The Mother And The Millionaire. Alison Fraser

anyone in the drive. She retraced her steps, creeping past the dining room en route to the kitchen.

      The new cook, Maggie, was putting the finishing touches to dessert. She glanced up at Esme, noted her expression, then gestured towards the back door.

      ‘He’s gone to the barn.’

      ‘The barn?’

      Maggie nodded. ‘I gave him a bottle to keep out the chill.’

      ‘A bottle? A bottle of what?’

      ‘Whisky from the larder. I’ll replace it, of course.’

      Esme wasn’t worried about that, but frowned. ‘Jack doesn’t drink.’

      Maggie shook her head—over Esme’s naïveté. ‘All men drink. Trust me… He’ll need it tonight, too, if he’s to sleep in the hayloft.’

      ‘But why…?’ Esme was still trying to catch up with events.

      ‘He has nowhere else,’ Maggie relayed. ‘Your mother’s dumped his stuff and had a locksmith in. It seems she didn’t like him and your sister being so friendly.’

      Esme had gathered as much but why now, so suddenly? Arabella had been hanging round Jack for weeks and her mother had done little to prevent it, being indulgent in the extreme to her elder daughter.

      ‘I fetched this down earlier—’ Maggie indicated a blanket draped over a chair ‘—but he’s gone off without it.’

      ‘I’ll take it to him.’ Esme picked it up.

      ‘Are you sure?’ Maggie looked a little uncertain but didn’t try to stop Esme, adding, ‘I’ll leave the door on the latch.’

      ‘Thanks.’ Esme went out into the night.

      It was almost nine, but, being summer, it was still light as Esme crossed the stable yard to the barn at the end.

      The door squeaked on rusty hinges; she called out, ‘Jack,’ faintly at first, then louder at his lack of response.

      ‘Up here.’ Reluctantly admitted, it came from the hayloft above.

      Esme stepped fully inside. Very little light filtered into the barn but she knew her way by memory. She reached the ladder and started to climb, pushing the blanket up before her. She was hardly attired for the occasion, in a summer dress, but she stayed poised at the top while her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness.

      ‘It’s me, Esme.’ She identified herself in case he’d hoped for someone different.

      His voice came from the far wall and sounded gruffer than usual. ‘I know it’s you. What do you want?’

      ‘I—I…’ What did she want? To tell him she was sorry, she supposed. It suddenly seemed inadequate and his tone was scarcely welcoming.

      ‘Well, while you’re deciding,’ he mocked her stammering, ‘either come up or go down before you fall and break your neck.’

      A torch was switched on and shone across the floor so she had some light to guide her. She still couldn’t see him but it was obvious he was indifferent as to whether she stayed or went.

      Esme hovered for a moment longer, then scrambled all the way into the hayloft, ripping the hem of her dress. Uncaring, she edged nearer on all fours until she reached the back wall.