by Anne Mather
‘So she’s a lot younger than Holderness?’
Rafe nodded. ‘About thirty years, I think. But they seem happy enough.’
‘Well, you keep what I’ve said in mind,’ declared Lady Elinor, unexpectedly getting to her feet and coming towards him. She was tall, though not as tall as he was, and leaning heavily on her cane. She was wearing her signature pleated skirt and silk blouse, with a heather-coloured shawl draped about her shoulders, and her once dark hair was now liberally threaded with grey. She laid a hand on his sleeve and looked up at him with eyes as blue as the gentians that grew higher up the valley. ‘You take care,’ she added, reaching up to kiss him. ‘I may not always show it, but I’m very fond of you, Raphael.’
* * *
It was the electric bill that had done it.
It had been waiting for her when she’d got back to the apartment and she’d stared at the figure she owed with wide disbelieving eyes. She couldn’t believe she’d used that much electricity. For heaven’s sake, she’d rarely used the oven and she’d religiously turned out lights as she’d gone from room to room.
But she had used the microwave, she’d acknowledged. And the underfloor heating system was expensive. A neighbour had warned her of that. But seeing what she’d owed in black and white had really scared her. The fact that it had been the heaviest season of the year had been no consolation at all.
That was why, when Cary had rung two days later, asking her if she’d reconsidered, she’d given in to his persuasion. The figure he’d offered her for four days work had been impossible to refuse. She’d known it would pay her immediate bills and leave her a little bit over. Possibly enough to survive until she got a proper job.
All the same, as Cary turned off the A30 just beyond Bodmin on Thursday afternoon, Juliet couldn’t deny the butterflies in her stomach that were telling her she’d made a terrible mistake. She liked Cary; of course she did. Or perhaps she’d used to like the boy she’d known all those years ago. These days, she knew very little about him. His attendance at her wedding hardly constituted grounds for a friendship.
And, despite the fact that he kept telling her she was going to love the area where his grandmother’s house was situated, the idea of being introduced to Lady Elinor Daniels as Cary’s fiancée left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. When he’d first broached the idea, he’d said he needed a girlfriend. Now it had metamorphosed into a fiancée, which was a whole different ball game.
‘Not long now,’ Cary said, taking her silence for tiredness. ‘We could still stop for lunch, if you like. That would give us a break.’
Juliet, who didn’t want to spend any more time alone with him than was necessary, managed a faint smile. ‘We don’t want to be too late arriving,’ she said, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. ‘Besides, didn’t you say your grandmother is expecting us for lunch?’
Cary’s mouth compressed and Juliet got the feeling that he wasn’t looking forward to this visit any more than she was. Which was understandable, she supposed, if the old lady kept interfering in his private life. But, let’s face it, she thought, without Lady Elinor’s intervention he could be languishing in a South African prison. She’d read enough stories about rogue dealers who’d almost bankrupted the banks they’d worked for.
‘I suppose it is a bit late now,’ he conceded at last, and she realised he was responding to her question. Then, pointing away to the west, ‘Have you ever seen sea that colour before? In England, I mean. It’s almost tropical. It reminds me of a holiday I had in Mauritius. God, that was some hotel we stayed in. A whole floor given over to our suite.’
‘Expensive,’ murmured Juliet drily, and Cary turned to glance at her.
‘Yeah, I wish I had that kind of cash now,’ he agreed, without a trace of remorse. ‘That’s why I have to be so careful how I treat the old girl. Without her money, I’d be taking a package holiday in Spain every year.’
Juliet’s eyes widened. ‘Does she know you spend the money she gives you on expensive holidays?’
Cary frowned. ‘Hey, that information’s not for public consumption,’ he said. ‘Don’t you be discussing my financial arrangements with her. If she chooses to sub me sometimes, I’m not going to refuse it, am I? The old girl’s loaded! You might not think it to look at the house, but, believe me, I know she’s got a fortune hidden away somewhere.’
Juliet was feeling less and less enthusiastic about her part in this deception. She told herself that if Cary had been totally honest with her from the beginning, she’d never have agreed to come. Or was she being totally honest with herself? she wondered. Damn it all, she was doing it for the money, too.
‘Tell me about your cousin,’ she said, trying to distract herself. ‘What’s he like? Does he look like you?’
Cary scowled. ‘As if.’ And then, when she was obviously waiting for him to go on, he muttered irritably, ‘He looks like a gipsy, if you must know. Swarthy skin, greasy black hair and an attitude you could cut with a knife.’
Juliet’s brows ascended. ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’
Cary shrugged. ‘I’ve told you what he’s like. Always ingratiating himself with the old woman. I’ve no doubt she’ll sing his praises while you’re here. She does it just to wind me up.’
‘Oh, Cary—’
‘I mean it. I’ve got better things to do than mend light switches and plug leaks. I’m a banker, Jules, not a labourer. Or rather I was until the futures market stuffed up.’
Juliet chose her words with care. ‘He probably only does these things to help your grandmother. I mean, it isn’t always easy to find a plumber or an electrician when you need one.’
‘Yeah, well, he needn’t think that doing all these things gives him some claim on the estate when the old lady snuffs it. As soon as the will’s read, I’m going to tell him I don’t want him trespassing on the place in future. Tregellin’s mine. I’m the only legitimate heir and he knows it. But that doesn’t stop him from hanging around, pretending he’s helping her out.’
Juliet shook her head. ‘You’re so bitter!’
‘No.’ Cary wouldn’t have that. ‘Just practical. Anyway, we’re almost there. That’s the chimneys of the house you can see over the treetops. It’s set on a promontory overlooking the Eden estuary. The River Eden, I mean.’ He grimaced. ‘It may be a beautiful spot, but it’s no Garden of Eden.’
They approached the house down a winding track between hedges of rhododendron and acacia. Juliet guessed that in late spring and early summer these same hedges would be a riot of colour. Right now, the glossy leaves hid the buds of any blossoms, and because there were lowering clouds overhead it was rather gloomy.
The grounds of the house seemed quite extensive. A tennis court and a croquet lawn, a vegetable garden behind a lichen-covered stone wall. They circled the building and Juliet saw that it was the back of the house that faced the road. The front looked out across the river estuary, the water shallow now as the tide receded.
There was a big SUV already parked on the forecourt and as Juliet thrust open her door and got out she heard Cary give a grunt of irritation. Turning to see what had caused his annoyance, she saw that a man had just appeared from around the side of the house. He was a big man, tall and powerfully built, wearing a worn leather jacket and jeans that clung to lean muscular thighs. Scuffed boots completed his attire and Juliet didn’t need a sixth sense to know that this must be the infamous Rafe Marchese.
He looked across the width of the courtyard towards her and she felt a disturbing flutter of awareness in the pit of her stomach. But goodness, he was attractive, she thought, realising that Cary’s scornful description hadn’t done the man justice.
His hair was dark, yes, and needed cutting, but it wasn’t greasy. His skin was darkly tanned and there was the stubble of a beard on his jawline, but she wouldn’t have called him swarthy either. He wasn’t handsome. His features were too hard, too masculine for that. And she’d bet her last penny that it wasn’t on
ly for his technical skills that Lady Elinor liked having him around.
‘Cary,’ he said evenly, as the other man got out of the car, and Cary was obliged to acknowledge him in return.
‘Rafe.’ His voice was tight and he turned at once to take their luggage from the back of the car, making no attempt to introduce Juliet.
Which really annoyed her. More than it should, probably, she admitted, but dammit, she was supposed to be his fiancée. Deciding she didn’t care what Cary thought, she walked around the bonnet of the car and held out her hand.
‘Hi,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’m Juliet. Cary’s—girlfriend.’
CHAPTER THREE
THE lunch had been cold, but Juliet knew they couldn’t blame the housekeeper for that. They’d been expected at one; they’d actually arrived at a quarter-past two. However expert the cook, no one could have kept a mushroom risotto hot indefinitely.
Not that she’d been particularly hungry. The encounter between Cary and Rafe Marchese had robbed her of her appetite somewhat. The two men obviously disliked one another, but Cary had behaved like a boor and she’d been sucked into his game.
Perhaps some of the blame was hers. She’d initiated his anger when she’d introduced herself to his cousin. But, dammit, she’d been angry with Cary for ignoring her and she hadn’t thought about the possible consequences of her actions when she’d approached the other man.
The truth, however unpalatable, was that she’d wanted Rafe Marchese to notice her. Which was weird, considering that since David had walked out on their marriage over a year ago she’d had no interest in other men.
Not that she flattered herself that Marchese had felt the same way. He’d been polite, but distant, his first words succinctly delineating her reason for being there. ‘Ah, yes,’ he’d said. ‘Cary’s fiancée.’ He’d paused. ‘Lady Elinor was beginning to think you’d changed your minds.’
All the same, when he’d touched her hand she’d reacted as if she’d accidentally touched a hot wire. The heat that passed from his hand into hers shocked her to the core. Then she’d looked up into eyes that were as dark and brooding as the storm clouds massing over Tregellin and known that, whatever happened, she was already out of her depth.
Of course, she’d snatched her hand away, rather rudely, and Cary had come charging over, like some mad bull defending his mate. ‘What’s going on?’ he’d demanded, laying a possessive hand on Juliet’s shoulder. ‘What have you been saying to my fiancée? As you apparently knew we were coming, I thought you’d have had the decency to stay away.’
Rafe Marchese didn’t seem at all perturbed by Cary’s bluster. ‘It’s good to see you, too, Cary,’ he’d said, as faultlessly polite as before.
‘Well…’ Cary had been indignant. ‘Grandmama told me how you’re too busy for her these days. Spending time with your artsy-craftsy friends, was how she put it. But I might have known you’d be around when I was here.’
Rafe’s lips had tilted humorously. ‘I shouldn’t take what the old lady says too seriously,’ he’d remarked, his eyes lingering on Juliet’s now burning face. ‘You know she likes to play us off against each other. If you weren’t such an easy mark, she’d never get away with it.’
‘Oh, and you know her so well,’ Cary had sneered, but Rafe had only lifted his shoulders in a self-deprecatory shrug.
‘I’d say I see more of her,’ he’d declared mildly. ‘Whether that constitutes knowing her better remains to be seen.’
‘Well, don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do,’ Cary had continued. ‘You think that, because I live in London and you live here, you’ve got the advantage.’ His hand had squeezed Juliet’s shoulder. ‘Once we’re married, I think you can kiss any chance of changing her mind goodbye.’
Dear God, Juliet had wanted to die, she thought now as she unpacked her suitcase. For heaven’s sake, it was bad enough pretending to be Cary’s fiancée without him talking about them getting married as if it were going to happen in the next few weeks. She had no idea what Rafe Marchese had thought. If his mocking smile was anything to go by, he was used to Cary’s bombastic behaviour and he didn’t take offence from it. But she wished she hadn’t been a part of it all the same.
The altercation had been thankfully brought to an end by the advent of a small dog. It was a little yapping Pekinese that had made straight for Cary and dug its teeth into his trouser leg. ‘Damn stupid mutt!’ Cary had exclaimed, kicking out angrily, sending the dog scuttling across the yard.
‘He’s actually quite intelligent,’ Rafe had remarked coolly, bending to rescue the little animal, massaging its ears with a long-fingered brown hand that was lightly covered with dark hair. Juliet had felt a momentary envy for the dog, which was ridiculous. But then Cary had hauled their bags out of the car and headed for the house and she’d been obliged to follow him.
She guessed now that he hadn’t wanted to argue with the animal. It was Lady Elinor’s dog and Juliet doubted she’d appreciate learning that her grandson had kicked the Pekinese. It was to be hoped Rafe Marchese wouldn’t tell her. Though after the way Cary had behaved, she wouldn’t blame him if he did.
Meeting Lady Elinor again had been a bit of an anticlimax after the confrontation outside. She was a lot older than Juliet remembered, naturally, but she was still an intimidating figure. If anything, Juliet would have said that Rafe resembled her far more than Cary. He had her height and that same air of cool breeding.
During lunch, Juliet had had to fend off quite a number of questions about her failed marriage to David. The fact that it was only nine months since her divorce was finalised had elicited the opinion that in her position Lady Elinor wouldn’t have been in any hurry to rush into marriage again.
Of course, Cary had come to her rescue, assuring the old lady that the reason Juliet’s marriage hadn’t worked was that she’d married the wrong man in the first place. ‘Hammond was only after her money,’ he’d said contemptuously, and Juliet had been glad Rafe Marchese hadn’t been there to see the faintly amused expression that had crossed Lady Elinor’s face at his words.
But at least it had given her a breathing space and, when the meal was over, she’d been relieved to hear her hostess bid Josie show their guest to her room. Evidently the old lady had wanted to spend some time alone with her grandson and Juliet prayed he wouldn’t make any more promises he couldn’t keep.
With her unpacking completed, Juliet contemplated the apartment she’d been given. It was much bigger than the rooms she was used to. Even the rooms at her father’s house couldn’t have competed with this. But the whole place was incredibly shabby, the high ceilings badly needed attention and the thick paper that must have once decorated the walls was now scuffed and peeling from neglect.
It was no wonder, really, if Josie was the only help Lady Elinor had. She was almost as old as her mistress, and Juliet doubted she had time to dust all the rooms, let alone attend to any repairs. Everything here was on a grand scale, including the furniture, and the bathroom next door sported a claw-footed tub and a lavatory that was elevated on a small dais.
Still, from the brief bounce she’d permitted herself on the bed, the mattress was comfortable. And the sheets were clean and smelled sweetly of a lavender-scented rinse. It was only for three nights, she assured herself. And Lady Elinor was unlikely to have anything more to say to her. Perhaps she could borrow Cary’s car and drive into the nearest town. She had little money to do any shopping, but at least it would keep her out of the way.
The room was at the front of the house and she had a magnificent view over the river estuary. At present the tide was out and there were dozens of birds strutting over the mudflats, looking for food. She saw gulls and waders; she even recognised a pair of sandpipers. She was no expert, but she guessed you could get really interested in stuff like this if you lived here.
It was still only about half-past four and, deciding she couldn’t stay in her room until suppertime, Juliet thought she’d
go in search of the housekeeper. Perhaps Josie would tell her a little more about the history of the house—or the history of its occupants, she conceded, aware that she was more interested in Rafe Marchese than she was in anything or anyone else.
She rinsed her face at the crackled marble basin in the adjoining bathroom and then regarded her reflection in the spotted mirror. She still looked flushed, but that was probably just the cold water she’d washed with. Clearly Lady Elinor didn’t believe in heating the water during the day.
In her bedroom again, after assuring herself that the cream silk jersey top and matching linen skirt she’d worn to travel in would do for her explorations, she reapplied eyeliner and mascara, brushing a bronze gloss over her generous mouth. She wasn’t beautiful, she thought, but her heart-shaped features did have a certain appeal. Thankfully her hair, which was naturally curly, didn’t require much more than a brush running through it. It bobbed just below the level of her shoulders and, although it was some time since she’d been able to afford highlights, there were still golden streaks in its honey-brown mass. Or were they grey? she fretted, leaning closer to the mirror. After what she’d been through, she wouldn’t have been surprised.
She made her way to the head of the stairs and started down, keeping a wary eye open for either Cary or her hostess. She would prefer not to run into either of them just yet and, as the gloomy hall appeared to be deserted, she headed swiftly towards what she hoped was the kitchen. And found Rafe Marchese lounging on a corner of the pine table, sharing a pot of tea with the housekeeper.
Juliet didn’t know who was the most surprised, herself or Josie. ‘Why—Miss Lawrence,’ she said awkwardly, getting up from her place at the table to face her. ‘I was just about to bring up your tea.’
‘My tea?’
Juliet now saw the tray that had been prepared and left on one of the cabinets. There was a cup and saucer, milk and sugar, and a plate containing wafer-thin cucumber sandwiches and tiny butterfly cakes. Only the teapot was missing and she guessed Josie had been interrupted by her visitor.