There were tears on Chloe’s face as she sat staring unseeingly into the darkness. Every haunting memory of that time, seven years before, was conspiring to remind her that she had indeed been hardly more than a child just emerging into womanhood.

And I indulged myself with a child’s dreams, she thought bitterly. Ignored the warnings from people who’d known him so much longer and so much better than I had, and who, therefore, had no illusions about him.

I was young and stupid. I let his touch, his kisses tempt me to forget what I really wanted from life. And, oh, God, he made it so easy for me. So terribly, heartbreakingly easy.

She shivered suddenly, wrapping her arms round her body.

I mustn’t use emotive words like that, she told herself. My heart did not break. Darius was just a diversion. A painful but necessary lesson.

And I won’t make the same mistake again.

About the Author

SARA CRAVEN was born in South Devon and grew up in a house full of books. She worked as a local journalist, covering everything from flower shows to murders, and started writing for Mills and Boon in 1975. When not writing, she enjoys films, music, theatre, cooking, and eating in good restaurants. She now lives near her family in Warwickshire. Sara has appeared as a contestant on the former Channel Four game show Fifteen to One, and in 1997 was the UK television Mastermind champion. In 2005 she was a member of the Romantic Novelists’ team on University Challenge—the Professionals.

Recent titles by the same author:

WIFE IN THE SHADOWS

THE HIGHEST STAKES OF ALL

HIS UNTAMED INNOCENT

RUTHLESS AWAKENING

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

The End of Her Innocence

Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CHAPTER ONE

‘BUT, Chloe, I need you with us. I’m counting on you.’ Mrs Armstrong opened limpid blue eyes to their widest extent. ‘I thought you knew that.’

She paused. ‘Besides, just think of it—an entire summer in the South of France. And we’ll be away quite a lot, so you’d have the villa all to yourself. Now, isn’t that tempting?’

‘Yes, it is,’ Chloe Benson returned equably. ‘But, as I said when I handed in my notice, madam, I have my own plans.’

And staying in domestic service, no matter how gold-plated and lucrative, is not among them, she added silently. Nice try, Dilys baby, but no thanks.

‘Well, I’m very disappointed.’ Mrs Armstrong’s tone took on the faint peevishness which was her nearest approach to animation. ‘And I don’t know what my husband will say.’

He’ll say, ‘Bad luck, old thing,’ then go back to the Financial Times, just as he always does, Chloe thought, biting back a smile.

‘If it’s a question of money.’ Mrs Armstrong allowed her perfect brow to wrinkle. ‘If you’ve had a better offer, I’m sure we could come to some arrangement.’

On the contrary, Chloe wanted to tell her, it’s love rather than money that’s luring me away.

She allowed herself a happy moment to think about Ian. To summon up the image of his tall, broad-shouldered frame, his curling brown hair and smiling blue eyes. To imagine the moment when she’d go into his arms and say, ‘I’ve come home, darling, and this time it’s for good. Just name the day and I’ll be there.’

She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing like that, madam. I’ve simply decided to take a different career direction.’

‘But what a waste, when you’re so good at what you do.’

What talent did you really require for saying, ‘Yes, madam, very good madam?’ Chloe wondered with faint exasperation. For organising the smooth running of a house with every modern convenience known to the mind of man and then some. For making sure the other members of staff did their jobs efficiently.

Whatever might be happening in the City, billionaire Hugo Armstrong wanted an untroubled existence at his country home, Colestone Manor. He was bored by day-to-day domestic detail, requiring any problems to be dealt with quickly and unobtrusively, the bills paid, and his guests offered the luxurious environment of a top hotel.

Quite simply, he asked for perfection, with the minimum effort on his part, and, during her tenure as housekeeper, Chloe had ensured that he got it.

She knew she was young for the job and she would have a lot to prove, but she was bright, energetic and a good organiser used to hard work, as her previous references attested.

Her responsibilities were manifold, her hours long, but her astonishing salary more than compensated for these and other inconveniences.

She was not, of course, expected to have any life of her own. Christmas and Easter were busy times at the Manor. She had not even been able to attend Uncle Hal and Aunt Libby’s thirtieth wedding anniversary, because the Armstrongs had arranged a large house-party that weekend, and couldn’t spare her. Her salary that month had been augmented by a large bonus, but it hardly made up for missing out on such a special occasion with people she loved, the only real family she’d ever had, and she still had feelings of guilt about it.

But she’d always known that the job was twenty-four-seven while it lasted. And now her notice was nearly up, and it was only going to last another week.

Losing her might cause her employers some temporary annoyance, she reflected as she went back to her quarters, but no-one was indispensable, and the Belgravia agency would supply a replacement for her with the minimum of fuss, so she was hardly leaving them in the lurch.

The computer in the housekeeper’s office was regularly updated with details of the shops that delivered the Manor’s supplies, and the tradesmen who provided any services required, plus the family’s food preferences, fads and fancies, as well as a complete rundown on all meals served to guests over the past six months, and the bedrooms they’d occupied where appropriate.

Her successor, she thought with satisfaction, should enjoy a seamless takeover.

She would miss her flat, she admitted as she closed its door behind her and looked around. Though small, it was self-contained, and luxuriously equipped with its own wet room, an expensive fitted galley kitchen, and a queen-sized bed dominating the bedroom.

It would seem odd sleeping in the modest room at Axford Grange again, with Aunt Libby filling a hot-water bottle for her whether she needed it or not, and popping in to say goodnight, but it would not be for long.

Maybe Ian would want her to move in with him before they were married, she thought pleasurably. And if he did, she would agree without the slightest hesitation. It was more than time his patient wooing was rewarded. In fact, she couldn’t understand why she’d held back for so long. At twenty-five and still a virgin, she was beginning to feel as if she was part of an endangered species.

And yet she’d remained celibate entirely through her own choice. Her creamy skin, tip-tilted hazel eyes with their long lashes and warmly curving mouth had attracted plenty of male attention since her teens.

She’d been sixteen when Ian arrived at the Grange on placement from his veterinary college and, almost from the first, she’d been sure that they were meant for each other.

As soon as he was qualified, he’d come back to work in her uncle’s busy practice, and he was now a full partner.

Soon he’ll be my partner too, she thought and smiled to herself.

He’d proposed for the first time just after she’d left university, but she’d demurred, knowing she wanted to test her newly fledged wings. She’d planned to work as a magazine journalist but jobs in the industry proved elusive, and as a temporary measure she’d joined an agency offering domestic help. Most of her friends at college had worked in bars or waited on restaurant tables to supplement their money, but Chloe, with Aunt Libby’s training behind her, opted for cleaning jobs instead, working in the early mornings and earning a reputation for being reliable, fast and thorough.

She’d just laughed when she was nicknamed Chloe the Char, retorting ‘honest work for honest pay’. Her view on that had never changed.

Ian had not been at all happy when she told him she’d been offered the job at Colestone Manor.

‘It’s one hell of a distance from here,’ he’d protested. ‘I thought you were going to find something locally. That we were going to have some real time together at last.’

‘And so we shall,’ she said. ‘But it’s also a chance to make some real money.’

‘I’m not exactly earning peanuts,’ he returned, his mouth tightening. ‘You won’t be living in penury.’

‘I know.’ She kissed him. ‘But have you any idea what even the smallest wedding costs these days? And Uncle Hal and Aunt Libby have done so much for me all my life. This is one expense I can spare them. Besides, the time will soon pass. You’ll see.’

Only it hadn’t, and Chloe wondered sometimes whether she’d have taken the job if she’d realised how all-consuming it was, with the Armstrongs quite reasonably expecting her to be at their beck and call all day and every day.

Communication with Ian and the family over the past year had been largely through hurried notes and phone calls. Not a satisfactory state of affairs by any means.

But all that was behind her now, she thought, and she could concentrate on the future and turning herself into the ideal niece and the perfect fiancée.

Because of her savings, of course, she didn’t even need to find another job—not immediately. So, she could take her time. Look around. Find the right thing, and stick to it for a couple of years until they decided to start a family.

It was all going to work out perfectly, she told herself and sighed with contentment.

She was waiting for the coffee percolator to finish brewing, when she heard a knock, and Tanya, the nanny to the Armstrong twins put her head round the door.

‘The rumour mill is working overtime,’ she announced. ‘Tell me it’s wrong for once, and you’re not leaving after all.’

‘Oh, but I am.’ Chloe smiled at her and took down a second beaker.

‘Tragedy.’ Tanya slumped into a chair, stretching out long legs, her pretty freckled face disconsolate. ‘Where can I go for sanity when the brats are driving me mad?’

‘What have you done with them at the moment? Tied them to chairs in the nursery?’

‘Dilys is taking them to a tea party—mummies only,’ Tanya said grimly. ‘I wish her luck.’

‘My sympathies are with the hostess,’ Chloe returned, pouring the coffee.

‘Well, spare a thought for me. I’ll be the one left holding the baby—literally—in the South of France while Dilys and Hugo do the Grand Tour from villa to villa and yacht to yacht,’ Tanya said moodily. ‘The only thing holding me together was the prospect of you being there too. I was sure she’d persuade you. Get you to withdraw your notice.’

‘She certainly tried,’ Chloe said cheerfully, handing her a beaker. ‘But no dice. I’m off to get a life.’

‘You have a new job lined up?’

‘Not as such.’ Chloe hesitated. ‘Actually, I’m going to be married.’

Tanya’s eyes went to her bare left hand. ‘To that vet you mentioned back home? I didn’t know you were even engaged.’

‘Well, it’s strictly unofficial as yet. I wasn’t ready before when he asked me, but, now, settling down seems like a really great thing to do, so,’ she added, smiling, ‘I’m going to do it.’

‘Won’t village life seem tame after all this glitz and glamour?’

Chloe shook her head. ‘I’ve never bought into it, any more than you have. I know my priorities and this job was always just a means to an end.

‘Apart from getting my hair cut once a month,’ she went on, running a hand through her mop of dark curls. ‘And having the odd cinema and pizza jaunt with you when we could get time off together, I’ve hardly spent a thing. So I have a lot of money sitting in the bank right now.’

Her smile widened. ‘Enough to pay for a wedding, certainly, and also contribute to the updating of Ian’s cottage, which it sorely needs. Together, we can make it wonderful.’

Tanya’s brows lifted. ‘Does Ian share this view?’

Chloe sighed humorously. ‘He seems to think all a kitchen requires is a stove, a sink and a second-hand fridge. Also that a rusting bath is a valuable antique. I intend to educate him.’

‘Well, good luck to that.’ Tanya raised her beaker in a faintly ironic toast. ‘But maybe he’s already put in a new kitchen in honour of your return. Did you think of that?’

‘He doesn’t yet know I’m coming back. I want to surprise him.’

‘Christmas!’ Tanya eyed her quizzically. ‘You must be very sure of him.’

‘I’m sure of us both,’ Chloe told her serenely. ‘And I can’t wait to get back to Willowford.’ She sighed again. ‘I’ve missed it so much.’

‘It must be a hell of a place to coax you away from the Riviera,’ Tanya commented. ‘What’s so special about it?’

‘Well, it’s not exactly picture-postcard stuff,’ Chloe said, frowning. ‘There are no thatched roofs, and the church is Victorian. Although the Hall is considered rather splendid—Jacobean with later additions.’

‘And does it have a squire who twirls his moustaches and chases the village maidens?’

Chloe’s smile held faint constraint. ‘I don’t think that’s Sir Gregory’s style,’ she said, after a pause. ‘Even if his arthritis allowed it.’

‘Is he married?’

Chloe shook her head. ‘A widower.’

‘Children?’

‘Two sons.’

‘The heir and the spare,’ said Tanya. ‘Very conventional.’

Chloe bit her lip. ‘Not really, because the spare doesn’t feature much any more. There was a gigantic rift a few years ago, and he became persona non grata.’

‘Aha.’ Tanya’s eyes gleamed. ‘This is more like it. What happened?’

Chloe looked away. ‘He had an affair with his older brother’s wife,’ she said at last. ‘Broke up the marriage. All very sordid and nasty. So his father threw him out.’

‘What happened to the wife?’

‘She left too.’

‘So are they together? She and—what do they call him?—I can’t go on saying “the spare”.’

‘Darius,’ Chloe said. ‘Darius Maynard. And I don’t think anyone knows where he is or what happened to him. Or even cares, for that matter.’

Tanya drew a deep breath. ‘Well the place is clearly a seething mass of steaming passion and illicit desire. I can see why you want to get in on the action. And the heir needs another wife, presumably.’ She gave a wicked wink. ‘Maybe you could do better than a country vet.’

‘No way.’ Chloe drained her beaker. ‘To be honest, I think quite a few people found Andrew Maynard a bit of a stuffed shirt and didn’t altogether blame Penny, who was incredibly beautiful, for looking around. But Darius already had a bad name locally, so no-one ever thought he’d be the one to get a second glance.’

Tanya’s eyes gleamed. ‘What sort of bad name?’

‘Expelled from school. Drinking, gambling, mixing with the local wild bunch. Parties that people only whispered about behind their hands.’ Chloe shrugged. ‘Plus rumours that he was involved in other even worse things—illegal dog fighting, for instance.’ She added bleakly, ‘No-one was sorry to see him go, believe me.’

‘Well, for all that, he sounds more interesting than his brother.’ Tanya finished her coffee and stood up. ‘I’d better get back. I thought while the monsters were missing, I could fumigate the toy cupboards.’

Left alone, Chloe washed out the beakers and put them in the drying rack.

For the life of her, she could not fathom why she’d told Tanya all that stuff about the Maynard family. It was seven years since it had happened, she thought, and should have been relegated long ago to some mental dump bin.

She suddenly had an image of a man’s face, tanned and arrogant, nose and cheekbones strongly, almost harshly, sculpted, the mouth wide and sensual. From beneath a swathe of dirty-blond hair, compelling green eyes had stared at the world with disdain, as if daring it to judge him.

Yet it had done so, and, starting with his father, had condemned him as guilty. The adulterer who’d betrayed his brother and been sentenced to exile as a result. Although that could have been no real hardship for Darius Maynard, she thought. He’d always been restless and edgy. Willowford was far too small and tame a world for him and always had been.

But it suits me just fine, she told herself, biting her lip. It’s a decent little place with good people. Somewhere to put down roots and raise the next generation. It gave me a loving home when I was a small baby, and now it’s given me Ian. It’s security.

Sir Gregory had been part of that, she thought. A large, rather forbidding man, but rock-solid like his house. A pillar of his community, as the saying was. And Andrew Maynard was much the same. An outdoor man with a passion for climbing, more conventionally handsome than his younger brother, courteous and faintly aloof. Part of a continuing line or so it had seemed.

Except, ‘Thank heaven there are no children to be hurt,’ Aunt Libby had said quietly when the scandal broke.

But Darius had always been different—the joker in the pack. A throwback to some other, wilder time with his dangerous mocking smile, and cool smoky drawl.

My God—little Chloe grown up at last. Who’d have thought it?

She was suddenly aware she was gripping the edge of the sink so hard that her fingers were hurting, and released it hastily with a little gasp.

Memories were risky things, rather like pushing a stick to the bottom of a tranquil pool and watching the mud and debris rise. Far better, she thought, to let the water remain still and unsullied in case it never truly cleared again.

Oh, get a grip, she told herself impatiently as she returned to the sitting room. Put your microscope away.

It had all happened long ago, and should remain in the past where it belonged. If not forgotten, then ignored, as if Sir Gregory had only ever had one son. And as if that son had never married the Honourable Penelope Hatton and brought her back to Willowford Hall to tempt and be disastrously tempted in her turn.

I thought she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, thought Chloe. We all did. I think I even envied her.

But now everything’s changed. I’m the one looking forward to a happy future with the man I love. And, if she knew, she might well be the one envying me.

It had been raining first thing when she set off from Colestone, but now the skies seemed to be clearing and a watery sun was showing its face.

A good omen, Chloe thought happily, switching the car radio to a music station, and humming along as she drove.

Rather to her surprise, she’d found herself genuinely sorry to leave the Manor. After all, she mused, it had been the focus of her attention for the past year. Besides, however indolent and self-absorbed they might be, the Armstrongs had been generous employers in the only way they knew, and she’d liked the other staff.

In the bag beside her on the passenger seat was the pretty carriage clock they’d bought her as a farewell present, and she’d been moved almost to tears as she thanked them and promised it pride of place on her future mantelpiece.

‘As for you,’ she’d muttered as she hugged Tanya. ‘I’m going to be needing a bridesmaid.’

‘Happy to oblige,’ Tanya whispered back. ‘Unless I get arrested for twin-strangling in the meantime.’

Her successor had arrived—a widow in her forties with a brisk air. She had dismissed Chloe’s computer system, saying that she had her own methods, at the same time running a suspicious finger along the office windowsill in search of non-existent dust.

Life at the Manor, Chloe thought wryly as she wished her luck, could become quite interesting quite soon.

She stopped at a roadside pub for a lunch of ham sandwiches and coffee to fuel her for the final two hours of her journey, choosing a table outside in a sheltered corner of the garden where bees were busy among the honeysuckle.

With the excitement of all the coming reunions bubbling away inside her, she almost had to force herself to eat.

As she poured her second cup of coffee, she reached into her bag for her mobile phone.

She’d called Aunt Libby again the previous evening to tell her what time she hoped to arrive, and while her aunt had seemed her usual warm self, Chloe had detected another faint nuance beneath the welcoming words.

‘Is something wrong?’ she’d asked at last. Libby Jackson had hesitated.

‘I was wondering if you’d spoken to Ian yet—informed him you were coming home, this time for good.’

‘But I told you, Aunt Libby, I want to surprise him.’

‘Yes, darling, so you said.’ Another pause. ‘But I can’t help thinking that a complete change of your whole life-plan like this, which involves him so closely, really needs some prior warning.’

‘Not unless he’s developed some serious heart condition and you think the shock could kill him.’ Chloe was amused. ‘Is that it?’

‘God forbid,’ said her aunt. ‘When last seen, he looked as strong as a horse. But I keep thinking of these dreadful surprise parties people keep giving, which I’m sure are far more fun for the organisers than the recipients. Just a thought, my dear.’

And maybe it was a good one, Chloe decided, clicking on Ian’s number. But it went straight to voicemail, indicating that he was working. So she left a message then rang the cottage, and announced herself on the answer-phone too.

Belt and braces, Aunt Libby, she thought. So now he should be ready and waiting.

She smiled to herself as she replaced the phone, imagining the smile in his eyes when he saw her, the warmth of his arms around her, and the touch of his lips on hers.

He was so worth waiting for, she thought gratefully. And now she was back, she would not leave again.

She had five miles still to go when the petrol warning light suddenly appeared on the dashboard, when only fifteen minutes before it had been registering half-full.

Chloe wrinkled her nose, wondering which was the true reading. ‘Memo to self,’ she murmured. ‘Take the car to Tom Sawley’s garage and get the gauge seen to. Particularly before the MOT becomes due again.’

Fortunately, she was approaching a turning for the main road, where there was a small filling station only a few hundred yards away.

All three pumps were busy when she arrived, so she joined the shortest queue, and got out of the car stretching.

And then she saw it, parked over by the wall, its number plate as familiar to her as that of her own car.

Ian’s jeep, she thought joyously. What was more, the bonnet was up, and there he was bending over the engine with his back to her, his long legs encased in blue denim, as he made some adjustment.

She was sure he would sense her presence and turn, but he was leaning too far over, intent on what he was doing.

As soon as she was within touching distance, she reached for him, her mouth curving mischievously as she ran her fingers over the taut male buttocks and slid one hand between his thighs.

He yelped and sprang upright, cursing as he hit his head on the bonnet.

And as he did so, Chloe backed away gasping, praying for the ground to open up beneath her.

But it remained heartlessly intact, so that she was still there, open-mouthed with horror when the man swung round, and looked at her, his blond hair tousled, and the green eyes blazing.

‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?’ asked Darius Maynard, his voice a snarl of pure anger. ‘Or have you just gone raving mad?’

CHAPTER TWO

CHLOE took another step backwards, aware that she was burning from the soles of her feet up to her hairline, and probably beyond.

Oh, God, let me wake up, she prayed frantically, and find this is only a nightmare.

When she could speak, she said hoarsely, ‘You—you! What are you doing with Ian’s jeep?’

‘Correction,’ he said brusquely. ‘My jeep for the past eight weeks. Cartwright was trading it in for a newer model and I bought it.’

‘You’ve been back here for two months?’

‘For over six, actually.’ He added curtly, ‘If it’s any concern of yours, Miss Benson.’

Her flush deepened, if that was possible. ‘I—I didn’t realise.’

What on earth was going on? she wondered. Why had he returned when his banishment was supposed to have been permanent? How could that kind of breach possibly have been healed? Sir Gregory surely wasn’t the type to welcome back the prodigal son. And how did Andrew, the betrayed husband, feel about it?

Above all, why had no-one mentioned it? How was it Ian hadn’t said, ‘By the way, I’ve sold my jeep, and to Darius Maynard of all people.’

‘Why would you know?’ He hunched an indifferent shoulder. ‘You haven’t been around much to catch up on the local sensations.’

‘I’ve been working.’

‘Most people do,’ he said. ‘Or are you claiming particular credit?’

I am not going to do this, Chloe told herself, swallowing back the impetuous retort that had risen to her lips. I am not going to stand here bandying jibes with Darius Maynard.

Because he’s perfectly correct. However I may feel about it, his return is absolutely none of my business and I must remember that. I will remember it.

‘Not at all.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘And now I must be going.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I—apologise for what just happened. It was a genuine mistake.’

‘It must have been,’ he drawled. ‘After all, we were never exactly on goosing terms, were we, Miss Benson? I wasn’t aware you had that kind of relationship with Cartwright either.’

‘Clearly, you also have some catching up to do.’ She turned away. ‘Goodbye, Mr Maynard.’

She got back in her car, started the engine and swung the vehicle out of the forecourt towards the Willowford Road.

I’m shaking like a leaf, she thought, which is totally ridiculous. Yes, I’ve just made a complete fool of myself, but if it had been anyone else, they’d probably have helped me to laugh off the embarrassment somehow, not made it worse.

Of all the people in the world I never wanted to see again, he must be in pole position. Yet here he is, turning up like the proverbial bad penny. I wish I could ignore him, but we both have to live in the same small community, so that’s impossible.

On the other hand, she thought, his return might be purely temporary. He’d frequently been absent in the old days, and might not be planning to stay for any length of time now. That was what she would hope for, anyway.

Besides, she added firmly, she would be too busy planning her wedding and her life with Ian to pay any heed to the Hall, and the vagaries of its occupants.

She’d travelled about a mile when the petrol light showed it meant business by letting the car slide slowly but very definitely to a halt.

Swearing under her breath, Chloe steered it to the verge. She’d had one thing on her mind at the filling station—escape—and this, of course, was what it had led to. Something else she could lay firmly at Darius Maynard’s damned door, she thought, fuming.

She could use her mobile, she supposed. Send out an SOS to Uncle Hal or Ian to come to her rescue, but that, apart from leaving her looking like an idiot twice in one day, wasn’t exactly the upbeat, triumphant return to Willowford that she had planned.

Better, she thought, grimacing, to start hiking, and as she reached for the door handle, she saw in her mirror the jeep come round the corner, drive past her, then pull in a few yards ahead.

She felt a silent scream rise in her throat, as Darius Maynard got out and walked back to her.

No, no, no! she wailed inwardly. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible.

‘Having problems?’

‘Absolutely not,’ she said. ‘Just—collecting my thoughts.’

‘Pity you didn’t collect some petrol while you were about it,’ he commented caustically. ‘I presume that was your purpose in the filling station, rather than renewing our acquaintance in that unique manner. And that’s why you’re stuck here?’

‘Whatever,’ Chloe returned curtly, loathing him. ‘But I can cope.’

‘Presumably by drilling for oil in the adjoining field. However, God forbid I should leave a damsel in distress.’

‘Especially when you cause most of it.’ She made her voice poisonously sweet, and he winced elaborately.

‘Giving a dog a bad name, Miss Benson? Inappropriate behaviour, I’d have thought, for someone with her eye on a vet.’

She bit her lip. ‘It happens that Ian Cartwright and I are engaged.’

‘Good God,’ he said. ‘Does he know that?’

‘What the hell do you mean?’ Chloe demanded furiously. ‘We’re engaged and we’ll be married by the end of the summer.’

‘You know best,’ he said softly. ‘But I do hope you’re not mistaking a girlhood crush for the real thing, Miss Benson. You’re no longer a susceptible teenager, you know.’

She said in a small choked voice, ‘How dare you? How bloody dare you? Just get out of here and leave me in peace.’

‘Not without lending a kindly hand to a neighbour,’ Damian retorted, apparently unperturbed. ‘The jeep is diesel as I’m sure you remember, but I do have a petrol can in the back, and a brisk walk back to the filling station in the sunshine should do wonders for your temper.’

He paused. ‘So, do you want it, or would you prefer to wait for the next chivalrous passer-by, yes or no?’

She would have actually preferred to see him wearing his rotten can, jammed down hard, but she bit her lip and nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘Boy, that must have hurt.’ His grin mocked her, before he turned and strode back to the jeep, lean-hipped and lithe.

He hadn’t changed, she thought with sudden bewilderment, watching him go. The past seven years didn’t seem to have touched him at all. Yet how was that possible?

No conscience, she thought bitterly. No regret for the havoc he’d caused. The ruined lives he’d left behind him.

She picked up her jacket from the passenger seat, and let herself out of the car. As she unfastened the boot, Darius came back with the can. He glanced down at the array of luggage and whistled.

‘My God, Willowford’s own Homecoming Queen. You really do mean to stay, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’ She placed her jacket carefully across the top-most case, smoothing its folds as she did so. Hiding, she realised with annoyance, the fact that her hands were shaking. ‘I have every reason to do so.’

‘But I don’t.’ His mouth was smiling but his eyes were hard as glass. ‘Is that the hidden message you’re trying to convey?’

‘As you said, it’s none of my concern.’ She held out her hand for the can. ‘I’ll make sure this is returned to you.’

‘By courier, no doubt.’ He shrugged. ‘Forget it. I have others. And now, I fear, I must tear myself away.’ He walked towards the jeep, then turned.

‘I wish you a joyful reunion with your family and friends, Miss Benson,’ he said softly. ‘But as for that peace you mentioned—I wouldn’t count on it, because you’re not the peaceful kind. Not in your heart. You just haven’t realised it yet.’

He swung himself into the jeep and drove off, leaving her staring after him, her heart pounding uncomfortably.

‘You’ve lost weight,’ said Aunt Libby.

‘That is so not true.’ Chloe hugged her again. ‘I’m the same to the ounce as I was a year ago. I swear it.’

She looked round the big comfortable kitchen with its Aga, big pine table and tall Welsh dresser holding her aunt’s prized collection of blue-and-white china and sighed rapturously. ‘Gosh, it’s wonderful to be home.’

‘No-one forced you to go away,’ said Aunt Libby, lifting the kettle from the Aga and filling the teapot. Her tone was teasing, but her swift glance was serious.

Chloe shrugged. ‘They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. You know that. Besides it’s been an education, seeing how the other half live.’

‘The village will seem very dull after Millionaires Row.’

‘On the contrary, I know for sure where I belong.’ Chloe paused. ‘Has Ian called? I took your advice and rang him to say I was arriving.’

‘I think he was out at Farsleigh today. It’s a bad reception area.’ Her aunt passed her a plate of raisin bread.

‘Heaven,’ said Chloe, as she took a slice, smiling to conceal her disappointment over Ian. ‘Is this the Jackson equivalent of the fatted calf—to welcome home the prodigal?’ And paused again, taking a deep breath. ‘So, how is everything and—everyone?’ She tried to sound casual. ‘Any major changes anywhere?’

‘Nothing much.’ Mrs Jackson poured the tea. ‘I gather Sir Gregory is making progress at last, poor man.’ She sighed. ‘What a tragedy that was. I’m not a superstitious woman, but it’s almost as if there’s been some dreadful curse on the Maynard family.’

Chloe stared at her, the flippant retort that there was and that she’d seen it alive and well an hour ago dying on her lips.

‘What do you mean?’

Mrs Jackson looked surprised. ‘Well, I was thinking of Andrew, of course, being killed in that dreadful accident.’

Chloe’s cup clattered back into its saucer. ‘Andrew Maynard—dead?’ She stared at her aunt. ‘Never!’

‘Why, yes, dear. Surely you saw it in the papers? And I told you about it in one of my letters.’

Had she? Chloe wondered guiltily, knowing that, once she’d made sure that everyone at Axford Grange was well and happy, she hadn’t always read on to the end.

‘I—I must have missed a page somewhere. What happened?’

‘He was in the Cairngorms climbing alone as he often did. Apparently, there was a rock fall, and he was swept away.’ She shuddered. ‘Horrible.’

‘And Sir Gregory?’

Aunt Libby shook her head. ‘A stroke, brought on by the news.’

Chloe picked up her cup. Swallowed some tea. Schooled her voice to normality. ‘I thought I glimpsed Darius Maynard when I stopped for petrol. Is that why he’s come back? Because he’s now the heir?’

‘I think that it was concern for his father rather than the inheritance that brought him.’ Aunt Libby spoke with gentle reproof and Chloe flushed.

‘Of course. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve—never liked him.’

‘Something for which your uncle and I were always profoundly grateful,’ her aunt said with a touch of grimness. ‘He was always far too attractive for his own good.’ She sighed again. ‘But he’s certainly provided Sir Gregory with the very best of care, hiring a charming girl as his live-in nurse who seems to have inspired the poor man and literally brought him back from the grave.

‘And Mr Crosby, the agent, reckons Darius is really putting his back into running the estate these days, so perhaps he’s become a reformed character during his absence.’

And maybe pigs might fly, thought Chloe. She took another piece of raisin bread. ‘And—Mrs Maynard. Penny. Is he still with her?’

‘No-one knows or dare ask. She’s certainly not at the Hall. And she didn’t attend Andrew’s funeral, or the memorial service.’ Mrs Jackson refilled her niece’s cup. ‘Apparently Mrs Thursgood at the post office asked Darius straight out if he was married—well, she would!—and he just laughed, and said, “God, no”. So we’re none the wiser.’

‘But it’s hardly a surprise,’ Chloe said evenly. ‘He’s never been the marrying kind.’

‘On the other hand, he’s never been the next baronet before either,’ Aunt Libby pointed out, cutting into a handsome Victoria sponge. ‘That may change things.’

‘Perhaps so.’ Chloe shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s considering the charming nurse up at the Hall.’

‘Lindsay?’ Her aunt sounded almost startled. ‘Oh, I don’t think she’d do for him at all.’

‘But, then, who would?’ Chloe helped herself to a piece of sponge with its strawberry jam and cream filling. ‘If I go on like this,’ she added wryly, ‘I’ll be the size of a house by the time of the wedding.’

Aunt Libby gave her a swift glance, then looked back at her plate. ‘Nonsense,’ she said firmly. ‘If anything, you could do with a few pounds. Real men don’t want skeletons to cuddle.’

The wisdom according to Uncle Hal, no doubt, Chloe thought with an inward smile.

They were such darlings. Living proof of how well marriage could work, given the chance. And if their childlessness had been a sadness, they’d kept it well-hidden, opening their home and their hearts to her instead, when her mother, Aunt Libby’s younger sister, had died suddenly of a thrombosis only two days after giving birth.

Her father, an engineer in the oil industry had been on his way back from Saudi Arabia to see his wife and child when the tragedy happened. Devastated by his loss, and with two years of his contract still to run, he knew that taking his newborn daughter back with him was impossible. Apart from the environmental problems, he’d been an only son and had no experience with infants. He’d been almost at his wits’ end when his grieving sister-in-law had stepped in, making her momentous offer, which he’d thankfully accepted.

The original plan had been that Chloe should go to him as soon as he found a more appropriate job, but another contract succeeded the first, and from the conversations the Jacksons had with him when he was in the UK on leave, they knew that he’d become an ex-pat in spirit as well as fact. That he liked his life just the way it was. And contributing to his daughter’s support was as far as he was prepared to go.

Eventually they heard that he’d met an American girl and was going to remarry, and resigned themselves once more to Chloe’s loss. Only it didn’t happen.

Her father’s new bride-to-be, Mary Theresa, had reacted badly to the idea of a female stepchild when it had been put to her, and Chloe remained in Willowford.

She’d eventually been invited to Florida to see her father and meet her stepmother, together with the twin boys born a year after the marriage, but the visit was not a success, and had not been repeated. Now he was little more than a name on a Christmas card. Her birthday was clearly a date with associations he preferred to forget, and although this was bound to sadden her, she decided she could not altogether blame him.

But at some point she would also have to decide whether he, or Uncle Hal who’d loved her like his own, should give her away at her wedding. And that could be tricky.

When tea was finished she loaded the china and cutlery into the dishwasher and switched it on, then checked her mobile phone for a message or a text from Ian, but there was nothing.

She sighed inwardly. ‘Do you need a hand with supper, or shall I take my things up to my room now?’ she asked her aunt, replacing the phone in her bag.

‘Yes, go and unpack, dear.’ There was an awkward note in Mrs Jackson’s voice. ‘We’ve been decorating upstairs, doing some renovations too, so you’ll find it all rather different. I hope you don’t mind.’

‘On the contrary, I’m intrigued.’ Chloe spoke lightly, but when she opened her bedroom door, her reaction was stunned.

It was completely unrecognisable from the cosy, slightly worn haven that she’d loved, she thought numbly.

The rose-coloured carpet she’d begged for in her early teens had vanished, replaced by stripped, sanded and varnished boards. The pretty sprigged wallpaper had given away to plain walls in a rich, deep cream, and the curtains she’d made herself to go with the carpet had disappeared too. The new drapes were in a vivid blue, matching the tailored spread fitting the single brass bed.

The familiar shabby furniture had gone, but the small cast-iron fireplace was still there, filled with a display of blue teasels. And a fitted cream wardrobe and a mirrored dressing chest now occupied the alcoves on either side of the chimney breast, which Uncle Hal had once shelved to hold her books, toys and ornaments.

It was smart, shiny and new, and it looked terrific, but it was now very much a guest room, she realised with a swift pang. There was nothing left of her at all.

And the bathroom across the passage was an equal shock. The big cast-iron bath and wide basin had made way for a modern white suite, glittering with chrome accessories, and a glass cubicle with a power shower had been installed in the remaining space, while the walls and floor were tiled in turquoise and white.

But what’s brought all this on? Have they had a lottery win I don’t know about? Chloe wondered as she went back to the room that no longer belonged to her. Although the window seat was still there, and the view over open fields where cows grazed quietly hadn’t changed.

She paused, her mouth twisting. Oh, for heaven’s sake, she thought with sudden impatience. You’re a grown woman, not a child to be hankering for a pink carpet, a collection of pottery owls and a complete set of the Famous Five books.

Things change, and you ‘re about to move on yourself, so stop whingeing and get a grip.

She unpacked swiftly and neatly, stowed her cases under the bed, then returned downstairs.

Aunt Libby turned from the Aga with a look of faint apprehension as she entered the kitchen.

‘What happened? Did some TV makeover team come knocking at the door? It all looks amazing.’ Chloe knew her smile was a little too wide and too bright, but her aunt seemed reassured.

‘Well, no, darling. Your uncle and I have a different reason for smartening the place up.’ She paused. ‘You see, we’ve decided to downsize.’

‘Downsize?’ Chloe’s smile was wiped away, and replaced by shock. ‘You mean you’re—going to sell the Grange?’ A thought struck her. ‘Oh, heavens, has something happened to the practice? Is it the recession?’

‘No, no, on the contrary.’ Mrs Jackson’s reassurance was swift. ‘It’s busier than ever, and that’s the problem. It’s always been a twenty-four-hour service, and your uncle isn’t getting any younger.

‘It’s been a wonderful life, of course, and he’s never wanted anything different, but now he’s seriously considering retirement. Giving himself time to do the things he’s never been able to fully enjoy before. His fishing, for instance. And he might even take up golf again. And we both used to love quite serious walking.

‘So, they’ve been interviewing for a new assistant, and one of Ian’s friends from college might be interested in becoming a partner.’

‘This isn’t just a dream for the future, is it?’ Chloe said slowly. ‘This is a real plan for now.’

‘Well, nothing will happen for a while, and wherever we go, there’ll always be a place for you, Chloe. Never doubt that. But, at the same time, we know you have your own life to lead and we’re so proud and so happy for you.’

‘But you’re not intending to leave the area, surely?’ Chloe felt as if the flagged floor was shifting under her feet.

‘Almost certainly,’ her aunt said briskly.

‘But I thought you loved Willowford.’

‘It’s a fine place,’ Mrs Jackson nodded. ‘And it’s been good to us, but I don’t think your uncle and I ever felt we’d end our days here. We’ve had a survey and valuation done on the Grange, and it seems we can afford to pick and choose where we’ll go next.’ She smiled. ‘It’s quite an adventure.’

‘Yes,’ Chloe agreed quietly. ‘Indeed it is.’

And I—I have my own adventure to embark on too, so I shouldn’t begrudge Uncle and Auntie a thing.

‘We’ve started de-cluttering, as they call it, already,’ Aunt Libby went on. ‘You gather so much stuff over the years that you don’t need, so the charity shops for miles around have reaped the benefit.

‘Oh, not your things, darling,’ she added quickly. ‘We boxed and labelled it all for you, and put the cartons up in the attic, ready for whenever you want them.’

There’d be room at the cottage for them, thought Chloe. Although she’d get rid of the toys, except for the teddy bear her father had bought on his way home from Saudi to see his wife and new daughter. And the books which she’d keep for her own children—when they came along.

She waited for the usual glow of anticipation that occurred whenever she contemplated her future with Ian, but, for once, it seemed curiously muted. On the other hand, her entire homecoming hadn’t been as expected either. It had been thrown off course by that dire humiliation at the filling station and had never really recovered.

I’ll be better when I hear from Ian, she told herself, and at that same moment the telephone rang in the hall.

‘And that’s almost certainly for you,’ said Aunt Libby, turning back to the meat she was browning for a cottage pie.

‘So what’s happened to the dream job?’ Ian asked, once the ‘it’s wonderful to talk to you’ preliminaries had been dealt with. ‘Did you get fired?’

‘No, of course not.’ Chloe was taken aback. ‘On the contrary. They wanted me to go with them for the summer to run their villa in the South of France.’

‘And you turned that down for Willowford? Amazing.’

No, Chloe wanted to say. I turned it down for you.

Aloud, she said, ‘I felt it was time to come home, back to real life again.’ She paused. ‘So, what time shall I see you tonight?’

He sighed. ‘Can’t manage tonight, Clo. There’s a pony club committee meeting and I’m chairing it because Mrs Hammond’s away. You must have known for ages that you’d be back today. I wish you’d told me sooner.’

‘So do I.’ She felt deflated, and oddly close to tears. ‘But I wanted to surprise you.’

‘Well you’ve done that all right.’ He paused. ‘Look, why don’t I book a table at the Willowford Arms for tomorrow evening? Catch up with everything over dinner?’

Or why don’t you suggest we see each other for a drink when your meeting is over? Or rush over here now?

She put a smile in her voice. ‘Sounds great.’

‘Then I’ll pick you up just before eight,’ he said briskly. ‘Got to dash. I’m expecting a call from the Crawfords. Their whippet is about to litter and they’re a bit concerned.’

It’s a twenty-four-hour service, Chloe told herself as she put the phone down. Aunt Libby reminded you of that just now. And you’ve always known it—lived with it for the greater part of your life. Planned to stick with it. So you can’t jib now.

A vet is like being a doctor, only the patients can’t tell you their symptoms, and a successful practice is built on trust and availability. Haven’t you heard Uncle Hal say so a hundred times over spoiled meals and cancelled outings?

It’s not the end of the world. You’ve just endured one of those days, that’s all, but everything starts again tomorrow.

Just keep thinking of that, and it will all work out just fine.

CHAPTER THREE

CHLOE lay back in the bath, appreciatively absorbing the scent of the rose geranium oil rising from the warm water.

In less than two hours, she’d be with Ian, and the time between would be spent pampering herself as never before.

I want to be irresistible, she thought, smiling inwardly.

All the same, she wasn’t finding it as easy to slip back into the swim of things as she’d expected, although her uncle’s affectionate greeting the previous evening had been balm to the soul, and he and Aunt Libby had tranquilly accepted that Ian was needed elsewhere, so she’d be eating cottage pie with them.

‘That whippet’s a beauty but she could be tricky. Let’s hope this litter is the first and last,’ had been Mr Jackson’s only comment.

‘So what are you doing with yourself today?’ he’d asked that morning as he stood up from the breakfast table, stuffing his folded newspaper into his jacket pocket.

‘Just pottering, I suppose.’ Chloe had smiled at him.

‘Well you could always potter over to Lizbeth Crane’s, if you felt inclined,’ her uncle said briskly. ‘She’s damaged her wrist gardening and Jack’s in Brussels, so their retriever will need walking.’

‘Of course I’ll go.’ Chloe didn’t think twice. ‘A wander across the fields with a friendly dog like Flare is just what I need. I’ll call round as soon as I’ve been to the post office.’

Which in itself had been an experience, she thought.

‘So you’re back.’ Mrs Thursgood had greeted her with a faint sniff. ‘Thought you’d deserted us for good. Come back for that young vet, I dare say. We all thought round here that the banns would have been called a year back or more. You don’t want to leave it too long, missy,’ she added with a look of faint disparagement. ‘You’re not getting any younger, and men go off the boil as quick as they go on it.’

Chloe, acutely aware that every word was being savoured by the queue behind her, paid for her stamps with murder in her heart and escaped.

But there had been more to come. She had to run the gauntlet of the shoppers in the main street, and by the time she reached the Cranes’ house, she felt if one more person said, ‘Well, Chloe, you’re quite a stranger,’ she would howl at the sky.

But Mrs Crane’s delighted welcome, accompanied as it was by coffee and home-made biscuits, plus Flare’s grin and gently offered paw had compensated for a great deal.

Except …

It had been a marvellous walk, the sun warm on her back, and Flare, plumy tail waving, bounding along ahead of her. After a mild disagreement over the retriever’s wish to complete the pleasure of the morning by rolling joyously in a large cowpat, they turned for home. They’d just emerged from a field onto the lane leading back to the village and Chloe was fastening the gate behind her, when she heard the sound of a horse’s hooves.

She glanced round and saw a handsome bay gelding trotting towards them, and paused, her throat tightening when she saw who was riding him.

‘Good morning.’ Darius brought the horse to a stand, and bent forward to pat his glossy neck. ‘Enjoying a constitutional, Miss Benson? I thought you’d be getting your exercise elsewhere on this lovely day—in some convenient haystack with your intended, perhaps.’

Her skin warmed. ‘Do you have to make unpleasant remarks?’ she asked coldly.

‘On the contrary, the activity I’m referring to is entirely pleasurable.’ He grinned down at her. ‘Or perhaps you don’t find it so. What a terrible shame, not to mention waste,’ he added, his gaze sliding appreciatively over the thrust of her breasts under her white shirt, down to her slender waist and the curve of her hips.

Aware that her flush was deepening, Chloe bent hurriedly to clip on Flare’s leash.

‘Just as a matter of interest,’ he went on. ‘Why are you walking Lizbeth Crane’s dog?’

‘I’m being a good neighbour,’ she said shortly. ‘A concept you may find unfamiliar.’

‘Not at all, as I hope to demonstrate over the coming months.’ He paused. ‘However, if true love has worked some miracle and you’re really in Good Samaritan mode, you might consider extending your range as far as the Hall.’

As Chloe’s lips parted to deliver a stinging refusal, he held up a hand.

‘Hear me out, please. I don’t get the chance to take Orion here out as much as I should, largely because any spare time I have goes to my brother’s Samson, who’s eating his head off in between throwing serious moodies.

‘I seem to recall you were a damned good rider in the old days, so, if you’d consider exercising Orion for me sometimes, I’d be immensely grateful to you.’

She gave him a startled look. Gratitude wasn’t something she’d ever have attributed to him. Or the paying of compliments. Not that it made any real difference. I seem to recall …

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘But it’s quite impossible.’

‘May I ask why?’

‘I have a wedding to organise,’ she said curtly. ‘In case you’ve forgotten. I shall be far too busy.’

He sat, one hand resting on his hip, his gaze meditative as he watched her. ‘I hadn’t forgotten. But is it really going to take all day of every day? How many hundreds of people are you planning to invite, for God’s sake?’

‘That’s none of your business,’ she returned. ‘Anyway, Arthur must still be at the Hall, so why can’t he ride Orion?’

‘Unfortunately, his arthritis won’t let him, but it would break his heart if I pensioned him off and got a younger groom.’

He added flatly, ‘And, for obvious reasons, my father finds even minor changes distressing.’

Chloe bit her lip. ‘Yes—yes, of course.’ She paused. ‘I was—very sorry to hear about Andrew. I hadn’t realised.’ She took a breath. ‘It was terribly sad.’

His face hardened. ‘Not just sad but bloody stupid and totally unnecessary.’

She gasped. ‘You don’t feel, perhaps, that’s too harsh a judgment? Whatever may have happened, he was still your brother.’

‘Harsh, perhaps,’ Darius returned coolly. ‘Yet entirely accurate. However, this is not the time to debate Andrew’s motives for risking his life by pushing himself to ridiculous and dangerous limits.

‘And my proposition over Orion still stands,’ he added. ‘I’d like you to think it over, instead of just dismissing it out of hand because I’m doing the asking. You don’t even have to give me a personal reply. Just ring the Hall at any time, and Arthur will have him tacked up and ready for you.’

He smiled faintly. ‘And Orion would be grateful too, don’t forget.’

He touched the horse with his heels, and they moved off.

Chloe stared after them, her mind a welter of mixed emotions. It was still impossible, of course—what he’d asked—but Orion was an absolute beauty, and the thought of cantering him along those flat stretches by the river in the Willow valley was a genuine temptation.

But one she had to resist.

She’d told herself the same thing at intervals during the day, and she was still saying it now as she stepped out of the bath and dried herself, and applied some of the body lotion from the satin-lined gift basket of Hermes’ Caleche that the Armstrongs had given her for Christmas.

She repeated it as she put on her prettiest lace briefs and sprayed her arms and breasts lightly with matching scent. As she applied her make-up and combed her hair into glossy waves around her face. And as she finally slipped on the knee-skimming cream georgette dress with the deep-V neckline, which discreetly signalled that she was wearing no bra.

Too obvious? she worried in front of the mirror. Or simply a means to an end? A message to Ian that at last she was his for the taking.

Absurd to feel even remotely jittery about something that was so natural and would be so right, she thought sliding her feet into low-heeled sandals that echoed the colour of the lapis lazuli drops in her ears. Yet for some reason, she did.

Ian was in the sitting room talking to her aunt and uncle when she arrived downstairs. When he turned in response to her quiet, ‘Good evening,’ and saw her standing in the doorway, his jaw dropped.

‘God, Clo, you look amazing—like someone from a magazine cover.’

‘You look pretty good yourself.’ And it wasn’t just his looks, she thought as she went to him smiling, appraising his black-and-white houndstooth tweed jacket, worn with dark trousers and the ruby silk tie which set off his crisp white shirt. He’d dressed to kill too, for this important night in their lives.

It’s going to be all right, she thought. It’s going to be wonderful.

She lifted her face, offering him her lips, but he reddened slightly and deposited a kiss on her cheek instead.

‘Have a wonderful time,’ Aunt Libby whispered with a hug, as Ian paused to have a final word with Uncle Hal on their way out. ‘I won’t wait up.’

Chloe detected a hint of apprehension in her smile and hugged her back. ‘Don’t worry. I’m a big girl now. I know what I’m doing.’

When Chloe was growing up, the Willowford Arms had been just a village pub offering good beer, a dartboard and a skittle alley.

Over the years, under successive landlords, however, it had changed completely. The saloon bar still offered tradition, but the lounge had morphed into a reception area and smart cocktail bar for the restaurant, now housed in a striking conservatory extension.

There were no great surprises on the menu, but the freshness of the ingredients and excellent cooking had earned the pub favourable mentions in the county magazine and various food guides and, even early in the week as this was, there were few empty tables to be seen.

The staff were mainly locals, and they all seemed genuinely pleased to see Chloe, if a little surprised. Ian, she noted with some surprise of her own, was treated as a regular.

‘That pork afelia you liked last week is on the specials board tonight,’ their waitress told him as she showed them to their table, where Chloe was thrilled to find champagne on ice waiting along with the menus.

‘Now there’s a bit of forward planning,’ she teased as their glasses were filled. ‘What a terrific thought.’

‘Well, I felt something special was called for to celebrate the return of the native.’ Ian touched his glass to hers. ‘It’s great to see you, Clo. It’s been a hell of a long time.’

‘I know.’ She smiled into his eyes. ‘But now, I promise you, I’m home for good.’

She paused. ‘Unlike, I’ve discovered, my aunt and uncle, busily transforming the Grange for the market and a major move. Rather a shock to the system, I have to say.’

‘It was a surprise to me too,’ he admitted. ‘But—things change. People move on. It’s the way of the world, and Hal’s put his heart and soul into the practice for a long time, so he deserves to enjoy his retirement.’

She toyed with the idea of some jokey comment on the lines of, however it means I’m going to be homeless. Any suggestions? but decided it was too early in the evening, confining herself to a neutral, ‘I’m happy for them too.’

Besides, the lead should definitely come from him, she thought as she sipped her champagne.

She’d played the scene so often in her imagination—hearing him murmur, ‘It’s so wonderful to have you back with me, darling. Stay for ever,’ as he produced the little velvet jeweller’s box—that she felt as if she’d somehow missed a cue.

‘I think I might try this pork afelia you’re so keen on,’ she said as she scanned the menu. ‘With the vegetable terrine to start with.’

‘It’s a good choice,’ he said. ‘I had it when I brought Lloyd Hampton, our new partner-to-be here. Wanted to convince him that he wasn’t altogether moving away from civilisation as he knows it.’

‘It’s clearly done the trick.’

‘I hope so. He’s a really good bloke, and his wife’s a doll.’

He’s married then? was also going to sound like a sharp elbow in the ribs, thought Chloe.

‘I shall look forward to meeting her,’ was her chosen alternative.

‘You’re bound to,’ he said. ‘I’m pretty sure that Lloyd is interested in buying the Grange. He and Viv have two children, and the third’s on the way, so they need the space.’

‘Well, yes. It sounds ideal,’ said Chloe, resolutely ignoring the pang of disappointment in the far corner of her mind which had visualised a very different future for her old home when she and Ian would also need more space than the cottage. Hopefully for the same reason.

When they took their seats at the corner, candlelit table waiting for them, Ian drank another half glass of champagne, then announced he was switching to mineral water.

‘Because you’re driving?’ Chloe, settling for a glass of house red, gave him a rueful look. ‘What a shame, because it’s a lovely evening, and we could easily have walked.’ And the cottage is even nearer than the Grange when it’s time for home …

‘Past all those twitching curtains?’ He pulled a face. ‘I’d really rather not. A vehicle at least gives an illusion of privacy.’

‘Talking of which,’ she said. ‘I gather you sold your last jeep to Darius Maynard.’

‘I heard he was in the market for something more serviceable in addition to that flashy sports car he’s so fond of. I’d decided to trade up, so it seemed like serendipity.’

She said slowly, ‘Yes, I suppose so. Although it seems odd—having him back here just as if nothing had happened.’

He shrugged. ‘It must have been with his father’s agreement, Clo, so it’s their family business, not ours.’

‘Yes, yes, of course.’ She played with a fork. ‘I understand Sir Gregory’s getting over his stroke.’

‘Indeed he is. Coming on by leaps and bounds, according to the latest reports.’

‘I’m glad. I always liked him, although he could be intimidating.’ She paused. ‘I used to go up the Hall when I was in my teens and read to Lady Maynard when she was so ill.’

‘How did that happen?’

‘I won a school poetry competition that she judged. I enjoyed being with her. She was the sweetest person. Darius was with her a lot too and I always felt that he was secretly her favourite.’ She paused. ‘I was always glad she didn’t know how he turned out. What he did to—Andrew.’ She bit her lip. ‘Betrayal’s such a terrible thing.’

‘It is,’ Ian said quietly. ‘But we don’t actually know the circumstances. Maybe they couldn’t help themselves.’

Upon which the first course arrived, and the conversation turned inevitably to the food.

And Ian was quite right about the pork, Chloe decided after she’d tasted one of the tender cubes of fillet, flavoured with garlic and coriander, cooked in wine, and served with savoury brown rice and mangetouts.

For dessert, she chose an opulent dark-chocolate mousse, well-laced with brandy, while Ian opted for cheese and biscuits.

‘You should have picked another pud, so we could share like we used to,’ she told him in mock reproach.

He gave a constrained smile. ‘Out of practice, I guess.’

For what seemed like the umpteenth time that evening, he took his mobile phone from his pocket and checked it.

And what a very annoying habit that is, thought Chloe as she ate her last spoonful of mousse.

Aloud, she said mildly, ‘Isn’t Uncle Hal taking your calls this evening?’

‘Well, yes.’ Ian replaced the phone in his jacket. ‘But I’m waiting for news of the Crawfords’ Kirsty. She’s a really good little bitch—won all kinds of shows already, and this may be her only litter, so it needs to go well.’

Chloe’s brows lifted. ‘But I thought it had already happened last night.’

‘False alarm,’ he said. ‘Main event still expected at any moment, and they want me to stand by in case of emergency.’ He signalled to the waitress. ‘Would you like filter coffee or espresso?’

She took a deep breath, summoning up courage she hadn’t thought she’d need. ‘Why don’t we make our minds up about that back at the cottage? It’s been a gorgeous meal, but a bit public for a proper reunion, don’t you think?’ She reached across the table, and touched his hand with hers. ‘I really think we need to spend some time alone together—and talk.’

‘Yes, of course we should, and I want that too,’ Ian said quickly. ‘But not tonight, Clo.’ He gave an awkward laugh. ‘For one thing, the cottage is in a bit of a mess. For another—there’s been barely minimum contact between us for a whole year now. I’ve hardly heard from you, let alone seen you. Being on opposite sides of the country didn’t help, either, and both of us being so busy. And now you turning up out of the blue like this is frankly the last thing I was expecting.’

He added quickly, ‘It isn’t that it’s not wonderful to see you, or that I don’t want you—please believe that. Just that maybe we should take it easy for a while—get to know each other again—before, well, anything …’

His voice tailed off uncomfortably and in the silence that followed, Chloe could hear her heart beating a sudden tattoo—a call to arms. Because the situation was going terribly, disastrously wrong.

Men go off the boil as quick as they go on it … Mrs Thursgood’s words rang ominously in her ears. But that couldn’t be happening—not to them …

She removed her hand, and sat back in her chair. Summoned a smile that would somehow manage to be calm and amused at the same time. And give no hint of her inner turmoil of shocked disbelief.

‘Actually, you may well be right in wanting not to rush things.’ She made herself speak almost casually. ‘Being wise for both of us, no less. And, anyway, taking our time could be much nicer. Even exciting.’

She paused. ‘Besides, you’re clearly up to your ears in work and the new plans for the practice. And I—I have to start looking for another job.

‘As for coffee,’ she added brightly. ‘I think I’d prefer decaf. And when the bill comes, in line with our fresh start, I insist we go Dutch.’

And she stuck to her guns in spite of his obvious reluctance.

Now all I want to do is get out of here, she thought, reaching for her bag, and the blue-and-gold fringed shawl she’d brought instead of a jacket.

But the Fates hadn’t finished with her yet.

As she walked back into the bar, the first person she saw was Darius Maynard at a table by the window, talking with apparent intimacy to a girl she’d never seen before, slim and very attractive in a sleeveless red dress, with blonde hair drawn back from her face into a smooth chignon at the nape of her neck

And it seemed Darius had spotted her in return, she thought, her heart sinking as he rose to his feet, smiling faintly.

‘What a delightful surprise. Lindsay and I have been to the cinema in East Ledwick and we just popped in for a nightcap. Would you care to join us?’

‘It’s a kind thought, but I think I’ll pass, if you don’t mind.’ She had no wish to allow any hint of the edgy state of her relationship to become apparent to those shrewd green eyes, currently assessing the deep slash of her neckline. Or expose it to the scrutiny of some strange blonde either. ‘Stuff to do tomorrow and all that.’

‘But the night is still young,’ he said softly. ‘So, what about you, Cartwright? Surely you can talk your lady round?’

‘On the contrary,’ Ian returned, a little frostily. ‘Once Chloe’s made up her mind, it usually stays that way. And I also have a busy day ahead of me. But thanks again, anyway.’

‘I see that leopards don’t change their spots,’ Chloe commented as they walked to the jeep. ‘Who’s his latest fancy?’

‘Her name’s Lindsay Watson,’ Ian said shortly. ‘And she’s his father’s resident nurse.’

Aunt Libby’s charming girl, thought Chloe and gave a faint whistle. ‘Under the same roof, even,’ she said lightly. ‘How very convenient.’

‘Not necessarily.’ Ian started the engine. ‘He’s not irresistible, you know.’

When they reached the Grange, Chloe turned towards him. ‘I won’t invite you in, but does the fresh start merit a goodnight kiss?’ she asked, her voice teasing. ‘Or do we just shake hands?’

‘Of course I want to kiss you,’ he said with sudden roughness. ‘Any man would. Hell, even Maynard was looking at you as if he could eat you.’

He pulled her into his arms, his mouth heavy and demanding where she’d expected tenderness—even diffidence. This was the moment she’d been dreaming of—longing for—yet she was struggling to respond, the thrust of his tongue between her parted lips feeling almost—alien.

As his hand pushed aside the edge of her dress to close on her bare breast, she tore her mouth free and sat up abruptly, bracing her hands against his chest in negation.

‘Ian—no, please.’ she protested hoarsely.

‘What’s the matter?’ He reached for her again. ‘Isn’t this what you want—what tonight was all about?’

Not like this—never like this …

‘But it has to be what we both want. You must see that.’ She spoke more calmly, moving back from him, straightening her dress with finality. ‘And you—to be honest, I just don’t know any more.’

Because suddenly you ‘re a stranger and I don’t like it. Can’t figure how to deal with it.

There was a silence, then he sighed. ‘God, I’m sorry, Clo. You must think I’m insane. I suppose it’s being without you for so long. So, can we simply forget tonight and start again?’

His face was looking strained, almost guilty, but perhaps it was a trick of the dim light.

She said quietly, ‘That’s a good thought.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow.’

‘Fine.’ She paused. ‘Then—goodnight.’

As she walked up the path to the door, she heard the jeep start up and drive away and realised her legs were trembling.

‘You’re back early.’ There was music coming from the sitting room where Uncle Hal was relaxing, his paper open at the crossword. ‘Have a good time?’

‘As always,’ she returned cheerfully, lowering herself into the chair opposite. ‘What are you listening to?’

‘Mozart, of course. A selection of favourite arias, and this is mine starting now.’ He turned up the sound a little. ‘The Countess lamenting her lost happiness from Figaro. “Dove sono I bei momenti”.’

‘Oh, yes, I remember,’ she said slowly. ‘When you took Aunt Libby and me to Glyndebourne for her birthday. It was wonderful.’ And quoted, ‘ “Where are the beautiful moments of pleasure and delight? Where have they flown, those vows made by a deceitful tongue?” ‘

He nodded. ‘A supreme moment of artistry.’

Then the poignant music and the soaring melancholy of the exquisite soprano voice captured them and held them in silence.

The aria was still in Chloe’s head, plangent and heart-wrenching, as she went up to her room.

Maybe not the ideal thing to have listened to in the circumstances, she acknowledged wryly as she got ready for bed.

Yet nothing had really been lost, she thought. They’d just got off to a rocky start, that was all. And somewhere soon, with Ian, she would find that those ‘moments of pleasure and delight’ hadn’t disappeared at all, but were still waiting for her.

It will all be fine, she told herself, turning on her side and closing her eyes. I know it.