Yuletide Bride
Yuletide Bride
Mary Lyons
A Mistletoe Marriage? "What could be nicer than a Christmas wedding?" Under normal circumstances Amber would have agreed with the sentiment but Max Warner was only offering her a cold-blooded marriage of convenience, designed solely to give their daughter a name. He didn't love her - had never loved her.Eight years before, he had walked out of her life, not even knowing that their torrid affair had left more than heartache in its wake. And yet the thought of being Max's bride was proving irresistible, even if it meant that the only Christmas present Amber ended up with was another broken heart!
The Yuletide Bride
Mary Lyons
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u7f568501-ba55-54d0-8207-33c7a23959f7)
CHAPTER TWO (#ucdcf94de-7d1f-5536-b0dc-f8e63528fd99)
CHAPTER THREE (#ua4052326-dfcf-54ee-81e9-79acc24e775a)
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 ONE
‘I’M SORRY to be late,’ Amber called out breathlessly as she made her way through the noisy, crowded café, to where her friend was sitting at a small table beside the window.
‘There was no need to hurry,’ Rose Thomas told her, before ordering a pot of coffee from a passing waitress. ‘Sally hasn’t arrived yet. If I know her, she’s probably spending a fortune in one of the dress shops. And busy catching up on all the latest scandal, of course!’
‘I expect you’re right,’ Amber grinned. Their friend Sally, the wife of a wealthy and highly respected lawyer, was affectionately known amongst her friends as being both a shop-aholic, and an avid collector of local news and gossip. ‘But, as far as I’m concerned,’ she added, sighing with relief as she lowered her carrier bags and parcels down on to the floor, ‘trying to do any ordinary, everyday shopping during the run-up to Christmas, is nothing but sheer murder.’
‘Don’t I know it!’ Rose agreed with a rueful laugh. ‘Even though it’s only Thursday, the supermarket was packed as tight as a tin of sardines, and I didn’t manage to buy half the things on my shopping list. Since my dreaded mother-in-law is threatening to descend on us for the Christmas holidays, I was just wondering if I could ask you to make me a large plum pudding? And maybe some sponge cakes to keep in the freezer just in case of any unexpected visitors?’
‘No problem—all orders gratefully received!’ Amber grinned as she pulled out a chair and sat down.
‘That’ll be wonderful,’ Rose sighed with relief. ‘By the way, how is your business doing?’
‘Well, it looks as though I’m going to be very busy in the kitchen, since I’ve now got lots of orders from the local shops for Christmas cakes, puddings and mince pies. Unfortunately, the paying-guest side of the business isn’t doing so well. Bookings are down, and we don’t have anyone staying with us at the moment. On top of which...’ she hesitated for a moment. ‘I don’t want anyone else to know just yet, because I’m still trying to summon up enough courage to break the bad news to my mother. However, after a really awful interview with the bank manager, I’ve finally had to face the hard, financial facts of life and put my house on the market.’
‘You don’t mean...?’
Amber nodded. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I’ve seen Mr Glover, the house agent, and the Hall is going to be advertised for sale as from the beginning of next week.’
‘Oh, no! I’m so sorry,’ Rose exclaimed, gazing at her friend with deep concern and sympathy. Since they’d both been born and raised in the same small, riverside market town of Elmbridge, she was well aware of the misfortunes suffered in the past by Amber’s family; the public scandal and disgrace surrounding the crash of her father’s large business empire, swiftly followed by his death and her mother’s complete mental breakdown. It seemed so desperately unfair, Rose told herself, that after all the trials and tribulations which she’d so bravely confronted in the past, her friend should now be having to face yet even more problems.
‘Oh, well—it’s not exactly the end of the world. The Hall is far too large for us, and the heating bills are astronomical,’ Amber pointed out, attempting to put a brave face on what was, in reality, a disastrous family situation.
‘But where will you go?’ Rose asked anxiously as the waitress brought a tray to their table. ‘Have you found anywhere else to live?’
Amber sighed. ‘No, not yet. I’m hoping to buy a small cottage, not too far away from Elmbridge. Mainly, of course, because I don’t want to take Lucy away from either her school, or her friends.’
‘I’ll keep my ear to the ground, and let you know the moment I hear of anything,’ Rose assured her earnestly. However, as she poured them both a cup of coffee, she couldn’t help worrying about how her friend would manage to cope with life in a small cottage.
She’d been away at college when Amber, at the age of eighteen, had married Clive Stanhope, a very wealthy if somewhat wild young man, who’d owned Elmbridge Hall, an ancient Tudor mansion and by far the largest house in the district. Clive’s wedding to Amber—the once rich, but by then penniless only child of a disgraced businessman—followed by the birth of a daughter only six months after their marriage, had provided plenty of ammunition for gossip in the small town. However, Amber had subsequently won everyone’s admiration by the way she’d coped after her husband’s fatal car accident, a year later, when it became known that Clive had apparently been a compulsive gambler, and all the land was heavily mortgaged. In fact, after everything had been sold to meet a mountain of debts, the young widow had been left with nothing but Elmbridge Hall.
Over the past few years, Rose had looked forward to a time when her friend would meet the right man and live happily ever after. With thick shoulder-length straight hair, a glorious shade of deep golden brown, and large green eyes set above a warm generous mouth, Amber was a very beautiful woman. Certainly Philip Jackson, the young local doctor, seemed to think so. But, despite all her matchmaking efforts, Rose couldn’t understand why her friend—who was also a loving mother and superb cook—appeared to be so reluctant to get married again. But now...well, surely Amber would see the sense in marrying a man who had so much to offer her?
‘I saw Philip Jackson the other day. He tells me that he’s going to his parents’ home in Cumberland for Christmas.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Amber murmured, eyeing her friend warily.
‘Well, I was just wondering if...er...if he’s asked you and Lucy to join him?’
‘For Heaven’s sake—don’t you ever give up?’ Amber groaned, shaking her head in mock exasperation. ‘I thought you’d promised to stop trying to marry me off to all the single men in town?’
‘Yes, well...’ Rose’s cheeks reddened slightly. ‘I really don’t mean to interfere in your life. But it’s almost seven years since Clive died. And it’s as clear as daylight to me—especially after hearing the sad news about the sale of your house—that what you really need is a husband.’
‘I hope you’re not suggesting that I should marry Philip—or anyone else, for that matter—merely to provide a way out of my difficulties?’ Amber demanded bluntly.
‘No—of course, I’m not,’ Rose protested, waving a hand dismissively in the air. ‘But surely this is the perfect time to think seriously about your future?’
‘Oh, come on, Rose! We’re not just talking about me. There’s Lucy to consider, as well. It’s not everyone who’d want to take on a little seven-year-old girl—not to mention my scatty mother.’
‘I know your mother can be a problem at times,’ Rose agreed, well aware that Violet Grant, who’d never really recovered from the trauma of her husband’s sudden death, was an extra and often tiresome burden for the young widow’s slim shoulders to carry. ‘But Philip is clearly mad about you, and you can’t deny that he’d be a really good choice of stepfather for Lucy. On top of which, I happen to think that you’d make a marvellous doctor’s wife.’
Amber smiled and shook her head. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence! I know you mean well, and that what you’re saying probably makes sense, but... OK, OK, I promise to give the matter some thought,’ she added hurriedly as her old friend seemed determined to press the point. ‘Now, tell me—is your mother-in-law going to be staying for the whole of the Christmas holidays?’ she asked, firmly changing the subject. Unfortunately, there was no way she could tell Rose the truth; that having already made one marriage of convenience—although Clive Stanhope had been a very kind, generous-hearted man—she was desperately wary of entering into such an arrangement ever again.
To be fair, her friend did have a point about Lucy. Ever since Clive had died, when her daughter was just under a year old, she had done her best to be both mother and father to the little girl. That she hadn’t always succeeded in properly fulfilling the two, very different roles over the past seven years, was a fact of which Amber was becoming daily more aware. So, maybe Rose was right? Maybe she ought to stop shilly-shallying, and force herself to take the practical, sensible decision to marry Philip Jackson?
A highly respected doctor, who’d recently joined a local practice, Philip was a genuinely nice and considerate man. The fact that he also had a private income, lived in a large house all on his own and was reasonably good-looking, with fair hair and kind brown eyes, made him the obvious candidate as far as her friends were concerned. But, while she was very fond of Philip, she wasn’t in love with him. And having once experienced the intense, tempestuous drive of overwhelming emotion and desire, it seemed quite wrong to settle for second best.
‘...so, the old dragon is bound to make Christmas a misery for all of us, and... Good Heavens! It looks as if Sally really has been spending a fortune!’
Startled by Rose’s sudden exclamation, and guiltily aware that while she’d been buried deep in thought, she’d missed most of what her friend had been saying, Amber looked up to see a petite blonde woman making her way towards them, her progress impeded by the enormous amount of parcels she was carrying.
‘Hi, darlings! I’m sorry to be so late,’ she cried. ‘I’ve never known the shops to be so crowded. But I know you’ll both forgive me when I tell you some absolutely riveting news!’
‘I don’t know why you aren’t running your own gossip column in the local newspaper!’ Rose mocked as she and Amber exchanged a quick grin with one another.
‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy,’ Sally laughed good-naturedly, placing her shopping on an adjacent chair as she sat down to join them. ‘Besides, this isn’t a rumour—it’s the genuine truth, which everyone will know about sooner or later,’ she added before turning to Amber. ‘Do you remember Lady Parker? The mega-rich old woman that lived near you, and who died in a big fire at her house well over a year ago?’
Amber nodded. ‘I never actually met the old lady, because she’d been a recluse for many years. Apparently the house was burned to the ground.’
‘Right. Well, my dear husband was in charge of her affairs, and it seems that she always refused to make a will,’ Sally continued excitedly. ‘So, it took John simply ages to track down her only living relative. However, he’s now finally succeeded, and Lady Parker’s ten thousand acres—plus goodness knows how much extra money in stocks and shares, has all been inherited by...”Mad Max”!’
‘What?’ Rose gasped in astonishment. ‘You don’t mean...? Not...not the old vicar’s son—Max Warner?’
‘Yes!’ Sally beamed at her friends, delighted at the expression of shock and surprise on their faces. Amber, in particular, appeared to be totally stunned.
‘I just knew that you’d both be amazed to hear about the return of our old school heart-throb,’ she continued happily. ‘Of course, it’s been years since the Reverend Augustus Warner died, so I suppose that it’s not surprising that we’d forgotten all about his son. When John first told me about the return of “Mad Max”, I could hardly believe my ears!’
‘He certainly deserved that nickname!’ Rose laughed. ‘I remember him as a wild tearaway—with a simply terrible reputation for breaking girls’ hearts. All the same...’ she paused, staring into space with a dreamy expression on her face. ‘Max really was diabolically attractive, wasn’t he?’
‘Absolutely scrumptious!’ Sally agreed with a grin. ‘In fact, with his curly black hair and those twinkling, wicked blue eyes, the effect on our young teenage hearts was completely lethal!’
‘Mmm...’ Rose gave a sheepish grin. ‘After he kissed me at my sixteenth birthday party, I can remember being madly in love with Max for a whole year.’
‘Weren’t we all?’ her friend sighed heavily. ‘Of course, Amber is two years younger than either of us, and so probably won’t recall any of the completely crazy things he used to get up to. Do you remember that huge black motorbike of his? And the really ferocious competition amongst us girls, as to who could wangle a ride behind him on the pillion seat?’
‘Oh, yes! One of the highlights of my teens was when he once took me down the motorway at well over a hundred miles an hour.’ Cheeks flushed, Rose shook her head at her own folly. ‘I was absolutely scared to death, of course. But it was worth it. I reckoned I was the envy of everyone at school for at least two whole weeks!’
Sally giggled. ‘You certainly were. I can remember Cynthia Henderson, for instance, collapsing into a jealous fit of raving hysterics—right in the middle of school assembly!’
‘It’s all very well to talk about old school days, but where’s Max been all these years?’ Rose asked. ‘I know he was very clever. And, despite fooling around, he passed his school exams with flying colours before gaining a scholarship to university. But his father, old Reverend Warner, died while I was away training to be a nurse—and I’ve never heard anything about Max from that day to this.’
‘Nor had anyone else,’ Sally agreed. ‘In fact, my dear husband had almost given up the search for him. And then...when he was invited to a very grand, fund-raising dinner in London a few weeks ago, he discovered that Max Warner was the principal guest speaker!’
‘Good Heavens!’
‘We all thought that Max had dropped off the edge of the world, didn’t we? But not a bit of it!’ Sally gave a loud peal of laughter. ‘It seems he had an uncle in America. So, when his father died eight years ago, Max went off to the States to make his fortune. He’s now returned to England as the terrifically successful, managing director of a huge, high-powered public company. And he’s made an appointment to see John sometime soon, here in Elmbridge. How about that!’
While her friends were chatting excitedly together, exchanging news of a long-lost old school friend, Amber had been sitting rigidly still, her mind dazed and reeling, as though she’d been hit on the back of her head by a heavy sandbag. Even Sally’s sudden shriek of horror hardly managed to penetrate her stunned brain.
‘Oh, help—just look at the time!’ Sally quickly jumped up from the table. ‘I should have been at the hairdresser’s at least ten minutes ago!’
‘What an extraordinary piece of news about Max Warner,’ Rose mused as Sally bustled out of the café, before catching sight of her friend’s chalk-white face and dazed, stricken expression.
‘Amber! What on earth’s wrong? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I...’ She took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. ‘Really, I’m fine,’ she shakily informed Rose, who was gazing at her with deep concern.
‘You’ve been trying to do too much,’ her friend pointed out firmly. ‘Having to cope with your mother is enough to try the patience of a saint! And running that huge old house...’
‘I’m sorry...I have to go. I really must get home...there’s so much cooking to do....’ Amber muttered breathlessly as she swiftly gathered up her parcels.
‘You don’t look at all well. I hope you’re not going down with flu?’ Her friend gazed with concern at Amber’s pale face and trembling figure. ‘If you’re not feeling too good, there’s no need to worry about picking up Emily from school tomorrow. I can easily put off my trip to London.’
‘No...don’t do that. I’m fine. I’ve just got a lot to do today—that’s all,’ she assured Rose, before hurriedly making her way out of the café.
* * *
Dazed and shivering with nervous tension, Amber sat huddled in the front seat of her ancient Land Rover, staring blindly at the wind-rippled, dark water of the wide river estuary. Completely shattered by Sally’s news, she’d known that there was no way she was in a fit state to drive the five miles back to Elmbridge Hall. Not when it had taken her several fumbled attempts to even place her key in the ignition. But since she couldn’t continue sitting in the town car park, either, she’d cautiously made her way down to the quayside which was, as she’d hoped, completely deserted at this time of year.
She ought to have known that this was likely to happen sooner or later, Amber told herself grimly, wrapping her arms tightly about her trembling figure. What a blind, stupid fool she had been—living in a fool’s paradise for the past eight years. While she’d had no idea that Lady Parker was his grandmother, she should have realised that Max Warner must eventually return—like the prodigal son—to his old home town of Elmbridge.
Suddenly feeling in need of some fresh air, Amber opened the door and stepped down from the Land Rover. Walking slowly up and down over the frosty cobblestones, she desperately tried to clear her mind, to try and work out what she was going to do. But it was proving difficult to think clearly when her mind seemed to be filled with memories of the past.
A much-loved and only child of wealthy parents, Amber had always been protected from the harsh facts of life. But the catastrophic events surrounding the collapse of her father’s business empire, during the long hot summer of her eighteenth birthday, had shattered and destroyed for ever the safe, secure world of her childhood. Shocked and bewildered by the newspaper headlines trumpeting ‘Financial Scandal!’ and ‘Millions Lost by Suffolk Businessman!’ she’d been totally ill-equipped to deal with either the devastating news of her father’s bankruptcy, or his sudden death from a fatal heart attack. And when her mother—unable to face the prospect of either being shunned by her former friends, or the total reverse of the family fortunes—had collapsed and been placed by the family doctor in a local psychiatric nursing home, Amber had found herself standing completely alone amidst the ashes of her previous existence.
Maybe if, during that tense and anxious time, there had been someone with whom she could have discussed her problems, her life might have turned out differently. But with no close relations other than an elderly aunt in London, and all her school friends either away on holiday—or prevented by their cautious parents from associating with the child of a man who had, reportedly, been involved in crooked financial dealings—her only relief from the mounting stress and strain had been to take long, solitary walks through the deserted meadows edging the river-bank near her home. And there it was that Max had found her, one hot afternoon in late August, weeping with despair and deep unhappiness.
Despite an early teenage crush on the wickedly glamorous Max Warner, she’d seen nothing of him during the past five years. However, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world when he’d put his strong arms about her trembling figure.
‘How could I have forgotten those wonderful, sparkling green eyes?’ he’d said, smiling lazily down at her as he wiped away her tears. ‘I always knew that you’d grow up to become a real beauty.’
‘Have I really...?’ she’d gasped, her cheeks flushing hectically beneath his warm, engaging smile as he gently brushed the long, damp tendrils of hair from her wide brow, before lowering his dark head to softly kiss her trembling lips.
Miraculously, it seemed that Max—unlike so many of her family’s friends and acquaintances—did not hold her personally responsible for her father’s misdeeds. And as they’d walked slowly back to her house, whose contents were now mostly in packing cases for despatch to the local saleroom, she realised that he, too, was suffering from the sudden loss of a parent. Completely immersed in her own problems, Amber had only been dimly aware of the Reverend Warner’s recent death from a massive stroke, resulting in Max’s urgent recall from America, where he’d just completed his postgraduate degree at the Harvard Business School. However, when he confessed to the misery and desolation of being now alone in large empty rooms of the vicarage, or his deep regret at not having been closer to his father, saying, ‘I was pretty wild as a teenager, and there’s no doubt he must have found me a considerable pain in the neck,’ she was easily able to understand Max’s thoughts and feelings at such an unhappy time.
If only she hadn’t been quite so young and innocent! Amber squirmed with embarrassment as she now gazed back down the years at her youthful self. With her head stuffed full of romantic fantasies, her dazed mind reeling beneath the assault of those glittering blue eyes and his overwhelming sensual attraction, it was no wonder that—like some modern-day Cinderella—she’d immediately fallen head over heels in love with her very own Prince Charming. But if Max found her obvious adoration a nuisance, he gave no indication of doing so, as day after day he joined her for long walks along the deserted river-bank. So, it was perhaps inevitable that, having tripped and fallen over a log hidden in the thick grass, she should have found herself clasped in his arms, fervently responding to the fiercely determined possession of his lips and body.
It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course. But, over the past eight years, Amber had never been able to fool herself into believing that Max was totally to blame for what happened. Pathetically ignorant of lovemaking as she was, the feverish impetus of her desire had been every bit as strong as his, her ardent and passionate response clearly overpowering any scruples he may have had.
It had always seemed to Amber as if the next few weeks had been an all too brief, halcyon period of enchantment and rapture. Neither the deep sadness of her father’s death, nor her increasing worries about her mother’s mental condition, had seemed to disturb their mutual ecstasy and euphoric happiness, or the uncontrollable desire that exploded between them each and every time they were able to be alone with one another.
Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do to prevent the harsh, cruel light of reality from eventually breaking through their cloud of happiness. Both the fast-approaching sale of her family home, and the offer to Max of a job in his uncle’s large firm in America, meant that they would soon have to part.
Starry-eyed with joy when he placed a small gold ring on her finger, vowing that they would be married just as soon as he was well established in his new career, Amber had never doubted Max’s total sincerity. ‘My uncle’s offering me a good salary, with a partnership in the near future. So, it won’t be long before we can be together for ever and ever,’ he’d pledged, clasping her tightly in his arms before leaving for the airport. ‘Just promise that you’ll wait for me?’
‘Of course I will,’ she told him fervently, blinking rapidly in order to prevent the weak tears from running down her cheeks as she waved him goodbye.
And she had waited. Waiting, alone in the empty house through the long autumn days, while her father’s creditors checked that all her family’s precious possessions had been sold; waiting, while her mother who, if not yet ready to leave the hospital, was showing definite signs of improvement. Until, well over two months after his departure, her increasing apprehension that she might be pregnant hardened into certainty, and she realised that she was in deep and desperate trouble....
A sudden, freezing gust of wind cut into her memories of that intensely unhappy time, bringing her sharply back to her present-day problems—and the questions raised by the fear of Max’s return. However, by the time she found herself driving back home, Amber had managed to regain a small measure of self-control.
She couldn’t, of course, pretend that Max’s return was likely to be anything other than a major disaster. On the other hand, to have found herself in such a blind panic, feeling sick and shivering like a leaf at the mere sound of his name, wasn’t going to achieve anything, either. Leaving her own desperate worry and fears about Lucy aside, it was plainly quite ridiculous of her to have been so overcome with sheer terror. Max may have inherited Lady Parker’s large estate—but so what? If, as Sally had said, he was enjoying such a successful career in London, and only visiting Elmbridge to meet his grandmother’s lawyer, there was very little likelihood of his ever returning to live permanently in the area. Besides...all this frantic shock and worry could well prove to be completely unfounded. It was more than likely that such an attractive, vital man would be married by now, and have completely forgotten all about their very brief, secret love affair.
As she made her way up the drive, she was comforted by the familiar sight of the ancient mansion with its warm red brick and mullioned windows, which, despite its imminent sale, seemed at the moment to offer a place of refuge and safety.
An American guest had once referred enthusiastically to Elmbridge Hall as a ‘Medieval Gem’. He may have been right, Amber thought wryly as she carried her shopping into the house, but he should try living here in the winter! Which was yet another reason for selling this huge, rambling old house, she reminded herself grimly, only too well aware of the astonomically high bills for coal and electricity, which would be due for payment in the new year.
‘Hello, dear. Are you going out shopping?’ her mother murmured, wandering into the hall and casting an approving glance at her daughter’s old tweed coat, over a matching skirt and green, polo-necked sweater, the same colour as her eyes.
Stifling a sigh, Amber explained that, far from going anywhere, she had just returned with the shopping—before once again reminding the older woman of the large note pad and pencil beside the telephone.
‘Mother! Do please try and concentrate,’ she added, as Violet Grant drifted about the hall, idly touching up a flower decoration here, and straightening an oil painting there. ‘I’ve got a huge order for plum puddings. So, I’m going to shut myself away in the kitchen until it’s time to collect Lucy from school. As I won’t be able to hear the phone here in the hall, I’m relying on you to take down any bookings. It’s very important that you write down the correct names and the exact dates they want to stay with us—OK?’
‘There’s no need to worry, dear.’ Violet Grant gave her daughter an injured look. ‘You know that I always do my best to welcome your friends to the house.’
Amber closed her eyes for a moment, mentally counting up to ten. While she loved her mother very dearly, there was no doubt that even her seven-year-old daughter, Lucy, seemed to have a stronger grasp on reality than poor Violet. Unfortunately, the older woman seemed incapable of understanding either the family’s dire need for hard cash, or the necessity of accurately recording all telephone messages.
A child of wealthy parents, and much indulged by her rich husband, Violet’s butterfly mind had never been able to fully accept their changed circumstances. Even though it was now a long time since all the scandal and newspaper headlines, which had surrounded both the crash of her husband’s business empire and his subsequent fatal heart attack, Violet continued to live in a private world of her own.
Four years ago, when Amber had first floated the idea of taking in paying guests, her mother had been distraught.
‘You must have taken leave of your senses!’ Violet had gasped in horror, before collapsing down on to a chair. ‘To think that I should live to see my own daughter running a...a boarding-house!’
‘Oh, come on, Mother—it’s hardly the end of the world!’ Amber had retorted with exasperation. While she felt sorry for the older woman, she nevertheless knew that they both had to face up to the harsh facts of life. ‘When poor Clive died, he left us with nothing but this house and a huge pile of debts. We’ve sold everything we can, and now that Lucy is growing up, she’s going to be needing clothes and toys, and lots of other things that we simply can’t afford at the moment. The house is our only asset, which is why I’ve decided to take in paying guests. However, if you can think of an alternative plan of action—I’ll be glad to hear it!’
Not able to come up with a viable course of action, it seemed the only way Violet Grant could cope with their changed status was to completely close her mind to what she called the ‘sordid, financial aspects’ of Amber’s business. However, by insisting on treating those who came to the house as personal guests of her daughter—charmingly welcoming everyone as if they were old family friends—Violet had, in many ways, proved to be a considerable asset.
But that state of affairs was now coming to an end, Amber quickly reminded herself as she made her way to the kitchen, feeling distinctly guilty at not yet having found the courage to tell her mother about the forthcoming sale of the Hall. She was deeply ashamed of being such a coward—but dreaded having to face the hysterical scenes that were bound to follow such bad news.
All the same...she told herself some time later as she moistened the heavy, dried-fruit pudding mixture with a hefty dose of brandy, she really couldn’t put off telling her mother the truth for much longer. As for the question of Max’s return—well, the sooner she put it out of her mind, the better. After all, no one had any idea of what had happened during that long, hot summer over eight years ago. So, there was no reason why the episode shouldn’t remain firmly buried in the mists of time.
* * *
Continuing to sternly lecture herself throughout the rest of the day and most of the next, Amber had gradually managed to recover her usual good sense and equilibrium. Being busily occupied in trying to catch up with all her orders for home-made Christmas produce was proving to be a positive advantage, since she simply didn’t have time to think about anything other than the job in hand. Only abandoning the kitchen to collect Lucy and her friend, Emily Thomas, from school, she was delighted when they decided that it would be fun to explore the contents of some of her mother’s old trunks up in the attic. There was nothing that Lucy liked more than dressing up in Violet’s old clothes—a fact that Amber welcomed, since it meant that the little girls were happily occupied while she made another batch of mince pies for the freezer.
Busily absorbed by her work in the kitchen, she was startled when one of the row of old-fashioned bells began ringing high on the wall above her head.
Glancing up, she noted with surprise that there was obviously someone at the front door. Certainly Rose, on a shopping trip to Cambridge, wouldn’t be collecting Emily for another hour at least—and she couldn’t think of anyone else likely to be calling at this time of day. However, as the bell was given yet another impatient ring, she realised that she was going to have to go and answer it.
Wondering who on earth it could be, Amber didn’t bother to remove her messy apron as she hurried down the dark corridor, through the green baize door, which separated the kitchen quarters from the rest of the house, and across the stone floor of the large hall.
‘OK, OK, I’m coming!’ she muttered under her breath as someone began banging loudly on the old oak door.
‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting...’ she began as she opened the door. And then, almost reeling with shock, she found herself frantically clutching the large brass door handle for support. With the blood draining from her face, her dazed and confused mind seemed barely able to comprehend the evidence of her own eyes. Because there—standing casually on the doorstep beside Mr Glover, the house agent—was the tall dark figure of Max Warner!
CHAPTER TWO
JABBING a fork into the iron-hard frosty ground, Amber tried to ignore the bitterly cold wind gusting through the large kitchen garden. Saving money by growing their own fruits and vegetables was all very well, but having to dig up leeks and parsnips in the middle of winter wasn’t exactly one of her favourite pastimes.
On the other hand, she’d always found that there was nothing like a bout of hard digging or hoeing to put any problems she might have in their correct perspective. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working at the moment, Amber told herself gloomily, pausing for a moment to brush a lock of golden brown hair from her troubled green eyes.
What on earth was she going to do? It was a question that she had been asking herself, with increasing desperation, ever since she’d discovered Max Warner—together with the house agent, Mr Glover—standing on her front doorstep. Even now, two weeks later, there seemed nothing she could do to calm her tense, edgy body, while her brain appeared to be frozen rigid with fright. In fact, with her nerves at screaming point, she wasn’t able to think about anything, other than Max’s sudden reappearance in her life—which had to be one of the most catastrophic and potentially disastrous twists of fate she’d ever experienced!
She’d hardly been able to believe the evidence of her own eyes. Almost paralytic with shock, the breath driven from her body as if from a hard blow to the solar plexus, it had taken her some moments to realise that it truly was Max, and not an evil figment of her overheated imagination.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Stanhope. It was very good of you to agree to see my client at such short notice,’ the estate agent had murmured pompously, his voice seeming to be coming from somewhere far away. ‘I...er...I hope you haven’t forgotten our appointment?’ he added hesitantly, gazing with apprehension at the young woman, who was staring silently at both him and Mr Warner in such a wide-eyed, unnerving manner.
‘An appointment...?’ Amber echoed helplessly, her mind in a chaotic whirl as she stared past him to where a sleek, glossy black sports car was parked beside Mr Glover’s vehicle on the gravelled drive outside the house. ‘I don’t understand. Do...do you mean you want to see over the house?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Mr Glover gave a nervous laugh, clearly wondering if the young widow was entirely ‘all there’. ‘I made the arrangement with your mother this morning, and...’
‘Oh, no!’ Amber gasped, suddenly realising that her mother was likely to appear on the scene any minute. ‘I’m sorry—you can’t possibly see around the house today. It’s absolutely out of the question!’ she babbled hysterically, glancing nervously behind her as she tried to close the door. ‘I haven’t yet told my mother, you see. She doesn’t realise...she has no idea that the Hall is for sale. You’ll just have to go away, and...and maybe come back some other time.’
Unfortunately, Max Warner had quickly taken a firm grip of the situation. Swiftly placing a well-shod foot in the door, he thanked Mr Glover for his services, smoothly informing the estate agent that he was quite capable of coping with the ‘delicate’ state of affairs at the Hall.
‘There’s no need to worry or disturb Mrs Grant. I’m quite confident that her daughter will be pleased to give me a personal conducted tour around the house.’
Oh, no, I won’t! Amber screamed silently at him as the house agent gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders, walking back down the steps as Max pushed the door open, moving calmly past her trembling figure into the wide, spacious hall.
Completely stunned, Amber could only stare at him with glazed eyes, quite certain that she must be in the midst of some awful nightmare.
‘I should have been in touch with you before now,’ Max told her quietly. ‘But I’ve been abroad and only recently heard the news.’
‘”The news”?’ she echoed blankly.
‘I merely wanted to say that I was very sorry to learn about Clive’s death.’
‘Yes...um...it was a long time ago, of course. So much seems to have happened since then,’ she muttered with a helpless shrug.
‘However, it does seem as though you’ve done very well for yourself, Amber,’ he drawled, glancing around at the old family portraits in their heavy gilt frames and the warm, comfortable effect of copper vases filled with greenery against the highly polished, old oak panelling.
The unexpectedly cynical, scathing note in his deep voice acted as a dash of freezing cold water on her shocked, numb state of mind. Her hackles rising, she was just about to demand an explanation for his sudden appearance—surely he couldn’t really be interested in buying the house?—when her mother floated into the hall.
‘How nice to see you. Have you come far?’ Violet murmured, giving the tall man a welcoming smile.
Amber nearly groaned aloud. This was definitely not the time for her mother to be putting on a performance of her ‘gracious hostess’ routine!
Max took the older woman’s outstretched hand and smiled warmly down at her. ‘It’s some time since we’ve met. However, I think that you’ll probably remember my father, the Reverend Augustus Warner. He was the vicar here at Elmbridge some years ago.’
Violet beamed up at the man towering over her slight frame. ‘Of course, I remember him. And you must be Max. The naughty boy who was always in trouble,’ she added with a twinkling smile.
‘Indeed I was!’ he agreed with a grin.
‘Well—you’ve certainly grown since those days! It looks as though you’ve done very well for yourself,’ Violet told him, casting an approving glance over his expensive, obviously hand-tailored, dark grey suit. ‘Now—I’m sure that you must have had a long drive. How about a nice cup of tea?’
‘Mother! I really don’t think...’
‘Nonsense, dear,’ Violet murmured, ignoring her daughter’s husky, strangled protest as she placed a hand on his arm, leading Max towards the large sitting room. ‘If he’s driven some distance, I’m sure the poor man must be simply dying of thirst.’
‘Mother...!’ Amber whispered urgently, but the older woman clearly had no intention of taking any notice of her desperate plea. As for the ‘poor man’—he merely turned his dark head to give her a cool, sardonic smile before accompanying the older woman into the sitting room.
Left standing alone in the hall, Amber could feel her initial shock and dismay rapidly giving way to long-suppressed feelings of rage and anger. How dare Max swan back into her life, completely out of the blue like this? Not only intimating that she’d married poor Clive for his money, but with absolutely no appearance of regret—let alone an abject apology for the way he’d treated her in the past.
However, just as she was telling herself fiercely that she’d never sell the Hall to Max—not even if he offered her a million pounds—Amber caught sight of herself in a large mirror hanging on the wall.
Nearly fainting with shock and dismay, it was all she could do not to shriek out loud in horror! The woman gazing back at her looked as though she’d been drawn through a knot-hole backwards, her face hot and flushed from the heat of the stove, and her apron covered with smears of flour and mincemeat. No wonder Max had been looking at her with such a caustic, scathing expression on his handsome face!
Realising that it was far too late to worry about his initial impression, Amber flew back along the corridor into the kitchen. Slinging the kettle on the hot plate of the ancient Aga, and practically throwing a tea tray of cups and saucers together, she ran back to the hall and up the wide curving staircase, taking the steps two at a time as she raced towards her bedroom.
Now, when it was almost too late, the shock waves of Max’s unexpected arrival were gradually clearing from her mind. And it was the sharp, sudden awareness of the fresh danger she was facing that lent wings to her feet as she hastily stripped off the grubby, sticky apron and ran into the adjoining bathroom to wash her hands and face. Dragging a brush through her tangled hair, she could feel her heart pounding like a sledgehammer, just as if she’d been doing an exhausting aerobics workout. And it looked as if she was going to need all the agility of just such an exercise, she told herself breathlessly as she desperately tried to pull herself together.
Unless she could put a gag on her mother’s garrulous tongue, there was a strong possibility that she was going to find herself in the middle of an utterly disastrous situation. The only chink of blue in an otherwise dark, ominous cloud was that she could hear the faint sounds of footsteps and movement overhead—evidence that Lucy and Emily were still playing happily together up in the attic.
Fervently praying that the little girls would stay safely out of sight, Amber quickly checked her appearance in a large, full-length mirror. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about her old navy sweater and jeans. Mostly because she couldn’t spare the time, but also because she was determined not to let Max think that his sudden, startling manifestation on her doorstep mattered a jot to her one way or another.
Who are you trying to fool? she asked herself with disgust, realising that there was little she could do to disguise the hectic flush on her pale cheeks, or the hunted, wary look in her nervous green eyes. There was nothing for it, but to face the music. Let’s hope they’re playing my tune, she thought hysterically, her stomach churning with nerves as she quickly left the room.
‘Max and I have just been reminiscing about old times,’ her mother trilled happily as Amber entered the sitting room carrying the tea tray. ‘We really do miss his dear father, don’t we?’
‘Er...yes, we do,’ Amber muttered, trying to stop her hands from shaking as she poured the tea. Carefully avoiding Max’s eyes, she chose a seat on the other side of the room, as far away from him as possible.
She’d been very fond of the Reverend Warner, a rather austere and scholarly widower, who’d been the vicar of Elmbridge during the years when she had been growing up. However, it had been obvious that neither he nor the rapid succession of housekeepers at the vicarage had the first notion of how to cope with his motherless son, Max—who’d gained a considerable local reputation as a wild tearaway.
‘You’ll hardly recognise the town nowadays,’ Violet informed him. ‘The old Victorian theatre has been turned into a multiple cinema, and there’s a hideous new supermarket next to the railway station,’ she added, oblivious of her daughter’s tense figure as she turned to ask, ‘What do they call it, dear?’
‘Pick ‘n’ Pay,’ Amber muttered, staring fixedly down at the cup in her trembling hands.
This is absolutely ridiculous! What am I doing, making polite conversation as if I’ve never met this man before...? she asked herself with mounting hysteria, convinced that she’d somehow strayed into a completely mad, unreal world. And why was Max here? Surely he couldn’t be seriously interested in buying the Hall—not when Sally had said he was based in London?
For the first time since she’d clapped eyes on him, Amber realised that she knew nothing about Max—or what had happened to him during the past eight years. But obviously, such an attractive man was bound to be married by now, she told herself grimly.
‘...isn’t that right, dear?’
‘What?’ Jerked out of her depressing thoughts, Amber gazed at her mother in confusion.
‘I was just talking about some of your old friends who are still living in the town,’ the older woman murmured, frowning in puzzlement at her daughter, who for some reason was looking strangely pale and nervous, before turning back to their visitor. ‘There’s Rose Thomas, of course. As it happens, Rose’s daughter, Emily, is playing here with Lucy this afternoon, and...’
‘I’m sure Max would like another cup of tea,’ Amber said quickly.
‘No, I’m fine, thank you,’ he drawled, lifting the cup to his lips.
Luckily, it seemed as though her swift, hasty interruption had succeeded in turning her mother’s thoughts in a new direction as she asked, ‘Are you now thinking of coming back to live here in Elmbridge?’
‘Well...’ he murmured, pausing for a moment as he turned his dark head to gaze at her daughter’s suddenly stiff, rigid figure. ‘John Fraser and I are still trying to sort out the affairs of my grandmother, who died over a year ago. Unfortunately, following the fire, there’s no longer a large house on the estate. So, I’m not entirely sure about my future plans.’
Violet Grant looked at him blankly for a moment before exclaiming, ‘Goodness me! I’d quite forgotten that old Lady Parker was your grandmother. She must have been well over ninety.’
‘Ninety-two, I believe,’ he agreed with a dry smile.
‘I hadn’t seen anything of her for the past ten years. But it was a shock to hear that she’d died in that terrible fire,’ she told him sorrowfully. ‘Such a lovely house—what a shame that it’s now nothing but a burnt-out ruin. Is it really true that Lady Parker cut your mother off without a penny?’ Violet added, unable to resist a juicy piece of gossip. ‘That she refused to either see or speak to her daughter after she ran away to marry your father?’
Max shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Who knows? I certainly never met my grandmother,’ he said briefly, before changing the subject and encouraging the older woman to relate all the changes that had taken place in the town over the past few years.
Once her mother was launched upon the safe, harmless topic of the recent development of Elmbridge, Amber could feel some of her nervous tension draining away. And it gave her a chance to covertly study the man she hadn’t seen for such a long time.
Although they’d grown up together, the six-year difference in their ages had seemed the most enormous gap when she’d first entered her teens. Especially as Max had always appeared to be older and more mature than his true age. There had been something about the determined set of his mouth and the glittering blue eyes that had never been young. And, while she’d been too dazed by his sudden reappearance to register more than an instant recognition, she was now able to see that Max appeared to have hardly changed at all.
Although that wasn’t strictly true, of course. There was now an austere, almost stern cast to the youthful features she had once known and an unfamiliar bleak and steely glint in his startlingly clear blue eyes. However, it seemed so unfair that, in all other respects, he should still appear to be the same devastatingly attractive man that she remembered only too well.
And then, as he shifted slightly in his seat, the movement of his broad shoulder and the quick, fleeting smile with which he greeted something her mother was saying to him sent a sudden sharp quiver of sexual awareness rippling through her body.
Gritting her teeth, Amber desperately tried to think of something—anything—to prevent herself from recalling the firmly muscled chest, slim hips and hard thighs lying beneath the dark formal suit he was wearing with such effortless poise and assurance.
Maybe it was a sense of the total injustice of life that lent an extra sharpness to her voice as she found herself saying, ‘It’s been very nice to see you again, Max. However, I’m sure you must be a busy man, and we really shouldn’t take up any more of your valuable time.’
‘Really, Amber!’ her mother protested with a quick, nervous laugh as her daughter glanced pointedly down at her watch. ‘Besides,’ she added with a puzzled frown, ‘surely dear Max is staying the night with us?’
‘Nonsense!’ Amber snapped, feeling as though her temper—already on a very short fuse—was about to erupt at any moment. ‘Of course he isn’t. He...er...he just happened to be in the area, and...’
‘No, dear, you’re quite wrong. Because, now I come to think about it, it must have been Max’s name, which I wrote down this morning.’
‘What?’ Amber’s green eyes widened in horror as the older woman vigorously nodded her head. ‘But I checked on the note pad in the hall, and there’s nothing there—only something about a call from the grocer.’
Violet Grant gave her daughter a slightly guilty, shamefaced smile. ‘Yes, well...it looks as if I might have made a slight error,’ she admitted airily. ‘But I thought the man mentioned Mr Warnock. So, I naturally assumed it was something to do with our local grocer. I didn’t realise the call was about Max Warner wanting to spend the night with us.’
You idiot—he’s only here to view the house! Amber wanted to scream at her mother. But she couldn’t. Not when she hadn’t yet told the older woman about the proposed sale of the Hall. Oh, Lord! What on earth was she going to do about this increasingly perilous situation?
Unfortunately, Violet Grant—now with the bit firmly between her teeth—appeared to be virtually unstoppable.
‘It will be so nice having an old friend staying here with us, here at the Hall,’ she told Max. ‘I still haven’t got used to complete strangers marching through the house. Although our paying guests always say that it’s so much nicer and more comfortable than an impersonal hotel,’ she confided before turning to Amber. ‘There’s no problem, dear. After all, we have plenty of rooms available.’
Amber knew that she ought to be thoroughly ashamed of a sudden, overwhelming urge to place her clenched hands tightly about her mother’s neck. ‘We’re...um...we’re all booked up,’ she lied wildly.
‘How can we be?’ Violet frowned. ‘Only this morning, you were saying that you wished we had some guests for the weekend.’
Amber gritted her teeth. She was just trying to think of some of their regular visitors, who might have arranged to stay at very little notice, when she caught sight of the chilly, mocking gleam in Max’s glittering blue eyes.
Her heart sank like a stone as she suddenly realised that he was actually enjoying her discomfiture. Although, what she’d done to deserve his enmity, she had no idea. After all, he was the one who’d abandoned her.
‘I’d be delighted to stay here at the Hall,’ Max drawled, his mouth twisting with sardonic amusement at the expression of consternation and dismay clearly visible on Amber’s face. ‘Unfortunately...’ he added after a long pause, ‘I have to return to London tonight. But I’d be very interested to see over this house.’ He turned to smile at Violet. ‘I understand that it dates from Tudor times, and is one of the oldest houses in Elmbridge.’
The older woman nodded her head. ‘Yes, you’re quite right, it is. I’m sure Amber would be delighted to show you around.’
Oh, God—he’s positively enjoying this! Amber realised, her body almost shaking with tension. Far from being prepared to accept that he wasn’t wanted, Max was clearly getting the maximum amount of grim enjoyment from this fraught situation. And time was running out. She had to get rid of him—as quickly as possible. But how on earth was she going to do it?
Just as she was coming to the conclusion that the sooner she showed him around the house—keeping well away from the attic, of course—the sooner he’d be gone, her desperate thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock.
‘Hello...?’ Rose Thomas put her head around the sitting-room door. ‘I’ve just come to fetch Emily. I hope she’s been behaving herself?’
‘Of course she has.’ Amber turned to smile at her friend, momentarily overcome with relief and euphoria at the welcome interruption. But, as she heard the sound of childish laughter only a second or two later, she realised there was nothing she could do to avoid a catastrophic disaster.
‘Mummy...Mummy! We’ve had a really stupendous time dressing up in Granny’s old clothes!’ Lucy called out as she ran full tilt into the sitting room, quickly followed by Emily. ‘We looked absolutely terrific!’
‘I’m sure you did,’ Amber managed to gasp, almost frozen with terror as she watched the little girls running excitedly around the room. She had no hope of being able to fool a clever, perceptive man like Max. But Rose, who’d known Lucy since she was a baby...? Would she notice the startling similarity between the two heads of dark, curly hair and sparkling blue eyes?
But her friend clearly hadn’t noted anything amiss as she gazed across the room at the tall, dark stranger who was rising to his feet.
‘Surely, it can’t be...?’ Rose exclaimed as the man gave her a broad smile. ‘Good Heavens—it really is Max Warner!’ she laughed, her cheeks pink with excitement as he crossed the room towards her. ‘I’d heard that you were now back in the country, but never expected to see you quite so soon. You hardly seem to have changed at all.’
‘Since I shudder at the memory of myself as a wild teenager, I sincerely hope that I have, my dear Rose,’ Max grinned, taking her hand and lifting it gallantly to his lips.
Despite her fright and panic, Amber felt a flash of indignation at this piece of quite outrageous flattery. Surely plain, calm, sensible Rose couldn’t be so silly as to fall for such a line? However, as they chattered together, with her friend sparkling beneath the awful man’s quite overwhelming charm, it really did seem as if she’d become momentarily transformed into a lovely woman.
You had to hand it to Max—he was a real con artist! she acknowledged grimly as Rose very reluctantly took her leave.
‘Well...!’ she exclaimed as Amber accompanied her and Emily across the hall towards the front door. ‘When I arrived and saw that glamorous car, it never occurred to me that it might be Max Warner. What a surprise!’
‘Yes, it certainly is,’ Amber agreed bleakly.
‘I don’t understand.’ Rose frowned. ‘If you weren’t expecting him—what on earth is he doing here?’
‘Don’t ask!’ she groaned. ‘It’s all to do with the sale of the house. But everything has become so compli-cated—’ Amber broke off, looking nervously back over her shoulder. ‘I...I’ll give you a ring tomorrow...explain everything,’ she added, quickly bending down to kiss Emily goodbye, before dashing swiftly back to the sitting room.
Unfortunately, on her return, she discovered that even those few minutes’ absence had proved to be fatal.
‘...of course, Lucy’s a very clever little girl,’ her mother was saying. ‘I’m hoping that she’ll be clever enough to get into the local grammar school. But, as she’s only seven years old, there’s still a few years to go yet,’ she added, smiling she patted the glossy, dark curls of the child sitting on her lap.
‘But I’m going to be eight years old in June,’ Lucy added quickly, jumping to her feet and running over to the tall man leaning elegantly against the mantelpiece. ‘How old are you?’
‘I’m as old as my face—and just a little older than my teeth,’ Max retorted, waving aside her grandmother’s protest as he smiled idly down at the small girl.
‘That’s a very clever answer!’ Lucy grinned up at the man towering over her small figure. ‘Are you going to be staying with us for a while?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ he murmured, his dark brows creasing into a puzzled frown as he gazed down at the little girl.
‘That’s a pity, because I really like riddles. My friend, Emily, told me a new one today—and I bet Granny won’t know the answer,’ she confided, before turning to skip back across the carpet to where Violet was sitting. ‘When is a pony not a pony?’
The older woman smiled and shook her head.
‘When it’s turned into a field!’ Lucy shouted before collapsing into a fit of giggles.
Standing frozen in the open doorway, Amber felt as if she were viewing the curtain rise on the last act of a Greek tragedy. Numbly waiting for nemesis to strike, she watched as Max turned his head to look into the large mirror over the mantelpiece. She saw his body becoming taut and rigid, his eyes narrowing to dark points of hard steel as he stared first at himself, and then at the reflection of the small girl on the other side of the room.
Paralysed by panic, and helplessly unable to prevent her whole world from crashing down about her head, Amber’s heart thumped wildly in her chest as Max continued to stare blindly into the mirror, his expression grim and forbidding. And then, as if coming to a decision, he turned to cross the room. Murmuring a polite farewell to Violet Grant, he glanced down intently at Lucy for a moment, before striding swiftly towards where she stood in the doorway. Grasping Amber’s arm in an iron grip, he barely halted his swift progress as he dragged her after him into the hall, then slammed the door shut behind them.
‘My God!’ he exploded, the sound of his angry voice reverberating loudly in the large, vaulted space of the hall. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Tell you what?’ she muttered, helplessly aware that she’d never been any good at telling lies as she felt the hot colour flooding over her pale cheeks. ‘I...I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, yes, you damn well do!’ he retorted harshly, his fingers tightening cruelly on her arm. ‘That little girl is obviously my daughter—for Heaven’s sake!’
‘No! No, you’re quite...er...quite wrong....’ she whispered, desperately tried to evade his fierce gaze.
‘I’m not prepared to listen to any stupid lies, Amber,’ he ground out threateningly, before swearing violently under his breath as he glanced down at the slim gold watch on his wrist. ‘Unfortunately, I’m already late for another appointment. But if you thought you’d seen the last of me eight years ago—you were very much mistaken!’ he growled, the icy-cold menace in his voice sending shivers of fright and terror running down her spine. ‘Because, I’ll be back just as soon as I can. And that’s not a threat—it’s a promise!’
* * *
And she had absolutely no doubt that he would be back, Amber told herself, shivering with cold and nervous exhaustion. Max had very clearly stated his firm intention of seeking her out once again. And there was nothing she could do, but wait with ever-mounting despair for his return.
It had seemed, during the past two weeks, as though she was existing in the midst of a living nightmare, never knowing from one moment to the next when or how he would turn up to cast an evil shadow over her life. And while she was normally very busy at this time of year, she’d hardly been able to concentrate on even the simplest task. In fact, with Max’s sudden reappearance in her life, she was finding it almost impossible to focus on the present when her mind was so completely filled with memories of the past.
‘Mummy...? Where are you?’
‘Over here,’ Amber called out as her small daughter appeared on the other side of the old walled garden.
‘Do hurry up!’ Lucy begged, running down the gravel path towards her. ‘If we don’t go soon, I’ll miss my riding lesson.’
Amber grimaced as she glanced down at her watch. ‘Sorry, darling, I completely forgot the time.’
‘I hope you’re going to change out of those old clothes,’ Lucy told her, critically viewing her mother’s slim figure, clothed in a scruffy pair of jeans beneath a windproof jacket, which had clearly seen better days. ‘And you’ve got some leaves stuck in your hair.’
‘Hey—relax! It’s Saturday, remember? No one has to get all dressed up at the weekend,’ Amber laughed, bending down to allow the little girl to remove the greenery from her thick, golden brown hair.
‘I thought you were going to do some Christmas shopping.’
‘Oh, yes, you’re right. I’d completely forgotten. OK, you win,’ she grinned through her hair at her daughter. ‘I’ll try and find something smarter to wear.’
A self-appointed arbiter of her mother’s wardrobe, Lucy had very strong views on what was, and what wasn’t, suitable attire for various social functions. However, not having any spare money to spend on clothes, Amber had quite cheerfully stopped worrying about the dictates of fashion a long time ago.
‘What are you going to wear?’ Lucy demanded as she finished removing the straw from her mother’s hair.
‘Oh, I’ll think of something.’
‘All my friends say that you’re very pretty. When I’m grown up, I’m going to buy you lots and lots of lovely clothes,’ Lucy told her solemnly.
‘Thank you, darling!’ Amber grinned down at her daughter. Although she was only twenty-six and still—if Philip Jackson was to be believed—an attractive woman, she knew that she’d never been half as pretty as Lucy. With her cloud of black curly hair and large, clear blue eyes, the little girl was the spitting image of her father. Which was yet another problem to be faced. Because it wasn’t just the threat of Max’s return that was causing her so much anxiety and distress—there was the added worry of how and when to break the news to her friends. And that was something she was going to have to do sooner rather than later. Because, while Rose had been far too excited by Max’s sudden reappearance to notice the startling resemblance between father and daughter, Amber knew that she couldn’t rely on her other friends being so blind. And, most important of all—what about Lucy herself? How on earth could she even begin to try and explain to such a young girl the torturous events of the past...?
‘Oh, do stop day-dreaming, Mummy. Please hurry up!’ Lucy pleaded, almost dancing with impatience.
‘Just give me five minutes to change, and I’ll be right with you,’ Amber promised, sighing heavily as she picked up the basket full of vegetables before slowly following her daughter back down the garden path.
CHAPTER THREE
‘DON’T panic—there are still ten shopping days to go before Christmas!’
Momentarily unnerved by the words being hoarsely whispered in her ear, Amber gave a startled yelp, nearly dropping her heavy load of parcels as she spun around to find herself staring up into the twinkling brown eyes of Philip Jackson.
‘For Heaven’s sake!’ she gasped as the young doctor swiftly removed the packages from her arms. ‘It’s bad enough having to fight one’s way through the crowds without you scaring me half to death!’
‘I didn’t mean to give you a fright,’ he grinned. ‘But why does everyone seem to be gripped by a “shop till you drop” frenzy at this time of year?’
‘I don’t know. It’s crazy, isn’t it?’ she agreed as they walked slowly up the street. ‘So, just what are you doing here, in the middle of town on a Friday morning?’ she teased. ‘Surely a busy doctor ought to be in his surgery looking after the sick and infirm.’
‘I’ve taken the morning off for some last-minute shopping,’ he confessed with a rueful grin, before insisting on leading her into the Market Tavern for a mug of their famous ‘Winter Warmer’—hot chocolate with a dash of brandy. ‘It will do you good, and you’ll still be quite sober enough to drive home,’ he assured her when she expressed her doubts about the wisdom of drinking in the middle of the day. ‘On the other hand—how about joining me for lunch in one of the local restaurants?’
Amber shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Philip. I can’t make it today. Mother’s in bed with a heavy cold, and I must get back to keep an eye on her.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Although I have to say that you don’t look too well, either,’ the doctor added, glancing with concern at her pale, finely drawn features and the dark shadows beneath her eyes.
‘I’m all right,’ she shrugged, perfectly well aware—from a despairing glance in her mirror this morning—that she was looking like death warmed up. Just as she knew that part of her present exhausted state of mind wasn’t just the worry about Max’s return. She was also becoming deeply disturbed about her mother.
Amber had finally been forced to explain to her mother the necessity of selling their home, and Violet Grant’s reaction had been every bit as bad as she had feared. Amber still shuddered to recall the wild, hysterical accusations and virtual collapse of the older woman. It was well over a week since her mother had taken to her bed, claiming that she had a bad cold and refusing to leave her room—an action that was now causing her daughter grave concern.
Unfortunately, it was all too reminiscent of Violet’s behaviour eight years ago, following the scandal and collapse of her husband’s business. And so, while she was trying hard not to overreact to the situation, Amber knew that if her mother continued to avoid facing up to life by hiding in her bedroom, she was going to have to seek some serious medical advice.
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Mary Lyons
A Mistletoe Marriage? "What could be nicer than a Christmas wedding?" Under normal circumstances Amber would have agreed with the sentiment but Max Warner was only offering her a cold-blooded marriage of convenience, designed solely to give their daughter a name. He didn't love her - had never loved her.Eight years before, he had walked out of her life, not even knowing that their torrid affair had left more than heartache in its wake. And yet the thought of being Max's bride was proving irresistible, even if it meant that the only Christmas present Amber ended up with was another broken heart!
The Yuletide Bride
Mary Lyons
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u7f568501-ba55-54d0-8207-33c7a23959f7)
CHAPTER TWO (#ucdcf94de-7d1f-5536-b0dc-f8e63528fd99)
CHAPTER THREE (#ua4052326-dfcf-54ee-81e9-79acc24e775a)
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 ONE
‘I’M SORRY to be late,’ Amber called out breathlessly as she made her way through the noisy, crowded café, to where her friend was sitting at a small table beside the window.
‘There was no need to hurry,’ Rose Thomas told her, before ordering a pot of coffee from a passing waitress. ‘Sally hasn’t arrived yet. If I know her, she’s probably spending a fortune in one of the dress shops. And busy catching up on all the latest scandal, of course!’
‘I expect you’re right,’ Amber grinned. Their friend Sally, the wife of a wealthy and highly respected lawyer, was affectionately known amongst her friends as being both a shop-aholic, and an avid collector of local news and gossip. ‘But, as far as I’m concerned,’ she added, sighing with relief as she lowered her carrier bags and parcels down on to the floor, ‘trying to do any ordinary, everyday shopping during the run-up to Christmas, is nothing but sheer murder.’
‘Don’t I know it!’ Rose agreed with a rueful laugh. ‘Even though it’s only Thursday, the supermarket was packed as tight as a tin of sardines, and I didn’t manage to buy half the things on my shopping list. Since my dreaded mother-in-law is threatening to descend on us for the Christmas holidays, I was just wondering if I could ask you to make me a large plum pudding? And maybe some sponge cakes to keep in the freezer just in case of any unexpected visitors?’
‘No problem—all orders gratefully received!’ Amber grinned as she pulled out a chair and sat down.
‘That’ll be wonderful,’ Rose sighed with relief. ‘By the way, how is your business doing?’
‘Well, it looks as though I’m going to be very busy in the kitchen, since I’ve now got lots of orders from the local shops for Christmas cakes, puddings and mince pies. Unfortunately, the paying-guest side of the business isn’t doing so well. Bookings are down, and we don’t have anyone staying with us at the moment. On top of which...’ she hesitated for a moment. ‘I don’t want anyone else to know just yet, because I’m still trying to summon up enough courage to break the bad news to my mother. However, after a really awful interview with the bank manager, I’ve finally had to face the hard, financial facts of life and put my house on the market.’
‘You don’t mean...?’
Amber nodded. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I’ve seen Mr Glover, the house agent, and the Hall is going to be advertised for sale as from the beginning of next week.’
‘Oh, no! I’m so sorry,’ Rose exclaimed, gazing at her friend with deep concern and sympathy. Since they’d both been born and raised in the same small, riverside market town of Elmbridge, she was well aware of the misfortunes suffered in the past by Amber’s family; the public scandal and disgrace surrounding the crash of her father’s large business empire, swiftly followed by his death and her mother’s complete mental breakdown. It seemed so desperately unfair, Rose told herself, that after all the trials and tribulations which she’d so bravely confronted in the past, her friend should now be having to face yet even more problems.
‘Oh, well—it’s not exactly the end of the world. The Hall is far too large for us, and the heating bills are astronomical,’ Amber pointed out, attempting to put a brave face on what was, in reality, a disastrous family situation.
‘But where will you go?’ Rose asked anxiously as the waitress brought a tray to their table. ‘Have you found anywhere else to live?’
Amber sighed. ‘No, not yet. I’m hoping to buy a small cottage, not too far away from Elmbridge. Mainly, of course, because I don’t want to take Lucy away from either her school, or her friends.’
‘I’ll keep my ear to the ground, and let you know the moment I hear of anything,’ Rose assured her earnestly. However, as she poured them both a cup of coffee, she couldn’t help worrying about how her friend would manage to cope with life in a small cottage.
She’d been away at college when Amber, at the age of eighteen, had married Clive Stanhope, a very wealthy if somewhat wild young man, who’d owned Elmbridge Hall, an ancient Tudor mansion and by far the largest house in the district. Clive’s wedding to Amber—the once rich, but by then penniless only child of a disgraced businessman—followed by the birth of a daughter only six months after their marriage, had provided plenty of ammunition for gossip in the small town. However, Amber had subsequently won everyone’s admiration by the way she’d coped after her husband’s fatal car accident, a year later, when it became known that Clive had apparently been a compulsive gambler, and all the land was heavily mortgaged. In fact, after everything had been sold to meet a mountain of debts, the young widow had been left with nothing but Elmbridge Hall.
Over the past few years, Rose had looked forward to a time when her friend would meet the right man and live happily ever after. With thick shoulder-length straight hair, a glorious shade of deep golden brown, and large green eyes set above a warm generous mouth, Amber was a very beautiful woman. Certainly Philip Jackson, the young local doctor, seemed to think so. But, despite all her matchmaking efforts, Rose couldn’t understand why her friend—who was also a loving mother and superb cook—appeared to be so reluctant to get married again. But now...well, surely Amber would see the sense in marrying a man who had so much to offer her?
‘I saw Philip Jackson the other day. He tells me that he’s going to his parents’ home in Cumberland for Christmas.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Amber murmured, eyeing her friend warily.
‘Well, I was just wondering if...er...if he’s asked you and Lucy to join him?’
‘For Heaven’s sake—don’t you ever give up?’ Amber groaned, shaking her head in mock exasperation. ‘I thought you’d promised to stop trying to marry me off to all the single men in town?’
‘Yes, well...’ Rose’s cheeks reddened slightly. ‘I really don’t mean to interfere in your life. But it’s almost seven years since Clive died. And it’s as clear as daylight to me—especially after hearing the sad news about the sale of your house—that what you really need is a husband.’
‘I hope you’re not suggesting that I should marry Philip—or anyone else, for that matter—merely to provide a way out of my difficulties?’ Amber demanded bluntly.
‘No—of course, I’m not,’ Rose protested, waving a hand dismissively in the air. ‘But surely this is the perfect time to think seriously about your future?’
‘Oh, come on, Rose! We’re not just talking about me. There’s Lucy to consider, as well. It’s not everyone who’d want to take on a little seven-year-old girl—not to mention my scatty mother.’
‘I know your mother can be a problem at times,’ Rose agreed, well aware that Violet Grant, who’d never really recovered from the trauma of her husband’s sudden death, was an extra and often tiresome burden for the young widow’s slim shoulders to carry. ‘But Philip is clearly mad about you, and you can’t deny that he’d be a really good choice of stepfather for Lucy. On top of which, I happen to think that you’d make a marvellous doctor’s wife.’
Amber smiled and shook her head. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence! I know you mean well, and that what you’re saying probably makes sense, but... OK, OK, I promise to give the matter some thought,’ she added hurriedly as her old friend seemed determined to press the point. ‘Now, tell me—is your mother-in-law going to be staying for the whole of the Christmas holidays?’ she asked, firmly changing the subject. Unfortunately, there was no way she could tell Rose the truth; that having already made one marriage of convenience—although Clive Stanhope had been a very kind, generous-hearted man—she was desperately wary of entering into such an arrangement ever again.
To be fair, her friend did have a point about Lucy. Ever since Clive had died, when her daughter was just under a year old, she had done her best to be both mother and father to the little girl. That she hadn’t always succeeded in properly fulfilling the two, very different roles over the past seven years, was a fact of which Amber was becoming daily more aware. So, maybe Rose was right? Maybe she ought to stop shilly-shallying, and force herself to take the practical, sensible decision to marry Philip Jackson?
A highly respected doctor, who’d recently joined a local practice, Philip was a genuinely nice and considerate man. The fact that he also had a private income, lived in a large house all on his own and was reasonably good-looking, with fair hair and kind brown eyes, made him the obvious candidate as far as her friends were concerned. But, while she was very fond of Philip, she wasn’t in love with him. And having once experienced the intense, tempestuous drive of overwhelming emotion and desire, it seemed quite wrong to settle for second best.
‘...so, the old dragon is bound to make Christmas a misery for all of us, and... Good Heavens! It looks as if Sally really has been spending a fortune!’
Startled by Rose’s sudden exclamation, and guiltily aware that while she’d been buried deep in thought, she’d missed most of what her friend had been saying, Amber looked up to see a petite blonde woman making her way towards them, her progress impeded by the enormous amount of parcels she was carrying.
‘Hi, darlings! I’m sorry to be so late,’ she cried. ‘I’ve never known the shops to be so crowded. But I know you’ll both forgive me when I tell you some absolutely riveting news!’
‘I don’t know why you aren’t running your own gossip column in the local newspaper!’ Rose mocked as she and Amber exchanged a quick grin with one another.
‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy,’ Sally laughed good-naturedly, placing her shopping on an adjacent chair as she sat down to join them. ‘Besides, this isn’t a rumour—it’s the genuine truth, which everyone will know about sooner or later,’ she added before turning to Amber. ‘Do you remember Lady Parker? The mega-rich old woman that lived near you, and who died in a big fire at her house well over a year ago?’
Amber nodded. ‘I never actually met the old lady, because she’d been a recluse for many years. Apparently the house was burned to the ground.’
‘Right. Well, my dear husband was in charge of her affairs, and it seems that she always refused to make a will,’ Sally continued excitedly. ‘So, it took John simply ages to track down her only living relative. However, he’s now finally succeeded, and Lady Parker’s ten thousand acres—plus goodness knows how much extra money in stocks and shares, has all been inherited by...”Mad Max”!’
‘What?’ Rose gasped in astonishment. ‘You don’t mean...? Not...not the old vicar’s son—Max Warner?’
‘Yes!’ Sally beamed at her friends, delighted at the expression of shock and surprise on their faces. Amber, in particular, appeared to be totally stunned.
‘I just knew that you’d both be amazed to hear about the return of our old school heart-throb,’ she continued happily. ‘Of course, it’s been years since the Reverend Augustus Warner died, so I suppose that it’s not surprising that we’d forgotten all about his son. When John first told me about the return of “Mad Max”, I could hardly believe my ears!’
‘He certainly deserved that nickname!’ Rose laughed. ‘I remember him as a wild tearaway—with a simply terrible reputation for breaking girls’ hearts. All the same...’ she paused, staring into space with a dreamy expression on her face. ‘Max really was diabolically attractive, wasn’t he?’
‘Absolutely scrumptious!’ Sally agreed with a grin. ‘In fact, with his curly black hair and those twinkling, wicked blue eyes, the effect on our young teenage hearts was completely lethal!’
‘Mmm...’ Rose gave a sheepish grin. ‘After he kissed me at my sixteenth birthday party, I can remember being madly in love with Max for a whole year.’
‘Weren’t we all?’ her friend sighed heavily. ‘Of course, Amber is two years younger than either of us, and so probably won’t recall any of the completely crazy things he used to get up to. Do you remember that huge black motorbike of his? And the really ferocious competition amongst us girls, as to who could wangle a ride behind him on the pillion seat?’
‘Oh, yes! One of the highlights of my teens was when he once took me down the motorway at well over a hundred miles an hour.’ Cheeks flushed, Rose shook her head at her own folly. ‘I was absolutely scared to death, of course. But it was worth it. I reckoned I was the envy of everyone at school for at least two whole weeks!’
Sally giggled. ‘You certainly were. I can remember Cynthia Henderson, for instance, collapsing into a jealous fit of raving hysterics—right in the middle of school assembly!’
‘It’s all very well to talk about old school days, but where’s Max been all these years?’ Rose asked. ‘I know he was very clever. And, despite fooling around, he passed his school exams with flying colours before gaining a scholarship to university. But his father, old Reverend Warner, died while I was away training to be a nurse—and I’ve never heard anything about Max from that day to this.’
‘Nor had anyone else,’ Sally agreed. ‘In fact, my dear husband had almost given up the search for him. And then...when he was invited to a very grand, fund-raising dinner in London a few weeks ago, he discovered that Max Warner was the principal guest speaker!’
‘Good Heavens!’
‘We all thought that Max had dropped off the edge of the world, didn’t we? But not a bit of it!’ Sally gave a loud peal of laughter. ‘It seems he had an uncle in America. So, when his father died eight years ago, Max went off to the States to make his fortune. He’s now returned to England as the terrifically successful, managing director of a huge, high-powered public company. And he’s made an appointment to see John sometime soon, here in Elmbridge. How about that!’
While her friends were chatting excitedly together, exchanging news of a long-lost old school friend, Amber had been sitting rigidly still, her mind dazed and reeling, as though she’d been hit on the back of her head by a heavy sandbag. Even Sally’s sudden shriek of horror hardly managed to penetrate her stunned brain.
‘Oh, help—just look at the time!’ Sally quickly jumped up from the table. ‘I should have been at the hairdresser’s at least ten minutes ago!’
‘What an extraordinary piece of news about Max Warner,’ Rose mused as Sally bustled out of the café, before catching sight of her friend’s chalk-white face and dazed, stricken expression.
‘Amber! What on earth’s wrong? Are you all right?’
‘Yes, I...’ She took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. ‘Really, I’m fine,’ she shakily informed Rose, who was gazing at her with deep concern.
‘You’ve been trying to do too much,’ her friend pointed out firmly. ‘Having to cope with your mother is enough to try the patience of a saint! And running that huge old house...’
‘I’m sorry...I have to go. I really must get home...there’s so much cooking to do....’ Amber muttered breathlessly as she swiftly gathered up her parcels.
‘You don’t look at all well. I hope you’re not going down with flu?’ Her friend gazed with concern at Amber’s pale face and trembling figure. ‘If you’re not feeling too good, there’s no need to worry about picking up Emily from school tomorrow. I can easily put off my trip to London.’
‘No...don’t do that. I’m fine. I’ve just got a lot to do today—that’s all,’ she assured Rose, before hurriedly making her way out of the café.
* * *
Dazed and shivering with nervous tension, Amber sat huddled in the front seat of her ancient Land Rover, staring blindly at the wind-rippled, dark water of the wide river estuary. Completely shattered by Sally’s news, she’d known that there was no way she was in a fit state to drive the five miles back to Elmbridge Hall. Not when it had taken her several fumbled attempts to even place her key in the ignition. But since she couldn’t continue sitting in the town car park, either, she’d cautiously made her way down to the quayside which was, as she’d hoped, completely deserted at this time of year.
She ought to have known that this was likely to happen sooner or later, Amber told herself grimly, wrapping her arms tightly about her trembling figure. What a blind, stupid fool she had been—living in a fool’s paradise for the past eight years. While she’d had no idea that Lady Parker was his grandmother, she should have realised that Max Warner must eventually return—like the prodigal son—to his old home town of Elmbridge.
Suddenly feeling in need of some fresh air, Amber opened the door and stepped down from the Land Rover. Walking slowly up and down over the frosty cobblestones, she desperately tried to clear her mind, to try and work out what she was going to do. But it was proving difficult to think clearly when her mind seemed to be filled with memories of the past.
A much-loved and only child of wealthy parents, Amber had always been protected from the harsh facts of life. But the catastrophic events surrounding the collapse of her father’s business empire, during the long hot summer of her eighteenth birthday, had shattered and destroyed for ever the safe, secure world of her childhood. Shocked and bewildered by the newspaper headlines trumpeting ‘Financial Scandal!’ and ‘Millions Lost by Suffolk Businessman!’ she’d been totally ill-equipped to deal with either the devastating news of her father’s bankruptcy, or his sudden death from a fatal heart attack. And when her mother—unable to face the prospect of either being shunned by her former friends, or the total reverse of the family fortunes—had collapsed and been placed by the family doctor in a local psychiatric nursing home, Amber had found herself standing completely alone amidst the ashes of her previous existence.
Maybe if, during that tense and anxious time, there had been someone with whom she could have discussed her problems, her life might have turned out differently. But with no close relations other than an elderly aunt in London, and all her school friends either away on holiday—or prevented by their cautious parents from associating with the child of a man who had, reportedly, been involved in crooked financial dealings—her only relief from the mounting stress and strain had been to take long, solitary walks through the deserted meadows edging the river-bank near her home. And there it was that Max had found her, one hot afternoon in late August, weeping with despair and deep unhappiness.
Despite an early teenage crush on the wickedly glamorous Max Warner, she’d seen nothing of him during the past five years. However, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world when he’d put his strong arms about her trembling figure.
‘How could I have forgotten those wonderful, sparkling green eyes?’ he’d said, smiling lazily down at her as he wiped away her tears. ‘I always knew that you’d grow up to become a real beauty.’
‘Have I really...?’ she’d gasped, her cheeks flushing hectically beneath his warm, engaging smile as he gently brushed the long, damp tendrils of hair from her wide brow, before lowering his dark head to softly kiss her trembling lips.
Miraculously, it seemed that Max—unlike so many of her family’s friends and acquaintances—did not hold her personally responsible for her father’s misdeeds. And as they’d walked slowly back to her house, whose contents were now mostly in packing cases for despatch to the local saleroom, she realised that he, too, was suffering from the sudden loss of a parent. Completely immersed in her own problems, Amber had only been dimly aware of the Reverend Warner’s recent death from a massive stroke, resulting in Max’s urgent recall from America, where he’d just completed his postgraduate degree at the Harvard Business School. However, when he confessed to the misery and desolation of being now alone in large empty rooms of the vicarage, or his deep regret at not having been closer to his father, saying, ‘I was pretty wild as a teenager, and there’s no doubt he must have found me a considerable pain in the neck,’ she was easily able to understand Max’s thoughts and feelings at such an unhappy time.
If only she hadn’t been quite so young and innocent! Amber squirmed with embarrassment as she now gazed back down the years at her youthful self. With her head stuffed full of romantic fantasies, her dazed mind reeling beneath the assault of those glittering blue eyes and his overwhelming sensual attraction, it was no wonder that—like some modern-day Cinderella—she’d immediately fallen head over heels in love with her very own Prince Charming. But if Max found her obvious adoration a nuisance, he gave no indication of doing so, as day after day he joined her for long walks along the deserted river-bank. So, it was perhaps inevitable that, having tripped and fallen over a log hidden in the thick grass, she should have found herself clasped in his arms, fervently responding to the fiercely determined possession of his lips and body.
It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course. But, over the past eight years, Amber had never been able to fool herself into believing that Max was totally to blame for what happened. Pathetically ignorant of lovemaking as she was, the feverish impetus of her desire had been every bit as strong as his, her ardent and passionate response clearly overpowering any scruples he may have had.
It had always seemed to Amber as if the next few weeks had been an all too brief, halcyon period of enchantment and rapture. Neither the deep sadness of her father’s death, nor her increasing worries about her mother’s mental condition, had seemed to disturb their mutual ecstasy and euphoric happiness, or the uncontrollable desire that exploded between them each and every time they were able to be alone with one another.
Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do to prevent the harsh, cruel light of reality from eventually breaking through their cloud of happiness. Both the fast-approaching sale of her family home, and the offer to Max of a job in his uncle’s large firm in America, meant that they would soon have to part.
Starry-eyed with joy when he placed a small gold ring on her finger, vowing that they would be married just as soon as he was well established in his new career, Amber had never doubted Max’s total sincerity. ‘My uncle’s offering me a good salary, with a partnership in the near future. So, it won’t be long before we can be together for ever and ever,’ he’d pledged, clasping her tightly in his arms before leaving for the airport. ‘Just promise that you’ll wait for me?’
‘Of course I will,’ she told him fervently, blinking rapidly in order to prevent the weak tears from running down her cheeks as she waved him goodbye.
And she had waited. Waiting, alone in the empty house through the long autumn days, while her father’s creditors checked that all her family’s precious possessions had been sold; waiting, while her mother who, if not yet ready to leave the hospital, was showing definite signs of improvement. Until, well over two months after his departure, her increasing apprehension that she might be pregnant hardened into certainty, and she realised that she was in deep and desperate trouble....
A sudden, freezing gust of wind cut into her memories of that intensely unhappy time, bringing her sharply back to her present-day problems—and the questions raised by the fear of Max’s return. However, by the time she found herself driving back home, Amber had managed to regain a small measure of self-control.
She couldn’t, of course, pretend that Max’s return was likely to be anything other than a major disaster. On the other hand, to have found herself in such a blind panic, feeling sick and shivering like a leaf at the mere sound of his name, wasn’t going to achieve anything, either. Leaving her own desperate worry and fears about Lucy aside, it was plainly quite ridiculous of her to have been so overcome with sheer terror. Max may have inherited Lady Parker’s large estate—but so what? If, as Sally had said, he was enjoying such a successful career in London, and only visiting Elmbridge to meet his grandmother’s lawyer, there was very little likelihood of his ever returning to live permanently in the area. Besides...all this frantic shock and worry could well prove to be completely unfounded. It was more than likely that such an attractive, vital man would be married by now, and have completely forgotten all about their very brief, secret love affair.
As she made her way up the drive, she was comforted by the familiar sight of the ancient mansion with its warm red brick and mullioned windows, which, despite its imminent sale, seemed at the moment to offer a place of refuge and safety.
An American guest had once referred enthusiastically to Elmbridge Hall as a ‘Medieval Gem’. He may have been right, Amber thought wryly as she carried her shopping into the house, but he should try living here in the winter! Which was yet another reason for selling this huge, rambling old house, she reminded herself grimly, only too well aware of the astonomically high bills for coal and electricity, which would be due for payment in the new year.
‘Hello, dear. Are you going out shopping?’ her mother murmured, wandering into the hall and casting an approving glance at her daughter’s old tweed coat, over a matching skirt and green, polo-necked sweater, the same colour as her eyes.
Stifling a sigh, Amber explained that, far from going anywhere, she had just returned with the shopping—before once again reminding the older woman of the large note pad and pencil beside the telephone.
‘Mother! Do please try and concentrate,’ she added, as Violet Grant drifted about the hall, idly touching up a flower decoration here, and straightening an oil painting there. ‘I’ve got a huge order for plum puddings. So, I’m going to shut myself away in the kitchen until it’s time to collect Lucy from school. As I won’t be able to hear the phone here in the hall, I’m relying on you to take down any bookings. It’s very important that you write down the correct names and the exact dates they want to stay with us—OK?’
‘There’s no need to worry, dear.’ Violet Grant gave her daughter an injured look. ‘You know that I always do my best to welcome your friends to the house.’
Amber closed her eyes for a moment, mentally counting up to ten. While she loved her mother very dearly, there was no doubt that even her seven-year-old daughter, Lucy, seemed to have a stronger grasp on reality than poor Violet. Unfortunately, the older woman seemed incapable of understanding either the family’s dire need for hard cash, or the necessity of accurately recording all telephone messages.
A child of wealthy parents, and much indulged by her rich husband, Violet’s butterfly mind had never been able to fully accept their changed circumstances. Even though it was now a long time since all the scandal and newspaper headlines, which had surrounded both the crash of her husband’s business empire and his subsequent fatal heart attack, Violet continued to live in a private world of her own.
Four years ago, when Amber had first floated the idea of taking in paying guests, her mother had been distraught.
‘You must have taken leave of your senses!’ Violet had gasped in horror, before collapsing down on to a chair. ‘To think that I should live to see my own daughter running a...a boarding-house!’
‘Oh, come on, Mother—it’s hardly the end of the world!’ Amber had retorted with exasperation. While she felt sorry for the older woman, she nevertheless knew that they both had to face up to the harsh facts of life. ‘When poor Clive died, he left us with nothing but this house and a huge pile of debts. We’ve sold everything we can, and now that Lucy is growing up, she’s going to be needing clothes and toys, and lots of other things that we simply can’t afford at the moment. The house is our only asset, which is why I’ve decided to take in paying guests. However, if you can think of an alternative plan of action—I’ll be glad to hear it!’
Not able to come up with a viable course of action, it seemed the only way Violet Grant could cope with their changed status was to completely close her mind to what she called the ‘sordid, financial aspects’ of Amber’s business. However, by insisting on treating those who came to the house as personal guests of her daughter—charmingly welcoming everyone as if they were old family friends—Violet had, in many ways, proved to be a considerable asset.
But that state of affairs was now coming to an end, Amber quickly reminded herself as she made her way to the kitchen, feeling distinctly guilty at not yet having found the courage to tell her mother about the forthcoming sale of the Hall. She was deeply ashamed of being such a coward—but dreaded having to face the hysterical scenes that were bound to follow such bad news.
All the same...she told herself some time later as she moistened the heavy, dried-fruit pudding mixture with a hefty dose of brandy, she really couldn’t put off telling her mother the truth for much longer. As for the question of Max’s return—well, the sooner she put it out of her mind, the better. After all, no one had any idea of what had happened during that long, hot summer over eight years ago. So, there was no reason why the episode shouldn’t remain firmly buried in the mists of time.
* * *
Continuing to sternly lecture herself throughout the rest of the day and most of the next, Amber had gradually managed to recover her usual good sense and equilibrium. Being busily occupied in trying to catch up with all her orders for home-made Christmas produce was proving to be a positive advantage, since she simply didn’t have time to think about anything other than the job in hand. Only abandoning the kitchen to collect Lucy and her friend, Emily Thomas, from school, she was delighted when they decided that it would be fun to explore the contents of some of her mother’s old trunks up in the attic. There was nothing that Lucy liked more than dressing up in Violet’s old clothes—a fact that Amber welcomed, since it meant that the little girls were happily occupied while she made another batch of mince pies for the freezer.
Busily absorbed by her work in the kitchen, she was startled when one of the row of old-fashioned bells began ringing high on the wall above her head.
Glancing up, she noted with surprise that there was obviously someone at the front door. Certainly Rose, on a shopping trip to Cambridge, wouldn’t be collecting Emily for another hour at least—and she couldn’t think of anyone else likely to be calling at this time of day. However, as the bell was given yet another impatient ring, she realised that she was going to have to go and answer it.
Wondering who on earth it could be, Amber didn’t bother to remove her messy apron as she hurried down the dark corridor, through the green baize door, which separated the kitchen quarters from the rest of the house, and across the stone floor of the large hall.
‘OK, OK, I’m coming!’ she muttered under her breath as someone began banging loudly on the old oak door.
‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting...’ she began as she opened the door. And then, almost reeling with shock, she found herself frantically clutching the large brass door handle for support. With the blood draining from her face, her dazed and confused mind seemed barely able to comprehend the evidence of her own eyes. Because there—standing casually on the doorstep beside Mr Glover, the house agent—was the tall dark figure of Max Warner!
CHAPTER TWO
JABBING a fork into the iron-hard frosty ground, Amber tried to ignore the bitterly cold wind gusting through the large kitchen garden. Saving money by growing their own fruits and vegetables was all very well, but having to dig up leeks and parsnips in the middle of winter wasn’t exactly one of her favourite pastimes.
On the other hand, she’d always found that there was nothing like a bout of hard digging or hoeing to put any problems she might have in their correct perspective. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working at the moment, Amber told herself gloomily, pausing for a moment to brush a lock of golden brown hair from her troubled green eyes.
What on earth was she going to do? It was a question that she had been asking herself, with increasing desperation, ever since she’d discovered Max Warner—together with the house agent, Mr Glover—standing on her front doorstep. Even now, two weeks later, there seemed nothing she could do to calm her tense, edgy body, while her brain appeared to be frozen rigid with fright. In fact, with her nerves at screaming point, she wasn’t able to think about anything, other than Max’s sudden reappearance in her life—which had to be one of the most catastrophic and potentially disastrous twists of fate she’d ever experienced!
She’d hardly been able to believe the evidence of her own eyes. Almost paralytic with shock, the breath driven from her body as if from a hard blow to the solar plexus, it had taken her some moments to realise that it truly was Max, and not an evil figment of her overheated imagination.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Stanhope. It was very good of you to agree to see my client at such short notice,’ the estate agent had murmured pompously, his voice seeming to be coming from somewhere far away. ‘I...er...I hope you haven’t forgotten our appointment?’ he added hesitantly, gazing with apprehension at the young woman, who was staring silently at both him and Mr Warner in such a wide-eyed, unnerving manner.
‘An appointment...?’ Amber echoed helplessly, her mind in a chaotic whirl as she stared past him to where a sleek, glossy black sports car was parked beside Mr Glover’s vehicle on the gravelled drive outside the house. ‘I don’t understand. Do...do you mean you want to see over the house?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Mr Glover gave a nervous laugh, clearly wondering if the young widow was entirely ‘all there’. ‘I made the arrangement with your mother this morning, and...’
‘Oh, no!’ Amber gasped, suddenly realising that her mother was likely to appear on the scene any minute. ‘I’m sorry—you can’t possibly see around the house today. It’s absolutely out of the question!’ she babbled hysterically, glancing nervously behind her as she tried to close the door. ‘I haven’t yet told my mother, you see. She doesn’t realise...she has no idea that the Hall is for sale. You’ll just have to go away, and...and maybe come back some other time.’
Unfortunately, Max Warner had quickly taken a firm grip of the situation. Swiftly placing a well-shod foot in the door, he thanked Mr Glover for his services, smoothly informing the estate agent that he was quite capable of coping with the ‘delicate’ state of affairs at the Hall.
‘There’s no need to worry or disturb Mrs Grant. I’m quite confident that her daughter will be pleased to give me a personal conducted tour around the house.’
Oh, no, I won’t! Amber screamed silently at him as the house agent gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders, walking back down the steps as Max pushed the door open, moving calmly past her trembling figure into the wide, spacious hall.
Completely stunned, Amber could only stare at him with glazed eyes, quite certain that she must be in the midst of some awful nightmare.
‘I should have been in touch with you before now,’ Max told her quietly. ‘But I’ve been abroad and only recently heard the news.’
‘”The news”?’ she echoed blankly.
‘I merely wanted to say that I was very sorry to learn about Clive’s death.’
‘Yes...um...it was a long time ago, of course. So much seems to have happened since then,’ she muttered with a helpless shrug.
‘However, it does seem as though you’ve done very well for yourself, Amber,’ he drawled, glancing around at the old family portraits in their heavy gilt frames and the warm, comfortable effect of copper vases filled with greenery against the highly polished, old oak panelling.
The unexpectedly cynical, scathing note in his deep voice acted as a dash of freezing cold water on her shocked, numb state of mind. Her hackles rising, she was just about to demand an explanation for his sudden appearance—surely he couldn’t really be interested in buying the house?—when her mother floated into the hall.
‘How nice to see you. Have you come far?’ Violet murmured, giving the tall man a welcoming smile.
Amber nearly groaned aloud. This was definitely not the time for her mother to be putting on a performance of her ‘gracious hostess’ routine!
Max took the older woman’s outstretched hand and smiled warmly down at her. ‘It’s some time since we’ve met. However, I think that you’ll probably remember my father, the Reverend Augustus Warner. He was the vicar here at Elmbridge some years ago.’
Violet beamed up at the man towering over her slight frame. ‘Of course, I remember him. And you must be Max. The naughty boy who was always in trouble,’ she added with a twinkling smile.
‘Indeed I was!’ he agreed with a grin.
‘Well—you’ve certainly grown since those days! It looks as though you’ve done very well for yourself,’ Violet told him, casting an approving glance over his expensive, obviously hand-tailored, dark grey suit. ‘Now—I’m sure that you must have had a long drive. How about a nice cup of tea?’
‘Mother! I really don’t think...’
‘Nonsense, dear,’ Violet murmured, ignoring her daughter’s husky, strangled protest as she placed a hand on his arm, leading Max towards the large sitting room. ‘If he’s driven some distance, I’m sure the poor man must be simply dying of thirst.’
‘Mother...!’ Amber whispered urgently, but the older woman clearly had no intention of taking any notice of her desperate plea. As for the ‘poor man’—he merely turned his dark head to give her a cool, sardonic smile before accompanying the older woman into the sitting room.
Left standing alone in the hall, Amber could feel her initial shock and dismay rapidly giving way to long-suppressed feelings of rage and anger. How dare Max swan back into her life, completely out of the blue like this? Not only intimating that she’d married poor Clive for his money, but with absolutely no appearance of regret—let alone an abject apology for the way he’d treated her in the past.
However, just as she was telling herself fiercely that she’d never sell the Hall to Max—not even if he offered her a million pounds—Amber caught sight of herself in a large mirror hanging on the wall.
Nearly fainting with shock and dismay, it was all she could do not to shriek out loud in horror! The woman gazing back at her looked as though she’d been drawn through a knot-hole backwards, her face hot and flushed from the heat of the stove, and her apron covered with smears of flour and mincemeat. No wonder Max had been looking at her with such a caustic, scathing expression on his handsome face!
Realising that it was far too late to worry about his initial impression, Amber flew back along the corridor into the kitchen. Slinging the kettle on the hot plate of the ancient Aga, and practically throwing a tea tray of cups and saucers together, she ran back to the hall and up the wide curving staircase, taking the steps two at a time as she raced towards her bedroom.
Now, when it was almost too late, the shock waves of Max’s unexpected arrival were gradually clearing from her mind. And it was the sharp, sudden awareness of the fresh danger she was facing that lent wings to her feet as she hastily stripped off the grubby, sticky apron and ran into the adjoining bathroom to wash her hands and face. Dragging a brush through her tangled hair, she could feel her heart pounding like a sledgehammer, just as if she’d been doing an exhausting aerobics workout. And it looked as if she was going to need all the agility of just such an exercise, she told herself breathlessly as she desperately tried to pull herself together.
Unless she could put a gag on her mother’s garrulous tongue, there was a strong possibility that she was going to find herself in the middle of an utterly disastrous situation. The only chink of blue in an otherwise dark, ominous cloud was that she could hear the faint sounds of footsteps and movement overhead—evidence that Lucy and Emily were still playing happily together up in the attic.
Fervently praying that the little girls would stay safely out of sight, Amber quickly checked her appearance in a large, full-length mirror. Unfortunately, there was nothing she could do about her old navy sweater and jeans. Mostly because she couldn’t spare the time, but also because she was determined not to let Max think that his sudden, startling manifestation on her doorstep mattered a jot to her one way or another.
Who are you trying to fool? she asked herself with disgust, realising that there was little she could do to disguise the hectic flush on her pale cheeks, or the hunted, wary look in her nervous green eyes. There was nothing for it, but to face the music. Let’s hope they’re playing my tune, she thought hysterically, her stomach churning with nerves as she quickly left the room.
‘Max and I have just been reminiscing about old times,’ her mother trilled happily as Amber entered the sitting room carrying the tea tray. ‘We really do miss his dear father, don’t we?’
‘Er...yes, we do,’ Amber muttered, trying to stop her hands from shaking as she poured the tea. Carefully avoiding Max’s eyes, she chose a seat on the other side of the room, as far away from him as possible.
She’d been very fond of the Reverend Warner, a rather austere and scholarly widower, who’d been the vicar of Elmbridge during the years when she had been growing up. However, it had been obvious that neither he nor the rapid succession of housekeepers at the vicarage had the first notion of how to cope with his motherless son, Max—who’d gained a considerable local reputation as a wild tearaway.
‘You’ll hardly recognise the town nowadays,’ Violet informed him. ‘The old Victorian theatre has been turned into a multiple cinema, and there’s a hideous new supermarket next to the railway station,’ she added, oblivious of her daughter’s tense figure as she turned to ask, ‘What do they call it, dear?’
‘Pick ‘n’ Pay,’ Amber muttered, staring fixedly down at the cup in her trembling hands.
This is absolutely ridiculous! What am I doing, making polite conversation as if I’ve never met this man before...? she asked herself with mounting hysteria, convinced that she’d somehow strayed into a completely mad, unreal world. And why was Max here? Surely he couldn’t be seriously interested in buying the Hall—not when Sally had said he was based in London?
For the first time since she’d clapped eyes on him, Amber realised that she knew nothing about Max—or what had happened to him during the past eight years. But obviously, such an attractive man was bound to be married by now, she told herself grimly.
‘...isn’t that right, dear?’
‘What?’ Jerked out of her depressing thoughts, Amber gazed at her mother in confusion.
‘I was just talking about some of your old friends who are still living in the town,’ the older woman murmured, frowning in puzzlement at her daughter, who for some reason was looking strangely pale and nervous, before turning back to their visitor. ‘There’s Rose Thomas, of course. As it happens, Rose’s daughter, Emily, is playing here with Lucy this afternoon, and...’
‘I’m sure Max would like another cup of tea,’ Amber said quickly.
‘No, I’m fine, thank you,’ he drawled, lifting the cup to his lips.
Luckily, it seemed as though her swift, hasty interruption had succeeded in turning her mother’s thoughts in a new direction as she asked, ‘Are you now thinking of coming back to live here in Elmbridge?’
‘Well...’ he murmured, pausing for a moment as he turned his dark head to gaze at her daughter’s suddenly stiff, rigid figure. ‘John Fraser and I are still trying to sort out the affairs of my grandmother, who died over a year ago. Unfortunately, following the fire, there’s no longer a large house on the estate. So, I’m not entirely sure about my future plans.’
Violet Grant looked at him blankly for a moment before exclaiming, ‘Goodness me! I’d quite forgotten that old Lady Parker was your grandmother. She must have been well over ninety.’
‘Ninety-two, I believe,’ he agreed with a dry smile.
‘I hadn’t seen anything of her for the past ten years. But it was a shock to hear that she’d died in that terrible fire,’ she told him sorrowfully. ‘Such a lovely house—what a shame that it’s now nothing but a burnt-out ruin. Is it really true that Lady Parker cut your mother off without a penny?’ Violet added, unable to resist a juicy piece of gossip. ‘That she refused to either see or speak to her daughter after she ran away to marry your father?’
Max shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Who knows? I certainly never met my grandmother,’ he said briefly, before changing the subject and encouraging the older woman to relate all the changes that had taken place in the town over the past few years.
Once her mother was launched upon the safe, harmless topic of the recent development of Elmbridge, Amber could feel some of her nervous tension draining away. And it gave her a chance to covertly study the man she hadn’t seen for such a long time.
Although they’d grown up together, the six-year difference in their ages had seemed the most enormous gap when she’d first entered her teens. Especially as Max had always appeared to be older and more mature than his true age. There had been something about the determined set of his mouth and the glittering blue eyes that had never been young. And, while she’d been too dazed by his sudden reappearance to register more than an instant recognition, she was now able to see that Max appeared to have hardly changed at all.
Although that wasn’t strictly true, of course. There was now an austere, almost stern cast to the youthful features she had once known and an unfamiliar bleak and steely glint in his startlingly clear blue eyes. However, it seemed so unfair that, in all other respects, he should still appear to be the same devastatingly attractive man that she remembered only too well.
And then, as he shifted slightly in his seat, the movement of his broad shoulder and the quick, fleeting smile with which he greeted something her mother was saying to him sent a sudden sharp quiver of sexual awareness rippling through her body.
Gritting her teeth, Amber desperately tried to think of something—anything—to prevent herself from recalling the firmly muscled chest, slim hips and hard thighs lying beneath the dark formal suit he was wearing with such effortless poise and assurance.
Maybe it was a sense of the total injustice of life that lent an extra sharpness to her voice as she found herself saying, ‘It’s been very nice to see you again, Max. However, I’m sure you must be a busy man, and we really shouldn’t take up any more of your valuable time.’
‘Really, Amber!’ her mother protested with a quick, nervous laugh as her daughter glanced pointedly down at her watch. ‘Besides,’ she added with a puzzled frown, ‘surely dear Max is staying the night with us?’
‘Nonsense!’ Amber snapped, feeling as though her temper—already on a very short fuse—was about to erupt at any moment. ‘Of course he isn’t. He...er...he just happened to be in the area, and...’
‘No, dear, you’re quite wrong. Because, now I come to think about it, it must have been Max’s name, which I wrote down this morning.’
‘What?’ Amber’s green eyes widened in horror as the older woman vigorously nodded her head. ‘But I checked on the note pad in the hall, and there’s nothing there—only something about a call from the grocer.’
Violet Grant gave her daughter a slightly guilty, shamefaced smile. ‘Yes, well...it looks as if I might have made a slight error,’ she admitted airily. ‘But I thought the man mentioned Mr Warnock. So, I naturally assumed it was something to do with our local grocer. I didn’t realise the call was about Max Warner wanting to spend the night with us.’
You idiot—he’s only here to view the house! Amber wanted to scream at her mother. But she couldn’t. Not when she hadn’t yet told the older woman about the proposed sale of the Hall. Oh, Lord! What on earth was she going to do about this increasingly perilous situation?
Unfortunately, Violet Grant—now with the bit firmly between her teeth—appeared to be virtually unstoppable.
‘It will be so nice having an old friend staying here with us, here at the Hall,’ she told Max. ‘I still haven’t got used to complete strangers marching through the house. Although our paying guests always say that it’s so much nicer and more comfortable than an impersonal hotel,’ she confided before turning to Amber. ‘There’s no problem, dear. After all, we have plenty of rooms available.’
Amber knew that she ought to be thoroughly ashamed of a sudden, overwhelming urge to place her clenched hands tightly about her mother’s neck. ‘We’re...um...we’re all booked up,’ she lied wildly.
‘How can we be?’ Violet frowned. ‘Only this morning, you were saying that you wished we had some guests for the weekend.’
Amber gritted her teeth. She was just trying to think of some of their regular visitors, who might have arranged to stay at very little notice, when she caught sight of the chilly, mocking gleam in Max’s glittering blue eyes.
Her heart sank like a stone as she suddenly realised that he was actually enjoying her discomfiture. Although, what she’d done to deserve his enmity, she had no idea. After all, he was the one who’d abandoned her.
‘I’d be delighted to stay here at the Hall,’ Max drawled, his mouth twisting with sardonic amusement at the expression of consternation and dismay clearly visible on Amber’s face. ‘Unfortunately...’ he added after a long pause, ‘I have to return to London tonight. But I’d be very interested to see over this house.’ He turned to smile at Violet. ‘I understand that it dates from Tudor times, and is one of the oldest houses in Elmbridge.’
The older woman nodded her head. ‘Yes, you’re quite right, it is. I’m sure Amber would be delighted to show you around.’
Oh, God—he’s positively enjoying this! Amber realised, her body almost shaking with tension. Far from being prepared to accept that he wasn’t wanted, Max was clearly getting the maximum amount of grim enjoyment from this fraught situation. And time was running out. She had to get rid of him—as quickly as possible. But how on earth was she going to do it?
Just as she was coming to the conclusion that the sooner she showed him around the house—keeping well away from the attic, of course—the sooner he’d be gone, her desperate thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock.
‘Hello...?’ Rose Thomas put her head around the sitting-room door. ‘I’ve just come to fetch Emily. I hope she’s been behaving herself?’
‘Of course she has.’ Amber turned to smile at her friend, momentarily overcome with relief and euphoria at the welcome interruption. But, as she heard the sound of childish laughter only a second or two later, she realised there was nothing she could do to avoid a catastrophic disaster.
‘Mummy...Mummy! We’ve had a really stupendous time dressing up in Granny’s old clothes!’ Lucy called out as she ran full tilt into the sitting room, quickly followed by Emily. ‘We looked absolutely terrific!’
‘I’m sure you did,’ Amber managed to gasp, almost frozen with terror as she watched the little girls running excitedly around the room. She had no hope of being able to fool a clever, perceptive man like Max. But Rose, who’d known Lucy since she was a baby...? Would she notice the startling similarity between the two heads of dark, curly hair and sparkling blue eyes?
But her friend clearly hadn’t noted anything amiss as she gazed across the room at the tall, dark stranger who was rising to his feet.
‘Surely, it can’t be...?’ Rose exclaimed as the man gave her a broad smile. ‘Good Heavens—it really is Max Warner!’ she laughed, her cheeks pink with excitement as he crossed the room towards her. ‘I’d heard that you were now back in the country, but never expected to see you quite so soon. You hardly seem to have changed at all.’
‘Since I shudder at the memory of myself as a wild teenager, I sincerely hope that I have, my dear Rose,’ Max grinned, taking her hand and lifting it gallantly to his lips.
Despite her fright and panic, Amber felt a flash of indignation at this piece of quite outrageous flattery. Surely plain, calm, sensible Rose couldn’t be so silly as to fall for such a line? However, as they chattered together, with her friend sparkling beneath the awful man’s quite overwhelming charm, it really did seem as if she’d become momentarily transformed into a lovely woman.
You had to hand it to Max—he was a real con artist! she acknowledged grimly as Rose very reluctantly took her leave.
‘Well...!’ she exclaimed as Amber accompanied her and Emily across the hall towards the front door. ‘When I arrived and saw that glamorous car, it never occurred to me that it might be Max Warner. What a surprise!’
‘Yes, it certainly is,’ Amber agreed bleakly.
‘I don’t understand.’ Rose frowned. ‘If you weren’t expecting him—what on earth is he doing here?’
‘Don’t ask!’ she groaned. ‘It’s all to do with the sale of the house. But everything has become so compli-cated—’ Amber broke off, looking nervously back over her shoulder. ‘I...I’ll give you a ring tomorrow...explain everything,’ she added, quickly bending down to kiss Emily goodbye, before dashing swiftly back to the sitting room.
Unfortunately, on her return, she discovered that even those few minutes’ absence had proved to be fatal.
‘...of course, Lucy’s a very clever little girl,’ her mother was saying. ‘I’m hoping that she’ll be clever enough to get into the local grammar school. But, as she’s only seven years old, there’s still a few years to go yet,’ she added, smiling she patted the glossy, dark curls of the child sitting on her lap.
‘But I’m going to be eight years old in June,’ Lucy added quickly, jumping to her feet and running over to the tall man leaning elegantly against the mantelpiece. ‘How old are you?’
‘I’m as old as my face—and just a little older than my teeth,’ Max retorted, waving aside her grandmother’s protest as he smiled idly down at the small girl.
‘That’s a very clever answer!’ Lucy grinned up at the man towering over her small figure. ‘Are you going to be staying with us for a while?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ he murmured, his dark brows creasing into a puzzled frown as he gazed down at the little girl.
‘That’s a pity, because I really like riddles. My friend, Emily, told me a new one today—and I bet Granny won’t know the answer,’ she confided, before turning to skip back across the carpet to where Violet was sitting. ‘When is a pony not a pony?’
The older woman smiled and shook her head.
‘When it’s turned into a field!’ Lucy shouted before collapsing into a fit of giggles.
Standing frozen in the open doorway, Amber felt as if she were viewing the curtain rise on the last act of a Greek tragedy. Numbly waiting for nemesis to strike, she watched as Max turned his head to look into the large mirror over the mantelpiece. She saw his body becoming taut and rigid, his eyes narrowing to dark points of hard steel as he stared first at himself, and then at the reflection of the small girl on the other side of the room.
Paralysed by panic, and helplessly unable to prevent her whole world from crashing down about her head, Amber’s heart thumped wildly in her chest as Max continued to stare blindly into the mirror, his expression grim and forbidding. And then, as if coming to a decision, he turned to cross the room. Murmuring a polite farewell to Violet Grant, he glanced down intently at Lucy for a moment, before striding swiftly towards where she stood in the doorway. Grasping Amber’s arm in an iron grip, he barely halted his swift progress as he dragged her after him into the hall, then slammed the door shut behind them.
‘My God!’ he exploded, the sound of his angry voice reverberating loudly in the large, vaulted space of the hall. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Tell you what?’ she muttered, helplessly aware that she’d never been any good at telling lies as she felt the hot colour flooding over her pale cheeks. ‘I...I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, yes, you damn well do!’ he retorted harshly, his fingers tightening cruelly on her arm. ‘That little girl is obviously my daughter—for Heaven’s sake!’
‘No! No, you’re quite...er...quite wrong....’ she whispered, desperately tried to evade his fierce gaze.
‘I’m not prepared to listen to any stupid lies, Amber,’ he ground out threateningly, before swearing violently under his breath as he glanced down at the slim gold watch on his wrist. ‘Unfortunately, I’m already late for another appointment. But if you thought you’d seen the last of me eight years ago—you were very much mistaken!’ he growled, the icy-cold menace in his voice sending shivers of fright and terror running down her spine. ‘Because, I’ll be back just as soon as I can. And that’s not a threat—it’s a promise!’
* * *
And she had absolutely no doubt that he would be back, Amber told herself, shivering with cold and nervous exhaustion. Max had very clearly stated his firm intention of seeking her out once again. And there was nothing she could do, but wait with ever-mounting despair for his return.
It had seemed, during the past two weeks, as though she was existing in the midst of a living nightmare, never knowing from one moment to the next when or how he would turn up to cast an evil shadow over her life. And while she was normally very busy at this time of year, she’d hardly been able to concentrate on even the simplest task. In fact, with Max’s sudden reappearance in her life, she was finding it almost impossible to focus on the present when her mind was so completely filled with memories of the past.
‘Mummy...? Where are you?’
‘Over here,’ Amber called out as her small daughter appeared on the other side of the old walled garden.
‘Do hurry up!’ Lucy begged, running down the gravel path towards her. ‘If we don’t go soon, I’ll miss my riding lesson.’
Amber grimaced as she glanced down at her watch. ‘Sorry, darling, I completely forgot the time.’
‘I hope you’re going to change out of those old clothes,’ Lucy told her, critically viewing her mother’s slim figure, clothed in a scruffy pair of jeans beneath a windproof jacket, which had clearly seen better days. ‘And you’ve got some leaves stuck in your hair.’
‘Hey—relax! It’s Saturday, remember? No one has to get all dressed up at the weekend,’ Amber laughed, bending down to allow the little girl to remove the greenery from her thick, golden brown hair.
‘I thought you were going to do some Christmas shopping.’
‘Oh, yes, you’re right. I’d completely forgotten. OK, you win,’ she grinned through her hair at her daughter. ‘I’ll try and find something smarter to wear.’
A self-appointed arbiter of her mother’s wardrobe, Lucy had very strong views on what was, and what wasn’t, suitable attire for various social functions. However, not having any spare money to spend on clothes, Amber had quite cheerfully stopped worrying about the dictates of fashion a long time ago.
‘What are you going to wear?’ Lucy demanded as she finished removing the straw from her mother’s hair.
‘Oh, I’ll think of something.’
‘All my friends say that you’re very pretty. When I’m grown up, I’m going to buy you lots and lots of lovely clothes,’ Lucy told her solemnly.
‘Thank you, darling!’ Amber grinned down at her daughter. Although she was only twenty-six and still—if Philip Jackson was to be believed—an attractive woman, she knew that she’d never been half as pretty as Lucy. With her cloud of black curly hair and large, clear blue eyes, the little girl was the spitting image of her father. Which was yet another problem to be faced. Because it wasn’t just the threat of Max’s return that was causing her so much anxiety and distress—there was the added worry of how and when to break the news to her friends. And that was something she was going to have to do sooner rather than later. Because, while Rose had been far too excited by Max’s sudden reappearance to notice the startling resemblance between father and daughter, Amber knew that she couldn’t rely on her other friends being so blind. And, most important of all—what about Lucy herself? How on earth could she even begin to try and explain to such a young girl the torturous events of the past...?
‘Oh, do stop day-dreaming, Mummy. Please hurry up!’ Lucy pleaded, almost dancing with impatience.
‘Just give me five minutes to change, and I’ll be right with you,’ Amber promised, sighing heavily as she picked up the basket full of vegetables before slowly following her daughter back down the garden path.
CHAPTER THREE
‘DON’T panic—there are still ten shopping days to go before Christmas!’
Momentarily unnerved by the words being hoarsely whispered in her ear, Amber gave a startled yelp, nearly dropping her heavy load of parcels as she spun around to find herself staring up into the twinkling brown eyes of Philip Jackson.
‘For Heaven’s sake!’ she gasped as the young doctor swiftly removed the packages from her arms. ‘It’s bad enough having to fight one’s way through the crowds without you scaring me half to death!’
‘I didn’t mean to give you a fright,’ he grinned. ‘But why does everyone seem to be gripped by a “shop till you drop” frenzy at this time of year?’
‘I don’t know. It’s crazy, isn’t it?’ she agreed as they walked slowly up the street. ‘So, just what are you doing here, in the middle of town on a Friday morning?’ she teased. ‘Surely a busy doctor ought to be in his surgery looking after the sick and infirm.’
‘I’ve taken the morning off for some last-minute shopping,’ he confessed with a rueful grin, before insisting on leading her into the Market Tavern for a mug of their famous ‘Winter Warmer’—hot chocolate with a dash of brandy. ‘It will do you good, and you’ll still be quite sober enough to drive home,’ he assured her when she expressed her doubts about the wisdom of drinking in the middle of the day. ‘On the other hand—how about joining me for lunch in one of the local restaurants?’
Amber shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, Philip. I can’t make it today. Mother’s in bed with a heavy cold, and I must get back to keep an eye on her.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. Although I have to say that you don’t look too well, either,’ the doctor added, glancing with concern at her pale, finely drawn features and the dark shadows beneath her eyes.
‘I’m all right,’ she shrugged, perfectly well aware—from a despairing glance in her mirror this morning—that she was looking like death warmed up. Just as she knew that part of her present exhausted state of mind wasn’t just the worry about Max’s return. She was also becoming deeply disturbed about her mother.
Amber had finally been forced to explain to her mother the necessity of selling their home, and Violet Grant’s reaction had been every bit as bad as she had feared. Amber still shuddered to recall the wild, hysterical accusations and virtual collapse of the older woman. It was well over a week since her mother had taken to her bed, claiming that she had a bad cold and refusing to leave her room—an action that was now causing her daughter grave concern.
Unfortunately, it was all too reminiscent of Violet’s behaviour eight years ago, following the scandal and collapse of her husband’s business. And so, while she was trying hard not to overreact to the situation, Amber knew that if her mother continued to avoid facing up to life by hiding in her bedroom, she was going to have to seek some serious medical advice.
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Mary Lyons
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: A Mistletoe Marriage? «What could be nicer than a Christmas wedding?» Under normal circumstances Amber would have agreed with the sentiment but Max Warner was only offering her a cold-blooded marriage of convenience, designed solely to give their daughter a name. He didn′t love her – had never loved her.Eight years before, he had walked out of her life, not even knowing that their torrid affair had left more than heartache in its wake. And yet the thought of being Max′s bride was proving irresistible, even if it meant that the only Christmas present Amber ended up with was another broken heart!