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A Most Suitable Wife
Jessica Steele


MISTAKEN FOR A MISTRESS!Taye Trafford's roommate has run off, leaving Taye in a very awkward position. She needs someone to share her apartment–and the bills–fast! So when Magnus Ashthorpe turns up on her doorstep, Taye has no choice but to sublet him the room….Magnus hasn't moved in with Taye because he needs somewhere to live–but because he believes Taye is the mistress who has caused his sister heartbreak. But Magnus discovers Taye's kind and innocent personality and can't believe she is the sort of girl to have an affair. In fact, perhaps she'd make a most suitable wife….









Jessica Steele is the much-loved author of over seventy novels.


Praise for some of Jessica’s novels:

“Jessica Steele pens an unforgettable tale filled with vivid, lively characters, fabulous dialogue and a touching conflict.”

—Romantic Times

“A Professional Marriage is a book to sit back and enjoy on the days that you want to bring joy to your heart and a smile to your face. It is a definite feel-good book.”

—www.writersunlimited.com

“Jessica Steele pens a lovely romance…with brilliant characters, charming scenes and an endearing premise.”

—www.romantictimes.com


Jessica Steele llives in a friendly Worcestershire village with her super husband, Peter. They are owned by a gorgeous Staffordshire bull terrier called Florence, who is boisterous and manic, but also adorable. It was Peter who first prompted Jessica to try writing and, after her first rejection, encouraged her to keep on trying. Luckily, with the exception of Uruguay, she has so far managed to research inside all the countries in which she has set her books—traveling to places as far apart as Siberia and Egypt. Her thanks go to Peter for his help and encouragement.




Books by Jessica Steele


HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3763—A PAPER MARRIAGE

3787—HER BOSS’S MARRIAGE AGENDA

3824—A PRETEND ENGAGEMENT

3839—VACANCY: WIFE OF CONVENIENCE




A Most Suitable Wife

Jessica Steele







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




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#u0f3f9e0c-1974-5fc9-9612-ca50f77dae35)

CHAPTER TWO (#ubd69890e-1509-5b24-b33e-460808040a4f)

CHAPTER THREE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE


TAYE let herself back into the apartment and wandered into the sitting room. Looking around at the smart furniture and fittings, she recalled the poky bed-sit she had lived in for most of the three years previously, and knew that she just could not bear to go back to that way of living.

Not only could she not, but, with the rent of this apartment being very much more than she could afford on her own now that Paula had left, Taye determined that she would not give up the apartment unless she absolutely had to.

To that end, and after a very great deal of thought, she had just taken the first steps in getting someone to pay half of the rent. She did so hope that someone would see the advert and apply soon.

Unfortunately, because Paula, while giving her the name and address of the letting agent, had taken the lease with her, Taye felt on very rocky ground with regard to her own tenancy agreement. The fact was, although Taye had looked high and low for the lease, she had been unable to find it, and so was unsure of her actual tenancy position.

The lease was in Paula’s name and while Paula had said that provided the rent was paid on time—quarterly in advance—she was sure the agents would not care who was living there or who paid the rent, Taye was not so certain.

She would have liked a sight of the lease before Paula had left, if only to have some idea if there was any restriction on sub-letting. Because it seemed to Taye to be fairly obvious that a lease would not be worth as much as the paper it was written on if the tenant went ahead their own merry way.

But she had a feeling that any approach to the agent to check might see Wally, Warner and Quayle saying that there was a ‘no flat-share sub-let’ clause—and that caused Taye to hesitate to approach them. Yes, she knew that she should approach them. That she ought to go and see them and explain that Paula Neale had left the area. Fear that they might say that she would have to leave too, caused Taye to hold back. Should they be even likely to enquire into her suitability to be a tenant—her financial suitability that was—they would know straight away that by no chance could she pay the high rent required on her own.

Burying her head in the sand it might be but, bearing in mind that she had been Paula’s sub-tenant, Taye preferred to look on it from Paula’s viewpoint: that as long as the rent was paid they would not care who lived there provided they were respectable and paid the rent when due.

All the same, when considering her options—pay up or leave—Taye knew she did not want to leave and go back to the way she had up until three months ago been living.

Which left the only answer—she must get someone else to pay half the rent the way she had paid half the rent to Paula. And how to go about that? Advertise.

The only problem with that was that Taye felt she could hardly advertise in the paper. Without question she suspected that any agent worthy of the name would keep their eyes on the ‘To Let’ column of the local paper. Which meant—Her thoughts were interrupted when someone rapped smartly on the wood panelling of the door. Anticipating it would be one of her neighbouring apartment dwellers, Taye went to answer it.

But, although she thought she had met all of the other tenants in the building in the time she had been there, she would swear she had never caught so much as a glimpse of the tall dark-haired man who stood there before her.

‘How did you get in?’ she questioned abruptly when for what seemed like ageless seconds the man just stared arrogantly back at her.

She thought she was going to have to whistle for an answer. Then Rex Bagnall, who had a flat on the next floor, rushed by. ‘Forget my head…’ he said in passing, making it obvious he had just gone out but had dashed back for something he had forgotten—and that answered her question. The man who had knocked at her door had slipped in as Rex had gone out.

Then suddenly it clicked. ‘You’ve come about the flat?’ she exclaimed.

For long silent minutes the stern-faced man studied her, and she began to think she was going to have to run for any answer to her questions. But then finally, his tones clipped, ‘I have,’ he replied.

Oh, grief! She had been thinking in terms of a female to flat-share with! She could not say either that she was very taken with this grim-expressioned mid-thirties-looking man, but she supposed even if she had no intention of renting half the flat to him that there were certain courtesies to be observed.

‘That was quick,’ she remarked pleasantly. ‘I’ve only just returned from putting the ad in the newsagent’s window.’ She might have gone on to say that she had been looking for someone of the female gender but Rex Bagnall was back again, dashing along the communal hallway. Not wanting him to hear any of her business, ‘Come in,’ she invited the unsuccessful candidate.

He followed her into her hall, but so seemed to dominate it that she quickly led the way to the sitting room. She turned, the light was better there, and she observed he was broad-shouldered and casually, if expensively, dressed. He could see her better too, his glance flicking momentarily to her white-blonde hair.

‘I—er…’ she began, faltered and, began again. ‘I know I didn’t say so, but I was rather anticipating a female.’

‘A female?’ he enquired loftily—causing her to wish she knew more about the Sex Discrimination Act and if it came into force in a situation like this.

‘Have you shared a flat with a female before?’ she asked, feeling a trifle hot under the collar. ‘I mean, I don’t mean to be personal or anything but…’ She hesitated, hoping he would help her out, but clearly he was not going to and she found she was saying, ‘Perhaps it won’t be suitable for you.’

He looked back at her, unspeaking for a second or two. Then deigned to reply, ‘Perhaps I’d better take a look around.’

And such was his air of confidence that, albeit reluctantly, Taye, with the exception of her own bedroom, found she was showing him around the apartment. ‘This, obviously, is the sitting room,’ she began, and went on to show him the dining room, followed by the bathroom and kitchen and utility room. ‘That’s my bedroom,’ she said, indicating her bedroom door in passing. ‘And this is the other bedroom.’

‘The one for your—tenant?’

‘That’s right,’ she replied, glad, when he had silently and without comment inspected everywhere else, to hear him say something at last.

He went into what had been Paula’s bedroom and glanced around. Taye left him to it. She returned to the sitting room and was preparing to tell him that she would let him know—it seemed more polite than to straight away tell him, No chance. He was some minutes before he joined her in the sitting room—obviously he had been looking his fill and weighing everything up.

‘I see you have a garden,’ he remarked, going over to the sitting room window and looking out.

‘It’s shared by all of us,’ she replied. ‘The agents send someone to tidy up now and again but it doesn’t require too much maintenance. Now, about—’

‘Your name?’ he cut in. ‘I can’t go around calling you Mrs de Winter the whole time.’

Her lips twitched. Somehow, when she wasn’t sure she even liked the man, his dry comment caught at her sense of humour. He all too plainly was referring to the Mrs de Winter in Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca. The Mrs de Winter who all through the book had never been given a first name.

‘Taye,’ she replied, in the face of his unsmiling look controlling her urge to smile. ‘Tayce, actually, but I’m called Taye.’ She felt a bit foolish all at once, it suddenly seeming stupid to go on to tell him that her younger brother had not been able to manage Tayce when he had been small, and how Taye had just kind of stuck. ‘Taye Trafford,’ she completed briefly. Only then did it dawn on her that she should have asked his name the minute he had stepped over the threshold. ‘And you are?’

‘Magnus—Ashthorpe,’ he supplied.

‘Well, Mr Ashthorpe—’

‘I’ll take it,’ he butted in decisively.

That took her aback somewhat. ‘Oh, I don’t think…’

‘Naturally there are matters to discuss.’ He took over the interview, if interview it be.

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to discuss it a little, she supposed. At least she could be civilised. ‘Would you like coffee?’ she offered.

‘Black, no sugar,’ he accepted, and she was glad to escape to the kitchen.

No way did she want him for a fellow tenant! No way! Yet, as she busied herself with coffee, cups and saucers, she began to realise that she must not be too hasty here. What if no one else applied? The rent was quite steep after all. Yes, but she might well have a whole horde of people interested in a flat-share. Look how quickly he had seen her ad. That card could not have been in the local newsagent’s window above ten minutes, she was sure.

‘Coffee!’ she announced brightly, taking the tray into the sitting room, setting in down and inviting him to take a seat. She placed a cup and saucer down on the low table near him, and, taking the seat opposite, thought it about time to let him know who was doing the interviewing here. ‘The flat—the flat-share—it’s for yourself?’ she enquired. He stared into her wide blue eyes as though thinking it an odd question. ‘I mean—you’re not married or anything?’ she ploughed on. And when he looked unsmiling back, as if to ask what the devil that had to do with her, ‘I only advertised for one person. I wouldn’t consider a married couple,’ she stated bluntly. She was beginning to regret giving him coffee. She would not mind at all if he left now.

‘I’m not married,’ he enlightened her.

She looked at him. He was quite good-looking, she observed. No doubt he was more interested in playing the field than in making any long-term commitment. ‘This is a fairly quiet building,’ she felt she ought to warn him. ‘We—um—don’t go in for riotous parties.’ He took that on board without comment, and she began to wonder why she had bothered mentioning it, because she was growing more and more certain that there was no way she was going to have him as a fellow flat-share. He had not touched his coffee—she could hardly stand up and tell him she would let him know. ‘The—er—rent would not be a problem?’ she enquired. ‘It’s paid quarterly—thirteen weeks—and in advance.’ From his clothes she would have thought he was used to paying for the best, but she had to talk about something. ‘I—er—the landlord prefers the rent to be paid on the old quarter days to fall in line with his quarter-day ground rent payments. He owns the building but not the land on which it’s built,’ she added, but, conscious that she was talking just for the sake of it, she skidded to an abrupt stop.

Magnus Ashthorpe surveyed her coolly before stating, ‘I think I’ll be able to scrape my share together.’ Which, despite his good clothes, gave her the impression that he was in pretty much the same financial state that she was. Her clothes, limited though they were, were of good quality too.

‘Er—what sort of work do you do?’ she asked, but as he reached for his coffee she noticed a smear of paint on his index finger: the sort of smudgy mark one got when touching paintwork to see if it was dry.

She saw his eyes follow hers, saw him examine the paint smudge himself. ‘I’m an artist,’ he revealed, looking across at her.

‘Magnus Ashthorpe,’ she murmured half to herself. She had never heard of him, but it might embarrass him were she to say so, and she had no wish to hurt his feelings. ‘You’re—um—quite successful?’ she asked instead.

‘I get by,’ he replied modestly.

‘You wouldn’t be able to paint here,’ she said swiftly, latching on to a tailor-made excuse to turn him down. ‘The landlord wouldn’t care to—’

‘I’m allowed the attic where I’m now living. That serves well as a studio,’ Magnus Ashthorpe interrupted her.

‘Ah,’ she murmured. And, feeling desperate to take charge again, ‘Where are you living at present?’ she asked.

‘With a friend,’ he answered promptly.

‘You’re—um…’ Heavens, this interviewing business was all uphill. ‘You’re—er—in a—relationship that—er…’ She couldn’t finish. By the sound of it he was in a relationship that was falling apart. But she just could not ask about it.

Grey eyes continued to appraise her, but briefly his hard expression seemed to soften marginally, as if he had gleaned something of her sensitivity. But any impression she had of a warmer side to the man was gone in an instant. And his voice was cool when he let her know she could not be more wrong if she thought he would tie himself down to any sort of one-to-one relationship.

‘Nick Knight and I have been friends for years. He let me move in a year back, but now he wants to move his girlfriend in.’ He shrugged. ‘While I prefer not to play gooseberry, Nick prefers to have his spare room back.’

‘But you’ll continue to work from his attic?’

He nodded, and Taye started to feel better. While she had no intention of offering the flat-share to him, if he had a studio—be it just an attic—then at least he had somewhere he could use as a base if this Nick Knight wanted him to leave sooner rather than later.

Magnus Ashthorpe had finished his coffee, Taye noticed. She got to her feet. ‘I’m not awfully sure…’ she began, to let him down gently.

‘You’ll want to see other applicants, of course,’ he butted in smoothly.

‘Well, I have arranged for the flat-share to be advertised all next week and to include next weekend,’ she replied. ‘And—um—there will be a question of references,’ she brought out from an unthought nowhere.

For answer Magnus Ashthorpe went over to the telephone notepad and in a speedy hand wrote down something and tore the sheet of paper from the pad. ‘My mobile number,’ he said, handing the paper to her. ‘I’ve also noted the name of my previous landlady. Should you want to take up a reference, I’m sure Mrs Sturgess will be pleased to answer any questions you may have about me.’

Since he was not going to be her co-tenant, Taye did not think she would need the piece of paper, but she took it from him anyhow. ‘I’ll—um—see you out,’ she said, and smiled. It cost nothing and she was unlikely to see him ever again. ‘Goodbye,’ she said. They shook hands.

She closed the door behind him and went swiftly to the dining room. Standing well back from the window, she saw him emerge from the building. But she need not have worried that he might look up and see her lurking near the dining room window—he was already busy in conversation with someone he had called on his mobile phone. No doubt telling his friend Nick Knight that he had found a place!

Taye went back to the sitting room, the feel of his hand on hers still there. He had a wonderful handshake. Still the same, she knew she would not be phoning this Mrs Sturgess for a reference.

Taye purposely stayed in all of that Saturday and the whole of Sunday, and frequently watched from the dining room window for callers. But callers there were none. She had thought there was a huge demand for accommodation to rent, but apparently no one was interested in renting at such a high rent.

And that was worrying. She had not lived in what was termed the ‘garden flat’ all that long herself, but already she loved it. She had moved to London three years ago after one gigantic fall-out with her mother. But only now was she in any sort of position to pay half of the rent herself. To find all of the rent would be an impossibility.

Taye had a good job, and was well paid, but she just had to keep something back for those calls from her mother. Despite her mother all but throwing her out, it had not stopped her parent from requiring financial assistance from time to time.

Worriedly, knowing that she did not want to go back to the bed-sit existence she had known before her promotion and pay rise, and prior to Paula Neale’s invite to move in and share expenses, Taye thought back to how her life had changed—for the better.

There had always been rows at home—even before her father had decided after one row too many that enough was enough and that they would all be happier, himself included, if he moved out.

His financial ability had made the move viable only when his father had died and he had come into a fund which he had been able to assign during her lifetime to his money-loving wife. The fact that Taye’s father had no illusions about her mother’s spendthrift ways was borne out by the fact that he had made sure that the fund was paid out to her monthly and not in the lump sum she had demanded.

Taye had been fourteen, her brother Hadleigh five years younger when, nine years ago now, their father had packed his bags and left. She loved him, she missed him, and she had been unhappy to see him go. But perhaps they would all be free of the daily rows and constant carping. Perhaps with him no longer there, the rows would stop.

Wrong! Without her father there for her mother to vent her spleen on, Taye had become her mother’s target. Though if being daily harangued by Greta Trafford for some over-exaggerated misdemeanour kept the sharpness of her tongue from Taye’s nine-year-old brother, then Taye had supposed she could put up with it. What would happen to Hadleigh, though, when she eventually went off to university Taye had not wanted to dwell on.

Then she had discovered that she need not have worried about it, because when she reached the age of sixteen she discovered that her mother had other plans for her.

‘University!’ she had exclaimed when Taye had begun talking of staying on at school, and of taking her ‘A’ levels. ‘You can forget that, young lady. You can leave school as soon as you can, get a job and start bringing some money in.’

‘But—it’s all planned!’ Taye remembered protesting.

‘I’ve just unplanned it!’ Greta Trafford had snapped viperously.

‘But Daddy said…’

‘Daddy isn’t here! Daddy,’ her mother mocked, ‘was delighted to shelve his responsibilities. Daddy—’

‘But—’

‘Don’t you interrupt me!’ Greta Trafford threatened. ‘And you can “but” all you want. You’re still not going.’

And that Taye had had to accept. But while she had struggled to get over her disappointment and upset at the loss of her dream, she’d known she was going to have to hide how she was feeling from her father. He had been so keen for her to go to university that all she could do was to let him think that she had gone off the idea.

She might have had to accept her mother’s assertion that there was no money to spare, but what Taye would not accept was that her father had shelved his responsibilities. He had maybe given up the occupation that had provided them with a very high standard of living, so that his income was nowhere near what it had been. But now working on a farm and living in a tiny cottage that went with the job, his needs small, she knew that in addition to the fund he had assigned for their upkeep, he still sent money to his former home when he could.

It was not enough. Nor was it ever going to be enough. Even when he had been a high earner it had not been enough. Money went through her mother’s hands like water. She did not know the meaning of the word thrift. If she saw something she wanted, then nothing would do but that she must have it—regardless of which member of her family ultimately paid.

As bidden, Taye had left school and, having inherited her father’s head for figures, she had got a job with a firm of accountants. Her mother had insisted that she hand over her salary to her each month. But by then Taye had started to think for herself. There were things Hadleigh needed for his school work, his school trips, and he was growing faster than they could keep up with. Taye held back as much of her salary as she could get away with, and it was she who kept him kitted out in shoes and any other major essential.

Taye had been ready to leave home years before the actual crunch came. It was only for the sake of Hadleigh that she had stayed, for he had been a shy, gentle boy.

Taye had reached nineteen and Hadleigh fourteen when Hadleigh, after a row where their mother had gone in for her favourite pastime of deviating from the truth, with the first signs of asserting himself had told Taye, ‘You should leave home, Taye.’ And when she had shaken her head, ‘I’ll be all right,’ he had assured her. ‘And it won’t be for much longer. I shall go to university—and I won’t come back.’

Perhaps a trace of his words had still been lingering in Taye’s head when she journeyed home from work one Friday a year later. She had anticipated that Hadleigh would be grinning from ear to ear at the brand-new bicycle she had saved hard for and had arranged to be delivered on his fifteenth birthday. But she had arrived home to discover her mother had somehow managed to exchange the bicycle she had chosen for a much inferior second-hand one—and had pocketed the difference.

‘How could you?’ Taye had gasped, totally appalled.

‘How could I not?’ her mother had replied airily. ‘The bicycle I got him is perfectly adequate.’

‘I wanted him to have something new, something special!’ Taye had protested. ‘You had no right…’

‘No right! Don’t you talk to me about rights! What about my rights?’

‘It wasn’t your money, it was mine. It was dishonest of you to—’

‘Dishonest!’ Her mother’s voice had risen an octave—which was always a signal for Taye to back down. Only this time she would not back down. She was incensed at what her money-grubbing mother had done.

So, ‘Yes, dishonest,’ she had challenged, and it had gone on and on from there, with Taye for once in her life refusing to buckle under the tirade of venom her mother hurled at her.

And, seeing that for the first time she was not going to get the better of her daughter, Greta Trafford had resorted to telling her to follow in her father’s footsteps and to pack her bags and leave.

And Taye, like her father, had suddenly had enough. ‘I will,’ she had retorted, and did. Though it was true she did almost weaken when she went in to say goodbye to Hadleigh. ‘Will you be all right?’ she asked him.

‘You bet,’ he said, and gave her a brave grin, and, having witnessed most of the row before he’d disappeared, ‘You can’t stay. Not now,’ he had told her.

Taye had gone to London and had been fortunate to find a room to rent, and more fortunate to soon find a job. A job in finance that she became particularly good at. When her salary improved, she found a better, if still poky, bed-sit.

She had by then written to both Hadleigh and her mother, telling them where she was now living. She also wrote to her father, playing down the row that had seen her leave home. Her mother was the first to reply—the electricity bill was more than she had expected. Since Taye had used some of the electricity—even though she had been at home contributing when she had used it—her mother would be obliged to receive her cheque at her earliest convenience.

Her mother’s ‘requests’ for money continued over the next three years. Which was why—having many times shared a lunch table with Paula Neale in the firm’s canteen, and having commented that she would not mind moving from ‘bed-sit land’—when Paula one day said she had half a flat to let if she was interested, and mentioned the rent required, instead of leaping at the chance, Taye had to consider it very carefully.

Could she really afford it? Could she not? She was twenty-three, for goodness’ sake, Hadleigh coming up to eighteen. And their mother had this time promised he should go to university. Was she to wait until he was at university, Taye wondered, or dared she take the plunge now? It had been late February then, and Hadleigh would go to university in October. Taye—while keeping her fingers crossed that nothing calamitous in the way of unforeseen expenditure was heading her way—plunged.

And here she was now and it was calamitous—though this time that calamity did not stem from her mother but was because, unless she could find someone to share, Taye could see she was in a whole heap of financial trouble. But, so far, no one except for one Magnus Ashthorpe had shown an interest. And, as an interested party, he was the one party she did not want.

All that week Taye hurried home ready to greet the influx of potential flat-share candidates. Julian Coombs, the son of the owner of Julian Coombs Comestibles, where she worked, asked her out, but she declined. She had been out with Julian a few times. He was nice, pleasant and uncomplicated. But she did not want to be absent should anyone see her card in the newsagent’s window and call.

But she might just as well have gone out with Julian because each evening she retired to her bed having seen not one single solitary applicant.

She toyed with the idea of inviting Hadleigh to come and stay at the weekend. But he worked most weekends waiting at tables in a smart restaurant about five miles from Pemberton. It was, he said, within easy cycling distance of Pemberton, the village on the outskirts of Hertfordshire where he and their mother lived. And, besides Hadleigh not wishing to miss a chance to earn a little money for himself, Pemberton was not the easiest place to get back to by public transport on a Sunday.

So Taye stayed home and almost took root by the dining room window. Much good did it do. Plenty of people passed by but, apart from other residents in the building, no one came near the door.

And early on Monday evening Taye knew that it was decision time. By now the newsagent would have taken her card out of his window, and she could see no point in advertising again. Clearly the rent required was more than most people wanted to pay. In the nine days since she had placed that card in the newsagent’s she had received only one reply. So far as she could see, with the rent due on quarter day in a few weeks’ time she had to either give up the apartment—and heaven alone knew what she was going to do if they demanded a quarter’s rent in lieu of notice—or she had to consider sharing the flat with a male of the species; a male who, for that matter, she was not even sure she could like.

Oh, she didn’t want to leave, she didn’t! How could she give up the apartment? It was tranquil here, peaceful here. And with the advantage of the small enclosed garden—a wonderful place to sit out in on warm summer evenings, perhaps with a glass of wine, perhaps chatting to one of her fellow flat dwellers. Perhaps, at weekends, to sit under the old apple tree halfway down the garden. There was a glitzy tinsel Christmassy kind of star lodged in that tree—it had been there, Paula had told her, since January, when a gust of wind had blown it there from who knew where. And Taye loved that too. She was in London, but it felt just like being in the country.

On impulse she went into the kitchen and found the piece of paper with Magnus Ashthorpe’s phone number on it. She should have thrown it away, but with no other applicant in sight she rather supposed it must be meant that she had not scrapped it. Not that she intended to ring him. She would see what sort of a reference this Mrs Sturgess gave him.

‘Hello?’ answered what sounded like a mature and genteel voice when she had dialled.

‘Is that Mrs Sturgess?’ Taye enquired.

‘Claudia Sturgess speaking,’ that lady confirmed.

‘Oh, good evening. I’m sorry to bother you,’ Taye said in a rush, ‘but a man named Magnus Ashthorpe said I might contact you with regard to a reference.’

‘Oh, yes, Magnus—er—Ashthorpe,’ Claudia Sturgess answered, and suddenly seemed in the best of humours. ‘What would you like to know about him?’

‘Well, he has applied to rent some accommodation,’ Taye replied, it somehow sticking in her throat to confess it was shared accommodation—which she freely admitted was ridiculous. How was she to find out whether or not he was some potential mass murderer if she didn’t give the right information and ask the right questions? Giving herself a mental shake, Taye decided she had been reading too many thrillers just lately, and jumped in, ‘I wonder how long you have known him and if you consider him trustworthy?’

‘Oh, my dear, I’ve known him for years! Went to school with his mother,’ Mrs Sturgess informed her with what sounded like a cross between a giggle and a chuckle. ‘May I know your name?’ she in turn enquired.

‘Taye Trafford.’ Taye saw no reason to not tell her. But, hurrying on, ‘Do you think he would make a—um—good tenant?’

‘First class, Miss Trafford,’ Mrs Sturgess replied without the smallest hesitation. ‘Or is it Mrs?’

‘Miss,’ Taye replied. ‘You—can vouch for him, then?’

‘Absolutely. He’s one of the nicest men I know,’ she went on glowingly. ‘In fact, having had him living with me one time, I’d go as far as to say that if he doesn’t get the accommodation you have on offer, I would welcome him back here to live.’ Taye reckoned you could not have a better reference than that. ‘Where is this accommodation?’ Claudia Sturgess wanted to know. ‘London?’ she guessed.

‘Yes,’ Taye confirmed. ‘He, in your opinion, is trustworthy, then?’

‘Totally,’ Mrs Sturgess replied, all lightness gone from her tone, her voice at once most sincere. ‘He is one of the most trustworthy men I have ever come across. I would trust him with my life.’

‘Thank you very much,’ Taye said, and, realising that she could not have a better reference than that, she thanked her politely again and put down the phone.

Yet, having been sincerely assured by this woman who had been at school with his mother that Magnus Ashthorpe was totally trustworthy, still Taye hesitated. Even though she knew that mixed flat-shares went on all over the place, she somehow felt reluctant to have him so close. And, if she didn’t make that call to him, well, it was not as if he was desperate for somewhere to rent, was it? By the sound of it, Mrs Sturgess, his mother’s friend, would have him back living with her like a shot. Presumably, though, he did not want to return there.

Taye thought of her own mother’s friend, the hardbitten Larissa Gilbert. Would she want to go and live with the thin-lipped Larissa? No way.

The decision seemed to be made.

Taye picked up the phone and dialed, half hoping Magnus Ashthorpe had his mobile switched off. He hadn’t, but he was already taking a call. She waited a long five minutes and then, aware that she had no option unless she was to go on the apartment-hunting trail herself—the much smaller apartment hunt; she could not bear the thought of returning to a bed-sit—she had to make that call.

She redialled—it was picked up at the fourth ring. ‘Pen…’ he began, and then changed it to, ‘Hello.’

She guessed his previous caller was probably someone called Penny, and he thought it was she ringing back from his previous call. Sorry to disappoint. ‘Hello,’ Taye replied, and began to feel more comfortable to know he had got a woman-friend. ‘It’s Taye Trafford.’ He said nothing. Not one solitary word. And she swiftly recalled how he had barely spoken when he had come to view the apartment. Perhaps that was what Mrs Sturgess liked about him—that he was not forever chattering on. ‘About the flat-share,’ Taye resumed.

‘Yes?’

She found his monosyllabic reply annoying and started to have second thoughts. ‘There isn’t a garage,’ she drew out of nowhere, even at the eleventh hour, as it were, attempting, when she really needed him, to put him off. ‘Well, there is, but the owner is abroad and has a lot of his belongings stored in it.’

‘That won’t be a problem.’

‘You don’t have a car?’

‘I find public transport quite useful,’ he replied, and, assuming too much in her opinion, ‘I’ll move in tomorrow,’ he announced.

Her mouth fell open in shock. Of all the… ‘I’ll try to get off work early—’ she began, and was interrupted for her pains.

‘You work?’ he questioned shortly. ‘You have a job?’

She did not care for his tone. ‘Of course I have a job!’ she exclaimed. They were on the brink of a row—and he hadn’t even moved in yet! ‘It’s how I pay the rent!’ she added pithily.

‘Huh!’ he grunted. It sounded a derogatory grunt to her. But before she could ask him what the Dickens that ‘huh’ meant, something else struck her.

‘You can pay rent in advance?’ she queried, everything in her going against asking him for the money but realism having to be faced. ‘I shall need the whole quarter’s rent before quarter day, the twenty-fourth of June.’

‘I’ll give you the cash when I see you tomorrow,’ he replied crisply.

‘A cheque will do as well,’ she calmed down a little to inform him—she could bank his cheque on Wednesday, that would still give it plenty of time to clear before quarter day.

‘If that’s it—’ he began.

‘One other thing,’ she butted in quickly. Again he was silent, and she felt forced to continue. ‘Er—naturally I’d expect you to respect my privacy.’

‘You mean when you bring your men-friends home?’ he questioned tersely. What was it with this man? She had not meant that. Thank goodness there was a lock on the bathroom door. ‘Naturally,’ he went on when she seemed stumped for an answer, ‘you’ll afford me the same privacy?’

‘When you bring your women-friends back?’ she queried tautly.

‘Until tomorrow,’ he said, and cut the call.

Slowly Taye replaced her telephone. Somehow she just could not see the arrangement working. But, for better or worse, it seemed she had just got herself a tenant.




CHAPTER TWO


MAGNUS ASHTHORPE moved into the garden flat on Tuesday evening. On Wednesday Taye banked the cash he had given her. It exasperated her that he had given her cash. It was almost as if Magnus Ashthorpe did not have a bank account! But, since he seemed to think she would feel happier with the cash than with a cheque, she supposed she should not complain. It was just that thirteen weeks of half the rent in cash was such an awful lot of money to be carrying around.

He had been up and about before her that morning—and she was an early riser. Surprisingly, with the stranger sleeping in the next room, she had slept much better than she had envisaged. She had gone to bed wary and wondering if she should prop a chair under the door handle. Then she recalled the glowing reference Claudia Sturgess had given him, her ‘I’ve known him for years’, her ‘He’s one of the nicest men I know’, her comment that she would trust him with her life—and Taye, as it were, bit the bullet, and decided that to place a chair under her bedroom door handle was no way to start out.

By Friday she had started to relax at having a male flat-share. Given that he was rather taciturn of manner, he was quiet and clean. And, apart from the fact that his eyesight appeared a shade faulty when it came to clearing up a few toast crumbs from the work surfaces, Taye felt she had not done too badly to take her one and only applicant. Another point in his favour—he was seldom ever there. He arose early, went out early, and came home late. He was, she decided, one very busy painter.

She frequently worked late herself, but, having accepted a dinner invitation with Julian Coombs that evening, Taye hurried home from her office to shower and change. She found her flat-share had beaten her to it.

For once, having let himself in with the spare keys Paula had left behind, he was home early. Taye could hear the shower running as she went in and walked by the bathroom. It was not a problem; he did not spend anywhere near the length of time in there that Paula had.

Taye went into her bedroom and, Julian having mentioned the smart establishment where they would be dining, extracted a smart dress from her wardrobe. Up until the age of fourteen she had been used to the best of clothes. Habits formed up until the time her father had left home were ingrained deeper than she had known, and she had discovered that she would rather wait until she could afford something with a touch of quality than buy two of something inferior. That was not to say that if a cheaper item looked good, she might not buy it.

She glanced at her watch just as she heard the bathroom door open. Oh, good! Taye left her room in time to see a robe-clad Magnus Ashthorpe leaving the bathroom.

She almost disappeared back into her room but, Get used to it, she instructed herself, he lives here. ‘Finished in there?’ she asked brightly.

‘It’s all yours,’ he answered, and went to his room, leaving her to it.

A quick shower, a light application of make-up and Taye was seated before her dressing table mirror wondering whether to wear her straight white-blonde hair up or down. Down, she decided. It was Friday night; she had worked hard all week. Time to party.

Well, she qualified, Julian being more earnest than frolicsome, time to unwind. Dressed in a straight dress of heavy silk with fragile shoulder straps, Taye left her room.

To her surprise she found Magnus taking his ease in the sitting room, reading his evening paper. A small ‘Oh!’ escaped her before she could stop it. He must have heard it because, unspeaking, he lowered his paper, and she somehow felt obliged to explain, ‘I didn’t expect you to still be here.’

‘Here is where I live,’ he reminded her coolly, and while she felt a touch embarrassed, and a touch annoyed at one and the same time, she saw his glance skim over her silky shoulders, bare apart from the thin straps of her dress, down over her slender but curving in the right places form, then dropping to what Paula had called her ‘glorious legs’. Clearly, though, he was not impressed by what he saw, because his expression seemed to tighten when bluntly he challenged, ‘You have a date?’

Any embarrassment she had felt disappeared as her annoyance surged. As if it had anything to do with him if she had a date or not!

But this was no way to go on. She was stuck with him until the end of September at least. With difficulty she swallowed down her ire, her glance flicking over his fresh shirt and lounge suit. ‘You don’t actually appear dressed for staying in,’ she replied. She smiled. He stared at her upturned mouth, his gaze lingering for a second before suddenly his grey eyes moved up to her lovely blue eyes. His eyes hardened; he did not smile.

With no idea what to make of him she went into the kitchen to wait until Julian called. She knew quite a few men whom she thought she could regard as friends. They were an eclectic mix at Julian Coombs Comestibles and she got on well with all of them. But this man, this Magnus Ashthorpe, was something else again! He might be totally trustworthy, and Claudia Sturgess might think he would make a first-class tenant but, Taye owned, changing her mind about not having done too badly to have him as a fellow tenant, right now she was finding him extremely hard work.

Thankfully Julian arrived ten minutes before the appointed time, so she did not have to hang about in the kitchen over-long. She went to the intercom to check that it was Julian ringing the bell, and while releasing the outer door catch she turned to her flat-share and civilly informed him that she did not think she would be late.

Like he cared! He looked unblinking back at her. And suddenly she was remembering their conversation about privacy. ‘Er—will you be bringing anyone back?’ she enquired nicely—like she cared!

For a moment she thought he was going to let her whistle for an answer. But then, dryly, he replied, ‘We’ll go to hers.’

Her lips twitched. What was it about this man? He had not intended to amuse her with his ‘go to hers’ but, when she did not particularly like him half of the time, he seemed to have the oddest ability to make her want to laugh.

Julian tapping lightly on the door did away with any further speculation. She went and let him in and, as a courtesy—one of them should make an effort to make this flat-share work—she took Julian into the sitting room and introduced him to Magnus.

It pleased her to discover that there was nothing wrong with Magnus’s manners when there was a third person present. He shook hands with Julian and in the few minutes before she and Julian went out to Julian’s car exchanged politenesses and showed that he was not lacking when it came to social graces.

‘I imagined your new flat-mate to be somewhere in his early twenties,’ Julian opined as they drove along. ‘He—Magnus—he’s quite sophisticated, isn’t he? You know, he’s got that sort of confident air about him.’

‘I suppose he has. I’ve not really thought about it.’

‘You’re getting along all right?’ Julian asked.

Taye wasn’t truly sure that they were ‘getting along all right’, but diplomatically replied, ‘I don’t see very much of him. I think he has a date tonight, so I may not see him again before morning.’ And probably not then if he stays out all night up to no good at ‘hers’.

‘Her’ was probably Pen—Penelope, Penny—Taye mused, and then forgot about the pair of them, or tried to, as she gave herself over to enjoying her evening. Julian was three years older than her. He was pleasant and charming, good, undemanding company, and she liked him very much. He was easy to get along with and seemed to agree with everything she said.

So much so that, when she caught herself thinking that she would not mind too much hearing if he had an opposing view, she began to wonder for one panicky moment if she had inherited some of her mother’s traits and would turn into some cantankerous woman who liked to argue purely for the sake of it.

Taye felt better when she thought of the many times her mother had thrown at her that, while she had inherited Greta Trafford’s beauty—her mother’s words, not Taye’s—she had inherited nothing else of her but was in temperament totally her father’s daughter.

‘Shall we have coffee here?’ Julian asked. ‘Or we could go back to my place? I make a splendid cup of coffee.’

Julian had a flat about fifteen minutes away from where she lived. And Taye had once been back to his flat for coffee. They had kissed a little, she recalled, and it had been quite enjoyable getting some practice in. But she never had been too free with her kisses and, while finding Julian physically attractive, he was not so attractive that she lost sight of what was right for her. To make love with him had not been right then. Who knew? It might be at some future date. But for now that time had not arrived.

‘Coffee here, shall we? Do you mind?’

‘Yes, I mind,’ Julian replied, but, as ever the nice person he truly was, ‘But anything you say,’ he added, and grinned.

Most oddly, though, she did not feel like asking him in when he stopped his car outside her building. ‘I won’t ask you in,’ she said, adding quickly for an excuse, ‘Magnus may have changed his mind and decided to do a bit of—er—entertaining at home, and until I get to know him better I shouldn’t like to embarrass him.’ The idea that arrogant Magnus Ashthorpe would ever be embarrassed about anything was laughable, but Julian accepted her excuse.

‘Come out with me tomorrow?’ he asked. ‘We could…’

‘I’d rather planned to visit my father tomorrow,’ she found she was inventing on the spot.

Julian swallowed any disappointment. ‘He lives in Warwickshire, doesn’t he? I think I remember you mentioning it one time. I’ll drive you down, if you like?’

‘I couldn’t let you,’ she answered quickly. ‘It will be no trouble for my father to pick me up from the station. I’d better go in,’ she said in a rush—and just had to wonder what had got into her that, when she quite enjoyed Julian’s company, she should put him off. And why when, as they left the car and he walked to the outer door with her, he went to take her in his arms, as he had a few times before, she should experience a feeling of not wanting to be kissed.

And what was even more odd was that an image of Magnus Ashthorpe should at that moment spring to mind. ‘Goodnight, Julian. I’ve had a lovely time,’ she said.

And, mentally sticking her tongue out at that Magnus Ashthorpe image, she stretched up and kissed Julian—though quickly pulled back when she felt his arms begin to tighten about her. He let her go and she went indoors, still pondering what was going on in her psyche.

To her surprise there was a light on in the sitting room when she went in. ‘I didn’t expect to see you back,’ she recovered to say pleasantly to Magnus, who used the remote and switched off the television. ‘Don’t do that on my account,’ she hurriedly bade him.

‘It had just finished. Have a good time?’ he thought to ask. She liked him better like this.

‘Julian’s excellent company. I’m about to make a drink. Would you like one?’ Perhaps they could set about creating some kind of flat-sharing harmony, some flat-sharing give and take.

‘Thank you,’ he accepted, but followed her into the kitchen.

‘Did you have a nice time?’ she kept up the politeness to enquire.

‘So-so,’ he replied, and Taye suspected Penny was on her way out. Her lips twitched at the touch of whimsy that came to her that the Penny was about to be dropped.

‘Thoughts of Julian make you smile?’ Magnus interrupted her trend—and suddenly he sounded quite grim.

‘I told you—he’s very good company,’ she reminded him. Grief, this man was never the same two minutes together!

‘I seem to know his name from somewhere?’

‘You’ve probably heard of his father—Julian Coombs of Julian Coombs Comestibles. They’re big in—’

‘I know them,’ he cut in. ‘Quite financially sound, from what I hear.’

She did not know how he, an artist, got to hear these things, but, working quite high up with the Finance Director, she knew that Magnus had heard quite rightly. ‘They’re flourishing,’ she agreed.

Magnus looked at her speculatively for long moments. ‘So the son isn’t exactly on his uppers?’ he commented at last.

And Taye at once resented the inference she saw in his comment; as if he considered she would not be going out with Julian were he not loaded. ‘Julian will one day inherit a fortune,’ she said stiffly, in the interests of compatibility doing her best not to fall out with the man facing her.

‘And you’re serious about him?’

Taye felt her hackles rising. She had near enough had it with one Magnus Ashthorpe, and no way was she ready to discuss her love life with him, thank you very much! ‘I might be!’ she retorted, her fine blue eyes flashing.

Hard grey eyes looked hostilely back. Then at that moment the kettle snicked off. ‘Forget the drink!’ he ordered curtly, and, turning about, left her staring blankly after him. Just what had that been all about?

By morning, trying not to think of the longest three months of her life stretching out in front of her, Taye resolved once again to do her best to get some sort of amicability going. To that end, up early and in the kitchen before him, she overcame the thought that if he wanted a drink he could jolly well make it himself.

‘Coffee?’ she offered when he joined her, having only just made a fresh pot.

‘Thanks,’ he accepted. No smile, just a hard stare. And, as if taking up from where they had left it last night, ‘How long have you known Julian Junior?’ he questioned, not the smallest sign of humour in his expression.

Julian Junior! Taye’s decision to try and get some amicability going began to flounder. She could have mentioned that she and Julian worked at the same place, but did not feel inclined to do so. Though she did give herself top marks that she answered Magnus Ashthorpe at all. ‘Ages,’ she replied briefly—and received another of his hard-eyed looks. Resisting the temptation to slam his coffee down on the counter top next to him, Taye controlled her spurt of annoyance and informed him evenly, ‘I shall be away overnight. I’m—’

‘Julian Coombs?’ he barked before she could finish.

To the devil with him. This kitchen just was not big enough for the two of them. Carefully she placed his mug of coffee down near him. ‘Actually, no,’ she replied with hard-won control. ‘Not Julian. His name is Alden. He’s—’

But, making cutting her off mid-speech into an art form, Magnus Ashthorpe did it again. ‘Just how many lovers do you run at one and the same time?’ he snarled.

This time it was she who went without her drink. ‘That’s none of your business!’ she erupted hotly—and got out of there before she gave in to the temptation to hit him.

She was on Paddington railway station before she had cooled down sufficiently to be able to think of something other than the abrasive manner of her flat-share. Oh, why did he have to be the only one to reply to her advert? Just about anyone else would have been preferable.

Taye pushed thoughts of Magnus Ashthorpe out of her mind and took out her phone and rang her father. ‘Hello, it’s me, Taye,’ she said when he answered.

‘Hello, love. I was just thinking about you,’ he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Any chance of you coming to see me some time soon? I—er—need to see you about—something.’

She felt pleased that her father wanted to see her, but was intrigued about the ‘something’ he needed to see her about. ‘As it happens, I’m on Paddington Station as we speak,’ she answered with a smile.

‘Great!’ he said enthusiastically. ‘I’ll pick you up in Leamington. Eleven o’clock?’

Her father was on the platform waiting for her when her train pulled in. And Taye, having searched and wondered and speculated all through the train journey to Royal Leamington Spa, was utterly flabbergasted when, not waiting until they arrived at his cottage, he revealed what that ‘something’ was.

Though she supposed she rather invited it when, as they got into his ramshackle car, she more or less straight away asked, ‘You needed to see me about something?’

‘If you hadn’t managed to come here, I was going to try to come to you.’ And, straight on the heels of that, after only the smallest hesitation, ‘I’ve met someone,’ he announced as in his ancient car they trundled out of town and towards a rural area.

‘You’ve met someone?’ Taye asked, not with him for the moment. Then, as it began to sink in, ‘A girl? I mean, a woman?’

‘Hilary’s forty-seven,’ Alden Trafford replied. ‘Do you mind, Taye?’

Taye was more winded than minding. ‘But…No,’ she said then. ‘Just give me a minute to…’ Her voice tailed away. She turned to give him a sideways look. He was fifty-one and, given that he was virtually penniless—her mother would see to that—quite an attractive man. ‘Er—is it serious?’ Taye asked, getting her head back together.

‘I’m going to ask your mother for a divorce,’ he replied, and Taye reckoned he could not get much more serious than that. Her mother would create blue murder!

‘Oh, dear,’ Taye murmured faintly.

‘I’m sorry, Taye. Unfortunately you’ll not be able to get through this without some of your mother’s bitterness spilling over onto you in some way. But you’re living away from home now, and it won’t be all that long before Hadleigh goes off to university. And, while I want to be fair to you both, I want to be fair to Hilary too.’

‘Of course. Don’t worry about us. Um—have you known—Hilary—long?’

‘Three years. But it’s only since New Year—we were both at a friend’s house—that things have—er—hmm—blossomed between us,’ he answered, with an embarrassed kind of cough. ‘Anyhow, I want to marry her, and your mother and I have been separated long enough now to make a divorce between us a quite simple procedure.’

Taye smiled; what else could she do? The divorce might be a simple formality, but the fall-out it engendered would not be.

‘Will I meet Hilary this weekend?’ she asked.

‘I rang her after your call. I asked her to pop round this afternoon and have a cup of tea with us.’

Taye took to Hilary within a very short time of meeting her. Hilary was a widow, worked as a schoolteacher, was short and a little on the plump side—and it was obvious from the way Alden Trafford’s face lit up when he saw her that this woman meant everything to him.

And, as Taye adjusted to this new state of affairs, she could only be glad for him. He had had it tough for long enough. Prior to him leaving their home he had worked in high finance. But, feeling stale in the work he had been doing, he had changed employers—but had not cared for some of their accounting procedures. When he had started asking pertinent questions he had found himself out of a job. He had been unable to find other work and, after a year during which his savings had dwindled, his wife had seemed to much prefer her room to his company—and then his father had died—and he had moved out.

When Taye returned to London early on Sunday evening it was not without a few worries gnawing away at her. That she had taken to Hilary Wyatt caused Taye to feel a little disloyal to her mother. But there was no denying that she and Hilary had liked each other. And, seeing how much Hilary meant to her father and soon realising that he wanted to spend as much time as he could with the woman he hoped to make his wife, Taye had invited her to stay on to dinner.

They were suited, her father and Hilary, but all hell was going to break loose when her mother heard about it. After thinking about it, Taye’s father had decided he would do his present wife the courtesy of telling her in person. In his view, though he considered he owed her very little, it did not seem right to let her find out via the auspices of his lawyer.

Taye let herself into the apartment she now shared with Magnus Ashthorpe, and saw he was speaking with someone on his mobile phone. ‘I’ll come over next week,’ he was saying warmly. ‘No, no.’ He was obviously answering something said on the other end.

Taye decided to take her overnight bag into her bedroom and so leave Magnus to finish his call in private—although for that matter he was quite capable of walking to his own bedroom and taking his phone with him.

Taye had reached her bedroom door when, ‘Leave it with me, Elspeth,’ she heard him say. ‘I’ll deal with it.’

So, Pen-Penny was out? Goodbye, Penelope—hello, Elspeth!

When she thought she had given him enough time to finish his call, though to be on the safe side Taye opened her bedroom door a crack and listened, she left her room. Soon, she suspicioned, when her mother knew about the divorce, there would be enough unpleasantness around without inviting more from anywhere else.

That being so, she decided to ignore the spat she’d had with Magnus yesterday morning. Pinning a pleasant look on her face, she popped her head around the sitting room door. ‘I’m making a pot of tea if you’re interested?’

‘Thanks,’ he accepted, and buried his head in his newspaper.

Waitress service! Now, now, don’t get cranky. She made the tea and took it through to the other room. He lowered his paper as she poured some tea and placed his down on the small table next to him.

‘Good weekend?’ she enquired, attempting to build bridges.

‘Average,’ he replied. ‘You?’

She thought about it. Yes, given that she had been a touch shaken by her father’s news, it had been a good weekend, a happy weekend. ‘Lovely,’ she replied, a smile in her eyes as she thought about it.

‘Hmph!’ Magnus grunted sourly, causing her to want to give up. The man was insufferable! ‘And does dear Julian know about dear Alden?’ he had the nerve to ask.

Does dear Penelope know about dear Elspeth? From somewhere Taye found a smile. ‘Well, they’ve never actually met,’ she replied, keeping her tone as pleasant as she could in the circumstances. ‘But Julian did very kindly offer to save me a train journey and drive me to meet him.’

‘My stars, there’s no end to your brass-necked—’

Taye, having roused him to anger—without any idea why—found tremendous delight in cutting in on what he was saying for a change. ‘Naturally I refused—’

Her delight was short lived. ‘Even you baulked at entertaining two lovers at one and the same time!’ He cut her off aggressively—and insultingly.

She’d had it with him! Oh, how she’d had it with him! ‘For your information,’ she hissed furiously, ‘Alden Trafford is my father!’ And, unable to bear being in the same room with this unbearable man any longer, she sprang up from her chair, tears of she knew not what—anger, hurt—spurting to her eyes. She made it as far as the sitting room door before he caught up with her, and with a hand on her left arm he halted her and turned her round to face him.

He looked down into her shining mutinous eyes. Taye looked belligerently back at him. ‘Oh, hell!’ he muttered, his hand dropping away from her.

‘If that was an apology, I don’t think much of it!’ she snapped, and, feeling better now that the threat of tears had subsided, ‘You’re an insulting, insufferable, diabolical pig!’ she laid into him. ‘And if it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve got your rent and that no one else has applied, I’d kick you out right now!’

He stared at her. And then he laughed. To her astonishment, he actually laughed! His lips parted, showing a superb set of teeth, and his head tilted back and he gave a short bark of laughter.

Rebelliously she continued to look hostilely at him. Then all at once she started to see the funny side of it too. She was five feet nine, and slender with it. He was well over six feet, broad-shouldered and with plenty of muscle. The idea of physically setting about kicking him out was laughable. ‘Well,’ she mumbled lamely, but could not control that, when she had been absolutely furious with him, she could not now stop her mouth from picking up at the corners.

‘Come and finish your tea,’ he persuaded, ‘and tell me all about your weekend.’

Persuaded was the right word. Because, when she was determined cats and dogs would sprout feathers before she would sit sipping tea with him again, she found she was returning with him to take the chair she had so rapidly bolted from.

Though to her mind, as he went and took the seat opposite, there was very little of her time spent with her father that she wanted to tell him about. The fact that her father wanted a divorce from her mother was something that had to be conveyed to her mother before it became general knowledge.

‘You had a lovely time, you said?’ Magnus prompted. ‘What did you do?’

‘Not very much. It was just lovely being with him, relaxing. You know, generally unwinding.’

‘Where do your parents live?’

Taye, a rather private person when she thought about it, could see no harm in him knowing a little of her family. ‘My mother lives on the outskirts of Hertfordshire, my father in Warwickshire.’

‘Your parents are divorced?’

Not yet! ‘Separated,’ she supplied, and, feeling she was being ever so slightly grilled here, was about to ask him about his parents when he picked up from that one word that matters were far from amicable with her parents.

‘And never the twain shall meet?’

‘Something like that,’ she murmured. But, to her astonishment, heard herself confiding, ‘Though I think my father intends to call on my mother fairly soon.’

‘He wants a reconciliation?’

Like blazes! Her parents may have been close at one time, but they were poles apart now, and both liking it that way. Taye shook her head, her lips sealed. ‘How about your parents?’

Abruptly any sign of good humour left him. ‘What about them?’ he asked shortly.

And she was just a little bit fed up with Mr Blow Hot, Blow Cold Magnus Ashthorpe. Though tenacious if nothing else, and always believing that fair was fair and she had after all told him about her parents, ‘Are they still married?’ she asked. ‘I take it they were married?’ she asked sweetly.

He didn’t think that funny, she observed, as a sudden glint came into his eyes. ‘My father was killed in an accident when I was fifteen.’

‘I’m sorry.’ The apology had come instinctively. ‘Have you any brothers or sisters?’ she enquired gently—and wondered as his expression hardened what she had done now.

‘That’s none of your business!’ he retorted bluntly.

Taye stood up and this time he did nothing to prevent her from leaving. ‘I made the tea,’ she said pointedly. ‘It wouldn’t hurt you to wash the cups and saucers.’ With that she put her nose in the air and stormed out. It wasn’t a brilliant exit line, but it was the best she could think of on the spur of the moment.

Thankfully she saw little of him the next day. And on Tuesday she woke up and made herself think not long now before she got rid of him. From where she was viewing it, though, July and August, not to mention September, were going to stretch out endlessly.

She worked late on Wednesday, but found, Magnus home before her, that there was a mild thawing of hostilities in that, making tea for himself, he actually offered her a cup. ‘Good day at work?’ he enquired when, choosing to drink her tea in the kitchen, she pulled out a chair and he followed suit.

‘Not bad,’ she answered, not trusting him—he was as changeable as the wind.

‘Where do you work?’ he wanted to know. He had been living under the same roof for a week and only now he wanted to make overtures of friendship? He could take a running jump.

‘Julian Coombs Comestibles,’ she answered briefly.

‘Which is where you met Julian Coombs Junior?’

Again Taye had an uncanny feeling that she was being given the third degree. But she’d had some of this merchant before, with his draw-her-out tactics and then, when she started asking questions in return, slapping her down.

‘True,’ she answered warily.

‘How long have you been going out with him?’ Magnus asked crisply.

She expected the big freeze any moment now. ‘Long enough,’ she replied.

He let that pass, but, ‘What do you do there—at Coombs Comestibles?’ he wanted to know.

He could not possibly be interested. But, perhaps he wanted to build a few bridges this time. She gave him the benefit of the doubt. ‘I work for the Finance Director,’ she conceded a little.

‘You’re an accountant?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t have any qualifications. I just sort of seem to have a head that’s happy absorbing numbers,’ she answered modestly, aware that she was quite well thought of at Julian Coombs Comestibles. ‘I seem to have inherited my father’s aptitude for figure work,’ she expanded, then decided, for all Magnus Ashthorpe appeared to look interested, that she had said quite sufficient.

‘Your father’s a mathematician?’

‘He did at one time work in the upper echelons of complicated calculations, but he’s a farm hand now,’ she replied. ‘Though he still keeps his hand in with accountancy,’ she added, and explained, ‘Only last weekend he was saying how he’d taken a look at his employer’s figure-work to help out, and now seems to be doing more paperwork than anything else.’

‘And he’s happy with that?’

Taye thought back to last weekend. She had never seen him look more contented. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. But, getting to her feet, ‘And now I’d better dash. Julian’s picking me up in half an hour.’

She looked at Magnus, mentally daring him to make some snide remark about her ‘lover’. And it was true, he did look as though he was about to lob some acid remark her way.

She braced herself. But when it came, it was a dry, ‘I’ll see to the cups and saucers, then, shall I?’

Taye left him, only just holding down a laugh. She reached her room and discovered she was smiling anyway. What was it about the man? Never, ever had she come across such a one. He could make her angry, furious, bring her to the brink of tears and, in a split second, he could make her want to laugh.

What it was she could not tell, and in the end she gave up trying to puzzle it out and started to get ready to go for a light meal with Julian. There was a new pizza parlour he had heard of and thought they might like to give it a try.

Taye left her office at the end of her working week knowing that she should go to Pemberton and see her brother and mother. The thing was, though, that she had an idea that her father was planning to make the trip to Pemberton this weekend. And, on balance, Taye thought she would not be doing her father any favours by being there. She knew in advance that he was in for an uncomfortable time, and such was his sensitivity he would by far prefer that she was not around as a witness.

Which meant, of course, that she would really have to make that visit the following weekend. It would not be a very pleasant weekend; she knew that in advance too. All she could hope was that in the days between her father’s visit and her own her mother would have had time to cool down.

Magnus was first home. It was the greyish sort of day that sometimes happened in June. Taye suspected the light in his attic studio must have defeated him. Artists needed plenty of good light—didn’t they?

He was in the shower. She saw no harm in making them both a cup of tea while she waited. She dropped her bag and bits of shopping down and had just set the kettle to boil when a phone rang. It was not her phone. She looked about and saw Magnus’s phone on one of the work surfaces. She went over and looked down at it. ‘Elspeth’ she read, and as Taye saw it she had two—no, three choices. She could take the phone to the bathroom to him. No, thank you. She could ignore it. Or she could answer it. Oh, he’d just love that wouldn’t he? Her having a cosy chat with his girlfriend!

Taye chose the middle option and ignored it, and, changing her mind about tea, went to get out of her office clothes. Wearing a light satin kimono, her father’s Christmas gift, she got out the trousers and top she intended to wear for her date with Julian that night. She pinned her hair up so it shouldn’t get soaked in the shower, and then heard the bathroom door open.

Believing she had given Magnus time to get clear, she left her room—and met him, robe clad. His hair was pushed back, damp and black, and she glanced down and found she was thinking what nice legs he had. Then all at once she was so tongue-tied by the idiocy of that thought that she could not think to say good evening. She switched her gaze abruptly upwards. Magnus was not saying anything either, but seemed taken by her white-blonde hair all bundled up any old how on top of her head.

Then his faintly amused grey eyes had transferred to her blue eyes, and, not liking to be an object of fun, Taye found her voice and blurted out, ‘Elspeth rang.’

My word, had she said the wrong thing! On the instant his expression darkened. ‘You spoke to her?’ he grated, outraged in a moment. ‘You answered my phone!’ he snarled. ‘You—’

Taye was not far behind when it came to instant fury. ‘Would I dare?’ She cut through what he was about to say. ‘It lit up!’ she hurled at him. ‘And I can read!’

With that, she pushed past him and went fuming into the bathroom. My heavens, what a man! He was a monster! Thank goodness she had a whole three months in which to take her time and find herself a more congenial flat-mate. Oh, she could hardly wait to give Magnus Ashthorpe his marching orders!

Taye fastened her thoughts on that and started to feel better suddenly—she did so look forward to telling him goodbye. In fact she had never looked forward to anything so much. Oh, what pleasure, oh what joy. She did not know how she would be able to wait to wish him good riddance as she slammed the door shut after him!




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