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‘You must have taken leave of your senses!’ Violet had gasped in horror, before collapsing down on to a chair. ‘To think that I should live to see my own daughter running a...a boarding-house!’
‘Oh, come on, Mother—it’s hardly the end of the world!’ Amber had retorted with exasperation. While she felt sorry for the older woman, she nevertheless knew that they both had to face up to the harsh facts of life. ‘When poor Clive died, he left us with nothing but this house and a huge pile of debts. We’ve sold everything we can, and now that Lucy is growing up, she’s going to be needing clothes and toys, and lots of other things that we simply can’t afford at the moment. The house is our only asset, which is why I’ve decided to take in paying guests. However, if you can think of an alternative plan of action—I’ll be glad to hear it!’
Not able to come up with a viable course of action, it seemed the only way Violet Grant could cope with their changed status was to completely close her mind to what she called the ‘sordid, financial aspects’ of Amber’s business. However, by insisting on treating those who came to the house as personal guests of her daughter—charmingly welcoming everyone as if they were old family friends—Violet had, in many ways, proved to be a considerable asset.
But that state of affairs was now coming to an end, Amber quickly reminded herself as she made her way to the kitchen, feeling distinctly guilty at not yet having found the courage to tell her mother about the forthcoming sale of the Hall. She was deeply ashamed of being such a coward—but dreaded having to face the hysterical scenes that were bound to follow such bad news.
All the same...she told herself some time later as she moistened the heavy, dried-fruit pudding mixture with a hefty dose of brandy, she really couldn’t put off telling her mother the truth for much longer. As for the question of Max’s return—well, the sooner she put it out of her mind, the better. After all, no one had any idea of what had happened during that long, hot summer over eight years ago. So, there was no reason why the episode shouldn’t remain firmly buried in the mists of time.
* * *
Continuing to sternly lecture herself throughout the rest of the day and most of the next, Amber had gradually managed to recover her usual good sense and equilibrium. Being busily occupied in trying to catch up with all her orders for home-made Christmas produce was proving to be a positive advantage, since she simply didn’t have time to think about anything other than the job in hand. Only abandoning the kitchen to collect Lucy and her friend, Emily Thomas, from school, she was delighted when they decided that it would be fun to explore the contents of some of her mother’s old trunks up in the attic. There was nothing that Lucy liked more than dressing up in Violet’s old clothes—a fact that Amber welcomed, since it meant that the little girls were happily occupied while she made another batch of mince pies for the freezer.
Busily absorbed by her work in the kitchen, she was startled when one of the row of old-fashioned bells began ringing high on the wall above her head.
Glancing up, she noted with surprise that there was obviously someone at the front door. Certainly Rose, on a shopping trip to Cambridge, wouldn’t be collecting Emily for another hour at least—and she couldn’t think of anyone else likely to be calling at this time of day. However, as the bell was given yet another impatient ring, she realised that she was going to have to go and answer it.
Wondering who on earth it could be, Amber didn’t bother to remove her messy apron as she hurried down the dark corridor, through the green baize door, which separated the kitchen quarters from the rest of the house, and across the stone floor of the large hall.
‘OK, OK, I’m coming!’ she muttered under her breath as someone began banging loudly on the old oak door.
‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting...’ she began as she opened the door. And then, almost reeling with shock, she found herself frantically clutching the large brass door handle for support. With the blood draining from her face, her dazed and confused mind seemed barely able to comprehend the evidence of her own eyes. Because there—standing casually on the doorstep beside Mr Glover, the house agent—was the tall dark figure of Max Warner!
CHAPTER TWO
JABBING a fork into the iron-hard frosty ground, Amber tried to ignore the bitterly cold wind gusting through the large kitchen garden. Saving money by growing their own fruits and vegetables was all very well, but having to dig up leeks and parsnips in the middle of winter wasn’t exactly one of her favourite pastimes.
On the other hand, she’d always found that there was nothing like a bout of hard digging or hoeing to put any problems she might have in their correct perspective. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working at the moment, Amber told herself gloomily, pausing for a moment to brush a lock of golden brown hair from her troubled green eyes.
What on earth was she going to do? It was a question that she had been asking herself, with increasing desperation, ever since she’d discovered Max Warner—together with the house agent, Mr Glover—standing on her front doorstep. Even now, two weeks later, there seemed nothing she could do to calm her tense, edgy body, while her brain appeared to be frozen rigid with fright. In fact, with her nerves at screaming point, she wasn’t able to think about anything, other than Max’s sudden reappearance in her life—which had to be one of the most catastrophic and potentially disastrous twists of fate she’d ever experienced!
She’d hardly been able to believe the evidence of her own eyes. Almost paralytic with shock, the breath driven from her body as if from a hard blow to the solar plexus, it had taken her some moments to realise that it truly was Max, and not an evil figment of her overheated imagination.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Stanhope. It was very good of you to agree to see my client at such short notice,’ the estate agent had murmured pompously, his voice seeming to be coming from somewhere far away. ‘I...er...I hope you haven’t forgotten our appointment?’ he added hesitantly, gazing with apprehension at the young woman, who was staring silently at both him and Mr Warner in such a wide-eyed, unnerving manner.
‘An appointment...?’ Amber echoed helplessly, her mind in a chaotic whirl as she stared past him to where a sleek, glossy black sports car was parked beside Mr Glover’s vehicle on the gravelled drive outside the house. ‘I don’t understand. Do...do you mean you want to see over the house?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Mr Glover gave a nervous laugh, clearly wondering if the young widow was entirely ‘all there’. ‘I made the arrangement with your mother this morning, and...’
‘Oh, no!’ Amber gasped, suddenly realising that her mother was likely to appear on the scene any minute. ‘I’m sorry—you can’t possibly see around the house today. It’s absolutely out of the question!’ she babbled hysterically, glancing nervously behind her as she tried to close the door. ‘I haven’t yet told my mother, you see. She doesn’t realise...she has no idea that the Hall is for sale. You’ll just have to go away, and...and maybe come back some other time.’
Unfortunately, Max Warner had quickly taken a firm grip of the situation. Swiftly placing a well-shod foot in the door, he thanked Mr Glover for his services, smoothly informing the estate agent that he was quite capable of coping with the ‘delicate’ state of affairs at the Hall.
‘There’s no need to worry or disturb Mrs Grant. I’m quite confident that her daughter will be pleased to give me a personal conducted tour around the house.’
Oh, no, I won’t! Amber screamed silently at him as the house agent gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders, walking back down the steps as Max pushed the door open, moving calmly past her trembling figure into the wide, spacious hall.
Completely stunned, Amber could only stare at him with glazed eyes, quite certain that she must be in the midst of some awful nightmare.
‘I should have been in touch with you before now,’ Max told her quietly. ‘But I’ve been abroad and only recently heard the news.’
‘”The news”?’ she echoed blankly.
‘I merely wanted to say that I was very sorry to learn about Clive’s death.’
‘Yes...um...it was a long time ago, of course. So much seems to have happened since then,’ she muttered with a helpless shrug.
‘However, it does seem as though you’ve done very well for yourself, Amber,’ he drawled, glancing around at the old family portraits in their heavy gilt frames and the warm, comfortable effect of copper vases filled with greenery against the highly polished, old oak panelling.
The unexpectedly cynical, scathing note in his deep voice acted as a dash of freezing cold water on her shocked, numb state of mind. Her hackles rising, she was just about to demand an explanation for his sudden appearance—surely he couldn’t really be interested in buying the house?—when her mother floated into the hall.
‘How nice to see you. Have you come far?’ Violet murmured, giving the tall man a welcoming smile.
Amber nearly groaned aloud. This was definitely not the time for her mother to be putting on a performance of her ‘gracious hostess’ routine!
Max took the older woman’s outstretched hand and smiled warmly down at her. ‘It’s some time since we’ve met. However, I think that you’ll probably remember my father, the Reverend Augustus Warner. He was the vicar here at Elmbridge some years ago.’
Violet beamed up at the man towering over her slight frame. ‘Of course, I remember him. And you must be Max. The naughty boy who was always in trouble,’ she added with a twinkling smile.
‘Indeed I was!’ he agreed with a grin.
‘Well—you’ve certainly grown since those days! It looks as though you’ve done very well for yourself,’ Violet told him, casting an approving glance over his expensive, obviously hand-tailored, dark grey suit. ‘Now—I’m sure that you must have had a long drive. How about a nice cup of tea?’
‘Mother! I really don’t think...’
‘Nonsense, dear,’ Violet murmured, ignoring her daughter’s husky, strangled protest as she placed a hand on his arm, leading Max towards the large sitting room. ‘If he’s driven some distance, I’m sure the poor man must be simply dying of thirst.’
‘Mother...!’ Amber whispered urgently, but the older woman clearly had no intention of taking any notice of her desperate plea. As for the ‘poor man’—he merely turned his dark head to give her a cool, sardonic smile before accompanying the older woman into the sitting room.
Left standing alone in the hall, Amber could feel her initial shock and dismay rapidly giving way to long-suppressed feelings of rage and anger. How dare Max swan back into her life, completely out of the blue like this? Not only intimating that she’d married poor Clive for his money, but with absolutely no appearance of regret—let alone an abject apology for the way he’d treated her in the past.
However, just as she was telling herself fiercely that she’d never sell the Hall to Max—not even if he offered her a million pounds—Amber caught sight of herself in a large mirror hanging on the wall.
Nearly fainting with shock and dismay, it was all she could do not to shriek out loud in horror! The woman gazing back at her looked as though she’d been drawn through a knot-hole backwards, her face hot and flushed from the heat of the stove, and her apron covered with smears of flour and mincemeat. No wonder Max had been looking at her with such a caustic, scathing expression on his handsome face!
Realising that it was far too late to worry about his initial impression, Amber flew back along the corridor into the kitchen. Slinging the kettle on the hot plate of the ancient Aga, and practically throwing a tea tray of cups and saucers together, she ran back to the hall and up the wide curving staircase, taking the steps two at a time as she raced towards her bedroom.
Now, when it was almost too late, the shock waves of Max’s unexpected arrival were gradually clearing from her mind. And it was the sharp, sudden awareness of the fresh danger she was facing that lent wings to her feet as she hastily stripped off the grubby, sticky apron and ran into the adjoining bathroom to wash her hands and face. Dragging a brush through her tangled hair, she could feel her heart pounding like a sledgehammer, just as if she’d been doing an exhausting aerobics workout. And it looked as if she was going to need all the agility of just such an exercise, she told herself breathlessly as she desperately tried to pull herself together.
Unless she could put a gag on her mother’s garrulous tongue, there was a strong possibility that she was going to find herself in the middle of an utterly disastrous situation. The only chink of blue in an otherwise dark, ominous cloud was that she could hear the faint sounds of footsteps and movement overhead—evidence that Lucy and Emily were still playing happily together up in the attic.
Fervently praying that the little girls would stay safely out of sight, Amber quickly checked her appearance in a large, full-length mirror. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about her old navy sweater and jeans. Mostly because she couldn’t spare the time, but also because she was determined not to let Max think that his sudden, startling manifestation on her doorstep mattered a jot to her one way or another.
Who are you trying to fool? she asked herself with disgust, realising that there was little she could do to disguise the hectic flush on her pale cheeks, or the hunted, wary look in her nervous green eyes. There was nothing for it, but to face the music. Let’s hope they’re playing my tune, she thought hysterically, her stomach churning with nerves as she quickly left the room.
‘Max and I have just been reminiscing about old times,’ her mother trilled happily as Amber entered the sitting room carrying the tea tray. ‘We really do miss his dear father, don’t we?’
‘Er...yes, we do,’ Amber muttered, trying to stop her hands from shaking as she poured the tea. Carefully avoiding Max’s eyes, she chose a seat on the other side of the room, as far away from him as possible.
She’d been very fond of the Reverend Warner, a rather austere and scholarly widower, who’d been the vicar of Elmbridge during the years when she had been growing up. However, it had been obvious that neither he nor the rapid succession of housekeepers at the vicarage had the first notion of how to cope with his motherless son, Max—who’d gained a considerable local reputation as a wild tearaway.
‘You’ll hardly recognise the town nowadays,’ Violet informed him. ‘The old Victorian theatre has been turned into a multiple cinema, and there’s a hideous new supermarket next to the railway station,’ she added, oblivious of her daughter’s tense figure as she turned to ask, ‘What do they call it, dear?’
‘Pick ‘n’ Pay,’ Amber muttered, staring fixedly down at the cup in her trembling hands.
This is absolutely ridiculous! What am I doing, making polite conversation as if I’ve never met this man before...? she asked herself with mounting hysteria, convinced that she’d somehow strayed into a completely mad, unreal world. And why was Max here? Surely he couldn’t be seriously interested in buying the Hall—not when Sally had said he was based in London?
For the first time since she’d clapped eyes on him, Amber realised that she knew nothing about Max—or what had happened to him during the past eight years. But obviously, such an attractive man was bound to be married by now, she told herself grimly.
‘...isn’t that right, dear?’
‘What?’ Jerked out of her depressing thoughts, Amber gazed at her mother in confusion.
‘I was just talking about some of your old friends who are still living in the town,’ the older woman murmured, frowning in puzzlement at her daughter, who for some reason was looking strangely pale and nervous, before turning back to their visitor. ‘There’s Rose Thomas, of course. As it happens, Rose’s daughter, Emily, is playing here with Lucy this afternoon, and...’
‘I’m sure Max would like another cup of tea,’ Amber said quickly.
‘No, I’m fine, thank you,’ he drawled, lifting the cup to his lips.
Luckily, it seemed as though her swift, hasty interruption had succeeded in turning her mother’s thoughts in a new direction as she asked, ‘Are you now thinking of coming back to live here in Elmbridge?’
‘Well...’ he murmured, pausing for a moment as he turned his dark head to gaze at her daughter’s suddenly stiff, rigid figure. ‘John Fraser and I are still trying to sort out the affairs of my grandmother, who died over a year ago. Unfortunately, following the fire, there’s no longer a large house on the estate. So, I’m not entirely sure about my future plans.’
Violet Grant looked at him blankly for a moment before exclaiming, ‘Goodness me! I’d quite forgotten that old Lady Parker was your grandmother. She must have been well over ninety.’
‘Ninety-two, I believe,’ he agreed with a dry smile.
‘I hadn’t seen anything of her for the past ten years. But it was a shock to hear that she’d died in that terrible fire,’ she told him sorrowfully. ‘Such a lovely house—what a shame that it’s now nothing but a burnt-out ruin. Is it really true that Lady Parker cut your mother off without a penny?’ Violet added, unable to resist a juicy piece of gossip. ‘That she refused to either see or speak to her daughter after she ran away to marry your father?’
Max shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Who knows? I certainly never met my grandmother,’ he said briefly, before changing the subject and encouraging the older woman to relate all the changes that had taken place in the town over the past few years.
Once her mother was launched upon the safe, harmless topic of the recent development of Elmbridge, Amber could feel some of her nervous tension draining away. And it gave her a chance to covertly study the man she hadn’t seen for such a long time.
Although they’d grown up together, the six-year difference in their ages had seemed the most enormous gap when she’d first entered her teens. Especially as Max had always appeared to be older and more mature than his true age. There had been something about the determined set of his mouth and the glittering blue eyes that had never been young. And, while she’d been too dazed by his sudden reappearance to register more than an instant recognition, she was now able to see that Max appeared to have hardly changed at all.
Although that wasn’t strictly true, of course. There was now an austere, almost stern cast to the youthful features she had once known and an unfamiliar bleak and steely glint in his startlingly clear blue eyes. However, it seemed so unfair that, in all other respects, he should still appear to be the same devastatingly attractive man that she remembered only too well.
And then, as he shifted slightly in his seat, the movement of his broad shoulder and the quick, fleeting smile with which he greeted something her mother was saying to him sent a sudden sharp quiver of sexual awareness rippling through her body.
Gritting her teeth, Amber desperately tried to think of something—anything—to prevent herself from recalling the firmly muscled chest, slim hips and hard thighs lying beneath the dark formal suit he was wearing with such effortless poise and assurance.
Maybe it was a sense of the total injustice of life that lent an extra sharpness to her voice as she found herself saying, ‘It’s been very nice to see you again, Max. However, I’m sure you must be a busy man, and we really shouldn’t take up any more of your valuable time.’
‘Really, Amber!’ her mother protested with a quick, nervous laugh as her daughter glanced pointedly down at her watch. ‘Besides,’ she added with a puzzled frown, ‘surely dear Max is staying the night with us?’
‘Nonsense!’ Amber snapped, feeling as though her temper—already on a very short fuse—was about to erupt at any moment. ‘Of course he isn’t. He...er...he just happened to be in the area, and...’
‘No, dear, you’re quite wrong. Because, now I come to think about it, it must have been Max’s name, which I wrote down this morning.’
‘What?’ Amber’s green eyes widened in horror as the older woman vigorously nodded her head. ‘But I checked on the note pad in the hall, and there’s nothing there—only something about a call from the grocer.’
Violet Grant gave her daughter a slightly guilty, shamefaced smile. ‘Yes, well...it looks as if I might have made a slight error,’ she admitted airily. ‘But I thought the man mentioned Mr Warnock. So, I naturally assumed it was something to do with our local grocer. I didn’t realise the call was about Max Warner wanting to spend the night with us.’
You idiot—he’s only here to view the house! Amber wanted to scream at her mother. But she couldn’t. Not when she hadn’t yet told the older woman about the proposed sale of the Hall. Oh, Lord! What on earth was she going to do about this increasingly perilous situation?
Unfortunately, Violet Grant—now with the bit firmly between her teeth—appeared to be virtually unstoppable.
‘It will be so nice having an old friend staying here with us, here at the Hall,’ she told Max. ‘I still haven’t got used to complete strangers marching through the house. Although our paying guests always say that it’s so much nicer and more comfortable than an impersonal hotel,’ she confided before turning to Amber. ‘There’s no problem, dear. After all, we have plenty of rooms available.’
Amber knew that she ought to be thoroughly ashamed of a sudden, overwhelming urge to place her clenched hands tightly about her mother’s neck. ‘We’re...um...we’re all booked up,’ she lied wildly.
‘How can we be?’ Violet frowned. ‘Only this morning, you were saying that you wished we had some guests for the weekend.’
Amber gritted her teeth. She was just trying to think of some of their regular visitors, who might have arranged to stay at very little notice, when she caught sight of the chilly, mocking gleam in Max’s glittering blue eyes.
Her heart sank like a stone as she suddenly realised that he was actually enjoying her discomfiture. Although, what she’d done to deserve his enmity, she had no idea. After all, he was the one who’d abandoned her.
‘I’d be delighted to stay here at the Hall,’ Max drawled, his mouth twisting with sardonic amusement at the expression of consternation and dismay clearly visible on Amber’s face. ‘Unfortunately...’ he added after a long pause, ‘I have to return to London tonight. But I’d be very interested to see over this house.’ He turned to smile at Violet. ‘I understand that it dates from Tudor times, and is one of the oldest houses in Elmbridge.’
The older woman nodded her head. ‘Yes, you’re quite right, it is. I’m sure Amber would be delighted to show you around.’
Oh, God—he’s positively enjoying this! Amber realised, her body almost shaking with tension. Far from being prepared to accept that he wasn’t wanted, Max was clearly getting the maximum amount of grim enjoyment from this fraught situation. And time was running out. She had to get rid of him—as quickly as possible. But how on earth was she going to do it?
Just as she was coming to the conclusion that the sooner she showed him around the house—keeping well away from the attic, of course—the sooner he’d be gone, her desperate thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock.
‘Hello...?’ Rose Thomas put her head around the sitting-room door. ‘I’ve just come to fetch Emily. I hope she’s been behaving herself?’
‘Of course she has.’ Amber turned to smile at her friend, momentarily overcome with relief and euphoria at the welcome interruption. But, as she heard the sound of childish laughter only a second or two later, she realised there was nothing she could do to avoid a catastrophic disaster.
‘Mummy...Mummy! We’ve had a really stupendous time dressing up in Granny’s old clothes!’ Lucy called out as she ran full tilt into the sitting room, quickly followed by Emily. ‘We looked absolutely terrific!’
‘I’m sure you did,’ Amber managed to gasp, almost frozen with terror as she watched the little girls running excitedly around the room. She had no hope of being able to fool a clever, perceptive man like Max. But Rose, who’d known Lucy since she was a baby...? Would she notice the startling similarity between the two heads of dark, curly hair and sparkling blue eyes?
But her friend clearly hadn’t noted anything amiss as she gazed across the room at the tall, dark stranger who was rising to his feet.
‘Surely, it can’t be...?’ Rose exclaimed as the man gave her a broad smile. ‘Good Heavens—it really is Max Warner!’ she laughed, her cheeks pink with excitement as he crossed the room towards her. ‘I’d heard that you were now back in the country, but never expected to see you quite so soon. You hardly seem to have changed at all.’
‘Since I shudder at the memory of myself as a wild teenager, I sincerely hope that I have, my dear Rose,’ Max grinned, taking her hand and lifting it gallantly to his lips.
Despite her fright and panic, Amber felt a flash of indignation at this piece of quite outrageous flattery. Surely plain, calm, sensible Rose couldn’t be so silly as to fall for such a line? However, as they chattered together, with her friend sparkling beneath the awful man’s quite overwhelming charm, it really did seem as if she’d become momentarily transformed into a lovely woman.
You had to hand it to Max—he was a real con artist! she acknowledged grimly as Rose very reluctantly took her leave.
‘Well...!’ she exclaimed as Amber accompanied her and Emily across the hall towards the front door. ‘When I arrived and saw that glamorous car, it never occurred to me that it might be Max Warner. What a surprise!’
‘Yes, it certainly is,’ Amber agreed bleakly.
‘I don’t understand.’ Rose frowned. ‘If you weren’t expecting him—what on earth is he doing here?’
