by Penny Jordan
‘I really am sorry,’ Philip Crabtree, the agent, told Maggie ruefully, ‘but we have strict instructions that the estate is to be auctioned and not sold prior to auction,’
‘But why?’ Maggie protested. ‘Especially when I’m prepared to pay well over the reserve price.’
The agent sympathised with her. It was plain how important it was to her to acquire the Dower House, but as he had already explained there really was nothing he could do.
‘I can’t give you an answer to that other than to say that those are the instructions of the present owner.’
‘Who is the present owner?’ Maggie asked him—perhaps if she were to approach him or her direct she might be able to persuade them to sell outright to her.
‘An American who unexpectedly inherited not just this estate but also a much larger one in another part of the country. He’s been very specific about how he wants the sale to be handled. In fact originally he planned to attend the auction himself, but it seems that some unforeseen circumstances have cropped up that prevent him from doing so. I am sorry,’ he commiserated when he saw Maggie’s face. ‘I can see how much you want the house.’
Maggie shook her head at his misconception. ‘I don’t want it for myself,’ she told him. ‘It’s for my grandmother.’ Briefly she explained her grandparents’ connection with the property.
He was immediately even more sympathetic. ‘I wish I could do more to help you,’ he told her, ‘but I have to follow our client’s instructions. Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this, but we haven’t had an awful lot of interest in the properties, so I don’t think you need to worry about too much competition from other bidders.’
Thanking him for his time, Maggie made to leave. She knew she should have found his reassurances comforting, but she would far rather have preferred to know that the Dower House was going to be hers now rather than have to wait until after the auction.
Aspects of her life over which she was not in full control did not appeal to her one little bit, and besides…
As she hurried back to her car, huddled into her coat, she admitted reluctantly that she was anxious to leave Shropshire as quickly as she could—just in case. Just in case what? Just in case she should see Finn again, and he should have come to his senses and realised how wrong he had been; he’d tell her that he had had to find her to admit as much, declaring undying love for her, apologising to her and pleading with her to give him a second chance…
Just for a moment she allowed herself to dwell on this gratifying scenario—not because she wanted to see him again. No, of course not. No, it was simply a matter of knowing that she was in the right and feeling that he should concede as much. That was all. Nothing more. In fact so far as she was concerned it was actually a relief knowing that she was not going to see him again. Yes, quite definitely. Very definitely, in fact, she decided as she drove back to the hotel.
As she turned off the main road and into the long tree-lined drive that led to the Georgian mansion house of the estate, where the auction was to take place, Maggie reluctantly acknowledged the impressive grandeur of her surroundings. The trees were at the full height of their autumn glory, and the parkland stretching to either side of them was warmed by the morning sunshine. The house itself, which she could see ahead of her, was everything that was best about Georgian architecture, neither institutionally large, nor spoiled by any later unworthy additions.
She had a girlfriend in London, newly married and in her mid-thirties, who was desperate for just such a house—and desperate too, Maggie suspected, to remove her very wealthy and notoriously very susceptible new husband from the London scene and the attentions of other women. When Maggie had expressed her doubts about the wisdom of her friend turning her back on the successful career she had built up in the City, she had been told, smugly, that her friend had already made plans to work from the country, and that all she now needed to complete her happiness was the right house. And the right house apparently would have to be Georgian. Just like the one in front of her.
Undeniably it was beautiful, Maggie admitted as she parked her car at the end of a row of three other cars on the gravel forecourt to the house and got out.
The front door to the house was open, a notice there directing potential bidders to the room where the auction was to be held, and inside the hall on a dusty table was a pile of brochures the same as the one already in Maggie’s possession, which listed the items to be auctioned.
The main house itself, along with its gardens, the farmland and estate buildings, were of no interest to Maggie—even if she had been able to afford them, which she most certainly could not. It would take a very, very wealthy person to be able to buy in full such an estate, she knew. No, her interest lay exclusively in the Dower House, which was listed as Lot 4 in the brochure, Lots 1, 2 and 3 being, respectively, the Georgian House she was now standing in, along with the stables and garages attached to it and its garden; the farmland; and the estate buildings which comprised barns and a pair of cottages. The Dower House was over a mile away from the main house, set in its own pretty garden and with its own private drive to the main road. Maggie could see as she walked into the large and once elegant, now slightly shabby drawing room, that Philip Crabtree had been correct when he had told her that there would be very few other bidders. Apart from the agent himself, and a young woman who was obviously working with him, there were only another six people in the room.
Gratifyingly, as soon as he saw her, Philip came hurrying over to greet her, introducing his assistant to her as he did so and explaining that the heavily built be-suited man standing studying the faded yellow silk covering the drawing room walls was a builder, and the man with him his accountant, and that he was hoping to buy the main house and the stables and garages for development purposes. The older man standing staring out of the window was, as Maggie had guessed for herself, a farmer who wanted to buy the farmland, the younger man with him being his son, and the young couple standing a little nervously side by side were hoping to bid successfully for one of the cottages.
‘Normally when we hold auctions in town we get a lot of interested spectators who are there simply for the entertainment value an auction provides, and if we’d been auctioning off household goods we would undoubtedly have had far more people here, but the furniture, such as it is, goes with the house, and is not of any particular value.’
Philip stopped speaking and looked at his watch, whilst Maggie waited. The auction was almost due to start, and she could tell that the agent was slightly on edge and preoccupied. Thanking him for the information he had given her, she moved away.
The drawing room’s yellow silk was faded where the sun had touched it, and despite the existence of some heavy old fashioned radiators the room felt cold and smelled old and musty. Even so, to her own surprise, Maggie found that something about it was giving her an unfamiliar feeling of concern and compassion, almost as though in some odd way the house itself was reaching out to her, to tell her how much it wanted to be loved and cherished and brought back to life.
Such unexpectedly intense and emotional thoughts made her frown, engrossing her so much that it caught her off guard to hear the agent announce that the auction was about to begin.
As she went to join the small semicircle forming in front of him, Maggie was suddenly conscious of the way Philip was looking over her head and past her, as though…
Automatically she looked round, and then froze in disbelief as she saw Finn standing just inside the door. Her heart gave a fierce jolt and lurched against her ribs as emotions she couldn’t control escaped from the captivity of her will-power. How had he found her? How had he known…? Fiercely she fought for self-control, sternly telling herself what she ought to be feeling and how she ought to be reacting, and it certainly wasn’t with that dangerous mixture of sweetly painful anguish and joy she had now thankfully managed to subdue. How dared he seek her out like this? Here…now, when he knew she would be forced to acknowledge him. Yes, t
hat was better. That was more the reaction she ought to be feeling.
But underneath her anger she could still feel all too keenly that sharp frisson of excitement and pleasure her body had given as it registered his presence. She wasn’t going to speak to him now. He must wait until after the auction, until she was ready, prepared, her defences firmly in place…
‘Ah, Finn, good. I was just beginning to think you weren’t going to make it.’
The warmth and relief with which the agent was greeting Finn, the recognition his arrival produced, startled Maggie, putting a brake on her own thoughts. It was unpleasantly obvious that Philip had been expecting Finn to arrive—had been waiting for him to arrive, she recognised with sudden stark insight.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ Finn was apologising easily, switching his gaze from Maggie to the agent. But as soon as he had finished speaking to him he switched it back to her again, and any delusions she might have been foolish enough to entertain that he had come to the auction to see her would very quickly have been banished by the look of frowning wariness he was giving her, Maggie recognised.
The agent’s assistant, obviously desperately anxious to make contact with Finn, all but knocked Maggie over as she hurried towards him, smiling up at him and standing so close that had she got any closer she would have been in actual bodily contact with him, Maggie reflected sourly as she monitored the other girl’s openly awed and flirtatious manner.
And Finn, of course was enjoying every minute of her attention. What man wouldn’t?
As she glowered at them both—a glower that was caused by distaste and her relief that she was far too in control of herself and had far too much self-respect to ever behave so needily to any man, Maggie quickly assured herself—Finn looked up and towards her, his gaze trapping hers before she had time to look away.
Just what was it she could see in those winter-blue eyes? Mockery, conceit, contempt, anger—all of those, plus a hostility and suspicion that infused her own gaze with a reciprocal hot resentment and pride. Yet, despite that, she still could not bring herself to drag her gaze from him, leaving it to him to be the one to end their fiercely silent visual engagement.
The auction had started, and Maggie concentrated determinedly on what was happening. The builder had started the bidding for the main house at a figure that made Maggie’s eyes water a little, but her shock at realising the value of the property was nowhere near the shock she got when she saw the auctioneer looking past her and, unable to stop herself from turning round, realised that Finn was bidding for the house against the builder. Finn, a property-less farmer, bidding for a house which a nod of the builder’s square-shaped head was already taking swiftly to the two million pound mark.
As the battle between Finn and the builder pushed the house up even further, Maggie could only look on in disbelief whilst Finn, a man whom she had assumed had to struggle financially, continued to bid for a property which was climbing inexorably towards three million.
At three and a quarter million the builder and his accountant exchanged looks, and Maggie saw the builder’s mouth twist angrily as he conceded defeat.
As she battled with her disbelief Maggie saw the agent congratulate Finn with obvious pleasure before starting the bidding for the land.
Well, if Finn thought she was going to congratulate him he was going to be disappointed, Maggie told herself fiercely, and she deliberately turned her back on him. Surely he would leave now that he had got what he wanted? Her face grew hot as she remembered unwillingly her foolish assumption that he had come to the auction to seek out her. Thank goodness she hadn’t said anything to him that might have betrayed that misconception—and her with it—to his scorn and rejection.
Finn watched grimly as Maggie turned her back on him. He was still battling with the sense of shock he had experienced on seeing her—and with the savagery of his unwanted pain when he had realised that she wasn’t there, as his initial heart-wrenching belief had been, because of him.
Almost absently he nodded in the auctioneer’s direction, signalling his interest in the land. It was entirely Maggie’s fault that he had so nearly been late for the auction in the first place. A night of broken sleep interspersed with graphically emotional and physical dreams about her had resulted in him doing something he never did—oversleeping. Ever since he had first heard that this estate was coming up for auction he had been determined to buy it. Owning it would be the fulfilment of a decade long search. And yet now, instead of concentrating on the bidding, his thoughts were focused almost exclusively on Maggie.
What was she doing here? Bidding for one of the lots; that much was obvious from her intent concentration on the auctioneer and the sale brochure she was holding. But which lot? Not the main house, nor the land…
Finn frowned as he automatically raised his bid to meet that of Audley Slater. Audley was a local farmer whose family connection with the area went back over several generations. His land ran next to that of the estate, and Finn could well understand why he wanted to buy it, but Audley believed in intensive farming, and Finn knew that if he was successful he would drain the estate’s water meadows, and probably sell the river’s fishing rights. He wanted to retain the water meadows and if possible restore them to their original form.
No, Maggie couldn’t be interested in the land—which left the cottages and the barns that went with them, and the Dower House.
Finn’s frown deepened. Philip Crabtree, the agent, had been scrupulous about not discussing any other potential buyers with him, other than to say that both the Dower House and the cottages had attracted some interest. And, cautious about not revealing too much of his own plans, Finn had allowed Philip to believe that his bidding would be for the main house itself and the land.
Out of the corner of his eye Finn saw Audley Slater shaking his head as Finn raised his bid yet again.
Five minutes later, coming over to Finn after the auctioneer had finally signalled that Finn’s bid for the land was successful, Audley told him bluntly, ‘It will take one hell of a long time for you to make a profit out of the land at that price.’
Maggie could see Finn talking to the farmer he had just outbid. Next to her the young couple were huddled together, holding a whispered conversation.
‘Not long now,’ the agent told Maggie reassuringly as he walked past her.
The bidding for the cottages didn’t take long. The moment the young couple realised that Finn was entering the bidding they virtually gave up. Maggie felt angry on their behalf as she saw their disappointment. Her stomach started to churn nervously as she heard the auctioneer announce the final lot for sale: The Dower House.
‘This is a very pretty little Georgian house, with a good-sized garden, in an excellent situation, although in need of a certain amount of renovation and repair. I shall start the bidding at two hundred thousand pounds.’
Refusing to look at Finn, Maggie raised her brochure. ‘Two hundred thousand,’ she offered, hating the cracked anxious note she could hear in her own voice.
So Maggie was bidding for the Dower House. He should have guessed, Finn acknowledged bitterly. It would make a perfect ‘weekend retreat’ for Maggie and her partner—her lover. The lover she had denied to him existed; the lover he would never have known she possessed, given her sensual responsiveness to him, if he hadn’t heard her himself on the telephone to him. He could just imagine what would happen if Maggie were to be successful in her bid to buy it. The house would be gutted. An expensive team of architects would be brought in to renovate the whole place, followed by equally expensive builders, and then no doubt one of the City’s most trendy interior designers,
But the Dower House belonged rightfully to the estate, it was a part of its history, and there was no way Finn had ever intended to have city weekenders living right under his nose—any weekenders, but most definitely not Maggie and her lover. Angrily he raised her bid. No matter how much it cost him there was no way he was going to have Maggie buy the Dower House.
No way he could endure having her living there, no matter how infrequently, reminding him of certain things he had no wish whatsoever to be reminded of.
Maggie gritted her teeth and tried not to let her hostility show as she topped Finn’s bid. He was doing this deliberately; she knew it. The auctioneer had virtually assured her that the Dower House was hers, that no one else was interested in bidding for it. She tensed as she heard Finn’s clipped response to her bid. Three hundred thousand pounds—they had reached the house’s reserve price, but there was no way she was going to stop now…
Oblivious to the interest the battle between them was now causing the others in the room, Finn and Maggie continued to outbid one another, taking the price of the Dower House higher and higher. Three hundred and fifty thousand, three hundred and seventy-five thousand, four hundred thousand…
When Maggie reacted sharply and fiercely to Finn’s four hundred thousand with her own four hundred and twenty-five thousand, she could see the look of concern on the agent’s face. The knowledge that he felt sorry for her, that he obviously felt she was getting out of her depth, only spurred her on. Four hundred and fifty thousand came and went, and four hundred and seventy-five. Maggie was way over her top limit now, but she no longer cared. All she cared about was winning…All she cared about was refusing to allow Finn to best her, to defeat her.
They were standing less than two metres apart and, unable to help herself, Maggie turned towards Finn.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she mouthed bitterly at him.
‘Why do you think I’m doing it?’ he mouthed equally bitterly back. ‘There is no way I’m going to let you get the Dower House. No way, Maggie. No matter how much it costs me.’
No matter how much! The apprehension flooding Maggie almost overwhelmed her fury.
‘Five hundred thousand pounds!’
A cold rush of icy shock rushed through Maggie as she heard Finn make his bid, his voice, like his demeanour, stern and unyielding. When he turned away from her to face the auctioneer an unfamiliar recklessness tore through her, totally obliterating the anxious voice of caution begging her to think about what she was doing. Instead of listening to it, Maggie started to make frantic mental calculations. She would have to re-mortgage her London flat, and borrow against the business as well as empty her savings accounts…