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cut in, his voice cooling considerably.

      ‘But, Father, I also think that—’ It was the first time the boy had spoken and he was instantly silenced by a withering glance.

      ‘What you think has nothing to do with it,’ declared Hallam firmly.

      ‘I like Miss Sommers, though; I am sure that—’

      ‘Greg, let me deal with this.’

      Abby could not understand why this man would not let his son speak for himself on this issue. She felt sorry for Greg, more especially when he gave her a pleading glance behind his parent’s back.

      ‘I believe,’ she said to Hallam Lane, trying to keep her voice reasonable, ‘that my age is something in my favour as far as your son is concerned. I can relate to young people better than, say, Grypton or Evans—’ both of whom were well into their fifties ‘—and I therefore think that it would be in Greg’s best interests if I represented him. Perhaps I could have a word with your wife? This should be a mutual decision.’

      ‘There is no Mrs Lane.’ His brow was suddenly as dark as a thundercloud and Abby could see that she had touched a raw nerve. Presumably his marriage had not lasted—and if he was always this chauvinistic where women were concerned then she could see why.

      ‘I also think it is time you went,’ he added coldly and purposefully. ‘You can tell your partners why they’ve lost my business—and if they have any sense they’ll get rid of you.’

      Abby opened her mouth to object, took one look at Greg’s face pleading with her to say no more, and closed it again. If this was Hallam Lane’s decision, and his son was prepared to go along with it, then there was no point in arguing, even though she thought the elder Lane was making a big mistake. She rose to her feet, picked up her handbag and walked out of the room.

      Although she did not feel like being polite, although she wanted to tell Hallam Lane exactly what she thought of him for inflicting his personal prejudices on his son, Abby nevertheless held out her hand as she reached the main entrance and smiled graciously. ‘Goodbye, Mr Lane; I’m sorry you feel this way.’

      Contact with him felt like fire-water shooting through her veins. Despite his hostility towards her he was still a lethally attractive man, and she could not get her hand free quickly enough.

      He gave a quietly confident smile as she snatched it away, almost as though he knew what effect he was having on her, as though she was conforming to some preconceived pattern. Unless it was her imagination.

      Abby knew men reacted in many different ways when confronted with a woman solicitor, especially when that woman was attractive as well. Not that she considered herself unduly beautiful; she thought her nose too tiny, her mouth too wide. She was oblivious to the effect she really had on people.

      ‘Greg should have known how I felt,’ he said gruffly, eyes steady on hers. ‘He shouldn’t have wasted your time. Goodbye, Sommers.’

      She looked at the boy, feeling genuinely sorry for him because he had seemed to really like her. ‘Goodbye, Greg,’ she said, and then walked out to her car, conscious of Hallam Lane watching her every inch of the way.

      Once inside her metallic-blue Rover she drew in a steadying breath, fired the engine, and moved away so quickly that gravel spurted beneath her tyres. Black and gold wrought-iron gates—set into the high wall surrounding the property—opened automatically as she approached, and Abby could not help wondering uncharitably what this man had got to hide that his place was like a fortress.

      Abby was not given to thinking ill of people but Hallam Lane really had struck a wrong chord with her. Apart from her totally unexpected physical response to him—something that she would need to think about later—she had found him a totally unreasonable man.

      His disapproval of career women should not have entered into things since it was Greg she had been asked to represent. She felt sorry for his son. He had not been allowed to get a word in. If she hadn’t seen how well they got on together she would have retained her initial impression that he ruled his son with a rod of iron. It was all very puzzling.

      When she arrived back at the discreetly elegant office buildings of Grypton, Sommers & Evans in the English county town of Shrewsbury, Abby was still frowning over the unfairness of the situation. She stripped off her jacket and tossed it impatiently onto the coatstand, threw the Lane file into her wastepaper basket—there was no point in keeping that any longer—and dropped heavily into her chair.

      The more she thought about the way Hallam Lane was controlling the situation, the more annoyed she became. Maybe she ought not to have given in so quickly; maybe she ought to have stood her ground, stuck up for Greg. He had looked truly disappointed. On the other hand, as Hallam had said, he was the one paying the bills—so ultimately it was his choice.

      When the telephone rang she was surprised to hear her secretary say that she had Mr Lane on the line. ‘Hallam Lane?’ she queried, not even stopping to wonder why this man came into her thoughts first.

      ‘No, it’s Gregory, I think,’ replied Linda.

      ‘I see,’ Abby said slowly. ‘Put him on.’ Perhaps he had been able to persuade his father to think again. Stranger things had happened.

      ‘Hello, Greg, this is unexpected,’ she said, as soon as the call was put through. ‘Has your father changed his mind?’

      ‘Goodness, no,’ came the immediate response. ‘But he’s gone out and I want to say how sorry I am that I got you all the way out to the house for nothing. I really did think that once he’d seen you he would—’

      ‘You don’t have to apologise,’ she interrupted gently. ‘I meet all sorts in this job. It was nice of you to ring, though; I appreciate it.’

      There was a slight pause before he spoke again. ‘It wasn’t simply to apologise for my father; I—I really want you to represent me. Will you do it?’ There was an earnest note in his voice now.

      Abby’s brain went into fast forward as she realised the full implication of what he was asking. It could cause all sorts of problems if she went against the older man’s wishes, and at the very least it would generate friction between father and son. ‘I don’t think it would be very wise,’ she said. ‘Your father—’

      ‘This is my own decision,’ he cut in, surprising her with his determination.

      ‘Why didn’t you make this stand in front of him?’ she asked, frowning faintly into the phone.

      ‘Because I respect him, I guess,’ he told her wryly, ‘and rarely go against his wishes—and I especially didn’t think it wise, considering the trouble I’m already in,’ he added sorrowfully. ‘But I really do want you to help me, and I thought that if I presented him with a fait accompli he would be unable to do anything about it. I didn’t do that burglary, I promise you. I was—’

      ‘Greg,’ she cut in firmly, her mind suddenly made up, ‘I will do it, but only on condition that your father is in agreement. Talk to him again, tell him what you’ve told me, tell him you have confidence in me, that you find it easy to relate to me—better than you would an older person—and then come and see me. Shall we say ten o’clock in the morning?’

      He agreed reluctantly and after she had put down the telephone Abby sat in thoughtful silence as she tried to visualise what the next meeting between father and son would be like. Somehow she could not see Hallam Lane agreeing to her taking on his son’s case, whatever Greg said. His dislike of career women was so intense that nothing would move him. She did not expect to see Greg again.

      Pressure of work soon took over and the Lanes were forgotten. It was not until the day ended and she was in bed that Abby thought about either of them, and it was, not surprisingly, the elder man who was at the forefront of her mind.

      It had been a shock to feel any sort of reaction to him. She had built up an automatic barrier where men were concerned, having discovered that most of them were

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