Love Islands: Secret Escapes. Julia James
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need to keep trying to thwart Pauline and Chloe by refusing to sell her share of Haughton. Wouldn’t need to keep trying to punish Pauline for marrying her father and Chloe for having the beauty she thought she herself was denied.
‘So,’ he said decisively, ‘it’s all settled. There’s absolutely no call for you to head off straight away, so we’ll definitely go shopping.’
She was still looking at him with a troubled expression. She wanted to tell him that even if she didn’t actually need to go back home today shopping for clothes was the last thing she could afford. Her salary was wiped out paying for her living expenses and Pauline and Chloe’s extravagances! But even as she thought it she felt rebellion stir. If they could fund their lavish lifestyle by selling off paintings from Haughton, well, so could she!
In the deep pocket of her robe she could feel the weight of the jewellery she’d worn last night, which she would hand back to Max as she must, however reluctantly...
A stab of anger bit at her, hardening her resolve. Her expression changed as she made her decision. Max saw it and was glad.
* * *
He was even more glad, later that afternoon, when she emerged from the changing room of one of the most upmarket fashion houses, finally looking the way her natural looks deserved.
It hadn’t been completely plain sailing—she’d balked as they’d walked in, a look of near panic on her face, and he’d had to steer her firmly towards the serried racks of clothes.
‘I don’t think there’ll be anything to fit me!’ she’d said nervously, her eyes casting about at the stick-thin customers who all seemed to be Chloe clones.
Doubt had suddenly assailed her. She’d been wearing, perforce, the dowdy old-fashioned suit she’d worn yesterday, and there, surrounded by elegance and fashion, she’d felt her fragile new-found confidence waver. Panic had bitten at her throat.
They’re all looking at me—wondering what on earth a lumpy frump like me is doing here! Wanting me to get out, to stop inflicting myself on their eyesight!
The old, painful, mortifying self-consciousness had come back, drowning her, trying to send a tide of humiliated colour back into her face. The urge to run out of the shop, to take herself off to the station, to rush back down to Haughton, seeking its refuge, hiding there in solitude, safe from condemning eyes, had almost overpowered her.
Then Max had spoken, ignoring her protestation. ‘This will suit you,’ he’d said decisively, reaching for a knee-length dress in warm caramel, soft jersey with a draped neckline. ‘And these.’
He’d taken a teal-blue dress and a tailored jacket off the rack. He’d handed them to her and then started sorting through the trousers, pulling out a black pair and a chestnut-brown pair, before picking up a couple of cashmere sweaters. He’d guided her to the changing rooms.
‘In you go,’ he’d said, and he’d given her the rest of the clothes and a gentle push. He’d had no intention of letting those chains start winding themselves around her mind again.
As she had headed, still reluctantly but obediently, into the changing rooms he’d beckoned to a sales assistant, giving her a particularly engaging smile. ‘We’re going to need a lot more clothes,’ he’d said, nodding at Ellen’s back.
The sales assistant had cast an expert eye over her, taking in the tight, ill-fitting suit. ‘Definitely.’ She had nodded and glided off, returning with a large selection of separates, plus shoes, belts and some costume jewellery.
With a smile at Max, who’d settled himself comfortably into one of the leather chairs conveniently placed nearby for attendant males, complete with magazines about cars and fitness to while away their time while they waited for their womenfolk, she had whisked them into the changing room.
It had taken quite some time for Ellen to emerge...
‘TELL ME,’ MAX SAID, ‘how are you with helicopters?’
Ellen stared. ‘Helicopters?’
‘Yes. I’ve got one on standby,’ he informed her. ‘There’s a property out in the Chilterns I want to take a quick look at, and a helicopter is the fastest way.’
‘I’ve never been in one,’ Ellen said.
Max grinned. ‘Great—a new experience. You’ll love it.’
He bore her off towards the kerb, where his car was hovering. He wasn’t giving her a chance to object, just as he hadn’t given her a chance to run out of that fashion house. When she’d finally emerged from the changing room he’d wanted to punch the air, like he had the night before. And now she had looked—fantastic!
Straw-coloured trousers neatly hugged her trim hips, and a casual cashmere sweater in oatmeal superbly moulded her generous breasts. A long jacket and a swish leather handbag completed the outfit.
Behind her came the sales assistant, with more clothes, and they all totted up to a good half-dozen or more capacious carrier bags.
His driver climbed out of the car to put the bags in the boot as Max helped Ellen into the back of the car.
She was in a daze—no doubt about it. She’d handed over her credit card, wincing at the huge total, but then tightening her mouth in defiance. Another watercolour would have to be sold—but this time she would get the benefit of it.
And it was money well spent—she’d seen that the moment she’d taken in her reflection, seeing not frumpy, lumpy Elephant Ellen but a tall, good-looking, athletic, fashionably dressed woman who could stride through the world with assurance and poise. It was a good feeling—a brilliant feeling!
A bubble of happiness rose in her, as if she’d just drunk a glass of champagne. She was going to enjoy this—enjoy everything! Including the novelty of a ride in a helicopter.
Her eyes widened in excitement as the noisy machine rose into the air, skating high above the River Thames. London became increasingly miniature, and then was left behind as the countryside approached. She gazed spellbound as they flew, then circled over the property Max wanted to assess.
It was another large country house, Victorian gothic in style, and far larger than Haughton. Only then did a shadow cross her eyes, for it reminded her of the danger to her home. Oh, he could buy anywhere he liked—so why insist on buying the one place in the world she so desperately loved?
Conflicting emotions swirled in her. Max had been so good to her, and even though she knew why he was doing it, it did not detract from the gift he had given her.
I will always, always be grateful to him.
* * *
It was a gratitude she voiced yet again that evening, as they dined in the Michelin-starred restaurant at the hotel.
‘All I’ve done, Ellen,’ he said, and smiled, ‘is show you what was always there—that’s all. You’ve always been like this—but you hid it. And now you don’t any more. It’s as simple as that.’
His eyes washed over her, liking what they saw. She was wearing the teal-blue dress he’d instinctively known would suit her, and it did—much to his satisfaction—and her hair was loosely gathered into a chignon at the back of her head. Her make-up—another purchase that day—was not as striking as it had been for the ball, but it gave her smoky eyes and long lashes and a soft, tender mouth...
He dragged his gaze away, returning to his study of the wine list. The arrival of the sommelier diverted him some more, and when he was done with his discussion and selection he turned back—to find Ellen looking around the dining room and getting the attention from male diners that she well deserved. He was glad to see it—it would do her good.
All the same, he reached out to touch her arm, with