A Real Engagement

About the Author Title Page PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN Copyright

Josie gritted her teeth

“I suppose I may be allowed to own a house at twenty-three?”

“Certainly. But not the house next door. And in case you’re going to say why not, it’s because I shall own it myself in a few days. I plan to restore the villa to its former glory, to take down the dividing walls and replan the rooms.”

“Really?”. Josie raised delicate eyebrows. Leon was so confident, so disgustingly sure of himself that it would be a pleasure to take him down a peg or two. But she mustn’t rush it.

Marjorie Lewty was born in Cheshire, England, and grew up between there and the Isle of Man. She moved to Liverpool and married there. Now widowed, she has a son who is an artist, and a married daughter. She has always been drawn to writing and started with magazine short stories, then serials and finally book-length romances, which are the most satisfying of all. Her hobbies include knitting, music and lying in the garden thinking of plots!

www.millsandboon.co.uk

PROLOGUE

IT HAD all begun that June morning, when Charles—her father liked her to call him Charles—had phoned to invite her to lunch. ‘I’m off to New York tomorrow, Jo, and there’s a small matter of business to be settled between us before I leave.’ She had guessed that it would have something to do with her mother’s will, details of which had not been finalised yet. ‘And I’ve got some news for you,’ Charles had continued, and his voice had sounded excited, almost euphoric. ‘Twelve-thirty at Claridge’s, OK? I’ll send Baker with the Rolls to pick you up.’ He hadn’t given her time to reply.

So, at twelve-thirty that morning, Charles Dunn’s shining Rolls Royce had transported her to Claridges, and now she was standing in the lounge looking for Charles, her tall, slim figure, russet curls and greenish-hazel eyes attracting covert glances from a party of men at a nearby table.

Charles was sitting at a small table with a bottle of champagne in a bucket beside him and two glasses on the table. He stood up with his charming smile as she joined him. He was putting on weight, she noticed, but he still looked as handsome as ever, immaculate in a grey pin-stripe suit with a camellia in his buttonhole. He kissed her affectionately on the cheek. ‘Hullo, poppet. You’re looking charming. I like that green dress; it’s new, isn’t it? Sit down and join me in a celebration.’

She smiled back at him. He was her father and she loved him, in spite of the misery he had brought to her poor, sad mother.

‘What are we celebrating, exactly?’ she asked, accepting a glass of champagne.

Charles looked slightly abashed. ‘I’m getting married. ’

Josie’s brows rose. ‘For the fourth time?’

He fiddled with the stem of his glass. ‘Well, you know how it is.’

She couldn’t help laughing. ‘I know how you are. OK, then, tell me all about it.’

Charles needed no encouragement. The story halted only briefly when they moved to the dining-room for lunch. Here, waiters glided noiselessly between tables where glass and cutlery gleamed on snowy damask cloths. Josie was hungry, and prepared to enjoy the smoked salmon with a promise of duckling to follow. Charles, however, only wanted to talk about his new love.

Josie had heard the same story twice before. The only difference was that this woman was American. Her name was Gabrielle and she was half-French. Divorced, of course, and very wealthy, Josie gathered. Not that that would matter much to Charles, whose thriving property business, together with various smaller concerns, had made him a very rich man. He must be already paying out large amounts of alimony. He was an incorrigible faller-in-love, she thought, half-amused and half-angry. But at least he married the girls. She hoped this one would last.

Charles said, ‘I’ve been trying to persuade her to marry me—she’s been staying in London with friends—and when she went back to the US I thought I’d lost her. But last night she phoned me to say yes. I’m over the moon, as you can imagine,’ he ended exultantly. ‘You’ll love Gabrielle; you couldn’t help it.’

Josie thought of her mother, whose life had been ruined by this Don Juan. But you couldn’t change people. She lifted her glass to him. ‘Congratulations,’ she said. ‘I hope you’ll be very happy.’

‘Thank you, Jo, I know I will. I’ve found the right woman at last.’ Charles couldn’t keep off the subject of Gabrielle long, and the eulogy lasted all through lunch. Josie enjoyed the superbly cooked food, but she doubted if her father knew what he was eating.

But finally he seemed to remember why he had asked her to come. ‘A little matter between our two solicitors, Jo, concerning a property in the South of France I bought many years ago. I’ve always been intending to renovate it and put it on the market, but I’ve never got around to it. My agents down there have dealt with letting it out to visitors, but now I have a client who is interested in buying it “as is” and I’ve decided to sell.’

Seeing Josie begin to look a little puzzled, he went on quickly, ‘But my solicitor finds that the property is registered in your mother’s name, and so will have been transferred to you under her will. Are you with me?’

‘I think so,’ Josie said. ‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Briefly, just fix things up with your solicitor and see that the deeds are transferred to my name. I can’t think why it was put into your mother’s name, but it was bought many years ago. It was probably done to escape some tax or other. Will you do this for me?’

She nodded. ‘I’ll see Uncle Seb and ask him to clear things up.’

‘Thanks a lot, my dear. I’m tidying up various odds and ends just now. If there’s any balance due to you my solicitors will see you right.’

He finished his coffee at a gulp. ‘Are you ready, Jo? Sorry to rush you. I’ve got an appointment at three, and I’m off to New York tomorrow, and I have a lot to get through before I leave.’

When she had seen Charles off, Josie phoned Uncle Seb’s office and made an appointment to see him when he finished with his last client. That gave her time to stroll down to the big stores in Oxford Street and do some shopping. She’d planned to give herself a couple of weeks’ holiday now that she had sold the family house in St John’s Wood. She’d go to Cornwall, perhaps; Cornwall would be lovely in June—not too crowded.

She bought three sundresses, and then took a taxi to Uncle Seb’s office. ‘Uncle Seb’ was Sebastian Cross of Cross, French and Abercrombie in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. He had been her mother’s friend and solicitor for as long as Josie could remember, and was now hers. He had seen her mother through her divorce seven years ago and helped her through the bad time afterwards. Her mother had always relied on him and he had never failed to do all he could for them both.

When Josie was shown into his impressive office he greeted her affectionately and settled her into a comfortable chair opposite him at his big desk.

His shrewd grey eyes smiled at her. ‘I was going to phone to ask you to call in and have a chat about your property in France, Josie,’ he said, drawing a folder towards him.

‘My property? It isn’t mine; it’s my father’s. I’ve just had lunch with him and he asked me to have the deeds transferred into his name and let his solicitors have them.’

Sebastian frowned and drew some papers from the folder. ‘I don’t get this, Josie. Tell me exactly what he said.’

Josie had a good memory, and she recounted her father’s words accurately, adding, ‘He said if there was anything due to me his solicitors would see me right.’

Sebastian’s lip curled. ‘Very generous of him!’

Josie looked worriedly at him. She had always known that Charles and Uncle Seb didn’t get on. ‘You don’t think there’s anything wrong, do you? Charles seemed a little mixed up, but I’m sure he wouldn’t try to cheat me.’

Sebastian examined the papers before him. After a long pause he lifted his head and said, ‘Listen, Josie. I knew both your mother and your father, even before they were married, and I’m not at all mixed up about what happened. I’ve always handled your mother’s affairs, and I dealt with the transaction regarding the house in France on her behalf. Your house is one of two. The original owners had a large villa divided to make two quite separate houses. Soon after your parents were married the houses both came on the market at the same time. Your father wanted to buy them both and put them together again to make one large villa which he could sell at a good price. He bought the larger house, but there wasn’t enough in the kitty to buy both. It was early in his career and he didn’t want to approach his bank manager to ask for a larger overdraft. About that time your mother had a legacy from a godmother, and she used the money to buy the second, smaller house. I dealt with the purchase for her and the house was, of course, put into her name. It has always belonged to her. So, as you are the sole beneficiary under your mother’s will, the house belongs to you. We held the deeds at this office and they are at present away, being transferred into your name. You could, of course, sell the house to your father, but it wouldn’t be a little matter of “seeing you right”. It must be worth a good deal of money.’

Josie’s smooth brow was creased. ‘But I don’t understand. Why didn’t I know about it? Why didn’t Mother tell me?’

Sebastian sighed. ‘Your mother was no business woman. She left everything of that sort to Charles. She probably never gave the matter another thought—never even knew where the house was.’

Josie had been sitting forward, listening to all this, and now she lay back in her chair. ‘So I own a house in France! Marvellous! Where is it, Uncle Seb, and have you seen it?’

He nodded. ‘I saw the outside of it a couple of years ago when we were touring the South of France. It’s in the hills above Menton, which is a delightful town on the Côte d’Azur, about a mile from the Italian border.’

Josie clapped her hands. ‘It sounds heavenly. When can I see it?’

‘Any time,’ he told her. ‘I’ve been in touch with the agents down there, and they have had instructions to cancel any further lettings. So your house is now vacant. I gather that someone has bought the adjoining property. I hope you’ll have decent neighbours.’

‘Splendid,’ Josie said. ‘I’ll go down as soon as I can. I can’t wait to see my house.’

Sebastian frowned slightly. ‘Just a word of warning. I don’t know what sort of state you’ll find it in, after being let out all these years.’

‘I don’t care,’ Josie told him gaily. ‘So long as it has four walls and a roof, I can deal with everything else.’

Sebastian stood up and walked to a cupboard, murmuring about the optimism of youth. He took out a key, which he handed to her together with a note he scribbled on a pad. ‘This is the address of the house, Mon Abri, and the address of the agents in Menton.’

Josie stowed the key and the note carefully away in her shoulder bag as she walked to the door.

They stood together at the top of the stairs.

Josie said, ‘I’m so thrilled about this, Uncle Seb. It’s the nicest thing that has happened to me in years, perhaps the nicest thing ever. Thank you for everything.’ She reached up and kissed his cheek. ‘I promise to let you know what happens.’

‘Yes, do that, Josie. And if you want any help you know where to find me.’

‘I’ll remember that,’ Josie told him, and with a little wave she ran down the stairs.

She didn’t know, of course, how Sebastian lingered on the landing, looking down at her, or how his clever eyes softened as he thought that every time he saw Josie she grew more lovely, more like her mother at that age. But Marion had been soft and clinging. Josie had a kind of gallant independence, with her frank look and her laughing eyes and the tilt of her head. She’d had a bad time, caring for her mother and trying to keep up her design work all these years, and she’d never had time for the fun that all girls expected. She deserved a break, and he hoped this new interest would give her one. She was very young, though, at twenty-three, to be taking charge of an unknown house in a foreign country. He hoped that all would go well with her.

Josie felt as if she was walking on air as she left Uncle Seb’s office. It was very hot and the rush-hour crowd, fighting its way irritably to bus or tube, seemed denser than usual, but she hardly noticed when a large, angular woman jostled her or when a fat, red-faced man stepped on her foot without apology.

Soon she would be away from all this, away from the poky two-room flat she was renting in a shabby old house in Bloomsbury. She would be in her own home—already she thought of it as home—on the Côte d’Azur, with the blue Mediterranean below.

When she reached her flat it felt hot and stuffy, and she opened the window, drew the curtains and made a pot of tea in the minuscule kitchen. She removed from the table in the sitting-room the design she’d been working on when Charles had phoned, put the tray down and got out a notebook and pencil. Then, with the excitement of a child planning for a holiday, she began to make a list, starting: 1. Give month’s notice and pay rent in lieu. 2. Visit bank and find out about travellers’ cheques. 3. Pack up everything and decide where I can leave it until I send for it. 4. Choose clothes to take—not more than will go into hand luggage. And so on until she reached the bottom of the pad.

Josie sat back to drink her tea. Yes, there was going to be quite a lot to do, but if she worked hard she would get through it in a few days. Then—off to Menton. She hugged herself. A week today she would be in Menton, breathing the tang of fresh sea air, starting out on a new life. She couldn’t wait to begin.

CHAPTER ONE

‘WHAT the hell are you doing here? Squatting? Que faites-vous ici? Allez-vous en—vite!’

The deep, angry voice sounded to Josie like thunder as it reached her through thick layers of sleep. She hated storms. She reached for the duvet, to pull it over her head. It wasn’t there. ‘Damn!’ she muttered. It must have fallen on the floor again.

She rolled over and put out a hand to the familiar bedside lamp. There was no lamp, no table beside the bed either. She opened her eyes wide in the darkened room.

Then she froze as she saw the huge figure looming up above her, and she knew she was having a nightmare. She tried to scream, but no sound came through her parched lips. The menacing figure did not move. Josie clutched her throat. She was icy cold and shaking all over.

Then at last the figure moved. There was the sound of heavy footsteps on the tiled floor, a creak as the shutters were folded back and a little light came into the room.

Josie pulled herself up. Her brain wasn’t working properly yet but she knew that this wasn’t a nightmare. There was a man in the room.

Indignation displaced fear. ‘How dare you?’ she croaked. ‘Get out of my room.’

Memory returned in a flash. She had been so tired, so hot after the long journey from London to the South of France, that when she’d found her house, Mon Abri, just behind Menton at last, and opened the front door into what seemed to be a sitting-room, all she’d been able to do was grope her way into the darkened interior, drag off her sundress and collapse on to a divan.

The man walked back and stood looking down at her. Josie was suddenly, sickeningly aware that she was wearing nothing but a lacy bra and minuscule briefs. With a gasp she leaned over the edge of the divan and groped feverishly for the sundress. It was damp and crumpled, and when she held it up in front of her it covered her rather inadequately, from her neck to her thighs.

‘Ah, what a pity!’ the man said softly, and Josie, now completely awake, felt more scared than she had ever done in her life.

‘Get out,’ she quavered.

‘That’s exactly what you are going to do. And what do you think you’re doing here anyway? Squatting? Or have you been watching my comings and goings and decided to display your—er—attractions?’ His arm shot out and he ripped the sundress away from her and dropped it on the floor again. ‘You’re wasting your time, my girl. I prefer brunettes.’

Josie gave a strangled gasp of fury. If only she could have got to her feet and delivered a hefty blow to whatever part of his body she could reach! But he was standing so close that if she had tried to stand up she would have had to touch him, and she dared not think what might happen then, in spite of his insulting rejection. What sort of a man was he, anyway? She glanced up at him, but he was standing with his back to the window, and, apart from the fact that he was tall and broad and dark, she couldn’t make out very much of him. He had an educated voice, but that didn’t mean anything.

Before she could think of a suitably cutting retort he was speaking again. ‘I don’t know why you’ve parked yourself here, or if you are expecting your young friends to join you,’ he said smoothly. ‘But, whatever the reason, I suggest that you get some clothes on and take yourself off, pronto. If you’re not out of here in ten minutes I’ll come back and remove you. I’m living in the next house, so I can watch your departure.’

With a final glance at her near-naked body he turned away and walked quickly out of the room, closing the front door behind him.

Josie swung her legs off the divan and stood up. Her knees felt like india rubber. For a full minute she stared at the closed door, seething with rage.

When Uncle Seb had warned her that she would have neighbours she hadn’t given any thought to the matter, but if this horrible man were to be her neighbour it was going to be disastrous. Had he got a family with him or was he here alone? If he was alone she couldn’t possibly stay.

Then she clicked her tongue impatiently. What was she thinking of? Her hazel eyes narrowed and her soft mouth hardened into a firm line. She certainly wasn’t going to let a pig of a man spoil her pleasure and excitement in taking over her new house on the French Riviera. To have to put up with neighbours at such close quarters was an unwelcome shock, but she told herself that it was just her bad luck that her first encounter with a neighbour should have been so upsetting.

Why had the beastly man been so abominably rude? She couldn’t imagine, but there was only one way to find out; confront him and demand an explanation and an apology. She smiled grimly as she pictured just how she would make him grovel.

Lifting her travel bag on to the divan, she rummaged through it and selected a clean sundress. Her hand encounted a packet of tea-bags in the corner of the bag. She pulled it out with a cry of delight. A cup of tea was just what she needed to revive her and boost up her energy to face her insolent neighbour.

Slipping the crisp blue sundress over her head, and running a comb through her russet curls, she surveyed the room for the first time. It was long and L-shaped, and bore all the evidence of summer-letting to visitors. There were two lumpy easy chairs, and a badly scratched dining-table with four dining-chairs in place. A huge sideboard stood against one wall and the divan on which she had been lying was pushed against the opposite wall, which must be the dividing wall between the two houses. There was a staircase leading up to the first floor and a door to the left of it, which would be the kitchen door.

The kitchen, when she had pulled back the shutters to let some light in, proved to be tiny. There was a sink and one tap, a worktop with a kettle on it, two or three cupboards, a few hooks on the wall, and that was all. She would have to change everything, she thought, but meanwhile—tea.

She turned on the tap, but nothing happened except a faint gurgle. The water was evidently turned off. She got on to her knees and tried to find a tap under the sink. There was no tap, but her groping fingers encountered a pipe which seemed to run along the wall and disappear into the next-door house.

Josie’s smouldering rage burst into flames. The wretch must have turned off her water supply to make sure she could not stay here. Well, she would see about that.

With the light of battle in her large hazel eyes, she strode out through her front door to the door marked Maison les Roches, which must be the next house. There was no bell, so she knocked hard, which relieved her feelings slightly but bruised her knuckles. When there was no reply she pushed the door. It opened into what was evidently the main sitting-room, which was in better condition than her room next door. There were comfortable chairs, rugs on the floor and an elegant staircase on one side of the room. Its elegance was rather marred by the fact that the wall which divided the two houses seemed to push itself against the carved balusters. A small table with two chairs stood on the opposite side of the room and on it was—wonder of wonders—a steaming teapot, a jug of milk and one cup.

The delicious smell of freshly brewed tea was too much for Josie. Sitting down in one of the chairs, she poured a cup for herself, added milk and drank blissfully. That was better. Now she could give all her attention to defeating the Enemy.

Footsteps sounded above her head, and a moment later the Enemy appeared at the top of the stairs. Josie put down her empty cup and stood up, ready for battle.

The man evidently hadn’t seen her yet, and it was her first chance to get a good look at him. The light had been dim next door, but in here there were wall-fittings which lit up the room. He had obviously just had a shower. He wore khaki shorts and nothing else and his dark hair was flattened to his head and dripping on to his shoulders. He padded barefoot down the stairs, took the towel from round his neck and rubbed his hair vigorously.

A quick all-over glance showed Josie a tall, broad-shouldered man, probably in the mid-thirties. She had to admit that he was magnificently built, with the muscular body of an athlete. The towel he was wielding partly covered his face, but she could see his eyes. They were strange eyes, steel-grey with a darker rim round the irises.

He threw down the towel and looked round the room to see her standing beside the table. She met his eyes with a faint apologetic smile. ‘I’ve helped myself to a cup of your tea,’ she said. ‘I felt that you owed me that. There’s plenty left in the pot.’

He ignored her words. He stood quite still, but she saw the steely grey eyes narrow and his hands clench. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’ he said, with the same soft contempt he had used before. ‘I thought I told you to clear out.’

‘Well, as you can see, I chose not to obey your order.’ She tried to sound mocking, but this had no effect on him. ‘I came to—’

She had no chance to finish the sentence. In three long strides he had crossed the space between them and a second later she was in his arms.

‘Oh, I know why you came.’ The grey eyes were only inches from her own alarmed ones, his mouth almost touching hers. ‘And if this is what you want you shall have it.’ His arms tightened around her and his mouth came down on hers.

He kissed her almost savagely, at the same time drawing her closer still against his hard body.

Josie had been taken completely by surprise, but now she managed to get her wits back. ‘No,’ she gasped against his mouth, struggling wildly. He was holding her so tightly against him that she couldn’t get her hands up between their two bodies.

The kiss went on and on. She kept her lips tightly closed but he forced them open. She had never been kissed like this before, never so intimately, and suddenly her body responded with a mad need to take part in this crazy emotion of anger, or lust, or whatever it was. She wanted to press herself against him, to kiss him back as intimately as he was kissing her, to dig her nails into his smooth, warm back. A few moments of weakness possessed her, and she thought she was going to faint.