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      1

      Lying across her mother’s bed, long legs dangling over the side, one hand propping up her chin, the other pushing aside the thick, dark heaviness of her long, curly hair, and waiting while her mother put the final touches to her make-up, Tara started to read from the local newspaper she had stopped off to buy as she drove through town.

      ‘“Town Honours Prominent Local Businesswoman,”’ she read aloud, telling her mother unnecessarily, ‘that’s you,’ before continuing, ‘“Last Saturday evening, a celebratory dinner was held in the town’s twelfth-century Knights Hospitallers’ Hall to mark a decade of fund-raising by the Upper Charfont Beneficiary Trust and to honour one of its founder members and, more recently, its chairperson, Mrs Claudia Wallace.”

      ‘Sounds good, Ma,’ Tara told Claudia in the soft, husky voice whose intonations and idiosyncrasies were so exactly those of her mother that when Tara was at home, callers often confused the two of them. She turned back to the article.

      ‘“Over the past decade, Mrs Wallace has worked tirelessly and successfully to promote the interests and activities of the Trust and it is thanks to her that it has seen donations rise so spectacularly. Not only has Mrs Wallace worked selflessly to raise funds for charity, she has, in addition, privately given her time and her skills as a trained probation officer and the senior partner in a successful local private counselling and advisory practice to train and, where necessary, give her own services to help with the charity’s work.

      ‘“In recognition of her committed involvement with the community, the Town Council has proposed that the new day care and recreation centre for physically disadvantaged residents be named after her….’”

      Tara looked away from the newspaper and studied her mother’s reflection in the mirror.

      ‘You don’t look forty-five,’ she told her judiciously. ‘In fact … have you ever thought of remarrying, Ma?’ she asked her mother curiously. ‘I mean, it’s over ten years now since you and Dad divorced and …’

      Very carefully, Claudia put down her mascara and turned to face her daughter. At twenty-three, Tara might now, in the eyes of the world, be very much an adult young woman but to her she was still her daughter, her little girl, the most precious gift that life had given her, and as such, Claudia had every mother’s need to protect and guard her.

      ‘After all, it’s not as though there aren’t at least a dozen men that I know of who’d love to marry you, given half the chance.’

      Claudia gave her a wry look and suggested, ‘I think that’s rather an exaggeration, don’t you?’

      ‘Well, there’s Charles Weatherall and Paul Avery and then there’s John Fellows and, of course, there’s Luke,’ she slipped in.

      ‘Luke is a client, that’s all,’ Claudia told her calmly, but she still turned her head away just in case that small flutter of sensation she could feel inside should somehow or other reveal itself outwardly. Not that there was any reason why the mention of Luke’s name should cause that disturbing slight palpitation of her heartbeat, she reminded herself severely. For a start, he was at least seven years her junior.

      ‘Mmm … So you haven’t considered remarrying, then,’ Tara repeated. Claudia studied her daughter thoughtfully.

      Despite all her attempts to sound and look light-hearted, Claudia could sense Tara’s tension.

      ‘I haven’t, no,’ she conceded, and then waited.

      ‘Mmm … Have you seen anything of Dad recently?’ Claudia’s stomach muscles knotted. Now it was her turn to hide the quick, fierce stab of tension that struck through her at Tara’s carefully casual mention of Garth, and instinctively Claudia looked away from her, letting the smooth, silky bell of her blonde bob swing forward to conceal her face as she responded, ‘No. No, I haven’t. Is there any reason why I should have done?’

      ‘No, none at all. It’s just that … well, Dad’s been seeing quite a lot of Rachel Bedlington, that’s the new account executive who joined the company just after Christmas. She’s in her early thirties. Dad head-hunted her from Faversham Bayliss. She specialises in women-focused ads. You know the type. New woman drives the car while wimpish boyfriend looks on.’

      ‘Yes, I know the type,’ Claudia agreed calmly, and it wasn’t just the advertisements she was referring to. She could see Garth’s new account executive already—elegant,

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