Wish for the Moon

by Carole Mortimer

  He gave a sad sigh. ‘Gregory was always wild, but—if I had known of your existence I would have acknowledged you years ago!’ he rasped.

  ‘Even an illegitimate heir is better than no heir at all?’ she challenged contemptuously.

  He suddenly looked old, not quite as tall, nor as arrogant. ‘I probably deserved that,’ he said heavily. ‘Having a grandchild has meant everything to me in recent years, I’ve made no secret of that. I’d like to think that Gregory was deaf to my requests that he settle down and have children because he knew there was no reason for him to do so, that he always intended telling me about you some day.’

  ‘You can live with your dreams if you want to,’ Lise scorned. ‘I happen to think that your son never thought of me again after writing that letter you were to receive after his death. And we both know by the date of that that he wrote it when I was three years old! Any duty he might have felt to me taken care of—and then forgotten!’

  Gerald Farnham drew in a ragged breath. ‘I can’t pretend to have understood my son.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘All I do know is that you are my grandchild. And I’d like for us to get to know one another better.’

  ‘I—’

  ‘I never denied you, Elizabeth,’ he cut in softly. ‘I never would have done.’

  ‘We’ll never know that, will we?’ she scoffed.

  His mouth firmed determinedly. ‘I understand that you hate Gregory; I’m not feeling too pleased with him myself at the moment,’ he admitted softly. ‘But,’ he added firmly, ‘we both know the truth now. I think we owe it to each other at least to get to know one another.’

  Her eyes flashed. ‘I don’t owe you anything!’

  He gave an impatient sigh at her defiance. ‘Did your aunt or uncle ever give you a good spanking for being unreasonable?’ He glared back at her, green sparks visible in his hazel-coloured eyes.

  It suddenly occurred to Lise how ridiculous they must look standing beside a river glaring at each other, eyes locked, jaws set. It also occurred to her that there was more than a casual similarity between them, that this man was her grandfather, her own flesh and blood.

  She had begun to cry then, held firmly in his arms, offering no resistance when he led her back to the road and helped her into his car, taking her back with him to Farnham Hall.

  She had been here ever since, gently guided by her grandfather to be the sort of woman who was capable of running his estate. She had felt strange at first, like the village brat who had accidentally gatecrashed a life she didn’t understand, or particularly want. But her grandfather had shown such pride in her, complimenting her effusively on each new accomplishment she made, until it had become the determination to be his granddaughter that had spurred her on to accept the new life he had provided for her.

  After five years she was completely at home here, had become Elizabeth Farnham, Lise Morrison a part of her past that she remembered with affection but had no wish to return to.

  She had almost forgotten she had ever known another life besides this one, even the expected arrival of Quinn Taylor back in her life not having disturbed her. She despised the man, saw no reason why she should explain that they had met before. And she had no intention of doing so!

  Unfortunately for her grandfather, he seemed to have some sort of match-making idea in mind between her and the entertainer. She found it difficult even to be polite to the Canadian, didn’t feel even a spark of that attraction towards him that had once made her so dizzily ecstatic. And her grandfather was going to realise that after he had tried to throw them together a couple of more times.

  She moved to her bedroom window to gaze out at the west lawn, could clearly see the blue-suited figure as he moved about the stage. She had been wrong that night six years ago when she had supposed he was more at home in his casual clothes; he looked just as relaxed and comfortable in the formal suit.

  The years had been kind to him, his attraction still devastating, in fact in some ways he seemed more attractive, his features ruggedly virile. His divorce several years ago had left him free to exploit that virility to its fullest, his name constantly linked with one woman or another. Elizabeth hoped he didn’t waste his time by trying to impress her!

  * * *

  ‘I can’t understand what all the fuss is about,’ Giles muttered at her side.

  Elizabeth gave a rueful grimace, longing to agree with him, but knowing it would be impolite to their guest of honour to do so.

  Her grandfather had completely outwitted her in his effort to throw her into the company of Quinn Taylor, telling her he wanted this dinner party arranged at short notice, omitting to tell her that his guest of honour was going to be the singer.

  The Canadian had only been to lunch the day before, and when no dinner invitation had been forthcoming she had heaved a sigh of gratitude. It wasn’t until she descended the stairs earlier this evening to stand at her grandfather’s side to greet their hastily invited guests that she had realised Quinn Taylor was going to be there. She had telephoned round herself and invited the dozen or so other guests, little guessing that her grandfather had personally issued one to Quinn Taylor.

  She should have guessed really; as he had with her father before her, her grandfather had started complaining about his lack of great-grandchildren when she reached twenty-one. And he didn’t approve of Giles as the father of those children, claimed he was too weak. She had never met a man yet who was as forceful as her grandfather, and certainly Quinn Taylor in no way matched her requirements of a husband!

  She looked at him as he stood across the room from her and Giles, completely at ease in the midst of people she had found so overwhelming when she first came to live at the Hall. He was like a chameleon, had been equally comfortable at her aunt’s and uncle’s tiny farm all those years ago.

  He wore the black evening-suit with ease, his skin very dark against his snowy white shirt, his dark hair curling slightly over the collar. Standing at his side was his partner for the evening, a beautiful redhead whom Elizabeth had instantly recognised as the star of a show she and Giles had gone to London to see several weeks before. For all his faults, he didn’t seem to mind sharing the limelight with another star.

  A polite mask shuttered her real feelings about him as he turned to catch her gaze upon him, smiling in polite ackowledgement of him before looking away again.

  She might have been able to avoid him before dinner, but unfortunately he had been placed to her left at the long dining-table. Giles sat at her other side, and from the disparaging looks he kept giving the other man he was none too pleased with the seating arrangements.

  She glanced down the length of the table to where her grandfather sat, knowing by the triumphant smile he gave her that he was deeply enjoying the situation. He could be an old devil, but she loved him, she acknowledged ruefully. The bond was all the stronger between them because they hadn’t known of their true relationship for so many years.

  But not even to please him could she be more than superficially polite to Quinn Taylor!

  ‘Are your rehearsals going well, Mr Taylor?’ she turned to him with cool enquiry.

  Those blue eyes seemed to be laughing at her as he met her gaze, as if he guessed at her ploy to get him to do what he hadn’t done yesterday; talk about himself so much she didn’t have to do more than murmur faint comments of admiration!

  ‘Everything is going fine,’ he dismissed. ‘By the way,’ he added softly, as if he sensed Giles’s interest in their conversation. ‘The perfume was a success.’

  Elizabeth drew back abruptly, glancing at his dinner companion as she chatted huskily to the man sitting to her left. ‘I’m glad Miss Barton approved,’ she drawled.

  He shook his head. ‘Oh it wasn’t for Maria,’ he said softly.

  No, she somehow hadn’t thought it would be. The perfume she had been wearing yesterday had been light and slightly elusive, not at all suited to the sultry woman beside him who could lay claim to half Italian parentage.


  ‘I’m glad—whoever, liked it,’ she shrugged dismissively.

  ‘Oh, she did,’ he nodded, looking at her between partially closed lids.

  She didn’t have a self-conscious bone in her body, how could she have when her grandfather had paid tutors to come to the Hall to teach her how to walk gracefully, how to eat gracefully, how to make interesting conversation with even the most boring of guests, personally teaching her the runnings of the estate so that she could one day take over. And yet Quinn Taylor made her feel uncomfortable with the way he was looking at her.

  Her hair had been loosely swept up on top of her head, her make-up was perfect, emphasising the colour and wide appeal of her eyes, her mouth a provocatively painted pout, the black gown she wore not revealing an inch of her creamy skin from neck to ankle, and yet she somehow felt exposed to this man’s gaze.

  ‘Giles, why don’t you tell Mr Taylor about the horses you train and breed,’ she heard herself prompt frantically, her anger rising at how out of character her behaviour was.

  She despised this man, found him utterly contemptible; there was no reason for him to be able to unnerve her!

  Giles looked surprised by her request too. ‘I’m sure—Mr Taylor has no interest in horse-breeding,’ he dismissed in a superior voice.

  ‘On the contrary,’ Quinn drawled—as if he were perfectly aware of the other man’s condescension, and not in the least disturbed by it, ‘it’s something I’ve always wanted to do myself, but I’m afraid I’m away from home too often to be able to do it seriously. However I do have a couple of Arabians that I—’

  Elizabeth withdrew with an inward groan; introduce the subject of Arabians to Giles and the rest of the evening would be taken up with it. She could also see a new grudging respect for the other man in his suddenly alert brown eyes, heaving an inward sigh as she realised she had probably just lost her only ally in disliking Quinn Taylor.

  Colour darkened her cheeks as she met his laughing blue gaze, one brow arched mockingly. Damn it, she wouldn’t put it past him to have found out just how boringly intense Giles could be on the subject of Arabian horses. Or for someone to have put him up to it…’

  She glared down the table at her grandfather, her mouth tight as he gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. She could just hear him now, ‘If Giles gets too uppity, just mention Arabians. The chap can go on for hours about Arabians!’ Only Quinn hadn’t even needed to introduce the subject himself; she had done it for him!

  As she had known he would, Giles talked about his horse-breeding for the rest of the meal. And if Quinn Taylor was bored by the conversation it wasn’t noticeable, his questions intelligent and knowledgeable on the subject. Perhaps he really did want to know—no, damn it, her grandfather had put him up to this.

  By the time they left the table to have coffee in the drawing-room it was all she could do not to yawn publically instead of having to stifle the impulse. Almost two hours of Arabian horses as their main diet would have the same effect on anyone, she defended herself.

  Quinn didn’t seem to have been affected the same way; he was still deep in conversation with Giles as they sat drinking their coffee. For some unaccountable reason she felt as if Giles had betrayed her, gone over to the enemy. Which was ridiculous; he had merely found someone who appeared as interested in horse-breeding as he was.

  ‘Something amiss, darling?’ her grandfather drawled at her side.

  She couldn’t help smiling. ‘Not at all,’ she derided.

  He arched iron-grey brows. ‘No?’

  Her smile deepened. ‘I think it’s wonderful that Giles has at last found someone who is as interested in horse-breeding as he is. The fact that I was completely bored through dinner isn’t important,’ she dismissed lightly.

  Her grandfather frowned, as she had intended he should. ‘I’m sure Quinn can talk about other things,’ he defended hastily.

  ‘Of course he can,’ she comforted. ‘And so can Giles,’ she added sweetly.

  He looked disgruntled. ‘I’ve never heard him.’

  She patted his hand. ‘Probably because you’ve never listened.’

  Her grandfather sighed. ‘If you don’t like Quinn Taylor why don’t you just say so?’

  Her mouth tightened. ‘I don’t like him,’ she muttered intensely, all laughter gone.

  ‘He seems to like you,’ her grandfather frowned.

  Elizabeth’s mouth twisted. ‘And Miss Barton. And the woman he purchased the perfume for,’ she said drily. ‘Really, Grandfather, I’ve heard enough about breeding lines the last couple of hours to last me for months,’ she dismissed in a bored voice. ‘I certainly don’t need my own breeding potential discussed!’

  He winced at her bluntness. ‘I don’t think there’s any need to be crude, darling,’ he reproved.

  ‘Don’t you?’ she mocked. ‘Perhaps not,’ she conceded. ‘But I can assure you that marriage is the last thing on Mr Taylor’s mind when he looks at a woman!’

  ‘Did I ever say I wanted you to get married?’ he frowned.

  She looked up at him with wide eyes, barely reaching up to his shoulders. ‘No, but—’

  He shook his head. ‘If you got married you would move away from here. I don’t want that to happen,’ he said determinedly.

  ‘Grandfather,’ she exclaimed disbelievingly. ‘My birth was an accident; it certainly didn’t set a precedent!’

  ‘I’m sorry, darling.’ He squeezed her hand in his much larger one. ‘I’ve just never thought of your leaving here, to get married or otherwise.’ He looked as if he were badly shaken that it could even be a possibility.

  She gave a rueful shake of her head. ‘Decided that great-grandchildren wouldn’t be such a good idea after all?’ she teased

  ‘Oh, I still think they’re a good idea,’ he drawled. ‘I’ll just have to give my method of achieving them a little more thought!’

  Elizabeth laughed softly; he looked deeply preoccupied as he walked away, visibly starting when one of his guests engaged him in conversation.

  ‘Are you still angry with me?’

  She turned sharply to face Quinn, her expression instantly guarded, frowning a little as she glanced across the room to see Giles in conversation with Maria Barton.

  ‘He’s telling her how wonderful she is,’ Quinn supplied drily. ‘It’s something she never tires of hearing,’ he drawled.

  Elizabeth turned back to him coolly. ‘I would imagine that applies to most people who choose entertainment as their profession,’ she taunted.

  ‘Touché.’ He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘I repeat, are you still angry with me?’ he said softly.

  She frowned at him slightly. ‘About what?’

  He shrugged broad shoulders. ‘I haven’t the least idea, but whatever it is, I apologise.’ He held his hands up defensively.

  He apologised so easily, and he didn’t even know what he had done to make her hate him! At least he knew, he just wasn’t aware that she knew of it too.

  ‘You’re mistaken, Mr Taylor,’ she bit out coldly. ‘I don’t know you well enough to feel angry at you about anything.’

  He sighed. ‘You sure give a good impression of it.’

  Her eyes glittered angrily. ‘I’m sorry,’ she snapped. ‘How would you like me to behave?’

  He looked at her consideringly. ‘Maybe as if you didn’t hate me quite so much,’ he murmured slowly, his puzzlement obvious.

  She gave a lightly dismissive laugh. ‘Now you’re being fanciful, Mr Taylor.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘I believe so,’ she nodded coolly.

  ‘Maybe.’ He didn’t sound convinced.

  ‘Tell me, Mr Taylor, have you had the opportunity to see any of our Hampshire countryside?’ She abruptly changed the subject, sure the last thing her grandfather would want was for her to insult his dinner-guest by telling him exactly why she disliked him so much.

  He took his time about answering, obviously not pleas
ed with the change of subject, and then he gave a barely perceptible shrug, as if he realised now wasn’t the time or place for a confrontation—if there was to be one.

  ‘Actually I’ve been in this area before,’ he finally answered distractedly.

  ‘Really?’ she prompted disinterestedly.

  ‘Mm,’ Quinn nodded. ‘In fact I’m rather pleased you brought the subject up,’ he continued briskly.

  ‘Oh?’ A quick glance at Giles showed her he was still entranced by the actress, that he was going to be no help to her at all, when she so badly needed rescuing from a conversation she had no interest in continuing. And then something Quinn was saying caught—and held—her attention.

  ‘—moved from the area, and the people that are there now said you might be able to help me,’ he looked at her enquiringly.

  ‘I’m sorry?’ she said abruptly. ‘I’m afraid I didn’t hear you.’ Her hands were tightly clasped together in front of her.

  ‘I was just saying,’ he repeated patiently. ‘That some friends of mine used to live on one of the farms on this estate, and the people that have taken over from them said you might be able to tell me where they have gone.’

  She could feel herself trembling, her body tense. ‘Why should I know?’ she shrugged.

  Quinn frowned. ‘Because they used to be tenants of the estate,’ he repeated in a puzzled voice.

  ‘Oh—oh yes,’ she accepted jerkily. ‘Perhaps if—you told me the name of the family?’

  ‘Morrison,’ he replied—as she had known he would!

  Friends. He called her aunt and uncle his friends! How dared he do that when the next time they had seen him, after he had abused their hospitality by sleeping with their son’s girlfriend under their roof, had been when he brought Fergus home to them in a wooden casket, dead at only twenty-three!

  CHAPTER THREE

  ELIZABETH looked at Quinn Taylor coldly. ‘I believe the family moved to Portugal,’ she bit out.

  ‘Portugal,’ he repeated softly, disappointment edging his voice.