They were upstairs, then. Not that there was anything there to steal. The few pieces of jewellery the sisters had accumulated over the years were worn by them all on a day-to-day basis, and they certainly weren’t of the calibre to interest a burglar!
But that didn’t alter the fact that there was someone inside the farmhouse who shouldn’t be there.
Or the fact that the telephone, her only means of communication, was in the hallway, where she would be heard if she attempted to telephone the police from there! What—
The mobile! They all shared a mobile telephone for when they were out and about on the farm, and she could see it now lying on top of one of the kitchen units. If she could just—
She stiffened as she heard a noise behind her, her hand raised defensively as she turned sharply.
‘Why are you looking in the kitchen window in that furtive way?’ May prompted frowningly, standing back to look at March consideringly.
March swallowed—her heart, mainly! ‘Why aren’t you still in London?’ she returned accusingly, May obviously having just returned from checking on the ewes.
Her sister shrugged, turning away to open the kitchen door. ‘I had concluded my business there, I didn’t see any reason for me to waste the money for an extra night in a London hotel.’ She shrugged dismissively, her voice fading slightly as she entered the kitchen.
March followed her sister a little dazedly; May was the last person she had expected to see this evening.
‘I also thought—mistakenly, as it turns out—that you might be feeling in need of a little company after being on your own all weekend,’ May added with raised brows as she turned from putting the kettle on the Aga. ‘But when I got back an hour ago the farm was deserted…’
March felt the warmth in her cheeks at her sister’s speculative look. ‘Will took me out for a drink.’ There was no point in lying about it.
‘Really?’ May drawled speculatively. ‘He doesn’t appear to have brought you back again!’
March gave a pained grimace at the indisputable truth of that statement. Will obviously hadn’t returned with her; May would have heard the powerful engine of his car if that were the case.
She avoided her sister’s gaze. ‘No. Well—’
‘March, have you been upsetting our lodger again?’ her sister interrupted laughingly.
She winced, knowing she might as well come clean about what she had done; May was sure to find out eventually anyway! ‘Do you think pouring white wine over the top of his head could be classed as that?’
May spluttered with the laughter she could no longer contain. ‘I think,’ she managed to murmur between chuckles. ‘Oh, March, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you!’ She quickly crossed the room to give March a hug. ‘What did the poor man do to deserve that?’ she prompted, her arm still about March as she leant against her affectionately.
‘Don’t ask!’ she dismissed hardly. ‘Just tell me what happened in London. How did the screen test go? Is this David Melton single and gorgeous? When do you—’ She broke off abruptly as her sister stiffened before moving away, a shutter seeming to come down over her face, her emotions suddenly unreadable. ‘May…?’ she prompted uncertainly. ‘I thought you were supposed to go out to dinner with the director this evening?’ That had certainly been the plan when she had spoken to May earlier this morning…
‘Change of plan,’ her sister dismissed, her face turned away in profile. ‘I’m not going to do the film, March,’ she added huskily.
‘You aren’t?’ March was stunned; May had sounded so positive and excited when the two of them had spoken on the telephone this morning. ‘But you said everything had gone well. That—’
‘I was wrong,’ May dismissed hardly.
‘But—’
‘Just leave it, will you, March?’ May’s gaze was bleak as she turned to frown at March. ‘I was a fool ever to think—’ She broke off, shaking her head. ‘It was a mistake, okay?’ she snapped forcefully. ‘A total, disastrous mistake, much worse than I imagined. And I don’t ever want the subject mentioned again!’ she added fiercely.
‘But I don’t understand,’ March murmured dazedly.
May gave a humourless smile. ‘There’s nothing to understand. Now could we—’ She broke off as the sound of a powerful engine could be heard entering the yard.
‘I believe our lodger has returned,’ she murmured dryly.
March was well aware of that, could feel the colour leaving her cheeks even as the engine was switched off, followed by the closing of the garage door. If Will came over here—
‘Perhaps you should tell me—what did he do to get wine poured over him?’ May prompted curiously.
Her mouth tightened as she recalled exactly what Will had done to merit her wrath, his arrogant high-handedness. If he had the temerity to come over here after what he had done—he would learn all over again of her displeasure!
‘Never mind,’ she muttered in reply, moving silently over to the kitchen window, her gaze narrowing with satisfaction as she saw Will making his way slowly up the metal steps to the studio.
No doubt so that he could have a shower and wash the white wine from his hair!
She was smiling as she turned back to face May, that smile fading to a look of innocence as her sister raised questioning brows. ‘He’s arrogance personified, okay,’ she muttered defensively.
‘Will is?’ May sounded sceptical. ‘He’s nowhere near as arrogant as Max,’ she pointed out dryly. ‘Or Jude Marshall, either, for that matter,’ she added hardly. ‘In fact, next to the two of them, Will is a perfect pussycat!’
‘That’s only because you don’t know him the way that I do,’ March accused, still furiously angry at his having even looked at her paintings after being told not to do so, let alone dared to send them off to a friend of his in London. As for the humiliation of what his friend would have told him about them…!
Admit it, March, she sighed heavily—it was that criticism, relayed through Will, that would have been so impossible to hear. The reason she had so quickly silenced him on the subject. The reason she refused to even discuss it.
‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ she told May firmly, turning determinedly from the window. ‘We were discussing you, not Will Davenport,’ she dismissed scornfully. ‘Now what—’
‘March, I may not show it as often as you, or even January for that matter,’ May interrupted with quiet finality, ‘but I can be as stubborn as the two of you when I choose to be!’
‘And on the subject of the screen test and film, you choose to be,’ March guessed slowly.
Her sister’s mouth was tight. ‘I do.’
Which didn’t satisfy March one little bit. What had happened in London? Hadn’t the screen test gone well? Had this director chap made a pass at May? What had happened?
May gave a rueful laugh as she watched the emotions flickering across March’s face. ‘Frustrating, isn’t it?’
‘Very,’ she acknowledged heavily.
May shrugged. ‘I’m sorry about that, but I really have said the last word on the subject. Which means, if you still feel the same way, that we can consider keeping the farm, after all…’ she prompted searchingly. ‘But only if you still feel the same way…?’
When it was put like that, March really had no idea whether she wanted to keep the farm now or not. She had spent the last few days reconciling herself to the fact that it would have to be sold, making tentative plans for what she would do when it was. Now, it seemed, they were back to square one.
‘I have no idea what I feel on the subject any more,’ she answered truthfully.
‘Think about it.’ May reached up to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. ‘I’m quite happy to fall in with whatever you want to do. But right now, I just want to go to bed and have a decent night’s sleep.’ She shook her head. ‘London is so big and noisy, I haven’t slept at all well since I went away.’
March sat in the kitchen drinking tea long after May had gon
e up to bed, totally confused as to what they should do now. If they agreed to sell the farm, without the offer of the film role, what would May do instead?
In the circumstances, it no longer seemed to make sense to sell the farm…
Which left them all precisely back where they had been several weeks ago—determined not to sell the farm, with Jude Marshall as the enemy.
And, as his latest envoy, Will Davenport definitely came under the same heading!
‘For goodness’ sake, Will, anyone would think you were terrified of the woman!’ Graham derided ruefully.
Will glanced at his old friend from art-school days, having just driven to the railway station to pick him up. Along with March’s paintings…
And Graham was wrong; he wasn’t so much ‘terrified’ of March, as slightly apprehensive as to what she might say to the poor, unsuspecting Graham. Until the other man had been at the receiving end of March’s caustic tongue he could have no idea how lethal it could be.
‘I’m just warning you that she isn’t at all happy about your having looked at her paintings.’ Will shrugged.
‘You sent them to me!’ his friend reminded him frowningly.
He grimaced. ‘Unhappy doesn’t even begin to describe how she feels towards me for having done that!’
Graham laughed softly, short and slender, with warm blue eyes, his blond hair thinning at the crown. Baldness, he claimed, was like insanity—you inherited it from your children, of which he had three!
‘Finally met your match, have you, Davenport?’ Graham teased now. ‘I knew it would happen one day,’ he added with satisfaction. ‘I was already looking forward to making the acquaintance of March Calendar, the artist.’ He settled more comfortably into his seat. ‘But now it’s doubly intriguing.’
‘Graham—’
‘I’ve had to listen to your jokes about domesticity for years,’ Graham continued serenely. ‘It looks as if the tables are about to be turned!’ He grinned unabashedly.
‘You have that all wrong.’ Will shook his head. ‘If anything, March hates me!’
‘Even better.’ Graham’s grin widened.
‘With friends like you…’ Will gave Graham a last frowning look before turning his attention back to the road.
It had been arranged between the two men for Graham to arrive in Yorkshire around Monday tea time, Will seeing absolutely no point in his arriving during the day when March was out at work. The only problem with that was Will still hadn’t told March of the other man’s arrival. The only problem!
March had been furious enough last night, when he had only mentioned having sent those paintings to Graham, to throw a glass of wine over him; what might she do when he went to the farmhouse door this evening with Graham at his side? Oh, well, Graham couldn’t say that he hadn’t tried to warn him!
Although that didn’t help ease Will’s trepidation as he drove into the farmyard to park his car in the garage, March already at home if her little red car parked near the house was anything to go by.
But, with any luck, May would be home too by now, which should help to diffuse the situation somewhat.
‘Will you stop grinning in that imbecilic manner?’ he snapped at Graham as the two men got out of the car.
‘You look almost ghoulish!’
The other man chuckled. ‘If you could only see the look on your face—you would be laughing too!’ He shook his head incredulously. ‘March Calendar must be really something!’
Oh, she was ‘something’, all right, Will accepted heavily; stubborn, pigheaded, unreasonable, beautiful, desirable—
‘Let’s go,’ he told the other man determinedly—the sooner he got this over with, the better. After all, it couldn’t really be that bad, could it…?
‘With pleasure,’ Graham acceded happily, following behind Will’s long strides towards the farmhouse.
He couldn’t exactly blame Graham for this teasing attitude. Graham had married shortly after leaving art school, his three children arriving in the three years following this, and for years Will had teased him about his obvious enjoyment of his family lifestyle. As far as Graham was concerned, the tables were now turned as regards teasing!
And he was prevaricating, Will acknowledged ruefully as he stood outside the farmhouse door. If May answered his knock, the first few minutes would probably be fine, but if it were March who came to the door…!
‘What do you want?’ she rasped after jerking the door open, the squeak of the hinges telling Will that she still hadn’t put any oil on them.
Although he realized that was the least of his problems as March glared at him with obvious dislike, also aware of Graham’s continuing enjoyment of the situation as he stood slightly behind him.
‘Er—is May at home?’ he prompted, wincing as the sound of Graham’s stifled laughter from behind him told him he had sounded like a gawky teenager come round to ask for a date!
‘She is.’ March nodded, at the same time making no effort to go and find her sister, just continuing to stand there looking at him with those cold grey-green eyes.
His mouth thinned at her deliberate awkwardness. ‘Then could I speak to her?’ he snapped his impatience.
March gave a slight inclination of her head, her gaze flicking briefly over Graham before returning coldly to Will. ‘Perhaps you would care to wait while I go and ask her.’ But instead of inviting them inside, March firmly closed the door in their faces.
‘Very hospitable,’ Graham murmured humorously as he moved to stand beside Will.
He shook his head. ‘She isn’t usually this— She’s annoyed with me, that’s all.’ He sighed heavily, knowing from March’s attitude that she hadn’t softened towards him at all in the intervening twenty-four hours since she had thrown that glass of wine over him.
‘She’s magnificent!’ Graham whistled admiringly.
He turned to glare at his friend. ‘I would like to wring her beautiful neck!’ he ground out fiercely.
Graham grinned knowingly. ‘Amongst other things!’
Was it so obvious how he felt about March? Damn it, he didn’t know how he felt about March. She was infuriating, frustrating, just plain awkward most of the time. But the rest of the time he wanted to sweep her up into his arms and kiss her into submission…!
‘Cheer up, Will.’ Graham reached out and gave his arm a playful punch. ‘Perhaps she’ll feel more kindly towards you after I’ve had a little chat with her.’
And perhaps she wouldn’t. There was simply no knowing from one minute to the next how March was going to react to something. She could just end up hating him more than ever…
If that were possible!
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘YOU’VE left Will standing where—?’ May gasped disbelievingly as she hurried down the stairs two at a time. ‘And he had someone with him too!’ She turned briefly to give March a reproving look before hurrying through to the kitchen.
March followed slowly behind her, in no mood to talk to Will, or his friend, and not too bothered at being polite about it either. After the day she had just had—!
By the time she entered the kitchen quietly a few minutes later Will and the other man had been invited in by May and were seated at the kitchen table while May put the kettle on for a drink.
‘Don’t be silly, Will, of course you don’t have to ask our permission to have a friend stay overnight at the studio,’ May dismissed laughingly as she got out the cups.
‘Does March feel the same way?’
March bridled resentfully as she suddenly became the focus of attention as she stood back against the door, frowning darkly at Will before her gaze moved to the man sitting next to him. ‘You would be the “friend” in question?’ she prompted speculatively.
The man was short and slight, with thinning blond hair, blue eyes looking huge behind gold-framed glasses.
‘Hey, I’m not that sort of “friend”.’ The man laughed dismissively as he held up defensive hands. ‘I have a wife and thr
ee children at home,’ he added for good measure.
March could feel the colour warm her cheeks, deliberately avoiding Will’s impatient glare. ‘And home is where, Mr—?’ she prompted politely.
‘London,’ the slight man replied evenly. ‘And the name is Whitford, Graham Whitford.’
He said the last almost as if—as if—
Graham!
Hadn’t Will told her that he had sent her paintings to a friend of his called Graham, a Graham who also lived in London…?
She turned to Will sharply, eyes narrowed suspiciously, knowing by the suddenly too-innocent expression on his face as his gaze steadily met hers that her conclusions had been correct; this was the same Graham that he had sent her paintings to.
But what was the man doing here?
Never mind what he was doing here—today had already been disastrous enough; she simply couldn’t deal with anything else this evening.
‘If you’ll excuse me, I just have to go outside for a while.’ She pushed herself away from the door, looking to neither left nor right as she grabbed her coat from the hook and wrenched open the door.
‘Could I come with you?’ It was Graham Whitford who spoke, standing up as March turned to look at him frowningly. ‘Will told me earlier that it’s lambing time, and—’
‘He did?’ March turned to give Will a scathing look.
‘He did,’ Graham confirmed lightly. ‘Having been born and brought up in London, my kids would be thrilled to bits if I can tell them I’ve seen some newborn lambs,’ he added cajolingly.
Because he had sensed she was about to refuse his request, March realized ruefully. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to any friend of Will’s, but especially the one he had sent her paintings to!
‘A lamb is a lamb.’ She shrugged dismissively.
Graham grimaced. ‘I’m more used to seeing them as the Sunday roast, served with mint sauce!’
March glared at him for his levity. ‘You’re welcome to tag along if you really want to,’ she conceded ungraciously.
‘I want to,’ Graham assured her determinedly, moving to accompany her outside.
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