Second Chance with the Millionaire(7)

He was looking at her in rather an odd way and rather belatedly Lucy  realised that she had betrayed herself into her usual enthusiasm for her  project. Instilling some of her earlier coldness into her voice she  added, 'Of course, if you would rather that I don't use the library at  the Manor from now on I shall understand.'

'Magnanimous of you.'

His dry tone made her flush as she realised how easily the cool voice  she had used as a defence could be misconstrued as being rather haughty  and supercilious.

She remembered now, too, how she and Neville had mocked his American  accent, so different from their own British accents. How silly she had  been to think it would be easy to wipe out the slights of the past. It  was plain to her now that Saul felt nothing but contempt for her, and  would doubtless laugh in her face if she were to attempt to apologise.

All in all she was extremely glad when he stood up and said that he had to leave.

'I have to go into Winchester to see the solicitors; apparently there's still a few loose ends to tie up.'

His smile when he left was for Fanny, not her, and it amazed her to realise how much that hurt.





CHAPTER THREE


FOR the rest of the week Lucy took care to avoid going anywhere near the main house and was rewarded by seeing nothing of Saul.

Tara had seen him, though, and the little girl appeared to have  developed a rather unlikely case of hero-worship for him. George Martin  had not been the sort of man to cherish his daughters and the feeling of  desolation that bloomed inside her whenever Tara peppered her  conversation with 'Saul said … ' was an extremely disturbing one. Surely  she couldn't be jealous? And if so, what of? The fact that Tara seemed  to be transferring some of her dependence from her to Saul? Or the fact  that Tara had found the solid male refuge a tiny part of herself had  always secretly yearned for and been denied? It was impossible to give  herself an answer.

Saul had been living at the house for five days when Fanny announced that she was spending the day in Winchester.

Lucy looked at her over her coffee cup. Both children had finished breakfast and were outside playing.

'Do you want to take my car?'

Fanny shook her head. 'No, it's all right. Saul's taking me.'

Slowly Lucy lowered her coffee cup, keeping her attention on it. As far  as she was aware, Saul had not been down to the Dower House since that  first visit, which must mean that Fanny had gone to see him. But without  mentioning it to her?

Silly to feel hurt and yet she did. She and Fanny had always got on well  together despite their very different temperaments, and never in a  thousand years could she imagine Fanny deliberately deceiving her.                       
       
           



       

'I wanted to talk to him about the children's trusts.'

Numbly Lucy realised how defensive her stepmother sounded.

'After all, Saul is the head of the family now, Lucy.'

The head of the family? What on earth was Fanny implying? Lucy knew how  muddle-headed she could be, but surely she could not possibly believe  that Saul owed them that sort of responsibility?

'He was very kind and understanding,' Fanny added. 'And he's taking me  to see Mr Patterson, so that he can explain everything to me.'

'But Fanny, he already has.'

Philip Patterson, the family solicitor, had visited them on several  occasions, just before and then after George Martin's death to explain  at length the ramifications of his will and the trust he had set up for  Oliver and Tara.

'Yes, but he spoke to you, not me,' Fanny said stubbornly.

Lucy frowned. 'But Fanny, you were there with me … '

Across the table Fanny shrugged petulantly.

'Well yes. But I was so upset about your father. I couldn't take any of it in.'

There was a small silence while Lucy tried to assimilate her feeling of  alienation and then Fanny said defiantly, 'I know you don't like Saul,  Lucy, and that you resent him taking your father's place, but that  doesn't mean the rest of us have to share your feelings.'

The unfairness of the criticism really hurt. So much so that for one  awful moment she almost thought she might burst into tears. It was the  unexpected direction from which the blow came rather than its weight,  she told herself as she struggled to suppress the bleak desolation  enveloping her. And Fanny was wrong; she did not dislike Saul.

'Luckily Saul's aware of how you feel about him. He told me he found you  very anti when he came over that summer. I explained to him that it was  quite natural really …  what with you being aware that you couldn't  inherit and that he would. It was bound to make you resent him.'

Lucy opened her mouth and closed it quickly, swallowing back the hot  words of denial springing to her lips. She was angry, more angry than  she could remember being for a long time. How dare Fanny make such  careless assumptions about her feelings and actions, and even worse how  dare she pass them on to Saul as though they were fact! It seemed to be a  long time before she had control of herself sufficiently to say calmly,

'You're quite wrong, Fanny. I neither resent nor dislike Saul.' She  wanted to explain to her stepmother her guilt over the past, but it was  impossible to find the words, especially now when her anger still formed  a hard lump in her throat.

An hour later, when Saul arrived, Lucy learned that the children were also included in the outing.

She didn't go downstairs, unable to trust her own reactions if she were  to come face to face with him now. One thing was clear though. She could  not allow this ridiculous belief that she resented him for inheriting  the house to stand. When she felt calmer she would have to go and see  him and explain the truth. She had been horrified by Fanny's careless  revelation of what had been said, and the pride which had held her back  from making an open apology for her foolishness all those years ago,  when she realised he was not prepared to meet her equally openly, would  have to be sacrificed to the truth. She was not going to allow him to go  on thinking that she was stupid and small-minded enough to resent him  owning the Manor.

From her own bedroom she heard the children racing about, doors slamming  and then the expensive purr of Saul's car as he drove away.

Standing by her bedroom window, watching the car disappearing down the  drive, she was once again swept by acute desolation. Could it possibly  be a delayed reaction to her father's death? At the time she had been  almost too busy to weep. And then there had been the shock of  discovering that Oliver …

If anyone should resent Saul, it ought to be Oliver, but then in reality  why should he? Her father had left Oliver more than well provided for,  whereas Saul's inheritance was more of a burden than an asset.

The sunny morning had turned dull, and by lunch time it had started to  rain. Lucy spent the afternoon in the comfortable sitting-room-cum-study  which she had made her own terrain, sewing labels on to Oliver's new  school clothes.                       
       
           



       

At half past four she heard the car, and although her body tensed,  vibrating as though someone had touched a nerve, she made no move to get  up.

The study door opened and she composed her face into a calm smile as she turned her head to the door.

But it was not Fanny and the children who came in, it was Saul. Her face  felt as though it was caked in ice and about to crack, a violent tremor  shuddering through her muscles.

Saul paused for a moment in the doorway, and her heart thudded as though suddenly struck a giant blow.

'I startled you. I'm sorry. Fanny asked me to call in on my way home to  tell you that she and the children won't be back until after dinner.  They ran into an old friend of your father's in Winchester, Colonel  Bishop, and he invited them back to dine with him.'

'Thank you …  I … '

Her tongue felt stiff, her lips unable to form the words. Thank God he  had merely thought her startled. If he knew the truth …  The truth? What  was the truth? That something about this tall cool-eyed man touched her  in a way so totally outside all her previous experience that part of her  ached to repudiate him, even while another part longed desperately to  be admitted to the most intimate circle of his life.

At twenty-five Lucy considered herself too old and too sensible for the  folly of falling in love-that was an adolescent's game. So what was it  that affected her so strongly about this man? Guilt alone did not  explain away how she felt about him.

'Very domesticated.'

He was looking at the labels and the neat pile of garments she had already finished.

'For Oliver.' She was only half aware of what she was saying, too caught  up in the need to absorb every minute detail of him, torn between a  desire to prolong this moment of intimacy, and a frightened urge to end  it.

'He starts his new school in September.'