CHAPTER SEVEN

      HER FATHER WAS there to greet them at the private airstrip where they landed, and Hannah was relieved he looked better than the previous day, almost his old self. She was sandwiched between the two men in the back seat of the limo and by the time they arrived at Brent Hall the effort of maintaining a reassuring pretence for her father’s sake had taken its toll, her persistent nagging headache showing signs of becoming a full-blown migraine.

      ‘I think I might go to my room, unless you want me to help.’ There was evidence of the preparations for tonight everywhere.

      ‘No, you have a rest. Good idea. Tonight is all under control. I got a new firm in and they seem excellent—they’re doing the lot. I have a few ideas I want to run past your husband.’ He glanced towards Kamel and joked, ‘Not much point having a financial genius in the family if you don’t make use of him, is there? I’m sure he’ll even write your thank-you letters.’

      Hannah laughed and her father winked conspiratorially at her. ‘A family joke.’

      And one that was at his daughter’s expense, thought Kamel, who had seen the flinch before the smile. How many times, he wondered, had she been on the receiving end of such jokes? For a man who cared deeply for his daughter, Charles Latimer seemed remarkably blind to her sensitivity.

      ‘I am aware of Hannah’s dyslexia. Is that the family joke?’

      ‘She told you?’ Hannah’s father looked startled.

      ‘She did. But even if she hadn’t I would have noticed how uncomfortable the family joke made her.’

      Hannah’s father looked horrified by the suggestion. ‘It’s just that some of her mistakes have been so...’ His stammering explanation ground to a halt in the face of his new son-in-law’s fixed, unsmiling stare. ‘Hannah has a great sense of humour.’

      ‘I don’t.’

      * * *

      Instead of heading for her room, Hannah made her way down to the kitchens. But finding the place had been taken over by outside caterers, she made her way to Sarah’s private flat.

      The cook was delighted to see her. So was Olive, the dog sitting in her basket, surrounded by her puppies, who licked Hannah’s hand and wagged her stumpy little tail.

      Without being asked, Sarah produced some painkillers along with the coffee and cakes. ‘Now, tell me all about it.’

      Hannah did—or at least the approved version. She stayed half an hour before she got up to leave.

      ‘Where are you going?’ Sarah called after her.

      ‘To my room. I need to get ready.’ She pulled a face.

      ‘Not that way, Hannah.’ Sarah laughed. ‘You can’t sleep in your old bedroom. You’re a married woman now.’

      ‘Oh, God, I forgot!’ Hannah groaned.

      If the cook thought this was an odd thing to say she didn’t let on. Instead she enthused about the complete refurbishment of the guest suite that Hannah was to stay in. ‘Mind you, if you’re used to palaces...’

      ‘I’m not used to palaces. I’ll never be used to palaces. I hate them and I hate him!’ Then it all came tumbling out—the whole story.

      ‘I knew something was wrong,’ Sarah said as she piled sugar in a cup of tea and made Hannah drink it. ‘I don’t know what to say, Hannah. I really don’t.’

      ‘There’s nothing to say. I’m sorry I dumped on you like this.’

      ‘Heavens, girl, that’s what I’m here for. You know I’ve always thought of you as my second daughter.’

      ‘I wish I was,’ Hannah replied fiercely, envying Eve her mother. ‘Dad thinks I’m all right with it. You won’t tell him, will you? I worry so much that the stress will...’ She didn’t have to explain her worries to Sarah, who knew about the heart attack. She’d been with Hannah when she’d got the call and had travelled with her to the hospital.

      Having extracted a firm promise that Sarah would not reveal how unhappy she was, Hannah made her way to the guest room and discovered that Sarah had not exaggerated about the makeover.

      She explored the luxurious bedroom. An opulent silk curtained four-poster bed occupied one end of the room. She quickly looked away, but not before several illicit images slipped through her mental block. Her stomach was still flipping lazily as she focused on the opposite end of the room where a bathtub deep enough to swim in sat on a raised dais.

      Behind it there were two doors. One opened, she discovered, into a massive wet room—she pressed one of the buttons on a glass control panel that would have looked at home in a space station and the room was filled with the sounds of the ocean. Unable to locate a button that turned it off, she closed the door and pushed open the other door. The lights inside automatically lit up, revealing a space that was the size of her entire flat, lined with hanging space, mirrors and shelves.

      It was not a full wardrobe, but neither was it empty. The selection of clothes and shoes that were hung and neatly folded were her own. Shoes, bags, underclothes—there was something for every occasion, including an obvious choice for this evening where all eyes would be on her. She pushed away the thought of the evening ahead and lifted a silk shirt to her face. Feeling the sharp prick of tears behind her eyelids, she blinked them back.

      After the last few days Hannah had imagined that nothing could shock her ever again. But when she opened the large velvet box on the dressing table and looked at the contents displayed on the silk lining, she knew that she had been wrong!

      * * *

      Kamel glanced at the closed door, then at his watch. He was expecting her to be late and he was expecting her to be hostile; she was neither. At seven on the dot the door opened and his wife stepped into the room.

      Kamel struggled to contain his gasp. He had seen her at her worst and that had been beautiful. At her best she was simply breathtaking. The satin gown she wore with such queenly confidence left one shoulder bare, Grecian style. The bodice cut snugly across her breasts, continued in a body-hugging column to the knee where it flared out, sweeping the ground. Her skin against the black glowed with a pearly opalescence.

      The silence stretched and Hannah fought the absurd urge to curtsey. What was she meant to do—ask for marks out of ten?

      Anxiety gnawed her stomach lining and tension tied the muscles in her shoulders but her expression was serene as she took a step towards him and fought the ridiculous urge to ask for his approval. ‘Am I late?’

      ‘You are not wearing the diamonds,’ he said, noticing the absence of the jewels he had had removed from the vault that morning.

      ‘I’m a “less is more” kind of girl.’ She could not explain even to herself her reluctance to wear the jewels.

      He arched a sardonic brow. ‘And I’m an “if you have it flaunt it” sort of guy.’

      ‘All right, I’ll put them on,’ she agreed without good grace before sweeping from the room. ‘Satisfied now?’ she asked when she returned a short while later wearing the jewellery. On the plus side, nobody would be looking at her now—they’d be staring at the king’s ransom she wore.

      Hannah watched the lift doors opening and felt her stomach go into a steep dive. She did not question the instinct that warned her not to be in an enclosed space with this man. She picked up her skirt in one hand. ‘I’m fine with the