Читать книгу Yuletide Bride - Mary Lyons - Страница 4

‘I’M SORRY to be late,’ Amber called out breathlessly as she made her way through the noisy, crowded café, to where her friend was sitting at a small table beside the window.

‘There was no need to hurry,’ Rose Thomas told her, before ordering a pot of coffee from a passing waitress. ‘Sally hasn’t arrived yet. If I know her, she’s probably spending a fortune in one of the dress shops. And busy catching up on all the latest scandal, of course!’

‘I expect you’re right,’ Amber grinned. Their friend Sally, the wife of a wealthy and highly respected lawyer, was affectionately known amongst her friends as being both a shop-aholic, and an avid collector of local news and gossip. ‘But, as far as I’m concerned,’ she added, sighing with relief as she lowered her carrier bags and parcels down on to the floor, ‘trying to do any ordinary, everyday shopping during the run-up to Christmas, is nothing but sheer murder.’

‘Don’t I know it!’ Rose agreed with a rueful laugh. ‘Even though it’s only Thursday, the supermarket was packed as tight as a tin of sardines, and I didn’t manage to buy half the things on my shopping list. Since my dreaded mother-in-law is threatening to descend on us for the Christmas holidays, I was just wondering if I could ask you to make me a large plum pudding? And maybe some sponge cakes to keep in the freezer just in case of any unexpected visitors?’

‘No problem—all orders gratefully received!’ Amber grinned as she pulled out a chair and sat down.

‘That’ll be wonderful,’ Rose sighed with relief. ‘By the way, how is your business doing?’

‘Well, it looks as though I’m going to be very busy in the kitchen, since I’ve now got lots of orders from the local shops for Christmas cakes, puddings and mince pies. Unfortunately, the paying-guest side of the business isn’t doing so well. Bookings are down, and we don’t have anyone staying with us at the moment. On top of which...’ she hesitated for a moment. ‘I don’t want anyone else to know just yet, because I’m still trying to summon up enough courage to break the bad news to my mother. However, after a really awful interview with the bank manager, I’ve finally had to face the hard, financial facts of life and put my house on the market.’

‘You don’t mean...?’

Amber nodded. ‘Yes, I’m afraid so. I’ve seen Mr Glover, the house agent, and the Hall is going to be advertised for sale as from the beginning of next week.’

‘Oh, no! I’m so sorry,’ Rose exclaimed, gazing at her friend with deep concern and sympathy. Since they’d both been born and raised in the same small, riverside market town of Elmbridge, she was well aware of the misfortunes suffered in the past by Amber’s family; the public scandal and disgrace surrounding the crash of her father’s large business empire, swiftly followed by his death and her mother’s complete mental breakdown. It seemed so desperately unfair, Rose told herself, that after all the trials and tribulations which she’d so bravely confronted in the past, her friend should now be having to face yet even more problems.

‘Oh, well—it’s not exactly the end of the world. The Hall is far too large for us, and the heating bills are astronomical,’ Amber pointed out, attempting to put a brave face on what was, in reality, a disastrous family situation.

‘But where will you go?’ Rose asked anxiously as the waitress brought a tray to their table. ‘Have you found anywhere else to live?’

Amber sighed. ‘No, not yet. I’m hoping to buy a small cottage, not too far away from Elmbridge. Mainly, of course, because I don’t want to take Lucy away from either her school, or her friends.’

‘I’ll keep my ear to the ground, and let you know the moment I hear of anything,’ Rose assured her earnestly. However, as she poured them both a cup of coffee, she couldn’t help worrying about how her friend would manage to cope with life in a small cottage.

She’d been away at college when Amber, at the age of eighteen, had married Clive Stanhope, a very wealthy if somewhat wild young man, who’d owned Elmbridge Hall, an ancient Tudor mansion and by far the largest house in the district. Clive’s wedding to Amber—the once rich, but by then penniless only child of a disgraced businessman—followed by the birth of a daughter only six months after their marriage, had provided plenty of ammunition for gossip in the small town. However, Amber had subsequently won everyone’s admiration by the way she’d coped after her husband’s fatal car accident, a year later, when it became known that Clive had apparently been a compulsive gambler, and all the land was heavily mortgaged. In fact, after everything had been sold to meet a mountain of debts, the young widow had been left with nothing but Elmbridge Hall.

Over the past few years, Rose had looked forward to a time when her friend would meet the right man and live happily ever after. With thick shoulder-length straight hair, a glorious shade of deep golden brown, and large green eyes set above a warm generous mouth, Amber was a very beautiful woman. Certainly Philip Jackson, the young local doctor, seemed to think so. But, despite all her matchmaking efforts, Rose couldn’t understand why her friend—who was also a loving mother and superb cook—appeared to be so reluctant to get married again. But now...well, surely Amber would see the sense in marrying a man who had so much to offer her?

‘I saw Philip Jackson the other day. He tells me that he’s going to his parents’ home in Cumberland for Christmas.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Amber murmured, eyeing her friend warily.

‘Well, I was just wondering if...er...if he’s asked you and Lucy to join him?’

‘For Heaven’s sake—don’t you ever give up?’ Amber groaned, shaking her head in mock exasperation. ‘I thought you’d promised to stop trying to marry me off to all the single men in town?’

‘Yes, well...’ Rose’s cheeks reddened slightly. ‘I really don’t mean to interfere in your life. But it’s almost seven years since Clive died. And it’s as clear as daylight to me—especially after hearing the sad news about the sale of your house—that what you really need is a husband.’

‘I hope you’re not suggesting that I should marry Philip—or anyone else, for that matter—merely to provide a way out of my difficulties?’ Amber demanded bluntly.

‘No—of course, I’m not,’ Rose protested, waving a hand dismissively in the air. ‘But surely this is the perfect time to think seriously about your future?’

‘Oh, come on, Rose! We’re not just talking about me. There’s Lucy to consider, as well. It’s not everyone who’d want to take on a little seven-year-old girl—not to mention my scatty mother.’

‘I know your mother can be a problem at times,’ Rose agreed, well aware that Violet Grant, who’d never really recovered from the trauma of her husband’s sudden death, was an extra and often tiresome burden for the young widow’s slim shoulders to carry. ‘But Philip is clearly mad about you, and you can’t deny that he’d be a really good choice of stepfather for Lucy. On top of which, I happen to think that you’d make a marvellous doctor’s wife.’

Amber smiled and shook her head. ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence! I know you mean well, and that what you’re saying probably makes sense, but... OK, OK, I promise to give the matter some thought,’ she added hurriedly as her old friend seemed determined to press the point. ‘Now, tell me—is your mother-in-law going to be staying for the whole of the Christmas holidays?’ she asked, firmly changing the subject. Unfortunately, there was no way she could tell Rose the truth; that having already made one marriage of convenience—although Clive Stanhope had been a very kind, generous-hearted man—she was desperately wary of entering into such an arrangement ever again.

To be fair, her friend did have a point about Lucy. Ever since Clive had died, when her daughter was just under a year old, she had done her best to be both mother and father to the little girl. That she hadn’t always succeeded in properly fulfilling the two, very different roles over the past seven years, was a fact of which Amber was becoming daily more aware. So, maybe Rose was right? Maybe she ought to stop shilly-shallying, and force herself to take the practical, sensible decision to marry Philip Jackson?

A highly respected doctor, who’d recently joined a local practice, Philip was a genuinely nice and considerate man. The fact that he also had a private income, lived in a large house all on his own and was reasonably good-looking, with fair hair and kind brown eyes, made him the obvious candidate as far as her friends were concerned. But, while she was very fond of Philip, she wasn’t in love with him. And having once experienced the intense, tempestuous drive of overwhelming emotion and desire, it seemed quite wrong to settle for second best.

‘...so, the old dragon is bound to make Christmas a misery for all of us, and... Good Heavens! It looks as if Sally really has been spending a fortune!’

Startled by Rose’s sudden exclamation, and guiltily aware that while she’d been buried deep in thought, she’d missed most of what her friend had been saying, Amber looked up to see a petite blonde woman making her way towards them, her progress impeded by the enormous amount of parcels she was carrying.

‘Hi, darlings! I’m sorry to be so late,’ she cried. ‘I’ve never known the shops to be so crowded. But I know you’ll both forgive me when I tell you some absolutely riveting news!’

‘I don’t know why you aren’t running your own gossip column in the local newspaper!’ Rose mocked as she and Amber exchanged a quick grin with one another.

‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy,’ Sally laughed good-naturedly, placing her shopping on an adjacent chair as she sat down to join them. ‘Besides, this isn’t a rumour—it’s the genuine truth, which everyone will know about sooner or later,’ she added before turning to Amber. ‘Do you remember Lady Parker? The mega-rich old woman that lived near you, and who died in a big fire at her house well over a year ago?’

Amber nodded. ‘I never actually met the old lady, because she’d been a recluse for many years. Apparently the house was burned to the ground.’

‘Right. Well, my dear husband was in charge of her affairs, and it seems that she always refused to make a will,’ Sally continued excitedly. ‘So, it took John simply ages to track down her only living relative. However, he’s now finally succeeded, and Lady Parker’s ten thousand acres—plus goodness knows how much extra money in stocks and shares, has all been inherited by...”Mad Max”!’

‘What?’ Rose gasped in astonishment. ‘You don’t mean...? Not...not the old vicar’s son—Max Warner?’

‘Yes!’ Sally beamed at her friends, delighted at the expression of shock and surprise on their faces. Amber, in particular, appeared to be totally stunned.

‘I just knew that you’d both be amazed to hear about the return of our old school heart-throb,’ she continued happily. ‘Of course, it’s been years since the Reverend Augustus Warner died, so I suppose that it’s not surprising that we’d forgotten all about his son. When John first told me about the return of “Mad Max”, I could hardly believe my ears!’

‘He certainly deserved that nickname!’ Rose laughed. ‘I remember him as a wild tearaway—with a simply terrible reputation for breaking girls’ hearts. All the same...’ she paused, staring into space with a dreamy expression on her face. ‘Max really was diabolically attractive, wasn’t he?’

‘Absolutely scrumptious!’ Sally agreed with a grin. ‘In fact, with his curly black hair and those twinkling, wicked blue eyes, the effect on our young teenage hearts was completely lethal!’

‘Mmm...’ Rose gave a sheepish grin. ‘After he kissed me at my sixteenth birthday party, I can remember being madly in love with Max for a whole year.’

‘Weren’t we all?’ her friend sighed heavily. ‘Of course, Amber is two years younger than either of us, and so probably won’t recall any of the completely crazy things he used to get up to. Do you remember that huge black motorbike of his? And the really ferocious competition amongst us girls, as to who could wangle a ride behind him on the pillion seat?’

‘Oh, yes! One of the highlights of my teens was when he once took me down the motorway at well over a hundred miles an hour.’ Cheeks flushed, Rose shook her head at her own folly. ‘I was absolutely scared to death, of course. But it was worth it. I reckoned I was the envy of everyone at school for at least two whole weeks!’

Sally giggled. ‘You certainly were. I can remember Cynthia Henderson, for instance, collapsing into a jealous fit of raving hysterics—right in the middle of school assembly!’

‘It’s all very well to talk about old school days, but where’s Max been all these years?’ Rose asked. ‘I know he was very clever. And, despite fooling around, he passed his school exams with flying colours before gaining a scholarship to university. But his father, old Reverend Warner, died while I was away training to be a nurse—and I’ve never heard anything about Max from that day to this.’

‘Nor had anyone else,’ Sally agreed. ‘In fact, my dear husband had almost given up the search for him. And then...when he was invited to a very grand, fund-raising dinner in London a few weeks ago, he discovered that Max Warner was the principal guest speaker!’

‘Good Heavens!’

‘We all thought that Max had dropped off the edge of the world, didn’t we? But not a bit of it!’ Sally gave a loud peal of laughter. ‘It seems he had an uncle in America. So, when his father died eight years ago, Max went off to the States to make his fortune. He’s now returned to England as the terrifically successful, managing director of a huge, high-powered public company. And he’s made an appointment to see John sometime soon, here in Elmbridge. How about that!’

While her friends were chatting excitedly together, exchanging news of a long-lost old school friend, Amber had been sitting rigidly still, her mind dazed and reeling, as though she’d been hit on the back of her head by a heavy sandbag. Even Sally’s sudden shriek of horror hardly managed to penetrate her stunned brain.

‘Oh, help—just look at the time!’ Sally quickly jumped up from the table. ‘I should have been at the hairdresser’s at least ten minutes ago!’

‘What an extraordinary piece of news about Max Warner,’ Rose mused as Sally bustled out of the café, before catching sight of her friend’s chalk-white face and dazed, stricken expression.

‘Amber! What on earth’s wrong? Are you all right?’

‘Yes, I...’ She took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. ‘Really, I’m fine,’ she shakily informed Rose, who was gazing at her with deep concern.

‘You’ve been trying to do too much,’ her friend pointed out firmly. ‘Having to cope with your mother is enough to try the patience of a saint! And running that huge old house...’

‘I’m sorry...I have to go. I really must get home...there’s so much cooking to do....’ Amber muttered breathlessly as she swiftly gathered up her parcels.

‘You don’t look at all well. I hope you’re not going down with flu?’ Her friend gazed with concern at Amber’s pale face and trembling figure. ‘If you’re not feeling too good, there’s no need to worry about picking up Emily from school tomorrow. I can easily put off my trip to London.’

‘No...don’t do that. I’m fine. I’ve just got a lot to do today—that’s all,’ she assured Rose, before hurriedly making her way out of the café.

* * *

Dazed and shivering with nervous tension, Amber sat huddled in the front seat of her ancient Land Rover, staring blindly at the wind-rippled, dark water of the wide river estuary. Completely shattered by Sally’s news, she’d known that there was no way she was in a fit state to drive the five miles back to Elmbridge Hall. Not when it had taken her several fumbled attempts to even place her key in the ignition. But since she couldn’t continue sitting in the town car park, either, she’d cautiously made her way down to the quayside which was, as she’d hoped, completely deserted at this time of year.

She ought to have known that this was likely to happen sooner or later, Amber told herself grimly, wrapping her arms tightly about her trembling figure. What a blind, stupid fool she had been—living in a fool’s paradise for the past eight years. While she’d had no idea that Lady Parker was his grandmother, she should have realised that Max Warner must eventually return—like the prodigal son—to his old home town of Elmbridge.

Suddenly feeling in need of some fresh air, Amber opened the door and stepped down from the Land Rover. Walking slowly up and down over the frosty cobblestones, she desperately tried to clear her mind, to try and work out what she was going to do. But it was proving difficult to think clearly when her mind seemed to be filled with memories of the past.

A much-loved and only child of wealthy parents, Amber had always been protected from the harsh facts of life. But the catastrophic events surrounding the collapse of her father’s business empire, during the long hot summer of her eighteenth birthday, had shattered and destroyed for ever the safe, secure world of her childhood. Shocked and bewildered by the newspaper headlines trumpeting ‘Financial Scandal!’ and ‘Millions Lost by Suffolk Businessman!’ she’d been totally ill-equipped to deal with either the devastating news of her father’s bankruptcy, or his sudden death from a fatal heart attack. And when her mother—unable to face the prospect of either being shunned by her former friends, or the total reverse of the family fortunes—had collapsed and been placed by the family doctor in a local psychiatric nursing home, Amber had found herself standing completely alone amidst the ashes of her previous existence.

Maybe if, during that tense and anxious time, there had been someone with whom she could have discussed her problems, her life might have turned out differently. But with no close relations other than an elderly aunt in London, and all her school friends either away on holiday—or prevented by their cautious parents from associating with the child of a man who had, reportedly, been involved in crooked financial dealings—her only relief from the mounting stress and strain had been to take long, solitary walks through the deserted meadows edging the river-bank near her home. And there it was that Max had found her, one hot afternoon in late August, weeping with despair and deep unhappiness.

Despite an early teenage crush on the wickedly glamorous Max Warner, she’d seen nothing of him during the past five years. However, it had seemed the most natural thing in the world when he’d put his strong arms about her trembling figure.

‘How could I have forgotten those wonderful, sparkling green eyes?’ he’d said, smiling lazily down at her as he wiped away her tears. ‘I always knew that you’d grow up to become a real beauty.’

‘Have I really...?’ she’d gasped, her cheeks flushing hectically beneath his warm, engaging smile as he gently brushed the long, damp tendrils of hair from her wide brow, before lowering his dark head to softly kiss her trembling lips.

Miraculously, it seemed that Max—unlike so many of her family’s friends and acquaintances—did not hold her personally responsible for her father’s misdeeds. And as they’d walked slowly back to her house, whose contents were now mostly in packing cases for despatch to the local saleroom, she realised that he, too, was suffering from the sudden loss of a parent. Completely immersed in her own problems, Amber had only been dimly aware of the Reverend Warner’s recent death from a massive stroke, resulting in Max’s urgent recall from America, where he’d just completed his postgraduate degree at the Harvard Business School. However, when he confessed to the misery and desolation of being now alone in large empty rooms of the vicarage, or his deep regret at not having been closer to his father, saying, ‘I was pretty wild as a teenager, and there’s no doubt he must have found me a considerable pain in the neck,’ she was easily able to understand Max’s thoughts and feelings at such an unhappy time.

If only she hadn’t been quite so young and innocent! Amber squirmed with embarrassment as she now gazed back down the years at her youthful self. With her head stuffed full of romantic fantasies, her dazed mind reeling beneath the assault of those glittering blue eyes and his overwhelming sensual attraction, it was no wonder that—like some modern-day Cinderella—she’d immediately fallen head over heels in love with her very own Prince Charming. But if Max found her obvious adoration a nuisance, he gave no indication of doing so, as day after day he joined her for long walks along the deserted river-bank. So, it was perhaps inevitable that, having tripped and fallen over a log hidden in the thick grass, she should have found herself clasped in his arms, fervently responding to the fiercely determined possession of his lips and body.

It wasn’t for lack of trying, of course. But, over the past eight years, Amber had never been able to fool herself into believing that Max was totally to blame for what happened. Pathetically ignorant of lovemaking as she was, the feverish impetus of her desire had been every bit as strong as his, her ardent and passionate response clearly overpowering any scruples he may have had.

It had always seemed to Amber as if the next few weeks had been an all too brief, halcyon period of enchantment and rapture. Neither the deep sadness of her father’s death, nor her increasing worries about her mother’s mental condition, had seemed to disturb their mutual ecstasy and euphoric happiness, or the uncontrollable desire that exploded between them each and every time they were able to be alone with one another.

Unfortunately, there was nothing they could do to prevent the harsh, cruel light of reality from eventually breaking through their cloud of happiness. Both the fast-approaching sale of her family home, and the offer to Max of a job in his uncle’s large firm in America, meant that they would soon have to part.

Starry-eyed with joy when he placed a small gold ring on her finger, vowing that they would be married just as soon as he was well established in his new career, Amber had never doubted Max’s total sincerity. ‘My uncle’s offering me a good salary, with a partnership in the near future. So, it won’t be long before we can be together for ever and ever,’ he’d pledged, clasping her tightly in his arms before leaving for the airport. ‘Just promise that you’ll wait for me?’

‘Of course I will,’ she told him fervently, blinking rapidly in order to prevent the weak tears from running down her cheeks as she waved him goodbye.

And she had waited. Waiting, alone in the empty house through the long autumn days, while her father’s creditors checked that all her family’s precious possessions had been sold; waiting, while her mother who, if not yet ready to leave the hospital, was showing definite signs of improvement. Until, well over two months after his departure, her increasing apprehension that she might be pregnant hardened into certainty, and she realised that she was in deep and desperate trouble....

A sudden, freezing gust of wind cut into her memories of that intensely unhappy time, bringing her sharply back to her present-day problems—and the questions raised by the fear of Max’s return. However, by the time she found herself driving back home, Amber had managed to regain a small measure of self-control.

She couldn’t, of course, pretend that Max’s return was likely to be anything other than a major disaster. On the other hand, to have found herself in such a blind panic, feeling sick and shivering like a leaf at the mere sound of his name, wasn’t going to achieve anything, either. Leaving her own desperate worry and fears about Lucy aside, it was plainly quite ridiculous of her to have been so overcome with sheer terror. Max may have inherited Lady Parker’s large estate—but so what? If, as Sally had said, he was enjoying such a successful career in London, and only visiting Elmbridge to meet his grandmother’s lawyer, there was very little likelihood of his ever returning to live permanently in the area. Besides...all this frantic shock and worry could well prove to be completely unfounded. It was more than likely that such an attractive, vital man would be married by now, and have completely forgotten all about their very brief, secret love affair.

As she made her way up the drive, she was comforted by the familiar sight of the ancient mansion with its warm red brick and mullioned windows, which, despite its imminent sale, seemed at the moment to offer a place of refuge and safety.

An American guest had once referred enthusiastically to Elmbridge Hall as a ‘Medieval Gem’. He may have been right, Amber thought wryly as she carried her shopping into the house, but he should try living here in the winter! Which was yet another reason for selling this huge, rambling old house, she reminded herself grimly, only too well aware of the astonomically high bills for coal and electricity, which would be due for payment in the new year.

‘Hello, dear. Are you going out shopping?’ her mother murmured, wandering into the hall and casting an approving glance at her daughter’s old tweed coat, over a matching skirt and green, polo-necked sweater, the same colour as her eyes.

Stifling a sigh, Amber explained that, far from going anywhere, she had just returned with the shopping—before once again reminding the older woman of the large note pad and pencil beside the telephone.

‘Mother! Do please try and concentrate,’ she added, as Violet Grant drifted about the hall, idly touching up a flower decoration here, and straightening an oil painting there. ‘I’ve got a huge order for plum puddings. So, I’m going to shut myself away in the kitchen until it’s time to collect Lucy from school. As I won’t be able to hear the phone here in the hall, I’m relying on you to take down any bookings. It’s very important that you write down the correct names and the exact dates they want to stay with us—OK?’

‘There’s no need to worry, dear.’ Violet Grant gave her daughter an injured look. ‘You know that I always do my best to welcome your friends to the house.’

Amber closed her eyes for a moment, mentally counting up to ten. While she loved her mother very dearly, there was no doubt that even her seven-year-old daughter, Lucy, seemed to have a stronger grasp on reality than poor Violet. Unfortunately, the older woman seemed incapable of understanding either the family’s dire need for hard cash, or the necessity of accurately recording all telephone messages.

A child of wealthy parents, and much indulged by her rich husband, Violet’s butterfly mind had never been able to fully accept their changed circumstances. Even though it was now a long time since all the scandal and newspaper headlines, which had surrounded both the crash of her husband’s business empire and his subsequent fatal heart attack, Violet continued to live in a private world of her own.

Four years ago, when Amber had first floated the idea of taking in paying guests, her mother had been distraught.

‘You must have taken leave of your senses!’ Violet had gasped in horror, before collapsing down on to a chair. ‘To think that I should live to see my own daughter running a...a boarding-house!’

‘Oh, come on, Mother—it’s hardly the end of the world!’ Amber had retorted with exasperation. While she felt sorry for the older woman, she nevertheless knew that they both had to face up to the harsh facts of life. ‘When poor Clive died, he left us with nothing but this house and a huge pile of debts. We’ve sold everything we can, and now that Lucy is growing up, she’s going to be needing clothes and toys, and lots of other things that we simply can’t afford at the moment. The house is our only asset, which is why I’ve decided to take in paying guests. However, if you can think of an alternative plan of action—I’ll be glad to hear it!’

Not able to come up with a viable course of action, it seemed the only way Violet Grant could cope with their changed status was to completely close her mind to what she called the ‘sordid, financial aspects’ of Amber’s business. However, by insisting on treating those who came to the house as personal guests of her daughter—charmingly welcoming everyone as if they were old family friends—Violet had, in many ways, proved to be a considerable asset.

But that state of affairs was now coming to an end, Amber quickly reminded herself as she made her way to the kitchen, feeling distinctly guilty at not yet having found the courage to tell her mother about the forthcoming sale of the Hall. She was deeply ashamed of being such a coward—but dreaded having to face the hysterical scenes that were bound to follow such bad news.

All the same...she told herself some time later as she moistened the heavy, dried-fruit pudding mixture with a hefty dose of brandy, she really couldn’t put off telling her mother the truth for much longer. As for the question of Max’s return—well, the sooner she put it out of her mind, the better. After all, no one had any idea of what had happened during that long, hot summer over eight years ago. So, there was no reason why the episode shouldn’t remain firmly buried in the mists of time.

* * *

Continuing to sternly lecture herself throughout the rest of the day and most of the next, Amber had gradually managed to recover her usual good sense and equilibrium. Being busily occupied in trying to catch up with all her orders for home-made Christmas produce was proving to be a positive advantage, since she simply didn’t have time to think about anything other than the job in hand. Only abandoning the kitchen to collect Lucy and her friend, Emily Thomas, from school, she was delighted when they decided that it would be fun to explore the contents of some of her mother’s old trunks up in the attic. There was nothing that Lucy liked more than dressing up in Violet’s old clothes—a fact that Amber welcomed, since it meant that the little girls were happily occupied while she made another batch of mince pies for the freezer.

Busily absorbed by her work in the kitchen, she was startled when one of the row of old-fashioned bells began ringing high on the wall above her head.

Glancing up, she noted with surprise that there was obviously someone at the front door. Certainly Rose, on a shopping trip to Cambridge, wouldn’t be collecting Emily for another hour at least—and she couldn’t think of anyone else likely to be calling at this time of day. However, as the bell was given yet another impatient ring, she realised that she was going to have to go and answer it.

Wondering who on earth it could be, Amber didn’t bother to remove her messy apron as she hurried down the dark corridor, through the green baize door, which separated the kitchen quarters from the rest of the house, and across the stone floor of the large hall.

‘OK, OK, I’m coming!’ she muttered under her breath as someone began banging loudly on the old oak door.

‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting...’ she began as she opened the door. And then, almost reeling with shock, she found herself frantically clutching the large brass door handle for support. With the blood draining from her face, her dazed and confused mind seemed barely able to comprehend the evidence of her own eyes. Because there—standing casually on the doorstep beside Mr Glover, the house agent—was the tall dark figure of Max Warner!