by Sara Craven
And that was something he would definitely recognise—if he got close enough, she thought, sudden heat pervading her body as she returned the atomiser to her makeup purse.
She was trying to calm herself with some Yoga-style breathing when Joanne tapped on her door.
‘Ready for the lions’ den?’ she asked cheerfully.
‘You certainly look great. Your hair is the most amazing colour—rather like Gran’s antique mahogany dining table. Granny Dennison, I mean, not Grandam.’
‘You call her that too?’
‘We all do,’ Joanne said as they walked to the stairs. ‘Except Zan, of course. He sticks to the formal Grandmother when he visits—which isn’t that often.’
She sighed. ‘None of us knew he was coming this time either. I suppose it’s about money again, which means the usual row. And unfair, I think, to put her in a bate on her birthday weekend. On the other hand, I guess we must be thankful he didn’t bring Lili.’
She encountered Alanna’s questioning look and flushed scarlet. ‘Oh, hell, me and my big mouth. Look, just forget I mentioned her—please.’
‘Forgotten,’ Alanna assured her over-brightly, reflecting she’d been entirely accurate about Joanne’s talent for indiscretion.
But it was interesting that the dynamic, all-conquering Mr Varga needed money, suggesting that Bazaar Vert might be feeling the economic crunch along with other high-profile businesses.
Gerard had mentioned nothing about any downward turn, but she could hardly expect that he would, any more than she’d confessed to him her fears about the takeover at Hawkseye, now said to be looming. They weren’t on those sorts of terms.
And now they never would be, which might be disappointing, but hardly the end of the world.
It would have been far worse if she and Gerard had become seriously involved before she discovered his cousin’s identity.
It occurred to her that earlier there’d been a tension between the pair of them that was almost palpable, so perhaps the financial difficulties were all too real.
However, that was none of her business, and in forty-eight hours it would all be over anyway. And she’d be free to get on with the rest of her life.
And there was no need to wonder about Lili. She would simply be Zandor’s latest choice to share his bed. And welcome to him.
Even if his trading figures were down, his rapid turnover in willing women would undoubtedly be continuing unabated. It was probably only his grandmother’s strict embargo on extra-marital sex that had prevented him from bringing her as his guest.
And why the hell am I sparing the situation even a moment’s thought anyway? Alanna asked herself savagely as they reached the drawing room.
Although she knew the answer to that. Zandor’s re-emergence into her life had thrown her completely. She felt as if she’d gone sailing on a calm lake, under a blue sky, only to find herself helpless and at the mercy of a squall that had come out of nowhere.
Oh, get a grip, she thought with sudden impatience.
Certainly Zandor had not been pleased when they met earlier, but maybe her own sense of shock had made her read too much into his reaction. By now, he’d surely have had time to think. To realise their previous encounter had been a long time ago, and that they had both moved on.
At least that was how she planned to handle things from now on, until the weekend was safely over. And, hopefully, for ever after.
‘So there you are, sweetheart.’ Gerard came to meet her and, drawing her towards him, gave her a long, lingering kiss on her astonished mouth.
As he raised his head Alanna stepped back, aware that she was blushing, not with pleasure but with embarrassment and more than a touch of anger at this second demonstration of totally uncharacteristic behaviour.
The words ‘What on earth...?’ were already forming when she looked past him and saw, a few yards away, Zandor watching them, silver eyes glittering in a face that looked as if it had been hacked from dark stone.
And instantly she swallowed the tart query, tossing back her hair and forcing her lips into the semblance of a flirtatious smile instead, aware as she did so that Zandor was turning abruptly and walking away.
Now do your worst, she sent after him in silent defiance.
Gerard took her hand. ‘Come and say hello to my mother,’ he invited.
‘Is she feeling better?’ Alanna’s tone was stilted, conscious as they crossed the room that covert glances and shrugs were being exchanged as if Gerard’s family were as surprised by the kiss as herself.
‘There was never anything the matter with her.’ Gerard’s smile was rueful. ‘She and Grandam have always had something of an edgy relationship, so she finds headaches useful.’
‘Oh,’ was the only reply Alanna could conjure up. It occurred to her that Whitestone Abbey seemed to harbour all kinds of other tensions at various levels.
A pleasant weekend in the country? she thought drily. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
Meg Harrington was ensconced in an armchair, slim and elegant in white silk trousers and a loose shirt in shades of blue, rust and gold. Her fair hair, skilfully highlighted, was cut in a smooth, expensive bob, and her makeup was flawless.
She gave Alanna a polite, faintly puzzled smile as Gerard performed the introduction, then picked up an empty highball glass from the table beside her chair and held it out to him. ‘Get me a refill, would you, honey?’
‘I didn’t know my son was bringing a friend,’ Mrs Harrington said as he departed on his errand. ‘Have you known each other long, Miss—er—Beckett?’
Saying, ‘Oh, call me Alanna, please,’ seemed strangely inappropriate, so she contented herself with, ‘Just a few weeks, actually.’
The other woman’s brows lifted. ‘And you agreed to accompany him here? How incredibly brave of you.’
Alanna shrugged. ‘I’m an only child, so I find a large family gathering like this tremendously appealing.’ She paused, hoping the lie didn’t sound as ridiculous as it felt, then aimed for something approaching the truth. ‘Gerard’s grandmother has been very welcoming.’
Meg Harrington said drily, ‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘And the house is amazing,’ Alanna added with spurious brightness. ‘Such an interesting history.’
‘A white elephant,’ said Gerard’s mother. ‘In the last stages of decay. I couldn’t wait to leave. And here comes my drink.’
But not brought by Gerard.
‘Drowning your sorrows, Aunt Meg?’ Zandor enquired pleasantly as he handed her the glass.
‘Anaesthetising them, certainly. And wondering what other surprises are in store.’ She paused. ‘I presume you’re here alone?’
His mouth tightened. ‘Of course. And for business rather than pleasure.’
‘Nothing new there then. I wish you luck.’ She raised her glass. ‘Cheers. Now why don’t you get a drink for Gerard’s new friend, here.’ She sounded amused. ‘The poor child looks as if she needs one.’
‘No,’ Alanna said quickly. ‘Thank you. I’m fine—really.’
She turned and walked away, only to find Zandor at her side and keeping pace with her.
He said softly, ‘Running away again, Alanna?’
She stared rigidly ahead of her, angrily aware that her heartbeat had quickened and she was blushing. ‘Just looking for Gerard, as it happens.’
‘And hoping for another loving reunion, no doubt.’ He sounded faintly amused. ‘However, he’s been summoned to the book room to have a private word with Grandmother Niamh. They won’t wish to be interrupted.’ He paused. ‘So why don’t I get us both a drink and take them on to the terrace for our own quiet chat? I think we should have one, don’t you?’
She took a deep breath. ‘On the contrary, we have nothing to discuss,’ she said icily. ‘And I don’t drink any more—at least not alcohol. I’m sure I don’t have to explain my reasons.’
He said slowly, ‘Actually, yes, I think you do. That is if it relates in s
ome way to our previous encounter. If you’re implying you ended up in bed with me because you were drunk.’
‘Good guess.’ She clenched her shaking hands into fists at her sides. ‘And my first mistake. Fortunately not fatal.’
‘Hardly,’ he said. ‘After a couple of glasses of champagne. I’d have called it—pleasantly relaxing.’
‘I’m sure you would.’ She added tautly, ‘And that’s all I have to say, so now, please, leave me alone.’
‘Just as you left me?’ His tone bit. ‘But I have done so, my sweet, for almost a year, and—do you know?—I have discovered that it no longer pleases me. Especially now that I have seen you again—and under such interesting circumstances.’
His smile did not reach his eyes. ‘And before you think of another stinging retort, remember that this room is filled with people who believe we met for the first time today and might wonder why we are so soon on bad terms.’
‘On the other hand,’ she said. ‘From what I gather, you seem to make a habit of upsetting people.’
He said quietly, ‘Then, by all means, go on gathering. You may collect a few surprises on the way. But, understand this. One day—or night—we will have that chat. So be ready.’
And he walked away, leaving her standing there, those words ‘be ready’ beating in her brain, and drying her mouth.
She turned precipitately towards the door, impelled by a frantic need to be alone. To think...
Only to find herself being intercepted by Joanne.
‘Has Zan been coming on to you?’ Her tone was anxious. ‘My God, he’s the screaming limit. He must have women dotted all over the known world, and then some, so he has no right—no right at all.’ She added earnestly, ‘Honestly, Alanna, you don’t want to believe a word he says.’
‘Don’t worry.’ Joanne had just confirmed that she’d allowed herself to be used for a night’s amusement by a serial womaniser, yet Alanna managed to summon a smile from somewhere. ‘I won’t.’
‘Anyway,’ Joanne added more buoyantly. ‘You’re Gerard’s girl—right?’
Wrong, thought Alanna. The truth is I don’t really know at this moment who I am or what I’m doing here, but the weight of opinion seems to tend towards past fool and present fraud. But for now...
She lifted her chin. ‘Absolutely right,’ she said clearly.
‘And my parents are dying to meet you.’ Joanne guided her across the room. ‘But don’t worry,’ she added cheerfully. ‘Mother and Aunt Caroline are chalk and cheese. You’d never think they were sisters.’
Mrs Dennison was a comfortably built lady whose greeting was as warm as her smile.
‘Well, you’ve been thrown in at the deep end,’ she said cheerfully, motioning Alanna to sit beside her. ‘You’re not seeing us at our best, I fear, but please don’t blame Gerard. He wasn’t to know how things would turn out.’ She turned to her husband. ‘And now it seems my mother’s invited Tom Bradham tomorrow evening. Just asking for more trouble.’
Maurice Dennison shrugged. ‘Something she thrives on, darling. So relax, and let Caroline fret about the seating arrangements.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost time for dinner, so I’d better detach Kate and Mark from the nursery and frogmarch them downstairs.’
‘My mother,’ said Diana Dennison, as he walked away, ‘must be the only great-grandmother in the world who still believes that little children should be seen—briefly—but not heard. So they get to come down from the nursery once a day at teatime. Accordingly that’s why their parents choose to spend the greater part of their time upstairs with them.’
She sighed. ‘Mark’s parents would have the boys like a shot, and they’d have a wonderful time on the farm, yet Mother always insists on them being brought here when she issues a family summons.’ She shook her head. ‘I can never understand why. She’s never been fond of children—not even her own if memory serves,’ she added drily.
She gave Alanna another smile. ‘I’ve shocked you, haven’t I? But Gerard won’t mind you knowing how things are.’
More information, Alanna thought, that I could well do without.
She said carefully, ‘I think I should make it clear that I haven’t actually known Gerard for very long.’
Mrs Dennison shrugged. ‘He can’t be too concerned about that, or he wouldn’t have invited you,’ she returned calmly. ‘And I’m delighted he did. I intend to tell my nephew that he’s a fool if he lets you slip away.’
Alanna was agonised. ‘Mrs Dennison—please...’
The older woman sighed again. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m fond of Gerard and I want to see him happy again. However, if it means so much to you, I won’t say a word.’ Her smile was suddenly mischievous. ‘Let nature take its course.’
Not, thought Alanna, a course of action with any appeal for me.
Mrs Dennison paused. ‘And here comes my sister, looking rattled. I suppose that means that Mother is now waiting for us all in the dining room, tapping her foot impatiently. Let’s not keep her waiting any longer.’
It was a long and leisurely meal which turned out to be less of a nightmare than Alanna expected. For one thing, the food was excellent and, for another, she found herself sitting at the far end of the table, a long way from Gerard and, thankfully, even further from Zandor.
Her immediate neighbours were Desmond Healey, a quiet, humorous replica of his father, and his pretty wife, both of them drama buffs. And, for a while, she managed to lose herself in a light-hearted argument about TV noir and if the Scandinavians still led the field or had been overtaken by the French and Italians.
When the meal was over, it was late enough for her to be able to excuse herself politely from the return to the drawing room, a swift glance having assured her that Zandor was nowhere to be seen, claiming mendaciously that coffee kept her awake but adding truthfully it had been a very long day.
She’d noticed that Niamh Harrington was also missing and that Gerard had disappeared again too, presumably to continue their earlier conference, so she was able to escape up to her room without any further unwonted and public demonstrations of affection from him.
No wonder people were thinking their relationship was a done deal, she thought, closing her door and, for reasons she was unable to explain, turning its heavy key in the old-fashioned lock.
She found Mrs Dennison’s comment about wishing to see Gerard ‘happy again’ buzzing in her brain as she got ready for bed.
I’ve never seen any sign that he’s been miserable, she mused, with an inward shrug. Although perhaps having to work for his cousin might be getting him down, which raised the question why he’d accepted a job in the first place from someone who was clearly persona non grata with the rest of the family.
It’s beyond me, she decided as she switched off the lamp. And also not my problem. Not that it ever was or ever would be.
She drew back the curtains to admit the moonlight, and tried to get comfortable on a mattress that she discovered was lumpy as well as hard.
She was almost asleep when she heard the soft knock at the door. She propped herself on an elbow staring across the room and saw in the half-light the handle slowly turn.
She stayed silent, motionless, until it returned to its original position followed by quiet footsteps receding down the passage.
He’d gone—and she didn’t even have to question the identity of her late-night visitor.
As she lay down, she realised she’d also been holding her breath.
That key, she told herself, will go everywhere with me until I finally walk out of here on Sunday morning. And say goodbye to the Harrington family for ever.
CHAPTER THREE
ALANNA WOKE VERY early the next morning, aware that she’d spent a restless night in the grip of dreams she was glad not to remember too clearly.
She slid out of bed and crossed to the window, only to find any view of the gardens was obscured by a thick cloud of mist hanging like a pall at tree level.
Towards the
east, however, the sky was vermilion shot with flame, promising another hot day. And perhaps more, she thought, remembering an old saying from childhood, ‘Red sky in the morning, sailors’ warning’ which suggested storms in the offing.
As if there hadn’t been enough already, she thought, shivering a little as she pulled on the lawn wrap which matched her white nightdress, before curling up on the thinly cushioned seat under the window.
She should never have agreed to come here, she told herself. Quite apart from the nightmare of finding herself face to face with Zandor again, her visit had obviously raised expectations in Gerard’s family about their relationship which were as premature as they were embarrassing. And which were now, in any case, due to be totally disappointed.
And was that her own reaction too?
In all honesty, she didn’t know. Couldn’t even begin to consider all the might-have-beens that were now denied her.
Not when she had to deal with the reality of Zandor and his ongoing disruption of her life and her peace of mind.
Which had all begun, she recalled wretchedly, with a ‘Meet the Reader’ event, starring the loathsome Jeffrey Winton. And her feet hurting...
Alanna discreetly eased off one high-heeled pump and flexed her toes. These were not standing-about-in shoes, she reflected ruefully, but having her stand beside him instead of sit at the table was Jeffrey’s idea, and certainly not hers.
Nor had it been her plan to spend this Friday evening in a bookshop, listening to him talk about his life, his writing career, primarily his incarnation as Maisie McIntyre, and his future plans to a crowd of adoring women fans.
Clearly no one had ever told him that self-praise was no recommendation.
Izzy, the Hawkseye Publishing publicist scheduled to accompany him, had gone home during the afternoon with a migraine, and Alanna had been the only one around when Hetty came looking for a replacement.
Her protests had been ignored. ‘Sometimes, it’s all hands to the pump,’ Hetty had decreed. ‘It’s simple enough. He just needs someone to pass him the books to be signed and keep the queue moving. Oh, and he prefers smart dress for his back-up,’ she added flicking a glance at Alanna’s jeans, T-shirt and trainers. ‘Including shoes.