Husband By Arrangement. Sara Wood

came close to the right rhythm, near enough for her to display a talent that even she didn’t know she had. But she’d watched enough TV to know how it was done and thought she managed very well.

      So did the villagers. Soon she was being whirled around from man to man and was thoroughly enjoying herself. Every now and then she caught a glimpse of the truck driver, who wasn’t amused at all.

      Suddenly he rose, knocked back the last of his brandy and inhaled sharply as the raw alcohol hit his throat and shot through his system like a rocket. But he was perfectly sober, she could see that, his eyes hard and clear, his body rock-solid in its aggressive stance.

      He jerked his head. It was the age-old chauvinist’s interpretation of Shall we go? and just one step up from a caveman grabbing his woman’s hair and dragging her off. In true macho style and without caring whether she followed or not, he made his ill-tempered exit.

      Breathless and bright-eyed from dancing, she ran out after him.

      ‘Wait!’ she gasped, afraid he’d leave her behind. When he turned, his angry expression almost crushed her, till she remembered who she was and stood up to him. ‘I was having fun!’ she complained.

      ‘Do it in your own time,’ he growled, and climbed into the cab.

      She had no option but to follow.

      ‘Spoilsport,’ she grumbled, playing her role to the full.

      He looked furious.

      ‘There are more important things in life than having fun,’ he snapped in disgust.

      Once she would have agreed. Now she knew that fun was part of life. Without a sprinkling of laughter and enjoyment, the world could be a dark and dreary place.

      In the short time she’d been prancing about in her eye-catching get-up, she’d seen loads of people smiling—sometimes at her, sometimes with her. It didn’t matter. Only that for a while she’d been surrounded by happy faces instead of gloomy ones.

      But it wasn’t any use telling the morose driver that. He was having troubles that he didn’t want to share. She brightened. She’d make enquiries. Find out what his problem was, and see if she could help.

      There was silence between them from that moment on and for a while she dozed. When she woke, she saw from the signs that they’d passed the town of Luz and were turning onto a minor road which she didn’t recognise.

      Maddy frowned. ‘This isn’t the way to the Quinta,’ she declared suspiciously.

      ‘No.’

      Her eyes flashed with anger. Strong and silent was OK, but sometimes it got on your nerves. ‘So where are you taking me?’ she asked, with enough steel in her query to tell him that she wasn’t going to be messed about.

      ‘Hotel Caterina.’

      She quailed. ‘I can’t afford a hotel!’ she squeaked in alarm.

      ‘You’re that poor?’ He shot her an interested glance.

      ‘Don’t let the glitter fool you,’ she sighed. ‘Beneath the glitzy appearance lies a poverty-stricken woman with barely enough to get by.’ Her voice was shaking with anxiety. The little money she had was precious and hard-earned—and there wasn’t any more where it had come from. Her eyes became pleading. ‘Please, take me to the Quinta, where the accommodation’s free.’

      ‘Mrs Fitzgerald’s paying,’ he told her gruffly. ‘You’re staying at the hotel tonight and going on to the farm in the morning.’ A pair of dark, stone-hard eyes met her puzzled gaze. ‘Mrs Fitzgerald is also staying at the hotel.’

      It seemed an odd thing to do, when the farm was a few miles away. ‘Why?’

      He frowned, as if puzzled by her question.

      ‘It’s the best one around,’ he replied, making Maddy none the wiser. ‘She’s giving a dinner party tonight.’ His lip curled. ‘That’s why you’re in the hotel. You’re the guest of honour.’

      Maddy groaned before she remembered she was a party girl and would love such occasions.

      ‘I haven’t anything to wear,’ she invented hastily and, remembering her role, she tried widening her eyes appealingly, adding a wicked, ‘Mind you, I have this saucy spangly affair with a marabou trim…’

      She wilted beneath the contemptuous stare.

      ‘A little too much for the Algarve, I think. You’ll do very well dressed as you are,’ he drawled, pulling into a drive lined with palm trees and oleander.

      ‘You don’t like me, do you? Why?’ she asked, revelling in the freedom of her unconventional bluntness.

      ‘I’m not particularly interested in you one way or the other. But if pushed, I’d say you are too obvious,’ was the cool reply.

      He had taste, at least, she thought with amusement. And then her eyes brightened at the sight of the elegant hotel in its carefully manicured gardens. She beamed. A night here would be the height of luxury—and she hadn’t had any of that in the last twenty years.

      He drew the truck to a halt, leapt out and unloaded her luggage. Then, seeing she’d scrambled down and was stretching her stiff limbs, he clambered back into the cab and drove away, abandoning her—and her luggage—on the driveway!

      Astounded, she stood there, open-mouthed and muttering rude things under her breath, then irritably hauled her case to the entrance. The man had no manners. If ever they met up again, she’d get her own back, she promised angrily. With compound interest.

      Alongside a gang of men, Dexter worked at the ruined Quinta, sifting and sorting till his muscles screamed. Now they’d cleared most of the collapsed timbers and stone he hoped to find family documents and salvageable treasures. Something of his mother’s would be a bonus. Just one thing to remember her by. All he had was the dog-eared photograph in his wallet.

      The light faded. They worked by arc lamps and then it was time to pack up. Depressed by his lack of success, he stumbled into his car and headed for the hotel, where he picked up his room key and spent a relaxing hour in the bath.

      Luxuriating in the deep suds, he tried to imagine his grandmother’s face when she came face to face with Maddy. He smiled to himself, wishing he could have been there. But then if he had Maddy would have learnt who he really was, and he wanted to surprise her tonight. And then he’d make her life hell.

      Slowly he soaped his shoulders, his mind full of her. It seemed inconceivable that the chubby little girl with straggly blonde plaits could have turned into such an up-front woman. Poor Grandmama! Maddy’s appearance would appall her!

      He suspected that his grandmother had agreed to promote Maddy for his bride because the little girl had always been so meek and malleable.

      His grim mouth softened again into a faint smile. Grandmama now knew different! She’d be horrified to think that she had to spend three weeks entertaining the feisty little temptress. That would teach his grandmother to select brides for him!

      Dexter surprised himself with a low chuckle. Just thinking about Maddy had energised his tired body.

      Grateful for the diversion from the nightmare of the ruined Quinta, he stepped out of the tub to dry himself before wandering into the suite of rooms to gather his clothes together.

      Halfway through buttoning his fine linen shirt, he stopped, arrested by a tempting idea. He could pretend to be dazzled by Maddy. In fact, he could show every sign of eagerness for the match that would link their two families.

      Clearly Maddy and her grandfather had set their mercenary hearts on the marriage. Old man Cook had often complained that part of the Fitzgerald fortune was morally his.

      Dexter’s eyes narrowed in determination. By leading her on and raising her hopes to fever pitch—and then dumping her—he’d teach her a salutary lesson. Maybe she wouldn’t mess with men again.