Charlie's Dad. Alexandra Scott

      “There are so many things about you, Ellie, which are both irritatingly elusive and reassuringly familiar. About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN Copyright

      “There are so many things about you, Ellie, which are both irritatingly elusive and reassuringly familiar.

      “I want to find out all about you,” Ben continued, “to discover a clue to this intense relationship, for I’m pretty sure...” His gaze was now so dominating she had no power to look elsewhere, no power to move aside as his hand came up to brush a strand of hair from her forehead, no power to hide the shiver as his fingers lingered against her cheek.

      

      “What I can’t work out is why, Ellie, when you have so many adverse feelings, you are here in the first place?”

      

      She sat up, dislodging his hand. Impossible to give an answer, since there was none. If she were to tell the truth she would be humiliated, and if she lied... She was as obsessed with Ben Congreve as she had ever been. And for that she despised herself.

      Alexandra Scott was born in Scotland and lived there until she met her husband, who was serving in the British Army. There followed twenty-five years of travel in the Far East and Western Europe. They then settled in North Yorkshire and, encouraged by her husband, she began writing romantic novels. Her other interests include gardening and embroidery, and she enjoys the company of her family.

      Charlie’s Dad

      Alexandra Scott

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘YOU’RE on your way, Ellie Osborne. The past is dead.’

      That was the final shibboleth, the only part of her dream which remained in her mind as she struggled to raise her eyelids, which felt as if they had been coated with Superglue. Then, when she at last succeeded, she gasped at the sight of the clock by her bedside.

      ‘A-a-ah!’ The sigh became a groan as she realised she ought by this time to be up and dressed, not indulging herself in this fashion. It was simply that she was bone-weary after so much travelling. Imperceptibly her eyes were drifting again, her brain flirting with all the intense activity involved since her departure from Heathrow less than a week ago. Making excuses.

      Not that it had been unsuccessful, she mused in dreamy satisfaction. Far from it. In fact, the contract signed yesterday in Hong Kong would be the kick-start she needed for expansion, what she had hoped for—and dreaded—over the years. Now all was within her grasp and the future beckoned.

      Not that it had been easy. Amusing to recall her beginnings, five, six years ago, when she had set up her machine on the kitchen table and sold her knitted garments at a tiny profit in London’s street markets.

      She gave another sighing yawn. No, those early customers had no idea how lucky they had been to be of fered IGRAINE originals for little more than peanuts. Not that the name or the logo had been registered then. Those had come later, along with the chic silk labels and the media coverage led by that very first television interview in Hong Kong. Which in turn had led to her present visit to Singapore instead of heading immediately back to London.

      A tap at the door made her look up, and she smiled as Jenny came into the bedroom carrying a cup of tea which Ellie took, sipping gratefully. ‘Delicious. I’m lying here feeling guilty. I just hope I’m not holding things up, Jenny.’

      ‘You must have been tired. I looked in half an hour ago, but you were so peaceful I decided to leave you till the last possible moment.’

      ‘Lazy, rather. But this—’ she drained the cup and put it on the bedside table ‘—was exactly what I needed to wake me up. I was just thinking of that interview you did when we first met in Hong Kong.’ She swung long, slender legs over the side of the bed. ‘You’re sure I’m not holding things up?’

      ‘No, you have lots of time. It will be an hour before the dinner guests arrive.’ Jenny crossed the room, twitched one of the net curtains, then swung round to raise an eyebrow at her visitor. ‘But I’m hoping, with luck, you’ll emerge before then. Robert is so impatient to meet you.’

      ‘And I’m dying to meet him too.’ With firm determination she got to her feet and stretched. ‘So, I have time to shower and...’ She ran fingers through the mass of dark auburn hair which had escaped from its pins. ‘Time for a shampoo as well, do you think?’

      ‘If you hurry. You’ll find a drier in your bathroom.’

      ‘Would you believe, I haven’t washed it since I left home? I meant to be up in time this morning, but my call was late and it was a mad rush to get to the airport.’

      ‘I’ll leave you then.’ Jenny, small-boned and exquisite in the understated way of elegant Chinese women, reached the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. ‘What were you saying about that first television interview?’

      Ellie crossed to the dressing table and began to rummage in her toilet bag. ‘Just thinking about it.’ Smiling, she unscrewed a jar, dipped a finger into the moisturiser, transferred the pale blob to her skin. ‘I was lying, half dreaming, and that was what came into my mind the instant you tapped on the door. You’ve no idea how many times I’ve blessed you for that.’

      ‘But it was simply chance. We were short of an item for the programme we were putting out live—about people who were coming from overseas and using the local labour force—and someone, I think it was Johnny Teck, mentioned your name. Actually, I was grateful to you for agreeing to come on at such short notice.’

      Ellie, making for the bathroom, shook her head. ‘Never refuse the offer of free publicity—one of the first rules of running your own business. Just a mention on TV or radio can mean the difference between success and failure. Oh—’ Just before disappearing, she remembered. ‘Would you mind if I made a quick call to Charlie? I usually try to ring home about now.’

      ‘You don’t have to ask.’ Jenny waved a slender hand towards the telephone on a side-table. ‘I still can’t understand why Charlie and I have never met. Oh, and by the way, honey...’ Again, Jenny paused ‘One of our guests this evening is Jonas Parnell, the American writer. I’m sure, like me, you’ve read every one of his bestsellers. I’m always so impatient for the next one to come out. His father is a friend of Robert’s.’ And with that the door finally closed.

      ‘Jonas Parnell?’ As Ellie held her face up into the stream of warm water, began to rub some flowery unguent into her hair, she murmured the name. Vaguely it rang a bell, but since she had little time for reading, apart from balance sheets... On the other hand, there