Читать книгу Taming the Rebel Tycoon: Wife by Approval / Dating the Rebel Tycoon / The Playboy Takes a Wife - Элли Блейк, Ally Blake - Страница 7

WHEN, staggered, wondering what he had in mind, Tina simply stared at him, he repeated evenly, ‘Come home with me.’

Knowing what kind of woman she was, he hadn’t expected much in the way of opposition and was shaken when she said, as if she meant it, ‘I couldn’t possibly do that.’

‘Why not? There’s a perfectly good guest room standing empty.’

Though she was reassured by the mention of a guest room, there were other considerations. A mature man in his late twenties or early thirties, he might well be married. ‘Thank you,’ she began, ‘but I—’

‘It makes sense to come for tonight at least,’ he broke in decidedly. ‘Then tomorrow, if you want to move into a hotel, you’d have all day to find somewhere suitable.’

Rather than ask if he was married, she said, ‘What on earth would your wife say?’

‘As I don’t have a wife, not a lot.’

He hadn’t a wife. Her spirits rose with a bound.

Then common sense took over. If he hadn’t a wife, he would almost certainly have a live-in lover.

‘But you must have…I mean there must be…’

‘A woman around?’ he supplied quizzically.

‘Well…yes.’

‘Oh, there is.’

Though she had half expected it, her heart sank.

‘Thank you,’ she said carefully. ‘It’s very kind of you to suggest it, but—’

He sighed. ‘Now I’ve put you off and I thought you’d feel easier, knowing there was another woman around the place.’

She shook her head. ‘I really think I should go to a hotel. It’ll be far less trouble for—’

‘Oh, Gwen won’t mind,’ he said easily.

If she was living with him she wouldn’t be too happy if he brought a woman home he didn’t even know. Decidedly, she began, ‘I’m quite sure your girlfriend would—’

‘Oh, Gwen’s not my girlfriend. She’s my housekeeper. A very upright woman,’ he added solemnly. ‘A pillar of the church and so forth.’

Feeling as though she was on a roller coaster and with the disturbing impression that he was enjoying teasing her, Tina frowned.

‘Is that a problem?’ he asked, straight faced. ‘Do you have anything against religious women?’

‘Of course not,’ she began. Then, seeing the wicked gleam in his eye, she stopped speaking and gritted her teeth.

‘In that case it’s all settled,’ he announced calmly and let in the clutch.

He had managed it so smoothly that they had pulled out of the car park and joined the evening stream of traffic that flowed down Lansdale Road before she could gather her wits enough to assess the situation.

Though she was very attracted to him and wanted to be with him, the voice of caution warned that to meekly go off with a man she knew nothing about was reckless in the extreme.

Just because he was well-dressed and well-spoken and had a big expensive car, it didn’t necessarily mean that he was trustworthy.

As her mother would have phrased it, he might have designs on her.

Though why should he?

She was tall and slim with good skin and neatish features, but she was nothing to write home about, certainly not the sort to drive men wild.

And a man with his looks and charisma wouldn’t be short of lady friends. In fact, with so much going for him he wouldn’t need to lift a finger to have eager females queuing up.

But, apart from that, there was something about him, she felt, a kind of basic integrity that was oddly reassuring. And this might well be her one and only chance to get to know him. If she insisted on being dropped off at a hotel, in all probability she would never see him again.

The thought was like a hand squeezing her heart.

It didn’t seem possible for a quiet, self-contained woman like herself to feel so strongly about a man she had only just met and didn’t know.

Yet she did.

Throwing caution to the wind, she asked, ‘Where do you live?’

His build-up of tension relaxing, he smiled. ‘I’ve a house in Pemberley Square, close to St James’s Park.’

‘Oh…’A far cry from Mather Street and the Fairbourn Hotel.

‘As we’ll be spending the night…’ He paused. ‘I was about to say together…but, as that might be misconstrued, I’ll say under the same roof, I think we should introduce ourselves, don’t you? My name’s Richard Anders.’

‘Mine’s Tina Dunbar.’

‘Tina?’ He sounded surprised.

‘Short for Valentina,’ she explained reluctantly.

He gave her a sideways glance and, his voice casual, asked, ‘Is Valentina a family name?’

‘No.’

‘Born on February the fourteenth?’

She nodded. ‘That’s right. Though these days Valentine is used for either sex, unfortunately my mother preferred to stick with the feminine form.’

‘Unfortunately?’

‘Valentina is a bit of a mouthful.’

‘I like it.’

‘Oh…’ She felt a little warm glow.

As they headed for the West End, the wipers rhythmically swishing, the wet, almost deserted pavements reflecting back the brightly lit shop windows, he said, ‘So you’re with Cartel Wines…What do you do, Valentina…?’

Very conscious of him, of the handsome, clear-cut profile, the closeness of his muscular thigh to hers, the faint male scent of his cologne, she tried to drag her mind away from the man himself and focus on the question.

‘Are you a buyer?’

‘No. I’m responsible for public relations and sales promotions.’ Then, with a sinking feeling, ‘Or, rather, I was.’

‘You’re leaving?’

‘I’ve no choice. I learnt this afternoon that Matterhorn, the group who have taken over Cartel’s, have their own promotional team coming in next week, which makes me redundant.’

‘So you won’t be going back?’ he pursued.

‘No. I’ve cleared my desk.’

‘Have you been working for Cartel Wines long?’

‘Ever since I left college,’ she answered without thinking.

He gave her a quick sideways smile. ‘As you look about sixteen…’

Wishing fruitlessly that she looked her usual cool, composed self, she said quickly, ‘I’m twenty-three,’ and was aware that she had sounded indignant.

‘That old!’

Now he was laughing at her openly. But it was in a nice way, a way that invited her to join in.

With a smile, she said, ‘I suppose in a few more years being told I look about sixteen will seem like a compliment.’

Then, keen to remove the spotlight from herself and wondering what he’d been doing at Cartel Wines, she changed the subject by remarking, ‘You’re not employed by Cartel?’

‘No.’

‘I didn’t think so. But I wouldn’t have put you down as a visitor. Or certainly not an ordinary one.’

‘Is that a complaint or a compliment?’

‘A comment. Ordinary visitors use the front car park and the main entrance and always leave before the staff.’

‘Well, as I did none of those things, I plead guilty to being out of the ordinary…’

It occurred to her that she still didn’t know why he’d been at Cartel Wines, but, before she could pursue the matter, he remarked, ‘Incidentally, I caught sight of you earlier in the day…’

So he’d recognised her.

‘Yes, I’d slipped out to buy some lunch.’

To give her no chance to ask the question that he wasn’t yet ready to answer, he went on, ‘I fear it came to a sad end. Did you manage to replace it?’

‘No.’

‘You must be ravenous. But we’ll soon be home and Gwen’s sure to have dinner waiting.’

Wondering how the housekeeper would cope when he turned up with an unexpected guest, Tina began, ‘I’m afraid it—’

‘Don’t worry,’ he broke in, ‘there’ll be no problem.’ Then, deciding to stick with a safe topic, at least for the moment, he went on, ‘As a young woman, Gwen had a family of six boys to feed, so she’s always been used to cooking for what seems like an army. She still does.

‘Her church runs a centre for the homeless and each evening she fills her car boot with food and takes it round there.’

He had just finished telling her about his housekeeper’s charitable activities when they reached Pemberley Square and drew up outside a handsome porticoed town house.

It was still raining hard and he retrieved Tina’s case before escorting her across the leaf-strewn pavement and into a chandelier-hung hall.

As he closed the door behind them, a small, thin, neatly dressed woman appeared.

‘Ah, Gwen,’ he said, ‘we have an unexpected guest.’ He introduced the two women, adding, ‘Miss Dunbar was with Cartel Wines.’

The housekeeper smiled and said, ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Dunbar.’

Smiling back, Tina said a little anxiously, ‘I hope I’m not causing you a lot of trouble, Mrs Baxter?’

‘Not at all. The guest room is always kept ready. Now, if you’d like to freshen up before dinner…?’

‘If there’s time?’

‘Plenty of time,’ the housekeeper announced comfortably. ‘Luckily I’d decided on a casserole, which will keep hot without spoiling.’

‘In that case,’ Richard said, ‘I’ll check my emails and when Miss Dunbar comes down we’ll have a quick pre-dinner drink in the study.’

With a glance at his watch, he added, ‘But, so your regulars won’t have to wait too long for their supper, I suggest you leave ours on the hotplate and we’ll serve ourselves…’

Mrs Baxter nodded gratefully, then said, ‘Oh, there’s one more thing…Miss O’Connell has been trying to get hold of you. She said your mobile has been switched off all day. She seemed extremely upset about it…’

Reading his housekeeper’s tight-lipped expression correctly, Richard hazarded, ‘So Helen’s been giving you a hard time? Sorry about that.’

Her face softening, Mrs Baxter said, ‘The young lady would like you to give her a ring.’

‘I’ll do that. Thanks, Gwen.’

Taking Tina’s case, the housekeeper led the way up a long, curved staircase and across a balustraded landing, remarking as they went, ‘Mr Anders is always kind and thoughtful. They don’t come any better.’

Doing her best not to hobble, though her ankle was, if anything, worse, Tina asked, ‘How long have you worked for him?’

‘Just over six years and in all that time I’ve never known him be anything other than even-tempered and pleasant.’

‘That’s praise indeed.’

‘And well earned. He’s one of the most generous people I know.

‘In the two years that it’s been in existence the centre that I help to run must have saved quite a few lives, especially in the winter.

‘They have him to thank. Not only did he buy a big warehouse and have it converted into comfortable living quarters, but he pays all the running expenses out of his own pocket and provides money for food and other necessities.

‘He’s even managed to save a few of the poor souls who come there…Oh, not by preaching to them, but by trusting them and giving them a decent job…’

Tina was about to ask what kind of business he was in when she was ushered into a large pastel-walled bedroom that overlooked the rain-lashed lamplit square, with its central garden and mature trees.

Having deposited the case on a low chest, the housekeeper closed the curtains, remarking, ‘It looks like a nasty wet, chilly night, so I’d best get off and make sure that everyone’s taken care of.’

Her hand was on the latch when she turned to say, ‘Oh, when you come down again, the study is straight across the hall.’

The guest room was pleasant and airy, with a pale deeppile carpet, modern furniture, a large, comfortable-looking bed and walk-in wardrobes, while the en suite bathroom was frankly luxurious.

Feeling grubby and dishevelled, Tina decided to take a quick shower.

While she enjoyed the flow of hot water over her bare skin she thought about Richard Anders.

Any remaining doubts about what kind of man he was had been set at rest by Mrs Baxter’s unstinting praise and she could only be thankful that she had accepted his hospitality rather than turning it down.

Refreshed, she towelled herself dry, quickly found some clean underwear and swopped her suit for a fine wool button-through dress in oatmeal.

Her ankle was distinctly swollen now so, instead of changing into high-heeled sandals, she stayed with her flat shoes.

When she had put on a discreet touch of make-up and brushed and re-coiled her dark blonde hair, she made her way carefully down the stairs.

She felt eager and excited, if a touch nervous, at the prospect of spending the evening alone with Richard Anders and getting to know him better.

For perhaps the first time in her life she found herself wishing that she was clever, beautiful, exciting, alluring—whatever it took to arouse and hold his interest.

But of course she wasn’t. She was just an ordinary girl, unable even to keep the interest of a man like Kevin who, though undeniably tall and handsome, hadn’t been in the same class as Richard Anders for looks and presence.

But perhaps it was wealth that had given him his presence, his force of personality?

No, she was oddly convinced that it wasn’t so. If he’d been a poor man he would still have had those assets and, with them, he wouldn’t have remained a poor man for long.

Arriving at the study door, after a momentary hesitation, she tapped and walked in.

It was a pleasant book-lined room with a rich burgundy carpet and matching velvet curtains. An Adam fireplace and an ornate plaster ceiling with flowers and cherubs added to its beauty.

The lighting was low and intimate and a log fire blazed cheerfully in the grate. A small table and a couple of soft leather armchairs had been placed in front of the fire.

Richard, who had been standing by the hearth, advanced to meet her. He looked coolly elegant and just the sight of him made her heart lurch wildly.

He too had made time to shower and change. Instead of the business suit and tie he’d been wearing, he was dressed in smart casuals. His thick dark hair was brushed back from his high forehead and his jaw was clean-shaven.

‘So there you are. Come and make yourself at home.’

A hand at her waist—just that impersonal touch made her go all of a dither—he ushered her to the nearest chair.

Trying to look cool and composed, she sank into it.

His glance taking in the touch of make-up, he smiled at her and said teasingly, ‘My, now you look all of eighteen.’

That white smile, with its unstudied charm, rocked her afresh and made her feel as though her very bones were as pliable as warm candle wax.

‘I’d just started to wonder if you knew which was the study,’ he went on, ‘or if you were wandering around, lost.’

‘No, I knew. Mrs Baxter told me.’ She was aware that she sounded more than a little breathless.

Indicating a drinks trolley, he queried, ‘What’s it to be?’

Bearing in mind that she’d had nothing to eat since breakfast, she plumped for orange juice.

While he added crushed ice to the glass and poured the freshly squeezed juice, she watched him from beneath long lashes.

In dark well-cut trousers and a black polo-neck sweater, he looked even more handsome and attractive and, in spite of all her efforts, her heart began to pick up speed.

He glanced up and, unwilling to be caught staring, she looked hastily away.

A moment or two later he was by her side. Handing her a tall, narrow, frosted glass, he said, ‘Here you are.’

While she sipped, he leaned against the mantel, a whisky and soda in his hand, firelight flickering on his face, and studied her appraisingly.

He would have expected the sort of life she’d been leading to have left its mark, but at close quarters she looked clear-eyed and healthy and altogether too untouched to be the kind of woman he knew her to be.

He’d known from the start that she was blonde and blue-eyed, had even seen photographs of her, which had convinced him that she was attractive.

But the first time he had seen her in the flesh coming out of De Vere’s office he had realised that the photographs didn’t do her justice.

She was beautiful.

Now, taking in the long-lashed blue-violet eyes that slanted slightly upwards at the outer corners, the lovely silky hair the colour of corn-syrup—and natural too, he’d bet—winged brows and high cheekbones, the straight nose and the mouth that his own suddenly felt the urge to kiss, he revised his earlier opinion.

She was more than merely beautiful.

Much more.

She was bewitching, haunting, a fascinating contradiction. Despite that passionate mouth, she had an air of innocence, of vulnerability that, however false, had got under his skin the instant he saw her. And that could be dangerous.

He shrugged off the thought.

Being attracted to her was all very well so long as he kept in mind what his goal was and didn’t allow that attraction to affect his judgement.

Over the past few weeks he had considered several courses of action. But, thinking it would be easier to judge when he knew her better, he had been waiting to decide exactly how to play it, which would be his best option.

In the end, however, things had moved so fast that he’d had no time for a leisurely appraisal.

Still, most of his plans were in place, even his final contingency plan. Which, because of the time element, he was now going to have to go with.

If he could bring it off.

There was no if about it. He had to bring it off.

But, having seen her at close quarters, he knew that taking her to bed would be no hardship. In fact the mere prospect made his blood quicken.

Of course, if he could get her emotionally involved, make her fall in love with him, it would ease his task enormously.

Experience told him that she was already attracted to him, though oddly enough she wasn’t giving out the kind of overt signals he would have expected from a woman like her.

He knew from the reports he’d received that she was, to put it mildly, a child of her times and, despite her air of naivety, he found it almost impossible to believe that she had any scruples or inhibitions.

But, as time was short and he was unwilling to take any chances, it would do no harm to make certain that if she had, they were well and truly banished…

Tina glanced up and, thrown by the expression of almost savage intensity and purpose on his face, asked jerkily, ‘Is something wrong?’

‘Wrong? Of course not.’

His voice sounded quite normal and the expression that had startled her was gone as if it had never been. Realising it must have been a trick of the firelight, she breathed a sigh of relief.

Straightening, he asked easily, ‘Another drink?’

‘Please.’

Taking her glass and moving over to the drinks table, he said, ‘I suggest this time you try it with a secret ingredient.’

Curiously, she asked, ‘What is the secret ingredient?’

He gave her a lopsided smile. ‘I have to confess that it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Merely a dash of Cointreau.’

She laughed and took a sip of the drink he handed her. As he stood looking down at her, she saw for the first time that his eyes weren’t simply brown, as she’d thought, but a dark green flecked with gold. Handsome tawny eyes, with long heavy lids and thick curly lashes.

As she gazed up at him, he took the glass from her hand and set in down on the low table. Then, stooping unhurriedly and as if—rather than obeying a sudden impulse—he knew exactly what he was doing and could take all the time in the world to do it, he kissed her mouth.

She had been held closely and kissed many times. But never like that. Without holding her in any way, with only their lips touching, his kiss held everything she had ever wanted—warmth, tenderness, passion, sweetness. It both gave and took, coaxed and effortlessly mastered.

When finally he lifted his head and drew away, she felt radiant, enchanted.

Satisfaction in his voice, he remarked, ‘I’ve been wanting to kiss you since the first moment I caught sight of you standing there in the rain.’

Though—now she had seen his house—common sense told her he was right out of her league as far as any serious relationship went, she was filled with pleasure and excitement. He’d felt the same kind of instant attraction that she’d felt and, for the moment at least, that was enough.

Though it could lead nowhere.

And it was dangerous.

Especially if Richard had seduction on his mind. And, after the way he had kissed her, she could no longer rule that out.

But she wasn’t one to have affairs or indulge in casual sex, so if he did intend to try and seduce her, she would just have to stay cool and uninterested.

Cool and uninterested! Who was she trying to kid?

So she would have to appear to be cool and uninterested. In the past she had always been good at quietly freezing men off, she reminded herself. But then she had been genuinely uninterested or, for one reason or another, unwilling to take that particular relationship any further.

Though it was old-fashioned, almost ludicrous in this modern age, she had been brought up to believe that love and commitment went hand in hand and that sex should belong within the framework of marriage.

It hadn’t made her narrow-minded or critical of other people’s behaviour. It was simply a standard that had been set for her and that she had so far adhered to.

While some of her friends laughed and said she was mad and others admired her, Ruth had suggested it was because she had never been seriously tempted. ‘No, I haven’t forgotten Kevin,’ she had said, ‘but while he was tall, dark and handsome, he obviously hadn’t got what it takes to turn you on.

‘It’s a jolly good thing you didn’t marry him,’ she had added seriously, ‘otherwise you might have ended up just going through the motions and missing out on one of life’s most wonderful experiences…’

‘Penny for them…’

Richard’s voice brought Tina back to the present.

Her cheeks growing warm, she stammered, ‘I—I was just thinking about something my friend said.’

‘You’re not angry that I kissed you?’

She shook her head.

Sounding confident, he added, ‘And I take it there’s no current boyfriend to object?’

A little piqued by that assumption, she said, ‘What if there is?’

With a kind of wry self-mockery, he told her, ‘If there is I’ll have to wrest you from him…’

She had the strangest feeling that he would be prepared to wrest her from the archangel Gabriel himself should it prove necessary.

‘Is there?’

She shook her head.

‘But you didn’t like me assuming that?’ he queried shrewdly.

‘As it happens, my fiancé and I split up earlier in the year.’

He raised a brow, not expecting her to have had such a serious past relationship. ‘How long were you engaged?’

‘About three months.’

‘Officially?’ he queried.

‘You mean did I have a ring?’

He looked casually down at her left hand. ‘Did you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who broke things off?’ Richard queried.

‘I did,’ Tina answered.

‘Why?’

She paused, then looked up at him. ‘I caught him playing around with another woman.’

‘Do you still love him?’

‘No, I don’t,’ she said, and knew it was the truth.

‘But you still feel upset about it?’

She had until now. Though it wasn’t so much that it had happened as the way it had happened.

Realising he was waiting for an answer, she said, ‘I did at first, but now it no longer matters.’

Suddenly wondering if her words had been too revealing and feeling uncomfortable, she began to sip her drink once more.

Nursing his whisky and soda, Richard sat down on the other side of the hearth and changed the subject with smooth aplomb. ‘I understand the sunny summer and autumn they’ve had on the Continent has helped to produce an excellent grape harvest…’

While they talked about the good weather they’d been enjoying and the climate in general, though he barely touched his own drink, an attentive host, he refilled her glass once more.

At length he rose and, having put some fresh logs on the fire, remarked, ‘We’d better get something to eat before you starve to death.’

As they walked to the door, he told her, ‘The dining-room is at the other end of the hall.’ Adding, as she favoured her injured ankle, ‘Can you manage?’

A little flustered, she said, ‘Oh, yes, thank you.’

‘Sure? I can see your left ankle’s swollen and I’ve noticed you limping from time to time.’

‘I’m sure I can manage, thank you.’

The gold and ivory dining-room was elegant, the table laid with cut glass and porcelain, while a bottle of wine encased in a silver cool-jacket waited to be poured.

Dinner, though simple, proved to be most enjoyable. Richard played the part of host with panache, filling Tina’s plate and helping her to some of the excellent white wine.

Somewhat to her relief, he chose impersonal topics of conversation and as they ate they discussed books, music, art and the theatre. It didn’t take long to discover that their tastes matched in most things and they both much preferred reading to watching television.

‘I sometimes think television is the bane of modern living,’ he observed, ‘especially when the set takes over the room and becomes the focus of it.’

She agreed entirely and said so.

By the time the leisurely meal came to an end and Tina had finished her second glass of wine, starting to feel distinctly light-headed, she elected to take her coffee black and refused a liqueur.

It was getting late by the time their cups were empty but, knowing it made sense not to rush this part, he led the way back to the study.

Having stirred the glowing fire into life and settled her in front of it, he suggested, ‘Let’s have a small nightcap before we turn in.’

As, hazily happy just to be here with him, she was gazing into the flames, he handed her a balloon glass containing a swirl of golden cognac. Then, taking a seat opposite, he raised his own glass in a kind of toast and took a sip.

When she followed suit, he asked conversationally, ‘How did you hurt your ankle?’

‘I slipped when I was getting out of the shower.’

‘Hardly a good start to Friday the thirteenth,’ he commented dryly, ‘and I gather things didn’t improve very much?’

‘Not a lot,’ she said and, when he waited expectantly, went on to tell him about having a flat tyre and being late for work.

‘Then at lunch time I discovered I’d forgotten to pack any sandwiches…’

He shook his head sympathetically. ‘And, after losing your lunch, you end the day with a badly damaged car and no job.’

Though having no job still had to be a major worry, it didn’t seem half so bad now she was sitting opposite Richard, sleepily watching the flickering firelight turn his face into a changing mask of highlights and shadows.

Hoping she hadn’t sounded sorry for herself, she said hardily, ‘But it could be worse. Mr DeVere has promised me a good reference, so it shouldn’t take too long to find another position.’

‘I presume you know a lot about wine?’

‘Quite a lot,’ she said simply. ‘Otherwise I couldn’t have done my job.’

Studying her reflectively, he queried, ‘Any idea where tonight’s wine came from?’

‘France,’ she answered without hesitation. ‘I’d say the Loire Valley.’

‘Can you put a name to it?’

Recognising that she was a bit squiffy, she said cautiously, ‘Yes, I believe so.’

When he waited, one eyebrow slightly raised, she correctly named both the wine and the year.

Looking surprised, he remarked, ‘Surely you weren’t able to learn how to identify the area and the vintage merely from tutorials and course work?’

Sensing faint disparagement, she said, ‘No, of course not.’ Then, realising that she was starting to slur her words, she made an effort to enunciate more clearly. ‘That has to come from the hands-on side, the bouquet and tasting…’

She stopped speaking, feeling dazed, overcome by tiredness. All she wanted to do at that moment was lie down and go to sleep.

Watching her trying to keep her eyes open, he said, ‘You look more than ready for bed.’

He rose and in one lithe movement put the fireguard in place.

‘I’m sorry…’ she began.

‘There’s nothing to be sorry about. It’s been a long, eventful day…’

He was right about that, she thought as she struggled to her feet.

‘Need any help?’ he queried.

‘No, no…I’m fine,’ she lied as, limping, she wove her way somewhat unsteadily to the door. Oh, why had she accepted that cognac? She should have had more sense.

Having bided his time until she reached the hall, he said firmly, ‘I think I’d better carry you.’

Not at all sure that she’d heard him aright, she echoed, ‘Carry me?’

‘Carry you,’ he repeated firmly.

Going hot all over at the thought of being held in his arms and cradled against that broad chest, she stammered, ‘R-really there’s no need. I can manage quite well.’

Her normally low, slightly husky voice sounded agitated and squeaky.

Ignoring the assurance, he stooped and effortlessly lifted her high in his arms.

With a little gasp, she begged, ‘Please put me down.’ Adding distractedly, ‘What on earth will your housekeeper think if she sees us?’

Looking unperturbed, he said, ‘No one will see us.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘Because Jervis, the chauffeur and handyman, lives at the rear above the garages, and Gwen, who used to be a nurse, is staying at the centre overnight. Old Tom, one of her “regulars”, is just recovering from a bad bout of flu, so she’s remaining on hand in case he needs her.’

‘Oh,’ Tina said in a small voice.

As he crossed the hall and began to climb the stairs, Richard smiled down at her and added with soft emphasis, ‘So you see, we’re all alone.’