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nothing new. Most men she met fell in love with her. I just wish she’d married any one of them instead of Max Seymour.’

      ‘Does she still feel the same way about him?’ asked Nick soberly.

      ‘We don’t discuss Max, but I’m pretty sure she does. Though how she can still love him utterly mystifies me. If a man treated me like that I’d either murder him or forget he ever existed.’

      ‘No grand passion for you, then, Cassie?’

      ‘No way. I’m not the type.’ She shrugged. ‘I quite fancy Rupert, but I don’t see him as something permanent in my life.’

      Nick got to his feet, yawning. ‘I’ll withdraw to your bathroom, then I’d better call a cab.’

      ‘I’ll make some coffee first,’ she said, jumping up.

      ‘What a saint you are, Cassandra,’ he mocked, and breathed in deeply to steady himself as he followed her from the room.

      Cassie went out to fill Meg’s expensive Italian machine with the Blue Mountain coffee she’d bought to impress Rupert. While it was brewing she washed up quickly, obeying the golden rule of the house. No dirty dishes left until next day. At last she filled tall mugs with fragrant dark coffee, and put them on a tray with cream and sugar.

      Cassie nudged the sitting-room door open with her knee, then gave a sigh of pure frustration, mentally kicking herself for taking so long. Nick Seymour was stretched out on the sofa, fast asleep.

      Cassie muttered something rude under her breath, put the tray down on the table and did her best to rouse Nick from a sleep so deep it looked like a coma. And it might just as well have been for all the good it did when she tried to wake him. In the end she gave up, bone-weary herself by this time. She took the tray back into the kitchen, gulped down some of her coffee and went upstairs to borrow a blanket and a double quilt from Hannah, who was skiing with Meg in Gstaad. Cassie eased Nick’s shoes from his long, chilly feet, put a cushion under his head and tucked the blanket and quilt round his sprawled, relaxed body, careless of whether she disturbed him. But Nick slumbered on, vanquished by a combination of jet-lag and stress topped off by a good dinner and three glasses of unaccustomed wine.

      ‘Sweet dreams,’ said Cassie, resigned, and turned out the light.

      CHAPTER THREE

      CASSIE surfaced next morning to find a scantily clad Polly shaking her awake.

      ‘You’re nuts, Cassie Lovell,’ her friend stated, eyes dancing, and perched on the bed. ‘What’s the point of wining and dining this Rupert person if you make him sleep on the sofa?’

      ‘Oh, heavens,’ gasped Cassie, the events of last night flooding back in full flow. ‘He’s still there?’

      ‘Sleeping like a babe. Though more sexy pirate than baby.’ Polly rolled her eyes. ‘I can see why you were so steamed up about getting him to yourself, ducky. Why on earth did you banish him to the sofa?’

      ‘I didn’t,’ said Cassie tersely, scrambling out of bed. ‘He fell asleep while I was making coffee.’

      ‘Oh, bad luck,’ said her friend with sympathy. ‘Was Rupert tired after a long day at the bank or something?’

      ‘No.’ Cassie shrugged on her dressing gown. ‘The man downstairs isn’t Rupert.’ She chuckled wickedly as Polly’s mouth fell open. ‘His name is Dominic Seymour—ducky. He’s my sister’s brother-in-law, but never mind that, I’ll explain later. And put some clothes on, Polly. A good thing Nick didn’t wake up if you barged in on him like that. He’s been working abroad without a drink or feminine company for a couple of months.’

      ‘How scrummy—I wish I’d known!’ said the irrepressible Polly, dodging the pillow Cassie hurled at her.

      After a short interval in the bathroom, Cassie rushed back to her room to drag a brush through the tousled ringlets, then, ignoring Polly’s entreaties to tell all, she raced downstairs as she was, shivering in her striped pyjamas and old blue dressing gown. She turned the heating up and went into the sitting-room to find Nick still out for the count, his mouth open slightly, but not snoring. It was the only point in his favour. The growth of black stubble along his jaw had grown thicker overnight—Polly wasn’t far wrong with her pirate description. ‘Sleeping like a babe’ was hardly applicable. There was nothing helpless about Nick Seymour, awake or asleep.

      Cassie shook him ungently and tried to pull the covers off, but Nick muttered ominously and held on like grim death, refusing to wake. With a sigh of exasperation Cassie went over to the windows and drew back the curtains on a sunny, frosty morning, the bright light doing more to penetrate Nick’s consciousness than all her shaking. He sat up suddenly, blinking like an owl as he saw Cassie standing over him, arms folded and a militant expression on her face.

      ‘The usual line is “where am I?”,’ she informed him tartly.

      Nick shot to his feet, shivering, and rubbed his jaw in distaste. ‘I know where I am, Cassie, but why the hell am I still here?’

      ‘It wasn’t my choice, believe me,’ she assured him. ‘But when you sleep, you certainly sleep, Dominic Seymour. I couldn’t rouse you last night so I left you there. I hoped you’d wake up in the night and tactfully take yourself off. Instead you gave one of my fellow tenants a nasty shock this morning.’

      He grimaced. ‘Sorry. I’ll apologise later. At the moment I need a bathroom. I don’t suppose you’d have a spare toothbrush?’

      ‘Polly might. I’ll find out.’

      Polly, now fully dressed in skin-tight leather trousers and a curve-hugging ribbed sweater, was happy to oblige. ‘Always keep one for emergencies, pet,’ she said cheerfully, rummaging in a drawer. ‘Would Bluebeard like to borrow a razor, too, while I make breakfast?’

      Nick accepted both offerings from Cassie with gratitude, and came downstairs later, hair relatively tidy and his jaw clean-shaven. Despite his rumpled clothes, he looked a lot better, and to the impressionable Polly obviously very fanciable indeed.

      ‘Hi, I’m Polly Cooper,’ she informed him jauntily. ‘Want some coffee?’

      ‘Nick Seymour,’ he returned, with a dazzling smile. ‘I’m told I gave you a shock earlier. My apologies.’

      Polly assured him she’d suffered no ill effects.

      Cassie took her eyes off the toast under the grill. ‘Want some breakfast, Nick?’

      ‘If you don’t think I’ve trespassed too much on your hospitality already,’ he said wryly, sitting at the table.

      ‘A few minutes more won’t matter, I suppose,’ said Cassie. She put the toast rack on the table and handed him a sales-slip from the well-known source of the previous night’s dinner. ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy breakfast more if you settle up for this.’

      ‘Cassie!’ remonstrated Polly in horror. ‘You’re not making him pay for his dinner?’

      ‘Why not? It was meant for Rupert,’ said Cassie, filling three coffee mugs. She pushed the butter towards Nick.

      ‘I ruined her evening, so she’s entitled to make me pay. Though I think it’s for more than just dinner,’ added Nick, looking Cassie in the eye.

      ‘I was joking,’ she muttered, and snatched the sales-slip back.

      Nick looked unconvinced. ‘Right. I’ll just finish this and be on my way. I need a bath and a change of clothes before I pick up Alice.’

      ‘Will you come back for me?’ asked Cassie.

      ‘Is that what you want?’

      Polly looked on in fascination as the two pairs of eyes locked, one pair dark-rimmed blue, still shadowed with fatigue, the other pair oval, the velvety brown irises surprisingly dark below the fair hair.

      Cassie

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