The Boss's Bride. Emma Richmond

a little sigh, she picked up the phone and rang Neville at the London office.

      ‘You look nice,’ Adam commented.

      She crossed her eyes at him.

      ‘You do,’ he insisted. ‘Purple is perhaps not totally your colour…’

      ‘It’s burgundy.’

      ‘Oh.’

      She laughed. ‘I don’t have many eveningy things.’

      ‘Best get yourself some, then. Feeling better?’

      She gave him a look of puzzlement.

      ‘You were angry earlier.’

      ‘Oh, not really angry,’ she confessed. ‘More cross with myself. I encountered Mrs Staple Smythe and one of her cronies in Rye this morning. She—annoyed me.’ She’d more than annoyed her; she’d deliberately parked across Claris’s car in the car park preventing her from leaving. She couldn’t prove it was deliberate, though, and she hadn’t known at first that it was Mrs Staple Smythe’s car.

      ‘I don’t want to be bothered with it, Claris.’

      She gave a small smile. ‘You think I don’t know that? And give that here before you break it.’

      He obediently extended his wrist for her to fit his cufflink. ‘What would I do without you?’

      ‘Find some other poor fool.’

      ‘Is that how you think of yourself?’ he asked quietly. He sounded abnormally serious.

      ‘No, and if you don’t hurry up we’ll be late.’

      Pulling a face, he turned away to pick up his jacket and slip it on. ‘Did I tell you that Arabella was coming down?’ he asked casually.

      ‘No,’ she denied drily, and neither by look, nor deed did she let him see how jealousy curled unwanted in her insides. ‘When?’

      ‘Tomorrow.’

      ‘I’ll take Nathan out for the day,’ she offered. ‘Is she staying the night?’

      Amusement in his brown eyes, he shook his head. ‘Don’t know. Ready?’

      ‘As I’ll ever be. Who’s driving?’

      ‘You are.’ Handing her her car keys, he escorted her out. ‘How are you getting on with Lydia?’

      ‘Fine, we understand each other very well.’

      ‘Good.’

      She knew that he meant it. Lydia had worked for him a long time. First in Wiltshire, where he’d lived after leaving university, and then London. He was very fond of his housekeeper, and if you didn’t get on with her, then that was your problem, not hers. Fortunately, Lydia hadn’t taken her in aversion either. She hadn’t taken to Arabella, but Claris didn’t know why. She quite liked the other girl. She hadn’t expected to, but she did. Empty-headed maybe, but pretty and amusing. She and Adam had been seeing each other off and on for ages. She didn’t entirely understand the attraction, but then, it was none of her business.

      Parking, as instructed, down by the Quay, she collected her bag and wrap, locked the car, and they walked slowly up Mermaid Street towards the ancient and famous inn. Walking carefully, because of the cobbles, she murmured quietly, ‘I like Rye.’

      ‘So do I.’

      ‘I went into the Heritage Centre this morning and sat through seven hundred years of its history. They have the most amazing town model. Sound and light effects to capture the imagination. It was very well done.’

      ‘Good.’

      She smiled and passed through the heavy door he was holding for her.

      Adam nodded to the desk clerk, gave his name, and they were directed to a small room at the end of a narrow corridor. Mark Davies and his wife were already there. They both looked nervous.

      Two hours and a great many scribbles on the tablecloth later, Adam glanced at Claris, and she nodded.

      ‘I’ll get my lawyer to draw up details,’ he told the other man.

      ‘You’ll fund it?’ he asked almost in disbelief. ‘Just like that?’

      ‘Yes.’ Taking his business card from his pocket, Adam scribbled a number on the back. ‘Ring him tomorrow…’

      ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday…’ Mark began. Adam just looked at him, and the other man gave a nervous smile.

      ‘His name’s Andrew Delane. He’ll deal with everything. Don’t discuss it with anyone else.’

      ‘No.’

      With a faint smile, Adam held out his hand, and Mark grasped it as though it was a lifeline. Which it probably was. All his hopes and dreams rested on that handshake.

      Taking Claris by the elbow, Adam escorted her out. She turned once to smile at the young couple before she was urged outside.

      Instead of turning left, Adam moved her to the right, through a heavy door, and into a small bar at the rear of the inn with a fireplace big enough to roast an ox. Looking round her with interest, she briefly examined the oak beams, crossed swords, and some rather nice carvings, but what seemed bizarre were the rather modern lamps set in the fireplace.

      ‘What will you have? More orange juice?’ he asked with a rather wicked glint in his eye.

      ‘Seeing as I’m driving,’ she agreed drily, ‘yes.’

      ‘Find yourself somewhere to sit.’

      Easier said than done; the place was obviously very popular. The door to the garden stood open, and she headed in that direction. A small table became vacant just as she reached it and she hastily sat, her back to the inn wall. Putting her bag and wrap on the other chair, to keep it free, she stared at the other couples who had also chosen the fresh air.

      Her mind on the young couple they had just left, she only gradually became aware of the hissed conversation going on between two young women who were sitting somewhere behind her.

      ‘That’s Adam Turmaine.’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Adam Turmaine! My mother knows his aunt’s cleaner. He’s living with that redhead that just went outside. Unmarried mother with some sort of hold over him. Apparently,’ the first woman whispered, ‘she won’t let anyone see him. Mrs Staple Smythe…’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Oh, you won’t know her,’ she said dismissively. ‘She’s a friend of his aunt, but she was apparently absolutely furious at not getting in to see him. Said the redhead blocked all attempts. Didn’t even tell him she was there!’

      ‘Perhaps she’s a control freak!’

      Control freak? Astonished, Claris leaned even further back, in order to hear better.

      ‘I wouldn’t mind controlling him,’ the woman’s friend giggled. ‘He is gorgeous!’

      ‘Perhaps he likes domineering women.’

      ‘Bondage!’

      Claris bit her lip.

      ‘You never can tell with people,’ one of the girls said sagely. ‘I mean, she wasn’t even pretty.’

      ‘Well, you know what they say. You don’t look at the—’

      ‘Linda!’ her friend exclaimed, sounding scandalised, and they both dissolved into muffled laughter.

      ‘Mum said Bernice…’

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Mrs Turmaine’s niece,’ she explained impatiently. ‘Mum said she’d marked him out for herself.’ There was more giggling, and then, ‘Perhaps she’ll