Second Chance with the Millionaire(2)

       
           



       

Physically both Tara and herself took after their father's family, Lucy  thought, eyeing her half-sister sympathetically. Both of them had the  deep brown Martin eyes and strikingly contrasting blonde hair. And the  elegant profile, which family rumour said had led to an  eighteenth-century Amelia Martin being propositioned by the Prince  Regent. It was because she had turned him down that the family had never  received a title, or so the family story went, but how much truth there  was in it, Lucy did not know. Perhaps, when she had researched a little  more of the family's history, she might find out.

Eighteen months ago she had started to sift through the family papers,  trying to make some order of them, and it was then that she had first  conceived the idea of writing a novel based loosely on her family's  history. Now, that one novel was threatening to develop into three or  four, and next week in fact she was due to go to London to talk about  this possibility with the publishers who had expressed an interest in  her initial manuscript.

She had been lucky there-there was no doubt about that; her mother's  family had connections in the publishing world. Her cousin Neville was a  partner in a firm of publishers-not the one she was dealing with, but  his father had made the recommendation for her, much to Neville's  disgust; he was no doubt hoping she would fall flat on her face, if she  knew Neville, Lucy thought wryly.

She had got over her crush on her cousin many years ago, and all that  was left was a healthy wariness of the man he had become. Occasionally  he indulged himself in light-hearted flirtatiousness with her-more to  see exactly how vulnerable she might be to him than for any other  reason. Neville was extremely conceited and never liked losing an  admirer. His father and her mother had been brother and sister, and Lucy  retained a deep fondness for her uncle and his wife.

'Tara, please stop that noise …  My head … '

Fanny's protest broke through her reverie, making her realise that Tara  was crying in earnest now, while Oliver scowled and kicked  disconsolately at one of the packing cases and Fanny pressed a fragile  hand to her forehead.

'Lucy, I must go and lie down …  My poor head … '

Knowing that she would make faster progress with her stepmother out of  the way Lucy made no demur, summoning a smile and a few words of  sympathy, while at the same time producing a handkerchief for Tara's  tears and warning Oliver not to ruin his shoes.

'Come on, it won't be that bad,' she comforted Tara when Fanny had gone to her room. 'You'll like the Dower House.'

'Yes, but what about Harriet?'

Harriet was Tara's exceedingly plump little pony, and for a moment Lucy  frowned, not following the thread of her half-sister's conversation.

'Well I'm sure Harriet will like it, too,' she told her. 'She will have that lovely paddock all to herself.'

'But Richard says that we won't be able to keep her. That you won't be able to afford it … '

Richard was the junior partner in her father's firm of solicitors and  Lucy frowned at the mention of his name. For several months now he had  been making it plain that he wanted more from her than the casual  relationship they presently enjoyed.

Only the other week he had mentioned marriage, adding that the fact that  her father had left the Dower House to Lucy in her sole name would mean  that on marriage she would have a very comfortable home to share with  her husband.

The reason her father had left the house to her was that he didn't want  any gossip to arise from the fact that he was leaving the bulk of the  money he had realised, from selling everything that wasn't entailed, in  trust for Oliver and Tara, with the income to go to Fanny until the  children reached their majority. Lucy had been less than impressed that  Richard should choose to mention marriage only when he realised what her  father had left her.

She wondered if Richard was also aware that she had as good as promised  her father that both children and Fanny would have a home with her as  long as they needed it. Richard did not like children, and neither  Oliver nor Tara liked him. Anyway there was not the remotest possibility  of her marrying him. To put it bluntly, sexually he left her  stone-cold. As did most men. So much so that she had reached the grand  old age of twenty-five without a single passionate affair to look back  on. Was that the fault of her lifestyle or her genes?                       
       
           



       

There had been a time, just before her father married Fanny, when she  had made a bid for freedom, suggesting that she leave the newly married  couple alone and move to London, but Fanny had pleaded with her to stay.

Almost from the moment of her mother's death Lucy had run the house-not  through choice but through necessity-and Fanny had claimed that the  thought of taking over from her totally overwhelmed her. And so, despite  her misgivings, she had stayed, trying not to feel too guilty about the  waste of a perfectly good degree and the loss of her personal  independence.

Since then her life had been busy rather than fulfilling. There were  certain responsibilities incumbent on living in the Manor, certain local  charities her mother had taken an interest in and helped, and this  mantle had now fallen to her.

Her decision to try and write had been born of the mental starvation she  suffered from, Lucy suspected, and certainly the hours she spent alone  in the library on her research had been among the most fulfilling she  had experienced since leaving university.

Now, though, she was likely to lose all that, unless Saul allowed her to use the library.

He was such an unknown quantity, she wasn't really sure what to expect.  Her memories of him were clouded by the animosity which had sprung up  between them almost from the word go and when she pictured him mentally,  it was with a truculent scowl on his face.

In looks he didn't resemble the Martins at all, being very dark, almost  swarthily so, his eyes grey and not brown, his transatlantic accent  adding to his alienness.

Looking back on that disastrous summer, Lucy felt a twinge of sympathy towards him.

Poor boy, it couldn't have been easy for him-thrown upon relatives he  did not know, who moreover spoke differently and had a different set of  rules to live by. That scowl, that stubborn indifference to all that the  Manor had to offer, must have been defensive rather than aggressive,  but of course at twelve she could not see that, and had only seen that  he mocked everything that she held dear, while all the time reinforcing  his own Americanness. The brash superiority had just increased her own  dislike of him, so that she had willingly joined Neville in his  tormenting of him.

Neville …  so smooth and sophisticated to her then, so excitingly male and  aloof, and yet undeniably a part of her world in a way that the  American intruder was not. When Neville spoke, it was in the same way as  her father, his accent public school and clipped, unlike Saul's  American drawl.

Even the way he dressed was different …  alien  …  And how she and Neville  had tormented him when they watched the way he rode! She had been unkind  almost to the point of being cruel and had since regretted it deeply  because it was not part of her nature to inflict hurt on others.

Poor Saul. How did he remember her? she wondered wryly. Well, she would  have ample opportunity to make restitution for her sins once he arrived.  Neville might speak slightingly of the Manor passing into American  hands, but now she did not encourage him.

Tara had stopped crying and was watching her hopefully. 'We won't be too  poor to keep Harriet,' she told her firmly. 'Richard was quite wrong.'

'Are you going to marry him?'

That was Oliver, eyeing her truculently.

'No.'

Relief showed briefly in the brown eyes before he turned away. Oliver  had been closer to their father than any of them, something she had not  really thought about before she knew the truth, and Oliver was the one  who would miss his male influence the most. Perhaps Saul might be  induced to take an interest in him. Perhaps he was married now with  children of his own.

It was a shock to realise how little she knew about him. In all the  anxiety and tumult of her father's death, she had had little time to  spare to wonder about Saul; little time to give to him at all apart from  overseeing the sending of a telegram to advise him of what had  happened.

She had half hoped he would attend the funeral and had been almost hurt  when he had not. Towards the end her father had complained that Saul had  never made the slightest attempt to learn anything about his heritage,  but fair-mindedly Lucy had pointed out that he had scarcely been given  much chance.

Certainly her own memories of Saul weren't happy ones, but like her he  had no doubt matured and mellowed, and probably also, like her, knowing  the close proximity to one another in which they would be living, he  would want their relationship to be an amicable one.