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didn’t tell them everything,’ he assured her, straight faced, and to Phoebe’s consternation her family laughed merrily, as if he had already told them more than enough.

      ‘Perhaps I should know what he did tell you,’ she said, holding on to her temper with difficulty.

      ‘He said it was a very easy mistake to make.’

      ‘And that it was wonderful to meet someone without any preconceptions about him.’

      ‘Yes, and that one of the reasons he loves you is that you just don’t care what he does.’

      They beamed at her.

      Phoebe looked at Gib. ‘Is that right?’ she said, unable to think of anything else, other than the obvious option which was that she had no idea what any of them were talking about.

      ‘I didn’t tell them what an idiot you felt when you realised that I was the president of the bank and not the layabout you thought I was when you were trying to get an interview.’ Gib’s eyes gleamed with appreciation as he saw her struggling to come to terms with the sheer nerve of him. ‘You were expecting the president to be someone a lot more formidable, weren’t you, darling?’

      Somehow Phoebe managed to stretch her mouth into a ghastly smile. ‘It was quite a surprise,’ she said.

      ‘I must say, darling,’ said her father, ‘you might have told us what Gib did. You just told your mother he worked for a bank, as if he was some teller. I felt a complete fool when I realised!’

      ‘It sounds wonderful, too,’ said Lara, equally impressed. ‘It’s not as if an ethical bank is something to be ashamed of. Not like … I don’t know … being an arms dealer or a politician or something.’

      Gib put a consoling arm around Phoebe’s shoulders. ‘But that’s exactly what I love about Phoebe. She just doesn’t care what I do or how much money I have.’ He smiled teasingly into her eyes. ‘You love me for what I am, don’t you, bunni—’ He pretended to catch himself up guiltily. ‘Don’t you, honey?’

      ‘You know exactly how much I love you,’ she said, meeting his gaze directly, and he laughed and released her.

      ‘What did you feel when you found out that Gib was actually the president?’ Lara asked eagerly. ‘You must have felt a bit stupid, didn’t you?’

      ‘To tell you the truth,’ said Phoebe, a decidedly crisp edge to her voice, ‘I didn’t believe a word of it!’

      ‘President!’ she bit out the moment the door to their bedroom closed behind them. The guests had begun to drift away from the reception and they had a couple of hours to recover before they had to go back down for dinner and dancing. ‘Couldn’t you have chosen something a bit more likely, like Chancellor of the Exchequer or Director General of the United Nations?’

      ‘I always fancied myself running a bank,’ said Gib by way of an excuse.

      ‘Why stop at a bank? Why not pretend you were President of the United States?’

      ‘They would have known that wasn’t true.’

      Phoebe ground her teeth at the reasonableness of his tone. ‘Whereas, it’s so believable that you should be running your own bank?’

      ‘They did believe me, didn’t they?’ he replied, unanswerably.

      ‘I thought we agreed that you would stick to our story?’ she accused him, wrenching off her hat. She had a massive tension headache, and the champagne she had been reduced to gulping to cope with the stress of Gib’s increasingly ridiculous lies hadn’t helped any.

      ‘No more variations, we said. Now I’m not only supposed to be engaged to you and spending the night with you, I’m an accessory to illegal impersonation! Have you thought what will happen if J.G. Grieve hears that you’ve been impersonating him?’

      ‘I don’t think that’s very likely,’ said Gib soothingly. He hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to tease Phoebe a little by elaborating on the basic outlines they had agreed. ‘How’s he going to know what goes on at an obscure English wedding?’

      ‘These people have lawyers, you know,’ said Phoebe with a dark look. ‘If he sues you, you needn’t think I’m going to support you. God, what a day!’ she sighed, sinking down onto the edge of the vast four-poster bed and easing off her high-heeled shoes so that she could rub her sore feet.

      Flopping back across the bed, she stared tensely up at the embroidered canopy. ‘And we’ve still got tonight to get through!’

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      ‘OH, COME on, it hasn’t been that bad.’ Gib loosened his tie with a sigh of relief as he wandered around the room, inspecting the wood panelling and the magnificent stone fireplace.

      ‘Not for you, maybe,’ she grumbled, ‘but it’s been a nightmare for me, not knowing what ridiculous story you’re going to make up next, and just waiting for someone to turn round and spot that you’re here under false pretences. I’m going to feel great when that happens, aren’t I?’

      ‘Relax,’ he said soothingly. ‘Everything’s fine. You’re just tired. What you need is a nice bath.’

      Without waiting for her to reply, he disappeared through a door in the panelling, and the next minute Phoebe heard the sound of water gushing into the bath. ‘I’ll bring you a drink, and you can unwind,’ he shouted over the noise. ‘You’ll feel much better then.’

      Phoebe was tempted to tell him that she would be the judge of what would make her feel better, but a wonderful fragrance of foaming bubbles was drifting through into the bedroom and, when it came down to it, the thought of a long hot soak with a long cool drink was immensely appealing. No point in cutting off her nose to spite her face.

      So she leant back against the pillows and let Gib run the bath for her. ‘Your bath awaits, madam,’ he said grandly at last, holding the door open with a flourish.

      The bathroom turned out to be almost as impressive as the bedroom. It was panelled throughout, apart from a deep stone window, just wide enough to stick your bow and arrow through. A stuffed bear’s head was fixed to the wall. There was a selection of imposing antique chests and, in the middle, a vast claw-footed tub, filled to the brim with scented foam. Averting her eyes from the bear, Phoebe saw that Gib had put fluffy towels conveniently to hand on a wooden chair and set out the tempting array of luxurious freebies provided by the hotel along the side of the bath.

      ‘Thank you,’ she muttered, touched in spite of herself by the trouble he had taken.

      He smiled at her, that unsettling, daredevil grin that never failed to make her nerves jump alarmingly. ‘It’s my way of saying I’m sorry,’ he said disarmingly. ‘I didn’t mean to wind you up today.’

      ‘That’s OK,’ Phoebe said awkwardly, feeling as if the wind had been rather taken out of her sails.

      ‘Now, what would you like to drink?’

      ‘Really, you don’t need to—’

      ‘I’ll add it to my expenses if that will make you feel better,’ Gib offered.

      Phoebe wasn’t sure whether being reminded that he was only doing his job made her feel better or worse, but decided in the end that the most dignified course of action would be to relent.

      ‘Something long and cold would be wonderful,’ she said.

      ‘You get in,’ said Gib. ‘I’ll be back in a minute.’

      When he had gone, Phoebe got undressed and stepped into the bath. It was enormous, more of a swimming pool than a bath, and she lay back with a luxurious sigh, immersing herself completely beneath the scented water. Maybe Gib wasn’t so bad after all, she thought as she emerged, blowing bubbles out of her mouth, and smoothing the wet hair back from her face.

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