Книга - The Wedding Deception

The Wedding Deception
Kay Thorpe


Stop that man - or the wedding! Ross Laxton was determined to stop his brother's "shotgun wedding"! And the only person who could stop him was Claire! The sister of the expectant bride-to-be, she had more reason than most for ensuring that the ceremony went ahead. Protecting her sister's interests was easy - it was Claire who was at risk.Her growing attraction for Ross Laxton was distinctly dangerous - he was her enemy after all, even if he was impossible to resist!









Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u9e60b2d6-d939-5946-9296-0460b395b7e9)

Excerpt (#u12526134-6b8e-5ee3-8302-db1183a49ae6)

About the author (#u60fced6b-5da3-5dfa-b7bc-4b9ccd7d176e)

Title Page (#u1f804267-6c8a-55cc-afb6-a52394aa78ff)

CHAPTER ONE (#u4b3d0e8e-cd3d-582f-8494-976d979c604f)

CHAPTER TWO (#u8ca66731-d326-5daf-a92d-b8d0e09bd794)

CHAPTER THREE (#uf279be4a-fd90-58ad-b8de-f9200e35eb7d)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




“At least say something!”


Closing out the doubts, Claire brought up both hands and cupped them about the lean jaw, bringing Ross’s head down to put her lips on his. Life was for living, she had told herself not so very long ago, so why not start living it?



“You’re a regular bundle of surprises,” he growled softly.



“I’m fed up with being Miss Goody Two-Shoes!”



“Goody Two-Shoes never had a temper like yours. Small and fiery, yet totally unpredictable, too. I’ve a feeling you might turn out to be more than I can handle.”


KAY THORPE was born in Sheffield, England, in 1935. She tried out a variety of jobs after leaving school. Writing began as a hobby, becoming a way of life only after she had her first completed novel accepted for publication in 1968. Since then, she’s written over fifty and lives now with her husband, son, German shepherd and lucky black cat on the outskirts of Chesterfield in Derbyshire. Her interests include reading, hiking and travel.




The Wedding Deception

Kay Thorpe











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_6151181f-0f02-5c47-b8c5-81e29187f319)


WITH only half an hour to go before closing time, there was little chance of any more customers happening by, Claire reckoned. Not quite the worst day’s trade she had known, but a very long way from being the best either.

The weather was the main culprit. There was little pleasure to be found in traipsing round the shops in the rain. June had been a total wash-out this year. Hopefully, July and August would be better. If not she was going to be left with a lot of summer stock on her hands—something she could ill afford.

Her neck still ached from bending over her account books for so long earlier. She ran a hand under the heavy curve of hair the colour of a new penny to ease her nape, grimacing a little. No matter how she totted up the figures, they told the same story—Candice was going steadily downhill.

It could do no harm to shut shop early for once, she decided, shelving her problems for the moment. Jill would be back from visiting her friend in Buxton by now, and would no doubt be hungry. It was too much to hope that she would have taken it on herself to prepare a meal, of course. Cooking simply wasn’t her forte, as she was fond of pointing out.

When it came to housework of any kind, little was, Claire reflected with fond humour. It wasn’t exactly her own favourite pastime either, but she couldn’t find it in herself to resent her sister’s easy assurance that all would be provided. With A levels behind her, Jill had a right to a few weeks of self-indulgence before going on to university.

Ideally, her grades would be good enough to secure her the place at Warwick already on offer, although she had spent far too many evenings out with friends when she should have been studying for the exams, in Claire’s estimation. With only six years between the two of them, laying down the law didn’t come easy.

About to turn over the ‘Closed’ sign in the glass door, she felt her heart give a sickening jerk as a man loomed in the doorway. Only a couple of weeks ago the lady in children’s wear next door had been subjected to an attack by some man not yet apprehended by the police. Her personal injuries had been more emotional than physical, but he had got away with the day’s takings and had left the woman afraid to be on her own in the shop.

This one hardly looked the type to be contemplating robbery, she thought in swift self-reassurance, assessing the expensive cut of his light wool jacket and immaculately pressed beige trousers. Hardly the type to patronise an establishment such as this either, but he could be in search of something for his wife, she supposed.

‘I was just about to close,’ she said, opening the door, ‘but you’re welcome to come in and take a look around if you like.’

‘You’re Claire Marcroft?’ he asked shortly.

‘Well, yes.’ She was disconcerted both by his use of her name and by his tone. ‘How can I help you?’

Already inside the shop, he cast an appraising glance over the place before turning back to meet her questioning green eyes. He topped her by a good six inches or more despite her high heels. His eyes were grey, she noted fleetingly, their regard somehow discomfiting. A stray shaft of sunlight, angling in through the window, picked up a healthy glint in his thick dark hair. The hard-boned, essentially masculine features were vaguely familiar.

‘Is there somewhere we can talk?’ he said.

‘There’s the office,’ she acknowledged. ‘But I don’t see what—’

‘Supposing we go there?’ he interrupted.

‘Supposing you tell me what it is you’re here for first,’ Claire rejoined crisply, recovering some degree of composure. ‘Mr…?’

‘Laxton,’ he supplied. ‘Ross Laxton.’ He watched her expression change, an ironic line to his mouth. ‘I see the name means something to you.’

‘There was an article about you in the local paper a few weeks ago,’ she confirmed. ‘And a photograph. You’re head of HR Incorporated.’

‘No other connection?’

She hesitated, doubtful whether someone in his position should be making such a call, and unable to think of a reason. ‘Is it to do with the lease?’

‘I don’t deal with leases.’ His tone was dry.

‘No, of course not.’ Claire was embarrassed by the gaffe. ‘It’s just that with the company owning this whole row of shops, and my lease due for renewal soon, I thought…’ She left it there, aware of stating the obvious, and said instead, ‘So what exactly is it you are here for?’

He took his time replying, studying the clean lines of her face with its wide-spaced eyes, small straight nose and generously curved mouth. She could feel herself growing warm beneath the scrutiny, and hoped that the flush didn’t show. No doubt she didn’t begin to compare with the women a man of his looks and kind was accustomed to viewing at such close quarters, but that was no reason for him to look quite so disparaging.

‘Are you and your sister very much alike?’ he asked, startling her because it was the last thing she had expected him to say.

‘Only superficially,’ she found herself answering, before catching herself up. Brows drawn together, she started to ask how he knew that she had a sister, but he forestalled her.

‘Your parents are dead, I understand.’

Claire swallowed on the sudden hard lump in her throat, caught unawares by the bald statement. Even after all this time the pain was still like a spear through her heart.

‘They were killed in a car crash four years ago,’ she said with control. ‘Although I fail to see what business it is of yours.’

‘You were how old at the time?’ he continued, ignoring the latter remark.

‘Twenty.’ The reply was dragged from her against her will. ‘I really don’t see—’

‘Hardly mature enough to be left in total charge of a fourteen-year-old, would you say? Especially in this day and age.’

‘There was no one else.’ She was fast losing the little tolerance remaining in her. ‘Will you please tell me what this is all about?’

The dark head inclined, its lean features set in uncompromising lines. ‘As your sister doesn’t appear to have told you herself, it seems I have to do it for her.’ He paused briefly. ‘To put it bluntly, she’s pregnant.’

Shock kept Claire both motionless and speechless for several seconds. She could only gaze at him with eyes gone wide and dark. When she did find her voice at last, it sounded totally unlike her own.

‘You must have got the wrong person!’

He gave a short, humourless laugh. ‘I doubt if there are two Jill Marcrofts in town with sisters who run a boutique on High Street.’

Mind whirling, she said thickly, ‘Are you claiming to be the father?’

His lips thinned. ‘I’m not in the habit of playing around with girls almost half my age.’

‘Then who is supposed to be?’ she demanded, even more confused.

‘My younger brother,’ he said. ‘With “supposed” very much the operative word.’

‘Just a minute!’ Claire wasn’t too far gone to recognise the imputation. ‘You’re saying my sister is pregnant but your brother isn’t the one responsible?’

‘I’m saying there’s room for doubt.’

‘You get out of here!’ Face hot, eyes sparking like twin emeralds, she only barely stopped herself from smashing her hand across the lean brown cheek. ‘Just get out!’

If he recognised the danger of a physical attack, he wasn’t allowing it to deter him. He made no move, but simply stood there looking at her with infuriating condescension.

‘As the bearer of bad news, I’d hardly expect to be greeted with open arms, but it does none of us any good to fly off the handle. The sooner you face up to it, the sooner we can start getting the whole sorry business sorted out.’

‘There’s nothing to sort out!’ She forced the words between clenched teeth. ‘I don’t believe a word of it!’

The sigh held more than a hint of impatience. ‘There appears to be little doubt about the pregnancy. It’s Scott’s involvement I’m here to discuss.’ The very way he said the word ‘involvement’ underlined his rejection, as did the following, ‘He’s altogether too gullible.’

Claire drew in a long, slow breath, fighting to restrain her wilder impulses. It couldn’t be true, she told herself. There simply had to be a mistake somewhere! That should be straightened out first.

‘Assuming we’re not talking about a single instance, just how long is this…affair supposed to have been going on?’ she managed, with creditable steadiness.

Broad shoulders lifted in a brief shrug. ‘According to Scott, since early May.’

‘That makes it even less likely! Jill was still in school then.’

‘In school, maybe, but not necessarily with her mind on her work. Anyway, why would he lie about it?’

‘Never having met your brother, I’ve no idea what his motives might be,’ she retorted tautly. ‘All I am sure of is that if Jill really had been carrying on a relationship with him—or with anyone else, for that matter—I’d have known about it.’

The grey eyes registered scepticism. ‘Are you trying to claim she never even had a boyfriend before?’

‘Of course I’m not. She’s a very pretty and popular girl.’

‘So I’m given to understand.’

Her chin jerked up, her fists clenching involuntarily at her sides. ‘Are you suggesting what I think you might be?’

‘I’m suggesting,’ he said, without change of tone, ‘that you may not know your sister quite as well as you believe you do.’

She gazed at him in silence for a lengthy moment, grappling with the thought that if this story of his turned out to have any truth in it at all, then he might well be right. Jill had certainly been very moody recently. Claire had put it down to nervousness over her coming exam results, but this cast a whole new light on things. Pregnant! It didn’t bear thinking about!

‘Is your brother denying responsibility?’ she asked, trying her best to maintain some semblance of composure.

Ross shrugged again. ‘On the contrary, he’s only too ready to accept what he believes is his responsibility, and do the right thing.’

‘You mean…marriage?’

‘Yes.’

‘But obviously you don’t agree?’

‘He’s only just twenty-two. The last thing he needs at this juncture is being lumbered with a wife and family.’

‘I’d think him old enough to decide that for himself.’

The grey eyes were unrelenting. ‘Old enough, maybe; sensible enough, definitely not. Anyway, it isn’t just his future I’m concerned about. My father’s already suffered one stroke. A shotgun wedding would just about finish him off completely.’

Claire made no attempt to offer meaningless sympathy. ‘Do I take it you’re the only one of the family your brother has confided in so far?’ she got out.

‘That’s right,’ Ross confirmed. ‘He only told me about it a couple of hours ago. I decided it best to tackle you here on your own rather than come to the house.’

‘Hoping for what?’ she demanded, with a curl of her own lip. ‘You’ve more or less accused my sister of being a promiscuous little tart. Did you expect me to confirm it for you?’

His face darkened, lips compressing. ‘You’re putting words into my mouth.’

‘I don’t think so. You’ve made your opinion pretty clear.’ She drew in another steadying breath, feeling the sick churning inside her threatening to take over. ‘Does your brother know you were coming here?’

He shook his head, expression unapologetic. ‘I took it on myself to try sorting something out.’

‘Such as what?’ Claire demanded. ‘An offer of money, maybe?’

From the look that flickered across the lean features, she had hit the nail on the head. Anger momentarily swamped all over emotions, and was held in check with the greatest difficulty.

‘I think you’d better go,’ she said, voice low and tight.

The strong mouth took on a wry line, as if in acknowledgment of a tactical error. ‘All right, so money isn’t necessarily the answer. But you’d surely agree that marriage under these circumstances isn’t the best thing either?’

‘I don’t know what I think.’ Claire was close to losing her grip altogether. ‘I’m not even convinced of the basic fact yet. Why should I take your word for it?’

‘It isn’t my word, it’s my brother’s,’ he said. ‘He’s hardly likely to make such a claim for fun!’

Claire doubted it too. What man would? She felt totally at sea.

‘I’d suggest you go and confront your sister with it,’ said Ross after a moment, watching her face. ‘Tomorrow being Sunday, we’ll all be available for discussion, I take it.’ It was more statement than question. ‘I imagine Scott has your address. We’ll come over together in the morning and talk it through.’

Further protestation would be a waste of time and effort, Claire accepted. Her first priority was to get home and see Jill.

Ross had taken her agreement for granted, and was already turning away to open the door again. A fine figure of a man, that part of her brain still functioning on normal levels registered: shoulders broad and powerful, hips lean, legs long and straight. A man she might well have found vitally attractive under normal circumstances.

If what he had told her really did turn out to be true— and there seemed little chance that it might not—then where did they go from here? she wondered numbly. Jill had her whole life ahead of her, and university just around the corner. With or without marriage, she was far too young to be a mother.

The rain had stopped some time before, although the pavements were still wet when she got outside. Carrying her raincoat, she locked the door securely, then walked down to the side-street where she had parked the little red Fiat Panda.

Six years old, the car was in far from pristine condition, but it was all she could comfortably afford to run, along with all her other expenses. For once, the ignition fired on the first time of asking.

Claire put the car into motion, trying to look at things rationally. Willing though Scott Laxton might be to ‘do the right thing’, as his brother had so scathingly put it, marriage didn’t have to be the only answer. Jill might not even want to marry him. It wouldn’t be easy bringing up a child, but between the two of them they could cope. At least there wasn’t the same stigma attached to single motherhood these days.

She was getting way ahead of herself, she conceded wryly at that point. It might even turn out to be a false alarm. She hoped so. Oh, God, how she hoped so!

Set right on the edge of the Derbyshire Dales, Rowsley was normally awash with weekend traffic at this time of year. Today there was little to mar her progress out to the suburb where she and Jill still lived, in the house they had once shared with their parents.

Insurance money and savings left by her father and mother had taken care of the mortgage, and there had been enough left over to start up the boutique. Claire had sold off part of the over-large garden to the people owning the plot next door, who had wanted to extend, and this had served the dual purpose of providing a sum to invest for Jill’s future educational expenses, and shrinking the garden to manageable proportions. Claire spent much of her spare time in it, and was justifiably proud of the result.

This evening she had no eyes for the colourful display fronting the white-walled house. She left the car standing on the drive and went straight indoors, gathering herself before opening the sitting-room door.

Jill looked up from the magazine which she was flicking through, her lovely, if somewhat wilful face wearing an unusually diffident expression.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Had a good day?’

Still not certain of how best to approach the subject, Claire shook her head. ‘Not very.’ She hesitated, then decided that the only way was to go head in. ‘I had a visit from Ross Laxton.’

If there had been any doubt left in her mind at all regarding the veracity of his accusation, it was instantly dispelled by the look which sprang into the younger girl’s eyes.

‘He had no right to interfere!’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘I was going to tell you myself tonight.’

Claire pushed a shaky hand through her hair, struggling to stay on top of her emotions. ‘How come I never even knew you were seeing Scott Laxton? Why all the secrecy, Jill?’

Defiance took over from annoyance. ‘Because I knew how you’d react. My A levels had to be top priority all the way through, didn’t they? Never mind what I wanted!’

‘I thought going on to university was what you wanted,’ Claire defended.

‘You never bothered to ask. You even decided which universities I should apply to.’

‘We decided that together. You never once—’ Claire broke off, taking a hold on herself. ‘There’s really no point in going into all that now, is there?’ she said, on as level a note as she could manage. ‘When did you discover you were pregnant?’

Some unreadable expression flickered across the smooth young features. ‘A week or so ago.’

‘There’s no chance that you might be wrong?’

‘I did two tests.’

‘But you haven’t been seen by a doctor yet?’

‘Scott is arranging all that privately. We’re going to be married, no matter what anyone says!’ she added forcefully. ‘We love each other.’

Claire sank into the nearest chair, searching her mind for some way of getting through the barriers that Jill was putting up against her. ‘How did you meet in the first place?’ was all she could come up with.

‘Scott likes discos,’ came the answer, as if that explained everything. ‘He’s a terrific dancer!’

A typical teenage accolade, thought Claire wryly, recalling a time when she might have considered such a talent of prime importance herself. Jill was still so young in many ways.

‘Did you know he was going to tell his brother about all this?’ she asked, and saw her sister’s face cloud again.

‘He said he was going to tell them all as soon as he got back this afternoon.’

‘You were with him this morning?’

‘Yes.’ The defiance was back. ‘He took me into Buxton, so I didn’t lie.’

‘And that makes everything hunky-dory, does it?’ Claire caught herself up, recognising the futility of lashing out in that way. What was done was done. What remained was to make the best of the situation.

‘I’m afraid his brother doesn’t see marriage as the obvious answer,’ she said on a quieter note. ‘I’m not sure I do either.’

Jill sat up straighter, expression determined. ‘It isn’t your or his decision to make! We’re both of an age to choose for ourselves!’

‘Of an age, perhaps, but there are other factors to be taken into account.’

‘Such as what?’ On her feet now, face flushed, hazel eyes flashing green lights, Jill looked ready to take on all comers. ‘You’d rather I got rid of it?’

‘No, of course not.’ Claire put everything she knew into keeping an even tone. ‘There are other alternatives.’

‘Like swelling the single-parent ranks, for instance?’ Deeper in colour than Claire’s, and falling straight as a die to her shoulders, Jill’s hair swung as she shook her head emphatically. ‘Scott wouldn’t settle for that even if I would. He wants this baby. We both do!’

‘You’re too young to know what you want,’ Claire protested. ‘I’m sure Scott is too.’

‘Scott isn’t just a boy. He’s twenty-two.’ From the way she said it, it was obvious that that made him mature enough for anything in her estimation. ‘If it’s money you’re worried about, you don’t need to. He can well afford to get married. He has investments left him by his grandmother, as well as his company shares.’

‘I hadn’t even got that far,’ Claire admitted. She hesitated, studying her sister’s mutinous face. ‘Do you think you’d feel the same way about him if he was just an ordinary, working man?’

‘Of course I would! It’s him I love, not the money!’ Jill made a sudden small gesture of appeal. ‘You’ll like him too, Claire. I know you will!’

He would have to be vastly different from his brother to make her like him, Claire reflected—a thought which brought an unpleasant reminder of Ross’s parting promise.

‘Ross Laxton is coming here with him in the morning,’ she said. ‘I doubt that his attitude is going to change overnight.’

‘Scott is coming over tonight,’ countered Jill. ‘He wants to meet you.’

‘Having left you to do the telling on your own.’

‘Only because I wanted it that way. He’s no coward!’

‘Oh, I’m sure he’s a regular paragon!’ Claire instantly regretted the tart remark. Whatever her opinion might turn out to be, Jill wasn’t going to be swayed. All the same, she couldn’t find it in herself to retract the words. ‘What time are you expecting him?’ she said instead.

Whatever her thoughts, Jill was keeping them to herself. ‘I told him around seven. He won’t have eaten, by the way. He’s still living at home, and they don’t have dinner till eight.’

Claire bit back the instinctive comment. It was gone half-past six now. She did a hasty mental review of their food stocks. There were half a dozen local rainbow trout in the freezer, presented to them by their neighbour, who owned fishing rights on the river. They could be cooked from frozen on the microwave’s sensor setting without losing too much flavour.

She had made a salad before leaving for the shop that morning, and had prepared a pan of new potatoes ready for the hob, intending to grill some steak to go with them. With apple pie and cream to follow, and cheese if required, there should be enough.

‘Then we’d better get moving,’ she said, putting everything else aside for the moment. ‘Perhaps you could start setting the table.’

‘OK.’ Jill got to her feet with an alacrity that brought a faint, ironic smile to her sister’s lips. ‘I’ll fetch a cloth.’

They normally ate most meals at the kitchen table, where a cloth wasn’t needed. Obviously it had to be the dining-room for Scott.

Claire left her to it, going through to the small but well-equipped kitchen to start on the meal. The trout would no doubt be a poor substitute for the kind of dinner served at the Laxton homestead, but she wasn’t going to allow that to concern her. Unexpected visitors took pot luck.

Unexpected was certainly the word. She could still hardly credit that this was really happening. A bare hour or so ago all she’d had to worry about was finance!

The trout weren’t all that large. She sprinkled all six with lemon juice and black pepper, added a few dots of butter, then covered the dish in cling film. The potatoes and fish should be ready about the same time; the apple pie they would eat cold. She briefly contemplated opening a bottle of wine, but decided that that might be overdoing things a little. This was hardly a celebration.

Jill had used the silver, she noted, when she went to check the small oak-beamed dining-room. She had also left off the cloth, laying the woven place-mats directly on the polished surface of the table and placing a vase of flowers from the sitting-room in the centre. It looked nice, Claire was bound to admit.

The sound of a car turning into the drive drew her eyes to the window. Long and silver, the Mercedes came to a stop behind her Panda, and the engine was switched off.

Claire felt her heart jerk painfully as the driver unfolded his length from the vehicle. Ross’s arrival could only mean that Scott wasn’t coming. Which left Jill where?




CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_840803d1-1f51-5148-a40e-d77b0b4d3b63)


THE opening of the front passenger door and emergence of a younger man brought mingled emotions, with relief playing only a minor part. Judging from the resemblance between the two, this almost certainly was Scott.

The two men moved around opposite sides of the Panda to head for the door. Ross was the taller by a couple of inches, and the more substantial in build, his chest broad and solid beneath the thin white sweater. Clad in similar casual style, Scott looked distinctly boyish by comparison.

Claire stirred herself reluctantly to go out into the hall as the two of them passed the window. Whatever was to come had to be faced. The sound of the doorbell brought Jill out from the sitting-room.

‘He’s here!’ she exclaimed unnecessarily. ‘I’ll let him in.’

‘He’s not alone,’ Claire warned, and saw the light in her eyes fade a little. ‘He has his brother with him.’

Jill rallied with surprising speed. ‘Then we’ll just have to set another place.’

There was food enough for four, Claire supposed, although she didn’t see Ross Laxton sitting down quietly to dinner. There could only be one reason why he had elected to accompany his brother tonight instead of waiting until morning, and that was to see that he made no rash promises.

She stayed where she was in the hall as Jill went to open the door, preparing herself for the coming encounter. Marriage might or might not be the best solution, but if it really did turn out to be what both of them wanted then she would fight tooth and nail for their right to make that decision.

Jill’s invitation to enter sounded astonishingly composed. With features less forceful all round than his brother’s, though certainly no less eye-catching, Scott looked apologetic.

‘Not my idea,’ he disclaimed, with obvious meaning. ‘Any more than this afternoon was my idea.’

‘Mine entirely on both counts,’ Ross confirmed. ‘I saw no point in waiting till tomorrow.’

Claire ignored him, her attention focused on the younger man.

‘I can’t pretend to be happy about all this,’ she said, ‘but there’s no point in railing at you about it either. We can talk over dinner. It’s just about ready.’ She added, with the intention of changing the conversation, ‘Perhaps you’d prefer a sherry or something first?’

‘We didn’t anticipate anything,’ said Ross, before Scott could answer. ‘Certainly not a meal.’

‘We usually eat around this time,’ Claire responded shortly. ‘I saw no reason to alter our routine.’ She started to turn, adding over a shoulder, ‘I’ll need to lay another place at table. Take them through to the sitting-room, Jill.’

Safe in the dining-room, she took a moment to compose herself before going to the sideboard to get extra cutlery from the drawer. This wasn’t going to be an easy encounter.

The mats were in a cupboard beneath the old oak trolley which her mother had picked up for a song at one of the house sales she had used to frequent. None of the furniture in the house was worth a great deal in terms of antiquity, but each and every piece had been collected with discernment. With one or two exceptions, the delft plates on the shelf had mostly come from local markets, their faded colours taking on new life in the soft evening light.

Her mother had loved this house from the moment she had seen it, she had always said. Both she and her father had been loving people altogether. They would have known how best to deal with all this.

That way lay depression, Claire warned herself, shutting off the images. It was up to her to handle the situation—with Jill’s happiness the prime consideration. Let Ross Laxton beware!

The three of them were seated on opposite sides of the stone fireplace: Jill and Scott together on one two-seater sofa, holding hands with an air of defiance and Ross on the other, looking like a fish out of water. There were no drinks in evidence, and Claire wasn’t about to ask again. In any case, she didn’t want anything to spoil.

‘If you’d like to come through, we may as well get started,’ she said.

Ross was first on his feet, filling the room with his presence. ‘Lead on,’ he invited with a derisive glint in his eyes. ‘Something smells very good, I must say!’

He was mocking her efforts to act normally, Claire reflected. Well, two could play that game. She gave him a bland little smile.

‘I hope it tastes as good as it smells.’

‘I’m sure of it,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t dare do otherwise.’

Jill and Scott were on their feet now, both of them obviously aware of the cross-current running between their respective siblings.

‘This is really good of you, Claire,’ said Scott. ‘Especially considering the shock it must have been to have it sprung on you that way,’ he added, with a glowering glance at his brother.

‘I apologise,’ proffered Ross smoothly. ‘I was labouring under some degree of shock myself.’

Claire returned his gaze with determined containment. If he thought that such tactics would disarm her, he was mistaken. His intimation earlier that Scott might not be Jill’s only sexual experience had cut too deep to be so easily dismissed.

‘I’m sure you were,’ she said. ‘Shall we leave it at that for the moment, and go and eat?’

She led the way, sensing Ross at her back—a little too close for comfort. She placed him at the foot of the oblong table, opposite her own seat, with Jill and Scott on either side, where they could gaze into each other’s eyes to their hearts’ content. One only had to look at the pair of them to see that they both felt the same way. Scott came across so differently from what she had anticipated after meeting his brother. There was a resemblance in looks, perhaps, but no resemblance whatsoever in personality.

She made no apologies for the lack of a starter, but gave both men two trout apiece, leaving them to help themselves to potatoes and salad. The succulent pinktinged flesh gave off a delicate aroma as Ross slid the skin aside and eased out the whole skeletal framework with an expertise that Claire could only envy. No matter how carefully she dissected trout, she almost always at some point managed to get bones in her mouth, and disposing of them politely in public posed quite a problem.

Conversation was desultory while they ate, most of it prompted by Ross himself. Claire regarded his overtures with suspicion, sensing an attempt to lull the lot of them into believing him reconciled to the situation. There was no way a man of his kind would have changed his views so radically in the space of a couple of hours. Which meant that the crunch was still to come.

Whatever his motives, he finished every last morsel of the trout, laying down his knife and fork with a sigh of what appeared to be genuine satisfaction.

‘Congratulations,’ he commented. ‘Those were beautifully cooked!’

‘All down to the microwave,’ disclaimed Claire, unwilling to accept the compliment under false pretences. ‘Modern technology has its uses.’

‘Especially when unexpected guests turn up,’ came the dry rejoinder. ‘Congratulations anyway. Not everyone can time a microwave correctly.’

It had done that itself too, but she let it pass, seizing the initiative before he could take it from her. ‘We’re not here to talk about food, are we?’

‘No, we’re not.’ Scott sounded abrupt. ‘Stop playing around, Ross.’

Still fixed on Claire, the grey eyes gave little away. ‘All right, so let’s talk. Marriage aside, we can surely come to some other mutually agreeable arrangement.’

‘If you mean money, you can keep it!’ Jill burst out, face flaming. ‘And if you’re thinking I might agree to have an abortion, you can think again! Do you hear?’

‘I imagine half the neighbourhood heard,’ he replied with irony. ‘Let’s try and stay rational about it, shall we?’

‘I already told you what we’re going to do about it,’ said Scott forcefully. ‘I don’t need your approval!’

His brother regarded him for a moment with brows drawn together. ‘Have you thought about what it’s going to do to Dad?’

‘That’s emotional blackmail, and you know it!’ The younger man’s eyes were bright with resentment. ‘We don’t have to tell him about the baby right away, if it comes to that—just that I’m going to be married.’

‘And where exactly were you planning on getting married?’

Scott exchanged glances with Jill, as if seeking confirmation of a previous agreement. ‘Registry Office, probably.’

Ross lifted a sardonic eyebrow. ‘At the risk of sounding pedantic, it’s Register not Registry. That aside, you think he isn’t going to guess why? The stroke affected his motor responses, not his reasoning power. He can still add two and two.’

‘Is another stroke imminent?’ asked Claire. ‘I mean, have the doctors actually said he mustn’t be put under any kind of stress?’

‘Where there’s been one, there’s always danger of another. Any fool knows that.’

She bit her lip, bound to acknowledge a degree of justification in the rebuttal. She had spoken without thinking, intent only on calming the situation. All the same, she had no intention of taking it lying down.

‘You must win a lot of friends with that line,’ she said, without attempting to mute the tartness.

Surprisingly, his lips twitched. ‘A figure of speech. Nothing personal.’

Like hell! she thought.

Scott made a sudden impatient movement. ‘Look, we’re not getting anywhere like this.’ He eyed Claire with determination in the line of his mouth. ‘Are you on our side?’

She wasn’t wholly, but neither was she prepared to join forces with his brother. ‘Yes,’ she said firmly.

His smile was brilliant, his whole face relaxing. ‘Thanks.’

‘Seems I’m outnumbered.’ Ross sounded resigned.

Claire regarded him sceptically. He had given in far too easily for someone so much against this marriage. Committed to it now herself, regardless of the doubts still there, she wasn’t going to let him put a spanner in the works whatever he might have in mind.

She got up to clear the plates, avoiding contact with Ross’s long, lean fingers as he passed his across to her. His hands were well-kept; skin tanned a smooth golden brown, nails neatly trimmed. Capable of what, she didn’t stop to consider.

‘I’ll bring the other dishes,’ he offered unexpectedly. ‘Save wheeling the trolley through.’

Claire would have preferred the trolley, but she wasn’t being given the choice. Ross was already on his feet, gathering up both salad and potato bowls. He slanted a quizzical glance as she hesitated.

‘Any problem with that?’

She shook her head, unable to frame a refusal. If he had any idea of talking her round to his point of view once they were alone, he could forget it. She had given her word. She couldn’t and wouldn’t go back on it now. What good would it do anyway? As Jill herself had said, they were both of them of an age to please themselves, and equally determined to do so.

Small as the kitchen was, Ross made it smaller still. He deposited the bowls on the work-surface where she indicated, but made no immediate attempt to return to the dining-room, leaning a hip against the cupboard to watch her transfer the apple pie from the pan in which it had been baked the previous evening on to a plate.

‘You made that yourself,’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said shortly. ‘In the proper oven this time. Pastry doesn’t come out too well in the microwave.’

‘You must have found life very difficult being left with so much responsibility so young,’ he observed. ‘You said you had no other relatives?’

‘There’s a cousin on my mother’s side in New Zealand, but he has a family of his own to take care of.’ Claire kept her tone neutral. ‘We’ve managed.’

‘To keep your heads above water, maybe. I doubt if that business of yours brings in more than a bare living.’

‘That depends on your idea of a bare living. Our needs are fairly simple.’

‘How about desires?’

Claire swung to face him, the pie-slice clutched in her fist like a weapon. ‘Are you by any chance suggesting that Jill might have deliberately set out to entrap a wealthy husband?’

She had taken off the jacket of her pale grey suit on coming home, but there had been no time to change. He took his time replying, his gaze moving down to the vulnerable hollow of her throat revealed by the open collar of her thin lemon-coloured blouse, and from there to linger for a moment on the swell of her small firm breasts, before lifting again to view her stormy face with an expression that made her feel inadequate in every sense.

‘She wouldn’t be the first,’ he said hardily.

Claire calmed herself with an effort. Losing her temper was an indulgence which she couldn’t afford right now. Not with this man.

‘I see I was right in believing the capitulation a little too quick and easy,’ she retorted. ‘You’re determined not to let it happen, aren’t you?’

The grey eyes betrayed no discomfiture. ‘I’m determined to safeguard Scott’s future so far as I’m able, yes.’

‘You only have to look at the two of them to see how much in love they are!’ she declared.

His mouth twisted. ‘You think that’s all that’s necessary for a marriage to work?’

‘I think it’s a good basis.’

‘You’re a romantic.’ He made the words sound derogatory. ‘What about when the passion wears off?’

Claire gave him back look for look. ‘You’re confusing love with lust.’

‘I’m being realistic. Your sister is a very lovely girl. I can well understand how Scott could be carried away by her. Love of a kind, I’ll grant you, but what do they really have in common?’

‘What else is needed?’ she asked, trying to convince herself. ‘Jill might not have the same background, but she’s hardly out of the gutter.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting either of you were that.’ Ross was beginning to sound more than a little impatient. ‘It isn’t background I’m talking about.’

‘Oh, I think it is. You just don’t see Jill fitting in.’

There was a pause. He viewed her reflectively, hands thrust into trouser pockets in a manner far from relaxed. She was vibrantly conscious of his lean, fit length, of the latent strength in the broad shoulders and muscular forearms revealed by the pushed-up sleeves of his sweater. A man to be reckoned with in more ways than one; certainly not a man to make an enemy of. All the same, she had no intention of allowing him to walk roughshod over Jill’s dreams.

‘For someone who only learned of the situation a few hours ago, you’ve made a remarkably fast adjustment,’ he observed. ‘Maybe you see advantages for yourself too.’

Her eyes sparked, the pie-slice’s handle digging into her palm as her fingers closed fiercely about it. She had a sudden urge to stick it between his ribs. When she did speak, her voice was low and husky.

‘I neither want nor need anything from your family! All I care about is seeing Jill to rights. I’d have preferred a different start for her, obviously, but if your brother cares as much for her as she does for him—and I believe he does—then I’m ready to back them to the hilt.’

‘Regardless of what it might do to my father?’

Claire had forgotten about that. It brought her up short for a moment.

‘I realise it will be something of a shock for him,’ she said at length, choosing her words with care, ‘and I’m sorry it happened this way, believe me, but—’

‘Not one half as sorry as I am,’ came the grim interruption. ‘I came here tonight hoping for some cooperation from you, but obviously I’m not going to get it.’

‘Not the kind you’re looking for, for certain,’ she agreed. ‘I think your brother is well able to make his own decisions.’

Ross straightened abruptly. ‘You met him less than an hour ago. You’ve no idea what he’s capable of. Jill isn’t his first love.’

Claire stared at him, the wind knocked out of her. ‘You’re telling me he’s been in this same situation before?’

‘With regard to the pregnancy, no, but little more than a year ago he wanted to marry a girl he knew at Cambridge.’

She said tartly, ‘Did he change his own mind, or did you manage to talk him out of it that time?’

‘He realised what a fool he was being.’

‘He’s graduated now, and working for his living,’ she pointed out. ‘That surely makes a difference.’

‘Older, but surely no wiser.’ Ross was giving no quarter. ‘He isn’t even sure what he wants to do with his life as yet.’

‘Yes, he is.’ Claire was determined not to let the doubts take over. ‘He wants to marry my sister.’

‘And then what?’

‘That’s up to him to decide, isn’t it? After all, he can hardly be destitute.’

‘But you’d naturally have been just as ready to go along with this if he didn’t have two pennies to rub together.’

The cynicism came across loud and clear. Not without some basis, Claire was bound to admit. She made a concentrated attempt to be totally honest about it.

‘With a baby on the way, the financial aspect has to be important, of course. I’d hate to see Jill living hand to mouth. So, in that sense, the answer has to be no, I wouldn’t have been as ready to go along.’ She gave him no time to comment, her gaze unflinching. ‘Not that I could have stopped her going ahead with the marriage regardless. At her age she’s free to do whatever she thinks fit. The same way Scott is.’

Ross’s lip curled a little. ‘He’s past the age of consent, certainly.’

‘Then I’d suggest that you leave him to sort out his own affairs,’ she said crisply. ‘You can take the big brother theme too far.’

She turned away to pick up the plate containing the pie in one hand and the jug of cream in the other, feeling the shakiness in her lower limbs without surprise. There was something about Ross Laxton that would have rubbed her up the wrong way whatever the circumstances, she acknowledged. The fact that if Jill did marry Scott there would be other encounters was something she didn’t want to think about.

He followed her back to the dining-room, taking his seat again without a word. Claire served the pie, trying hard not to let matters swamp her completely. This morning she had been worried that the weather would keep customers away again. It seemed such a ludicrously small concern now.

Scott was the first to break the silence. ‘Whatever you tried on back there, you’re not going to change anything,’ he told his brother flatly. ‘Jill and I are going to be married—and soon.’

‘So you already said.’ Ross’s tone was level, his face expressionless. ‘When do you plan on breaking the news?’

Scott hesitated, obviously a little thrown by the capitulation. ‘When do you think might be the best time?’

‘You’re the one making the decisions.’

‘In the morning, then.’

‘Do you want me with you?’ asked Jill.

The two brothers clashed glances, with the younger man’s the first to fall.

‘I think it might be best if I told them on my own,’ he said.

‘Of course.’ She was obviously relieved. She added tentatively, ‘I hope everything will be all right.’

‘So,’ said Ross meaningfully, ‘do I.’ He looked down at the untouched portion of pie on his plate, his mouth set ‘I’m afraid my appetite has deserted me.’

Claire was too het up to eat any more herself. She pushed away her own plate and got to her feet again. ‘We’ll have coffee in the sitting-room,’ she said.

This time Ross made no offer of help. She had a feeling that if he hadn’t driven Scott here to start with, he would have forgone coffee altogether. So far he had failed in his aim to call a halt to his brother’s plans, but that didn’t mean he would stop trying.

Whatever he might have in mind, he made no further reference. Scott offered no spoken demur when it was intimated that they would leave soon after the coffee had been drunk, although he was obviously reluctant to do so.

‘I’ll phone you as soon as I’ve got it over with,’ he told Jill. ‘They’ll want to meet you. You too, of course,’ he added to Claire. ‘There’ll be arrangements to make.’

‘Let’s take one step at a time,’ suggested his brother. ‘It’s hardly as if the baby is due next week!’ He gave Claire a brief nod. ‘Thanks again for the hospitality.’

She inclined her head in return. ‘You’re welcome.’

Politeness so often involved telling lies, she reflected when the two of them had departed. They had been anything but welcome. The strain of the last few hours was beginning to tell on her. It was all she could do to keep a sense of proportion. There were worse things which could happen.

‘So, what do you think of him?’ asked Jill anxiously.

Does it matter what I think? Claire felt like asking, but managed a faint smile instead.

‘He seems nice enough.’

‘Nice?’ Jill made it sound as if the word was an insult. ‘He’s just…wonderful!’

‘You’re the one in love with him, not me,’ Claire pointed out. She hesitated before adding softly, ‘I’d have thought the pair of you were sensible enough to at least take precautions.’

Her sister’s colour rose, the expression in her eyes closer to guilt than defiance. ‘You’d have thrown three fits if I’d gone on the pill!’

‘I don’t suppose I’d have known about it. In any case, it was as much Scott’s place to take responsibility. More so, in fact, considering other risks.’

Jill gazed at her with knitted brows for a moment before the penny dropped. ‘If you’re talking about what I think you are, Scott’s hardly in that category!’ she declared indignantly.

‘He doesn’t have to be. You’ve seen all the warnings on TV.’

‘They only apply to those who sleep around a lot. Scott isn’t like that either!’

Claire wished she could be as certain. He didn’t come across as the promiscuous type, but who could really tell these days? Jill almost certainly wasn’t his first sexual experience; according to Ross, she wasn’t even his first love. Not that she had any intention of passing on that piece of information.

She made a small wry gesture. ‘I’m sure he isn’t But neither is he blameless. From what Ross said, you were still in school when this whole thing started. Surely—’

‘It wasn’t Scott who made the running initially, it was me.’ Jill’s chin was jutting, her mouth mutinous. ‘I made sure he noticed me that very first night.’

‘In what way?’

‘I asked him to dance.’

Claire felt her lips twitch involuntarily. ‘That must have taken a lot of courage,’ she commented. ‘What did he say?’

‘That he’d be delighted.’ Jill’s tone had softened into reminiscence. ‘He’s so different from Rob, and Mark, and the others. They’d make some stupid joke if a girl asked any of them to dance.’

Claire could imagine. None of Jill’s former boyfriends was any older than she was herself, and certainly no more mature. Scott’s good looks were only a part of the attraction. He had about him that same air of confidence in himself that his brother possessed—although he lacked the other’s cutting edge.

‘Do all your friends know you’ve been seeing Scott?’ she asked.

Jill shook her head. ‘Just Lucy. I had to tell someone.’

Lucy was, and had been right since junior school, her closest friend. The two of them told each other everything. Claire wondered just how capable the other girl was of keeping mum when it came to news of this magnitude. Everyone who could count would know the truth soon enough once Jill began to show, of course, but by that time she would be married, and not open to quite the same degree of censure from those with nothing better to think about.

Local opinion was hardly the main concern anyway. What mattered most was that Jill should be certain of what she was doing. Claire doubted if she had looked any further ahead than the immediate future.

‘Do you think you’d have thought about marrying Scott if you hadn’t got pregnant?’ she said slowly, feeling for the words. ‘I mean, really thought about it.’

The answer came swift and sure. ‘Of course. He’s everything I ever dreamed about!’

‘I shouldn’t have imagined you dreamt about marriage at all at your age,’ Claire remarked mildly. ‘I know I didn’t.’

‘I’m not you,’ returned her sister with indisputable logic. ‘I never wanted a career in the first place. You were always the ambitious one.’

And ambition was something which she had been forced to put aside to a great extent, Claire acknowledged ruefully. Sales was a long way from design, even if she did have her own business. She still kept her drawingboard set up in her bedroom, and occasionally worked on an idea, but time was too limited to consider it anything but a hobby.

‘I wish you’d told me all this before,’ she said, returning that particular dream to its niche. ‘I honestly never realised how you felt about things.’

‘It doesn’t matter now, does it?’ Jill obviously felt she could afford to be magnanimous. ‘I’ve got what I want— or I shall have soon—and you’ll be able to do whatever you want without worrying about me any more.’

That aspect hadn’t occurred to her, Claire had to admit. Nor did she find it any consolation. She got up and went to draw the curtains, standing for a moment gazing out into the dusk. There was so much to be considered, so many details that Jill didn’t appear to have got round to thinking about as yet.

‘Have you discussed where you’re going to live?’ she queried, without turning.

‘Not yet.’ Jill sounded anything but concerned. ‘We’ll probably buy a house.’

Money might not be the main attraction in this relationship but it certainly had some bearing, Claire thought drily.

‘Does Ross still live at the family home too?’ she heard herself asking.

‘No, he has a flat in town.’

Claire finished drawing the curtains and briefly contemplated regaining her seat, but she was too churned up inside to spend any more time going over and over the same ground.

‘I think I’ll make some cocoa,’ she said. ‘Do you want some?’

‘No, thanks.’ Jill was lying back in her chair, eyes closed, a far-away look on her face. ‘I just want to think about Scott.’

Hair tousled, body still immature in the tight-fitting jeans and T-shirt, she looked nowhere near old enough to be having a baby. At that precise moment, Claire felt anything but benevolent towards the young man responsible.




CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_3dbc47ec-8ccb-5876-8bd9-62567744bafb)


UNUSUALLY for her, Jill was up and about by eight, impatient for the promised phone call. She would eat no more than a piece of toast for breakfast, and kept an eye constantly on the kitchen clock.

‘Surely he must have told them by now!’ she burst out when nine o’clock had come and gone. ‘I mean, where’s the point in waiting any longer?’

‘I don’t suppose his parents will be around all that early, considering his father’s condition,’ Claire suggested. ‘Give him time. I’m sure he won’t let you down.’

She mentally crossed her fingers as she said it, not at all certain that she was right. Ross had had a whole night to work on his brother. Who could tell what persuasions he might have employed?

With the sun shining outside for once, and the temperature more in keeping with the time of year, it should have been a morning for good cheer, but cheerful was the last thing she felt. Whatever happened, Jill’s whole life was going to be so different from everything she had hoped for her. Eighteen was no age at which to be landed with a child, whatever the circumstances.

‘I’m going out to mow the lawn,’ she announced, unable to bear the inactivity. ‘You could come and do a spot of weeding, if you like. You’ll hear the phone ring if we leave the window open.’

Jill shook her head. ‘I might not.’

Claire sighed and gave in. Obviously nothing was going to shift Jill far from the telephone until she had received the call. It was only to be hoped that it would come soon.

Wearing jeans and a cotton shirt, she went out and manhandled the ancient mower from the garden hut. It was almost ready to give up the ghost altogether, but with care it should just about see out this growing season, The modern hover mowers were so much easier, both to use and to maintain, by all accounts; next spring’s budget would have to stretch to one.

Standing on his patio, contemplating his beautifully landscaped expanse of garden, their next-door neighbour lifted a hand in greeting as she wheeled the heavy machine into position for the first line of cut. The Johnsons were in their fifties, and had been very supportive during these past few years, but they had family of their own to care about. Their daughter, Susan, had been married a year, and was expecting her first baby in October. The way it should be, Claire reflected.

But that isn’t the way it is, so stop carping and accept it, she told herself firmly. People could say what they liked, think what they liked. All that mattered in the end was that Jill was all right.

With the mower going, she didn’t hear the phone ring. But Jill’s emergence from the house, looking radiant with relief, was enough to confirm that the call had indeed come through.

‘They want to meet me,’ she declared. ‘You too, Scott said. I told him we’d drive over this afternoon.’ Her laugh was carefree. ‘So much for all Ross’s spouting on about what it would do to his father!’

Leaning on the mower, trying not to let her trepidation at the thought of facing the Laxtons en masse gain too much ground, Claire said carefully, ‘It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re in total agreement with what’s to be done.’

‘Scott said they are.’ She paused, her face clouding a little. ‘At least, he didn’t say they weren’t.’ Her expression firmed again. ‘Anyway, they should be thankful we didn’t just go off and get married without telling anyone at all.’

Claire considered her with drawn brows. ‘You actually thought of doing that?’

‘Well, it would have saved all this, wouldn’t it? A fait accompli it’s called.’

‘I know what it’s called.’ Claire hardly knew whether to believe her or not. ‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

She looked at the stretch of lawn still to be cut, feeling anything but enthusiastic about completing the job. Only, if she didn’t, who would? Jill had shown little interest in the garden at the best of times. In any case, should everything work out as planned, she wouldn’t be here much longer.

It would seem strange to be on her own, Claire thought, depressed. Jill might not be much of a help around the house but she was someone to come home to in the evening, someone who made cooking a meal worthwhile. Life would be very empty without her.

She was running on ahead of herself again, she acknowledged at that point. Nothing was certain until it was an accomplished fact.

‘You’d better start thinking about what you’re going to wear this afternoon, if you want to create a good impression,’ she said with forced lightness. ‘There’s that white dress you’ve never had on yet.’

Jill pulled a face, looking even younger than her years for a moment. ‘I’m not dressing up like a dog’s dinner just to create an impression,’ she stated inelegantly. ‘I’ll wear what I feel comfortable in.’

What Jill felt comfortable in was either jeans or skirts more like wide belts, neither of which, Claire judged, would suit the Laxtons’ sartorial tastes. On the other hand, what was the point in her trying to conform to a standard set by others? Scott had fallen for her the way she was, and his opinion was the important one.

‘Fine,’ she agreed. ‘We both will. I’d better get on with this if I want to finish it before lunch. Heaven only knows when we’ll have another dry day.’

‘I’ll get lunch ready, if you like,’ offered Jill with a munificent air. ‘You have enough to do.’

Considering that they were only having tinned salmon and last night’s left-over salad, it would hardly take much effort, but Claire wasn’t about to turn the offer down. ‘That would be a big help,’ she agreed.

If Jill registered any irony at all, she wasn’t about to let it bother her. Hair swinging, hips slim as a boy’s, she trotted off back to the house.

Watching her go, Claire felt a moment’s near envy of her sister’s buoyant spirit. So far as Jill was concerned, everything was going swimmingly. She wished that she could feel as confident of it herself.

Lunch over, the dishes washed and put away and a few other essential odd jobs taken care of, she went upstairs to take a shower and put on a crisp tan and white-striped cotton dress with short sleeves and a narrowbelted waist, sliding her feet into tan leather sandals with her favourite if not particularly fashionable three-inch heels.

Jill had topped her by the age of fifteen, and was now around five feet seven without the aid of shoes. Attempting to assert authority over someone several inches taller was no easy matter, Claire had long ago realised.

Not that it always followed. Her father had been a sixfooter, her mother an inch shorter than Claire was herself, but her mother’s word had been law. It was all down to strength of character, she supposed. When it came to any real battle of wills, Jill could beat her hands down any day of the week.

Which made an absolute mockery of Jill’s claim to have been overruled when it came to choosing which universities to apply to for a place, she thought now, sitting down at the dressing-table to apply a light makeup. Jill had been only too vocal in stating where she wanted to go. That was before she had met Scott, of course. He had changed everything. It was only to be hoped that Claire’s own first impressions of him proved sound in the long run.

The green eyes looking back at her from the mirror were less than convinced. No matter how much she tried to be optimistic, there was no guarantee that this marriage would last. Scott appeared OK on the surface, but who could tell what he was really like underneath? He might come to regret being tied down with a wife and child at such a comparatively early age, while his brother still enjoyed the freedom to pick and choose.

However, there was little she could do about it now, she acknowledged fatalistically. Marriage was a gamble whichever way it began.

Jill’s choice of mid-thigh-length skirt and matching cropped jacket in pale blue was surprisingly demure. Her legs had lost the coltish look of a year or so ago and had gained a lovely shape. With her hair hanging straight and shining down to her shoulders, she was altogether a sight for sore eyes, thought Claire tenderly, though she was still so heart-breakingly young to be in this position.

Warmed by the sun after standing out on the drive, the Panda not only started first pull but sounded positively eager to be up and off. Which was more than she felt herself, Claire was bound to admit.

The Laxton home was out in Hope Valley, which meant going right through town. As anticipated on such a fine afternoon, the through-route was thronged with traffic heading for the Dales. Following a packed Ford Granada up a hill, she misjudged her gear-change on the steep bend, and received an irritated blast on the horn from the vehicle behind at her lack of acceleration.

‘Road-hog!’ shouted Jill as the car pulled out and roared past them, narrowly avoiding a head-on collision with one coming down the hill. ‘Just because you’re driving a blasted Porsche!’

‘He can’t possibly hear you,’ Claire pointed out, and received a grin.

‘I know, but it lets off steam. You should try it instead of just sitting there being all cool and collected.’

Only on the outside, reflected Claire wryly. The coming meeting promised to be anything but an easy-going affair. There would be awkwardness on both sides, with her own position, as Jill’s guardian and supposed mentor, the most untenable of all. Who else could be held responsible for her young sister’s seeming lack of moral values?

Hopefully, having shot his bolt last night, Ross would be absent. The last thing she needed was another confrontation with that individual.

They were three miles out of town amid open moorland when the front off-side tyre blew. Claire fought with the steering, which had gone suddenly extremely heavy, and brought the car to a jerky halt at the roadside.

‘Damn!’ she said forcefully. ‘This would have to happen today of all days!’

‘It’s almost half-past three already,’ announced Jill, as if it made any difference. ‘What do we do now?’

Claire refrained from stating the obvious. Turning off the engine, she got out to go and open up the boot. She was hardly dressed for changing a wheel, but what choice did she have?

Next moment she was gazing disbelievingly at a spare tyre as flat as the proverbial pancake. Since she had had the last puncture repaired a couple of months back, it hadn’t occurred to her to make a check. She’d simply taken it for granted that everything was OK.

Whatever had caused the leak, they were going to get no further on this than the one already on the car, she acknowledged ruefully. Which left them well and truly stranded.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Jill, getting out to see what was holding things up. She looked at the deflated tyre in dismay. ‘Oh, no!’

‘Oh, yes, I’m afraid.’ Claire was apologetic. ‘One of those classic situations you generally only see on film.’

‘What do we do now?’ Jill repeated. ‘They’ll think we’re not coming!’

‘Hardly.’ Eyes on the fast-moving traffic, Claire tried to think. ‘If Scott telephones the house he’ll realise we’ve already left. He’ll know something must have happened when we don’t turn up inside another half an hour or so, and will probably come looking. In the meantime,’ she added, with determined practicality, ‘we’ll just have to sit and wait.’

‘We could thumb a lift,’ suggested Jill hopefully ‘There’s sure to be somebody going that way.’

Claire shook her head. ‘Hitching can be dangerous.’

‘Not if it’s a family.’

‘If it’s a family, there’s unlikely to be room for anyone else. Anyway, it would be an imposition.’

Jill put on her most stubborn expression. ‘Well, there’s no harm in trying.’

She moved to the kerb, all hair and legs and winning smile as she lifted a hand in the time-honoured gesture. Two drivers tooted their horns but didn’t stop, while the rest sailed past without acknowledgement.

Having pulled up just past a big bend, they were out of sight until it was too late for cars to signal a stop, Claire reckoned. A dangerous situation altogether, in fact. All it needed was for someone to take the bend too fast, and they’d be on them before they could pull out.

About to suggest that they push the car further along the road, she paused in consternation as the big silver Mercedes just flashing past signalled abruptly and pulled up some twenty yards or so ahead of them. Ross waited for a break in the following traffic before easing himself from behind the wheel to walk back to them.

Wearing a dark blue jacket and lighter blue trousers and shirt, he looked taller than ever—and certainly no less devastating. He took in the situation at a glance, face impassive.

‘First thing is to get it further along the road so you don’t cause an accident,’ he said. ‘You’d better get behind the wheel and make sure it doesn’t veer out into the road while I push.’

‘I can help,’ offered Jill. ‘I’m stronger than I look.’

It would have taken a heart of pure stone to resist the appeal in the wide hazel eyes, and Ross’s, it seemed, wasn’t totally hardened. His smile was reluctant but it was a smile, subtly altering the lines of his face.

‘I can manage, thanks,’ he said. ‘I’d hate you to get that suit dirty.’

The Panda had been washed a couple of days ago, though the rain hadn’t exactly kept it band-box clean, Claire had to admit. He would be lucky to get away without a mark on those pristine shirt-cuffs, to say the least.

She slid behind the wheel and released the handbrake, put the gear-shift into neutral and kept the car into the kerb as Ross pushed it steadily along. She could see the bent dark head and broad, blue-clad shoulders in the driving-mirror. Not formal dress, but not entirely casual either. Lunch with some woman-friend, perhaps?

No concern of hers whatsoever, she told herself. It was sheer bad luck that he had been passing at this particular time. He’d no doubt consider her a fool now, as well as a possible profit-seeker.

As she had expected, there were dusty streaks on the pale blue cuffs when he’d finished pushing. If he noted them himself, he showed no sign.

‘Which road organisation are you with?’ he asked. ‘You can call them on the car-phone.’

‘None,’ Claire admitted, refusing to allow any hint of embarrassment to show in her voice.

Ross showed no visible reaction himself. ‘It’s unlikely that you’re going to get anyone other than that out to see to it today,’ he observed. ‘You’ll just have to risk leaving it here.’

‘I have to be at the shop all day tomorrow,’ said Claire concernedly, speaking her thoughts aloud.

Jill made a restless movement. ‘You’ll have to get a garage to fetch it in.’

That would cost a bomb, Claire knew, but there seemed little alternative. She would have to get to the shop by bus.

Ross dusted off his hands and nodded towards the Mercedes. ‘Let’s go.’

‘I’m really sorry to put you to all this trouble,’ she said, doing her best to sound genuinely apologetic. ‘Especially if you were on your way somewhere.’

‘I’ve been somewhere,’ he returned. ‘Lucky I decided to come back this way.’ The grey eyes were derisive. ‘Rescuing damsels in distress is my forte.’

‘A real knight of the road!’ she mocked back, giving way to the animosity which he aroused in her. ‘You should choose a white steed next time.’

His glance rested a moment on her face, taking in the challenging tilt of her chin, the slight flush staining her high cheekbones; there was a glimmer of something approaching genuine humour in his eyes now. ‘I’ll bear it in mind. In the meantime, you’ll just have to settle for common silver.’

Jill was already at the car, looking back impatiently to where they still stood. ‘It’s going on a quarter to four!’ she called.

‘As your sister so rightly points out, time is marching on,’ Ross observed. ‘Shall we join her?’

Claire turned without another word and walked to the car, nerves still quivering. Ross Laxton totally undermined what poise she possessed. He made her want to hit out at him both verbally and physically.

Jill opened the rear door and slid inside as they approached, leaving Claire with little option but to take the front passenger seat. Ross opened the door before she could do it herself, inviting her in with a taunting sweep of his hand.

‘Your carriage awaits, ma’am. Don’t forget to buckle up.’

Sinking into the soft leather luxury, she reached for the seatbelt, only to feel it snag on the ratchet as she tried to pull it across. Ross slid into his seat, and leaned across to take the belt buckle from her, easing it back into the spool. She could feel the warmth of his breath on her cheek, catch the faint scent of aftershave. The blue-clad arm brushed her breast as he drew the belt out again and clipped it home, sending a frisson down her spine.

‘You jerked it too hard,’ he said. ‘Inertia reels are sensitive to pressure.’

They weren’t the only things, she thought, still feeling the tingle. There was no denying her physical responses where this man was concerned; he created mayhem with her pulse-rate every time he came near. A purely instinctive reaction, and one she could do little about, unfortunately—except to make sure that he didn’t guess how he affected her.

‘Thanks,’ she said tersely.

He fired the ignition, a faint smile on his lips. Claire had a sudden feeling that he knew exactly how he affected her—the same way he probably affected every woman he came into contact with. Not that he’d find her particular response anything but amusing. His taste in women would run to the tall, blonde and sophisticated, if she was any judge at all.

The width of the car afforded plenty of room between the seats, but she still felt too close. His hand resting lightly on the gear-lever as he waited for a gap in the traffic was nowhere near her knee, yet she found herself shifting over to the left on the pretext of settling herself more comfortably in her seat, reluctant to allow even the slightest chance of any further contact.

‘We’re going to be awfully late,’ said Jill from the rear, with a note of concern. ‘Scott will think I’m not coming.’

‘I doubt it.’ Ross pulled out rapidly into the flow, accelerating smoothly away. ‘He has the utmost faith in you.’

‘No more than I have in him.’ She was quiet for a moment before asking hesitantly, ‘Were you there when he told your parents about us?’

‘I was,’ he confirmed. ‘He needed moral support.’

‘But you don’t support him, do you?’ Claire cut in. ‘You made that clear enough last night.’

He glanced in the driving-mirror before signalling for the approaching junction, slowing down to take the righthand turn with fine judgement. The road here was narrower, the low stone walls bounding it affording a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside, mellow in the afternoon sunlight.

‘I can hardly claim to be over the moon about it all,’ he returned, ‘but I’m not about to turn my back on him because of it.’

‘How did they take it?’ queried Jill.

‘How would you expect them to take it?’ He sounded abrupt again. ‘Oh, don’t worry. They’ll be civilised about it.’

‘There’s no point in being anything else, is there?’ said Claire. ‘What’s done is done.’

‘Well and truly,’ he agreed with irony. ‘All that’s left is to make the best of a bad job.’

Jill was silent after that, but Claire could sense her simmering resentment. Ross wasn’t making things any easier.

She kept a rein on her own tongue for the rest of the journey, saving herself for the coming encounter with his parents. Civilised they might be; acceptance was something else altogether. There was still a chance that, between the three of them, Scott could be persuaded to think again.

Big and square and covered in ivy, the Laxton house lay within beautifully maintained grounds. Even more imposing than she had anticipated, Claire acknowledged as Ross brought the car to a halt in the gravelled forecourt.

He got out and made as if to come round to the passenger side, shrugging when she disembarked herself and turning back to open the rear door for her sister, who accepted the courtesy as if accustomed to nothing else but.

Despite everything, Claire had to smile. Jill would have little difficulty in adapting to a new lifestyle. And it would be all of that. The Laxtons moved in a different world.

Scott came out from the house, his expression perturbed. ‘What happened?’ he asked.

‘Tyre blow-out,’ supplied his brother succinctly. ‘Lucky I was passing.’

‘The spare was flat, too,’ Claire put in before he could make any further comment. ‘It was supposed to have been repaired.’

Scott grinned. ‘The same thing happened to me a couple of months back, only in my case I’d simply forgotten to get it done. Come on in.’

He ushered the two of them through to a hall panelled in rich dark oak. An archway to the rear framed an oak staircase, while another to the side of it gave access to what appeared to be an inner hall. A faded, though still lovely carpet covered much of the polished wooden floor.

The huge vase of gladioli set on a table between the two arches created instant warmth and colour. A friendly house, Claire found herself thinking; a family house with a lived-in atmosphere which she found heartening.

Ross opened a door on the left and stood back to allow the two of them prior access. Jill hung back, reaching for Scott’s hand as if in search of Dutch courage, and giving Claire little choice but to go on ahead into the comfortably furnished sitting-room with its old stone fireplace filled with a further blaze of summer blooms.

Knowing about the stroke, it was still something of a shock to see Mr Laxton seated in a wheelchair. His face was gaunt, his left side obviously affected still, but there was nothing vague about the glance he turned her way, although he didn’t attempt to speak. Claire felt somewhat at a loss for words herself.

Looking every inch the lady in her cream skirt and matching silk shirt, Mrs Laxton rose from her chair. Her expression was guarded, but there were signs of strain in the fine blue eyes.





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