Alison’s eyes widened indignantly. ‘Isn’t that rather callous?’
‘It might be,’ he agreed, ‘if I’d helped to put her marriage on the rocks on the first place. As it happens, I didn’t. Nor do I appreciate her throwing my name to any tame gossip columnist she had hanging round.’ The firm mouth hardened into implacability, and in spite of herself, Alison shivered. ‘I have no intention of being dragged into the Monclairs’ current bout of mud-slinging, and finding myself an alternative bride without delay will help to snuff out any further speculation in that quarter.’ He smiled faintly. ‘As you see, the favours work both ways.’
Alison ran the tip of her tongue around her drying lips. ‘If you want simply to be engaged—on a temporary basis—then maybe …’
‘I don’t,’ he interrupted. ‘I’ve told you my terms. I want a real engagement, to be followed in due course by a conventional wedding—although I suppose I’ll have to spare you the white lace and orange blossom,’ he added, his eyes flicking over her dismissively.
‘Thank you,’ said said grittily. ‘But I don’t need to be reminded that I fall far short of the usual image of the radiant bride.’
‘Perhaps,’ he agreed, without a single sign of repentance. ‘But it wasn’t any possible shortcomings of yours I was considering, but the fact that you’re still mourning your father. I think, in the circumstances, we could be forgiven for a small quiet wedding.’
It was all moving too far too fast, and she held up a hand. ‘I—I can’t answer you now. I must have time to think.’
‘As you wish.’ He paused. ‘But without wishing to exert undue pressure, I’d be glad to have an answer by the end of the week at the latest.’ He produced a card from a wallet, and handed it to her. ‘My business and private numbers,’ he said. ‘I’ll be waiting for your call.’
She couldn’t think of anything to say in reply to this, at last managing a feeble ‘Goodbye’ as he walked towards the door.
‘Let’s make it au revoir, shall we?’ She thought she could hear faint amusement in his voice. ‘Because I’ll be back.’
She was still trying to work out whether that was a promise or a threat when she heard the distant thud of the front door closing.
And, suddenly and uncontrollably, she began to tremble.
IT was a very long evening. Alison made herself have a meal, although she could not afterwards have stated with any accuracy just what she had eaten. All she could think of was Nicholas Bristow, and the amazing—the incredible offer he had made her.
At first, she told herself that it was all some weird dream from which, at any moment, she would awaken.
But the card with his telephone numbers printed on it was no figment of her imagination, even though she couldn’t envisage herself ever dialling either of them.
She tried to look at his proposition in the same dispassionate way as he had made it, but it was impossible. Even if, as he’d promised, all they were to share was a roof and a name, the prospect was still a disturbing one, fraught with obvious pitfalls.
On the other hand, the chance of being able to achieve some kind of security for Mel and her mother was a tantalising one, which was why, she thought wryly, he had mentioned that aspect first. He knew her priorities, as well as he apparently knew his own.
Yet that didn’t mean she was prepared to sell herself—for Ladymead, and the place in the sun it represented, she thought, staring sightlessly into the fire. Yet now it was back within her grasp, could she bear to let it go?
She moved restlessly. It was the sheer—impersonality of the offer that chilled her, she had to admit, as she recalled the cool indifference of the blue eyes as they had glanced at her. Not that she wanted him to fancy her, she made haste to remind herself. But at the same time, it was hurtful to recognise the image he had of her as some boring, submissive, domesticated doormat. A born spinster, she thought savagely, only too eager to grab at any matrimonial opportunity to come her way, however unlikely or unrewarding.
Well, what a shock he’d get when she turned him down!
‘I’m off now, miss.’ Mrs Horner popped her head round the door. ‘And madam’s awake, and asking for you.’
‘I’ll go up right away.’ Alison stirred guiltily. ‘Did she have any dinner?’
‘Cook did her a nice piece of steamed fish, and a little egg custard. She managed most of it,’ Mrs Horner assured her. ‘Good night, Miss Alison.’
Mrs Mortimer was propped up by pillows, her face set in lines of strain.
‘That man was here,’ she greeted Alison, as her daughter came through the door. ‘What did he want?’
‘Just to talk.’ Alison sat down on the edge of the bed and took her mother’s hand. ‘How are you this evening? You were asleep when I peeped in earlier.’
Mrs Mortimer dismissed this with an irritated shake of her head. ‘What does he have to talk to us about?’ she demanded agitatedly. ‘God knows we’re at his mercy. I suppose he wants us to leave here. Well, I’ll die first!’ She began to cry again. ‘This is my home, and it’s too cruel for him to turn me out like this. Too cruel!’ She began to thrash round on her pillows, making little moaning noises.
‘Darling, don’t,’ Alison said gently. ‘He didn’t come here for that at all. In fact …’ She stopped.
‘What?’ Her mother’s fingers tightened almost convulsively round hers, hurting her. ‘What did he want, Alison? Has he changed his mind about living here, after all? Is he going to leave us in peace?’
Alison shook her head reluctantly. ‘He can’t do that.’ She paused. ‘Mummy, Simon told me about this cottage today. It’s at High Foxton, so you could still stay in touch with all your friends. It sounds really quite nice, and we could just about afford it. Would you like to see it?’
‘No!’ Mrs Mortimer’s eyes were alarmingly wild and bright suddenly. ‘I’ll never leave here—never! This is my home, not some squalid cottage. We must buy Ladymead back. Your Uncle Hugh might have the money. We must ask him to help us.’
‘Darling, you can’t,’ Alison said firmly. ‘Uncle Hugh has responsibilities of his own, and I shouldn’t think he could lay his hands on even half the amount Nicholas Bristow would want. Even if he’d sell—which I doubt.’
‘I thought perhaps that was why he’d come here. To offer to sell the place back to us.’ The look of hope in her mother’s eyes was almost more than Alison could bear.
‘No,’ she said with a sigh, ‘It—it wasn’t that. He came to offer us—a share in it, I suppose. On certain conditions.’
‘A share?’ A share in Ladymead?’ Mrs Mortimer drew a long quivering breath. ‘In our own home?’
Alison sighed silently. ‘But it isn’t ours any longer,’ she said patiently. ‘You have to come to terms with the fact that it belongs to Nick Bristow now, lock, stock and barrel. That’s why it would be so much better to get away from here and start again.’
‘How can you say that?’ Her mother’s tone was harsh with reproach. ‘This is the house where you were born. Oh, you’re so hard, Alison. I sometimes wonder how you came to be any child of mine.’
‘As you’ve often told