Reform of the Rake. CATHERINE GEORGE
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of a shock at first. Though I should have expected it; pretty obvious really from the way—’ She stopped, flushing.
‘I take it your father’s very much in love with his new wife,’ said Adam quietly.
‘Exactly. And she with him.’ Lowri turned away to investigate an insulated jug. ‘Mmm, wonderful—coffee. Want some?’
They fell silent as they drank the dark, fragrant brew provided by Mrs Hawkridge. After a while Adam leaned over and took her hand.
‘Never mind, Lowri. One day you’ll marry and have a baby of your own, and no more regrets about your new little stepbrother—or sister.’
She withdrew her hand swiftly. ‘My regrets were very short-lived, Adam.’
‘Sorry.’ He lay flat on his back, hands linked behind his head. ‘Nevertheless I meant what I said. You’re exactly the type for marriage and babies, Lowri Morgan.’
‘Because I’m not blonde and voluptuous and a frequenter of fashionable haunts—like Caroline Seton and Miss Thirty-two E?’
Adam opened a disapproving hazel eye. ‘That’s not what I said. Those two are just to play with. You’re the sort men marry.’
Lowri grinned impudently. ‘Whereas you blench at the mere thought of marriage, I suppose!’
‘How right you are. I’ve got too much to do to get married. When Dad retires, Hawke Electronics will be wife, mistress and family rolled into one. I’ll have no time left over for the normal kind. All my energies will be concentrated on the company.’
Such a waste, thought Lowri, her eyes on the powerful, sprawled figure.
‘Besides,’ said Adam, his eyes closed, ‘I’ve good reason to be allergic to the sanctity of marriage.’
Lowri sat very still. ‘I heard what happened to your brother, if that’s what you mean.’
‘I do. I keep thinking I could have prevented what happened if I’d been home. Stupid really. Peter was always a highly strung, sensitive sort of chap—nothing like me. But to end it all just because his wife walked out on him! Damned if I would—but enough of that.’ Adam leapt suddenly to his feet, holding out his hand. ‘Come on, let’s pack this stuff back in the car and go for a walk.’
As Lowri strolled with Adam Hawkridge through the sunlit afternoon, it suddenly occurred to her that she was finally living out the fantasies she’d indulged in before coming to live in London. She was actually wandering over watermeadows with a tall, devastatingly attractive man, a thought which added such sparkle to her mood Adam showed gratifying signs of reluctance when he parted with her in Hamilton Terrace.
‘I won’t come in, Lowri,’ he said, as he stopped the car. ‘I should have been somewhere else half an hour ago, so give my best to Sarah and Rupert and tell them I took great care of their little cousin.’
‘It was a lovely day. Thank you, Adam.’
He smiled at her and patted her hand affectionately. ‘My pleasure too, Lowri. You’re very sweet—take good care of yourself.’
Lowri hesitated, then gave him a funny little smile. ‘Can I ask you a very personal question, Adam?’
He grinned. ‘Feel free.’
‘Is Caroline the thirty-six C angel blush?’
Adam threw back his head and roared with laughter, then squeezed her hand, winking at her. ‘Actually, no. You haven’t met Miss Thirty-Six.’
Lowri shook her head, laughing, waved him off then reported in to Rupert and Sarah. She took herself off to her own little domain later to reflect on the day and wish, rather irritably, that Adam thought of her as something more exciting than the Clares’ nice little cousin. She’d hoped against hope that he’d kiss her again, so she could show him she was all woman as well as just ‘sweet’. Sarah was right, she thought moodily, as she lay in a hot bath. Adam Hawkridge was a heartbreaker of the most dangerous type of all—totally unaware of his own power.
Lowri buckled down to work with a will next morning, determined to put Adam Hawkridge firmly from her mind. Rupert had almost finished dictating his novel. In a day or two he would have given her all the tapes and by the end of the week Lowri hoped to finish typing the first draft.
‘Then you’ll have to type the whole thing all over again, and not just once but several times, probably,’ warned Sarah. ‘Rupert’s rarely satisfied with it until about the fourth or fifth draft. Do you think you’ll cope?’
‘Of course I will,’ said Lowri cheerfully, then raised an eyebrow. ‘What happens when it’s finally finished? Does that mean I’m out of a job?’
‘Of course not! Rupert’s already got the next book in mind. You’ll be needed to research for ages before he actually starts on it. Which, I warn you, means long hours shut up in libraries, or lugging home weighty tomes to search for some obscure detail Rupert can’t do without.’
Lowri beamed, delighted. ‘Sounds great to me. History was my best subject at school.’
Rupert finished dictating his novel by mid-week and Lowri finished typing it late on the Saturday evening, ignoring all protests from the Clares about working on a weekend.
‘I just have to know how it ends,’ she said firmly, and refused to budge from her desk until the last line was typed. She sat back with a sigh at last, her mind buzzing with Jonah Haldane and his triumphant victory over his adversaries.
‘Well?’ demanded Rupert, when she went over to the house later to say she’d finished. ‘What do you think?’
Lowri heaved a great sigh. ‘It’s utterly magnificent, Rupert.’
‘Not recycled Dickens, then,’ said Sarah with satisfaction.
‘Sarah! What a horrible thing to say.’
‘Rupert’s description, not mine. I haven’t even read it yet.’
Lowri turned on Rupert in fury. ‘Don’t you dare say that, Rupert Clare! I’ve never dared admit it because I seemed to be in a minority of one, but Dickens always bored me rigid. Whereas your book—’ She waved her hands, searching for the right word. ‘I can’t express myself like you, Rupert, but what I’m trying to say is that when I came to the last line I wished desperately that I hadn’t finished it, that I was starting at the beginning again. And this is just the draft—think of the impact when you’re finally satisfied with it!’
Rupert threw his arms round her, laughing. ‘All right, you little spitfire. Every novelist should have a champion like you. How long will it take you to print the last bit?’
‘By Tuesday, I should think—Monday if I work tomorrow.’
‘Definitely not,’ said Sarah firmly. ‘Rupert’s giving you a treat tomorrow. At least I hope it’s a treat-Dominic’s sure you’ll be thrilled.’
‘Would you like to watch some Sunday cricket at Lord’s?’ said Rupert. ‘Sarah’s taking Emily to some birthday party, so how about coming to see Middlesex play your beloved Glamorgan with Dominic and me?’
Lowri was just as thrilled as Dominic had predicted. Lord’s cricket ground was within such easy walking distance of the house she’d been longing to get to a match there ever since moving to St Johns Wood.
‘Dad will be green with envy,’ she said with a sigh of pleasure.
Sarah smiled affectionately. ‘Not every girl’s idea of a fun day!’
‘But then,’ mocked Rupert, ‘Lowri’s a Morgan like you, by no means a run-of-the-mill type of female.’
After her week of gruelling work it was an enormous pleasure to Lowri to sit between Dominic and Rupert at the famous cricket ground, applauding with partisan enthusiasm as she watched the Glamorgan eleven pull out all the stops