“I can’t—not until I’m married!” Letter to Reader Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT Copyright

“I can’t—not until I’m married!”

Total and utter silence met her remark—and Karrie wanted to die.

“Not until you’re married,” Farne stated, not so much as a question, but more as though he was letting that message sink in.

“I’m sorry,” she apologized again, feeling dreadful. “it’s important to me.”

“Important?” He seemed to be having trouble taking it in. Then he cleared his throat. “Er—how important?” he asked slowly.

“Essential. I...” Her voice tailed off—and silence followed.

Astonishingly—and very nearly causing her to go into heart failure—she distinctly heard him state quietly, “In that case, Karrie, we’d better get married.”

True love is worth waiting for...

Dear Reader,

Welcome to our brand-new miniseries WHITE WEDDINGS. Everyone loves a wedding, with all the excitement of the big day: bedecked bridesmaids, festive flowers, a little champagne and all the emotions of the happy couple exchanging vows....

Some of your favorite Harlequin Romance® authors will be bringing you all this and more in a special selection of stories. You’ll meet blushing brides and gorgeous grooms, all with one thing in common: for better or worse, they are determined the bride should wear white on her wedding day...which means keeping passions in check!

Happy Reading!

The Editors

A Wedding Worth Waiting For
Jessica Steele

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

THAT Tuesday started just like any other. Karrie was showered dressed and ready for work. She had debated whether or not to tie her blonde, gold-streaked shoulder-length hair back in some kind of knot, but had decided against it, and had brushed it into its normal straight, but just curving under at the ends style. Just because Darren Jackson had yesterday warmly remarked ‘I’d love to walk barefoot through your delicately pale, ripening corn-coloured tresses’ there was no need to get paranoid.

‘Poetical—but I’m still not going out with you’ she’d replied with a laugh. Darren, who worked in the same office, had been trying to date her ever since she’d started work at Irving and Small three weeks ago.

Karrie checked her appearance in her full-length bedroom mirror and felt she looked neat and ready for work in her smart burnt orange two-piece. She cast a glance at her—what were they?—‘delicately pale ripening corn-coloured tresses’, and, with a hint of a smile on her sweetly curving mouth at Darren’s over the top description, she left her room and went downstairs.

Any hint of a smile, however, abruptly departed as she entered the breakfast room. The chill in the air was almost tangible—her parents weren’t speaking. To each other, that was. What else was new? Karrie had grown up in a household where warring glances and icy silences alternating with storming rows were the norm.

‘Good morning!’ she offered generally, brightly, striving hard not to take sides.

Bernard Dalton, her father, ignored her—he still hadn’t forgiven her for leaving his firm and for daring to go and take a job elsewhere. Her mother did not reply to her greeting, but straight away launched into a bitter tirade. ‘Your father was kind enough to telephone me at seven o’clock last night to say he was too busy to make the theatre, as promised!’

‘Oh, dear,’ Karrie murmured sympathetically. ‘Er—perhaps you’ll be able to go—um—another time.’

‘The play finishes this week. Though I suppose I should be grateful that he rang me personally. The last time he got Yvonne to ring.’

Yvonne Redding was Bernard Dalton’s hard-worked secretary. ‘Um...’ Karrie was still striving for something diplomatic with which to reply when her father, with never a moment to spare, finished his breakfast and, without a word, went from the room. Karrie had spotted his briefcase in the hall. It would take him but an instant to collect it on his way out.

‘Furniture. Just part of the furniture, that’s all we are,’ her mother complained in the silence that followed the reverberating sound of the front door being slammed shut after him.

‘Er—Jan was looking well.’ Karrie sought to change the subject. Her cousin Jan was newly out of the hospital after an operation to remove her appendix, and, because Jan’s flat was in an opposite direction from her own home, Karrie had driven straight from work last night to see her. Hence, she had not been around when her father had phoned. She and Jan were the best of friends, and it had been going on for ten when Karrie had eventually returned home. She had thought her parents were at the theatre, but her workaholic father had not been in from work yet and her mother—clearly not at her happiest—had gone to bed early.

Mrs Dalton it seemed, was too embittered that morning by this latest lack of consideration on the part of her husband to be very much interested in her niece’s progress. And Karrie eventually left her home to go to her office reflecting that never, ever was she going to marry a man of the workaholic variety.

The further she drove away from her home, however, the more her more natural sunny humour began to reassert itself. Chance would be a fine thing! Well, there was Travis Watson, of course—he was always asking her to marry him. But he knew that marry him she never would. It was true that she hadn’t reached twenty-two without a few possible candidates moving into her orbit—but she had always moved out of theirs. It was a fact too, though, that since she intended to be two hundred per cent sure—and with her parents’ example before her, why wouldn’t she?—that the man she said yes to was going to have to be extremely special in more ways than one.

She drew up in the car park that belonged to the giant firm of Irving and Small with a hint of a smile back on her lips, glad to be part of the purchase and supply team. With new contracts being secured all the time, it meant her section was often at full stretch, but she enjoyed working there far more than she had ever enjoyed working for her father.

She had previously worked for her father at Dalton Manufacturing for a pittance. And, though money had never been a problem, she had started to resent that he expected her to put in similar hours to himself, something that had caused a great deal of friction at home—her mother loudly complaining that she was losing her daughter to the firm too. Which had led Karrie to suggest to her father that she wouldn’t mind leaving work at six most evenings, only to be told by him to go and find another job elsewhere if she didn’t like it.

So she had, and some stubbornness she hadn’t known she possessed had refused to make her budge and retract her resignation when her father had exploded in fury at her nerve.

‘You’d give up your chance to ultimately have a seat on the board!’ he’d ranted.

Ultimately! She wasn’t falling for that carrot being dangled in front of her. He’d promised her her own department in two years if she joined him from college and learned the business. She’d been there four years and it hadn’t happened yet.

Leaving her car, she headed for Irving and Small’s main building. ‘Karrie!’ She turned—where had Darren Jackson sprung from?

‘Morning, Darren,’ she smiled; she didn’t want to go out with him, but she liked him.

‘I still can’t believe your flaxen hair is natural!’

Flaxen! Yesterday, according to him, it had been ‘delicately pale ripening corn’. Her hair colour was natural, and had never seen a chemical dye, but she had no intention of discussing that with him.

‘Looks like being a nice day,’ she commented pleasantly as they entered the building.

‘Every day since you joined the firm has been nice,’ he replied.

She still wasn’t going out with him. ‘Concentrate on your computer,’ she tossed at him, and as they entered the open-plan office they shared with a dozen or so others she parted from him and went to her own desk.

The work was interesting but not so complicated that it did not leave space for private thought, and in one such moment Karrie fell to thinking of her father, who loved his work more than his home. Countless were the meals that were cooked for him and which, because he didn’t come home, were thrown away. And, thinking back to last night, countless were the times he and her mother had arranged to go out somewhere, only for his secretary to ring and say he would be delayed. Countless were the times Karrie had seen the excited light go from her mother’s eyes.

Kate knew that her mother had at one time adored her father. She probably still did—or he wouldn’t have the power to hurt her. But, while it upset Karrie when she thought of her mother’s hurt and unhappiness, she knew better now than to try to interfere. She had once tried to talk to her father about his neglect of her mother, and, aside from earning his deep displeasure, had done her mother no favours either when her husband had treated her even more badly than before, the end result being that her mother had become ever more bitter.

‘Have you got...?’ Celia, a colleague from across the aisle, interrupted Karrie just as she was mentally writing in indelible ink that, if she knew nothing else, there was no way she was going to have the kind of marriage her parents endured.

Breaking away from what she was doing, she felt no end of pleasure that, having worked in purchase and supply for so short a time, she was immediately able to answer Celia’s in-depth query.

It was around mid-morning, when Karrie had just decided to visit the coffee machine—that Tuesday having been marked down as the same as any other, with nothing in any way noteworthy to change it—when something quite out of the ordinary did happen. She stood up, stepped into the aisle—and bumped into a tall, good-looking man who was making his way to a far end door that led to where the higher executives worked.

Something in the region of her heart actually lurched. She opened her mouth to apologise, but whether or not she did, she couldn’t remember, because as her soft and wide brown eyes met the piercing blue ones of the man in his mid-thirties, so her voice seemed to die on her!

He nodded Had she spoken? Or was that his way of acknowledging her presence? Feeling suddenly the desperate need to get herself together, as he took a side step Karrie turned and went smartly out from her office.

Lucy, a girl who sat immediately behind her, was already at the coffee machine. Which was perhaps just as well, because Karrie had forgotten completely to take any coins from her purse to feed the machine.

‘I’ve enough change!’ Lucy offered, to save her going back. And just then Heather, the young woman who worked behind Celia, came to join them.

‘I’m not stopping!’ she announced to the pair. ‘Farne Maitland’s just arrived to see Mr Lane, I don’t want to miss seeing him when he comes out if this is only a flying visit.’

‘Farne Maitland’s here?’ Lucy asked in hushed tones.

Heather nodded, hurriedly putting coins into the refreshment machine. ‘And Karrie very nearly knocked him over!’

‘You didn’t!’ Lucy exclaimed.

‘Who is he?’ Karrie asked, realising that Heather must have witnessed her bumping into him.

‘You don’t know?’ Lucy cried. But it was Heather who answered her question.

‘He’s on the board of the Adams Corporation, our parent company. He likes to keep his finger on every pulse. Though...’

‘Though he doesn’t visit Irving and Small anywhere near often enough,’ Lucy put in.

‘You’re obviously smitten,’ Karrie teased.

‘So are half the women who work here,’ Lucy agreed. ‘Such a waste—all that male, and no wife to go home to!’

‘You’re going to have to lower your sights, duckie,’ Heather laughed. ‘You know he’s never likely to look at any of us.’

‘A girl can dream!’ Lucy retorted, but didn’t have time to just then. ‘I’d better get back. Jenny isn’t in today.’

‘Somebody’s always away—no wonder we always seem to be short-handed. Thank heaven you’ve joined us, Karrie.’

Karrie smiled. It was nice to be wanted as part of the team. Though because they were busy that day she didn’t linger over her coffee break.

But back at her desk she found she couldn’t help wondering if the man with the piercing blue eyes, Farne Maitland, was still in with Mr Lane, or had he left the building? He was, indisputably, extremely good-looking, and had a certain kind of air about him. He was a bachelor, apparently, and half the women at Irving and Small were smitten with him. But seemingly he didn’t go in for dating any of them. He should be so lucky...

Karrie stopped her thoughts right there. Good heavens, what on earth was she thinking? Abruptly she channelled her thoughts away from the man and concentrated on the work in hand. But the present task she was engaged on was not that taxing to her brain, and she glanced up when a door up ahead opened. Two men came out, as if Mr Lane intended to escort his visitor through the banks of computers and out to his car.

But then Farne put a stop to that by extending his hand to Gordon Lane and making his adieus from there. Karrie, aware that the man from the Adams Corporation would walk by her desk at any moment, suddenly found her computer screen of the most compelling interest.

Indeed she was glued to it, staring at the screen as if rapt as she waited for Farne Maitland to go by. Her desk was about halfway down the long room—she’d be glad when he passed; what on earth was the matter with her?

He was close; she knew he was close. She lost track of what she was supposed to be doing, but tried to make out she was absorbed anyway. From the corner of her eye she saw the grey of his expensive, exquisitely tailored suit. Just concentrate, or pretend to for a few more seconds, then he’d be gone. But he drew level with her desk—and—halted.

Her insides turned to jelly. She stopped what she was doing—it was nonsense anyway—and looked up. Oh, my word, did he have it all! She stared into piercing blue eyes that seemed to be making a thorough scrutiny of her face. Vaguely it occurred to her that he had recognised that she was new, and that perhaps he had paused in passing to make her welcome.

He was still standing there at any rate when, his survey of her over, he looked into her velvety brown eyes. His voice, when she heard it, was the sort that could quite easily liquefy her bones—if she’d let it.

But he was amusing too, and she realised she was feeling at her most light-hearted when he asked solemnly, ‘And whose little girl are you?’

Solemnly she eyed him back. ‘Mr and Mrs Dalton’s,’ she replied prettily, wanting to laugh but managing to hold it in.

She saw his glance go from her merry eyes and down to the ringless fingers of her left hand. Then his eyes were steady on hers again, as, unhesitatingly, he enquired, ‘So tell me, Miss Dalton, are you having dinner with me tonight?’

Karrie had all but forgotten her surroundings, forgotten that she was in a large office with a dozen or more other people. But as Farne waited for her answer, a hush seemed to descend over the office—and she could only be astonished at his supreme confidence that in front of everyone he was asking her out!

She supposed few had turned him down, so she smiled as she replied, ‘Can’t I’m washing my hair!’

She could tell nothing from his expression as to how he had taken her refusal. Then she saw his glance go to her squeaky clean, washed-only-that-morning, shoulder-length gold-streaked luxuriant blonde hair, and suddenly he was laughing. She watched him, fascinated, and then the laugh that had started to bubble away inside her a few seconds earlier would no longer be suppressed. All at once her laughter mingled with his.

And that was all there was to it. A moment or two of shared laughter, then Farne Maitland was extending his right hand. She offered her right. They shook hands, and he went on his way—and she did not forget him.

Apart from anything else, how would she get the chance? No sooner had the double doors at the end of their office closed after him than three chairs wheeled over at speed to her desk.

‘He asked you out!’ Heather exclaimed.

‘And you turned him down!’ Lucy squealed—as if she just could not believe it.

‘We hadn’t been properly introduced,’ Karrie laughed.

‘What’s that got to do with anything?’ Celia wanted to know.

‘He—er—was only being pleasant because I’m new here.’ Karrie thought she’d better down play it a little.

‘He’s never asked any of us out!’ Lucy stated.

Darren Jackson walked up to the group. ‘None of you has hair the colour of cream and golden honey!’ he explained.

‘Shut up, Darren!’ Karrie’s three colleagues told him in unison.

The fact that she had turned down a date with Farne Maitland was still being talked about the next day, and Karrie did not like to confess that, in a way, she was sorry that she had said no. According to office gossip, his visits were few and far between. So Lord knew when she might see him again.

Not that he would ask her out a second time. Not after having been turned down in front of an office full of people. Not that her refusal had bothered him. He had laughed. She had liked his laugh. She had joined in.

Would she refuse a second time? She didn’t know. Though since in all probability he had only asked her out on impulse, she felt sure the thought that he might not ask her out a second time was something she should put entirely from her mind.

She wished she could so easily forget him. Thoughts of him, pictures of him—tall, darkish-haired, sophisticated—seemed to spring into her head at the oddest of times. Darren again asked her for a date on Thursday—and she thought of Farne Maitland. He had laughed when she turned him down; Darren didn’t.

She went to visit her cousin again that night. ‘Anything new happening in your life?’ Jan asked. Karrie thought of Farne Maitland—but couldn’t tell her.

‘I’m enjoying my job,’ she smiled.

‘You should have left Uncle Bernard’s firm years ago!’ Jan stated categorically. ‘In fact, you should never have started there—you know that old saying, a cobbler’s children are always the worst shod!’

From that Karrie gathered that her cousin must be meaning something along the lines that the boss’s children always had the worst deal—and were always the worst paid and treated.

‘It wasn’t so bad,’ she commented lightly, but saw that Jan didn’t look anywhere near convinced.

‘Now that you’ve made the break with Dalton Manufacturing, have you thought any more about leaving home?’ Jan asked.

Because her cousin was family, and had first-hand experience from childhood overnight stays of the strife that went on in the Dalton household, Karrie had been able to confide at one particularly bad time that she wouldn’t mind leaving home.

‘I can’t,’ she answered simply, forbearing to mention that her parents still weren’t speaking. ‘It seems—sort of disloyal to my mother, somehow.’

‘Aunt Margery’s too sensitive. You’d have thought she’d have toughened up by now,’ Jan mused, but kindly offered, ‘You know you’re always welcome to come and stay with me if things get too unbearable.’

Karrie thanked her, and later went home. But on Friday she felt sorely inclined to take her cousin up on her offer. The cold war was over. Her parents were speaking again. That was to say they were yelling at each other, rowing. Karrie did not stay downstairs to find out what the problem was this time—experience had shown hostilities could erupt over the merest trifle. She went upstairs to her room and stayed there.

Oh, how she wished it could be different—her parents could still be at it—neither of them prepared to yield an inch—a week from now. Where had it all gone wrong? Well, she knew the answer to that one: at the very beginning.

After one gigantic explosion, when her father had slammed out of the house, her mother, near to hysteria, had instructed a sixteen-year-old Karrie to ‘Never give yourself to any man until you’ve got that wedding ring on your finger!’ Her mother had then calmed down a little to go on and tearfully confide how all her rosy dreams had turned to ashes. She and Bernard Dalton had married after a very brief courtship, when Margery Dickson, as she was then, had discovered she was pregnant. They had been taking precautions, apparently, but she had conceived just the same.

A week after their wedding, however, she had suffered a miscarriage. Bernard Dalton had accused his wife of tricking him into marrying her, and the marriage that had never had time to get on any steady footing had gone steadily downhill from then on.

But Margery Dalton had adored her husband, and had hoped that, when she again found herself pregnant, matters between them would improve. But things had gone from bad to worse when, instead of presenting him with the son he had taken for granted he was entitled to, she had given birth to a daughter. She’d had an extremely difficult time having Karrie—and was unable to have another child.

And Karrie had known from a very early age that she would rather not get married at all than have the kind of relationship her parents had. And from the age of sixteen, when her mother had taken her into her confidence about her father believing he’d been tricked into marriage, she had known that she was never going to give herself to any man before their wedding—regardless of what sort of contraception might be around. No man was going to have the chance of accusing her of trapping him into marriage.

Not that she found any problem with either of her deep-dyed decisions. For one thing, while she was not lacking for men who wanted to take her out, she had never met one she would dream of getting engaged to, much less marrying. And as for sharing her body with any of them—while it was true she had enjoyed skirting on the perimeters of the kissing pitch, she had not felt the least inclination to go to bed with any of them.

Karrie was brought rudely out of her thoughts by the sound of doors slamming downstairs. It sounded as though it was going to be one of those weekends. She wondered, not for the first time, why her parents didn’t just simply divorce and go their separate ways. But again came to the same conclusion she had come to before: the love they had once had for each other must still be a strand more strong than the hate that had grown up between them and weaved its way in between that love.

The phone rang—her parents, deep in battle, probably wouldn’t hear it. Karrie took the call on the phone in her room and discovered some relief from the prospect of a bleak weekend in her friend Travis. Travis was a couple of years older than her, uncomplicated and nice, and was ringing to see if she wanted to meet up.

‘I’m free tomorrow, actually,’ she told him, adding quickly, ‘Providing you aren’t thinking of proposing again.’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ he lied, and they both laughed, because they both knew that he was lying.

‘Quail and Pheasant?’ she suggested as a meeting place, knowing Travis seized up in fright in her father’s company. Her home was the smart, detached residence of a successful businessman—that it was more often than not an unhappy home was something Karrie could do little about.

‘I’ll call for you,’ Travis answered bravely, and seemed inclined to stay on the line chatting.

When later Karrie ended the call, however, and went and got ready for bed, it was not Travis Watson who was in her head, but the man she had bumped into last Tuesday, the man who had asked her out and, unoffended at her ‘hair-washing’ put-off, had laughed and shaken her by the hand.

Farne Maitland could afford to laugh, of course. No doubt he had women queuing up to go out with him. Without question, he already had his Saturday evening planned.

Somehow, that notion did not sit well with her. For goodness’ sake, she scoffed. As if she cared in the slightest that sophisticated Farne Maitland had a date tomorrow with some equally sophisticated female. Perish the thought!

It took her a long while to get off to sleep that night But when previously she had known full well that the strife between her parents was the reason for her wake-fulness—nightmares in childhood—she could not in all truthfulness say now that the hostility between her parents was the cause for her sleeplessness that night. Somehow, having conjured up a picture of Farne Maitland out wining and dining some ravishing sophisticate tomorrow, she did not seem able to budge the scene from her head!

Karrie was able to scorn such imaginings when she got up the next morning. Good gracious, as if she gave a button whom he dated that night. So why did she think of him so often? She pushed him out of her head, and continued to do so until just after ten that morning, when the phone rang. Expecting that the call might be for her father, who was out, as was her mother—though not together—she went to answer it—and got the shock of her life. The caller, staggeringly, was none other than the man who had occupied more than enough time in her head!

‘Hello?’ she said.

‘Farne Maitland,’ he announced himself, and, while her heart seemed to jerk straight out of her body, Karrie began to doubt her hearing—had he said ‘Farne Maitland’? How on earth had he got her number? He was going on, confident apparently, from that one word ‘hello’ that he was speaking to the right person, ‘I expect you’ve got a date tonight?’

Her mouth went dry. Was he asking her out? She swallowed. ‘Been stood up?’ she queried lightly.

She just knew he was smiling, fancied she could hear laughter in his voice, when he countered, ‘Would I make you second best, Karrie?’

So, as well as finding out her phone number, he—having supposed she would instantly know who he was—had bothered to find out her first name as well! There was laughter in her voice too—she just could not suppress it. ‘So you want me to break my date for tonight?’ she asked.

‘I’ll call for you at seven,’ he stated. And Karrie was left staring at the telephone in her hand

For ageless seconds she stood staring at the telephone. She couldn’t believe it! She had a date with Farne Maitland that night! Would you believe it? Would you believe not only did he know her first name and her telephone number, but, since he intended to call for her at seven, he had obviously found out where she lived too!

Suddenly a smile, a joyous smile, beamed across her face—hadn’t she feared he would never again ask her out?

CHAPTER TWO

FEARED? Feared that Farne Maitland would never again ask her out? Karrie could not believe she had actually thought ‘feared’! What rot! What utter rot!

Still, all the same, she owned she was quite looking forward to going out with him that night. Oh! What was she going to do about Travis? Normally she would never have broken a date with one man to go out with another. Oh, heavens, was her thinking going haywire or what?

Half an hour later she felt on a more even keel and did what she had to do rather than what she should have done. What she should have done was to somehow make contact with Farne Maitland and tell him she was not going out with him—though how she didn’t know, when she had no idea of where he lived, much less his phone number. What she did do was go over to the phone and dial Travis Watson’s number.

‘Are you going to be very put out if I tell you I can’t make tonight?’ she asked.

‘Karrie!’ he wailed, and followed on swiftly. ‘You’re going out with somebody else?’

‘Oh, Travis, don’t make me feel guilty.’

‘You should!’

‘You’re my friend, my very good friend, but not my boyfriend.’

‘You’re saying a good friend wouldn’t mind being passed over for something better?’

‘Travis!’

‘Oh, all right. Come to tea tomorrow.’

‘Without fail,’ she promised.

‘I love you,’ he said.

‘I love you too—as a brother.’

Karrie came away from the phone wishing Travis would meet someone really special and that they would fall mutually in love. He was nice, really nice. He deserved someone special. And with that thought—‘someone special’—Farne Maitland was in her head again.

Her mother came home at lunchtime, but not her father. Karrie dared to ask where he was. ‘He didn’t say—but he’ll be cooking up some business deal somewhere. I wonder why he doesn’t take his bed to his office; he’s always there!’ Margery Dalton complained bitterly. ‘Are you out tonight?’

‘To dinner, I think.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘Travis?’

‘I’m having tea with Travis Watson tomorrow,’ Karrie said. ‘I’m going out with a man called Farne Maitland tonight.’

‘Farne Maitland?’ Her mother weighed the name up. It meant nothing to her. ‘Is he new or have I met him before?’

‘I met him on Tuesday, at work,’ Karrie replied. ‘Though he doesn’t work at Irving and Small,’ she tacked on hastily. ‘That is, he...’ Suddenly she felt all shy and flustered just talking about him. ‘He works for their parent company,’ she added, and quickly changed the subject to enquire, ‘Have you anything planned for tonight?’

‘I’ve a good murder story to read—though I wouldn’t mind planning one,’ she volunteered, and even though Karrie knew that her mother meant her father, she had to laugh.

Karrie was no longer smiling when, that evening, dressed in a short-sleeved above the knee black dress that was a perfect foil for her delicate colouring, she waited for Farne Maitland to arrive. By then self-doubt had begun to creep in. Normally she was quite confident about herself. But she didn’t normally go in for dating such men as Farne. Would he find her gauche, too unsophisticated?

Oh, she wished that she’d never said yes! Her sense of humour asserted itself when she realised she couldn’t actually remember saying yes. Or, for that matter, agreeing she would go out with him at all. Her confidence started to return—it would serve him right if she wasn’t in when he called.

From her bedroom window she saw a long black car purr smoothly into the drive and elegantly wind its way to the front of the house. Butterflies entered her tummy, her confidence flying as, taking up her small evening bag, she left her room and went down the stairs.

Once in the hall she stood composing herself as she waited for Farne Maitland to ring the bell—he’d think her more than eager if she had the door open before he’d got within yards of it.

The bell sounded. She swallowed and suddenly felt extraordinarily hot. She went forward and pulled back the stout front door, some kind of greeting hovering on her lips. But as she stared at the tall man, with that darkish hair and those piercing blue eyes, her voice died on her. He too seemed stuck for words, though she discounted that a moment later.

He surveyed her from where he stood, and then the most devastating smile winged its way from him to her and, his tone light, he said, ‘I refuse to believe there is anything false about you, Mr and Mrs Dalton’s daughter, but, tell me truly, did your hair become that fantastic colour completely unaided?’

Her insides went all marshmallowy, but from somewhere she found an equally light tone to reply, ‘I would never lie to you, Mr and Mrs Maitland’s son. It’s never seen a chemical dye. My father’s not in at the moment, but come in and meet my mother.’

Still feeling a little shaky, Karrie turned about and led the way into the graceful drawing room. Though Bernard Dalton was rarely, if ever, on the receiving end of it, her mother had charm. She conversed pleasantly with Farne who, with abundant charm of his own, chatted in return until, all courtesies dealt with, he commented, ‘I’ve a table booked for eight.’ And, her mother, acquainted with the fact that Karrie would not be ravenous for a sandwich when she got home, said goodbye.

That was when Karrie discovered that she had worried needlessly about being unsophisticated. For Farne Maitland seemed to enjoy her company as much as she enjoyed his, and from the start there was never a moment when he allowed her to feel gauche or awkward.

‘Have you lived here long?’ he enquired as he steered his car down the drive.

‘All my life—I was born in this house,’ she replied.

‘You find it convenient for getting in and out of London daily?’

‘Far from it,’ she smiled, starting to feel more and more relaxed. ‘But that’s where my job is.’

‘I’m glad,’ he responded.

‘Glad?’ Why was he glad it took her an hour each way to get to and from her place of work?

‘Glad you no longer work for your father.’

‘Is there anything you don’t know?’ Honestly! His research into her background hadn’t stopped at just finding out her first name, address and telephone number!

‘What’s the point of taking the responsibility of being on the corporation’s board if I can’t take advantage of the perks of the job?’ he grinned.

Her heart flipped over. My word, was he something else again! ‘I expect you’re always checking the files of Irving and Small’s personnel department?’ she suggested.

Farne took his glance briefly off the road and gave her a warm look. ‘You’re the one and only—and I wouldn’t lie to you,’ he said softly, and something wondrous which she couldn’t give a name to started happening inside her. His eyes were back on the road when he asked, ‘Are you going to forgive me that—in complete confidence, in case it worries you—I had the director of Personnel fax me your application form and CV yesterday?’

Wow! Karrie took a steadying breath. ‘Do I get to see your curriculum vitae?’

‘Ask anything you want to know,’ he offered, and she could not help but be impressed by his utter openness.

Her dinner with him went splendidly. Farne had a table reserved for them at a discreet, stylish—and, she suspected, very expensive—eating establishment in London. And, true to his word, he unhesitatingly answered every question she put to him. Although, since she didn’t want him to gain the impression that she was over-eager to know everything about him, she made her questions as impersonal as she could.

‘Do you live in London?’ she asked.

‘I’ve a house here,’ he answered.

‘You should have said. I could have—’ She broke off, the I could have met you here left unsaid.

But she had to laugh when he stated, ‘We didn’t have much of a telephone conversation, did we?’ And added, to her startlement, ‘I was afraid if I stayed to say more you might find a reason not to come out with me.

Her eyes widened, she stared at him. ‘I... You... You’ve never been turned down yet, have you?’ she challenged. Forget her accusation that he’d been stood up. She didn’t believe it for a moment.

‘Oh, ye of short memory,’ Farne reproached her. ‘Have you forgotten how, only last Tuesday, you preferred to wash your most remarkable hair rather than go out with me?’

‘Ah!’ she said, and smiled, and looked at him as he, unsmiling, looked back at her.

‘Devastating!’ he murmured.

‘I know,’ she replied, trying to pretend that her backbone hadn’t just turned to so much water. ‘But I do my best. So, you live in London, you work in London, where do you go for holidays?’

‘Holidays? What are those?’

‘It’s tough at the top,’ she offered.

‘Heartless woman. Where do you go?’ he wanted to know.

It was eleven o‘clock before she knew it, and they hadn’t had coffee yet! ‘Can you believe that?’ she gasped.

‘May I hope you’ve enjoyed the evening as much as I?’ he asked, as an attentive waiter appeared just then, bearing the coffee.

‘It’s been wonderful,’ Karrie answered truthfully, and didn’t want it to end.

‘Would you like to go on to a club?’ Farne suggested.

But Karrie, having been quite truthful about the evening being wonderful, suddenly started to feel a little concerned that it should be so. First dates were often stilted, difficult experiences. First dates. Would he ask her out again?—oh, she did hope so. She closed her mind to such thinking. ‘I don’t think so,’ she refused nicely. It had gone eleven now. Farne had to drive her home yet, and then get back to his place. And while, okay, he might be able to cope effortlessly with arriving home with the morning milk delivery, if this evening got any more wonderful she was going to have one dickens of a job keeping her feet down on the ground.

Disappointingly, he did not press her, but accepted her decision without question. Without, she noted, looking in any way disappointed himself.

They drove to her parents’ house in comparative silence—so different from the way they had been tonight—and Karrie started to wonder if maybe she was the only one who thought the whole evening so marvellous.

Farne had seemed to be enjoying himself, though, and, as he’d indicated, he hadn’t hung back from answering anything she wanted to know. She had learned that he was an only child, like herself, and that his parents lived in Dorset. Also that from the age of seven he had been sent to boarding school.

That piece of information had shaken her a little at first. It had somehow seemed quite dreadful to her that anyone should think of packing any child as young as seven off to school and away from home. Although, on thinking about it, thinking about her own childhood, fraught by angry rows and arguments, those times she had put her fingers in her ears hoping not to hear them, she just had to pause to consider which of them had had the happier childhood. Still, all the same—boarding school at the tender age of seven!

‘You’re very quiet, Karrie?’ Farne suddenly broke into her thoughts.

‘You’d hate it if I sang.’

She sensed he was smiling, but because she was suddenly unsure about more or less absolutely everything—very unlike her; perhaps she was going down with something—Karrie said nothing more until Farne had driven up to her door. On detecting movement, the security lights of her home switched on, and as Farne left the driver’s seat so Karrie got out of the car too.

‘Thank you for a very pleasant evening,’ she said sincerely, and, still feeling a mass of uncertainty, she offered her right hand.

Farne glanced down at it but, instead of shaking hands with her, he took hold of her right hand in his left one, and caught hold of her other hand too. ‘It seems,’ he said, holding both her hands in his, his eyes on her face, ‘that I shall have to let you go.’

Karrie opened her mouth to make some kind of comment. But there were no words there, and she closed it again. Farne still had hold of her hands—she was going nowhere.

Then suddenly her heart started to drum, for his head was coming nearer. She stood there, unmoving, as gently Farne touched his lips to hers. It was an exquisite, tender kiss.

And over all too soon. As was the evening over. For a moment she felt his hold on her hands tighten, then he was stepping back and letting go of her. Having already said her thanks for the evening, there was nothing more for her to say. She turned from him, at a total loss to know if she or Farne had been the one to put her door key in the lock.

Without a word, she went in. She closed the door and when, an age later, or so it seemed, she heard his car start up and move off, she moved too. Silently, softly, her head in the clouds, the feel of Farne’s hands still on hers, the feel of his marvellous mouth still on hers, she dreamily started to climb the stairs.

She got ready for bed, touching her fingertips to her mouth where his tender kiss had touched. She got into bed, and closed her eyes. Again, dreamily, she thought of him. Farne Maitland. She had been out for the evening many, many times, but that evening, she had to own, had ranked as extremely special.

Her dreamy mood seemed to extend over into Sunday. Farne Maitland was still in her head as she showered, threw on a pair of trousers and a tee shirt, and went down the stairs. She headed for the kitchen. Her mother had help with the domestic work three mornings a week, but not at the weekend.

‘Good morning!’ she greeted her mother brightly. ‘Need any help?’

Her mother was busy cooking bacon and eggs for her husband, and, as always, she refused any offer of assistance. But her eyes left what she was doing and fastened on her daughter. ‘How did your evening go?’ she asked, and was unsmiling.

Somehow, and Karrie realised it was ridiculous, her evening suddenly seemed very private, and not to be shared with anyone. She gave herself a mental shake. For crying out loud—this was her mother!

‘Fine!’ she understated with a smile, and went on to babble on about where she and Farne had dined and what they had eaten. Her voice tailed off, however, when she became aware that her mother was looking just a mite concerned. ‘What...?’

Margery Dalton began speaking at the same time. ‘He, Farne Maitland, seems—different from your usual boyfriends,’ she said carefully.

He was hardly a ‘boyfriend’, but Karrie had to agree he was certainly different from anyone else she had ever been out with. ‘He is,’ she answered quietly.

‘Oh, Karrie, I fear so for you!’ her mother suddenly cried, every bit as though she had lain awake all night worrying about her.

Karrie was quite taken aback, but attempted to rouse her mother’s sense of humour anyway. ‘That’s your job,’ she teased.

But Margery Dalton, the bacon she was cooking forgotten, seemed to have worked herself up into something of a state. ‘He seems more—worldly than any of the...’

‘Oh, Mum.’ Karrie tried to quieten her mother’s anxiety. ‘If you’re using Travis Watson as a yardstick—everybody’s more worldly than Travis.’

‘But Travis is safe—and you’re as unworldly as he is. With this new man of yours, he won’t be content to...’

‘Mum, I probably will never see him again.’ Karrie, thought it politic to end the conversation.

‘You will.’ How could her parent sound so positive? Karrie wished she could be that confident herself! ‘Promise me, Karrie, that you won’t do anything silly,’ her mother urged in a sudden rush.

‘Silly?’ Karrie had no idea what her mother meant for a moment. But it did not take long for conversations she’d had with Margery Dalton over the past six years to come back all at once and make her meaning exceedingly clear. Silly as in getting herself pregnant!

‘Oh, you’ve no need to worry about...’ Her voice faded—she could see that her mother was looking extremely upset. Karrie smiled. ‘I promise,’ she said, without further hesitation—her mother had enough to contend with without being caused further grief if Karrie didn’t give her her word. At last she got a smile out of her mother.

They met up as a family when breakfast was ready—her father was in a grumpy mood as he complained, ‘This bacon’s frizzled!’

Margery Dalton charged straight into battle. ‘Don’t eat it, then!’ she bit back.

Bernard Dalton gave his wife a venomous look and, not taking her orders, crunched his way through his breakfast and left the two women in his household to get on with their own thoughts.

Farne had kissed her, Karrie mused dreamily, kissed her and squeezed her hands. Prior to that he’d stood with her, holding both her hands. ‘It seems that I shall have to let you go’ he’d said. Did that mean anything—or nothing?

Nothing, of course, you chump! What did you think it meant? Well, precisely nothing, she supposed, but... Would he ring her next week, perhaps the week after? He’d left it four days before ringing her yesterday. Today was Sunday. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, she counted. Would he ring her on Wednesday? Oh, she did hope so. But perhaps he wouldn’t ring at all.

The fact that she must be looking as bleak as she felt at that thought was borne out when her father, looking her way, asked sharply, ‘What’s the matter with you? Are you sickening for something?’

Karrie glanced at him, becoming at once aware that his questions had caused her mother to look at her too. With both parents studying her, Karrie knew a desperate need to be by herself.

‘I’ve never felt better,’ she answered brightly—and as soon as she could she went up to the solitude of her room.

Once there, she faced that her father had not been so very wide of the mark when he had questioned what was the matter with her, and asked, ‘Are you sickening for something?’ She was. Something wonderous was going on inside her which she hadn’t been able to give a name to. She, was falling in love. Oh, my word!

With Farne Maitland in her head the whole of the time, it had gone eleven before Karrie realised it. Aware that she couldn’t stay in her room for much longer if she didn’t want her mother coming up to check if her father had been right and there was something the matter with her, Karrie knew she would have to go downstairs. The problem with that, though, was that her father was far too observant, and, should he glance her way and find her, in some unguarded moment, looking anxious or dreamy, then he wouldn’t keep it to himself. Her mother would then be on to her. But, for Karrie, this fragile emotion that was gaining strength was, in its infancy, intensely private, and therefore not to be spoken of or shared.

It was a sunny summer’s day, so she decided to risk the twice-a-week gardener’s wrath and do some weeding. Changing her slip-on shoes for a pair of plimsolls that had seen better days, she pulled back her hair and secured it in rubber bands in two bunches, and reckoned she looked workmanlike enough for her task outside.

‘It’s a shame to stay indoors on such a lovely day!’ she announced, popping her head round the drawing room door, where her silent parents were absorbed by the Sunday papers. ‘I thought I’d tidy up the rose bed.’

The rose bed was tidy already, she saw. But she decided to tidy it anyway, and was soon on her knees totally caught up—in thoughts of Farne Maitland.

Her concentration was briefly disturbed when, around fifteen minutes later, her father steered his car round from the rear of the house where the garages were. He wound down a window as he passed and commented, ‘Old Stan will have your hide if you mess that up,’—Old Stan being the gardener—and went on down the drive.

Karrie smiled and waved to her father, and tried to concentrate once more on her weeding. Never had an evening sped by so quickly. They’d talked and talked, she and Farne, and she hadn’t felt gauche or unsophisticated in his sophisticated company once. She supposed it said a lot for the man himself that he’d made her feel so comfortable with him. Oh, she’d just die if he never phoned again. Even while she knew there would be nothing in the world she could do about it if he didn’t ring her, she fell to wondering—did he like her? Just a tiny bit? He must do, mustn’t he? Otherwise he wouldn’t have phoned her in the first place. Oh, she did so hope that nothing she’d said or done had put him off. Had she...?

Her thoughts at that moment were suspended after the sound of a car purring into the drive broke into them. Thinking that it was her father, returning from wherever he’d been, Karrie looked up—and got the shock of her life!

It was not her father’s car which made its elegant way up to the top of the drive and which halted outside her front door. But the long, sleek black car in which she had been a passenger only last evening!

At first Karrie thought that she’d had Farne so much on her mind that she was imagining that he was there. But no, as the man in his mid-thirties extracted his long length from the vehicle and, having spotted her, began to make his way over to her, she could see for herself that it was none other than Farne Maitland!

Hurriedly she scrambled to her feet. She wanted to call out a greeting, but her voice seemed to have died on her. Had she left something in his car? Her brain went dead too—she couldn’t remember. Had he called on her to return whatever it was?

Suddenly she became aware of his faultlessly cut trousers, shirt and tie—and her own grubby appearance. Then Farne was there, standing looking at her, his glance going from the bunches she had made of her hair, over the fine bone structure of her face, and down to her dirt-fingered tee shirt, baggy kneed trousers, and ending at her worn and soiled plimsolls. Karrie, left blushing furiously, was absolutely certain that she couldn’t have looked more scruffy if she’d tried!

‘Caught me looking my best again!’ she attempted, wanting the ground to open up and swallow her.

‘I didn’t think women did that any more,’ he remarked teasingly about her blush, his blue eyes now holding her brown ones.

Trust him to notice! He smiled, and her knees felt as saggy as her trousers at his smile. ‘I only do it when there’s an “R” in the month,’ she managed to trot out lightly—regardless that it was July.

His glance went down to her upward-curving mouth. ‘I’m on my way to lunch at The Feathers,’ he informed her, mentioning a smart hotel nearby. ‘I was passing when I thought I’d stop and ask if you’d join me?’

Like a shot! Her heart went all fluttery. She wasn’t going to have to wait to see him! She wasn’t going to have to wait and hope he would phone! This was happening now! ‘My mother will hate me!’ Her prevarication was no prevarication at all. No way was she going to deny herself this opportunity of a few hours of his company. ‘I’ll let you be the one to tell her she’s peeled too many potatoes while I go and get cleaned up.’

Taking Farne indoors, she left him talking with her mother while she went sedately up the stairs—and then positively flew around getting ready.

Fifteen minutes later, wearing a dress of a delicate nasturtium colour, Karrie—just as sedately—returned down the stairs and went into the drawing room. Farne got to his feet. ‘Hope I didn’t keep you too long,’ she smiled, having completed the quickest scrub-up and change on record. He made no answer—but his glance was appreciative.

‘I’ll see you when I see you,’ Margery Dalton said, knowing full well that her daughter had an appointment elsewhere for tea.

Karrie had been to The Feathers Hotel quite a few times before. But this time, lunching with Farne, everything seemed so much better, brighter—magical.

Again she enjoyed his company. He was amusing, charming, attentive—and gave every appearance of seeming to enjoy being with her as much as she enjoyed being with him. Oh, she did so hope it was true, that it wasn’t all part and parcel of his natural charm—and that he wasn’t like this with everybody. In short—she wanted to be special to him.

After lunch she excused herself and went to the ladies’ room to freshen up and to give herself something of a talking to. For goodness’ sake—special to him! They hadn’t known each other a week! She had been out with him twice. Twice—that was all—and she wanted him to regard her as someone special in his life!

Grief—he was a man about town. He could have his pick of just about anybody. What was so special about her? Karrie just then had a blindingly clear—and unwanted—mental picture of standing in front of Farne, her hair pulled back in two rubber bands, dirt everywhere—and also a picture of the polished and elegant women she was sure he more normally went out with. Special—get real!

Pinning a smile on her face, she left the ladies’ room to join him. They went out to the hotel’s car park and, striving hard not to think that the drive to her home would take only about twenty minutes—less than that if Farne happened to put his foot down on the accelerator—Karrie got into the passenger seat.

More joy was hers, however, when Farne forgot to turn left at a road junction. ‘You’ve missed the turn,’ she felt honour-bound to point out.

‘I thought we might go and take a look at the river,’ he replied. Her heart rejoiced. ‘That is, unless you’re desperate to get back?’

She was desperate to stay exactly where she was, with him. ‘It’s very pleasant down by the river,’ she answered, desperate not to be pushy, but having a hard time not grabbing at every opportunity to be in his company.

In no time they were in open countryside. When Farne pulled over by a footbridge and asked, ‘Fancy a stroll around?’ she thought it a splendid idea.

They walked over the bridge, and, keeping by the water’s edge, across a couple of fields. And it was in one particularly grassy area that Farne commented, ‘If we’d had a car rug we could sit down.’

‘You city boys are too sissy for words,’ Karrie, scorned, and was seated on the grass before it dawned on her that was exactly what Farne had intended she should do. ‘You’re too smart for me!’ she accused, but he only grinned and joined her. For the next hour they seemed to amicably fall into a discussion on any subject that happened to crop up. Music, books, ski-ing. She didn’t know how ski-ing had got in there, but it had; everything was just so relaxed and easy between them, somehow.

They both seemed to have gone from sitting to resting, lying on their elbows as they watched a couple of swans majestically glide by, when suddenly Karrie became aware that Farne was not watching the birds. He had turned and was looking at her.

‘You’re very lovely,’ he murmured quietly—and all at once her heart was rushing like an express train. There was something in his look, something in the very air that seemed to tell her that Farne wanted to kiss her. Well, that was all right by her, she wanted to kiss him too.

His head came nearer. He looked deep into her eyes, giving her every opportunity to back away. She smiled a gentle smile—and he needed no further encouragement.

Gently he took her into his arms, moving her unresisting form until they were lying together on the grass. Unhurriedly, his lips met hers in a lingering tender kiss, and it was the most wonderful experience she had ever known. Never had she known such tenderness, and, as her heart started to pound, Karrie knew that Farne Maitland was the love of her life. She was no longer falling in love with him. She did love him, was in love with him, and nothing was ever going to change that.

When their kiss ended Karrie was left struggling to make sense of what had happened to her. She moved a little way away from him, not how she wanted to move at all, but some instinct was taking over from the sudden confusion she found herself in. All she was clear about was that this would be the last she would see of Farne if he gained so much as a glimpse of her feelings for him.

She sat up, hugging her arms around her knees, as she tried with all she had to recover from his wonderful kiss—and the certain knowledge of what was in her heart.

‘What’s wrong, Karrie?’ Oh, heavens—gauche, did she say? He was so quick, able to spot a mile off that something was bothering her. Yet she couldn’t find an answer to give him. ‘I’ve offended you?’ he asked, his tone quiet, concerned.

She shook her head. I...” she said, but couldn’t bear that he should think she found his kiss offensive. ‘To be honest,’ she began, ‘that ranks as one of the nicest kisses I’ve known.’

She was aware that Farne was sitting up too. Then she felt his hand come to her face, and gently he turned her so he could see into her eyes. The concern in his voice was reflected in his eyes, though there was a twinkle there too as he asked politely, ‘Perhaps you’d care for another?’

Laughter bubbled up inside her. ‘Thank you very much all the same,’ she answered prettily, ‘but I shall be having my tea soon.’ She saw his mouth start to tweak up at the corners, and stared for a moment or two in total fascination. Then suddenly that word ‘tea’ started to get through to her, and, ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed.

‘Oh?’ Farne queried.

‘I’ve got to go home,’ Karrie said quickly. ‘Travis is expecting...’

‘Who the hell’s Travis?’

Karrie blinked. What had happened to his concern, that twinkling in Farne’s eyes? All there was now was out-and-out aggression! But she loved him too much to be able to contemplate quarrelling with him.

‘Our first row!’ she mocked, feeling wretched and anxious, but determined to laugh him out of whatever was bugging him.

He did look a shade amused, she was glad to see, but, albeit with his aggressiveness under control, he still wanted to know, ‘So who’s Travis?’

Karrie stared at him. Farne knew she was an only child, and had no brother, so he must realise that Travis was either a cousin or man-friend. Surely he wasn’t angry that she had a male friend! Her mouth went dry at the thought that Farne might be just the tiniest bit—jealous. Oh, for goodness’ sake—as if! Still, all the same she wanted only ever to be as open and honest with Farne as he was with her.

‘My date—last night. The one I broke to go out with you was with Travis.’

‘You’re seeing him this evening?’

Dearly did she want to explain that Travis was just a friend and nothing more than that. But this newly awakened love she felt for Farne made her sensitive to everything. To explain anything of the sort might make Farne think she saw her friendship with him as more important than just two dates should signify.

‘I—promised,’ she said.

‘Did you tell him why you were breaking your date?’ he questioned, his expression unsmiling.

Karrie wanted him happy again. She remembered Travis saying something when she’d phoned him yesterday about being passed over for something better, and smilingly asked Farne, ‘You think I should have told him I’d had a better offer?’

Farne’s glance went to her upward-curving mouth. ‘You’ve charm enough for a man to forgive you anything,’ he commented. And Karrie thought he was going to kiss her again.

She wanted him to kiss her again. But this newly found love was making a nonsense of her. Abruptly, she stood up. Farne followed suit, making no attempt to touch her, or to dissuade her from keeping her promise to Travis. She wished she hadn’t got to her feet, because she knew now that this wonderful interlude with Farne was over. And it was.

Back at her home, he got out of the car and stood on the drive with her for a minute or so. Karrie wanted to invite him in, to prolong this wonderful time in his company. But she’d noted that his car keys were still in the ignition. Quite obviously he wanted to be away.

‘Thank you for rescuing me from the weeding,’ she smiled, and without thinking went to shake hands with him. She saw his right eyebrow go aloft, and quickly put her hand behind her back—and could have groaned aloud. How was that for sophisticated?

But at least her action caused Farne’s expression to soften. ‘Charm, did I say?’ he smiled, and, leaving her to guess whether he meant she had or had not charm, he placed his hands on her upper arms and bent down and kissed her lightly on her left cheek. ‘Thanks for dropping everything to come out with me’ he said, and went to his car. Without another glance or a wave, he drove off down the drive.

Karrie felt bereft. She was unsure whether Farne truly thought she had charm. But what she was sure about was that she’d been totally crass to think for so much as a moment that Farne felt even the smallest iota of jealousy about Travis.

For such an idea to have any substance it would have to mean that Farne Maitland cared sufficiently to be jealous in the first place. And he’d just shown how much he cared, hadn’t he? He’d gone away without so much as a backward glance.

‘Thanks for dropping everything to come out with me’ he’d said. Karrie supposed that there were few women of his acquaintance who would not do likewise. Did he know that? She tried to get cross. Tried to make believe that in the unlikely event that he was passing next Sunday, and stopped by to ask if she’d like to join him, she would tell him that she couldn’t possibly. Fate gave a cruel chuckie—on two counts.

Firstly, having fallen in love with Farne—and Karrie freely owned that this ranked as the most idiotic thing she had done to date—she could not see her denying herself any chance of spending some time with him, if chances there were.

Secondly, there would be no chance. She had been out with him twice—today only because he was passing. Somehow, bearing in mind the way he had departed just now, she had a very strong feeling that there would not be a third time.

CHAPTER THREE

KARRIE dressed with care to go to work on Monday. Much good did it do her. She had not truly expected Farne to walk past her desk on one of his rare visits—so why should she feel such a dreadful ache of disappointment when five o’clock came and she had not so much as seen a glimpse of him?

She drove home, giving herself much the same pep talk that she had given herself yesterday after Farne had gone. She was not going to see him again, and that was the end of it. He might, possibly might, walk by her desk in three months or so’s time—did that mean that her nerves were going to act up, as they had today, every time so much as a shadow, a footstep, was seen or heard near her desk?

Where was her pride? She was in love—she had none. She had tried, really tried, to convince herself that she could not be in love—why, she barely knew him! But it made no difference.

‘Had a good day?’ her mother asked when she arrived home.

‘The work gets more and more interesting,’ Karrie answered.

‘Going out tonight?’

Had her mother expected that Farne Maitland would telephone her at her office? Get him off your mind, do. ‘What, and miss whatever it is that smells so wonderful coming out of the kitchen?’

The phone rang; Karrie jumped. Her mother, nearest to it, went to answer it, and Karrie’s palms grew moist as she waited to hear who was calling. It was her father’s secretary.

‘Looks as though we’ll be having large helpings—your father is “unavoidably detained”. Now doesn’t that make a change!’

The telephone rang a couple of times that night, and each time Karrie suffered the same reaction. She took herself off to bed, knowing that she’d be a nervous wreck if she went on at this rate. Oh, why couldn’t she have fallen in love with someone like Travis?

Karrie went to work the next day determined that that day was going to be different. But it wasn’t. She drove home that evening feeling as wretched and fidgety, with such an aching restlessness inside her that she found it the hardest work to show her mother a smiling face.

She rang her cousin Jan that night for a chat, and wished that she could confide in her, but she couldn’t confide in her mother either. The love, the ache, was much too private. Karrie had seen nothing of Farne that day—nor did he phone that night. Not that she had expected that he would ring her.

She awoke on Wednesday, striving to stir her lost pride into action. For goodness’ sake—never before had she waited for any man’s phone call! Bubbles to him; if Darren Jackson asked her to go out with him again today, she’d jolly well go.

‘Fancy coming for a Chinese after work?’ Darren asked as soon as he saw her.

‘Sorry, Darren, I’ve got something on tonight,’ Karrie replied—well, perhaps if he asked her again tomorrow, she excused the pathetic mess Farne Maitland had made of her. The truth was she just didn’t want to go out with anyone but Farne.

She threw herself into her work, and in part succeeded, sometimes for seconds at a time, in wiping Farne from her thoughts. Then, at around half past ten—time never used to drag like this—a shadow fell across her desk. She looked up—and was hard put to it not to leap out of her seat with joy.

‘How’s my best girl?’ Farne enquired with charm that sank her.

Her heart at once went into overdrive. ‘You’re only saying that ’cos it’s true,’ she replied, every bit as if she hadn’t ate, dreamt and slept Farne Maitland since last Sunday.

He grinned and went on his way—and Karrie casually left her desk and headed for the ladies’ room. Her hands were shaking so much she wasn’t going to accomplish very much work anyway.

She washed her hands and dried them, and checked her appearance in the mirror, never more glad that, clad in a crisp linen two-piece, outwardly at least, she looked perfectly composed.

Karrie had been in the ladies’ room getting herself together for about five minutes when the panicky notion dawned on her that Farne’s visit to Mr Lane might only be a fleeting one!

Suddenly it seemed of vital importance that she saw him again. She needn’t talk to him—what was there to say? She just wanted to see him one more time.

She went quickly, only just managing not to run. But she was right to hurry she saw as soon as she entered the over-large area where she worked. Because Farne, having already completed his business, had left Mr Lane’s office and was even then walking in the aisle between the rows of desks.

Karrie, continued walking towards him, though not so hurriedly now. Knowing they would pass, she had a pleasant ‘Bye’ ready, then found that it was not needed. For he halted in front of her and she had no thought to move out of his way. She stopped too. Her feet were taking her nowhere for the moment.

As he looked down, so she looked up, but had time only to marvel that that oh, so superb mouth had actually kissed hers, had given her that most wonderful tender kiss on Sunday, before Farne, a smile somewhere deep in his eyes, casually enquired, ‘Coming out for a coffee?’

Yes, yes, yes. ‘I’m working,’ she answered. Sack me, fire me. I don’t care. I just want to go with him.

‘Then it will have to be coffee tonight—after dinner,’ he stated.

He wanted to take her out! She felt sure her feet had sprouted wings—she felt as if she was floating on air. ‘You drive a hard bargain,’ she accepted, but was suddenly aware that she couldn’t hear the clatter of nearby computer keyboards. They, she realised, had an audience.

Farne seemed suddenly aware too, for he made no attempt to delay her further when she side-stepped him and continued on to her desk. Before she had taken her seat, however, she was already starting to wonder—did she really have a date with Farne that night, or had she misconstrued his remark?

But apparently several of her work colleagues were of the opinion that she and Farne were having dinner together that night, because no sooner had the door at the far end closed than chairs were being scooted up to her desk.

‘You’re dating Farne Maitland!’ Lucy exclaimed in awe.

Karrie had kept to herself the fact that she had seen Farne last Saturday and Sunday. ‘Am I?’ she asked—still not very sure about tonight.

‘That was a definite date if ever I heard one!’ Heather opined.

Fortunately, at that point Mr Lane wandered into their office, and, as quickly as a bomb-burst, four chairs—Jenny was back at work—scooted away.

Karrie drove home at the end of her work day, striving to caution herself that Farne could have just been teasing.

She would get ready—just in case he called for her—but she wouldn’t be too upset if the doorbell stayed silent. Well, not desperately upset.

‘It’s just you and me tonight,’ her mother said when she got in. ‘Your workaholic father’s too busy to come home!’

Her mother, Karrie felt, was starting to sound more and more bitter by the day. ‘Actually, Mum, I’m not wanting a meal either tonight. I...’

‘You’re starting to get just like him!’ Margery Dalton complained. ‘Meals cooked and not wanted.’

‘I’m sorry. I...’

‘It never occurred to you to pick up a phone, I suppose? ’

Karrie felt dreadful. ‘I should have done. I’m sorry,’ she apologised again. With her mother in sour mood, now did not seem the right time to explain that she hadn’t phoned because she wasn’t terribly certain that she would be eating out. It was only now, with her possible date with Farne looming closer, that she realised that she wasn’t the least bit hungry, and that, in or out, she didn’t think she could eat a morsel.

She went up to her room to shower and get ready for what might be a night in, and found that on top of her anxiety she was feeling all upset at having been taken to task by her mother, who had accused her of starting to get just like her father.

She didn’t want to be like her thoughtless father. She loved him, of course she did, but sometimes she did not like him very much. Karrie didn’t like the way he treated her mother, nor the fact that, because experience had shown that she only made matters worse, she could not do anything to put things right between her parents.

Karrie was out of the shower and blow drying her hair when it came to her that she didn’t want to be like her mother either. Her mother was so embittered. Yet Karrie was positive she hadn’t started out that way. Her marriage to Bernard Dalton had done that to her. And, while Karrie felt so sad about that, she felt she could not bear it if one day she woke up and found that she had grown into the same kind of person her mother had become.

But Karrie shrugged her sadness and fear away. Hang it all, there was no earthly reason why she should be embittered. She gave a hurried glance at her watch and, since she wanted to be ready by seven—just in case—realised she’d better get a move on. Besides, what had she got to be bitter about? With any luck, the man she was in love with would be calling for her soon.

Karrie was ready with five minutes to spare. She used those five minutes to watch for Farne’s car turning into the drive. She felt so churned up inside she could barely stand still because of the high tension of her emotions.

He won’t come, he won’t, she told herself, striving for calm—and then she saw his car in the drive, and almost burst into tears from the strain of it. But she didn’t, and flew down the stairs on winged feet.

Her mother was on the telephone, but broke off. To Karrie’s relief she saw they were friends again when her mother smiled. ‘Farne’s here—I’m just off,’ Karrie told her.

‘Have a good time!’ Margery Dalton bade her.

The doorbell sounded. Karrie managed to wait five seconds before she went to the door. ‘My mother’s on the phone,’ she smiled, by way of explaining why she wasn’t inviting him in, her heart fit to burst with her joy at seeing him again.

‘Then we’ll go, shall we?’

It did not require an answer, and Karrie thrilled to his touch as he placed a hand under her elbow and they went over to his car.

‘Busy?’ she enquired as they drove along, feeling suddenly tongue-tied.

He took his attention off his driving for a brief moment so he could look at her. ‘Doing my stint,’ he agreed pleasantly. ‘How about you?’

‘I manage to keep occupied,’ she murmured of her extremely active section. But she didn’t want to talk about her; she wanted to know more about Farne. ‘I don’t suppose you’re at board meetings every day?’ she enquired.

‘You suppose correctly,’ he answered. ‘Though, prior to my attending a meeting in Milan on Friday, there’s a board meeting tomorrow.’

He was going to Italy! Karrie pushed panic down. She’d never used to be like this. Until she had fallen in love she’d have said she didn’t have a panicky bone in her body. Yet here she was fretting that because he was off to Italy—giving no mention of when he was coming back—it could be an age before she saw him again! Not, of course, that she had any guarantee that he would want to see her again after tonight.

Somehow or other she managed to keep up a light conversation with him until they reached the restaurant where they were to dine.

It was another splendid establishment, the menu looking most appetising. Although by then Karrie was so in love with Farne she would have been equally happy to eat eggs on toast in the humblest of eating-places. She had thought she couldn’t eat a thing—but suddenly her appetite was back.

‘So...’ Farne began, in between the lobster bisque and the mouth-watering main course, ‘tell me about Travis.’

‘Travis! She stared at him in astonishment. Travis was a dear, a love, but there was no place for him in her thoughts tonight. ‘You want to know about Travis?’

‘You had a date with him on Sunday,’ Farne reminded her.

She was reminded of her idiocy in thinking for so much as the most fleeting of moments that he might be just the scrappiest bit jealous. He looked it! Smiling, easy, conversational. ‘I went to his place for tea.’ She saw no reason not to tell him.

‘He lives alone?’ Farne asked sharply. My word, what had happened to his being smiling, easy, conversational?

‘He’s quite good at it,’ she flipped his way. ‘Anyhow, I don’t ask you about your women-friends!’ she flared with hostility—and as Farne stared at her a gentle look all at once came to his blue eyes.

‘Oh, Karrie,’ he crooned softly. ‘Our second row!’

She laughed; she couldn’t help it. But she wished she could fathom this love business. No way did she want to quarrel with Farne yet, but a second or two ago she had been ready for pitched battle!

‘Where were we?’ she asked, calling a truce.

‘You were not asking me about my women-friends.’ He had instant recall—and frightened her half to death when, his look keen, direct, he queried, ‘You care?’

Too close! Much too close! ‘Of course, desperately,’ she replied, and, to show him how seriously he could take that, she grinned. Farne’s eyes stayed on her, but she was never more glad when, to prove he hadn’t taken her seriously anyhow, his mouth started to pick up at the corners. Then the waiter was there to clear away their used dishes and to enquire what they would like for pudding.

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