LITMIR.BIZ

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      She took a slice of toast and spread it thinly with butter, but once again Matt noticed that she barely touched it. At this rate she’d be just skin and bone in no time, he mused unwillingly. But it wasn’t his concern. If she’d lost her appetite, it was doubtless because she was terrified he was going to find out what a liar she was. But why was she lying? Why had she run away? What the hell was she playing at?

      ‘You don’t have to leave today, do you, Sara?’ Rosie asked now, nudging her father’s ankle with her foot. And, although he gave her a warning look, she went on bravely, ‘Sara could stay—’ she faltered ‘—stay until tomorrow, couldn’t she?’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ Sara began, and although Matt was tempted to let her leave and be done with it, he saw his daughter’s face and relented.

      ‘Yes, stay,’ he said flatly, deciding that she deserved the chance to explain why she’d been lying. And this way he could ensure that she’d still be here when he got back from taking Rosie to school. ‘At least until tomorrow.’

      He could see her indecision. She was probably weighing the advantages of staying here, where she believed no one knew who she was, against moving on and risking inevitable exposure. He was also aware that his own feelings were just as ambivalent. Dammit, he didn’t owe her a thing, he told himself savagely. Yet he couldn’t deny he felt sorry for her.

      And how sensible was that?

      Chapter Six

      SARA went back to her room after Matt had left to take Rosie to school. She wanted to avoid giving Mrs Webb the chance to ask any more questions. She was unpleasantly surprised to find that the bed she’d slept in had already been made.

      Which meant the housekeeper must have accomplished this task while they were downstairs having breakfast. She didn’t for one minute think that Matt would have made her bed, and she wondered uneasily what the woman had thought of the fact that she didn’t have any luggage.

      For she had no doubt that Mrs Webb would have noticed. She might not have actually interfered with any of her belongings, but in the course of her work she was bound to have opened the bathroom door and seen that there was no toothbrush on the shelf.

      Closing the door behind her, Sara leaned heavily back against the panels. Why had she agreed to stay on for another day? Why, when she’d realised what a gossip Mrs Webb was, hadn’t she made her excuses and left? Because her car was still not fixed, she reminded herself impatiently. Perhaps she should contact the rental agency, which was a countrywide operation after all, and ask them to supply her with a new car?

      But, no. That would be foolish, she realised at once. At the moment all anyone knew was that she’d left the apartment. She’d deliberately not taken her own car because registration plates were so easy to trace. In time they might get around to checking with the rental agencies, but by then she intended to have abandoned the car in favour of some other form of transport.

      The trouble was, she needed money. She hadn’t thought of that when she’d left London, and although she’d used her credit card to hire the car she hadn’t considered using a cash machine until she’d been forced to stop for petrol. Then she’d realised that to do so would alert the authorities to her current whereabouts and she’d used most of her cash for the fill-up.

      Working for Matt Seton would have solved all her problems, she thought regretfully. But she should have known that any legitimate employer would want the kind of personal details that she couldn’t supply. Not to mention references, she remembered wearily. And who could blame him for that?

      She knew the most sensible thing would be to leave now, before she said or did something to betray herself. Before she got in too deep, she acknowledged tensely. Last night there’d been times when she’d almost forgotten the events that had brought her here, when she’d begun to relax and enjoy herself. Did that make her a bad person? she wondered. Was the fact that for the first time in years she’d been able to be herself without fear of retribution a cause for self-disgust?

      Max would have thought so. Max would have been incensed at her behaviour. He didn’t like children and he’d have accused her of using Rosie to get to Matt. He’d have said that allowing the little girl to paint her nails had just been a way of attracting Matt’s attention. Max had been insanely jealous, as she knew to her cost, and he’d have turned an innocent game into something ugly.

      Yet had it been so innocent? she fretted uneasily. Perhaps she was the provocative little tease that Max had always accused her of being. It was certainly true that she’d been acutely aware of Matt Seton ever since he’d emerged from his Range Rover the day before. In spite of her apprehension she’d recognised him at once for what he was: a disturbingly attractive man who she had soon realised was nothing like Max.

      Thank God!

      She didn’t know how she had been so sure of that. It wasn’t as if she was a terrifically good judge of character. She’d married Max Bradbury, hadn’t she? Her lips twisted. She’d thought he was a good man. Because he was so much older than she was, she’d trusted him. She’d actually believed that his promise to take her away from what he’d convinced her was a boring existence had been inspired by love and not by an unnatural desire for possession. Instead, he’d turned her life into a nightmare, and even now he was still controlling her from the grave.

      She shuddered. What was she doing, thinking about Matt Seton when it was because of her that her husband was lying cold on some mortuary slab? She could imagine how Matt would feel about her when he found out who she really was. However reluctant he’d been to offer her his hospitality up to this point would be as nothing compared to his revulsion when he discovered the truth. She was a murderess—well, she’d be convicted of manslaughter at the very least, she amended. He wouldn’t want someone like her associating with his daughter.

      And as for anything else…She gave a bitter smile. There were no men in a women’s prison.

      She moved away from the door, wincing as once again her hip reminded her of its presence. If only her car was operational, she thought fiercely. She really believed she might have made her getaway while Matt was out. It wasn’t fair to involve him in her troubles. And if the police ever discovered that he’d allowed her to stay here he might be charged with harbouring a wanted criminal.

      But he didn’t know who she was, she assured herself, disliking that word ‘criminal’ again. Although she guessed it was only a matter of time before he found out. Max’s death was bound to make news eventually. And, although she hadn’t seen a television since she’d arrived, he was bound to have a set somewhere.

      She walked restlessly to the windows. It was such a beautiful morning, she thought. She longed to get out of the house and escape her anxieties in the simple delight of feeling the wind in her hair and the sun on her face. Who knew how much longer she’d be free to enjoy such simple pleasures? Oughtn’t she to make the most of it while she had the chance?

      Despite being reluctant to meet Mrs Webb again, she opened her door and stepped out onto the landing. A railed gallery overlooked the main entrance and she saw to her relief that there was no sign of the housekeeper in the hall below.

      Matt hadn’t used this door the day before, but, having descended the stairs on tiptoe, Sara prayed it wouldn’t present any problems now. She was unutterably relieved when the key turned and the handle yielded to her touch. Stepping outside, into the sunshine, she took a deep breath of the salt-laden air.

      She heard the dogs barking as she walked across the forecourt. Their hearing was obviously sharper than Mrs Webb’s, and Sara hoped the housekeeper would be too busy quieting them to notice her slipping out of the gates.

      She wanted to go down to the beach if she could, but, remembering the steepness of the path they’d used the afternoon before, she guessed that was the only means of access. It meant circling the house again, but luckily the track beyond the gates led onto the cliffs without having to re-enter the property.

      All the same, she was glad when she started down

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