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At The Millionaire's Bidding
Lee Wilkinson
Ella Smith is surprised when a handsome millionaire offers her a lucrative contract that she can't afford to turn down. There's just one snag: she must move into his mansion until the project is finished! But does that mean she must obey his every command?Robert Carrington needs Ella to unlock the secrets of his past, but he finds himself wanting her–even if she's strictly off-limits! Robert wasn't looking for a mistress–but now he wants her to stay…at his bidding!



Robert’s smile held a hint of mockery. He greeted her as though she was a guest. “Miss Smith…welcome to Greyladies.”
The shock of meeting those tawny eyes literally took her breath away, and she was forced to drag in air, like a swimmer who’s been under water too long, before she could answer.
“Thank you.” She had tried to tell herself that his effect on her would have faded, that on further acquaintance she would find him ordinary, dull even. But rather than lessening, his impact was stronger. It made her heart beat uncomfortably fast, set her nerves quivering and scattered her wits.
LEE WILKINSON lives with her husband in a three-hundred-year-old stone cottage in a Derbyshire village, England, which most winters gets cut off by snow. They both enjoy traveling and recently, joining forces with their daughter and son-in-law, spent a year going around the world “on a shoestring” while their son looked after Kelly, their much-loved German shepherd dog. Her hobbies are reading and gardening and holding impromptu barbecues for her long-suffering family and friends.

At the Millionaire’s Bidding
Lee Wilkinson

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE
THE latch clicked, and Dave Benson came into the dark, cramped cloakroom that adjoined the office, closing the door behind him with care.
After that lunchtime’s unexpected phone call, it had been agreed that he, with his technical know-how, should tackle their possibly important visitor.
Eleanor glanced up from making the tea he’d requested, her clear grey eyes hopeful.
Dave answered her unspoken question. ‘Yes, it is Robert Carrington the financier, and the job on offer is just the kind of thing we were hoping for…’
Though his words were encouraging, it struck her that he was looking far from pleased.
‘Apparently Carrington’s fed up with living and working in London, and he’d like to start running his business from home. He owns some manor house or other near Little Meldon, and he wants to set up an office and a communications network with state-of-the-art equipment.’
‘That sounds wonderful!’ she exclaimed.
‘It would be if I could clinch the deal, but he’s an awkward man…’ There was irritation in Dave’s voice and a scowl on his darkly handsome face.
‘Though he must have known we were a small firm, he keeps quibbling about our capabilities, and about the travelling time involved. ‘I’ve assured him we can cope, but so far I’ve been unable to convince him.’
While she watched him, trying to hide her anxiety, Dave poured himself a mug of tea and, sitting in the single rickety chair, reached for a ginger biscuit and dunked it moodily.
Through the small, grimy window Eleanor could hear the roar of passing traffic on the Edgware Road, and closer at hand the rattle and bang of a tailgate being dropped, as goods were delivered to one of the ground-floor shops in their building.
As Dave continued to sit there, she asked, ‘Shouldn’t you be getting back?’
‘He’s talking on his mobile. When it rang, the arrogant swine lifted an eyebrow and asked, “Would you mind?” as though I was the office boy.’
‘When you do go back, for goodness’ sake be careful,’ she begged. ‘Don’t let him see how you feel about him.’
‘I think he already knows,’ Dave admitted. ‘We’ve rubbed each other up the wrong way from the word go. You’d better see if you can handle him.
‘According to the media, he’s tight-lipped about his private life, but in public, at least, he seems to like the ladies, so maybe a woman will stand more chance.’
Knowing it shouldn’t have to hinge on sex, and wishing, perversely, that he’d said a beautiful woman—but knowing full well that the adjective wasn’t justified—Eleanor agreed, ‘I’ll do my best. Though I remember reading an article about him in Finance International that suggested he has a reputation for being a tough nut.’
‘Well, if we don’t manage to crack him, we’re in big trouble.’ Dave ran a hand through his black wavy hair. ‘It’s a miracle a man like Carrington came to us in the first place, and we just can’t afford to lose this chance, so promise him anything he wants.’
‘I can’t see the sense of promising something we may not be able to deliver,’ she objected uneasily.
‘Damn it, Ella, don’t go all ethical on me. By the time he finds out whether or not we can deliver, we’ll be well into the job. He’ll be forced to settle for what he can get.
‘Our best card, maybe our only card, is that he wants the work put in hand straight away, and the job done as quickly as possible. The big firms will already have full order books, which means a wait. Tell him the next job we had scheduled has been put on hold for the present…’
There was no next job. Despite all their hard work the order book had remained depressingly empty.
‘And emphasise that we can make a start as soon as he says the word go. Monday, if that suits him. Though we’ll need a substantial cash advance before we can order any equipment.’
‘But surely Greenlees will—’
‘Greenlees have clamped down. They won’t let us have as much as a mouse mat until we’ve paid what we owe them.’
‘They’ve been paid. Our account was settled as soon as the money came in from the last job.’
When the grim look on Dave’s thin face failed to lighten, she insisted, ‘I sent the cheque off myself at the beginning of the week.’
‘It bounced,’ he said flatly. ‘I had a nasty email from them this morning, and an even nastier phone call from the bank.’
‘There must be some mistake,’ she protested.
‘There’s no mistake.’
She shook her head unbelievingly. ‘I’m sure there was enough money in our bank account to cover it.’
‘As it happens there wasn’t.’ His brown eyes were hard. ‘When I went to pick up that software package, Burtons insisted on being paid there and then. By the time I’d written them a cheque we were flat broke.’
‘I hadn’t realised things were that bad,’ she said shakily. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘There didn’t seem any point in worrying you.’
‘You should have told me. It was supposed to be my job to pay the bills. If I’d known, rather then send Greenlees a worthless cheque, I would have gone in to see them and asked for more time. It would have saved us the embarrassment of—’
An ugly look on his handsome face, Dave snarled, ‘Rather than standing here arguing, suppose you get out there and do your stuff? And don’t forget that Carrington’s our last hope, so offer him anything he wants, the moon if necessary. We have to get this job if we’re to stay in business.’
The cold certainty in his voice scared her half to death. She knew instinctively that if they lost the business, she might well lose Dave.
Without the promise of a brighter tomorrow, she had nothing to offer him. Or at least nothing exciting enough to hold him. Her future would be as bleak and grey, as empty, as her past.
Somehow she had to persuade Robert Carrington to give them the job.
Taking a deep breath, she glanced in the spotted mirror to check her appearance. What she saw there failed to boost her morale. Dressed in a plain charcoal suit, she looked thin to the point of gauntness, and her heart-shaped face appeared pale and strained in the gloom.
A stray tendril of sable hair had escaped from her otherwise neat chignon. Tucking it into place, she squared her shoulders and, picking up the tray, which she’d set with care, made her way into the office.
A man was standing by the window, his back to the room, looking out on to the street four floors below, where car tyres left a series of snails’ tracks on the dark, wet tarmac.
Tall and well-built, with broad shoulders, his hands hung loosely by his sides, relaxed but alert, and his short, thick, corn-coloured hair curled a little into the nape of his neck.
He turned, without haste, and the first thing she noticed was that his brows and lashes were several shades darker than his hair.
From Dave’s rather derogatory, ‘He seems to like the ladies’, she had imagined him to be in his fifties and handsome in a heavy, florid way; a flashily dressed stereotype, with a practiced charm.
He was nothing of the kind, and somehow his appearance threw her totally. Robert Carrington was quite young, in his early thirties, she guessed, lean and powerful-looking, dressed in a grey business suit with a plain blue tie.
His hard-boned face was tanned and tough, and far from handsome, and if he had any charm he was keeping it well hidden.
As she continued to stand and stare at him, he raised a single brow.
Colour flared in her cheeks and, feeling a complete fool, she put the tray down on the desk with a rattle, and moved to greet him.
At close quarters he seemed to tower over her five feet seven inches, and she guessed he must be well above six foot.
‘Mr Carrington… I’m Eleanor Smith.’
He took her hand in a light, firm grip, and she found herself looking straight into thickly lashed eyes that were green and bronze and speckled with gold. Just like a wolf’s eyes.
Caught and held, she was unable to look away.
‘As in Smith and Benson?’ His voice was deep and attractive, and his question broke the spell.
‘Y-yes,’ she stammered.
Glancing at the tea-tray, he asked with a fine irony, ‘So you’re just standing in for the office girl?’
With an effort, Eleanor pulled herself together and said as coolly as possible, ‘Unfortunately we’re short-staffed at the moment.’
Withdrawing her hand she retreated with what dignity she could muster, while he watched her a shade satirically.
Needing to bolster her confidence, she went to take a seat in the big leather chair behind the desk asking politely, ‘Won’t you sit down, Mr Carrington?’
He strolled across the room and took a seat in the small swivel chair opposite.
Chairs made no difference to who was boss, and they both knew it.
Reaching for the teapot, she enquired, ‘Milk and sugar?’
His hard face slightly amused, as though he was playing some game, he answered, ‘A little milk, no sugar.’ Adding unexpectedly, ‘I’m sweet enough.’
You could have fooled me.
Oh Lord, had she said that aloud?
Whether she had or not, he knew, she could read it in his tawny eyes.
Her hands not quite steady, she poured tea into one of the porcelain cups and passed it to him.
As he made to take it, she let go too quickly, and the cup tilted, splashing tea into the saucer and onto his trousers.
While she stared at him, frozen with horror, he calmly put down the cup and, producing a spotless handkerchief, proceeded to mop up the mess.
When Dave had spilled tea into his lap he had jumped to his feet cursing volubly.
This man’s reaction was so unnervingly restrained that she would almost have preferred the cursing.
‘I-I’m terribly sorry,’ she apologised. ‘I hope you’re not scalded?’
‘Nowhere vital,’ he said drily and, balling the handkerchief, tossed it into the waste-paper basket.
Desperate to retrieve the situation, she offered, ‘Let me get you a fresh cup.’
He shook his head. ‘Call me a coward, but I don’t think I’ll risk it.’
Watching the colour rise in her cheeks, he added quizzically, ‘In any case, there’s still almost a full cup. A little tea goes a long way.’
There was no doubt in her mind that he was enjoying her confusion. Dave was right, Robert Carrington was an utter swine.
But she mustn’t let her dislike show. Through sheer stupidity she had already done more than enough damage. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.
He waved an expressive hand. ‘Think nothing of it.’ Then, looking at the empty cup on the tray, he suggested smoothly, ‘I do hope you’re planning to join me?’
‘Well I—’
‘Otherwise I might start wondering if you’re really the office girl standing in for the boss.’
Only too aware that she had made more of a hash of things than any self-respecting office girl, she managed a smile and poured out a second cup of tea.
‘Cheers.’ He raised his cup and drank.
Knowing he was making fun of her, she gritted her teeth and took a sip of the tea she didn’t want, shuddering at the memory of all those other cups of grey, lukewarm liquid that had passed as tea.
She had hated tea ever since.
‘Just as a matter of interest,’ he pursued levelly, ‘how many personnel do you have? I couldn’t get a straight answer from Benson.’
‘Well, I’m sure he must have explained that we’re a very small firm and—’
‘How many?’
‘Two.’
‘I see.’
Firmly, she said, ‘That’s all it normally takes. Though of course it depends on the size of the job in hand and how quickly it has to be done. If we do need extra staff—carpenters, electricians, fitters—we employ them on a temporary basis.’
That had been their plan, though it hadn’t yet become necessary.
‘Your job for instance… I understand you want it completed without delay, so—’
‘What’s happened to Benson? Do I take it he’s chickened out?’
Angry at the interruption, she answered as evenly as possible, ‘He had an afternoon appointment.’
‘Cold feet, more likely,’ Robert Carrington opined. ‘So he decided he’d send a beautiful woman to soften me up?’
Caught out by the jibe, she quickly responded, ‘I may not be beautiful, but I am the senior partner. No one sends me to do anything.’
‘Good for you!’ he applauded.
Rising to his feet, he came round the desk and, putting a hand beneath her chin, turned her face up to his own.
She sat as though metamorphosed into stone, while he studied the widely spaced grey eyes beneath dark winged brows, the high cheekbones and straight nose, the generous mouth and pointed chin.
Then, running a fingertip along the jagged silver thread of scar tissue that ran down her left temple and cheek, he asked, ‘What makes you think you’re not beautiful?’
Inside her head she could still hear the voice saying, “It’s a pity she’s got that ugly scar”…and sure he was just baiting her, she answered recklessly, ‘I do own a mirror.’
‘So how would you describe yourself?’
‘Colourless. Nondescript. Scarred.’
‘It’s no use looking into a mirror if you’re prejudiced. Try looking into other people’s eyes to see what their opinion is.’ His glance fell on her modest ring. ‘Your fiancé’s for instance.’
She had looked into Dave’s eyes and seen only her own opinion reflected there.
Almost before the depressing thought had crossed her mind, Robert Carrington had returned to his chair and was regarding her steadily across the desk.
As though it had branded her, she could still feel his touch, and she was forced to repress a shiver while she struggled to regain some semblance of composure.
Though her every instinct urged her to run and hide, she knew she must make her peace with this tough, complex man sitting opposite.
It was necessary.
Desperate to get back on course, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I’m afraid we’ve strayed from the point, and I’m sure you’re much too busy to waste your time.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t describe it as wasted,’ he objected lazily. ‘Sometimes it’s useful to digress a little. It helps to really focus the mind.’
She counted to ten. ‘Well, now we’ve digressed a little, perhaps we can get back to business?’ Her tone, though pleasant, implied that she hadn’t got all afternoon to waste, if he had.
His tawny eyes narrowed and, without further ado, he called her bluff. ‘Well, I’ll quite understand if you’re too busy to give me any more of your time—’
‘No! No, that’s not what I meant. Of course I’m not too busy.’ The hasty interruption betrayed her desperation all too clearly.
Wanting only to put her head down on her arms and weep tears of anger and frustration, she sat up straighter and lifted her chin.
‘Mr Carrington, you must know we want this job, and I can only assure you that if you give us the chance we’ll do our very best.’
And it would have to be their best. She was already convinced that he wasn’t the kind of man who would be prepared to settle for anything less than the moon, if that’s what he’d been promised.
Running long fingers over his smoothly shaven jaw, he asked thoughtfully, ‘How long have you been in business?’
Knowing it was useless to prevaricate, she answered reluctantly, ‘Not quite a year.’
Glancing around, as though weighing up his surroundings, he asked, ‘And you’ve had this office for the same length of time?’
He sounded far from impressed.
‘Yes,’ she answered, and thought wryly that it was just as well he hadn’t seen it when they’d first taken it over.
The walls had been painted a stomach-turning green, an abandoned rusty-grey filing cabinet had leaned drunkenly against the wall, and worn linoleum in squares of ginger and black had adorned the floor.
While Dave had gone out searching for orders, she had set about refurbishing the place.
The cabinet and linoleum disposed of, a good second-hand carpet, a desk and two chairs, a couple of coats of white paint, and a few cheerful pot plants had made a lot of difference.
By the time they had installed the reconditioned computer equipment it was starting to look good, and she had been pleased with the result until she saw it through Robert Carrington’s eyes.
‘Hmm,’ he said. Then, ‘Perhaps you’d like to tell me how Smith and Benson came into being?’
Though politely phrased, she recognised it as an order rather than a request.
She wanted to look forward rather than back. But unless she was prepared to go along with this difficult and arrogant man, there might be nothing to look forward to.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she told him the bare bones of it. ‘It was Dave’s idea. The technical side of computers and communications has always been his forte. He’s brilliant at it.’
‘What about you?’
‘I knew nothing whatsoever about business, but so we could go into partnership, and I could pull my weight, he encouraged me to take a course in practical business studies.’
‘What did that cover?’
‘Office equipment and layouts, how to instal and use the latest technology, and computer programming. Rather to my surprise, I found it both interesting and enjoyable.’
‘Which college did you go to?’
‘I didn’t go to college. I went to special evening classes.’
‘For how long?’
‘Almost a year.’
‘Why evening classes?’
When she didn’t immediately answer, he added, ‘It just struck me that was the hard way to do it.’
‘I needed to keep working to support myself.’
‘What kind of job were you doing?’
‘I was working in a hotel.’
‘As a receptionist?’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘You have an attractive voice, and you speak well.’
Dave had said much the same thing.
Seeing Robert Carrington was waiting for her affirmative, a kind of stubborn pride made her inform him flatly, ‘As a matter of fact I worked in the kitchens.’
‘All the time you were doing the course?’
‘Yes.’
‘No parental help?’
‘No.’
‘Couldn’t Benson help to support you?’
‘He wasn’t in a position to.’ In fact she had supported Dave during his final year at college.
‘So what made you decide to go into business, rather than just have a job?’
‘It was something we both wanted to do. I suppose we liked the idea of being free to work for ourselves…’

In truth she had, at first, only wanted something that was hers. A small business of some kind, a second-hand bookshop, or a tearoom perhaps, ideally with some living-accommodation over it.
Security and independence.
Only later had her dream widened to include Dave.
She had been a quiet, introvert child who, as Matron put it, “lived inside her own head”. Though rated as highly intelligent and bright, her grades at school had been only a little above average. She had shone at nothing.
When she finally left the classroom to start work in the kitchens at the children’s home, her sights already set on the future, it had been without too many regrets.
As soon as she was old enough, she had thanked the staff for their years of care and escaped from the grey drabness of Sunnyside, taking with her nothing but a few clothes, an abiding love of books and music, and a knowledge of plain cooking.
She had found herself a job as a kitchen assistant in a busy hotel less than a mile away from Sunnyside. The hours were long and the work hard, but with the job went a small room.
It was dark and draughty and overlooked the yard and the dustbins, but it was hers. Her refuge. Her private domain. She felt a heady sense of freedom. For the first time in her life she was in control of her own destiny.
Though the wages were far from good, because she had bed and board and no travelling expenses, she could save. She did save. Every penny.
The rest of the hotel staff, mostly young and out for a good time, invited her to join them at the local pubs and clubs, and no doubt thought her odd when she refused. But though she was always polite and friendly, she made no attempt to mix, and after a bit they stopped asking, and let her go her own way.
As soon as her working hours had been established, she took a job at the nearby supermarket stacking shelves in the evenings and on her day off. Adding to her bank balance.
After a while she moved to the checkouts where late-opening shopping meant she was working even longer hours, and by the time she crept into bed each night she was too tired even to dream.
But perhaps she didn’t need to. After more than three unrelenting years of hard work and dedicated saving, she was really getting somewhere. Another year, and she could start looking for a suitable shop to rent, and begin to turn her dreams into reality.
One Friday night, just before closing time, she had glanced up to see a young man in jeans and a thin, shabby jacket unloading a few meagre items from a shopping basket.
Dave.
Though she hadn’t seen him for more than five years, she would have known him anywhere. That handsome face, with its thin nose and dark brown eyes, the curved brows and lock of black wavy hair that fell over his narrow forehead like a question mark, was unforgettable.
Her heart gave a strange lurch.
He too had been at Sunnyside, and for a long time she had worshipped him from afar, dreaming of the day he would finally notice her.
But two or three years older than her, he hadn’t seemed to know she existed. When he had eventually left, without even a goodbye, she had felt desolate and bereft.
‘Well, hello there. It’s Ella, isn’t it?’ All at once he was smiling down at her, his slightly crooked teeth very white in his dark face. ‘This is a real blast from the past.’
‘I’m surprised you remember me,’ she admitted a shade awkwardly.
‘Apart from getting a bit older, you haven’t changed much.’
‘Neither have you.’
As she began to put his goods through, he asked, ‘How long is it since you left Sunnyside?’
‘Over three years.’
‘You must have been glad to get away. God, how I hated that place! So what have you been doing with yourself since?’
‘Working.’
‘Are you shacked up with anyone?’
‘No, I—’
‘I do wish these checkout girls wouldn’t stop to gossip,’ the woman in the queue behind him remarked in a loud voice.
‘And I wish these old biddies wouldn’t be so cantankerous,’ he retorted, equally loudly.
‘I really shouldn’t be talking,’ Eleanor said guiltily.
‘Why not?’ Fishing in his pocket, he added, ‘Surely they don’t own you body and soul?’
‘No, but—’
‘Oh, hell!’ he exclaimed. ‘With coming out in a rush I forgot to pick up my wallet. I’m afraid I can’t take the stuff.’
‘Do you have a credit card?’
‘That’s in my wallet, too.’ He made to hand her the carrier back.
‘Take it. It doesn’t amount to much. I’ll put it in out of my own money.’
‘Sure?’
‘Sure.’
‘Look, what time do you finish?’
‘In about ten minutes.’
‘See you outside.’
He was waiting in the street for her, looking cold and pinched in the chill September wind.
‘The Capuchin is still open if you want a hot—’ He broke off abruptly. ‘Damn! no money.’
‘It’s all right, I’ll pay.’
As they walked the short distance to the coffee-bar, she realised that though she was wearing flat heels, they were almost exactly the same height. At one time he had been taller than her, but now he was rather on the short side for a man.
Waiting by the steamy counter, she noticed him eyeing the clingfilmed ham sandwiches and asked, ‘Are you hungry by any chance?’
‘Starving. I was intending to get something when I’d shopped. Didn’t have time to eat earlier.’
When they were seated opposite each other, two packs of sandwiches and two mugs of coffee on the ringed and stained, piglet-pink, plastic-topped table, he asked, ‘So how’s the world been treating you? Tell me everything you’ve been doing since you escaped from Colditz.’
As she told him what little there was to tell, he wolfed his pack of sandwiches, and swallowed his mug of coffee.
Though he was as handsome as ever, he looked thinner than she remembered him, as if he hadn’t been taking care of himself.
All her childhood feeling for him returning in a rush, she pushed her own sandwiches and mug across, and asked, ‘Can you manage these?’
‘Don’t you want them?’
‘To tell you the truth I’m not hungry,’ she lied, ‘and it isn’t that long since I had a coffee.’
‘Why do you work in a hotel as well as the supermarket?’ he asked curiously, as he started into the second pack of sandwiches.
‘I’m saving hard. I’d like to be able to set up a little business of my own.’
‘Wouldn’t we all!’
Something about his reaction made her feel uncomfortable.
As though sensing it, he asked more mildly, ‘How close are you?’
‘Another year at the most and I should be able to start looking for somewhere suitable. I was thinking of a second-hand bookshop, or a maybe a tearoom,’ she explained.
Contempt in his voice, he said, ‘Surely that kind of thing is only for old maids?’
Hiding her hurt, she asked, ‘What about you?’
‘The same kind of dream, only keeping up with tomorrow’s world. When I’ve graduated—and I’d like to get a really good degree—I want to start my own business.’
‘Doing what?’
His dark eyes glowed. ‘Setting up and programming computer systems, with the emphasis on communications.’
‘So you’re at college?’
‘Yes. After two or three years of drifting from job to job, I decided to go for it.’
‘You got a grant?’
He shook his head. ‘I didn’t want to mortgage my future, so I’ve been working evenings and weekends to pay my fees and keep body and soul together.’
‘It can’t be easy.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ he admitted bleakly. ‘Though I’m good at the technical side, and getting excellent class marks, I’m finding it a struggle. There’s never enough time.
‘This coming year’s workload looks like being even heavier, but unless I can win the lottery, I have to find another job as soon as possible. A long bout of flu last month lost me my last one.’
She felt moved to protest. ‘But if the workload’s that heavy…’
‘I’ll have to manage somehow. No option. When I leave college and start my own business it will all have been worth it.
‘Pity you’re not into this modern technology lark,’ he added thoughtfully. ‘I could do with a partner. Someone to run the office. You’ve got a nice voice, the sort that sounds educated, though I don’t know how the hell you’ve managed it…’
Eleanor remembered, from when she was quite young, the Matron of Sunnyside remarking, ‘The child speaks well. She’s obviously from a good background… Which ought to make things easier…’
‘So you’d be ideal…’ Dave was going on. ‘Weekends and suchlike, when we had no one coming into the office, you could help with the actual installations. It’s not difficult once you know how.’
All at once her dream of a solitary future was replaced by a warmer, much more exciting prospect. But she knew rather less than nothing about computers and technology.
As though reading her mind, he said, ‘If you were remotely interested, there’s a school nearby that runs the kind of special business courses that would cover pretty well everything you’d need to know.’
‘I am interested,’ she assured him. ‘But I couldn’t afford to leave work.’
‘You wouldn’t have to. The classes are held on weekday evenings, so you could keep your job at the hotel, and still work weekends at the supermarket if you wanted to.’
‘How long are the courses?’
‘They run until next summer. By then I’ll have graduated, so the timing will be spot on. Hopefully you’ll have a good background knowledge of business, and I’ll have all the technical know-how we need. If I’m lucky I might even have made some contacts that could put work our way.’
He was contributing so much… What if she was a drag on him?
Seeing her anxious frown, he said, ‘Don’t worry, I’m sure that by then you’ll be in a position to pull your weight.
‘To start with money’s bound to be a problem, unless we can manage to get a bank loan. Once we’re underway, of course, we’ll be able to get short-term credit facilities from the suppliers, as well as asking the clients to put some money up front.
‘The trouble is, if we approach a bank they’ll expect us to be in a position to finance at least part of it ourselves.’
‘Well, we should be able to.’ Excitement made her sound breathless. ‘I told you, I’ve been saving.’
He looked unimpressed. ‘I don’t suppose what you’ve managed to save amounts to much. I reckon we’d need a minimum of seven or eight thousand.’
‘I’ve got a bit more than that,’ she told him with quiet triumph.
His jaw dropped. Then, fired with enthusiasm, he cried, ‘In that case we’re as good as in business! If you’re game?’
‘I’m game.’
‘Now all I need is a job to see me through till next summer… Of course I’d have a better chance of doing really well if I didn’t have to work, but—’
‘You don’t have to work. If I can boost my earnings with a weekend job at the supermarket, there should be just about enough money coming in for us both to scrape by on.’
‘You’re a jewel, partner.’
‘I won’t be able to save, and there won’t be anything left for luxuries but—’
‘Luxuries? What are luxuries? And with over eight thousand sitting in the bank you don’t need to save.’
He leaned across the small table and, taking her face between his hands, kissed her full on the lips.
Her heart began to pound and her colour rose. She could never remember anyone kissing her before, and certainly not in that way.
‘I can see us really going places, kiddo,’ he told her, jubilantly. ‘And maybe one day, when we’re successful and raking in the cash, we can extend the partnership.’
‘What do you mean…?’
‘Marriage… Why not?’
To be loved. To belong to someone. It was more happiness than she had ever dared dream of, and she wanted to cry.

CHAPTER TWO
OVER the next few months, with both of them working all hours, they hardly saw each other. Once a week they snatched a late-evening coffee together, and on very odd occasions a takeaway pizza.
Instead of living in student accommodation, Dave shared a small self-contained flat with a college friend. Though Eleanor paid his share of the rent for it, she had never been there, and wasn’t even sure where it was.
‘Off Station Road,’ Dave had answered casually, when she’d asked.
More than a dozen streets ran off Station Road, but knowing by now that he hated to be what he called “crowded” she let the matter drop.
As the festive season approached, learning that she had Christmas Day off, they began to make plans to spend it together. At the last minute, however, Dave rang up, sounding hoarse and snuffly, to say he had developed a stinking cold and all he wanted to do was stay in bed.
He rejected her offer of nursing and, when she looked like persisting, pointed out irritably, ‘At the moment you’re the breadwinner, so what’s the point of you catching it and having to stay off work?’
Though bitterly disappointed, she couldn’t deny it made sense, and when one of the kitchen staff failed to turn up, she worked in their place.
Unfortunately, Dave’s cold lasted over New Year, and it was well into January before they arranged to meet again.
That night she left the light and warmth of the supermarket to find a biting wind was driving flurries of snow down the dark street.
They had been planning to have a spot of supper together and, thinking he still looked far from well, she suggested that if they got fish and chips they could take them back to his flat. ‘It’s much too cold to stand eating them in the shop doorway.’
Dave looked horrified. ‘Do you want to get me slung out? My dragon of a landlady has very strict rules. No smoking. No loud music. No wet washing hanging about. No showers after eight. And definitely no visitors. In any case, Tony will be home.
‘Tell you what, if you give me a bit extra spending money, just for once we’ll eat in the cafe.’
‘Of course.’ She fished in her bag and gave him her last ten-pound note.
Completely besotted, she would have given him anything he’d asked for. Herself included. But though he kissed her from time to time, he never tried to take things any further.
When she rather hesitantly made it clear that she would sleep with him if he wanted her to, he said, ‘Don’t think I’m not tempted, kiddo. But for one thing I’m working so hard I’ve no energy left, and for another, I can’t afford to be distracted. There’ll be enough time to have fun when our business is up and running.’
She could only admire his dedication.
In the end it paid off handsomely. He graduated with top marks and, to celebrate, they went out looking for an office to rent.
‘One with a reasonable address, if possible,’ Dave decreed. ‘Where you are can make a big difference.’
Finding something that fitted the bill was easier said than done. The rents were astronomical. Then, when they’d almost given up hope, in a rather rundown building just off the Edgware Road, they found what they wanted.
Or at least the best they could afford.
That first hurdle over, it meant changes all round. Dave would no doubt want to move, and when she had worked her notice at the hotel, she would need to find somewhere else to live.
Full of barely suppressed excitement, she waited for Dave to suggest they find a small flat and move in together. When he said nothing, she plucked up courage and broached the subject herself.
He shook his head. ‘I was planning to stay where I am. Apart from the fact that Tony needs my help with the rent, it’s cheap and reasonably comfortable, and handy for the tube.’
‘But I thought we could be together…’
‘Too much of a temptation, kiddo.’
‘Oh, but surely—’
‘Look, we have to be sensible about this. We need time to build up the business before we can afford to take any chances. If you got pregnant where would we be? Right up the creek without a paddle. Say we give ourselves a year…’
A year…
‘For that length of time we’ll need to work all hours, seven days a week. Then if everything’s going well we’ll start to relax a bit, get married, tie the knot in the good old-fashioned way. Tell you what, as soon as we’ve been paid for our first job, I’ll buy you an engagement ring.’
She couldn’t help but think it sounded like a sop.
Seeing she still looked far from happy, he added, ‘Oh, and as it’s your money that’s getting us started, I think you should rate as senior partner, and your name come first on our business cards.
‘After all,’ he added magnanimously, as she began to shake her head, ‘You’ve more than pulled your weight.’
She really didn’t care whose name came first. Just his praise would have been enough.
After a fortnight of fruitless searching, her luck changed and she found a one-roomed flat complete with a kitchenette and a tiny bathroom at a rent she could just about afford. It was within walking distance of the office, which meant she would save on tube fares.
Having bought a small second-hand van, Dave had promised to help her move in her few possessions, but when the time came he was busy, so she managed on the tube with a couple of battered suitcases.
Her new flat was cramped and shabby and three flights up, but the bed-settee was reasonably comfortable, and compared to the room she had lived in for the past four years, it was the height of luxury.
She felt like a queen.
As soon as she was settled, she set about furnishing and repainting the office. That done, inside a week they were in business. Their printed cards read:

Smith and Benson
Computer and Communication Systems Installed

Within a few days they had established contact with the necessary suppliers, and secured their first job.
It was heady stuff.
Her only disappointment was that she still saw very little of Dave. When they weren’t actually working, he was always out and about trying to drum up business.
Once or twice he took her to the cinema, or to eat in some cheap restaurant. He never came to her flat.
‘Avoiding temptation…’ he told her, when she suggested he came round occasionally. ‘If you’re lonely, buy a second-hand telly.’
Used to being on her own, she wasn’t exactly lonely, she just missed him, and a television was the last thing she wanted. Books and music had always been her pleasure and her solace.
Some three months later, after they had been paid for their first job, true to his word, Dave bought her an engagement ring.
Slipping it onto her finger he asked, ‘There what do you think of that?’
A twist, with a couple of small zircons, it was clearly inexpensive, and at least one size too large, but she was thrilled with it.
‘As soon as the money starts rolling in, we’ll change it for diamonds,’ he promised.
She didn’t need diamonds. The ring he had put on her finger meant everything to her. Commitment. A future together. Love.
Perhaps afraid of the answer, she had never asked the question before, but now as he kissed her, she said, ‘Dave, do you love me?’
‘Course I do.’
‘It’s just that you’ve never told me.’
‘I’m not very good with words, but you must know I love you. We’re a pair. A partnership. I don’t know what I’d do without you…’
For the next few weeks that assurance had kept her floating on cloud nine.
As they neared the end of December, finding they had finished their current job and had nothing else on their books until early January, Eleanor started to plan for their best Christmas and New Year ever. Dave’s birthday was on the thirty-first of December, so it would be a double celebration.
When, wanting his input, she mentioned her plans, he said, ‘I’m sorry but I won’t be here. I’ve more than earned a break, so I’m joining Tony and the boys on a cheap trip to Belgium. We go on the twenty-fourth and come back January the second.’
‘Oh, but I thought we’d be spending Christmas and New Year together—’
‘I can’t afford to miss this chance. It’ll be the first holiday I’ve had for years. Pity it’s a men only, boozy thing, but that’s the way it goes. I’ll bring you back a present to make up for it.
‘I don’t suppose there’ll be much doing as regards business. Between Christmas and New Year is a bit of a dead period, so why don’t you have a break?
‘All you really need to do is pop into the office each day to check for mail and emails…’
So once again she had found herself facing the prospect of a solitary Christmas and New Year. But refusing to give way to gloom, she had decorated her tiny flat with holly and mistletoe, made mince pies, and stocked up with library books and CDs.
Christmas Eve she had gone to hear a carol concert, and Christmas morning she had walked in the frosty park and fed the ducks.
New Year’s Eve loomed, empty and lonely. She bought a cheap bottle of wine to see the new year in and, unused to drinking, got a little tipsy. Only then, thinking how lovely it would have been if Dave had been there, had she shed a tear.
He had returned on January the second, as promised, bringing her back a few tacky souvenirs. ‘Just to prove I’ve been thinking about you.’
Somehow the assurance had rung hollow…

Becoming suddenly aware that Robert Carrington was waiting for an answer to a question she hadn’t even heard, Eleanor pulled herself back from the past and stammered, ‘I-I’m sorry?’
‘I asked if you had any regrets about going into business?’
‘No. None at all.’
Though if they didn’t get this job, it looked as if they wouldn’t be in business much longer.
Apparently reading her thoughts, he asked, ‘What are your future prospects?’
Knowing instinctively that it was make or break, she said carefully, ‘They should be good. Dave’s brilliant at what he does, and we’re both prepared to put our hearts and souls into it, but to succeed we’ll need to get the work.’
‘How secure are you financially?’
Her lips tightening, she said, ‘I don’t believe you have any right to ask that.’
His green-gold eyes pinned her. ‘Before I entrust any work to you I’ve a right to know what your chances are of going bust on me. A lot of small firms are disappearing down the drain at the moment.’
‘I hope we won’t be one of them.’ It was the best she could do, and she held her breath and waited.
Apparently it was good enough. He let that go and smoothly changed tack. ‘When are you due to begin your next job?’
She started to tell him it had been put on hold, as instructed, then, knowing full well he wouldn’t believe a word of it, she admitted bleakly, ‘At the moment we have no next job.’
‘I see,’ he said slowly. ‘So it rather depends on me?’ His voice held satisfaction, and as he spoke he smiled a little.
Eleanor knew then, without the slightest doubt, that he had no intention of giving them his work. Like a wolf picking up the scent of prey, he had picked up just how desperate she was, and had been stringing her along.
She jumped to her feet abruptly. ‘Well now you’ve had your fun perhaps you won’t mind if—’
‘Sit down,’ he ordered. Adding, ‘Please,’ almost as an afterthought.
There was so much quiet authority in his voice, that she found herself obeying.
‘Tell me, what makes you think I’ve just been amusing myself?’
She refused to back down. ‘Well, you have, haven’t you? It’s obvious.’
Tawny eyes gleaming, he asked, ‘Would it alter your opinion if I offered you the job?’
‘It wouldn’t alter my opinion, but it would make the last half-hour or so worth it.’
He laughed, and she noticed that his mouth and teeth were just perfect.
‘I’m glad to see you have spirit. I thought you might have had it all knocked out of you.’
Startled, she asked, ‘What made you think that?’
‘Instinct mainly. I have a feeling that life hasn’t been too kind.’
The last thing she wanted was Robert Carrington’s pity. ‘It’s been kinder to me than it has to a lot of people,’ she informed him briskly. ‘I’ve never been ill-treated or gone hungry. I’m healthy and able to work. I’ve a place of my own and someone who—’ Unable to say the words, she stopped speaking abruptly.
‘Someone who loves you?’ he hazarded. ‘In that case you’re one up on me.’
Reaching across the desk, he lifted her left hand and examined the ring. ‘Am I right in thinking it’s Benson you’re going to marry?’
‘Yes.’
‘How long have you been engaged?’
‘Eight months.’
He looked surprised. ‘And you’re not living together.’ It was a statement not a question.
Suddenly feeling like some kind of misfit in this modern world, she objected stiffly, ‘I’m not sure how you reached that conclusion.’
Ironically, he told her, ‘When you were listing your blessings, you said, “I’ve got a place of my own”…’
She bit her lip.
‘So why are you playing hard to get? Afraid Benson will change his mind about marrying you if you give him your all?’
Before she could think of any answer, he went on, ‘No wonder the poor devil’s so edgy if you’re keeping him waiting.’
‘I’m not keeping him waiting,’ she denied sharply. ‘And he’s not edgy…’ But, even as she spoke, she knew he was, and had been for some weeks.
Though it could hardly have been for the reason suggested. Perhaps Dave had seen more clearly than she had what was facing them financially…
‘If you’re not keeping him waiting, why aren’t you living together?’ Robert Carrington pursued relentlessly. ‘You know what they say about two being able to live as cheaply as one…’
‘I really don’t see that it’s any of your business. And you know what they say about curiosity killing the cat…’
‘Touché. But I’m afraid we’ve strayed from the point again.’
Infuriated by his calm effrontery, and the way he had led her by the nose, she said through clenched teeth, ‘You mean you’ve strayed from the point.’
‘Aha!’ he exclaimed softly, ‘now you’re really starting to hold your own and answer me back. Perhaps you’ve decided you don’t want the job after all?’
Hotly, she said, ‘If I have to jump through hoops to get it, the answer’s no, I don’t want it. You can keep your job.’
He clicked his tongue against his teeth reprovingly. ‘Now how do you think Benson will feel about that?’
Eleanor’s face grew still and stiff with despair. Why had she allowed this man to bait and torment her until she was rattled enough to throw away the job they needed so badly.
Dave would never forgive her. Never.
‘Feel about what?’
Startled, she looked up to find he was standing in the office doorway.
‘Did your appointment go well?’ Robert Carrington enquired sardonically.
Dave, who was no fool, merely said, ‘Very well, thanks. But you were asking how I’d feel about something?’
With a spurious air of confidence he strolled round the desk and, watched by the other man, took the chair Eleanor had vacated for him.
After giving Dave time to get seated, and her time to sweat a little—she felt sure—Robert Carrington said, ‘Yes…As you’re aware, with this job, one of the main stumbling blocks was the length of time it would take to travel between London and Little Meldon each day. Well, that problem has been partially solved…’
As she waited tensely, wondering what he was up to, his eyes caught and held hers. An unmistakable challenge in their tawny depths, he continued smoothly, ‘Miss Smith has agreed that she would be quite willing to live at my home, Greyladies Manor, while the work is in progress…’
His words brought a shock of surprise and, mentally reeling, she wondered why he had lied.
Common sense told her she should be grateful that he had let her off the hook, but the last thing she wanted was to have to live under his roof.
And somehow he must have guessed as much.
So had he presented it as a fait accompli merely to force her hand?
Cocking an eyebrow at her, he waited for her to say something. When she bit her lip and stayed silent, he turned to Dave and went on, ‘I was asking Eleanor how you would feel about living there?’
‘Then you’re giving us the job?’ Dave burst out eagerly.
‘That all depends. To enable the work to be completed as quickly as possible, I’d like you both to be on the spot.’
As Dave opened his mouth to argue, Robert added, ‘If you’re prepared to meet me on this, all well and good. If you’re not…’
He left the sentence hanging in the air, but the threat was plain.
Eleanor looked at Dave, unconsciously holding her breath.
Plainly torn, wanting to tell this arrogant so and so where to get off, but knowing they needed the job, he hesitated. It was perhaps twenty seconds before he agreed reluctantly, ‘I suppose if that’s what you want.’
‘It is.’
‘Okay.’
‘In that case, how soon can you start?’
Regaining some of his cockiness, Dave went into his spiel, ‘As it happens, you’re lucky. Our next job has been put on hold, so we can make a start as soon as you want us.’
Glancing up unwarily, Eleanor felt herself grow hot as she met Robert Carrington’s green-gold eyes once more and read the mockery in them.
‘Then suppose you come down to Greyladies tomorrow afternoon?’ he suggested briskly. ‘Unless you prefer to keep your Saturdays and Sundays free?’
‘We’re quite used to working weekends,’ Dave told him, ‘so that’s no problem.’
‘Good. Then you’ll have time to get settled in and size up the job before Monday…
‘One of the things we haven’t touched on so far is price. When you’ve seen where I want the new office, and I’ve explained what I have in mind, you can no doubt work out a rough estimate of how much it’s going to cost.’
‘I’ll be glad to. Oh, and as you’ve mentioned money, when we start placing orders for equipment we shall need some cash up front.’
Pulling out a cheque book and putting it on the desk, Carrington suggested, ‘Say ten thousand?’
‘Ten thousand will do fine.’
Dave’s voice was casual, but Eleanor knew it was a great deal more than he had expected.
The financier wrote the cheque and passed it to him, before asking, ‘You have some transport?’
‘Yes, we have our own van. All we need are a few directions so we can find the place.’
‘When you reach Dunton Otterly, take the road to Little Meldon. Greyladies is about half a mile south of there.
‘Simply follow the main street through the village, and carry on until you come to Grave Lane on the left. The entrance to the manor is about five-hundred yards down the lane, on the right.’
‘Got it.’
‘You’ll see a gatehouse and some tall, wrought-iron gates. Jackson will open them for you.’
Slipping his cheque book and pen into an inside pocket, Robert Carrington rose to his feet.
Dave stood up too, clearly intending to shake hands across the desk, but the older man gave him a perfunctory nod, and held out his hand to Eleanor.
Each time he’d touched her it had been like a small electric shock, but seeing no alternative, she braced herself and took it.
A mocking gleam in his eye, he said, ‘Thank you for your time, Miss Smith. I do hope you think it’s been worth it?’
He was as smoothly abrasive as pumice stone, she thought vexedly.
Without waiting for an answer, he released her hand and moved to the door. ‘I’ll expect you both sometime tomorrow afternoon.’ He sketched an ironic salute, and was gone.
Feeling limp, totally wrung out, Eleanor stood and listened to his footsteps receding down the uncarpeted stars.
‘Well done, kiddo!’ Dave flourished the cheque. ‘How did you manage to persuade him?’
‘I didn’t persuade him,’ she admitted.
‘So what did you have to promise him?’
‘Nothing. The only thing he seemed set on, was that we should stay at Greyladies.’
His ill-humour returning, he said resentfully, ‘Well I hope he’s damn well satisfied. It’s going to be hell stuck in the country in some crumbling old manor house.’
Dave hated the country, she knew. He always said it got on his nerves. A city boy through and through, he was only really happy when there were pavements beneath his feet and a snooker hall handy.
‘We’ll no doubt be relegated to the servants’ quarters and forced to eat with the staff…’ He pulled a face. ‘But as that’s what his lordship’s insisting on, we don’t have much choice.’
‘Can you make a guess as to how long the job might take?’ she asked.
‘A couple of weeks… If he’s paying really well, I might even stretch it to three.’
‘Three weeks?’ She couldn’t keep the dismay out of her voice.
Presuming her objection to be dislike of the country, the same as his, he said, ‘Don’t worry, I have every intention of coming back to town at the weekends. We can charge the petrol to his lordship.
‘Now I’d better get this little beauty paid into our account before the bank closes.’ Thrusting the cheque into his pocket, he added, ‘I can’t wait to see the manager’s face, after the way the snooty git talked to me this morning.’
‘Dave, you will be…polite, won’t you,’ she asked anxiously. ‘After all, we did have a cheque that bounced.’
‘That was yesterday. Today we’re riding high with ten thousand in the black.’
‘But we still owe Greenlees—’
‘Don’t worry about Greenlees. I’ll call in and explain the situation, give them a post-dated cheque they can cash as soon as Carrington’s is cleared.’
He went to fetch his coat. Looking in at the door on his way back, he said, ‘I reckon we’ve earned an early night, so I’m off home as soon as I’ve sorted that little lot.’
‘I thought perhaps we could go out later? Maybe have a meal somewhere?’
‘Sorry, kiddo. I’ve promised to play snooker with Tony and the boys. Pick you up tomorrow about three o’clock. I’ll give you a toot, so be ready. Love ya.’
A moment later he was gone, leaving her standing gazing blankly at the closed door.
Surely, if he really loved her, he wouldn’t always put “Tony and the boys” first?
But it wasn’t just a case of putting his friends first, she admitted dismally, apart from when they were working, he never seemed to want to spend any time with her….
Time…
All thoughts of Dave were abruptly driven out of her mind as once again she heard Robert Carrington’s deep voice saying with mocking emphasis, “Thank you for your time, Miss Smith. I do hope you think it’s been worth it?”
Though the time spent in his company had been anything but comfortable, and she had managed, in one way or another, to make a complete fool of herself, she couldn’t deny that it had been worth it.
After all, they had been given a job they badly needed, and a substantial cash advance to take them out of the red.
She should be vastly relieved, and of course she was. But some still small voice warned that nothing would ever be quite the same again. That just his entry into her life had shifted the balance and changed it in some fundamental way.
She felt a bit like Faust, as though she had sold her soul to the devil to get this job. Oh, don’t be a fool! she told herself crossly. All she had done was fail to correct Robert Carrington’s lie.
If she’d put his back up by saying she hadn’t agreed to stay at Greyladies, instead of having a job to look forward to, Smith and Benson might well be finished as a business.
And not only finished, but in debt.
Robert Carrington’s visit had changed everything, made all the difference. Not only to the business, but to her personally.
That was the rub, the reason for her malaise. His effect on her had been so potent that mingled with the relief was dismay and agitation, an alarming feeling that he had somehow breached her defences.
While Dave always seemed to be retreating from her like an ebb tide, Robert Carrington had swept in and swamped her, got inside her head.
She shivered. Then making a determined effort to put her inner turmoil aside, she went to fetch her mac and bag.
As she locked the office and made her way down the stairs and into the drizzly rain, she thought wistfully that it would have been nice to have done something to celebrate.
Well, she would! But there wasn’t much pleasure in going out for a solitary meal, so instead she would buy something to add to her meagre wardrobe, most of which had come from charity shops.
When the previous cheque had been paid into their account, saying he was in need of some new shirts and trousers and a decent jacket, Dave had spent what she had considered to be a serious amount on clothes.
Though there were several things she could have done with, nervous in case their money ran out, she had held back.
But now, though they would be eating with the staff at Greyladies, she would need to have something tidy to change into when the day’s work was done.
The nearest department store had just started its summer sale, and she went in to look around. In the lingerie department she bought some cheap, but pretty, undies.
Then, going through to Ladieswear, she chose a skirt and two tops from one of the reduced ranges and, with a sudden, unaccustomed feeling of recklessness, a simple shift in subtle shades of mauve and blue.
On her way out, a pair of sandals caught her eye and, with scarcely a qualm, she added them to her purchases.
By the time she got home, conditioned to not spending, she had started to regret her recklessness. But she wouldn’t feel guilty, she told herself firmly. The lot barely came to what Dave had spent on a jacket, and they now had ten thousand in the bank and a job that should pay well…

Next day dawned fine and, though the sky was still grey and overcast, there were breaks in the clouds. The weather report on the radio suggested that a high-pressure system was moving slowly in, which meant a settled spell was on its way, with soaring temperatures forecast.
Rejoicing at the prospect of seeing a bit of sunshine, even if it was only through some window, Eleanor cleared the small fridge and made herself a salad lunch. Then, having dressed in a patterned skirt and a plain lavender-coloured top, she swirled her hair into a neat knot before finishing her packing.
Dave was late, and it was nearly four-thirty before she heard the sound she’d been waiting for. Grabbing her case, her shoulder bag, and her jacket, she hastily locked up and made her way downstairs.
Outside, the fume-laden air was appreciably warmer, and the pavements were dry for the first time in what seemed weeks.
The white van was waiting by the kerb. Sliding open the rust-spotted door, she pushed her belongings inside, before climbing into the passenger seat.
‘I was wondering where you’d got to,’ Dave looked anything but pleased. ‘I’m parked on double yellows.’
‘I was wondering where you’d got to,’ she found herself saying, as they pulled out to join the traffic stream. ‘You’re more than an hour late.’
‘Had a game of snooker with the boys. It looks like the last bit of fun I’ll be getting till next weekend, stuck in some dead-and-alive hole.’
He made it sound as if it was the end of the world, she thought. Then chided herself for being so edgy. She didn’t usually criticise Dave in this way.
‘But it’s worth it, surely?’ She made an effort to sound cheerful.
‘I suppose so.’ Having reached out a hand and patted her knee, he turned on the radio. He liked his pop music loud, which made any kind of conversation virtually impossible.
As usual, the traffic was heavy, and stopping and starting they crawled their way out of London at a snail’s pace.
Left with her thoughts, Eleanor made a concentrated effort to steer them towards the—hopefully—not too distant future, when the business was thriving, and she and Dave could be married.
But the more she tried to focus on that future, the more nebulous it became, a kind of mirage that, as she attempted to grasp it, receded steadily, so that it was always out of reach.
The moment she stopped concentrating, her thoughts refocused on Robert Carrington. He had made such an impact on her, that since the previous afternoon she had thought of little else.
Images of his compelling, strong-boned face, his dark-lashed wolf’s eyes, his austere, yet oddly sensitive, mouth had filled her head. She remembered his voice and his well-shaped hands, how she had felt when he touched her.
He had flustered and disconcerted her, made her angry and reckless, altogether rattled her; and through it all had run a strong thread of attraction, fascination even, that she had refused to admit.
But apart from the way he had affected her, and the fact that he owned Greyladies, she knew nothing about him. Had he a wife? Children?
She recalled him saying, “Someone who loves you? In that case you’re one up on me”.
Did that mean he had no wife? Or a wife who didn’t love him? The media, while admitting that he guarded his privacy fiercely, had apparently dubbed him as a ladies’ man.
Of course that didn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t married… But if he was a philanderer, it might explain why his wife didn’t love him….

CHAPTER THREE
BY THE time they had left the outskirts of London behind them the traffic had lessened, the sky had cleared, and as they ran into Little Meldon the sun was shining.
The main street was wide, with cobbled areas on either side that sloped gently up to rows of picturesque cottages. In the centre it widened even more to straddle an old stone butter market.
There was a mere handful of shops: an old-fashioned grocers, a bow-fronted butchers, a greengrocers, and a post-office-cum-newsagents.
At the far end was a black and white half-timbered coaching inn, with overhanging eaves and barley-sugar chimneys.
There was hardly any sign of life, and the whole thing could have been lifted straight from Dickens.
‘What a dump!’ Dave said disgustedly.
Eleanor, who had thought the village delightful and been about to say so, held her tongue. If he was in a bad mood there was no point in antagonising him.
About half a mile further on, as Robert Carrington had said, they came to Grave Lane, and turned down it. On one side was a patchwork of green fields bordered by a ditch and a hawthorn hedge. On the other was a wide expanse of grass, and an old, lichen-covered wall enclosing what appeared to be rolling parkland.
A stone building with gables and turrets and crooked chimneys appeared on their right. A gatehouse in every sense of the word, it spanned a huge, cobbled archway which was guarded by iron gates that put Eleanor in mind of a portcullis.
She gazed at it enthralled. Somewhere, almost certainly in a book, she had seen one just like it.
Grimacing, Dave switched off the radio and touched the horn, and a few seconds later a gnome-like little man appeared in rolled-up shirt sleeves and gardening gloves, and swung open the gates.
‘Afternoon,’ he said laconically, when Dave rolled the window down. ‘Mr Carrington’s expecting you.’
As they started up the drive, past a neatly laid-out vegetable and flower garden, he closed the gates behind them and returned to his digging.
For perhaps a quarter of a mile the drive wound serpent-like between banks of flowering rhododendrons and sweet-smelling shrubs, with no sign of a house.
Dave was slumped in his seat, on his face a look of complete boredom, but Eleanor sat up straighter feeling a strange surge of anticipation.
Then, as they rounded the final bend, the manor was suddenly there, like some wonderful surprise.
Only it wasn’t a surprise.
A split second before it came into view, she had pictured Greyladies just as it was. As if she had always known it. As if it was as familiar to her as an old friend.
Though long and rambling, the house was a mere two stories, built randomly of old and mellow stone. Creepers climbed its walls and moss grew on its steeply pitched roofs.
It had sturdy chimney-stacks and earthenware chimney pots adorned with cheerful, gargoyle-like faces, and its casement windows were mullioned and leaded, the old, uneven panes catching the light.
An imposing, black-studded front door, the wood of which was almost silver with age, was flanked by long, stained-glass windows, arched at the top, and running from some eighteen inches above the ground almost to the second floor.
High, sun-warmed stone walls, one with a small black door, the other with a wide archway, curved away on both sides.
Bringing the van to a halt on the paved apron, Dave grunted. ‘I thought a manor house would be a lot grander, more formal somehow, with pillars and things. This isn’t a bit what I expected…’
It was exactly what she had expected, and she was lost to it even before she went inside.
As she sat gazing at it speechlessly, he added, ‘Better let his lordship know we’re here.’
Switching off the ignition, he clambered out, leaving her sitting there.
At that instant the heavy door swung open and Robert Carrington appeared. Casually dressed in stone-coloured trousers and a silk shirt open at the neck, he looked taller and fairer and more striking than ever.
‘It must be the butler’s day off,’ Dave said a trifle too loudly. Adding, ‘I bet he’s come to direct us round the back to the tradesmen’s entrance.’
‘Benson…’ Nodding coolly to the younger man, Robert Carrington strode across to the van and, opening the passenger door, held out his hand to Eleanor.
Still off balance, thrown by that feeling of recognition, she put her hand into his.
His smile holding a hint of mockery, he greeted her as though she was a guest. ‘Miss Smith… Welcome to Greyladies.’
The shock of meeting those tawny eyes literally took her breath away, and she was forced to drag in air like a swimmer who’s been under water too long, before she could answer, ‘Thank you.’
She had tried to tell herself that his effect on her would have faded, that on further acquaintance she would find him ordinary, dull even.
But rather than lessening, his impact was stronger. It made her heart beat uncomfortably fast, set her nerves quivering, and scattered her wits.
Her right hand clasped in his, her skin sensitised by his touch, she fumbled vainly to undo her seat belt with her left hand.
When he reached over to unfasten it for her, he was so close she could see the glitter of his short fair hair as it tried to curl against his temples; see how his dark lashes were tipped with gold, and how tiny laughter lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes.
There were twin creases beside his firm mouth, and above his top lip, a tiny V-shaped scar. His skin was clear and healthy and smelled pleasantly of sun and the fresh masculine scent of aftershave….
He slanted her a gleaming glance from beneath those long lashes.
Feeling a complete idiot because he’d caught her staring at him as though mesmerised, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
As he withdrew his hand, it brushed her thigh, and she jumped convulsively.
Perfectly straight faced, he said, ‘I do apologise.’ Then, ‘Allow me…’
Legs trembling, she found herself being helped out of the van.
‘Do you need to freshen up?’ he asked.
‘N-no, thank you.’ The moment the words were out she wished she had said yes please. It would have given her time to recover her composure.
‘The garages are through the archway and to the right,’ he addressed Dave crisply. ‘If you’d like to take the luggage straight up to your rooms, my housekeeper will be waiting to show you the way.’
The scowl on Dave’s handsome face as he climbed back behind the wheel, told of his annoyance at being ordered about.
That annoyance was tempered to some extent when Robert Carrington added, ‘Then perhaps you would care to join us for a pre-dinner drink on the terrace?’
Us… Did that mean there was a Mrs Carrington? Eleanor wondered.
A hand cupping her elbow, he led her through the front door and into a panelled hall.

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