In The Billionaire's Bed. Sara Wood

in appalled fury, turning her back on him and feeling stupidly like bursting into tears of utter shame.

      ‘Mother and daughter,’ Zach repeated in a voice rolling with gravel. She heard him suck in a huge breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said flatly. ‘It’s obvious that her death has touched you deeply.’

      She hunched her slight shoulders and could only nod. She didn’t want to break down in front of this hard-hearted stranger. But losing her beloved Edith, with all her merry, wacky ways, plus the prospect of never seeing the island again, just made her want to wail.

      ‘I—I came to check on her every day. We’d have breakfast together,’ Catherine mumbled painfully. She was torturing herself and she didn’t know why she was confiding in someone she disliked so much, only that she had to do so. ‘She made wonderful bread. We’d lather it with butter and home-made jam or marmalade and watch the birds demolishing our fat balls.’

      Zach looked puzzled. ‘Your what?’

      ‘Fat. Impregnated with nuts and seeds,’ she said listlessly. ‘We melt the fat, stir in the nuts and so on and pour the mixture into pots till it sets. We—I—’ she stumbled, ‘—only provide seed now.’

      ‘Really?’

      Feeling forlorn, Catherine gazed at the trees outside the window, adorned with bird feeders. Two long-tailed tits were currently availing themselves of the facility.

      ‘Yes. You need to vary the food, depending on the time of year and whether the birds are nesting,’ she advised absently.

      ‘And you’ve been coming over here and doing this ever since Edith died,’ he remarked with disapproval.

      Dumbly, she nodded. ‘Someone had to,’ she mumbled, sensing that the birds would have to fend for themselves through the winter in future.

      ‘You won’t, of course, be doing that again,’ said Zach sternly, confirming her worst fears. ‘I value my privacy and I don’t want people wandering about my land, particularly when I’m not here.’

      She looked up, her eyes wide and watchful.

      ‘Won’t you be living here all the time, then?’

      He grimaced as if he’d rather find a convenient cave in the Himalayas.

      ‘No.’

      ‘You don’t like it, do you?’

      ‘Not much.’

      Presumably the wife had bought the house without his knowledge. What an odd thing to do. Unless his wife was the one with the money.

      ‘Poor Edith,’ she said quietly. ‘She often said she had great plans for this place when she’d gone. But she’d never tell me what she meant. I didn’t even know it was on the market.’

      ‘It wasn’t. She left it to me in her will.’

      Catherine’s mouth fell open in amazement. ‘You?’ she gasped. ‘I don’t believe it! You weren’t even at her funeral—’

      ‘I don’t go to them,’ he said, with an odd tightening of his mouth.

      There had been an ostentatious wreath, Catherine remembered, a sharp contrast to the country flowers she and her boating friends had placed on the coffin. The florist’s card bore just one word. ‘Farewell.’ Not the most heartfelt message she’d ever seen, but typical of someone like Zach. And now she was intrigued.

      ‘You were the lilies,’ she said.

      ‘I was the lilies,’ he confirmed.

      Catherine’s eyes widened. Knowing Edith as she did, it seemed inconceivable that Zach and the old lady could have any point of contact!

      ‘How would Edith ever know someone like you?’ she wondered aloud.

      ‘I run an investment company. I was her financial adviser and I managed her money.’

      She nodded. That made sense. But Edith wouldn’t have liked him enough to entrust her precious island to his smooth, City hands!

      ‘Why would she give the island to you?’ she asked in confusion. ‘You’re the last person on earth—’

      She clamped her lips together. She’d said too much.

      ‘You’re right,’ he said, his mouth curling in wry amusement. ‘I don’t understand either. For some wacky reason known only to Edith, she wanted me to live here.’

      ‘But you must already have a house!’ she declared, visualising an opulent mansion with four swimming pools and obsequious servants tugging their forelocks like crazy.

      ‘No. A flat in London.’

      And that, she thought, would suit him perfectly. Something in stainless steel with furniture that looked stylish but was hell to use, something in a smart and expensive district.

      ‘Well, you can’t want this island!’ she argued.

      ‘You’re right. I don’t.’

      For a moment, Catherine felt a glimmer of hope. He’d off-load it on to someone else—someone more empathetic—and she’d have a better chance of persuading the next owner to let her stay.

      ‘I see,’ she said, perking up considerably. ‘You’ll put it on the market, then.’

      ‘I don’t discuss my business,’ he replied cuttingly.

      Suitably rebuked, Catherine nodded, still delighted that their acquaintance would probably be short and sour.

      ‘I don’t blame you,’ she confided. ‘The path gets horribly muddy in the winter. You can see what it’s like now, even with the few showers we’ve had recently. And of course you’re very isolated here.’ She remembered the wheat grass. ‘No city amenities. A distinct lack of exotic food.’

      He gave her a thoughtful and searing look which suggested he knew exactly what she was up to.

      ‘But despite all these problems, you…love it all,’ he observed in a low tone.

      Her eyes rounded. ‘How do you know that?’

      There was a pause, during which she noticed the increased rise and fall of his chest.

      ‘The way you looked at the bluebells.’ Apparently about to say something else, he cleared his throat instead.

      ‘You noticed them, then?’ she said drily.

      ‘In passing.’ Zach tilted his head to one side and gave her another speculative look. ‘If you were as close to Edith as you claim,’ he mused, ‘why didn’t she leave you the house and land?’

      Catherine smiled, thinking of her conversation with the old lady.

      ‘Oh, she said she was planning to do that. But I told her I didn’t want it,’ she answered solemnly.

      He gave a snort of disbelief. ‘I find that hard to accept,’ he said scathingly.

      ‘It was a practical decision. How would I afford to run it?’ she argued.

      ‘With her money, of course.’

      ‘But I didn’t know she had any!’ Catherine protested.

      ‘Odd that she didn’t tell you,’ he mused.

      ‘I didn’t give her a chance. I told her that I’d rattle around in Tresanton Manor on my own and feel lonely. And my friends might not come and visit me any more.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because they’re ordinary people and they’d feel intimidated,’ she said simply.

      ‘You could have sold it.’

      She stared, uncomprehending. ‘What would be the point in being given a house and then immediately offloading it?’

      ‘Are