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‘He’s done well for himself,’ her father commented curtly over breakfast. He passed the newspaper to Raf Di Salis, who was staying with them again. ‘Her father’s Robert West, of course, the South African media tycoon.’
The Count returned some non-committal reply, but Emily was aware that he was watching her across the table. Which made it utterly essential that she stayed in her seat, eating her toast as if it was all that mattered, when what she really wanted was to escape to her room and give way to the tears tightening in her chest.
But she could not—would not break down in front of Raf Di Salis, of all people.
I hate him, she thought childishly. I hate him for being here. For—knowing how I must feel, because he might just pity me, and that would be unbearable.
But when Simon eventually did return, he had no wife with him, tycoon’s daughter or not. It was Emily herself who had been married for over two years. And she was hesitant at first when Simon rang and asked if he could see her.
‘Nothing heavy, Em,’ he persuaded. ‘Just a chat about old times over a drink.’ He paused. ‘Unless your husband would object.’
She said curtly, ‘He’s not here to express an opinion,’ and the die was cast.
Simon had been frank about his engagement, which had been broken after only a few months.
‘It was never right with Rebecca,’ he said. ‘And I always knew it. Her father encouraged me because her previous fiance had a cocaine habit, and I seemed marginally more acceptable.
‘Plus it had also been made clear to me that your father had very different plans for you. That, all along, he intended you for his aristocratic Italian financier and I had no chance. By asking Rebecca to marry me, I was trying to prove to myself that I didn’t care. That I’d moved on. And when I heard you’d actually married Rafaele Di Salis, I felt almost justified.’
He shook his head. ‘But it was hopeless, because I knew in my heart that nothing would ever change the way I felt about you.’
He shot her a keen glance. ‘People in the village say that he’s hardly ever around. That you rarely see him.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Apart from the gossip columns and the pictures in glossy magazines.’
He didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘Doesn’t that hurt you?’
She shrugged. ‘No, why should it? I didn’t marry for love and, as soon as I’m twenty one, the trust will end and I can get a divorce.’
He was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. ‘My God, Em.’ His voice was barely a whisper as his hand closed round hers. ‘Are you saying you’re going to be free quite soon—and that you and I might get a second chance?’
She disengaged herself gently. ‘I can’t possibly say that. It’s far too soon and too much has happened.’
He said quietly, ‘I want you back, darling. I should have stayed and fought for you, but I had so little to offer. But now I’ll move heaven and earth to get you back, so be warned.’
And now he has me back, Emily told herself. And we can consign the last three years to well-deserved oblivion, and—be happy.
Starting now, she thought, as she heard the chime of the front doorbell. She uncoiled herself from the chair, smiling in anticipation as she walked across the room and out into the hall, where Mrs Penistone was admitting the newcomer.
‘Simon, how nice.’ She offered her cheek for his kiss, aware of the housekeeper’s faint disapproval. In the older woman’s eyes, Emily was still a married woman even if her marriage had never been conducted on conventional lines. ‘Penny, we’ll have lunch in half an hour.’
‘Yes, madam,’ was the dour reply as Mrs Penistone retreated.
Simon followed Emily into the drawing room and closed the door behind them.
‘Darling,’ he said fervently and took her in his arms, kissing her passionately. As he raised his head at last, he smiled down at her. ‘All intruders dealt with?’ he asked breathlessly. ‘The divorce papers safely signed?’
Emily freed herself gently and moved to one of the sofas. ‘Not—exactly.’
‘But surely they brought them?’ Simon seated himself beside her.
‘Probably. I didn’t ask.’ She hesitated. ‘You see, I’ve decided against a divorce.’
‘What?’ The word seemed to explode into the air. ‘What the hell are you talking about? Are you saying you’ve changed your mind about marrying me?’
There was a sharpness bordering on anger in his voice that she’d never heard before.
‘Of course not.’ She stroked his cheek with a placatory hand. ‘It’s nothing like that. It just occurred to me that it would be much quicker and simpler if I got an annulment. So I opted for that instead.’
Simon drew a deep, unsteady breath. ‘And you told them this? You—actually said it to your husband’s lawyers?’
‘Naturally.’ Emily paused. ‘I can’t say they were best pleased, but I convinced them I was in earnest and they’ve now gone off to break the news to their lord and master.’
There was a silence, then Simon said hoarsely, ‘Have you gone mad? Are you completely off your bloody head? You’ve sent a message to a man like Raf Di Salis that you want rid of him on the grounds of non-consummation?’ His voice rose. ‘Tell me this is a joke—please.’
Emily’s brows snapped together. ‘I couldn’t be more serious. It’s a far more honest way of ending this travesty than a divorce—especially the no-fault variety Raf is pushing for.’ She lifted her chin. ‘He should think himself lucky. After all, I could be citing all the women that he has slept with since our marriage.’
‘Well, you certainly didn’t want him, so why the hell should you care how he spends his nights?’ Simon got to his feet and began to pace the room restlessly, his face like thunder. ‘For God’s sake, Em, call the lawyers back. Tell them you’ve had second thoughts, before it’s too late, and that you’ll sign anything they want.’
‘Why should I?’
He said bluntly, ‘Because when Di Salis hears you’re asking for an annulment, it will be like a red rag to a bull. And you don’t want him angry, Em. Really you don’t.’
For a moment Emily remembered Signor Mazzini’s warning about throwing down the gauntlet and felt chilled. But she rallied, saying with an assumption of lightness. ‘Poor Simon. What on earth did he do three years ago to scare you so?’
He flushed angrily. ‘He didn’t do anything, in the way you mean. He didn’t even say much—because he didn’t have to. It’s just—the way he is. Maybe you haven’t seen the ruthless side of him, Em’, he added. ‘But it’s there, just below the surface. And I wouldn’t deliberately upset him any more than I’d poke a sleeping tiger with a stick.’
‘But why should he be upset?’ Emily shrugged. ‘He certainly doesn’t want me either, so why the hell should he care how the marriage ends, just as long as it does?’
‘Because I don’t think it’ll be that simple. Not with him.’ Simon paused. ‘God—you didn’t mention me in all this, did you?’
Emily’s frown deepened at the anxiety in his voice. ‘Not by name, but I made it clear I planned to remarry. I’m not ashamed of that. Or of you, for that matter.’ She took a deep breath. ‘And I also think it’s time that Count Di Salis realised he can’t always have his own way.’
She paused. ‘And now let’s have a drink. I asked Penny to put some champagne on ice to celebrate the morning’s achievements, but maybe you’d prefer a large Scotch instead.’
‘Make it a treble,’ Simon said moodily. ‘And have one yourself. Because I’m telling you now, Em, before this business is finished you’re going to need it.’
CHAPTER THREE
‘I WON’T see him,’ Emily said stormily. ‘I will not.’
‘And just how,’ Simon asked, ‘do you plan to avoid him?’
‘I don’t know. But I’ll find some way.’ She looked at the piece of paper crumpled in her hand. ‘As soon as I received his letter I wrote back, making it perfectly clear that I wouldn’t meet him under any circumstances. That any discussion must be conducted only through our lawyers.’
‘Hell’s bells.’ Simon sounded startled. ‘Surely you don’t expect old Henshaw to handle this kind of thing? It would be the death of him.’
‘Of course not,’ Emily returned irritably. ‘He’s Raf’s cotrustee, for heaven’s sake. Thinks the sun shines out of him. No, I was planning to hire some big-hitter from London. Someone who won’t run scared of the great Count Di Salis.
‘And now—today—I get back from shopping,’ she added furiously, ‘to find this—this bloody telephone message, saying that he’s arriving in England in forty-eight hours time and I can expect to see him the following day.’
She swallowed. ‘What’s worse, he actually dared to tell Penny that he couldn’t wait to see me again, and now she’s being all arch and asking which room she should prepare for him, and what would he like for dinner?’
‘I didn’t know she was such a romantic,’ Simon muttered.
Emily glared at him. ‘He flirts with her,’ she said stonily. ‘Outrageously.’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, God, Simon, what am I going to do? And please don’t say “I told you so.”’
Simon was silent for a moment. ‘Have you called him back?’
She shook her head. ‘I came straight here to ask your advice.’
Simon chewed on his lip. He seemed, Emily thought, as much on edge as she was herself.
‘Why not get in touch with him?’ he said at last. ‘See if you can head him off by agreeing to his quickie divorce.’
‘Never,’ she said fiercely.
‘But what other solution is there—apart from running away, of course?’
Emily lifted her head and stared at him. ‘Simon,’ she said. ‘Darling, you’re a genius.’ She nodded, her eyes narrowing. ‘When he arrives, I just won’t be there. Penny can tell him quite truthfully that I’ve gone away for an indefinite period and left no forwarding address.’
Her mouth curled. ‘The world of finance is bound to collapse without him, so he won’t want to hang around, waiting for my return. Apart from anything else, it would make him look very silly,’ she added reflectively.
‘And, as soon as he’s out of the way again, I can get the annulment started.’ She gave a small exultant laugh. ‘Everything beautifully sorted.’
‘But where will you go?’ Simon asked. ‘You haven’t got long to decide.’
‘Somewhere that he won’t even dream of looking.’ She thought for a moment, her bottom lip caught in her teeth. ‘I can’t use my passport, of course. I’m sure he could trace me. So it will have to be some incredibly unlikely place in this country.’
There was another silence, then Simon said slowly, ‘Actually, I might be able to help you there. Some people I know have a weekend cottage in Scotland—a village miles from anywhere called Tullabrae. They rent the place out when they’re not using it.’
‘Scotland?’ Emily repeated. ‘I don’t suppose Raf even knows where that is.’ She looked at him, her eyes sparkling. ‘Is it empty at the moment?’
Simon looked towards the window, at the expanse of wintry sky, and pulled a face. ‘Almost certainly, I’d say.’
‘God, it could save my life.’ She thought rapidly. ‘I could rent it for two weeks. That will give Raf plenty of time to give me up as a bad job and go back to Paris or Hong Kong or wherever he’s operating from at the moment.’ She put an eager hand on his arm. ‘Could you contact them for me—make the arrangements? Tell them I’ll pay cash.’
He looked down at the carpet. ‘Yes—I suppose so.’ His tone sounded strange. ‘If that’s what you really want.’
‘Well, of course it is.’ She was puzzled. ‘It sounds ideal. And as you say, I haven’t much time.’
He made no reply and she looked at him, frowning a little. ‘Darling, is something wrong? You’ve been odd ever since I got here.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He summoned a smile. ‘It’s just—Scotland in January. The weather could be tricky.’
‘All the better,’ Emily said triumphantly. ‘Count Di Salis prefers his snow in the Italian Alps, designer style. The domestic kind won’t appeal to him at all.’
For a moment he hesitated, then got to his feet. ‘Then I’ll email them now. Make the deal.’ He paused at the door. ‘Shall I ask Tracey to bring you a hot drink? I won’t specify the flavour, as everything tastes like dishwater.’
Emily wrinkled her nose. ‘Thanks, my love, but no thanks.’ She hesitated. ‘Have you told your aunt and uncle yet that Mrs Whipple left? I bet they’re devastated after all these years. I know how I’d feel if Penny gave notice.’
‘I haven’t said anything yet. They’re having such a great time on their trip, I don’t want to spoil things. And I’ll hire someone else before they get back.’
Left alone, Emily looked around her. The drawing room at High Gables had always been a gracious room, with its beautiful Chinese carpet and pastel furnishings, but since the housekeeper’s departure it was beginning to look shabby and unloved. Bare too, she thought, with faint puzzlement. The Georgian candlesticks were missing from the mantelpiece and the bow-fronted cabinet containing Celia Aubrey’s prized collection of Meissen figurines seemed half-empty.
It still seemed incredible that Mrs Whipple should have left while her employers were on their holiday of a lifetime, visiting relatives and old friends on a leisurely trip that would take them all round the world.
And even worse that her place had been taken by Tracey Mason, even temporarily, who’d been sacked as a barmaid from the Red Lion for poor timekeeping and general laziness.
And with no one to keep an eye on her except Simon, who was house-sitting in the Aubreys’ absence and running his own import business from High Gables at the same time.
But, although he might jib at Tracey’s coffee, manlike, he probably didn’t notice unpolished furniture and smeared windows, or tally the amount of breakages.
I hope he does look for a permanent replacement for her soon, Emily thought with a sigh, because the house is beginning to look really sad now.
As though its pulse had stopped beating. And that wouldn’t have happened in Mrs Whipple’s day.
Much as Emily had grieved for her father, she’d been determined, after his death, to see that the Manor remained just as it had been, with all the gracious charm he’d loved, setting her face resolutely against any suggestions of further modernisation. And, although it galled her to admit it, Raf Di Salis had accepted her stance and allowed her to have her way.
She got up restively and went to the window. I don’t want to give him credit, she thought, but in this case I have to. He’s fulfilled his part of the bargain. And I—I haven’t made waves. Or, not until now.
She sometimes wondered if she hadn’t been pressured into becoming his wife—if he’d simply acted as her trustee—whether they could have managed some semblance of a working relationship.
In the months before the bombshell of her father’s terminal illness had burst on her, she might not have welcomed Raf’s visits but she’d almost become accustomed to them.
And when she’d been summoned home from school in the middle of the summer term to the news that Sir Travers had suddenly collapsed, she’d been almost glad to find him there and had come almost insensibly to rely on his quiet, almost impersonal kindness in the trauma of the weeks that followed.
An inoperable brain tumour, the doctors had told her, their faces compassionate. And only a matter of time…
‘I’ve changed my will,’ Sir Travers said one afternoon when she was sitting with him. ‘You’ll still inherit everything I have to leave, my dearest, but not until you’re twenty-one and better able to cope with that kind of responsibility.
‘In the meantime, however, I’ve created a trust and your affairs will be administered by Leonard Henshaw.’ He paused. ‘And also by Rafaele.’
The breath caught in her throat. ‘Oh, no, surely not.’ The protest was instinctive. ‘Mr Henshaw I can understand, if you think this trust is really necessary, but Count Di Salis is—practically a stranger,’ she added stiltedly.
‘I thought that lately you’d become friends.’
‘Hardly that, although he’s been—helpful.’
‘Nevertheless, this is my decision and it will stand.’ He paused. ‘There is one more thing. As my heiress, you could find yourself the target of unscrupulous people and I wish you to be—properly shielded.
‘I have discussed this with Rafaele and he has a suggestion to put to you.’
Her heart seemed to stop. ‘What—what kind of suggestion?’
‘He intends to ask you to become his wife.’ He saw the shock in her pale face and put his hand over hers. ‘Naturally, he would not expect it to be a marriage in the—conventional sense,’ he added awkwardly. ‘Because you’re still young for that kind of commitment, even if you wished it.’ He paused. ‘Do you wish it?’
‘No,’ Emily managed.
