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CHAPTER TWO

‘I NEED you. Justin—’

‘Well, well—’ Justin Waite put out a lazy hand and grasped his wife’s wrist ‘—did my little lecture set you thinkimg, dear Lucy?’

Lucy closed her eyes, attempted to free herself to no avail and ground her teeth. ‘I need to talk to you. About this party.’

It was a bright, chilly morning but Justin had apparently been up well ahead of her, which was how she’d encountered him coming in through the kitchen door as she was on the way out. Normally she’d have kept on going.

‘Ah.’ He released her wrist. ‘Then talk away while I start my breakfast.’

‘What have you been doing?’ she said involuntarily as she followed him reluctantly back into the kitchen where his breakfast was keeping warm on the range. He had on jeans, boots and a yellow sweater, his thick dark hair was ruffled and the cold morning air seemed to have agreed with him. In other words he looked fit, tough and capable, alert and slightly mocking, and more than a match for her. But when did he look any different these days? she wondered bitterly.

‘I’ve been out and about,’ he said idly, and carried the plate of sausages, scrambled eggs and toast to the kitchen table. There was a pot of coffee bubbling gently on the stove.

Lucy went over to it and poured two mugs which she carried to the kitchen table and sat down opposite him. ‘You can tell me, you know. Not only is the place still half mine but I’m intemted,’ she said with extreme frustration before she could stop herself. ‘Wouldn’t I under normal circumstances have some sort of voting power or some say in what you do?’

‘I’ve only been inspecting fences in the twelve-mite paddock, Lucy,’ he said mildly. ‘I made no momentous decisions other than that they need repairing.’

Lucy drew a breath and thought how much she’d have enjoyed a gallop down to the twelve-mile before breakfast instead of the lonely, aimless ride she’d been about to take. ‘What about the boundary rider’s hut?’ she asked tonelessly. ‘The last time I saw it it was a bit ramshackle. Grandad always liked to keep it provisioned and weatherproof because the twelve-mile can flood, but it’s on the only high ground, so if you did get marooned out there—’

‘That too. They’re starting on it today.’

She lowered her lashes instead of glaring at him. ‘Well,’ she said even more tonelessly, ‘tell me about the house party. You haven’t given me much notice.’

Justin spread marmalade on his toast. ‘I can get someone in to do it all if you like. I have mentioned that there’s no need for you to do so much of your own work, Lucy.’ He put the lid on the marmalade with some impatience.

‘And I’ve told you, I’d go round the bend that way, Justin, not to mention feeling as if I was on the receiving end of your patronage.’

He smiled. ‘I can assure you it’s not patronage to provide one’s wife with household help.’

‘But then we’ve agreed I’m not much of a wife. Look, I can do it. I can get Mrs Milton and her sister to come up—as I’ve done before on Dalkeith.’

‘Then do it,’ he said curtly. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘When they’re arriving, when they’re leaving, who they are and just what kind of a weekend you have in mind!’

‘Why, the kind of weekend Dalkeith is famous for, Lucy,’ he said blandly. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you. There’ll be four guests and Sasha.’

She stared at him then forced herself to relax. ‘Well, if they come on Friday afternoon, we’ll have an informal dinner, a buffet and a simple evening—music, cards and so on. Saturday, a picnic at the creek, some sightseeing around the place, some target shooting or archery, a little gentle croquet for the ladies, then a formal dinner to which I could invite some locals.’ She considered. ‘Yes, I could invite the Simpsons, and Miles Graham for Sasha! That should even things up.’ Her eyes glinted. ‘Then on Sunday morning a late breakfast, and they can do what they like until they leave after lunch.’

‘And you and Mrs Milton and her sister can cope with all that?’ he queried.

Lucy shrugged. ‘They’ve got it down to a fine art. Mrs Milton does the cooking, although a lot of it is prepared beforehand, and her sister makes the beds, tidies up, waits on table et cetera. It’s all in the preparation, Justin. So long as you feed people really well, the rest seems to take care of itself.’

‘It’s Tuesday today, Lucy,’ he warned.

‘That gives me three full days, Justin,’ she said wearily. ‘Besides, I think I need a challenge,’ she murmured, and propped her chin on her hands.

He regarded her steadily then said quietly, ‘You’re making things awfully hard for yourself, Lucy.’

‘No, you’re making them hard for me, Justin.’

‘I hesitate to labour this point, but if it weren’t for me you wouldn’t be here.’

‘Perhaps. But I might have felt I’d gone down in a fair fight—who knows?’

‘How are you going to handle us in front of these people?’

She blinked, then grinned. ‘I hadn’t thought of that—yet.’ She sat up suddenly and tossed the thick plait she’d braided her hair into over her shoulder. ‘Do you mean we’ll have to put on a loving show?’

‘It’s not unexpected in newly-weds,’ he observed.

‘Oh.’

‘And I don’t expect I’d take kindly to being made a fool of,’ he added without the least emphasis, yet a curious underlay to his words that made her nerves prickle oddly. Perhaps it was something in his eyes as well, as they rested on her.

She opened her mouth, closed it then said with dignity, ‘It’s not a pre-requisite to... I mean, some of the people I’ve known who really were in love didn’t...sort of flaunt it.’

‘Perhaps not,’ he agreed. ‘What I’m trying to get at is, are you prepared to be sensible or are you going to cook up something like yesterday to advertise to the world that we’re not in love?’

Lucy pursed her lips. ‘I might just be normal and let them work it out for themselves,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think you can expect much more from me, Justin.’

‘When you say normal, do you mean you’ll include me in your come hither—?’

‘I don’t do that,’ she cut in sharply.

‘Perhaps you don’t realise you’re doing it. Perhaps it’s second nature now. Didn’t you notice Robert Lang going weak at the knees when you smiled at him yesterday?’ He lifted a dark eyebrow at her.

Lucy set her teeth.

He waited then gathered his plate and took it over to the sink.

‘I can’t help how I smile!’ she said in a goaded sort of voice at last.

‘No, but with a bit of age and maturity you should be able to use it with discretion. Otherwise you could find yourself in a situation you might find hard to handle one day.’

Lucy tossed her head and stood up, with not the slightest idea, as he came back to the table, what he had in mind. ‘Like this,’ he said softly, standing right in front of her so she had to tilt her head back, and taking her in his arms as her eyes widened. ‘In the position of being kissed by your sworn enemy.’

Her lips parted. ‘Justin...’

But he ignored both the look in her eyes and the incredulity in her voice, and held her closer so she couldn’t help being aware not only of the feel of his hard, muscled body against her own but of the faint tang of aftershave and sheer maleness about him—and finding it curiously heady, like some primitive assault on her senses. This both stunned her slightly and made her less able to cope with what followed. A searching, not particularly deep kiss to which she didn’t respond particularly yet which didn’t exactly repel. It was really strange, she reflected afterwards. It was as if her body had gone languid and her mind was suspended above her, recording and storing the event, monitoring her own reactions but, above all, searching for his.

And when he lifted his head at last she blinked once then stared into his eyes, with her heart in her mouth suddenly at what she might see.

What she did see was the way he narrowed his eyes immediately, and then the little laughter-lines beside them creased. ‘Well, Lucy,’ he said wryly, ‘you have got that down to a fine art, haven’t you?’

She licked her lips and said huskily, ‘What do you mean?’

His hands slid down her back to her waist and he lifted her off her feet and moved her away, and steadied her but didn’t take his hands away. ‘The art of kissing and giving nothing away at the same time.’

A tinge of pink came to her cheeks and a pulse beat at the base of her throat, a pulse of anger as it happened. ‘If that’s not exactly what you did, I’ll eat my hat,’ she retorted, and removed herself from his grasp but sat down almost immediately.

‘Then why are you so cross?’ He leant against the corner of the table and folded his arms.

‘Perhaps I’m tired of having it continually pointed out to me what a femme fatale I am.’ She picked up the lid of the sugar bowl and replaced it not gently. ‘And if that was a warning of the deluded sort you were issuing yesterday—’

‘It was a warning to behave yourself this weekend, Lucy.’

‘Listen, Justin!’ Her eyes were a deeper, decidedly stormy blue now.

‘No, you listen to me, Lucy.’ He unfolded his arms and pinned one of her wrists to the table as her hand wandered towards the sugar bowl again, and he lifted her chin in his other one, also not gently as she resisted stubbornly. And his eyes were a cold, hard grey as he said, ‘You can fight me all you like in private, but not in public, because if you do, I’ll retaliate, believe me, in a way you wouldn’t like at all, and in a way that will make your little war look like child’s play. Do we understand each other?’

It was Mrs Milton who broke into Lucy’s reverie. Mrs Milton came in daily and Lucy was still sitting at the kitchen table where Justin had left her, staring into space, as she arrived.

‘Morning, Miss Lucy,’ she said brightly and placed a parcel on the table. ‘There’s those sheets that needed mending.’

‘Oh!’ Lucy jumped. ‘Oh, thank you, Mrs Milton—sorry, I was miles away. How are you?’

‘Fine, love. Miles away where?’ Mrs Milton poured herself a cup of coffee.

Lucy grimaced. ‘Are you doing anything this weekend? You and your sister?’

‘No. Got a party on?’

‘Yes, and I want it to be—something special, Mrs Milton. Hang on, I’ll get a pen and paper.’

Whether by design or not, Justin stayed out of her way over those next three busy days, although they did meet for breakfast on the Wednesday morning.

‘You have a dirty mark on your chin, Lucy,’ her husband said after a more formal greeting had got him a cool look and a barely audible murmur in reply.

This time she responded with a raised eyebrow and a shrug, causing him to narrow his eyes and appear to drop the subject. But as they passed each other later, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and put his forefinger on the ‘mark’ on her chin.

‘Did I do that?’

She merely nodded.

He took his finger away and inspected the faint blue bruise. He also let his gaze wander over her mouth, innocent of any lipstick yet rose-pink and finely chiselled, the smooth lucent skin of her cheeks, the deep pansy blue of her eyes with their sweeping lashes, darker than her hair, and the escaping tendrils of wheat gold curling on her forehead. ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know you bruised so easily.’

‘I don’t bruise so easily. Perhaps you don’t know your own strength. Or perhaps you do.’

‘What I haven’t known,’ he said with a twist of his lips, ‘is anyone quite as stubborn as you. I suppose you’ve now added the fact that I’m a callous brute to your list of my sins.’

‘Some of your threats left me in no doubt of it at all even before this,’ she murmured coldly. ‘May I go now? I have a lot to do.’

‘How’s it going?’

‘It’s all under control.’

‘Do you need any assistance? From me,’ he said gravely.

Her look spoke volumes. ‘All you have to do is be here, Justin.’

‘I still haven’t told you who’s coming—apart from Sasha.’

Lucy shrugged. ‘I rang Sasha myself and got it all from her. She was a mine of information, in fact. Two couples, although one unmarried couple who will nevertheless share a bedroom—’

‘Unlike some married couples I know. I wonder if it’s a new trend? Go on,’ he said politely.

‘Yes, well,’ Lucy said evenly, ‘Sasha also told me that although it’s not strictly a business weekend, they will be inspecting some yearlings at Riverbend on their way here and might be interested in buying them at the upcoming yearling sales in Sydney—she said that very significantly, Justin. In other words—don’t rock the boat, Lucy, if you can help it! And, she also gave me some helpful suggestions which—’

‘You will go out of your way to ignore,’ Justin said amusedly.

‘Indeed I will.’ Lucy’s eyes flashed briefly, recalling Sasha’s helpful advice which had included the maxim that keeping things simple might be a good idea. ‘How you put up with her I’ve no idea!’

‘I’ve told you, she’s very good at her job.’

‘She’s certainly got a superiority complex. Is that why you two get along so well?’ she asked innocently, and went on impatiently, ‘Besides, being good at your job doesn’t mean you have to be treated as a friend, necessarily.’

‘Well Sasha is both actually, Lucy. And since I moved to Dalkeith, so that you might remain in your ancestral home,’ he said and held her eyes in a suddenly cool look, ‘she is more up to date on matters relating to the stud and this crop of yearlings than I am. So she will be here in what you might call an unofficial business capacity.’ He paused then added with that same cool look. ‘Don’t upset Sasha, Lucy. She may rub you up the wrong way but she has a brain like a computer when it comes to horses, and extremely good judgement.’

‘As a matter of fact I believe you, Justin. I’ve even thought she has a certain horsey look about her—nothing less than a chestnut thoroughbred with wonderful lines, of course!’ she finished with a grin. ‘As for upsetting her,’ she added, ‘I wish you would tell me how to, because it doesn’t seem possible.’

They stared at each other—rather, Lucy found it suddenly impossible to evade his gaze or to understand why it made her suddenly feel a bit small, but it did and she said at last, ‘Oh, all right! I won’t upset Sasha—so far as it’s humanly possible for me not to!’

‘Good.’ He said nothing more but moved out of her way.

‘Am I being dismissed now?’ she demanded.

‘Why not?’

‘There are times, Justin Waite, when you irritate the life out of me,’ she said precisely. ‘And what with you and Sasha telling me what I should do and what I shouldn’t do, it will be a miracle if this weekend doesn’t turn out to be a disaster—’ She broke off and made a disgusted sound.

‘And there are times, Lucy, when it’s impossible to tell you anything—I wouldn’t be too happy about this weekend turning into a disaster, so if you have any doubts tell me now.’

‘I don’t—’

‘I suppose the proof of that will be in the pudding,’ he said drily, and studied her. ‘By the way,’ he said, flicking his gaze over her denim overalls, and the two pigtails she wore her hair in, ‘Would you mind not wearing your hair like that over the weekend?’

She blinked. ‘Why not—as if I would, anyway.’

‘I could be accused of cradle-snatching, that’s all. Off you go.’

‘Perhaps you are!’

‘Now, Lucy, we both know I’m not. Don’t we?’ His grey gaze bored into hers until she reddened and turned away abruptly and angrily but without words.

Fortunately for her seething state of mind, there was enough to be done to calm her and force her to concentrate—and not only that. There was the knowledge that both Justin and Sasha had doubts about her capabilities as a hostess. In her less angry moments she recognised that it was a useful spur, in her more angry moments she told herself she would certainly show them a thing or two. And by Friday midday the fruits of her labour and Mrs Milton’s were very evident. The house was polished and shining and filled with flowers. The guest bedrooms were impeccable, with not a wrinkle in their bedspreads, and the cold room was filled with a selection of pies and pastries, cold meats, quiches, fruits and vegetables and three splendid, plump ducks hung there, ready to be roasted for Saturday night’s dinner.

It was also not long past midday when disaster struck, in the form of a distraught phone call from Mrs Milton who’d gone to pick up her sister to take up residence in the staff quarters for the weekend.

‘...Your mother? Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs Milton,’ Lucy said into the phone and a moment later, ‘Yes, of course if it’s that serious, I do understand. Um...you and your sister must be worried sick and will want to be with her... Look, if there’s anything I can do, please—’

‘You’ve got enough on your plate as it is, pet,’ Mrs Milton said down the line in tones quite unlike her normal cheerful ones. ‘I’ve been racking my brains and all I can come up with is my niece, Shirley. How would it be if I send her up, Miss Lucy? She’s a good cook, that I can guarantee, and doesn’t mind what she turns her hand to. There’s only one problem and that’s—’

‘Oh, Mrs Milton, please do,’ Lucy said into the phone. ‘I’d be so grateful, and between us we’ve done most of it, haven’t we? What’s the problem?’

‘Well she’d have to bring her son, Adrian—’

‘That’s no problem!’

‘Mmm, I haven’t told you about Adrian, have I? Look, just...if you’re firm with him he’s fine, but his father ran off when he was two, so... And Shirley worships the ground he walks on.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll tie him up if...no, of course not, Mrs Milton, I wouldn’t dream of it, but I’m sure we’ll be able to cope with him between us. Now you just worry about your mother and give her my love—I’ll be thinking of you all.’

She put the phone down and took several deep breaths, then remembered she’d forgotten to ask how old Shirley’s Adrian was.

He was ten, with red hair, prominent blue eyes and buck teeth. He walked with a swagger and didn’t reply when spoken to. His mother had faded blonde agitated-looking hair but otherwise was clean, neat and presentable and obviously anxious to do her very best.

‘well, Shirley,’ Lucy said with a dazzling smile, half an hour before the guests were due to fly in, ‘I guess the important thing is not to panic. Everything in the buffet is either cold or only needs heating up so tonight will be quite simple, and I’ll nip in later to give you a hand.’ And she took Shirley step by step through the eventing’s requirements. Then she showed them to their room and showed Adrian the television and even fetched some of her old books and games for him.

‘He’s not much of a reader,’ his mother said with an apologetic smile, ‘but it’s lovely of you to bother, Miss Lucy. Now, Adrian, you will be a good boy, won’t you?’

At five-thirty, the long, lovely veranda room played host to the glow of lamplight, the chink of glasses and some exuberant conversation. And despite the fact that part of her mind was elsewhere, Lucy was in the thick of it.

She wore slim scarlet trousers, matching flat shoes and a cream pullover with a wonderful red, green and cream scarf worn shawlwise. Her hair was loose and she was faintly pink from some of the extravagant compliments she’d received—most on the subject of new brides and early wedded bliss. Their guests were of course all older than she was, the two women in the same mould as Sasha, elegant late twenties or early thirties, experienced and articulate and both with careers of their own. But apart from that aspect of it, it was a milieu she was very familiar with and one her father had taught her to hold her own in some years ago. She’d been hostessing his parties since she was about eighteen, after all. And if she had fewer resources to hand than she’d ever had before, plus one Dennis the Menace on hand, she was damned if anyone was going to know it. Least of all Justin, although she’d caught him looking at her once or twice with something oddly alert in his eyes. But he’s not a mind-reader, she reassured herself, and there’s no earthly reason for him to go into the kitchen tonight, anyway. The longer I can keep him in the dark and still cope, the better, she reasoned—somewhat obscurely, she realised briefly, but didn’t have the time to elaborate.

All the same, at six-thirty, when she suggested to everyone that they might like to freshen up although not to worry about changing, she breathed a sigh of relief when they all took themselves to their bedrooms and she repaired to the kitchen as unobtrusively as she could. To find Shirley standing in the middle of the room looking wild-eyed and tearful.

‘What’s wrong?’ she demanded.

‘He’s gone!’

‘Who?’

‘Adrian! He could be anywhere out there! He’s not a country boy, Miss Lucy; we’re just spending a holiday with Auntie Vera!’

‘The little...um, calm down, Shirley. I’ll find him. You just keep on with the buffet. We’ve got an hour.’

It took her half an hour to locate Adrian in the loft above the garage. And the mild lecture she gave him brought no visible reaction from him even when she told him he’d frightened the life out of his mother. ‘Now just stay put,’ she admonished as she marched him back to his room. ‘Tomorrow you can go out and see the horses, I’ll organise a ride on a tractor for you, whatever you like—and your dinner’s coming in a moment.’

‘Are you all right, Lucy?’

‘Fine, Justin,’ she said brightly, finding him alone in the lounge. He’d added a sage-green sweater to his informal gear and his hair was brushed and tidy, his grey eyes watchful. ‘No one down yet?’

‘No. Have you been running somewhere?’

She laughed. ‘No. Why?’

‘You look a little—harassed. Are Mrs Milton and her sister coping all right?’

‘Everything’s fine. If you could just have some confidence in me, it would be a big help.’

‘Very well, Lucy. Ah, here are the first of our guests.’

The buffet went off smoothly and with plenty of compliments and afterwards for a while they played music and all chatted together, and then the men tended to group together at one end of the room, leaving the women at the other and Sasha looking for once in her life as if she didn’t quite know which group to join.

Lucy seized the opportunity and murmured in her ear that she’d be grateful if she could deputise for her for a moment, while she checked that all was well behind the scenes. Sasha looked gratified, as much, probably, Lucy reflected, that ‘behind the scenes’ should need checking. But she did as she was asked.

Behind the scenes, there was another story. The dining-room was cleared, the kitchen was tidy and a tea tray was set out but there was no sign of Shirley. What she was doing in fact, was swabbing out the staff bathroom and passage leading to it because Adrian had allowed the bath to overflow. He’d got so wrapped up in the television programme he’d been watching, his mother explained, he’d forgotten.

Lucy closed her eyes and counted to ten. And, on opening them, noticed Adrian watching her interestedly. Why, he’s testing me out, she thought, the little wretch.

‘Isn’t it time he was in bed?’ she said as mildly as she could.

By the time she got back she was feeling decidedly limp—it had taken the two of them a good twenty minutes of vigorous mopping to dam the flood, her feet were damp inside her shoes and she had trickles of sweat running down her back, but no one appeared to notice and the party had come together again and was dancing to the CD player.

‘Oh damn,’ she muttered to herself.

But two hours later her ordeal was ended, or so she thought. The party broke up at last and everyone went up to bed appearing happy and contented with their stay on Dalkeith so far.

‘Let’s hope I can keep it that way,’ she murmured to herself as she tidied up. She’d sent Shirley to bed, reasoning that it might keep Adrian out of more mischief as well as having her bright and fresh for the next day. But when it was all done she stood in the middle of the dining-room, thinking about the three other women in the house, excluding poor Shirley.

Thinking about them in a context that surprised her a little. In other words, how much more appropriate any one of them would be as a consort for Justin than she was. How, for example, they would react to being told that without regular, satisfying sex they could become—what had he said—fractious and troublesome?

Well, she mused, she couldn’t imagine him saying something like that in the first place. To them. So how would communication on the subject take place with someone older and wiser? A more sophisticated play on words? A simple expression of need—with Sasha he’d probably only have to crook his finger, she thought somewhat maliciously, then sighed.

But a moment later she discovered herself feeling a sense of righteous indignation—talk about her come hither smiles! Had he not noticed that despite two of their female guests being partnered there had been throughout the evening a discreet summing up of Justin taking place, an awareness—yes, very subtle, but there. Of course it was always there with Sasha and he must be blind not to notice it. Why didn’t he? But not only that, her thoughts ranged on, a subtle summing up of herself had been taking place all evening, in the direct context of her suitability for Justin.

She stood in the middle of the dining-room deep in thought, wondering if it was all part of the games people with a bit of age and maturity played, wondering if he played it himself, or wondering finally if he just had this devastating effect on women and had got so used to it that he didn’t notice it any more!

‘Lucy.’

‘Oh!’ She turned with a start to find the object of her deep, dark musings regarding her with some amusement. ‘You—I didn’t hear you,’ she said lamely.

‘I gathered that. You seemed to be a hundred miles away.’

‘Not really,’ she replied ruefully. ‘Well, that’s all done. I think I’ll go to bed now—goodnight.’

‘I’m coming up myself.’ He strolled beside her to the foot of the staircase. ‘It was a very successful evening, by the way.’

Lucy paused with her hand on the banister and tried to think of something to say but ended up unsuccessfully trying to smother a huge yawn. ‘Sorry, I—’

‘You’re exhausted. Come,’ he said, and without further ado he picked her up and started up the stairs.

After a moment of supreme surprise, she lay quiet and composed in his arms, her lashes fanning her cheeks, her only thought to wonder what was coming.

But all he did was to put her down on her bed and turn away to stoke up her fire. She lay quite still, watching him and feeling an odd little sense of loss, which translated upon a moment’s thought to the realisation that she hadn’t felt quite so lonely or strung up in his arms as she did lying alone on her bed the way she was... She bit back a husky exclamation and sat up, feeling unreasonably annoyed and stung to retaliation.

‘It’s a pity we couldn’t have done that for the benefit of the gallery,’ she said ironically. ‘Justin, is it important to you the kind of impression I make on these people? I mean, are they going to judge you on me, sort of thing?’

He straightened and came over to the bed. ‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

‘Why are you asking me that, Lucy?’

She stared up at him. ‘Why shouldn’t I? I’m curious, that’s all.’

He looked faintly sceptical but said, ‘I guess it’s human nature to wonder what people see in each other and make some sort of judgement.’

‘So,’ she said slowly, ‘were I to be judged—if they were to think for example, well, she’s pretty enough and all that but mightn’t she bore Justin to tears after a while?—how will that affect how they think about you?’

He frowned. ‘Lucy, if I knew what was behind this I might—’

‘You’re the one who wanted me to make a good impression and not look as if I’d been snatched from my cradle,’ she broke in tartly.

He smiled. ‘Is that how you’ve been feeling tonight? A little out of your depth? I thought you were a bit wrought up about something.’

The accuracy and the inaccuracy of his words brought a faint blush to her cheeks and a further sense of maltreatment to her heart. ‘You can’t have it both ways, Justin. You did marry me, even if it was for all the wrong reasons, but they don’t know that, so—’

‘Lucy,’ he interrupted gravely, ‘let me set your mind at rest. I don’t give a damn what people think about my private life; I never have. My concern about how you might behave this weekend was motivated by this—when you invite people to spend time with you, especially way out in the backblocks like this where they can’t get up and go that easily if they want to, I think you’re fairly obliged not to make them feel uncomfortable and as if they’re in the midst of a domestic brawl. Don’t you agree?’

She opened her mouth, closed it then said scathingly, ‘Of course! That doesn’t explain the cradle bit, though.’

‘Well, as to that,’ he said musingly, and picked up a strand of her hair, ‘I wondered if it mightn’t be part of your strategy, that’s all.’

Lucy blinked at him. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Don’t you? I thought since I’d made it plain that your femme fatale act—your words, not mine, but not inappropriate—was something I wouldn’t approve of you might—change tack.’

Lucy closed her eyes. ‘Funnily enough, it didn’t occur to me at all,’ she said bleakly.

‘You wouldn’t be losing your grip on this—war, would you, Lucy?’ he queried, slipping her hair through his fingers then smoothing it back into place and standing back a step.

For the briefest moment Lucy wondered if she was. But she said, ‘I’m rather tired, Justin, that’s all.’

‘Is it, Lucy?’

The way he said it, on a different note entirely made her open her eyes. ‘What more could there be?’

‘Unless you tell me, I don’t know.’ His eyes searched hers.

She looked away and found herself considering telling him that she didn’t have Mrs Milton and her sister, only one flustered and anxious substitute—and Adrian, and that if the rest of the weekend went well it would be something of a miracle—he’d probably find out soon enough, anyway. But almost immediately she decided she couldn’t stand his scorn, not tonight, so she said wearily, ‘There’s nothing,’ and lay back exhaustedly.

‘Perhaps you’re trying too hard, Lucy.’

She stretched her throat and rubbed it. ‘I really don’t know what I have to do to make you approve of me, Justin.’

He moved so his face was in the shadows and she couldn’t read his expression. ‘Just the one thing you won’t do.’

For the life of her she couldn’t help it, couldn’t stern the images that flooded her mind, of lying in his arms and being made love to, of not being lonely, at least. Images of surrender in the most complete way a woman could to a man, but... ‘But then I might not approve of myself. It’s a real dilemma, isn’t it?’ she whispered, and sat up suddenly with her hands to her face as hot tears sprang to her eyes. ‘Please, just go away, Justin. I can’t cope with you and all this at the same time.’

He stared down at her shaking shoulders for a long moment, then he said evenly, ‘All right, I’m going. But if there is a problem you don’t have to—’

‘There’s nothing!’ She raised her tear-streaked face abruptly. ‘Other than that you’ve now managed to undermine my self-confidence.’

‘Why, Lucy, I never thought to hear you say that. Goodnight, my dear. Don’t do anything stupid, will you?’

She didn’t, not then, but before the weekend was over she seriously interfered with Adrian’s freedom and committed a social solecism of considerable proportions.