The Last Woman He'd Ever Date (Mills & Boon Modern Tempted)

by Fielding, Liz

  ‘Probably, but you know what they say, a man with a couple of hundred acres, must be in want of a dog. Possibly two.’ He put his hand on her shoulder and eased her through the door to the kennels. Left it there, a warm, unaccustomed weight that she wanted to lean into. ‘Thanks for not ratting on me about the state of my fences.’

  ‘Penny told me that you’ve got her husband laying hedges. You’re obviously giving the estate a thorough overhaul. You could have told me about the woods.’

  ‘You could have looked. A journalist would have checked her facts and seen for herself that it’s in a shocking state.’

  ‘My mistake. But I haven’t got it wrong about the dog. I know you’ll be a responsible owner.’

  ‘Do you? How?’

  ‘You had a dog when you were young. It stuck to you like glue and never put a paw out of place. A cross of some sort. A bit of lurcher, a bit of retriever?’

  ‘The perfect poacher’s dog.’ He smiled at the memory. ‘I haven’t had one since Paddy died.’

  They stopped at the first kennel. A rough-coated Jack Russell with a black patch over one eye looked up, sat up, grinned, his tongue hanging out.

  ‘Cute,’ Claire said, ‘but they will dig holes. Murder on the garden.’

  ‘Who’d notice a few more holes in mine except the rabbits?’

  ‘That’s just showing off,’ she said, digging him in the ribs with her elbow.

  He grinned. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘The rabbits would undoubtedly prefer if you gave him a miss.’

  ‘Don’t they dig up your garden? Eat your lettuce? Plunder your carrots?’

  ‘You appear to be confusing me with Mr McGregor. Fortunately the cats keep Peter Rabbit and his cousins at bay.’

  ‘They have to sing for their supper?’

  ‘We all have to do that.’ She hesitated. ‘Does the rose garden come under the not-talking-to-the-press rule?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to get away with that. Not if I do what you suggest.’

  ‘No. But it would be the garden, the roses that people would be interested in.’

  ‘On that understanding, I might be persuaded to let you cover the restoration in your Greenfly blog,’ he said.

  His hand on her shoulder had drawn her in and as she turned to look at him, she discovered that he was close enough for her to see the fine stubble on his chin, a small scar that ran across his cheekbone, the individual threads of silver running through his hair at the temples.

  If she said ‘it’s a deal,’ would he seal it with a kiss?

  ‘It’s a deal.’

  ‘You’re teasing me about the bedding plants,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Possibly,’ he said, turning to the spaniel in the next kennel. His muzzle was turning grey and he rolled his eyes at them, sighed and didn’t bother to get up.

  A large cream Labrador ambled over to give them a friendly sniff, offer an ear to be scratched. A German Shepherd flung himself in desperation at the bars, a mongrel raised his eyes from a bone to growl a warning and something that looked as if it had had a brush with a French Bulldog rolled onto his back, inviting a tummy rub.

  ‘Have you seen anything you like?’ Jane asked, as they returned to the office having looked at a couple dozen dogs of all shapes and sizes.

  ‘How can anyone choose? I feel a heel for not taking them all,’ he told her.

  ‘Everyone feels like that, but you mustn’t feel guilty. You’re doing a good thing just giving one of them a home.’

  ‘Tell us about the Labrador,’ Claire said. She’d seen the way he’d lingered, rubbed the dog’s ears.

  ‘Bernard. He’s three years old, lovely temperament. Health certificate. His owners split up, moved from a house into flats.’ She shook her head. ‘We see it all the time.’

  ‘You’ve got me,’ Hal said, ‘but I need Alice’s approval.’

  ‘Ally, you’re wanted,’ she called, pushing open a door to reveal her sitting on the floor with two tiny white puppies in her lap. Their mother, a West Highland terrier, was keeping an anxious eye on her.

  ‘Look, Mum! Hal! Aren’t they just too sweet!’

  ‘The mother was found abandoned,’ Jane explained. ‘Only two of the puppies survived.’ Then, catching sight of Claire’s expression. ‘Don’t worry, they won’t be going anywhere until they’re weaned.’

  ‘But they will stay together,’ Ally insisted, anxiously.

  There was an awkward moment of silence, then Hal said, ‘Of course they will.’ He turned to Jane. ‘If I take the whole family, can they come home with me now?’

  ‘You’ll take all three? But I thought you wanted the retriever?’

  ‘Him, too.’

  ‘Really?’ She was clearly torn between elation and concern. ‘You do understand that even with Claire vouching for you we will have to come and check to make sure your home is suitable. Four dogs…’

  ‘Of course.’ He took out his wallet and handed her a card. ‘How soon can you come?’

  Jane looked at the card. Frowned. ‘North? You’re Henry North? Of Cranbrook Park?’

  ‘Jane…’ Claire began, but instead of telling this picnic-cancelling piece of work how he could get off thinking he could take her precious dogs, Jane was beaming up at him.

  ‘Why on earth didn’t you say who you were? How lovely to meet you in person. I can’t tell you how grateful we are. So generous… And if there’s anything we can ever do for you.’

  ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘maybe there is. I’m looking for a companion for my donkey. What do you advise?’

  ‘Well, now…’

  *

  ‘Four dogs and a one-eyed pony?’ Claire shook her head. ‘Are you quite mad?’

  ‘Possibly. In fact this is where I’m going to have to play my personal Wish card.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘The terrier and her pups are going to need more time than I can give them until they’re free-range, so I’m going to ask Alice to take care of them for me until they’re weaned.’

  ‘Ally?’

  She looked across at Ally, who was talking to the puppies, already half in love with them. Half in love with this big man who had bought her ice cream and burgers and had made her day shine brighter with his attention, listening to her, encouraging her to chatter away.

  Made her day shine brighter…

  ‘No. Please don’t do that, Hal, it’ll break her heart when she has to give them up.’

  He looked at her for a moment as if searching for something in her face, her expression, then, without turning away, said, ‘Alice? Your mother is going to be working from home for the next few weeks so I’m leaving the terriers with you to take care of for a while. Can you handle that?’

  ‘Oh, wow!’ she said, completely losing her cool in her excitement.

  ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ she muttered.

  ‘She’ll enjoy looking after them.’

  ‘Bastard!’ she said under her breath.

  ‘Obviously.’

  No! Oh, God, bad word choice but he knew what she meant…

  ‘What will you do with them, with Bernard, once you’ve made your plans, the Hall is a fancy hotel or conference centre—’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘—and you’ve gone back to your London penthouse?’

  ‘For a clever woman, you can be remarkably stupid,’ he said and there was a moment of utter stillness before he shrugged. ‘Obviously Jane will find good homes for them when the time comes.’

  Stupid. Got it in one. She’d allowed him to draw her in. Worse, draw in Ally, and this was the result. One nasty headline that she hadn’t even written repaid in full.

  ‘Well? Are you going to rush back and tell her not to let me have them?’ he asked. ‘After your glowing reference?’

  ‘I ought to.’ But then she would be the one who’d break Ally’s heart. But she would, anyway…

  ‘I thought not. Do you want to bring that box?’ he prompted, bef
ore encouraging the Lab to jump up into the back of the Range Rover.

  She picked up the box containing the leads and dog food he’d bought from Jane and put it beside Bernard, rubbing the Lab’s silky ears to reassure him while Hal settled the basket of heartbreak beside Ally on the back seat.

  ‘These dogs are going to need names,’ Ally said.

  ‘You’re right. Why don’t you make a list,’ Hal suggested, ‘and we’ll choose tomorrow. I’ll send a box for the pony, Jane,’ he called, ignoring her, leaving her to climb aboard by herself and deciding to concentrate on Ally and the terriers when they got home.

  *

  ‘Hal…’

  ‘We’ll discuss the Wish-scheme tomorrow,’ he said, finally deigning to notice her once the dogs were settled to Ally’s exacting standards. ‘Is nine o’clock too early for you?’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll knock loud enough to wake me if I oversleep,’ she replied, matching the chill in his voice and lowering it ten degrees.

  ‘Count on it.’

  She heard him say goodbye to Ally, the sound of his footsteps rounding the cottage, the Range Rover turning in the lane and then the snuffling of the dogs.

  ‘Ally, love, leave the puppies to rest now,’ she said.

  ‘Alice.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  Ally looked up from the basket. ‘Hal calls me Alice.’

  She’d noticed. ‘But Ally is short for Alice Louise.’

  ‘I know, but Alice is more grown up.’

  Okaaay… ‘Well, Alice Thackeray, it appears that the incredibly clever Hal North has driven away with the dog food, so we’re going to have to walk to the village shop and fetch some.’

  ‘Will they be all right on their own?’

  ‘The mother has water—’ she should be grateful that he’d remembered to bring in the dishes ‘—and the cats have had a look and decided the dogs are beneath them, so I think they’ll be okay for half an hour. In fact they could probably do with a little peace and quiet after all the excitement.’

  She certainly could.

  No such luck. Jessie Michaels was at the post-office counter with Savannah. She had to find a way to talk to the woman, try and sort things out, but the village shop wasn’t the place for it.

  She handed Ally some dog food and headed for the counter, hoping to get away without the girls having to confront one another.

  ‘What’s this, Ally?’ Mrs Chaudry, who’d known her all her life was looking at the can. ‘Have you got a dog now?’

  ‘Actually,’ she said, in a clear, carrying voice, no doubt meant for Savannah’s ears—so much for discretion, ‘I’ve got three. A mummy dog and her two tiny, tiny puppies.’ She cupped her hands to show how little they were. ‘They’re white and fluffy and totally gorgeous.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Savannah turn and look, unable to resist the magic word—puppies.

  ‘How lovely. What are they called?’

  ‘They don’t have names yet. I’m going to make a list when I get home and Hal and I are going to choose tomorrow. I’ll get Mum to take a picture on her phone and we’ll show you next time we come to the shop.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’

  Claire, seeing Savannah edge a little closer, backed off and went to pick up a loaf she didn’t need. As she turned, she caught Jessie Michaels watching the two girls standing side by side now, but ignoring one another, each waiting for the other to speak first.

  Claire headed towards the freezer to give them space. Jessie, taking the hint, followed.

  ‘How is she?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Alice? Fed up, bored, missing Savannah.’

  ‘Girls… They get cliquey. Silly. Small things get blown up out of all proportion.’

  ‘What was it, do you know?’

  She shrugged awkwardly. ‘Apparently Ally told everyone that her father was a sheikh and that made her a princess or something…’

  ‘Oh, good grief. It’s my fault. I did go a bit over the top with the ancestry thing,’ she admitted.

  Attempting to make her father someone who mattered.

  ‘I really wish they wouldn’t do that family tree thing,’ Jessie said. ‘You start digging around in the past and all kinds of stuff comes up that you’d really rather not know about. How have you been coping during half term?’

  ‘My boss has arranged for me to work at home for a few weeks.’ Would she be missed from the news desk? Or once the Wish List thing was done and dusted would they realise that they’d managed perfectly well without her?

  They both turned at the sound of a giggle from the counter. The two girls were head-to-head, instant friends again in the way that only children can be. Ally turned to look for her.

  ‘Mum, can Sav come and see the puppies?’

  ‘If her mother says it’s all right.’ Then she said, ‘Maybe she’d like to stay to tea?’

  *

  Claire sat at her desk, phone in her hand.

  Downstairs the dogs were asleep in their basket. On the floor above her, Alice and Savannah were choosing names for them. She couldn’t put it off a moment longer…

  She dialled the number of the estate office, the only number that was listed, and wasn’t sure whether she was disappointed or relieved when, for once, it was picked up by an answering machine.

  There was so much she could say, she thought, as she listened to Penny’s voice inviting her to leave a message. So much she should say.

  Clearly Hal hadn’t forgotten to leave the dog food. He’d known that the puppies would be an irresistible draw to Ally’s friends and that if she bought food in the village shop everyone would know about them by the next morning. She just got lucky that Savannah was there…

  But she didn’t have to say any of those things.

  He knew what he’d done and although it had taken her a while to cotton on, so did she and when the beep sounded she kept it short.

  *

  Hal paused, looked up from his laptop as the answering

  machine picked up an incoming call.

  ‘You are too clever by half, Hal North.’ Miss Snooty Smartyhat. ‘And you’re right. I’m stupid. Thank you.’

  ‘Too clever for my own good,’ he muttered, reaching to delete the message and instead pressing Play Again.

  Bernard lifted his head from his paws and looked at him, his eyebrows poetry in motion.

  ‘What?’

  He whined softly, sat up.

  ‘You want me to call her back?’ he asked, earning himself a woof of encouragement. The dog had been in the house for no more than three hours and already he thought he owned it. ‘The trouble with you Labradors is that you are just so easy,’ he said, forcing himself to hit Delete; it wasn’t something he wanted Penny to hear when she arrived in the morning. ‘You’re anyone’s for the rub of an ear.’

  As for him, easy wasn’t the word.

  Another thirty seconds and he’d have been hitting Call Back, just to make sure that the puppies had settled, that Alice was coping, to hear her say thank you again in that sweet, musical voice that seemed to whisper over his skin.

  His intention had been to give her a hard time, use her newspaper to show her two could play dirty, knowing how much she’d hate dressing up as a fairy, being cut off from the news desk.

  Instead, he’d taken her to lunch, lumbered himself with a menagerie and, in the process, had completely forgotten who she was, why he wanted to hurt her, until she’d turned on him.

  He had been so sure she’d instantly pick up on what he was trying to do, but he’d seriously underestimated the defence mechanism of the mother defending her young from the possibility of pain.

  Stupid. He was the one who was stupid.

  How often had his mother stepped between him and Jack North, taken the blows until he’d been big enough to strike back. But then it was Jack his mother had rushed to comfort, bathing his lip, crooning to him.

  Bernard pushed impatiently at his hand.

  ‘B
ehave, or I’ll trade you in for that Jack Russell,’ he warned, even as his hand rested on Bernard’s broad head. ‘We both know that if I suggested a good long walk right now you’d forget about Claire Thackeray in a heartbeat.’

  Bernard was on his feet and at the door a second after the word ‘walk’ had left his lips and abandoning his laptop he headed for the mudroom and picked up a lead before following him out into the soft evening. With luck, a walk would have a similarly amnesia-inducing effect on him.

  *

  Claire worked late, dealing with comments on her “Greenfly and Dandelion” blog, answering queries.

  She had no formal training, did not pretend to be an expert, but her mother had studied garden design at the same college as her father had studied estate management and, between them, she’d absorbed a lot of practical knowledge.

  In the period between Ally’s birth and the time she started at pre-school, she’d had a lot of time to fill, but no money and she’d put all her efforts into making her home, creating her garden.

  Blog done, she sent Brian an update on the teddy bears picnic story—turning Hal North from villain to something more like a hero.

  Just because she was off the news desk didn’t mean she couldn’t contribute. Besides, he was right. She should have looked for a reason.

  Cranfield Wood had been hit hard during the storm, but she remembered her dad complaining that there had been no money to restore it. The truth was that it had been neglected for years and it was all about Health and Safety these days.

  Was that the problem with the footpath, too?

  She would look, she promised herself, turning to the box of her father’s things that she’d brought down from the loft. It contained his journals, the photographs he’d taken of the estate and with luck there would be photographs of the damage caused by the big storm back in the nineteen-eighties that she could scan and attach to her piece.

  That done, she went on looking, searching for one face. Not Hal, he’d never been in those group shots of beaters, estate workers, but someone else might be there. And she turned the pages long into the night, searching for a resemblance, a clue…

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  DESPITE her late night Claire was up at sunrise planting out the summer bedding she’d been hardening off.