Mistress On Loan

But first she had to say farewell to the Grange. She still couldn’t deal with the more personal loss, although she’d have to do so soon. She’d have to admit that Piers had deserted her and married someone else. Endure the inevitable gossip and speculation. Local people were kind, but only human, and her downfall would be sensational stuff. Plus, there would be resentment from those who’d worked on the Grange, and were owed money as a result.

When businesses went bust there was often a knock-on effect, and the local economy couldn’t afford it, she thought worriedly.

Gordon and his sub-contractors would be the main victims.

I’ll pay them back somehow, she vowed silently. Even it takes the rest of my life.

A life that stretched before her as bleak and empty as a desert—and, she realised, with a pang, just as dangerous.

The Grange looked beautiful in the late-afternoon sun, the mellow brickwork glowing.

Adrien swallowed past the sudden constriction in her throat and drove round to the side of the house.

To her limitless relief, there were no other vehicles around.

Don’t look too closely at anything, she adjured herself, as she left the Jeep. You can’t afford to be emotional. Not yet. Just grab your things and get out while the going’s good.

Usually when she walked across the wide entrance hall, and up the sweep of oak staircase, she felt all the pride of ownership glowing inside her. Today she couldn’t even afford a glimmer of satisfaction in a job well done.

Because Chay Haddon wasn’t just getting a house. He was getting all the heart and soul that she’d poured into it. All the love.

And she was only sorry she couldn’t tear it down, brick by brick, with her bare hands, and leave him with a pile of rubble.

Instead she was the one with the handful of dust—and the nightmares.

She walked slowly to the side door and stood for a moment, trying to control her flurried breathing. She had the key in her hand, so what was she waiting for?

She needed to go in—to get the whole thing over and done with—then be on her way. For the last time.

Gagging suddenly, she turned and ran, stumbling in her haste. She by-passed the lawn, where Chay Haddon had stood that morning, opting for the gravelled path which led to what had once been the enclosed kitchen garden but which now resembled a jungle on a bad day.

She closed her mind to the plans she’d made to transform this riot of weeds into a thriving vegetable plot again and kept running, until she reached the gate at the far end, and the area of woodland beyond it.

It was so long since she’d been here. She’d deliberately shunned this part of the grounds for sixteen years. But now, in the face of the greatest crisis of her life, she needed to confront that old childhood fear and defeat it.

She was looking for the only oak tree—an ancient, massive specimen, with room in its spreading branches for a whole terrace of treehouses.

‘So where does he go all day?’ Down the years, Piers’s voice returned to haunt her. ‘The housekeeper’s son. Where does he hide himself? Do you know?’

And she, eager to please this glamorous dark-haired boy, paying his first visit to his uncle, had said, ‘Yes—I’ll show you.’ At the same time knowing, guiltily, that she shouldn’t. That it was not her secret to share.

Now, for a moment, staring up into the branches, she thought she’d picked the wrong tree. She’d been convinced that time would roll back, and she’d find herself, just nine years old, in shorts and tee shirt, her hair in the plaits she’d hated, looking up longingly at the wooden platform that had been Chay’s hidden place.

An elderly ladder had been propped against the lower trunk, and after that you’d climbed up through the branches until you reached the treehouse.

It had had a roof of sorts, and three walls constructed out of timber oddments, but to Adrien it had been a magic place—a castle, a palace, a cave where anything could happen.

She had known, because he’d let her look through his binoculars, that Chay went there to watch birds mostly, but sometimes he’d come to read or just think. He’d kept books up there, and a sketchpad, and a tin of biscuits.

She’d asked once, ‘Isn’t it funny—being all on your own here?’

He’d looked at her thoughtfully, not smiling. ‘It’s good to be alone sometimes. You need to be comfortable in your own company before you can be happy with other people.’

Adrien hadn’t been sure what he meant, and her face must have shown it, because he’d laughed suddenly, and reached out, tugging gently at a plait.

‘Is it so awful, Adie—the thought of having no one to talk to?’

‘I’d hate it,’ she’d said, shivering as a breeze stirred the leaves and made them sigh. ‘I’d be frightened. Up here by myself.’

I actually told him that, she thought. I put the weapon in his hand and he used it against me. Used it to punish me. Unforgettably. Unforgivably.

There was no ladder there now, or platform, no flapping roof. No trace of the little girl who’d knelt there, crying, for all that endless time, convinced she’d been deserted and forgotten.

It was just—a tree.

His voice reached her quietly. ‘It’s been gone a long time, Adie. Angus had the gardener dismantle it and put it on a bonfire. I had to watch it burn.’

She spun round, her hand flying to her mouth. ‘What are you doing here?’ She’d had no inkling of his approach until he spoke.

‘You have a short memory,’ he said. ‘I own the place now—remember?’ He looked her over, absorbing the dark grey linen suit and the white silk camisole beneath it. ‘What happened to this morning’s Pollyanna?’

She said shortly, ‘Pollyanna grew up—fast. And I meant how did you know where I’d be? Because I never come here.’

‘Your Jeep was there,’ he said. ‘But the doors were still locked. I—obeyed an instinct.’

She supposed she had done the same thing, and it irked her. She lifted her chin. ‘I’m—trespassing. I apologise. I came to clear out my stuff.’

He glanced round, brows raised. ‘You’ve been camping in the wood?’ he enquired. ‘How enterprising.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s in the house. I—I’ll go and fetch it—if that’s all right.’

He shrugged. ‘Be my guest.’

She offered him a frozen smile. ‘I think that’s carrying hospitality too far.’

‘As it happens,’ he said slowly, ‘you’ve already been under my roof for nearly a week.’

She swallowed, forcing her legs to move, walking back down the track. ‘The sale went through that long ago? And I wasn’t told? Oh, but I suppose it all happened in Portugal.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘I was in London, and so was Piers. He came over to sign the necessary papers before leaving for Brazil.’

For a moment she couldn’t speak. She certainly couldn’t move as she digested this latest blow.

Piers had been in England, she thought with anguish, and she hadn’t known. He’d been here, and he hadn’t warned her. She wanted to sink to her knees and howl her misery to the sky.

Chay watched her. He said, ‘Obviously he didn’t make contact.’

It was a statement, not a question. But then, he’d been able to observe her shock and desperation at close quarters earlier that day. He knew how brutal the deception had been.