LITMIR.BIZ

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with one or two of her supposed lovers.

      The legal document, short and to the point, was waiting for her. She agreed not to tell the children that she was their birth mother, and she agreed that this meeting constituted no claim to further access or custody.

      That seemed fair enough. Ignoring the elderly solicitor’s somewhat censorious attitude, she signed, then got gracefully to her feet.

      He said, ‘I would urge you to think of the welfare of these children, Ms Gladstone.’

      She gave him a cool, remote glance. He had come out to Pigeon Hill occasionally to parties, seeming older then to a teenaged girl than he did now. Their slight acquaintanceship gave him no right to imagine that he could influence her. He, and everyone else who had known her then, would have to realise that the child who used to stay at Pigeon Hill during the holidays, the recipient of her cousin’s charity, had grown up.

      ‘I don’t think this is any of your business. Goodbye,’ she said calmly, and walked across the room, ignoring the faint sputtering from behind her.

      She had just reached the door when the telephone rang. Stepping through, she closed the door behind her, only to re-open it swiftly when her name was called from inside the room.

      ‘Yes?’ she asked aloofly.

      He put the receiver down. “That was Luke,’ he said with stiff precision. ‘He wants to see you out at Pigeon Hill. Now.’

      Her brows shot up. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

      As she turned to go once more he said, ‘Take some advice from an old man, Perdita. Luke can be ruthless, especially where those children are concerned. They were all that kept him sane when Natalie died. He is intensely protective of them.’

      A tight smile barely moved her mouth. ‘Thank you,’ she said sweetly, and left.

      Whether or not he meant it kindly, she preferred to treat it as such. Not that he needed to tell her anything about Luke Dennison. She knew all about him, including the fact that he was a superbly tender lover.

      But she, too, could be ruthless. First Natalie, then her life as a model, had taught her that she had to stand up for herself, fight for what she wanted and believed in.

      And there was nothing she wanted more than to see her children.

      What did his summons to the station mean? Were the girls there? Her heart thudded as she got into her car and set it in motion, concentrating on keeping to the left. Where there was other traffic it was simple, but once she got on to the no-exit road to Pigeon Hill she found her attention wavering, and a couple of times had to head back on to the correct side.

      As before, Luke met her at the door, his angular face without expression. ‘They’re in the morning-room,’ he said.

      Now that the ambition that had sustained her for ten long years was about to be realised, Perdita found she didn’t dare move. Instead, she stared at him as though she had never seen a man before. His image wavered and blurred. Colour leached from her skin as the floor tilted beneath her feet.

      ‘Perdital’ he said sharply.

      Shivering, she was swept up in his arms and carried across the hall and into another room. He put her down on a sofa and ordered, ‘Don’t move. I’ll get you some brandy.’

      Perdita closed her eyes. Almost immediately she heard whispering, and lifted heavy lashes to see the two girls coming across the room to her.

      She’d always known they weren’t identical; what she hadn’t expected was for them to be quite so different.

      One was a willowy creature with long limbs and a face whose bones had come straight from her mother, whereas her sister was small and sleek and—seeking the right word to describe her, Perdita could only find merry. Her eyes twinkled, she smiled with heart-lifting brightness, and her expression was alert and alive and vital, a contrast to the grave thoughtfulness of the other girl. The taller of the two had blue eyes whereas the other’s, Perdita was shaken to see, were the same green as hers; both had hair that was gloriously, unashamedly red, but the taller had straight, shoulder-length locks and the shorter’s curled around her piquant face.

      ‘Hello,’ Perdita said, smiling at them. Her heart clattered noisily, almost suffocating her. The last time she had seen them they had been seven days old, and she had been numb with despair, her throat raw from weeping. Something of the same agony of spirit racked her now, desolation and a sense of bitter deprivation, of loneliness so intense she’d had to repress it to be able to bear it.

      ‘Hello,’ they chorused, then looked at each other, said, ‘Tennyson,’ and linked little fingers, shutting their eyes as they made a wish.

      The age-old ritual soothed something in Perdita’s heart. She said, ‘I hope your wish comes true.’

      ‘So do we,’ the shorter one said cheekily. She looked Perdita over with open interest and said, ‘Don’t you feel well?’

      ‘No, I—’

      ‘She almost fell at my feet.’ Luke appeared with a small glass of brandy. ‘Here, drink it down,’ he said.

      ‘I feel much better already.’

      ‘Drink it.’

      She opened her mouth and the girls giggled. ‘You’d better do what he says,’ the shorter advised. ‘Mummy used to say when he gets that note in his voice he means to be obeyed.’

      Perdita knew their names, even knew that the taller one was Olivia and the shorter Rosalind, but until Luke introduced them with the same austere courtesy he used for adult women she had always thought of them as Tara and Melissa. By the time she had adjusted to this they were all sitting down and the girls were looking at her with interest and a certain astonishment.

      ‘I know who you are,’ Rosalind said eagerly. ‘You’re a model, aren’t you? You’re the Adventurous Woman.’

      A famous, old-established firm of cosmetic makers had rejuvenated its rather stuffy image with an advertising campaign that had aroused an enormous amount of interest. The Adventurous Woman concept had boosted sales to delirious, unexpected heights, doing wonders for the bank balances of the company, the advertising agency and Perdita.

      ‘I used to be,’ she said, setting the barely tasted brandy down on the small side table. “Not any more. I’m retired.’

      She didn’t look at Luke but she felt his keen attention; her skin tightened.

      Rosalind laughed. ‘You look too young to be retired. Didn’t you like being a model?’

      ‘Some of it was fun,’ Perdita admitted. ‘But a lot of it is pretty boring, just flicking your head around for photographers. And it was very hard work. Still, I didn’t go to university and get qualifications, so I had to take what I could get.’

      They had Natalie’s exquisite manners. They talked freely and pleasantly, of their grandmother, of school, they asked questions about places she had been to, and Perdita found herself telling funny little anecdotes, absurdly thrilled when they laughed and commented. Occasionally she had to prompt them, but they were infinitely more confident than she had been at the same age.

      Although afraid to let any emotions other than the most superficial pleasure in their company show through, Perdita gave herself up to an exquisite heartache.

      After an hour Luke intervened smoothly, and she found herself being escorted to the door. The girls wanted to come too, but when Luke refused they gave in without demur, saying their farewells with a poised charm that was so like their dead mother that Perdita had to look away in case they saw the tears in her eyes.

      He walked down the path with her, waiting until they got to the car before saying abruptly, ‘I hope you’re satisfied.’

      Nodding, face averted, she put out a hand to open the door.

      ‘And I have your promise that you won’t contact them

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