She swallowed. ‘Then he said, “And it’s hardly the child’s fault. You can’t blame her for things that her mother did years before she was born. And that’s how it was, so don’t start thinking anything nonsensical.” Then Mummy got cross and said that your mother was—not a nice person,’ Carrie added in a little embarrassed rush. ‘And that the apple never fell far from the tree, and what the hell would Diaz say when he heard? Daddy said, “God only knows,” and he thought that everyone should reserve judgement and give you a chance. Then he went off to the golf club.’
She added tearfully, ‘I’m so sorry, Rhianna. I should never have listened, but when I met you I was really glad, because you looked so unhappy and lost, and I told myself that Daddy was right. Only now I’m afraid I’ve made everything a hundred times worse.’
‘No,’ Rhianna said slowly. ‘No, you haven’t—I promise. Because I—I really wanted to know.’ She flung back her head. ‘Besides, none of it’s true. Mummy wasn’t a bit like that. She was a wonderful person.’
And so beautiful too, she thought, with all that deep, dark auburn hair that Daddy said was the colour of mahogany, and the green eyes that tilted at the corners when she laughed. Whereas my hair is just—red.
She swallowed. ‘After Daddy died she got a job as a care worker, and the people she visited really loved her. They all said so. And Mrs Jessop told someone that if Mummy hadn’t been so involved with looking after everyone else she might have thought about herself more, and realised there was something wrong. Seen a doctor before it was—too late.’ Her voice wobbled. ‘So, you see, there must be some mistake. There has to be.’
Carrie gave her a comforting pat. ‘I’m sure,’ she said, but her anxious eyes said that even if her parents had been wrong, that still didn’t explain Kezia Trewint’s strange, unloving attitude to her only living relative.
Understanding that had still been a long way in the future, Rhianna thought wearily, leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes. In the meantime it had remained on the edge of her life, a cloud no bigger than a man’s hand, yet occasionally ominously hinting at the storm to come.
Like the day she’d encountered Diaz Penvarnon for the first time.
It had been, she remembered, one of those burning, windless days in August, when the sun seemed close enough to touch.
They’d been down at the beach all day, slipping in and out of the unruffled sea like seals, Rhianna by then as competent and confident a swimmer as the other two. It had been Simon who’d called a halt, explaining that he needed to get back as his parents had friends coming to dinner.
In spite of the heat, it had always been a matter of honour to see who could get to the top of the cliff path ahead of the others. The girls rarely won against Simon’s long legs, but this particular afternoon he had dropped one of his new trainers in the loose sand at the foot of the cliff and halted to retrieve it, so that Carrie and Rhianna had found themselves unexpectedly ahead, flying neck and neck up the stony track.
And when Carrie had stumbled Rhianna had got there first, laughing and breathless, head down as she launched herself towards some invisible finishing tape.
Only to cannon into something tall, solid and all too real, finding, as she had staggered back with a gasp of shock, strong hands grasping her shoulders to steady her, while a man’s cool voice had said, ‘So—what have we here? A fleeing trespasser? This is private land, you know.’
She looked up dazedly into the face above her, swarthy and lean, with high cheekbones only to see the faint amusement fade from the firm mouth and the grey eyes become as icy as snow clouds in January. He studied her in return, his glance shifting with a kind of incredulity from her unruly cloud of hair to her long-lashed eyes and her startled, parted lips.
She said, ‘I’m Rhianna Carlow. I—I live here.’
He drew a swift sharp breath, lifting his hands from her and stepping back in a repudiation that was as instant as it was unmistakable.
He said, half to himself, ‘Of course—the child. I’d almost forgotten.’
‘Diaz!’ Carrie was there, hurling herself at him. ‘How truly great! No one said you were coming.’
‘It was intended as a surprise,’ he said, returning her exuberant hug with more restraint before he looked back at Rhianna. He added unsmilingly, ‘It seems to be a day for them.’
And she thought with inexplicable desolation, Someone else who doesn’t want me to be here…
Simon’s panting arrival provided a momentary diversion, but the greetings were barely over before Moira Seymour came sauntering across the lawn towards them, cool in a blue cotton dress, and fanning herself languidly with a broad-brimmed straw hat.
She said, ‘Simon, my pet, your mother’s telephoned, asking where you are. Carrie, darling, get cleaned up for tea, please.’ Her glance flickered dismissively over Rhianna. ‘And I’m sure, young woman, that your aunt can find something for you to do.’
The first direct remark Mrs Seymour had ever made to her, Rhianna realised. And one that made her inferior position in the household quite explicit. Turning her back into the intruder. The trespasser that Diaz Penvarnon had just called her. A name that might have started as a joke, but was now, suddenly, something very different.
My first starring role, Rhianna thought bitterly, and one that will probably haunt me, for so many reasons, as long as I live, wherever I go, and whatever happens to me.
Diaz—Diaz Penvarnon…
He was a chain, she told herself, linking her with the past, which must be broken now that he was out of her life for ever.
I’ve got to start thinking of him as a stranger, she thought, almost feverishly. I must…
But from that first moment of meeting he’d imprinted himself indelibly on her consciousness, and Rhianna had found her life changing once more—and not for the better, either.
Because she had once more been strictly relegated to the flat over the stables and its immediate vicinity, pretty much reduced to the status of non-person again, while a protesting Carrie had simply been whipped away and absorbed into the sudden surge of activities at the house itself, putting her out of reach for the duration of the owner’s visit.
The owner…
Even at a distance, Rhianna had sensed that the whole place seemed to have lost its languid, almost melancholy atmosphere and become—re-energised.
And that had been even without the constant stream of visitors filling the place at weekends, flocking down to the cove to swim and sunbathe, or play tennis on the newly marked court at the side of the house. Not forgetting the dinner parties that went on into the early hours, with music spilling out through the open windows into the warm nights, and dancers moving on the terrace.
With Diaz Penarvon at the forefront of it all.
On the few occasions that Rhianna had dared venture further than the stable yard she had seen that. Had recognised that his tall figure seemed to be everywhere, exercising effortless dominion over his surroundings, as if he’d never been absent, with the cool, incisive voice she’d remembered only too well issuing orders that were immediately obeyed.
‘And I wonder how Madam likes that?’ Rhianna had overheard Mrs Welling, the daily help, comment with a chuckle to Jacky Besant, who worked in the grounds, while they were enjoying a quiet smoke in the yard.
‘Not much, I reckon.’ Jacky had also seemed amused. ‘But she’s no need to fret. He’ll be gone again soon enough, and then she’ll have it easy again.’
Maybe we all will, Rhianna had thought, stifling a sigh.
It had occurred