by Sara Craven
When he spoke to her directly, he made her understand in fractured English that Piers had gone to Brazil and would not be coming back. Nor could he tell her where she could contact him.
Amid another shout of laughter, he added, 'Good luck.'
She put the receiver back on its stand and stared into space, aware that her heart was thudding erratically against her ribcage. However unacceptable she might find it, it seemed that Chay Haddon had been speaking the truth after all. That Piers had indeed sold him the Grange, and vanished.
She could feel pain ready to explode inside her, but she dammed it back. She could not deal with her personal anguish and betrayal now, because there were other overriding considerations.
Thanks to Piers, she was now in debt for thousands of pounds, over and above her mortgage and bank loan. All over the area there were people who would soon be demanding their money, and she had no means of paying them.
She looked around her at the pleasant sitting room, with its familiar furniture and ornaments. They'd always been part of her life, but soon all of them could be lost for ever, along with the cottage, and the business.
She was without illusions about what she could be facing. Bankruptcy was staring her in the face, and it would touch everyone around her too. Zelda and Smudge could end up homeless. And there were the women in the workroom as well, who thought they were in secure employment and had taken on extra obligations as a result.
And all because she'd fallen in love. A sob rose in her throat. She'd trusted Piers and he'd defaulted, crudely and cruelly. Her name was on the empty account and the chequebook, and she was responsible. She had no contract or written guarantees. Nothing that could support her in law, even if Piers could be found. He'd arranged it that way, quite deliberately, and because she loved him she'd agreed. And her naivety could cost her everything.
And it wasn't as if she hadn't been warned. Zelda had been openly unhappy about taking on such a big project that would absorb all Adrien's time and energy.
'People aren't going to wait while you sort out the Grange,' she'd argued. "They'll go elsewhere. Tell people we're never available. And word soon gets round. We shouldn't put all our eggs in one basket like this.'
But she'd wanted to be totally involved in the Grange's restoration, she thought achingly, because it was going to be her home, and she didn't want anyone else imposing their ideas. Intruding on the idyll she was creating.
Moving like an automaton, she went through to the kitchen, filled the kettle and set it on the stove to boil. She needed some strong black coffee to clear her head while she made a list. She needed to know the entire extent of her obligations and also what work A to Z had in the pipeline.
She would also have to go back and face Mr. Davidson, as well as her own bank manager. Try and arrange an overdraft facility or a further loan. And then work her way out of trouble.
She swallowed, aware that she had a hard furrow to plough.
But she had to start somewhere. See if she could pull some of the irons out of the fire before Zelda and the others got to hear the rumours that would already be flying...
They depend on me, and I can't let them down, she thought, catching her breath convulsively. I can't... She fetched a notepad and a pencil and began to write. In spite of her brave front, backed up by business suit and briefcase, all her worst fears had been confirmed by mid-afternoon.
Her own bank manager, while sympathetic, had told her that her borrowing limit was already fully extended, and he couldn't agree another loan. And Mr. Davidson had sighed heavily, looking down his nose, and had asked how she proposed to pay off her present unauthorised overdraft.
Even more dauntingly, both of them had recommended her to consult an insolvency expert 'without delay'. She had also been reminded that, as the Grange now belonged to Haddon Developments, she was in effect squatting, and should remove her personal effects immediately and hand over her keys to Mr. Haddon's lawyers, Frencham and Co, in the High Street.
So there was no reprieve, Adrien thought as she climbed wearily back into her Jeep. And the execution would take place as scheduled. She was shaking inwardly, and her facial muscles ached from the effort of hanging on to her self-control. In a few short hours she had been transformed from a girl happily in charge of her own life, with a successful business and a future with the man she loved, into some kind of grotesque puppet, capable of movement only when someone else jerked the strings.
And the worst part of it all—the realisation that flayed her skin and made her stomach quiver with nausea—was that Chay Haddon was the one holding the strings. And each time she'd encountered him he'd brought trauma with him, she thought shivering. What in the world could have brought him back? That was what she couldn't understand. Because his own memories of the Grange could hardly be happy ones. The housekeeper's son, she thought, who'd been sent off to boarding school for marooning her in a tree, then banished from the house forever for stealing her garnet pendant.
Was he seeking some kind of posthumous revenge on Angus Stretton, who'd been responsible for exiling him from the house and had also, in the aftermath, sacked his mother, who'd given such quiet and faithful service for so many years. If so, there was a real sickness there, she thought, wrapping her arms protectively around her body. But it was a comprehensive and sweeping retribution that he was exacting. Piers had lost his inheritance, and she— she was facing financial ruin. As he was already well aware, she realised, recalling his jibe about her creditors. He knew exactly what he was doing. The thief had returned as a robber baron, and this time he'd stolen her whole life. She wanted to run and hide. Seek some dark corner where no one would ever find her. But she couldn't do that. She had to be strong—to stand her ground and fight back with whatever weapons she could get.
But first she had to say farewell to the Grange. She still couldn't deal with the more personal loss, although she'd have to do so soon. She'd have to admit that Piers had deserted her and married someone else. Endure the inevitable gossip and speculation. Local people were kind, but only human, and her downfall would be sensational stuff. Plus, there would be resentment from those who'd worked on the Grange, and were owed money as a result.
When businesses went bust there was often a knock-on effect, and the local economy couldn't afford it, she thought worriedly. Gordon and his sub-contractors would be the main victims.
I'll pay them back somehow, she vowed silently. Even it takes the rest of my life.
A life that stretched before her as bleak and empty as a desert—and, she realised, with a pang, just as dangerous.
The Grange looked beautiful in the late-afternoon sun, the mellow brickwork glowing.
Adrien swallowed past the sudden constriction in her throat and drove round to the side of the house. To her limitless relief, there were no other vehicles around. Don't look too closely at anything, she adjured herself, as she left the Jeep. You can't afford to be emotional. Not yet. Just grab your things and get out while the going's good.
Usually when she walked across the wide entrance hall, and up the sweep of oak staircase, she felt all the pride of ownership glowing inside her. Today she couldn't even afford a glimmer of satisfaction in a job well done.
Because Chay Haddon wasn't just getting a house. He was getting all the heart and soul that she'd poured into it. All the love.
And she was only sorry she couldn't tear it down, brick by brick, with her bare hands, and leave him with a pile of rubble.
Instead she was the one with the handful of dust—and the nightmares.
She walked slowly to the side door and stood for a moment, trying to control her flurried breathing. She had the key in her hand, so what was she waiting for?
She needed to go in—to get the whole thing over and done with—then be on her way. For the last time.
Gagging suddenly, she turned and ran, stumbling in her haste. She by-passed the lawn, where Chay Haddon had stood that morning, opting f
or the gravelled path which led to what had once been the enclosed kitchen garden but which now resembled a jungle on a bad day.
She closed her mind to the plans she'd made to transform this riot of weeds into a thriving vegetable plot again and kept running, until she reached the gate at the far end, and the area of woodland beyond it.
It was so long since she'd been here. She'd deliberately shunned this part of the grounds for sixteen years. But now, in the face of the greatest crisis of her life, she needed to confront that old childhood fear and defeat it.
She was looking for the only oak tree—an ancient, massive specimen, with room in its spreading branches for a whole terrace of treehouses.
'So where does he go all day?' Down the years, Piers's voice returned to haunt her. 'The housekeeper's son. Where does he hide himself? Do you know?'
And she, eager to please this glamorous dark-haired boy, paying his first visit to his uncle, had said, 'Yes—I'll show you.' At the same time knowing, guiltily, that she shouldn't. That it was not her secret to share.
Now, for a moment, staring up into the branches, she thought she'd picked the wrong tree. She'd been convinced that time would roll back, and she'd find herself, just nine years old, in shorts and tee shirt, her hair in the plaits she'd hated, looking up longingly at the wooden platform that had been Chay's hidden place.
An elderly ladder had been propped against the lower trunk, and after that you'd climbed up through the branches until you reached the treehouse. It had had a roof of sorts, and three walls constructed out of timber oddments, but to Adrien it had been a magic place—a castle, a palace, a cave where anything could happen.
She had known, because he'd let her look through his binoculars, that Chay went there to watch birds mostly, but sometimes he'd come to read or just think. He'd kept books up there, and a sketchpad, and a tin of biscuits.
She'd asked once, 'Isn't it funny—being all on your own here?'
He'd looked at her thoughtfully, not smiling. 'It's good to be alone sometimes. You need to be comfortable in your own company before you can be happy with other people.'
Adrien hadn't been sure what he meant, and her face must have shown it, because he'd laughed suddenly, and reached out, tugging gently at a plait.
'Is it so awful, Adie—the thought of having no one to talk to?'
'I'd hate it,' she'd said, shivering as a breeze stirred the leaves and made them sigh. 'I'd be frightened. Up here by myself.'
I actually told him that, she thought. I put the weapon in his hand and he used it against me. Used it to punish me. Unforgettably. Unforgivably. There was no ladder there now, or platform, no flapping roof. No trace of the little girl who'd knelt there, crying, for all that endless time, convinced she'd been deserted and forgotten.
It was just—a tree.
His voice reached her quietly. 'It's been gone a long time, Adie. Angus had the gardener dismantle it and put it on a bonfire. I had to watch it burn.'
She spun round, her hand flying to her mouth.
'What are you doing here?' She'd had no inkling of his approach until he spoke.
'You have a short memory,' he said. 'I own the place now—remember?' He looked her over, absorbing the dark grey linen suit and the white silk camisole beneath it. 'What happened to this morning's Pollyanna?'
She said shortly, 'Pollyanna grew up—fast. And I meant how did you know where I'd be? Because I never come here.'
'Your Jeep was there,' he said. 'But the doors were still locked. I—obeyed an instinct.'
She supposed she had done the same thing, and it irked her. She lifted her chin. 'I'm—trespassing. I apologise. I came to clear out my stuff.'
He glanced round, brows raised. 'You've been camping in the wood?' he enquired. 'How enterprising.'
'No,' she said. 'It's in the house. I—I'll go and fetch it— if that's all right'
He shrugged 'Be my guest.'
She offered him a frozen smile. 'I think that's carrying hospitality too far.'
'As it happens,' he said slowly, 'you've already been under my roof for nearly a week.'
She swallowed, forcing her legs to move, walking back down the track. 'The sale went through that long ago? And I wasn't told? Oh, but I suppose it all happened in Portugal.'
'No,' he said. 'I was in London, and so was Piers. He came over to sign the necessary papers before leaving for Brazil.'
For a moment she couldn't speak. She certainly couldn't move as she digested this latest blow. Piers had been in England, she thought with anguish, and she hadn't known. He'd been here, and he hadn't warned her. She wanted to sink to her knees and howl her misery to the sky.
Chay watched her. He said, 'Obviously he didn't make contact.'
It was a statement, not a question. But then, he'd been able to observe her shock and desperation at close quarters earlier that day. He knew how brutal the deception had been.
Adrien straightened her shoulders and set off again. She said coolly, 'That's understandable. After all, I might have taken it badly—learning I'd been jilted as well as saddled with a mountain of debt. Far better to let me find out once he was at a safe distance. I suppose Brazil could be considered a safe distance. Besides, he knew what fun you'd have, breaking the news to me in person.'
His mouth twisted. 'You have a weird idea of what I find enjoyable. But I'll say this for you, Adie, you're not a whiner.'
'Give me time,' she tossed back over her shoulder.
'I'm planning a whine of cosmic proportions. Would you like to buy a ticket? It seems I need every penny I can get. And you don't have to follow me,'
she added with aggression. 'I'm not planning to rob the place.'
'Don't be paranoid,' he said. 'We just happen to be going in the same direction.'
'No,' she said forcefully. 'No, we don't. Not now, not ever. Could you wait somewhere, please, while I collect my things? Then I'll be out of your face.'
'Sorry.' He shook his head. T want to look over the Grange—see what's been done and what's left to do.'
'I have the whole thing on computer,' she said. 'I'll send you a print-out.'
'It might be useful.' He was walking beside her now. The track was narrow, and it was difficult to avoid contact with him. 'But I'd prefer a guided tour and a detailed breakdown of the renovations process from the person responsible. You.'
She halted, lips parting in a gasp of outrage. She'd transformed the Grange for Piers and herself. Her hopes and dreams were woven intimately into the fabric of each room. Too intimately to share with an interloper. She felt as if he'd asked her to strip naked.
She said jerkily, 'I have a better idea. Hire another design team and let them fill in the missing pieces. Although you could probably sell it as it stands, if you want a fast profit.'
He gave her a hooded look. 'What makes you think I'm going to sell?'
My accountant, she thought. She'd telephoned him earlier—asked, trying to sound casual, what he knew about Haddon Developments.
Chay, she'd learned, was a mover and shaker. 'His specialty,' Mark had told her, 'is identifying major building projects that have run into financial difficulties, buying them for bottom dollar, then selling them on after completion for megabucks. He's good at it. Why are you asking?'
'Oh,' she'd said. 'Someone was mentioning his name, that's all.'
Mark had laughed. 'Friend or foe?' he'd enquired.
'Word has it he's a good man to have on your side, but a bad one to cross. Generally he doesn't arouse lukewarm opinions.'
She'd said lightly, 'Thanks for the warning.' Adding silently, It's only sixteen years too late. Now, she looked back at her adversary. 'Because that's what you do. You move in, clean up, and move on.'
'Not always,' he said. 'And not this time. Because I'm going to live here.'
'But you can't.' The words escaped before she could stop them.
'Why not?'
'You already have somewhe
re to live.' Mark again.
'You have a flat in a converted warehouse by the Thames, and a farmhouse in Suffolk.'
'You've really done your homework,' he said appreciatively. 'When interior design palls, you could always apply to MI5.'
She shrugged. 'Local boy makes good. That's always news. Even if it's the housekeeper's son.'
'Especially when it's the housekeeper's son,' he said mockingly.
She glared at him, and walked on. When he spoke again his voice was quiet, 'I was sorry to hear about your parents, Adie. I know how close you all were.'
She said tightly, 'Clearly I'm not the only one to do homework.' And they completed the rest of the walk back to the house in silence.
Outside the side door, Adrien paused and drew a deep breath. 'If you want to make your inspection in privacy, I can come back another day for my things.'
'No,' he said. 'Get them now. That is, if you're sure you won't come round with me.'
'I'm certain.'
'Don't you want to boast of your achievements?'
She shrugged. 'I don't feel particularly triumphant. Anyway, you're the expert,' she added with edge. 'I don't need to point out a thing.'
'You used to like company.'
'That,' she said, 'would depend on the company. I'll see myself out when I've finished.'
Once inside, she headed for the stairs, and the room she'd been using. She hadn't brought much, and her travel bag was soon packed. She was just rolling up the sleeping bag she'd been using when Chay appeared in the doorway.
'So you chose this room?' He looked round, brows raised quizzically as he took in the narrow camp bed. 'I'd have thought the master bedroom was the appropriate place for the mistress. Don't you find this a little cramped for passion? Or did Piers like you to keep still?'
Her face flamed. 'You bastard. You know nothing about it—nothing. Piers and I were engaged.'
His glance skimmed her bare left hand. 'Really?
Well, at least you don't have to send the ring back for— er, recycling.'
There was a silence, then she said huskily, 'That was an unforgivable thing to say.'
