Penny Jordan's Crighton Family Series. PENNY JORDAN

would quite naturally lunch in places like the Grosvenor’s bistro instead of snatching a sandwich at his desk.

      What a fool he had been creating a fantasy ego for himself, which in the end he simply had not been able to live up to—and worse.

      Tiggy hadn’t eaten much lunch, claiming that she wasn’t very hungry, but she had drunk several glasses of wine, which was no doubt why she had whispered to him afterwards that instead of going their separate ways—him to court and her to do her shopping—they should spend the rest of the day together.

      At first Jon hadn’t suspected what she had really meant, which just made the whole farcical thing more appalling. It was only when Tiggy had laughed about the fact that they need not even sign the register with a fictitious name since they were in actuality a Mr & Mrs Crighton, that the full impact of what she intended them to do had struck him. And what had he done after all these weeks of behaving like a lovesick adolescent, all these weeks of determinedly denying that his decision to leave Jenny had anything whatsoever to do with Tiggy whilst at the same time secretly revelling in the knowledge of his desire for her?

      Had he leaped at the chance she was offering him, his mind, his emotions, his body ablaze with the desire to consummate his love for her?

      No, he had not. He groaned again. Even now, he still couldn’t wholly believe how crassly, how cravenly he had behaved, how humiliatingly, how faintheartedly and cowardly.

      His body, far from being inflamed with passion, had instead been flooded with terrified fear, and even worse, that part of it that should at the very least have started to stir with rampant sexual excitement had chosen to beat a rather hasty retreat. His mind, instead of encouraging him to seize the opportunity Tiggy had given him, had commanded his tongue to start babbling inanities about the impossibility of their doing any such thing; had produced excuse after excuse whilst Tiggy simply stood and listened, watching him in disbelieving silence. And as for his emotions!

      Jon opened his eyes and moved away from the window. That had been the worst blow of all, because instead of feeling the surge of pleasure and excitement, of love and delight that he should have experienced at Tiggy’s suggestion, what he had actually felt was a tidal wave of shocked distaste, acutely aware that the very last thing he wanted to do was to take Tiggy to bed and, equally strongly, that the only body he wanted curled up next to his own in bed was that of his wife.

      In the illuminating half-dozen or so seconds it had taken him to absorb all these self-revelations, he had been so stunned and distracted that it hadn’t even occurred to him how Tiggy might be feeling.

      He couldn’t really blame her for the hysterical scene that had followed or for her accusations against him, or indeed for her refusal to travel back to Haslewich with him. He winced, remembering some of the things she had said and winced even more as he tried to understand why on earth he had ever imagined himself even remotely attracted to her.

      What on earth had he done, and why? It was all so clear now.

      Because for years he had been jealous of David, secretly resenting him and having to play a subordinate role. He had been a fool, Jon decided bleakly, a complete and utter fool, and he would give anything…anything to be able to simply wipe out the past few weeks, climb in his car and go home…. Home to Jenny and his children, their children … Home … to Jenny. He looked at the telephone and then frowned as it suddenly started to ring.

      ‘Uncle Jon?’

      ‘Yes, Jack,’ he greeted David and Tiggy’s son.

      ‘It’s Mum. Can you come round? She’s … she’s not very well.’

      ‘Jack, what is it, what’s wrong with her?’ he demanded urgently, his heart sinking with foreboding, but his nephew had already replaced the receiver.

      Quickly reaching for his car keys, Jon headed for the door.

      Guy was just on the point of asking Jenny if she wanted a liqueur when she stood up, abruptly pushing her chair back, and said, ‘Guy, I’m sorry … but … I want to go home.’

      At first he thought that she mustn’t be feeling well and he immediately called the waiter over and got to his own feet. Once they were outside, Jenny couldn’t bring herself to look at him as she hurried to where he had parked the car. She felt so guilty, but nowhere near as guilty as she knew she would have felt if she had stayed.

      ‘Jenny, what’s the matter? Are you all right?’ he asked her anxiously as he unlocked the car door for her.

      ‘I’m fine, really,’ she replied, then added shakily, ‘It’s … it’s … just that this isn’t right … not for me. I’m sorry, Guy,’ she apologised. ‘I know you’re trying to be kind, to help, but …’

      How could she explain to him how alien all this was to her, how barren and empty it made her feel to be out with him instead of with Jon and how she just knew that, no matter how lonely the years ahead might be for her on her own, solitude was infinitely preferable to trying to fill the space she had left in her with another man … even a man as kind and caring as Guy?

      ‘I … I guess I’m just a one-man woman,’ she told him, trying to force a smile, but she could see from Guy’s expression that he wasn’t deceived. ‘I’m sorry,’ she repeated, then turned away from him to look out of the car window.

      Guy grimaced to himself … and longed to be able to retort, Not half as sorry as I am, but forced himself to hold back his bitterness and frustration. This wasn’t how he had envisaged the evening ending at all.

      In Chester, Olivia and Saul had finished eating. The restaurant was nearly empty with only themselves and another couple lingering over their liqueurs, reluctant to let the evening end.

      ‘No, I don’t believe you.’ Olivia laughed, shaking her head as Saul finished telling her an amusing story about one of his company’s overseas clients.

      ‘It’s true,’ he protested, sharing her laughter. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. I’ve some photographs in my room I promised I’d let Ruth have. Some are of the kids and the others are of her flower arrangements for the party. Perhaps you could deliver them to her for me?’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ Olivia agreed willingly, adding warningly, ‘I think the waiters are waiting for us to leave, Saul. There’s no one else in the dining room now.’

      ‘What …?’ Saul looked round and then shook his head in disbelief. ‘I hadn’t realised it was so late,’ he admitted as they both stood up.

      Once outside the restaurant he directed her towards the bank of lifts.

      ‘I’ve never been entirely happy in these things,’ Olivia confessed as the doors closed and the lift started to rise.

      ‘Mmm. I know what you mean,’ Saul returned, adding teasingly, ‘Not that I would object to being trapped in one with you, Livvy.’

      They both laughed as the lift rocked gently to a standstill on Saul’s floor.

      ‘It’s this way,’ he told her as they stepped out, removing his key card from his pocket as they reached his room. After he unlocked and opened the door he stood back, allowing Olivia to precede him inside. The room was a good size and pleasantly furnished, but then she wouldn’t have expected anything less from the Grosvenor.

      The colours and patterns had been carefully chosen to give the room a warm, welcoming look; the queen-size bed, Olivia noticed, had already been enticingly turned down. As she looked at it, Olivia automatically had to stifle a yawn.

      ‘Tired?’ Saul asked her sympathetically. ‘These past few weeks can’t have been easy for you.’

      His warmth and sympathy were in such direct contrast to Caspar’s attitude. Why on earth couldn’t Caspar have been like Saul … sympathetic … understanding …?

      ‘Livvy …?’ she heard Saul asking.

      She shook her head and told him quickly,