Wish for the Moon

by Carole Mortimer

  It wasn’t like her to be so indecisive. Surely she wasn’t as affected by the man’s expected arrival as everyone else seemed to be? Certainly not, she instantly answered herself, she was just irritated at having to put herself out for the man!

  She chose her outfit at random from the row of day clothes in the full-wall-length wardrobe and was just zipping the green skirt over her slender hips when she heard the sound of a car in the driveway; she tucked the matching pale green blouse into the narrow waistband before moving to glance out of the window. If it was Quinn Taylor he was early, but perhaps no one had bothered to explain to him that it was just as rude to arrive early as it was to arrive late.

  The Rolls-Royce that had just come to a stop in front of the house was certainly impressive enough—if one were the type to be impressed by such an obvious show of wealth, which Elizabeth certainly was not.

  She watched curiously from the window as instead of the chauffeur alighting from behind the wheel as she had expected, a tall dark-haired man in his late thirties, instantly recognisable as Quinn Taylor, stepped out on to the gravel driveway. Even if he hadn’t been, it was obvious that the short, slightly plump man who was getting out of the passenger side certainly wasn’t the singing star, which meant he must be the manager, Bruce Simons.

  The shorter man walked around the car to join Quinn Taylor, pointing across the grounds to the west lawn where work was visibly in progress.

  Elizabeth observed them curiously, noting that Bruce Simons seemed slightly ill at ease in the brown suit he wore, obviously especially for the occasion, pulling at the restriction of the collar of the tan shirt as it obviously irritated him.

  Quinn Taylor turned to grin at him as he said something, wearing his navy blue suit with ease, even from this distance his eyes distinguisable as a deep startling blue. He seemed relaxed, confident, motioning to the other man that they should go into the house now.

  Elizabeth stepped back from the window as they turned towards the house; the last thing she wanted was to be caught staring at them like some star-struck idiot!

  She should be getting downstairs, her grandfather wouldn’t be pleased if she weren’t downstairs at his side to greet their guests. One thing she had learnt about her grandfather over the years, he granted her every indulgence, but good manners meant everything to him. He was going to expect her to be especially polite to a man he admired so much.

  She brushed the shoulder-length bell of her hair with quick strokes, aware that she looked coolly elegant, her eyes sparkling brightly.

  Petersham was just showing their guests into the drawing-room as she descended the stairs, and she turned coolly towards them as she sensed someone’s gaze on her, her gaze meeting, and clashing, with that of Quinn Taylor.

  His eyes widened speculatively, a slow sensuous smile curving his sculptured lips. And then, as he continued to meet her challenging gaze, puzzlement darkened his eyes.

  Elizabeth finished descending the stairs with confident dignity, crossing the entrance-hall to smile politely at their guests. ‘Thank you, Petersham,’ she dismissed the butler lightly. ‘I’ll take our guests through to my grandfather. Would you like to come this way, gentlemen,’ she invited politely, her smile bright—and completely meaningless, sensing that Quinn Taylor’s gaze was still on her. ‘I’m Elizabeth Farnham, by the way,’ she told them distantly as she ushered them into the room where her grandfather stood waiting for them. ‘Mr Simon, I believe you know my grandfather already.’ She smiled at the plump man, aware that he had been the one to do all the negotiating with her grandfather. ‘Mr Taylor, my grandfather, Gerald Farnham,’ she introduced. ‘I don’t believe you need any introduction yourself,’ she added drily, moving slightly away from the group to observe them uninterestedly.

  Her grandfather was obviously enthusiastic about meeting the singer for the first time. As she had suspected, he was a secret fan, mentioning several of the entertainer’s songs that he particularly liked.

  ‘I’m afraid our introduction was a little rushed earlier.’ A silkily soft voice broke into her rueful musings.

  She looked up to find Quinn Taylor had left the other two men talking quietly together to cross the room to her side. She met his gaze questioningly, smiling politely.

  ‘Elizabeth Farnham,’ she provided again as he looked at her searchingly.

  ‘Elizabeth…’ he repeated softly, shaking his head. ‘No, it doesn’t—fit,’ he murmured slowly.

  She gave a lightly dismissive laugh. ‘I can assure you it suits me very well,’ she challenged.

  He looked slightly embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘I didn’t mean to appear rude. It’s just… You remind me of someone, it’s almost as if I should know you, and yet the name Elizabeth doesn’t ring any bells in my memory.’ He shook his head, staring at her intently.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she drawled dismissively, moving to join her grandfather, putting her arm through the crook of his, glancing back curiously at Quinn Taylor. He still stared at her. ‘Mr Taylor seems to think I may have a double somewhere,’ she told her grandfather with a light laugh.

  He turned to the younger man. ‘I refuse to believe there’s another woman as beautiful as Elizabeth anywhere in the world,’ and he gazed down at her proudly.

  Quinn Taylor strode fluidly across the room. ‘I didn’t say you have a double, Miss Farnham,’ he bit out, obviously not appreciating her mockery at his expense. ‘I said you remind me of someone.’

  ‘Surely it’s the same thing?’ she dismissed uninterestedly. ‘I can assure you that if we had met before I would surely have remembered it—even if you are so ungallant as to suggest you can’t remember where you met this woman I look so much like,’ she added challengingly.

  Impatience flickered in his eyes, at himself—and her. ‘Perhaps I was mistaken,’ he rasped. ‘You don’t appear to be the sort of woman a man would easily forget.’

  ‘I certainly hope not,’ she drawled huskily.

  It was a most unnerving feeling having someone watch her so closely as she ate, and yet she knew, without acknowledging it, that Quinn Taylor watched her constantly during lunch.

  Just as Mary watched him. The poor girl helped serve the meal in a complete daze, even dropping the spoon on the floor when Quinn Taylor turned to thank her for taking his empty soup bowl away. The accident cost Mary a quelling glance from Petersham, making her especially careful throughout the rest of the meal.

  She really was star-struck, poor girl, gazing after Quinn Taylor adoringly as they finally left the dining-room to have coffee in the drawing-room.

  ‘Brandy, gentlemen?’ her grandfather offered, not bothering himself when the other two men declined. ‘Any problems, Quinn,’ he told the other man effusively as he sat down to light himself one of the cigars he so enjoyed and which Elizabeth was always warning him were no good for him, ‘and I want you to come straight to me.’ He puffed on his cigar. ‘I’d be glad to help in any way that I can.’

  She could instantly tell that her grandfather didn’t just like the man’s music, he liked the man too. When her grandfather decided he liked some one he would do anything he could to make things easier for them, but woe betide anyone he took a dislike to!

  Quinn smiled his lazily charming smile, seeming to be giving her a respite from his constant attention. ‘Everything seems to be running smoothly, thanks, Gerald.’ The two men had quickly come to a first-name basis. ‘Although perhaps there is something Miss Farnham could help me with.’ The two of them hadn’t reached the same easy familiarity!

  She stiffened, her gaze cool. ‘Yes?’

  ‘The perfume you’re wearing,’ he said softly. ‘Perhaps you could give me the name of it before I leave,’ he explained as her brows rose questioningly. ‘I’d like to buy someone some like it as a present.’

  ‘Of course,’ she agreed distantly, wondering how many ‘someones’ he intended buying the expensive perfume for. Since his divorce several years ago he had
gained the reputation of escorting some of the most beautiful women in the entertainment business. ‘I’ll write the name down for you before you leave,’ she drawled.

  He gave an inclination of his head. ‘I’d be grateful.’

  Elizabeth broke the intimacy of his gaze by turning towards her grandfather. ‘Perhaps Mr Taylor would like to go over to the west lawn now and see how the work there is progressing,’ she suggested lightly. ‘I’m sure he must be anxious to see what arrangements have been made.’

  ‘He’s barely had time to drink his coffee, child,’ her grandfather looked at her in surprise.

  She blushed. ‘I only—’

  ‘Your granddaughter is right, Gerald,’ Quinn Taylor’s drawling voice came to her rescue. ‘I only have a couple of days’ rehearsal before the concert.’ He stood up, stretching lazily. ‘I don’t feel much like working after that delicious lunch you just gave us,’ he acknowledged ruefully. ‘Maybe I can return the hospitality some time, tomorrow, perhaps?’ He was looking at Elizabeth as he made the suggestion. After angering her grandfather by more or less suggesting it was time for the singer and his manager to leave, she prudently held her tongue about bluntly refusing Quinn Taylor’s invitation. But she certainly had no intention of spending any more time in his company than she had to, she didn’t like the way he kept staring at her.

  To her relief it was Bruce Simons who came to her rescue, pointing out to the singer that the schedule was a little tight for tomorrow.

  Blue eyes gleamed as Quinn Taylor seemed to know of her relief at the reprieve. ‘Maybe we can make it dinner,’ he murmured slowly. ‘Could I contact you both about it tomorrow?’ he asked her grandfather.

  He might contact them, but by the time he did she would make sure she had a legitimate excuse—one that would satisfy her grandfather!—for not attending. Quinn Taylor made her feel uncomfortable, and she wasn’t about to expose herself to any more of his company than she had to.

  ‘It’s been a delight to meet you, Miss Farnham.’ He took her hand lightly in his as they stood outside. ‘I’m sure I will remember who it is you remind me of,’ he added softly, once again giving her that searching look.

  ‘Let’s hope that when you do remember, it is a pleasant memory,’ she drawled mockingly.

  He smiled, his teeth white and even against his bronzed skin. ‘I’m sure it must be,’ he said huskily.

  Elizabeth politely but firmly extricated her hand from within his grasp, knowing by the way his fingers tightened momentarily that he didn’t want to release her. She clasped her hands together in front of her. ‘We mustn’t keep you from your rehearsal any longer,’ she said pointedly.

  ‘No,’ he acknowledged ruefully, strolling around to the driver’s side of the car with long easy movements. ‘I’ll see you both again soon.’

  It sounded more like a threat than a politely made parting comment. But she knew her grandfather would want to accept this man’s invitation, whereas she didn’t believe it was necessary for them to meet again, for dinner tomorrow or anything else, now that they had politely done their duty.

  They stood at the top of the steps watching the car as it disappeared in the direction of the west lawn, her grandfather’s arm about her shoulders as they went back into the house.

  ‘You weren’t very polite to him, darling,’ her grandfather finally reproved, as she had known he would.

  ‘His approach wasn’t very original,’ she derided. ‘That “you remind me of someone” routine must be years old,’ she dismissed scathingly.

  ‘It used to work when I was a young man,’ he frowned. ‘OK, point taken,’ he smiled as she gave him a pointed look. ‘But it didn’t seem like an approach to me.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ she shrugged. ‘But I didn’t like the way he kept staring at me through lunch.’

  Her grandfather smiled again. ‘He did seem rather taken with you, didn’t he?’

  ‘There’s no need to sound so smug,’ Elizabeth snapped. ‘Quinn Taylor is certainly not my type!’

  ‘Because he sings for a living?’ her grandfather frowned. ‘Darling, the man is an artist, not some hack who can’t pitch a note!’

  Elizabeth knew exactly who Quinn Taylor was, and what he was. The Lise Morrison part of her would never forget that he had taken to his bed the girlfriend of a man who had called him friend.

  Or that he had once broken her heart.

  CHAPTER TWO

  ELIZABETH didn’t for a moment believe he really remembered that slightly overweight schoolgirl who had once been so infatuated with him that she had thrown herself at him shamelessly.

  But she remembered every painful moment of that night six years ago. She had thought she had put it behind her, had believed seeing Quinn Taylor again after all this time would mean nothing to her. But she had been wrong; how could anyone forget the person who had shattered their childhood for ever?

  At seventeen she had been extremely naïve, believed everything to be exactly as it appeared to be: Quinn’s kindness to her a sign that he liked her too, his friendship with Fergus just that. Instead it had merely been a cover for something much more sordid. Terri hadn’t returned to her bedroom until early the next morning!

  Quinn said she reminded him of someone, but the name was all wrong. Maybe it was just a line to him, but for her it had been a traumatic experience to learn that she wasn’t little Lise Morrison at all but Elizabeth Farnham, heiress to the Farnham estate.

  She had been eighteen when the man her Uncle Hector called ‘Master Gregory’, had been killed racing one of his cars much too fast during wet conditions. The people in the area had mourned the loss of the Farnham heir with the elderly man who owned most of the farms and houses they lived in. For days they had been stunned by the death, wondering what Gerald Farnham would do for an heir now that his only son had died, Gregory Farnham never having married himself.

  Elizabeth could still remember her surprise—and nervousness!—when the Farnham limousine had arrived at the farm and Gerald Farnham himself had asked to see her.

  His son had left a letter to be read in the event of his premature death—and with the reckless way he lived his life that had always been more than a possibility—stating that he and Claire Morrison had been lovers, and claiming Lise’s paternity.

  The man who claimed to be her grandfather had shown her the letter, not attempting to shield her from the fact that her father had always known of her existence, that he had scorned her mother when she told him of her pregnancy. It hadn’t been easy to accept that, if Gregory Farnham hadn’t died the way he had, she would never have known who she really was; that the secret of her father’s identity, which her mother had chosen to take to the grave with her, would have remained a secret for ever.

  Her mother had gone to live with her brother Hector when their parents died shortly after she was sixteen, and she and Gregory Farnham had met when she was only seventeen. Considering the reputation the Farnham heir had always had concerning women, Lise could only believe that her mother had been as mesmerised by his reckless charm as so many other women had seemed to be. But at only nineteen Gregory Farnham had had no intention of marrying anyone, especially some little country bumpkin who lived on one of the estate’s farms, even if she was pregnant with his child.

  Her aunt and uncle had been as stunned by this revelation as she was, and she was sure they had never had any idea who her father was. Her Aunt Madge certainly wouldn’t have remained silent if she had known!

  It had been too much for Lise to absorb, and she had run off, needing to be alone, to try to come to terms with the fact that she was Elizabeth Farnham and not Elizabeth Morrison.

  Her poor mother, rejected by the man she had believed loved her. Not even her death had made him relent about acknowledging their child’s birth.

  Maybe if she had been able to comfort herself with the certainty that Gregory Farnham had lived his life so recklessly because the woman he had loved, and foolishly hadn’t married, had die
d giving birth to his child, there might have been something to redeem from the heartache she was now suffering. But that would have been a fairy-tale, and her belief in those had been shattered a year ago.

  In which case she had to believe that her father had been a selfish bastard who had never had any intention of recognising her as his daughter while he was still alive. To her he had just been the Farnham heir who occasionally visited the estate, driving about the narrow country lanes in one of his flashy sports cars, usually with some beautiful woman at his side.

  She didn’t want him to be her father, hated the thought of that blond-haired devil having sired her. She didn’t have to accept him as her father if she didn’t want to. She knew her aunt and uncle expected her to move into Farnham Hall as her grandfather wanted her to, but she was eighteen now, could go where she wanted, be what she wanted. She didn’t have to be beholden to anyone any more—

  ‘He was a bastard, wasn’t he.’

  She looked up with resentful eyes, glaring at the man who now claimed to be her grandfather. He had a perfect right to be here, this river was part of his estate, but she didn’t have to stay and talk to him.

  He caught her arm as she would have leapt up and run away. ‘Lise,’ he halted her gently. ‘That is what they call you, isn’t it?’ he prompted softly.

  Her head went back defiantly, green eyes flashing. ‘It’s the family name for me, yes,’ she acknowledged bitterly.

  He nodded his head, a man in his mid-sixties who was obviously finding it difficult to converse with a young woman. ‘If you prefer I’ll call you Elizabeth,’ he said sadly. ‘But I am your family.’ His hand tightened about her arm as she would have pulled away. ‘You know, I used to see your mother about the village and estate,’ he spoke quietly. ‘She was a lovely little thing, just like you to look at.’

  ‘Perhaps if she hadn’t been quite as lovely your son wouldn’t have ruined her life by leaving her pregnant with his child,’ she stormed at him.