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Cassie knew that she was talking too much, but the prospect of the long journey in Jake’s company was making her stupidly jittery. She had been fine until he’d appeared. Joss had given her unqualified approval to the plan, and Cassie had been enjoying dizzying fantasies about her new career in project management.
It had been a strange experience, seeing Jake again, and she’d been left disorientated by the way he looked familiar but behaved like a total stranger. In some ways, that made it easier to dissassociate him from the Jake she had known in the past. This Jake was less menacing than the old one, for sure. The surliness and resentment had been replaced by steely control, but it was somehow just as intimidating.
But at least she had the possibility of a job, Cassie reminded herself sternly as she got into the car. She had to concentrate on that, and not on the unnerving prospect of being shut up in a car with Jake Trevelyan. He had come straight from his office and was still wearing his suit, but, having slammed the boot shut, he took off his jacket, loosened his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves before getting back into the driver’s seat.
‘Right,’ he said briskly, switching on the ignition. ‘Let’s go.’
It was a big, luxuriously comfortable car with swish leather seats, but Cassie felt cramped and uneasy as she pulled on the seatbelt. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Jake wasn’t just there, only inches away, filling the whole car with his dark, forceful presence, using up all the available oxygen so that she had to open the window to drag in a breath.
‘There’s air conditioning,’ said Jake, using the electric controls on his side to close it again.
Air conditioning. Right. So how come it was so hard to breathe?
‘I was half-expecting you to turn up on a motorbike,’ she said chattily, to conceal her nervousness.
‘It’s just as well I didn’t, with all those bags you’ve brought along with you.’ Jake checked his mirror, indicated and pulled out into the traffic.
‘I always fancied the idea of riding pillion,’ said Cassie.
‘I don’t think you’d fancy it all the way down to Cornwall,’ Jake said, dampening her. ‘You’ll be much more comfortable in a car.’
Under normal circumstances, maybe, but Cassie couldn’t imagine anything less comfortable than being shut up with him in a confined space for seven hours. They had barely left Fulham, but the car seemed to have shrunk already, and she was desperately aware of Jake beside her. Her eyes kept snagging on his hands, strong and competent on the steering wheel, and she would find herself remembering how they had felt on her arms as he had yanked her towards him.
Turning her head to remove them from her vision, Cassie found herself looking awkwardly out of the side window, but that was hard on her neck. Before she knew it, her eyes were skittering back to Jake’s side of the car, to the line of his cheek, the corner of his mouth and the faint prickle of stubble under his jaw where he had wrenched impatiently at his tie to loosen it.
She could see the pulse beating steadily in his throat, and for one bizarre moment let herself imagine what it would be like to lean across and press her lips to it. Then she imagined Jake jerking away in horror and losing control of the car, which would crash into that newsagent’s, and then the police would come and she would have to make a statement: I’m sorry, officer, I was just overcome by an uncontrollable urge to kiss Jake Trevelyan.
It would be in all the papers, and in no time at all the news would reach the Portrevick Arms, where they would all snigger. Village memories were long. No one would have forgotten what a fool she had made of herself over Rupert, and they would shake their heads and tell each other that Cassandra Grey never had been able to keep her hands off a man…
Cassie’s heart was thumping just at the thought of it, and she jerked her head back to the side, ignoring the protest of her neck muscles.
Comfortable? Hah!
‘Besides,’ Jake went on as Cassie offered up thanks that he hadn’t spent the last ten years learning to read minds, ‘I haven’t got a motorbike any more. I’ve left my biking days behind me.’
It would have been impossible to imagine Jake without that mean-looking bike years ago in Portrevick.
‘You’ve changed,’ said Cassie.
‘I sincerely hope so,’ said Jake.
Why couldn’t she have changed that much? Cassie wondered enviously. If she had, she could be svelte and sophisticated, with a successful career behind her, instead of muddling along feeling most of the time much as she had at seventeen. She might look different, but deep down she felt just the same as she had done then. How had Jake done it?
‘What have you been doing for the past ten years?’ she asked him curiously.
‘I’ve been in the States for most of them. I got myself a degree, and then did an MBA at Harvard.’
‘Really?’ said Cassie, impressed. In all the years she had wondered where Jake Trevelyan was and what he was doing, she had never considered that he might be at university. She had imagined him surfing, perhaps, or running a bar on some beach somewhere, or possibly making shady deals astride his motorbike—but Harvard? Even her father would be impressed by that.
‘I had no idea,’ she said.
Jake shrugged. ‘I was lucky. I went to work for a smallish firm in Seattle, just as it was poised for expansion. It was an exciting time, and it gave me a lot of valuable experience. That company was at the forefront of digital technology, and Primordia is in the same field, which put me in a good position when they were looking for a new Chief Executive, although it took some negotiation to get me back to London.’
‘Didn’t you want to come back?’
‘Not particularly. But they made me an offer even I couldn’t refuse.’
‘You were head-hunted?’ said Cassie, trying to imagine a company going out of its way to recruit her. Cassandra Grey’s just the person we want for this job, they would say. How can we tempt her?
Nope, she couldn’t do it.
Jake obviously took the whole business for granted. ‘That’s how it works.’ He pulled up at a red light and glanced at Cassie. ‘What about you? How long have you been with Avalon?’
‘Just since the beginning of the year. Before that I was a receptionist,’ she said. ‘I did a couple of stints in retail, a bit of temping, a bit of waitressing…’
She sighed. ‘Not a very impressive career, as my father is always pointing out. I’m a huge disappointment to my parents. The others have all done really well. They all went to Cambridge. Liz is a doctor, Tom’s an architect and even Jack is a lawyer now. They’re all grown-ups, and I’m just the family problem.’
Cassie had intended the words to sound humorous, but was uneasily aware they had come out rather flat. Rather as if she didn’t think it was such a funny joke after all. ‘They’re always ringing each other up and wondering what to do about Cassie.’
But that was all going to change, she reminded herself. This could be the start of a whole new career. She was going to turn Portrevick Hall into a model venue. Celebrities would be queuing up to get married there. After a year or two, they wouldn’t even have to advertise. Just mentioning that a wedding would be at Portrevick Hall would mean that it would be the last word in style and elegance.
Cassandra Grey? they would say. Isn’t she the one who made Portrevick Hall a byword for chic and exclusive? She would get tired of calls from the head-hunters. Not again, she would sigh. When are you people going to get the message that I don’t want to commit to one job? Because, of course, by then she would be a consultant. She had always fancied the thought of being one of those.
Cassie settled herself more comfortably in her seat, liking the way this fantasy was going. All those smart hotels in London would be constantly ringing her up and begging her to come and sort out their events facilities—and probably not just in London, now she came to think of it. She would have an international reputation.
Yes, she’d get tired of jetting off to New York and Dubai and Sydney. Cassie smiled to herself. Liz, Tom and Jack would still be ringing each other up, but instead of worrying about her they would be complaining about how humdrum their sensible careers seemed in comparison with her glamorous life. I’m sick of Cassie telling me she’d really just like a few days at home doing nothing, Liz would grumble.
‘And what’s Cassie going to do about herself?’ asked Jake, breaking rudely into her dream.
‘I’m going to do what I’m doing,’ she told him firmly. ‘I love working for Joss at Avalon. It’s the best job I’ve ever had, and I’ll do anything to keep it.’
Even pretending to understand about project management, she added mentally.
‘What does a wedding planner do all day?’
‘It could be anything,’ she said. ‘I might book string quartets, or find exactly the right shade of ribbon, or source an unusual cake-topper. I love the variety. I can be helping a bride to choose her dress one minute, and sorting out accommodation for the wedding party the next. And then, of course, I get to go to all the weddings.’
Jake made a face. He couldn’t think of anything worse. ‘It sounds hellish,’ he said frankly. ‘Don’t you get bored?’
‘Never,’ said Cassie. ‘I love weddings. I cry every time—I do!’ she insisted when he looked at her in disbelief.
‘Why? These people are clients, not friends.’
‘They feel like friends by the time we’ve spent months together planning the wedding,’ she retorted. ‘But it doesn’t matter whether I know the bride and groom or not. I always want to cry when I walk past Chelsea register office and see people on the steps after they’ve got married. I love seeing everyone so happy. A wedding is such a hopeful occasion.’
‘In spite of all the evidence to the contrary,’ said Jake astringently. ‘How many of those weddings you’re snivelling at this year will end in divorce by the end of the next? Talk about the triumph of hope over experience!’
‘But that’s exactly why weddings are so moving,’ said Cassie. ‘They’re about people choosing to love each other. Lots of people get married more than once. They know how difficult marriage can be, but they still want to make that commitment. I think it’s wonderful,’ she added defiantly. ‘What have you got against marriage, anyway?’
‘I’ve got nothing against marriage,’ said Jake. ‘It’s all the expense and fuss of weddings that I find pointless. It seems to me that marriage is a serious business, and you should approach it in a serious way, not muddle it all up with big dresses, flowers, cakes and whatever else goes on at weddings these days.’
‘Weddings are meant to be a celebration,’ she reminded him. ‘What do you want the bride and groom to do instead—sit down and complete a checklist?’
‘At least then they would know they were compatible.’
Cassie rolled her eyes. ‘So what would be on your checklist?’
‘I’d want to know that the woman I was marrying was intelligent, and sensible…and confident,’ Jake decided. ‘More importantly, I’d need to be sure that we shared the same goals, that we both had the same attitude to success in our careers…and sex, of course…and to little things like tidiness that can put the kybosh on a relationship quicker than anything else.’
‘You don’t ask for much, do you?’ said Cassie tartly, reflecting that she wouldn’t get many ticks on Jake’s checklist. In fact, if he had set out to describe her exact opposite, he could hardly have done a better job. ‘Clever, confident, successful and tidy. Where are you going to find a paragon like that?’
‘I already have,’ said Jake.
Oh.
‘Oh,’ said Cassie, unaccountably put out. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Natasha. We’ve been together six months.’
‘So why haven’t you married her if she’s so perfect?’ Try as she might, Cassie couldn’t keep the snippiness from her voice.
‘We just haven’t got round to talking about it,’ said Jake. ‘I think it would be a good move, though. It makes sense.’
‘Makes sense?’ echoed Cassie in disbelief. ‘You should get married because you’re in love, not because it makes sense!’
‘In my book, committing yourself to someone for life because you’re in love is what doesn’t make sense,’ he retorted.
Crikey, whatever happened to romance? Cassie shook her head. ‘Well, if you ever decide that doing a checklist together isn’t quite enough, remember that Avalon can help you plan your wedding.’
‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ he said. ‘I imagine Natasha would like a wedding of some kind, but she’s a very successful solicitor, so she wouldn’t have the time to organise much herself.’
Of course, Natasha would be a successful solicitor, Cassie thought, having taken a dislike to his perfect girlfriend without ever having met her. She was tempted to say that Natasha would no doubt be too busy being marvellous to have time to bother with anything as inconsequential as a wedding, but remembered in time that Avalon’s business relied on brides being too busy to do everything themselves.
Besides, it might sound as if she was jealous of Natasha.
Which was nonsense, of course.
‘I certainly wouldn’t know where to start,’ Jake went on. ‘Weddings are unfamiliar territory to me.’
‘You must have been to loads of weddings, mustn’t you?’
‘Very few,’ he said. ‘In fact, only a couple. I lived in the States until last year, so I missed out on various family weddings.’
‘I don’t know how you managed to avoid them,’ said Cassie. ‘All my friends seem have got married in the last year or so. There was a time when it felt as if I was going to a wedding every other weekend, and that was just people I knew! It was as if it was catching. Suddenly everyone was married.’
‘Everyone except you?’
‘That’s what it feels like, anyway,’ she said with little sigh.
‘Why not you? You’re obviously not averse to the idea of getting married.’
‘I just haven’t found the right guy, I suppose.’ Cassie sighed again. ‘I’ve had boyfriends, of course, but none of them have had that special something.’
Jake slanted a sardonic glance at her. ‘Don’t tell me you’re still holding out for Rupert Branscombe Fox?’
‘Of course not,’ she said, flushing with embarrassment at the memory of the massive crush she had had on Rupert.
Not that she could really blame herself. What seventeen-year-old girl could be expected to resist that lethal combination of good looks and glamour? And Rupert could be extraordinarily charming when he wanted to be. He wasn’t so charming when he didn’t, of course, as Cassie had discovered even before Jake had kissed her.
Whoops; she didn’t want to be thinking about that kiss, did she?
Too late.
Cassie tried the looking-out-of-the window thing again, but London was a blur, and she was back outside the Hall again, being yanked against Jake again. She could smell the leather of his jacket, feel the hardness of his body and the unforgiving steel of the motorbike.
In spite of Cassie’s increasingly desperate efforts to keep her eyes on the interminable houses lining the road, they kept sliding round to Jake’s profile. The traffic was heavy and he was concentrating on driving, so she gave in and let them skitter over the angular planes of his face to the corner of his mouth, at which point her heart started thumping and thudding alarmingly.
It was ten years later. Jake had changed completely. The leather jacket had gone, the bike had gone.
But that mouth was still exactly the same.
That mouth…She knew what it felt like. She knew how it tasted. She knew just how warm and sure those firm lips could be. Jake was an austere stranger beside her now, but she had kissed him. The memory was so vivid and so disorientating that Cassie felt quite giddy for a moment.
She swallowed. ‘I had a major crush on Rupert, but it was just a teenage thing. Remember what a gawk I was?’ she said, removing her gaze firmly back to the road. ‘I have this fantasy that if I bumped into Rupert now he wouldn’t recognise me.’
‘I recognised you,’ Jake pointed out unhelpfully.
‘Yes, well, that’s the thing about fantasies,’ Cassie retorted in a tart voice. ‘They’re not real. I’m never likely to meet Rupert again. He lives in a different world, and the closest I get to him is seeing his picture in a celebrity magazine with some incredibly beautiful woman on his arm. Even if by some remote chance I did meet him I know he wouldn’t even notice me, let along recognise me.’
‘Why not?’
‘Oh, I’m much too ordinary for the likes of Rupert,’ said Cassie with a sigh. ‘You were right about that, anyway.’
Jake looked taken aback. ‘When did I ever say you were ordinary?’
‘You know when.’ She flashed him an accusing glance. ‘After the Allentide Ball.’ After you kissed me. ‘Before you punched Rupert on the nose. I gather you took it upon yourself to tell Rupert I wasn’t nearly sophisticated enough for him.’
It still rankled after all these years.
‘You weren’t,’ said Jake.
‘Then why were you fighting?’
‘Not because Rupert leapt to defend your sophistication and readiness to embark on a torrid affair, if that’s what you were thinking!’
‘He said you’d been offensive,’ said Cassie.
‘Did he?’ said Jake with a certain grimness.
It was typical of Rupert to have twisted the truth, he thought. He had been sitting at the bar, having a quiet drink, when Rupert had strolled in with his usual tame audience. Jake had found Rupert’s arrogance difficult to deal with at the best of times, and that night certainly hadn’t been one of those.
Jake often wondered how his life would have turned out if he hadn’t been in a particularly bad temper that night. The raw, piercing sweetness of Cassie’s kiss at the Allentide ball had caught him unawares, and it didn’t help that she had so patently been using him to attract Rupert’s attention. Jake had been left feeling edgy, and furious with himself for expecting that it could have been any different and caring one way or the other.
And then Rupert had been there, showing off as usual. He’d been boasting about having had the estate manager’s ungainly daughter, and making the others laugh. Jake’s hand had clenched around his glass. He might not have liked being used, but Cassie was very young. She hadn’t deserved to have her first experience of sex made the subject of pub banter.
Rupert had gone on and on, enjoying his audience, and Jake had finally had enough. He’d set down his glass very deliberately and risen to his feet to face Rupert. There had been a chorus of taunting, ‘Ooohs’ when he’d told him to leave Cassie alone, but he’d at least had the satisfaction of wiping the smirks off all their faces.
Especially Rupert’s. Jake smiled ferociously as he remembered how he had released years of pentup resentment. The moment his fist had connected with Rupert’s nose had been a sweet one, and worth being banned from the village pub for. If it hadn’t been for that fight, Rupert wouldn’t have talked about assault charges, news of the fight wouldn’t have reached Sir Ian’s ears, and he wouldn’t be where he was now.
Oh yes; it had definitely been worth it.
CHAPTER THREE
‘IT’S my word against Rupert’s, I suppose, but I can tell you, I was never offensive about you,’ he said to Cassie. ‘And being ordinary isn’t the same thing as not being sophisticated. Believe me, you’ve never struck me as ordinary!’
‘But I am,’ said Cassie glumly. ‘Or I am compared to Rupert, anyway. He’s just so glamorous. Even you’d have to admit that.’
Jake’s snort suggested he wasn’t prepared to admit anything of the kind.
Of course, he’d never had any time for Rupert. Cassie supposed she could understand it. Rupert might be handsome, but even at the height of her crush she had recognised that arrogance in him as well. At the time, she had thought that it just added to his air of glamour.
The truth was that she still had a soft spot for Rupert, so good-looking and so badly behaved. In another age, he would have been a rake, ravishing women left, right and centre. Cassie could just see him in breeches and ruffles, smiling that irresistible smile, and breaking hearts without a flicker of shame.
Not the kind of man you would want to marry, perhaps, but very attractive all the same.
Cassie sighed a little wistfully. ‘Rupert could be very charming,’ she tried to explain, not that Jake was likely to be convinced.
They had barely got going on the motorway, and already overhead gantries were flashing messages about queues ahead. Muttering in frustration, he eased his foot up from the accelerator.
‘What’s so charming about squandering an inheritance from your parents and then sponging off your uncle?’ he demanded irritably. ‘Sir Ian got tired of bailing him out in the end, but he did what he could to encourage Rupert to settle down. He left his fortune to Rupert in trust until he’s forty, in the hope that by then he’ll have come to his senses.’
‘Forty?’ Cassie gasped. Rupert was only in his early thirties, like Jake, and eight years would be an eternity to wait when you had a lifestyle like Rupert’s. ‘That’s awful,’ she said without thinking. ‘What’s he going to do?’
‘He could always try getting a job like the rest of us,’ said Jake astringently ‘Or, if he really can’t bring himself to do anything as sordid as earning his own living, he can always get married. Sir Ian specified that the trust money could be released if Rupert gets married and settles down. He can’t just marry anyone to get his hands on the money, though. He’ll have to convince me as trustee that it’s a real marriage and his wife a sensible woman before I’ll release the funds.’
‘Gosh, Rupert must have been livid when he found out!’
‘He wasn’t too happy,’ Jake agreed with masterly understatement. ‘He tried to contest the will, and when he didn’t get anywhere with that he suggested we try and discuss things in a “civilised” way—which I gather meant me ignoring Sir Ian’s wishes and handing the estate over to him to do with as he pleased.
‘I was prepared to be civilised, of course. I invited him round for a drink, and it was just like old times,’ he went on ironically. ‘Rupert was arrogant and patronising, and I wanted to break his nose again!’
‘You didn’t!’
‘No,’ admitted Jake. ‘But I don’t know what would have happened if Natasha hadn’t been there.’
‘What did she make of Rupert?’
‘She thought he was shallow.’
‘I bet she thought he was gorgeous too,’ said Cassie with a provocative look, and Jake pokered up and looked down his nose.
‘Natasha is much too sensible to judge people on their appearances,’ he said stiffly.
Of course she was. Cassie rolled her eyes as they overtook a van that was hogging the middle lane, startling the driver, who gave a grimace that was well out of Jake’s field of vision. The van moved smartly into the slow lane.
‘So how come she got involved with you if she’s so sensible?’ she asked, forgetting for a moment that Jake was an important client.
‘We get on very well,’ said Jake austerely.
‘What does getting on very well mean, exactly?’
Ahead, there was a flurry of red lights as cars braked, and Jake moved smoothly into the middle lane. ‘It means we’re very compatible,’ he said.
And they were. Natasha was everything he admired in a woman. She was very attractive—beautiful, in fact—and clear-thinking. She didn’t constantly demand emotional reassurance the way his previous girlfriends had. She was focused on her own career, and understood if he had to work late, as he often did. She never made a fuss.
And she was classy. That was a large part of her appeal, Jake was prepared to admit. Years ago in Portrevick, Natasha wouldn’t have looked at him twice, but when he walked into a party with her on his arm now he knew that he had arrived. She was everything Jake had never known when he was growing up. She had the assurance that came from a life of wealth and privilege, and every time Jake looked at her she reassured him that he had left Portrevick and the past behind him at last.