The Last Woman He'd Ever Date (Mills & Boon Modern Tempted)

by Fielding, Liz

  He was at his desk dealing with the reports and emails that, these days, seemed to multiply faster than he could deal with.

  ‘I hope you weren’t late for work again.’

  ‘I was, but only because the bus was late. Any news on my bike?’

  ‘I’ll chase it up. If that’s all?’ he prompted, knowing full well it wasn’t.

  ‘How about an update on your plans for the future of Cranbrook Park?’ she asked, in a clear, bright musical voice that was inextricably tied into a burning sense of injustice, of longing for something beyond his reach. Was Robert Cranbrook right? Was this the end rather than the beginning he’d envisaged? ‘Just a little hint?’ she prompted. ‘Something I can use in tomorrow’s paper?’

  ‘It’s none of your business?’ he offered. That ‘boy’ in the Observer’s headline had been too reminiscent of Cranbrook’s bile.

  ‘No…I’m going to need more than that.’

  Was she laughing?

  ‘It’s none of your business, Claire Thackeray?’ he offered, restraining the urge to join her.

  ‘Okay. We’ll leave that for now but I was hoping you’d explain to our readers why you’ve blocked off the public footpath beside the Cran?’

  ‘Do your readers care?’ he asked. ‘No one has complained.’

  ‘Clearly you don’t read our letters page.’

  ‘I don’t read the Observer,’ he lied, ‘but I have no doubt that “outraged of Maybridge” is an inside job.’

  ‘How cynical you are. People do care.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘So that’s a “no comment”, a “no comment” and a “no comment,” then. Okay,’ she said—definitely laughing— ‘That’ll do nicely.’

  ‘Claire… How’s your foot?’

  ‘I’m scarred for life. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers any day now. How’s your, um, rod?’ she asked.

  ‘I refer you to the answer I gave earlier.’

  ‘It would make a great story. Millionaire Landowner Mown Down by Tenant. Archie has form, you know. He ran some quad bikers into the stream last year. I’ll send you a link to the article.’

  ‘You wouldn’t rat on Archie,’ he said, as an email popped into his inbox. ‘How do you know my email address?’

  ‘No comment and no comment. It’s a good picture of him, don’t you think?’

  He clicked on the link, looked at the photograph of Archie, the picture of sweet innocence as he peered over the hedge.

  ‘Believe nothing that you read and only half what you see,’ he replied and thought he caught a sigh from the other end of the phone.

  ‘Any progress with my bike?’ she asked.

  ‘Ask Gary. He’s working on it.’

  ‘I will and, Hal?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Thanks for giving him a chance. The offer of a cake is still open. Any time.’

  ‘Just stop ringing me and we’ll be quits,’ he said, hanging up before he relented.

  The estimate for re-leading the roof dealt with the smile.

  *

  ‘Made the front page again, Claire?’

  ‘Homing instinct,’ she said, glancing at the pulls of the front page. The Maybridge Wish-List fairy might be draped over the masthead, but it was her story that was the lead. ‘“Closed for Fun…” It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’ she said, doing her best to sound enthusiastic.

  ‘It was a slow news day.’ Tim Mayhew, the sports editor, made a virtue of being a grouch.

  ‘This is Maybridge, Tim. It’s always a slow news day. The ambitious journalist has to get out there and create her headlines.’

  That would be the journalist who was desperate to hang on to her job. The journalist who wished she hadn’t promised the news editor a constant feed of Hal North stories.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with ambition,’ Tim said, ‘but you’re going to have to come up with something better than local landowner closes footpath if you’re going to repeat your local-boy-makes-good coup.’

  She didn’t need him to tell her that. Brian was already on her case.

  ‘It’s not the footpath that makes the story, Tim, it’s the “new,” “millionaire” and “landowner” that does the business.’ Along with the tall, dark. The classically handsome element was cancelled out by rich and available.

  ‘People will soon get fed up of being fed a diet of Hal North stories.’

  The sooner the better. She couldn’t wait to get back to the WI meetings, meanwhile…

  ‘I’ve just heard that he’s cancelled the traditional Teddy Bears Picnic. Just who the heck does think he is?’ she asked, trying to put some real feeling into it.

  ‘Henry North? New millionaire landowner?’ he said, quoting her own words back at her.

  She stared at the front-page picture of the pile of scrap metal blocking the footpath across the Cranbrook estate.

  The photographer had used a marker to write “Closed For Fun” on a piece of cardboard and propped it against a handy piece of junk. It made a great picture, she didn’t deny it. And Brian had found a photograph of Hal at a white-tie dinner. The juxtaposition suggested arrogance, distance, a man who didn’t care.

  Tim grunted. ‘Personally, I don’t blame him for refusing to have dozens of kids running riot on his newly acquired country estate.’

  ‘Next to you the Grinch is warm and cuddly.’

  Hal wasn’t like that.

  She mentally rolled her eyes. She kept telling herself that ‘Hal wasn’t like that’; she hadn’t a clue what he was like. All she had was this fantasy figure she’d created in her head—a cross between Prince Charming and the Beast. And if she’d cast herself in the role of Beauty, it was because she’d been a kid and didn’t know any better.

  What she did know was that it hadn’t been ‘Mr Henry North, millionaire businessman’ who’d mocked her, reminded her that she had once had a goal in life. A place at a good university, every advantage, and she’d wasted it. And it sure as heck hadn’t been ‘Mr Henry North, millionaire businessman’ who’d kissed her socks off. Well, her tights, anyway…

  That had most definitely been Hal North, Cranbrook bad boy, doing what he did as naturally as breathing. She’d put his bad temper down to the fact that she’d run into him. That must have hurt. But having reinvented himself it must have come as quite a shock to discover that she was still on the estate and working for the local newspaper.

  He’d got off lightly, she reminded herself.

  She could have got a lot more quotes to liven up her original front page if she’d had a mind to, but she’d kept that to herself. She wasn’t about to annoy the man who had it in his power to put up her rent.

  ‘It’s really tough on the charity that relies on the event,’ she said. Concentrate on that. Not on Hal.

  ‘It must have come as a real shock when Cranbrook Park was sold overnight to a man who doesn’t buy into the whole noblesse-oblige thing.’

  ‘It was quick, wasn’t it?’ Almost as if Hal had been watching, waiting…

  ‘Once you’re in hock to the tax man you’re done for. They won’t wait for the market to pick up. As long as they’re covered they don’t care how cheap they sell. And it would need to be cheap. The place is going to take a fortune to restore.’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘No doubt North will finance it with a high-end executive estate on that meadow running beside the May. It’s a prime riverside location and out of sight of the Hall. Perfect.’

  ‘What? But that’s Archie’s meadow!’ she protested. He was right, though. It was perfect. Forget dancing on Sir Robert’s grave. How much more satisfying would Hal find it to make Sir Robert watch as he trampolined a thousand years of Cranbrook family history into the dirt. ‘He’d never get it through planning,’ she objected.

  ‘You think a man like North is going to let petty bureaucracy stand in his way? If the local planners prove obstinate, he’ll put in a appeal to the Secretary of State on the grounds of
the local need for jobs, houses.’ He shrugged. ‘They’re probably mates. There’s a story for you.’

  ‘I can’t print that!’

  She wouldn’t have to. All it would take was a photograph of them together and people would leap to their own conclusions. And there was nothing like a suggestion of dirty doings at the Town Hall to boost circulation.

  She would be flavour of the month. And if it made her feel just a little bit soiled? The way she’d felt as she’d listened to gossip about him in the café near his office, well, it was her job. It paid the rent, kept Ally warm and fed.

  ‘Besides, what will happen to poor old Archie?’

  ‘Oh, please. If North has any sense that donkey was cats’ meat within a week of him moving in. You should sue him for not keeping him under control,’ he added. ‘Or are you saving that for another headline?’

  ‘Of course not. He’s always been a lamb with me.’ As long as she had an apple to buy him off. ‘Archie,’ she added, rubbing the back of her hand over her mouth. Hal North was something else…

  ‘Kebabs, then. Millionaire Makes Mincemeat of Maybridge Mascot…’

  ‘Shut up, Tim,’ she muttered as Brian walked through the office.

  ‘Children, children!’ Jessica Dixon, the features editor raised her head from her PC. ‘The only thing that should concern you on today’s front page is who is going to be this year’s Fairy Godmother. Or Godfather,’ she added, looking at Tim over her spectacles. ‘This is an equal-opportunity chance to volunteer.’

  ‘Tim in a tutu and wings.’ Cheered at the thought, Claire grinned. ‘Now that I would pay good money to see.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Maybridge wish week!

  IT’S Maybridge Wish Week! Time for the Maybridge Observer’s Fairy Godmother to wave her magic wand and make some wishes come true for members of the community.

  In the past few years, we’ve hunted down grant funding, drummed up support from local business and enlisted the help of a volunteer army from our community to refurbish the pensioners’ day-care centre, built a modern, fully equipped sports pavilion on the old playing fields and turned a derelict cinema into an arts centre that is now a vibrant part of Maybridge life, as well as dozens of smaller projects to make life easier for groups and individuals.

  So—what next?

  We’re asking you to tell us what project you’d like to see tackled this year…

  —Maybridge Observer, April 27.

  *

  ‘Have you seen this?’

  Hal glanced at the newspaper Bea Webb was holding up.

  ‘The Maybridge Observer Fairy Godmother?’ he asked blandly, ignoring the headline and concentrating instead on the cartoon fairy waving her wand and sprinkling gold sparkle over the newspaper masthead.

  She looked exactly like Claire Thackeray.

  ‘If only. According to this, Maybridge has become a “fun-free zone” since your arrival.’

  He took the paper from her and dropped it in the bin, refusing to think about the way she called him every day at the same time to ask about his plans. To think about the fact that he was always at his desk, waiting for her call. Glancing at his watch if she was a little late.

  That her voice, clear, confident, the product of all that expensive private education that had gone to waste in a moment of lust with a man who hadn’t bothered to stick around and deal with his own mess, had taken up residence in his head.

  ‘I need someone in the office full-time, Bea,’ he said, firmly changing the subject. ‘Will you ask Penny if she’s prepared to do more hours?’

  She shook her head. ‘Why don’t you stick to the plan and leave all this to the professionals, Hal?’

  Good question.

  *

  Claire knew that Tim had just been winding her up, but she couldn’t get Archie out of her head.

  Okay, he was a bit—more than a bit—of a liability and while Sir Robert might have had a soft spot for the beast, Hal North had no reason to consider him anything but a pain in the fishing rod, but…

  Just…but.

  She looked up as Brian stopped by her desk. ‘How far have you got with the Teddy Bears Picnic story, Claire?’

  ‘I’m working on it,’ she said. ‘I thought I might run over and take some photographs of Cranbrook woods.’

  ‘No need. I sent Marcus over there this morning. I want you to focus on the “all this and he won’t share it for a day, not even for a good cause” angle.’ Her heart was still sinking when he said, ‘On the other hand, it wouldn’t hurt to go and have a good look round. Take some pictures if you see any sign of surveying.’

  ‘Have you heard something?’ she asked.

  ‘No. Charlie Peascod is being unusually close-mouthed. Why don’t you pop along this evening and see what’s going on? Take your little girl with you. You can always say you’re on a nature walk or something.’

  ‘I’m not taking Ally with me! Suppose we’re thrown out for trespassing?’

  ‘We couldn’t get that lucky.’ Maybe her expression betrayed just how far he’d stepped over the line because he said, ‘It’s nearly lunchtime. You might as well go now. But don’t take all day about it.’

  *

  The minute Bea had left, Hal walked across the courtyard towards the garages.

  Claire’s bike was standing, upended, still minus a wheel, in one corner. It had been more than a week since her bike had been damaged, too long for her to be without any kind of transport. And when it was fixed she wouldn’t have an excuse to ring him.

  ‘Gary?’

  There was a clank of metal, the familiar sound of a spanner hitting concrete, followed by a muttered oath.

  He followed the sound to the workshop and the years rolled back as he saw the boy and an old motorcycle in pieces strewn all around him.

  *

  The minute Claire got home, she changed into jeans, boots and, with her camera tucked into her pocket, she walked down to the meadow.

  It was a classic flower meadow. It hadn’t been ploughed in centuries, just grazed by sheep, rabbits and Archie. Except that Archie wasn’t there.

  Forget looking for surveyors setting up levels, she had to talk to Hal, find out what on earth was going on.

  *

  ‘Okay, hand me the nut…’

  ‘This one?’

  Hal, lying on his side as he tackled an awkward connection, turned his head a little too quickly and nearly lost the assembly he was rebuilding.

  Claire Thackeray, all legs in a pair of close-fitting jeans, was offering him a large wing nut.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he snapped. ‘Anyone with half a brain cell can see that I need that one.’

  ‘Pardon me.’ She dropped the wing nut and bent to pick up the small nut he’d indicated, but instead of handing it to him, she closed her hand around it and straightened up. ‘Where is Archie?’ she asked.

  Archie?

  ‘The nut?’ he prompted. It was taking a considerable amount of pressure to hold everything in place.

  ‘He’s not in his meadow.’

  She was serious?

  ‘I don’t want another quad-bike incident.’

  ‘I shouldn’t have sent you that link,’ she said, ignoring the irritable clicking of his fingers. ‘What have you done with him, Hal?’

  ‘Give me that nut and I’ll tell you.’ She offered it between finger and thumb. ‘It may have escaped your notice,’ he said, through gritted teeth, ‘but I can’t let go of this.’

  She took a step closer, close enough for him to smell the crushed grass on her boots, see the way her jeans stretched across her hips, clung to a backside his hand remembered.

  ‘Will you get down here?’

  His voice felt as if it was wading through treacle.

  She dropped to her knees and now he had the full impact of skin glowing from a brisk walk, wisps of cream-coloured hair escaping the clasp at her neck, huge grey eyes.

  The wish-fairy come to life…


  He closed his hand around the nut and discovered that her hand was shaking. Or was it his?

  For a moment their gazes locked. It was his thumb, the one holding the spring assembly together, on the point of losing it, that reminded him what he was supposed to be doing. He took the nut, fastened it in place. ‘Pass me a spanner.’

  She glanced at the row of tools and, wonder of wonders, selected the right one.

  ‘Now, hold this.’

  ‘It’s greasy,’ she objected.

  ‘Tough, it’s you or Gary and I don’t see Gary. What have you done with him?

  ‘I made the magic sign of the teacup. I had to talk to you, Hal.’

  ‘Nice try, Claire, but I don’t…’

  ‘No comment won’t cut it. This isn’t work.’

  ‘It’s not?’ She really was worried about that stupid donkey? ‘In that case we’re both playing hooky. I’m recapturing my boyhood, what’s your excuse?’

  ‘The usual. Rumour, drivel…’

  ‘Then it can wait until we’ve finished this.’ And he kept her there for half an hour, handing him parts as he worked on the bike.

  A smear of grease appeared on her cheek, on her shirt. She gritted her teeth as her hand slipped and she knocked a knuckle, but didn’t complain. By the time they’d finished she was anticipating his next move and they were working smoothly as a team.

  ‘Anyone would think you’d done this before,’ he said, passing her a cloth to wipe her hands.

  ‘I may have taken my lawnmower to bits once or twice.’

  ‘You are full of surprises,’ he said, standing up, offering his hand to help her to her feet. ‘Shall we go and see if Gary managed to switch on the kettle?’ He glanced back at her as they crossed the courtyard. ‘I don’t suppose you brought that cake you keep threatening me with? Or have you been too busy earthing up your potatoes?’

  ‘Hal…’

  ‘Archie’s in the stables,’ he said, taking pity on her. ‘He’s been confined to barracks until the hedging contractor has made the meadow escape-proof.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Why? What did you think I’d done with him?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She said it too quickly. ‘Just… One of my colleagues said something. Nothing.’