Читать книгу For One Night - Пенни Джордан, PENNY JORDAN - Страница 6

“WELL, DIANA, you know your own mind best, but I must admit that I’m surprised. You’ve always fitted in well here at Southern Television, and somehow I can’t see you living in a small country village, running a bookshop.”

“I trained as a librarian before I came here, Don,” Diana reminded her boss, “and my parents lived in the country.”

“Oh, I see.”

She was surprised to see that he looked a little nonplussed. “You want to be closer to them, is that it?”

Diana shook her head. Her parents had emigrated to Australia six months ago to be close to her elder brother and his children, and her decision to sell the London flat and start a new life for herself in a small and fairly remote Herefordshire town had nothing to do with them.

“No, not really, I just thought it was time I had a change.” As she spoke, she glanced instinctively into the mirror on the opposite wall. Her stomach was still quite flat, her body as reed-slim as ever; no one looking at her could possibly guess that she was three months pregnant.

A guilty twinge flared through her, and she bit nervously at her bottom lip. By rights she ought to feel horrified at the thought of her impending motherhood, but she didn’t—she couldn’t. Ridiculously, she felt as though she had been given a most precious and wonderful gift.

To go to bed with a stranger, and then to conceive his child, was so removed from the way she lived her life that even now she could hardly believe it had actually happened.

Indeed, when she had woken up that morning in her hotel room and found all trace of the man and his possessions gone, her first thought was that it had been a dream; only there had been that tiny betraying stain on the sheet, and the invisible, but unmistakable knowledge that her body had changed; that she had changed.

It had never occurred to her that she might have conceived, and for a while she had put her nausea and tiredness down to the after-effects of Leslie’s death. It had been Dr. Copeland who had somewhat diffidently suggested there might be another cause.

Diana knew that the doctor had expected her to be disturbed and displeased by her pregnancy; after all, she was a single woman, a career woman living alone; but what she had felt had been a thrill of pleasure so great that nothing else had seemed important.

Oddly, until now she had never even contemplated the possibility of having children, had never considered what role, if any, they might play in her life; but now she was as fiercely protective of this new emergent life within her as though she had lived her life with no further end in view than this act of procreation.

Her decision to give up her job and start life completely afresh had been an easy one to reach. She could not bring up her child the way she would wish in London. Leslie’s legacy made her independent; wealthy enough, in fact, not to need to work.

However, it was one thing to decide to have a completely fresh start, it was another to achieve it. On impulse she went to see Mr. Soames to ask for his advice.

He listened to her whilst she explained what she wanted to do.

“Hmm. I would not advocate complete seclusion from the rest of the world,” he commented when she had finished. “Perhaps a small business that you could run by yourself ….”

“I’m an archivist,” Diana interrupted him. “I have no training for running a business.” But Mr. Soames wasn’t listening, he was looking at her with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“My dear Miss Johnson,” he exclaimed with a beam. “I think I may have the ideal solution. Only very recently, a cotrustee came to see me on behalf of a mutual friend—now deceased, alas. I was brought up near Hereford, and have retained some ties there. My client owned a small bookshop in a Herefordshire market town.

“She died several months ago—both the property and the business are extremely run down—I am an executor of her estate, as indeed is the gentleman who came to see me.

“Since there is no one to inherit, it has been decided that the property will be put on the market. I must warn you, though, that since both the living and shop premises constitute a listed building, certain restrictions are imposed on their alterations and development.”

Diana listened to him in silence. A bookshop. It was something she had never thought of doing … But she had the contacts … and the knowledge … and her years with the television company had given her a keen insight into marketing and selling techniques.

A tiny glimmer of excitement flickered to life inside her.

“Are you suggesting that I might buy the business and the building?” she asked Mr. Soames.

“Heppleton Magna is an extremely pretty market town, on the River Wye. None of my family live there now, but I have fond memories of the place, and I still have several clients there. If you are interested I could arrange for you to see the premises.”

Diana thought quickly and made up her mind before her courage could desert her.

“I’d love to see it, Mr. Soames.”

Before she left his office, she had arranged to visit the shop with him later in the week.

“I shall telephone you with the exact details. My coexecutor is out of the country at the moment—on business, buying bulls I believe. He is a farmer, so I shall have to accompany you myself, if that’s agreeable.”

THREE DAYS LATER they went, and Diana fell in love almost immediately with Heppleton Magna and its surrounds.

The town was more of a large village, with red brick Queen Anne buildings surrounding the town square, and narrow wobbly lanes leading off it, where Tudor houses with overhanging upper casements pressed closely together. The shop was down at the bottom of one of these lanes.

Inside, the rooms showed the signs of neglect that came from having an elderly, proud owner who, according to Mr. Soames, had refused to allow her friends to help her.

“She was in hospital for the last few months of her life, but she still refused to hand over the keys to anyone. You can see the results,” he added with a faint sigh, pointing out damp patches where water had seeped through the leaking roof.

The kitchen and bathroom in the living quarters were apallingly basic, and the bookshop itself, so dark and dim that Diana was not surprised to see from the accounts that over the last few years its takings had dropped drastically.

Even so she had fallen in love with the place; in a strange way it seemed to reach out to embrace and welcome her.

They would be happy here, she and her child.

The house was in the middle of a block of three and it had a long back garden running down to the river. Beyond the river stretched endless fields; and she had already ascertained that there were plenty of schools and other facilities in the area. She and her child could settle down here and put out firm roots. She remembered with love and gratitude her own childhood in the Yorkshire Dales. Engrossed in her own thoughts, she scarcely heard what Mr. Soames was saying to her. Not that it mattered a great deal. She had already made up her mind. Just as soon as it could be arranged she was going to move down here.

On the way back to London she found herself wishing that Leslie could have been here to share the excitement with her. Unhappiness shadowed her eyes momentarily; and then she reflected that had it not been for Leslie’s death she would not be making these plans, because there would have been no child to plan for. This child was nature’s way of compensating her for the friend she had lost. She felt no guilt or remorse about the way her baby had been conceived. She had shut the night and the man out of her mind. They had no place in this new life she was making for herself. They had met and parted as strangers. For the first and last time in her life she had acted out of character. Indeed, sometimes she wondered, rather fancifully, if a higher authority had perhaps directed her actions that night. Certainly it was not the sort of thing she had ever previously contemplated doing; nor would do again. And equally certain was the fact that she had had no deliberate intention of conceiving—but she had. She touched her stomach gently and turned to Mr. Soames.

“You will get everything sorted out as quickly as possible, won’t you?” she asked him.

“Well, if you’re sure, my dear. I’ll have to have the agreement of my cotrustee, of course. He should be back within the next few days. I’ll get in touch with him just as soon as he is.”

Diana wasn’t listening. The property would be hers; instinctively she knew it. It was just as meant to be as her conception had been ….

The move to Heppleton Magna was accomplished smoothly and easily. In anticipation of the baby’s birth and the life she would soon lead, Diana had traded in her small nippy runabout for a much sturdier and larger estate car.

The flat she and Leslie had shared had been sold, and with it the modern, designer furniture they had chosen together. All she had kept had been various photographs and keepsakes. She wanted her child to grow up knowing her friend.

She had already transported most of her clothes and bits and pieces down to Herefordshire, and she paused beneath the window of the flat to say a final goodbye to it, before getting into her car.

A shaft of sunlight caught the bright gold of the wedding ring she was wearing, and she touched it lightly, her mouth curling in a wryly amused smile.

Perhaps it was wrong of her to pretend she was a widow, but the country wasn’t London, where single parents were almost the norm. Heppleton Magna had a predominantly elderly population, and she had no intention of allowing her child to grow up under the shadow of their disapproval.

Of course, there would come a time when he or she would ask about its father. Quite what she would say she had no idea. It would be difficult to make anyone understand the force that had driven her that night. She wasn’t sure she understood it properly herself, and she was sometimes inclined to wonder if her behaviour hadn’t at least in part been motivated by that extremely large gin and tonic she had consumed, on top of a sleeping pill.

It wasn’t important now, now it had happened, she told herself firmly. She was on the brink of starting a new life; it was time to put the past well and truly behind her.

She didn’t rush the journey—after all, there was plenty of time. She stopped off for a leisurely lunch and arrived at her new home late in the afternoon. A heavy workload at the TV station had meant that she had had no time to spare to furnish or equip her new home before leaving London so she had taken the precaution of booking herself into the local pub for a couple of weeks.

Because her new property was a listed building there were certain rules and regulations she would have to abide by in any alterations and improvements she had carried out, but luckily she had discovered a building firm locally who specialized in renovation and repairs of the kind she would need. She had an appointment to meet with their representative in the morning, when they would go over the house and shop together to list and discuss what had to be done.

She knew exactly how she wanted her home to look. The building was three stories high, with a lovely large sitting room, a breakfast room/kitchen, and two good-sized bedrooms, so she would have plenty of space.

The almost euphoric sense of freedom and happiness that possessed her these days must be something to do with her changing hormone structure, she decided guiltily as she thought of Leslie. Her friend would have wanted her to be happy though, she knew that. The baby—her new life—these were fate’s bonuses and she must look upon them as such.

The local pub was another Queen Anne building; next to it was the rectory, and next to that the church and the small local school; all relics from the days when a rich landowner had designed that part of the town to please a new wife, who had been entranced with their quaint prettiness.

Diana had a room overlooking the rear of the pub. The river flowed past the bottom of the long garden—the same river that flowed past her own, and she made a mental note to ensure that at some stage she had adequate, childproof fencing erected as a protective measure.

The room’s four-poster bed was part of the original furnishings of the pub; it was huge and cavernous, and Diana surveyed it with a certain amount of wry bemusement. This was a bed for lovers, for couples.

Off it was her bathroom and a small sitting room. She could if she wished either have her meals in her suite, or take them downstairs in the dining room.

After she had unpacked, she wasn’t hungry enough to want to eat again, and so instead she decided to go for a quiet stroll around the town.

The town was still very much a working country town whose businesses focused on the needs of the local farming population. The Queen Anne “village” had long ago become part of the growing market town, which was now a mishmash of several architectural styles. In the centre was an attractive town square, and the cattle market. Her own property fronted on to this square, and was in the busier area of the town.

As she wandered around she discovered, tucked away down a narrow alley, an interesting looking dress shop. As yet her figure had barely changed, but new clothes of the fashionable variety would be something she wouldn’t need to buy for some considerable time.

She paused to linger for a moment outside a shop selling nursery equipment and children’s clothes. She could see from the window display that the shop catered for the wealthier inhabitants of the town. Of course, this part of the country was well established as a rich farming community.

A very traditional coach-built pram caught her eye and she found herself imagining what it would be like to push. A small fugitive smile tugged at her mouth. What was happening to her? She had never once in her life imagined herself having such maternal feelings and longings, and yet here she was drooling over prams. How Leslie would have laughed.

For the first time it struck her that she had no one with whom she could share her pleasure in the coming child. Her parents and brother were too far away, and even if they had not been, she knew that they would have been shocked at her disregard of all the conventions. They would have loved and supported her of course, but … but they wouldn’t have understood.

She would make new friends, she told herself sturdily. She wouldn’t always be a stranger here.

Her meeting with the builder proved more rewarding than she had dared to hope. Contrary to her expectations he was not full of doubts and criticisms of her plans, but enthusiastically entered into them. It was obvious from his conversation that he considered himself and the men who worked for him to be craftsmen, and he had a craftsman’s pride in his work. He only struck one worrying note, and that was over the large beams upstairs which she wanted to expose.

“One or two of them will have to be replaced,” he told her forthrightly, “and you’ll only be able to do that with original beams of the same period.”

Diana felt her heart sink. She had planned her entire decorative scheme around a very traditional exposed beam and plaster background, and now he was virtually telling her that that was impossible.

“I think I know where you can get some,” he told her, lifting her spirits immediately. “They’ve got some for sale at Whitegates Farm. They’re from a barn that was struck by lightning and had to come down.”

Whitegates Farm—the name rang a bell, and then Diana remembered Mr. Soames telling her that it was the home of his cotrustee.

“Will they sell them to me?” she asked uncertainly.

The builder smiled at her. “I should think so. You’d better telephone first to make an appointment though,” he warned her. “This is a busy time for farmers. I’ll negotiate the sale for you myself if you prefer it.”

In some ways she did, but she was going to be living in this new environment, and it was up to her to make contact with its inhabitants.

“I’ll ring the farm as soon as I get back to the pub,” she promised him.

A woman answered the phone, but when Diana put her request to her she explained that she was only the housekeeper.

“You’ll have to come out and talk to Mr. Simons about that,” she told Diana. “He’ll be here in the morning if that’s any use to you?”

Confirming the appointment, Diana got directions from her and then hung up.

The weather had turned pleasantly mild. She closed her eyes, seduced by the warmth of the sun coming in through the window. Next summer she could sit in her garden and watch her baby crawling on the lawn. She put her hand over her stomach and smiled to herself. The man who had fathered her child had melted into the mists of all those things she preferred not to think about. Before leaving London she had had a doctor’s appointment, and they had frowned over her lack of knowledge about her child’s father. There were medical details they needed for the records, and Diana had been made to feel like a thoughtless and rather stupid child.

The stock owned by the previous owner had been packed away in several large cases, and Diana spent the afternoon checking through them. Apart from a few handfuls of books of curiosity value to collectors there was very little that was salable. Some of the books had very nice leather bindings, though, and she resolved to keep them for display purposes on her own bookshelves.

Before leaving London she had visited various wholesalers to discuss the type of stock she wanted to carry. No firm orders could be given until the restoration and redecoration work was completed, but she had learned the value of good PR work whilst working for the television company, and on her list of things to do was a visit to the offices of the local newspaper, plus a tentative question mark against the idea of an opening party.

In the children’s section of the shop she intended to have a mural painted, depicting a variety of fairy-tale and animal creatures. The same firm she and Leslie had employed to decorate their London flat would attend to that for her … perhaps she would have a mural in the nursery as well.

She was doing it again, she derided herself, she was slipping away into her private daydream, all too content to let the rest of the world slip by. Were all pregnant women like this? She tried to think of the ones she had known, all of them busy career women with homes and husbands to care for. How on earth had they coped with this almost total slowing down, this change to a life at a much different tempo?

With her pregnancy had come a sense of tranquillity quite unlike anything she had previously experienced. She could not even do more than mildly berate herself for the manner in which her child had been conceived; her rare flashes of guilt totally overwhelmed in the following rush of delight that flooded her every time she thought about the baby.

This would be her child, and hers alone, and she was quite happy that it should be that way. This new life had been started accidentally, and she could only look upon it as a god-given gift to show her that death, however painful, is merely another chapter of life, and not its end.

The morning sickness which had plagued her on and off since the start of her pregnancy returned with full force in the morning, and briefly she contemplated canceling her appointment at Whitegates Farm. However, after a cup of tea and two dry biscuits, she began to feel a little better, and by ten o’clock she was quite looking forward to the drive out to the farm.

It was another warm day, with the sun shining and, knowing how hot it would be in the car, she dressed comfortably in a loose white cotton T-shirt top, and a gently gathered matching skirt.

Although to the discerning eye her pregnancy was beginning to be visible, and she herself could certainly see the changes in her body, she was still able to wear her normal clothes. Bright espadrilles, the same deep pink as her nail polish, adorned her feet, and matching sunglasses shaded her eyes.

It wasn’t until the landlady gave her a rather startled second look that Diana realized how very different her clothes were from those worn by the locals. Working in TV she had naturally adopted the same attitude toward fashion and design as her colleagues, and she coordinated and chose her clothes with this in mind almost automatically.

On the way to her car she collected a few more appreciative glances, mostly male. It was rather flattering to be studied with such interest, in London her appearance would have merited no more than the briefest glance.

As she had known it would be, the car was like an oven with the sun beating through the glass, so she opened the windows and turned the fan on to “cold”.

The directions she had been given were easy to follow, and soon she found herself driving along a road bordered by rich farmlands, both arable and pasture. Fields, heavy with crops, and crisscrossed by hedges, stretched away to the horizon, their colorscope of greens and golds occasionally broken up by a sprinkling of cattle.

The farm was larger than she had anticipated, a mingling of Tudor and Queen Anne, and very beautiful.

She had not expected the gardens that surrounded it either, and she realized the moment she turned into the open white gates and drove down the immaculate gravel driveway that this was more than merely a working farm. This was a showplace, she thought breathlessly, as she parked and admired the view in front of her.

The morning sunlight glittered on the mullioned windows set amongst dark beams and sparkling white plasterwork. It turned the red brick of the Queen Anne walls deeply rosy, and shimmered on the surface of the ornamental pond framed by willows and green lawns.

The drive had brought her to the front of the house, but now she could see that it continued around the side, and she frowned, wondering if perhaps she ought more properly to have driven round there. When she set out she had not envisaged that she might be coming to the sort of place where it mattered whether one chose the front or the back entrance.

Just as she was pondering her dilemma the front door opened and a tall stately woman in her late fifties came out, and called her name.

“I saw you drive up,” she said, when Diana stepped forward. “I’m Mrs. Jenkins, the housekeeper. I’m afraid Mr. Simons is going to be delayed for ten minutes or so. If you’d like to come inside, I’ll take you to his study.”

The elegant rectangular hallway was in the older part of the building, the stairs going up from it were dark oak and very warm. A richly patterned carpet in reds and blues emphasized the cream walls and dark woodwork. A refectory table in oak gleamed with polish, reflecting the copper bowl of roses standing on its surface.

“If you’ll just come this way, miss.”

A traditional latched door led down a step to a flagged stone passage. Through a tiny window Diana caught a glimpse of buildings and a cobbled yard, and realized that the passage must lead to the back of the house.

At the end of the passage was another door. The housekeeper opened it and stood to one side to allow Diana to enter the room.

“This is the most beautiful place,” she murmured appreciatively, unable to hold back the comment.

“Yes, it is. This part of the house used to be the old still rooms. It was converted into office space in Mr. Simons’s uncle’s time, but things have changed a lot since those days.”

Diana realized what she meant as she walked into the room and saw the array of modern technology arranged before her.

One entire wall of the room was filled with filing cabinets. On a very utilitarian desk stood a computer terminal with all the ancillary equipment, plus a modern computer-linked telephone.

Like the passage, the floor was flagged, and struck a chill through the thin soles of her sandals. Central heating had obviously been installed at some time, and there was also a huge open fireplace. A modern filter coffee machine stood next to an electronic typewriter.

“The men are in and out of this room constantly, that’s why Mr. Simons uses it. It’s convenient for them, and they don’t have to worry about treading muck and dirt in. Farming isn’t what it used to be. Would you like something to drink while you’re waiting. Tea … coffee?”

All her adult life Diana had been a coffee fiend; now all she could tolerate was tea—weak tea.

“Mr. Simons won’t be very long,” the housekeeper promised her as she withdrew.

Alone in the room, Diana was conscious of the thickness of the walls and the stillness of the air inside. She sat down on a leather chair and looked out of the window.

In the yard outside were several pieces of farm machinery. She saw a man trudge out of one of the barns; he was small and gnarled, and she watched his progress as he swung himself up into one of the tractors and then trundled off.

Obviously not the man she had come to see. The phone chirped, and was answered somewhere else in the house. The housekeeper returned with her tea and a selection of what looked like homemade biscuits.

“Sorry about the delay,” she apologized, “only Mrs. Simons needed me.”

She must have frowned, Diana realized, because the housekeeper explained, “Mrs. Simons is confined to a wheelchair. She caught polio when she was twenty-seven.”

Poor woman, Diana thought compassionately. She knew for herself what pain could do to the human spirit; she had seen at first hand what it could do to a person to lose their mobility and independence. And for a farmer’s wife, even an obviously wealthy farmer’s wife …

She thanked the housekeeper for the tea and sat down again. The cold was beginning to make her shiver. Her thin top and skirt, so suitable for the heat of the sun, were not suitable attire for this stone-flagged room.

She drank her tea, sipping it, and giving in to the temptation to eat one of the biscuits. They tasted as good as they looked. Once she was over her morning nausea, she was beginning to get so hungry; the weight she had lost during the long months of worrying about and nursing Leslie would soon be regained if she carried on like this. Not that she couldn’t afford to put on half a stone or so, she reflected, remembering the doctor’s warning to her that she must eat properly.

She was sitting staring out of the window, lost in her own thoughts when the door opened. She felt the draught of air, even before she heard the firm masculine footsteps and turned round.

The cup tilted crazily in her hand, the room blurring out of focus as the shock hit her. He stood in the doorway, frowning down at her, his recognition as complete and instantaneous as her own.

“You …” Diana said at last. How, how had this happened? How on earth could this man standing here be that same man from the hotel bedroom in London? It was like the worst kind of nightmare; stretching the long arm of coincidence far too far. And he obviously thought so too.

“Well, well, congratulations on your detective work,” he jeered, sarcastically, overcoming his shock faster than she had controlled her own. “So you managed to track me down. I suppose I ought to have expected it.”

He was dressed in worn jeans and a plaid shirt, open to the waist to show the leanness of his chest. Tiny beads of sweat clung to his kin, and there was a streak of mud across his cheekbone. His hair was ruffled, his eyes bitingly dark, his stance that of a man who knows he’s threatened but is determined not to give way.

Diana noticed all these things without really being aware of doing so, her mind only registering the meaning of his words minutes after she had heard them.

“What do you mean?” She stood up, trembling with shock and rage. How dared he appear like this, ruining all her plans, ruining all her happiness! She wanted to close her eyes and make him disappear. She couldn’t believe he was real; she didn’t want him to be real. She was ready to stamp her foot like a petulant child, only he wasn’t going to go away. He was still standing in that doorway, watching her with brooding resentment, and he thought …

He actually dared to think she had deliberately sought him out … had actually and deliberately tracked him down! She froze with bitter resentment, and then another and even more appalling truth struck her. He was a married man, and she was carrying his child. No wonder he was so resentful of her appearance. A married man who cheated on his wife. Her mouth curled disdainfully as she controlled her shock.

“Mr. Simons,” she said firmly, “I think there’s been some mistake.”

“You’re damned right there has,” he agreed, cutting through the polite facade of her words. “And you’re the one who’s made it. I don’t know what you think you’re doing following me down here, but you can just turn right round and go back where you came from.”

Oh yes, he would like that. Diana was seething. How dared he infer that she was chasing after him! Her eyes flashed warning signals, her lungs expanding as she fought for self-control.

“Unfortunately, you’re wrong,” she told him crisply. “This is now my home.”

She saw the shock glitter in his eyes, and if she hadn’t been so angry she might almost have felt hurt. After all, when they had made love he had been glad enough to have her in his arms … more than glad. She clamped down fiercely on the memories.

“I’ve just bought a business down here,” her chin tilted aggressively, “that’s why I’m here, in fact. My builder told me that you have some beams for sale.”

“A business?” His frown had deepened. “My God, don’t tell me you’re the one who’s bought Alice Simms’s shop?”

“As a matter of fact I am.”

She heard him groan and push strong fingers into his hair.

“I learned it was for sale through my solicitor, Mr ….”

“Soames,” he finished wearily for her. “Christ, of all the coincidences. I don’t think I believe this.”

“You know him?”

“Know him?” He laughed harshly. “Didn’t he tell you that I was his cotrustee in Alice’s estate?”

For a moment Diana was completely dumbfounded. Of course Mr. Soames had mentioned his cotrustee and she had even known that he lived here at Whitegates Farm, but the shock of coming face-to-face with the very last person on earth she had wanted to see had driven that knowledge out of her mind.

Her white face and strained eyes must have told their own story, because suddenly his attitude changed.

“Look, coming face-to-face like this has obviously been a shock—to both of us.” He reached out as though to take her arm, but Diana wrenched away from him furiously.

Oh, he wanted to placate her now that he realized he was in the wrong—and no wonder. No doubt he was terrified that she might spill the beans to his wife. God, what sort of man was he? She had never dreamed that he might be married. More fool her for not immediately guessing the truth.

“A minute ago you were convinced that I’d pursued you down here,” she reminded him bitterly.

“We have to talk ….”

Oh yes, he wanted to talk to her now that he realized they were going to be neighbors, no doubt to ensure that she kept her mouth shut about their night together. He made her feel grubby and deceitful, she realized miserably. She hated the very thought of what had happened between them now that she knew he was committed to another woman.

“We have nothing to talk about,” she told him curtly. “As far as I’m concerned we are two complete strangers, meeting now for the first time.”

There, that should make her position clear enough to him; that should soothe his fears. The thought that he had actually surmised that she had pursued him … that she might actually try to make trouble for him with his wife, regardless of the latter’s feelings, sickened her.

He was looking at her in a way she found hard to define; a mixture of rueful comprehension and masculine amusement.

Oh yes, now that he knew he had nothing to fear from her, he no doubt felt he was in a far more powerful and safe position. She hated the thought that they were conspirators in something she considered morally wrong. She had never been involved with a married man. She was fiercely glad now that she had adopted the mantle of widowhood. He would never know that she had conceived his child. Never.

He was shaking his head slightly, and grinning ruefully at her. “I never imagined when I asked Derek Soames to sell Alice’s place that this would happen.”

“No, I’m sure you didn’t,” Diana agreed crisply, heading for the door. “However, it has. Oh, and for the record, Mr. Simons,” she told him from the open doorway, “I do not run after any member of your sex, but most particularly those members of it who happen to be married. I hope I make myself clear.”

“As mud,” he told her with a frown. “You and I need to talk.”

“No!”

She’d done all the talking she intended to do. For a moment, she thought he actually intended physically to prevent her from leaving, but at the last moment he seemed to change his mind, and he let her walk through the still open door.

More by good luck than anything else she found her way back to the front door. She was still shaking five minutes later when she drove her car out of the open gates.

At the first stopping place she parked her car and sat there, willing her lacerated nerves to heal.

Of all the most appalling coincidences. What trick of mischievous fate had brought them together like this? That Mr. Soames—that most correct and proper of men—should be the innocent author of their dual misfortune, only increased her sense of disbelief. It was almost stretching coincidence too far. Almost as though fate had decided that what had happened was meant to be. Quickly she pushed the thought away, not liking its implications.