Lifelong
Affair
Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘I KNOW you’ve been having an affair with my husband! I’ve known about it for weeks now. And if you want him you can have him. I don’t even like him any more!’

Morgan watched in horror as the bitterly angry woman let loose that tirade, her mouth twisting in derisive humour as the words became ones of bravado, laughing openly as the woman took off her wedding ring and threw it at her.

‘Okay, cut—that’s a take. Morgan, you’re becoming so convincing as the superbitch that I’m beginning to wonder about you,’ Jerry, the director, drawled dryly.

Morgan’s laughter had faded at the word ‘cut’. She had played this scene half a dozen times today already, and each time she became more disgusted with the way her character in this weekly soap-opera was developing.

Originally she had been signed for a three-month contract only, but the character of Mary-Beth Barker had become so popular with the public that she had signed a contract for another season. The character of Mary-Beth was so against her own nature that she wasn’t sure she wanted to negotiate another one. She had certainly had plenty of other offers the last six months!

‘Don’t wonder, Jerry,’ she advised wearily. ‘It will be for nothing.’ She came off the set, her hair long and gleaming, the colour of copper, a dark shadow over her sparkling green eyes, her lashes long and silky, her nose small and pert, her mouth wide and inviting, coloured with a brighter lip-gloss than she usually wore, the blusher on her creamy cheeks darker too, for the cameras. Her green dress was thin and silky, very provocatively styled, part of Mary-Beth’s wardrobe; her own taste tended to run to the casual and comfortable rather than fashionable. ‘I’m nothing like Mary-Beth.’ She stood next to him, a frown marring her smooth brow. ‘In fact, I don’t like where she’s going at all. So far I’ve—she’s—blackmailed her stepfather for his attraction to her, told her mother about it anyway, almost wrecked her sister’s marriage, and now she’s had an affair with a married man simply because his wife once slighted her at a party. What sort of woman is she!’ she grimaced, running a hand through her perfectly smooth and shining hair, instantly ruffling it into disorder.

‘Beautiful,’ Jerry leered lasciviously.

‘And evil,’ she said disgustedly.

‘You bet,’ he nodded with a grin.

‘You wouldn’t sound so happy about it if she’d decided to get her claws into you!’ Morgan raised copper-brown brows at him.

The director shrugged. ‘The excitement might be worth it. When you’ve been married to the same woman for fifteen years that’s a quality that seems to be missing.’

Morgan smiled, her own naturally bright and friendly smile, the character of Mary-Beth discarded as soon as the scene ended. ‘I’ll mention that to Alyson when I see her next,’ she teased, knowing Jerry had been happily married from the moment he and Alyson had been pronounced husband and wife.

‘She’d kill me,’ he grimaced. ‘And you’re supposed to like Mary-Beth if no one else does. After all, she pays your rent.’

She knew that, but it didn’t make the public reaction to her personally any easier to accept. Soap-operas were entertaining, and there were half a dozen of them made at this Los Angeles studio alone, but until she actually appeared in Power Trap herself she hadn’t realised that the viewing public really believed the characters existed. A lot of men admired the character of Mary-Beth, liked the danger she emitted, but normally women reacted in a hostile manner, treating her like an adversary, watching their husbands closely whenever she was about. Even some of her so-called friends had become a little wary of her, sure that she couldn’t have developed the character of Mary-Beth the way she had if there weren’t some of the man-eating bitch really inside the straight-speaking Morgan McKay.

Over the months she had hardened herself against the insulting comments she received whenever she went out, although it didn’t stop it hurting any less. When the new series came out in the fall her reputation—or rather, Mary-Beth’s—would be damaged irrevocably.

She went back to her dressing-room, switching on the television for relaxation as she changed into her own denims and orange silk blouse, tall and slender, dulling the make-up down to be less dramatic, brushing her hair free of lacquer and feeling it swing easily past her shoulders in its normal copper straightness.

‘You were great today!’ Sam Walters came into the room after a brief knock, and kissed her lingeringly on the mouth.

Morgan returned his kiss, glad to see him. Sam played her brother-in-law in Power Trap, and the two of them had been seeing each other out of work for the last four months. Tall and blond, with the body of an ex-footballer, Sam had to be every woman’s ideal, his easygoing nature and strong sense of humour merely a bonus.

‘Thanks,’ she smiled up at him, her arms about his neck as he held her close. ‘How about going to your beach-house tonight?’

‘Sounds good,’ he nodded. ‘Barbecue dinner?’

‘Lovely,’ she agreed, turning to pick up her purse.

‘—and it’s now known that Glenna McKay and her husband Mark Hammond were on the aircraft that crashed late last night on its way from London to Los Angeles. There are thought to be no survivors from the crash, now believed to have been caused by engine failure.’ The television newsreader then went on to another topic of news.

But for Morgan the world seemed to have stopped. Glenna and Mark …! It couldn’t be, there must have been some mistake. And yet Glenna had insisted she wanted the baby born in the States, and she was in her seventh month now. God, the baby too … No—–!

‘Steady, honey!’ she didn’t realise she had spoken out loud until Sam answered her, sitting her down in one of the plush armchairs in the room.

‘Sam, did you hear—Did she say—–’

‘Yes,’ he confirmed heavily, frowning his concern of her paper-white face. ‘I heard it too, Morgan.’

‘My God—Glenna!’ she choked, too shocked to cry yet, too numbed by the horror of hearing on the television of her own sister’s possible death. Possible …! Who was she kidding, there were hardly ever survivors from those sort of disasters. Her parents! They would have to be told—–

‘We’ll call them in a minute,’ Sam soothed as she once again spoke out loud without being aware of it, kneeling beside her to comfort her in her distress.

Glenna. Her elder by two years, her fiery hair matching her equally fiery nature—she couldn’t possibly be dead! Air crashes happened on television, to other people, other families, they didn’t happen to young fun-loving couples like Glenna and Mark, certainly not to unborn babies!

She couldn’t believe this was happening, that her sister could actually have been on the plane that had crashed late last night. She had heard the first reports of it early this morning, had felt saddened for the families of the people on the plane, never dreaming that she would be one of them!

Glenna had been a successful actress herself until two years ago she had married Mark Hammond, an English businessman she had met and fallen in love with in Florida. The marriage had been far from idyllic—had been? Heavens, already she was talking in the past tense, as if she accepted that Glenna and Mark were dead.

She and Glenna had been born and brought up in the States, had always lived here apart from a few holidays abroad, and having to give up her career as a successful actress to go and live in England with her husband had not been something Glenna accepted without a fight. And she had continued to fight, had hated living with her in-laws at the Hammond house in southern England. The Hammonds were almost part of the aristocracy, something Glenna’s mother-in-law had taken great pains to point out to Glenna any opportunity she could. Morgan could just imagine how her sister had reacted to that! In fact, she knew how Glenna had reacted to it; she had spent hours talking to her sister long-distance—calls her sister had made, claiming the Hammonds could more than afford the telephone bill. She knew from those calls that Glenna had been far from happy, had longed for her career and the physical, if not emotional freedom, she had always had in the States. The Hammonds had put restrictions on her behaviour and her social life, restrictions Mark had seemed happy to accept for his wife.

The one stipulation Glenna had made when she had had her pregnancy confirmed five months ago had been that the baby be born at her home and not Mark’s. In the face of strong family opposition, mainly Rita Hammond’s, Mark had finally agreed, and the two of them had flown to their deaths.

‘I have to call my parents,’ said Morgan in short jerky gasps. ‘If they should hear the news in the same way …!’

‘They probably already have,’ Sam soothed.

Oh God, this was a nightmare! Her mother had probably collapsed, her father would be bottling his emotions inside him as usual. He wasn’t a man who found it easy to show his love, although she and Glenna had never doubted his love for his family. But this was something no one had expected in their wildest nightmares!

‘I have to get home—–’

‘I’ll drive you,’ Sam instantly offered as she stood up agitatedly.

‘My parents’ home,’ she pointed out. ‘They’re going to need me.’

‘I’ll still drive you,’ he insisted.

‘You still have a scene to shoot this evening,’ she reminded him calmly, thinking logically despite the panicked racing of her brain. ‘Jerry was only complaining yesterday that we’re behind schedule.’

Sam shrugged. ‘So we finish shooting mid-September instead of the end of August,’ he dismissed. ‘The network can’t complain, not with the ratings we’re getting. I hear we’re very popular with the English audience. Hell, what am I going on like this for?’ he muttered. ‘What do you care about the reaction of the English audience at a time like this! I’ll just go and tell Jerry we’re leaving.’ He gently touched her cheek before going to talk to their director.

Morgan stood in numbed silence waiting for him to return. Sam was wrong about her not caring about what the English audience thought of the show. A couple of months ago Glenna had telephoned her in a great state of agitation, crying and muttering what a bitch her mother-in-law was. Apparently Rita Hammond had taken great delight in the fact that Glenna’s sister should be appearing in something so lowly as a soap-opera, had taken every opportunity she could to be derogative about Power Trap and Morgan’s part in it. Normally Glenna would have been unmoved by such taunts, but her pregnancy had made her more susceptible to showing emotion, and she had been very distraught.

Jerry himself came into the room just then, his weatherbeaten face creased into lines of sadness. ‘Hell, Morgan, Sam just told me.’ He grasped her forearms, frowning down at her. ‘That’s a hell of a thing to hear on the television,’ he growled.

‘Yes.’ She was still too numb to respond to the sincerity of his regret.

‘I was fond of Glenna,’ he continued softly. ‘She and I worked together a couple of years ago, before she married her stuffed shirt,’ he grimaced. ‘We’re all going to miss her.’

Morgan swallowed hard, as nausea started to rise within her, the numbness leaving her at Jerry’s way of talking about her sister as if she no longer existed. ‘Excuse me,’ she muttered, pushing past him to run into the wash-room, waves of nausea racking her body as the full horror of her beautiful and fiery sister dying in such a horrendous way struck her. Glenna had always been too busy in her life to think of death, and Morgan certainly doubted she ever expected it to happen in such a violent way. None of them had.

‘All right?’ Jerry was helping her wash her face in cold water when Sam came back into the room.

‘Better,’ she nodded, swallowing the nausea down. She had to pull herself together, had to be strong for her parents’ sake, her strong attorney father, her homemaking mother. They were going to be devastated. ‘I’ll have to pick up some things from my apartment,’ she told Sam as he drove her.

‘Sure,’ he agreed easily, not intruding on her private thoughts as she lapsed into silence.

Strangely her apartment still looked the same as when she had left it early this morning, the same casual untidiness that she liked, the galley kitchen, scatter cushions placed on her corner unit in the lounge, a cup still standing on the dining-room table from where she had had breakfast, plants arranged about the whole apartment, one of her weaknesses, her other one being the Walt Disney posters in her bedroom. She knew that the general public, after her portrayal of Mary-Beth, would never believe her liking for all things Disney, but it had remained with her from a trip to Disneyland when she was a child. A trip both she and Glenna had loved. Oh God, Glenna …!

All this was a terrible dream, one that she couldn’t believe until someone could tell her it was true, someone who really knew. After all, the news item could have been wrong; maybe Glenna and Mark hadn’t been on that flight, maybe they should have been but something had prevented them making it, maybe—–

The telephone at her bedside began ringing, and she snatched up the receiver, feeling her heart plummet at the sound of her mother’s voice, a strangely strong voice, her mother seeming filled with a determination that wasn’t a normal facet of her nature, their father the strong one.

‘You’ve heard, Morgan?’ she asked briskly.

‘Yes,’ her voice caught huskily. ‘It was on the television just now.’

Her mother sighed. ‘I wonder if they realise how cruel they can be,’ she said waspishly, a small black-haired woman of fifty, filled with a restless energy that put younger women to shame. ‘Alex Hammond called us a short time ago, so at least we didn’t hear that way.’

Alex Hammond. A picture of a tall dark-haired man with a remote manner, autocratic features; piercing grey eyes, aquiline nose, thinned lips, determined jaw, and a lithe athletic body came to mind. Mark’s brother, the elder by eight years at thirty-eight, he ran the family business like a well-oiled cog, had little time for the rest of the human race, having no wife and apparently no steady woman in his life either. Morgan had met him only once, at the wedding two years ago, and she hadn’t liked him, not his arrogance or his haughtiness.

‘I would have telephoned you at the studio,’ her mother continued, her voice showing some sign of strain now. ‘But I’ve been busy with—Your father collapsed, Morgan,’ her voice broke, still a little trembly as she continued. ‘He answered the telephone to Mr Hammond, and he seemed all right at the time. Then he just—he’s had a heart attack!’

This was worse than a nightmare, the whole world was going crazy! ‘I—Is he—–’

‘He’s in hospital, but his condition has stabilised,’ her mother hastily assured her. ‘The doctors are sure he’s going to be all right.’

‘I’m coming home—–’

‘No! Morgan, I told Alex Hammond we would be coming to you—that was before your father collapsed, of course. He said he would get in touch again when he knew anything more than that Glenna and Mark were on the plane.’ The line went silent for several minutes, as her mother fought for control. ‘He was expecting to know more later today.’

Alex Hammond would be the type of man who demanded, not asked for, that information. And he had such a presence of authority that he would get the answers too!

‘I’d rather come home. Mr Hammond will realise I’m there when he gets no answer here.’

‘I’m not at home, Morgan,’ her mother told her softly. ‘I’m going to stay at the hospital with your father tonight.’

‘Are you sure there’s no danger?’ Morgan asked sharply, wondering if her mother was telling her everything.

‘The doctors assure me there isn’t,’ she was hastily assured. ‘But I’d rather be with him tonight. Please stay in Los Angeles and wait for Mr Hammond to contact you. I’d hate for us to miss his call.’

Her mother was right, she knew she was, and yet she felt she should go to her father. But if Alex Hammond should telephone while she was in transit …! ‘I’ll wait, Mom,’ she said softly. ‘And I’ll call you at the hospital as soon as I know anything.’ There was only one hospital in the small California town her parents lived in. ‘Give Dad my love.’

‘I will, dear. And don’t worry, things could still be all right with Glenna and Mark.’

She couldn’t move after putting down the receiver. Her mother was being optimistic, and they both knew it. Glenna was going to be dead, Mark too, and their poor little baby that hadn’t even begun to live. And no matter how light her mother made of the heart attack she knew her father was gravely ill.

‘I thought I heard the telephone—–’

With a strangled cry she turned and flung herself into Sam’s waiting arms, a dam seeming to burst as she sobbed it all out to him, finding comfort in his lean strength as he led her back to the lounge, holding her close against his chest as she sat close beside him on the corner unit.

‘She was so beautiful, Sam,’ she choked, her tears having wet his shirt front. ‘I can’t believe she’s dead—and in that way. No wonder Dad took it so hard,’ she shuddered.

‘I know, honey. I know,’ he soothed, smoothing back her hair with a gentle hand, surprisingly so considering their size and strength. Tall and slender as she was, Sam made her feel cherished and cared for, his manners were always without fault, never too forward, but always friendly.

‘You never met Glenna, did you?’ she mumbled into his shirt.

‘I’ve seen her in the movies. She was beautiful,’ he acknowledged. ‘Very like you.’

Again they were talking in the past tense, and it was with a sense of deep pain that she realised she would probably never see her sister again. Of a similar age, the two of them had always been very close, had shared friends and clothes during their teenage years, continuing to keep those same friends as the years passed. Everyone was going to be heartbroken when they learnt the fiery-haired Glenna was no longer with them.

‘Everyone loved her, Sam,’ she continued huskily. ‘She was so much fun, so—so full of life!’ Her voice broke over the last.

Everyone had loved Glenna—except the Hammonds. Glenna and Mark had a private wing in the Hammond house, the widowed Rita Hammond and her bachelor son occupying the other wing, while the married daughter Janet lived several miles away with her husband and two daughters. Rita Hammond and her daughter Janet had shown their disapproval of Mark marrying an American actress from the first; the formidable Alex Hammond had been indifferent. Mark was a charming rogue, very dark and handsome, but he was no match for the rest of his family, resisting all Glenna’s efforts to persuade him to move to America, claiming that he had to stay in England to work in the family firm, and also claiming it was unnecessary to have a house of their own when the family house was so big.

Living with her in-laws wouldn’t suit Morgan, and she knew that it hadn’t suited Glenna, although in the beginning she had been too much in love to object to anything Mark decided. Her one stubborn bid for freedom, that of having her baby born in the States, seemed to have caused their deaths.

Morgan pulled herself together with effort; she was not one to allow emotional trauma to take her to the hysterical stage. ‘You should be getting back, Sam,’ she told him in a firm voice. ‘I shall be all right now, and you do have that scene to finish.’

‘Jerry told me to stay with you.’

‘But I don’t need “being with"!’ She sounded brittle, highly strung, knowing she needed to be alone for a while to come to terms with her loss. She deeply appreciated Sam’s gentle care, but no amount of talking was going to help her through the next few hours as she waited for Alex Hammond’s call. ‘Really, Sam,’ she insisted as he made to protest. ‘I need time to—accept.’

‘Time alone,’ he nodded understandingly, having lost his young wife in an automobile accident four years ago when they had only been married a year. He stood up, tall and assuring. ‘If you need me, any time day or night, just call, hmm?’ He framed her face tenderly with his large capable hands.

She appreciated his lack of argument, knowing she didn’t have the strength to fight him if he insisted on staying. ‘Thank you,’ she blinked back the tears. ‘Until I get this call from Alex Hammond my hands are tied. I can’t go to England where the crash happened, and I can’t go to Dad either.’

Sam bent and kissed her lightly on the lips. ‘I’m sure he won’t be long.’

But the evening passed, and then the night-time hours, and still Alex Hammond hadn’t called her. Morgan paced the room most of the night, the time dragging slowly, until finally in desperation she telephoned the Hammonds’ house herself. She wasn’t proud, and if they wouldn’t come to her then she would go to them.

It took some time to convince Symonds, the Hammond butler, that she really was Glenna’s sister and not a reporter trying to get a story. It seemed the Hammond telephone hadn’t stopped ringing since the news broke.

‘Mrs Hammond has been sedated and is in her bedroom,’ she was informed in a haughty voice, and for a moment it took her back that the Mrs Hammond he was talking about was Rita and not Glenna. ‘Mrs Fairchild,’ he spoke of Mark’s married sister, ‘is at home with her own family.’

‘And Mr Hammond?’ she asked breathlessly, not giving a damn where Rita and Janet were, not having taken to either of them at the wedding. Mother and daughter were too much alike, both narrow-minded and condescending, believing all actresses to be promiscuous sirens.

‘Mr Hammond isn’t at home,’ she was told.

‘Not there?’ she frowned.

‘No, miss,’ the man sounded affronted that she should dare to question his statement, ‘he left the house several hours ago.’

‘To go where?’ she demanded impatiently.

‘I wouldn’t know, Miss McKay.’ Symonds sounded surprised by such a question. ‘Mr Hammond doesn’t inform me of his movements.’

‘Then in the circumstances he damn well should!’ Morgan slammed the receiver down, too angry to question more.

Damn the man! Where could Alex Hammond have disappeared to, and apparently without telling anyone where he was going? No doubt Rita Hammond knew of her son’s whereabouts, but it seemed she was taking the joint deaths as badly as Morgan’s father had. From what she had been able to tell, Mark was the favourite son, a late edition to the family who had been cossetted by all around him. Rita Hammond would have felt his death severely.

But all this didn’t change the fact that Alex Hammond had promised to call, that she had held off calling the hospital about her father in case she missed that call, and now he had disappeared. She had been relying on his authority to find out what was happening, having called the airline herself only to be told things were too confused and panicked at the moment for any information to be given out by them. It was their way of saying they didn’t know what was happening either!

But that didn’t help her now, and after calling the hospital to check that both her mother and father were sleeping comfortably she rang the airport to book a flight out to England, only to be told the first available seat was late morning. She took it, knowing she was doing no good sitting here.

Dawn saw her seated at the breakfast bar in her galley-kitchen, drinking the remains of her third pot of coffee, the heavy look in her eyes evidence that she hadn’t slept at all, her almost fixed gaze on the wall telephone telling its own story. Alex Hammond still hadn’t called.

Her mother telephoned a short time later to assure her that her father was doing well, that he seemed a lot better. She seemed as perplexed as Morgan over Alex Hammond’s silence.

Her suitcase was packed, her creased denims changed in favour of a tailored dress, her hair flowing freely about her shoulders, and she couldn’t stand to sit here in her apartment another minute longer waiting for a call that obviously wasn’t going to come, so she telephoned for a cab to take her to the airport.

When the doorbell rang a few minutes later she expected it to be the driver, but she opened the door to a barrage of questions and flashing intrusive lights.

‘How do you feel about your sister’s death, Morgan?’

‘Will the funeral be here or in England?’ asked another reporter.

‘Will Glenna and her husband be buried together, Morgan?’ persisted another.

Morgan had blanched at the sea of faces outside her apartment door; microphones and cameras were pushed into her face, a couple of them for television.

She had remained undisturbed by reporters all night, as her address was known to few but her closest friends, although it now seemed someone had released the wolves at her heels.

‘Were you close to your sister, Morgan?’ a beautiful, chic female asked at her continued numbed silence, and this avid curiosity about her grief sickened her.

‘We hear your father collapsed when told of the crash—can you confirm this, Miss McKay?’ one determined reporter pounced.

Morgan swallowed hard, unable to comprehend this hounding over such a private grief. What sort of people were they, to ask her such questions!

‘Did you—–’

‘That will be enough!’ rasped an authoritative voice, startling the members of the media into stunned silence.

A man was pushing his way through the crowd to Morgan’s side, although he didn’t need to push for long, for people stepped aside as they recognised a force stronger than themselves.

Alex Hammond. It could be no other man. She might only have met him once, but the memory of him had stayed indelibly printed on her brain for some unknown reason. Possibly because she had never met anyone quite like him before.

Tall, taller even than Sam, he had a force of energy and determination that would make him stand out in any crowd; the dark hair was showing signs of greying at the temples now, the eyes were still the same icy grey she remembered, his nostrils flaring angrily now in his displeasure, his mouth thinned for the same reason. He wore a dark three-piece suit and snowy white shirt, and looked for all the world as if he hadn’t just spent an exhausting eleven hours on a plane.

He grasped her arm in a vice-like grip. ‘Let’s go inside,’ he muttered.

Morgan was only too pleased to comply, wondering why Alex Hammond had felt it necessary to fly over here rather than just telephone her. Unless he felt her father’s collapse was enough on his conscience for one day! She could have told him she was past collapsing, that the long hours she had spent beside the telephone had at least given her time to calm, to realise that Glenna really was dead.

‘Who the hell is he?’ The members of the media weren’t silenced for long. They might have recognised the authority of this man, but it was a recognition that had only made their curiosity all the deeper. ‘Where did he come from?’

‘With shoulders like that I don’t care where he came from,’ drawled the beautiful chic television reporter. ‘I’m just glad he’s here. Sir, are you a friend of Morgan McKay’s?’ There was more than a little personal interest in the blonde woman’s question, although a microphone was thrust aggressively into Alex Hammond’s face.

‘I thought she was seeing Sam Walters,’ murmured someone else.

Alex Hammond’s hand had tightened on Morgan’s arm at the intimacy of the woman reporter’s words, and he pushed the microphone away from him with a dark scowl. ‘I believe Miss McKay’s privacy has been invaded enough for one day,’ he snapped, his hand firm on her arm now as he turned her back into her apartment. ‘If you’ll excuse us—lady, gentlemen,’ he nodded dismissively.

‘Hey, the guy’s English—–’

‘Your powers of deduction are amazing,’ Alex Hammond taunted dryly, caring nothing for the ruddy hue that coloured the younger man’s cheeks, pushing Morgan the rest of the way into her apartment and closing the door in the face of the renewed questioning. ‘Like vultures!’ he muttered as he followed her through to the lounge, then his silvery-grey eyes narrowed as he saw her packed suitcase standing next to a chair. He looked up at her with a frown. ‘Are you going somewhere?’

‘I—I’d given up on your call.’ Her voice came out husky—and slightly defensive. She shouldn’t need to explain herself to this man, damn it! ‘I’m booked on a flight to England in a couple of hours’ time.’

He merely nodded acknowledgement of the fact, seeming impatient to end the conversation before it had started. ‘Is it true, has your father collapsed?’

Her antagonism faded as quickly as it had begun. Of course, her mother had said her father collapsed after Alex Hammond called—he didn’t even know about it! ‘It’s true,’ she admitted heavily. ‘There’s no danger, but it’s hit him hard, harder than I realised. He wanted boys, you see,’ she knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to control herself. ‘That’s why we were named Glenna and Morgan; he didn’t have any names for girls.’ She broke off. ‘I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear all this.’ She avoided his all-seeing gaze, realising she had revealed too much of herself with these unguarded words.

She and Glenna had never doubted their father loved them, but they had always known of his desire for a son, had known their names had been chosen for boys and converted for the girls that had come in the place of the sons he wanted. She hadn’t even realised her own feelings of inadequacy until she found herself telling it to Alex Hammond!

‘I had no idea your father had collapsed.’ He chose to ignore her lapse into the melancholy, confirming her thoughts that he hadn’t known; his silver eyes were icy, his expression cold. ‘Although it’s been a shock to all of us.’

Then how did he manage to look so unmoved! Morgan knew she looked haunted, her parents and his mother were deeply shocked, and yet Alex Hammond looked—detached. There was no other way to describe the way he looked.

Morgan swallowed hard in the face of that detachment. ‘They said—on the television—that there were no survivors.’ She searched his face for some sign of that information being wrong. Not by the flicker of an eyelid did he show emotion. Oh, he was a cold bastard! She shuddered at the vehemence of her feelings, having taken even more of a dislike to this man.

‘They were wrong,’ he stated flatly.

Hope leapt in her heart. ‘They were?’

‘Yes. It appears—Sit down, please,’ he told her abruptly.

She looked startled. ‘I—I’m fine. I—–’

‘I said sit down, Morgan.’ He didn’t raise his voice, his expression didn’t change, and yet Morgan sat, knowing the words were an order and not a request. ‘It appears there were half a dozen survivors—all of them severely injured, but alive nonetheless.’

‘Glenna—–’

‘Was not one of them. Neither was Mark.’ Still the man showed no emotions.

Her breathing became ragged as the full impact of his words hit her. ‘They—they’re both dead?’ she choked, having been given hope for a few seconds only to have it taken away from her again.

‘Yes,’ Alex Hammond stated flatly.

‘Oh, God!’ She hadn’t realised how much hope she had still been harbouring, secretly believing that no news was good news. It was all gone now. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Alex Hammond knew what he was talking about.

‘But their son is very much alive,’ his softly spoken words interrupted her weeping. ‘And well.’

Morgan raised a tear-wet face, swallowing hard. ‘Their—son?’

He nodded. ‘Glenna was one of the survivors. She lived for two hours after the crash, badly—fatally injured herself. And somehow she kept alive long enough to give birth to her child. She had a son. His name—the name she chose for him—is Courtney.’

This time Morgan cared nothing for his lack of emotions. ‘Courtney …!’ she gave a choked sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a cry. ‘That’s my father’s name!’

‘Yes,’ Alex Hammond acknowledged. ‘And I’m sure your father will be very proud of his grandson.’

‘You—you’ve seen him?’ She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

‘Briefly,’ he acknowledged tersely.

She was under control again now, hardly able to believe what he was telling her. Glenna had a son, a son who was alive! ‘What does he look like? Is he like Glenna or Mark? Is—–’

‘He’s like all newborn babies,’ Alex Hammond dismissed impatiently. ‘Small, pink, and he cries a lot. And incredibly like Glenna,’ he added gruffly, showing he wasn’t quite as unmoved by the baby’s existence as he appeared.

‘I want to see him,’ she decided firmly.

‘I have no doubt you will,’ he drawled. ‘But there’s something else I think you should know before we go any further. Glenna also made provision for her son’s future. She made you and me Courtney’s legal guardians. Jointly,’ he added pointedly.

CHAPTER TWO

MORGAN blinked; she was too stunned to do anything more than that. She was overjoyed, thrilled, at the thought of her nephew being alive and well. But she had no idea how both Alex Hammond and herself could be the baby’s guardians, one living in England, the other in America.

Obviously Alex Hammond couldn’t either. ‘Of course it’s impossible,’ he said abruptly, placing his briefcase on her dining table. ‘I have some documents here,’ he unclicked the lock. ‘Legal documents, drawn up by my lawyers, relieving you of all moral and legal obligation to Courtney.’

Morgan stood up slowly, feeling the anger burning up from within her. Just who did this man think he was! He came here and told her that her beloved sister was dead but that the child she had been expecting was alive. And now he calmly suggested she reliquish all rights to that child. The man was insane!

‘No,’ she told him bluntly.

He raised dark brows, halting in the removal of the official-looking papers from his briefcase. ‘No?’

‘Certainly not!’ Her green eyes sparkled in challenge, her tall slender body as taut as a ripcord in her fury. ‘Courtney is my nephew, and if my sister wanted me to be his guardian then that’s what I intend being.’

‘He has two guardians,’ Alex reminded her. ‘You and I.’

‘So Glenna made a mistake,’ Morgan snapped. ‘Nobody’s perfect!’

The haughty face took on an even more withdrawn expression. ‘I don’t believe insults are going to help the delicacy of this situation,’ he told her quietly.

‘Neither is your insensitivity,’ she glared at him. ‘My sister has just died,’ weakness washed over her in waves, ‘and now you calmly suggest I reject her son from my life—my own nephew, my parents’ only grandson!’ Her voice rose shrilly.

‘My nephew too, my mother’s only grandson,’ he pointed out dryly.

‘But not her only grandchild! And when you have a son—–’

‘The same applies to you in regard to your own parents.’

She gave an impatient sigh at the way this man had an answer for everything. ‘Giving up my guardianship of Court is not—–’

‘Courtney,’ he substituted firmly.

‘Court is short for—–’

‘He was named Courtney, let’s stick to that, shall we?’ he said abruptly.

‘I’m sure Glenna meant it to be shortened to Court, like my father,’ she insisted stubbornly.

‘But Glenna isn’t here—–’

‘You bastard!’ Morgan choked raggedly. ‘You cold-blooded, unfeeling bastard! You—–’ she sank slowly to the floor as blackness overcame her.

She woke up to find herself stretched full length on the corner unit sofa, her head propped up by several cushions, the darkly intent face of Alex Hammond bent over her. She snatched her hand away selfconsciously as she realised it was held between long tapered fingers, the fingers of the other hand lightly tapping against her pale cheek.

Alex Hammond moved back instantly and sat back on his heels, seeming unexerted from having to carry her to the sofa; and she might be thin, but she wasn’t a lightweight. Still, those shoulders and arms looked capable of great strength.

She sat up awkwardly, moving back and away from him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said abruptly.

He nodded distantly. ‘I’ve been expecting something like it ever since I arrived and found the press harassing you.’

‘How clever of you!’ Her voice was brittle.

Alex stood up, very dark and forbidding in Morgan’s openly bright apartment, dwarfing it. ‘You were at cracking point. I doubt you’ve slept all night. I had no idea of the added worry of your father’s illness.’

Morgan swung her legs to the ground and stood up, feeling at less of a disadvantage, her own height being considerable, although Alex Hammond still topped her by a head. She swayed slightly as she stood, not as recovered as she thought she was, although her back was straight, her gaze steady as she faced Alex Hammond across the room. Like adversaries. And she had a feeling that was exactly what they were.

‘It was waiting for your call that stopped me sleeping.’ Her words were defensive because of the weakness she had shown by fainting in that way. ‘You didn’t have to come all the way to Los Angeles, you could have explained everything over the telephone and saved yourself the trouble of flying out here. I could have told you no just as easily that way,’ she added hardly.

His mouth tightened. ‘You won’t even look at the papers I brought with me?’

‘No.’

‘Even though you know Courtney will be better off with us in England?’

‘And who is us?’ she derided scornfully. ‘You and your mother? A bitter and resentful widow and an unfeeling man?’

Icy grey eyes raked over her with cool disdain. ‘Or a fun-loving young actress with no morals?’ he rasped.

‘You mean me?’ she gasped. ‘Where did you get that impression, Mr Hammond?’

‘Glenna was very proud of your first English televised role,’ he drawled. ‘We were all made to watch your undoubted talent as Mary-Beth Barker.’

That was what she had thought. ‘Talent is the right word, Mr Hammond,’ she taunted. ‘I was acting a part—I thought you were intelligent enough to realise that.’

‘Maybe I am,’ he nodded. ‘But I have no reason to believe Courtney would be happier with you than with us. You must work very hard, very long hours. I doubt you would have a lot of time to bring up a young child.’

She dismissed the wisdom of his words. Glenna had wanted her to have a part in bringing up Court, and that was what she was going to do. ‘I have a plane to catch, Mr Hammond,’ she told him briskly. ‘I have to get to the airport.’

He closed his briefcase with a decisive click. ‘I’ll come with you.’

‘That won’t be necessary.’

‘It’s very necessary,’ he told her grimly. ‘I have a seat on that plane too.’

‘Oh.’ Her eyes were narrowed. ‘You didn’t intend staying long. Or were you so sure of what you thought my answer would be that you just expected to come here, have me sign those documents, and then return home?’ Her eyes took on a dangerous sheen as she saw by the tightening of his mouth that that was exactly what he had thought. ‘Glenna wasn’t happy with your family, Mr Hammond,’ she told him frostily. ‘I’m beginning to understand why.’

‘Indeed?’ he bit out grimly.

‘Yes!’

‘And I’m beginning to see that you’re as uncompromising as your sister was. Oh yes, we knew of Glenna’s unhappiness,’ he mocked her gasp of surprise. ‘She made no secret of the fact. But I think I should point out once again that Glenna gave her son two guardians, she didn’t cut the Hammonds out of Courtney’s life as if she hated us.’

Morgan wondered if this man had a habit of always being right; if he did it was an annoying habit! ‘Instead of arguing I suggest we get to the airport—I wouldn’t want to miss the plane. I’ll just go into my bedroom and call my mother at the hospital. She’s been as anxious as I have.’

If Alex Hammond was affected by her deliberate move to shame him he didn’t show it, settling his long length into a chair, sitting back to close his eyes with a weary sigh.

Guilt instantly washed over her. This man might seem like a cold robot to her, but his brother had just died, and he had just spent all those hours on a plane; he must be exhausted. ‘Can I get you some coffee?’ she offered huskily. ‘Or something to eat?’

His eyes flickered open, silver-grey, showing no sign of the tiredness she suspected. ‘Tea?’ he queried hopefully.

Morgan smiled, and the tension instantly eased between them. ‘I have tea,’ she nodded. ‘It’s a habit I picked up when I went to England for the wedding. Milk, sugar?’

‘Thanks,’ he nodded.

Her mother came to the telephone straight away once she had been paged, and it was the hardest thing in the world to tell her that Glenna really was dead; her mother finally broke down now that she knew there was no hope of ever seeing her elder daughter again. Morgan broke down and cried with her, offering no resistance as Alex Hammond came in and took over, too overcome by grief herself now that her shock was passing to talk coherently.

‘Your mother is overjoyed by her grandson’s existence,’ Alex Hammond rang off to assure her. ‘She hopes she and your father can go to England to see him soon. In the meantime, I don’t think you’re in any condition to fly to England. Maybe it would be better—–’

‘I’m coming with you,’ Morgan told him determinedly. ‘I want to see Court-ney, and also I have to—to attend Glenna’s funeral. Someone from the family should be there.’ She went to the bathroom and washed her face in cold water. ‘I take it the funeral will be in England.’

‘As soon as—Yes,’ he substituted abruptly. ‘Eventually.’

Her spine stiffened at the addition of the last word. ‘I understand,’ she said heavily. ‘I’m ready to leave now.’

‘Are you sure—–’

‘I’m very sure.’ Her expression was stubborn.

‘Your work?’

‘Will just have to wait,’ she told him with bravado, not in the least sure how the studio would react to her taking off like this. They surely couldn’t object to a couple of days, not in the circumstances. If they did they would just have to sue. She doubted they would want to do that. ‘I intend coming with you, Mr Hammond—make no mistake about that.’

‘Then perhaps you’d better call me Alex,’ he derided. ‘I don’t intend calling you Miss McKay for the next twelve hours or so.’

‘Morgan,’ she supplied abruptly.

‘I know that,’ he nodded. ‘Glenna spoke of you often.’

She would have liked to return the compliment, but Glenna had been surprisingly reticent about her brother-in-law, talking about him little, and then only in connection with Mark being at work. Apparently Alex Hammond kept to himself, spending little time with the family.

‘Feel up to braving the media again?’ he queried distantly. ‘I doubt if they’ve left yet. Especially if news of survivors has filtered through.’

Completely in control of herself now, Morgan was able to move determinedly at Alex Hammond’s side as they made their way downstairs to get into the cab that he had ordered to wait for them ten minutes ago as she cried. Alex ignored the questions thrown at them; his expression was distant, his hold on Morgan’s arm unbreakable, despite the pushing and jostling going on about them.

‘The airport,’ he instructed the cab driver arrogantly, pushing Morgan in the car ahead of him.

She wasn’t used to being dominated in this way. She had been brought up to be independent, to stand up for herself; Alex Hammond was obviously used to being dominant with the women in his life.

Morgan studied him curiously on the drive to the airport. There could be no doubting that he was very attractive, in an austere way, and yet Glenna had never mentioned him having a woman in his life. But he certainly didn’t like men! His gaze had been critical of her, but it had definitely been male in its intent. No doubt there were women from time to time, just nothing serious. She wondered why. Alex was thirty-eight, surely that was quite old for a man not to have been married. He probably thought twenty-six was old for a woman not to have married either!

‘Something funny?’

Her smile faded as she realised he was looking at her. ‘Not really,’ she dismissed. ‘Is Courtney at your home?’

Alex shook his head. ‘He’s being kept in hospital for a few days. It’s a standard thing for new babies,’ he added at her worried frown. ‘He really is very well, Morgan. Perfectly healthy, even if he is eight weeks premature.’

‘Thank God!’ she shuddered.

‘Yes,’ he agreed curtly.

All was chaos at the airport; the members of the media who had been outside her home had obviously telephoned ahead to their colleagues, for a dozen or so reporters were continuing the harassment. Morgan wasn’t in the least surprised when Alex secured a private lounge for them, and strode off to deal with their seats himself.

Morgan took this opportunity to call Sam and Jerry, something she hadn’t had time to do in the trauma of the last hour. Sam was very understanding, and Jerry had already rearranged the work schedule to allow her to take a week off. A week should be long enough to convince the Hammonds that Glenna’s baby belonged with her.

‘Just don’t be any longer than that,’ Jerry warned in a growl, ‘or the wrath of Zorbo will come down around your head!’

Morgan laughed softly, ringing off. Frank Zorbo was a small Greek man, the head of A.M.X. Broadcasting Company, and quite harmless until something put out his carefully organised programme schedule. Then he was like a roaring tornado.

‘Everything is organised,’ Alex came back to assure her. ‘We’ll be boarding in a few minutes.’

For the moment it just felt good to let him take over the details; her mind was not functioning as fluently as it usually did. Alex looked as if nothing ever deterred or upset him.

It came as a surprise to her when she was shown into the first class section of the plane, to the seat next to Alex Hammond. She had been booked into a seat much farther down the plane, had been told that there were no other seats available.

‘I already had a seat reserved for you,’ Alex told her at her qustioning look.

Her eyes widened. ‘You knew I would be coming with you?’

‘I told you, Glenna talked of you a lot. I was able to assess what your reaction would be.’

‘But you flew over here yourself anyway?’

‘It was worth a try,’ he shrugged.

‘Never,’ she shook her head firmly. ‘I’ll never give Courtney up.’

Alex sighed. ‘I suggest we save any further talk of the baby until a less emotional time.’

Morgan instantly felt guilty. This man had another long flight in front of him—he was likely to meet himself on the way back!—and what he needed at the moment was to rest. She deliberately stopped talking, although her tension began to rise as the engines of the plane roared for take-off. Everything had happened so suddenly, so quickly, that until this moment she hadn’t given a thought to the flight itself. Glenna and Mark had just died in an aircraft very similar to this one, what if—–

‘It won’t happen, Morgan.’ Strong fingers clasped about hers, gently reassuring.

She had never thought of herself as a weak or dependent woman, and yet at that moment she was petrified, turning into the comfortable width of shoulder at her side, clinging on to Alex Hammond as if they were lovers.

Only when the plane was safely in the air did she move away from him. ‘I’m sorry,’ her lashes were downcast in her embarrassment at breaking down in that way. ‘I’m not usually—well, I don’t normally—’

‘Forget it,’ he dismissed abruptly. ‘I already have.’

It wasn’t the normal reaction a man had to holding her in his arms, and it irked her somewhat that this man was so immune to the female form. The man was a damned robot!

It didn’t in the least surprise her when he fell asleep shortly after take-off, and she remained quietly at his side, guessing that he needed the rest. And if the truth were known she needed a little time to herself, to think quietly, to realise that she and the man at her side had sole responsibility for a tiny baby who would never know his real parents, who would be denied a mother’s love. Morgan vowed on that long flight that she would be the mother to Courtney that Glenna had intended her to be—no matter what the Hammonds said or did!

Alex had left his Mercedes parked at the airport, and with the ease with which she was coming to expect from him he saw them through Customs and into the car, driving them to the Hammond house in Surrey himself.

‘Courtney—–’

‘I’ll drive you to see him tomorrow,’ Alex interrupted abruptly. ‘I believe we may be able to bring him home then.’

Morgan couldn’t help the sudden rush of colour in her cheeks. It sounded curiously intimate for the two of them to be bringing home a baby. Obviously Alex thought so too.

‘A nanny will be engaged for him,’ he added harshly.

‘No!’

‘It’s the best way—–’

‘It may be your best way, Alex,’ she scorned, ignoring the tiredness still about his eyes, the fact that he must be feeling exhausted, knowing only that if she gave in to him over this then she would be continually doing so, ‘but I happen to believe Courtney needs a mother’s love, not the impersonality of a transient nanny.’

‘A mother’s love is something we can’t give him!’ Alex rasped.

‘I can,’ Morgan told him heatedly, her eyes flashing deeply green. ‘I intend adopting him as my own son.’

Grey eyes snapped with anger. ‘That might be a little difficult,’ he ground out.

She eyed him warily. ‘Why?’

‘Both guardians have to agree to any plans involving Courtney,’ he pointed out grimly.

She stiffened, turning in the leather seat to look at him, aware that he looked very weary, lines of strain beside his eyes and mouth, the latter a taut line of aggression. ‘And you won’t agree to my adopting Courtney?’ she asked softly.

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t believe it would be in his best interests.’

‘Don’t talk down to me, Alex Hammond!’ she snapped. ‘just say what you mean. You don’t think a “fun-loving young actress with no morals” a suitable mother for him, that’s it, isn’t it?’

He sighed heavily. ‘I wish I’d never made that remark. I suppose I’m to have it thrown up at me periodically during our association?’

‘That won’t be for long! I’m returning to Los Angeles as soon as possible.’

‘Without Courtney.’

‘With him.’

‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘Not unless I agree. And I don’t. Don’t you think this is a little soon to start arguing about Courtney’s future?’

‘With you I have a feeling it’s never too soon to start arguing!’

To her surprise the austere features broke into a smile, and Alex instantly looked younger, incredibly handsome, the grooves in his cheeks ones of humour this time, unfamiliar grooves, as if he smiled little. Morgan had a feeling that he didn’t, and she wondered at the reason for his harshness. A woman in the past, perhaps? That was usually the reason a man with Alex’s intelligence retreated into himself. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to take rejection. Whatever the reason, his humour now was totally unexpected. She gave him a questioning look.

His mouth quirked. ‘You’re the only one who does argue with me,’ he drawled.

‘Really?’ She smiled too now.

‘Really,’ he nodded.

‘That’s incredible.’

‘Yes.’

‘And that’s arrogant!’

‘No,’ he smiled again. ‘It’s quite exhilarating, actually.’

Now why on earth should she blush like a schoolgirl at the thought of Alex Hammond finding something about her exhilarating? Maybe it was because he was a challenge, the original ice man.

But she wasn’t here to find him a challenge, she was here to get Courtney and return home. And she would do it.

It needed all her self-confidence to enter the Hammond house with him a short time later; she was wary about meeting Rita Hammond again. They hadn’t exactly taken to each other when they met two years ago, and she had no reason to think the other woman would be any more kindly disposed towards her. The opposite if she also believed in the part of Mary-Beth being Morgan’s own nature!

If Rita Hammond had been sedated the day before there was no sign of it today. The woman was tall, almost as tall as her son, her iron-grey hair perfectly coiffured, her make-up impeccable despite her sixty years, her taste in clothes sophisticated and flattering to her slender figure.

She looked at Morgan with flinty blue eyes, not surprised to see her, but not welcoming her either. Well, that suited Morgan, she wasn’t glad to be here either!

‘Miss McKay,’ the other woman greeted regally.

‘Mrs Hammond,’ Morgan returned as frostily.

‘You parents are well?’

Morgan’s eyes widened. What was wrong with this family? This woman’s son and daughter-in-law had been tragically killed and she was asking innocuous questions about Morgan’s family! These people were emotionless. She need look no farther than Rita Hammond for her son’s lack of emotion; these people obviously didn’t know the meaning of the word love.

‘Could I please go to my room?’ she asked jerkily. ‘I’m feeling—tired, after the journey.’

Rita Hammond instantly rang for Symonds, instructing him to take Morgan up to the ‘lemon’ room.

‘We’ll talk later,’ Alex told her softly as she walked past him to follow Symonds upstairs.

She turned to smile at him, beginning to feel as if he was the only stability in a suddenly shaky world. ‘You look tired,’ she told him huskily. ‘Why don’t you rest too?’

Grey eyes widened—and then narrowed, almost as if he suspected her motives. ‘Not yet,’ he answered abruptly. ‘I have things to do.’

‘But soon, hmm?’ she prompted.

‘Perhaps,’ he nodded distantly. ‘Go with Symonds.’

She felt suitably dismissed, regretting the politeness of her concern. This man obviously didn’t need anyone’s sympathy for anything!

Morgan sat silently at Alex’s side as they drove to the hospital to pick up Courtney, so nervous her palms felt damp. It was ridiculous to feel so nervous about seeing a baby for the first time, but she couldn’t help it. Babies were something she had no experience of, especially ones as young as Courtney. She didn’t even know how to hold him—something Rita Hammond had taken great pains to point out to her.

Alex had obviously spoken to his mother by the time Morgan joined them for dinner the previous evening, for Rita Hammond was at her most haughty as she pointed out all the reasons Morgan wasn’t equipped to take care of a baby. When Morgan had remained blandly adamant the older woman had resorted to insults. Even her son’s curtly spoken words hadn’t deterred her, until finally Alex suggested his mother retire to her room, where he accompanied her, returning only after his mother had fallen into a sedated sleep, apologising tersely for her rudeness, but making no excuses for it.

Morgan had slept fitfully, her body completely out of English time, and rose early, only to find Alex was up before her, having already breakfasted and doing some work in his study. Morgan had only just managed to contain her anxiety to leave and collect Courtney, waiting impatiently until Alex suggested it was time to go.

And now they were almost there. She was going to see Glenna’s son at last!

He was beautiful! There was no other way to describe the tiny peaches and cream bundle wrapped in the white blanket. Tears filled her eyes as the nurse wheeled him out to them in his tiny crib, sleeping peacefully after his mid-morning feed.

‘He’s beautiful,’ she breathed softly, her eyes wide with wonder ‘Alex …!’ She looked at him glowingly.

His expression softened. ‘Why don’t you dress him while I have a word with the doctor?’

She swallowed hard. She thought herself a pretty gutsy lady, but this tiny baby terrified her. ‘I’ll try.’ She moistened her lips nervously, taking the box of expensive baby clothes that were part of a delivery made to the house early this morning. It seemed that the Hammond money could even get those sort of things delivered.

The nurse showed her into a private room, and between the two of them—with a lot of help from the nurse!—they managed to dress Courtney in the all-in-one blue suit, even though it still managed to swamp him despite being tiny. He was so incredibly like Glenna, with fiery-red hair and deep blue eyes, that Morgan felt fresh tears well up in her eyes.

‘Go ahead and cry,’ the nurse encouraged gently. ‘It’s always like this when a mother gets to take a premature baby home.’

Morgan blinked up at the young girl. ‘Oh, but—–’

‘He’s so much like you,’ the nurse cooed at him gently. ‘And I think he has your husband’s jaw even now. He’s going to be a strong-minded little boy.’

Morgan smiled at this young girl’s misconception. Somehow the other girl had the impression that she and Alex were Courtney’s parents. How angry he would be if he knew!

‘I’ve been on holiday for a couple of weeks,’ the girl unwittingly explained her mistake, ‘so I missed Courtney’s arrival into the world, but I can see he’s done very well for a premature baby.’ She helped Morgan put on the little woollen cap over Courtney’s red curls. ‘He has your colouring, you know,’ she smiled.

‘Probably a temper to go with it,’ Morgan joined in the laughter, feeling a sense of elation at being in at the start of Courtney’s life, seeing no reason to correct the young nurse’s impression of her being his mother, not wanting the complications and sympathy such an explanation would evoke.

‘Here’s your husband now.’ The girl moved to the door, smiling shyly up at Alex as he stood in the doorway.

Morgan looked at him, Courtney held firmly in her arms, wondering what his reaction was going to be to being thought her husband. The opinion he had of her morals, he would probably heatedly deny such a relationship.

‘Ready, darling?’ he asked huskily.

She nodded slowly, too stunned to answer him with words, and followed him out into the corridor.

‘Good luck!’ the young nurse beamed at them.

Alex gave her an abrupt nod, including a silver-haired woman in a blue uniform in that departing nod as they passed the office. ‘Thank you—for everything,’ he murmured softly to the woman.

Morgan allowed Alex to help her into the back of the dark Mercedes, still holding Courtney firmly in her arms, looking down in awe at his sleeping face. She looked up at Alex as he settled her more comfortably. ‘Why—–’

‘Wait until we’re on our way,’ he rasped softly, closing the door with a soft click so that he didn’t disturb the baby nestling against her.

Morgan had never experienced anything like the maternal love that flowed out of her for Courtney. It was a curiously choking feeling to know that he was totally dependent on her—on her and Alex. Alex had already made it clear that he intended taking a very strong part in Courtney’s life, and she already knew him well enough to know he meant every word.

He spoke suddenly, interrupting her thoughts. ‘As yet the media aren’t aware of Courtney’s existence,’ he told her abruptly. ‘I intend keeping it that way for as long as possible. That’s why the deception at the hospital.’

‘Deception?’ she frowned.

‘Courtney was registered as our child.’

‘Ours?’ she gasped.

He nodded. ‘That’s right.’

‘You have a hell of a nerve—–’

‘Ssh, you’ll wake the baby,’ he mocked her anger. ‘And I’m sure you have no idea what to do if that happens.’ He eyed her mockingly in the driving mirror. ‘No comeback?’

‘None,’ she shrugged. ‘But I bet you don’t know either,’ she said with satisfaction.

‘Wrong,’ he returned smugly.

Her eyes widened. ‘Wrong?’

He nodded. ‘I have it all written down. Compliments of the Ward Sister.’

‘That’s cheating!’

‘Common sense,’ he corrected. ‘I even have a bottle in case he wants feeding.’

‘Too clever by half,’ she mumbled, feeling too elated from holding Courtney in her arms to feel any real anger with Alex. Holding the tiny baby gave her a sense of well-being, as if she held a tiny part of Glenna to her.

Glenna would have loved Courtney, she had been looking forward to his birth so much. No wonder she had clung to life long enough to give birth to him. If only her strange decision to make Alex Hammond and herself Courtney’s guardians could be explained that easily!

Although Alex seemed more approachable today, less inclined to be the austere stranger she was used to. Perhaps Courtney’s innocence had got to him too. Although she wouldn’t count on it! No doubt he would revert to type soon enough.

‘Damn, damn, damn!’ he muttered as they entered the long driveway to the house, and slowed the car down.

‘What is it?’ Morgan sat forward concernedly, Courtney still—thank goodness!—fast asleep in her arms.

‘I hope you feel up to facing the press again,’ he ground out. ‘Why the hell didn’t my mother ring the police and have them thrown off my land!’ he bit out grimly as he halted the car and was instantly surrounded by obvious members of the press, tape-recorders and cameras at the ready. ‘There’s going to be no keeping Courtney’s existence a secret now,’ he turned to mutter. ‘Just stay at my side, Morgan, and don’t say a word!’

What did he take her for! He treated her as if she was some sort of brainless idiot, not a woman of twenty-six. Who did—–

‘And calm down,’ he taunted at the flash in her green eyes. ‘You don’t want them to think you hate me, do you?’ he mocked before swinging out of the car to walk round and open the door for her, ignoring the questions being thrown at him as if he didn’t hear them.

‘Is this your nephew, Mr Hammond?’ The jostling became more intense as Morgan stepped out of the car with Courtney in her arms.

‘The son of Glenna McKay and your brother Mark?’ they persisted as Alex guided her towards the house.

‘Is this Morgan McKay, sir?’ another tried politeness.

‘Of course it is,’ another man said eagerly. ‘Don’t you watch her in Power Trap?’ His tone implied appreciation of the character she played. ‘It’s been rumoured that you and Miss McKay are the baby’s guardians,’ the man followed them as they walked up the steps to the house. ‘Do you have any comment to make about that, Mr Hammond?’

Again Alex ignored the question, although Morgan could see by the tightening of his mouth that he was angry such information had become public knowledge.

‘Does this mean that, in the best tradition of romances, the two of you will be marrying?’ the man persisted.

Morgan knew she had blanched, and she could see that Alex had stiffened at such a suggestion. She and Alex marry? Never!

CHAPTER THREE

HER arm felt bruised from the way Alex thrust her inside the house, closing the door in the young man’s face as he would have continued his questioning.

Morgan had never been so shocked in her life. Where did people get these ideas from? She and Alex hardly knew each other, and what they did know they disliked. They would certainly never consider marrying each other, not even for Courtney’s sake.

Alex was scowling heavily as his mother came out of the lounge, throwing his car keys down carelessly on the hall table. ‘Have you called the police, Mother?’ he rasped.

‘Police?’ Rita Hammond looked puzzled. ‘Oh, you mean the press,’ she dismissed.

‘Of course I mean—–’

‘Alex, you had no right to take that woman with you to collect my grandson!’ Her icy blue eyes spat venom at Morgan.

He frowned. ‘Are you saying you told the media?’ he asked softly.

‘No, of course not,’ the elderly woman snapped, striding over to stand in front of Morgan. ‘Give him to me,’ she ordered, holding out her arms for the baby.

Morgan’s arms tightened about the tiny shawl-wrapped form. She didn’t like the almost hysterical gleam in Rita Hammond’s eyes. She had been wrong about this woman’s lack of emotion concerning Glenna and Mark’s death; Rita Hammond was slowly cracking up, her emotions held on too tight a rein.

Morgan looked appealingly at Alex, and was relieved when he stepped forward to take control of the situation.

‘It’s time for your medication, Mother—–’

‘I don’t want it,’ his mother refused imperiously, shaking off his hand on her arm. ‘It just makes me sleepy. If I hadn’t been sleeping this morning I could have come with you to collect Courtney. She has no right to him!’

‘Mother—–’

‘She’s a slut, Alex, just like her sister was. I will not permit her into my grandson’s life!’ Rita Hammond’s voice was beginning to rise shrilly. ‘You should know that no member of that family is capable of bringing up a child decently!’ Her eyes glittered with hatred.

Morgan was very pale. ‘Mrs Hammond—–’

‘Give the baby to me!’ The other woman reached out for Courtney, and Morgan stepped back out of her reach. There was no way she was going to relinquish the baby to this hysterical woman!

‘Mother—–’

‘Give him to me!’ Rita Hammond began pulling at her arms, waking the baby, who instantly gave a heartrending wail of hunger. ‘You see?’ she turned triumphantly to her son. ‘Courtney doesn’t like her either. He’s frightened of her. Alex, I forbid this woman to come near my grandson.’

‘Let’s go to your room, Mother,’ Alex controlled her, firmly propelling her out of the room, not sparing a second glance for the shocked and pale Morgan.

What did Rita Hammond mean by calling Glenna a slut? How dared she talk about Glenna like that, and imply that she was the same! The woman might be bordering on collapse, but her insults to Glenna were unforgivable.

‘Shall I take the baby for his feed, Miss McKay?’

She turned at the softly spoken words, her eyes widening as she took in the neat nurse’s uniform and kindly face of the middle-aged woman standing in front of her, her arms held out for Courtney.

‘I believe he’s hungry, Miss McKay,’ the woman added pointedly as the baby continued to scream.

Anger warred with practicality, and finally it was the latter that won. Courtney was hungry, extremely so by the sound of him, and as she had no idea what Alex had done with his bottle Morgan had no choice but to hand the baby over to the capable-looking woman.

‘Mr Hammond engaged you?’ she asked casually as the woman held Courtney confidently in her arms.

‘Of course,’ the woman nodded. ‘I’ve prepared the nursery in your absence. If you’ll excuse me …’

Morgan nodded abruptly; Courtney’s lungs sounded as if he were going to burst if someone didn’t feed him soon! But Alex’s decision to engage a nurse for him without even consulting her was unforgivable, especially when she had already made her feelings about such an idea clear.

He hadn’t returned from his mother’s room after ten minutes’ wait, and with an angry sigh Morgan went up to her room to shower and change for lunch. What she had to say to him couldn’t wait much longer. Glenna might have been treated like an outcast in this family; Rita Hammond’s words more than showed that!—but Morgan McKay wasn’t tied by love to any member of this family, and she wouldn’t let them walk all over her.

She lunched alone, although the absence of the reporters in the driveway told her that Alex had been in touch with the police. A casual query to Symonds as to Alex’s whereabouts now told her he was in his study. That was all she needed to know!

Alex told her to come in after her firm knock on the door, and she stood aggressively in front of his desk, refusing his offer to sit down. She didn’t intend feeling at a disadvantage by sitting across from him like some naughty schoolgirl!

‘You engaged a nanny—–’

‘Nurse,’ he corrected calmly. ‘Courtney is with her now?’ He raised dark brows enquiringly.

She nodded abruptly. ‘He’s been fed, and is now fast asleep in his crib. I checked on him before lunch,’ she explained.

‘I believe Mrs Ford is very capable,’ he nodded.

‘And I believe I told you I didn’t want Courtney to have a nanny—–’

‘Mrs Ford is a nurse,’ he repeated, sitting back, his eyes narrowed as if for battle.

‘Nanny, nurse, it’s all the same!’ she said heatedly.

Cool grey eyes raked over her disdainfully. ‘Courtney is a premature baby, he was born in unusual circumstances. The doctors only agreed to him coming home with us today on the understanding that an experienced nurse be engaged to monitor his progress for a few weeks.’

‘Oh.’

‘Indeed,’ he drawled at her discomfort.

Angry colour flared in her cheeks. ‘You could have told me that, damn you! You didn’t say a damned word on the drive to the hospital, or on the way back.’

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