CHAPTER THREE

      NAOMI was over the moon about the last-minute reprieve for the Grange, and couldn’t see anything wrong with the proposal.

      ‘The place will still be in the family, where it belongs,’ she replied firmly, serving Rachel breakfast the following morning. ‘That’s the main thing. You might not have complete control but, in the circumstances, it’s just about the best any of us could have hoped for. You say this man has guaranteed us jobs in the new venture?’

      ‘Yes.’ Rachel spooned a piece of grapefruit into her mouth discontentedly.’ If you want them. The new regime might be a little different from the old one, however.’

      ‘He’s a bit of a looker, isn’t he?’ Naomi bustled around the large kitchen with an ebullient air. She grinned at Rachel, her brown eyes twinkling mischievously. ‘If I were thirty years younger! Actually, I’ll tell you who he reminds me of…’ she continued. ‘You remember that French boy—the one you had a bit of a crush on?’

      ‘What?’ Rachel pushed the half-eaten grapefruit away from her. ‘Oh…yes,’ she murmured.

      ‘This man’s different, of course—’

      ‘In what way?’ Rachel couldn’t keep the edge from her voice.

      Naomi cast her a frowning glance. ‘Well…he’s rich, for one thing. Sophisticated. And he’s not French.’

      ‘No?’

      ‘Is he, then? There wasn’t a hint of accent when he spoke to me the other day.’ Naomi, cloth in hand, began to wipe over the kitchen surfaces with vigour. ‘Very cultural tones. I wish more people spoke the Queen’s English the way that young man does.’ She paused, staring across the kitchen at a point above Rachel’s head.

      ‘Yes…’ she murmured, ‘quite the sort of man your aunt would have approved of. He’ll not do anything to harm the old place.’

      ‘You think so?’ Rachel struggled to keep her irritation under control.

      ‘Well, he won’t be allowed to, will he? After all there is such a thing as planning and good taste. And you’re going to be here in charge of everything.’ Naomi waved her cloth in Rachel’s direction. ‘No, it will turn out all right, you’ll see. I’ve got a good feeling about all of this.’

      Rachel rose from the kitchen table, and carried her bowl and cup across to the dishwasher. She could hardly believe the conversation they were having. The awful irony of it! A small part of her was tempted to reveal the truth of Jean-Luc’s identity, but only a small part. Just thinking about him made her feel miserably confused, angry, upset…

      Naomi would find out about him eventually, she was bound to, but Rachel would be more than happy if that occasion was a long time in the future. When—if there ever was going to be a when—she herself had come to terms with Jean-Luc’s involvement in her life, albeit on a purely commercial basis.

      ‘I’ve got to get ready,’ Rachel murmured. ‘I don’t want to be late.’

      ‘Your navy suit is cleaned and pressed,’ Naomi called. ‘Oh, and by the way, did you see my note?’

      Rachel paused at the kitchen door. ‘What note?’

      ‘I left it on the hall table. Shaun called again last evening.’

      ‘Did he?’ Rachel frowned. ‘What did you tell him?’

      ‘That you were out. He says he’ll drop by,’ Naomi added. ‘I must say, he sounded more than a little upset. Mind you he was pleased when I told him about the new developments.’

      Naomi, never particularly sensitive to other people’s moods, ignored Rachel’s look of dismay and continued cheerfully. ‘I said the situation was really looking far more hopeful with regard to the house and estate, and that things were moving at a pace, and that all the tension that had been affecting you lately would soon be gone and that might mean that you and he—’

      ‘Naomi…’ Rachel ran a hand through her tousled blonde locks, debating whether now was a good time to tell her that she really had to start minding her own business—even if Shaun was her great-nephew. ‘You shouldn’t have talked like that to Shaun. I don’t want him knowing my business and, apart from anything else, nothing’s settled yet, and even if it were—’

      ‘But it will be.’ Naomi resumed her cleaning with a satisfied smile. ‘It will be very soon though, won’t it?’

      ‘Yes, but that’s not the point…’ Rachel released a tense breath. She wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to cope with all the tension and anxiety the day ahead was undoubtedly going to bring. Having to spend time with Jean-Luc was going to be difficult enough, without the complication of Shaun trying to make contact again.

      ‘I’ll get dressed.’ Rachel gave up. It was no use trying to make Naomi see the error of her ways now. She glanced at the kitchen clock. She didn’t have the time for anything more—there were far more pressing things on the agenda.

      The rest of the day disappeared in a blur of anxious trepidation. The trustees of her aunt’s estate, solicitors, the bank—everyone—were more than happy with the arrangement offered by Jean-Luc and his powerful company, and, despite Rachel’s innumerable reservations, they urged her to accept. In financial terms at least, it was clearly an offer that couldn’t be refused.

      She fled home from the offices in town once the papers were signed and sealed. It was late afternoon, and she desperately needed time on her own to come to terms with all that had happened—and all that was about to happen in the future.

      She hardly dared to look too far ahead. It was impossible to predict anything. Jean-Luc’s deal was generous—she had been made to see that by the bank manager and the trustees. Profit, despite the accusations she’d flung at him last night, seemed to be taking a back seat. So what were his motives in all of this? Why come to the rescue? What did he hope to gain?

      The questions kept spinning round and round in Rachel’s head until she almost felt dizzy with the speed of them. The biggest and most important question was, of course, why he had returned. Why?

      She loved the old orchard—one of her favourite places on the estate. The buds were just beginning to show white on the gnarled apple trees. Rachel, having changed from