‘It’s best if we play at the big table in the dining-room. Christina would be uncomfortable there,’ Victoria announced, pulling on his sleeve. ‘Come on. Daddy. I can’t wait to buy up all the Mayfair properties.’

Stephen gently extracted his arm. ‘I think Christina should play. It’s more fun with three.’

A defiant look entered Victoria’s face, and Christina suspected she was about to throw a tantrum. She doubted she could stand it, so took the easy option, yawning deliberately and then stretching.

‘I’m very tired, Stephen, so I think I will leave Monopoly this time. I was never very good anyway.’

She saw the look of delight in Victoria’s eyes.

‘Can you help me, Stephen?’

‘Of course.’ He leaned down and put one strong arm around her back and another under her legs, lifting her into his arms.

‘You set up the board; I’ll be down in a few minutes, Vicky,’ he called.

‘Okay, will do, but don’t be too long,’ she replied, not saying goodnight to Christina, who held onto Stephen’s neck very tightly.

He helped her upstairs and lifted her onto the bed. ‘I’ll be fine now, Stephen. You go and play with Victoria.’

Christina tried to keep the resentment out of her voice, but he detected it.

‘She is my only child, Christina, and I don’t see as much of her as I’d like.’

Christina sighed. Victoria was just a little girl, and one who had lost her mother in tragic circumstances. What sort of man would Stephen be if he didn’t put his daughter first, at least some of the time? ‘I’m sorry. It’s just I would have liked a little time with you alone. I’d been looking forward to this weekend so much.’

‘I feel the same way, but it’s difficult for me to refuse her anything. I’m over-compensating for the loss of her mother.’

He sat on the edge of the bed and held both her hands.

‘Don’t take any notice of me, I’m just feeling sorry for myself,’ she said.

‘I’ll make it up to you later, as soon as I get Victoria to bed. You’ll forget all about your foot, I promise.’

‘And I promise to make you forget everything.’ She touched the front of his trousers.

‘I wish,’ he said, and kissed her full on the mouth, his hand seeking her breast and gently tweaking her nipple between thumb and forefinger.

Christina was immediately aroused and wrapped her arms around his neck.

‘Daddy, Daddy, the Monopoly’s all set up. Do you want a cup of cocoa or a brandy?’

‘I’d better go.’ Stephen lifted his head and Christina nodded, letting her arms fall by her sides.

‘See you later,’ he said as he left the room.

‘I may be asleep.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll wake you up!’

She undressed slowly and hopped into the bathroom where she brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and doused herself in perfume. Not wearing her customary bedshirt or pyjamas, she limped across the room and, holding onto one of the bedposts, hoisted herself into bed.

She lay awake for a long time anticipating Stephen’s lovemaking, and eventually fell asleep, trusting he would wake her up.

Raindrops pattering on the bedroom window and an excruciating pain in her ankle woke her at dawn the following morning.

She struggled to sit up and squinted at her wristwatch. It was ten past six and she was alone.

Christina got up and found the bottle of pain-killers the doctor had given her. She took two in a tumbler of icy-cold water and staggered back to bed, sleeping fitfully for the next three hours until Stephen came to her room with a breakfast tray.

‘The top of the morning to you,’ he said, mimicking an Irish accent, and set the tray on the bed.

‘What happened to you last night?’ she snapped, and pulled herself into a sitting position, rubbing her eyes. ‘I stayed awake for ages waiting for you to come.’

‘I played Monopoly for almost an hour like a good, dutiful father, then I tucked my daughter up in bed and tiptoed down here, intending to be a good, dutiful lover. But you …’ – he pinched Christina’s leg – ‘… were in sweet dreams.’

‘I wouldn’t have minded if you’d woken me up!’

‘You looked so peaceful,’ he grinned. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ She slid her legs out of bed. ‘It’s your loss as much as mine.’

‘Come on, Christina, don’t be like that. I’ll make it up to you tonight.’ His voice was flippant.

‘Don’t make promises you may not be able to keep, Stephen.’ She began to limp to the bathroom, ‘I must do my teeth before I can eat breakfast.’

He ran round the bed to help her. She refused his arm, saying, ‘I can manage, Stephen. My foot’s a lot better this morning.’

He watched her shapely naked bottom disappearing into the bathroom and thought she had been right when she had said it was his loss.

‘That’s great. So do you think you’ll be able to make the gymkhana?’ he called after her.

‘I’m sure I shall,’ Christina shouted from the bathroom. I’ll get to that bloody gymkhana if it kills me! she thought.

The gymkhana was crowded, cold and very, very wet.

Stephen tramped around the muddy field for hours under a vast umbrella, arm in arm with Victoria, whilst Christina, hating every moment, sat in the car becoming more and more morose.

Victoria won a rosette for second place and talked non-stop about horses for the hour-long journey back to Purley Hall. It was almost six o’clock when the car pulled into the drive, and Christina had a splitting headache. She took a further two pain-killers and excused herself to lie down.

Hobbling downstairs an hour later she found Stephen and Victoria curled up in front of a log fire watching a video. He looked up briefly. ‘I’ll be with you in a moment, Christina; this is a really exciting bit.’

Victoria’s eyes did not leave the television screen.

She left them and walked towards the kitchen, where Dorothy was preparing a roast-beef dinner.

‘We usually have Sunday lunch, but Mr Reece-Carlton has to go abroad tomorrow so we’re having it tonight instead,’ she informed Christina, who looked surprised.

Stephen had not told her he was going away – but then, she was slowly learning, there were lots of things Stephen did not tell her.

The smell of the meat roasting set hunger pangs gnawing at her stomach.

‘Mmm, that smells wonderful.’ She sat down heavily at the kitchen table. She would have loved a cup of tea but did not like to ask the rather formidable housekeeper to make her one.

‘Well, I make a good roast even if I say so myself.’ The housekeeper stuck out her ample chest. ‘Mr Reece-Carlton says he’s never tasted a better roast lunch anywhere.’ She continued to heap praises on her own cooking whilst vigorously beating a batter mixture for Yorkshire pudding.

‘How’s your foot?’ Dorothy enquired, but seemed indifferent to Christina’s reply.

‘A lot better, thanks.’ She looked down at her swollen ankle, which was looking more like its normal size.

‘You’ll feel a whole lot better after you’ve had my roast dinner,’ Dorothy assured her. Christina wished she would stop boasting about how good a cook she was, and just get on with it.

The housekeeper poured the batter mixture into a smoking oven-tin as Stephen came in to kneel down and survey several bottles of wine in a rack below the work-surface. He eventually pulled out a 1963 St Emilion which he opened and decanted.

‘Twenty minutes for the Yorkshires,’ Dorothy announced, and slammed the oven door tightly shut.

They ate their Yorkshire pudding separately as a starter, a custom Stephen’s mother had faithfully followed. Christina didn’t care how it was served; it tasted wonderful – light and crispy. The roast beef was done to perfection, and she had an extra helping of beef and golden roast potatoes with thick, rich gravy.

Victoria had spoken very little during the meal, much to Christina’s surprise.

They were all eating enormous portions of plum crumble and cream when Stephen said, ‘I thought your friend Caroline was coming to see you tonight?’

Victoria shook her head, and some of her hair fell into the dessert bowl. It was sticky with cream when she continued, ‘She was, but I told her not to when I knew you were coming home for the weekend. You know how Caroline always spoils things.’

The girl pulled a face, and Christina thought how well Victoria knew about spoiling things.

Stephen poured the last drops of red wine from the decanter into his and Christina’s glasses.

‘I’ve got another James Bond video I thought we could watch together.’

Victoria was looking directly at her father as she spoke, deliberately excluding Christina. She glanced over Victoria’s shoulder at a portrait of a very dark young woman. Her large grey-blue eyes stared back, heavy-lidded and mysterious.

‘Is that your wife, Stephen?’ she asked.

He turned. ‘Yes, that’s Barbara.’

‘She was very attractive,’ Christina commented.

‘She was more than attractive – she was beautiful!’ Victoria looked at the portrait then back at Christina. Her eyes were narrowed and her voice very quiet.

‘No one could replace my mother. Not ever.’

Christina held Victoria’s troubled eyes for a long time. They were both silent until Christina said, ‘I don’t think anyone would even try.’

She finished her dessert, though it stuck in her throat, and congratulated Dorothy, who seeped up the praise, a huge smile stretching from one ear to the other.

Christina hated old James Bond movies but was forced to watch Goldfinger, squashed at the far end of the sofa as Victoria lay full-length with her legs looped over her father’s lap.

Christina was delighted when the child fell asleep halfway through the movie and Stephen carried her to bed.

‘She’s sound asleep.’ He seemed relieved when he joined her on the sofa five minutes later with two glasses of Hine.

She took the brandy goblet from his outstretched hand, saying, ‘You didn’t tell me you were leaving tomorrow?’

He took a sip of brandy and sighed heavily.

‘I’m sorry. That call from Robert Leyton last night was to confirm I had to go to Spain. I forgot to tell you after you hurt your foot.’

He raked his long fingers through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I’m afraid I have to catch the 11.30 plane from Gatwick to Malaga. We’re trying to set up a leisure park in Spain and I must meet the planners on-site first thing Monday morning. It was the only available flight. I took the liberty of booking you a flight back to Manchester fifteen minutes after mine, if that’s okay with you? I didn’t think you’d want to stay down here without me.’

‘No, thanks. With you gone, Victoria might eat me!’

‘Oh, come on, Christina. She’s not that bad.’

Christina suppressed the reply she’d have liked to have given. ‘Only joking.’ She pinched his leg. ‘This is our last opportunity to be together. Let’s stop wasting time.’

She lifted his dark-green cotton sweater and with her fingertips curled the fine hair of his stomach, which he pulled in with a sharp intake of breath. His head fell back onto the sofa as she began to undo the top button of his jeans. The zip slid down easily and Stephen moaned from deep within his throat as he felt her hand slip inside his boxer shorts. She leaned forward to kiss him – and jumped back in fright as a white figure loomed from behind the sofa.

‘Daddy, I had a horrible nightmare! I couldn’t get back to sleep; I was really afraid.’

Victoria, dressed in a long nightdress, walked round the sofa and stared at Stephen, who was frantically zipping up his jeans and pulling his sweater down.

‘What are you doing?’ She continued to stare wide-eyed. He pulled her quickly down beside him to cover his embarrassment, pushing stray hairs away from her brow and saying, ‘Nothing, baby. Now tell Daddy all about the horrible nightmare and he’ll make it better.’

Christina left Stephen and Victoria curled up on the sofa, engrossed in one another, and limped slowly to her room. She fell into bed angry and frustrated. There was no point in staying awake. She knew Stephen would never come to her while his daughter was under the same roof.

‘Your daughter is impossible, Stephen. Surely you can see she’s trying to jeopardize our relationship?’

Stephen looked across the table at Christina’s flushed face.

‘I really think you’re over-reacting, as usual.’ He sounded tired and exasperated.

‘Over-reacting? Victoria feigns illness, so you instantly cancel a weekend in Spain with me. One which I have been looking forward to very much!’

‘Keep your voice down,’ he urged. They were seated in the bar of the Midland Hotel in Manchester, and Stephen could see several people staring in their direction. He leaned forward. ‘Everyone is looking at us.’

‘I don’t care, Stephen,’ she snapped.

‘Well, I do, and as far as Victoria’s illness is concerned, Doctor Montague thinks it may be some kind of virus. Can’t risk it. What if she’s seriously ill while I’m away?’

‘Dorothy is with her. She knew about your trip to Spain a week ago. Don’t you find it too much of a coincidence that Victoria takes ill the very day you and I are due to go away for a long weekend?’

‘I’m sorry. I was looking forward to it as much as you.’ He took another sip of his drink and emptied the glass. ‘I can’t go away next weekend; it’s Vicky’s school play and I’ve promised to be there, but we can go the weekend after that, Christina.’

‘I don’t know where I’ll be in two weeks’ time. As I’ve told you a million times, I have to spend some time in Ireland. My mother is genuinely very ill.’

‘Well, we can go another weekend.’ He paused. ‘Soon.’

Stephen tried to take her hand but she pulled away.

‘How about coming with me to France on Wednesday and Thursday of next week?’

He was trying desperately hard to make amends, but Christina was unforgiving.

‘I’m working, remember? I do work for a living.’

‘Who cares about some daft job for Manchester United football club? Cancel it.’ His voice was dismissive. It made her suddenly furious.

‘I care, Stephen. And I need the money.’

He turned away from her defiant expression and waved to a passing waiter. She shook her head as the man approached their table and Stephen ordered another large gin and tonic. ‘Don’t talk to me about needing money!’ His voice had a cutting edge as he continued: ‘I’ve offered you an allowance, and a beautiful flat in your own name. But you refuse to swallow your stupid pride and continue to live in squalor with that scatty flatmate who drives you nuts! You insist on taking degrading work and struggling to pay the bills when you could live in London close to me!’

The waiter came to their table. He jumped back as Christina shouted: ‘No, no, no, Stephen! How many times do I have to tell you to stop trying to buy me?’ The waiter placed Stephen’s drink in front of him and backed away quickly.

She felt a tremor inside her when she encountered Stephen’s narrow, unblinking gaze. She had never seen him look so cold or so remote from her.

‘I’m not trying to buy you, merely trying to help you. Can’t you see that? You are so stubborn and immature sometimes, Christina.’

He made an effort to control his voice, but there was no mistaking his mounting temper.

Christina stood up. She was visibly shaking and her legs did not feel capable of taking her weight.

‘I may be both of those things but I am not stupid, nor am I blind. What I can see very clearly, Stephen, is that you want me on your terms and your terms only. Neatly tucked away in a cosy flat in London where you can come around whenever it suits you, far from any prying eyes – and of course your precious daughter!’

‘That’s just not true.’ His voice shook with anger. Conversation ceased in the busy bar. Everyone was watching the scene.

‘You know the situation as well as I do, Christina. You’ve known from the first weekend you spent at Purley Hall almost six months ago, but you just can’t accept the fact. Victoria needs me.’

She stood up. He got to his feet and put a hand on her arm. ‘I can only give you so much of my time, Christina. You must understand,’ he implored.

She took a deep breath.

‘I do understand, Stephen.’ Her voice was resigned. ‘You must go and catch your plane to London. You’re right. Victoria wants you.’

Christina picked up the suitcase she had packed with such excitement that morning and gripped the handle firmly with trembling fingers. She was fighting hard to prevent the tears welling up in her eyes and blinked several times before she was able to say, ‘I don’t need you any more, Stephen. At least not like this.’

She turned and walked out of the Midland Hotel, hoping Stephen might run after her but knowing deep in her heart that he would not.

Christina squinted, trying hard to focus. She could have sworn Martin Ward had three heads as he came towards her. Thankfully they merged into one when he sat next to her.

‘I’ve been looking for you for ages. Where on earth have you been?’

‘Drinking. And I want another.’

‘I really think you’ve had enough.’ Martin gently prised the glass from her hand.

‘I will decide when I have had enough.’ She leaned forward to attract the barman’s attention, and almost fell.

‘Why don’t we go back to my place?’ Martin suggested, planning to give her coffee and perhaps something to eat in an effort to sober her up.

‘Your place?’ She glared at him. He was reminded of the little tabby kitten he’d rescued from the railway embankment as a child. Small-boned, saucer-eyed and spitting defiance. He realized she had mistaken his meaning.

‘I really don’t think you’d be much use to me in bed tonight, Christina,’ he said as he caught her firmly in his arms. ‘Come on, love, I’m taking you home.’

So much for using the club dance to show Christina how attractive he found her, Martin thought ruefully, as he steered her across the dance-floor. He hadn’t been able to spend as much time with her as he’d hoped. The Chairman had been in an expansive mood, pressing forbidden cigars on him, and then there’d been the duty dances with players’ wives and starstruck girlfriends. With his thick blond hair and broad-shouldered, tapering physique, Martin had caught the eye of any number of women tonight. But the one he wanted to attract, the one he found himself thinking of more and more these days, seemed to want him only as a shoulder to cry on.

He knew what was at the bottom of it, of course. A man, must be. Maybe the man he’d seen her with at the Midland that time?

Outside in his BMW Christina seemed to come to herself.

‘I’m sorry, Martin. I feel so ashamed. I didn’t show you up, did I?’

‘Don’t be, Christina. Everyone has too much sometimes. It’s not the end of the world. Listen, I’ve made a fool of myself on more than one occasion and had to be carried home.’

She sniffed and blew her nose.

‘I’d like to spend the night with you, Martin. I can’t bear to go back to the flat.’

He stared straight ahead, both hands gripping the wheel. A car passed and his handsome profile was suddenly illuminated in the headlights.

‘I’d love to sleep with you, Christina, and to be honest I’ve thought about little else since our date last week.’ He thought carefully about his next words. ‘But I don’t want you on the rebound. You’ve had someone else on your mind tonight. I don’t think you’re ready for me or anyone till you’ve got him out of your system.’

Christina sniffed again and stared ahead, not speaking. They drove in silence for a few minutes until she spoke, very quietly. ‘You’re right, Martin, though not many men would be so understanding. Thank you. If you could take me home I’d be grateful.’ He stopped his car in front of her flat.

‘I’d like to see you again, Christina, and there may not be much time. As you know, I’m on the transfer list. If the deal with Tottenham goes through next week I’ll be leaving Manchester.’ He paused. ‘I know you’d like to work in London …’ He wanted to say ‘We could go together’, but his voice trailed off and he left the sentence unfinished.

Christina half smiled. ‘I really hope you get it, Martin. I’m sure you will.’

She got out of the car. He was about to follow when she bent down and spoke through the open window.

‘Don’t get out, Martin. I’m fine now. Sorry about this evening.’

‘No problem. Think about London, won’t you, Christina? I’ll call you in the morning.’

He waved and drove off. She watched the car until it was out of sight.

It was ironic, she thought. Half the girls in Manchester would give their eye-teeth to have an invitation like that from Martin Ward. Christina could see the attraction. He was good-looking, he was famous. But he wasn’t for her. There was only one man she wanted.

She expected to hear Martin’s voice when she picked up the telephone the following morning, but it was her sister instead.

‘It’s bad news, Christina. The doctors say Mam won’t last the night.’

She stared at her own pale face and sunken eyes in the cracked mirror above the telephone.

‘But – they said she had a few more months! God, Marie, I’d have cancelled my jobs if I’d realized.’

Her sister’s voice cracked as she replied, ‘Sure and Mam wouldn’t hear of that. She was always so proud of you, Christina.’

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