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THE THREE CLANS

The Hartes shown in line of descent

Emma Harte: Matriarch: Founder of the dynasty and business empire

HER CHILDREN

Edwina, Dowager Countess of Dunvale. Emma’s daughter by Edwin Fairley. (Illegitimate). First born

Christopher ‘Kit’ Lowther. Emma’s son by her first husband Joe Lowther. Second born

Robin Ainsley. Emma’s son by her second husband Arthur Ainsley. Third born

Elizabeth Ainsley Deboyne. Emma’s daughter by her second husband Arthur Ainsley. Robin’s twin. Third born

Daisy Ainsley. Emma’s daughter by Paul McGill (illegitimate). Fourth born

HER GRANDCHILDREN

Shown in line of descent

Anthony Standish, Earl of Dunvale. Son of Edwina and Jeremy Standish, Earl and Countess of Dunvale

Sarah Lowther Pascal. Daughter of Kit and June Lowther

Jonathan Ainsley. Son of Robin and Valerie Ainsley

Paula McGill Harte Amory Fairley O’Neill. Daughter of Daisy and David Amory

Philip McGill Harte Amory. Son of Daisy and David Amory. Brother of Paula

Emily Barkstone Harte. Daughter of Elizabeth Ainsley and Tony Barkstone. Half-sister of Amanda and Francesca

Amanda Linde. Daughter of Elizabeth and her second husband Derek Linde. Twin of Francesca, half-sister of Emily

Francesca Linde Weston. Daughter of Elizabeth and her second husband, Derek Linde. Twin of Amanda, half-sister of Emily

EMMA’S GREAT-GRANDCHILDREN

Tessa Fairley Longden. Daughter of Paula and Jim Fairley (Paula’s first husband)

Lorne Fairley. Son of Paula and Jim Fairley. Twin of Tessa

Lord Jeremy Standish. Son of Anthony and Sally Standish, Earl and Countess of Dunvale. Brother of Giles and India

Toby Harte. Son of Emily and Winston Harte II. Brother of Gideon and Natalie

Gideon Harte. Son of Emily and Winston Harte II. Brother of Toby and Natalie

Natalie Harte. Daughter of Emily and Winston Harte II. Sister of Toby and Gideon

Hon. Giles Standish. Son of Anthony and Sally Standish, Earl and Countess of Dunvale. Brother of Jeremy and India

Lady India Standish. Daughter of Anthony Standish and Sally Harte, Earl and Countess of Dunvale. Sister of Jeremy and Giles

Patrick O’Neill. Son of Paula and Shane O’Neill. Brother of Linnet, Emsie and Desmond. (Deceased)

Linnet O’Neill. Daughter of Paula and Shane O’Neill (Paula’s second husband). Half-sister of Tessa and Lorne. Sister of Emsie and Desmond

Chloe Pascal. Daughter of Sarah Lowther Pascal and Yves Pascal

Fiona McGill Amory. Daughter of Philip McGill Amory and Madelana O’Shea Amory. (Deceased)

Emsie O’Neill. Daughter of Paula and Shane O’Neill. Sister of Linnet and Desmond.

Desmond O’Neill. Son of Paula and Shane O’Neill. Brother of Linnet and Emsie.

THE HARTES CONTINUED:

Winston Harte. Emma’s older brother and business partner

Randolph Harte. Son of Winston and Charlotte Harte

Winston Harte II. Son of Randolph and Georgina Harte

Sally Harte Standish, Countess of Dunvale. Daughter of Randolph and Georgina Harte. Sister of Winston Harte II and Vivienne

Vivienne Harte Leslie. Daughter of Randolph and Georgina. Sister of Winston Harte II and Sally Harte Standish

Toby Harte. Son of Winston Harte II and Emily Harte. Brother of Gideon and Natalie

Gideon Harte. Son of Winston Harte II and Emily Harte. Brother of Toby and Natalie

Natalie Harte. Daughter of Winston Harte II and Emily Harte. Sister of Toby and Gideon

Frank Harte. Emma’s younger brother

Rosamunde Harte. Daughter of Frank and Natalie Harte

Simon Harte. Son of Frank and Natalie Harte. Brother of Rosamunde

THE O’NEILLS

Shane Patrick Desmond ‘Blackie’ O’Neill. Founding father of the dynasty and business empire

Bryan O’Neill. Son of Blackie and Laura Spencer O’Neill

Shane O’Neill. Son of Bryan and Geraldine O’Neill

Miranda O’Neill James. Daughter of Bryan and Geraldine O’Neill. Sister of Shane and Laura

Laura O’Neill Nettleton. Daughter of Bryan and Geraldine O’Neill. Sister of Shane and Miranda

Patrick O’Neill. Son of Shane and Paula O’Neill. (Deceased)

Linnet O’Neill. Daughter of Shane and Paula O’Neill. Sister of Emsie and Desmond

Emsie O’Neill. Daughter of Shane and Paula O’Neill. Sister of Desmond and Linnet

Desmond O’Neill. Son of Shane and Paula O’Neill. Brother of Linnet and Emsie

THE KALLINSKIS

David Kallinski. Founding father of the dynasty and business empire

Sir Ronald Kallinski. Son of David and Rebecca Kallinski

Michael Kallinski. Son of Ronald and Helen ‘Posy’ Kallinski

Mark Kallinski. Son of Ronald and Helen ‘Posy’ Kallinski. Brother of Michael

Julian Kallinski. Son of Michael Kallinski and his former wife, Valentine Kallinski

Arielle Kallinski. Daughter of Michael Kallinski and his former wife, Valentine Kallinski. Sister of Julian

Jessica Kallinski. Daughter of Michael Kallinski and his former wife, Valentine Kallinski. Sister of Julian and Arielle

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

The Three Clans

PART ONE

The Stormy Petrels: Summer 2001

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

PART TWO

Emma and Glynnis: Summer 1950

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

PART THREE

Angels Singing: Winter 2001

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Keep Reading

About the Author

Other Books By

About the Publisher

PART ONE
The Stormy Petrels Summer 2001

The name ‘petrel’ is said to be a diminutive of Peter: when feeding the bird flits and hovers just above the water, often with feet pattering on the surface, appearing to ‘walk on water’ as St Peter did in the Bible story.

Field Guide to the BIRDS OF BRITAIN

CHAPTER ONE

Evan Hughes stood in the middle of the fashion floor of Harte’s department store in London’s Knightsbridge. It was seven o’clock in the morning and nothing stirred. All was silent at this hour. By eight the cleaners would be moving around this vast space, and by nine a few of the dedicated sales staff would be arriving to prepare for the store doors opening at ten. Now, though, she was totally alone.

She loved this store and this floor in particular. It was her domain. And hers alone. Last week she had been made head of fashion, a very big promotion which had thrilled her.

As Evan moved slowly across the floor, making for the new haute couture fashion displays, she couldn’t help thinking about the first day she had walked into Harte’s. January 2001. Eight months ago now. She had been very lucky that day. Quite by chance she had met the man of her dreams and had found the job of her dreams. She had never thought her dreams would come true that day. But they had.

Pausing for a moment, Evan glanced around, her light grey-blue eyes devouring everything: the fashion displays under bright lights, the elegance of the whole floor – such an important one in this prestigious department store, considered the greatest in the world.

Harte’s of Knightsbridge had been founded by one of the most famous merchant princes ever known: Emma Harte. She had been dead now for thirty years and the store was run by Emma’s granddaughter, Paula O’Neill. Paula, an elegant woman in her mid-fifties, had inherited her grandmother’s great skills and brilliance as a retailer, and her two daughters Tessa and Linnet were following in her footsteps. Both of them worked at the store; Tessa was in charge of the first three floors which sold cosmetics, perfumes, leisurewear, lingerie and active sports clothes. Linnet, Tessa’s half-sister, was in charge of the fashion floors and also worked with Paula on public relations.

It was Linnet O’Neill who had hired Evan to be one of her assistants, and for the first few months she had helped Linnet to put together a retrospective of fashion which had been a huge success and pulled many new customers into the store.

As a reward for all of her hard work and dedication, Linnet had given her this promotion … and Evan was in her element.

Evan stood in front of the couture fashion displays which had been finished late last night, looking at them for a few minutes. They were great, she decided. The display staff had done a good job with the clothes she had selected.

Turning away, she walked down the floor, making for her office. Tall, slender and dark-haired, she was good-looking, elegant. Back at her desk she glanced at the photograph of Gideon Harte … the man of her dreams. She had fallen in love with him, and he with her, that first day when he had bumped into her in the corridor. She had been looking for the management offices, and he had led her there, all the while firing questions at her. And it was Gideon who had told his cousin Linnet about her; Linnet had subsequently interviewed her and given her a job.

Sitting back in her chair, Evan thought about the past eight months, and all that had happened.

She had never expected to find a second family in England. Only a year ago the only family she knew were her mother and father, and her two adopted sisters who lived in Connecticut. But all that had changed because of her grandmother, Glynnis Hughes. On her deathbed her grandmother had told her to go to England to find Emma Harte, saying that Emma was the key to her future. And Evan had done exactly that, only to discover Emma was dead. But she had fallen in love with the store, and decided to get a job there.

And now here she was, working at Harte’s, involved with Gideon, planning a future with him, and struggling to adapt herself to a whole new family. Because she herself was actually a Harte. It was Paula who had discovered that Evan was another great-granddaughter of Emma Harte’s, because Evan’s grandmother Glynnis had given birth to a son fathered by one of Emma’s sons. And that child was Evan’s father.

They had welcomed her, treated her kindly, with enormous understanding, but at times things had been difficult for Evan. So many things to unravel, so much to accept, so many people to get to know. Sometimes it seemed endless to her, and problematical. She worried a lot, dwelled on all this for hours.

Most troubling of all was the knowledge she had about her father’s biological father … facts she had been afraid to relay to him. Would her father Owen Hughes welcome the information? Would he really want to know that the man who had brought him up was not his father after all? She didn’t know, and she continued to wrestle with these questions.

Evan knew she had to come to a decision. Her mother and father were coming to London in a week or so, to see her, spend time with her, and have a vacation.

Could she look her father in the eye and not tell him the truth? Could she keep it a secret? And should she? Nobody could advise her really. Gideon had told her to do what she thought best, and everyone else had been noncommital.

The ball was back in her court.

And then there was Robin Ainsley, her new grandfather, the man who had been her grandmother’s lover during the Second World War. He had been a pilot in the Royal Air Force, a Battle of Britain pilot, and her grandmother, Glynnis Jenkins then, had been a young woman from Wales who worked as Emma Harte’s secretary, here in this very store.

She liked Robin; her feelings were even stronger than that. And she knew only too well that he longed to meet his son, Owen Hughes. But would her father want to meet this stranger – a stranger who was his real father? His mother’s lover. Oh God.

Evan turned on her computer, and after a few moments started to work on it, but within an hour the troubling thoughts about Robin, Glynnis, and her father’s imminent arrival began to intrude. Turning the computer off, she made a snap decision. She would take Linnet’s advice and go to Yorkshire after all for a week’s rest. And she would go to see Robin Ainsley, still needing to know about his relationship with her grandmother, and most of all to understand why Robin and Glynnis had never married.

‘She was beautiful and glamorous: the most sexually potent woman I’ve ever known. But I realized we would be disastrous together in the long run. We would’ve ended up killing each other,’ Robin Ainsley finished with a small sigh, and sat back in the wingchair, his eyes on Evan Hughes.

Evan was silent for a moment, digesting his words, and then she said slowly, ‘Because you were so volatile together, is that what you mean?’

‘Exactly. We never had a peaceful moment.’

‘You weren’t compatible?’

‘Not in any way, except in bed. But one cannot build a lasting, lifetime relationship on sex alone.’

Evan nodded, and eyed him carefully, then confided, ‘Gran was always pounding it into me that compatibility between a man and a woman was the most important thing of all. And I know for a fact that she was compatible with my grandfather, I mean Richard Hughes.’

‘Please don’t correct yourself, Evan,’ Robin said in a quiet voice, shaking his head. ‘Richard Hughes was your grandfather, just as he was your father’s father. Glynnis was a wonderful young woman when I knew her, but put very simply, she wasn’t suitable for me, nor I for her, not on a normal, everyday level. We were far too explosive. It was my fault as much as hers.’

‘Is that why you finally broke up with her?’

‘It is. At that time our dreadful quarrels were increasing, alarmingly so. Life with her was hell.’

‘But she was pregnant, Robin, and you did nothing …’ Evan’s voice trailed off as she realized she might have sounded accusatory. She had not meant to place blame.

‘We’ve already discussed this,’ Robin responded patiently. ‘But I shall explain one more time … we broke up, I started seeing Valerie Ludden. She and I were compatible, and became seriously involved. When Glynnis told me she was expecting my child, I had already made a commitment to Valerie. However, let me say this, so you truly understand. I would not have married your grandmother even if there had been no other woman in my life. We could not have led a worthwhile life and she knew that too.’

‘I’m sorry, Robin, I am being a bit of a pest, aren’t I?’

‘That’s all right,’ he responded, a faint shadow touching his mouth. ‘I understand your need to know everything.’

‘I wonder why Glynnis wouldn’t allow you to help her financially?’

‘Pride, for the most part, so I believe.’

‘She let Emma Harte come to her rescue, though.’

‘She did. My mother loved Glynnis like a daughter and she knew this, and she knew how much my mother sympathized with her. When my mother was a young girl she had been in a similar predicament, pregnant by a man who wouldn’t marry her, and obviously there was a great deal of empathy there.’

‘Thanks for talking about this, Robin. I really needed to know exactly what went on between you and my grandmother all those years ago.’

‘Sexual passion. I was also in love with her; it just wasn’t enough for a steady, stable life.’ He smiled at her then, his face softening with sudden tenderness, his faded blue eyes benign, loving.

Evan smiled back at him, reached out and took hold of his long, slender hand, squeezed it in hers. The two of them were seated on the large sofa in the library at Lackland Priory, Robin’s house in Yorkshire, meeting for the first time in several weeks. They were glad to be together again, to have this chance to get to know each other better.

The old man and the young woman. Related by blood, but unknown to each other, total strangers, until recently. The grandfather. The granddaughter. Two people who had only just discovered the other’s existence, who wanted to be friends, to understand each other, to find a certain kind of closeness, even the intimacy of family, if that was possible. The younger striving to comprehend the past and a disastrous long-ago relationship; the elder hoping that the past and his actions then would not damage him too badly in her eyes today, in the present.

The silence in this harmonious and peaceful room was broken by the sudden shrilling of the telephone, startling them both. Almost instantly the ringing stopped; the phone had been answered elsewhere in the house by a staff member.

A moment later the butler appeared in the doorway. ‘Excuse me, sir, Dr Harvey’s on the phone. He would like a word with you.’

‘Thank you, Bolton,’ Robin answered, and, excusing himself to Evan, he rose, striding over to the desk. Sitting down, he picked up the receiver. ‘Good morning, James.’

Evan also rose and walked across to the French windows which opened onto the terrace of the ancient manor house. She stepped outside, closing the doors behind her, and took several deep breaths. The air was always clean and fresh up here in the Dales. It was a glorious morning in early August, the sky azure blue and without cloud: a sunny, golden day filled with pristine light, just as it had been yesterday and the day before. She had grown to love this crystalline light which she had discovered was so prevalent and unique to the north of England.

Now she sat down on the stone bench and stared out across the wide green lawns that splayed out from the house and were bordered by flower beds filled with colourful perennials. Her eyes finally came to rest on the copse of trees which stood slightly away from the house, to the right of the lawns. Beyond their opulent, leafy bowers she could see the rim of the moors, a dark smudge against the pale, blue-tinted horizon. It was such a beautiful spot, this long valley in the middle of the Dales where Lackland Priory had stood for centuries. Pennistone Royal was not far away and in the past few months she had spent a lot of time in this particular area of Yorkshire which was softer and much more lush than the surrounding higher land. Up there, on the high-flung moors, it was grim and bleak for most of the year, neither pretty nor welcoming. She knew Linnet would not agree; she thought the soaring fells were glorious in their stark and solitary splendour.

‘I love those moors the same way Emma Harte loved them,’ Linnet had once explained to her. ‘My great-grandmother was a child of the moors, and she could never stay away from them for very long. I’m just like her. I yearn for them, as she did.’

Emma Harte.

Evan turned the name over in her mind. Dead though she had been for thirty years, Emma still lived on, her spirit and her presence almost as potent as it had been when she was alive. Emma Harte was her great-grandmother, too, although she had not known this when she had come to England in January. Just eight months ago now; how her life had changed since then. She was a Harte. And had been accepted by this unique family, made to feel one of them. She was still trying to come to grips with recent developments.

Almost immediately her thoughts swung to Robin Ainsley, favourite son of the legendary Emma: her father’s biological father, her biological grandfather; a man she had met only a few weeks ago, but whom she had quickly grown to like and knew she could easily come to love. There was something endearing about Robin, even vulnerable, and she wanted to nurture and protect him. At eighty he seemed so alone and lonely in old age.

Robin Ainsley had abandoned her grandmother during the Second World War, but he had had his reasons, and it was over half a century ago now. And if she were honest with herself, she had to admit that her grandmother had probably had a much better and certainly a more tranquil life without Robin. After all, they had been forever at each other’s throats, according to him. And Gran had a loving husband in Richard Hughes, who had married her some months before her baby, Owen, was born. Richard had brought up Owen as his son. He had been a good father; no man had ever had a better one, her father said that all the time.

Her father’s face insinuated itself into her mind’s eye, and she felt herself tensing. Yet again she wondered how to tell him what she had so recently found out? Owen had idolized Richard Hughes …

‘I’m so sorry to have left you alone,’ Robin murmured from the doorway, interrupting her thoughts. ‘I’m afraid Dr Harvey can go on a bit at times.’

Evan jumped up and swung to face him. ‘You’re all right, aren’t you? You’re not ill?’ she asked. Her voice echoed with sudden concern, and her eyes were anxious.

‘I’m perfectly fine, my dear. In very good health, I do assure you. Dr Harvey was merely ringing up to confirm our dinner engagement tomorrow evening.’ As he finished speaking Robin stepped onto the terrace. ‘Let’s stay out here for a while, enjoy Mother Nature. It’s such a grand morning.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Evan agreed.

They sat down on the bench, and Robin went on, after a moment, ‘You said earlier that you needed to talk to me about several things, but so far we’ve only discussed my relationship with your grandmother. What else do you have on your mind?’

‘My father.’

‘Ah yes, Owen. Have you told him about me? Does he know anything about … Emma’s well-kept secret?’

‘No.’

‘Did you lose your nerve, Evan? Surely not. Not you.’

‘No, not really. But I did decide it might be better to wait until he arrives in London later this month.’

‘Don’t you think you ought to give him an inkling about what’s happened before he comes? About me, I mean? It would prepare him for what will no doubt be a bit of a shock.’

‘It did cross my mind,’ Evan responded, biting her lip, looking worried. ‘But then I decided it would be smarter to tell him face to face.’

Robin frowned, stared ahead, his light-coloured eyes fixed on the distant horizon. After a moment, he began to speak slowly, thoughtfully. ‘He’s not going to like what he hears. It wouldn’t surprise me if he were very angry. After all, some of his illusions are going to be shattered. He’ll certainly be angry with me about the past.’

‘And maybe he’ll also be angry with his mother for not being truthful,’ Evan suggested succinctly. ‘Gran lied to him.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that, my dear. Glynnis did the right thing. It was wiser not to tell him I was his father. Richard was married to Glynnis for some months before Owen’s birth, and whilst he may not have made her pregnant, he loved that child as his own. Richard’s behaviour was impeccable, and I think Glynnis did what she thought was best, you know.’

‘That’s true, but …’ She let her sentence go unfinished.

‘But what?’

‘My father’s not easy, Robin.’

A look of comprehension swept across his face and he exclaimed, ‘I remember something, Evan. When Paula brought you here for the first time you told us you thought your father had come across some papers after Glynnis died.’

‘I did. But he never actually said he found anything. It was just a feeling I had that sprang from his sudden, rather odd attitude towards the Harte family.’

‘Oh. What kind of attitude?’ Robin asked, his curiosity aroused.

‘He became a bit … well, down on them. I guess that’s the best way of describing it. He wasn’t happy about my job at Harte’s, and that was mystifying to me because he had agreed I should visit London to seek out Emma Harte … just as Gran had suggested on her deathbed.’

Robin ventured, ‘I think he stumbled on a diary, or letters, or other items from long ago, which Glynnis had perhaps forgotten about.’

‘That could be so,’ she agreed. ‘And what he found might have turned him off the Hartes. Is that what you’re suggesting?’

‘Yes, it is.’ There was a pause. ‘I wonder if it might not be wiser to let sleeping dogs lie, my dear? Why tell your father anything at all? He doesn’t need to know the truth about his paternity. Perhaps it would be more prudent to let it remain the secret it’s always been. Why not let him continue to think Richard Hughes was his biological father?’

‘That makes sense,’ Evan exclaimed, and instantly felt as though a great weight had been lifted from her chest.

Almost as if he instinctively knew what she was feeling, Robin put his arm around her, held her close to him. ‘We know the truth, and that’s all that really matters, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ was all she said, and she leaned against his shoulder, closing her eyes, filled with relief.

They did not speak for a short while, lost as they were in their own thoughts. Evan was thinking about her boyfriend Gideon Harte, wondering how she would explain her sudden change of heart, yet knowing that whatever she decided to do he would back her to the hilt, would be on her side. Gideon had an understanding heart, and he was sensitive to her feelings about her father. In fact, he himself had suggested, only the other day, that maybe she would be better off not telling her father he was a Harte. She had been ambivalent; Gideon had then said he trusted her judgement and whatever she did ultimately would be all right by him.

As for Robin, his thoughts were centred on Evan Hughes. How glad he was that this young woman had come into his life. Very late in his life, that was true, but at least he had been fortunate to become aware of her existence. He had grown to know her over the past few weeks, and he liked what he had learned about her. Once before he had held her close like this, when she had comforted him, and he was glad to hold her again, to silently bond with her, and to comfort her.

The day she had arrived with Paula to meet him for the first time he had feasted his rheumy old eyes on her lovely face. He had noticed that she looked like his twin, Elizabeth, when she had been twenty-seven, as Evan was now. Evan. His granddaughter. His only grandchild. His blood flowed through her veins, and one day, if she married and had children, it would flow in their veins … she ensured the continuation of his bloodline, his genes. It had always been important to him, the flowering of a family, but before the arrival of Evan this had not seemed probable.

Instantly, Jonathan sprang into his mind and a chill settled over him. He could only pray that his son would never harm Evan. Certainly Robin had made absolutely sure that Jonathan really did understand that his inheritance was intact, and not jeopardized by the advent of Evan. In fact, he had gone to extraordinary lengths to prove this to his son, taking steps that involved both their solicitors and the execution of various documents, which were binding.

On the other hand, Jonathan was unpredictable. For a long time now he had considered his only child a loose cannon and, even worse, a sociopath. There was no way of knowing what he might do. Or when.

‘Are you all right?’ Evan asked, feeling Robin’s sudden tension.

‘Yes, yes, I’m fine,’ the old man answered, forcing a smile. ‘But I must admit I do feel the cold even on a sunny day like this. Let’s go inside, Evan. I have something I wish to show you.’

Together they walked into the library, and Robin murmured, ‘Do sit down on the sofa, I won’t be a moment.’

She did as he said while he hurried to the desk. Her eyes followed him. What a fine-looking man he was; tall, erect, and handsome in old age, and today he was much more robust and full of vigour. This pleased her. She had only just found him, and he was already eighty … the thought of losing him dismayed her.

A moment later Robin was sitting down next to her and handing her a photograph, a snapshot taken a long time ago. Staring down at it she exclaimed, ‘It’s of you and my grandmother. My goodness, what a gorgeous couple you were! So good-looking.’

He laughed in delight at her compliment. ‘We did look wonderful together, you know, everyone remarked on that. As you can see, I’m wearing my RAF uniform and your grandmother is the height of fashion for the times, very much the glamour girl, as always. Well, anyway, it’s for you, Evan.’

‘Oh Robin, how lovely of you. But are you sure you want to part with it? You’ve had it for such a long time.’

‘Who better to give it to than – our granddaughter. I want you to have this picture of the two of us when we were young and in love and before things had gone so horribly wrong between us.’

She nodded, touched his arm affectionately. ‘I shall treasure it always.’

His blue eyes lit up and he smiled at her. ‘Now, will you take pity on an old man and stay for lunch?’

‘I’d love to,’ she said.

But as she walked to the dining room with Robin, Evan knew there was nothing but trouble in store. Her intuition told her that her father would be difficult, and that the situation would more than likely explode.

CHAPTER TWO

Tessa Fairley Longden stood on the terrace, watching her small daughter bustling around like the proverbial mother hen, placing Daisy her porcelain baby doll, Teddy the bear, and Reggi the rag doll in the chairs she and Adele had just arranged around the small tea-table.

Once the child was satisfied she looked up at her mother, and said, ‘Daisy is keeping Teddy company and I’ll sit next to my Reggi.’

‘That’s a good idea, Adele. I’m sure they’ll be happy wherever you’ve put them,’ Tessa answered, smiling down at the three-year-old, who was looking up at her questioningly.

As she spoke Tessa made a mental note to wrest the rag doll out of her daughter’s clutches as soon as possible. It was dirty and bedraggled, quite disgusting looking really, but the child loved it so much, clung to it, never let it out of her sight. Tessa had long realized it was like a security blanket to Adele, but it did need washing, by hand, of course, so that it would not fall apart. Tonight, she thought, I’ll wash it tonight if I can get it away from her.

She was enjoying being here in Yorkshire with Adele, her first bit of peace since leaving her husband, Mark Longden.

Bending down, Tessa smoothed her hand over her child’s silky, silvery-blonde hair, and murmured, ‘I’ll be in the library working, sweetheart, if you need me.’

Adele nodded, and said in a solemn voice, ‘At your computer, Mumma.’

‘That’s right.’ Tessa’s heart overflowed with love for this extraordinarily beautiful child, so precious to her, the one person she loved the most in this world. Leaning over her, she kissed the top of her head, lingering for a moment longer on the terrace; but after a second or two she finally drew herself up, took a deep breath and walked briskly into the library, sitting down at the table she had pulled over to the French windows.

It was Elvira’s day off, and the nanny had gone into Leeds, leaving Adele in her care. Tessa had toyed with the idea of taking Adele with her to the Harrogate store, but in the end she had changed her mind, had decided not to go after all. It was such a beautiful morning it seemed almost criminal to keep the child cooped up in an office; she could just as easily work here at Pennistone Royal on the plans for remodelling the Harrogate store, while Adele enjoyed the sunshine and the fresh air, playing outdoors on the long terrace at the back of the house.

Tessa had decided long ago that the library was the ideal place for her to work when she was here at Pennistone Royal. It was a long, spacious, airy room with a high-flung ceiling and walls panelled in light-coloured pine. Tranquil, a peaceful spot, it was well insulated with its many floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with leather-bound books.

Earlier this morning she had set herself up at the far end of the library, near the French windows. These opened onto the terrace where Adele could play happily until lunchtime. Tessa had pulled the library table over to the glass doors, creating a makeshift desk out of it. Adele was now in her direct line of vision; she could even hear the child chattering away to the teddy bear. Apart from being able to keep an eye on her daughter, she was readily available if the child needed her for any reason.

Tessa worked steadily at her computer for the next twenty minutes, glancing up from time to time, smiling to herself, thinking of how well Adele played alone, treating her dolls and the bear like real playmates, talking to them in the most natural way, as if they were alive.

Adele was a clever, inventive and imaginative little girl, and she could already read simple books even though she was not yet four. Tessa had come to understand that her daughter enjoyed learning new things, and she was extremely intelligent for her age, and in some ways rather precocious, at least when it came to learning. Not precocious in an irritating way, like some children were; Adele was sweet by nature, and a rather endearing child with her fey and somewhat whimsical traits and mannerisms.

Unexpectedly, Adele turned around and saw Tessa staring at her through the open glass doors, and she laughed, waved to her mother.

Tessa waved back before returning to her work. She concentrated hard, trying to pull together all of her ideas for the much-needed changes at the Harrogate store. This was her special project at the moment; her half-sister Linnet and her cousin India had been given the task of creating a new look for the Leeds store, along with Evan Hughes. Harte’s were revamping everywhere.

The loud ringing of the phone brought Tessa’s head up with a start. When it continued to shrill she wondered why no one was picking it up, and then remembered she was alone in the house at the moment. Elvira had already left for Leeds; Margaret had gone to do the marketing in Ripon, and she had seen Evan Hughes drive off well over an hour ago. As for Emsie and Desmond, her O’Neill sister and brother were off riding on the moors.

Jumping up, Tessa hurried across to the Georgian desk next to the sofa, and grabbed the phone. ‘Pennistone Royal. Hello?’ There was a great deal of static, and faintly, far away in the distance she heard a man’s voice saying, ‘Tessa –. Is Tess –’ and then the voice faded out completely.

It’s Toby, she thought; my cousin’s calling me from LA. Holding the receiver tighter, she exclaimed, ‘This is Tessa Longden! Who is it?’ Much to her annoyance, the phone now went completely dead. She listened for a moment, said hello several times and then hung up in exasperation.

She had barely taken a few steps towards the makeshift desk when the phone began to ring once more. Snatching the receiver from the cradle, she said in a distinct tone, ‘This is Tessa Longden. Who’s calling?’ There was no response, no voice at all, only static and sounds like lapping waves. ‘Hello? Hello? I can’t hear you! Who’s calling?’

Her frustration echoed in her voice; she was positive it was her cousin, who had gone to Los Angeles to see his wife. He had promised to be in touch and no doubt this was Toby. On his mobile. The connection suddenly cut off, and with an impatient shrug she banged down the phone and headed back to her computer. No sooner had she turned away from the phone than its insistent shrilling brought her back to it, and she answered for a third time. ‘This is Tessa. Who is it?’

‘Tess –’ The voice broke up before the completion of her name, and then she was hearing only static and half a word here and there. She said ‘Hello’ several times, but whoever it was at the other end was not making himself understood.

She stood there with the phone glued to her ear for a few more minutes, and then with great irritation she hung up, mildly cursing Toby under her breath. Why use his mobile? Couldn’t he have picked up a land line?

It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps Toby had tried to reach her at the London store first, and so she dialled her new assistant’s private line. It was answered immediately.

‘It’s me, Patsy,’ she said at once. ‘I think Toby Harte might be trying to get hold of me. From the States. Using his mobile. But it’s not working, he keeps breaking up. Have you heard from him this morning? Has he been trying to get me?’

‘No, he hasn’t,’ Patsy answered. ‘In fact, you’ve had very few phone calls so far today. Only Jess Lister about a dress you ordered. It’s ready. She’s bringing it over. And Anita Moore. She called to say she wants to come in and see you, show you her new line of cosmetics and body products. I said you’d be in touch with her early next week.’

‘Good. Well, look, if Toby does ring me from the States please ask him to phone me on a land line. I’ll be here at Pennistone Royal all day, and this evening, too. I’m not going out. That’ll be much easier.’

‘I’ll tell him. Talk to you later, Tessa.’

Tessa walked back to the library table and automatically glanced out at the terrace before resuming her work. And she caught her breath in surprise. Adele was no longer sitting at the tea-table.

Oh God, where is she? Tessa rushed through the French windows and out onto the terrace, looking up and down. Her daughter was nowhere in sight. And yet she was not in the habit of wandering off. Adele was an obedient child.

Instantly her hackles rose and alarm shot through her. She swung around, glanced down at the tea-table as if seeking a clue, and immediately noticed that the rag doll was missing.

Where had Adele gone? Down to the old oak, perhaps? As this thought flew into her head Tessa ran over to the stone balustrade and looked out towards the dell at the bottom of the sloping lawns. Here an ancient oak spread its wide branches over a garden seat where Adele often went to play. But there was no sign of her there today.

How did she manage to get down the steps? Tessa now asked herself, and her alarm intensified as she raced along the terrace to the flight of steps. She dreaded what she might find; she fully expected to see her three-year-old child crumpled in a heap at the bottom of them. But Adele was not there either.

Panic spiralled into genuine fear as Tessa struck out towards the front façade of the house, looking around as she did, her face tense, her eyes filled with anxiety.

The driveway was deserted. There wasn’t a soul in sight, not even the gardeners or the stable boys. It was ominously quiet, as if everyone had disappeared and she was the only person left there.

When she reached the heavy front door Tessa stood for a moment, frowning. The door was ajar and this surprised her. It was always locked for security reasons. Puzzled, she pushed the door open and went inside; her only concern was to find her child.

‘Adele! Adele!’ she called out in her loudest voice, walking forward quickly. ‘Are you here, sweetheart?’

No one answered.

No child came running to her on plump little legs, calling her name.

There was only the sound of Tessa’s voice echoing back to her through the great Stone Hall. It struck her then that Adele might have gone to the kitchen looking for Margaret, wanting her favourite Cadbury’s chocolate fingers for the dolls’ tea party. Rushing down the corridor, she went into the kitchen. It, too, was deserted. Disappointment hit her in the face. Her heart sank and dismay lodged in the pit of her stomach. Unexpectedly, tears filled her eyes and she leaned against the door jamb for a split second, endeavouring to gather her swimming senses as she tried to imagine where the three-year-old could be. Where?

Taking a deep breath, Tessa swung out of the kitchen and made her way back to the front of the house, walked outside onto the gravel driveway, again looking around. And asking herself where she should begin to search for Adele. It now seemed obvious that her little girl had wandered off into the other garden, and Tessa suddenly understood that she would need Wiggs and his two assistants to start looking for her. And possibly the stable lads as well. The grounds at Pennistone Royal were vast and covered a wide area, and there were several dense woods beyond the fields and meadows.

‘Miss Tessa! Miss Tessa!’

At the sound of the head gardener’s voice, Tessa spun around. Wiggs was hurrying towards her and she saw that he had the rag doll in his hands.

She ran to meet him, exclaiming, ‘Where did you find the doll?’

The gardener came to a standstill and handed it to her. ‘Just around the bend in the drive.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Yer knows that bend, Miss Tessa, it’s just afore the house comes in ter sight.’

Clutching the rag doll to her, Tessa said shakily, ‘I can’t find Adele, Wiggs. She’s suddenly gone missing, and I don’t understand what she was doing out here. We must start looking for her in the grounds.’

Wiggs gaped at her. ‘I thought she must’ve dropped the doll before she got in ter the car,’ he said, frowning, his face puzzled.

‘What car?’ Tessa cried, her eyes opening wider, flaring with apprehension. ‘There was a car here?’ Her voice was unusually shrill and she gripped the gardener’s arm.

‘Yes. I heard the screech of tyres as it drove off. Almost run over one of the ponies, it did that, and two of the stable lads ran after it, shouting at the driver, telling him to stop. But he didn’t.’

All of the colour had drained out of Tessa’s face and she thought her legs would buckle under her as small ripples of shock ran through her body. Mark. It had to be Mark. Yes. Oh, God, yes. He had snatched their child. She snapped her eyes tightly shut, trembling inside, and brought one hand to her face, overcome by rising panic.

‘You’d best go inside, Miss Tessa, and sit down for a bit,’ Wiggs was saying to her. ‘You look right poorly.’

And as Tessa opened her eyes and took a deep breath, she heard the clatter of horses’ hooves in the distance and turned around swiftly.

Wiggs glanced behind him, and muttered, ‘That must be Emsie and Desmond coming back from their ride.’

‘Yes, it must,’ she agreed, and she thought her voice sounded peculiar, oddly strangled in her throat. She was on the verge of tears again. Turning to Wiggs, blinking them back, she managed to ask, ‘That car, Wiggs. What was it like? Did you see the driver? Was it Mr Longden, do you think?’

Wiggs shook his head. ‘Didn’t see the driver’s face. But it was a man. Aye, it was. Car was black. A Mercedes … I think.’ He nodded and his expression was suddenly confident. ‘Aye, it was a Mercedes, Miss Tessa.’

At this moment Emsie and Desmond came around the bend, their horses walking at a slow pace. Emsie waved and called out cheerily, ‘Tessa! Hello.’

Desmond also waved and his handsome young face was full of smiles.

Tessa raised her arm, beckoned to them to come over, then she changed her mind and ran towards them, Wiggs following in her wake.

Desmond, mounted on a superb black stallion, looked down at his eldest sister. Staring at her face, which was as white as her cotton shirt, noting her terrible strained expression, he asked, almost sharply, ‘What’s the matter, Tess?’

‘It’s Adele,’ she began and shook her head in bewilderment. ‘I can’t find her. She’s vanished. Into thin air.’ Her voice was shaking and she stopped abruptly, turned to look at Wiggs. ‘But she could have been taken from here.’

He had known her since she was a child, and he understood immediately what she wanted him to do. He had to explain. ‘It’s like this, Desmond,’ Wiggs said. ‘There was a car here. I don’t know who was in it. But it drove off hell for leather, almost collided with a pony that’d strayed on ter the drive. Two of the stable lads ran after the car, shouting, but the driver paid them no mind, didn’t stop. Just shot out of them there front gates like a bat out of hell. I was walking up the drive … when I spotted Adele’s rag doll.’ He nodded and finished, ‘I thought Adele must’ve dropped it when she got in the car. Not that I’m sure she did that, yer knows. But it seems likely.’

‘But you didn’t actually see Adele in the car?’ Desmond asked.

‘No.’ Wiggs shook his head. ‘Still, what with the doll being there on the ground, well, I mean, I just thought she’d gone off in the car.’

Tessa took a deep breath, said in a worried voice, ‘Wiggs, please arrange for the grounds to be searched, and talk to Joe. He might know who was in the car. Maybe they’d been to see him about something – to do with the estate.’

‘I’ll get a search going, Miss Tessa, but there’s no way I can talk ter Joe. He’s gone ter East Witton. And I don’t think he’s coming back. Not just yet. But nobody coming ter see Joe would drive like that, not with all the notices we’ve got posted, warning everyone ter go slow because of the horses. No, whoever was in that black car, well, them there folk were proper strangers, not from these parts. Locals don’t go speeding around in cars when there’s horses all over the place.’

‘I agree,’ Desmond said. He dismounted, went to Tessa, put his arm around her shoulders, wanting to comfort her. He was as concerned about her as he was about the situation. And what ought they to do, aside from searching the grounds?

Emsie followed suit, expertly jumping down from her horse. Turning to Wiggs, she said, ‘Would you mind taking the horses to the stables, please? We’ll be there in a few minutes, Wiggs, to rub them down.’

‘Acourse I’ll tek ’em back, Emsie,’ he replied, accepting the reins from her, reaching for Desmond’s horse. ‘But the stable lads’ll look after ’em. You should both be with Tessa.’

Emsie smiled at him, a faltering smile, and he noticed that her face was as white as her half-sister’s. She looked frightened, as well. He patted the seventeen-year-old’s shoulder. ‘Try not to worry, lass. If she’s around here, we’ll find Adele.’

‘I hope she is just lost,’ Emsie murmured, biting her lip. ‘I hope that’s all it is.’

Wiggs hurried away with the horses, thinking that Mark Longden had most likely grabbed the child. The whole staff knew all about the upcoming divorce; there was a good bit of gossip about Longden. None of them liked him. He was the child’s father. Surely he wouldn’t harm her. But Longden was a bit of a bugger, so he’d heard. A boozer. Also on drugs. And a wife-beater. A man who struck a woman was a coward, a bully and a thug in his opinion.

Desmond and his sisters went into the house, and as they hurried through into the Stone Hall, he took hold of Tessa’s arm, and said, ‘Shall I get you a brandy? You look as if you’re about to pass out.’

‘No, thanks, Des. A cup of tea and an aspirin is what I want. I have a splitting headache. Let’s go to the kitchen.’

He nodded, and he and Emsie followed Tessa across the Stone Hall and down the corridor. Once inside the kitchen it was Emsie who filled the electric kettle with water, plugged it in, then found the brown teapot and three mugs in the cupboard.

Desmond and Tessa seated themselves at the round table in the bay window, and Desmond took hold of Tessa’s hand, hoping to reassure her. He started to speak but stopped, noting the preoccupied look on her face. He had always been sensitive to her moods, and he understood that at this moment she was trying to think things through.

At fifteen Desmond O’Neill was mature for his age, and looked older than his years. He was tall, over six feet, and powerfully built, a strapping young man with his father’s height, broad chest and wide shoulders; he also had Shane’s glamorous good looks. Hair and eyes the colour of jet stamped him Black Irish, and those in the know said that he was the spitting image of his great-grandfather Blackie O’Neill, long since dead, but well-remembered by many of the locals, friends and certain members of the three clans.

No one spoke. Emsie was busy making the tea, and Desmond was waiting for Tessa to relax, to say something. Only when Adele was found would his sister be at ease. She was a doting mother.

Tessa’s mind was racing, and she felt sick, anxiety-ridden for her child. She did not know what to do at this moment. How could she just sit and wait until Wiggs and the others searched the estate? That could take ages. And wasn’t time of the essence? If Adele was lost she would soon become frightened, and she might have an accident, could easily hurt herself. She wondered if she should go and join in the hunt for Adele? Could she have been grabbed by Mark? Did he have her? Or was Jonathan Ainsley behind this? She instantly pushed that thought to one side. The idea of Jonathan Ainsley being involved frightened her. If Mark did have their daughter, wouldn’t he call Pennistone Royal to speak to her? Certainly he would never hurt Adele, he adored the child. But he wasn’t himself these days, was he? Tessa shivered involuntarily.

Desmond noticed this, and said swiftly, in his most reassuring tone, ‘I’m sure she was in that car, Tess. Wiggs might not have noticed. I don’t think Adele is here, on the estate, lost somewhere, because Emsie and I would have spotted her on our way back. The only way to get to the fields is down the lane.’

Tessa did not respond.

Desmond remained silent himself, knowing Tessa in the way he did. Although his half-sister had a reputation in the family for being difficult, bossy and a snob, he knew another, very different side of her. He loved Tessa, and she loved him, and they had always been good friends; she wasn’t really the ogre some of the family made her out to be. At least not in his eyes.

Rousing herself from her thoughts, Tessa suddenly said, ‘I can’t help thinking as you do she probably was in that car, Des. You’re right. And she’s so little, she couldn’t have got very far.’

‘Who would take her without telling you –’ he cut himself off. His eyes met hers. ‘Mark Longden. Of course! You think he’s got her, don’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘So do I. That’s the answer.’

Emsie carried the tray of mugs and the teapot over to the table and as she put it down she said, ‘There’s no one else to point a finger at. He might be trying to get his own back because of your nasty divorce, or to make trouble, hurt you.’

‘Unless someone else has –’ Desmond paused, took a deep breath, and finished, ‘kidnapped her. For a ransom. This family’s always been the perfect target for something like that.’

‘I’ve considered the same thing. A kidnapping.’ Tessa closed her eyes once more and sat very still, trying to control her trembling. ‘That’s why I’ve got to be here, near the phone.’

She was so white and her tension was so marked Desmond was convinced she was about to faint at any moment. He wished Linnet were here, she’d know what to do. But would Tessa listen to her? They were often at loggerheads.

Emsie looked across at her brother and her eyes caught his as she poured tea into his mug. These two had always been perfectly in tune with each other. At seventeen she was two years older than Desmond, yet it was he who was protective of her; they loved each other and were best friends. Like Desmond, Emsie was obviously Black Irish. She had inherited the striking O’Neill colouring – glossy dark hair and eyes as black and shiny as coal.

Silently, she mouthed, ‘Linnet. We need Linnet.’

Desmond nodded, looked across at Tessa, waiting.

Despite her fragile appearance and her delicate beauty, Tessa Fairley Longden had a great deal of inner strength and an enormous amount of resilience. As she often said, she was not Emma Harte’s great-granddaughter for nothing; there was a certain toughness about her and she had a fair amount of determination.

Pulling herself together finally, she opened her eyes and sat up a little straighter in the chair. ‘Thanks for the tea, Emsie,’ she murmured and took a long swallow of the brew. After a moment’s thought, she glanced at the wall clock, continued, ‘It’s almost eleven here. Six o’clock in the morning in New York. No use phoning Mummy and Shane –’

Emsie cut in somewhat peremptorily: ‘They’ll still be asleep. What about talking to your solicitor?’

‘No, no!’ Tessa exclaimed, and gave Emsie a hard stare. ‘You know very well what the family rules are. We deal with everything ourselves, for as long as possible, and with the help of the other clans if necessary. But no outsiders can be involved. Unless we have no other choice.’

‘You ought to call Linnet immediately,’ Desmond suggested, glancing quickly at Emsie, hoping Tessa wouldn’t bite his head off. The strained relationship between his sisters often presented problems. Both wanted to run Harte’s one day. But Linnet was the smartest in the family, other than his parents; he believed she was the best person to take charge in the absence of their mother and father.

Surprisingly, Tessa was not upset by his suggestion. Jumping up, she hurried over to the phone on the counter. ‘I think I’d better do that, Desmond. Right away.’

Tessa was aware that Linnet had planned to come up to Pennistone Royal either today or tomorrow, and so instead of ringing Harte’s in London she dialled her sister on her mobile; Linnet was probably on the road already, driving to Yorkshire. It was answered almost at once with a crisp, ‘Linnet O’Neill.’

‘It’s Tessa. I’ve got a problem here.’

‘At the Harrogate store?’ Linnet sounded surprised.

‘No. At home. At Pennistone Royal.’

‘A problem there! What’s happened?’

‘It’s Adele. She’s vanished. I can’t find her, and I’m frantic. I think it could be Mark’s doing.’ Tessa’s voice trembled and she swallowed hard.

‘If you think it’s Mark then it is,’ Linnet exclaimed. ‘Stay calm, I’m about an hour away. Don’t call the police yet. We can deal with this ourselves.’

‘I know the rules. Listen, Desmond thinks it could be a genuine kidnapping. For a ransom.’

‘Oh my God! Let’s hope not. Tell me exactly what happened.’

Tessa did as her sister asked.

When Tessa finished, Linnet said, ‘The phone calls were to distract you. It’s Mark who’s behind this, I’m absolutely positive. You’re right about that. Still, I’m glad Wiggs is searching the grounds. She could have strayed away from the house, but she couldn’t have gone far. Who’s there with you?’

‘Just Desmond and Emsie. It’s Elvira’s day off, and Margaret went out shopping. And Joe’s gone to East Witton.’

‘Desmond’s pretty reliable and responsible. So is Emsie. I’m glad they’re there. Where’s Evan?’

‘I don’t know. I saw her drive off several hours ago.’

‘I’m sure she’ll soon return. Now, stay there by the phone and if Mark calls tell him to bring Adele back immediately. Be firm with him but civil. Try not to have a row.’

‘What if he wants to bargain with me? What if he wants something?’

‘Promise him anything. Just get that child back in your arms. Mark can be dealt with later.’

‘All right. But what if it’s not Mark? What if it really is a kidnapping, and they call, making demands?’

‘Listen to them. Agree to their demands, but explain it’s going to take you a while to get money together. Because I’m sure they’ll be asking for money … that’s what most kidnappings are about.’

‘I understand.’

‘Tessa?’

‘Yes?’

‘Nothing’s going to happen to Adele.’

‘But –’

‘I promise,’ Linnet cut in. ‘Don’t go into the grounds. You must be there to answer the phone. See you soon.’ With that she clicked off her mobile.

As soon as she saw a lay-by Linnet O’Neill pulled over and parked. She sat for a moment thinking about her sister’s phone call and Adele’s disappearance. She was filled with dismay, and extremely angry. I always knew that bastard wouldn’t go quietly, she thought, her mind zeroing in on Mark Longden. She had never liked him, had always believed him to be avaricious, ambitious, self-promoting. Years ago she had characterized him as a gold-digger who was after Tessa’s money, not to mention her prestige as a Harte; she had never quite understood why such a beautiful and clever young woman as her sister had married him. And he wasn’t a very good architect in her opinion, whatever others thought.

Their mother had told her recently that Mark Longden had physically and mentally abused Tessa, and much to her astonishment she had discovered she hadn’t been in the least bit surprised. She had always been aware that underneath his smarmy, phoney charm he was a nasty piece of work.

Linnet sat thinking about Adele’s sudden disappearance, and she realized she did not believe for one moment that the child had been kidnapped by strangers for ransom. She felt, deep within herself, that it was Mark Longden who had snatched his own child. Her gut instinct told her that it was a form of blackmail. He wanted something from the Hartes, and he was using his little daughter as a bargaining tool. The bastard, she muttered again, and cursed him under her breath.

‘“Everybody has a price and it isn’t always money,” that’s what Emma used to say to me,’ her mother had once told her, and Linnet had never forgotten those words. They were absolutely true. When it came right down to it, everybody had some kind of vulnerability, something they wanted to protect at any price, and very often money never came into play at all. There were other currencies for dealing.

From remarks her mother had made recently, Linnet knew that Mark Longden was not only drinking very heavily these days, but was also on drugs. It had troubled her then; it was certainly more worrying now. A man under the influence could easily become irresponsible, even erratic, and quite possibly violent – and therefore dangerous. She was fairly certain that Mark wouldn’t intentionally hurt his only child. But what if something went wrong with him, or others, and in the process Adele got hurt, albeit inadvertently?

It suddenly struck Linnet that thoughts of a similar nature must have occurred to Tessa. Never before had she heard her sister sound so vulnerable, nervous, and at such a loss about what to do than she had a few minutes ago. It seemed to her that the child’s abduction, because that was what it was, had rendered Tessa helpless.

Normally Tessa was a take-charge person who wanted to be top dog, so that she could run everything and boss everyone around. And very often, because of Tessa’s ambition to be their mother’s heir-apparent, the Dauphine as she called herself, Tessa and she had locked horns. But there was a family rule that went all the way back to Emma Harte and her brothers, and it had never been broken. No matter what the circumstances, a Harte was always loyal to a Harte. They had been brought up to stand strong and steady together in a fight, to defend each other against the world. To kill for each other, to take the bullet for each other, if necessary. Linnet knew all the Harte rules by heart and lived by them.

The child was Tessa’s vulnerable spot; Linnet was well aware of her sister’s deep and unwavering love for her child. The entire family loved Adele. The three-year-old girl was like a Botticelli angel, with her silver-gilt hair, silvery-grey eyes, and her exquisite little face. Beautiful and endearing, with genuine sweetness, she had touched them all in different ways. Linnet thought of Adele as one of those rare golden children, unique, almost spiritual. God forbid anything happened to her.

How to solve this dilemma? What to do? Linnet asked herself. And where to begin? Start driving for one thing, she decided, rousing herself from her myriad thoughts, releasing the brake and slowly pulling out onto the motorway.

Linnet knew she had to handle this. The very fact that Tessa had turned to her made her truly understand that her sister accepted that she herself was far too emotional to cope with the situation. I’ve got to deal with it fast, Linnet thought. Very fast. Today. It can’t be allowed to drag on. I’ve got to find Mark. Find that child. Immediately. Before anything goes wrong.

There really was only her. Her parents were in New York with Aunt Emily and Uncle Winston, which meant the four senior and most powerful members of the Harte family were out of action for the moment.

Gideon Harte? She thought of her cousin, her best friend, for a moment. He could be extremely helpful. He ran the Harte newspapers, was brilliant and street-wise, and he had every kind of resource at his disposal. Owning and running an international newspaper chain spelled one thing. Power. Immense power. Yes, she might have to pull Gideon into this, but right now what she really needed was an expert. A genuine professional. A policeman who wasn’t actually a policeman.

Jack Figg.

The name leapt into her mind at once. Harte’s security adviser, he was considered a member of the family. She had known him since childhood, thought of him as a pal. And so the moment she saw another lay-by ahead, Linnet pulled in and parked. Reaching for her hold-all, she groped around in it for her address book, and quickly found his name.

A few seconds later she was dialling Jack’s mobile number.

‘Figg here,’ he answered almost at once.

‘It’s Linnet, Jack.’

‘Hello, Beauty. What do you need?’

‘You, Jack. Please.’

‘I’m yours,’ he laughed, ‘anytime you want me.’

‘Remember what you said at Shane’s birthday party in June – that I could count on you in an emergency?’

‘I do. And you can.’

‘Thanks, Jack. There’s an emergency.’

‘Tell me everything I need to know.’

She did so, and gave him her own thoughts about what had happened.

‘The phone calls were meant to distract her, keep her busy. Where are you now, Linnet?’

‘Parked in a lay-by, about an hour away from Pennistone Royal. Are you in Robin Hood’s Bay?’

‘No, I’m outside York Minster with a friend. If I leave York now I’ll probably arrive at the house the same time as you. I’ll meet you there. But please tell Tessa you’ve asked me to help. Just in case I arrive before you.’

‘I will. And thanks, Jack.’

‘Anything for you, Beauty.’

He was gone, and she was back on the motorway, picking up speed as she gunned the car forward, streaking along the empty road. There was hardly any traffic at the moment, and that was something in her favour at least.

Linnet concentrated on driving for the next twenty minutes or so, and then, slowing down, she phoned Tessa at Pennistone Royal. Her sister said there was nothing new, and no sign of Adele. Wiggs and his search party were still looking. Linnet told her about Jack Figg, and his imminent arrival, and fortunately met no resistance from Tessa.

A few seconds later she punched in Evan’s mobile number, but it was turned off. No doubt Evan was with Uncle Robin, whom she had been wanting to talk to for several weeks. Linnet thought suddenly of her cousin India Standish. India had gone up to Leeds from London very early that morning, to start working on plans for revamping the store. Linnet was close to her cousin. In fact everyone in the family loved India. She had an understanding heart, was kind, with a loving nature. Many thought she was delicate, even frail, but her elegant aristocratic looks inherited from the Fairleys belied her character.

Linnet knew she was practical, down to earth, strong physically, and that, like their great-grandmother Emma Harte, she was absolutely fearless. India worked with her in the fashion department of Harte’s in London, and they had been close friends since childhood. India had grown up on her father’s estate Clonloughlin in Ireland, but she had spent every summer at Pennistone Royal. And Linnet loved to boast of some of India’s brave deeds as a child … like the time she rushed out into the backyard at Pennistone Royal wearing huge oven gloves in order to separate two dogs fighting over the dead body of a rabbit. Or the day Linnet’s little sister Emsie had climbed into the big oak and got stuck in the upper branches. Undeterred by Linnet’s warning that they would both fall out of the tree, India had climbed up it, had sat with Emsie, stopped her wailing and held her tightly until Linnet had come back with Joe, the estate-manager, carrying a tall orchard ladder.

Yes, Linnet decided, India would be helpful in this situation, and she got on well with the sometimes difficult Tessa.

India would be staying at Pennistone Royal for the next few days, as she usually did. I’d better warn her about the situation there, Linnet thought, tell her what’s happened, before she goes over there later. She dialled her cousin, and waited patiently as the mobile rang and rang.

CHAPTER THREE

‘That’s your phone ringing, not mine,’ Russell ‘Dusty’ Rhodes said, looking across at India, who stood next to the window.

She frowned, glancing around the bedroom, exclaiming, ‘Heavens, where’s my bag?’

‘Over there, on the chair. Under your dress.’

‘Oh gosh, yes, you’re right.’ As she spoke she ran to the chair, clutching the towel around her body; with her other hand she grabbed the bag, groped inside for the ringing mobile phone, turned it on, held it to her ear. ‘Hello?’

‘India?’

‘Hi Linnet.’

‘Where are you? At the Leeds store already?’

‘No. I stopped in for a few minutes, then went to … lunch.’

Dusty grinned at her from the other side of the room and began to laugh.

She glared at him and silently mouthed, ‘Be quiet.’

Linnet said, ‘India, there’s a problem. Adele’s disappeared. Several hours ago, and Tessa’s frantic.’

‘Oh my God!’ Alarm registered in India’s eyes and she sat down heavily in the chair, concentrating on the phone call.

‘She could be lost in the grounds, might have just wandered off,’ Linnet went on, ‘but somehow I doubt that. Personally, I think Mark Longden snatched her, and so does Tessa.’

‘Yes, I agree. But surely he wouldn’t hurt her –’

‘True,’ Linnet interrupted, ‘but things sometimes do go wrong, so we’ve got to find her before anything untoward does happen. I’ve brought Jack Figg in to help, and there’s a search party looking for her at Pennistone Royal. I should be there myself in half an hour.’

‘Perhaps I’d better come too.’

‘You might as well finish lunch, India. There’s not a lot you can do except be there for Tessa. Obviously, she’s very upset.’

‘I can well imagine.’ There was a slight hesitation on India’s part, and then she asked worriedly, ‘You don’t think Jonathan Ainsley has anything to do with this, do you?’

‘I sincerely hope not, but if he does it really changes the picture.’

‘Yes, you’re right. But what do you –’

‘Let’s not go there, India. At least not yet. I’ll see you later.’

‘I’ll leave shortly.’ India clicked off the phone and put it back in her bag. Her face was paler than ever, her eyes anxious.

‘What’s happened?’ Dusty asked, sitting up straighter in the bed, looking at her alertly. ‘You sounded frightened. No, not frightened, you’re not frightened of anything, are you? Concerned is possibly a better word. Or alarmed.’

India stared back at him, nodding. ‘I am a bit alarmed, yes. Adele, Tessa’s little girl, has vanished and Linnet says it could be Mark Longden’s doing.’

‘That’s bad. What do you think?’

‘I tend to agree. Mark’s not very nice, and it’s more than likely he took her.’

‘She’s not lost somewhere on that vast estate perhaps?’

‘It’s possible, I suppose. But I think she would’ve been found by now. She’s still a toddler. How far could she get? Linnet says it’s several hours since she went missing, and there’s a search party out.’

‘Why would he take her? Stupid question, Rhodes,’ he answered himself, shaking his head. ‘As a weapon in the divorce … he’s using her against your cousin, using her in order to manipulate Tessa.’ He ran a hand through his black wavy hair and a look of contempt crossed his face. ‘People. What shits they are, how they disgust me. He’s a real bastard if he’s using his child in that way.’

India sighed, stood up, reached for her clothes.

‘You can be there in less than an hour, so come back to bed.’ Dusty’s voice was lower, suddenly tender, and he smiled at her seductively. She noticed yet again how white his teeth were against the tan of his face. ‘Come back to bed with me, let’s do it all again,’ he insisted.

India shook her head. ‘I do think I have to go, Dusty,’ she answered, but regret registered on her face.

He could not fail to miss that expression, knew at once that she wanted to stay. He saw the desire in her eyes, the look of yearning. He threw back the sheets and got out of bed, walked towards her purposefully, still smiling that beguiling smile of his.

India thought his blue eyes looked suddenly dangerous, almost predatory. Her stomach lurched and she felt weak; he always managed to make her feel this way at some point or other when they were together … shaking inside … swooning … trembling. She was always his willing partner in anything he wanted to do with her … sexually aroused by a mere glance from him, the touch of his hand.

As he drew close she thought how impossibly good-looking he was, almost absurdly handsome. It was as if a sculptor had spent endless hours shaping most of his face: straight, patrician nose, broad forehead, high cheekbones, perfectly rounded chin. And elegantly arched brows above those dazzlingly-blue eyes that became soulful with passion, could turn icy cold in anger. He did not have one of those pretty-boy, matinée-idol faces; it was ruggedly handsome, with sharp angles and planes, as if the sculptor had suddenly wanted to finish quickly and had become slapdash.

His face matched his body. He had a solid torso – broad chest, wide shoulders above slender hips. About five feet eleven, he gave the impression of greater height and strength because of his powerful build. From the moment she had met him she had been aware of his potency and masculinity. No other man had ever affected her the way he did.

Now he was standing in front of her, the smile still lingering on his mouth. He pulled her into his arms and held her close to his body; the towel and her clothes fell from her hands onto the floor in a heap, and her arms went around his shoulders. And as he bent his head towards her his mouth found hers. He kissed her deeply, passionately, and she felt his erection against her thigh, and for a moment she thought she would succumb, become an all-too-willing partner in his bed for a second time that day. And she clung to him, dissolving.

But then the brainwashing of years kicked in and she remembered the Harte rules and she knew she had to go to Pennistone Royal. Whatever her physical desires and needs were, no matter how much she wanted this man, her upbringing overrode everything else. A Harte was in trouble, and every other Harte must stand alongside, to defend their rights.

When they finally stopped their kisses, India gently pushed Dusty away, her hands resting on his chest. For a moment he resisted, and then quite suddenly he stepped back with an abrupt movement, looked into her face, his own questioning.

‘You know the rules,’ she murmured. ‘I told you about them ages ago.’

‘A Harte always goes to the aid of a Harte in trouble!’ he exclaimed. ‘You don’t have to embellish. I got it then, I get it now.’

‘Please don’t be angry.’

‘I’m not,’ he snapped, turning away, walking over to the window, where he stood looking out, his stance rigid, his face a mask of discontent.

Without another word she collected her clothes, went into the bathroom, tidied herself up, slipped into her bra and panties, pulled a black linen dress over her head, then slid her feet into high-heeled, black leather mules.

When she returned to the bedroom he was still standing at the window looking out, but he had quickly dressed, was wearing his jeans and a white t-shirt.

At the sound of her heels clicking on the parquet floor he swung to face her. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, and for once he looked shame-faced.

India walked over to him, touched his cheek gently. ‘I want to stay, to be with you, you know that, and you also know how I feel about you. This sense of duty to the family is something I can’t help.’ She shrugged and finished, ‘I suppose it’s just … ingrained in me.’

He caught her hand in his, brought it to his mouth, kissed it. ‘I know. And I’m a belligerent sod at times.’ He laughed his deep-throated laugh. ‘Most of the time, wouldn’t you say? Okay, I’ll let you go.’ He led her towards the door. ‘On one condition.’

She caught the lightness in his tone, saw the sudden mischievous laughter in those amazing eyes. ‘I agree to any condition,’ she said, ‘as long as it’s a condition involving you.’

‘You’ll regret saying that when you know what it is.’ He hurried her out of the bedroom and down the grand staircase.

‘Will I really?’ she asked, her expression suddenly flirtatious. ‘So, tell me what it is, then.’

‘You have to sit for me.’ He stopped on the stairs, turned to look at her.

India gaped at him, her jaw dropping. ‘You want me to sit for you? You want to paint me? Me?’ She was flabbergasted.

He saw that he had startled her, and realized that her amazement was genuine, and for a moment or two he was baffled by this. They had paused in the middle of the staircase, were standing just underneath the domed glass ceiling. Light was streaming in, turning her hair into a silver halo and her silvery-grey eyes seemed to be lit from within. In contrast, her face was sensual, her mouth ripe and bruised. He caught his breath, wishing he could start painting right away. His fingers tingled.

She said quickly, ‘You’re staring at me, and you have the most peculiar look on your face.’ Her hand came up to smooth her hair; suddenly, she felt ungroomed, self-conscious about her appearance. ‘I know I look a mess.’

He took her face between his hands and gazed deeply into her beautiful, transparent eyes. ‘I wish I could start painting you right now, capture you the way you look at this moment. So vulnerable and open, the sensuality still lingering. You look like a woman who has just been well and truly bedded.’

‘I was.’

‘You’ll do it then? You’ll sit for me?’

‘If you really want me to, Dusty.’

He smiled and reached out, took hold of her fingers, and they went on down the stairs hand in hand. When they got to the bottom Dusty paused, gave her a long, thoughtful look. ‘How will you explain it?’

India frowned in puzzlement, returned his steady gaze with one that was slightly surprised. ‘I’m not with you.’

‘How will you explain the painting to your father?’

‘I don’t know what you mean, Dusty.’

He peered at her more closely, wondering if she was being dense or perhaps even kidding him. And then he suddenly understood she was neither. Very simply, she just didn’t get it. He shook his head and began to laugh softly. After a moment, he explained, ‘Every one of my paintings is exhibited, even the portraits for private clients, and they are always photographed. Your father is bound to see photos of the picture I paint of you when they appear in the newspapers and magazines. He’ll know I’ve been screwing you.’

She winced inside; sometimes his bluntness took her breath away, but she gave him a sweet smile and answered, ‘Don’t be so ridiculous, he won’t know any such thing.’

‘He will, because the painting I intend to paint of you will be very sensual – the way you look now. It won’t leave much to the imagination.’

‘Oh Daddy won’t care, he’s … a man of the world.’

‘He’s also the Earl of Dunvale, and believe me he’ll care. He won’t want the world to know I’m … you know … having it off with his daughter. Me? The notorious, rabble-rousing working-class lad from the back streets of Leeds. Not ’alf he won’t.’

‘Now you are being silly. You’re the greatest painter in the world today. Everyone knows that. Anyway, I actually don’t care what my father or anyone else thinks. I’m twenty-seven and I can do anything I want. And I want to be painted by you, in fact I’m flattered that you asked.’

‘It’s a deal?’

‘Of course.’ She thrust out her hand. ‘Let’s shake.’

His boisterous laughter filled the air as he shook her hand, then he pulled her into his arms and embraced her. Against her hair he said, ‘There’s another condition. Before I paint you we’ll have to be together, if you get my drift. You do understand that, Lady India?’

‘Absolutely, Mr Rhodes. I’m in total agreement.’

He put his arm around her shoulder. ‘Come on, I’ll walk you to your car,’ he murmured and turned the handle of the French windows. They opened up onto the terrace of the south façade of the house, which was very beautiful; there was a portico supported by four soaring columns, and the wide terrace stretched the length of the house and around the two end wings.

The heat of the August afternoon hit them as they stepped outside, and Dusty said, ‘It’s muggy, and it looks like rain.’ He glanced up. ‘Thunderclouds, India, but you’ll get to Pennistone Royal before the rain starts.’

‘I hope so,’ she murmured, also glancing up, and instantly thinking of the search party out on the estate in rainy weather. But hopefully Adele had been found, or returned, by now. Involuntarily, she shivered when she thought of the missing child.

Dusty noticed and took hold of her arm as they walked along the terrace, heading for the courtyard. After a short silence, he said, ‘Maybe I should go with you. You’re just three women out there and –’

‘Four with Evan,’ India cut in.

‘All right, four women. But you might need a bloke around. A bloke like me, who knows what’s what. Mark Longden could show up making demands, you know. From what you’ve told me he’s nasty.’

‘Yes, he is, but we’ll be all right, please don’t worry. There’s Wiggs, the head gardener, and Joe, who runs the estate.’

‘And then there’s that other rule, isn’t there, India? No outsiders allowed.’

India eyed him through the corner of her eye, trying to ascertain his mood. He had sounded slightly annoyed; spotting the hint of mischief in his eyes, she laughed. ‘Well, I will say this, you do learn fast, Mr Rhodes.’

‘So do you, Lady India,’ he shot back. ‘How long do you intend to stay up here?’

‘I’d planned to stay for a week before this happened. But who knows, I could be here longer now, if I’m out at the house and not at the store in Leeds. I’ve a lot of work there, and I’ll have to stay until it’s finished.’

‘When can I start the painting?’

‘Tomorrow. Hopefully. It all depends.’

He picked up on the concern in her voice, and said quietly, ‘I’m sure Adele will show up, India, I really mean that. And certainly I hope so.’

‘Thanks, Dusty …’ Her voice trailed off and she searched in her bag for the car keys, found them and headed towards her car parked next to the barns.

‘I do envy you this,’ Dusty said when he drew to a standstill, patting the bonnet. ‘An Aston Martin DB2-4, a piece of vintage mechanical art if ever there was one.’

She smiled up at him. ‘Wasn’t it nice of Daddy to part with his favourite wheels?’ She kissed him on the cheek. ‘But then I am his favourite, you know,’ she added, getting into the car.

‘Don’t rub it in,’ Dusty responded, his laughter rising. ‘Give me a shout later.’

‘I will.’ After blowing him a kiss through the open window she turned on the ignition.

Once the Aston Martin had disappeared from sight, Dusty turned on his heels and crossed the cobbled yard, went down to the ornamental lake. He stood looking into its depths, taking pleasure at what he was seeing – a perfect reflection of the Georgian house on the hill, a mirror image clearly visible in that placid body of water as smooth as glass. How clever they were, those architects of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, he thought, nodding to himself. Whenever the topography allowed, they set the house on a hill and created a man-made lake at the bottom so that the house was reflected in all its glory. A double image. Very impressive indeed.

Dusty had studied architecture for a time, and he was particularly interested in the designs of Andrea Palladio. He considered it part of his training as an artist. And he had always thought that a Palladian villa set in a verdant English park was a very beautiful sight. He saw it as the perfect marriage of a building with nature. Dusty loved the classicism of the designs, because he loved all things classical, and of the Renaissance. William Kent, a follower of Inigo Jones, the great seventeenth-century architect, had designed and built his house, Willows Hall, over two hundred and seventy-five years ago, and it was pure Palladian. Dusty had fallen in love with it the first time he had seen it, although he had become concerned when he began to understand how neglected it truly was. The surveyors he had brought in had told him it was mostly surface damage, and that everything could be restored to its original state with some good repair work by master craftsmen.

He began to walk towards the house now, climbing up the grassy hill, and his thoughts automatically swung to India Standish. If anyone looked as if she belonged in this house it was she; after all, she had grown up in a very similar place – Clonloughlin in Ireland, a renowned Georgian house of impressive proportions and great beauty. And so of course she was at ease with the grand overtones of Willows Hall. He knew he looked right in it, too, even though he had been brought up in a back-to-back, a far cry from this place indeed.

Dusty had lavished a great deal of time, effort, care, love and money on Willows Hall over the past eight and a half years, and in doing so he had made it his own; he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

When he reached the top of the hill he stood gazing at the south front façade for a moment, and he couldn’t help admiring the way the pale stone gleamed in the afternoon sunlight; it looked as if it had been polished. It was perfectly beautiful.

As he lifted his eyes to the sky Dusty was happy to see that the thunderclouds had blown away; it wasn’t going to rain after all. Turning, he walked down the length of the terrace, making for his studio. This stood a little away from the house on the left, and it was of his own design. From the outside it looked like a guest villa, echoing the main house since it was in the Palladian style.

When Dusty went inside he stood blinking for a moment. The studio was one vast, open space with a high-flung ceiling that seemed to soar endlessly upward, with many windows on both sides. There were a series of skylights set in the ceiling, and the whole area was filled with intense glittering northern light. Still blinking, he touched several buttons and electric window shades slid into place over the windows, dimming the daylight, cooling the room.

Moving lithely, he crossed to a drawing board, picked up a charcoal crayon and quickly made a series of dramatic and vivid sketches of India’s face. Suddenly, he stopped, threw the crayon down and stepping away from the drawing board, went and lowered himself into an armchair.

Why was he painting her? The idea was ridiculous. It was really asking for trouble. In every way. Trouble for her. Trouble for him. Her father wouldn’t like her association with him; whatever she believed, he knew he was right. They came from entirely different worlds. She was an aristocrat from very high altitudes; he was a working-class boy. Yes, he was famous. Very famous, in fact. And rich. All because of his talent, and doing something he couldn’t live without doing. Painting. But as far as he was concerned, the Earl of Dunvale wouldn’t care about those things. Other considerations mattered to a man like her father. Propriety and background, and stupid things like where he had gone to school, and what his father did, and whether he had a posh accent.

No, it wasn’t fair to her, or to himself, actually, since he had no intention of becoming serious with India. He was wasting his valuable time with her, when he could be painting, and he was setting her up to get hurt when he said goodbye. Yes, she was trouble. For a variety of reasons.

The red phone on the counter top began to ring. He looked across at it balefully, reluctant to answer it. But it didn’t stop after six rings, so he got up in exasperation and strode over to the counter, snatched at the receiver.

‘Hello?’

‘Russell?’

‘Hello Melinda.’

‘How did you know it was me?’

‘Recognized your voice.’

‘I want out of this place, Russell,’ she wailed. ‘Get Dr Jeffers to release me.’

‘You know I can’t. You’ve got to stay there until he thinks you’re properly de-toxed. Then he’ll sign your release. I don’t have anything to do with it, you know that.’

‘Russell, please ask him.’

‘You know very well he won’t listen.’

‘Please don’t punish me this way.’

‘I’m not doing that, Melinda. You signed yourself into the clinic.’

‘I’ll tell Atlanta what you’re doing to me.’

‘I’m not doing anything. Anyway, she’s too young to understand.’

‘Is she all right?’

‘Yes, she’s wonderful. I spoke to your mother yesterday and she said she’s as happy as a lark. Look, Melinda, I’ve got to go. I’m working.’

‘Will you talk to the doctor? Please.’

‘Yes, I will. I’ll give him a ring tomorrow. Now rest quietly, and get well. ’Bye.’ He hung up and stared at the phone. Now that was trouble if anything was. And then some.

He groaned. What was he going to do about Melinda and his child? He dreaded the thought of someone finding out about them. And yet he knew it would leak out some time soon … he was far too famous for it not to … He let this disturbing thought go, unable, suddenly, to cope with it.

Unexpectedly, his thoughts veered to Tessa Longden and her predicament about Adele. He fully understood how she felt, the agony of mind she was going through. After all, he had a three-year-old of his own, and he could well imagine how beside himself he would be in the same circumstances.

India drove along the motorway at a steady pace; she was soon leaving Harrogate behind and heading towards the village of Pennistone Royal. The sky had changed, the thunderclouds had drifted out to the North Sea and it was a lovely pale blue again. She was relieved. There would be nothing worse than tramping over sodden fields and meadows looking for a lost child.

Was she lost on the estate? No. Mark Longden had taken her out of spite. As a bargaining chip, as Dusty had suggested. Dusty. He was such a difficult man in so many ways, and so full of contradictions. He was loaded with baggage, most of it about his background and their class differences, all of which she found silly. He wouldn’t listen to her. But no matter, she had fallen in love with him the night she had first met him, and nothing was going to change that. He was the only man she wanted, the only man for her, and she was determined to get him. Permanently. Long term. Marriage. That was her goal. It wasn’t going to be easy, she was fully aware of all the problems.

Dusty was extremely independent, loathed being pinned down. Nor did he like to make commitments. That was obviously why he had never married or had a long-term relationship. ‘Love ’em and leave ’em, that’s always been my motto,’ he had said to her when they first met several months ago, as if warning her. And then he had begun to laugh uproariously, seemingly highly amused by his own attitude.