His Rags-to-Riches Bride. Susan Stephens
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‘Your mother has no idea I’m here.’ He cut across her incisively. ‘I’m staying at a hotel a few miles away, and I’ve come, having failed to find you at Randalls. What’s going on, Laine?’
She shrugged, standing with yards of brocade trailing awkwardly over her arm. ‘I left. Didn’t Mrs Hallam tell you?’
‘Indeed she did, and at some length too,’ he said grimly. ‘What she couldn’t say was why?’
‘Because we no longer have a housekeeper, and I’m more use at home.’ She spoke with deliberate brightness. ‘At least I may be one day. I’m still struggling a bit at the moment.’
There was a silence, then Dan said softly, ‘My God, this is unbelievable. What happened to Mrs Evershott?’
‘She—left too. We couldn’t really afford her any more.’
‘So you’re doing her job instead?’ There was an odd note in his voice. ‘At the same salary, I presume?’
‘Heavens, no. That’s all part of the economy drive.’ She forced a smile. ‘Although I do get paid, of course.’
‘I can imagine. And just how long does your mother intend this situation to continue?’
‘Until Abbotsbrook is sold. It went officially on the market yesterday, so who knows?’ She held up the brocade. ‘Mother’s trying to make it seem less shabby to impress the potential buyers when they start flocking in, but I doubt whether a few yards of material will fool them.’
‘I don’t think so either,’ he said dryly. ‘And just when did she reach this momentous decision?’
‘As soon as I turned eighteen and the terms of the trust no longer applied—oh—and thank you for my gorgeous earrings and the flowers,’ she added hurriedly. ‘I was going to write, but I wasn’t sure where you’d be.’
‘Forget about it.’ His dark brows were drawn together in a cold frown. ‘So, where is your mother? I’d like a word with her.’
‘She’s at the golf club,’ Laine told him. ‘But she’ll be back around five, and she’ll expect to find these curtains up at the windows.’
‘Then she can attend to them herself.’ Dan took the heavy folds from her and flung them over the back of a chair. ‘Risk her own damned neck.’
‘But you don’t understand,’ she protested. ‘It’s part of my job.’
He said gently. ‘You’re wrong, Laine. I understand perfectly—apart from asking myself what on earth she’s doing at the golf club.’
‘She goes there nearly every day,’ Laine said, her voice subdued. ‘She started having lessons over a year ago, when the new professional first came. His name’s Jeff Tanfield.’ She paused. ‘He’s quite a bit younger than she is.’
There was a silence, then Dan said thoughtfully, ‘I could do with some strong coffee. Let’s go and make it.’
When they were sitting opposite each other at the big scrubbed kitchen table, steaming mugs in front of them, he said, ‘So what’s really going on, Laine? And I want to know all of it.’
‘We’re going to live in Andalucia.’ Laine struggled to keep her voice from deteriorating into a little wail of desperation. ‘At one of those holiday complexes built round a golf course.’
‘You as well?’
She nodded. ‘When Abbotsbrook is sold Mother’s going to invest in the Spanish place, buy into the consortium that owns it. Jeff will go on teaching golf, and Mother will do the administration—look after the guest bungalows. And I’m going to be her assistant.’
‘When did you discover this?’
‘A few days after my birthday.’ She shrugged. Tried to smile. ‘I was just—told.’
‘I see.’ He stirred some cream into his coffee. ‘And you agreed?’
She bit her lip. ‘I didn’t seem to have many other career options open.’
‘Tell me,’ Dan said, ‘is your mother planning to marry this Tanfield?’
‘I don’t know. Although I heard her having a row with Simon just before he left, and I’m almost sure I heard Jeff’s name mentioned. I didn’t mean to listen,’ she added hastily. ‘But she was rather talking at the top of her voice.’
‘Then Simon—knew?’ he said slowly. ‘Well, that makes sense.’ He paused. ‘What’s the age difference between them?’
‘Seven—maybe eight years. I’m not too sure.’
He gave her an enigmatic look. ‘And you feel that’s an insuperable bar to marriage?’
She sipped her coffee, burning her tongue. ‘Well, it’s usually the other way round—isn’t it? The man’s generally older than the woman.’
‘It can certainly happen,’ Dan agreed gravely. ‘So, what do you think of your potential stepfather?’
‘I suppose he’s—all right,’ she said slowly, trying to be fair. Then, in a burst of honesty, ‘I try not to think about him much at all. Or any of it, for that matter.’ She swallowed. ‘When Simon was killed I thought things couldn’t get any worse, but they have—they have. Everything’s suddenly—falling apart, and I don’t know how to stop it.’
There was a silence, broken by the sound of an approaching car.
‘Your mother?’ Dan asked tersely.
She sighed. ‘No, that’s the station taxi. It will be Candida, arriving for the weekend.’
His brows lifted. ‘You surprise me,’ he said slowly. ‘Does she do a lot of this?’
She nodded. ‘She’s supposed to be going through Simon’s things,’ she said tonelessly. ‘Sorting them for charity because Mother doesn’t feel up to it yet. But she doesn’t seem to have got very far.’
She got up. ‘I’d better put the oven on. I made a casserole yesterday, and it just needs heating up.’ She paused. ‘There’s plenty—if you’d like to stay too?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think so. I have a much better plan. Why don’t I take you out to dinner instead?’
Her lips parted in astonishment. ‘But I can’t. I have to get the rest of supper—the vegetables—a pudding.’
Dan finished his coffee and rose too. ‘On the contrary, my sweet, it will do them good to forage for themselves.’ He added crisply, ‘And I won’t take no for an answer, Laine.’
The kitchen door was flung open and Candida swept in, looking disgruntled. ‘That train service is a nightmare. I deliberately came early, but it was still crowded with the most ghastly—’
She saw Daniel and halted, her face clearing magically into a ravishing smile. ‘Dan—darling. How wonderful. I had no idea you’d be here.’
‘And I was just thinking the same about you,’ he returned silkily. ‘How are you, Candy?’
‘Oh—still soldiering on.’ She gestured vaguely. ‘You know how it is. I come down most weekends to be with poor Angela.’ She paused, and sighed. ‘We try to be—there for each other.’
‘Then I’m surprised you haven’t headed straight for the golf club,’ Daniel commented blandly. ‘I gather that’s her chosen refuge these days. But it’s good you’ve arrived early,’ he went on, ‘because I expect she’ll be tired and hungry after a hard afternoon on the fairway, and you can start supper for both of you. Laine and I are going out for dinner.’
‘Oh,’ Candida said, and her glance flickered between them. Then she smiled again with renewed radiance.