LITMIR.BIZ

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know this man?’

      ‘He’s Keith Lanley, part financial journalist, part muckraker. He spends his days scurrying around trying to work out who’s going to go bankrupt next.’

      ‘What a thing to happen!’ Lanley exclaimed, coming up to them. ‘So the rumours are true, Jane. You’re a sly character, getting out of Daneworth while the going’s good. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend? Of course I already know who he is. Everyone’s ears pricked up when the Falcon family came to town.’

      ‘I’m here for a wedding,’ Marcel said coldly. ‘So are the other members of my family.’

      ‘Of course, of course. But no Falcon ever passed up the chance of making money, now, did he? And a lot depends on how you present it to the world. Suppose we three—’

      But she’d had enough.

      ‘Goodbye,’ she said, rising to her feet.

      ‘Now, wait—’

      Lanley reached to grab her but she evaded him and fled deeper into the garden. Trying to follow her, Lanley found himself detained by Marcel, his face dark with rage.

      ‘Leave her alone,’ he said furiously.

      ‘Hey, no need to get irate. I could do you a favour.’

      ‘The only favour you could do me is to vanish off the face of the earth. Now, get out before I have you arrested.’

      ‘I suppose you could, too,’ Lanley said in a resigned voice. ‘All right, I’ll go—for now.’ He began to go but turned. ‘You couldn’t just give me a quote about your father?’

       ‘Get out!’

      When the man had departed Marcel looked around. He was breathing hard, trying to force himself to be calm when all he wanted to do was roar to the heavens. Anguish possessed him, but more than anguish was rage—terrifying anger at her, at himself, at the cruel fate that had allowed this to happen.

      Where was she? Vanished into thin air?

       Again!

      He began to run, hunting her here and there until at last he came across her leaning against a tree, her back to him. He touched her and her reaction was instant and violent.

      ‘No, leave me alone. I won’t talk to you.’

      ‘It’s not Lanley, I’ve sent him away.’

      But she didn’t seem to hear, fending him off madly until she lost her balance and fell, knocking her head against the tree. He tried to catch her but could only partly break her fall, steadying her as she slid to the ground.

      ‘Your head,’ he said hoarsely. ‘Cassie.’

      People were approaching, calling out.

      ‘She’s collapsed,’ he called back. ‘She needs a doctor.’

      Lifting her in his arms, he hurried the hundred yards back to the hotel. Word had gone ahead and the hotel doctor was waiting for them.

      Her eyes were closed but she was aware of everything, especially Marcel’s arms holding her firmly. Where their bodies touched she could feel his warmth, and just sense the soft thunder of his heart.

      Cassie. He’d called her Cassie.

      Hadn’t he?

      Her mind was swimming. Through the confusion she could hear his voice crying ‘Cassie,’ but had he said it or had she imagined it through the fog of her agitation? Had he known her all the time and concealed it? What would he do now?

      She felt herself laid down and heard voices above her. She gave a soft gasp and opened her eyes.

      ‘I think Mrs Henshaw’s coming round,’ the doctor said.

      Marcel’s face hovered over her.

      ‘I’m all right, honestly,’ she murmured. ‘I just bumped my head against the tree and it made me dizzy for a moment.’

      ‘Let’s do a check,’ the doctor said.

      She barely heard. Her eyes were seeking Marcel’s face, desperate to know what she could read in it.

      But it was blank. There was nothing there.

      For a moment she fought the truth, but then she forced herself to accept it. He hadn’t recognised her, hadn’t spoken her name. She’d simply imagined what she wanted to believe.

       No!

      A thousand voices screamed denial in her head. That wasn’t what she wanted. She wouldn’t think it or allow him to think it.

      The doctor finished checking her, cleaned the graze and pronounced himself satisfied. ‘But I’d recommend an early night,’ he said. ‘Are you staying here?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Does anyone live at home with you?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Pity. I’d rather you weren’t alone tonight.’

      ‘She won’t be,’ Marcel intervened. ‘She’ll stay in my suite, with a woman to watch out for her.’

      ‘Oh, will I?’ she said indignantly.

      ‘Yes, Mrs Henshaw. You will. Please don’t waste my time with further argument.’

      He walked out, leaving her seething. ‘Cheek!’

      ‘Be fair,’ said the doctor. ‘He obviously cares a lot about you.’

      ‘Not at all. I’ve only just met him.’ In a few minutes it was clear that Marcel had gone to make arrangements. He returned with a wheelchair. ‘I don’t need that,’ she said, aghast. ‘Yes, you do. Take my hand.’

      This was the moment to hurry away, put the whole disastrous evening behind her and forget that Marcel had ever existed. But he had firm hold of her, ushering her into the chair in a manner that brooked no refusal.

      Since arguing was useless she sat in silence as he took her into the elevator and upstairs to his suite, where a pleasant-looking young woman was waiting.

      ‘This is my sister Freya,’ he said.

      ‘I’ve brought you a nightdress,’ Freya said.

      ‘I’ll leave you.’ Marcel departed quickly.

      ‘This is the bedroom and bathroom,’ Freya told her. ‘I’ll look in often to make sure you’re all right. Let me help you undress.’

      As they worked on it Freya asked, ‘Whatever did Marcel do to you?’

      ‘It wasn’t his fault. I fell against a tree.’ ‘Well, he obviously feels responsible.’ ‘He has no need.’

      ‘Perhaps he’s just a very generous and responsible man. I’m still getting to know him.’

      ‘I thought he said you were his sister.’ ‘His stepsister.’ Freya laughed. ‘He keeps calling me his sister so that he doesn’t have to marry me.’ ‘What?’

      ‘Amos wants me to marry one of his sons so that I’ll really be part of the family. His first choice is Darius but Darius is no more keen than I am. So then Marcel is “next in the firing line” as he puts it. That “sister” business is his way of protecting himself.’

      ‘How do you feel about that?’

      Freya chuckled. ‘I’m not weeping into my pillow. He’s not my style at all. Too much like his father. Oh, it’s rotten of me to say that when Amos has been so kind to me, but now I can still escape. The thought of being married to a man like that—’ She gave a melodramatic shudder.

      ‘Like what?’

      ‘Money, money, money. That and

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