CHAPTER ONE

      CRESSIDA FIELDING turned her Fiat between the two stone pillars and drummed it up the long, curving drive to the house.

      She brought the car to a halt on the wide gravel sweep outside the main entrance and sat for a moment, her hands still tensely gripping the steering wheel, staring up at the house.

      The journey from the hospital had seemed endless, through all the narrow, winding lanes with the glare of the evening sun in her eyes, but she’d have gladly faced it again rather than the situation that now awaited her.

      Her mind was still full of the image of her father in the intensive care unit, his skin grey under the bright lights and his bulky body strangely shrunken.

      Lips tightening, Cressida shook herself mentally. She was not going to think like that. Her father’s heart attack had been severe, but he was now making good progress. And when his condition was sufficiently stable, the surgeons would operate. And he would be fine again—in health at least.

      And if it was up to her to ensure that he had a life to come back to, then—so be it.

      With a sudden lift of the heart, she noticed her uncle’s Range Rover was parked by the rhododendrons. At least she wasn’t going to be alone.

      As she went up the short flight of steps the front door opened to reveal the anxious figure of the housekeeper.

      ‘Oh, Miss Cressy.’ The older woman’s relief was obvious. ‘You’re here at last.’