“Please stay. Let my son live with you and Hetta,” Andrew asked.

“But it’s you he wants.”

“I’ll visit as often as I can.”

“That’s not enough.”

He met her eyes. “Then I’ll move back in.”

“Let us understand each other,” she said in a voice that was steadier than she felt. “You wish me to be your housekeeper and childminder.”

“Very well. Housekeeper and childminder.”

“All right,” she said very quietly. “I’ll do it.”

It would be hard. He saw her as a convenience. But at least now she would not have to leave him—yet.

LUCY GORDON cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Richard Chamberlain, Roger Moore, Sir Alec Guinness and Sir John Gielgud. She also camped out with lions in Africa, and had many other unusual experiences which have often provided the background for her books. She is married to a Venetian, whom she met while on holiday in Venice. They got engaged within two days.

Two of her books have won the Romance Writers of America RITA® Award, Song of the Lorelei in 1990, and His Brother’s Child in 1998 in the Best Traditional Romance category.

You can visit her Web site at www.lucy-gordon.com

His Pretend Wife
Lucy Gordon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

PROLOGUE

HE WOULD never have known her.

He would have known her anywhere.

Andrew caught only the briefest glimpse of the woman, at the far end of the hospital corridor, but it was enough to revive memory, as soft as a bird’s wing fluttering past his face.

She looked nothing like Ellie, who’d been young and luscious as a ripe peach. This was a thin, pale woman, who looked as though life had thrown everything at her, and left her exhausted. Yet there was a hint of Ellie in the resolute set of her head and the angle of her jaw. The bird’s wing fluttered again, and vanished.

He couldn’t afford sentimentality. He was a busy man, second in command of the Heart Unit of Burdell Hospital. Ultimately he could only be satisfied with heading the team, but there was no shame in being second when the chief was Elmer Rylance, a man of international eminence. Soon he would retire and Andrew would step into his shoes.

He’d fast-tracked, giving everything to his work, allowing no distractions, as a broken marriage could testify. He was young for his position, although he didn’t look it. His tall figure was still lean, his features handsome, and there was no grey in his dark hair, but his face had a gaunt look from too many hours spent in work, and not enough spent in living. And there was something about his eyes that spoke of an inner withering.

He had only time for a glimpse of the woman, enough to show that she was with a child, a little girl of about seven, on whom her eyes were fixed with an anguished possessiveness with which he was all too familiar. In this place he’d seen a thousand mothers look at their children like that. And usually his skill sent the two of them home happy. But not always. He turned swiftly into his office.

His secretary was there before him, the list of appointments ready waiting on his desk, along with the necessary files, the coffee being made, exactly as he liked it. She was the best. He only employed the best, just as he only bought the best.

The first patient on his list was seventeen, the age that Ellie had been. There the likeness ended. His patient was weary with illness. Ellie had been an earth nymph, vibrant with life, laughing her way through the world with the confidence of someone who knew she was blessed by the gods, and laughter would last for ever.

‘Mr Blake?’ Miss Hasting was eyeing him with concern.

He shook himself out of his reverie. ‘I’m sorry, did you speak?’

‘I asked if you’d seen the test results. They’re just here…’

He grunted, annoyed with himself for the moment of inattention. That was a weakness, and he always concealed weakness. Miss Hasting was too well disciplined to notice. She was a perfectly functioning machine. Like himself.

Ellie’s beauty had been wild and overflowing, making him think of wine and sun, freedom and splendour: all the good things of life that had been his for such a brief time.

He switched the thought off as easily as he would have switched off the light behind an X-ray. He had a heavy day ahead.

Besides, it hadn’t been her.

‘Time for me to start on my ward rounds,’ he told Miss Hasting briefly. ‘Make a call to…’ For five minutes he gave brisk instructions.

When he went out into the corridor again the woman was gone.

He was glad of that.

CHAPTER ONE

SHE would have known him anywhere, any time. Down the length of the corridor. Down the length of the years.

Years that had changed her from a flighty, blinkered young girl who’d thought the world danced to her merry tune, to a bitter, grieving woman who knew that the world was something you had to fight. And you could never, ever really win.

She’d been partly prepared, seeing his name on the hospital literature. Andrew Blake was a common name, and it might not have been him, but she knew at once that it was. Just two words on the page, yet they had brought before her the rangy young man, too tense, too thoughtful, a challenge to a girl who’d known any man could have been hers if she’d only snapped her fingers. So she’d snapped. And he’d been hers. And they’d both paid a bitter price.

She’d planned a glamorous, if ill-defined, career for herself. She would earn a fortune and live in a mansion. The reality was ‘Comfy ’n’ Cosy’, a shabby boarding house in a down-at-heel part of London. The paint peeled, the smell of cabbage clung, and the only thing that was ‘comfy’ was the kindness of her landlady, Mrs Daisy Hentage.

Daisy was peering through the torn lace curtains when the cab drew up, and Elinor helped her daughter onto the pavement. Once Hetta would have protested, ‘I can manage, Mummy!’ And there would have been a mother/daughter tussle, which would have made Elinor feel desperate. But now Hetta no longer argued, just wearily did as she was told. And that was a thousand times worse.

Daisy had the front door open in readiness as they slowly climbed the stone steps. ‘The kettle’s on,’ she said. ‘Come into my room.’ She was middle-aged, widowed, and built like a cushion.

She scraped a living from the boarding house, which sheltered, besides Elinor and her daughter, a young married couple, several assorted students, and ‘that Mr Jenson’ with whom she waged constant war about his smoking in bed.

When the house was full Daisy had only one small room left for herself. But if her room was small her heart was large, and she’d taken Elinor and her little girl right into it. She cared for Hetta while Elinor was out working as a freelance beautician, and there was nobody else the distraught mother would have trusted with her precious child.

After the strain of her journey Hetta was ready to doze off on the sofa. When they were sure she was safely asleep they slipped into the kitchen and Daisy said quietly, ‘Did you see the great man in person, or did you get fobbed off?’

‘Elmer Rylance saw me. They say he always sees people himself when it’s bad news.’

‘It’s much too soon to talk like that.’

‘Hetta’s heart is damaged and she needs a new one. But it has to be an exact match, and small enough for a child.’ Elinor covered her eyes with her hand and spoke huskily. ‘If we don’t find one before—’

‘You will, you will.’ Daisy put her arms around the younger woman’s thin body and held her as she wept. ‘There’s still time.’

‘That’s what he said, but he’s said it so often. He was kind and he tried to be upbeat, but the bottom line is there’s no guarantee. It needs a miracle, and I don’t believe in miracles.’

‘Well, I do,’ Daisy said firmly. ‘I just know that a miracle is going to happen for you.’

Elinor gave a shaky laugh. ‘Have you been reading the tarot cards again, Daisy?’

Daisy’s life was divided between the cards, the runes and the stars. She blindly believed everything she read, until it was proved wrong, after which she believed something else. She said it kept her cheerful.

‘Yes, I have,’ she said now, ‘and they say everything’s going to be all right. You can scoff, but you’d better believe me. Good luck’s coming, and it’s going to take you by surprise.’

‘Nothing takes me by surprise any more,’ Elinor said, drying her eyes. ‘Except—’

‘What?’

‘Oh, it’s just that I thought I saw a ghost today.’

‘What kind of a ghost?’ Daisy said eagerly.

‘Nothing, I’m getting as fanciful as you are. How about another cuppa?’

‘It’s not fair for you to be facing this alone,’ Daisy said, starting to pour.

‘I’m not alone while I’ve got you.’

‘I meant a feller. Someone who’s there for you. Like Hetta’s dad.’

‘The less said about Tom Landers, the better. He was a disaster. I should never have married him. And before him was my first husband, who was also a disaster. And before him…’ Elinor’s voice faded.

‘Was that one a disaster too?’

‘No, I was. He loved me. He wanted to marry me, but I threw him over. I didn’t mean to be cruel, but I was. And I broke his heart.’

‘You couldn’t help it if you didn’t love him.’

‘But I did love him,’ Elinor said softly. ‘I loved him more than I’ve ever loved anyone in my whole life, except Hetta. But I didn’t realise it then. Not for years. By then it was too late.’ Anguish racked her. ‘Oh, Daisy, I had the best any woman could have. And I threw it all away.’

There was more than one kind of ghost. Sometimes it was the other person, teasing you with memories of what might have been. But sometimes it was your own younger self, dancing ahead of you through the shadows, asking reproachfully how she’d turned into you.

To Ellie Foster, sixteen going on seventeen, life had been heaven: an impoverished kind of heaven, since there had never been money to spare in her home or those of her friends, and there had been a lot of ‘making do’. But there had been the freedom of having left school. Her mother had tried to persuade her to stay on, perhaps even go to college, but Ellie had regarded that idea with horror. Who needed boring lessons when they could work in the cosmetics department of a big store? She’d seized on the job, and had had a wage packet and a kind of independence.

Best of all, she’d been gorgeous. She’d known it without conceit because boys had never stopped following her, trying to snatch a kiss, or just looking at her like gormless puppies. That had been the most fun of all.

She’d been tall, nearly five-foot eight, with a slender, curved figure and endless legs. She’d worn her naturally blonde hair long and luxuriant, letting it flow over her shoulders. To her other blessings had been added a pair of deep blue eyes and a full mouth that had been able to suddenly beam out a brilliant smile. She’d had only to give a man that smile…

What appalled Elinor, as she looked back over the years, was her own ignorance in those days. With just a few puny weapons she’d thought she could have the universe at her feet. Who had there been to tell her otherwise? Certainly not the love-struck lads who’d followed her about, practically in a convoy.

They’d formed a little gang, Pete and Clive and Johnny, Johnny’s sister Grace, and another girl who’d tagged along because Ellie had always been the centre of the action, and being part of her entourage meant status. She’d been a natural leader, that had gone without saying. And she wouldn’t be stuck long in Markton, the featureless provincial town where she’d been born. She could be anything she wanted. A model perhaps, or a television presenter, or someone who was famous for being famous. Whatever. The cosmetics counter had only been temporary. The city lights had beckoned, and, after that, the world.

Her seventeenth birthday had been looming, and as Grace had had a birthday in the same week both sets of parents had got together and held the party at Grace’s home, which had been bigger. Ellie had a new dress for the occasion. It looked like shimmering gold and was both too sophisticated and too revealing, as her scandalised mother had protested.

‘Mum, it’s a party,’ Ellie said in a voice that settled the matter. ‘This is how people dress at parties.’

‘It’s much too low,’ her mother said flatly. ‘And too short.’

‘Well, if you’ve got it, flaunt it. I’ve got it.’

‘And you’re certainly flaunting it. In my day only a certain kind of woman dressed like that.’

Ellie collapsed laughing. The things mothers said, honestly! But she gave Mrs Foster a hug and asked kindly, ‘When you were my age, didn’t you ever flaunt it?’

‘I didn’t have it to flaunt, dear. If I’d had—well, maybe I’d have gone a bit mad, too. But then I’d have lost your father. He didn’t like girls who “displayed everything in the shop window”.’

Ellie crowed with delight. ‘You mean he was as much of a stick-in-the-mud then as he is now?’

‘Don’t be unkind about your father. He’s a very nice, kind man.’

‘How can you say that when he wanted to hold you back, stop you having fun?’

‘He didn’t. He just wanted me to have my fun with him. So did I. We loved each other. You’ll find out one day. You’ll meet the right man, and you won’t want any fun that doesn’t include him.’

‘OK, OK,’ Ellie said, not believing a word of it, but feeling good-natured. ‘I just don’t want to meet the right man until I’ve done a bit of living.’

Oh, the irony of having uttered those words, on that evening of all evenings! But she only came to see it later.

‘Let’s get to this party,’ Mrs Foster said indulgently. ‘You’re only young once.’

Ellie kissed her, delighted, though not surprised, to have got her own way again.

The party overflowed with guests, with noise and merriment. The parents hung around for the first hour, then bowed to the unmistakable hints that were being thrown at them, and departed to the peace of the pub, leaving the young people alone. Someone turned up the music. Someone else produced a bottle of strong cider. Ellie waved it away, preferring to stick to light wine. Life was more enjoyable with a clear head.

The music changed, became smoochy. In the centre of the room couples danced, not touching, because that wasn’t ‘cool’, but writhing in each other’s general direction. She beckoned to Pete and he joined her, his eyes fixed longingly on her gyrating form. She was smooth and graceful, moving as though the music were part of her.

At first she barely glimpsed the stranger in the doorway, but then a turn brought her back to face him, and she saw that he was taller than everyone else in the room, and looked a little older. He wore a shirt and jeans, which were conservative compared to the funky teenage clothes around him.

What struck her most of all was his expression, the lips quirked in a wry smile, like a man showing indulgence to children. Obviously he thought a teenage rave beneath his dignity, and that made her very annoyed.

It wouldn’t have mattered if he clearly belonged to another generation. Older people were expected to be stuffy. But he was in his twenties, too young for that slightly lofty look, she thought.

Nor would she have minded if he’d been unattractive. But for a man with those mobile, sensual lips to be above the crowd was a deadly insult. His lean features made matters worse, being slightly irregular in a way that was intriguing. His eyes were a crime too, dark, lustrous and expressive. They should be watching her, filled with admiration, instead of flickering over everyone with a hint of amusement.

‘Who’s that?’ she yelled to her partner above the music.

‘That’s Johnny’s brother, Andrew,’ he yelled back, glancing at the door. ‘He’s a doctor. We don’t see much of him here.’

Johnny was weaving his way over to his brother. Ellie couldn’t hear them through the music, but she could follow their greeting, the way Johnny indicated for Andrew to join the party, and Andrew’s grimace as he mouthed, ‘You’ve gotta be kidding.’

She followed Johnny’s reply, ‘Aw, c’mon.’

And Andrew’s dismissive, ‘Thanks, but I don’t play with children.’

Children. He might as well have shouted the word. And her response, as she later realised, was childish. She put an extra sensuousness into her writhing, which made the boys shout appreciation and the girls glare. She’d show him who was a child.

But when she looked up he’d gone.

She found him in the kitchen half an hour later, eating bread and cheese and drinking a cup of tea. She’d switched tactics now. Charm would be better.

‘What are you hiding out here for?’ she asked, smiling. ‘It’s a party. You should be having fun.’

‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ He raised his head from the book he’d been reading. His eyes were unfocused, as though part of him was still buried in the pages, and he didn’t seem to have noticed her smile.

‘It’s a party. Come and have fun. Don’t be boring out here.’

‘Better than being boring in there,’ he said, indicating the noise with his head.

‘Who says you’re boring?’

He shrugged. ‘I would be to them.’ His tone suggested that he wasn’t breaking his heart over this.

‘So live a little.’

‘By “live” you mean drink too much and make a fool of myself? No, thanks. I did that in my first year at Uni, and who needs to repeat an experience?’

He was dividing his attention between Ellie and his book, making no secret of the fact that she couldn’t go fast enough for him.

‘You mean we’re boring, don’t you?’ she demanded, nettled.

He shrugged. ‘If the cap fits.’ Then he looked up from the book, giving her his whole attention. ‘I’m sorry, that was rude of me.’

‘Yes, it was,’ noticing that his smile was gentle and charming.

‘What’s the party about?’

‘It’s my birthday—and Grace’s.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Nineteen.’ He laid down the book and regarded her, his head on one side. ‘All right, not quite nineteen,’ she admitted.

He looked her up and down in a way that made her think he was getting the point at last, but when he spoke it was only to say, ‘Not quite eighteen, either.’

‘I’m seventeen today,’ she admitted.

‘Don’t sound so disappointed. Seventeen is a lot of fun.’

‘How would you know? I’ll bet you were never seventeen.’

He laughed at that. ‘I was, but it’s lost in the mists of time.’

When he grinned he was very attractive, she decided. ‘Yes, I can see you’re very old. You must be at least twenty-one.’

‘Twenty-six, actually. Ancient.’

‘No way. I like older men.’ She was perching on the edge of the table now, crossing her legs so that their silky perfection was on display.

‘Really?’ he said, meeting her eyes.

‘Really,’ she said in a husky voice, full of meaning.

He picked up the book. ‘Go back to your party, little girl. And be careful what you drink.’

‘I think that’s up to me,’ she said defiantly.

‘Sure. Enjoy the hangover.’

She glared but he wasn’t looking. There was nothing to do but flounce out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. So she did it.

She found Johnny drinking cider.

‘Your brother’s insufferable,’ she snapped.

‘I could have told you that. Dull as ditch water. I don’t know what made him arrive home tonight of all nights. He’s supposed to be studying for his exams.’

‘I thought he was already a doctor.’

‘He is. He qualified last summer. This is a different lot of exams. He’s always studying for something. Forget him and enjoy yourself. Here.’ He poured some cider into a glass for her and she drank it in one gulp. Johnny immediately refilled her glass and she drained it again.

Out of sight she clutched the edge of the table. Not for the world would she have done anything so uncool as reveal how it was affecting her. She took a deep breath against the swimming of her head, and held out her glass.

‘Fill it up,’ she commanded with bravado.

He did so, and from somewhere there was an admiring cheer. Encouraged, she seized the big plastic bottle and drained it.

When she took the floor again she found that something had happened to her. Her limbs were mysteriously light, she danced as if floating on air and her whole body seemed infused with sensuality. Partners came and went. She didn’t know who she was dancing with from one moment to the next, but she knew that none of them was the one she wanted.

‘Hey,’ she said, suddenly aware that there was a pair of unfamiliar arms about her, and she was being urged towards the door. ‘Who are you?’

‘You know me,’ somebody whispered against her mouth. It was a man, but she couldn’t think who he was. ‘And you fancy me, don’t you?’

‘Do I?’

‘’Course you do. You’re up for it, I can tell. Hey, what do you think you’re doing?’ The last words were addressed to someone who’d appeared out of nowhere and was determinedly freeing Ellie from the man’s arms. ‘Clear off.’

‘No, you clear off,’ came Andrew’s voice.

‘Now, look here—’

‘Get lost before I do something very painful to you,’ Andrew said, speaking almost casually.

‘He will too,’ Ellie remarked to nobody in particular. ‘He’s a doctor, so he’d know how.’ The whole thing suddenly seemed terribly funny and she collapsed in giggles. Strong arms held her up, but now they were Andrew’s arms.

‘Thank you, kind sir,’ she said with dignity, ‘for coming to my rescue like a knight in shining armour.’

‘What the devil have you been drinking?’ Andrew demanded, not sounding at all like a gallant knight.

‘Dunno,’ she replied truthfully. ‘It’s a party.’

‘So because it’s a party you have to pour filthy rubbish down your throat and make a fool of yourself?’ he said scathingly.

‘Who are you calling a fool?’

‘You, because you act like one.’

‘Push off,’ she said belligerently. The scene wasn’t going at all as it should. ‘I can take care of myself.’

‘Oh, yeah!’ he said, not even trying to be polite. ‘I’ve seen children who can take better care of themselves than you. Come on.’

He’d taken a firm hold of her, but not in the way that other young men tried to. More like a man clearing out the rubbish. Ellie found herself being propelled firmly to the door.

‘What d’you think you’re doing?’ she demanded.

‘Taking you home.’

‘I don’t want to go home.’ She tried to struggle but he had his hand firmly around her waist. ‘Let go!’

‘Don’t waste your energy,’ he advised her kindly. ‘I’m a lot stronger than you.’

‘Help!’ she yelled. ‘Abduction! Kidnap! Help!’

That made them sit up, she was glad to see. Heads turned. Pete appeared, blocking their path.

‘Where are you taking my girl?’ he said belligerently.

‘Who said I was your girl?’ she demanded, briefly diverted. ‘I never—’

‘Shut up, the pair of you,’ Andrew said without heat. ‘She’s not your girl because you don’t know how to look after her. And you—’ he tightened his grip on Ellie as she tried to make a bolt for it ‘—you aren’t old enough to be anybody’s girl. You’re just a daft little kid who puts on fancy clothes and her mother’s make-up and thinks she’s grown up. Now, let’s get out of here.’

‘I don’t want to get out of here.’

‘Did I ask what you wanted?’ he enquired indifferently.

‘You’ll be sorry you did this.’

‘Not half as sorry as you’ll be if I don’t.’

She redoubled her efforts to escape, but he simply lifted her off the floor and left her kicking helplessly as he pushed Pete aside and strode on. Her head was swimming from the cider and her limbs were growing heavy, but through the gathering mist of tipsiness she could see her friends sniggering at her plight.

But then—relief! Johnny appeared, also trying to block their path.

‘Put her down,’ he said. ‘She’s my girl.’

‘Another one?’ Andrew said ironically. ‘Listen, Johnny, I’ll deal with you later. Just now I’m taking Ellie home where she’ll be safe. What’s her address, by the way?’

‘Don’t tell him,’ she raged.

But Johnny had seen his elder brother’s face and decided on discretion. He gave Andrew the information with a meekness that made Ellie disgusted with him. Before she could tell him so she found she was being carried out of the room. As the door swung to she was sure she could hear a burst of laughter, and it increased her rage.

Outside the house stood the most disgusting old van she’d ever seen. She couldn’t believe he actually meant her to travel in that, but he was opening the door and shovelling her into the passenger seat. Shovelling was the only word for it. She immediately tried to break out and he slammed the door shut again.

‘We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,’ he said through the half-open window. ‘The easy way is for you to sit here quietly. The hard way is for me to chuck you in the back, lock the rear doors and keep you there until we reach the other end.’

‘You wouldn’t dare.’

He grinned. ‘Even you’re not stupid enough to believe that.’

‘Whaddaya mean? Even me?’

‘Work it out.’

As he went around to the driver’s seat she sat in sullen silence, partly because she knew he meant what he said, and partly because it was becoming hard to move. She leant her head against the back of the seat, just for a moment.

CHAPTER TWO

‘ARE you all right, darling?’ Mrs Foster’s face came into focus.

‘Mum? What—?’

Somehow the van had turned into her own bed in her own room. Her head was throbbing and her mother was smiling at her anxiously.

‘How did I—? Oh, goodness!’

She bounded out of bed and just reached the bathroom before the storm broke. When it was over and she was feeling a little better she noticed something for the first time.

She was wearing only a bra and panties. They were peach-coloured, flimsy lace, and might as well not have existed for all they concealed. Her golden dress and her tights had been removed.

When? Where? How?

She made her way carefully back to her room, and mercifully her mother was there with strong tea.

‘Did you have too much to drink last night, dear? Andrew said you’d come over faint and asked him to bring you home, but I couldn’t help wondering—well, not to worry. I could see he’s a really nice young man.’

Oh, sure, he’s a nice young man. He stripped me almost naked while I was unconscious. And he had the unspeakable nerve to hang my dress up neatly on a hanger.

It was there, on the wardrobe, hung and straightened by skilled hands. Its very perfection was an outrage.

‘What did he tell you?’ she mumbled into her tea.

‘He brought you home, and when you got here you went straight to bed, and he sat downstairs waiting for us so that he could explain that you were already here, and we needn’t wait up.’

‘He’s Johnny’s elder brother.’

‘He told us. Apparently he’s a doctor. I always thought you liked young men to be a bit more colourful than that.’

‘He’s not a boyfriend. I only met him last night.’

‘But he’s the one you turned to when you needed help, so he must have made a big impression on you.’

‘He did that, all right,’ she muttered.

‘It’s nice to know that you’re getting so discerning now you’re growing up.’

That was the final insult. ‘Mum!’

‘What, dear?’

‘I’m seventeen. It’ll be years before I’m interested in a boring doctor. He just happened to have a car.’

‘You mean that revolting van? You must be really smitten if you liked him for that.’

‘I’m not feeling well,’ she said hastily. ‘I think I’ll go back to sleep.’

Her mother tactfully left her and Ellie snuggled down, feeling like a wrung-out rag. As she drifted off she remembered the stranger who’d tried to drag her away. She might have passed out with him instead of with Andrew, and instinct told her that he wouldn’t have simply brought her home and put her to bed.

Try as she might she couldn’t recall Andrew removing her clothes and putting her to bed. He was rude and insufferable, but he’d saved her from a nasty fate. What was more, he’d seen her almost naked, which none of her boyfriends had. It was maddening to think that he might have looked at her with admiration, and she hadn’t known.

But as the waves of sleep came over her again, she began to dream. She was in a moving vehicle that stopped suddenly. The door beside her opened and she was pulled out so that she fell against a man who picked her up in his arms as easily as if she’d weighed nothing.

He was carrying her—there was the click of the front door, then the feel of climbing. It felt good to rest against him—safe and warm. Somehow her arm had found its way around his neck, her face was buried against him, and she could hear the soft thunder of his heartbeat.

They were in her room and she was being lowered gently onto the bed. His face swam in and out of her consciousness, lean, serious, the mobile features full of expression—if only she could read it.

But then the darkness obscured everything, and she was sinking down, down into deep sleep, leaving the dream and its mysteries for another time.

Her very first hangover was a grim experience, but by late afternoon she’d rejoined the human race. Soon Andrew would drop by to see how she was. Their eyes would meet, and each would see in the other’s the memory of last night.

She dressed plainly in trousers and top, and applied only the very slightest make-up. This elegant restraint would make him forget the juvenile who’d aroused his scorn. He would be intrigued. They would talk and he would discover that she had a brain and a personality as well as a beautiful shape. He would become her willing slave, and that would serve him right for dismissing her as a kid.

But it wasn’t Andrew who called. Only Johnny.

Rats!

‘Hallo, Johnny,’ she said, trying not to sound as disappointed as she felt.

‘You better now? You were looking pretty green when I last saw you.’

‘I wonder why,’ she said pointedly.

‘Yeah, right,’ he mumbled. ‘It was my fault. No need to keep on. I’ve had it all from Andrew.’

‘Oh?’ she said carelessly. ‘What did he say?’

‘What didn’t he say?’ Johnny struck a declamatory attitude. “‘Pouring cider down the throat of a silly girl who hasn’t got two brain cells to rub together—”’

‘Who’s he calling silly?’ she demanded indignantly. This scene wasn’t going to plan, but how could it when the leading man was missing?

‘Why don’t we go back to your home now?’ she suggested casually. ‘Then I can thank him.’

‘He’s not there. This morning he took off to visit his girlfriend.’

‘What? How long for?’

‘Dunno! Lilian’s studying for medical exams too, so they’ll probably work together. I’ll bet they study far into the night, and then go to bed to sleep. And that’s all he’ll do. He’s got ice water in his veins.’

As in a flash of lightning she saw Andrew’s face leaning over her as he began to remove her clothes. Not ice water.

Then the lightning was gone, and she was here again with Johnny, suddenly realising how young he was. How could she ever have been flattered by the admiration of this boy?

But for the next few days she still hung around with him, had supper at his house, just in case Andrew appeared. But he didn’t, and after four days she gave this up. She told Andrew’s mother that she was so sorry to have missed him, and she would write him a note of thanks. Sitting at the kitchen table, she applied herself.

Dear Andrew,

I shall give this note to your mother, and ask her to make sure that you get it. I owe you my thanks—for the help you gave me at the party the other night.

Good. Dignified and restrained, and giving no clue to her real thoughts: You’re a dirty, rotten so-and-so for not coming to see me.

‘There are two “esses” in passionate,’ said Andrew’s voice over her shoulder.

She jumped with sheer astonishment. ‘What—? I didn’t—’

‘And one “y” in undying, and one “u” in gratitude.’

She leapt up to confront him. ‘What are you on about?’ she demanded. She could have screamed at being caught unawares after all her careful plans. Once again life had handed her the wrong script.

But his face came out of the right script. It was tired and pale, as if he’d studied too long, but his eyes held a glowing light that made her want to smile.

‘I was writing you a note to thank you for your help, but I never said anything about passionate, undying gratitude.’

He took it from her and studied the few words regretfully. ‘You just hadn’t reached that bit yet,’ he suggested.

‘In your dreams! Just because a person is being polite, that doesn’t mean that another person can go creeping up behind them and—and make fun of them—when all a person was doing was—was—’

‘Being polite,’ he supplied helpfully.

‘I’d have thanked you myself if you’d still been around next day.’

‘I thought I’d better not be,’ he said quietly.

Suddenly she was growing warm, as though he’d openly referred to the way he’d undressed her. She turned away so that he shouldn’t see how her cheeks were flaming.

The next moment the rest of the family entered the kitchen. There were greetings, laughter, surprise.

‘I thought you were staying until the end of the week,’ his mother said.

‘Oh, you know me,’ Andrew said carelessly. ‘Always chopping and changing.’

‘You? Once you’ve decided on something it’s like arguing with a rock.’

Andrew merely gave the calm smile that Ellie was to come to know. It meant that other people’s opinions washed off him.

‘I feel sorry for Lilian, if she marries you,’ Grace teased.

‘She won’t,’ Andrew said mildly. ‘Too much good sense.’

‘Sense?’ Grace echoed, aghast. ‘Is that what you say about the love of your life? Don’t you thrill when you see her? Doesn’t your heart beat with anticipation, your pulse—?’

‘Whoever invented kid sisters ought to be shot,’ Andrew observed without heat.

‘Who’s a kid?’ Grace demanded. ‘I’m seventeen.’

‘From where I’m standing that’s a kid,’ Andrew teased.

Grace took hold of Ellie’s arm. ‘Come on, let’s go upstairs and play my new records.’

‘No, let’s help your mother lay the table,’ Ellie said quickly. Anything was better than being bracketed with Andrew’s ‘kid’ sister.

After the meal they all went out into the garden and watched fireflies, talking about nothing in particular. When the rest went in she hung back, touching his arm lightly so that he turned and stayed with her.

‘I didn’t say thank you properly,’ she said.

In the darkness she could just make out his grin. ‘You were saying different at the time. Nothing was bad enough for me.’

‘Well—I wasn’t quite myself.’

‘You were smashed. Not a pretty sight. And very dangerous.’

‘Yes, I might fall into the hands of a man who’d undress me while I was unconscious,’ she pointed out. ‘That could be dangerous too.’

She wasn’t really annoyed with him for undressing her, but for some reason she wanted to talk about it.

‘What are you saying? Are you asking me if I ravished you?’

She smiled at him provocatively. ‘Did you?’

‘Stop playing games with me, Ellie,’ he said quietly. ‘You’re too young and ignorant about men to risk this kind of conversation.’

‘Is it risky?’

‘It would be with some men. It’s not with me because I know how innocent you really are, and I respect it.’

‘You mean I mustn’t ask if you “ravished” me?’

He was angry then. ‘You know damned well I didn’t.’

‘How do I know?’

‘Because you’d know if I had.’

‘So why undress me at all?’

‘If I’d just dumped you into bed fully clothed your mother would have guessed that you were incapable. I was trying to make everything look as normal as possible. But I’m a doctor. I’m used to naked bodies, and yours meant nothing to me.’

She glared. It was maddening not to be able to tell him that this was just what she minded most.

Grace put her head out of the window. ‘Andrew, Lilian’s on the phone.’

She couldn’t help overhearing the first part of the call. ‘Lilian? Hi, honey, yes, I got here OK—it was a wonderful few days, wasn’t it? You know I do—’ He gave a soft laugh that seemed to go through Ellie.

She stood still, filled with sensations that she didn’t understand and couldn’t control. Andrew was a man, not a boy. He excited her and mystified her, and he had all the allure of the unknown. But her chief sensation, although she didn’t understand it then, was childish, hurt pride.

There and then she made up her mind that she was going to make him fall in love with her, and that would show everyone. Above all it would show him that he couldn’t look down on her from lofty heights.

Oh, God, she thought now, looking back down the tunnel of years, I was only seventeen. What did I know?

The house stood well back from the road, almost hidden by trees. It was large and costly, the residence of a wealthy, successful man.

It was dusk as Andrew drove up the winding drive, and there were no lights to greet him. But for himself the house was empty, and even he spent very little time here since his wife and son had departed. He had a bachelor flat near the hospital.

This grandiose place wasn’t a home to him. It never had been. He’d bought it three years ago to satisfy Myra, who’d fallen in love with its size and luxury. She’d been the wife of the youngest top-ranking cardiothoracic surgeon in the country, and she’d expected to live appropriately. Andrew had demurred at the house, which was almost a mansion, with a porticoed door and walls covered with ivy. But Myra had insisted, and he’d yielded, as so often, to conceal the fact that his feeling for her had died. If it had ever lived.

For a while she’d enjoyed playing lady of the manor. She’d named the place ‘Oaks’ after the two magnificent trees in the garden. She’d bought their son, Simon, a pony, and had him taught to ride in the grounds. But by that time their marriage had effectively been over. She hadn’t even wanted Oaks as part of the divorce settlement.

He was pouring himself a drink when his mobile went. It was Myra, which made his head immediately start to ache.

‘You’re no easier to get hold of than you ever were,’ she said wryly. ‘Where are you?’

‘The house.’

‘What are you rattling around in that place for?’

‘I can’t think.’

‘Just checking about the weekend. Simon’s looking forward to seeing you.’

‘Look, I was going to call you about that—’

‘Don’t you dare!’

‘I’ll have to work over the weekend. Can’t you explain to Simon, make him understand?’

‘But he already does understand, Andrew. It’s what he understands that should be worrying you. He understands that he’s always last on your list of priorities.’

‘That’s not true.’

‘Damn, it is true! Look, I married you knowing your work always came first. I made that choice. But Simon didn’t. He expects to have a father who loves him—’

‘Don’t dare say I don’t love my son,’ he barked.

‘Do you think I need to say it? Don’t you think he knows it every time you let him down?’

‘Put him on.’

The talk with his son was a disaster. Simon was quiet and polite, saying, ‘Yes, Daddy,’ and ‘It’s all right, Daddy,’ at regular intervals. And it wasn’t all right. It was all dreadfully wrong, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

He was tired to the bone. He microwaved something from the freezer, barely noticing what it was, then settled down in front of his computer. For two hours he worked mechanically and only stopped because his head was aching too badly for him to think. But that was good. He didn’t want to think.

He wondered why he suddenly felt so drained and futile. The demands of work were crushing, but they always were. Pressure, stress, instant decisions, life and death—these were the things he thrived on, without which he wouldn’t exist. Suddenly they weren’t enough. Or rather, they were too much. For the first time in his career—no, his whole life—he wondered if he could cope with everything that was required of him.

It was absurd to connect this sudden loss of confidence with the brief moment in the hospital corridor when he’d been confronted with a past he’d thought safely dead and buried.

Buried. Not dead.

He hunted in the top drawer of his desk until he found a set of keys, selected one, and used it to open the bottom drawer. At the back, buried under a pile of papers, was an envelope, stuffed with photographs. He laid it on the desk, but made no move to open it, as though reluctant to take the final step.

At last he shook out the contents onto the desk, and spread them out with one hand. They were cheap snaps, nothing special, except for the glowing faces of the two young people in them.

The girl’s long blonde hair streamed over her shoulders in glorious profusion, her face was brilliant with life. It was that life, rather than her beauty, that made her striking. All youth and abundance seemed to have gathered in her, as though any man who came near her must be touched by her golden shadow, and be blessed all his days.

Blessed all his days. There was a thought to bring a bitter smile to the face of a man who’d felt that blessing, and seen it die.

He lingered over the girl’s laughing face, trying to reconcile it with the weary look he’d seen on the woman in the corridor. Just once her gaze was turned on the young man, and he studied her expression, trying to detect in it some trace of the love he’d once believed in. In every other picture she was looking directly at the camera.

By contrast, the man had eyes only for her, as though nothing else in the world existed for him. His hands were about her waist or on her shoulder, touching her face, his expression one of tender adoration.

Andrew wanted to seize him, shake him, crying, You fool, don’t be taken in by her. She’s nothing but a cold-hearted little schemer, who’ll break your heart and laugh at you.

She’d been laughing when he’d first seen her at the party, dancing with blissful abandon. With her head thrown back in enjoyment, her eyes sparkling, she’d seemed the very embodiment of everything he’d given up on the day he’d decided to be the greatest doctor in the world. He’d devoted himself to study, ignoring the young, heedless pleasures that other medical students had seemed to find time for. They’d been all right for people who’d been satisfied with being ordinary doctors, but he hadn’t been satisfied, and he hadn’t been going to be ordinary.

Without warning this shimmering pixie had burst on him, and before he’d been able to control the feeling, he’d been filled with fierce regret for the whole side of life he’d rejected. He’d escaped to the kitchen, away from the sight of her.

But then she’d appeared, looking even younger close-up, and he’d known that she’d been dangerous to his peace of mind. He’d assumed an air of lofty indifference, talking to her with one eye still on his book, as though he hadn’t been able to tear himself away, although the truth had been that every fibre of him had been aware of her.

He’d have liked to believe her claim of being nineteen, but her air of bravado had given her away. She’d flirted like a kid, crossing her beautiful legs on the table near him, and saying she liked older men in a ‘come hither’ voice that would have finished him but for his stern resolutions. His advice to ‘go back to your party, pretty little girl’ had been an act of desperation.

He’d promised himself to avoid her, but when he’d seen boys getting her drunk for a laugh he’d had to step in and rescue her.

He’d taken the house key from her purse and carried her up the stairs to what he’d guessed had been her room. He’d removed her clothes because if her mother had found her fully dressed and asleep she might have guessed the truth. He was a doctor, and impersonal, so he’d thought.

But he’d found himself holding a girl wearing a bra and panties so wispy as to have been almost nonexistent. Laying her gently on the bed, he’d been shocked to find how his hands had longed to linger over her silky skin and perfect shape. He’d hung up her dress, using the controlled movements to impose discipline on his mind and, through his mind, his sensations. Discipline, control, order. That was how it had always been with him.

But not this time. Fear had seized him, and he’d got out as fast as he’d been able to.

He’d fled to the imagined safety of Lilian, a girlfriend as sedate and studious as himself. But there had been no safety there, or anywhere. After that it was too late. It had always been too late.

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