Kitabı oku: «The Token Wife», sayfa 2

‘Then tell him you need more time. If he cares for you, he’ll understand.’

Ellie shook her head. She said, ‘Time is something I—don’t have.’

‘Oh, God.’ Lou came to an apprehensive halt in her preparations. ‘Ellie—you’re not pregnant, are you?’

Ellie stared at her in astonishment. ‘Of course not. How could I possibly be?’

Lou shrugged uncomfortably. ‘People in love are usually—lovers too,’ she suggested. ‘And accidents happen.’

Her stepsister flushed. ‘Well, not in our case. Because we—don’t…’

‘Oh,’ Lou said, adding mendaciously, ‘I see.’

Although she didn’t know why she should be so surprised, she thought, turning back to the mushrooms. After all, sex before marriage wasn’t obligatory. And in a sharp-eyed village, where any kind of privacy was at a premium, and your beloved still resided with a mother who tracked his every move, it was virtually impossible, as she knew to her cost.

But, as David had said ruefully, there was no real hurry when they had the rest of their lives together. And what could she do but reluctantly agree?

However, Alex Fabian didn’t live his life under the spotlight of parental disapproval, she thought. On the contrary. So, why this uncharacteristic restraint?

She said, ‘Then what’s the matter? Because there’s clearly something.’

Ellie was silent for a moment. She said, ‘He—he scares me a little. To be honest, he always has.’

‘Then why on earth did you go out with him?’ Lou demanded, bewildered.

Ellie shrugged. ‘Oh, I wasn’t very happy at the time,’ she said evasively. ‘I thought it might—take my mind off things.’

‘And did it?’

Ellie’s laugh sounded a little forced. ‘Well, of course. Alex demands—total concentration at all times. And now we’re going to be married,’ she added brightly. ‘So everything’s worked out for the best.’

‘In this best of all possible worlds,’ Lou murmured with irony. ‘And maybe you should leave the potatoes to me, love. There’ll be none left at the rate you’re going.’

‘Oh, Lou, I’m sorry.’ Ellie looked with contrition at the results of her labours.

‘Don’t worry about it.’ Lou rinsed her hands. ‘The future Mrs Fabian will never have to bother with such mundane tasks, anyway. So go and make yourself look gorgeous for him.’

‘Yes,’ Ellie said slowly. ‘I suppose so.’ She looked up at the clock, her expression blank. ‘He’ll be here soon. Time’s running out.’ And she wandered off, leaving Lou staring after her, perplexed, and frankly worried.

Ellie, she thought, bore no resemblance to a girl about to say ‘yes’ to the man she adored.

She wondered if she ought to talk to Marian about it, then dismissed the idea, knowing that it would be seen as interference rather than intervention.

And Ellie wasn’t a child any more. She had to work out her own salvation. And whether that would include Alex Fabian was entirely her own decision.

Left to herself, she worked steadily, and competently. Soon the ducklings were waiting on their rack, the vegetables prepared, the soup simmering, and a bowl of Chantilly cream whisked up to accompany the dessert of fresh local strawberries.

As David’s wife, she might always have to do her own cooking, she thought with faint amusement, but she didn’t have one iota of envy for Ellie’s carefree future. David was her rock, and she’d never entertained the slightest doubt about him.

Dinner was to be served at eight o’ clock, so she now had a breathing space to go back into the loft and choose the dresses to take down to the village hall later.

It was a fascinating task. Like most lofts, it was crammed with remnants of the past, including a lot of old photograph albums, and Lou was constantly being sidetracked.

‘Oh, hell,’ she muttered as she glanced at her watch. ‘It’s time those ducklings were in the oven. I’d better get cracking.’

She picked up the armful of dresses she’d chosen. They were too bulky to manage safely on the ladder, she decided. Much better for them to go first.

She dropped them through the hatch, and was about to follow, when a startled cry reached her from below.

Glancing down in sudden apprehension, Lou saw the dresses seemed to have taken on a life of their own. Were, in fact, on the move. And under their concealing folds a muffled male voice was swearing angrily.

‘Oh, God.’ Lou scrambled down the ladder at neck-breaking speed. She grabbed a handful of satin, and hauled it away. ‘I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t realise anyone would be there.’

Her victim shook himself free, his impatient glance flicking over her. ‘Really?’ he drawled. ‘I thought it might be some bizarre rite of passage.’

And Lou realised, horrified, she was taking her first look at Alex Fabian. In the flesh, she thought, swallowing.

He was tall and lean, with broad shoulders and endless legs. His hair, dishevelled from its close encounter with several pounds of fabric, was thick and tawny, and curled slightly. Lou remembered Ellie once saying that his nickname in the City was the Lion King, and could understand why.

He was not conventionally handsome, but he was arrestingly, dynamically attractive, with high cheekbones, glinting green eyes under heavy lids, and a firmly sculpted, almost insolent mouth.

And he was frighteningly, effortlessly sexy. A man who did not have to try, she thought instantly, and wondered how she could possibly know.

A shiver traced its way down her spine. And she thought, ‘Poor Ellie.’

Alex Fabian was looking at her too. Lou recognised with shock that she had been stripped, assessed and dismissed in one devastating and totally male glance. A conditioned reflex, she told herself angrily. That’s all it was. See a woman—imagine her naked. He probably can’t help himself.

But all the same she resented it, even as she realised he was speaking to her again.

He said softly, ‘And who are you?’

Lou gave him a bland smile. ‘The cook.’

‘Indeed?’ His brows lifted. He stirred the mass of shimmering cloth at his feet with the toe of a polished shoe. ‘Is it part of the job to dress for dinner?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘These are for the local drama group. They’re doing a revue—An Evening with Noël Coward.’

‘Dear God,’ said Alex Fabian, and his lips twitched into an appreciative grin. ‘A little ambitious, wouldn’t you say?’

Lou had thought exactly the same when the idea was first mooted, but she stonily refused to share his amusement. Particularly when his smile had sent his attraction quotient soaring into some sexual stratosphere.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said crisply. ‘You won’t be expected to buy a ticket.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I’ve just realised. You’re Louise, Ellie’s stepsister. How do you do? I’m Alex Fabian.’

Lou dived to pick up the dresses, pretending not to have seen his outstretched hand. It occurred to her that she did not want to touch him. That even a polite handshake might carry some inherent risk, like making contact with a force field. And that she could not afford to find out.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’d gathered who you were.’ She hoisted the pile of silks and satins into her arms, using them as a barrier. ‘Now you must excuse me. Duty calls.’

‘You mean you really are doing the cooking?’

‘Well, don’t sound so surprised. Someone has to.’ She gave him a swift, taut smile. ‘Reliable staff is hard to come by round here. But I promise not to poison you.’

‘I’m completely reassured.’ He paused. ‘Before I was booby-trapped,’ he said, ‘I was looking for the guest bathroom.’

‘Second door on the left.’ She edged round him.

‘One moment,’ he said, and a sudden tremor went through her as she felt his hand brush her hair.

She practically jumped backwards, nearly flattening herself against the wall. She said breathlessly, ‘Just—what do you think you’re doing?’

‘Relax,’ he advised, a sudden glint in those amazing eyes. ‘You had a cobweb in your hair. See?’ He showed her its remains on his fingertips. ‘Some poor spider is now homeless.’

‘A banker with a caring side,’ she said. ‘I’m impressed.’

‘Now, why do I find that so hard to believe?’ Alex Fabian said musingly. ‘But I won’t detain you now for any further discussion. You have your pots and pans to get back to. So, as Noël Coward himself would have put it, Miss Louise Trentham, I’ll see you again.’

No, she thought with relief. No, you won’t.

Tonight she would be at the village hall, and tomorrow she would persuade David to take her out for the whole day. And on Sunday she’d invent a headache, and stay in her room until they’d all gone back to London.

She muttered something unintelligible into the pile of dresses, and headed off to her room.

Once safely inside, she leaned back against the door panels, and whispered, ‘Phew.’

So that was Alex Fabian, she thought weakly. Hell’s bells, he should carry a government health warning. No wonder Ellie was becoming flaky at the prospect of marriage with him.

Nor was he a picture of the eager suitor. He was a cool operator. She had seen no kindness in that smiling mouth, no warmth to soften the sensual speculation in the green eyes. For Alex Fabian, women were no more than a commodity to be enjoyed. And what happened when a particular commodity began to pall?

Did Ellie really have the emotional and mental stamina to cope with someone like him? Or was she too glamoured—too beguiled by his looks, charisma and money to care?

She should turn him down, she told herself vehemently. Instantly, and without a second thought. It was a question of survival—pure and simple.

A description which could never be applied to the bridegroom-to-be, she added, her mouth twisting wryly.

She left the dresses on her bed. As she turned away she caught sight of herself in the mirror, and realised there was a smudge of dust on her cheek that Alex Fabian had not seen fit to mention.

Thank God he didn’t try to remove it as well, she thought caustically as she went down to the kitchen, or I’d probably be a gibbering wreck by now.

She was concocting the orange sauce for the ducklings when Marian came in.

‘Is everything under control?’ she demanded, glancing sharply around her.

‘In here, it is.’ Lou added a dash of Cointreau. ‘I can’t speak for the rest of the house.’

Marian stared at her. She was elegant in amethyst jersey, with pearls at her throat and in her ears, and her blonde hair was drawn back into an elaborate chignon. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘I met Ellie’s intended,’ Lou returned. She paused. ‘Are you really going to let her marry him?’

Marian’s brows lifted haughtily. ‘I think that is a decision that we can safely leave to them.’

‘I don’t agree.’ Lou met her gaze calmly and directly. ‘I think it’s like handing a lamb over to a tiger.’

‘What a dramatic turn of phrase,’ her stepmother said mockingly. ‘Perhaps you should be writing melodramas for your little village group.’

‘Better melodrama than tragedy,’ Lou said curtly. ‘Marian, she’s not in his league. You must see that.’

‘I see that she’s marrying a very successful man, who will soon be chairman of Perrins Bank,’ Marian retorted.

‘So you’re not pretending she loves him.’

Marian laughed. ‘Oh, I think she’ll find it very easy to love him—in the ways that matter to a man. After all, she’ll have an expert teacher.’ She paused. ‘Are you quite sure, Lou, dear, that you’re not just a tiny bit jealous?

‘No,’ Lou said steadily. ‘Because I have a man that I can love in all the ways there are. Not just those that happen in the bedroom.’

‘You’re really a little prude, aren’t you?’ Marian drawled. ‘I’m sure you and David will suit each other admirably.’ She glanced at her diamond watch. ‘Are you leaving yourself enough time to change?’

‘I’m going to a village-hall rehearsal, not Glyndebourne.’ Lou tasted her sauce, and nodded with satisfaction.

‘But you can’t serve the dinner in jeans and an old sweater.’

‘I’ve no intention of serving it at all,’ Lou retorted curtly. ‘I said I’d cook, and that’s it. You and Ellie can manage the rest between you—unless, of course, you want Alex Fabian to end up with a lap full of mushroom soup,’ she added menacingly. ‘No? I thought not. And I presume you know how to load the dishwasher as well,’ she called after her stepmother as Marian flounced out.

A minor victory, she thought, but what did that matter when the war was already lost?

Up in her room, she went across to the window to close the curtains against the gathering twilight, and paused, alerted by a movement in the shrubbery below her. To her surprise, she saw it was Ellie, pacing up and down, and talking on her cell-phone.

What on earth is she doing out there? Lou asked herself in bewilderment. ‘I’d have thought Marian would have had her chained to Alex Fabian’s wrist by now.’

She was about to rap on the window—attract Ellie’s attention—then held back. Even in the poor light, she could see that her stepsister looked strained. Every gesture, every restless movement betrayed her agitation.

Maybe she’s decided she can’t go through with it, she thought. But who is she talking to? The Samaritans?

She went back to the bed and began shaking out the dresses, folding them with care and placing them in large carriers.

On her way out to the car she would have a word with Ellie, she decided. Tell her that she, at least, was on her side.

But when she got outside, there was no one about. As she went past the dining-room window she glanced in, and saw Ellie sitting next to Alex Fabian at the candlelit table, talking and laughing as if she didn’t have a care in the world.

The Samaritans must do a wonderful job, Lou thought with a resigned sigh, and went to her rehearsal.

The carrier bags were seized on joyfully by the female cast members and taken off to the women’s dressing room. Lou found a chair and sat down to watch while she waited for David to arrive. He didn’t act in any of the village productions but he helped with scenery and lighting, and he was coming to discuss the design of the set with Ray, the producer.

Lou hadn’t attended any rehearsals for a couple of weeks, and she was amazed to find what progress they’d made. Even Ray who was also playing Noël Coward, was far better than she’d expected.

Then the girls came back in the evening dresses she’d brought, and paraded them on stage for Ray to make a final choice, and it was only when she was re-packing the rejected ones that she realised how late it was getting.

‘Where on earth is David?’ she asked Ray.

For a moment he looked blank, then, ‘Oh, he phoned earlier, just before you got here, love. Said something had cropped up, and he couldn’t make it.’

Lou frowned. ‘He didn’t call me.’

‘He probably took it for granted I’d tell you,’ Ray said peaceably. ‘Which I now have.’

‘He didn’t say what the problem was?’

‘No,’ Ray admitted. ‘But I expect his mother’s thrown another wobbly. He’d hardly want that generally known.’ He paused. ‘You haven’t got any tailcoats or top hats in that loft of yours, by any chance?’

She forced a smile. ‘I didn’t notice any, but I’ll have a good look tomorrow.’

She took the long route back to Virginia Cottage, going through the square, but David’s house was all in darkness, so she drove on without stopping.

Perhaps Ray had been quite right about his mother, she thought. And once David had managed to get her calm again, he’d decided to have an early night. Well, she couldn’t blame him for that, and nor would she.

But all the same, it was disappointing not to have seen him, and she wished very much that he’d rung her to explain. No doubt he’d ring in the morning, and they’d arrange to spend the day together then.

To her surprise, all the lights were out at Virginia Cottage too. She’d expected to find a party going on, but perhaps there was nothing to celebrate after all.

She parked at the rear, beside the low, sleek sports car that looked so alien in the cobbled yard, and went in through the back door. Her immediate intention was to make herself a hot drink, but that was before she saw the state the kitchen was in.

Clearly Marian had decided the dishwasher was unknown territory after all, she thought grimly, because all the plates, cutlery, dishes and pans used for the meal were piled haphazardly on every surface.

She was half tempted to leave them there, except for the knowledge that they would still be waiting for her in the morning, and she hated that.

David is quite right, she thought, smouldering. They do use me. But this is the last time.

She filled the kettle and set it to boil, then began the dreary task of rinsing the crockery, and putting it in the dishwasher.

The running water disguised the sound of the kitchen door opening behind her, and she only realised she was no longer alone when Alex Fabian said, ‘Good evening, Cinderella. Did the ball end early?’

He was standing just behind her. Close enough, she thought, to touch.

Her whole body clenched in sudden, uncontrollable panic, and the dish she was holding slipped from her hands, and smashed into fragments on the quarry-tiled floor between them.

Then there was silence.

CHAPTER TWO

A SILENCE that Alex Fabian was the first to break.

He said, ‘I seem to have startled you. I’m sorry. I hope the breakage won’t be stopped out of your wages,’ he added smoothly.

Lou glared at him. He’d discarded the jacket and tie he’d been wearing at dinner, and his white shirt was half-unbuttoned, revealing more than she wished to see of a brown, muscular chest. His cuffs were undone and turned casually back over equally tanned forearms.

She said, ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing—creeping around at this time of night?’

‘This time of night?’ he echoed derisively. ‘Lady, in London the evening would just be beginning.’

‘Well, we don’t go in much for big-city nightlife round here,’ Lou said curtly.

‘I gathered that,’ he said drily. ‘On the stroke of midnight, everyone turns back into pumpkins.’

‘You should have made it clear you wanted to be entertained.’ Lou went over to the broom cupboard in the corner, and extracted a dustpan and brush. ‘I’m sure my family would have turned cartwheels for you.’

Alex Fabian whistled softly. ‘I get the distinct impression, Miss Trentham, that you don’t like me very much.’

‘Fortunately, I don’t have to.’ She began to sweep up the broken pieces. ‘We inhabit totally different worlds, Mr Fabian.’

‘Worlds which seem to have collided,’ he said. ‘I’m about to become part of the family. Aren’t you going to congratulate me?’

She emptied the dustpan into the rubbish bin with a clatter. ‘On having got what you want? I imagine that’s the norm for you. Besides, with all you have to offer, how could Ellie possibly resist?’

‘I admit I thought she’d respond better to the carrot than the stick.’ He seemed amused, rather than offended. ‘I’m glad you agree.’

‘Well, I’m not glad about any of it. And where is Ellie, anyway?’

‘She opted for an early night, and the others followed,’ he said. His mouth twisted. ‘I think the excitement was all too much for her.’

Lou went on loading the dishwasher. She said in a low voice, ‘I think you’re too much for her. Don’t you know that she’s frightened of you?’

‘No,’ Alex Fabian said quietly, after a pause. ‘I didn’t realise that. But she truly has nothing to be scared of. Maybe I didn’t make that as clear as I should have done.’

‘Ellie’s a beautiful girl, but she’s also fragile. She needs kindness, Mr Fabian. I’m not sure you have much of that to spare.’

‘Then maybe that’s a trait we share, Miss Trentham.’ His voice was suddenly harsh. ‘You’re very ready to condemn on very little evidence. I promise you on my word of honour that Ellie has nothing to fear from me. That I will look after her as my wife, and treat her well. Does that satisfy you?’

‘Perhaps it’s her that you should reassure.’

His mouth tightened. ‘I would have done, if I’d had the chance to be alone with her before she scuttled off to bed. As a matter of fact, I tapped on her door just now and spoke to her in case she was still awake, but there was no answer.’

‘She probably thought you wanted more than conversation.’ The words were out before she could stop them.

‘Oh, God,’ Lou muttered under her breath. ‘I’ve done it now.’ And she bent swiftly to put the detergent tablet in the machine to disguise the fact that she was blushing.

He said quite mildly, ‘Now, why should she think any such thing? As you’re so much in her confidence, you must know I’ve made no demands of that kind.’

‘Yes, but you’re engaged now. Officially. That—changes things.’ Lou, having dug the hole and fallen into it, was now sinking rapidly. She shut the machine door, and switched on the programme. Anything not to have to look at him. Or hear him. Or even share the same universe with him, she thought detachedly.

‘Does it indeed?’ he said, and she could hear the unholy amusement quivering in his voice. ‘Well, I’ve never been engaged before, so I bow to your superior wisdom. Should I rush upstairs and ravish her now, do you think, or can it wait until tomorrow night?

‘You see, I’d actually planned to make myself some coffee, and do a couple of hours’ work on my laptop, but I’m prepared to make the sacrifice, if necessary,’ he added piously.

‘This is all a big joke to you, isn’t it?’ Lou swung round and faced him stormily.

‘Think what you want.’ He shrugged. ‘If I told you the truth, you wouldn’t believe me. And the kettle’s boiling. Shall I make us both some coffee?’

‘I’m having herb tea.’ If it was an olive branch, Lou didn’t want it. ‘I don’t drink coffee at this hour. It keeps me awake.’

‘How naughty of it,’ Alex Fabian said gravely. ‘Of course, there are a lot of far more pleasurable activities that have exactly the same effect, but perhaps you haven’t tried those.’

Helplessly, Lou felt her face warming again. She went over to the cupboard, produced two beakers, set them on the worktop, and pushed the coffee jar towards him without a word.

‘Before you flounce out of the room, slamming the door behind you,’ Alex Fabian said pleasantly, spooning granules into his beaker and adding boiling water, ‘I should tell you that was a magnificent dinner you gave us tonight.’

‘Thank you.’ The beguiling aroma of coffee seemed to fill the kitchen. Biting her lip, Lou dropped a camomile tea bag into her beaker, and let it infuse.

‘Have you ever thought of cooking professionally?’ he went on. ‘Private lunch and dinner parties in people’s homes? I should think you’d make a fortune.’

‘On the contrary,’ Lou said. ‘In future, I intend to cook only for my husband.’

He gave her bare left hand a fleeting glance. ‘Does this fortunate guy exist, or is he simply an erotic fantasy in your caffeine-free dreams?’

‘Of course he’s real. I—I thought you knew I was engaged.’ Her flush deepened.

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Our brief debate on sexual etiquette. I thought you knew that was a wind-up.’

‘And Ellie didn’t tell you?’

‘Ellie,’ he said, ‘has told me very little. But I haven’t exactly been forthcoming myself, so I can hardly complain.’ He paused. ‘So, who is he?’

‘Someone I’ve known forever. He lives in the village, and works for Galbraiths in their regional office.’

‘Does he have a name?’

‘He’s called David Sanders.’ Her tone was short. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘So that when I come to your wedding I’ll know what to call the groom,’ Alex Fabian said calmly. ‘I presume, as Ellie’s husband, I’ll receive an invitation.’

Ellie’s husband, she thought. Ellie’s husband? If she lived to be a thousand, she could never see him in any such role.

She said slowly, ‘I suppose so.’ She fished out the tea bag and disposed of it. ‘Do you want milk in your coffee?’

‘I take it black,’ he said. ‘It helps me stay awake.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You have work to do. Please don’t let me keep you.’

‘I am working,’ he said, and smiled at her with faint mockery. ‘Building bridges, I hope, with my future sister-in-law.’ He leaned against the kitchen table and took a meditative sip of coffee. ‘Tell me, how is it you don’t work for Trentham Osborne as Ellie does?’

‘Because publishing never appealed to me, and London certainly didn’t. I was always happiest here, so I moved back permanently and got a job with a local law firm.’

‘You’re a solicitor?’

She bit her lip. ‘No, a paralegal. I went to the same school as Ellie, and they weren’t geared up for university grades, just…’ She hesitated.

‘Just grooming the girls to make suitable marriages?’ he prompted softly.

‘Actually—yes,’ Lou acknowledged ruefully. She shook her head. ‘You wouldn’t believe that it could still go on.’

‘No?’ He drank some more coffee, watching her over the rim of the beaker. ‘Yet it seems to have worked for you.’

‘David isn’t “suitable” in that sense,’ she said. As her stepmother never failed to make clear, she thought wryly. ‘Just—the right man for me.’

‘How fortunate you are,’ he said softly. ‘To be so certain so early in your life.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I think I am.’

She finished her tea, and rinsed her beaker briskly under the tap. She gave him a bright, meaningless smile. ‘Well—goodnight. Will you switch off the lights as you go up?’

At the door, she paused. She said haltingly, ‘And I’m sorry for the way I spoke earlier. I—I hope that you and Ellie will be very happy together.’

The green eyes met hers, cool and enigmatic.

‘I feel sure,’ he said, ‘that her old school would be proud of her. Goodnight—sister-in-law.’

She was suddenly aware that her heart was thudding quickly—unpredictably. She smiled uncertainly, and went swiftly upstairs to her room. She closed the door behind her and drew a deep breath.

For a moment there, she’d allowed her guard to drop. And had been made aware, in a few devastating seconds, how disturbing a man Alex Fabian could be.

Bad move on her part, she thought. And lesson duly learned. From now on she would take more care. And keeping out of his way was just the first step.

Lou was tired when she climbed into bed, but sleep proved elusive just the same. She found her mind was churning, going over her encounter with Alex in the kitchen, and trying to analyse what had been said, and what else had been implied.

Oh, this is ridiculous, she adjured herself at last. Forget about the wretched guy, and concentrate on tomorrow.

She supposed, glumly, that if Mrs Gladwin failed to arrive again she would be expected to cook the breakfast, and she would do so, but after that they could forage for themselves, because she was going to the coast with David.

They would have a seafood lunch in a pub, then walk along the beach, and talk seriously about fixing a date for the wedding. It had hardly been mentioned in recent weeks.

Three months ahead, she thought contentedly, would surely give Mrs Sanders plenty of time to move to her sister’s place.

When eventually she slept, it was to dream that her wedding day had come, and she was walking up the aisle of the village church on her father’s arm to her bridegroom, waiting at the altar.

But as she got nearer he turned his head, and she saw, instead of David’s ruggedly familiar and beloved face, a mask, blank and featureless. And, crying out with fear and grief, she fled, alone, back the way she had come.

The dream was still vivid in her mind when she woke. Nasty, she thought, shivering, then threw back the bedclothes. Nothing, especially a nightmare, would be allowed to cloud this lovely day.

She showered, and dressed casually in a knee-length denim skirt and a white short-sleeved top, then brushed her hair into a silky cloud on her shoulders.

Because she would soon be seeing David, she accentuated her eyes with grey shadow and mascara, and coloured her mouth with her favourite dusky rose lipstick before she went downstairs.

When she got to the kitchen she found to her relief that young Tim had recovered from his asthma attack, and Mrs Gladwin was there ahead of her, already assembling the ingredients for the kedgeree and cutting the rind off the bacon rashers.

‘I took Mr and Mrs Trentham’s tea up to them,’ Mrs Gladwin reported. ‘But I had to leave Miss Ellie’s tray outside her door, as I couldn’t make her hear me. And I didn’t know what to do about her visitor.’

‘I think he’d prefer coffee.’ Lou found the small cafetière and filled it. But she had no intention of taking Alex Fabian coffee in bed, she thought, her mouth tightening. That was Ellie’s task, and she could wake up and do it.

While she was waiting for the coffee to brew, she popped out into the yard and called David on her mobile, only to discover that his was switched off.

She pulled a face as she returned indoors. If she used the ordinary phone his mother was bound to answer, and be plaintive at the prospect of her boy spending time with anyone else.

But maybe David would call her instead before that happened.

When she went upstairs, she found Ellie’s tray still untouched outside her door.

Puzzled, she set the coffee down beside it and knocked. ‘Ellie—Ellie, wake up. Your tea’s getting cold.’

There was no answer, and, after a moment’s hesitation, she opened the door, and looked in.

But there was no blonde head lifting sleepily from the pillow. The bed was empty, and the room unoccupied.

And no prizes for guessing where Ellie was, Lou thought, feeling oddly embarrassed. That neatly made bed was a total giveaway. She must have decided to celebrate her engagement in the arms of her fiancé after all.

‘Everyone’s still asleep,’ she told Mrs Gladwin as she carried all the things back to the kitchen. ‘I’m going into the village to get the papers.’