Her voice shook. “Alex—please. Don’t do this….”

“Do what?” he questioned. “This?” He stroked her hair aside and kissed her nape. “Or this?” He bent his head and pressed his lips to Louise’s bare shoulder, forcing a shiver of response from her.

“Because I hear what you’re saying, my reluctant wife,” he told her softly. “But all evening I’ve seen your eyes. Felt the way you’ve touched me—how you went into my arms. And you know it’s true…”

Legally wed,

But he’s never said…

“I love you.”

They’re…

The series where marriages are made in haste…and love comes later….

Look out for the next book in the Wedlocked! miniseries

Coming soon:

The Constantin Marriage by Lindsay Armstrong Harlequin Presents #2384

Alex Constantin had agreed to a marriage of convenience with Tatiana Beaufort—but she surprised him on their wedding night by asking for a year’s grace before making theirs a “real” marriage. A year later Tattie is both alarmed and tempted when her enigmatic husband suggests they become lovers at last….

The Token Wife
Sara Craven

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Endpage

PROLOGUE

WHEN Alex Fabian was displeased, his annoyance invariably radiated from him like static electricity, alerting the wary to keep their distance.

Tonight, entering his grandmother’s Holland Park house, he was crackling like an approaching storm, although he managed a brief smile for the elderly manservant who admitted him, and who’d known him since childhood.

‘Barney—you’re well? And Mrs Barnes?’

‘Both fighting fit, thank you, Mr Alex.’ Barnes paused. ‘Her ladyship hasn’t come downstairs yet, but you’ll find Mr Fabian in the drawing room.’

‘My father?’ Alex’s brows snapped together. ‘I thought they weren’t speaking to each other.’

‘There has been a rapprochement, sir.’ Barnes’ tone was sedate. ‘Last week.’

‘I see.’ Alex shrugged off his overcoat, and cast a fleeting but critical glance at his reflection in the big gilt-framed mirror before crossing the wide hall to the double doors which led into the drawing room.

He supposed he should have fitted in a visit to the barber, he thought, raking an irritable hand through the tawny hair which brushed his collar.

But the charcoal suit he was wearing, set off by a silk waistcoat in a paler shade of grey, the pristine white shirt, and discreetly striped tie acknowledged that this was a formal visit.

That he’d been sent for.

And his tight-lipped expression and smouldering green eyes indicated that he suspected what was behind the summons.

He found George Fabian seated on one of the sofas that flanked the fireplace, glancing through a newspaper.

He said, without looking up, ‘Good evening, Alex. We have been instructed to help ourselves to a drink.’

‘Thank you, sir, but it’s a little early for me.’ Alex glanced pointedly at his watch. ‘I wasn’t sure whether I was being invited for dinner, or nursery tea.’

‘I suggest you ask your grandmother that,’ his father advised curtly. ‘This little family gathering was her idea, not mine.’

‘And its purpose?’ Alex walked to the hearth and gave the logs that burned there an impatient kick with a well-shod foot.

‘I understand to discuss the arrangements for her birthday party.’ George Fabian paused. ‘Among other things.’

‘Indeed?’ Alex’s brows rose sardonically. ‘And am I permitted to speculate what those “other things” might be?’

His father gave him a dry look. ‘I imagine your position as chairman in waiting at Perrins Bank might come up for discussion.’

There was a silence, then Alex said, with a touch of hauteur, ‘Are you implying that it could be in some doubt? I wasn’t aware that my ability to run the bank was being called into question.’

‘It isn’t, as far as I know.’ George Fabian folded the paper, and tossed it aside. ‘It’s more a matter of image.’ He pursed his lips meditatively. ‘Too many pictures in the wrong sort of paper. Too many pieces in the gossip columns. And too many girls,’ he added flatly.

‘I wasn’t aware that I required a vow of celibacy to work at Perrins.’ Alex kept his tone light, but his fingers beat a restless tattoo on the edge of the mantelpiece. The fact that he’d been expecting this made it no less unwelcome, he thought, his edginess increasing.

‘Then think again,’ his father said brusquely. ‘Perrins is an old-fashioned bank, run by conservative people, and they don’t like the kind of adverse publicity you’ve been attracting.’

He shook his head. ‘The customers want to know that there’s someone solid and reliable at the top, whom they can trust. Not a playboy.’ He paused. ‘You’re a high-flyer, Alex, but you’re getting perilously close to the sun. Take care you don’t come crashing down.’

‘Thank you,’ Alex said with dangerous politeness. ‘Have you been asked to pass on these words of wisdom, or was it all your own work?’

George Fabian sighed wearily. ‘Don’t be so damned prickly, boy. I’m your father, so I think I have the right to be concerned. I don’t want to see you throw away the potential for a brilliant career.’

‘If the worst happens, there are other banks besides Perrins,’ Alex said tautly.

‘Indeed there are,’ his father agreed. He gave the younger man a long, steady look. ‘Unless, of course, you become too hot for any of them to handle.’

There was a silence, then Alex said quietly, ‘Maybe I will have that drink after all.’ He went over to the side-table, where decanters and glasses were set out, pouring himself a single malt whisky. ‘So.’ He turned back, glass in hand, his expression challenging. ‘What’s the rumour on the piazza?’

‘This and that.’ Mr Fabian paused. ‘I gather Peter Crosby is going to be promoted in the next government reshuffle,’ he added almost inconsequentially.

Alex stiffened. ‘And?’

‘And that means he’ll become of increasing interest to the tabloids.’

George Fabian drank some of his own whisky. ‘I gather the Daily Mercury is already on red alert. And that a news team has been detailed to keep a close eye on his wife.’

There was another, longer silence. Then, ‘I see,’ said Alex, his voice expressionless.

‘In addition,’ Mr Fabian went on, ‘there’s an unconfirmed report that Crosby has consulted a lawyer, and is considering hiring a private detective to follow Mrs Crosby, and monitor her calls.

‘There are no children, of course, and he may be preparing to dump the beautiful Lucinda before she jeopardises his triumphant march to power by some further indiscretion. You’re not the first, you know.’

‘I am aware of that.’ Alex’s look and tone were icy.

‘And it’s by no means certain he would go for a simple, no-fault divorce. He has the reputation of being a vindictive bastard.’ He gave his son another steady look. ‘He could decide to name and shame.’

‘It’s a pity the bloody gossip-mongers haven’t something better to do.’ Alex threw the whisky down his throat with a jerky movement.

‘They have their uses,’ his father returned placidly. ‘Perhaps you should be grateful to them. Featuring in a messy, high-profile divorce is something that the Perrins board would never stand for in their chairman.’

Alex’s smile glittered. ‘Gratitude is not my overriding emotion at the moment.’

George Fabian looked concerned. ‘I hope you’re not going to tell me that Lucinda Crosby is the love of your life.’

‘Certainly not.’ His son gave a cynical shrug. ‘I doubt if such a creature exists.’ He’d been thoroughly enjoying his liaison with Cindy Crosby who was not only beautiful but also sexually voracious, he thought with an inward grimace. But he’d been planning to end it anyway, married women not being entirely to his taste.

He gave his father a stony look. ‘I hope that reassures you.’

‘Don’t congratulate yourself too soon,’ Mr Fabian cautioned. ‘You’re not out of the woods yet.’ He paused. ‘Have you ever heard your grandmother talk about a cousin of hers who went off to South Africa just before the war—Archie Maidstone?’

Alex frowned. ‘Yes, she’s mentioned him. I got the impression she’d been very fond of him at one time, and then he got himself into some kind of trouble, and had to be shunted out of the country.’

‘That’s the one.’ George Fabian nodded. ‘He had a job with Perrins, and embezzled some money. The family closed ranks and made good the loss, apparently, but he was warned never to come back to England.’

‘And has he?’ Alex gave a faint whistle. ‘He must be a hell of an age.’

‘Actually, he’s dead,’ said Mr Fabian. ‘But his grandson isn’t, and he’s been over here visiting. Building bridges. Seems to have made an excellent impression on your grandmother, too.’ He paused. ‘He even got her to invite him down to Rosshampton for the weekend.’

Alex’s attention was suddenly, sharply focused. ‘Go on.’

‘He’s married,’ said George Fabian. ‘And she’s asked him to come back for her birthday, and bring his wife so that he can show her Rosshampton too.’

Alex went on staring at him. ‘Meaning?’

‘Just that your inheritance may not be as secure as you thought,’ his father said bluntly. ‘There’s an alternative claimant.’

‘I’m her only grandson,’ Alex said. ‘What is this guy —a second…third cousin? And she’s always said that Rosshampton will ultimately come to me. You really think that’s in doubt?’

‘I don’t know,’ George Fabian admitted. ‘But she’s very taken with him—and the fact that he’s married…stable. She likes that—and she may have been drawing a few unfavourable comparisons.’

Alex’s mouth had firmed into a steely straight line. ‘I see.’ He glanced up at the picture on the wall above him, a water-colour that he had commissioned for Lady Perrin’s eightieth birthday. He saw the elegant grey stone house sheltering among the ancient trees; the sunlight falling in swathes across the sweeping lawns, and, in the distance, the gleam of water.

He thought, with a pang, of how many of the happiest weeks of his childhood had been spent there. How, over the years, it unerringly drew him back to its rock-like security. How it had always seemed enshrined in his heart, timeless and unchanging, waiting for him to become its master.

And his grandmother had encouraged that, he thought with a pang of disquiet. Had deliberately fostered his love for the house, and let him think that it would one day be his.

And now, for the first time, there was a doubt in his mind. A shadow in the sunlight that disturbed him perhaps more than any of the other unpalatable things that had been said to him tonight.

This unknown South African, he thought, his hand tightening round his empty glass. This grandson of a man who’d been sent away in disgrace, but for whom Selina Perrin might cherish tender memories. This man was going to steal Rosshampton from him? Over his dead body!

Then the door opened, and Lady Perrin came in. She was wearing one of the elegant long black dresses she favoured for the evening, and her snowy hair was piled on top of her head in an imperious knot.

Alex saw that she was using the silver-topped cane she usually despised as a sign of weakness, and realised that she must be in real pain from her arthritis to give way like that. The anger and unease within him was replaced by a swift compassion he dared not show.

His father received a brief inclination of the head, and, ‘Good evening, George.’

Then she was turning to himself, the fierce eyes beneath their arched brows sweeping him from head to foot, the carefully painted mouth stretching in a wintry smile.

‘My dear Alexander. Quite a stranger.’

Alex took her hand, and kissed the scented cheek. ‘Never to you, Gran dear.’

‘Hmm.’ Selina Perrin made her way to the other sofa, and sat with an effort, accepting the dry sherry that Alex brought her with a word of thanks. ‘Now, come and sit with me, and tell me everything you’ve been doing—apart from what I read about in the papers, of course. There’s quite enough of that.’

‘Ah,’ Alex said lightly. ‘You should never believe all the papers say. But I’ve always thought that if you work hard, you should be allowed to play hard too.’

‘I have no objection to that,’ she said. ‘Just to your occasional choice of playmate. And don’t glare at your father,’ she added calmly. ‘He didn’t tell me about the Crosby woman. I already knew.’

Alex bit his lip. ‘What a pity you never worked for MI5, darling.’

‘There weren’t the same openings for women in my day.’ She paused. ‘Isn’t it time, Alexander, that you left other men’s wives alone, and found a decent, respectable girl of your own? Settled down?’

He’d expected a sly ambush over dinner, not this frontal attack, and had to make a swift recovery.

‘How dull you make it sound, Gran,’ he said lightly. ‘Besides, I’d be the last man on earth a girl like that would want to marry.’

‘Specious nonsense,’ Lady Perrin said contemptuously. ‘And you know it. You’re doing the family no credit, Alexander, and it has to stop. And I refuse to allow the bank to be affected by your rackety behaviour. You’re—what? Thirty-three?’

‘Thirty-two,’ he said, instantly cross with himself for rising to the bait.

‘Precisely. You should have sown your wild oats by now.’

He was seething inwardly. ‘Perhaps you’d like to suggest a suitable candidate?’

‘I could suggest dozens,’ his grandmother said calmly. ‘But I certainly wouldn’t jeopardise their chances by naming them.’

In spite of himself, he found his lips twitching. ‘Gran, you’re impossible.’

‘I’m also serious,’ Lady Perrin returned implacably. ‘It’s my birthday in three months’ time. I shall expect you to attend it with your bride.’

Alex was shaken to the roots. From the opposite sofa, he could see his father staring at them both in open incredulity.

He said quietly, ‘Darling, that’s quite impossible. You must see that. How could I possibly meet someone…persuade her to marry me in that sort of time frame?’

‘You are wealthy, clearly attractive to women, and blessed with far more charm than you deserve.’ Selina Perrin’s tone was resolute. ‘It should be entirely within your capabilities.’ She paused. ‘I would not wish to be disappointed.’

The warning was there—implicit—staring him in the face.

He said, with a touch of desperation, ‘Grandmother…’

‘Besides,’ she went on, as if he had not spoken, ‘Rosshampton is a family house—a home waiting to be occupied. I must warn you, Alexander, that I should not wish it to become a bachelor pad. Or, indeed, permit that to happen. Do I make myself clear?’

Alex stared at her, the colour draining from his face, the blood drumming in his ears.

He said hoarsely, ‘Clear as crystal.’ And saw her give a brief, satisfied smile.

Reaching for her cane, she rose purposefully to her feet. ‘Then let us go into dinner. I hope you’re both hungry.’

He couldn’t speak for his father, Alex thought grimly as he followed her to the door, but his own appetite had been killed stone dead.

He’d come prepared for disapproval, and instead been presented with an ultimatum.

But he wasn’t going to let Rosshampton go without a struggle, he told himself. And, although she was infuriating, he did love his grandmother.

If his inheritance depended on him finding a girl to marry in the next three months, then a wife he would have.

But a wife on my own terms, he thought as he took his place at the dining table. Not yours—my dear, clever Gran. And we’ll see, shall we, who has the last laugh?

CHAPTER ONE

‘LOUISE—are you up there? What on earth are you doing?’

Louise Trentham, on her knees in the loft, surrounded by open trunks full of elderly clothing, heard her stepmother’s querulous tones from the landing below, and grimaced faintly.

‘I’m looking for thirties evening dresses,’ she called back. ‘For the Village Players.’

‘Well, come down, please,’ Marian Trentham said sharply. ‘I can’t conduct a conversation peering up into a hole.’

Lou sighed inwardly, but made her way over to the hatch, and swung slim, denim-clad legs onto the loft ladder.

‘Is something wrong?’ she enquired as she made her way down. ‘I made up the rooms as you told me, and did the flowers. And all the food is in the refrigerator, ready for Mrs Gladwin.’

‘That’s the trouble,’ Mrs Trentham said crossly. ‘She’s just telephoned to say her eldest child is ill again, and she won’t be able to cook dinner tonight. And she knows how important this evening is.’

Lou reflected drily that there probably wasn’t a soul in the known universe who wasn’t aware that Alex Fabian was coming for the weekend. And why.

She said, ‘It’s hardly her fault. Tim can’t help being asthmatic.’ She paused. ‘Why don’t you have dinner at the Royal Oak instead?’

‘At a public house?’ Mrs Trentham reared back as if her stepdaughter had suggested a visit to a burger joint.

‘A very upmarket one,’ Lou pointed out. ‘With a restaurant in all the food guides. In fact, you’ll be lucky to get a table.’

‘Because it’s intended to be a quiet family meal,’ Marian Trentham said tartly.

‘Offering Alex Fabian a preview of domestic bliss?’ Lou’s cool face relaxed into a sudden grin. ‘From what I hear, he’d prefer the Royal Oak any day of the week.’

Her stepmother’s lips thinned. ‘Please don’t be more irritating than you can help, Louise. On an occasion like this, the right atmosphere is essential.’

‘Shouldn’t he and Ellie create their own ambience?’ Lou enquired mildly. ‘Especially when he’s sweeping her off her feet into marriage?’

‘Well, I don’t intend to stand here arguing about it,’ Marian Trentham said with finality. ‘I simply came to say that you’ll have to stand in for Mrs Gladwin, and do the cooking.’

Lou had seen this coming a mile off, and she had no real objections. But the word ‘please’ would not have come amiss, she thought wryly.

‘Shouldn’t Ellie do it?’ she suggested straight-faced. ‘Convince him that she has all the wifely virtues?’

‘He’s more likely to run out of the house, screaming,’ Marian said, with one of her rare glimmers of humour. ‘Ellie could burn boiling water. Not that it matters, of course,’ she added, reverting to briskness. ‘When she’s married, there’ll be staff to attend to that kind of thing.’

‘Of course there will,’ Lou murmured. ‘Silly me.’

There’s staff here too, she thought. And I seem to be it.

‘So that’s settled, is it?’ said Marian. ‘You’ll cook tonight’s dinner? I thought you might do that mushroom soup you’re so good at—and an orange sauce with the ducks.’

‘Fine,’ Lou said equably. ‘And, having done so, am I expected to join this quiet family party?’

Marian hesitated for a micro-second too long. ‘But of course. If you’d like to. It’s entirely up to you, naturally.’

Lou took pity on her. ‘Actually, I think I’ll pass. Odd numbers and all that. And anyway, I have to go out. There’s a rehearsal at the village hall, and I need to get these costumes settled.’

Marian’s eyes took on that slightly glazed look which appeared when village matters were under discussion. Marian was a big-city woman. She liked the idea of a weekend country home—something to mention casually in conversation, and invite people to—rather than the reality of it. And she took a minimal part in local activities.

‘Well, just as you please,’ she said, adding, ‘Lou, dear,’ as an afterthought. ‘And see if you can find something for Ellie to do, would you?’ She attempted a silvery laugh. ‘She’s getting absurdly nervous, silly girl.’

Left to herself, Lou replaced the loft ladder thoughtfully. She didn’t mind being part-time caretaker in the house where she’d been born and keeping it pristine for the occasional descents from London by the rest of her family. But sometimes she felt a flicker of resentment at being taken so much for granted.

But it wouldn’t be for much longer, she thought, giving herself a mental shake. Because she too was getting married, and would be moving to the tall Georgian house in the main square which belonged to David Sanders, her future husband, who would be furious if he discovered she was acting as head cook and bottle-washer again.

‘They’re just using you, darling,’ he told her over and over again. ‘And you’re too sweet to mind.’

Lou had never regarded herself as particularly sweet, but it was nice to hear, she acknowledged contentedly.

She shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal. And it gives me something to do when you’re away.’

David worked for the regional office of a national firm of auctioneers and valuers. A recent promotion had involved him in a lot more travelling, and attendance at a series of courses in London, which had left Lou to her own devices more than she cared for, if she was honest.

Her own day job was working as a paralegal at the leading firm of solicitors in the nearby market town. The plan was that she would go on working until they started a family.

She loved the sound of that. Loved the thought of the future they would have together. It seemed to her that there had never been a time when David had not been a part of her life. They’d played as children, fought and made up again as teenagers, and rediscovered each other when he came back from university. And for the past year they’d been unofficially engaged.

It would have been put on a formal footing with a party for family and friends but for the sudden death of David’s father, and his mother’s subsequent refusal to cope with anything that approximated to ‘happy’.

‘She will come to the wedding, won’t she?’ Lou had asked at one point, with a faint irony that was lost on David.

‘Of course,’ he’d said, kissing her. ‘She just needs time, that’s all. Be patient.’

Secretly, Lou found patience difficult with David’s mother, whom she suspected to be milking widowhood for all it was worth. For one thing, it provided her with an excuse not to leave the family home, which now technically belonged to her son, and move to the bungalow in Bournemouth that she was to share with her sister. Something which had been planned forever, but which now seemed to have been shifted to the back burner.

But it would have to happen sooner or later, Lou assured herself. Because she was congenitally unfitted to share a roof with Mrs Sanders, and David knew it.

So, for the time being, she occupied Virginia Cottage in peace, most of the time, occasionally allowing herself memories of the time when she’d lived there with her mother, enjoying much the same placid existence, with her father coming home at weekends from Trentham Osborne, the independent publishing company which he ran in Bloomsbury.

But following Anne Trentham’s shocking and unexpected death after a two-day illness from a strain of viral pneumonia, Lou’s whole life had changed. She had been sent away to boarding-school, and her holidays had been spent with Aunt Barbara, her mother’s only sister, her big farmer husband and their rowdy, kind, loving family.

But no sooner had she become adapted to this new set of circumstances than they changed too. Her father, his eyes sliding away in embarrassment, had told her that he was getting married again, and she would have a stepmother and sister. Ellie would be going to the same school, and the rest of the time would be divided between the flat in London and Virginia Cottage.

In retrospect, Lou could see that her father had been involved with Marian long before her mother’s death, and that Ellie might well be her half-sister, but by the time she was old enough to realise this, it no longer seemed to matter that much. Marian could be kind enough when she remembered. And Ellie—well, Ellie truly deserved David’s epithet ‘sweet’.

She was blonde like her mother, but lacked Marian’s statuesque build. She was small, blue-eyed and shy, with a pretty, heart-shaped face, in total contrast to Lou, who was taller, and thin rather than slender, with a cloud of unruly dark hair. Lou had pale, creamy skin, and long-lashed grey eyes that were undoubtedly the best feature in a face that she herself dismissed as nondescript. And she had learned, over the years, to appear calm and self-contained.

At school she had soon found herself Ellie’s unofficial protector, and she seemed to have carried this role into their adult lives, although, admittedly, she didn’t see as much of her stepsister these days, as Ellie lived and worked in London as a copy-editor for Trentham Osborne.

And now, with amazing suddenness, Ellie was going to be married, and someone else would be looking after her. Someone called Alex Fabian.

‘I met him at the office,’ she’d confided to Louise only a few weeks before. ‘Apparently he’s a banker, and Daddy and he were doing some kind of business deal.’ She frowned. ‘I didn’t think he’d really noticed me, but he rang the next day and asked me to go to the theatre.’

‘Terrific,’ Lou said absently, focusing rather on the words “business deal”. ‘Is Dad looking to re-capitalise?’ she enquired.

Ellie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But we are bringing out the new art and architecture list, and they say times are hard for independents in publishing.’

‘They always were,’ said Lou.

Gradually, through Ellie’s artless disclosures, she began to build up a picture of this Alex Fabian. He was, it seemed, absolutely gorgeous. There wasn’t a club where he wasn’t a member, or a restaurant where he couldn’t get a table. He was usually seen out with models, actresses and rich girls-about-town. Everywhere they went, he was recognised.

Why, only the other evening they’d gone to the launch of a new brasserie, and this stunning woman, tall with red hair and a fantastic figure, had come up to their table. Alex hadn’t seemed very pleased to see her, but he’d called her ‘Cindy’ and she’d asked him if this was the sacrificial lamb.

Ellie had mentioned this later, and Alex had said that Cindy had a sense of humour all her own, and Ellie wasn’t to worry about it. But wasn’t it strange?

‘Weird,’ Lou had agreed with total sincerity.

As she went downstairs she found herself wondering yet again what someone like Alex Fabian was doing with Ellie, who was gentle to the point of naïveté, and certainly no party animal. In fact, she still lived at her parents’ flat under Marian’s watchful eye.

And what was Ellie’s slant on all this? She talked about fabulous meals she’d eaten, and celebrities she’d met. She mentioned the opera, and the ballet, and private viewings at art galleries.

But she said nothing about Alex Fabian himself, the man who was providing all these earthly delights. And demanding—what, in return? Just, it seemed, the pleasure of Ellie’s company.

Maybe he’d recognised her intrinsic innocence, and decided to respect it, although that kind of consideration seemed unlikely from someone who clearly lived his life on the fast track.

So, perhaps it was just the attraction of opposites. Whatever, he was coming down this weekend to become formally engaged to Ellie, having apparently first sought the permission of her mother and stepfather.

Very dear and old-fashioned of him, Lou thought, wrinkling her nose in a faint unease she was unable to explain.

And it had resulted in a string of frenetic instructions from Marian, who wanted Virginia Cottage at its quaint and sparkling best, to provide the perfect setting for such a momentous event.

Lou found Ellie in the drawing room, curled up in the corner of a sofa. She didn’t fit her mother’s description of ‘silly’ at all. Instead she looked remarkably serious—rather like a small creature caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

‘Hey there,’ Lou said gently. ‘Come and peel some potatoes for this man of yours. I thought I’d do rosti with the duck.’

‘OK. Fine.’ Ellie summoned a wan smile as she followed her to the kitchen. She sat at the table, staring without enthusiasm at the bowl of vegetables awaiting her attention.

‘Isn’t this a little early for bridal nerves?’ Lou enquired, surveying her with concern as she handed over an apron and a paring knife, then began swiftly and deftly to prepare the mushrooms for the soup. ‘You aren’t even engaged yet.’

‘No, but I will be in a few hours’ time.’

‘But only if that’s what you want,’ Lou countered, frowning. ‘So—is it?’

‘Of course.’ Ellie tilted a charming chin. ‘How could it not be?’

‘You tell me,’ Lou said wryly. ‘You look like someone under sentence of death.’

‘Don’t be absurd,’ Ellie said shortly. ‘Alex is an incredible man, and I’m going to have an amazing life with him. No one in her right mind is going to turn that away.’

Lou reached for another mushroom. That, she thought, didn’t sound like Ellie at all. More as if she was repeating something she’d been told. Something that had been impressed upon her.

I detect Marian’s fine white hand in this, she told herself grimly.

She said quietly, ‘Ellie—you do love him, don’t you?’

‘Naturally.’ Ellie hacked the skin from an inoffensive potato. ‘It’s all happened a little fast—that’s all.’

‘Then tell him you need more time. If he cares for you, he’ll understand.’

Ellie shook her head. She said, ‘Time is something I—don’t have.’

‘Oh, God.’ Lou came to an apprehensive halt in her preparations. ‘Ellie—you’re not pregnant, are you?’

Ellie stared at her in astonishment. ‘Of course not. How could I possibly be?’

Lou shrugged uncomfortably. ‘People in love are usually—lovers too,’ she suggested. ‘And accidents happen.’

Her stepsister flushed. ‘Well, not in our case. Because we—don’t…’

‘Oh,’ Lou said, adding mendaciously, ‘I see.’

Although she didn’t know why she should be so surprised, she thought, turning back to the mushrooms. After all, sex before marriage wasn’t obligatory. And in a sharp-eyed village, where any kind of privacy was at a premium, and your beloved still resided with a mother who tracked his every move, it was virtually impossible, as she knew to her cost.

But, as David had said ruefully, there was no real hurry when they had the rest of their lives together. And what could she do but reluctantly agree?

However, Alex Fabian didn’t live his life under the spotlight of parental disapproval, she thought. On the contrary. So, why this uncharacteristic restraint?

She said, ‘Then what’s the matter? Because there’s clearly something.’

Ellie was silent for a moment. She said, ‘He—he scares me a little. To be honest, he always has.’

‘Then why on earth did you go out with him?’ Lou demanded, bewildered.

Ellie shrugged. ‘Oh, I wasn’t very happy at the time,’ she said evasively. ‘I thought it might—take my mind off things.’

‘And did it?’

Ellie’s laugh sounded a little forced. ‘Well, of course. Alex demands—total concentration at all times. And now we’re going to be married,’ she added brightly. ‘So everything’s worked out for the best.’

‘In this best of all possible worlds,’ Lou murmured with irony. ‘And maybe you should leave the potatoes to me, love. There’ll be none left at the rate you’re going.’

‘Oh, Lou, I’m sorry.’ Ellie looked with contrition at the results of her labours.

‘Don’t worry about it.’ Lou rinsed her hands. ‘The future Mrs Fabian will never have to bother with such mundane tasks, anyway. So go and make yourself look gorgeous for him.’

‘Yes,’ Ellie said slowly. ‘I suppose so.’ She looked up at the clock, her expression blank. ‘He’ll be here soon. Time’s running out.’ And she wandered off, leaving Lou staring after her, perplexed, and frankly worried.

Ellie, she thought, bore no resemblance to a girl about to say ‘yes’ to the man she adored.

She wondered if she ought to talk to Marian about it, then dismissed the idea, knowing that it would be seen as interference rather than intervention.

And Ellie wasn’t a child any more. She had to work out her own salvation. And whether that would include Alex Fabian was entirely her own decision.

Left to herself, she worked steadily, and competently. Soon the ducklings were waiting on their rack, the vegetables prepared, the soup simmering, and a bowl of Chantilly cream whisked up to accompany the dessert of fresh local strawberries.

As David’s wife, she might always have to do her own cooking, she thought with faint amusement, but she didn’t have one iota of envy for Ellie’s carefree future. David was her rock, and she’d never entertained the slightest doubt about him.

Dinner was to be served at eight o’ clock, so she now had a breathing space to go back into the loft and choose the dresses to take down to the village hall later.

It was a fascinating task. Like most lofts, it was crammed with remnants of the past, including a lot of old photograph albums, and Lou was constantly being sidetracked.

‘Oh, hell,’ she muttered as she glanced at her watch. ‘It’s time those ducklings were in the oven. I’d better get cracking.’

She picked up the armful of dresses she’d chosen. They were too bulky to manage safely on the ladder, she decided. Much better for them to go first.

She dropped them through the hatch, and was about to follow, when a startled cry reached her from below.

Glancing down in sudden apprehension, Lou saw the dresses seemed to have taken on a life of their own. Were, in fact, on the move. And under their concealing folds a muffled male voice was swearing angrily.

‘Oh, God.’ Lou scrambled down the ladder at neck-breaking speed. She grabbed a handful of satin, and hauled it away. ‘I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise anyone would be there.’

Her victim shook himself free, his impatient glance flicking over her. ‘Really?’ he drawled. ‘I thought it might be some bizarre rite of passage.’

And Lou realised, horrified, she was taking her first look at Alex Fabian. In the flesh, she thought, swallowing.

He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and endless legs. His hair, dishevelled from its close encounter with several pounds of fabric, was thick and tawny, and curled slightly. Lou remembered Ellie once saying that his nickname in the City was the Lion King, and could understand why.

He was not conventionally handsome, but he was arrestingly, dynamically attractive, with high cheekbones, glinting green eyes under heavy lids, and a firmly sculpted, almost insolent mouth.

And he was frighteningly, effortlessly sexy. A man who did not have to try, she thought instantly, and wondered how she could possibly know.

A shiver traced its way down her spine. And she thought, ‘Poor Ellie.’

Alex Fabian was looking at her too. Lou recognised with shock that she had been stripped, assessed and dismissed in one devastating and totally male glance. A conditioned reflex, she told herself angrily. That’s all it was. See a woman—imagine her naked. He probably can’t help himself.

But all the same she resented it, even as she realised he was speaking to her again.

He said softly, ‘And who are you?’

Lou gave him a bland smile. ‘The cook.’

‘Indeed?’ His brows lifted. He stirred the mass of shimmering cloth at his feet with the toe of a polished shoe. ‘Is it part of the job to dress for dinner?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘These are for the local drama group. They’re doing a revue—An Evening with Noël Coward.’

‘Dear God,’ said Alex Fabian, and his lips twitched into an appreciative grin. ‘A little ambitious, wouldn’t you say?’

Lou had thought exactly the same when the idea was first mooted, but she stonily refused to share his amusement. Particularly when his smile had sent his attraction quotient soaring into some sexual stratosphere.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said crisply. ‘You won’t be expected to buy a ticket.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I’ve just realised. You’re Louise, Ellie’s stepsister. How do you do? I’m Alex Fabian.’

Lou dived to pick up the dresses, pretending not to have seen his outstretched hand. It occurred to her that she did not want to touch him. That even a polite handshake might carry some inherent risk, like making contact with a force field. And that she could not afford to find out.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d gathered who you were.’ She hoisted the pile of silks and satins into her arms, using them as a barrier. ‘Now you must excuse me. Duty calls.’

‘You mean you really are doing the cooking?’

‘Well, don’t sound so surprised. Someone has to.’ She gave him a swift, taut smile. ‘Reliable staff is hard to come by round here. But I promise not to poison you.’

‘I’m completely reassured.’ He paused. ‘Before I was booby-trapped,’ he said, ‘I was looking for the guest bathroom.’

‘Second door on the left.’ She edged round him.

‘One moment,’ he said, and a sudden tremor went through her as she felt his hand brush her hair.

She practically jumped backwards, nearly flattening herself against the wall. She said breathlessly, ‘Just—what do you think you’re doing?’

‘Relax,’ he advised, a sudden glint in those amazing eyes. ‘You had a cobweb in your hair. See?’ He showed her its remains on his fingertips. ‘Some poor spider is now homeless.’

‘A banker with a caring side,’ she said. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘Now, why do I find that so hard to believe?’ Alex Fabian said musingly. ‘But I won’t detain you now for any further discussion. You have your pots and pans to get back to. So, as Noël Coward himself would have put it, Miss Louise Trentham, I’ll see you again.’

No, she thought with relief. No, you won’t.

Tonight she would be at the village hall, and tomorrow she would persuade David to take her out for the whole day. And on Sunday she’d invent a headache, and stay in her room until they’d all gone back to London.

She muttered something unintelligible into the pile of dresses, and headed off to her room.

Once safely inside, she leaned back against the door panels, and whispered, ‘Phew.’

So that was Alex Fabian, she thought weakly. Hell’s bells, he should carry a government health warning. No wonder Ellie was becoming flaky at the prospect of marriage with him.

Nor was he a picture of the eager suitor. He was a cool operator. She had seen no kindness in that smiling mouth, no warmth to soften the sensual speculation in the green eyes. For Alex Fabian, women were no more than a commodity to be enjoyed. And what happened when a particular commodity began to pall?

Did Ellie really have the emotional and mental stamina to cope with someone like him? Or was she too glamoured—too beguiled by his looks, charisma and money to care?

She should turn him down, she told herself vehemently. Instantly, and without a second thought. It was a question of survival—pure and simple.

A description which could never be applied to the bridegroom-to-be, she added, her mouth twisting wryly.

She left the dresses on her bed. As she turned away she caught sight of herself in the mirror, and realised there was a smudge of dust on her cheek that Alex Fabian had not seen fit to mention.

Thank God he didn’t try to remove it as well, she thought caustically as she went down to the kitchen, or I’d probably be a gibbering wreck by now.

She was concocting the orange sauce for the ducklings when Marian came in.

‘Is everything under control?’ she demanded, glancing sharply around her.

‘In here, it is.’ Lou added a dash of Cointreau. ‘I can’t speak for the rest of the house.’

Marian stared at her. She was elegant in amethyst jersey, with pearls at her throat and in her ears, and her blonde hair was drawn back into an elaborate chignon. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘I met Ellie’s intended,’ Lou returned. She paused. ‘Are you really going to let her marry him?’

Marian’s brows lifted haughtily. ‘I think that is a decision that we can safely leave to them.’

‘I don’t agree.’ Lou met her gaze calmly and directly. ‘I think it’s like handing a lamb over to a tiger.’

‘What a dramatic turn of phrase,’ her stepmother said mockingly. ‘Perhaps you should be writing melodramas for your little village group.’

‘Better melodrama than tragedy,’ Lou said curtly. ‘Marian, she’s not in his league. You must see that.’

‘I see that she’s marrying a very successful man, who will soon be chairman of Perrins Bank,’ Marian retorted.

‘So you’re not pretending she loves him.’

Marian laughed. ‘Oh, I think she’ll find it very easy to love him—in the ways that matter to a man. After all, she’ll have an expert teacher.’ She paused. ‘Are you quite sure, Lou, dear, that you’re not just a tiny bit jealous?

‘No,’ Lou said steadily. ‘Because I have a man that I can love in all the ways there are. Not just those that happen in the bedroom.’

‘You’re really a little prude, aren’t you?’ Marian drawled. ‘I’m sure you and David will suit each other admirably.’ She glanced at her diamond watch. ‘Are you leaving yourself enough time to change?’

‘I’m going to a village-hall rehearsal, not Glyndebourne.’ Lou tasted her sauce, and nodded with satisfaction.

‘But you can’t serve the dinner in jeans and an old sweater.’

‘I’ve no intention of serving it at all,’ Lou retorted curtly. ‘I said I’d cook, and that’s it. You and Ellie can manage the rest between you—unless, of course, you want Alex Fabian to end up with a lap full of mushroom soup,’ she added menacingly. ‘No? I thought not. And I presume you know how to load the dishwasher as well,’ she called after her stepmother as Marian flounced out.

A minor victory, she thought, but what did that matter when the war was already lost?

Up in her room, she went across to the window to close the curtains against the gathering twilight, and paused, alerted by a movement in the shrubbery below her. To her surprise, she saw it was Ellie, pacing up and down, and talking on her cell-phone.

What on earth is she doing out there? Lou asked herself in bewilderment. ‘I’d have thought Marian would have had her chained to Alex Fabian’s wrist by now.’

She was about to rap on the window—attract Ellie’s attention—then held back. Even in the poor light, she could see that her stepsister looked strained. Every gesture, every restless movement betrayed her agitation.

Maybe she’s decided she can’t go through with it, she thought. But who is she talking to? The Samaritans?

She went back to the bed and began shaking out the dresses, folding them with care and placing them in large carriers.

On her way out to the car she would have a word with Ellie, she decided. Tell her that she, at least, was on her side.

But when she got outside, there was no one about. As she went past the dining-room window she glanced in, and saw Ellie sitting next to Alex Fabian at the candlelit table, talking and laughing as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

The Samaritans must do a wonderful job, Lou thought with a resigned sigh, and went to her rehearsal.

The carrier bags were seized on joyfully by the female cast members and taken off to the women’s dressing room. Lou found a chair and sat down to watch while she waited for David to arrive. He didn’t act in any of the village productions but he helped with scenery and lighting, and he was coming to discuss the design of the set with Ray, the producer.

Lou hadn’t attended any rehearsals for a couple of weeks, and she was amazed to find what progress they’d made. Even Ray who was also playing Noël Coward, was far better than she’d expected.

Then the girls came back in the evening dresses she’d brought, and paraded them on stage for Ray to make a final choice, and it was only when she was re-packing the rejected ones that she realised how late it was getting.

‘Where on earth is David?’ she asked Ray.

For a moment he looked blank, then, ‘Oh, he phoned earlier, just before you got here, love. Said something had cropped up, and he couldn’t make it.’

Lou frowned. ‘He didn’t call me.’

‘He probably took it for granted I’d tell you,’ Ray said peaceably. ‘Which I now have.’

‘He didn’t say what the problem was?’

‘No,’ Ray admitted. ‘But I expect his mother’s thrown another wobbly. He’d hardly want that generally known.’ He paused. ‘You haven’t got any tailcoats or top hats in that loft of yours, by any chance?’

She forced a smile. ‘I didn’t notice any, but I’ll have a good look tomorrow.’

She took the long route back to Virginia Cottage, going through the square, but David’s house was all in darkness, so she drove on without stopping.

Perhaps Ray had been quite right about his mother, she thought. And once David had managed to get her calm again, he’d decided to have an early night. Well, she couldn’t blame him for that, and nor would she.

But all the same, it was disappointing not to have seen him, and she wished very much that he’d rung her to explain. No doubt he’d ring in the morning, and they’d arrange to spend the day together then.

To her surprise, all the lights were out at Virginia Cottage too. She’d expected to find a party going on, but perhaps there was nothing to celebrate after all.

She parked at the rear, beside the low, sleek sports car that looked so alien in the cobbled yard, and went in through the back door. Her immediate intention was to make herself a hot drink, but that was before she saw the state the kitchen was in.

Clearly Marian had decided the dishwasher was unknown territory after all, she thought grimly, because all the plates, cutlery, dishes and pans used for the meal were piled haphazardly on every surface.

She was half tempted to leave them there, except for the knowledge that they would still be waiting for her in the morning, and she hated that.

David is quite right, she thought, smouldering. They do use me. But this is the last time.

She filled the kettle and set it to boil, then began the dreary task of rinsing the crockery, and putting it in the dishwasher.

The running water disguised the sound of the kitchen door opening behind her, and she only realised she was no longer alone when Alex Fabian said, ‘Good evening, Cinderella. Did the ball end early?’

He was standing just behind her. Close enough, she thought, to touch.

Her whole body clenched in sudden, uncontrollable panic, and the dish she was holding slipped from her hands, and smashed into fragments on the quarry-tiled floor between them.

Then there was silence.

CHAPTER TWO

A SILENCE that Alex Fabian was the first to break.

He said, ‘I seem to have startled you. I’m sorry. I hope the breakage won’t be stopped out of your wages,’ he added smoothly.

Lou glared at him. He’d discarded the jacket and tie he’d been wearing at dinner, and his white shirt was half-unbuttoned, revealing more than she wished to see of a brown, muscular chest. His cuffs were undone and turned casually back over equally tanned forearms.

She said, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing—creeping around at this time of night?’

‘This time of night?’ he echoed derisively. ‘Lady, in London the evening would just be beginning.’

‘Well, we don’t go in much for big-city nightlife round here,’ Lou said curtly.

‘I gathered that,’ he said drily. ‘On the stroke of midnight, everyone turns back into pumpkins.’

‘You should have made it clear you wanted to be entertained.’ Lou went over to the broom cupboard in the corner, and extracted a dustpan and brush. ‘I’m sure my family would have turned cartwheels for you.’

Alex Fabian whistled softly. ‘I get the distinct impression, Miss Trentham, that you don’t like me very much.’

‘Fortunately, I don’t have to.’ She began to sweep up the broken pieces. ‘We inhabit totally different worlds, Mr Fabian.’

‘Worlds which seem to have collided,’ he said. ‘I’m about to become part of the family. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’

She emptied the dustpan into the rubbish bin with a clatter. ‘On having got what you want? I imagine that’s the norm for you. Besides, with all you have to offer, how could Ellie possibly resist?’

‘I admit I thought she’d respond better to the carrot than the stick.’ He seemed amused, rather than offended. ‘I’m glad you agree.’

‘Well, I’m not glad about any of it. And where is Ellie, anyway?’

‘She opted for an early night, and the others followed,’ he said. His mouth twisted. ‘I think the excitement was all too much for her.’

Lou went on loading the dishwasher. She said in a low voice, ‘I think you’re too much for her. Don’t you know that she’s frightened of you?’

‘No,’ Alex Fabian said quietly, after a pause. ‘I didn’t realise that. But she truly has nothing to be scared of. Maybe I didn’t make that as clear as I should have done.’

‘Ellie’s a beautiful girl, but she’s also fragile. She needs kindness, Mr Fabian. I’m not sure you have much of that to spare.’

‘Then maybe that’s a trait we share, Miss Trentham.’ His voice was suddenly harsh. ‘You’re very ready to condemn on very little evidence. I promise you on my word of honour that Ellie has nothing to fear from me. That I will look after her as my wife, and treat her well. Does that satisfy you?’

‘Perhaps it’s her that you should reassure.’

His mouth tightened. ‘I would have done, if I’d had the chance to be alone with her before she scuttled off to bed. As a matter of fact, I tapped on her door just now and spoke to her in case she was still awake, but there was no answer.’

‘She probably thought you wanted more than conversation.’ The words were out before she could stop them.

‘Oh, God,’ Lou muttered under her breath. ‘I’ve done it now.’ And she bent swiftly to put the detergent tablet in the machine to disguise the fact that she was blushing.

He said quite mildly, ‘Now, why should she think any such thing? As you’re so much in her confidence, you must know I’ve made no demands of that kind.’

‘Yes, but you’re engaged now. Officially. That—changes things.’ Lou, having dug the hole and fallen into it, was now sinking rapidly. She shut the machine door, and switched on the programme. Anything not to have to look at him. Or hear him. Or even share the same universe with him, she thought detachedly.

‘Does it indeed?’ he said, and she could hear the unholy amusement quivering in his voice. ‘Well, I’ve never been engaged before, so I bow to your superior wisdom. Should I rush upstairs and ravish her now, do you think, or can it wait until tomorrow night?

‘You see, I’d actually planned to make myself some coffee, and do a couple of hours’ work on my laptop, but I’m prepared to make the sacrifice, if necessary,’ he added piously.

‘This is all a big joke to you, isn’t it?’ Lou swung round and faced him stormily.

‘Think what you want.’ He shrugged. ‘If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me. And the kettle’s boiling. Shall I make us both some coffee?’

‘I’m having herb tea.’ If it was an olive branch, Lou didn’t want it. ‘I don’t drink coffee at this hour. It keeps me awake.’

‘How naughty of it,’ Alex Fabian said gravely. ‘Of course, there are a lot of far more pleasurable activities that have exactly the same effect, but perhaps you haven’t tried those.’

Helplessly, Lou felt her face warming again. She went over to the cupboard, produced two beakers, set them on the worktop, and pushed the coffee jar towards him without a word.

‘Before you flounce out of the room, slamming the door behind you,’ Alex Fabian said pleasantly, spooning granules into his beaker and adding boiling water, ‘I should tell you that was a magnificent dinner you gave us tonight.’

‘Thank you.’ The beguiling aroma of coffee seemed to fill the kitchen. Biting her lip, Lou dropped a camomile tea bag into her beaker, and let it infuse.

‘Have you ever thought of cooking professionally?’ he went on. ‘Private lunch and dinner parties in people’s homes? I should think you’d make a fortune.’

‘On the contrary,’ Lou said. ‘In future, I intend to cook only for my husband.’

He gave her bare left hand a fleeting glance. ‘Does this fortunate guy exist, or is he simply an erotic fantasy in your caffeine-free dreams?’

‘Of course he’s real. I—I thought you knew I was engaged.’ Her flush deepened.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Our brief debate on sexual etiquette. I thought you knew that was a wind-up.’

‘And Ellie didn’t tell you?’

‘Ellie,’ he said, ‘has told me very little. But I haven’t exactly been forthcoming myself, so I can hardly complain.’ He paused. ‘So, who is he?’

‘Someone I’ve known forever. He lives in the village, and works for Galbraiths in their regional office.’

‘Does he have a name?’

‘He’s called David Sanders.’ Her tone was short. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘So that when I come to your wedding I’ll know what to call the groom,’ Alex Fabian said calmly. ‘I presume, as Ellie’s husband, I’ll receive an invitation.’

Ellie’s husband, she thought. Ellie’s husband? If she lived to be a thousand, she could never see him in any such role.

She said slowly, ‘I suppose so.’ She fished out the tea bag and disposed of it. ‘Do you want milk in your coffee?’

‘I take it black,’ he said. ‘It helps me stay awake.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You have work to do. Please don’t let me keep you.’

‘I am working,’ he said, and smiled at her with faint mockery. ‘Building bridges, I hope, with my future sister-in-law.’ He leaned against the kitchen table and took a meditative sip of coffee. ‘Tell me, how is it you don’t work for Trentham Osborne as Ellie does?’

‘Because publishing never appealed to me, and London certainly didn’t. I was always happiest here, so I moved back permanently and got a job with a local law firm.’

‘You’re a solicitor?’

She bit her lip. ‘No, a paralegal. I went to the same school as Ellie, and they weren’t geared up for university grades, just…’ She hesitated.

‘Just grooming the girls to make suitable marriages?’ he prompted softly.

‘Actually—yes,’ Lou acknowledged ruefully. She shook her head. ‘You wouldn’t believe that it could still go on.’

‘No?’ He drank some more coffee, watching her over the rim of the beaker. ‘Yet it seems to have worked for you.’

‘David isn’t “suitable” in that sense,’ she said. As her stepmother never failed to make clear, she thought wryly. ‘Just—the right man for me.’

‘How fortunate you are,’ he said softly. ‘To be so certain so early in your life.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think I am.’

She finished her tea, and rinsed her beaker briskly under the tap. She gave him a bright, meaningless smile. ‘Well—goodnight. Will you switch off the lights as you go up?’

At the door, she paused. She said haltingly, ‘And I’m sorry for the way I spoke earlier. I—I hope that you and Ellie will be very happy together.’

The green eyes met hers, cool and enigmatic.

‘I feel sure,’ he said, ‘that her old school would be proud of her. Goodnight—sister-in-law.’

She was suddenly aware that her heart was thudding quickly—unpredictably. She smiled uncertainly, and went swiftly upstairs to her room. She closed the door behind her and drew a deep breath.

For a moment there, she’d allowed her guard to drop. And had been made aware, in a few devastating seconds, how disturbing a man Alex Fabian could be.

Bad move on her part, she thought. And lesson duly learned. From now on she would take more care. And keeping out of his way was just the first step.

Lou was tired when she climbed into bed, but sleep proved elusive just the same. She found her mind was churning, going over her encounter with Alex in the kitchen, and trying to analyse what had been said, and what else had been implied.

Oh, this is ridiculous, she adjured herself at last. Forget about the wretched guy, and concentrate on tomorrow.

She supposed, glumly, that if Mrs Gladwin failed to arrive again she would be expected to cook the breakfast, and she would do so, but after that they could forage for themselves, because she was going to the coast with David.

They would have a seafood lunch in a pub, then walk along the beach, and talk seriously about fixing a date for the wedding. It had hardly been mentioned in recent weeks.

Three months ahead, she thought contentedly, would surely give Mrs Sanders plenty of time to move to her sister’s place.

When eventually she slept, it was to dream that her wedding day had come, and she was walking up the aisle of the village church on her father’s arm to her bridegroom, waiting at the altar.

But as she got nearer he turned his head, and she saw, instead of David’s ruggedly familiar and beloved face, a mask, blank and featureless. And, crying out with fear and grief, she fled, alone, back the way she had come.

The dream was still vivid in her mind when she woke. Nasty, she thought, shivering, then threw back the bedclothes. Nothing, especially a nightmare, would be allowed to cloud this lovely day.

She showered, and dressed casually in a knee-length denim skirt and a white short-sleeved top, then brushed her hair into a silky cloud on her shoulders.

Because she would soon be seeing David, she accentuated her eyes with grey shadow and mascara, and coloured her mouth with her favourite dusky rose lipstick before she went downstairs.

When she got to the kitchen she found to her relief that young Tim had recovered from his asthma attack, and Mrs Gladwin was there ahead of her, already assembling the ingredients for the kedgeree and cutting the rind off the bacon rashers.

‘I took Mr and Mrs Trentham’s tea up to them,’ Mrs Gladwin reported. ‘But I had to leave Miss Ellie’s tray outside her door, as I couldn’t make her hear me. And I didn’t know what to do about her visitor.’

‘I think he’d prefer coffee.’ Lou found the small cafetière and filled it. But she had no intention of taking Alex Fabian coffee in bed, she thought, her mouth tightening. That was Ellie’s task, and she could wake up and do it.

While she was waiting for the coffee to brew, she popped out into the yard and called David on her mobile, only to discover that his was switched off.

She pulled a face as she returned indoors. If she used the ordinary phone his mother was bound to answer, and be plaintive at the prospect of her boy spending time with anyone else.

But maybe David would call her instead before that happened.

When she went upstairs, she found Ellie’s tray still untouched outside her door.

Puzzled, she set the coffee down beside it and knocked. ‘Ellie—Ellie, wake up. Your tea’s getting cold.’

There was no answer, and, after a moment’s hesitation, she opened the door, and looked in.

But there was no blonde head lifting sleepily from the pillow. The bed was empty, and the room unoccupied.

And no prizes for guessing where Ellie was, Lou thought, feeling oddly embarrassed. That neatly made bed was a total giveaway. She must have decided to celebrate her engagement in the arms of her fiancé after all.

‘Everyone’s still asleep,’ she told Mrs Gladwin as she carried all the things back to the kitchen. ‘I’m going into the village to get the papers.’

She followed the previous night’s detour on the way back. The curtains were still firmly closed on the first floor of David’s house, but his car was missing from its usual parking spot outside.

He must have gone to the cottage to find me, Lou thought, her heart lifting. ‘We can have breakfast together.’

Yet there was no sign of his blue Peugeot at Virginia Cottage either. Instead, there was Alex Fabian, walking alone in the garden. He was the last person she’d expected to see so early, under the circumstances. And the last person she wanted to see, she amended quickly.

She hesitated, feeling strangely awkward, wondering if there was some way to evade him, but he had already seen her, so she had to reluctantly stand her ground.

‘Good morning,’ he said as he came up to her. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes—thank you.’ She stared down at the gravel. ‘And—you?’

‘Not particularly,’ he said. ‘The coffee did its work too well.’

She gave a quick, forced smile. ‘I’m sure Ellie wouldn’t agree.’

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘And how does it concern her?’

‘I took her some morning tea,’ she said. ‘And her bed hadn’t been slept in. I—I drew the obvious conclusion.’

His hand closed on her arm. ‘Look at me,’ he commanded harshly. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

She stared up at him, bewildered. ‘Ellie wasn’t in her room this morning. I—I thought she was with you.’

‘I haven’t seen your sister,’ he said, ‘since nine-thirty yesterday evening, when she decided to have that extremely early night. And the last place she would ever be likely to spend the night is in my bed.’

He set off towards the house, taking Lou with him, whether or not she wished to go.

She tried to hang back. ‘I’m sure there’s a perfectly logical explanation.’ She tried to think of one. ‘Perhaps she got up early, and went for a walk.’

‘Walking,’ he said, ‘is not one of her pastimes. Your sister believes in taxis, when chauffeur-driven cars aren’t available. I think you know that.’

‘Maybe there’s been some emergency at the office, and she’s had to go back to London.’ Lou clutched at a passing straw.

‘If so, I think they’d probably have sent for your father,’ he said. ‘And he’s still here.’

In the hall, Marian greeted Alex, all smiles. ‘Breakfast is ready, if you’d like to come into the dining room.’

He said, ‘Have you seen Ellie this morning, Mrs Trentham? Because Louise says her bed has not been slept in.’

Marian’s hand went to her throat. ‘Oh, what nonsense. I expect she was just too happy and excited to sleep.’

‘All the same, with your permission, I’d like to look in her room.’

Lou tried to detach herself from his grasp. ‘I’d rather not…’

‘I’m afraid you must,’ he said. ‘You can tell me if anything’s missing.’

My God, Lou thought as she followed him unwillingly upstairs. She’s done it. She’s decided she can’t go through with the engagement, and she’s run away. And, if that’s so, I should be delighted for her. So why do I feel so scared suddenly?

‘Well?’ Alex demanded as they stood in the middle of Ellie’s bedroom, looking round them.

Lou swallowed. ‘The case she brought down with her has gone.’ She opened the wardrobe, and looked in the drawers. ‘And she seems to have taken underwear and some clothes.’

‘And left these.’ His voice was suddenly grim.

Lou turned to see him holding two envelopes. ‘Where did you find them?’

‘Propped against the lamp on the night table,’ he said. ‘One for each of us.’ He paused. ‘Are you sure you want to open yours?’

‘Of course,’ Lou said indignantly. ‘I’m worried sick about her. I need to make sure she’s all right.’

‘I think you underestimate her sense of self-preservation,’ Alex Fabian said drily as he handed her the envelope.

Her name was a mere scrawl on its surface. Inside was a single sheet of paper. She could barely decipher the writing. ‘Lou, darling,’ she eventually translated, ‘I’m so terribly sorry. Please try to understand and forgive me.’

‘What does it say?’ Alex’s level voice reached her.

She turned and looked at him. He was holding his own letter, two pages of it, between thumb and forefinger as if he found it distasteful.

She said, ‘She wants me to forgive her—but for what? For running away?’

‘Not just for that, I’m afraid.’ He paused. ‘You see, she didn’t go alone.’

She saw something in his eyes that she had never expected to find there. Compassion. And it frightened her more than any coldness—any anger.

She tried to say ‘What do you mean?’ But, although her lips moved, the words would not emerge.

She heard a sound from the doorway, and looked round swiftly, praying it would be Ellie standing there. Ellie, saying it had all been a silly mistake, and here she was, safe and sound.

Only it was her father, his face like thunder.

‘Louise—Mrs Sanders has telephoned. Will you come and speak to her, please? She’s hysterical—out of control. I can’t make out what she’s saying. She keeps repeating “David and Ellie” over and over again. I think she must have gone mad.’

‘It would be convenient to think so.’ Alex Fabian stepped forward to station himself between Lou and her father. Shielding her white face, trembling mouth and wide, bewildered eyes.

‘But I’m afraid her hysterics are justified. My erstwhile fiancée has run away with her son, and they’re going to be married. She’s left me a letter, confessing everything.’

‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ the older man said harshly. ‘It must be some sick joke. Good God, man, it was only last night she became engaged to you.’

‘Apparently that was the final straw,’ Alex told him calmly. ‘She and David Sanders had been in love for some time, but they’d tried to behave nobly for Louise’s sake—or some such maudlin nonsense. She went out with me to try and forget him, but when she realised marriage was on the agenda she decided she couldn’t go through with it after all, and appealed to Sanders to rescue her.

‘And—they eloped last night.’

Louise felt totally numb. Presently, she knew, there would be pain. But now there were images passing through her mind like some nightmare slide show. Ellie’s frantic phone call. Click. The dark house. Click. The empty space where David’s car should have been. Click. Until she wanted to scream.

‘Well, they won’t get away with it.’ Mr Trentham’s voice shook. ‘I’ll have them found. Make her come back.’

‘I hope you won’t do anything of the kind,’ Alex Fabian said coldly. ‘She’s not a young child. She’s a woman, and quite capable of making her own choices. Something we overlooked in our negotiations.’

‘Ellie?’ Marian Trentham had joined them now, her face ashen, her eyes blazing. ‘My beautiful girl with that—that buffoon? It can’t be true.’

Lou made a small sound in her throat, and Alex glanced at her sharply. He said, ‘Mrs Trentham, I think you’ve forgotten that Louise was engaged to David Sanders.’

‘I haven’t forgotten a thing,’ the older woman said shrilly. ‘It’s all her fault—encouraging him to hang round here, where he could meet my lovely Ellie. Of course he preferred her. What man wouldn’t?’

‘No,’ Alex said, studying her with cold dislike, ‘according to her letter, they met up in London when he was on some course. So Louise can’t possibly be blamed. In fact, she’s been subjected to the worst kind of betrayal by both of them.’

Betrayal. The word made Louise shiver, but it brought her back to life. And to unpleasant reality.

She heard herself say, ‘Mrs Sanders must still be waiting on the phone. I’d better go and talk to her.’

‘No.’ Alex halted her, his hand on her arm. ‘Your father can do that for you. Or your stepmother,’ he added curtly. ‘There’s no reason why you should be exposed to any more recriminations.’

Her father said hoarsely, ‘Yes, of course. I’ll go now. Though God knows what I can say…’

As he departed, muttering distractedly, Marian Trentham moved forward, her hands outstretched. ‘Alex, my dear.’ Her voice throbbed. ‘What you must be suffering.’

‘I don’t appreciate being made a fool of,’ Alex said tersely. ‘And your daughter’s defection is going to cause me immeasurable trouble and inconvenience. But please let’s drop the pretence that Ellie and I were ever in love with each other.’

For a moment she faltered, then she returned to the attack, forcing a smile.

‘You’re hurt,’ she said. ‘As you have every right to be. I do understand. But all is not yet lost. I think we should go downstairs and have some breakfast, and decide what to do next.’

‘I know exactly what I’m doing next,’ Alex said coldly. ‘I’m going back to London, and I’ll forgo your kind offer of breakfast. I’d prefer to be on my way as soon as possible.’

‘But there are matters outstanding,’ she said rapidly, her voice beginning to shake. ‘Things we need to discuss.’

‘You mean the re-financing plan? But that was dependent on certain conditions being met, so there is really very little to talk about.’

Louise could hear the words, but she could not grasp what they meant. They seemed to float past her. The room, too, suddenly seemed to be swimming.

She said in a stifled voice, ‘I—I think I’m going to be sick.’

During the miserable and humiliating minutes that followed, Louise was dimly aware of an arm supporting her as she retched violently into the lavatory bowl, of a hand smoothing back her hair, and wiping her face with a damp flannel.

‘You,’ she said shakily as she sat up at last, the tiles on the bathroom walls still swooping dizzily around her. ‘Oh, God, it’s you.’

‘Well, who else would it be?’ Alex Fabian retorted crushingly. ‘Your father’s still on the phone, being screamed at, and your stepmother’s shut herself into her bedroom. You needed help.’

‘You’re the last person I’d turn to for that.’ She got painfully to her feet. ‘If you hadn’t pressured Ellie to marry you, none of this would have happened.’

‘It would have eventually. A different set of circumstances, perhaps, but the same result.’ He shrugged. ‘They’re in love. They were always going to end up together. I was just the catalyst.’

She glared at him. ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’

‘That’s up to you. But I’d say it would be a pretty refined kind of hell to find you’d married a man who wanted someone else. Here, drink this.’

Unwillingly Lou accepted the glass of water he held out to her. She’d just caught a horrified glimpse of herself in the bathroom mirror—her ghost-white face streaked with mascara, her lipstick smeared. The pretty, confident picture she’d painted for David totally ruined. Like her life.

Not only did she look like hell, she thought, writhing inwardly, but she’d just thrown up in front of a man she detested.

She said stiltedly, ‘I think I’d like to be alone now.’

‘Just as you wish.’ He paused. ‘I’ll have some tea brought up to you.’

‘Tea?’ Her voice rose. ‘My heart is broken, and you offer me—bloody clichés.’

‘It’s also the classic remedy for shock,’ he returned, unperturbed. ‘And hearts are more resilient than you think. Would you like me to help you to your room?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘And stop behaving like someone out of a medical drama. Because the best thing you could do for me would be to get out of my sight, and my life.’

‘I think,’ Alex Fabian said quietly, ‘that’s something that could be open to discussion. But possibly not at this moment.’

‘Not ever,’ Lou said fiercely. ‘So—please go.’

She turned away, and began to run hot water into the basin, and when she glanced around again she was alone. Which was something she would have to get accustomed to, she realised, wretchedness stabbing her as she washed her face.

With the worst ravages removed, she went back to her room and threw herself across the bed, digging clenched fists into the coverlet.

Love must indeed be blind, she thought, because she’d never had the slightest idea that David might be looking elsewhere. She’d always felt so happy and comfortable with him, and on the surface everything had seemed just the same.

Yet, she supposed, there had been clues for anyone with a suspicious mind. The fact that David no longer talked about the wedding had been one. And he’d been more preoccupied than usual lately, although he’d blamed problems at work for that.

And Ellie hadn’t been the same either, dating Alex Fabian with such feverish, determined enjoyment. As if trying to convince herself that they could have a life together.

You fool, she told herself. You complacent, trusting idiot.

She could sense the tears gathering inside her, threatening to fill the ache of emptiness. And pain was prowling, too, waiting to sink its claws into her heart and mind.

The tap at her door sent her bolt upright, looking apprehensively over her shoulder. But it was only Mrs Gladwin bringing the threatened tea. Her face was solemn, but her eyes, understandably, were sparking with curiosity.

‘No one wanted any breakfast,’ she said. ‘So I’ve had to throw all that lovely food away. It seems a wicked waste.’ She paused. ‘I’ve cleared up the kitchen, so if I’m not wanted for anything else…?’

Lou realised wearily that she was asking to be paid. She forced a smile. ‘That’s fine, Mrs Gladwin, and thank you.’ She found her bag, and handed over the cash.

Mrs Gladwin lingered. ‘Next weekend, Miss Louise? Will the family be down?’

Lou looked at her blankly. ‘I—I really don’t know.’ Nor did she care, she thought. And how absurd to think that life could just—go on. For anyone to assume that she would go on living in this house—in this village—with all the dead hopes, dead memories. When everyone must know that was quite impossible.

When she knew, beyond all doubt, that she had to get away—and fast. Leave it all behind her, and escape.

She said quietly, ‘I’m sure my stepmother will be in touch over the arrangements. Thank you for the tea.’

‘The cup that cheers,’ said Mrs Gladwin, nodding portentously, and departed.

Louise looked at the tray, with its snowy lace cloth and the pretty flowered crockery. Another act of kindness, she thought, amid the personal desolation that was beginning to tear at her. But, again, from the wrong person. She did not want Alex Fabian’s kindness. She could not bear the thought of it.

She went on staring until the outlines of cup, saucer, jug and teapot lost their separate shapes, and became oddly blurred. Until the first scalding, agonised tears began to sear their way down her face, falling faster and faster.

She began to sob, making small, desperate, uncontrollable noises, pressing her hands over her eyes so that the salty drops squeezed through her fingers. She could feel grief burn in her throat, and taste it on her icy lips.

At some moment, still weeping, she stripped off the skirt and top and threw them across the room, shuddering as if they were rank—rancid. Knowing she never wanted to see them again as long as she lived.

She went to the wardrobe, dragged out a pair of black jeans and a round-necked sweater in fine grey wool, and pulled them onto her body.

She found her soft leather travel bag, and began hurriedly to fill it with underwear, more trousers and casual tops, flat shoes.

Escape, she thought, the word echoing like a mantra in her brain. Escape…

But where could she go?

There was Somerset, she thought. She could stay with her aunt and uncle, and find kindness with them. Use their farm as a sanctuary while she tried to decide what she could do with the rest of her life.

On her way downstairs, she paused outside the main bedroom and tapped on the door.

Her father opened it. ‘What is it?’ He looked at her bag. ‘Is it Ellie? Has she come back?’

‘No,’ she said, wincing. ‘That’s—not going to happen, Dad. But I’m going away for a while.’

‘But she must come back,’ he said. He looked past her. ‘You don’t realise how serious all this is. It was part of the deal with Fabian, and he’s walked out on us. We need that injection of capital, or the business could go under. We could lose everything.’

Lou stared at the man in front of her, and wondered when he had first become a stranger.

She said, ‘I think you already have lost everything. At least everything that matters.’ She paused. ‘I’ll be in touch—some time.’

She went out of the cottage the back way, feeling fresh tears springing up as she realised how much of her life she was leaving behind. Yet knowing at the same time that she had no other choice.

She’d expected—hoped—maybe even prayed that Alex Fabian would be long gone. But there was to be no respite for her on this merciless day.

Because, as she came out into the yard, he was there, loading his own bag into the boot of his car.

She checked instantly, wondering if she could duck back into the house before he saw her. But it was too late.

He was already straightening, turning to look at her, the green eyes curiously intent.

‘So there you are,’ he said softly. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

CHAPTER THREE

SHE knew, of course, what he was seeing. The drenched eyes, the trembling mouth, and the pale face smudged with tears. She couldn’t even hide behind her hair, because her final act before leaving her room had been to drag it back and confine it at the nape of her neck with an elastic band.

Oh, God, she thought desperately. Why did this man of all men have to be around when she was at her most vulnerable?

She lifted her chin. Kept the betraying quiver from her voice. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve detained you, Mr Fabian, although I can’t imagine why that should be. We’ve said everything that needs to be said, and now we can go our separate ways.’

‘Not quite,’ he said. ‘Where are you going?’

‘None of your damned business.’ She reached into her shoulder bag, found her sunglasses and jammed them on her nose. One small barrier to shelter behind, she thought, searching for her car keys. ‘Will you please leave me alone?’

‘No,’ he said. He walked across, picked up her travel bag and slung it into the boot of his car next to his own case.

‘How dare you?’ Lou’s voice cracked with outrage. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘Taking over,’ he returned tersely. ‘Someone needs to. Most families are hell at times, but you seem particularly unlucky in yours. Your sister runs off with your man, and your father and his wife are too caught up in the financial ramifications of it all to notice that you’re falling apart.’

‘Thank you.’ She was shaking again, but this time it was with temper. ‘But I can manage on my own.’

The green eyes swept her dismissively. ‘Well, you certainly can’t drive in that state,’ he said. ‘You’d kill yourself within a mile.’

She glared at him. ‘Do you think I’d care?’

‘Suicide may have its attractions,’ he said, meditatively. ‘And the news might well put a temporary blight on married bliss for the happy couple, although I wouldn’t count on it. But it also tends to drastically reduce all future options. So I think you should consider living. And living well. That’s a far better revenge on your ex-fiancé.’