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binding than your word?’

      He laughed. ‘But you’re forgetting, I haven’t seen a legal document, just some letter, not your aunt’s will. Anyone could have written that. You could have done it yourself for all I know.’

      ‘Then I suggest you ring Mr Kirby and verify it,’ she blazed.

      ‘Maybe I will on Monday,’ he agreed, much to her surprise. ‘Meantime, enjoy your stay in the cottage.’

      ‘Meantime, I want your proof tomorrow,’ she slammed back, and then turned and marched out of the house.

      As she walked back down the drive she felt as limp and washed out as if she had been put through an old-fashioned mangle. It was difficult to believe how arguing with this man could drain her so much. God, he was detestable. He was virtually laughing in her face and she was expected to sit back and take it. Not on her life. This would probably be the strongest battle she would ever fight—but she was determined to win.

      The day dragged interminably slowly. There was not much she could do without a car. Trust her old Fiesta to break down at a time like this—not that she would have trusted it to make the journey here. She really ought to invest in a new car. And if she had still been going out with Tony he would have brought her. Everything, but everything, was conspiring against her.

      Tony had been her boyfriend for two years and she really had thought they would get married as soon as he’d finished law school and found himself a job. Originally he had trained in the police force but had then decided it was not for him, so even though he was twentyseven he was a student and not earning any money.

      When he had declared only two weeks ago that he thought their relationship was getting nowhere and they ought to part, she hadn’t been able to believe it. She had never minded that they couldn’t very often afford to go out. It wasn’t until one of her friends told her that she had seen him with another girl that it all became clear. The break-up had left her very bitter. If he’d had the guts to tell her that there was someone else she would have thought more of him.

      He wasn’t the only man to two-time his girlfriend, either. She’d had friends who’d been let down in a similar manner and it left her with a very bad taste in her mouth as far as the whole male race was concerned.

      She ate again at the Challoner’s Arms, took a stroll through the lanes, and went to bed early. How long Jarrett Brent was going to keep her waiting, she didn’t know. Would he come tomorrow with proof or would it be up to her to go and see Mr Kirby?

      On Sunday morning the church bells were ringing and Saira decided to go to morning service. She had always attended with her aunt and it felt only right that she should do so now.

      The small church, its pews each with their own individual doors, was almost full, and many eyes turned in her direction. Some people smiled, some were openly curious, and Saira had no doubt that they all knew who she was.

      The young vicar’s sermon was amusing yet moral and Saira began to feel uplifted, until she turned to leave and saw Jarrett Brent a few rows behind her. Their eyes met, he smiled, briefly, perfunctorily, and then turned his attention to the girl at his side.

      She was small, dark and fragile-looking, with a classic bone-structure—and she was wearing a hat! The only young woman to do so. It suited her without a doubt, she looked stylish and elegant, and Saira felt immature and gauche in her cotton dress and jacket, her hair in its usual plait.

      So Jarrett did have a girlfriend after all! Was it serious? He had said he lived on his own for the moment. Perhaps they were planning to get married? The girl was gazing adoringly at him, it was obvious they had a very deep relationship.

      Deliberately she hung back until he had gone. She wouldn’t have said that this girl was his type, she looked very fragile and meek, not as though she could stand up to a man like Jarrett Brent. Or was that the type he preferred? Did he like to boss his women around? And why was she wondering about it? What did it matter to her?

      Mrs Edistone appeared at her side while she was still deep in thought. ‘Good morning, Saira. I see you got in, then?’

      Saira nodded and smiled. She had seen the woman’s curtains twitch several times and knew that her comings and goings had been carefully monitored.

      ‘The squire gave you a key?’ asked the old lady, leaning on her stick, looking as though she was prepared to talk for a long time.

      ‘Yes,’ answered Saira.

      ‘I suppose he’s not a bad man,’ Mrs Edistone reflected thoughtfully, ‘always very pleasant if you meet him in the street, very pleasant indeed, very pleasant. How did he seem to you?’

      ‘Very pleasant,’ repeated Saira seriously, while inside she was dying to laugh. ‘Very pleasant’ were the last words she would use to describe Jarrett Brent. Very disagreeable, very uncooperative, very everything else, but ‘very pleasant’? Not on your life.

      Saira had a ham sandwich and salad for her lunch and when two o’clock came and went and he had still not brought her the requested proof she decided to go up to the house again. She refused to sit around all day waiting.

      As she walked up the long drive Saira wondered whether the pretty girl would be there? Or indeed whether her antagonist would be in? It was feasible that he had taken his girl out to lunch and they might not be back yet, perhaps this was why he had not come. But she had no doubt that Mrs Dour, as she had nicknamed his housekeeper, would put her in the picture; she would probably take great pleasure in turning her away.

      To Saira’s amazement she felt her heart beating much faster than normal, and she took a few deep breaths to calm herself as she pushed the bell and waited. It was a long time before anyone came, she had rung again and was on the verge of leaving when the heavy oak door swung inwards and Jarrett Brent himself appeared. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ was his greeting, and he looked irritated at being disturbed.

      ‘Yes, it’s me,’ confirmed Saira loudly and aggressively. ‘I’ve been waiting for those papers. Have you found them yet?’

      ‘Actually, no.’ The annoying sardonic smile was in place, his true feelings well hidden.

      Her eyes flashed. ‘I bet you haven’t even looked.’

      ‘I have been rather busy,’ he admitted.

      And Saira knew who he was busy with right now. His shirt was unbuttoned, his hair tousled; he looked as though he had dressed in a hurry.

      ‘Let’s get one thing quite clear,’ she said fiercely, ‘I’m not moving off this doorstep until I get what I came for.’ She planted her feet firmly on the ground, stood tall, and looked him full in the eyes.

      His lips quirked. ‘That could prove extremely uncomfortable, because I’ve just remembered that the papers in question might be in my office safe and not here. I’m afraid I can do nothing about it until tomorrow.’

      ‘Might be in your office safe?’ she questioned in disbelief, her voice rising as her temper increased. ‘You mean you’re not sure?’ It was unbelievable.

      ‘I’m as sure as I can reasonably be.’

      ‘I think you’re lying,’ she spat. In fact she was absolutely sure he was lying. ‘I think that for reasons known only to yourself you’re keeping me waiting. I think you’re devious and conniving and I cannot think what my aunt saw in you.’

      He lifted his shoulders, still with that infuriating smile on his face, not at all perturbed by her outburst. ‘You’re at liberty to think what you like.’

      Saira stamped her foot. ‘Lord, you’re impossible. This is a most intolerable situation.’

      ‘Actually I’m rather enjoying it.’ The smile turned to a grin.

      ‘You would,’ she returned sharply, hating the way he was so in control of himself while she was in danger of losing her composure altogether. ‘I’m the one who’s being messed

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