Second Chance with the Millionaire(4)

           



       

'Is he really horrid, Lucy?'

'Horrid? Who?'

She turned away from what she was doing, her attention concentrated on the little girl.

'Your cousin. The one who's coming to live here.'

'Good heavens, of course he isn't horrid. Whatever gave you that idea?'  Heavens! The very last thing she wanted was for the children to take an  anti towards Saul, and she had better nip that idea of Tara's very  firmly in the bud.

'Oliver said he was,' Tara told her determinedly, 'and Neville told him.'

Mentally cursing her maternal cousin, Lucy said airily, 'Oh I expect Neville was just joking. I promise you Saul is very nice.'

Behind her back she crossed her fingers. Tara's scowl relaxed. 'And he won't take Harriet away from me?'

'Of course not. Now go and tell Oliver to come down for supper.'





CHAPTER TWO


IT was another three very hectic days before they were able to actually  move into the Dower House, and as she surveyed the now empty ballroom  Lucy reflected that she was more tired than she had ever felt in her  life.

Fanny had alternated between bouts of weeping, shutting herself away in  her bedroom, and an almost frenzied desire to have her children beside  her.

Both of them were unsettled by their mother's half-hysterical behaviour,  especially Tara, but, now that they had actually physically left the  Manor, Lucy was hoping that Fanny would start to make a recovery.

An odd kind of melancholy engulfed her as she wandered through the  familiar rooms, stopping every now and again to touch some familiar item  of furniture. She loved the old house, but felt no possessive desire to  live in it. She had grown up after all knowing that it was entailed and  would never be hers. A small smile curled her mouth as she thought back  over the years, remembering that Neville had been more upset than she  was herself when her father had curtly explained to both of them what  the entail involved.

That had been the year before Saul had spent the summer with them. Up  until then Neville had always claimed that when they grew up he intended  to marry her. Even as a child Neville had had a keen eye for the main  chance, she thought, wryly amused that she could ever have been taken in  by her cousin's shallowness.

How long would it be before Saul arrived? A familiar sliver of tension  spasmed through her stomach and she pushed it aside, annoyed with  herself. What was there to feel apprehensive about? Her ownership of the  Dower House was secure enough after all and, even if he wished to do  so, Saul could not dislodge her. But why should he want to? The fact  that they had not got on as children could hardly influence his attitude  towards her now …  could it?

It was disconcerting to realise how little she knew about him. Her aunt,  his mother, had left home just after the war to marry her American.  Much against their parents' wishes, her mother had told her once when  Lucy had pressed her for more information about her aunt who lived so  far away.

About Saul's father she knew very little, only that his mother had  divorced him. It struck her uncomfortably that her father had been  rather remiss in not making any attempt to get to know the nephew who  would succeed him, but, knowing her father as she had done, Lucy  recognised that he had probably hoped right up until the end that  somehow he would be able to prevent the inevitable and pass the Manor on  to Oliver.

In his own way her father had been as much of an ostrich as Fanny.  Still, it was too late to regret her father's omissions now. Even to her  accustomed eyes, the house looked shabby. She hoped that Saul wasn't  expecting too much of his inheritance. She remembered he had not allowed  himself to be overly impressed with it on his one visit, grimly  ignoring all her heavily embellished boastings about secret stairways  and haunted rooms.

As she walked past the giltwood mirror over the drawing-room fireplace  she saw that her face was streaked with dust, her hair curling wildly  about her face. Her hands and clothes were filthy, too. She needed a  bath. There was nothing left for her to do here apart from locking up.  Tomorrow she and Mrs Isaacs could set about cleaning the place properly.

As she slipped out into the courtyard at the back of the house she  remembered that she had promised to feed Harriet, who was still in her  stable. They had been too busy as yet to take her down to her new home  in the paddock. Thank goodness it was summer and they would have time to  build her a new stable in the paddock before winter came.                       
       
           



       

The fat little pony whickered a greeting as Lucy opened her door,  Cinders winding herself sinuously round her ankles. She dealt quickly  with the feed before wandering disconsolately back to the Dower House.

The next morning she was awake early, disturbed by the unfamiliar  pattern of the sunlight across her face. Groggily she opened her eyes  and then winced as her stiff muscles made their protest. At least here  in the Dower House she would not have to coax a sulky range into life  before she could have any breakfast.

It was too early to wake the others and, once showered and downstairs,  Lucy found herself enjoying the unfamiliar solitude. The kitchen, so  airy and well equipped after the Manor's, made her spirits lift  slightly, and as she sipped her fragrant hot coffee she went over her  plans for the day. She had arranged to meet Mrs Isaacs up at the Manor  at nine, which meant that for once Fanny would have to get the  children's breakfast. Shrugging away a faint feeling of guilt, she  reminded herself that after all Fanny was their mother.

* * *

By eleven o'clock the clean jeans and T-shirt she had come out in were  streaked with dust and grime. Her skin felt hot and sticky, her body was  aching.

'I think we'll take a break,' she suggested to Mrs Isaacs.

'A good idea. I'll go down and make us both a cup of tea.'

Mrs Isaacs had been gone for about five minutes when Lucy heard the car,  the shock of the unexpected sound drawing her to the window.

It was a large BMW, and it was stopping right outside the front of the  house. A tremor of nerves seized her stomach as she watched the tall,  dark-haired man emerge from the driver's seat.

Saul! Funny that she should recognise him so immediately when for weeks  she had tried to conjure up his boyhood features without success.

He was wearing a lightweight pale grey suit and looked, if anything,  more European than American; dark enough to pass for an Italian,  although perhaps rather too tall.

As she watched, Lucy saw Tara emerge from the side of the house, leading  Harriet. The little girl was talking earnestly to the pony, who seemed  oblivious to her mistress's attempts to get her to hurry. In fact  Harriet seemed more interested in the juicy grass beside the drive than  Tara's commands.

Lucy saw Saul move warily towards the little girl, the face which had  seemed almost grim as he got out of the car softening slightly.

Tara had frozen at the sight of him, clinging desperately to Harriet's  reins. Amused, Lucy watched as Saul's attempts to make friends were  fiercely rebuffed, amusement changing to alarm as she realised that Tara  was starting to cry. What on earth had Saul said to her?

Quickly she ran downstairs and out on to the drive, just in time to hear  Tara crying out tearfully, 'You are horrid after all. Very horrid!'

Saul's hands were on Harriet's bridle, and Tara was desperately trying to tug the pony away.

As she saw Saul's face change, Lucy bit her lip. Now, with the amusement gone from his eyes, he looked very cold and alien.

Neither he nor Tara was aware of her until she called out sharply, 'Tara, that's enough.'

Tears flooded the brown eyes as they met Lucy's.

'Well he is,' Tara insisted stubbornly. 'You said he was nice, but he isn't.'

Saul was looking at her now, and Lucy felt the colour burn up under her  skin as she realised what a dreadful picture she must present, her face  stained with dust and completely free of make-up, her hair all tangled  and untidy.

'Saul! How lovely to see you.' Ignoring Tara for the moment, she forced  herself to smile the poised, self-confident smile she had learned so  carefully, but it faded quickly when she realised he wasn't smiling back  at her, his eyes as cold and grey as the North Sea as he looked her up  and down and then without a word turned back to Tara.

'I wasn't really trying to take your pony away, you know,' he told her.  'I was just trying to make friends with her, that's all. She's far too  small for me, but she reminds me of a pony I had when I was a little  boy.'

Amazingly Tara stopped crying, her eyes widening as she whispered, 'Did you?'

'Yup. He lived on my uncle's farm, and I used to visit him during my vacations.'