by Sara Craven
Mrs Harrington tutted. ‘Ah, now, too much caffeine is bad for the system, so I’m told.’
‘I’ve heard the same thing,’ Alanna agreed, taking the cup her hostess handed her. ‘But I still prefer it that way.’
She hesitated. ‘And tomorrow we’ll be going back to London right after breakfast, so, sadly, I’ll have to miss out on another ride. But thank you for asking me.’ And produced a smile of her own. ‘Next time perhaps.’
‘Well, there’s always that,’ Mrs Harrington agreed tranquilly. ‘However, I’m afraid, my dear, that I have to disappoint you. Gerard, being the heir, has a number of responsibilities down here at Whitestone, especially now I’m not as young as I was, and we have tenants who’ll be wanting to see him tomorrow.’
She nodded. ‘I imagine that could take up most of the day, and then we’ll need to discuss everything, so he may well be spending the night. And I’m sure you need to get back to your busy life and your career in the big city.’
She sighed. ‘Ah, girls today have the best of it. Great jobs and their independence. My own family took it for granted I’d stay at home until I was married, and that’s what I did until the blessed day when Gerard’s grandfather came to claim me.
‘It will be so different for you, dear girl. You can enjoy your freedom.’
She paused, then went on more briskly, ‘But my Diana and her husband are leaving before lunch, so I’m sure they’ll be glad to give you a lift. I’ll ask them, shall I? Or you could speak to Joanne. I’ve noticed the pair of you hitting it off.’
I bet you have, thought Alanna, sipping her coffee with a fair assumption of composure. So that’s how it’s done. Nothing as crude as ‘Never darken my doors again.’
Just the subtle dagger between the ribs. And if I cared, I’d now be bleeding all over this Persian rug.
As it is, what’s twisting the knife is having to accept that Zandor was right. But at least I’ll never have to say so. Or not to him, anyway.
Knowing I’ll definitely never have to meet him again is actually one of the few advantages of the situation.
However, if Mrs H. thinks I’m going to leave in a huff right here and now, she’ll be disappointed. I intend to stick to my guns and depart with dignity.
Aloud, she said calmly, ‘Please don’t trouble yourself, Mrs Harrington. I can make my own arrangements.’
Or Gerard certainly can, she decided, stonily. I think he owes me that. Because I’m not going round begging for a lift as if I’m a Victorian servant turned off without a character.
Besides, he must know his grandmother’s plans for his future, so what on earth prompted him to invite me in the first place?
Therefore, I’m going to have some advice for him too. Grow a backbone before it’s too late.
Then, swiftly reverting to the theme of dignified departure, she smilingly accepted another ‘absolutely delicious’ cup of coffee.
Which proved to be a mistake.
‘I believe your father is a lawyer,’ Niamh Harrington remarked as she handed back Alanna’s cup. ‘One of the great professions, I always think. My cousin’s son is Dermot Connor-Smith, QC who’s made a great name for himself at the criminal bar. I expect your father knows him well.’
‘I doubt they’ve ever met,’ Alanna returned composedly after another fortifying sip. ‘My father isn’t a barrister, and he doesn’t work in London.’
‘Not in London?’ Mrs Harrington’s brows rose. ‘Isn’t that a strange choice?’
‘Not at all. He’s a partner specialising in probate and family law at a firm based in a small market town called Silworth.’ Alanna paused. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard of it?’
Mrs Harrington appeared to consider. ‘It doesn’t spring to mind. And he finds enough to occupy him there?’
Alanna smiled. ‘Oh, yes. He’s always busy.’
‘And your mother. Does she also have a job?’
‘She does part-time work in a charity shop for the homeless, but she’s also very involved with the local Women’s Institute, and both she and Dad are keen gardeners.’
And so the inquisition continued, demonstrating to Alanna with needle-sharp accuracy just how provincial her background would seem to the Harringtons of Whitestone Abbey.
By the time the meeting drew to its close and she was graciously released—‘I think some of the others are playing croquet on the lawn, my dear. I’m sure you’d be most welcome to join them...’—Alanna’s blood was close to boiling.
Whatever she’d resolved privately, it was still not pleasant to be dismissed in such a cavalier fashion. Treated as if she didn’t matter, she thought as she stormed upstairs. As if, God help her, she’d somehow been tried and found wanting.
As for croquet, she thought savagely, watch out, world, and Niamh Harrington in particular, if she got her hands on a mallet any time soon.
She flung open the door of her room and marched in, stopping herself just in time from slamming it behind her in case the sound echoed as far as the library and told Gerard’s grandmother that her knife had found its target.
Nor did she intend to permit herself to cry, although she knew tears were not far from the surface. She would not, she decided, grant Niamh Harrington that much of a victory either.
She stalked furiously into the bathroom and began to run water into the tub, adding a generous capful of gardenia bath oil, before stripping off her clothes and fastening her hair into a loose knot on top of her head with a small silver comb.
She slid down into the water, closing her eyes and resting her head against the small towelling pillow attached to the back of the bath, feeling the heat permeate through every inch of her chilled and shaking body. Relaxing gradually as she inhaled the fragrance of the gardenia and began to breathe softly and evenly again.
And there she remained, adding more hot water when necessary until she’d recovered a measure of calm, even managing to smile again as she thought what she’d have to tell Susie—strictly edited, naturally. Zandor Varga, if she mentioned him at all, would feature only as Gerard’s arrogant boss. Their previous acquaintance would still stay strictly taboo.
And one day, sooner rather than later, she would be able to erase his memory from her life altogether.
As the water drained, she dried herself slowly with one of the soft, fluffy bath towels provided, moisturised her skin with her Azalea body lotion, then wrapping herself, sarong-style, in another towel, she sauntered back into her bedroom, removing her comb and letting her hair tumble round her bare shoulders as she went.
‘Ah,’ Zandor said softly. ‘So there you are.’
He was standing by the bedroom door, leaning a casual shoulder against its frame.
Alanna started violently, dropping the comb and clutching at the towel, which had begun to slip.
She said hoarsely, ‘You. How dare you come in here? Get out at once.’
‘It didn’t require any particular daring.’ He shrugged. ‘I came to return some lost property.’
He pointed to the bed and, turning, Alanna saw the sweater she’d dropped in that headlong dash across the common draped neatly across the pillow.
Damnation, she thought, and lifted her chin. ‘Then you should have knocked.’
‘I did. You didn’t seem to be here. And the door was not locked.’ He paused. ‘Unlike last night.’
So it was you. She managed just in time to choke back the words.
Oh, God, she thought. Why didn’t I think of it this morning?
‘And you don’t need to thank me.’ He allowed his gaze to travel over her slowly and appreciatively. ‘I am already sufficiently rewarded, believe me.’
She felt her skin warm. ‘In that case, kindly leave.’ She spoke crisply. ‘I’d like to get dressed.’
‘Then do so,’ he drawled. ‘After all, watching you put your clothes back on again is one of the few things I haven’t yet enjoyed in your company.’
The breath caught in her throat. She said unevenly, ‘If you
don’t get out now, I’ll scream the house down.’
His brows lifted mockingly. ‘Rather extreme action to take with someone you supposedly met only twenty-four hours ago,’ he commented. ‘How would you explain it?’
‘I wouldn’t have to,’ she said defiantly. ‘Your reputation with women apparently speaks for itself.’
‘No,’ he said softly. ‘But gossip certainly does. My Cousin Joanne has been busy.’
She said huskily, ‘Or perhaps she speaks from bitter experience.’
‘No.’ His tone was harsh. ‘She does not.’ He paused. ‘I admit I considered it at one time, but then I remembered I used to be fond of her.’
Alanna drew a ragged breath. ‘Whereas with me you didn’t even have that excuse.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘With you, my lovely one, I had no excuse at all. None.’
He straightened. Came away from the door.
Alanna shrank. ‘Keep your distance. Don’t dare to lay a hand on me.’
‘Now you are being absurd.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It is barely an hour until lunch.’ He sent her a crooked smile. ‘Certainly not time for anything I might have in mind. As you may remember.’
‘You,’ she said unevenly, ‘can go to hell.’
He opened the door. Looked back at her. He said quietly, ‘“Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it.” I am sure you recognise the quotation.’
And went, closing the door behind him.
For a long moment, Alanna remained exactly where she was, staring at the solid wooden panels. Then she stumbled across the room and—belatedly—turned the key in the lock once again.
Better safe than sorry, she thought, and knew just how ridiculous that was. Because she certainly wouldn’t be safe until she left the abbey behind her for ever. And it was equally certain, she told herself, that her meeting with Zandor Varga was something she’d regret for the rest of her life.
* * *
It was almost time for the midday buffet on the terrace that Gerard had mentioned on the journey down when she eventually went downstairs, casually dressed in a brief khaki cotton skirt and a cream short-sleeved top, her hair brushed back and confined at the nape of her neck with a tortoiseshell clasp.
She had scrutinised herself closely before leaving her room, and was reassured there was nothing in her appearance to suggest she’d spent the last few hours on an emotional roller coaster.
So, outwardly, she was together, and if, inwardly, her composure seemed to be hanging by a thread, that was something else to add to her list of little secrets.
To her surprise, she found Gerard waiting at the foot of the stairs.
He said, ‘I was just coming to find you.’
She shrugged coolly. ‘Whereas I wouldn’t have known where to start looking for you.’ She allowed that to sink in before glancing at her watch. ‘Am I late? Due for an entry in your Aunt Caroline’s bad books?’
‘No, not at all.’ He paused. ‘In fact, I thought we’d give the buffet a miss and drive over to the village. The pub does a pretty good ploughman’s, but there are other places further on in Aldchester if you’d prefer.’ He hesitated again. ‘Or we can stay here.’
He seemed to be making a real effort, so Alanna relented and gave him a smile. ‘A ploughman’s and some cider would be terrific.’
He grinned back. ‘And it’s perfect weather for a convertible, so why don’t I get Zan to loan me his Lamborghini for the afternoon.’
‘No!’ She saw immediately that her instinctive negative had been too quick and far too emphatic. ‘I mean—as you say, it’s a lovely day and he may want to use it himself. Besides, I really like the Mercedes.’
‘Well, there’s no accounting for tastes,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But it’s your decision, so let’s go.’
The pub in Whitestone village was called The Abbot’s Retreat.
‘He can’t have been a very saintly abbot,’ Alanna commented, as they parked the car and walked round to the gardens at the rear. ‘Not if he had to retreat to a pub.’
Gerard grinned. ‘Don’t condemn the poor guy too quickly. Tradition says that there was once a hermitage on this site, somewhere the monks came for solitude and prayer. And traces of a much earlier building have actually been found in the cellars.’
‘We’ll give him the benefit of the doubt,’ Alanna decided as they found a table beside a stream overhung with willows. ‘And I wouldn’t blame him either way.’
The ploughman’s lunches were substantial, with slices of home-cured ham alongside the mature cheese, salad and fresh crusty bread.
To her own surprise, Alanna ate every scrap.
‘Great idea,’ she said as she finished her cider, and put down her empty glass. ‘Congratulations.’
‘I felt something was needed,’ Gerard admitted ruefully. ‘The weekend so far isn’t exactly proceeding as I planned. I seem to be at other people’s beck and call the whole time. But that’s going to stop.’
He smiled with faint awkwardness. ‘From here on, it’s you and me against the world.’
Alanna felt a stirring of alarm.
She said steadily, ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’
He reached across and took her hand. ‘Alanna—I know it’s too soon, but I want you to agree to become engaged to me.’
Her lips parted in a gasp of sheer astonishment. She said faintly, ‘But we hardly know each other...’
‘If you’re saying we’ve never been on intimate terms, that’s quite true.’ He hesitated. ‘Alanna, I was in a bad place when you quite literally fell into my life. And as I got to know you, I had the impression that you’d been in a similar situation.
‘I—I’ve never asked you about it, or talked about my own problems because I’d come to see that nothing can be gained by endlessly rehashing past mistakes.’
She swallowed. ‘Well, we can certainly agree about that,’ she said unevenly. ‘But, Gerard...’
‘Please hear me out.’ His fingers tightened round hers. ‘Right now, I’m simply offering an engagement, not pressuring you into marriage—or anything else for that matter. I think—I hope we could be happy together, if we gave each other the chance.’
She gave him a straight look. ‘But there are other people who might not be happy at all.’
‘You mean Grandam.’ His mouth tightened. ‘I love her dearly, Alanna, but she has to realise she can’t control my life. Not any more.’
Alanna wasn’t too sure of that, just as she was totally certain this engagement idea was a path she didn’t want to follow. Because marriage was out of the question.
Even if she’d fallen in love with him, twenty-four hours at the abbey would have warned her to think again and run for her life. For all kinds of reasons.
But to tell him so bluntly would be unkind.
A bad place. Well, as he’d guessed, she knew all about that. And that was another good reason for letting him down lightly.
She said quietly, ‘This has come as such a total surprise. You have to give me some time. Let me think about it.’
‘Take as long as you need. And as I said, I won’t try to change our relationship—push you into something you’re not ready for. So let’s just see how it goes. Shall we?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I suppose.’ She hesitated. ‘But, Gerard, I’m not promising anything. I can’t. Not yet.’
Not ever...
She added, ‘You must understand that.’
She felt dazed as they returned to the car. If he’d stripped naked and jumped into the stream, she couldn’t have been more astonished, although she supposed it explained the unusually proprietorial attitude he’d shown since the start of the weekend.
Which must have also set Niamh Harrington’s alarm bells ringing.
Well, let her worry, she thought with grim determination. At the party tonight, for the first and last time, she’ll be seeing me in full devoted girlfriend mode. And to hell with the consequences.
CHAPTER SIX
; ‘THAT,’ SAID JOANNE REVERENTLY, ‘is one gorgeous dress.’
Alanna smiled at her. ‘Glad you like it.’
She had to admit the soft colour glimmered even in the fading light from her window, and it did indeed cling in all the right places.
She remembered thinking when she bought it that the weekend could be a turning point for her. And how right she’d been—even if it wasn’t exactly as anticipated. More twists than a corkscrew, she thought with an inward grimace before adding lightly, ‘I want to make Gerard proud of me tonight.’
‘I should think he’ll burst with it.’ Joanne giggled naughtily. ‘And the Hon. Felicity will burst too—for a different reason.’
‘Felicity?’ Alanna queried. ‘Oh, the girl your grandmother suggested should go riding with me.’
‘That’s the one.’ Joanne nodded. ‘Lord Bradham’s only child—and therefore loaded. Not to say spoiled.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘She and Gerard had a boy-girl thing for a little while in their teens, and Grandam periodically tries to revive it. Fat chance, on his side at least, so you don’t have to worry.’
‘I couldn’t be less worried if I tried,’ Alanna assured her. Although not for the reason you think, she added silently.
‘Besides Dad has always said that if Grandam got her way, she could live to regret it,’ Joanne went on. ‘You see, Felicity runs this very upmarket letting agency for wealthy visitors from abroad.’
She grinned. ‘He reckons that as soon as the ink on the marriage certificate was dry, she’d have Grandam whistled out of here into a purpose-built annexe at the manor with a live-in carer, while she rented out the abbey for megabucks to some foreign oligarch.’
Alanna smiled too, but felt a touch of compunction.
‘I can’t imagine Gerard allowing that to happen.’
‘That,’ said Joanne darkly, ‘is because you haven’t met Felicity.’
She looked at her watch. ‘We’d better go down. People will be arriving soon, and Grandam likes the whole family assembled to greet them.’
Which hardly includes me, thought Alanna. But this is the one and only time so I won’t argue.
Gerard was waiting in the hall below. He looked them both over and said, ‘Wow,’ before offering them each an arm and escorting them ceremoniously into the drawing room.
