His Reluctant Cinderella. Jessica Gilmore
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entrance looking around the pub. As his eyes swept over Clara they stopped and he smiled slightly, raising one tanned hand in greeting. How embarrassing; he’d seen her staring. Hoping she wasn’t blushing too much, Clara snapped her eyes away, regarding her empty glass with every appearance of absorbed interest.
‘You know him?’ Maddie was still staring in undisguised admiration at Raff. ‘Things have changed around here, and for the better. You’ve kept him quiet.’
‘I don’t actually know him.’ Clara was aware how unnaturally defensive she sounded and tried to rein it back in. ‘He’s new—to town, I mean, but he’s not staying for long. He’s completely unsuitable.’
‘Hot and temporary, sounds perfect for a trial run to me. Sure you’re not tempted?’
Clara couldn’t quite meet Maddie’s enquiring gaze. ‘Quite sure. His sister is a client of mine.’
‘Oh,’ Maddie sighed. ‘What a shame he’s not a new permanent resident. We could do with some eye candy in this town. Hang on.’ Maddie perked up. ‘He’s coming this way!’
Clara’s stomach gave that peculiar twist again. It was a shame that stomachs couldn’t qualify for the Olympics because by the feel of the double somersault hers was doing right now she was pretty sure she would score highly on rhythmic gymnastics.
‘Clara Castleton.’ It was said politely but there was a gleam in Raff Rafferty’s eye that unnerved her. As if he was laughing at her.
She looked up as coolly as she could. ‘The quiche didn’t suit after all?’
‘It was delicious,’ he assured her. ‘But I fancied a drink. Can I get you two ladies a top up?’
Raff turned the full beam of his blue eyes onto Maddie and Clara felt her jaw clench as her cousin beamed back. ‘That would be lovely,’ Maddie said as Clara blurted out, ‘Thank you but we are fine.’
‘Come and join us,’ Maddie invited, shooting a conspiratorial look at Clara.
‘I’m sure Mr Rafferty has somewhere he would rather be.’ It was Clara’s turn to be signalling her cousin with a meaningful look but Maddie wasn’t being very receptive.
‘That’s a shame.’ Maddie smiled up at Raff. ‘Do you?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Raff was looking amused. ‘I don’t have any friends here so I’d love to join you, thanks. I’m Raff.’
‘Maddie.’ She was positively purring. ‘Raff Rafferty, that’s an unusual combination. Your parents liked it so much they used it twice?’
He grinned, annoyingly at his ease. ‘I wish. No, my mother was into Greek mythology so when she knew she was having twins she decided to name us after the heavenly twins, Castor and Pollux. My sister escaped with Polly. I wasn’t so lucky.’
‘I like it,’ Maddie said. ‘It’s unusual.’
Clara caught Raff’s eye in a moment of shared amusement, an intoxicating warmth spreading through her at the laughter in his eyes.
‘You wouldn’t like being called Sugar all the time,’ Raff assured her cousin. ‘After one week at prep school and five fights I changed it to Raff. Now only my grandparents use my real name.’
‘It could have been worse.’ Clara had been thinking. ‘If she’d known you were a boy and a girl you might have been Apollo and Artemis.’
‘Good God, literally!’ Raff looked horrified. ‘I will never despise my name again. What a lucky escape I had. For that I absolutely must get you a drink. What are you drinking?’
Clara opened her mouth fully intending to say no again and more firmly this time, but something extraordinary happened and the words in her head changed as soon as they left her mouth. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m drinking the local pale ale.’
* * *
Raff hadn’t intended to leave the house tonight. It had taken him over two days to get back to England and once the plane had touched down at Gatwick he had headed straight to Hopeford like a homing pigeon aiming for a new world record.
He’d hoped that the key to finding Polly would be right here in the surprisingly shapely form of Clara Castleton or hidden somewhere in Polly’s house—and he was going to find it whatever it took.
Only it turned out that being mad with his twin wasn’t enough; he simply couldn’t invade her privacy. One step into her study and he had frozen. He might not like it but Polly was entitled to her secrets.
For a long time they had only really had each other. Now they didn’t even have that. The moment she’d started blaming Raff for their grandfather’s blatant favouritism it had all fallen apart and everything Raff did made it worse. Even when he’d finally left, finally had the courage to follow his own path, he couldn’t make it right.
He didn’t know how to repair the damage—if it was even repairable. But whatever she thought, she could rely on him. He’d find out where she was, what was wrong and he’d fix it. Fix them.
So here he was. She’d asked him—told him—to come home and he had. But now what?
His mood had turned dark, exhaustion and frustration making rest impossible, introspection unbearable. Five minutes of television channel hopping later and Raff had had enough. It was time to go and check out the ridiculously quaint town his sister had bequeathed him.
Otherwise he was going to end up having a conversation with the cat. Mr Simpkins knew more than he was letting on; he was sure of it.
It didn’t take Raff long to explore. Hopeford defined sleepy small town, was the epitome of privileged. The narrow streets closed in around him, making it hard to breathe. This rarefied atmosphere was exactly what he had been running from the last four years.
He’d breathed a sigh of relief at the familiar sign hanging outside a half-timbered building. A pub, a chance to get his head together, regroup. Four years of changing places, of new jobs, new challenges all had one thing in common. A local watering hole. A place to find out the lie of the land, find some compatible companionship and quench his thirst. The Swan was a little older, a lot cleaner and a great deal safer than his last local but he didn’t hold that against the place.
Especially when he walked in and clapped eyes on Clara Castleton.
It had taken a moment or two to recognise her. Sure there was the same feline tilt to her long-lashed eyes, the same high cheekbones but that was where the similarity ended. This version had let her hair down, metaphorically as well as physically, the strawberry-blonde length allowed to fall in a soft half-ponytail rather than ruthlessly pulled back.
Even more disturbingly the lush full mouth was curved in a generous smile.
But none of that mattered. Clara was a means to an end, that was all. Mr Simpkins might not be ready to talk but a friendly night in the pub and he might have Clara telling him anything he needed to know. She must know more than she was letting on—she ran every aspect of Polly’s life.
‘Thank you for the drink...’ oh, no, prim was back ‘...but I really need to be going.’
Raff glanced at his battered old watch. His grandfather had given him a Breitling for his twenty-first but he preferred the cheap leather-strapped watch he had bought first trip out. Bought with money earned by his own sweat, not by family connections.
‘It’s still early. Are you sure you don’t want to stay a bit longer?’
‘It’s a work night,’ she reminded him. Raff had been doing his best to forget. Tomorrow he was going to have to try and dig up something smart, get up ridiculously early and join all the other pack rats on an overpriced, overcrowded train. No matter he hadn’t made this exact journey before. He knew the drill.
The only surprise was whether his particular carriage would be overheated or freezing