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Alex bit his lip. ‘What a pity you never worked for MI5, darling.’
‘There weren’t the same openings for women in my day.’ She paused. ‘Isn’t it time, Alexander, that you left other men’s wives alone, and found a decent, respectable girl of your own? Settled down?’
He’d expected a sly ambush over dinner, not this frontal attack, and had to make a swift recovery.
‘How dull you make it sound, Gran,’ he said lightly. ‘Besides, I’d be the last man on earth a girl like that would want to marry.’
‘Specious nonsense,’ Lady Perrin said contemptuously. ‘And you know it. You’re doing the family no credit, Alexander, and it has to stop. And I refuse to allow the bank to be affected by your rackety behaviour. You’re—what? Thirty-three?’
‘Thirty-two,’ he said, instantly cross with himself for rising to the bait.
‘Precisely. You should have sown your wild oats by now.’
He was seething inwardly. ‘Perhaps you’d like to suggest a suitable candidate?’
‘I could suggest dozens,’ his grandmother said calmly. ‘But I certainly wouldn’t jeopardise their chances by naming them.’
In spite of himself, he found his lips twitching. ‘Gran, you’re impossible.’
‘I’m also serious,’ Lady Perrin returned implacably. ‘It’s my birthday in three months’ time. I shall expect you to attend it with your bride.’
Alex was shaken to the roots. From the opposite sofa, he could see his father staring at them both in open incredulity.
He said quietly, ‘Darling, that’s quite impossible. You must see that. How could I possibly meet someone…persuade her to marry me in that sort of time frame?’
‘You are wealthy, clearly attractive to women, and blessed with far more charm than you deserve.’ Selina Perrin’s tone was resolute. ‘It should be entirely within your capabilities.’ She paused. ‘I would not wish to be disappointed.’
The warning was there—implicit—staring him in the face.
He said, with a touch of desperation, ‘Grandmother…’
‘Besides,’ she went on, as if he had not spoken, ‘Rosshampton is a family house—a home waiting to be occupied. I must warn you, Alexander, that I should not wish it to become a bachelor pad. Or, indeed, permit that to happen. Do I make myself clear?’
Alex stared at her, the colour draining from his face, the blood drumming in his ears.
He said hoarsely, ‘Clear as crystal.’ And saw her give a brief, satisfied smile.
Reaching for her cane, she rose purposefully to her feet. ‘Then let us go into dinner. I hope you’re both hungry.’
He couldn’t speak for his father, Alex thought grimly as he followed her to the door, but his own appetite had been killed stone dead.
He’d come prepared for disapproval, and instead been presented with an ultimatum.
But he wasn’t going to let Rosshampton go without a struggle, he told himself. And, although she was infuriating, he did love his grandmother.
If his inheritance depended on him finding a girl to marry in the next three months, then a wife he would have.
But a wife on my own terms, he thought as he took his place at the dining table. Not yours—my dear, clever Gran. And we’ll see, shall we, who has the last laugh?
CHAPTER ONE
‘LOUISE—are you up there? What on earth are you doing?’
Louise Trentham, on her knees in the loft, surrounded by open trunks full of elderly clothing, heard her stepmother’s querulous tones from the landing below, and grimaced faintly.
‘I’m looking for thirties evening dresses,’ she called back. ‘For the Village Players.’
‘Well, come down, please,’ Marian Trentham said sharply. ‘I can’t conduct a conversation peering up into a hole.’
Lou sighed inwardly, but made her way over to the hatch, and swung slim, denim-clad legs onto the loft ladder.
‘Is something wrong?’ she enquired as she made her way down. ‘I made up the rooms as you told me, and did the flowers. And all the food is in the refrigerator, ready for Mrs Gladwin.’
‘That’s the trouble,’ Mrs Trentham said crossly. ‘She’s just telephoned to say her eldest child is ill again, and she won’t be able to cook dinner tonight. And she knows how important this evening is.’
Lou reflected drily that there probably wasn’t a soul in the known universe who wasn’t aware that Alex Fabian was coming for the weekend. And why.
She said, ‘It’s hardly her fault. Tim can’t help being asthmatic.’ She paused. ‘Why don’t you have dinner at the Royal Oak instead?’
‘At a public house?’ Mrs Trentham reared back as if her stepdaughter had suggested a visit to a burger joint.
‘A very upmarket one,’ Lou pointed out. ‘With a restaurant in all the food guides. In fact, you’ll be lucky to get a table.’
‘Because it’s intended to be a quiet family meal,’ Marian Trentham said tartly.
‘Offering Alex Fabian a preview of domestic bliss?’ Lou’s cool face relaxed into a sudden grin. ‘From what I hear, he’d prefer the Royal Oak any day of the week.’
Her stepmother’s lips thinned. ‘Please don’t be more irritating than you can help, Louise. On an occasion like this, the right atmosphere is essential.’
‘Shouldn’t he and Ellie create their own ambience?’ Lou enquired mildly. ‘Especially when he’s sweeping her off her feet into marriage?’
‘Well, I don’t intend to stand here arguing about it,’ Marian Trentham said with finality. ‘I simply came to say that you’ll have to stand in for Mrs Gladwin, and do the cooking.’
Lou had seen this coming a mile off, and she had no real objections. But the word ‘please’ would not have come amiss, she thought wryly.
‘Shouldn’t Ellie do it?’ she suggested straight-faced. ‘Convince him that she has all the wifely virtues?’
‘He’s more likely to run out of the house, screaming,’ Marian said, with one of her rare glimmers of humour. ‘Ellie could burn boiling water. Not that it matters, of course,’ she added, reverting to briskness. ‘When she’s married, there’ll be staff to attend to that kind of thing.’
‘Of course there will,’ Lou murmured. ‘Silly me.’
There’s staff here too, she thought. And I seem to be it.
‘So that’s settled, is it?’ said Marian. ‘You’ll cook tonight’s dinner? I thought you might do that mushroom soup you’re so good at—and an orange sauce with the ducks.’
‘Fine,’ Lou said equably. ‘And, having done so, am I expected to join this quiet family party?’
Marian hesitated for a micro-second too long. ‘But of course. If you’d like to. It’s entirely up to you, naturally.’
Lou took pity on her. ‘Actually, I think I’ll pass. Odd numbers and all that. And anyway, I have to go out. There’s a rehearsal at the village hall, and I need to get these costumes settled.’
Marian’s eyes took on that slightly glazed look which appeared when village matters were under discussion. Marian was a big-city woman. She liked the idea of a weekend country home—something to mention casually in conversation, and invite people to—rather than the reality of it. And she took a minimal part in local activities.
‘Well, just as you please,’ she said, adding, ‘Lou, dear,’ as an afterthought. ‘And see if you can find something for Ellie to do, would you?’ She attempted a silvery laugh. ‘She’s getting absurdly nervous, silly girl.’
Left to herself, Lou replaced the loft ladder thoughtfully. She didn’t mind being part-time caretaker in the house where she’d been born and keeping it pristine for the occasional descents from London by the rest of her family. But sometimes she felt a flicker of resentment at being taken so much for granted.
But it wouldn’t be for much longer, she thought, giving herself a mental shake. Because she too was getting married, and would be moving to the tall Georgian house in the main square which belonged to David Sanders, her future husband, who would be furious if he discovered she was acting as head cook and bottle-washer again.
‘They’re just using you, darling,’ he told her over and over again. ‘And you’re too sweet to mind.’
Lou had never regarded herself as particularly sweet, but it was nice to hear, she acknowledged contentedly.
She shrugged. ‘It’s no big deal. And it gives me something to do when you’re away.’
David worked for the regional office of a national firm of auctioneers and valuers. A recent promotion had involved him in a lot more travelling, and attendance at a series of courses in London, which had left Lou to her own devices more than she cared for, if she was honest.
Her own day job was working as a paralegal at the leading firm of solicitors in the nearby market town. The plan was that she would go on working until they started a family.
She loved the sound of that. Loved the thought of the future they would have together. It seemed to her that there had never been a time when David had not been a part of her life. They’d played as children, fought and made up again as teenagers, and rediscovered each other when he came back from university. And for the past year they’d been unofficially engaged.
It would have been put on a formal footing with a party for family and friends but for the sudden death of David’s father, and his mother’s subsequent refusal to cope with anything that approximated to ‘happy’.
‘She will come to the wedding, won’t she?’ Lou had asked at one point, with a faint irony that was lost on David.
‘Of course,’ he’d said, kissing her. ‘She just needs time, that’s all. Be patient.’
Secretly, Lou found patience difficult with David’s mother, whom she suspected to be milking widowhood for all it was worth. For one thing, it provided her with an excuse not to leave the family home, which now technically belonged to her son, and move to the bungalow in Bournemouth that she was to share with her sister. Something which had been planned forever, but which now seemed to have been shifted to the back burner.
But it would have to happen sooner or later, Lou assured herself. Because she was congenitally unfitted to share a roof with Mrs Sanders, and David knew it.
So, for the time being, she occupied Virginia Cottage in peace, most of the time, occasionally allowing herself memories of the time when she’d lived there with her mother, enjoying much the same placid existence, with her father coming home at weekends from Trentham Osborne, the independent publishing company which he ran in Bloomsbury.
But following Anne Trentham’s shocking and unexpected death after a two-day illness from a strain of viral pneumonia, Lou’s whole life had changed. She had been sent away to boarding-school, and her holidays had been spent with Aunt Barbara, her mother’s only sister, her big farmer husband and their rowdy, kind, loving family.
But no sooner had she become adapted to this new set of circumstances than they changed too. Her father, his eyes sliding away in embarrassment, had told her that he was getting married again, and she would have a stepmother and sister. Ellie would be going to the same school, and the rest of the time would be divided between the flat in London and Virginia Cottage.
In retrospect, Lou could see that her father had been involved with Marian long before her mother’s death, and that Ellie might well be her half-sister, but by the time she was old enough to realise this, it no longer seemed to matter that much. Marian could be kind enough when she remembered. And Ellie—well, Ellie truly deserved David’s epithet ‘sweet’.
She was blonde like her mother, but lacked Marian’s statuesque build. She was small, blue-eyed and shy, with a pretty, heart-shaped face, in total contrast to Lou, who was taller, and thin rather than slender, with a cloud of unruly dark hair. Lou had pale, creamy skin, and long-lashed grey eyes that were undoubtedly the best feature in a face that she herself dismissed as nondescript. And she had learned, over the years, to appear calm and self-contained.
At school she had soon found herself Ellie’s unofficial protector, and she seemed to have carried this role into their adult lives, although, admittedly, she didn’t see as much of her stepsister these days, as Ellie lived and worked in London as a copy-editor for Trentham Osborne.
And now, with amazing suddenness, Ellie was going to be married, and someone else would be looking after her. Someone called Alex Fabian.
‘I met him at the office,’ she’d confided to Louise only a few weeks before. ‘Apparently he’s a banker, and Daddy and he were doing some kind of business deal.’ She frowned. ‘I didn’t think he’d really noticed me, but he rang the next day and asked me to go to the theatre.’
‘Terrific,’ Lou said absently, focusing rather on the words “business deal”. ‘Is Dad looking to re-capitalise?’ she enquired.
Ellie shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But we are bringing out the new art and architecture list, and they say times are hard for independents in publishing.’
‘They always were,’ said Lou.
Gradually, through Ellie’s artless disclosures, she began to build up a picture of this Alex Fabian. He was, it seemed, absolutely gorgeous. There wasn’t a club where he wasn’t a member, or a restaurant where he couldn’t get a table. He was usually seen out with models, actresses and rich girls-about-town. Everywhere they went, he was recognised.
Why, only the other evening they’d gone to the launch of a new brasserie, and this stunning woman, tall with red hair and a fantastic figure, had come up to their table. Alex hadn’t seemed very pleased to see her, but he’d called her ‘Cindy’ and she’d asked him if this was the sacrificial lamb.
Ellie had mentioned this later, and Alex had said that Cindy had a sense of humour all her own, and Ellie wasn’t to worry about it. But wasn’t it strange?
‘Weird,’ Lou had agreed with total sincerity.
As she went downstairs she found herself wondering yet again what someone like Alex Fabian was doing with Ellie, who was gentle to the point of naïveté, and certainly no party animal. In fact, she still lived at her parents’ flat under Marian’s watchful eye.
And what was Ellie’s slant on all this? She talked about fabulous meals she’d eaten, and celebrities she’d met. She mentioned the opera, and the ballet, and private viewings at art galleries.
But she said nothing about Alex Fabian himself, the man who was providing all these earthly delights. And demanding—what, in return? Just, it seemed, the pleasure of Ellie’s company.
Maybe he’d recognised her intrinsic innocence, and decided to respect it, although that kind of consideration seemed unlikely from someone who clearly lived his life on the fast track.
So, perhaps it was just the attraction of opposites. Whatever, he was coming down this weekend to become formally engaged to Ellie, having apparently first sought the permission of her mother and stepfather.
Very dear and old-fashioned of him, Lou thought, wrinkling her nose in a faint unease she was unable to explain.
And it had resulted in a string of frenetic instructions from Marian, who wanted Virginia Cottage at its quaint and sparkling best, to provide the perfect setting for such a momentous event.
Lou found Ellie in the drawing room, curled up in the corner of a sofa. She didn’t fit her mother’s description of ‘silly’ at all. Instead she looked remarkably serious—rather like a small creature caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.
‘Hey there,’ Lou said gently. ‘Come and peel some potatoes for this man of yours. I thought I’d do rosti with the duck.’
‘OK. Fine.’ Ellie summoned a wan smile as she followed her to the kitchen. She sat at the table, staring without enthusiasm at the bowl of vegetables awaiting her attention.
‘Isn’t this a little early for bridal nerves?’ Lou enquired, surveying her with concern as she handed over an apron and a paring knife, then began swiftly and deftly to prepare the mushrooms for the soup. ‘You aren’t even engaged yet.’
‘No, but I will be in a few hours’ time.’
‘But only if that’s what you want,’ Lou countered, frowning. ‘So—is it?’
‘Of course.’ Ellie tilted a charming chin. ‘How could it not be?’
‘You tell me,’ Lou said wryly. ‘You look like someone under sentence of death.’
‘Don’t be absurd,’ Ellie said shortly. ‘Alex is an incredible man, and I’m going to have an amazing life with him. No one in her right mind is going to turn that away.’
Lou reached for another mushroom. That, she thought, didn’t sound like Ellie at all. More as if she was repeating something she’d been told. Something that had been impressed upon her.
I detect Marian’s fine white hand in this, she told herself grimly.
She said quietly, ‘Ellie—you do love him, don’t you?’
