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jersey dress that David had urged her to buy from a shop in South Molton Street.

      The camel-coloured jersey, so dull on anyone else, on her was the perfect foil for her copper hair, the knitted material designed to cling lovingly to every inch of her body. Despite the fact that it covered her from throat to knees, it was undoubtedly a dress designed for women with men in mind. Which no doubt was why David had chosen it in the first place, she thought wryly, remembering her own doubts the day she had tried it on. That had been before David had told her how he felt about her. Her mouth compressed slightly as she busied herself blow-drying her unruly curls into sleek copper order.

      Now her make-up: just the merest hint of green eyeshadow, and then mascara to darken the blonde tips of her eyelashes. Blusher to emphasise her cheekbones, and then the merest slick of lip gloss. She stood up and slipped on her high heels, smiling rather grimly at her reflection.

      Yes … This was the woman she now was, not the child she had once been. No one looking at her now could doubt her maturity. As she walked away from the mirror she didn’t see the glimmer of vulnerability that darkened her eyes, nor the soft quiver of her mouth.

      Her father’s eyebrows lifted slightly as she walked into the kitchen, but he was familiar enough with her London clothes and the sophistication that went with it not to make any comment. She found the ragout in the freezer and started the preparations for supper. She couldn’t very well avoid eating with her father and Dominic, but once the meal was over she intended to excuse herself on the pretext that she was tired. After all, she thought cynically, Dominic could hardly want her company.

      A pain, as though someone had twisted a knife in her heart, tore through her as she remembered the open warmth of his smile, for all the world as though he had actually been glad to see her. No doubt there were times when a doctor needed to conceal his true feelings, and he had obviously more than mastered that art.

      Her mother wasn’t allowed any heavy meals, so just before Dominic was due, Christy took her up a light snack.

      ‘Oh, very nice; I do like that, Christy,’ Mrs Marsden approved, as she studied her daughter’s dress. Despite the fact that she lived a rural existence, Sarah Marsden had retained a vivid interest in fashion and was able to comment knowledgeably on her daughter’s outfit.

      ‘David chose it,’ Christy told her, failing to notice the look of concern darkening her mother’s eyes. ‘I wasn’t sure if it was really me, but you know what he’s like. He overruled all my objections.’

      ‘Yes, he can be a very forceful man. And a very magnetic one as well …’ She paused, and Christy looked across at her.

      ‘You’ve always seemed so happy in your job, Christy. Your father and I were a bit surprised to hear that you’d given it up. I hope it wasn’t anything to do with this silly heart of mine.’

      ‘It wasn’t,’ Christy assured her truthfully. ‘As I told Dad this morning, David has been offered some work in Hollywood, and since there’s every chance that he might stay on over there, naturally I couldn’t go on working for him.’

      ‘But he could have taken you with him.’

      Christy could sense the direction of her mother’s thoughts. ‘Yes, I suppose he could,’ she agreed airily. ‘But he didn’t, and quite fortunately, as it turns out that that means I’m free to come home and spend some time with you. Unless, of course, you’re trying to tell me that my help isn’t wanted …’

      ‘Christy, darling, this is your home. We’re both delighted to have you back. Umm … that sounds like Dominic’s car. You’d better go down and let him in. Your father will never hear him. He’s getting dreadfully deaf, you know.’

      Reluctantly Christy headed for the door. As her mother had predicted, the sound of the doorbell had not brought her father out of his study, so she made her way down to the hall, shivering in the blast of cold air that swirled in as she opened the front door.

      Dominic had changed out of the suit he had been wearing earlier and was now dressed casually in navy pants and a matching jacquard sweater. His eyebrows rose as he saw her, and for a moment something almost like pain seemed to flicker in his eyes.

      ‘I’ll just tell my father that you’re here,’ Christy told him formally, stepping away from him. ‘Supper shouldn’t be long.’

      Her father, roused from his study, apologised to Dominic for not hearing the bell.

      ‘I persuaded Christy that we’d be better off eating in the kitchen. Our dining-room faces north and it’s freezing in there at this time of the year. Come on in, and sit down.’

      Christy gnawed anxiously at her bottom lip as she followed them. The very last thing she had wanted was to have Dominic sharing the warm intimacy of the kitchen with them, watching her while she worked … it made no difference that there had once been a time when her parents’ kitchen had been as familiar to him as his own, and she resented his easy assumption that all was as it had once been. Surely he must be aware how hard it was for her to have to face him like this, but he was behaving as though nothing had happened, as though he had never humiliated and hurt her in a way that was branded into her heart for all time.

      While she busied herself putting the finishing touches to their supper, Christy could hear her father and Dominic chatting, and yet she was also conscious, every time she happened to glance at him, that Dominic was also watching her. Watching her, she thought shakily, not just simply looking at her. What was he watching her for? Did he think she was going to fling herself at him and beg him to make love to her? Did he think that she was still suffering from that dreadful teenage crush?

      ‘Ragout. My favourite.’ Dominic smiled at her as she served out the meal, but she refused to smile back.

      ‘Your mother tells me that you’ve given up your job in London.’

      ‘The man I worked for is going out to Hollywood.’ Although it was impossible to refuse to answer Dominic’s questions with her father smiling benignly at them, she kept her answers as curt and clipped as possible, and after several attempts at conversation with her, all of which she blocked, she saw his mouth compress into a hard line and a steely glint darken his eyes.

      The phone rang in the hall, and her father got up to answer it. While he was gone Dominic took advantage of his absence to say curtly, ‘What’s wrong, Christy?’

      That he should actually need to ask her robbed her of the breath with which to answer him, and by the time she had recovered her wits, her father was back in the kitchen.

      For the rest of the meal Dominic directed his conversation almost exclusively towards her father. Eight years ago she would have felt hurt and left out and would have made a childish attempt to break into their discussions, but now she was glad to be left alone.

      After supper, her father’s suggestion that he and Dominic play a game of chess left Christy free to clear up the kitchen and then go upstairs to check on her mother.

      ‘You needn’t sit up here with me, dear,’ Sarah Marsden told her. ‘I’m perfectly all right. In fact, I was just thinking I’d like to go to sleep. Why don’t you go back downstairs and join your father and Dominic?’

      ‘They’re playing chess.’

      Her mother laughed. ‘Oh dear, I remember how you always used to resent that. Dominic tried to teach you to play several times, didn’t he?’

      Memories she didn’t want to acknowledge surged over her; an image of her petulant sixteen-year-old face pouting protestingly as she tried to divert Dominic’s attention from his game to herself. That had been in the days before she had realised the true nature of the strange restlessness that seemed to possess her.

      ‘You were always far too restless to concentrate,’ her mother added fondly. ‘I remember one Sunday afternoon, you picked up the board and threw all the pieces on to the floor.’

      ‘The year I took my O-levels. Dominic threatened to wallop me for it.’

      ‘Yes,

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