Seduced by his glamorous world, bound by his passionate seduction…

His Rags to Riches Bride

Three of your favourite Modern authors

bring you deliciously thrilling

Cinderella tales

His Rags to Riches Bride

INNOCENT ON HER WEDDING NIGHT Sara Craven

HOUSEKEEPER AT HIS BECK AND CALL Susan Stephens

THE AUSTRALIAN’S HOUSEKEEPER BRIDE Lindsay Armstrong

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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INNOCENT ON HER WEDDING NIGHT Sara Craven

About the Author

SARA CRAVEN was born in South Devon and grew up surrounded by books in a house by the sea. After leaving grammar school she worked as a local journalist, covering everything from flower shows to murders. She started writing for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from writing, her passions include films, music, cooking and eating in good restaurants. She now lives in Somerset. Sara has appeared as a contestant on the Channel Four game show Fifteen to One and is also the latest (and last ever) winner of the Mastermind of Great Britain championship.

CHAPTER ONE

AS THE lift began its journey to the fourth floor, Laine Sinclair put down her bulky travel bag, flexing cramped fingers, and sagged back against the metal wall.

Adrenalin had got her this far, fuelled largely by anger and disappointment, but now, with sanctuary almost within reach, the savage energy was draining out of her, reminding her that she was jet-lagged and that her damaged ankle, in spite of its rudimentary bandaging, hurt like hell.

Home, she thought longingly, raking a hand through her light sun-streaked hair. Home, bath—and bed. Especially bed. Maybe she’d wait long enough to make herself a hot drink. Probably she wouldn’t.

There’d be no one around at the flat. Jamie would be at work, and it wasn’t one of the cleaner’s days. So there’d be no cosseting, however much she might need it.

But there would be absolute peace and quiet, and the opportunity to sleep off some of her stresses and strains before the inquisition started.

She could hear it now. What are you doing back here? What happened to the boat charter business? And where’s Andy?

At some point she would have to come up with the answers to all that, and more, but she’d worry about that when she had to. And that, she thought, was not yet.

And at least Jamie, with his own chequered career, was unlikely to say I told you so.

The lift stopped, and as the doors slid open she hefted her bag on to her shoulder, and stepped into the corridor, wincing as her ankle protested.

She fumbled in her travel belt for her latch key. She hadn’t intended to take it with her. It was to have been left behind, like a symbol of her old life.

Not needed on voyage, she thought, her mouth twisting. And how ironic was that?

She let herself in, put down her bag, and stood, looking appraisingly around her at the big living room which, with the galley kitchen opposite her, formed the flat’s neutral territory. Two en-suite bedrooms faced each other across the shared space, ruled by their own strict privacy laws. A system that worked, and generally worked well.

She noted, brows raised, that the flat seemed unusually tidy for once, with none of the empty wine bottles, crumpled newspapers and takeaway cartons that marked her brother’s normal passage through life when she wasn’t there to prevent it.

Maybe all that persistent nagging had paid off at last. And at least she wouldn’t have to clear a path to get to her own immaculate bedroom.

But on that thought dawned two others. First—that the door to her room was standing open, when it should be closed. Secondly—that she could hear someone moving around inside.

Well, what do I know? she thought wearily. I haven’t been here for over a month. Maybe Mrs Archer’s changed her hours, and that’s why the place is almost hygienic for once.

Her lips parted to call out—to establish her presence and reassure—but the words were never uttered. Instead, her bedroom door was flung wide, and a stark naked man walked out into the living room.

Laine shrieked. Closing her eyes, she took a too-hasty step backwards and stumbled against her abandoned bag, ricking her ankle again, and sending a shaft of pain up her leg which made her teeth ache in sympathy.

The interloper said something that combined blasphemy and obscenity in one gracefully drawled phrase, then vanished back into the room he’d just left.

Leaving Laine standing there as if she’d been turned to stone, a small frightened voice in her head whispering a beseeching No—oh, no … over and over again.

Because she knew that voice. Knew it as well as she knew her own, even though she’d never expected to hear it again.

The body she hadn’t recognised from that brief glimpse, but then she’d never seen it less than partially clothed before.

However, she was in no doubt at all over the intruder’s identity. In which case, she thought shakily, grabbing at her bag, she was on her way out of here.

She was halfway to the door when she heard his voice again, reaching her across the room.

‘Elaine.’ The hated full version of her name, pronounced with a kind of weary disdain. ‘Of all the people in the world. What the hell are you doing here?’

‘Daniel?’ Somehow she made herself say it. Utter it aloud. ‘Daniel—Flynn?’

She turned back slowly and carefully, dry-mouthed, noting with relief that at least he had a towel draped round his hips this time, as he stood in her bedroom doorway, one bare shoulder propped almost negligently against its frame.

He hadn’t changed much in the past two years, she thought numbly. Not on the surface, anyway. The unruly dark hair, shining with damp, was still longer than convention demanded. The lean, incisive face with its high cheekbones and sculpted mouth, was as heart-stopping as ever. The tall body was even more powerful than she remembered, with the long endless legs, and the deep shadow of chest hair that arrowed down towards his flat stomach.

So, although the rudimentary decencies had been observed, there was still clearly nothing to be relieved about, she told herself as she began to shake inside. In fact, quite the contrary …

‘I don’t believe it.’ She invested her tone with considered venom. ‘My God, I hoped I’d seen the last of you.’

‘And instead you saw a damned sight more than you bargained for.’ He looked her up and down, the hazel eyes frankly insolent under their heavy fringe of lashes as he took in the grubby white denims, and crumpled dark blue top. ‘That’s life?’

‘What are you doing here?’ Laine lifted her chin haughtily, trying not to blush.

‘Taking a shower.’ His tanned face was inimical. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘And equally obvious that isn’t what I meant.’ She struggled to steady her voice. To try and regain some control of this disturbing and unwelcome situation. ‘I’m asking what you’re doing in this flat.’

‘But I asked first,’ he said. ‘I understood you were establishing a new career being decorative in the Florida Keys.’

‘I was working in a boat charter business down there, yes,’ she said curtly. ‘What’s it to you?’

‘I was simply wondering why you’re stumbling around here instead of fixing frozen daiquiris on the poop deck.’

‘I don’t have to explain myself to you,’ Laine said coldly. ‘All you need to know is that I’m home to stay, and you can get dressed and the hell out of my flat before I have the law on you.’

His look was contemptuous. ‘And I’m supposed to tremble and obey? Is that it? No chance, sweetness. Because, unless your dear brother’s been lying to me, and frankly I don’t think he’d dare, half this desirable residence is his, and that’s the half I’m using.’

‘Fou are using?’ she said slowly. ‘By what right?’

‘I have a three-month lease,’ he said. ‘Properly drawn up and legally enforceable.’

Her heart was thudding unevenly against her ribcage. ‘I gave no permission for this.’

‘You weren’t here,’ he reminded her. ‘And Jamie guaranteed that happy state of affairs would continue. He thought that you and your fellow boat charterer were all set to walk into the sunset together.’ He inspected her bare left hand, his mouth twisting. ‘Or did he get that wrong?’

Yes, she thought. Completely wrong. But at the time it had made more sense to let Jamie believe that.

Aloud, she said, ‘A slight change of plan.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘So another one bit the dust? I do hope you’re not making a habit of it.’ He waited for the sharp indrawn breath she could not control, then went on smoothly, ‘However, it was on the strict understanding that I’d have the place to myself that I arranged to tenant the flat during your brother’s absence in the United States.’

‘Absence?’ she repeated numbly. ‘Since when?’

‘Since three weeks.’ He paused. ‘It’s a—temporary second-ment.’

‘Why didn’t he let me know?’

‘It all happened rather quickly.’ The silky drawl was even more pronounced. ‘He tried to contact you, but you seemed—unavailable. Phone calls and faxes to your registered office were left unanswered.’ He shrugged, drawing her unwilling attention to his elegantly muscled shoulders, and rather more besides.

God, but that towel was skimpy, she thought, her throat tightening. And none too secure either.

She decided to avert her gaze. ‘Always supposing this dubious agreement is valid,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘that doesn’t explain why you were coming out of my bedroom.’

‘Except that it’s now mine,’ he said. ‘For the duration.’ His smile was harsh. ‘I’m sleeping in your bed at last, darling. Now, there’s a thought to savour.’

‘Not,’ she said, ‘as far as I’m concerned.’

‘There was a time,’ he said softly, ‘when the idea seemed briefly to hold a certain amount of appeal for you.’

‘But that,’ she said, ‘was before I turned out to be “a cheat, a liar and a bitch”. And I quote.’

His brows lifted. ‘Indeed you do—and with remarkable accuracy. But moving into your room wasn’t a deliberate choice prompted by malice. Or any nostalgia for what might have been,’ he added, his mouth curling. ‘Simply a question of expediency.’

‘However, you must be able to understand,’ she went on, as if he hadn’t spoken, ‘why I wouldn’t wish to share a roof with you now any more than I did two years ago.’

‘I can see it might be a problem,’ he agreed.

‘I’m glad you’re prepared to be reasonable.’ She was surprised, too, she thought, taking another, more even breath. ‘Then perhaps you’d make immediate arrangements to remove yourself and your belongings to a more appropriate environment?’

His grin was total appreciation. ‘Presumably somewhere like the lowest pit of hell? But you misunderstand me, sweetheart. Any problem that might exist is yours, not mine, because I’m going nowhere. What you decide, of course,’ he added, ‘is entirely your own business.’

She stared at him, lips parting in dismay. ‘But you can’t do this.’

He shrugged again, casually adjusting the slipping towel. ‘Try me.’

‘But you don’t really want to live here,’ she said uncertainly.

‘Why not? Apart from the last five minutes, it’s been pleasant enough.’

‘But such a come down.’ She made herself drawl the words, as if she’d suddenly seen the humour in the situation. ‘It’s just a flat, after all. Not a glamorous penthouse pad for a millionaire publishing tycoon. No diamond encrusted taps or wall-to-wall women. Not your sort of place at all.’

She paused. ‘Unless, of course, Wordwide International has gone into liquidation since you’ve been running it, and this is all you can afford these days.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you,’ he said, his face expressionless. ‘But things are just fine in our part of the market. And I’m staying here because it’s temporarily convenient for me to do so.’

He folded his arms across his chest. ‘Face it, Laine, you chose to return without a word to anyone, least of all Jamie. He seemed to think you wouldn’t be coming back at all—ever. And life doesn’t stand still waiting for you. However, my deal is strictly with Jamie, so I have no power to prevent you using the other half of the flat, if you wish,’ he added evenly.

‘That’s quite impossible.’ She didn’t look at him. ‘And you know it.’

‘Actually, no,’ he said. ‘I don’t. Stay—go—it makes no difference to me. Unless you’re deluding yourself that I still harbour some faint inclination for you. If so, think again.’

He paused grimly, watching the helpless colour warm her face. ‘But be aware of this—you’re not going to insult me out of occupation, and an appeal to my better nature won’t work either.’

‘I wasn’t aware you had a better nature.’

‘It’s currently under severe pressure.’ He paused. ‘If you won’t share, you leave. It’s that simple, so make your mind up.’

‘This is my home,’ she said. ‘I have nowhere else to go.’

‘Then do what I did,’ he said. ‘Call in a favour.’ He added with a touch of grimness, ‘Although I suspect that might be difficult. You and your brother probably owe far more goodwill than you can ever repay.’

Laine drew a swift, sharp breath. ‘That is a—loathsome thing to say.’

‘But realistic.’ He gave her a level look. ‘So, if you’ve finally decided that here is better than a corner of Cardboard City, I suggest you stop arguing and start getting organised, because it could be a lengthy business.

‘And if you want to eat, you’ll also have to shop, because I’m not funding your food. We’ll discuss sharing the other bills later.’

He turned to go. ‘And don’t ask for your room back,’ he added. ‘As a refusal often offends.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ Laine said between her teeth. ‘After all, in a few weeks you’ll be gone, and until that happy day I’ll camp in Jamie’s room.’

His grin was sardonic. ‘Prior to having this place fumigated and the bed ritually burned, no doubt.’

‘My own thoughts precisely,’ she threw after him as the door closed.

For a moment she stood where she was, staring at the wooden panels. It’s a nightmare, she told herself. That’s all. And presently I’ll wake up to find it’s over, and then I can start putting my life back together again.

She was trembling so violently inside that all she wanted to do was let herself sink down on to the floor and stay there. But Daniel could re-emerge at any moment, and the last thing she wanted was to be found crouching on the stripped and polished floorboards at his feet like some small wounded animal.

She’d never thought she would see him again. Or not face to face like this, anyway. Had told herself that he was out of her life for always. Deliberately put herself at such a distance that she would be spared the pain of even an accidental glimpse of him. Promised herself that, gradually, the memories of everything that had happened between them would begin to fade, and she would find some kind of peace.

Yet here he was again, and all the shame and the trauma of their shared past were still as vivid and as painful as ever.

I haven’t forgotten a thing, she thought. And neither has he.

She passed the tip of her tongue over her dry lips. Faint inclination. That was the phrase he’d used, and it had bitten into her consciousness like acid dripping on metal.

Because that was as much as it had ever been. All the helpless passion—the feverish longing—had been on her side alone.

But I can’t let him think it still matters to me, she told herself. I dare not. I have to convince him that it’s all over for me too. That I’ve grown up and moved on.

She waited until her heartbeat had steadied, and her breathing rate had calmed a little, then made her way slowly over to Jamie’s room, favouring her damaged ankle as she went.

She turned the handle and made to push the door open, but it resisted stubbornly, as if there was some obstruction behind it. Laine put her shoulder to it, managing to create a gap just wide enough to give her access, and squeezed through it, wincing.

Then stopped dead, with a gasp of sheer dismay.

Because this was no longer a bedroom, but a landfill site. Every inch of space seemed to be occupied by something. There were stacks of boxes on the floor, next to crates of books and CDs, and a row of suitcases, elderly and unmatching. The bed’s bare mattress, she saw incredulously, was covered by the entire contents of her own wardrobe. And the blockage behind the door had been caused by an over-stuffed black binliner which had apparently fallen from a similar pile.

As if in a dream, Laine reached down and lifted it back into place.

Cardboard City, she thought, was right here, waiting for her.

It would take hours, she realised limply, to clear sufficient space just to cross the room. As for the leisurely bath and so-needed sleep—well, that was going to remain just a dream for the foreseeable future.

To her horror, she felt her eyes burning with sudden tears. After all the ghastliness with Andy, to come home to this! Plus bloody Daniel Flynn.

A lengthy business. His own words—the rotten bastard.

Because he’d known exactly what she was going to find here. These things weren’t Jamie’s, so they had to be his. He was sleeping in her room, and using this as his private dumping ground.

‘If I could only get to the window,’ she muttered furiously, crushing down any lingering remnants of self-pity. ‘I’d throw the whole sodding lot into the street.’

He’d emptied everything she possessed on to the bed—even her underwear—and the thought made her cringe. She’d wash and iron every single item before she allowed any of them anywhere near her, she promised herself grimly.

But if he thought she was going to deal with this appalling mess alone, he could think again. He was not going to get away with it, she vowed as she limped back across the living room and banged on the door.

It was flung open almost immediately, and Daniel confronted her unsmilingly. The towel had been replaced by a pair of jeans, but he was still barefoot and bare-chested, and Laine felt her mouth dry as unwanted memory pierced her.

‘What now?’ he demanded.

‘That other room,’ she said huskily, ‘is a pigsty. A tip. And I want to know what you intend to do about it.’

‘Nothing,’ he returned curtly. ‘Not my tip. Not my problem.’

Laine gasped. ‘What the hell do you mean? It’s packed to the ceiling with your surplus belongings, and I want them moved. Now.’

‘The true voice of command.’ His mouth curled. ‘Your seafaring days haven’t been wasted. What’s next on the agenda, Captain? A little light keel-hauling?’

She jerked a thumb in the direction of the room behind her. ‘That is now my half of the flat,’ she said. ‘And I want it cleared.’

‘Then I suggest you get started.’ He sounded faintly bored. ‘Although God knows where you’re going to put it all. And—just for the record—nothing in that room is mine. Some of the things belong to your brother, but most of it he’s storing for someone called Sandra. I believe she went with him to New York.’

‘Jamie left them?’ She stared at him. ‘Left me to cope with that terrible mess? Oh, he couldn’t have done. He wouldn’t.’ Her voice trailed away.

‘No?’ His smile was cynical. ‘If you wish to take the matter up with him, I can give you his number in Manhattan.’

‘Please don’t trouble yourself,’ she said crisply. ‘I’ll manage.’

She’d planned to wheel round and march away with dignity, but in mid-turn her ankle gave a jab of pain so fierce that she yelped aloud and faltered.

‘Going for the sympathy vote, Laine? It won’t work.’

But neither would her ankle, she realised, taking a deep breath as she gingerly tested her weight on it and winced uncontrollably.

‘What’s the matter?’ One swift stride brought him to her, his hand under her elbow.

‘Don’t touch me.’ She tried to pull away, but he’d seen the bandage and his grip tightened.

‘What the hell have you done to yourself?’ He sounded resigned.

‘My ankle’s twisted, that’s all,’ she said shortly. ‘Please leave me alone, and don’t fuss.’

‘I’m not the one squawking with pain.’

To her horror, Daniel picked her up and carried her to one of the long sofas that flanked the fireplace, placing her on the cushions. It was the work of a moment, but it forced an all-too potent reminder of the cool, clean scent of his bare skin into her consciousness.

Oh, God, she thought, a feeling akin to panic unravelling inside her, I don’t need this.

He knelt, and began to undo the bandage.

She said tautly, ‘I can manage by myself.’

His glance was ironic. ‘Now who’s making the fuss?’

Laine subsided, flushing mutinously. She stared over his shoulder, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, her nerve-endings jangling as Daniel frowningly examined the swollen joint.

‘When did you do this?’

She hunched a shoulder. ‘The other day.’

‘You should have rested it at once,’ he said tersely. ‘So start now.’ He rose lithely and went into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a plastic bag filled with ice cubes. ‘Here. Hold this against it.’

She complied reluctantly, her expression rebellious as Daniel tied it on with the discarded bandage.

‘Thank you,’ she said tautly when his task was completed.

‘No need for gratitude,’ he said caustically as he straightened. ‘I have a vested interest in seeing that you have both legs in good working order. Job hunting requires a lot of exercise, and you need to start earning without delay.’

She lifted her chin. ‘Please don’t worry. I’ve always paid my way.’

‘Not always,’ he said softly. ‘But these days I prefer cash, rather than kind. It’s more reliable.’

She was rigid. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Work it out for yourself,’ he said coldly, and disappeared back to the kitchen, leaving her gasping in fury. When he returned, he was carrying a glass of water on a saucer, with two capsules lying beside it.

‘Here,’ he said. ‘Take these.’

‘What are they?’

‘Painkillers,’ he said with a hint of acid. ‘Don’t worry. You won’t wake up in two days’ time in some Middle Eastern brothel.’

If you knew, she thought, as she reluctantly swallowed the capsules, and handed back the glass. If you had the least idea of what’s happened in the past few days, then perhaps you’d understand why I’m strung on wires. But you don’t—and anyway you’re the last person in the world that I could ever tell.

He was looking at her frowningly. ‘Have you eaten?’

‘There was food on the plane,’ she returned evasively. She hadn’t touched any of it. She’d felt sick to her stomach, as well as sick at heart, her mind going in dazed circles as she tried to make sense of what Andy had done. The brutal extent of his betrayal.

And to come reeling out of hell, after all she’d been through, to find this man of all men waiting for her was the final shattering blow.

He paused. ‘I’m going to make coffee. Do you want some?’

Laine shook her head. ‘No—thank you.’

She leaned back against the cushions, closing her eyes. Blocking him out physically would be a start, she thought wearily. The beginning of a long, uphill struggle to free herself from him, and the memories he evoked, which, incredibly, still had the power to devastate even two long years further on.

But her senses still told her when he moved away, and how pathetic was that? How could she be so aware of a man who’d deliberately and cynically betrayed her? Who’d destroyed her self-esteem and her trust, along with the first delirious ache of first love. A love that had left her in small pieces, unfulfilled and almost destroyed.

But she couldn’t let herself think about that. Not now. Not ever. She had other far more important considerations to deal with—like finding work.

As he’d so charmingly indicated, she thought, gritting her teeth.

She could hear the distant chink of crockery as he moved around in the kitchen, and shifted restlessly on the cushions.

Oh, God, these coming weeks were going to be the kind of agony that no painkillers could ever touch, but, whatever her feelings, she couldn’t afford to move out immediately, and he probably knew it.

She’d always hoped that if they ever met again by some mischance, far in the future, she’d be so bolstered by her own success—her own happiness—that she could look him in the eye with indifference.

But Fate had planned it otherwise.

She had no idea how much money she had in her bank account, but it couldn’t be much. And she’d used the last remaining bit of credit on her card to buy her ticket home, so that was another bill she could expect eventually.

And now, with Jamie gone, she couldn’t even beg a temporary loan.

I think I’ve just hit rock bottom, she thought. Unless there’s another layer they haven’t mentioned.

‘Don’t go to sleep, Laine.’ His voice made her jump. ‘Try and switch yourself to London time, or you could be jet-lagged for days.’

She opened reluctant eyes and looked at him. He was holding out a beaker.

‘I suggest you drink this. You need the caffeine to get you started.’

She said haughtily, ‘If this is intended as some kind of olive branch …’

‘I know. I can stick it where the sun don’t shine. But don’t worry. It’s not peace I’m offering—more an armed truce. Now, take it.’

She bit her lip, and obeyed with open reluctance. The brew it contained was black and strong without sugar, just as she liked it, which somehow made acceptance even more galling.

He sat down on the sofa opposite, stretching out long legs, observing her narrow-eyed. ‘And what are your career plans now that boat chartering has hit the rocks?’

She stiffened defensively. ‘I didn’t actually say that.’

‘You didn’t have to. You hardly came in whistling A life on the ocean wave.’

She took another sip of coffee while she tried to think of an acceptable approximation of the truth. ‘Let’s just say that my partner and I discovered we had irreconcilable differences and leave it at that.’

Daniel’s brows lifted sardonically. ‘Well, that has a familiar ring,’ he commented, making her wince inwardly. ‘Is this a final breach, or more of a decree nisi?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Is it over, or only over unless—or until—he comes grovelling on his knees for forgiveness?’

Her stomach gave a sudden crazy lurch. ‘That won’t happen. And I’d rather not discuss it any further.’

‘A Sinclair family trait,’ he said softly. ‘Leaving all kinds of things unsaid. Rather like trying to cap a volcano, don’t you think?’

‘No,’ she said stonily. ‘I don’t. I think privacy should be respected.’

‘Is that why you couldn’t be reached in Florida?’

No, she thought. That was because Andy hadn’t paid the rent on our office, and the landlord closed it down. But I didn’t know that at the time.

‘Jamie and I are brother and sister,’ she returned. ‘But we’re not joined at the hip.’

‘I can tell that,’ he said. ‘Sandra came as quite a surprise, didn’t she?’

‘Jamie’s had a lot of girls, and will probably have many more,’ she said. ‘It’s no big deal.’

‘I think,’ he said, ‘this one might be.’

‘Oh, really?’ Her tone was sarcastic. ‘You’ve been out of our lives for two years. Now you’re suddenly in my brother’s confidence? I don’t think so.’

‘You’re the one that’s out of touch, Laine. Jamie and I have been in contact quite a lot in recent months—one way and another.’

There was something about that—the phrasing, perhaps, or an odd note in his voice—which sent a prickle of unease down her spine.

Because on the face of it there was no need, or even likelihood, for their paths to cross. Jamie was a minor cog in a firm of City accountants. Daniel had inherited his family business empire and become a publishing magnate before he was thirty.

And, besides, he’d been Simon’s friend, she thought flatly, fighting the instinctive pain. No one else’s. Simon, her adored eldest brother, the golden boy, ten years her senior.

Daniel’s best mate at school from way back. Both high-flyers in the sixth form, members of the First Eleven at cricket, and demon tennis partners.

But there the resemblance ended. Because Daniel was a loner, the only son of a driven father who, after his wife’s death, had poured all his energies, all his emotions into work, into relentless expansion and acquisition, leaving little time to give to a small boy. In school holidays he’d been left to the mercies of paid staff, or farmed out to various business acquaintances with young families.

While Simon had had his mother, two younger siblings, and Abbotsbrook, that wonderful crumbling relic of a house with its huge untidy garden to come home to at the end of each term. A place where every summer gave the illusion of being filled with sun and warmth.

Eventually, grudgingly, Robert Flynn had agreed that his son could spend part of his holidays with his friend’s family.

After all, as Angela Sinclair had remarked, the house was always full of people. There were guests almost every weekend. One more would make little difference.

Except to me, Laine thought with a pang. It made all the difference in the world to me.

But that was forbidden territory, and she dared not go there. Particularly now.

She finished her coffee, and put the beaker on the floor. ‘Jamie’s well below your league, isn’t he? You always seemed to regard him as something of a pain. And you certainly can’t be short of places to live, so why here?’

‘It’s an arrangement that suited us both.’

‘And Cowper Dymond don’t have a New York branch,’ she went on. ‘So what’s Jamie doing over there?’

‘He’s working for me,’ Daniel said. ‘In the royalties section of Hirondelle Books.’

‘Working for you?’ Laine’s voice was incredulous, but her uneasy feeling grew. ‘But he had a perfectly good job. Why should he change?’

‘Perhaps that’s something else you should discuss with him?’ Daniel drained his coffee cup and rose. ‘He’s expecting your call.’

She stared up at him. ‘You’ve been talking to him? You told him I was here?’

‘While I was in the kitchen,’ he said. ‘I suggested that his room should be cleared, and the contents put into storage at his expense, and he agreed. Unfortunately, the removal firm I called can’t come until tomorrow, so you may have to spend the night on that sofa.’

‘You called?’ Laine lifted her chin. ‘I’m perfectly capable of making my own arrangements,’

‘You wish me to ring back and cancel?’ Daniel suggested pleasantly.

She wanted to say yes, but she knew it would be foolish, especially when he’d obviously pulled strings to get the job done quickly. And sleeping out here in the living room for any longer than was absolutely necessary had no appeal at all.

‘No,’ she said reluctantly. ‘Let’s leave things as they are.’

‘A wise choice,’ he approved. ‘You’re learning.’ He paused. ‘I have to go into the office for a couple of hours, so you’ll be able to pound your brother’s ears with your objections over my unwanted presence to your little heart’s content. Not,’ he added, ‘that it will make a blind bit of difference. The deal is done. But you might find it cathartic.’

He read the message conveyed by her over-bright eyes and compressed lips, and grinned.

‘And keep off that ankle,’ he advised. ‘You need it to heal quickly. So that you can start pounding the pavements instead.’

Knowing that he spoke nothing but the truth did nothing to improve her temper or calm the riptide of emotion threatening to overwhelm her as she watched him walk away and go into her bedroom—her bedroom—closing the door behind him.

A shudder ran through her. What a mess, she thought. What a blinding, unbelievable mess. And how in God’s name am I ever going to cope with it?

CHAPTER TWO

THE pain in her ankle was gradually turning to a dull throb. But the pain building inside her was a different matter. There was no quick fix for that, and it threatened to become unendurable more quickly than she could have imagined in her worst nightmares,

Yet she should have known, after these last two years of utter wretchedness. Months when she’d tried so hard to bury the hurt and bewilderment in the deepest recesses of her mind. And forget him.

Attempts that had never worked. That had eventually convinced her that only a complete change in her circumstances would do.

Which was why she’d made the reckless decision to relocate to Florida, without fully considering all the implications. Because she’d seen Andy’s proposition as a chance for rehabilitation—a way of turning her life around and making a new start.

With an ocean—a whole continent—between Daniel and herself, she’d reasoned wildly, she might just stand a chance.

But now, after only just over a month, she was back, and in a worse situation than before. And shock and anger were fast giving way to total desperation as she contemplated what the weeks ahead of her would hold.

Seeing Daniel each day, she realised, her throat tightening. Knowing that he was sleeping only a matter of yards away every night. Oh, dear God.

She had a sudden image of him as he’d been that night, two years ago, his tanned skin dark against the white towelling bathrobe, his face stark with disbelief in the moonlight as she’d told him, over and over again, her voice small and raw, the words stumbling against each other, that their marriage only a few hours earlier had been a terrible—a disastrous mistake. And that it was finished—over and done with—even before it had begun.

Forcing him to accept that she meant every word, and that there would be no second chance. Until at last he’d believed her, and turned away in bitter condemnation.

But he’d done as she wished. The marriage had been dissolved, more quickly and quietly than she’d believed possible.

What a strange word ‘dissolved’ was to use in the context of ending a marriage, she thought. It sounded almost gentle, implying that the relationship had been made to vanish, like rain falling on the earth. Not the agonised tearing apart—the destruction of her hopes and dreams—that had really taken place.

Nor had it led to Daniel simply disappearing from her life, as she’d hoped. Because once Laine had started living and working in London he’d been only too much in evidence.

She’d glimpsed him in the distance across crowded rooms. Looked down from the circle of a theatre to see him in the stalls, or discovered his picture in some paper or magazine. Never alone, either. The parade of his women seemed unending. Although, as she’d reminded herself wretchedly, that was only to be expected.

After all, he was a free man, in a way that she would never be a free woman. Because his heart had not been broken, or his life shattered, as hers had been.

But she’d never, mercifully, been close enough to him for their eyes to meet, or any greeting to be exchanged. Some atavistic instinct had always seemed to give her advance warning when he was around, enabling her to steel herself and move unobtrusively out of his orbit.

Until, of course, today, when her antennae had been disjointed—thrown into confusion by the events of the last forty-eight hours.

But how could I have thought—how could I possibly have dreamed—that something like this could happen? she asked herself, her throat tightening. Never—never in this world.

She checked, her heart thudding erratically against her ribs, as his door opened again. This time he was transformed into business formality, in elegant charcoal pants and an immaculate white shirt worn with a crimson silk tie. He was slotting thin gold links into his cuffs as he strode past her towards Jamie’s bedroom without even glancing in her direction.

She found a voice. ‘What are you doing?’

He said crisply, ‘Making it possible for you to get to your bathroom without damaging that ankle even more.’

‘Please don’t bother.’ Laine lifted her chin. ‘I can cope perfectly well alone.’

He threw her a sardonic glance. ‘Oh, that it were true.’

He pushed the door ajar and edged round it, and the next few minutes were filled with various brisk bangs and thuds, and a few muttered curses, while Laine sat chewing her lip.

She hated being forced to be beholden to him, even in the least respect, she thought furiously. But this would be the last time. She’d see to that.

From now on she would build a firewall round herself, she promised silently. Practise every avoidance tactic available. Because this was a question of sheer survival.

When Daniel came back, dusting off his hands, she was sitting rigidly upright, her face inimical.

‘Thank you.’ Her tone was ice.

‘Gratitude,’ he said, ‘may not be your predominating emotion when you see the state of the bathroom.’ He shrugged into his jacket and picked up his briefcase. ‘But—that’s your problem. One of many, I suspect.’

He paused, took a business card from his wallet, and tossed it down beside her. ‘Jamie’s contact number,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’ll want a word with him.’ His smile grazed her. ‘You both have some explaining to do.’

At the door, he took a final look back at her. ‘And, talking of explanations, one of these days or nights—if the conversation palls—you might care to tell me why you put us both through that farce two years ago. Standing beside me in church, making vows you had no intention of keeping, even for twenty-four hours. When the simplest course would have been to call the whole thing off, saving us both a load of grief.’ He allowed a heartbeat for her to assimilate that. Then, ‘See you later,’ he added with cool emphasis. And went.

‘Look,’ Jamie said with a defensiveness Laine could recognise even from the other side of the Atlantic, ‘I didn’t really have a choice. And what’s the beef anyway? Okay, your marriage was a total fiasco, but that’s long over, and I don’t suppose he bears a grudge. Not after all this time.’

You think that? You really believe it?

‘Anyway,’ he added into the silence, ‘there was a time when he was practically one of the family, especially after—after …’

‘Don’t,’ Laine said, her voice suddenly husky. ‘Just don’t.’ She took a deep breath, struggling with her composure. ‘You have to understand that things are different now. And I—I don’t think I can do this.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ His voice took on a peevish note. ‘The two of us got by on a policy of strict non-interference, didn’t we? Same roof, separate lives. And it will be the exactly same with Daniel.’

No, she said silently. It won’t be. It can’t. Because I’ve done that once before. And how can I live through that same nightmare all over again and remain sane?

‘He’s away a lot anyway,’ he added. ‘Visiting the corners of his far-flung empire. And when he is there, he certainly won’t be sniffing round you, if that’s what you’re afraid of. Once bitten, twice shy.’ He laughed. ‘Besides, I’ve seen a sample of his current ladies, and you’re not in the same league, sister dear.’

He had not, she thought, needed to tell her that. She knew it already. Had known it for too long.

She kept her voice steady. ‘Thanks for the reassurance. Now, perhaps you’ll tell me what he’s doing here in our flat?’

He was silent for a moment. ‘He bought a house a while back,’ he said. ‘He’s been having it totally renovated—remodelled. Until it’s finished he needs somewhere temporary to crash that doesn’t involve long expensive leases with penalty clauses. It’s that simple.’

‘Forgive me,’ Laine said grittily, ‘if our ideas of simplicity don’t quite coincide.’ She paused. ‘You haven’t yet mentioned why you’re working for him.’

‘I needed a job. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.’

‘You had a job,’ she said. ‘At a decent firm. What happened?’

There was a silence, then he said, ‘I got fired.’

‘What?’

‘Fired,’ he repeated. ‘As in sacked, let go, contract terminated.’

Laine felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. ‘What did you do?’

‘Where shall I begin?’ He paused theatrically. ‘Inattention to detail. Poor time-keeping. Unexplained absences. Particularly those. They went through the procedures meticulously—written warnings, the lot. And I was found guilty on all charges.’

‘This is—unbelievable.’

‘Not really. Who wants to trust his business accounting to a guy who’s hung over before noon? Old Balfour went through my client records like a ferret. I think he hoped they could make it a police matter.’

‘Was that—possible?’

‘No.’ He paused. ‘I may be a total idiot, Laine, but I don’t have a death wish.’

‘No?’ she asked bitterly. ‘Well, you could have fooled me. And this sudden departure to the States sounds very much like a moonlight flit. Please tell me I’m wrong.’

‘You’re like a bloody Rottweiler,’ he said pettishly. ‘You won’t let go.’

‘My God, do you blame me?’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Jamie—the truth. What kind of obligation are you under to Daniel Flynn?’

There was a silence, then he said grudgingly, ‘I owe him—big time.’

It was the admission she’d least wanted to hear.

She said carefully, ‘Do you mean that literally, or figuratively?’

‘I mean it every which way,’ he told her heavily. ‘Six months ago I saved a client a lot of tax. He was grateful, and took me out to dinner. Afterwards we went to this gambling club, the Jupiter, where he was a member. We played roulette, and I won—quite a lot. Clive said I was a born gambler, and he sponsored me for membership. I started going back there. Once a week at first, and then more often. I won a little, but my losses soon began to mount up.

‘That’s when I ran into Daniel again. He was at the baccarat table one night. I could tell he was surprised to see me because the Jupiter catered for seriously high rollers. He invited me to have a drink with him, a chat about old times. But I soon realised he was trying to warn me off—advise me not to get in too deep. He said the Jupiter had something of a reputation. But I wasn’t prepared to listen.’

He continued impatiently, ‘I won’t make excuses, Laine. It was too late. I was already over my head, heavily in debt and unable to pay, and the club wanted its money.

‘I’d got to know Sandra, one of the croupiers, and she warned me that there were—people looking for me. That’s when I went to ground. Stayed away from the flat. Didn’t go to work. I—I’ve never been so scared in my life.

‘Eventually Daniel found me,’ he continued heavily. ‘I was—staying with Sandra’s cousin, and he persuaded her to give him the address. Said there was a family connection, and he wanted to help.’

‘Family connection?’ Laine echoed with angry derision. ‘My God, he has a damned nerve.’

‘Well, he was momentarily my brother-in-law. And what would you have preferred?’ He was angry too. ‘For me to be found in some alley, beaten to a pulp? In hospital with two broken legs? Daniel was a total bastard—he played absolute hell with me—but he also saved my life. Not for my sake. He made it damned clear that he thinks I’m pretty much a waste of good space.’ There was a faint choke in his voice. ‘No, he helped me only because he knows that Simon would have done the same.’

She said numbly, ‘Yes—of course, he would.’

‘So,’ Jamie went on, ‘he paid off the club, and got Sandra out of it, too, in case her bosses found out she’d been helping me and—objected.

‘That’s why he offered me a job in New York. He said we might find the climate healthier than London for the next few months. I told you—I don’t have a death wish, so I agreed. Letting him use the flat seemed a pretty small return, all things considered.’ There was a pause. ‘And, to be fair, I didn’t think you’d ever find out.’

‘Except I have, and now I’m being punished for your misdemeanours,’ Laine said with renewed crispness.

‘Well, that won’t worry him,’ Jamie said with a touch of weariness. ‘To be honest, he doesn’t seem to have a lot of time for either of us.’

He paused, ‘Anyway, what exactly are you doing back in the UK? Is the business doing so well that you can afford a holiday?’

No point in pretence. ‘There is no business. Not any more.’

‘You have to be kidding.’ His tone was incredulous. ‘Everyone wants to go fishing off the Florida Keys. It’s a licence to print money.’

‘Perhaps,’ she said. ‘But Andy decided to sell the licence.’

‘At a healthy profit, I hope?’

‘I imagine so,’ Laine said, her voice bright and brittle. ‘Unfortunately he never discussed it with me—before, during or after the transaction. Particularly after. I got back from trying to find us some alternative office premises and found it was a done deal and that Andy had—moved on.’ She took a breath. ‘I—decided against looking for him.’

He said slowly, ‘You mean—he took—everything? But you invested in that boat—every penny you had.’

‘So I did,’ she said. ‘But unfortunately I ended up with a nil return, silly me.’

There was a silence, then he said, ‘My God, Laine, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ she said, crisply. ‘I reckon in many ways I got off quite cheaply.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘But I genuinely thought you were happy—settled. That you were making yourself a life.’

‘I suppose I did too.’ But is that really the truth, or was I simply buying myself some time while I waited for the healing process to work?

‘However,’ she went on, ‘it’s left me in a bit of a spot, financially. And I rather hoped you’d be around—to help.’

‘Well, I would be,’ he said. ‘Under normal circumstances. But my salary level at Wordwide isn’t brilliant, and I have to start repaying Daniel.’

He paused awkwardly. ‘And there’s Sandra. She’s got a job in a diner. The money’s putrid, so she has to rely on tips to boost it. We’re having quite a struggle.’ Another pause. ‘What about the gallery? Couldn’t you get your old job back?’

‘Unlikely. They’ll have replaced me long ago.’

‘I suppose so.’ A longer silence. ‘You could always try Ma.’

‘No,’ she said, quietly. ‘That’s one of several things I won’t even consider.’

‘Daniel being another?’

‘The prime example,’ she confirmed. ‘Besides, it’s clear that you’ve used up any residue of goodwill he may have had towards the Sinclair family.’

‘You could try being nice to him,’ Jamie suggested.

Her voice was suddenly husky. ‘What the hell do you mean?’

‘Well, not what you’re thinking, obviously.’ He was defensive again. ‘But when you were a kid you used to follow him round like a puppy. And there must have been a time when he liked you too, or he wouldn’t have asked you to marry him. And even though it turned into a disaster, you might catch him at a sentimental moment.’

‘I don’t think he has them.’ Laine found herself sinking her teeth into her lower lip. ‘No, from here on I’m strictly on my own, but I’ll manage. Watch me.’

‘Is Daniel around now?’

‘He went to his office.’ She added coldly, ‘He looked the image of a man about to make his next million.’

‘Well, don’t knock it,’ Jamie said, with something of a snap. ‘I’ve no idea what happened between you two years ago, and I don’t want to know. However, I’ll just say this.’ His voice became urgent. ‘For God’s sake take it easy where he’s concerned, and don’t go out of your way to upset him, Laine, whatever you may feel. Because I can’t afford it. And maybe you can’t either.’

He paused. ‘Keep in touch.’

Laine replaced the receiver, and sat for a long while, staring into space.

Any fleeting plan of having the locks changed in Daniel’s absence no longer seemed to be an option, she thought, her mouth twisting.

She realised she wasn’t shocked or even particularly surprised by Jamie’s tale of woe. He seemed to have been tottering from one disaster to the next since adolescence. Flirtations with alcohol and drugs had led to expulsion from two schools, and he’d distinguished himself at the third with a brief and unsuccessful career as a bookmaker in the sixth form. Only the fact that his final public examinations were looming had saved him from yet another ignominious exit.

His time at university, however, had been relatively peaceful, and he’d apparently transferred seamlessly to Cowper Dymond.

Laine had hoped her brother’s problems were behind him, but how wrong could anyone be?

She supposed he was not entirely to blame. As their family life had begun to fall apart it was Jamie who’d absorbed most of the resultant pressure. Their mother’s dependency had been transferred to him.

Nobody expected very much of me, Laine thought. I was the youngest. The baby. The little sister.

She replaced the phone on its rest, and stood up. The ice pack had helped reduce some of the swelling to her ankle, and she’d apply another one later.

But now she had things to do. And making Jamie’s room at least habitable was the first of them. Comfort could follow once the place had been emptied tomorrow.

As Daniel had piled everything neatly in one corner, she could actually move around it as long as she was careful. She began by clearing her clothes from the bed, and hanging them in the fitted wardrobes, alongside the few things Jamie had left, then filling the empty drawers in his dressing chest.

She fetched clean linen and made up the bed, before devoting half an hour’s energetic cleaning to the scruffy bathroom, throwing away half-used toiletries and oddments of soap, and scouring the basin and tub.

Particularly the tub—because she had plans for that.

When basic hygiene had been restored, she stripped and put on her favourite robe, an elderly blue velour, much rubbed, but as comforting as a hug from a friend.

She unpacked her bag and put the modest amount of clothing it contained into the washing machine, along with the garments she’d just discarded. Her precipitate departure meant that she’d had to leave much of her stuff behind.

I seem to be spending my entire life in flight, one way or another, she derided herself. But now the thing I’ve dreaded most has happened, so there’s no point in running any more.

Finally, she ran herself a generous bath, scenting it lavishly with her favourite oil. She gave her hair a vigorous shampoo using the hand-shower, before sinking down with a grateful sigh into the water, immersing herself to the tops of her breasts. She leaned back, closing her eyes as the fragrant warmth caressed her skin.

This was heaven. The shower on the boat had been intermittent at best, and at times totally non-cooperative. Her last exchange with Andy had been on that very subject. She’d said they must get it fixed before the next season. He’d grunted.

Nothing new in that, she thought. But maybe she should have reckoned up the number of grunts per conversation and drawn some kind of conclusion from them. Then she might have been more prepared for his selling their only asset and doing a runner with the proceeds.

She’d known, of course, that Andy bitterly resented the fact that she’d refused any physical involvement with him, and supposed he could not, in truth, be blamed for that. However, she’d made no actual promises, she told herself defensively.

It had been the chance of a new life halfway across the world, out of harm’s way, that she’d wanted. Not him. And she’d agreed to go with him just as his business partner, not his lover. He should have taken nothing for granted.

But he was a good-looking example of the blond, curly haired, rugged corner of the market, and charming with it—on the surface at least—so he probably hadn’t had too many rejections in his life. No doubt he’d believed that proximity would do its work, and that he’d persuade her round to his way of thinking in due course.

Well, she thought with a swift shiver, at least I was spared that. The money was all he got from me.

He’d totally underestimated her indifference to him sexually, just as she’d completely missed the signs that beneath the charismatic son-of-the-sea pose was a common swindler.

A brilliant fisherman, of course, in every way. Bait the hook, she thought bitterly, and reel ‘em in.

But they’d had a good business going there, she reflected with regret. Their clientele had registered few complaints, and an abundance of compliments, especially about the good food she’d managed to produce in a galley that just bordered on the adequate, and money had been there to be made. But she could see now that, outside the thrill and glamour of the chase for the big game fish, it had all been too much like hard work for Andy. He wanted easy pickings, and no slog over bookkeeping or maintenance.

In retrospect, she could see she should have been warned that all might not be as it seemed. Except that she hadn’t allowed herself time to think—or to wonder what she might be getting into.

Oh, his proposition that she should invest in his business had come at exactly the right moment, she thought, her mouth twisting in self-derision. And when you’re thrown a lifeline, you don’t always check the rope for durability. You’re just too thankful to be rescued.

Dear God—some rescue! As she’d come back to the boat that day, weary and disheartened by lack of success in finding their business the new shore premises it needed, she had already known that persuading Andy to sit down and talk through their current difficulties would present a mammoth problem.

So, she’d not anticipated an easy time. She had, however, expected that he’d be there. Not that she’d find the revolting Dirk Clemmens waiting for her down in the saloon, a bottle of bourbon open on the table in front of him beside a sheaf of papers.

Of all their clients, this wealthy South African had been her least favourite. She’d loathed the way he made any excuse to touch her, brushing past her unnecessarily close. Making sure their hands met when she passed him a drink or served food. She didn’t like the friends he brought with him either, overweight and loud-mouthed. Or the girls who lay around sun-bathing, wearing only thongs when not completely naked.

Andy’s mouth had curled, however, when she’d complained about Clemmens and his groping. ‘Why should you care?’ he’d demanded sullenly. ‘We both know he’s on a hiding to nothing with you, sweetheart.’

And, suddenly, inexplicably, the burly South African had been right there, back on the boat, and she’d seemed to be alone with him, which had bewildered her as well as filling her with an odd sense of foreboding. But she’d hidden it well, keeping her voice cool. ‘Where’s Andy?’

‘Oh, he’s gone.’ He sounded almost casual. ‘We did a deal, chickie, and I’m now the new owner—in full possession.’ He had soft pink lips that always looked wet, and he stretched them now in an ingratiating smile. ‘Welcome back.’

Laine had stayed very still. She said quietly, ‘There must be some mistake. Andy and I were partners.’

‘Yeah, he told me. Sleeping partners.’ He gave a lascivious chuckle. ‘Which suits me just fine—so let’s keep the arrangement going, shall we?’ He pushed a glass towards her. ‘Sit down, honey. Have a drink while we discuss your—duties, eh?’

She said desperately, ‘But surely he must have left me a message of some kind?’

‘Yeah, he did. Now, how did he put it?’ He pretended to think for a moment. ‘Oh, I remember. He said to tell you, “So long, honey, and don’t think it wasn’t nice.”’

The shock of what he was saying brought bile into her throat, but it seemed wiser to take a seat while she tried to assimilate the full horror of Andy’s defection, and this resultant change in her circumstances.

She poured some whisky into her glass, and took a minimal sip as she waited for her mind to stop reeling.

Andy, she thought. Andy—whom she’d trusted—had done this to her. Had cheated her, stolen from her, and left her to this creature, whom he knew she hated. Was this his idea of revenge for turning him down—to abandon her to the mercies of a man whom she knew wouldn’t take no for an answer?

Was every man she came across going to betray her in some way?

Her stomach churned as she tried to think what to do next. Her instinct was screaming to her to make a dash for it, but, although Clemmens was a big man, he was light on his feet, and she wasn’t sure she could out-run him. And the thought of being caught by him—subdued—was terrifying.

No she would have to be more clever than that. Besides, she couldn’t simply leave empty-handed. Her wallet, with what ready money she possessed, was with her in her shoulder bag, but her passport was in her cabin with the rest of her things, and she needed it.

However, he’d clearly been celebrating his purchase, and this could work in her favour. She’d seen him drink before and, despite appearances and his own bragging, he didn’t have the hardest head in Miami.

She waited until he started shuffling through the papers, muttering with satisfaction, then swiftly tipped her drink down her skirt. It felt horribly clammy, and she immediately stank of spirits, but she could only hope Clemmens had imbibed enough himself not to notice that.

She poured another modest amount for herself, then refilled his glass, pushing it within easy reach. His fingers closed round it, and he drank.

He wiped his mouth with his fist, belched, and looked at her. ‘Andy tells me that once you’re in the sack you’re not nearly as prim and proper as you make out, sweetie.’ He laughed again. ‘I sure hope that’s true, because I pay by results.’

She smiled at him. Raised her glass in a semi-toast. ‘Then I trust you’re prepared to be generous, Mr Clemmens.’

Andy, you total bastard! Whatever you’ve done with the money, you could have spared me this—animal.

She sipped, then sent the rest over her skirt, as he splashed more bourbon into his glass, spattering his papers in the process.

He swore. ‘Get a cloth.’

She obeyed reluctantly, hoping he wouldn’t notice her damp skirt. But he simply grabbed the cloth from her hand, and began to dab clumsily at the top document.

‘God, it’s hot in here.’ He ran a finger round the collar of his polo shirt. ‘Isn’t there a fan or something?’

‘There used to be.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe Andy took it with him.’

‘No, he took nothing but the asking price. I saw to that.’

Her heart skipped a beat, but her tone held nothing but indifference. ‘Then it’ll be somewhere in the guest quarters.’

‘Well, don’t just sit there.’ He leaned back against the cushioned seat, closing his eyes. ‘Get it.’

Laine rose and picked up her bag from the side of her chair. Was it really going to be this easy?

She went straight to the tiny space she’d occupied since she came on board, and changed swiftly out of her ruined skirt into a pair of white jeans.

She retrieved her passport, and thrust as much as she could carry into the smaller of her two travel bags, knowing that she needed to travel light.

Then, soft-footed, she went up on deck. She’d just stepped on to the gangplank when Dirk Clemmens’ voice sounded just behind her. ‘Where d’you think you’re going, chickie? You come here, now, like a good girl.’

As he reached for her Laine ran, hurling herself headlong on to the dock. Clemmens, panting close behind, made a grab for her but missed, and, bawling with rage, overbalanced and fell flat.

Laine, landing awkwardly, twisted her ankle, but kept going somehow, biting her lip against the pain. A glance over her shoulder showed that a small crowd was already gathering round Clemmens, who was trying to sit up.

She heard his voice like a wounded bull. ‘Stop her—she’s a thief.’ But she didn’t falter, or slacken her pace. She received a few curious looks, but no one attempted to detain her.

She turned abruptly and dodged into a bar that she knew, and made her way through the groups of drinkers as if on her way to the women’s room. Once at the rear, she took the emergency exit instead, finding herself in a quiet backstreet.

However, she’d shot her bolt, and she knew it. She was limping heavily now, and her ankle was swelling up like a balloon, so she hailed the first cruising cab she saw and asked to be taken to the airport.

And now here I am, she thought mirthlessly, as she climbed out of the bath and swathed herself in a towel. Out of the frying pan, straight into the inferno.

She towelled herself down swiftly, then rubbed the excess moisture from her hair and combed it back from her face with her fingers, grimacing as she remembered that her hairdryer was one of the items she’d been forced to abandon on the boat.

But I had a spare one here, she thought, getting back into her robe. I kept it in my dressing table.

Will it still be there—and do I have the nerve to check?

Yet, it was safe enough, she assured herself. Daniel was at the office, and she was surely entitled to retrieve her own property?

She limped across the living area, pushed open the door of her bedroom, and went cautiously inside—only to pause with a small, shocked gasp as she looked around her.

Because it was unrecognisable. The pretty wallpaper with its delicate tracery of honeysuckle had been painted over in plain ivory, and her pale yellow silk bedcover had been replaced by something far more austere in dark brown. The curtains were brown too, and even the bedside rugs had been changed.

Every trace of her, every charming personal touch that her earnings from the gallery had provided, seemed to have been deliberately erased.

They say you shouldn’t go back, she thought, because you’ll find the space you occupied has gone.

And I’m suddenly beginning to feel as if I no longer exist.

As if everything I loved most has been taken away from me. My father first, when I was a baby, then Simon, and eventually Abbotsbrook. Maybe it was never the sanctuary I imagined, and my last memories of it were pretty hideous, but it held a kind of security all the same.

I always thought one day I’d go back, and somehow rediscover everything that was precious from my childhood.

She bit her lip. Oh, come on, now, she adjured herself impatiently. You’re here to dry your hair, not collapse into sentimentality.

She took a breath, then raised her head and looked across the room into the dressing table mirror. If Daniel hadn’t changed, there was little difference in her either. Her hair was still mousy, albeit streaked by the sun, and her figure remained like a stick. Her eyes would always be more grey than green, although she did have her mother’s cheekbones, which perhaps redeemed her face from being totally nondescript.

But not a great deal to set, all the same, against Daniel’s known preferences in womankind. The glamorous leggy blondes with the knowing eyes who’d made her adolescence miserable.

Or Candida, she thought, flinching as she recalled the sultry mouth, the body that swayed inside its clothes as if impatient to be free of them, and the sweet husky voice like poisoned honey.

How could any man resist her?

Deep within her something twisted in renewed agony, and she heard herself gasp.

‘Do not,’ she said aloud, her voice vehement. ‘Do not go there.’

But it was too late. And suddenly it was all too much, the throb in her ankle swamped by this other fiercer pain. She was alone, broke and scared. And she’d been through forty-eight hours of sheer trauma only to find a different kind of hell waiting for her in the place that should have been her refuge.

And Laine put her hands over her face, sank down on the edge of that immaculately smooth, alien bed, and wept, her whole body shaking with her sobs, until she had no more tears left.

CHAPTER THREE

FOR a long time after she was calm again Laine remained where she was, lying face downward on the bed, her fingers digging almost convulsively into the quilted satin of the bedcover.

But she knew she couldn’t stay there. Recognised, in fact, it would have been better if she’d never entered the room at all. Because Daniel was here, all around her, tormenting her senses and her memory.

The faint scent of his cologne was in the air. The subtle musky fragrance she’d always associated with him. That she’d breathed in so many times in the past with all the helpless longing of first love.

‘Time I wasn’t here,’ she said aloud.

She got slowly to her feet, meticulously restoring the coverlet to its former pristine condition. Making sure there was no untoward sign of her presence. And she managed to find her hairdryer, too—not where she’d left it, of course, but at the back of a shelf in the row of immaculately organised wardrobes.

Out of sight—out of mind, she thought as she crossed the living area to the other room. Rather like myself.

He’ll probably never know it’s gone.

And at that same moment she heard the rattle of a key in the front door.

Oh, God, she thought, her heart thudding. He’s back. I got out just in time.

She tossed the hairdryer onto the bed, and turned defensively, pulling the door shut behind her as Daniel came in. He looked preoccupied and not particularly good-tempered.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ she said stiltedly, wincing at the absurdity of the remark.

His tone was acid. ‘Who were you expecting?’

‘Well, not you. Not so soon.’ She paused. ‘You—startled me.’

‘I can see that,’ he said brusquely. ‘You look like a ghost.’ He walked over to her, putting a finger under her chin as his frowning gaze scanned her face.

‘Don’t.’ Laine pushed his hand away.

‘You’ve been crying,’ he said. ‘Why?’

‘Is it any concern of yours?’

‘Probably not. But I’ve no wish to share my living space with the human equivalent of a leaking tap.’ His mouth tightened. ‘Do us both a favour, Laine, and give some thought to growing up.’

He walked over to the other room, disappearing briefly to emerge a moment later with a laptop computer in a carrying case slung over his shoulder.

She braced herself, but he made no comment, so it seemed she’d covered her tracks successfully.

‘See you later,’ he tossed at her as he passed.

‘As if I had a choice,’ she returned bitterly as the door closed behind him.

And he would, of course, catch her looking like something the cat dragged in, with wet hair and her old robe. Although that was probably safer, under the circumstances. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel even a momentary attraction to her. Not that it was likely, she reminded herself, and went into her room to dry her hair.

Although thick, it was soft and fine, and needed skilful layering to give it any real shape. No chance of that, however, until she discovered just how dire her financial situation was, she thought as she put down her brush.

She dressed swiftly in a blue denim skirt and a thin, collarless white blouse. Her ankle was still making her flinch whenever she put weight on it, so she fetched some more ice cubes and stretched out on the sofa, resting the aching joint on a cushion.

But she couldn’t completely relax. Her mind was buzzing—on fire—teeming with stray images from the past, all as vivid as they were unwelcome.

Reminding her starkly that she could barely remember a time when she hadn’t been in love with him.

Recalling the day when, at six years old, she’d emerged on hands and knees from her special den in the garden and looked up to see him—this stranger—standing at Simon’s side, tall and dark against the sunlight.

‘I told you this is where she’d be,’ her brother had said, his voice teasing and affectionate. ‘Jamie built this little place as a hide, so he could watch birds, but as usual he got bored with it, and now it’s Laine’s. Get up, scrap, and be polite to my mate Daniel.’

As she scrambled to her feet, she said with dignity, ‘It’s my secret place. You’re not meant to tell.’

Daniel bent and carefully removed a dead leaf from her hair. ‘My lips are sealed,’ he said. ‘I promise.’ He paused. ‘Are you a birdwatcher too?’

She shook her head. ‘I come here to read.’

‘What’s the book of the moment?’

She looked back longingly. ‘Treasure Island.’

‘Good God,’ he said, exchanging amused glances with Simon. ‘So, who’s your favourite character?’

She gave it some thought. ‘I don’t think any of them are very nice. They’re all greedy, and Jim spies on people.’ She paused. ‘Ben Gunn isn’t too bad, I suppose, because he only wants toasted cheese.’

‘You heard it here first, folks,’ Simon said, grinning. ‘Stevenson, eat your heart out. Come on, Dan, let’s leave her to her pirates and get some tennis in before tea.’ He ruffled her hair, dislodging more dead leaves. ‘See you later, Lainie. And clean up a bit before Ma sees you. She seems a bit agitated today.’

‘That’s because Mr Latimer was here yesterday,’ Laine informed him. ‘She’s always in a bad mood after that, because she hates him. She calls him that “bloody man”.’

There was a brief silence, then Dan turned away, apparently overcome by a coughing fit, while Simon looked down at his younger sibling, his young face suddenly weary.

He said quietly, ‘But you don’t have to do the same, Lainie. Is that understood?’

She said uncertainly ‘Are you cross too?’

‘No,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘No, of course not. It’s just that a visit from the trustee isn’t the ideal start to a vacation.’

It was good that Simon was home, Laine thought contentedly, as they departed and she went back to her book. Because it meant that Mummy would stop frowning, and smile instead.

The housekeeper, Mrs Evershott always sounded the gong for meals five minutes early, so she gauged she’d have plenty of time to wash her hands and comb her hair before tea.

But that day her mother had arranged for it to be served on the lawn, as a tribute to the good weather, and there was no way she could reach the house unobserved.

‘Elaine!’ Angela exclaimed from the shelter of her parasol. ‘What have you been doing? Rolling in mud? And where’s your hair ribbon?’ She turned to the others at the table, shrugging helplessly. ‘What a ragamuffin. A cupboard full of pretty dresses, and she insists on those old shorts.’

She sighed. ‘I don’t think her poor father would recognise his Lily Maid these days.’

‘Lily Maid?’ Daniel queried politely, while Laine stared down at the grass, shuffling her feet in their blue flip-flops, knowing what was coming next, and dreading it.

Angela sighed again. ‘My mother-in-law was a big Tennyson fan, and when she saw the baby for the first time she was folded in a white shawl—looking like a lily, apparently. So Mama persuaded Graham to christen her Elaine, after the girl in the poem—The Lily Maid of Astolat.’

There was a pause, then Dan said politely, ‘That’s a charming story.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Laine said with sudden fierceness. ‘Elaine’s a silly name, and Jamie says she was a wuss for dying just because Sir Lancelot wasn’t in love with her—and he says I’ll grow up to be a wuss, too, because I’m called after her.’

There was an odd silence, then Simon put down his plate and began to laugh, to be joined by Dan and eventually Angela.

‘It’s a bad day for literature in this house,’ Simon managed at last, wiping his eyes. ‘And we’re laughing with you, scruff, not at you. Now, come and have some tea, and I’ll have a word with Master Jamie when he shows up.’

Everyone had laughed that summer, Laine thought. It was one of the happiest she’d ever spent, and the start of many more.

And she’d had Simon and Daniel to thank for that.

Up to then, she’d been left pretty much to her own devices in the school holidays. Unlike Jamie, who’d attended a local preparatory school as a day boy prior to following Simon to their father’s old school in the autumn, Laine had made few friends locally. The other children at the village school, finding that she wasn’t interested in the latest junior fashions, and that she preferred reading to the television programmes they all seemed to watch, had tended to ignore her.

And even with her beloved books she’d found herself lonely at times.

But that holiday had been altogether different. The weather had been good, so they’d all been able to spend as much time outside as possible. And Laine had been included in all their activities. It had all been casual—no big deal. She’d just been expected to accompany them.

Until then she’d always been faintly nervous of the river that bordered the end of the Abbotsbrook grounds. She’d been learning to swim at school, but Angela had said firmly that the river was a very different proposition from the swimming baths in the nearby market town, and that Laine must keep well away from it at all times.

But Simon and Daniel had changed all that. Under their eagle-eyed supervision, her technique and confidence had surged ahead, until, as Simon had told their mother, she could swim like a fish.

‘Or an eel,’ Jamie had put in. ‘Eel-Laine.’ And he’d continued to torment her with the nickname, roaring with laughter at his own wit, until Daniel had taken him quietly to one side and stopped it.

But none of Jamie’s teasing had had the power to upset her. She’d been far too happy.

Some of the best days had been spent out on the water in the old dinghy. When the boys had fished, she’d been provided with a small rod and line to hunt for tiddlers.

If they’d played cricket she had cheerfully fielded for them, and had zealously located balls that had been hit into the shrubbery from the tennis court.

Most of all, they’d both talked to her as if they were genuinely interested in what she had to say.

But the holiday had ended far too soon for Laine. Simon had joined his school’s climbing club the year before, and had become swiftly and seriously addicted to the sport, so he’d been taking the last two weeks of his vacation in the Lake District, while Daniel had been summoned to join his father for a rare break in the South of France.

As goodbyes had been said, Laine had launched herself at Daniel, arms and legs wrapped round him, clinging like a monkey. Hugging him strenuously, she’d whispered, ‘I wish you were my brother, too.’

‘Elaine!’ Angela reproved. ‘Kindly stop making a spectacle of yourself. Daniel, do put the wretched child down. I must apologise to you for this ridiculous behaviour.’

‘It’s not a problem, Mrs Sinclair.’ He lowered Laine gently to the ground, ruffling her hair. ‘Please believe I’m very flattered.’

‘Also very tolerant.’ She offered him a limpid smile. ‘But you’re not a babysitter, you know. Perhaps on your visit at Christmas we can all do some rather more grown-up things.’

There was a brief, odd silence, then he said quietly, ‘Of course.’

Christmas, Laine thought ecstatically. He would be back at Christmas. He and Simon. And that would be the best present she could have.

Hero-worship, she told herself wearily, as she got up from the sofa to take the bag of melting ice cubes back to the kitchen. That was what it had been. The world’s most gigantic crush. A childish phase that she should have outgrown quite easily.

However, for the next five years, her entire life had seemed to take its focus from school and university vacations, and she’d waited for them with almost painful eagerness, knowing that Daniel would join them for a week or two at least.

Not that the holidays had been unalloyed delight any more. As she’d got older Laine had become aware that were undercurrents beneath Abbotsbrook’s seemingly tranquil surface. And that Mr Latimer’s all too regular visits were invariably a cause of friction.

She’d been curled up on the window-seat in her room one spring evening, when her mother’s voice, raised in complaint, had reached her from the terrace below.

‘I thought everything would change when you were eighteen,’ Angela was saying. ‘That you could persuade the wretched little man to keep his distance.’

He said tiredly, ‘Ma, the trust will stay in force until Jamie and Laine are both eighteen. You have to accept that.’ He paused. ‘And you’d see less of Latimer if you curbed your spending a little. Fewer weekend parties, maybe?’

‘Your father started them. And it’s the only way I can keep in touch with our friends when I’m buried down here all year round. I wish to heaven I could sell the place and move back to London.’

‘You know the terms of Dad’s will,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until Laine comes of age for that—if you still want to.’

‘I’ll want to,’ she said. ‘If the house is still standing, that is. The damned place is falling apart, and Latimer won’t release enough money to do what’s necessary. Then I have to put up with people treating the place as a shrine—turning up in droves so they can see the room—the desk—where he created “all those amazing fantasy novels, Mrs Sinclair”,’ she added, in a savage mimicry of a Transatlantic accent.

‘And I’m sick of them telling me what a tragedy it was he was taken so soon. Do they think I don’t know that? I’m his widow, for God’s sake. And he wasn’t “taken”. It was a heart attack, not abduction by aliens.’

‘Well, don’t knock the faithful fans,’ Simon advised crisply. ‘After all, it’s Dad’s royalties that have been paying the bills, and frankly they’re not as good as they were a few years ago. In fact, I wonder …’

They moved away, and Laine heard no more. She sat, arms clasping her knees, feeling suddenly very cold. Surely nothing could happen to Abbotsbrook? Surely? It might be big and old, and need repairs, but it was their home.

The subject of money was raised again the following night after supper, this time by Simon, as he settled down to a game of chess with Dan.

He said casually, ‘I suppose Lainie will be finishing at the village school at the end of the summer. Have you decided where she’ll be going next? Sent for some prospectuses?’

Angela poured herself some more coffee. ‘No, I haven’t. Her recent reports haven’t been exactly thrilling, so I thought she might as well go to Hollingbury Comprehensive with the rest of her class. As I still have Jamie’s fees to cope with, it seems an ideal way to economise a little.’

Simon sat up abruptly. ‘Ma, you can’t be serious. Hollingbury Comp is a dump. Everyone knows that it barely scraped through its Ofsted inspection, and it has a drugs problem. Lainie wouldn’t have a prayer.’

‘I gather the staff are working very hard to improve things,’ Angela said repressively. ‘Besides, Laine’s hardly a high-flier, you know. If she’d tried a little harder, things might be different.’

Laine felt heat invade her face, and her mouth trembled as everyone looked at her.

After a pause, Daniel said quietly, ‘I realise I have no right to interfere in a family matter, Mrs Sinclair, but I’ve always considered Laine a very bright girl. I wonder if she could simply be bored at her present school, and in need of more of a challenge.’

His smile held apology as well as charm. ‘My godfather’s daughters both went to a place called Randalls, which has an excellent reputation.’ He added levelly, ‘And it offers full bursaries to pupils with genuine potential. I think Laine could be one of them, so fees wouldn’t be a problem.’

He paused. ‘There’s a written test as well as an interview, I believe, but I could easily get hold of some details—if that isn’t too presumptuous?’

‘Not at all.’ Angela smiled at him. ‘I’m just not sure that Laine’s up to it.’

‘Well, I think, along with Dan, that she should be given the benefit of the doubt,’ Simon said firmly.

The next time Laine saw Daniel, at the beginning of the summer holidays, she danced across the hall to him in excitement. ‘I did it—I did it. I’m going to Randalls in September.’

His brows lifted quizzically. ‘So you survived the exam?’

She considered. ‘Well, it wasn’t a real one, with sums and things. I just had to write about a favourite character from a book.’

His face relaxed into a teasing grin. ‘Now, let me guess. How about—Ben Gunn?’

She gasped. ‘How did you know that?’

‘I have a good memory,’ he said. ‘Besides, I knew it wouldn’t be the Lily Maid. Why write about a wuss?’ He paused. ‘Is your mother pleased?’

‘Yes,’ she said a little doubtfully. Angela had been more astonished than pleased, she thought, and had drawn a sharp breath when the school uniform list arrived. ‘Oh, yes.’ She gave him an uncertain look. ‘Are you pleased, too?’

‘Over the moon.’ He picked her up and swung her round. ‘It’s a good school, and you’ll have a great time.’

From the doorway, a girl’s voice said coolly, ‘Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?’

Laine saw the newcomer over Daniel’s shoulder—a tall, leggy blonde, in tiny shorts and a cut-off top that barely covered her breasts.

She looked, Laine thought with disfavour, like one of the Barbie dolls her former classmates had used to bring to school.

Daniel set Laine down without haste, and turned as the girl came wandering over, tossing back her hair, and allowing a condescending smile to play about her full lips as she studied the slight, childish figure standing in front of her.

‘You’re full of surprises, darling.’ She slid an arm through Daniel’s, pressing herself against him with possessive intimacy. ‘I’d never have figured you as the paternal type. So, who’s the baby?’

A protest rose to Laine’s lips, but she swallowed it back, concealing it behind the poker-face she’d learned to assume when trouble loomed.

Daniel said evenly, ‘She’s Simon’s little sister—as you probably knew already. So don’t waste your ammunition, Candida, my sweet, because you may well need it later. Now, why don’t you give Si a hand to get his stuff together for the vacation?’

‘Because I’m not anyone’s slave.’ She kissed him lingeringly on the cheek. ‘Even yours. And he sent me to say that, unless you help him repack the boot, there may not be room for it.’

His sideways glance was faintly caustic. ‘On the other hand, you could unload some of your own cases. That would make more space.’

‘Darling.’ Her voice grew throaty. ‘You’d hardly want me to walk round the villa naked for the next three weeks.’ She giggled. ‘Or would you?’

‘My father’s other guests might well object.’ He detached himself gently. ‘Now, behave yourself and wait in the drawing room while Laine tells her mother that we’re here.’

Her task accomplished, Laine went upstairs and found Simon in his room, hurriedly stowing clothes in a travel bag.

‘Come to help, scrap? Pass me those T-shirts, will you?’

She handed them to him. ‘Aren’t you going to be here for the holidays?’

He heard the wistful note in her voice, and his tone was kind. ‘Not this time, honey. Daniel’s father’s bought a place in Tuscany, and we’re driving down there for our last few weeks of freedom before we get trapped in the workplace.’

She was silent for a moment. ‘Is that lady with Daniel?’

‘Candy? Yes, she is. Why?’

‘I don’t think she’s very nice.’ Laine concentrated on refolding some swimming shorts.

His lips twitched. ‘Now, that,’ he said solemnly, ‘might depend on your point of view. And I’m sure Dan has no complaints.’

There was a stone lodged in her chest. ‘Is he going to marry her?’

He burst out laughing. ‘Good God, no. Our Daniel is definitely not the marrying kind. I can’t see him ever allowing a wife to cramp his style. And this holiday is all strictly casual.’

He studied her for a moment. ‘One day you’ll have boyfriends of your own, Lainie, and then you’ll understand that not all relationships need to be serious.’

He walked over to her and hugged her. ‘Congratulations on getting into Randalls, by the way. It’s just what you need, and you’ll do well there. Things are looking up for you, scrap.’

Were they? Laine wondered as she trailed along the landing. Then why did she feel that the sunlit day had suddenly become dull and full of clouds?

She decided not to go downstairs again, but sought her own bedroom instead, curling up on her favourite window seat and leaning her forehead listlessly against the glass panes.

She kept seeing the way that girl’s hand had touched Daniel’s arm, the pink-tipped fingers stroking his tanned skin. How her body had seemed to curve into his, as if they were part of each other.

There’d been sex education at her school, and she wasn’t sure what she’d hated most—her form teacher’s brisk resumé of the physical facts, or the sniggering crudities exchanged in the playground by her classmates.

Suddenly she felt unhappily that those few awkward moments in the hall had taught her far more about what happened between a man and a woman—and that it was a lesson she could have well done without.

And, although she did not realise it until much later, that revelation marked the end of her childhood.

Not the marrying kind … Nine years further on, Simon’s prophetic words seemed to resound in her brain, and she shook her head impatiently, trying to block them out.

It was time she stopped tormenting herself like this, she thought. What point was there in going back to the past, when it was the present and the future that were going to cause her the real problems?

She stood, looking around the kitchen as if she’d never seen it before.

It was incredibly neat, and immaculately clean, with none of the cheerful clutter that a keen cook might accumulate. The only other change she noticed was the addition of a state-of-the-art coffee machine, which Daniel clearly must save for dinner party use, because she’d only rated a mug of instant.

Oh, get over yourself, she adjured herself impatiently, her mouth twisting. You’re hungry. That’s what’s the matter with you, my girl. Your metabolism’s low, and your spirits are down to match.

You can get through this—but not by turning a drama into a tragedy.

You need to play it cool from now on. Make it clear that now you’ve recovered from the initial surprise of seeing him you can deal with it in a civilised way. And that you are grown up.

Because none of it matters any more. It can’t be allowed to matter, if you’re to retain your grip on your sanity. And if you make too big a fuss you could give him the impression that you still care.

She shivered, her hands balling into fists at her side.

She said aloud, ‘Nothing lasts for ever, and this—situation, too, will pass. It’s just a temporary thing.’

And maybe Jamie’s advice was sound, for once, and a small gesture of reconciliation was called for. So—she would prepare a meal for them both.

At the same time she wanted to prove to him, even in a small way, that she was not the lightweight he seemed to imagine, and that her time on the boat had not been a pleasure cruise, but hard graft.

If nothing else, at least she might gain a modicum of respect.

There was little enough in the freezer, but she retrieved a pack of chicken portions and defrosted them in the microwave. She found onions and garlic in the vegetable rack, and jars of capers and black olives, along with tinned tomatoes and dried pasta in the storage cupboard, and began her preparations.

This is what it might have been like, she thought suddenly, if we’d had a real marriage. I’d have been making dinner just like this, while I waited for him to come home.

Then jeered at herself for her own sentimentality. Their first home together would have been the penthouse in the glamorous apartment block which Daniel had already occupied, which had its own restaurant, with a delivery service. She wouldn’t have been expected to lift a finger. And when they’d eventually set up house, that would have come with a full complement of staff too. Something that would no doubt apply to the house he’d just bought.

She found herself wondering a little wistfully what had happened to the penthouse, recalling how she’d roamed around it open-mouthed the first and only time he’d taken her to see it.

She remembered the sofas like thistledown, the Persian rugs that gleamed like jewels from the vast expanse of polished floor in the living area. She thought of the gleaming bathroom, tiled in a magically misty sea-green, with its enormous tub and the equally spacious shower cabinet. Big enough, she’d told him rapturously, to hold a party in, and had seen his lips twitch.

And most of all she remembered the bedroom. How she’d stood in the doorway, not daring to venture further, and stared speechlessly at the huge bed with its gold silk cover, her mind going into overdrive as the actual implications of being Daniel’s wife came home to her as never before.

Because, up to then, physical contact between them during their brief engagement had been almost minimal, she’d realised with bewilderment. He’d held her after—after Simon, but that had been to comfort her. And he’d kissed her when she’d said she’d marry him. There’d been other kisses since—of course there had—but they’d invariably been light—even teasing. Yet she’d found them intensely disturbing nonetheless.

At no time, however, had there been any real pressure from him to change their relationship to a more intimate level. And, in spite of her happiness and longing, she’d been too shy of him, and too conscious of her own inexperience, to initiate any deeper involvement herself.

It had suddenly occurred to her that they were completely alone together, without fear of interruption, and she was sharply, achingly, aware of him standing just behind her.

Her body had tingled as she’d felt the warmth of his nearness, the stir of his breath on her neck, and she’d wished—desperately—crazily—that he’d turn her into his arms and kiss her with passion and desire, as he’d done so often in her imagination. And that he’d lift her and carry her over to the bed, silencing all her doubts and uncertainties for ever as he made love to her.

Maybe that was why he’d brought her there? Because he didn’t want to wait any longer. He wanted all of her. Everything she had to give.

And maybe he was only waiting for some sign from her.

She had half turned towards him when she realised just in time that he was moving, stepping backwards away from her. He’d said quietly, almost casually, as he glanced at his watch, ‘We should be going.’ He’d paused. ‘If there’s anything about the décor you want to change, you only have to say so.’

And, wrenched by something deeper than disappointment, she’d stammered something inane about the flat being beautiful—perfect. That she wouldn’t want to alter a thing.

She supposed he must have sold it at some point after their separation, but why hadn’t he acquired something similar—with its own gym, swimming pool and every other convenience known to the mind of man—instead of slumming it here?

So he didn’t want to be tied into a long lease? But Daniel Sinclair was a multimillionaire, and could surely dictate his own terms. It made no sense for him to opt merely for this fairly ordinary two-bedroomed job.

She bit her lip. But then Daniel’s motives for doing anything would always be a mystery. And she really had to remember that this was none of her business, anyway.

He was here, and he obviously intended to stay, so her reluctant task was to establish some kind of working neutrality. And speculation would simply cloud the issue.

Besides, if she didn’t ask any questions she could free herself from any obligation to answer them either.

And maybe the whole wretched subject of the marriage that never was could be finally laid to rest.

Maybe.

Could it really—ever—be that simple? she wondered. And told herself that her eyes were suddenly blurred because she was chopping onions. No other reason could be permitted—or even be possible.

CHAPTER FOUR

IT WASN’T an expensive wine. Neither Jamie nor she had aspired to acquiring a vintage collection, even if they could have afforded it. But it was chilled and crisp, and it soothed the dryness of her throat as Laine, curled up in a corner of the sofa, waited for Daniel’s return.

He’d said two hours, but it was now over three. That was, of course, if he planned to return at all. Because it had occurred to her that maybe he’d decided that sharing a roof with her wasn’t worth the hassle, and that he was, even at that moment, arranging alternative accommodation somewhere as far away from her as possible.

Which, in the short term, would solve some of her problems, but inevitably create others in their place.

Practically, she could not afford to occupy the flat alone—unlike Jamie, who’d always earned a much larger salary than she’d done, or at least while he’d still been working at Cowper Dymond.

And right now she couldn’t actually afford to live in the place at all, she reminded herself unhappily. Thankfully, there was no mortgage to pay, but there were plenty of other bills looming large on the horizon, and if she didn’t start earning at once she was going to find herself in real difficulty.

She sighed. As she’d headed home the flat had seemed like a safe refuge. But then investing in Andy’s boat had also appeared to be a good deal.

And there had even been a time when the prospect of becoming Daniel’s wife had been the answer to her prayers—the fulfilment of her most treasured hopes and dreams.

Oh, God, she thought with sudden anguish, the muscles tightening in her throat. How wrong is it possible to be in one short lifetime?

The sound of his key in the door brought her sharply back to the here and now. She leaned back against the cushions, trying to look perfectly relaxed, but realised at the same time that she was clinging to the stem of her glass as if it was a lifeline.

‘Hi.’ She forced a smile as he came in, attempting the nonchalant approach, as if she was quite accustomed to his returning from the office for dinner. As she would have been, of course, if their marriage had ever become a reality.

Don’t think like that—even for a moment. Don’t go there.

‘Good evening.’ He halted for a moment, studying her, his brows raised sardonically. ‘I was quite expecting to find you’d barricaded yourself in during my absence.’

She shrugged, pretending ruefulness. ‘The furniture was just too heavy for me to move.’ She paused. ‘Besides, I talked to Jamie. Found out what had happened.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t believe he could be such an utter fool.’

‘Isn’t that rather naïve of you—considering his past record?’ Daniel tossed the jacket he was carrying over the back of a chair and loosened his tie, before walking over to one of the shelved alcoves which flanked the fireplace and pouring himself a whisky from the tray of decanters which stood there.

He came back, dropping loose-limbed onto the sofa opposite, and for one sharp, unwary moment she felt the breath catch in her throat.

Hurriedly, she pulled herself together. ‘Well—perhaps. But I thought he’d outgrown that—unruly phase. Got his act together.’

‘Well, he now has a chance to do exactly that,’ he said. ‘Perhaps this girl of his can keep him straight. If not, he’s on his own next time.’

‘You think there’ll be one—after this?’

It was his turn to shrug. ‘Who knows? Maybe it isn’t simply a phase, as you put it, but an extra helping of the Sinclair wild streak and impossible to remove, even with surgery.’

She stared at him. ‘What are you talking about? What—streak?’

‘This overweening impulse to go looking for danger.’ His mouth twisted. ‘Simon had it too, remember?’

‘I remember nothing of the kind,’ Laine said curtly.

‘No? Then what took him back to those bloody mountains time after time, constantly pushing himself to go higher—faster—than anyone else?’ His voice was harsh. ‘And what the hell possessed him to go on that last trip—when everyone tried to talk him out of it?’

She stared down at the pale gold of her wine, her throat tightening. ‘I don’t know,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I’ve never known.’

‘Exactly,’ he said.

Her gaze met his with swift defiance. ‘Well, please don’t include me in this absurd generalisation about my family. I certainly don’t go looking for trouble.’

‘But you seem to find it, all the same,’ he said unanswerably. ‘How’s the ankle?’

‘Better,’ she returned. ‘I found some more bandages in the bathroom cupboard and strapped it up again, all ready for my trek to the job centre tomorrow.’

‘I’m pleased to hear it,’ Daniel said smoothly. ‘And you appear to have been busy in other ways.’ He glanced towards the kitchen. ‘Something smells good.’

‘You cleared Jamie’s room for me, so I’ve cooked dinner for you.’ She paused. ‘Chicken puttanesca. I hope you like it.’

‘Thank you, but sadly we’ll never know.’ There was no trace of regret in his tone. ‘I’m going out tonight. I merely came back to change.’

‘Hot date?’ She kept her voice light, faintly amused, ignoring the ludicrous, unreasoning disappointment that speared her.

‘Is there any other kind?’

‘Serious?’

He swallowed some of his whisky, watching her steadily. ‘Is that really any of your business?’

‘Well, yes, in a way,’ Laine countered. ‘I just wonder—if the pair of you are an item—why you don’t move in with the lady instead of living here? It would seem to make more sense—that’s all.’

His glance was cynical. ‘It’s not that serious.’

‘Poor girl.’

‘She can take care of herself,’ he returned curtly. ‘Speaking of which, this could be a good time to get something straight. Put some guidelines in place. Because we’re not playing happy families here, Laine. You’re not Si’s little sister any more. And I’m not your surrogate brother.’

He added icily, ‘Also, in case you’ve forgotten, you lost any right you ever had to enquire into my private life two years ago.’

He allowed her a moment to digest that, then went on, ‘We share this flat, but we maintain our own space at all times. So, if I intend to be here for a meal I’ll let you know, and we’ll make some arrangement about the use of the kitchen. But we both cook for ourselves, and there’ll be no cosying-up round the stove. Understood?’

‘Of course,’ she said tautly, aware that her face had warmed. ‘Although cosy is never a word I’d associate with you. And I’ll make very sure that I repay you for the food I’ve used this evening.’

He said wearily, ‘Don’t be so damned absurd. I’m not actually begrudging you a meal. Just don’t make a habit of it.’

His firm mouth tightened. ‘This is not a situation either of us would have chosen, Laine, but it exists, and we must make the best of it. And we do that by going our own ways and leading our own lives. Right?’ He added, ‘After all, you were the one who said privacy should be respected.’

He waited until she slowly nodded, then finished his whisky and got to his feet, taking the glass into the kitchen. She heard the faint rattle as he put it in the dishwasher.

It all seemed so normal—so domestic, she thought. Except, of course, that it was just the opposite. This was a battleground, and she had to make damned sure she wasn’t a casualty. Not again.

On his way back Daniel paused momentarily, looking down at her, the hazel eyes hard.

‘By the way,’ he added, his voice soft but not gentle, ‘please don’t bother to wait up for me—tonight or any other night.’

And he went across to his room and closed the door, leaving her staring after him from her corner of the sofa as if she’d been frozen there.

Laine was at the stove, draining the pasta to go with the chicken, when she heard the faint slam of the flat door, signalling his departure.

And goodnight and goodbye to you, too, she thought, grinding black pepper over her penne as if she was twisting someone’s throat.

Much of her earlier appetite seemed to have deserted her, but she forced herself to eat at least some of her solitary meal, sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, rather than at the elegant circular dining table in the living room.

I’d feel silly in there on my own, she thought. But I’d have felt an even bigger fool if I’d used the silverware and the crystal and set two places.

Jamie had told her to be nice, but it was difficult to see how that was to be achieved now that her first awkward attempt at rapprochement had been so signally rejected.

But maybe that was for the best too—under the circumstances.

You’re not Si’s little sister any more. Words which told her quite unequivocally—even brutally—that there was nothing left, not even a residual fondness. And certainly none of the reluctant sense of obligation that had led to their marriage.

He’d totally shrugged off his unwanted responsibilities and reclaimed his freedom. At the same time coldly emphasising that Daniel wanted the woman she’d become no more than he’d desired the girl she’d once been.

And that from now on she was on her own in every conceivable way.

Her heart felt like a stone in her chest. It had never occurred to her even for a moment that she could find herself in this impossible situation. All along she’d had just one simple plan—never to be alone with him again. There was no alternative scheme—no fall-back position—because she’d believed with painful confidence that they’d never be necessary.

Yet here she was, she thought wretchedly. Trapped and, for the foreseeable future anyway, helpless.

If it had been the same for him she could perhaps have steeled herself to bear it. Learned to move about in their shared space as if she was tiptoeing on eggshells. Taught herself to edge round him—live on some perimeter of this joint existence.

But the fact was that he didn’t care. Because she didn’t matter enough to make him do so. She’d once been a burden, now she was no more than a nuisance—a vague irritant in the smooth running of his life. Nothing more.

All the pain, the tears, the stumbling days and sleepless nights, and the yawning desolation of loneliness had been hers alone.

And just the knowledge of that was the kind of anguish she’d prayed she would never feel again.

An anguish she could never let him see in the weeks that stretched ahead. Because she wasn’t sure which would be worse to endure—his indifference or his pity.

She swallowed thickly, pushing her plate away, and slid off the stool. Don’t think, she told herself. Keep busy.

She worked like a robot, stacking the dishwasher and selecting a programme, then placing the extra chicken with its thick, aromatic sauce in a covered dish in the fridge, to provide her with her next evening meal, before tidying the kitchen and restoring the stove and surfaces to their earlier pristine gleam.

Making certain she’d leave no trace of her presence for him to complain about there either, she told herself with cold resolve.

It was a long evening. Laine tried watching television, but she soon realised she’d grown completely out of touch with current programming, and found herself flicking restlessly from channel to channel, searching for something that might grip her interest.

In the end she gave up in exasperation, and decided to read instead. There were some books on the alcove shelves that were new to her—most of them thrillers that she guessed had been acquired by Jamie, and each of them triumphantly claiming to be ‘the new number-one bestseller’.

They can’t all be that, surely? she thought, pulling a face as she picked the least overtly lurid. But the story failed to engage her particularly, and the identity of the villain seemed all too obvious even by chapter three, so, sighing, she abandoned that as well.

One of the things she’d managed to rescue from the boat was her address book, and she sat slowly turning over the pages, trying to summon up the courage to ring someone—anyone. Fiona from the gallery, perhaps? Or Celia Welton, her best friend from school, who’d been her bridesmaid at that ill-fated wedding.

At the same time she knew full well that she wouldn’t be doing so—or not yet, anyway. Because she wasn’t ready to face the inevitable questions—especially when it emerged that she and Daniel were back sharing a roof.

She’d been let off the hook when their marriage had ended with such startling suddenness, because people had recognised that she was in desperate pain, and suppressed their natural curiosity and concern, standing back to allow her to recover. Celia, in particular, bewildered but loyal and kind, had helped picked up the pieces.

But this new development would require answers that simply weren’t possible immediately.

Because she was still in shock. She needed time to think things through. To come up with some feasible explanation for everything that had happened to her. And make it clear that sharing a flat with Daniel was not the basis for some kind of reconciliation—and never would be.

She swallowed. Which meant, in turn, that at some point she might be asked about what had happened two years earlier. Why her marriage hadn’t survived the honeymoon, or even the wedding night, given the bleak significance of that swift annulment. Because after this length of time, tact would not be a primary consideration any longer.

And if they did ask, what the hell could she say? she wondered wearily. Certainly not the truth.

And if she tried saying that she’d realised she didn’t love him no one would believe her for a moment. She’d worn her heart on her sleeve too openly and for too long for that.

She didn’t even know when it had begun. When Daniel had stopped being just Simon’s friend, and the surrogate brother he’d alluded to so acidly, and occupied a very different role in her hopes and dreams.

But she could remember very clearly her first half-term at Randalls, when everyone else had gone home for the weekend, being told kindly by the matron that a visitor was coming to take her out to tea.

Simon, she’d thought joyfully. It had to be Simon. But she’d been wrong, because it had been Daniel who had waited in the front hall as she came down the stairs, her heart thundering in nervous excitement.

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I went down to Abbotsbrook to see you, and you weren’t there.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t convenient this time. Mummy had other people coming to stay.’

He nodded. ‘So I gathered. Therefore, I decided to pay you a visit here instead.’

‘But you shouldn’t have,’ she whispered, looking anxiously around. ‘It’s against the rules. We’re only allowed out with immediate family. Mrs Hallam is terribly strict about that. Is Simon with you?’

‘No, he’s off to the Cairngorms, climbing.’ He pulled a face. ‘The ruling passion, once again. I’m here in his place.’

‘Didn’t you want to go with him?’ she asked shyly. Simon might not be here, she thought, but neither was the horrible Candida. The Daniel she knew was back, and she wanted to turn a cartwheel in sheer joy.

‘God, no.’ He shuddered. ‘I get vertigo if I climb a ladder. Now, are you coming out to tea, or not? It’s all fixed. We have your principal’s blessing.’

‘But how? I don’t understand.’

‘Friends in high places, sweetheart.’ He swept her out to the long, low sports car waiting on the drive. ‘My father just happens to be on the board of governors. Mrs H can refuse me nothing. Anyway, I want to know how you’re getting on.’

Over sandwiches, scones with jam and cream, and rich chocolate cake served in the hushed and luxurious environs of a nearby country house hotel, she told him everything, her face glowing. Told him about the challenge of the work, her favourite teachers, the ghastly savoury mince served on Mondays that she hated, the friends she’d already made, and the possibility that next term she might get into the junior swimming team.

‘And Celia Welton has asked her mother if I can stay with them during the Christmas holidays,’ she ended in triumph, adding breathlessly, ‘Coming here is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

‘Well,’ he said lightly, and smiled at her across the teatime debris. ‘That’s all right, then.’

Rules and regulations notwithstanding, his visits had become a regular and anticipated feature of her life at Randalls, and Laine had soon found herself being quizzed about him by some of the senior girls, who tended to be much in evidence when he was expected.

‘A kind of brother?’ one of them had echoed enviously after her stumbling explanation. ‘Daniel Flynn, no less. My God, I should be so lucky. Sex on legs, and rich with it.’

Was that when it had started—when her ideas about him had begun to change? Perhaps. All she could remember, as she’d progressed into her teens, was suddenly finding herself awkward and tongue-tied whenever he was around. Fantasising about him in ways she was ashamed to recall. Longing desperately to see him, but crippled with shyness when he appeared.

And eventually, unable to deal with the confused riot of emotion inside her, making excuses not to see him at all—citing too much work, an extra games practice. She had not, of course, been able to totally avoid him at Abbotsbrook, where she’d had less control over the matter.

But when he’d been there, he’d had little time to spare for her, anyway. When he and Simon had visited they’d invariably been on their way somewhere else, and accompanied by an ever-changing—and interchangeable—series of girls, usually blonde. Laine had privately and contemptuously dismissed them as ‘The Clones’, even while she had secretly bitten her nails down to the quick with the most savage and primitive form of jealousy, and despised herself for it.

But that had by no means been her only problem. Her mother had become more anxious about money, and more discontented all the time, and her complaints had made Laine feel embarrassed and inadequate.

‘You’d think Simon would help out more,’ Angela had said bitterly on that last occasion. ‘I thought that’s why he’d abandoned his plan to join the Forestry Commission and taken that job at the bank.’

Laine said nothing. She knew how much it had cost Simon to give up his cherished dream and work in the City instead. Small wonder he was devoting so much of his free time to his beloved climbing, she thought. He was now becoming known as a mountaineer, and had already been on a number of expeditions to the Alps and the Dolomites. But Laine knew that his sights were set on more distant horizons than that, and it worried her a little.

And, on a more personal level, Simon was causing her concern too.

‘I’m having dinner with an old friend,’ he’d told her casually a few months earlier, when he’d visited her at school. ‘Remember Candy, who used to date Daniel years ago?’

‘Yes,’ Laine had said quietly. ‘I remember.’ And had crossed her fingers that it would stop at dinner.

But it hadn’t. And it seemed that each time Laine went home Candy was there, all smiles and charm, cooing over Angela, praising the house, and rhapsodising over Graham Sinclair’s books.

‘I had no idea Simon was related to that Sinclair,’ she’d enthused. ‘My God, I’m such a fan.’

Laine had been tempted to ask which of the novels she liked best, certain that she hadn’t read any of them, but had controlled the impulse.

‘Mum,’ she said, one evening when they were alone. ‘Is it serious, do you think, this Simon and Candy thing?’

Her mother put down her magazine. ‘It’s certainly going that way. They’re talking about an engagement. Why do you ask?’

‘It just seems odd—when she was Dan’s girlfriend originally.’

Angela laughed indulgently. ‘My dear child, that was years ago, and a lot of water’s flowed under the bridge since then. Dan is very wealthy, of course, especially now that his father is dead, and he has charm to spare, but I think Candy knew quite early in their relationship that it was going nowhere.

‘And Dan certainly lost no time in replacing her many times over, so he was hardly heartbroken when they split. In fact, I understand that it’s all been very civilised, and he may well be best man at the wedding.’

She paused. ‘It doesn’t matter to you, surely, that she was once Dan’s girlfriend? For God’s sake, Elaine, tell me you’re not still harbouring that ridiculous childhood crush where he’s concerned. Because that would be too sad—and horribly embarrassing.’

‘No,’ Laine said quietly. ‘I don’t have a crush on Daniel Flynn.’

Although perhaps that’s how I should have tried to see it—before it was too late, Laine thought now, leaning back and closing her eyes, wearily. As the kind of worship I’d have probably given a film star or a rock musician in other circumstances. Something transient that I could look back on one day and smile.

Instead, I made him the sun in my sky. The centre of my universe. The focus of everything I wanted from life. And that made me—vulnerable. Especially when I was seventeen and came face to face with my first personal tragedy.

She’d had no presentiment that anything was going to happen. Her only real foreboding had concerned Simon and Candy’s wedding, which had been scheduled to take place in the summer. And for which she would be required to wear lavender taffeta.

But, quite apart from that, she had known in her heart that Candy was the last person in the world she’d have chosen as a sister-in-law. And suspected the feeling was mutual.

Their only common ground was the vexed subject of Simon’s climbing. Candy had been uneasy about it and so had she—especially when he’d been invited at the last minute to go to Annapurna in place of someone who was ill.

‘It’s the chance of a lifetime,’ he’d said buoyantly. ‘Serious stuff. A dream come true.’ His face had clouded slightly. ‘But I’ve promised Candy that I’ll cut down once we’re married. She says it’s no longer a hobby but an obsession, and she could be right.’

Laine swallowed, remembering how she’d been sent for by the headmistress, and had gone to her study filled with trepidation, wondering what she’d done to fall from grace. But Mrs Hallam’s expression had spoken of distress rather than severity, and she’d risen and came round the desk, taking Laine’s hands in hers. An unheard-of gesture.

‘My dear,’ she said gravely. ‘I’m afraid I have some very sad news for you.’ She hesitated, shaking her head sorrowfully, and Laine thought, Daniel—oh, please God, don’t let anything have happened to Daniel.

‘What—is it?’ She hardly recognised her own voice.

‘Elaine, dear, there is no easy way to say this. It’s—your brother—Simon. There’s been an accident, and he and another man have been killed.’

‘Simon?’ Shock mingled with shame that her first thought—her instinctive prayer—had been about Daniel. ‘Oh, no—please. There must be some mistake.’

Mrs Hallam bent her head. ‘Laine—I’m so sorry.’

She heard herself give a little moan, and was gently encouraged to sit in one of the armchairs normally reserved for visitors, told that tea had been sent for, and that matron was packing a case for her, because her brother was expected at some time during the next hour to take her home.

‘Would you like a friend—Celia, perhaps—to sit with you until he arrives?’

‘No, thank you. I—I think I’d rather be alone. If that’s all right.’

And Mrs Hallam nodded and quietly withdrew.

A member of the kitchen staff brought the tea, poured it out for her, and pressed the cup and saucer into her hands.

Where they remained, the tea cold and untouched, half an hour later, when the study door opened and Daniel came in.

She stood up, spilling some of the liquid on her skirt. She said numbly, ‘It’s you. I—I thought Jamie was coming.’

‘He was, but your mother became hysterical at the idea of being left.’

He took the cup and saucer from her shaking hand and replaced them on the tray. He said gently, ‘They’ve put your case in my car, Laine. We can go as soon as you feel able.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t seem to—feel anything at all. Not yet. You see, I—I can’t quite believe it.’

‘No one can.’

She stared down at the carpet. ‘What happened—do you know?’

He said quietly, ‘Details are sketchy, but it seems there was some kind of rock fall, and he and an Italian guy were swept away.’

‘Oh, God,’ she whispered, horrified.

‘Si had named Jamie as next of kin, and he was the one they notified before the newscasts went out. He was meeting your mother for lunch. She’d gone up to London to do some shopping with Candida, and he asked me to go with him to break the news.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘It was—truly bad. One of the worst moments of my life.’

He sighed. ‘Jamie drove them down to Abbotsbrook, and the doctor’s seen them and prescribed sedatives. But your mother still wouldn’t let Jamie out of her sight.’

‘I can hardly blame her for that.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m ready to leave now.’

They had been travelling for twenty minutes when she said, in a small stifled voice, ‘Could you stop, please? I think I’m going to be sick.’

Daniel pulled over onto the verge and she stumbled out, kneeling on the short grass, her shoulders hunched as she retched dryly and painfully over and over again, until at last the harsh sounds became gasping sobs, and tears followed.

He lifted her and held her close, his hand cupping the back of her head as she wept into his shoulder in a fierce, cleansing outpouring of grief.

Cry while you can, an icy voice in her brain seemed to be saying, even as she clung to him. But do it here and now. Because when you get to Abbotsbrook you’ll have to provide comfort to your mother, and the girl who was nearly Simon’s widow. And you’ll have to sort Jamie out too.

At last, when there seemed to be no tears left, she leaned against him, trembling a little, knowing that she did not want to move out of the warmth of his embrace.

He was the first to detach himself, holding her deliberately away from him as he looked down at her pale, unhappy face. He said quietly, ‘We have to get back. People will be waiting for us.’

He retrieved a bottle of mineral water from the cool box in the boot and made her drink most of it, before damping his handkerchief with the remainder and wiping away the worst of the tearstains.

‘You’re going to need all your strength, Laine,’ he told her almost abruptly as he started the engine. ‘These next few days are not going to be easy.’

If you would only hold me, she thought, I could face anything. Even—this.

But she said nothing, sitting beside him in silence for the rest of the journey.

When they arrived at Abbotsbrook, Daniel carried her bag into the house and set it down in the hall.

‘I have things to do, Laine.’ His voice sounded almost curt. ‘I’ll be back later.’

She watched him go, controlling an impulse to run after him. Beg him not to leave her. Because she had to be strong, she thought. Starting now.

As she heard the car’s engine die away someone said her name, and she saw Jamie emerging from the drawing room, his face pale and set.

He came over and gave her an awkward hug. ‘God, sis, I can’t believe it, can you? I keep thinking that I’m going to wake up at any moment, and find it’s all been a bad dream.’ He looked past her. ‘Where’s Dan? They’ve both been asking for him.’

‘He had to go.’ She hesitated. ‘Jamie, I don’t want to seem heartless, but wouldn’t it be better if Candida could be looked after by her own family? We’re going to have our hands full.’

‘I suggested it, naturally, but it seems she doesn’t get on with her mother.’ He shook his head. ‘The drive down was a nightmare. She kept saying that Annapurna was cursed, and she’d known something dreadful was going to happen. You can imagine the effect that had on Ma,’ he added heavily.

She nodded. ‘Is she using Simon’s room?’

‘Well, yes. She just walked in there and shut the door. I—didn’t know what to say. After all, it’s where she’s always slept when she’s stayed here, I suppose.’

She sighed. ‘I suppose so too—and yet.’ She patted his shoulder. ‘I’ll go and sit with Mother. Wait for her to wake up.’

And wait for Dan to come back too. Because he was Simon’s best friend, and for that reason, if no other, he’ll be here for us. Or for a while, at least. Until the mourning time is over, and we all pick up our lives again somehow.

She did not dare look any further into the future than that. Because she knew it would be like staring down into an abyss. A terrible place that she had never known existed until this moment. But which seemed, somehow, to have been waiting for her the whole of her life.

CHAPTER FIVE

SHE moved at last, slowly and stiffly, wondering just how long she’d been sitting there, staring into space. Knowing, however, that it was getting late, and that she had no wish to be found hanging round like a cobweb in the corner when Daniel returned.

On the other hand, she felt too much on edge to guarantee she was going to get the night’s sleep she so badly needed. She had embarked on a long and painful journey, she thought with a pang, and it was not finished yet. Not by any means.

But once it was over, and the past had finally been laid to rest, she might be able to find peace—of a kind.

In the short term, something soothing to drink might help, she decided, trailing into the kitchen. Perhaps Mrs Evershott’s tried and trusted remedy for insomnia would be the answer.

She heated milk and poured it into a beaker, adding a spoonful of honey and a grating of nutmeg, wondering, as she did so, what had happened to the housekeeper who’d looked after them all for so long. Hoping that she’d found a family who would value her as she deserved, and not become another casualty of the upheaval that had affected all their lives.

She took the beaker into the room she would now have to think of as hers, and sipped the milk slowly as she prepared for bed. Her final action before she climbed under the covers was to return her address book to her bag.

It would be far better at this stage simply to keep quiet about her return, she told herself. To find a job, keep her head down, and wait for Daniel to finish refurbishing his property and move out before she made contact with any old friends.

It would not be for long, she told herself. Nothing lasted for ever—not joy, not grief, perhaps not love either—and this present situation would also pass—eventually.

She might even be able to make a joke of it. It was hideously awkward, of course. And as he was leaving we agreed it was just as well we didn’t stay married, or we’d have surely killed each other.

Or she could be terribly casual and civilised instead. No, it wasn’t really a problem. We were always friends, you know, long before the marriage thing. And now we’re friends again, so it worked out well, in a funny way.

It might be better not to mention it at all. Pretend it had never happened.

She stifled a sigh. She would decide on her approach as and when it became necessary. And for the time being she had other priorities.

Switching off the lamp, she turned on her side and tried to relax. To compose herself for sleep. But her mind was relentlessly awake and buzzing with images.

With memories as sharp and painful as a knife wound.

Simon’s body, and that of his climbing partner Carlo Marchetti, had never been recovered—even though Daniel had travelled out to the base camp with offers of money and resources to spearhead a renewed search—so it had been a memorial service rather than a funeral that had taken place at their local parish church.

And the days leading up to it had been just as bad as Daniel had warned, or even worse, with Laine’s own grieving process having to be put on hold while she supported her mother through this crisis.

And not just her mother. Because Candida had seemed to take up residence, as if she was Simon’s widow, and Laine had begun to wonder if she had any plans to leave.

At the service Angela had looked ethereal, in a new and expensive black velvet coat, as she’d walked, with Jamie, down the aisle of the crowded church to the front pew. Candida had followed, clinging to Daniel’s arm, thus ensuring that Laine was left to bring up the rear.

Many of the mourners had come back to the house afterwards, and Laine had been kept busy helping Mrs Evershott offer sherry and other refreshments, while her mother had drooped on the sofa, with Candida in close attendance.

And when everyone had gone, it had been time for another ritual—the reading of Simon’s will.

It had been made hurriedly, just before his departure, and he’d only had one thing of real value to bequeath—a flat in Mannion Place, London, which he’d inherited from his father, and left jointly to Jamie and Laine, together with the accruing rent from the flat’s sitting tenants, a Mr and Mrs Beaumont.

‘What is this nonsense?’ Angela was suddenly wilting no longer, but sitting bolt upright, her eyes blazing. ‘That property was part of my husband’s estate. I always understood Simon was to have a life interest only. So it should have reverted to me.’

Mr Hawthorn, the family solicitor, had coughed dryly. ‘No, it was an outright bequest, Mrs Sinclair, and your son was entitled to dispose of it as he saw fit. And his brother and sister are his sole beneficiaries.’

Even in the depth of her bewilderment at this turn of events, Laine was suddenly conscious of Candida’s white face and set mouth, and realised that Simon’s last wishes had not mentioned her either.

Daniel had deliberately stayed away from the reading, and eventually Laine went in search of him, thankful to escape from the house for a while. She found him at the end of the garden, standing on the bank of the river, skimming stones across the surface of the water, his face grim. She said his name with a touch of uncertainty and he turned to look at her, with no lightening of his expression.

‘Is there something you want?’

She tried to smile. ‘Just to get away for a while.’ She paused. ‘I suppose you know about Simon’s legacy?’

It was Dan’s turn to hesitate. ‘He mentioned it—yes. You should be pleased. I gather it’s a valuable piece of real estate.’

‘It must be,’ she said. ‘Judging by the tide of ill-feeling running at the moment.’ She bit her lip. ‘My mother is suggesting that Jamie and I should refuse the bequest and pass the flat, and its rent, over to her.’

‘Well, Jamie must make up his own mind,’ he said flatly. ‘But fortunately any decision is out of your hands until you’re eighteen. And at present I imagine your trustees will take a very different view of the matter.’

‘Maybe Si should have left the flat to Candida,’ she said slowly. ‘After all, she was going to be his wife, and she gets nothing,’ she added, hating herself for not caring more. ‘I suppose he assumed he’d be coming back, and could change things later.’

He turned back to the river. ‘Yes,’ he said harshly. ‘I believe that’s exactly what he thought.’

‘It’s so awful without him,’ she said, in a small, subdued voice. ‘Everything’s such a mess.’

‘More than you know.’ He spoke the words half under his breath, then forced a faint smile as she looked at him in bewilderment. ‘But you’ll soon be out of it, Laine. After all, you’ll be going back to Randalls in a few days.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Is it very dreadful of me to wish I was there now?’

‘No,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t think so. I think Si would understand completely.’

There was another silence, then she said, ‘The boat’s there,’ nodding towards the elderly dinghy. She added wistfully, ‘Do you think we might go out in it—for old times’ sake?’

‘No time, I’m afraid.’ His voice was crisp and cool. ‘I have to be leaving. I fly to Sydney tomorrow, and I have some stuff to collate before I go.’

‘Oh,’ she said, struggling to hide her disappointment. ‘I see. Yes, of course. And I’d better go back too. They’ll be wondering where I am.’ She hesitated again. ‘Dan—about the flat. Someone should talk to Mother—calm her down like Simon used to do.’ She swallowed. ‘I suppose you couldn’t …?’

‘Too damned right.’ There was real anger in his voice. ‘Get it into your head, Laine. I am not Simon, and I can’t take his place—even if I wanted to. Besides, he couldn’t divert your mother once she’d really got her teeth stuck into a grievance. You know that.’

‘I suppose so.’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Then do nothing,’ he said. ‘She’ll get over it. You concentrate on passing your exams and going off to university next year. You have a career to plan—a future—a whole life. You have to let your mother go her own way, for better or worse.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She was more than sorry. She was mortified. ‘I didn’t mean to impose.’

He said more gently, ‘And I didn’t mean to snap. Maybe a few weeks in Australia will bring me back in a better temper.’

Just as long as it brings you back …

He paused, looking down at her, and for a dizzy moment she thought he was going to touch her cheek. Or even—kiss her. And almost—for one infinitesimal moment—she swayed towards him.

But instead he said quietly, ‘Things will improve with time, Laine. Believe me.’ And walked quickly away.

But he was wrong, Laine thought, twisting restlessly and trying to fight her pillow into a more manageable shape. As she had so soon found out.

It had been three days later, on her return from the village, where she’d been posting another batch of replies to the letters of condolence, that she’d sought out her mother in the drawing room.

She said, ‘I’ve just found my school trunk in the hall. What’s going on? How did it get here?’

Angela was sitting on the sofa, glancing through a fashion magazine. She said, ‘I had it sent for. See that it’s unpacked, please. It’s terribly in the way.’

‘But why?’ Laine stared at her. ‘It’s nowhere near the end of term, and I have stacks of coursework to catch up with. I can’t afford any more time off.’

‘And I can’t afford any more of the expense of keeping you at that school.’ Angela put down the magazine and looked up at her daughter. ‘Therefore I telephoned to Mrs Hallam and said you would not be returning to Randalls because from now on you were needed at home. She quite understood.’

‘Which is more than I do.’ Laine swallowed. ‘Mother, my fees are paid from the bursary—unless it’s been withdrawn for some reason. Has it?’

‘Not as far as I’m aware. But it doesn’t cover everything. Think of all the items of uniform I’ve had to replace, as well as the extras—your piano lessons, for instance. It simply can’t go on.’

Laine felt suddenly very cold. ‘But I have to go back to school. How else am I going to get to university?’

‘I’m afraid you’re not.’ Her mother sounded almost brisk. ‘I’ve only just finished subsidising Jamie, and I’ve no intention of starting again with you. Anyway, I have to consider the running costs of this house, and now that Simon is no longer here to help with the finances savings have to be made.’

She paused. ‘I have therefore decided to let Mrs Evershott go, and we will have to manage the housework and cooking between us.’

‘You’re sacking Evvy?’ Laine was aghast. ‘But you can’t.’

‘I’ve already done so,’ Angela said shortly. ‘While she’s working out her notice you’ll spend time with her, learning how to run the house. Don’t forget it was only last term that I paid a small fortune for you to go on that cookery course in Normandy,’ she added acidly. ‘I only hope it was money well-spent. At any rate, it’s high time you made yourself useful round here.’

Laine’s heart sank like a stone. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please say you don’t mean this.’ She swallowed. ‘We’re talking about my life, here.’

‘And what about my life?’ There was a sudden strident note in her mother’s voice. ‘Do you realise what it’s been like for me since your father died? The way I’ve been stuck down here—having to coax people down to stay three weekends out of four to avoid going mad with boredom?’

She got to her feet, walking restlessly round the room. ‘This house has been nothing but a burden for years—and it’s a burden you’re going to share, Elaine, or at least until you’re eighteen.’

She paused, then added brusquely, ‘Ask Mrs Evershott for some plastic bags for your school uniform. You won’t be needing any of it again, and it can go with the rest of the rubbish tomorrow.’

Laine watched her return to her seat and reach for the magazine again. Then she moved, slowly and stiffly, crossing to the door and closing it quietly behind her. She stood for a moment in the hallway, feeling stunned—battered—as if Angela had hit her, knocking her to the floor.

She supposed she’d always known instinctively that she wasn’t her mother’s favourite, but if she’d hoped that they would somehow be drawn closer in their mourning for Simon she now realised how mistaken she was.

I feel as if I don’t know her, she thought. As if I’ve spent my whole life living with a stranger.

Yet, looking back, she could see the resentment had always been there, never far from the surface. But not targeting her—or not openly—and certainly not until then.

However, she soon realised she was not the only sufferer, when she made her reluctant way to the kitchen and saw Mrs Evershott’s white face and compressed lips.

‘Oh, Evvy.’ Distressed, she put her arms round the older woman’s rigid figure and hugged her. ‘I’m so sorry.

‘I would never have believed it,’ the housekeeper said tonelessly. ‘Never credited that Mrs Sinclair could treat me like this after all these years.’ She swallowed. ‘It would never have happened, Miss Laine, if poor Mr Simon had been spared. Never.’

Along with so much else, Laine thought, as she lay, staring sightlessly into the darkness. And especially, crucially, her brief and bitter marriage.

All the demons were out of the box now, tormenting her wincing mind. Reminding her, with merciless precision, of everything that had happened in those bleak, bewildering weeks, when she’d gone from a girl with all her hopes and dreams in front of her to being a glorified domestic servant.

There had been nights at first when she had fallen into bed exhausted from the non-stop cooking and cleaning and her mother’s incessant demands. But she’d been young and strong, and eventually she had established a workable routine largely drawn from her predecessor’s neatly compiled roster of household tasks.

And in the middle of it all she had become eighteen years old. There had been no party—Angela had said tearfully that it was too soon for any celebration—but Celia and some of Laine’s other friends had driven over from Randalls at the weekend and taken her out for a meal in Market Lambton, followed by a visit to its only nightclub, and for a few hours she’d been able to hide her unhappiness behind a shield of music and laughter.

On her actual birthday she had received a watch from her mother, an iPod from Jamie, and a surprise parcel from her late grandmother, sent on by the trustees, which contained Mrs Sinclair’s pearls and her copy of Tennyson’s Idylls of the King, complete with the legend of Lancelot and Elaine.

And also out of the blue had come a messengered bouquet of eighteen pink roses from Daniel, with a velvet box tucked in among them holding a pair of gold earrings, shaped like flowers, with a tiny diamond at each centre.

‘Charming,’ Angela commented with a touch of acidity, as Laine shyly showed them off over dinner. ‘But surely a little over the top for a child of your age.’

Jamie leaned forward, his gaze flicking from his mother’s raised brows to Candida’s faint scowl, and smiled. ‘On the contrary,’ he drawled. ‘Maybe Dan’s giving us all a salutary reminder that Lainie’s now officially a woman. And entitled to a life of her own,’ he added pointedly. ‘Together with the ability to make decisions about it.’

There was an odd silence, then, ‘Oh, don’t be absurd,’ Angela said shortly, and turned the conversation to other topics, leaving Laine wondering, and even a little uneasy.

Yet nothing could have prepared her for the bombshell that had exploded a few days later, or its implications for her future.

And for which, even now, she was still experiencing the fallout.

She turned over, punching her pillow into submission, then burying her face in it. Telling herself to relax, because everything would seem better after a good night’s sleep, but knowing at the same time that it wasn’t true.

That the pain would still be there waiting for her when she opened her eyes.

It was very early when she awoke next morning, and she lay for a moment, totally disorientated, listening to the distant hum of city traffic as opposed to the creak of a boat at anchor.

Her eyes felt as if they were full of sand, and her throat was equally dry—almost as if she’d been crying in her sleep, making her glad she could not remember her dreams.

She glanced at the illuminated dial of her bedside clock and sat up, pushing her hair back from her face. She had a full day ahead of her, she reminded herself, and turning over for another doze was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

She bathed and put on her underwear, then looked along the wardrobe rail for job-hunting gear. However limited her options, she needed to make the most of them, which meant looking neat and efficient, she thought, pulling out a black skirt and another of her white cotton shirts. Both were clean, but creased, demanding a short stint at the ironing board before they presented the correct image.

Belted into her robe, she opened her door cautiously and peeped into the living room, but everything in the flat seemed quiet and completely still. And long may it remain so, Laine thought, as she trod silently on bare feet to the tall built-in kitchen cupboard where the iron was stored. Especially as it seemed Daniel now chose to sleep with his bedroom door slightly ajar for some reason and, accordingly, she needed to keep the noise level down.

Her task accomplished, she was creeping back to her room, with the freshly pressed garments over her arm, when it suddenly occurred to her that Daniel’s door was open because that was how he’d left it when he went out the previous evening.

And that could only mean.

She swallowed convulsively, the clothes crushed against her as if they were some form of defence, as she told herself that, whether he was there or not, it was none of her business. That it could not be allowed to matter to her one way or the other. And, that for her own peace of mind, it was much better not to know.

She was still telling herself all this as the door gave easily to her hand, affording her a perfect view of the empty room, and the wide, smooth bed, with its unruffled covers. Providing absolute confirmation, if it had ever been needed, that Daniel had spent the night somewhere else entirely.

So now you know, she told herself stonily. And what good has it done you?

You’re not married to him, and you never were—not in the real sense of the word. Which was your own decision. No one else’s. And you’re quite well aware that he’s not going to sleep alone just because you turned him away. You’ve been aware of it for two whole years, so you should be used to it by now.

He’s not your husband, and he never was, so it’s ludicrous to feel like this. To feel sick—hurt—betrayed, as if he’s been unfaithful to you. To allow jealousy to rip through you like a poisoned claw. To imagine him with another woman, making love, sharing with her everything that you could have had, but that you deliberately denied yourself.

She said aloud, ‘I can’t let this happen. I can’t think like this and stay sane. So I have to close myself off—to become, in effect, blind, deaf and dumb while the present situation endures.

‘And when it’s finally over, and he’s gone, I can let myself deal with it and begin to feel again. To become, at last, a whole person. ‘Somehow …’

A few hours later she had a job—although not without a certain reluctance on the part of her new employer.

‘You’re very young to be a Citi-Clean operative,’ Mrs Moss commented, looking at Laine over her glasses. ‘We usually prefer more mature ladies. Our clients are all professional people, and they demand high standards.’ She shook her head. ‘You don’t seem the type, Miss Sinclair.’

Laine gave her an equable smile. ‘I assure you, I’m quite used to hard work.’

‘Well, I’ve had two of my best girls leave recently, so I’m short-staffed at the moment. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to give you a month’s trial,’ the older woman said grudgingly. ‘I supply uniforms, and all cleaning materials, and I don’t expect them to be wasted. Also, I’ll need two character references. I’m very strict about that. After all, most of our work is done in the absence of the client.’

She ran quickly through the wages, which were reasonable, and the hours, which were long, adding, ‘You’ll be paired with Denise—she’s one of my most experienced staff. She’ll assess you, and report back to me.’

Her gaze went down to Laine’s strapped ankle, and she pursed her lips dubiously. ‘Cleaning is physically demanding, Miss Sinclair. I hope you’re strong enough to stand up to it?’

‘A slight wrench,’ Laine told her. ‘It will be fine by Monday.’

Mrs Moss sniffed. ‘Then I’ll expect you to report here at seven thirty a.m. And I require punctuality.’

I don’t think, Laine reflected as she left the Citi-Clean office, that Mrs Moss and I are destined to be friends. But what the hell? I’m not qualified to do much else, and it’s not a lifetime commitment.

However, she promised herself, once these next difficult weeks are over, I can start to make some real plans.

She celebrated her return to the workplace by going into a small café, and treating herself to one of its massive all-day breakfasts, complete with a mountain of toast and a pot of very strong tea, courtesy of the Sinclair Rescue Fund. She’d been putting the iron away earlier when she’d suddenly remembered the old coffee jar, hidden behind the cleaning materials, where she and Jamie had kept spare cash for any domestic emergencies that might arise.

She had told herself that Jamie would almost certainly have emptied it before he left, but he must have forgotten it too, or been in too much of a hurry, because she’d found an unbelievable sixty pounds tucked away there, which, with care, would take care of her most pressing needs.

It would certainly spare her a visit to the bank, which, she recalled, biting her lip, had totally opposed her investment in the boat charter business, and advised most stringently against it. They probably wouldn’t say I told you so, but they’d almost certainly regard her as a bad risk until she could prove she’d stabilised her finances.

And it would also save her the ultimate humiliation of having to ask for help from Daniel—especially as he’d offered a financial settlement at the time of their separation which her lawyer had described as ‘astonishingly generous—under the circumstances’, and which she, wounded to the heart by those same circumstances, had turned down flat.

She’d added curtly, ‘Please tell Mr Flynn that I want nothing from him except the ending of the marriage. Not now. Not ever.’

And that, she thought, had been the last contact between them, even at third hand, until the horror of yesterday. It was also something Daniel was unlikely to have forgiven—or forgotten.

Sighing, Laine finished the last of the tea and rose reluctantly from the table, aware that the rest of the day stretched endlessly in front of her, and that the prospect of returning to the solitude of the flat held no appeal whatsoever.

She didn’t want to be within eyeshot of that empty bedroom. Didn’t want to start thinking about Daniel again, wondering where he’d been last night, and who he’d been with. Although she knew that was pretty much inevitable—wherever she was and however hard she might try to avoid it. The same questions had dogged her now for two years, and she was totally and miserably at a loss to know how to clear them from her mind.

Maybe deep hypnosis would help? she reflected wryly. Or even a full frontal lobotomy. Anything that would once and for all remove the images that came back so relentlessly to torment her. The latest, of course, being the imprint of Daniel without his clothes that was now permanently etched into her brain.

Oh, God, how I needed that, she thought with irony.

Perhaps a walk would help? she decided, gingerly testing her ankle. A brief visit to some of her favourite haunts might re-establish the fact that she was back in London. Make her feel more grounded.

Not that she’d ever really wanted to live in the city, but after the end of her marriage her options had been limited, particularly as there had been no Abbotsbrook to return to. Her entire life had had to change, right there and then.

So, as the Beaumonts had decided to give up their tenancy of the Mannion Place flat in favour of a retirement apartment on a golf course complex in Portugal, it had seemed the obvious—the only—answer to move in there with Jamie. Especially when a job as an assistant in a fashionable West End art gallery had been frankly wangled for her by Celia’s father, who had some financial interest in the place.

Which meant, on the face of it, she had everything she could possibly ask for, as she consistently and monotonously reminded herself, while she tried desperately to pretend at the same time that there was no great black hole of loneliness and misery at the centre of her little universe.

But she couldn’t pretend any more. Nor could she tell herself that Daniel belonged in the past, when here he was—right at the centre of the present.

And neither could she run away again, no matter what the provocation might be.

This time she would stay and face the pain.

It was early evening when she got back to the flat, to discover Daniel was there before her, his briefcase tossed onto one of the sofas and his door firmly closed.

After a brief hesitation, she walked across to his room, and knocked. There was a much longer pause, then the door was flung open and he confronted her unsmilingly, tying the belt of a dark blue silk robe around him.

‘Do you have some in-built radar that lets you know when I’ve just come out of the shower?’ he asked caustically.

‘I’m sorry.’ She wished to heaven she didn’t sound so flustered. Or that she didn’t remember the last occasion quite so clearly. Although this time he was at least wearing a covering of sorts, she told herself, furious to find that she was blushing. ‘I—I need to speak to you, but later will do.’

‘Say what you have to say now,’ Daniel directed crisply. ‘I’m going out later.’

And staying out all night again? The question was bitten back before she was betrayed into asking it aloud.

It seemed infinitely safer to look down at the floor instead, she thought, aware of the flurry of her pulses. ‘Actually—I have a favour to ask.’

‘Have you, indeed?’ In spite of everything, she was aware that he was looking her over sardonically, taking in the primly buttoned blouse and the discreet length of her black skirt. ‘Shouldn’t you be dressed rather more seductively, in that case? Or have I mistaken the kind of favour?’ He paused. ‘But then it would hardly be the first mistake I’ve made where you’re concerned—would it, sweetheart?’

‘Dan—please.’ She took a deep breath, still avoiding his gaze. ‘Can we not.? I mean—you—you’re not making this very easy for me.’

‘Easy—for you?’ His laugh was brief and harsh. ‘Is that supposed to be a consideration here? Do you think it was easy for me to go to my lawyers and tell them I’d been rejected by my bride after less than twenty-four hours of marriage?’

Laine heard the corrosively angry note in his voice, and flinched.

‘No,’ she said, swallowing. ‘No, I don’t think that. And I realise, of course, that I have no right to ask for your help, and I apologise.’

‘Wait,’ he said, as she turned away. ‘What is it you wanted?’

She lifted her chin. ‘I found a job today, but it involves working in people’s homes when they’re not there, so I need a character reference.’

He was frowning. ‘What kind of a job?’

‘With a company called Citi-Clean,’ she said, bracing herself. ‘They provide daily maid services to blocks of private flats.’

‘My God,’ he said softly. ‘The wheel comes full circle.’

It was the reaction she’d expected, and she accepted it without wincing. ‘But at least this time I’ll be paid the market rate,’ she said. ‘I even get a uniform.’ She paused. ‘But I do need a recommendation. Actually, I need two, but Fiona at the gallery where I used to work is supplying the other. I think she was just thankful I wasn’t there to ask for my old job back.’ She realised she was babbling and stopped, adding only, ‘So—could you?’

‘And what am I supposed to say?’ Dan asked softly. ‘To swear that you’re entirely to be trusted and give complete satisfaction at all times? But then I’d be committing a kind of perjury—wouldn’t I, darling?’

‘If that’s how it seems.’ Pain lashed out at her, but she forced herself to stand her ground. To speak steadily even though her face was warming helplessly again under his jibe. ‘But I think the company’s main concern is thieving, and you can’t say I’ve ever stolen anything from you. Maybe you could simply mention that? Give things a more positive spin, perhaps?’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘For a moment there I wondered if you were expecting me to play the knight in shining armour again, and come to your rescue. Because that would be absurdly optimistic, even for you.’

She was turning to go, but she spun round to face him, her eyes blazing. ‘Let’s get something straight, shall we?’ she said, her voice husky. ‘Dispel this damned myth once and for all. I am not Elaine, the Lily Maid of Astolat, and I never thought of you as Sir bloody Lancelot—not even for a moment.’

‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ he said coolly. ‘According to the poem he was more than twice her age.’He allowed her to assimilate that for a moment, then added, ‘But I’m still capable of the occasional act of chivalry, so leave the address of this cleaning company where I can see it, and I’ll get my secretary to write to them.’

She bit her lip. ‘I—I’m very grateful.’

‘Thanks for the assurance,’ he said. ‘But I already know the limits you impose on your gratitude, along with all your other warmer emotions. So let’s leave this favour as the first and last—shall we, my sweet?’

And he stepped back into the room and closed the door, leaving her standing outside, staring at the closed panels, her arms folded almost protectively across her body.

As if, she thought with bitter self-mockery, she was still attempting some useless defence against a threat that clearly no longer existed. If indeed it ever had.

But as she went slowly back to her own room she found herself remembering that note of anger in his voice. Anger, she realised, mixed with something else much less easy to define. And she shivered.

CHAPTER SIX

THE wheel comes full circle …

Daniel’s words seemed to echo and re-echo in her mind as she lay on the bed staring up at the ceiling. And, as she reminded herself, she could hardly defend her decision, or deny its irony. Not to him, at any rate.

She wondered if he too was thinking of the day two years ago when, ten weeks after Si’s funeral, he’d walked into the drawing room at Abbotsbrook and found her standing on a rickety pair of steps, struggling to hang the new curtains that had arrived that morning.

‘What the hell are you doing up there?’

She hadn’t heard him enter the house, let alone the room, and the furious demand from behind her made her jump, and sent the steps into a further paroxysm of wobbles as a result.

‘Come down.’ The peremptory note brooked no argument, so he didn’t actually need to grasp her round the waist with strong hands and lift her bodily from the steps. Yet that was what he did, setting her down to face him, flushed and breathless.

‘Dan?’ She allowed herself to sound surprised, but braked hard on the instinctive overwhelming delight of seeing him again after all these endless weeks. Of noting almost wistfully how gorgeous he looked. The way the white shirt with the turned-back sleeves emphasised his tan, how the casual charcoal pants enhanced his lean hips and the length of his legs. How that random strand of dark hair always seemed to fall over his forehead, making her always long to smooth it back. Which was impossible.

And then she realised the danger of standing, gaping at him like this. Felt self-conscious too, in her working gear of ancient cut-offs and faded T-shirt, not to mention hot and grubby because she’d just washed down the high window frames.

And hurried into speech. ‘My—my mother never mentioned you were expected. Are you staying with us? Because I’ll need to see about your room—’

‘Your mother has no idea I’m here.’ He cut across her incisively. ‘I’m staying at a hotel a few miles away, and I’ve come, having failed to find you at Randalls. What’s going on, Laine?’

She shrugged, standing with yards of brocade trailing awkwardly over her arm. ‘I left. Didn’t Mrs Hallam tell you?’

‘Indeed she did, and at some length too,’ he said grimly. ‘What she couldn’t say was why?’

‘Because we no longer have a housekeeper, and I’m more use at home.’ She spoke with deliberate brightness. ‘At least I may be one day. I’m still struggling a bit at the moment.’

There was a silence, then Dan said softly, ‘My God, this is unbelievable. What happened to Mrs Evershott?’

‘She—left too. We couldn’t really afford her any more.’

‘So you’re doing her job instead?’ There was an odd note in his voice. ‘At the same salary, I presume?’

‘Heavens, no. That’s all part of the economy drive.’ She forced a smile. ‘Although I do get paid, of course.’

‘I can imagine. And just how long does your mother intend this situation to continue?’

‘Until Abbotsbrook is sold. It went officially on the market yesterday, so who knows?’ She held up the brocade. ‘Mother’s trying to make it seem less shabby to impress the potential buyers when they start flocking in, but I doubt whether a few yards of material will fool them.’

‘I don’t think so either,’ he said dryly. ‘And just when did she reach this momentous decision?’

‘As soon as I turned eighteen and the terms of the trust no longer applied—oh—and thank you for my gorgeous earrings and the flowers,’ she added hurriedly. ‘I was going to write, but I wasn’t sure where you’d be.’

‘Forget about it.’ His dark brows were drawn together in a cold frown. ‘So, where is your mother? I’d like a word with her.’

‘She’s at the golf club,’ Laine told him. ‘But she’ll be back around five, and she’ll expect to find these curtains up at the windows.’

‘Then she can attend to them herself.’ Dan took the heavy folds from her and flung them over the back of a chair. ‘Risk her own damned neck.’

‘But you don’t understand,’ she protested. ‘It’s part of my job.’

He said gently. ‘You’re wrong, Laine. I understand perfectly—apart from asking myself what on earth she’s doing at the golf club.’

‘She goes there nearly every day,’ Laine said, her voice subdued. ‘She started having lessons over a year ago, when the new professional first came. His name’s Jeff Tanfield.’ She paused. ‘He’s quite a bit younger than she is.’

There was a silence, then Dan said thoughtfully, ‘I could do with some strong coffee. Let’s go and make it.’

When they were sitting opposite each other at the big scrubbed kitchen table, steaming mugs in front of them, he said, ‘So what’s really going on, Laine? And I want to know all of it.’

‘We’re going to live in Andalucia.’ Laine struggled to keep her voice from deteriorating into a little wail of desperation. ‘At one of those holiday complexes built round a golf course.’

‘You as well?’

She nodded. ‘When Abbotsbrook is sold Mother’s going to invest in the Spanish place, buy into the consortium that owns it. Jeff will go on teaching golf, and Mother will do the administration—look after the guest bungalows. And I’m going to be her assistant.’

‘When did you discover this?’

‘A few days after my birthday.’ She shrugged. Tried to smile. ‘I was just—told.’

‘I see.’ He stirred some cream into his coffee. ‘And you agreed?’

She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t seem to have many other career options open.’

‘Tell me,’ Dan said, ‘is your mother planning to marry this Tanfield?’

‘I don’t know. Although I heard her having a row with Simon just before he left, and I’m almost sure I heard Jeff’s name mentioned. I didn’t mean to listen,’ she added hastily. ‘But she was rather talking at the top of her voice.’

‘Then Simon—knew?’ he said slowly. ‘Well, that makes sense.’ He paused. ‘What’s the age difference between them?’

‘Seven—maybe eight years. I’m not too sure.’

He gave her an enigmatic look. ‘And you feel that’s an insuperable bar to marriage?’

She sipped her coffee, burning her tongue. ‘Well, it’s usually the other way round—isn’t it? The man’s generally older than the woman.’

‘It can certainly happen,’ Dan agreed gravely. ‘So, what do you think of your potential stepfather?’

‘I suppose he’s—all right,’ she said slowly, trying to be fair. Then, in a burst of honesty, ‘I try not to think about him much at all. Or any of it, for that matter.’ She swallowed. ‘When Simon was killed I thought things couldn’t get any worse, but they have—they have. Everything’s suddenly—falling apart, and I don’t know how to stop it.’

There was a silence, broken by the sound of an approaching car.

‘Your mother?’ Dan asked tersely.

She sighed. ‘No, that’s the station taxi. It will be Candida, arriving for the weekend.’

His brows lifted. ‘You surprise me,’ he said slowly. ‘Does she do a lot of this?’

She nodded. ‘She’s supposed to be going through Simon’s things,’ she said tonelessly. ‘Sorting them for charity because Mother doesn’t feel up to it yet. But she doesn’t seem to have got very far.’

She got up. ‘I’d better put the oven on. I made a casserole yesterday, and it just needs heating up.’ She paused. ‘There’s plenty—if you’d like to stay too?’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think so. I have a much better plan. Why don’t I take you out to dinner instead?’

Her lips parted in astonishment. ‘But I can’t. I have to get the rest of supper—the vegetables—a pudding.’

Dan finished his coffee and rose too. ‘On the contrary, my sweet, it will do them good to forage for themselves.’ He added crisply, ‘And I won’t take no for an answer, Laine.’

The kitchen door was flung open and Candida swept in, looking disgruntled. ‘That train service is a nightmare. I deliberately came early, but it was still crowded with the most ghastly—’

She saw Daniel and halted, her face clearing magically into a ravishing smile. ‘Dan—darling. How wonderful. I had no idea you’d be here.’

‘And I was just thinking the same about you,’ he returned silkily. ‘How are you, Candy?’

‘Oh—still soldiering on.’ She gestured vaguely. ‘You know how it is. I come down most weekends to be with poor Angela.’ She paused, and sighed. ‘We try to be—there for each other.’

‘Then I’m surprised you haven’t headed straight for the golf club,’ Daniel commented blandly. ‘I gather that’s her chosen refuge these days. But it’s good you’ve arrived early,’ he went on, ‘because I expect she’ll be tired and hungry after a hard afternoon on the fairway, and you can start supper for both of you. Laine and I are going out for dinner.’

‘Oh,’ Candida said, and her glance flickered between them. Then she smiled again with renewed radiance. ‘But that’s a terrific idea. Why don’t we all go out—make it a real reunion?’

He said, quite gently, ‘Because I’ve invited Laine on her own. It’s recompense for missing her birthday.’

‘But I’m sure she won’t mind.’ There was a faintly metallic edge to her voice. ‘After all, you were very generous at the time, if memory serves. You mustn’t spoil the child too much.’

‘I won’t,’ he said. ‘Besides, the recompense is for me—not for her.’ He walked round the table, drew Laine to him, and dropped a light kiss on her hair. He said softly, ‘Go and make yourself beautiful for me, sweetheart. I’ll be back at seven.’

Laine, aware that she was shaking inside, suddenly and uncontrollably, glanced across at Candida, and the two spots of colour now blazing in her cheeks, and decided to make a run for it while her legs would still support her.

And as she flew upstairs to her room she found she was repeating the words ‘back at seven’ over and over again under her breath, as if they were a good luck charm.

And perhaps I truly thought they were, Laine thought listlessly, recalling how she’d gone through every item in her inadequate wardrobe, trying to find something that would do the occasion justice. At the same time reminding herself with every breath that this was not—not—a date. That he was simply being kind.

I knew it then, she thought sadly. Why couldn’t I remember it later—when it really mattered?

She heard the flat door bang, and realised that he’d left for the evening, that she was on her own again. Which meant that she could leave her room and move around freely, if she wanted, without the risk of any unwanted encounters.

Except that it just seemed easier to stay where she was as her mind dived back into the deep waters of the past, to that night when her life had changed so completely and so wonderfully—or so she’d thought then.

In the end, she’d decided to wear her summer best of a turquoise wrap-around skirt and white scoop-necked top. Not glamorous or sophisticated, she’d thought wistfully, but the earrings he’d given her would make the outfit a little more special. At the last minute she had added a moonstone pendant on a slender gold chain which had been her seventeenth birthday present from him, watching how it seemed to slide naturally into the faint cleavage between her small breasts and nestle there.

Wondering if he would notice that too, and halting right there, knowing that she was straying into the realms of dangerous fantasy. Reminding herself that the pendant had got her into enough trouble already when, on her birthday evening, she’d gone running into his arms to thank him, seeking his cheek with her lips and somehow finding the warm, lingering pressure of his mouth instead, along with a strange inability to move away, out of range. As she should have done. At once, if not sooner.

An error which, she’d realised, had been lost on no one present—particularly Angela, who’d delivered a stinging rebuke later, telling her she was far too old to fling herself at Daniel like that.

Too old one minute. Too young the next. She’d never known where she stood.

But on that evening, as she’d touched her lips with pale rose colour and recalled the sensation of his mouth on hers, she had felt all too young. And flustered. Thinking, for no fathomable reason, of the clean but so elderly bra and briefs she was wearing. Glad that it wasn’t a real date, so there was no chance that they’d ever—that he’d want to—that she’d be expected to.

At which juncture she had told herself sternly to stop thinking, because it was clearly turning her into an idiot, collected her bag and, breathing deeply, gone downstairs.

Angela still hadn’t returned, and Candida had been in the drawing room, turning over the pages of a magazine in a way that suggested she’d rather be tearing them to shreds and throwing them at someone.

She’d given Laine a hard stare. ‘You’re actually planning to wear that—for dinner with Daniel Flynn?’

‘My crinoline’s at the menders.’ Laine pretended to check the contents of her bag, feeling her fragile confidence shredding.

She was rescued almost at once by the shrill of the doorbell and the need to answer it.

‘Oh,’ she said, almost blankly, finding Daniel waiting on the doorstep, immaculate in a dark suit and a tie the colour of rubies. ‘It’s you.’

‘How many other men are you seeing tonight?’

‘But you never ring,’ she protested. ‘You usually just walk in.’

He glanced past her, his mouth twisting faintly. ‘Not when I’m hoping for a fast getaway,’ he said, and took her hand. ‘Let’s go.’

The car was long, low and sleek, and Laine sank down into the soft seat, stifling a sigh of pleasure as she breathed in the expensive smell of leather.

‘Is this new?’ she asked as the engine purred into life.

‘It’s always the same car,’ he admitted. ‘I simply update the model.’ He paused. ‘Are you learning to drive?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not yet.’ And probably not at all, she added silently. Not when driving lessons were so expensive. She couldn’t visualise her mother footing such a bill—or ever allowing her the use of the household’s only car.

She glanced sideways at him. ‘You look—well,’ she volunteered shyly. ‘Very tanned. I thought it was winter in Australia.’

‘It is, but I stopped off in America on the way back. Some friends have a house on Cape Cod, and I spent a couple of weeks there.’

‘I expect it’s very beautiful.’

‘Incredibly. Lots of beaches to walk on while you think.’

He seemed to want to think now as well, she reflected rather wistfully as he relapsed into silence, or maybe he was just concentrating on his driving on these narrow country roads.

Not that it really mattered. It was enough just to sit beside him and let her mind flicker through a series of small, impossible dreams.

But when at last he turned the car through a pair of imposing wrought-iron gates she sat up swiftly, her enjoyable reverie over. ‘But this is Langbow Manor.’ She sounded shocked. ‘Are we having dinner here?’

‘You’ve got something against the place?’ He looked surprised. ‘It seemed fine when I checked into my suite earlier.’

‘I’ve never been here before. But isn’t it terribly expensive?’

He slanted a grin at her as he slotted the car into a parking space with expert efficiency. ‘That’s not an objection I usually get when I take a girl to dinner.’

‘No, of course not,’ she said, flushing. ‘I’m sorry.’ Candida’s words stung her afresh. ‘It’s just that I’m not really dressed for somewhere quite as grand.’

He walked round and opened the passenger door. ‘I shall be the envy of every man in the place,’ he told her softly, and her flush deepened.

Comfort closed round her as soon as she crossed the threshold. The room he took her to was like someone’s lovely drawing room, with charming chintz-covered sofas, and chairs grouped round small tables, but within a moment a waiter had arrived beside them. ‘For monsieur a vodka martini? Certainement. And, for mademoiselle may I recommend a Kir Royale?’

The drinks were there within seconds, accompanied by a dish of tiny, exquisite canapés, bursting in her mouth with all kinds of delicious and subtle flavours.

‘I shan’t be able to eat a thing later,’ she sighed.

He laughed. ‘I think you will.’

And he was right. Because, however nervous and excited she might feel, the watercress mousse she was served, followed by lobster mayonnaise, was just too wonderful for her to leave even a scrap—especially when accompanied by the crisp white wine Daniel had chosen, and which the sommelier had brought to them with an air of quiet satisfaction.

She found she could even manage the sweet pastry tart filled with tiny strawberries that ended her meal, while Daniel followed his vichysoisse and river trout with a tiny pot of something dark, rich and alcoholically chocolate, of which she sampled a taste.

‘This is a magical place,’ Laine said, looking around her with shining eyes. They had been given a secluded table in the corner of the Manor’s famous conservatory, where the massive vine above their heads was already loaded with bunches of small grapes. Because of the evening’s warmth the doors stood open to the garden, and subdued lights had begun to edge the scented borders outside as the daylight faded.

She added, more stiltedly, ‘I—I’ll remember it always.’ She tried to smile. ‘I don’t think Spain is going to be anything like this.’

‘I don’t suppose so either,’ he said. ‘So why go?’

She stared down at the linen tablecloth. ‘You speak as if I have a choice.’

‘Actually, you do,’ he said quietly. ‘You could stay here in England—with me.’

The world seemed to stop suddenly. She found she was fighting for breath. For the ability to say, in a voice she barely recognised, ‘You’re offering me a job?’

‘Not exactly.’ He smiled at her across the steady flame of the little lamp in the centre of the table. ‘I’m asking you to be my wife.’

There was a silence, then she said, in a tone that wobbled slightly, ‘If that’s a joke, it’s not a very kind one.’

He reached out and took her hand, stroking her slender fingers. ‘Do I make a habit of being unkind?’

Mutely, she shook her head, trying to banish from her mind the memory of that seemingly endless procession of blondes.

‘Well, then.’ There was another long silence, then he said on a note of faint amusement, ‘My sweet, this hesitation on your part is doing my self-esteem no good at all. You see, I thought you liked me.’

‘I do.’ I love you—love you. I always have and I always will.

‘But not enough to marry me—is that it?’

She still couldn’t look at him. ‘I suppose—I’ve never thought of you as—the marrying kind.’

He said slowly, ‘I could say I’ve been waiting for you to grow up, but I doubt you’d believe me—not when you’ve watched me sow a whole series of wild oats.’ And, as he saw her bite her lip, he added more urgently, ‘Is that the problem, darling—my past? Couldn’t we agree to bury it, and simply concentrate on the future instead?’

He paused. ‘Unless you’re determined to marry another virgin? And I really hope that’s not true, for all kinds of reasons.’

She felt her face warm involuntarily, and said on a little gasp, ‘Oh, no, I—I’m not.’ I just don’t know what to say to someone who’s made all my wildest, sweetest dreams come true at once.

‘That,’ he said, ‘is a definite relief.’ He studied her for a moment, then said gently, ‘I’ve startled you, haven’t I, sweetheart? I didn’t intend that. I thought your female intuition would have warned you why I’d whisked you away with me this evening.’

She tried to smile. ‘Perhaps I’m not very female.’

‘Now, that I don’t believe.’ Quite casually, he turned her hand over and began to trace a gentle circle in its soft palm with the ball of his thumb. It was the lightest of touches, but Laine felt it piercing her, transfixing her with a shaft of desire so swift, so intense and so totally unexpected that she almost cried aloud in amazement. And in overwhelming need.

She was suddenly melting, liquid with a hunger she’d never even guessed could exist. Aware, too, that her nipples were swelling, hardening against their flimsy constraints, and that her every sense was on fire with the consciousness of him, and his proximity to her. Knew, at the same time that she wanted to be even closer. To be joined to him. To be part of him for ever, totally and irrevocably. To be a woman—his woman.

His voice reached her in a quiet murmur of sound. ‘Marry me, Laine.’

Her mouth was dry, the breath catching in her throat, but somehow she managed to whisper back, ‘Yes.’

And saw him bend his head in brief acknowledgment.

He released her hand, his mouth twisting in faint ruefulness. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘we’d better go and break the news to your mother.’

She wanted to cry childishly, But I don’t want to go yet. You’re staying here—you said so—and I want to be alone with you.

But of course she said nothing of the kind, just smiled and nodded, and tried to conceal the feeling of inner dread that was uncurling deep inside her, praying that it wouldn’t be justified.

She was wrong.

‘You want to marry Elaine?’ Angela stared at Daniel with narrowed eyes. ‘This child? But that’s quite absurd. I couldn’t possibly agree to any such thing.’

Laine stood beside him, her hand in his, wanting to sink through the floor with humiliation. She was aware of Candida sitting bolt upright, her face like a mask carved from stone, and Jeff Tanfield standing gaping by the drinks table, a glass in one hand, a whisky decanter in the other, as his already pink complexion deepened to crimson.

Daniel said quietly, ‘I’m not asking your consent, Mrs Sinclair. I don’t have to. I’m merely informing you of our intentions as a matter of courtesy. We plan to be married within the next few weeks.’

‘But that’s quite impossible.’ Angela gestured wildly. ‘I have this house to sell—a move to Spain to arrange. I couldn’t possibly organise a full-dress wedding as well.’

‘You won’t be asked to,’ Daniel said curtly. ‘I’ll talk to the Vicar myself about a mid-week date, and the guest-list—on my side anyway—will be minimal. We’ll hold a small reception here afterwards, and I’ll book the caterer and supply the champagne. The only contribution you need make is to help Laine choose something to wear and send the bill to me.’

‘You must have lost your mind,’ Angela said shortly. ‘For one thing the Daniel Flynns of this world simply do not get married at the drop of a hat to some little nobody in an out-of-the-way place like this.’

He gave her a level look. ‘Well, naturally I can’t speak for the rest of us, but this Daniel Flynn generally pleases himself. And my current intention is to make Laine my wife as quickly and as simply as possible.’ He turned to the girl at his side, lifting the hand he was clasping to his lips. ‘Which seems to be what she wants too.’

‘Yes.’ She found a voice from somewhere. ‘I do.’

‘And what about her mother in all this?’ Jeff Tanfield put down the decanter and moved forward with sudden belligerence. ‘Angela was relying on Elaine’s active support in this new venture of ours in Spain. We both were—as she well knows. As part of the team she’d gain valuable and exciting work experience—and also the chance to see something of the world.’

Daniel looked at him, his lip curling. ‘She’d provide you with a valuable skivvy, certainly. However, I think Laine will find living and travelling with me rather more amusing than the view from some Spanish laundry room. And I guarantee that the pay and conditions will be better too.’

Angela’s laugh was metallic. ‘Quite a Cinderella story—isn’t it? Except I can’t really visualise you as Prince Charming, my dear Daniel. I hope, for her sake, that my daughter knows what she’s taking on.’

‘If not, I’m sure you’ll tell her.’ His gaze flicked her contemptuously, then he turned and looked down at Laine, his expression softening. ‘The cab’s waiting, darling, and the driver has another job later. I have to go.’ He saw the desperation in her eyes and smiled reassuringly. ‘But I’ll be over first thing in the morning to take you shopping for a ring.’

Take me with you, she begged silently. Don’t leave me here with them. Take me away now—please.

‘Elaine has work to do tomorrow.’ Angela’s voice was inimical. ‘Besides, she’ll also be needed to show prospective buyers around.’

‘Use the estate agent,’ Daniel advised with equal coldness. ‘That’s what you’re paying him for. And I’ll get on to an agency and hire someone to take over Laine’s kitchen duties.’ He put his arm round Laine’s waist. ‘Now, come and say goodnight to me, sweetheart.’

The night was warm, but Laine shivered as she stood with him at the main door. ‘That was so horrible.’

‘It could have been worse, believe me.’ His tone was wry.

‘I don’t know how.’ There was a touch of desolation in her own voice. ‘Dan—I could go on doing the housework here. Mother might appreciate it, and I really don’t mind.’

‘But I do. I want your hands beautifully soft for our honeymoon.’ He grinned teasingly as her face warmed, then bent his head and kissed her swiftly and sensuously on the mouth. ‘Sweet dreams,’ he told her, and went.

Laine couldn’t face going back into the drawing room, so she went upstairs to get ready for bed—although she seriously doubted whether sleep would be an option.

She was just about to switch off her lamp when the door opened and her mother came in.

‘Well, you’re certainly a dark horse. Feed him some sob story, did you?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Or is there another reason for this hasty wedding? He hasn’t got you pregnant, by some mischance?’

Laine’s face flamed. ‘You know that’s not true.’

Angela shrugged. ‘I can’t think of any other reason for him to bother with you. Although I suppose young flesh will always have its appeal—even to a sophisticate like Daniel Flynn. But marriage?’ She laughed harshly. ‘Never in this world, my dear.’

Laine sat up very straight, her throat so dry it hurt. ‘It doesn’t occur to you that he might be in love with me?’

‘No, frankly, it doesn’t. Is that what he’s told you?’

‘Of course.’ Surreptitiously Laine crossed her fingers under the covers. Because she suddenly realised that Dan had never mentioned the word ‘love’. Not when he’d proposed. Not in the cab-ride back to Abbotsbrook. Not while they were saying goodnight.

Not once.

And after Angela had finally left, and she was alone, it was a thought that came back to haunt her over and over again throughout the long night.

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