The Innocent's One-Night Confession. Sara Craven

with her.

      He said softly, ‘Running away again, Alanna?’

      She stared rigidly ahead of her, angrily aware that her heartbeat had quickened and she was blushing. ‘Just looking for Gerard, as it happens.’

      ‘And hoping for another loving reunion, no doubt.’ He sounded faintly amused. ‘However, he’s been summoned to the book room to have a private word with Grandmother Niamh. They won’t wish to be interrupted.’ He paused. ‘So why don’t I get us both a drink and take them on to the terrace for our own quiet chat? I think we should have one, don’t you?’

      She took a deep breath. ‘On the contrary, we have nothing to discuss,’ she said icily. ‘And I don’t drink any more—at least not alcohol. I’m sure I don’t have to explain my reasons.’

      He said slowly, ‘Actually, yes, I think you do. That is if it relates in some way to our previous encounter. If you’re implying you ended up in bed with me because you were drunk.’

      ‘Good guess.’ She clenched her shaking hands into fists at her sides. ‘And my first mistake. Fortunately not fatal.’

      ‘Hardly,’ he said. ‘After a couple of glasses of champagne. I’d have called it—pleasantly relaxing.’

      ‘I’m sure you would.’ She added tautly, ‘And that’s all I have to say, so now, please, leave me alone.’

      ‘Just as you left me?’ His tone bit. ‘But I have done so, my sweet, for almost a year, and—do you know?—I have discovered that it no longer pleases me. Especially now that I have seen you again—and under such interesting circumstances.’

      His smile did not reach his eyes. ‘And before you think of another stinging retort, remember that this room is filled with people who believe we met for the first time today and might wonder why we are so soon on bad terms.’

      ‘On the other hand,’ she said. ‘From what I gather, you seem to make a habit of upsetting people.’

      He said quietly, ‘Then, by all means, go on gathering. You may collect a few surprises on the way. But, understand this. One day—or night—we will have that chat. So be ready.’

      And he walked away, leaving her standing there, those words ‘be ready’ beating in her brain, and drying her mouth.

      She turned precipitately towards the door, impelled by a frantic need to be alone. To think...

      Only to find herself being intercepted by Joanne.

      ‘Has Zan been coming on to you?’ Her tone was anxious. ‘My God, he’s the screaming limit. He must have women dotted all over the known world, and then some, so he has no right—no right at all.’ She added earnestly, ‘Honestly, Alanna, you don’t want to believe a word he says.’

      ‘Don’t worry.’ Joanne had just confirmed that she’d allowed herself to be used for a night’s amusement by a serial womaniser, yet Alanna managed to summon a smile from somewhere. ‘I won’t.’

      ‘Anyway,’ Joanne added more buoyantly. ‘You’re Gerard’s girl—right?’

      Wrong, thought Alanna. The truth is I don’t really know at this moment who I am or what I’m doing here, but the weight of opinion seems to tend towards past fool and present fraud. But for now...

      She lifted her chin. ‘Absolutely right,’ she said clearly.

      ‘And my parents are dying to meet you.’ Joanne guided her across the room. ‘But don’t worry,’ she added cheerfully. ‘Mother and Aunt Caroline are chalk and cheese. You’d never think they were sisters.’

      Mrs Dennison was a comfortably built lady whose greeting was as warm as her smile.

      ‘Well, you’ve been thrown in at the deep end,’ she said cheerfully, motioning Alanna to sit beside her. ‘You’re not seeing us at our best, I fear, but please don’t blame Gerard. He wasn’t to know how things would turn out.’ She turned to her husband. ‘And now it seems my mother’s invited Tom Bradham tomorrow evening. Just asking for more trouble.’

      Maurice Dennison shrugged. ‘Something she thrives on, darling. So relax, and let Caroline fret about the seating arrangements.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost time for dinner, so I’d better detach Kate and Mark from the nursery and frogmarch them downstairs.’

      ‘My mother,’ said Diana Dennison, as he walked away, ‘must be the only great-grandmother in the world who still believes that little children should be seen—briefly—but not heard. So they get to come down from the nursery once a day at teatime. Accordingly that’s why their parents choose to spend the greater part of their time upstairs with them.’

      She sighed. ‘Mark’s parents would have the boys like a shot, and they’d have a wonderful time on the farm, yet Mother always insists on them being brought here when she issues a family summons.’ She shook her head. ‘I can never understand why. She’s never been fond of children—not even her own if memory serves,’ she added drily.

      She gave Alanna another smile. ‘I’ve shocked you, haven’t I? But Gerard won’t mind you knowing how things are.’

      More information, Alanna thought, that I could well do without.

      She said carefully, ‘I think I should make it clear that I haven’t actually known Gerard for very long.’

      Mrs Dennison shrugged. ‘He can’t be too concerned about that, or he wouldn’t have invited you,’ she returned calmly. ‘And I’m delighted he did. I intend to tell my nephew that he’s a fool if he lets you slip away.’

      Alanna was agonised. ‘Mrs Dennison—please...’

      The older woman sighed again. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m fond of Gerard and I want to see him happy again. However, if it means so much to you, I won’t say a word.’ Her smile was suddenly mischievous. ‘Let nature take its course.’

      Not, thought Alanna, a course of action with any appeal for me.

      Mrs Dennison paused. ‘And here comes my sister, looking rattled. I suppose that means that Mother is now waiting for us all in the dining room, tapping her foot impatiently. Let’s not keep her waiting any longer.’

      It was a long and leisurely meal which turned out to be less of a nightmare than Alanna expected. For one thing, the food was excellent and, for another, she found herself sitting at the far end of the table, a long way from Gerard and, thankfully, even further from Zandor.

      Her immediate neighbours were Desmond Healey, a quiet, humorous replica of his father, and his pretty wife, both of them drama buffs. And, for a while, she managed to lose herself in a light-hearted argument about TV noir and if the Scandinavians still led the field or had been overtaken by the French and Italians.

      When the meal was over, it was late enough for her to be able to excuse herself politely from the return to the drawing room, a swift glance having assured her that Zandor was nowhere to be seen, claiming mendaciously that coffee kept her awake but adding truthfully it had been a very long day.

      She’d noticed that Niamh Harrington was also missing and that Gerard had disappeared again too, presumably to continue their earlier conference, so she was able to escape up to her room without any further unwonted and public demonstrations of affection from him.

      No wonder people were thinking their relationship was a done deal, she thought, closing her door and, for reasons she was unable to explain, turning its heavy key in the old-fashioned lock.

      She found Mrs Dennison’s comment about wishing to see Gerard ‘happy again’ buzzing in her brain as she got ready for bed.

      I’ve never seen any sign that he’s been miserable, she mused, with an inward shrug. Although perhaps having to work for his cousin might be getting him down, which raised the question why he’d accepted a job in the first place from someone who was clearly persona non