The Deserving Mistress. Carole Mortimer
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coming back tomorrow, when I might be neither of those things, isn’t going to change my answer one little bit,’ she assured him scathingly. ‘I’ll tell you what I first told Max, your lawyer, and then Will, your architect—this farm is not for sale!’
Jude frowned at her frustratedly. She really was the most stubborn, intransigent—
‘Certainly not to someone like you,’ she continued insultingly. ‘We don’t need a health and country club where the Hanworth Estate used to be, Mr Marshall,’ she scorned. ‘Or the eighteen-hole golf course you intend to make of this farmland!’
She had done her homework, at least, Jude acknowledged admiringly—because that was exactly what he intended doing with this land once it was his. Unless, of course, Max or Will—
No! He didn’t believe either man, no matter what his romantic connection with this family, would have betrayed the confidence he had in them. In fact, he knew that they hadn’t, had already turned down Max’s offer of resignation because of a ‘conflict of interest’, and viewed the two sets of plans Will had drawn up for this latest business venture, one including the Calendar farm, the other one not doing so.
He shrugged. ‘That’s only your personal opinion—Miss Calendar,’ he added pointedly.
She shook her head. ‘I believe, if you cared to ask around in the area, that you would find it’s the general consensus of opinion, and not just mine.’
He didn’t have time for this, Jude decided as he zipped up his jacket impatiently, better able to appreciate exactly what sort of brick wall Max and Will had come up against in their efforts to secure this farm for development. But May Calendar was going to find that he was made of much sterner stuff than either of his two friends and work colleagues, that he wasn’t so easily distracted by a helpless female—or, indeed, three of them!
‘We’ll talk about this some other time, Miss Calendar,’ he dismissed uninterestedly, pausing at the door to add, ‘It’s enough for now that we have introduced ourselves to each other.’ And that she now knew what sort of opposition she was up against.
Because Jude had no intention of giving up on his plans for the property he had already bought in this area, plans that included the Calendar sisters’ farm.
No intention whatsoever!
WELL, that was certainly a turn-up for the book, May acknowledged as she dropped down weakly onto one of the kitchen chairs after Jude Marshall’s abrupt departure.
He was the very last person she had expected to see today—or, indeed, at any other time.
Jude Marshall, and the corporation that he headed, had become something of an elusive spectre in the background of the sisters’ lives the last couple of months, ever since they had received a letter from that corporation with an offer to buy their farm. A farm that, as far as any of the Calendar sisters was concerned, had never been for sale.
That initial letter had come from America, which was why they had all assumed that Jude Marshall was American, too—and why, when he’d spoken in that precise English accent on his arrival a short time ago, May had made absolutely no connection between her unexpected visitor and the man whose very name the three sisters had all come to loathe the last two months.
Jude Marshall was a surprise in more ways than one, May acknowledged frowningly. She hadn’t expected him to be so arrogantly good-looking, for one thing, or have him moving capably about her kitchen making her a much-needed mug of coffee, for that matter!
He was also, she acknowledged less readily, completely right about the strain of running the farm on her own the last few days since her sister March had gone off to London to meet Will’s parents, and her younger sister January had telephoned from the Caribbean to say that she and Max had decided to stay on for an extra week. January had sounded so happy and carefree that May hadn’t liked to tell her youngest sister that, with March away, too, she was managing here on her own, brightly assuring January that everything was just fine here, and wishing her and Max a wonderful time.
Something she certainly wasn’t having herself!
This last few days on her own had been a learning experience, was indicative of how it would be once March and January were married and living away from the farm. Not good, May knew.
But that was still no reason to give in to Jude Marshall’s pressure to sell the farm to him, she decided with a determined straightening of her spine. Having now met the man, and seeing firsthand just how arrogantly assured he was, May was even more determined not to do that!
Although she didn’t feel quite so confident later that evening when she staggered back into the farmhouse, too tired to even bother to cook herself an evening meal.
The coffee remaining in the pot from this morning was stewed and only lukewarm, but it was better than nothing.
No, it wasn’t, she decided after the first mouthful, putting the mug back down on the table with a disgusted grimace.
She was so tired, so utterly exhausted, resting her head down on her folded arms as she sagged tiredly onto the kitchen table. Just a few minutes’ rest and she would be all right again, she told herself. Just a few minutes…
‘Come on, May, it’s time to wake up,’ a gently intruding voice cajoled. ‘May?’ A gentle shaking of her arm accompanied this second intrusion.
She had been having such a nice dream, she frowned resentfully, had been lying on a golden beach, the sun warm and soothing, with a tropical blue sea lapping lightly against the sand at her feet. But the stiffness in her folded arms as she slowly woke to consciousness, aided by the ache in her back, told her only too clearly that it had unfortunately been just a dream!
‘May, if you don’t wake up in a minute, I’m going to assume that this time you really have had a heart attack—and commence emergency mouth-to-mouth resuscitation!’ that intruding voice drawled mockingly.
Jude Marshall’s voice!
She recognised those clipped English tones only too easily this time, raising her head to glare at him resentfully, very aware that she probably looked worse now than she had this morning, still in the same clothes, still as dirty—and, to add to her disarray, she probably had crease marks on her face now from having fallen asleep in such an uncomfortable position!
He grinned down at her unconcernedly. ‘I thought the mere suggestion of my having to carry out mouth-to-mouth resuscitation might revive you!’
She gave an irritated sigh. ‘What do you want, Mr Marshall?’
‘You seem very fond of asking me that.’ He raised mocking brows. ‘A fine way to talk to someone who has brought you dinner,’ he admonished derisively, holding up a plastic carrier bag. ‘Chinese take-away,’ he explained economically. ‘Having seen how tired you were this morning, I didn’t think you were going to be in any fit state to cook yourself a hot meal this evening.’
May frowned up at him, still not quite awake, but aware enough to view his kindness—and the man himself!—with suspicion. The fact that his surmise had obviously been a correct one wasn’t in question—but his response to it certainly was.
‘And why should that bother you, Mr Marshall?’ she prompted warily, her sleepy state fast disappearing now as she frowned up at him suspiciously.
‘Stop dithering, woman, and tell me where the plates are so that I can serve this stuff before it goes cold!’ He put the bag down on the table in front of her.
‘Second cupboard on the right,’ she supplied somewhat dazedly. Plates, he had said. In the plural. Surely this man didn’t intend sitting down to dinner with her?
But as he set out two places on the table along with the two big plates, and then