His Rags-to-Riches Bride

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.’