Best of Fiona Harper

She looked over at Tania and Faith, the girls from the village. Neither of them had thought to relieve any guest of a coat or a wrap; they were too busy standing in the corner and getting all giggly over a certain member of the male species.

Ellie forced herself not to look at Mark as she made her way across the hall and reissued her instructions to the two girls in a low, authoritative voice. They instantly sprang into action, relieving guests of their outerwear and delivering the items to one of the smaller rooms on the ground floor where Ellie had set up some portable clothing racks.

The only problem was that Tania and Faith were now so intent on proving themselves efficient they’d both darted off at once, leaving Ellie no choice but to act as hat-check girl herself when the next huddle of guests piled through the door. She approached the group that had just crossed the threshold.

Mark moved forward to greet them at the same time, and Ellie couldn’t avoid meeting his gaze. It was like being hit in the chest with one of those Taser guns. Her heart stuttered, fizzing with a million volts, and she disguised the resultant quivering in her limbs by breaking eye contact and smoothing out a non-existent wrinkle on her dress. All the same, the hairs at the back of her neck lifted, full of static. She just knew he was still looking at her. He inhaled, as if he was about to say something, but before the words left his mouth, another voice gatecrashed the moment.

‘Mark, you old dog!’ bellowed a good-looking blond man in a dinner jacket, slapping him across the shoulders.

‘Hello, Piers,’ Mark replied in his good-humoured tone. ‘Come in and find yourself a drink. What do you think of my new place?’

‘Bloody difficult to find, that’s what I say!’ he roared, slapping Mark a second time.

Ellie was standing there still waiting to take any coats. She felt like a prize lemon.

‘Let me introduce you to this trinity of lovelies,’ Piers continued, ushering a group of bejewelled women into the house. ‘Carla, Jade, and of course you already know Melodie.’

Of course. Ellie recognised her as the woman from the television. She didn’t say anything, but silently willed Melodie to hurry up and hand that pashmina over. Ellie wanted an excuse to make herself scarce.

Mark didn’t falter as he offered a polite greeting to all three women, but Ellie had a sense as she took hold of their wraps and coats that he wasn’t as comfortable as his relaxed stance implied. She was just about to scamper away to the temporary cloakroom when the pair of girls returned and relieved her of her only legitimate means of escape.

Then, just to make matters worse, Mark turned to her and asked her something. She saw his lips move, heard the words, but her brain retained none of the information. Why had he done that? She was the help. And she’d actually like to keep their relationship on that footing, thank you very much. Things were complicated enough as it was.

Just then a waitress with a large tray walked past the entrance hall en-route to the drawing room. Caterers! She was supposed to be here in a professional capacity, after all. She would inspect each and every trayful of over-priced morsels and make sure they were just what she’d ordered. She mumbled something about food, not so much to Mark but to the room in general, then fell into step behind the waitress, lengthening the distance between her and the group at the doorway. As she rounded the corner she could still hear Piers’s booming upper-class drawl.

‘Ding-dong!’ he said with a whistle. ‘Who was that?’

She didn’t wait to hear Mark’s explanation of her existence, but scuttled away even faster—high heels permitting. The last thing she wanted to do was actually have to talk to people tonight. They would expect her to be dazzling and witty. And if she had ever been dazzling and witty in her previous life she had certainly forgotten by now. Socialising was something other people did. Even the prospect of a night down at the Anglers’ Arms in Barkleigh filled her with fear and trembling. In comparison, this party was like purgatory with canapés.

A few dozen guests? Someone had underestimated a little.

The drawing room was like a Who’s Who of popular music. Wasn’t that…? You know, the guy who always seemed to be at number one? And that girl over there—Ellie had seen her latest music video only the other night on TV. Normal party nerves escalated into something far bigger and scarier. It would be really great if she could think of the girl’s name—if she could recall anyone’s name, actually. These were the sort of people who expected to be remembered.

She circled the drawing room, ‘fluffing’ the floral arrangements, hoping that no one talked to her and expected her to know who they were. But she wasn’t really looking at what she was doing, and more leaves fell off due to her attention than she cared to notice. As soon as she could she slipped out and made her way to the kitchen.

CHAPTER FIVE

THERE was a strange calm to be had amidst the noise and movement of the kitchen. At least in here Ellie knew what she was doing. Her lists and charts were pinned to the cupboard doors, her timetable clung to the fridge door with the help of a few magnets, and waiters and waitresses were all jostling each other, doing exactly as they were supposed to.

It didn’t take long before one of the catering company staff appeared with a question, and Ellie found herself busy for what seemed like a half an hour but turned out to be almost two hours. Eventually tiredness washed over her, the mind-fogging fatigue she knew she shouldn’t ignore. Dodging dashing bodies and clattering trays suddenly became too much of an effort and she crept up the back staircase. Before she went to her room she carried on along the landing and looked over the banisters into the hall, where the party was still in full swing. She’d done well this evening, and she wanted one last mental picture of her achievement, to cement it firmly in her memory before she fled back to her bedroom and shut the door firmly behind her.

From her vantage point on the landing she watched the glittering crowd ebb and flow. The clink of champagne glasses and jumble of conversation drifted up from below. Surprisingly, she found the sound soothing now she was no longer in the thick of it.

Her eyes drifted here and there, searching. It wasn’t until they fixed on Mark that she realised she’d been looking for him. He was the perfect host—she’d give him that. He was charming and smooth, always with a crowd around him. The group he was with laughed at something he said. So he was good company too, it seemed. But he didn’t dominate the gathering, forcing people to look at him. They just flowed around him, accepting the good time he offered them.

That woman from the awards ceremony was talking to him now, batting her lashes and jutting her ample chest under his nose. Ellie rolled her eyes. And, funnily enough, when the woman turned to grab herself a cocktail from a passing tray, Mark did a microscopic version of the same expression. That made her smile. It also made her look a little closer.

He smiled. He talked. But every now and then he just drifted off and stared at nothing for a second, until the next excited guest drew him back into the conversation. It was almost as if…

No. That was a stupid idea. Why would someone throw a party if they didn’t actually want to be at it themselves?

‘What are you doing skulking up here? I’ve been looking for you everywhere.’

Ellie stopped breathing momentarily as Charlie appeared from nowhere.

‘Don’t do that!’ Ellie whispered sharply, pressing her palm to her chest in an effort to slow her galloping heart. ‘And I’m not skulking.’

Charlie stopped smiling and looked concerned. ‘You’re a bag of nerves,’ she said, while giving Ellie’s arm a reassuring rub. ‘Come on, chill out. It is a party, after all…’

Ellie nodded. ‘I know. But I need this to go well. I can’t lose this job, Charlie, I can’t—’

Without warning her eyes filled, and the party below glittered even harder than before.

‘Hey!’ Charlie’s voice was gentle and her arm rested around Ellie’s shoulders, pulling her close. ‘What’s all this about?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Did you tell him…Mark Wilder…about me?’

Charlie’s three frown lines appeared above her nose. ‘All I told him was that you were an old friend of mine and I thought you’d be perfect for the job. I wasn’t lying, Ellie.’

Ellie scratched at a non-existent mark on the banister with a blunt fingernail. ‘No. I mean, did you tell him about how I have problems with…about my…?’

Charlie’s voice was low when she answered. ‘No, I didn’t tell him about the accident or how it’s affected you. It’s up to you whether you want to share that information with him.’

Okay, so Charlie had believed her when she’d sworn blind she had it in her to be a top-notch housekeeper. Now she just had to prove her right. Ellie’s chest rose then fell deeply as she let out a huge breath. ‘Right. Thank you.’

A soft look appeared on Charlie’s face. ‘Do you really think being here, moving away from home, will help you…you know…get over things?’

Suddenly Ellie needed to sit down. Her legs folded under her with the grace of a collapsing deckchair and she grabbed on to the banister with both hands. Charlie’s arm appeared, firm and protective, around her shoulders.

‘There’s more to this sudden desire for a new job than just needing fresh scenery, isn’t there, Ellie? Why did you really want to leave Barkleigh in such a hurry?’

Blast. Why did Charlotte Maxwell have to be so perceptive under her devil-may-care exterior? Ellie stared at the milling guests below. Their only problems were deciding which diamond to wear or which sports car to drive.

A feeling of loss washed over her, so deep, so overwhelming that she thought she might just dissolve into nothing right there on Mark Wilder’s landing.

Sometimes she wished her brain would just finish the job and give up working all together. Then she could just evaporate. She’d be happy then, feeling nothing, remembering nothing. It was this half-in, half-out thing her memory did that was driving her to distraction.

‘I can’t go home,’ she whispered. ‘I just can’t.’

‘Why?’

‘Remember Ginny? Chloe’s godmother and my oldest friend?’

Charlie nodded. ‘Yes, I remember her.’

Ellie didn’t want to say it. Hearing the words spill out of her own mouth would remind her of everything she’d lost. Of everything she longed for.

‘She’s pregnant.’

She didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

Charlie’s hand stopped stroking her arm and slid down over her wrist until their fingers meshed, Charlie’s red fingernails bright against her pale skin. Ellie gripped her hand, hanging on to it as if it would anchor her.

‘I know it’s awful, but I think if I have to see her every day for the next eight months, seeing her grow bigger, seeing how happy she is with Steve, I might just go properly bonkers. I just had to get away.’

She was happy for Ginny and Steve, really she was, but how could she watch them add to their happy little family when her own had been wiped from the face of the earth? It was too…too…blatant.

Charlie didn’t say anything, just hugged her tight. ‘Do you want me to get you anything? A glass of water?’

Ellie shook her head. ‘No. I’m just tired. I think I’ll just stay here for a few seconds and then go to bed. You go on and enjoy the party.’ She nodded to the hall below, where the rather good-looking man she’d seen Charlie with earlier was searching the crowd. ‘I think someone’s looking for you.’

Charlie smiled, and her eyes never left the man as he moved this way and that. ‘If you’re sure?’ she said.

‘I’m sure.’ Ellie gave her a shove in the right direction and Charlie headed off down the stairs. The man spotted her, and the look he gave her as she descended was pure magic. Ellie sighed. At least someone was happy.

She moved a little further to the left, so she could see more of the hall. Mark was still leaning on the mantelpiece, and he had that distant look in his eyes again.

Her mind wandered back to his smile in the wedding photo. She’d seen him smile plenty of times tonight, but not one of those smiles had lit up his face like his smile for the woman in the wedding photo. Where was she now? What had happened? For the first time she realised there were scars beneath his good-humoured persona. From wounds that maybe hadn’t fully healed. Her hand flew to the locket around her neck. She knew all about the pain those kinds of wounds could cause.

As if he sensed she was watching him, Mark paused, his glass raised halfway to his lips. And then he turned his head and met her gaze. She froze. Could it be any more obvious she’d been staring at him and only him? She didn’t think so.

Still, he didn’t look cross. He wasn’t smiling that irritating twinkly smile—wasn’t mocking her. The other occupants of the room melted away, their conversation drowned out by a loud thudding sound.

Oh. That was her pulse.

Heat crept up her cheeks, but still she hadn’t moved. And moving at this point would be a really good idea.

Still staring at Mark, she took a couple of wobbly steps backwards, then turned and fled along the corridor. For some reason she ignored her bedroom door and headed for the back staircase. She needed space, distance. And she didn’t think she’d get that with only a ceiling and a couple of walls separating her from Mark Wilder.

The stupid stilettos strangled her ankles as she clattered down the back staircase. She paused at the bottom. No one was around, so she tiptoed down the corridor into the kitchen.

Ellie stole a smoked fish thing off a platter of canapés and popped it in her mouth. As she slid past a waitress carrying a tray of cocktails she pilfered one of those too, knocking it back and shuddering as whatever it was hit the back of her throat.

She edged past the round table near the French doors. An abandoned tray stood on the table, cluttered with champagne flutes, some empty, some full. She plucked one of the full ones and nipped out of her favourite escape route into the garden.

A wave of muffled laughter wafted past her on the clear night air. She took a sip of champagne, but barely tasted it. There was something she had to do first, before she could enjoy it properly.

Her feet were killing her.

She sat on a low stone wall and fiddled with the microscopic buckles. Pretty soon she’d flicked the shoes off and she hooked the satin straps under her fingers and headed into the garden.

The flagstones were cold and rough on the soles of her feet, and she veered in the direction of the lawn and sank her toes deep into it. Heaven! She closed her eyes and took another sip of champagne. The canapé was the first thing she had eaten all evening, and on an empty stomach it wasn’t hard to feel the bubbles doing their work.

Funny how parties always sounded more inviting when you were on the outside. All she had wanted to do when she was in there was escape, yet now she was out here she felt strangely alone.

She took a few more steps on the springy grass, letting the blades invade the spaces between her toes. She wriggled them and drained the flute of its contents. Goosebumps flourished on her upper arms as she heard a low masculine voice behind her.

‘Caught red-handed!’

A powerful pair of hands clamped down on Ellie’s shoulders. The champagne glass slid out of her hand and bounced off her foot. She instinctively ducked down and forwards, wriggling out his grip, then swung round to face him.

He blinked groggily at her. ‘What’s the matter?’ he slurred. ‘Don’t you like me?’

His name might have deserted her, but she hadn’t forgotten this man. The floppy pale hair, the arrogant smirk. She didn’t know who he was to Mark, but if the rest of his friends were like this, he could keep them.

He draped an arm across her shoulders. ‘What d’you say we go for a little walk?’

She had to handle this carefully. He might be a pain in the behind, but he was Mark’s guest too, so losing her temper would only get her in trouble. ‘I’d rather not, thank you.’

His eyes were glassy and his breath reeked of whisky. She carefully peeled his arm off her shoulder. He lost his balance now he wasn’t leaning on her for support, his feet sliding on the dewy grass. His smile faded.

‘Hey! There’s no need to be hoity-toity about it.’

‘I didn’t…I…’Oh, what was the use? He’d probably take any conversation as encouragement of some sort. The best thing to do was get out of here before she really did get hoity-toity with him.

She turned and walked back towards the house. He lumbered after her, stumbling slightly, and managed to grab hold of her arm and haul her towards him.

Something flashed white-hot inside her head. She dreaded these surges of anger, but could do very little to contain herself when they struck. She was going to blow, whether she liked it or not.

‘Get off me!’ she yelled.

He made a curious gurgle that she interpreted as a laugh, and clamped her to his chest. His lips made contact with the skin beneath her ear and slid down her neck in a slobbery trail.

‘Ugh!’

Enough was enough. No more Miss Nice Guy. She swung Charlie’s killer sandals wide and brought them crashing down on his temple.

Mark had suddenly had enough of standing around talking to the same people, having the same conversations he’d had last week. He needed fresh air.

Instinctively he headed for the kitchen, then paused at the threshold. Why had he come this way? He had the feeling he was looking for something but had forgotten what.

Nonsense, his conscience said. You know exactly why you’re here…who you’re looking for.

But it didn’t matter. She wasn’t there.

So he ducked past the busy catering staff and out of the French windows to the small lawn.

The floodlights on the outside of the house made the dark night even blacker, and it took him a few moments to realise he wasn’t alone. A movement at the end of the lawn caught his eye and he made out two silhouettes. He almost grinned and shrugged it off as a couple of guests slipping away to get friendly, but something made him look again.

Piers was up to his old tricks, it seemed. He was a notorious flirt. The only reason Mark had invited him was because he needed his firm’s specialist legal knowledge on a recording contract he was putting together. Still, Piers was relatively harmless, and most of the females in their circle of acquaintance knew how to deal with him. Mark peered deeper into the darkness. Just who was he with this time, anyway?

And then he was running, the sound of his own blood rushing and swirling in his ears. He worked out regularly enough, and his legs were pumping beneath him, but somehow he seemed to make torturous progress, like the slow-motion running in a dream.

The woman Piers was slobbering over was Ellie.

And there was no way he was going to let some jumped-up little twit who worked for his daddy’s law firm foist himself on one of his staff. She might not know how to—

Mark almost slipped on the damp grass.

Perhaps she did.

He watched as Ellie gave Piers a first-class whack with her shoes. Piers stumbled and fell on the damp grass, clutching a hand to his head. Mark finally skidded to a halt in front of them and yanked Piers up by his collar. His right fist was itching to make contact with that pretty face. He ought to flatten him for treating Ellie that way.

‘Mark, no!’

The panic in her voice was all he needed to make him reconsider. He released the slimy runt and gave him a shove in the direction of the house.

‘Go home, Piers. You’re drunk.’

Piers wiped saliva from the edges of his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Steady on, Mark!’

He marched towards Piers and stopped inches from his face. Piers might have a reputation for being a ladies’ man, but Mark had never suspected how nasty he could be with it. How could a man who appeared so polished during the working week turn out to be such a rat? Once again he’d believed the best in someone, only to be utterly disappointed.

‘No. You steady on,’ he said, with more than a hint of controlled fury in his voice. ‘Don’t ever set foot in this house again. In fact, don’t bother to set foot in my offices again, either. As of Monday I will be seeking new legal representation—you and your firm are fired.’

Piers tugged at his tie and stood as tall as the whisky would let him.

‘Now, look here. I could sue you for assault, manhandling me in that way!’

‘Yes, you could. And I could tell the paparazzi hiding in my front bushes how you got plastered at my party and tried to grope one of my guests. I’m sure the partners at Blackthorn and Webb would welcome the publicity, don’t you?’

Piers turned tail and lurched towards the house. Mark watched until he was out of sight, then faced Ellie. ‘I’m so sorry about that. Are you all right?’

‘Fine.’ Her voice quivered enough to call her determined face a liar.

‘You gave him one hell of a clout with those shoes!’

The shell-shocked expression gave way to a delightfully naughty smile. ‘You should have warned him I was dangerous to mess with.’

The fingers of Mark’s right hand wandered to the spot near his left collarbone, where she’d bitten him only a few weeks earlier. At the time he’d been livid, hadn’t found it funny in the slightest. Tonight, however, he found he couldn’t find it anything but, and he started to laugh.

To his surprise, Ellie joined him. Softly at first, with a giggle that hinted she was holding more of it in than she was letting out. But eventually she was laughing just as hard as he was, and the more he saw her eyes sparkle and her cheeks blush, the more he wanted to keep the moment going.

Look at her. When she smiled like that, lost the glare and the frosty expression, she was…Not beautiful. At least not in the way Hollywood and the media defined the word. But he couldn’t stop looking at her.

And why would he? She was laughing so hard she’d gone pink in the face and her eyes were squeezed shut. Any minute now he thought she’d keel over. It was adorable. Just as she threatened to make his prediction come true, she clutched at the air to steady herself. Her hand made contact with his upper arm and all the shared laughter suddenly died away.

Ellie looked away and tucked and escaped curl into the clip on top of her head. It bounced back again, unwilling to be leashed. His desire to reach forward and brush it away from her face was almost overpowering, but he’d done that so many times with other women. It would be too much of a cliché.

She looked up at him and shivered.

‘You’re cold.’

She started to protest, but he swung his jacket off and carefully hung it round her shoulders. It must be the night for clichés. This, too, was something he’d done more times than he could remember too—one of his moves, part of the game.

But it wasn’t like that with Ellie. She’d been cold, and he’d done something to remedy that. He wasn’t playing any games. Mainly because he didn’t know what the rules were with her. She made him feel different—unpolished, uncertain—as if he wasn’t in control of whatever was going on.

He looked at the warm light spilling from Larkford’s every window. He really ought to get back to his guests.

She moved slightly, and the friction of material between his fingers reminded him he was still holding the lapels of the jacket firmly. He really should let go. But Ellie was looking up at him, her eyes soft and unguarded, just as they had been when she’d stared down at him from the landing.