Elusive Obsession - Carole Mortimer

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other man finally conceded, and there was the sound of him moving towards the door her father obviously still held open for him. ‘I suggest we talk again, Howard, when you feel in a more reasonable frame of mind.’

      ‘And I suggest,’ her father returned tautly, ‘that in future you stay well away from me and my family!’

      The door was closed with only slightly repressed violence as the other man finally seemed to have left, and with his departure the room was suddenly filled with an ominous silence, a silence that seemed endless.

      She wanted to run out into the room, put her arms around her father and tell him that she thought the Falcon man was hateful too, that she didn’t want him to have her beloved Chalford, that he couldn’t let that awful man come and live here! But if she did that she would give away her hiding place, reveal that she had been eavesdropping on their conversation. And, indulgent as her father was with her, she knew that would make him cross all over again.

      No, she would just have to wait here now until her father left his study, and then creep quietly away herself. It was almost teatime, so she shouldn’t have too long to wait, and her stomach rumbled hopefully; her father always joined them in the small family sitting-room for tea.

      She could hear him moving about his study now, knew he had sat down at the desk, that he was opening and shutting the drawers as he looked for things he wanted. And then the room fell very silent, and as the minutes passed the muscles in her legs began to ache from the effort of having to sit completely still so that she wouldn’t be detected.

      Suddenly, when she was beginning to think she would have to move anyway and face the consequences, without any warning, except perhaps the smallest of clicking noises, the silence was shattered by a deafening roar.

      For a moment she was just too stunned to move, and then her surprise at the sudden noise turned to puzzlement. She had recognised the sound only too well, often having accompanied her father on his seasonal ‘shoots’. But he had always impressed on her, on those occasions, the importance of never having a loaded gun anywhere near the house, of always making sure the safety catch was on before handling a gun at all.

      And yet she knew, without a doubt, that it was the sound of a gun being shot that had reverberated around the room seconds ago.

      There was the sound of running feet in the hallway outside now, the door to the study being thrown open, the babble of the voices of the people who had entered the room—she guiltily recognised Nanny’s as being one of them, and there was Sylvester the butler too, and Mrs Hall the housekeeper—coming to an abrupt and sudden end … possibly so that her father could reprimand them for entering his study without knocking, as they were supposed to do!

      ‘My God…!’ Sylvester finally groaned raggedly.

      She wondered why Nanny hadn’t rebuked him for the blasphemy, as she knew the elderly lady would have done if it had been her. The old lady had been Daddy’s nanny first, was almost at retirement age now, and her old-fashioned morality lingered on with this, the second generation.

      But her curiosity was now fast overtaking any fear she had of a reprimand for disappearing in the way she had after lunch, until finally she couldn’t stand it any longer, silently leaving her hiding place, edging quietly into the room in the direction of her father’s desk, which seemed to be where everyone else’s attention was centred. So intent were they all that they didn’t even see her.

      What she saw when she reached the desk made her eyes widen with disbelieving horror, and all the colour drain from her cheeks. That—that couldn’t be her father! It was too grotesque, horrific, unrecognisable as a human being, even. And the blood. Good God, there was blood everywhere. Everywhere. All over the pale blue shirt and checked jacket she knew her father had been wearing earlier in the day!

      She opened her mouth to scream as she realised it was her father. But no sound passed her lips. And the silent scream went on and on and on…

      ‘I’VE dressed some brides in my time, Di——’ Joanna lovingly arranged the ivory-coloured veil for what must have been the dozenth time ‘—but you look—you look——’ Words seemed to fail the twice-married and twice-divorced cynic.

      ‘Fantastic!’ Cally told her without hesitation as she burst into the room and heard the latter part of their conversation.

      ‘Absolutely beautiful.’ Joanna, perfectly capable of talking for herself, drily chose her own description. ‘Of course, the gown could have something to do with it…!’

      ‘It has everything to do with it.’ Diana finally spoke from behind the sheer ivory-coloured veil with its beautifully arranged teardrop pearls draping her forehead. ‘Charles is going to be delighted,’ she said with husky confidence, squeezing the older woman’s arms reassuringly.

      ‘He had better be!’ Joanna told her fiercely as she still fussed over the veil, seeking absolute perfection in its shimmering length that cascaded to the base of Diana’s spine, her hair shimmering like gold beneath the whole length of it. ‘I’ve had nightmares about the next few moments!’

      ‘You had better get out there, Di,’ Cally advised warningly. ‘Before Charles is reduced to a quivering wreck!’

      ‘And why shouldn’t he be?’ Joanna said with a certain amount of relish. ‘After the week he’s just given me, I feel like one!’

      With a wryly affectionate smile for the older woman Diana glided over to the door in the ivory satin gown, the tiny teardrop pearls on her forehead the only adornment on both the veil and the gown, the simplistic lines of the latter outlining the perfection of her uptilted breasts, slender length of waist, and gently curving hips. It was a gown of sheer genius, a masterpiece.

      ‘Oh, my God, I almost forgot to tell you in the excitement!’ Cally hurried over to her, stunningly beautiful herself in a shimmering gold gown. ‘The mystery guest has at last arrived,’ she told Diana breathlessly. ‘It’s Reece Falcon!’ The announcement was made with a triumphant note for the effect the man’s identity was sure to have.

      But Cally couldn’t know just how much of an effect it had had on the woman so thankfully hidden behind the shimmering veil. Her cheeks paled, green eyes glazed with forbidden memories, her mouth suddenly dry.

      ‘He’s Chris’s father,’ Cally encouraged as she received no obvious response from Diana. ‘Christopher Falcon,’ she enlarged frustratedly as she still had no reply. ‘The man who has been sending you red roses all week and generally making a pest of himself!’

      Diana swallowed hard, fighting to regain control. It had just been the shock, the suddenness—— She had known she would have to face him again one day, but she had hoped it would be by her design, not like this, not today; she hadn’t even realised he had been sent an invitation. But perhaps he hadn’t, not in the normal way; Charles would have been sure to tell her of such an important guest. No, Reece Falcon had arranged this at the last minute; he was the sort of man who, when he decided he wanted something, made sure he got it. Getting himself invited here today would have been easy for a man like him.

      Cally still looked deflated by her lack of reaction. ‘Diana——’

      ‘Will you stop delaying the girl?’ Joanna cut in desperately. ‘I can hear Charles building up to the finale now. God knows what he will do if Diana is late with her entrance——!’

      ‘Heaven forbid the bride should be late,’ Diana returned drily, fully in command of her emotions again now. Reece Falcon was just a man, with chinks in his arrogant armour like any other; hadn’t she managed to find one of them? Wasn’t that the reason he was here today? But there was nothing he could do to her, absolutely nothing he could do that would touch her either mentally or physically.

      ‘There won’t be a dry eye in the house,’ Joanna predicted. Even cynically

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