca took her silence for assent. A strangely wistful look came into her eyes, and she said, ‘I suppose when you’ve had a loving, happy marriage it must be terribly hard to adjust. You must feel that there could never be anyone who could possibly take your husband’s place?’

‘Oh, quite,’ Elaine agreed with hidden irony. Francesca was right: no one could take Neil’s place, because she was going to make darn sure that no man ever did. She neither trusted nor needed them and was perfectly happy and fulfilled on her own. But then she remembered the frisson of sexual awareness that Calum had aroused in her and she felt suddenly unsure of herself. But it was only for the briefest moment, and then she sternly told herself that an occasional lapse was only natural; she was still young after all, and her femininity hadn’t died just because Neil had turned out to be a lying cheat. OK, so she hadn’t felt anything like that in years, but she supposed that it would be bound to happen, now and again, until she’d managed to stifle any sexuality she had left. Not wanting to talk about men, she pointed across the river. ‘What beautiful scenery.’

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