LITMIR.BIZ

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well…Now, I’d better get moving…Yes, I’ll do that…Bye.’

      The door opened abruptly and he came striding out. His dark face more than a little tense, he said, ‘I was just coming to look for you. About ready to go?’

      ‘Yes.’ Whatever the trip to Castle Anders brought, it was something she felt impelled to do.

      His face relaxing into a smile, he said, ‘That’s good,’ and put a hand at her waist.

      Just that light touch seemed to brand her through her clothing.

      ‘As it’s a Saturday morning and the traffic’s often bad,’ he went on, ‘it might take us longer than usual to get there. But we can always have lunch on the way—’ Seeing her case, he stopped speaking abruptly.

      Quickly, before she could weaken, she explained, ‘I’ve brought my belongings in the hope that when we get back to London you’ll be kind enough to drop me at a hotel.’

      ‘Of course,’ he agreed smoothly, ‘if you’re sure that’s what you want.’

      Outside, the sky was a Mediterranean blue and it was warm and sunny, with a return to the Indian summer they had been enjoying. A balmy breeze carried the scent of late roses and somewhere close at hand a bird sang, turning town into country.

      The sleek silver Porsche was standing by the kerb with a dark blue limousine drawn up behind it and Jervis—stocky and middle-aged—standing by.

      Handing the chauffeur Tina’s case, Richard said, ‘I’ve decided to drive myself, so you can put that in the Porsche, garage the limo and take the rest of the day off.’

      ‘Very good, sir.’ There was gladness and relief in the man’s voice. ‘Thank you, sir.’

      ‘I suppose you know your favourite team’s on the box this afternoon?’ Richard queried with a grin.

      Jervis returned the grin. ‘Don’t I just! And they stand a good chance of winning.

      ‘There’s a special preview before the run-up to the match,’ he went on, ‘so as soon as Mrs Baxter gets back—they’re her favourite team too—we’ll have an early lunch and get settled.’

      So the housekeeper wasn’t back. Richard must have been mistaken. Or lying deliberately.

      Oh, don’t start that again! Tina scolded herself and wondered what had got into her. Usually she was well-balanced, not one to harbour foolish thoughts, but somehow, since yesterday lunch time, she had lost her common sense along with her equilibrium.

      As soon as her case was in the boot and she was installed in the passenger seat, with a word of thanks and a nod to the chauffeur, Richard slid in beside her. A moment later they had left the quiet square and joined the busy Saturday morning mêlée.

      As they headed out of town, the traffic proved to be very heavy and it was stop-start for most of the way. Once the suburbs had been left behind them, however, and they reached the quieter country roads, things improved enormously.

      When it was obvious that the most stressful part of the journey was over, she asked, ‘Where exactly is Castle Anders?’

      ‘Some five miles from the picturesque market town of Anders Cross and a couple of miles from the village of West Anders.’

      It seemed that Anders was a name to be reckoned with, Tina thought a shade dazedly and asked, ‘How long have the Anders family lived there?’

      ‘Our branch of the family have lived at the castle for well over six hundred years.’

      She was still marvelling at that when he went on, ‘My mother, who lost both her parents in a plane crash when she was just a toddler, was brought up there by her grandparents.

      ‘When she met and fell in love with my father, Richard Cavendish, and wanted to marry him, they gave the couple their blessing on condition that he changed his name from Cavendish to Anders and made his home at the castle. Which he did.

      ‘When my great-grandfather passed away at ninety-three, he left me his business empire and bequeathed Castle Anders to my mother on the understanding that after her death it should come to me…’

      ‘So your parents still live there?’

      He shook his head. ‘They’re both dead.’ Heavily, he added, ‘My mother died earlier this year.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘You must miss her.’

      He acknowledged her condolence with a glance from those tawny eyes and a little nod.

      ‘Have you any brothers or sisters?’

      ‘No. I’m the last of this particular branch of the family—at least until I marry and have children of my own.

      ‘Then, as great-grandfather knew, it’s always been my intention to take my wife and family and live at Anders on a permanent basis.’

      Tina felt a queer tug at her heartstrings to think that some lucky woman was destined to be everything to him—his friend and confidante, his lover and his wife, the mother of his children.

      Trying to push the poignant thought aside, she relapsed into silence and stared out at the scenery. Without being particularly dramatic, the countryside was pleasantly picturesque and rolling.

      The woods were decked in bronze and gold and russet, the newly washed meadows were green and lush and the silver flash of water told of quiet streams and rivers.

      As they breasted a rise to see a pleasing panorama spread out below them, Richard broke the silence to say, ‘A mile or so ahead, there’s a nice old coaching inn called the Posthorn. I thought we might stop there. The place has character and the food’s good.’

      She nodded agreement. ‘That sounds lovely.’

      The Posthorn was a black and white half-timbered place with tubs of trailing scarlet geraniums adding a vivid splash of colour.

      Richard drove through an archway into a cobbled yard and parked outside what had obviously once been stabling and now appeared to be a small brewery.

      ‘As you can see, they brew their own ale here,’ he remarked, ‘and it’s excellent.’

      They went in through a back door and into a panelled lounge, where the windows were open to the balmy air and sunshine streamed in.

      In the huge fireplace the grate was screened by a large jar filled with beech and autumn foliage and the polished furniture smelt of apples and honey.

      Having settled her in a seat by a window, he handed her a menu and asked, ‘What do you fancy to eat?’

      ‘I’m not particularly hungry after such a good breakfast…’ she began and, recalling the intimacy of that breakfast, felt her cheeks grow hot.

      Seeing the gleam of amusement in his eyes and knowing he’d guessed the cause of her confusion, she found herself blushing even harder.

      His face straight, he suggested, ‘Then perhaps just a sandwich?’

      Not knowing where to look, she bent her head over the menu and studied it with unnecessary care.

      Oh, why was she acting like an overgrown schoolgirl? she wondered crossly. Where had yesterday’s cool, self-contained young woman gone?

      But, after all that had happened last night and this morning…She pushed away the uncomfortable thought, determined not to go along that route, and dragged her mind back to the present.

      There was an extensive range of light snacks and, by the time a cheerful buxom woman came to take their order, Tina had decided on home-cooked ham in a piece of French stick and a side salad.

      Richard followed suit.

      ‘And to drink?’ he queried. Adding, ‘They have a good wine cellar here.’

      ‘I was thinking of trying half a

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