by Sara Craven
Oh, get a grip, she told herself impatiently as she returned to the sitting room. Put your microscope away.
It had all happened long ago, and should remain in the past where it belonged. If not forgotten, then ignored, as if Sir Gregory had only ever had one son. And as if that son had never married the Honourable Penelope Hatton and brought her back to Willowford Hall to tempt and be disastrously tempted in her turn.
I thought she was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, thought Chloe. We all did. I think I even envied her.
But now everything’s changed. I’m the one looking forward to a happy future with the man I love. And, if she knew, she might well be the one envying me.
It had been raining first thing when she set off from Colestone, but now the skies seemed to be clearing and a watery sun was showing its face.
A good omen, Chloe thought happily, switching the car radio to a music station, and humming along as she drove.
Rather to her surprise, she’d found herself genuinely sorry to leave the Manor. After all, she mused, it had been the focus of her attention for the past year. Besides, however indolent and self-absorbed they might be, the Armstrongs had been generous employers in the only way they knew, and she’d liked the other staff.
In the bag beside her on the passenger seat was the pretty carriage clock they’d bought her as a farewell present, and she’d been moved almost to tears as she thanked them and promised it pride of place on her future mantelpiece.
‘As for you,’ she’d muttered as she hugged Tanya. ‘I’m going to be needing a bridesmaid.’
‘Happy to oblige,’ Tanya whispered back. ‘Unless I get arrested for twin-strangling in the meantime.’
Her successor had arrived—a widow in her forties with a brisk air. She had dismissed Chloe’s computer system, saying that she had her own methods, at the same time running a suspicious finger along the office windowsill in search of non-existent dust.
Life at the Manor, Chloe thought wryly as she wished her luck, could become quite interesting quite soon.
She stopped at a roadside pub for a lunch of ham sandwiches and coffee to fuel her for the final two hours of her journey, choosing a table outside in a sheltered corner of the garden where bees were busy among the honeysuckle.
With the excitement of all the coming reunions bubbling away inside her, she almost had to force herself to eat.
As she poured her second cup of coffee, she reached into her bag for her mobile phone.
She’d called Aunt Libby again the previous evening to tell her what time she hoped to arrive, and while her aunt had seemed her usual warm self, Chloe had detected another faint nuance beneath the welcoming words.
‘Is something wrong?’ she’d asked at last. Libby Jackson had hesitated.
‘I was wondering if you’d spoken to Ian yet—informed him you were coming home, this time for good.’
‘But I told you, Aunt Libby, I want to surprise him.’
‘Yes, darling, so you said.’ Another pause. ‘But I can’t help thinking that a complete change of your whole life-plan like this, which involves him so closely, really needs some prior warning.’
‘Not unless he’s developed some serious heart condition and you think the shock could kill him.’ Chloe was amused. ‘Is that it?’
‘God forbid,’ said her aunt. ‘When last seen, he looked as strong as a horse. But I keep thinking of these dreadful surprise parties people keep giving, which I’m sure are far more fun for the organisers than the recipients. Just a thought, my dear.’
And maybe it was a good one, Chloe decided, clicking on Ian’s number. But it went straight to voicemail, indicating that he was working. So she left a message then rang the cottage, and announced herself on the answer-phone too.
Belt and braces, Aunt Libby, she thought. So now he should be ready and waiting.
She smiled to herself as she replaced the phone, imagining the smile in his eyes when he saw her, the warmth of his arms around her, and the touch of his lips on hers.
He was so worth waiting for, she thought gratefully. And now she was back, she would not leave again.
She had five miles still to go when the petrol warning light suddenly appeared on the dashboard, when only fifteen minutes before it had been registering half-full.
Chloe wrinkled her nose, wondering which was the true reading. ‘Memo to self,’ she murmured. ‘Take the car to Tom Sawley’s garage and get the gauge seen to. Particularly before the MOT becomes due again.’
Fortunately, she was approaching a turning for the main road, where there was a small filling station only a few hundred yards away.
All three pumps were busy when she arrived, so she joined the shortest queue, and got out of the car stretching.
And then she saw it, parked over by the wall, its number plate as familiar to her as that of her own car.
Ian’s jeep, she thought joyously. What was more, the bonnet was up, and there he was bending over the engine with his back to her, his long legs encased in blue denim, as he made some adjustment.
She was sure he would sense her presence and turn, but he was leaning too far over, intent on what he was doing.
As soon as she was within touching distance, she reached for him, her mouth curving mischievously as she ran her fingers over the taut male buttocks and slid one hand between his thighs.
He yelped and sprang upright, cursing as he hit his head on the bonnet.
And as he did so, Chloe backed away gasping, praying for the ground to open up beneath her.
But it remained heartlessly intact, so that she was still there, open-mouthed with horror when the man swung round, and looked at her, his blond hair tousled, and the green eyes blazing.
‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?’ asked Darius Maynard, his voice a snarl of pure anger. ‘Or have you just gone raving mad?’
CHAPTER TWO
CHLOE took another step backwards, aware that she was burning from the soles of her feet up to her hairline, and probably beyond.
Oh, God, let me wake up, she prayed frantically, and find this is only a nightmare.
When she could speak, she said hoarsely, ‘You—you! What are you doing with Ian’s jeep?’
‘Correction,’ he said brusquely. ‘My jeep for the past eight weeks. Cartwright was trading it in for a newer model and I bought it.’
‘You’ve been back here for two months?’
‘For over six, actually.’ He added curtly, ‘If it’s any concern of yours, Miss Benson.’
Her flush deepened, if that was possible. ‘I—I didn’t realise.’
What on earth was going on? she wondered. Why had he returned when his banishment was supposed to have been permanent? How could that kind of breach possibly have been healed? Sir Gregory surely wasn’t the type to welcome back the prodigal son. And how did Andrew, the betrayed husband, feel about it?
Above all, why had no-one mentioned it? How was it Ian hadn’t said, ‘By the way, I’ve sold my jeep, and to Darius Maynard of all people.’
‘Why would you know?’ He hunched an indifferent shoulder. ‘You haven’t been around much to catch up on the local sensations.’
‘I’ve been working.’
‘Most people do,’ he said. ‘Or are you claiming particular credit?’
I am not going to do this, Chloe told herself, swallowing back the impetuous retort that had risen to her lips. I am not going to stand here bandying jibes with Darius Maynard.
Because he’s perfectly correct. However I may feel about it, his return is absolutely none of my business and I must remember that. I will remember it.
‘Not at all.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘And now I must be going.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I—apologise for what just happened. It was a genuine mistake.’
‘It must have been,’ he drawled. ‘After all, we were never exactly on goosing terms, were we, Miss Benson? I wasn’t aware you had that kind of relationship with Cartwright either.’
‘Clearly, you also have some catching up to do.’ She turned away. ‘Goodbye, Mr Maynard.’
She got back in her car, started the engine and swung the vehicle out of the forecourt towards the Willowford Road.
I’m shaking like a leaf, she thought, which is totally ridiculous. Yes, I’ve just made a complete fool of myself, but if it had been anyone else, they’d probably have helped me to laugh off the embarrassment somehow, not made it worse.
Of all the people in the world I never wanted to see again, he must be in pole position. Yet here he is, turning up like the proverbial bad penny. I wish I could ignore him, but we both have to live in the same small community, so that’s impossible.
On the other hand, she thought, his return might be purely temporary. He’d frequently been absent in the old days, and might not be planning to stay for any length of time now. That was what she would hope for, anyway.
Besides, she added firmly, she would be too busy planning her wedding and her life with Ian to pay any heed to the Hall, and the vagaries of its occupants.
She’d travelled about a mile when the petrol light showed it meant business by letting the car slide slowly but very definitely to a halt.
Swearing under her breath, Chloe steered it to the verge. She’d had one thing on her mind at the filling station—escape—and this, of course, was what it had led to. Something else she could lay firmly at Darius Maynard’s damned door, she thought, fuming.
She could use her mobile, she supposed. Send out an SOS to Uncle Hal or Ian to come to her rescue, but that, apart from leaving her looking like an idiot twice in one day, wasn’t exactly the upbeat, triumphant return to Willowford that she had planned.
Better, she thought, grimacing, to start hiking, and as she reached for the door handle, she saw in her mirror the jeep come round the corner, drive past her, then pull in a few yards ahead.
She felt a silent scream rise in her throat, as Darius Maynard got out and walked back to her.
No, no, no! she wailed inwardly. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible.
‘Having problems?’
‘Absolutely not,’ she said. ‘Just—collecting my thoughts.’
‘Pity you didn’t collect some petrol while you were about it,’ he commented caustically. ‘I presume that was your purpose in the filling station, rather than renewing our acquaintance in that unique manner. And that’s why you’re stuck here?’
‘Whatever,’ Chloe returned curtly, loathing him. ‘But I can cope.’
‘Presumably by drilling for oil in the adjoining field. However, God forbid I should leave a damsel in distress.’
‘Especially when you cause most of it.’ She made her voice poisonously sweet, and he winced elaborately.
‘Giving a dog a bad name, Miss Benson? Inappropriate behaviour, I’d have thought, for someone with her eye on a vet.’
She bit her lip. ‘It happens that Ian Cartwright and I are engaged.’
‘Good God,’ he said. ‘Does he know that?’
‘What the hell do you mean?’ Chloe demanded furiously. ‘We’re engaged and we’ll be married by the end of the summer.’
‘You know best,’ he said softly. ‘But I do hope you’re not mistaking a girlhood crush for the real thing, Miss Benson. You’re no longer a susceptible teenager, you know.’
She said in a small choked voice, ‘How dare you? How bloody dare you? Just get out of here and leave me in peace.’
‘Not without lending a kindly hand to a neighbour,’ Damian retorted, apparently unperturbed. ‘The jeep is diesel as I’m sure you remember, but I do have a petrol can in the back, and a brisk walk back to the filling station in the sunshine should do wonders for your temper.’
He paused. ‘So, do you want it, or would you prefer to wait for the next chivalrous passer-by, yes or no?’
She would have actually preferred to see him wearing his rotten can, jammed down hard, but she bit her lip and nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘Boy, that must have hurt.’ His grin mocked her, before he turned and strode back to the jeep, lean-hipped and lithe.
He hadn’t changed, she thought with sudden bewilderment, watching him go. The past seven years didn’t seem to have touched him at all. Yet how was that possible?
No conscience, she thought bitterly. No regret for the havoc he’d caused. The ruined lives he’d left behind him.
She picked up her jacket from the passenger seat, and let herself out of the car. As she unfastened the boot, Darius came back with the can. He glanced down at the array of luggage and whistled.
‘My God, Willowford’s own Homecoming Queen. You really do mean to stay, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ She placed her jacket carefully across the top-most case, smoothing its folds as she did so. Hiding, she realised with annoyance, the fact that her hands were shaking. ‘I have every reason to do so.’
‘But I don’t.’ His mouth was smiling but his eyes were hard as glass. ‘Is that the hidden message you’re trying to convey?’
‘As you said, it’s none of my concern.’ She held out her hand for the can. ‘I’ll make sure this is returned to you.’
‘By courier, no doubt.’ He shrugged. ‘Forget it. I have others. And now, I fear, I must tear myself away.’ He walked towards the jeep, then turned.
‘I wish you a joyful reunion with your family and friends, Miss Benson,’ he said softly. ‘But as for that peace you mentioned—I wouldn’t count on it, because you’re not the peaceful kind. Not in your heart. You just haven’t realised it yet.’
He swung himself into the jeep and drove off, leaving her staring after him, her heart pounding uncomfortably.
‘You’ve lost weight,’ said Aunt Libby.
‘That is so not true.’ Chloe hugged her again. ‘I’m the same to the ounce as I was a year ago. I swear it.’
She looked round the big comfortable kitchen with its Aga, big pine table and tall Welsh dresser holding her aunt’s prized collection of blue-and-white china and sighed rapturously. ‘Gosh, it’s wonderful to be home.’
‘No-one forced you to go away,’ said Aunt Libby, lifting the kettle from the Aga and filling the teapot. Her tone was teasing, but her swift glance was serious.
Chloe shrugged. ‘They made me an offer I couldn’t refuse. You know that. Besides it’s been an education, seeing how the other half live.’
‘The village will seem very dull after Millionaires Row.’
‘On the contrary, I know for sure where I belong.’ Chloe paused. ‘Has Ian called? I took your advice and rang him to say I was arriving.’
‘I think he was out at Farsleigh today. It’s a bad reception area.’ Her aunt passed her a plate of raisin bread.
‘Heaven,’ said Chloe, as she took a slice, smiling to conceal her disappointment over Ian. ‘Is this the Jackson equivalent of the fatted calf—to welcome home the prodigal?’ And paused again, taking a deep breath. ‘So, how is everything and—everyone?’ She tried to sound casual. ‘Any major changes anywhere?’
‘Nothing much.’ Mrs Jackson poured the tea. ‘I gather Sir Gregory is making progress at last, poor man.’ She sighed. ‘What a tragedy that was. I’m not a superstitious woman, but it’s almost as if there’s been some dreadful curse on the Maynard family.’
Chloe stared at her, the flippant retort that there was and that she’d seen it alive and well an hour ago dying on her lips.
‘What do you mean?’
Mrs Jackson looked surprised. ‘Well, I was thinking of Andrew, of course, being killed in that dreadful accident.’
Chloe’s cup clattered back into its saucer. ‘Andrew Maynard—dead?’ She stared at her aunt. ‘Never!’
‘Why, yes, dear. Surely you saw it in the papers? And I told you about it in one of my letters.’
Had she? Chloe wondered guiltily, knowing that, once she’d made sure that everyone at Axford Grange was well and happy, she hadn’t always read on to the end.
‘I—I must
have missed a page somewhere. What happened?’
‘He was in the Cairngorms climbing alone as he often did. Apparently, there was a rock fall, and he was swept away.’ She shuddered. ‘Horrible.’
‘And Sir Gregory?’
Aunt Libby shook her head. ‘A stroke, brought on by the news.’
Chloe picked up her cup. Swallowed some tea. Schooled her voice to normality. ‘I thought I glimpsed Darius Maynard when I stopped for petrol. Is that why he’s come back? Because he’s now the heir?’
‘I think that it was concern for his father rather than the inheritance that brought him.’ Aunt Libby spoke with gentle reproof and Chloe flushed.
‘Of course. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve—never liked him.’
‘Something for which your uncle and I were always profoundly grateful,’ her aunt said with a touch of grimness. ‘He was always far too attractive for his own good.’ She sighed again. ‘But he’s certainly provided Sir Gregory with the very best of care, hiring a charming girl as his live-in nurse who seems to have inspired the poor man and literally brought him back from the grave.
‘And Mr Crosby, the agent, reckons Darius is really putting his back into running the estate these days, so perhaps he’s become a reformed character during his absence.’
And maybe pigs might fly, thought Chloe. She took another piece of raisin bread. ‘And—Mrs Maynard. Penny. Is he still with her?’
‘No-one knows or dare ask. She’s certainly not at the Hall. And she didn’t attend Andrew’s funeral, or the memorial service.’ Mrs Jackson refilled her niece’s cup. ‘Apparently Mrs Thursgood at the post office asked Darius straight out if he was married—well, she would!—and he just laughed, and said, “God, no”. So we’re none the wiser.’
‘But it’s hardly a surprise,’ Chloe said evenly. ‘He’s never been the marrying kind.’
‘On the other hand, he’s never been the next baronet before either,’ Aunt Libby pointed out, cutting into a handsome Victoria sponge. ‘That may change things.’
‘Perhaps so.’ Chloe shrugged. ‘Maybe he’s considering the charming nurse up at the Hall.’