Second Chance with the Millionaire(19)

'I mean I've decided I want to have a chance to write,' Lucy told her.  'I need peace and quiet to work, Fanny, and that's impossible living  here with you and the children.'

As she had anticipated Fanny looked both affronted and hurt, but she  wasn't going to allow herself to be dissuaded; she knew exactly what she  was going to do.

She hadn't wasted the days before Fanny's return. A phone call to  Beverley explaining that she wanted to be in London the better to do  some research on her second novel-some of which was to be set in the  city-had elicited the information that Beverley knew of a senior editor  with another firm who had been seconded to New York for twelve months  and who was desperately looking for the right sort of tenant for her  flat-and one who would be willing to look after her Siamese cat.

A quick dash up to London and lunch with the other woman had convinced  them both that they had found exactly what they were looking for. Lucy  had enough money of her own to be able to live in the flat, if only  frugally, without touching any of her capital-she was a first-rate  typist and if need be could always augment her income in that way since  she was determined not to touch a penny of Oliver's or Tara's.

She had even been to see Mr Patterson to explain her intentions to him,  telling him quite firmly that she could not spend the rest of her life  looking after two children who already had a mother.

If it turned out that Saul intended to keep the Manor House, which in  view of his revelations about his wealth was entirely possible, then she  was going to sell the Dower House, but she was keeping this to herself  for the time being.

One telephone call which had given her a good deal of pleasure had been  the one she had made to Neville to tell him crisply and concisely  exactly why his own plans were doomed to failure. He hadn't been  pleased, but his bile had barely touched her. She was beyond feeling  almost anything now …  beyond even the pain of Saul's cruel rejection.

'But Lucy …  we need you,' Fanny wailed.

'No you don't,' Lucy responded reasonably. 'You could always employ an  au pair to keep an eye on the children, Fanny. Oliver starts school in  the autumn and Tara's no trouble.'

'But this place is so isolated. I'll be lonely.'

'Then buy something closer to town,' Lucy said reasonably. 'I'm sure if  you approached Mr Patterson he'd release enough of Oliver's capital for  you to do that.'

'But Lucy, you don't understand. Your father wanted Oliver to stay here …  in what is his rightful home.'

'Then my father should have made proper arrangements for him to do so,'  Lucy told her crisply, suddenly tired of the demands that were made on  her in the name of duty. Her father had never really loved her, not as  he loved Oliver, and why should she sacrifice herself in order to  virtually bring up his son? She would go mad if she had to stay here  much longer, haunted day and night by the memory of the way Saul had  looked at her, tormented by memories of how he had touched her …  seduced  her into believing he loved her. She shuddered now, fighting to break  free of the powerful mental images.                       
       
           



       

'It's all decided, Fanny,' she went on firmly. 'I'm leaving at the end of the week.'

As though she realised that she couldn't be swayed Fanny went silent.

She would miss the children, Lucy acknowledged later in the week,  surveying the growing pile of boxes stacked on the study floor. But she  couldn't stay here. So far she had been lucky-she had seen no sign of  Saul. Only she knew how, during those first awful days, she had hoped to  hear his car outside, his footsteps across the floor, hope slowly  withering and then dying as the hours went by without any indication  from him that it had all been some terrible mistake and that he loved  her after all.

She could only presume now that he was deliberately keeping out of sight  and her pride would not allow her to stay somewhere where she was so  obviously unwanted-and so vulnerable.

He had been so willing to believe the worst of her-had wanted to believe  it, she was convinced now. Perhaps he had engineered the whole  situation simply to get back at her, had deliberately and callously set  out to make her fall in love with him, while not caring the least about  her at all. And then, when he had discovered he was her first lover, he  had been too shocked to conceal his true feelings: his lack of desire to  have any sort of permanent relationship with her. She would probably  never know the whole truth-nor did she want to, she told herself firmly.  It was over-for good.

* * *

She had to make several journeys to London with her things, her car  being too small to transport them all in one go. If and when she sold  the Dower House she would have to find somewhere to store her  furniture-or get rid of it. Perhaps her uncle might agree to store some  of it for her; he and her aunt had a massive Victorian riverside house  with plenty of storage space.

Thinking of her uncle reminded Lucy that it was some time since she had  seen him, and also that he had no idea of her new address.

Now that he was semi-retired he worked from home, so on the first day of her new life in London she set out to see him.

As always her aunt and uncle were delighted to see her, her aunt kissing  her warmly and chiding her for leaving it so long between visits as she  drew her into the house.

Margaret Summers clucked anxiously over Lucy's pale face as she ushered her into the sunny room where her husband worked.

'Look who's here, Leo,' she exclaimed as she opened the door.

'Lucy-my dear.'

Leo Summers hugged his niece warmly, noticing as his wife had done that she looked far too fine-drawn and pale.

He had never truly taken to the man his beloved sister had married and  it was his private opinion that as a father he had left much to be  desired. Mind you, love and caring did not always produce a happy child,  as he knew. Their own son Neville was a bitter disappointment to him;  to both of them really, although Margaret always remained tremendously  loyal to their only child. Perhaps if they had been able to have more as  they had planned …  As always when he thought about his son, his eyes  clouded a little.

'Come and tell us what you're doing with yourself,' Margaret insisted, correctly reading the look in her husband's eyes.

'Well I've left the Dower House and I'm working in London.' As Lucy had  anticipated this bombshell provoked an avalanche of questions.

'I never agreed with the way your father expected you to take on the  responsibility of Fanny and the children,' Leo said when she had  finished. 'But Lucy, you've always loved the country so much. Why didn't  you come to us instead of finding a flat? You know we'd have loved to  have you.'

'I'm twenty-five years old,' she reminded him wryly, 'and it's time I stood on my own two feet.'

'Umm …  Well at least I hope we'll see a little more of you now. How about the book; how is it going?'

They talked about her work for half an hour while Margaret went to make  some coffee. When she came back there were four cups on the tray instead  of three and she looked slightly apprehensive.

'It must be our day for visitors,' she told her husband. 'Neville has just arrived.'

Lucy didn't miss the way her uncle's face tightened at the mention of  his son's name, but before he could say anything Neville himself came  sauntering into the room.                       
       
           



       

'Well well, cousin Lucy,' he drawled, eyeing her mockingly. 'What brings you here?'

'Your parents,' she told him evenly, refusing to let him bait her. She  knew quite well that he would still be angry with her over the sale of  the Manor.

'Lucy's decided to move to London,' his father told him.

'Really?' There was a distinct look of curiosity in his eyes as he studied her. 'A sudden decision I take it?'

'Not really. It's something I've been thinking of for a while.'

'And what will you do with the Dower House, when Saul sells?' he asked her.

'It isn't decided yet that he will.'

'No? It seems pretty conclusive to me. He's gone back to America and  according to that cleaning woman he employs he's made no plans to come  back. Fanny hasn't seen or heard from him. He's gone for good by the  looks of it.'

Gone …  Saul was gone.

The coffee cup she had just picked up seemed like a dead weight in her  hands. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She wanted to cry out  in protest that Saul wouldn't leave without telling her, but everything  seemed to be shifting out of focus around her; she tried to cry out and  found that her vocal chords seemed to be paralysed. A strange roaring  sound engulfed her, the blackness into which she was falling punctuated  by her aunt's sharp cry, and then nothing …

* * *

She came round to find she was lying on the chaise longue in her uncle's  study. There was no sign of Neville but her aunt and uncle were both  hovering anxiously beside her.