Alien Wife. Anne Mather
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nodded. ‘I see.’
The wind was beginning to rise as they entered the house, and Abby hunched her shoulders expressively. Mrs Tully was in the hall, and she viewed the girl with impatience.
‘You’ll be having pneumonia, miss,’ she announced, with a sharp familiarity. ‘Away upstairs and take a bath before supper.’
The girl took her scolding with an affectionate grimace, and Mrs Tully shook her head at Luke as she ran upstairs. ‘I never thought,’ she exclaimed. ‘Perhaps you would have liked a bath, sir.’
‘A shave will do,’ remarked Luke easily. ‘Er—Father McGregor said I might use his phone …’
‘Yes, sir. The study’s free now. Father Daniel has gone over to the church.’
‘Thank you.’
When Scott came through, his voice was faint and barely distinguishable, and it was impossible for Luke to speak as forcefully as he would have liked.
‘I’ve met the girl,’ he said without preamble. ‘I gather that was why you sent me up here.’
‘Now why should you think that?’
There was faint amusement in Scott’s voice, but Luke found he was not amused. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? Arranging for me to stay here! You knew I couldn’t avoid meeting her.’
‘So what did you think of her?’ Scott asked. ‘She’s a beautiful creature, isn’t she?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me Ella had a niece?’
‘Why didn’t I? Why didn’t she?’
‘I don’t know.’ Luke was impatient. ‘Some idea of protecting her image, perhaps. What the hell! The girl’s only her niece. She could have told me.’
‘But she didn’t.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing.’ Scott was annoyingly guileless. ‘Anyway, what of it? Abby isn’t the reason you went up there.’
‘Isn’t she?’
‘What do you think of the place? What do you think of Ardnalui?’
Luke sighed. ‘Exactly what you’d expect me to think, I suppose. You’re right, it is the ideal setting for the series. But something tells me we won’t be filming here.’
Scott laughed. ‘Remote, eh? Yes, I knew that. As a matter of fact, someone’s put forward a suggestion that we should do the filming in Cornwall. There’s a village there that—–’
‘And you let me come up here!’ Luke was getting angry, resentment at the feeling of being manipulated destroying all his earlier enjoyment of the place.
‘You needed the break, Luke. And I’d hazard a guess that Dan made you welcome.’
‘He did. But that’s not the point—–’
‘Cool it, Luke. Okay, I guess I did think it would be amusing for you to meet Abby—–’
‘Amusing!’
‘—but I wasn’t trying to take a rise out of you. You have to believe that, Luke. Abby’s a nice kid. Why should Ella have it all her our way?’
‘All her own way? What’re you talking about?’ ‘Well, Ella could have—helped the girl, contributed to her upbringing. But has she? Not one blind cent!’
Belatedly, Luke remembered what Abby had told him about her parents being dead and Daniel McGregor making himself responsible for her. It hadn’t registered at the time, but now he did wonder why Ella had never cared sufficiently to send money for her own niece’s welfare.
‘Are you sure about that?’ he asked now, loath to relinquish the image he had always held of Ella—as someone warm and generous, someone who cared about people more than possessions. She could be arrogant, he knew that, but then so could he, and he knew the feelings she had for him were not counterfeit. His feelings towards her were less easy to analyse. Since his disastrous first marriage, he had avoided that kind of commitment, and although he liked Ella very much, and was fond of her, he was not yet convinced that their temperaments were compatible to that extent.
‘Ask me that question when you get back to town,’ Scott told him blandly. ‘Now, how long are you staying?’
‘I don’t know yet.’ Luke wanted to go on talking about Ella, but obviously Scott had said as much as he was going to for the moment. ‘The whole trip seems to have been pointless. Have you heard from Ella?’
‘There was a cable for you, so I took the liberty of opening it—–’
‘Thanks.’
‘—and in it she mentions she’ll be back by the end of next week. I have her phone number …’
‘So do I,’ retorted Luke shortly. ‘Okay, Scott. I’ll see you in a few days.’
‘My pleasure.’
The phone went dead as Scott hung up and Luke replace his receiver with suppressed frustration. Why should Scott do this to him? Why send him up here on a wild goose chase? His excuse about him needing a break was not enough. Ella was away, finishing the film in Rome; the coincidence was too great, the opportunity too good to miss. And why? To meet a girl who resembled Ella to the extent that there could be no doubt about their relationship. If only Ella had told him herself. The fact that she hadn’t made the situation that much more difficult, putting an entirely different light on the quality of their relationship. He had been completely honest about the facts of his divorce. Why couldn’t Ella have been the same?
WHEN Abby came down to breakfast next morning, Daniel McGregor was alone at the table. Noticing the way she raised her eyebrows at the empty place, he smiled.
‘Mr Jordan is not, I think, an early riser, my dear,’ he remarked, helping himself to more toast.
Abby seated herself at the table and reached for the coffee pot. ‘I don’t consider eight o’clock is early,’ she pointed out.
‘No, not for us, perhaps. But we don’t keep the hours they keep in London.’ McGregor paused. ‘Well? What did you think of him?’
‘What did I think of him?’ Abby played for time. ‘That’s an odd question.’
‘But apt, don’t you think?’ The old man shook his head. ‘I’m not a fool, Abby. I know you wanted to meet him.’
Abby’s cheeks burned. ‘Well, that’s not unnatural, is it?’ . ‘No.’ McGregor shook his head. ‘I understand your feelings. But don’t be bitter, child. Life is too short for that.’
Abby bent over her toast, her long dark hair successfully concealing her features from her adopted uncle. Bitter? Yes, she supposed, she was bitter. But it wasn’t that that had made her want to meet Luke Jordan. Other emotions had long since taken over from bitterness, emotions far more destructive if she allowed them free rein.
‘So?’ McGregor was speaking again. ‘What was your impression?’
Abby frowned. What had been her impression of the man her aunt was reputed to be going to marry? Yesterday afternoon he had seemed amiable enough, and certainly attractive in a hard, masculine kind of way, but during and after dinner he had been broodingly morose, only speaking when spoken to and contributing nothing of his own experiences to the conversation. She had hoped he would talk, perhaps about her aunt, but instead he had concentrated on the food on his plate, and only occasionally had she encountered his gaze upon her in frowning meditation.
Now she shrugged her slim shoulders, and said: ‘He—he