Dark Nights with a Billionaire Bundle

by Carole Mortimer, Kate Walker, Janette Kenny

And perhaps even more important, he had given her a sense of safety and fulfilment, as though she had at last found her true home in his arms.

  But for the moment she was alone, and the smell of percolating coffee was drifting in.

  Pushing back the duvet, she sat on the edge of the bed and gingerly tested her ankle.

  Finding the night’s rest had made all the difference, and though still a trifle painful it took her weight, she unwound the bandage and made her way into the bathroom.

  When she had showered, she pulled on her clothes, cleaned her teeth, brushed her hair, and, eager to be with Michael, went through to the kitchen.

  It was a pleasant enough room, with a wood-burning stove standing in a stone fireplace, an oak table and chairs, and, though they were somewhat out of date, ‘all mod cons’.

  There was a glass jug of coffee keeping hot on the stove, along with a dish of something that smelled extremely appetizing, but to her disappointment there was no sign of Michael.

  Returning to the living-room, she folded the bedding and left it in a neat pile on the settee, then, favouring her damaged ankle, went exploring.

  From the inner hall they had come in by, an archway led to what appeared to be a formal drawing-room, and beyond that a butler’s pantry. Further on still was a small oak door, which, when she tried it, opened into the main courtyard.

  Outside it seemed reasonably mild, and, deciding that she didn’t need a coat, she set off across the cobbles, pausing by the old metal-capped well to look around her at the picturesque scene.

  The storm had passed through in the early hours of the morning, giving place to a relatively bright, sunny day.

  Everywhere still looked freshly washed. The cobblestones gleamed and a million raindrops glittered on sills and guttering, the bonnet of Michael’s car, and the ivy that festooned the southern wall.

  She sighed with pleasure.

  A seagull circled, calling raucously, and, tilting back her head to follow that beautiful, effortless flight, she noticed a figure on the battlements.

  As she looked up their eyes met and held.

  She had the strangest feeling of déjà vu.

  Only it wasn’t déjà vu, she realized as she absently watched the seagull settle on the cover of the well, its beady eyes fixed on her, its yellow webbed feet looking clumsy on so graceful a bird; this had really happened.

  On her very first visit to the castle, she had looked up and seen a man with dark, wind-ruffled hair standing on the battlements.

  Their eyes had met and held, and as though something momentous had happened her breath had caught in her throat and her heart had started to throw itself against her ribs.

  Flustered both by the strength of her reaction and the intensity of the man’s gaze, she had looked away.

  It had been quite late, and, knowing herself to be the only visitor still there, she had wondered if the environs of the castle were closed and she should have been gone.

  That thought in mind, she had started across the courtyard towards the main gate, but something had impelled her to pause just briefly and turn to look up at the battlements once more.

  They were empty. The man who had had such an impact on her had vanished.

  But the little incident had stayed in her mind for a long time afterwards.

  Now she was sure that it had been Michael she had seen all those years ago, and, wondering at the strangeness of fate, she looked up to wave to him.

  The battlements were empty. He had vanished once more.

  She felt a sense of loss like a blow over the heart, a sudden panic, a fear that history was repeating itself.

  Then, just as the seagull took to the air with a squawk, Michael’s tall figure appeared from the north tower and started to cross the courtyard towards her.

  Filled with gladness, she literally threw herself into his arms.

  He gave a little grunt as he took the unexpected impact, and held her close.

  When she’d been thoroughly kissed, a twinkle in his eye, he told her gravely, ‘Now that’s what I call real enthusiasm.’

  Blushing a little, she murmured, ‘Sorry.’

  ‘There’s no need to be sorry. I only hope I can look forward to a greeting like that every morning. I just couldn’t help but wonder what brought it on.’

  ‘I know it sounds silly, but I thought for a minute that you’d gone.’

  ‘Gone?’ he echoed blankly.

  ‘Disappeared…Like you did the first time. You see, when I looked up and saw you standing on the battlements, the scene was familiar to me. I thought for a moment that it was déjà vu, then I realized it really had happened. The first time I visited the castle I saw you standing in almost the same spot. You won’t remember, but you looked at me, and—’

  ‘As a matter of fact I remember very well.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘I also remember that you appeared to be shy. You looked away, then turned to go back to your car.’

  ‘I was the only visitor still there and I thought maybe I should have already left.’

  ‘So you ran, without looking back.’

  ‘No. When I reached the gateway I did look back, but you’d gone.’

  ‘I was hurrying down the tower steps. I wanted to talk to you, to stop you leaving.’ He sighed. ‘But I was too late…’

  She had stopped in her tracks and was gazing at him, wide-eyed.

  ‘Then when I saw you again at Arthur Jenkins’s retirement party—’

  ‘But surely you didn’t recognize me after all those years, when you’d caught only one brief glimpse of me?’

  ‘As a matter of fact I’d never forgotten you, and I knew you almost at once.’

  ‘Is that why you gave me the job?’

  ‘Partly,’ he admitted.

  ‘You never mentioned we’d seen each other before.’

  ‘I wondered if you might remember.’

  ‘I did…Sort of…I felt as if I knew you, but I didn’t know why. I wondered if I might have seen your photograph somewhere…’

  Then wonderingly, ‘It’s all so strange.’

  ‘The Turkish and Arabic people call it kismet.’

  ‘That’s exactly what it feels like,’ she said, and leaned against him contentedly, her head fitting snugly beneath his chin.

  He kissed her hair, breathing in the fragrance of it, and feeling as though his heart were too big to fit into its allotted space.

  Then, not wanting to appear soft, he returned to the practical. ‘How is the ankle today?’

  Straightening up, she smiled at him. ‘Almost as good as new. The spray you put on seems to have worked wonders.’

  ‘I’m pleased about that. Though I admit I was quite looking forward to carrying you again.’

  With a seductive glance from beneath long lashes, she told him demurely, ‘I dare say I’ll need some help by tonight…’

  He laughed joyously.

  ‘In the meantime,’ she added prosaically, ‘when I looked in the kitchen, whatever you’d been cooking smelled delicious.’

  ‘Hungry?’

  ‘Ravenous.’

  An arm around her slender waist, he commented, ‘Unromantic but reassuring. Let’s go and eat. Then when we’ve finished breakfast, if you think your ankle will stand it I’ll take you up on the battlements.’

  ‘I’m sure it will,’ she said happily.

  After a tasty breakfast at the kitchen table, Michael fetched their outdoor things.

  ‘I know you’re eager to do this,’ he said as he helped her on with her coat, ‘but promise you’ll tell me if your ankle starts to hurt.’

  Feeling cherished and cared for, she gave her promise, and they climbed the steps of the north tower and emerged onto the battlements.

  The air was clear and fresh and the pale sunshine held more than a hint of warmth as, hand in hand, they walked slowly round the battlements. The views over the gleaming silver sea, the mainland coast, and the sweep of pale sand either side of the cause
way were serene and beautiful.

  Looking over the island’s fertile countryside, she could see a collage of green fields and hills dotted with the orangey-yellow of gorse, and an occasional farmhouse, and on the seaward side the deserted beaches and rocky coves she and Michael had walked beside.

  From the battlements, Slinterwood appeared to be quite close, and a little further on along the coast Jenny could see a farm and a hamlet of cottages, grey smoke rising from their tall chimneys and hovering, serene and orderly as a gathering of quakers.

  After gazing at the picturesque scene for a while in appreciative silence, a catch in her voice, Jenny remarked, ‘It must be wonderful to live here and to know all this beauty is yours.’

  ‘I’ve always considered that in most respects I was a very lucky man,’ Michael answered seriously. Then giving her a squeeze. ‘And now I’m convinced that I’m the most fortunate man alive.’

  That remark earned him a kiss, which he returned with interest.

  After a while, becoming aware that her ankle was starting to throb, but reluctant to move, she shifted her weight onto her good foot.

  Noticing that small movement, and appreciating the cause, he said firmly, ‘We’d better be starting down. You can come up here as much as you like when your ankle is fully mended.’

  Glowing at the thought, she allowed herself to be shepherded to the tower steps which, with his help, she managed to get down with comparative ease.

  As they crossed the courtyard he glanced at his watch. ‘I’d like to be back at Slinterwood before too long, so it might be a good idea for you to get straight into the car…?’

  Wondering if he was planning to start work, she nodded, and allowed herself to be helped in.

  ‘This way you can rest your ankle while I just make sure everything’s safe. Mrs Blair will be over some time this afternoon to tidy up after us…’

  When he came back he was carrying a large manilla envelope, which he tossed onto the back seat before sliding behind the wheel.

  ‘All set?’ he queried.

  She nodded, and a moment later they were heading for the gatehouse.

  It would have been a wrench leaving the castle had she been leaving for good. But the situation having altered so dramatically, and comparing how things were now to how they had seemed on her arrival at the castle yesterday, she left with a smile hanging on her lips.

  The journey back to Slinterwood along the high coastal road was spectacular, and Jenny thoroughly enjoyed it.

  Wondering what the actual distance was between the castle and Slinterwood, she remarked, ‘It must be quite a long way for Mrs Blair to walk.’

  ‘It would be by road, but when the weather’s fine she takes a short cut.’

  He pointed. ‘See the stand of pine trees on the right? There’s a path runs through them that leads first to the castle, and then down to the causeway.’

  ‘What about when it’s wet?’

  ‘Oh, she doesn’t walk then.’ Michael grinned. ‘She has a little car. She pops over to the mainland regularly to shop and play bingo.’

  When they reached the house, once again it seemed to welcome her, and Jenny went inside as if she were coming home.

  Everywhere was clean and tidy, and the fires had been lit, proving that Mrs Blair had been and gone.

  As Michael helped her off with her coat Jenny said, ‘Earlier you mentioned that you wanted to get back. Does that mean you’re planning to start work?’

  ‘No, not just yet. There’s something I want to do first. Do you mind if I leave you for a short time?’

  Though a little surprised, she answered, ‘No, of course not.’

  Settling her comfortably on the couch in front of the living-room fire, her shoes off and a selection of books by her side, he explained, ‘I want to call on old Martha before lunch.’

  At Jenny’s questioning glance, he went on, ‘Martha is well into her nineties. She used to work at the castle until my father died. Then she, along with her husband, Noah, and daughter, Hannah, finally decided to retire. Noah was almost a hundred years old when he died last year.’

  ‘Does she live alone now?’

  ‘No. After her husband’s death, she went to live with her daughter…Now, you’re quite sure you’ll be all right?’

  Touched by his concern, she answered, ‘Quite sure.’

  He stooped and kissed her lingeringly, as if he could hardly bear to leave her. Then, straightening, he headed for the door. His hand on the knob, he turned to smile at her and say, ‘I won’t be long.’

  A few moments later she heard his car door slam, the engine start, and the car draw away.

  For a while Jenny sat thinking over all that had happened while they had been at the castle, and marvelling at the way fate worked.

  Yesterday morning she had been determined to leave both Michael and the island. But now, only twenty-four hours later, she was deliriously happy at the prospect of staying.

  Though it was only a short time since they’d met, it was as if she had known and cared for him all her life. The thought was like a flare going up, making clear feelings she hadn’t yet faced, and could hardly credit. How could she possibly love a man she had only just met?

  Yet she did.

  One day, if she was very fortunate, he might come to feel the same way about her, but at the moment all that really mattered was that he had no intention of going back to his ex-wife, that it was her he wanted with him.

  Things had happened so quickly between them, and even though no word of commitment had been spoken, and no promises made, she was content.

  Although she wanted his love more than anything in the world, at the moment it was enough that he was tender and caring.

  She was still savouring that newly found contentment when she heard the sound of the car returning and pulling up outside.

  A minute or so later, to her surprise, there were voices in the hall, then the living-room door opened and Michael appeared, an old lady on one arm, and the manilla envelope he’d left in the car tucked under the other.

  ‘Jenny, I’d like you to meet Martha…Martha, this is Jenny Mansell.’

  Jenny swung her feet to the floor, but Michael said quickly, ‘No, don’t get up. Stay where you are. I’ve told Martha about your sprained ankle.’

  Remaining seated, Jenny said with a smile, ‘It’s nice to meet you, Martha.’

  As Martha gave a respectful nod Michael added, ‘Martha has been with the family all her life.’

  The old lady was tall and spare and dressed in black from head to toe. She wore long jet earrings and her pure white hair was in a neat bun. Though her face was as wrinkled as a walnut, her dark eyes were bright and alert, and she appeared to still have her own teeth.

  When Michael had helped her off with her coat and she was settled in a chair by the fire, he suggested, ‘What about a spot of brandy to keep out the cold?’

  Then with a grin, ‘And don’t try to tell me I’m leading you astray, because Hannah mentioned that you always have a drop of “medicine” before lunch, to settle your stomach.’

  Martha gave a cackle of laughter. ‘And so I do.’

  When Michael had supplied the old lady with a generous measure of cognac, he went to sit on the settee beside Jenny and explained, ‘There’s something I’d like you to hear, and, though Martha doesn’t get out much these days, she offered to come and tell you first hand.’

  As Jenny looked at him, puzzled and expectant, he took her hand and, twisting the heavy gold ring on her finger, went on, ‘I’ll start from when I first noticed the seal on your signet ring and recognized it as part of the old family crest. It was then I began to get an inkling of what might have happened.

  ‘This morning, before I went up on the battlements, I had a quick look in the castle archives for some photographs I could vaguely recall seeing, and these are what I found. Martha recognized them both immediately.’

  Reaching for the manilla envelope that he’d dropped on the cof
fee table, he opened it and passed her an old-fashioned, unframed, sepia photograph.

  She found herself staring at a studio portrait of a young man sitting rather self-consciously beside a potted palm, his hands spread on his thighs.

  Michael.

  Only of course it couldn’t be Michael.

  Though the lean, strong face, the handsome eyes, and the well-shaped head of thick dark hair were identical, the moustache and the high, winged collar looked as if they belonged in the nineteen-twenties.

  ‘Who is it?’ she asked.

  ‘My great-grandfather, Michael. I was named after him. Now take a good look at his right hand. See the signet ring on his little finger? Well, with a magnifying glass I was able to make out that the seal is a phoenix.’

  Jenny was still puzzling over it when he handed her another photograph. Sitting in the same chair, by the same potted palm, was a young woman with dark eyes and dark hair, wearing a high-necked blouse and a long string of pearls.

  Herself.

  But again it couldn’t be.

  So who was it?

  Almost immediately light dawned.

  Watching her expressive face, he said, ‘You’ve guessed it. Your great-grandmother, Jenny. The photographs must have been taken before she and Michael got engaged.’

  ‘Engaged! So it was your great-grandfather who was the love of her life…’

  Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she asked, ‘What makes you think the photographs were taken before they got engaged?’

  ‘Because he was still wearing the signet ring. When she agreed to marry him, he gave her the ring. However, before they could make any kind of formal announcement, he went down with flu. It turned to pneumonia, and within three days he was dead.

  ‘As you know, he was a widower with a young son. He had married his own cousin when they were both very young, and after a brief and not particularly happy marriage his wife died in childbirth.

  ‘When Michael became ill so suddenly and unexpectedly, his parents were away. They’d taken the child to Scotland to visit his maternal grandparents, and when they were summoned back it was to find that their only son was dead.

  ‘Perhaps you can’t blame them for being insular in their grief, but Jenny, who was heartbroken, found herself shut out, almost ignored.