His Convenient Marriage. Sara Craven

was about to turn back to her desk when she heard the sound of an engine. Craning her neck, she saw Miles Hunter’s car sweep round the long curve of the drive and come to a halt in front of the main door.

      A moment later, he emerged from the driver’s seat. He stood for a moment, steadying himself, then reached for his cane and limped slowly towards the shallow flight of steps that led up to the door.

      Chessie found she was biting her lip as she watched him. Her own current problems were just so minor compared to his, she thought, with a flicker of the compassion she’d never dared show since that first day she’d worked for him.

      It was something she’d never forgotten—the way he’d stumbled slightly, getting out of his chair, and how, instinctively, she’d jumped up herself, her hands reaching out to him.

      The blue eyes had been glacial, his whole face twisted in a snarl as he’d turned on her. ‘Keep away. Don’t touch me.’

      ‘I’m so sorry.’ She’d been stricken by the look, and the tone of his voice. ‘I was just trying to help …’

      ‘If I need it, I’ll ask for it. And I certainly don’t want pity. Remember that.’

      She’d wanted to hand in her notice there and then, but she hadn’t because she’d suddenly remembered a very different exchange.

      ‘He had the world at his feet once,’ Mr Jamieson, their family solicitor, had told her when he’d first mentioned the possibility of a job, and staying on at Silvertrees. ‘Rugby blue—played squash for his county—award-winning journalist in newspaper and television. And then found himself in the wrong place at the wrong moment, when the convoy he was travelling with met a land-mine.’

      He shook his head. ‘His injuries were frightful. They thought he’d never walk again, and he had umpteen skin grafts. But while he was in hospital recovering, he wrote his first novel The Bad Day.’

      ‘Since which, he’s never looked back, of course.’ Chessie spoke with a certain irony.

      Mr Jamieson looked at her with quiet solemnity over the top of his glasses. ‘Oh, no, my dear,’ he said gently. ‘I think it likely he looks back a good deal—don’t you?’

      And Francesca felt herself reproved.

      She was back at her desk, working away, when Miles Hunter came in.

      ‘I’ve just seen your sister,’ he remarked without preamble. ‘She nearly went into the car with that damned bike of hers. Doesn’t it possess brakes?’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ Chessie said hurriedly, groaning inwardly. ‘But she does ride it far too fast. I—I’ll speak to her.’

      Miles Hunter gave her a sardonic look. ‘Will that do any good? She seems a law unto herself.’

      ‘Well, I can try at least.’

      ‘Hmm.’ He gave her a considering look. ‘She seemed stirred up about something, and so do you. Has she been upsetting you again?’

      ‘Jenny does not upset me.’ Chessie lifted her chin.

      ‘Of course not,’ he agreed affably, then sighed impatiently. ‘Just who are you trying to fool, Francesca? You spend half your life making allowances for that girl—tiptoeing around her feelings as if you were treading on eggshells. I’m damned if she does half as much for you.’

      Indignation warred inside her with shock that Miles Hunter, who invariably addressed her as Miss Lloyd, should suddenly have used her first name.

      ‘It’s been very difficult for her …’ she began defensively.

      ‘More than for you?’

      ‘In some ways. You see, Jenny …’ She realised she was about to say, Jenny was my father’s favourite, but the words died on her lips. It was something she’d never admitted before, she realised, shocked. Something she’d never even allowed herself to examine. She found herself substituting lamely, ‘Was very young when all this happened to us.’

      ‘You don’t think it’s time she took on some responsibility for her own life, perhaps?’ The dark face was quizzical.

      ‘You’re my employer, Mr Hunter,’ Chessie said steadily. ‘But that’s all. You’re not our guardian, and you have no right to judge. Jenny and I have a perfectly satisfactory relationship.’

      ‘Well, she and I do not,’ he said grimly. ‘When I suggested, quite mildly, that she should look where she was going, she called back that soon I wouldn’t have to bother about either of you. What did she mean by that?’

      Chessie would have given a great deal to put her hands round Jenny’s throat and choke her.

      ‘I think perhaps you misheard her,’ she said, cursing silently. ‘What Jenny means is that she’ll be going to university in the autumn and—’

      ‘If her results are good enough.’

      ‘There’s no problem about that,’ Chessie said stiffly. ‘She’s a very bright girl, and they expect her to do well.’

      ‘Let’s hope that their optimism is rewarded. I can’t say that sharing a roof with her has been an unalloyed delight.’

      Ouch. Chessie bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘You haven’t a thing to apologise for. You haven’t the age or experience to cope with a temperamental adolescent. Wasn’t there anyone else who could have helped?’

      She wanted to tell him sharply that she didn’t need help, thanks, but her intrinsic honesty prevailed. She said quietly, ‘I have an aunt on my mother’s side, but she didn’t want her family involved—and who can blame her? Anyway, it doesn’t matter.’

      ‘Of course it matters,’ he said. ‘You’re a human being, although you do your best, most of the time, to pretend you’re some kind of robot.’ He stopped abruptly. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, I didn’t mean that.’ He paused. ‘Look, can I ask you something before I stumble into any more verbal disasters?’

      ‘If you want.’ Robot, she thought. Grey robot. That said it all.

      ‘Would you have dinner with me this evening?’

      For the first time in her life, Chessie felt her jaw drop. ‘I—I don’t understand.’

      ‘It’s quite simple. It may not seem like it, but I’ve had a really good day. My agent has actually sold Maelstrom to Evening Star Films, and they want me to write the first draft of the screenplay, so there’s a slight chance of part of my original concept surviving.’

      She saw his smile so seldom that she’d forgotten what a charge it could pack, lighting his whole face with charm, and turning his eyes to sapphire. Forcing her to startled acknowledgement of his attraction.

      ‘I’d really like to celebrate,’ he went on. ‘And as Maelstrom was the first book you were involved with, I’d be honoured if you’d join me.’

      She continued to stare at him.

      Finally, he said, ‘You do eat—don’t you?’

      ‘Yes—but …’

      ‘But what?’

      Chessie moved her hands defensively. ‘It’s a kind thought, but I don’t think we should. After all, this is quite a small village.’

      ‘I was asking you to dinner,’ he said with studied patience. ‘Not to bed. If you want, I’ll put a notice to that effect in the parish magazine.’

      Her face warmed. ‘I’m sure you find it all very parochial and amusing,’ she said. ‘But I’ve managed to establish that ours is strictly a working relationship, which is important as we live under the same roof. If I’m seen having dinner with you, people might assume—things have changed. And that could