The Bejewelled Bride
Lee Wilkinson

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

COMING NEXT MONTH

CHAPTER ONE

BETHANY glanced around her. The scenery on the high mountain pass was awesomely bleak and beautiful in the pearly grey light of an early February afternoon. For the first few miles, while the pass had run fairly straight and level between rock-strewn fells, she had seen a black Range Rover in the rear-view mirror. But over the last half mile or so it must have turned off into a side valley, because now she had the road to herself.

When she had set off to Bosthwaite earlier in the day to visit Mrs Deramack and look at some antiques, she had taken the main road but had taken this lonely route back especially to see more of the wild and rugged grandeur she remembered well from her one previous visit to the Lake District.

As she drove however, she thought back to that wonderful visit and remembered a lean, good-looking face with brilliant eyes and a mouth with the kind of male beauty that tied her insides in knots.

A face that had stayed fresh in her mind for the past six years.

Quiet and shy, she had been just seventeen at the time and on a family holiday with her parents. Returning from the west coast of Scotland, they had decided to spend one night in Cumbria on their way back to London.

They had been staying in Dundale End, and after dinner that evening, encouraged by their landlady, ‘You must go, my dears, everyone will be there…’ they had gone to a concert at the small village hall. In front of a makeshift stage, rows of chairs had been arranged in a semi-circle, and it had been there, sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair in the centre of the second row, that she had fallen in love for the first time. Love at first sight. The hot, crazy kind of love that had turned her chest into a bell and her heart into a clapper.

She had watched him walk in, tall and broad across the shoulders, casually dressed, he had an air of quiet confidence. Somewhere in his early twenties, he was a man not a boy, with a strong-boned face, thick corn-coloured hair and light, brilliant eyes.

With him had been an elderly couple and a girl about his own age, who addressed him as Joel.

Joel…Bethany had hugged the name to her as though it was some precious gift.

He exchanged greetings with many of the people there, which suggested he was a local. Bethany had wished fervently that she and her parents were staying here instead of going back to London the next day.

Try as she would, her eyes had been drawn to him more often than to the stage. On one occasion she had found him staring back at her with a quiet intensity that made heat spread through her entire body. Feeling her cheeks flame, she had looked hastily away, her curtain of long dark hair swinging forward, hiding her embarrassment.

As the show came to an end, finishing with prolonged and hearty applause, she had kept her attention fixed firmly on the stage.

Perhaps when everyone was on their way out they might meet, might exchange a word. Lovely evening…Are you on holiday…? But when she’d glanced back, the little group had gone. She’d felt bitterly disappointed.

Although she had told herself it was ridiculous to long for something that only might have happened, she had thought and dreamt about him for months.

The memory of that past innocent adoration warmed her and for a few precious seconds took her mind off this which was turning out to be a disaster.

In more ways than one.

That morning, after a poor night’s sleep and an uncomfortable half hour spent sitting opposite her silent, still-angry boss, Tony, while they ate breakfast at the Dundale Inn, she had taken the main road to the valley of Bosthwaite to see Mrs Deramack.

It was, she had discovered, a dead-end valley, and the tiny, isolated hamlet of Bosthwaite was made up of a few widely scattered houses and a farm.

Finding the road—which was little more than a track—ran through the farmyard, she had stopped to ask directions.

After warning her, ‘Old Mrs Deramack’s a bit…you know…’ Apparently at a loss for words, the farmer had tapped his forehead with a gnarled finger, before pointing out Bosthwaite House.

Bethany soon realized what he’d meant when the old lady informed her that though Joseph, her husband, had passed away some five years ago, he was still with her and would need to agree on the price of anything she parted with.

The antiques she wanted to sell were stored in the freezing cold, badly lit attic, and while she hovered at the bottom of the attic stairs talking to her husband as though he was still alive and with them, Bethany had gone through what seemed endless boxes and cartons.

When, chilled to the bone and cramped from so much squatting, her throat dry, clogged with the dust of ages, she had finished the last box, she pushed back a loose strand of dark hair and admitted defeat.

In an attempt to soften the blow, she had told the old lady that though there was nothing amongst her treasures that Feldon Antiques would be prepared to buy, there were other local dealers who might be interested. She had written down the names of two of them before getting into her car and driving away.

When she reached an old white-walled pub called The Drunken Pig, she had stopped to wash her face and hands and re-coil her long dark hair before ordering a refreshing pot of tea and an omelette.

While she ate she had studied her map and decided to take the mountain pass back to Dundale, rather than the main road.

From the start the landscape had been dramatic, but now it had become even more spectacular. On the left was a towering rock face and on the right, an abyss, as the ground dropped away precipitously.

A lot sooner than she had expected, the clear air had become hazy and twilight had started to creep in, while grey swirling mist began to hide the tops of the highest peaks.

She switched on the car’s headlights and on a road way down in the valley below saw an answering gleam. Just that distant light, a reminder that she wasn’t totally alone, was reassuring.

Even so, she found herself wondering a shade uneasily if she had been wise to take this deserted switchback route—though the Lakeland scenery was truly magnificent, and she loved it.

A love of the country that Tony Feldon, her boss, and owner of Feldon Antiques since the death of his father the previous year, had signally failed to share.

He had made no secret of the fact that he was a dedicated city man and couldn’t wait to get back to London and ‘civilization’.

When they had drawn up outside the Dundale Inn the previous night, he had glanced around at the dark fells and shuddered. ‘It looks like the back of beyond! When I booked I should have made sure it was in town…’

She wondered why he’d booked it himself rather than leaving it to Alison, his general dogsbody.

‘If we’re forced to stay in this God-forsaken spot for two nights, it had better be worth it,’ he muttered half under his breath.

‘I’m sure it will be.’ Hoping to keep him in a reasonably good mood, she added, ‘There are some very fine lots listed in Greendales’ preview catalogue.’

Taking their overnight bags from the car boot, he handed Bethany hers and agreed, ‘That’s true.’

As she followed him into the hotel and across the deserted lobby to the empty reception desk, he muttered, ‘God, what a dump! It looks as if we’re the only people staying here.’

‘Well it is the middle of the week and out of season,’ she pointed out.

He dropped his case on the carpet and brought his hand down hard on the brass bell that squatted on the desk like a metal toad. ‘It might be the middle of the week and out of season,’ he said irritably, ‘but the blasted place is supposed to be open.’

Ignoring his bad temper and the scowl that marred his darkly handsome features, Bethany went on, ‘And from what Mrs Deramack said when I spoke to her on the phone, it sounds as if she has some very good pieces of silver and porcelain.’

‘Well, if she has, let’s hope the old biddy doesn’t realize how good, or she’ll no doubt want the earth for them.’

‘Do you intend to go and see her yourself?’

‘No. I had a quick glance at the map. It’s quite a way to Bosthwaite Valley, and I’ll have more than enough on. I’ll get a taxi to Greendales and you can take the car.

‘If you think any of the items Mrs Deramack wants to sell are in our line, don’t say too much and don’t put a price on them. I’ll do the negotiating myself, even if it means staying up here an extra day…’

Bethany frowned. His failure to give her a free hand rankled. She had worked for James Feldon, Tony’s father, since she had left school at eighteen, and after his sudden and fatal heart attack, she had missed him a great deal.

She had liked and trusted the old man as much as she disliked and distrusted his son. His conviction that women were fair game made her hackles rise, as did his frequent suggestions—since Devlin had been wiped from the picture—that if she loosened up they could ‘have a little fun together’.

So far she had managed to keep him at arm’s length without too much bad blood, but if he didn’t soon get the message and back off she would have to leave.

It was a depressing thought.

She still liked her job and when she wasn’t actually travelling the shop was within easy walking distance of the flat in Belgravia that she shared with a friend.

Added to that, while she was working she was not only saving hard but buying up small items with a view to one day starting her own business.

Glancing round the still deserted lobby, Tony banged the bell a second time with unnecessary violence. ‘Where the devil is everyone?’

A moment later an elderly woman appeared. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve kept you waiting, but the desk clerk has gone home ill and there’s no one to take his place…You have booked?’

‘Yes, for two nights. The name’s Feldon.’

Opening the register at what appeared to be an almost empty page, she confirmed, ‘Ah, yes, here we are…Mr and Mrs Feldon. A double room on the ground floor. Number five.’

As she handed over the key, Bethany came to life. ‘There’s been some mistake,’ she announced distinctly. ‘I’m not Mrs Feldon, and I need a separate room.’

Catching a glimpse of Tony’s furious face, she knew there had been no mistake. That was why he had made the booking himself, and that was what he had meant when he’d said, ‘It had better be worth it’.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ the woman apologized. ‘Well there’s a single just down the corridor. Number nine, if that’ll do.’

‘That will do fine, thanks,’ Bethany assured her crisply and, taking the key, marched in the direction the woman had indicated.

‘Damn it all, Bethany,’ Tony complained, following her to her door. ‘Why did you have to insist on another room?’

She turned to face him, her clear grey eyes sparkling with anger. ‘Perhaps it hasn’t occurred to you that I don’t want to go to bed with you?’

He was quite taken back. ‘Why not? Plenty of other women do.’

Bethany raised her chin and replied, ‘Then you should have brought one of them.’

‘I wish I had, rather than bringing a prim and proper little Miss like you,’ he snarled angrily.

As she turned away he said more moderately, ‘Look, I’m sorry. Change your mind. God knows we could use some fun in a hole like this.’

Bethany was furious. ‘For the last time, I don’t sleep around, and if you don’t stop pestering me I’ll be forced to hand in my notice.’

She was invaluable to him and, reluctant to lose her, he muttered, ‘There’s no need to go to those lengths.’ Then, petulantly, ‘I don’t know why you can’t loosen up a bit. You’re too old to act like some shrinking virgin. And it’s not as if you’re still engaged to that Devlin bloke…’

It had been some six weeks before their wedding when, returning early from a business trip to Paris, Bethany had dropped in to Devlin’s flat and discovered him in bed with another woman.

Unable to believe his pleas that it had been a spur of the moment thing and would never happen again, she had given him back his ring and walked out.

‘Just because you’re still angry and bitter at the way he treated you,’ Tony went on, ‘it doesn’t mean you have to take it out on all men.’

When she just looked at him coldly, he taunted, ‘If you hadn’t been so frigid he wouldn’t have needed another woman…’ When his cruel jokes elicited no response from her he swung on his heel, and a moment later she heard the slam of his bedroom door.

As she remembered Tony Feldon’s harsh comments her mind wandered back to her broken engagement to Devlin that he had callously mentioned. She had been both angry and bitter at first. But she had soon discovered, or rather realized, that while her pride had been trampled on, her heart was virtually intact. And in retrospect she could see that she had only imagined herself in love with Devlin. In fact she’d only really been drawn to him in the first place because he reminded her a little of the blond stranger she had adored at seventeen…

A sudden savage wrench at the steering wheel and a thumping judder brought her back to the present with a shock.

Her heart in her mouth, she dragged the wheel over and steered to the side of the road away from the steep drop into the valley below.

On shaking legs she climbed out to find—as she had feared—that her nearside front tyre had burst.

Well, she would have to do something about it, and fast. It was rapidly getting dark and the swirls of mist had changed to thick swathes that were now shrouding the peaks and threatening to roll down and engulf the pass.

Shivering in her fine wool suit, she pulled on her short jacket before going round to open the boot. Lifting the inner cover, she took out a jack, the spare wheel, the wheel brace and a foot-pump.

Though so far she had never been forced to change a wheel, when she had bought her first old banger, her father had insisted on her learning how to.

Now she was grateful. Only it didn’t seem to be as easy as she remembered.

She was still struggling to put the jack in place when, miraculously, headlights appeared over the crest of the previous rise. A moment later a big black Range Rover, like the one that had followed her earlier, drew to a halt a few yards away.

As she straightened, a tall well-built man with fair hair got out.

Though she was dazzled by the lights, and with his back to them his face was in shadow, there seemed to be something oddly familiar about him.

‘Need some help?’ he asked.

He had an attractive voice, she noted, low-pitched and cultured with no trace of a local accent.

‘Please,’ she said gratefully.

The air was damp and raw and, clenching her teeth to prevent them chattering, she watched his broad back while he proceeded to change the wheel with a deft efficiency she could only admire.

Then, having tested the tyre pressure he put some air in with the foot-pump, observing, ‘That ought to do it,’ before stowing everything back in the boot and closing it.

‘Thank you very much. I can’t tell you how grateful I am.’

He wiped his hands on a handkerchief he’d taken from the pocket of his leather car-coat and, turning towards his own vehicle, said easily, ‘I’m glad to have been of help.’

As the headlights shone full on him, for the first time she saw his face clearly. It was the face that had haunted her for the past six years.

No, it couldn’t be! It was far too much of a coincidence. But even while she told herself it couldn’t be him, she knew it was. And once again he was going to walk out of her life.

‘I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come along,’ she said desperately.

‘I’m quite sure you would have managed…’Then, briskly, ‘I suggest we get going while we can still see the road.’

In the short time it had taken him to change the wheel the mist had begun to close in with ominous speed, rolling down the mountainside and starting to obscure the drop into the valley below.

A combination of cold, desolation and fear made Bethany shiver.

As though sensing that fear and desolation, he paused and asked, ‘Do you know the pass at all?’

‘No,’ she answered in a small voice.

‘In that case I’m going to suggest we team up.’ He waited for her nod of assent before adding, ‘My name’s Joel McAlister.’

Her heart leapt in her chest, making her sound breathless, as she said, ‘Mine’s Bethany Seaton.’

‘Where are you heading for, Miss Seaton?’ His rich, smooth voice melted her heart.

Somewhat nervously, she replied. ‘I’m staying at the Dundale Inn.’

‘I’m heading for the Dundale Valley myself, though judging by how fast the mist’s closing in, it’s my bet we’re not going to get that far.’

‘Oh…’

Perhaps he mistook her little exclamation of excitement for panic, because he added quickly, ‘But don’t worry. If we can make it to the foot of Dunscar, which is about a mile away, there’s a small hotel there. It’s closed for the winter, but I understand the caretaker lives on the premises.’ He went on automatically, ‘Now, let’s get moving. As it’s too narrow here for me to get past, we’ll have to take your car.’

Turning off his own vehicle’s lights, he added, ‘I’d better drive, as I know the road.’

When she made no demur, he opened the passenger door for her, then slid behind the wheel.

Bethany was barely able to see anything except the mist reflecting back the dipped headlights, yet he drove with a careful confidence that was reassuring. Though, truth to tell, rather than worrying about their safety, her thoughts centred on the fact that fate had brought him back into her life.

She was being given a second chance.

The chance.

At seventeen, she would have been too young.

But now, at twenty-three to his twenty-seven—twenty-eight? the timing was perfect.

Unless he was already married?

No! She pushed the awful thought away.

She and this stranger, who was no stranger, were meant to be together. She had never been more sure of anything in her whole life.

While they made their way down to Dunscar, her heart beating fast, she studied his profile in the glow from the dashboard.

His nose was straight, his jaw strong, the curve of brow and sweep of long lashes, several shades darker than his hair. At the corner of his mouth was a small dent, too masculine to be called a dimple, but surely it would become one when he smiled…

‘Think I’m trustworthy?’ Both his words and his voice held a hint of amusement.

Looking hastily away, she said as lightly as possible, ‘I certainly hope so. Though it’s a bit late to worry about it.’

When he said nothing further, she observed, ‘You’re obviously very familiar with this area, yet you don’t have a local accent.’

He shook his head. ‘No.’

‘So you don’t live around here?’ Bethany toyed with the strap of her handbag, her nervous excitement getting the better of her.

‘No. I’m based in London.’

Bethany breathed a sigh of relief. That was good news. Though London was a big place, it meant he was closer at hand than if he’d lived in Cumbria.

‘Are you up here on business?’ she asked.

He smiled wryly. ‘You could say that…’

When he made no further attempt at conversation, afraid of spoiling his concentration, she relapsed into silence and, unwilling to be caught staring at him again, looked resolutely ahead.

After a while he remarked, ‘Here we are,’ and, turning left into grey nothingness, brought the car to a halt and doused the lights.

At first all Bethany could see was mist pressing damply against the windscreen, then ahead and to the right she saw a faint glimmer of light.

He came round to help her out and, an arm at her waist, steered her towards the dark bulk of the hotel and the glow of a lighted window.

Just that casual touch seemed to burn through her clothing, setting every nerve in her body tingling and robbing her of breath.

When they reached what seemed to be a small annex, the window lit, Bethany could see now, by an oil lamp standing on the windowsill, he stepped forward and knocked on the door.

It opened almost immediately, letting out a slanting beam of yellow light, and an elderly man in shirtsleeves and a pullover peered at them, his face startled.

‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but we need a couple of rooms for the night,’ Joel told him.

‘The hotel’s closed,’ the caretaker said shortly. ‘You’ll have to go somewhere else.’

‘Unfortunately that’s not possible. The mist is much too thick.’

‘The hotel’s closed,’ the man repeated doggedly, and made as if to slam the door.

Joel stepped forward and held it, saying something quietly but decidedly that Bethany didn’t catch.

‘All the rooms are shut up and there’s no heating on in the main part,’ was the surly reply.

‘Well, I’m quite sure you can find us something,’ Joel insisted pleasantly. ‘In an old place like this there must surely be a room with a fireplace?’

‘The manageress lives on the premises while the hotel’s open, so there’s her room. But the bed’s not made up and the generator’s not working, so there’s no electricity…’

‘Perhaps you’ll show us?’

Grumbling about the cold and damp, and being scarcely able to walk for his rheumatism, the caretaker turned away.

Bethany noticed that Joel kept his foot in the door until the man returned, wearing a jacket and with a bunch of keys and a torch.

He closed the door behind him and, limping a little, led the way through the mist to a side entrance which gave on to a small tiled lobby.

The dank air seemed even colder inside than out.

At the end of a short corridor he opened a door and flashed the torch around a good-sized room furnished as a bedsitter.

They glimpsed a divan bed, a basket piled with logs next to a stone fireplace, a wooden table and chairs, a couple of deep armchairs and, through a door that was standing a little ajar, a tiled bathroom.

‘This will do fine,’ Joel assured him briskly. ‘A couple of pillows, a few blankets and a candle or two are all we’ll need.’

‘There’s bedding and towels in the cupboard and an oil lamp and matches on the chest of drawers,’ the caretaker said grudgingly.

‘Thanks.’ Some notes changed hands before Joel suggested, ‘Perhaps you could manage a bite to eat and a hot drink for the lady?’

The man stuffed the notes in his trouser pocket and, sounding somewhat mollified, said, ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ He went, leaving them in total darkness.

As Bethany hesitated uncertainly, Joel’s level voice ordered, ‘Stay where you are until I’ve located the matches.’

A moment later she heard the brush of a footfall as he moved unerringly through the blackness, then the scrape and flare of a match.

With an ease that seemed to speak of long practice, he lit the oil lamp, adjusted the flame and replaced the glass chimney. In a moment the room was filled with golden light.

His clothes—smart casuals—looked expensive, his shoes handmade, but, taking no heed of either, he squatted by the hearth and began to set the fire.

She watched as his long well-shaped hands placed first sticks and then split logs on a bed of flaming kindling.

Glancing up, he said, ‘You’re shivering. Come and get warm.’

Needing no further encouragement, though truth to tell the shivering was due as much to excitement as cold, she went and sat in the low armchair he’d pulled closer to the fire.

Putting her big suede shoulder bag on the floor by the chair, she stretched her numb hands to the leaping flames.

‘Feet cold?’ he queried, looking at her suede fashion boots.

‘Frozen,’ she admitted.

Piling more logs on, he suggested, ‘They’ll get warm a lot quicker if you take your boots off.’

Recognizing the truth of that, she tried to pull them off but they were high and close-fitting and her hands had pins and needles.

‘Let me.’ Crouching on his haunches, he eased off first one and then the other, before rubbing each foot between his palms.

His touch scattered her wits and made her pulses race. At a deeper level it also made her feel cared for, cherished, and at that moment she would have lost her heart to him, if it hadn’t been his already.

Gazing at his bent head, she noticed that his thick fair hair still had minute droplets of water clinging to it. She wanted to dry it and cradle his head to her breast.

‘That better?’ he asked when he’d rubbed some life back into her slim feet.

‘Much better, thank you,’ she answered huskily.

‘Good.’

He had an olive-toned skin at odds with his fairness, and a smile that almost stopped her heart. As he looked into her face she saw that his eyes weren’t the pale blue she had imagined, but a light silvery green. Fascinating eyes…

He rose to his feet just as the door opened and the caretaker returned, a torch in one hand and a plastic carrier bag in the other.

Plonking the bag down on the kitchen counter, the man said shortly, ‘There’s everything you should need in here. The cooker runs on bottled gas and you’ll find a kettle and crockery in the cupboard.’

‘Thanks…And goodnight,’ Joel said.

With a grunt, the man turned and shambled away.

The thought of a hot drink was a welcome one and Bethany had started to rise when Joel ordered, ‘Stay where you are and get warm. I’ll rustle up a drink and a sandwich.’

Devlin, worried about protecting his macho image, would have sat down to be waited on, Bethany thought. But Joel, confident about his masculinity, clearly had no worries on that score.

Within a minute the gas was lit, the kettle was on and two mugs were waiting.

When he had closed the curtains, shutting out the grey mist that pressed like a wet grey blanket against the glass, Joel began to unpack the carrier. There was a jar of instant coffee, a plastic carton of milk, a tub of sunflower spread, an unopened pack of cheese and a small sliced loaf.

‘Hardly a feast,’ he commented, ‘but quite adequate, so long as you like cheese and coffee and you don’t take sugar.’

‘I do, and I don’t,’ she answered.

He gave her a lazy smile that made her heart quicken and, taking off his short car-coat, tossed it over a chair. ‘In that case we don’t have a problem.’

As soon as the kettle started to sing, he made the coffee and handed her one of the steaming mugs.

Sipping it gratefully, she watched while, with cool efficiency, he made a plate of sandwiches and, carrying that and two smaller plates over to the hearth, put them on a low table.

The heat of the coffee banishing the last lingering inner coldness, she said, ‘I don’t think I need this any longer,’ and, rising to her feet, made to take off her coat.

He helped her off with it, then, pulling up a chair, joined her in front of what was now a blazing fire and, offering the plate of sandwiches, urged, ‘Do make a start.’

‘I’m not very hungry.’

When he continued to hold the plate, though she felt too pleasantly agitated to eat, she took a sandwich just to show willing.

‘That’s better.’ He smiled at her.

His teeth gleamed white and even and his smile held such charm that her heart began to beat faster.

Despite the emotional upheaval, after the first few bites her usual healthy appetite kicked in and she found herself enjoying the simple fare. Or, rather, enjoying the fact that she was sitting in front of a blazing fire sharing a plate of sandwiches with the man who had lived in her heart and mind and dreams for so long.

It was almost too wonderful to be true, and she felt like pinching herself to make sure that the whole thing wasn’t just another dream.

CHAPTER TWO

‘MORE?’ Joel queried when the plate was empty.

Replete, Bethany shook her head with a little sigh of contentment.

Noting the sigh, he raised a well-marked brow and teased, ‘That bad, huh?’

‘As a matter of fact I’ve thoroughly enjoyed them,’ she said, made breathless by his teasing smile.

‘I thought at first that you might be too concerned to eat.’

‘Concerned?’

‘About spending the night with a total stranger.’

He wasn’t a total stranger. She had known him for six years. But she could hardly tell him that. He would think she was mad.

Aware of his eyes on her, she said jerkily, ‘I’m not at all concerned.’

‘You seem a little…shall we say…flustered?’

Not knowing quite what to say to that, she remained silent until he queried, ‘So what brings you to these parts?’

‘I’m here on business.’

The mention of business broke through the spell his presence wove, reminding her that she ought to let Tony know she couldn’t get back.

Reaching for her bag, she took out her mobile.

Joel gave her an enquiring look.

‘I must just call the Dundale Inn and let Tony know I can’t get back tonight.’

‘I’m afraid you’ll be wasting your time,’ Joel told her. ‘You won’t get a signal here.’

‘Oh…’ As she glanced around, wondering if there was a phone she could borrow, he added lightly, ‘And knowing we’re marooned together with just one bed, might give him a sleepless night.’

‘He wouldn’t be worried.’ But, remembering his attempts at seduction, she found her colour rising. The intimacy that ‘marooned together with just one bed’ implied, and thinking a strange man might succeed where he’d failed would make him furious.

Watching her companion note that blush, she added hastily, ‘Tony’s my boss.’

‘I see,’ Joel said in a way that showed he didn’t see at all.

‘I—I mean he’s not my boyfriend.’

‘Well, either way, if he has any sense he won’t be expecting you back on a night like this.’

He was no doubt right, Bethany thought, and abandoning any idea of phoning, dropped the mobile back into her bag.

Stretching long legs towards the fire, Joel asked idly, ‘What kind of business are you in?’

‘Antiques,’ she answered quietly, still a little overawed by his presence.

‘Your own business?’

She shook her head and her hair, listened in the candlelight. ‘No. Tony, my boss, owns Feldon Antiques.’

‘Of course,’ Joel murmured.

‘But I am picking up small, affordable pieces that Feldon Antiques wouldn’t touch, with a view to one day starting my own business.’

‘You’re the buyer?’

She hesitated. Respecting her judgement and knowledge of antiques, a year before his death James had made her the firm’s buyer, trusting her to buy at a keen but fair price.

Since Tony had taken over, however, though he relied on her to seek out and identify the rarer items they dealt in—items they sold on to collectors worldwide—he hadn’t allowed her to put a price on them.

But she was still the official buyer, she reminded herself, and answered firmly, ‘Yes.’

‘Does the job involve much travelling?’

‘An occasional visit to Europe or the States.’

He raised an eyebrow and questioned, ‘So what do you think of The Big Apple?’

‘I think New York’s wonderful. I remember first falling in love with it when as a young girl I saw Breakfast at Tiffany’s.’ Bethany smiled at the memory.

He grinned. ‘And I remember falling in love with Audrey Hepburn.’

For a little while they discussed their favourite old films, then he harked back to query, ‘Presumably with your job you put in long hours?’

‘Yes, but then I get time off in lieu. This week I’ll be in the shop on Wednesday, then I’ve got until Monday off.’

‘What sort of things do you look out for when you’re on your travels?’

She thought for a moment then replied, ‘Silver and porcelain mainly, but really anything that’s rare and valuable.’

‘Like this pretty bauble, for instance?’ He touched the bracelet she wore, an intricate gold hoop set with deep red stones.

Her heart beating faster, she looked down at his hand, a strong, well-shaped hand with long lean fingers and neatly trimmed nails.

‘How did you come by it?’ There was a strange note in his voice, an undercurrent of…what? Anger? Condemnation?

But when she looked up the only emotion his face was showing was polite interest, and she knew she must have imagined it.

‘Someone brought it into the shop. Though I originally intended it for my collection I loved it on sight, so I decided to keep it.’

‘I’m a complete ignoramus when it comes to things like this,’ he remarked, turning it round on her wrist. ‘I’ve no real idea how old it is—my guess would be Victorian?’

Only too aware of his touch, she strove to sound cool and unmoved as she told him, ‘It dates from the early eighteen hundreds.’

A shade breathlessly, she added, ‘Often that kind of bracelet was accompanied by a matching necklace and earrings, which would have made it a lot more valuable. I would have loved a set, but unfortunately it was sold as a single item.’

‘May I ask what kind of price a thing like this would fetch?’

She told him what she’d paid for it.

A muscle jumped in his jaw as if he’d clenched his teeth, but his voice was even as he remarked, ‘I would have thought—as it’s gold and rubies—that it was worth a great deal more than that.’

She shook her head. ‘Had it been gold and rubies it would have been, but the stones are garnets.’

‘They look like rubies. I always understood that garnets were transparent?’ he pursued.

‘They are. It’s the way these stones are set that makes them look like rubies. Even the seller thought they were.’

‘I see.’ His expression relaxed.

There was a short silence before he changed the subject by saying, ‘I suppose you must meet some interesting people in your line of business?’

Noting how his thick, healthy-looking hair had now dried to its natural ripe-corn colour and longing to touch it, she answered distractedly, ‘Yes, you could say that.’

When he waited expectantly, she added, ‘The old lady I went to see this morning looked as if she’d stepped out of the pages of some period novel.

‘She was dressed all in black, with jet earrings, and was still talking to her husband, who’d been dead for over five years.’

Joel smiled, then, his voice casual, queried, ‘She had some antiques she wanted to sell?’

‘An attic full,’ Bethany said drily.

‘Did you find anything worth having?’

She shook her head. She had been hoping to discover something rare and valuable, both for the old lady’s sake and—needing to appease Tony’s anger—her own. But the ‘antiques’ had turned out to be, at the best, collectibles, at the worst, junk.

‘No valuable silver or porcelain?’

Wondering why he was displaying such interest, she answered, ‘The only thing we might have considered buying was a Hochst group of porcelain figures. But unfortunately it had been damaged and mended so badly that it’s virtually worthless.’

Leaving his chair to pile more logs on the fire, he remarked, ‘So it was a fruitless journey.’

‘I’m afraid so.’

In reality it had been anything but. She was with Joel at last and they had the whole of the night in which to get to know one another.

Watching his broad back, noticing how the fine material of his dark sweater stretched across the mature width of his shoulders, she felt a fluttery excitement in her stomach.

The fire blazing to his satisfaction, he gathered up the crockery and put it on the draining board before washing his hands.

While they talked, almost imperceptibly the light from the lamp had got dimmer, and beyond the glow from the fire shadows were gathering.

Picking up the lamp, Joel moved it from side to side gently. ‘I’m afraid we’re almost out of oil.’

After a quick search through the cupboards he said, ‘There doesn’t appear to be any more, so it’s a good thing it’s almost bedtime.’

He filled the kettle and put it on the stove, remarking, ‘It might not be a bad idea to get the bed made up while we can still see what we’re doing.’

Recognizing the truth of that, she went to the cupboard and took out bed linen, pillows and a duvet.

Instead of presuming it was woman’s work and leaving her to it, as some men would have done, Joel came to help.

The moment she moved away from the fire the cold air had wrapped around her, and she began to feel thoroughly chilled.

As they made the bed together, seeing her shiver, he remarked, ‘The duvet appears to be a reasonable weight, so it should be warm enough in bed.’

Suddenly focusing on the fact that there was only the one bed, she felt her stomach start to churn.

Picking up her excitement and apparently interpreting it as alarm, he said, ‘Don’t worry, the bed’s all yours.’

In a strangled voice, she queried, ‘Well, if I have the bed, where will you sleep?’

‘I’ll make do with the armchair and a blanket.’

‘There aren’t any blankets, and only one duvet.’

Sounding anything but worried, he said, ‘In that case I’ll have to keep the fire well stoked…

‘Now, as I estimate that the lamp has only a few minutes’ burning time if we’re lucky, you’d better have the bathroom first.’ Tongue-in-cheek, he added, ‘There’s soap and towels, but I suppose you don’t fancy a cold shower?’

‘You suppose right,’ she said with feeling.

He grinned. ‘A kettle of hot water?’

‘Absolute luxury.’

‘Not a difficult woman to please.’

‘The only thing I mind is not being able to clean my teeth,’ she admitted.

Opening the nearest cupboard, he produced two cellophane-wrapped courtesy packs each containing a disposable toothbrush and toothpaste. ‘As to all intents and purposes we’re hotel guests, I suggest we borrow a couple of these.’

‘Wonderful.’

He handed her the packs, then carried the lamp and the kettle through to the bathroom and set them down on a shelf.

‘Will you manage at that?’

‘Very well, thank you,’ she said gratefully.

‘Then I’ll leave you to it.’ He went out, closing the door behind him.

Bethany cleaned her teeth in water so cold it almost made them ache, then slipping off her bracelet, washed in half a kettleful of hot water, leaving Joel the other half.

It was so cold in the bathroom she could see her breath on the air, but just the knowledge that he was close at hand made her feel warm inside. Being together like this, she could almost imagine they were married.

When she had finished, she hastened back to the fire to comb out her long dark hair while he took her place in the bathroom.

When he returned he brought the oil lamp, which was on its last expiring glimmer, and the empty kettle.

‘Generous woman,’ he remarked, adding, as he refilled the kettle and lit the gas, ‘I thought you might like a hot drink before we turn in?’

‘I would, please.’

Having washed their two mugs and made coffee, he came to sit beside her again, stretching his long legs towards the hearth.

The lamp flame had finally died, leaving the rest of the room full of shadows and making the circle formed by the flickering fireglow cosy and intimate.

Their coffee finished, she had just taken a breath to ask him about himself when he invited casually, ‘Tell me how you got into the antiques business.’

‘It was something I’d always wanted to do. Though my father is an accountant, he’s always been fascinated by old and beautiful things. A fascination he passed on to me, along with quite a bit of knowledge, so when I left school I got a job with Feldon Antiques in London.’

‘London’s a big place…and I’m quite sure we’ve never met. It’s just…’

Studying her lovely heart-shaped face in the firelight, the long-lashed grey eyes and dark winged brows, the neat nose and generous mouth, the determined chin that added such character, he went on with a half smile, ‘I have the strangest feeling I’ve seen you somewhere before…You have a face I seem to recognize. To remember…’

When, suddenly transfixed and with her heart racing wildly, she just gazed at him, he went on, ‘But perhaps you don’t know the feeling of something half-remembered…?’

As she held her breath a log settled with a rustle and a little explosion of bright sparks.

‘Maybe it was in my dreams that I met you…’ He reached out and ran a fingertip down the curve of her cheek to the little cleft in her chin. ‘Maybe in some dream I’ve kissed your mouth, held you close, made love to you…’

Tracing her lips, he added softly, ‘It’s what I’ve wanted to do since the first moment I saw you…’

Caught up in the magic, she sat quite still while her heart swelled and every bone in her body melted.

‘It’s what I want to do now…’ he added softly and, leaning forward, touched his mouth to hers.

His kiss was like no other she had ever experienced before. It held all she’d ever wanted—the delight, the excitement, the warmth and comfort, the sheer joy of belonging.

As her lips parted beneath his, he deepened the kiss until she was on fire with longing, a quivering mass of sensations even before he rose and, lifting her to her feet, drew her against his firm body.

When, still kissing her, he began to run his hands over her, she leaned into him, making soft little noises in her throat.

Even the feel of the cold air on her skin when he removed her clothes and the coolness of the sheets when he lifted her into bed didn’t break the spell he’d woven.

And when he slid into bed beside her and drew her against the naked warmth of his body it was like coming home.

He was a good lover, strong, masterful, passionate, yet those qualities went hand in hand with skill and caring, a boundless generosity. Not once but twice he sent her sky-rocketing to the stars with an effortless ease, before gathering her into the crook of his arm and drawing her close.

Snuggled against him, all passion spent, her body sleek and satisfied, her mind euphoric, she knew she had never been so wildly happy, so blissfully content. She was with him at last.

Thinking how wonderful it was that he was under the same kind of spell that she was under, that the enchantment was mutual, she slipped into sleep saying a silent but heartfelt prayer of thanks.

When Bethany awoke, just for a second or two she was completely disorientated, then memories of the previous night, of Joel, came crowding into her mind filling her with gladness.

Sighing, she reached out to touch him. The space beside her was empty and cold. Pushing herself up on one elbow, she looked around in the semi-darkness.

There was no sign of him and though her clothes still lay where they had been discarded, his had vanished. But, of course, he would be in the bathroom getting washed and dressed.

The fire, though still in, had burnt low and, her naked body goosefleshing, she got out of bed and began to hurriedly pull on her own clothes.

As soon as she was dressed she piled on some logs and went to draw back the curtains. The fog had cleared but the morning was gloomy and overcast with a sky the colour of pewter.

Wondering what time it was, she glanced at her watch. Almost a quarter past nine.

She grimaced. Tony would be livid. He had made it abundantly clear that if they didn’t need to stay another day he wanted to make an early start back to the great metropolis.

But even the thought of how furious he would be when she turned up so late and with nothing to show for her visit to Mrs Deramack failed to spoil her new-found happiness.

Though, as yet, she still knew little about Joel except that he came from London, they were together at last. Lovers. In love for ever. A glowing future ahead of them.

While she waited for him to emerge, she put the kettle on, rinsed two mugs and spooned instant coffee into them, before going back to the fire.

Reaching for her capacious bag, she flipped it open and started to unzip the compartment that held her comb and cosmetics.

But something—it looked like the corner of a facial tissue—was caught and the zip had jammed, though it had seemed all right the previous night when she had replaced her comb.

And her mobile wasn’t in the pocket she usually kept it in, but no doubt she had been too excited to care where she put it.

A little frown of concentration marring her smooth brow, she worked the zip free, then, having combed her hair, took it up into its usual gleaming coil.

As she clipped it into place, it began to impinge on her consciousness that, apart from the crackle of burning logs and the kettle starting to sing, everywhere was silent. There wasn’t another sound. No movement. No running water. And when she’d put the kettle on it had been cold.

Trying to subdue a sudden, completely unreasonable panic, she went and tapped on the bathroom door. ‘Joel…Will you be long?’

There was no answer.

She threw open the door to find the room was empty.

He must have gone across to have a word with the caretaker, she told herself, and, judging by how low the fire had been, he’d been gone for some time, so no doubt he’d be back at any moment.

When another five minutes had passed with no sign of him returning, an icy vice began to tighten around her heart.

But after all they had shared the previous night, he wouldn’t have just gone. Walked away without a single word. He couldn’t.

Of course! All at once the solution struck her. He’d gone to fetch his car. If he had woken her up, she could have driven him there. Though the road had been too narrow at that precise spot for any manoeuvring, there must surely be somewhere on that stretch a car could turn round.

When the kettle boiled she made a single cup of coffee and drank it sitting in front of the fire.

After another half an hour had crawled past she knew with dreadful certainty that he wasn’t coming back. Perhaps, subconsciously, she had known from the very beginning.

Joel had gone for good. Had gone without a word. Without so much as leaving a note.

He had walked in and out of her life like some wraith. All she knew about him was his name and the fact that he came from London. He might even be a married man.

Gripped by an icy coldness, a pain so intense she might have been in the grim embrace of an iron maiden, she could neither move nor breathe.

Last night had meant nothing to him. Just a seized chance. A one night stand. All the talk about seeming to know her, to recognize her, had just been part of his seduction technique.

Perhaps he had believed Tony was her lover? Had decided she was easy?

Well, she had been, she thought bitterly. Stupidly, idiotically easy.

In love with a dream, she had behaved like some silly little adolescent who hadn’t yet learnt to curb her impulses and respect herself.

She stood for a long time staring blindly into space before she was able to move, to find her coat and bag and make her way to the car.

The keys were in the ignition where Joel had left them the previous night. Thinking of how excited she had been when they arrived here, how hopeful, she felt as if a knife was being turned in her heart and was forced to lean against the car until the worst of the agony had passed.

Then, her usual graceful movements clumsy, she got into the driving seat and, leaning forward, rested her forehead on the wheel.

After a moment or two, as if so much pain had caused a protective shield to drop into place, she raised her head and, neither thinking nor feeling, her entire being numb, drove back to Dundale like some automaton.

It was almost twelve by the time she reached the Inn to find Tony pacing the lobby, every bit as enraged as she had imagined.

‘So here you are at last! I wondered what the devil had happened to you. Have you any idea how long I’ve been waiting?’ he demanded angrily.

Her voice curiously flat and lifeless, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid I overslept.’

‘Overslept!’ He uttered a profanity. ‘So where the hell did you sleep?’

Briefly, she explained about the burst tyre and the mist and having to spend the night at a hotel that was still officially closed for the winter. She didn’t mention Joel.

‘Why didn’t you let me know?’ Tony sounded even more exasperated.

‘I couldn’t get a signal,’ she said shortly, and was pleased when he grunted and left it at that.

‘So how did you get on with old Mrs Deramack? Any good stuff?’

She shook her head.

He swore briefly.

Making an effort at normality, she asked, ‘How about Greendales? They seemed to have some extremely nice things.’

‘They did,’ he admitted grudgingly, ‘but their reserve prices were a damn sight too high. Private sales make a lot more sense…’

Bethany was aware that, translated, that meant a lot more money. James Feldon had cared about antiques. All Tony cared about was the bottom line.

‘That’s why I was hoping the old lady had something worth our while. As it is, the trip’s been a waste of time. And now you’ve managed to sleep in,’ he added nastily, ‘it’s been a waste of a morning too.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.

‘I hope you weren’t expecting to have lunch before we start?’

‘No, I’m not at all hungry. I’ll just fetch my things.’ She couldn’t wait to get away.

Except for a short stop to refuel and have coffee and, in Tony’s case, a packet of sandwiches, they drove straight back to town. Still in a foul mood, apart from occasionally cursing another motorist, Tony barely uttered a word.

It was a relief in one way, but it allowed too much time for brooding. The numbness had passed and, her thoughts bleak as winter, Bethany found herself going over and over everything that had happened the previous night. Picking at it. Dissecting it. Exposing the pain, so that it was like doing an autopsy on a living body.

By the time Tony dropped her at her flat she was feeling like death and only too pleased that Catherine, who was an airline stewardess, was away until the following week and she had the place to herself.

Quite unable to stomach the thought of food, even though she’d had nothing to eat that day, Bethany made herself a pot of tea and sat down to drink it. She would have an early night. She needed the blessed oblivion of sleep.

Tomorrow, though her beautiful dreams had turned to dust, she would have to get up and face the day as if nothing had happened. If that were possible.

But it had to be. She must make it possible.

She recalled a motto in one of last year’s Christmas crackers: When your dreams turn to dust, Hoover. It seemed appropriate.

Her tea finished, she was heading for the bedroom when the phone rang.

For a moment she considered not answering. But old habits died hard and, before she could make herself walk away, she had picked up the receiver.

‘Hello?’

‘So you’re back…’

It was Michael Sharman. Over the last few months she had got to know and like him and they had been out together on quite a number of occasions but she saw him as nothing more than a friend.

‘Bethany?’

She wasn’t in the mood to talk to anybody. She sighed, ‘Yes, I’m back.’

‘It doesn’t sound like you.’

‘I’m a bit tired.’

He went on regardless, seemingly oblivious to her overwhelming tiredness. ‘I tried to phone you earlier. Been home long?’

‘No.’

‘Care to go out for a spot of supper?’

‘I don’t think so, Michael.’ She wasn’t in the right kind of mood to go out.

‘Why not?’ he asked.

‘I was just on my way to bed.’

‘Bed?’ he exclaimed, surprised. ‘But it’s barely eight o’clock. Look, what if I pop round now and pick you up?’

‘No, thank you. I’m tired.’ Then, aware that she’d sounded a bit curt, she added apologetically, ‘I’m sorry. I guess I’m even more tired than I thought.’

‘Sure I can’t change your mind? Going out might be just what you need to liven you up.’

‘I doubt it.’

He was a young man who was used to getting his own way with women. But this woman was special, not like the rest, and he didn’t want to spoil his chances.

‘In that case,’ he said reluctantly, ‘let’s make it tomorrow night.’

‘Well, I—’

‘What if I pick you up around seven? We’ll go to the Caribbean Club and have a good time.’

Before she could argue, he was gone.

Sighing, she replaced the receiver.

If she found she couldn’t face it, she would just have to call him and put him off.

But what would she do if she did stay at home? What was she likely to do?

Mope. Which would get her precisely nowhere.

Going out with Michael had to be preferable.

After first thinking him somewhat cocky and immature, she had come to enjoy his company and almost envy his carefree, sybaritic attitude to life.

They had first met when, after inheriting his grandmother’s house and its contents, he had brought a blue and white porcelain bowl into Feldon Antiques, saying he needed to raise some ready cash.

Bethany, who had been in the shop at the time, had thought the bowl was Ming, which would have made it extremely valuable. But an expert on Chinese porcelain that Tony had later taken it to had identified it as Qing, which made its value a great deal less.

However, it was still worth a considerable amount and Michael had been more than happy to part with it.

After selling them the bowl, he had produced several smaller items which Tony had dismissed but Bethany had been pleased to buy for her collection.

The bracelet Joel had admired had been one of them.

But where was the bracelet?

A moment’s thought convinced her that she had taken it off in the bathroom the previous night before getting washed. She hadn’t noticed it that morning, nor had she given it a thought, but she had had other things on her mind.

Just to be on the safe side, she found her shoulder bag and searched through it, but there was no sign of the bracelet in its capacious depths.

She must have left it at the hotel.

It was a blow, even though she hadn’t really expected to find it—looking in her bag had been an act of sheer desperation.

If it were possible, her spirits sank even lower. Until then, despite all the pain, she hadn’t shed a single tear, but, as though leaving her bracelet was the last straw, she began to cry.

She cried until she had no more tears left, then, feeling empty, drained, hollow as a ghost, showered and crawled into bed.

In the morning she would have to try and get in touch with the caretaker…

Following closely on that thought came a sense of helplessness. She didn’t even know the name of the hotel they had stayed at. All she knew was that it lay at the foot of Dunscar.

But if she contacted the nearest information centre, supposing there was one open in early February, they should be able to give her the name of the place…

After a night spent tossing and turning, Bethany got up feeling heavy-eyed and heavy-hearted. Though she had no appetite, before setting off for the shop, she made herself eat some breakfast—a triumph of common sense over despair.

It was a bleak, grey morning that perfectly matched her mood. The only bright spot was when Tony, still noticeably surly, announced that when he’d dealt with the morning’s mail he was going out and would be gone for the rest of the day.

After working several weekends in a row, she was entitled to three days off, which meant she wouldn’t have to come in again until Monday, and, as things were, she could only be glad.

In their absence, her colleague Alison had been her usual efficient self and there was no backlog of work.

With nothing pressing to do, Bethany set out to find the name of the hotel at the foot of Dunscar. The area’s central information bureau was open and able to tell her that it was called The Dunbeck. They even provided the phone number.

Somewhat heartened, she dialled the number.

There was no answer.

Though she tried periodically for the rest of the day, she met with no success.

Just as she was about to close the shop a couple of browsers came in and it was turned six before she was able to lock up and leave.

By the time she reached her basement flat, tired and frustrated, it was almost six-thirty and Michael would be picking her up at seven.

CHAPTER THREE

FEELING anything but sociable, Bethany was tempted to ring and put Michael off, but better sense prevailed. It would do her a lot more good to go out than sit at home brooding.

Her decision made, she drew the curtains against the dark, frosty night and went into the bathroom to have a quick shower.

Dried and scented, she touched a mascara wand to her long lashes and glossed her lips with pale, shiny lipstick. Then, as though making up for her previous lack of enthusiasm, she donned her best dark blue cocktail dress and fastened pearl studs to her small, neat lobes.

Leaving her hair falling loosely around her shoulders in a dark silky cloud, she was ready when the bell rang.

She opened the door to find Michael was waiting beneath the lantern, a bouquet of crimson roses in his hand.

‘Wow!’ he exclaimed at the sight of her. ‘You look fantastic!’ Then, handing her the flowers, ‘I hope you like roses?’

‘Thank you, I do. They’re lovely. If you come in for a minute I’ll put them in water.’

Following her inside, he leaned against the kitchen counter while she stripped off the cellophane and found a vase to arrange the roses in.

Slimly built and a couple of inches taller than herself, he was well-dressed and well-groomed, a personable young man with dark curly hair and more than his fair share of charm.

From a wealthy background and with a private income, he was, she supposed, quite a catch.

Watching her arrange the flowers, he queried, ‘Was it a successful trip?’

She shook her head. ‘Not very.’

‘I thought you seemed depressed. Oh, well, let’s forget our troubles and go and have a good time.’

Wondering what troubles he had in what she had hitherto regarded as a carefree life, she locked the door behind her and followed him up the basement steps to his red Porsche.

During an evening spent dancing and dining at the Caribbean Club, Bethany did her best to hide her misery and appear cheerful. But, despite all her efforts, Michael picked up her low spirits.

When they returned to their table after a slow foxtrot, he remarked sympathetically, ‘You really are down, aren’t you?’

Feeling guilty, she said, ‘I’m sorry if I’ve spoilt your evening.’

He shook his head. ‘Of course you haven’t spoilt it.’ Then, with a sigh, ‘I wasn’t exactly ecstatic to start with.’

‘You have a problem?’

‘Too true…I’m in a mess. I need a substantial sum of money and I need it fast.’

Catching her look of surprise, he said, ‘If you’re thinking of what I got for the bowl…I invested it in a new stage show that was looking for backers.

‘If it comes off, it should make everyone involved, me included, multi-millionaires.

‘But there’s still months to go before it’s due to open, and I learnt today that they’re running out of cash.’

He sounded so despondent that Bethany’s heart went out to him.

‘Can’t they find extra backers?’

‘They’ve tried, but once it gets around that a project is rocky, no one wants to take that risk. So one way or another, I’ve just got to come up with some more cash.’

‘What about your grandmother’s house?’

‘Unfortunately I can’t sell that.’

‘You’re fond of it because it was the family home?’

‘God, no! Now all the staff are gone, apart from a cleaning lady, it puts me in mind of a mausoleum. I was rattling round the blasted place like a grain of rice in an empty tin until my stepbrother suggested I could move in with him for a while…’

‘So you’re living with your stepbrother?’

Michael shook his head. ‘It didn’t work. All he wanted to do was keep an eye on me. He started to tick me off about the hours I kept, so I’m bunking with a mate of mine in a very small flat.’

Gloomily, he added, ‘I was hoping to rent a place of my own but my allowance won’t stretch to it.’

Then, with a sudden flare of temper, ‘I could afford to buy a flat and still have a tidy bit left if I was able to put the blasted house on the market.’

Seeing her puzzled frown, he went on, ‘But even when things are through probate, thanks to the terms of the will, I can’t sell it before I reach the age of twenty-five. That’s in two years’ time. Until then my stepbrother has control.’

‘Couldn’t your family help out in the meantime?’

‘He’s the only family l have left.’

‘What does he do?’

‘He’s an entrepreneur,’ Michael said sourly. ‘As well as owning JSM International, he has a finger in a great many different pies.’

‘So he’s a lot older than you?’

‘Only six years.’

Seeing her surprise, Michael explained. ‘He made his pile young by buying up failing businesses, putting them on their feet again and selling them at a hell of a profit.’

‘Well, surely he’d help if you asked him?’

Michael’s laugh was bitter. ‘You have to be joking! The last time I was forced to ask him for extra cash, he grudgingly paid off my debts. But when I asked him for a bigger allowance, he said it was high time I got a job.

‘I pointed out I hadn’t been trained for anything.’ Miael sighed and went on, ‘He offered me a position in his Los Angeles branch. I’m sure the climate would be great, but who in his right senses wants to be tied to an office five days out of seven?

‘My only hope is that amongst the rest of my grandmother’s antiques there’s something really valuable…I suppose you wouldn’t be prepared to take a quick look and advise me?’

‘Of course. When would you—?’

‘Tonight,’ he broke in eagerly. ‘We can call in there on the way back to your flat…’

Bethany’s heart sank. Tired and headachy, it was the last thing she wanted to do, but feeling she owed it to him, she agreed, ‘All right.’

Having signalled the waiter, he paid the bill, collected their coats and hurried her out to the waiting car.

In spite of the traffic, in a matter of minutes they were drawing up outside his grandmother’s elegant porticoed townhouse in Lanervic Square.

Michael let them in and, closing the door behind them, switched off the alarm.

As he led the way across the spacious hall to a vast and silent living room, Bethany began to realize why he had described the place as a mausoleum.

At first glance all the furniture appeared to be antique, and there were several glass-fronted display cabinets crowded with Chinese pottery and porcelain.

Staggered by the sheer amount of stuff, she stared at it in silence.

After a minute or so, Michael asked eagerly, ‘Do you think there’ll be something I can raise a good amount on?’

‘Almost certainly. How many pieces do you want to part with?’

‘One…Two, at the most. Otherwise it might be—’ He broke off abruptly.

‘Examining even a few pieces is going to take time and care,’ Bethany said, ‘so it would make more sense to come back tomorrow.’

He took her hand. ‘I’ve a much better idea…Why don’t you stay the night?’

Before she could refuse, he had pulled her close and was kissing her with an ardour that just for a second or two swamped her, then she tried to draw away. But his arms were wrapped tightly around her and he was so much stronger than she had imagined.

She was gathering herself to struggle in earnest, when all at once she was free and Michael, his startled face an unbecoming brick-red, was goggling at something behind her.

Turning to follow the direction of his gaze, she saw that there was a tall fair-haired man with wide shoulders lounging in the doorway.

Feeling as if she’d walked slap into a plate glass window, she found herself staring at Joel.

Michael was the first to break the silence with a stammered, ‘H-hell…you startled me.’

‘So I see,’ Joel said smoothly.

With a hint of bravado, Michael asked, ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I could ask you the same question.’ A bite to his tone, Joel added, ‘Only the answer seems obvious. Unless I have the wrong end of the stick?’

All the colour draining from his face, Michael stammered, ‘Well I—I just brought Bethany in to…to…see where I used to live.’

Joel glanced at her as if he’d never met her before in his life and, his little smile contemptuous, drawled, ‘Really?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?’ Michael blustered. ‘In any case we were just on the point of leaving.’

‘Then I’ll say goodnight to you both.’

Throughout the little exchange, shocked and stunned, incapable of coherent thought, Bethany had stood there, transfixed, her wide eyes on Joel’s face.

Now she found herself hurried out of the house and across the pavement to the red Porsche as if the hounds of hell were baying at their heels.

‘That’s blown it!’ Michael exclaimed as he slid behind the wheel and started the car. ‘He must have overheard everything. What rotten luck for him to walk in just at that minute.’

While Bethany was still fumbling to fasten her seatbelt, they set off with a whoosh that threw her back in her seat.

‘Was that…?’ Her voice failed. She swallowed hard and tried again. ‘Was that your stepbrother?’

‘Yes, for my sins. And now you see what I mean?’ he went on as he joined the traffic stream. ‘See what a swine he is?

‘He’s always been an arrogant bastard, but now he holds the purse-strings he thinks he rules the world and other places.

‘Well, at the moment he might have the whip hand. But one of these days I’ll be my own master. I won’t have to kowtow to him any longer…’

During the silence that followed, Bethany made an attempt to gather herself and come to terms with the almost unbelievable.

It seemed so strange, so bizarre, that Joel was Michael’s stepbrother. She felt as if fate was playing the jester. Mocking her. Making fun of her. Having a game at her expense.

Meeting him again out of the blue like that had shaken her to the core. But what had disturbed her even more was the way he had looked at her. As if she’d crawled from under a stone. As if he held her in contempt.

Obviously he had heard Michael asking her to stay the night and presumed they were already lovers. After what had happened in the Lakes, he must have thought her immoral. A woman who had no principles, who would sleep with a man she knew nothing about, a man she had only just met.

If he’d respected her at all, he wouldn’t have left the next morning without a single word.

It was the old double standard. Yet somehow it still held sway.

Her unhappy thoughts were interrupted when the car drew up outside her flat.

Michael got out and accompanied her across the pavement. When she paused at the top of the area steps, he asked, ‘Can I come in?’

It was the last thing she wanted. She felt much too churned up. Too agitated.

She was about to make some excuse when he added, ‘God, do I need a brandy!’

As a rule, when he was driving he made a point of not drinking but, glancing at his face in the glow from the street lamp, she could see that he really did need something to steady him.

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