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winked at Dominic, who grinned from ear to ear as Adam jogged down the lawn ready to deliver a nice, easy ball to the beginner. Rupert, hunkered down behind her to keep wicket, smothered a laugh as Lowri danced down the wicket to the tame delivery, smashing it away into the shrubbery with a perfect forward drive.

      Adam stared, open-mouthed as Dominic raced to retrieve it. ‘I see, I see,’ he said ominously, scowling at Lowri. ‘Having me on, were you?’ He put up a hand to catch the ball then came sprinting down the wicket in earnest, letting fly a full toss which Lowri swiped over his head with ease to wild applause from the four Clares. She dealt with his three successive deliveries with equal disrespect, until she grew careless and lofted a ball which Dominic sprang up and took spectacularly with one hand, winning concerted applause all round, loudest of all from the bowler.

      Adam came sprinting towards Lowri, his eyes hot with accusation. ‘Don’t tell me that was beginner’s luck!’

      ‘Nah!’ said Dominic scornfully. ‘Her Dad’s captain of the village cricket team where Lowri comes from. He taught her to play cricket when she was littler than Emily.’

      ‘No son, you see,’ said Lowri apologetically. ‘Dad had to teach his skills to me. Not,’ she added, ‘that I get to use them much.’

      Adam grinned. ‘Did he teach you to bowl, too?’

      ‘Only tame medium pace stuff.’

      He handed her the ball. ‘Right. Come on, then.’

      ‘It’s my turn to bat,’ pointed out Rupert, aggrieved, as Adam took his stance in front of the wicket.

      ‘Later—I want my revenge first!’

      But Adam, swiping mightily at the third ball Lowri delivered, sent it straight through the window in the coach house office in a hail of broken glass, bringing the match to an early close.

      Astonished by the howls of laughter from her hosts, Fiona burst from the conservatory to hurl recriminations at Adam, winning her deep disapproval from Emily, who slid a small comforting hand into his large one in consolation as he apologised profusely.

      ‘Don’t worry—Mrs Parks can type in the conservatory tomorrow,’ said Rupert, clapping him on the shoulder.

      With promises to settle the bill for the damage, Adam took reluctant leave, prompted by a petulant reminder from Fiona that they were expected for dinner elsewhere that night. Despite her urgings he took his time in parting from Dominic and Emily, even contriving a private word with Lowri while Fiona went upstairs to make unnecessary repairs to her face.

      ‘For a pint-sized lady,’ he said, his eyes glinting, ‘you pack an almighty wallop, Lowri Morgan.’

      ‘It comes in useful from time to time,’ she admitted demurely.

      ‘For beating off importunate lovers?’

      ‘Not too many of those around,’ she said candidly.

      Adam Hawkridge shook his shiny brown hair back, frowning. ‘Why not?’

      ‘I wish I knew,’ she said without thinking, then regretted it as she saw the gleam in his eyes.

      ‘It’s not personal preference, then? You don’t have anything deep-seated against my sex?’

      ‘Not too deep-seated, no,’ she said warily.

      ‘Splendid.’ He smiled and shook her hand. ‘I’m very glad Sarah invited me here today. Goodbye, little cousin.’

      

      Lowri, pressed to stay for supper once the others had left, accepted with alacrity. She helped Emily get ready for bed, read her a story, then gave Sarah a hand with the meal, which Dominic was allowed to share before he too went off to bed and left the other three alone. Lowri found herself listening with shameless avidity when Sarah and Rupert discussed Adam Hawkridge’s future destiny as they lingered over coffee round the kitchen table.

      ‘A bit of a playboy, our Adam,’ mused Rupert, ‘but a brilliant electronics engineer just the same, with a definite flair for marketing. He’ll fill his father’s shoes very ably—far more than his brother would have done.’

      ‘Rupert was in school with Peter Hawkridge,’ explained Sarah.

      ‘I often spent part of the holidays with his family,’ added Rupert. ‘Adam was only a kid in those days, of course. Can’t be much more than early thirties even now. He’s packed such a lot in his life that one tends to forget his youth.’

      ‘Why isn’t his brother taking over the business?’ asked Lowri.

      ‘He’s dead, pet. Smashed himself up in his car when his wife went off with another man. Adam was at Harvard Business School at the time.’

      ‘Gosh, how tragic. What sort of business is it?’ added Lowri, trying not to sound too interested.

      ‘Hawke Electronics rents software to a worldwide clientele. Adam’s father built the company from scratch, and believes in ploughing back a fair percentage on research and development.’ Rupert held out his cup for more coffee. ‘And since Adam’s return from the States the number of software programmes they provide has tripled. He’s one bright cookie, our Adam. Dan Hawkridge is damn lucky to have such an able son to follow in his footsteps.’

      ‘Adam switched off a bit at the prospect at lunch, though, wouldn’t you say?’ said Sarah, joining her husband on the sofa.

      Rupert put his arm round her. ‘The weight of future responsibility, I suppose. Once Adam’s in charge, Dan’s taking his wife off on the world cruise he’s promised her.’

      ‘In the meantime Adam will work his way through as many Fiona types as possible, I suppose, before he knuckles down,’ said Sarah acidly.

      ‘Does his taste always run to brainless blondes?’ asked Lowri, chuckling.

      ‘I don’t think our Adam specifies hair colour, precisely. His women do tend to be leggy and well endowed in the bosom department, now I come to think of it. Why?’ added Sarah in alarm. ‘You’re not thinking—?’

      ‘No, of course not,’ said Lowri promptly. ‘I’m neither leggy nor blonde, remember. I like Adam, that’s all. Dominic and Emily like him, too.’

      ‘They dote on him,’ agreed their mother. ‘Adam will make a good father when he’s ready. Retired rakes always do.’ She smiled up at Rupert. ‘As I know from experience!’

       CHAPTER TWO

      LOWRI had very little time for daydreams about Adam Hawkridge next day. The department was short-staffed due to influenza, and she was run off her feet during working hours. When she got back to the flat, weary and footsore, she forced herself to do a thorough cleaning job on the room vacated that day by the outgoing occupant, spent the evening arranging her things, then took a much needed shower before allowing herself the luxury of something to eat.

      As Lowri emerged from the bathroom, Barbara, the owner of the flat, told her she was wanted on the phone. ‘Man. Very attractive voice.’

      Lowrie flew to the telephone, blushing unseen at her own disappointment when she heard her father’s resonant tones. She assured him she was fine, told him about her day with Sarah, promised to ring more often and sent her love to Holly, at which Geraint Morgan coughed, hummed and hawed and finally blurted out the reason for his telephone call. Holly was pregnant. Lowri would soon have a little brother or sister.

      Lowri congratulated her father enthusiastically, assured him she was overjoyed, then put the receiver down feeling rather odd. Deciding it was lack of food, she made herself scrambled eggs in the poky, chaotic kitchen, added a pot of tea and took her tray back to her room, in no mood now to join the others in the communal sitting-room. Later she rang Sarah to share the news.

      ‘You

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