* * *
Zander Grosvenor looked around the table and reminded himself that he was an ultrasuccessful multimillionaire, not a scrubby schoolboy any more. Yet, as he surveyed the faces of his mother and two elder sisters, it was hard to hold on to that fact.
His father had clearly had the right idea when he’d absconded to the golf course This felt way too reminiscent of those awful sit-down chats from when he had been a schoolboy—and a very unsuccessful one at that. For a moment the remembered burn of frustrated humiliation, the sting of failure, pinged his nerves. He remembered the knowledge of his own stupidity, the knowledge that he couldn’t live up to the bar set by his sisters however hard he tried. Hell, he couldn’t even manage to read a baby book.
Enough. That was the past. And it had been resolved when eventually he had been diagnosed with dyslexia. So simple an explanation, and yet it had occurred to no one. And that was why they were sitting here now—the Grosvenor family.
His mother had been racked with guilt that she hadn’t realised sooner and, once the diagnosis had been made, had supported him every step of the way—as had his father. Julia, his eldest sister—ten years his senior—was now a successful human rights lawyer, divorced with two children, one of whom had just been diagnosed with dyslexia, too. Gemma was a successful surgeon, four years older than Zander, and engaged to Alessio Bravanti, internationally successful racing driver and Zander’s best friend.
The four of them had gathered here to discuss the fundraiser he had organised and would host to raise money for and awareness of dyslexia. For a minute the reminder of his duties as host, the need to make a speech, twanged his nerves with anxiety. Not now, Zander. He’d manage it; he’d tamed his fear of public speaking and it wouldn’t get the better of him at such an important event.
It was an event his family all wanted to be a part of, and he was grateful for that. Yet as he looked around the table he had the distinct impression of a hidden agenda.
‘OK, everyone. It’s a week until the event, so I thought we should go through any last-minute details.’
‘Good idea,’ his mother said breezily. ‘I’ve invited Brenda Davison to the gala. She’s just back from two years in Oz. She had an incredible time there and she is such a well-rounded person. Really interesting. I think you’d like her, Zan.’
Gemma beamed at him. ‘And of course you remember Louise Martin. I asked her to attend the gala, but she’s busy that day so I’ve asked her to the wedding instead. She’s exactly your type.’
Zander blinked. ‘That wasn’t the sort of last-minute detail I had in mind,’ he said sharply. Aware that he might have raised his voice a touch more than necessary, he tried a smile. ‘I’d like to look down the auction list, talk about the caterers—not listen to a staged intervention on my love life.’
‘It’s not an “intervention on your love life” because you don’t have one,’ Julia pointed out gently. ‘We’re not trying to interfere. We want to help.’
‘I don’t need help.’ Reminding himself that his family had the best intentions, that he loved them dearly and that love was mutual, Zander tried to keep his voice even.
His mother let out a small sigh and he could see the worry in her grey eyes. ‘Sweetheart, Claudia wouldn’t have wanted you to never have another relationship. It’s been five years now since she died.’
‘I know that.’ Aware of the tautness of his tone, he tried to soften it. ‘I am fine, Mum. Truly.’
Laura Grosvenor shook her head. ‘We’re not suggesting you remarry or enter into a long-term relationship...’
‘Our suggestion is just to go out there and date... Have some fun,’ Gemma said.
‘When I want to do that, I will.’
Julia leant forward, blonde hair swinging, and touched his arm. ‘We just hate to see you still grieving so much. We know you loved Claudia, and none of us will ever forget her, but we all think it’s time for you to move on.’
For a second he closed his eyes, couldn’t meet his family’s gaze as the guilt stabbed him.
Yes, he had loved Claudia; they had been childhood sweethearts and he had worshipped the ground she’d walked on. They had swept into marriage aged twenty, full of optimism and hope for the future. But it had turned out their visions of that future were polar opposites, and soon Zander had known that they had made a mistake—that he had made a mistake.
It was a knowledge he had never shared—not with Claudia, not with his family, not with anyone. Because he would never have reneged on the vows he had made. Because whilst his feelings had changed, Claudia’s hadn’t. And then illness and tragedy had struck.
And after Claudia’s death what had he done? Zander Grosvenor, grieving widower, had decided to follow his vision of the future, pursued his own dream and achieved phenomenal success. Accomplished a life and found fulfilment he would never have experienced if his wife had lived.
Sensing the heaviness of the silence, he opened his eyes. ‘Look. I appreciate your concerns. I really do. But truly I am happy with my love life as it is.’ As in non-existent. ‘So, please, no more worrying. And no more matchmaking, OK?’
‘OK...’
Three heads nodded, two blonde and one dark, but Zander didn’t believe a word of it. Pushing his chair back, he rose to his feet. ‘I’ll be back soon—I need to go to the shops. Anyone want anything?’
Minutes later, he strode towards Bath’s town centre, hoping the exercise would dispel the fumes of guilt, but knowing they wouldn’t.
His family cared about him, but how he wished they would respect his decision to eschew the world of relationships. In their defence, they didn’t understand the truth. Of course he grieved for Claudia—grieved the loss of life so young, the tragic waste, the loss of the girl he had once loved. But it was a tainted grief, besmirched by the cold, hard knowledge that if Claudia had lived, he wouldn’t be the person he was today.
On impulse he turned towards the abbey, made his way through the throng of people and headed for a place of cool walls and sanctuary. A place to look at the architecture, think of history and seek assuagement of the emotional turmoil that thoughts of Claudia still evoked five years since her death.
As he approached the imposing grandeur of the sandstone spires, touched by the orange rays of the setting sun, a flash of pink distracted him. A woman stood irresolute in the courtyard—a woman clad in a pink bunny suit. Not the usual garb for a visit to the abbey.
In the shadow of the abbey walls he could see her serious expression, her enormous hazel eyes filled with doubt, a straight nose, generous mouth. Glossy chestnut hair topped by pink bunny ears fell in a sleek curtain to her shoulders.
As if deciding to abandon her plan for entry, she turned and recognition jolted his brain. He wasn’t sure why—who was she?
Her gaze met his in a fleeting skim; he saw an answering recognition and then she ducked her head and made to step past him. Just as memory kicked in.
‘Gabby?’ She’d been in the year below him and Claudia at high school.
For a moment he thought she’d deny it, and then she gave a small reluctant nod. ‘Yes. I’m surprised you remember me.’
The memory came back. A young Zander, seventeen years old, walking down the school corridor as a tall slim girl with glossy chestnut hair came towards him, a pile of books clutched to her chest. As she’d passed, the books had cascaded to the floor and he’d automatically bent down to pick them up. He’d recognised the title of one, more from familiarity than an ability to decipher the words, but at least he’d seen the film.
They’d engaged in a conversation. He’d played the cool kid, one who didn’t bother with books because films were way better, and she’d