Gypsy. Carole Mortimer

also frowned at the mention of the latter; she was definitely not in the mood to meet a complete stranger. It was bad enough that she had the family to contend with without that. And Marilyn Falconer. It was years since she had seen the other woman, but as Lyon’s wife Marilyn had been destined to take an instant dislike to Shay, and the feeling was mutual. Marilyn was everything that Shay wasn’t, at thirty-five more Lyon’s own age, sophisticated, petite, with glorious red hair and an incredibly beautiful face. And when they first met she had been Lyon’s wife for over five years, a fact she had taken great pleasure in relating to Shay.

      She had known she would have to see the other woman again while she was here, but it hadn’t been something she welcomed for today. Or having to be with a man she had never met before. If she didn’t know the man then Ricky probably hadn’t either, and if the two men hadn’t known each other he had no right to be at Ricky’s funeral.

      She could see the cars lining the driveway as she and Grandy walked down the stairs, feeling her heart lurch at the sight of them, her hand clutching tightly to her grandfather’s arm as they entered the lounge together.

      It wasn’t so much a funeral as a social gathering, the ‘assorted uncles, aunts and cousins’ talking about the room in small groups, with the beautiful Marilyn playing the hostess as she flitted from group to group. Lyon, Matthew and Neil were together in front of the unlit fireplace, a tall dark-haired man whom she didn’t recognise standing at Neil’s side; obviously the man her grandfather had spoken of. Shay didn’t know him she was sure of it, although he looked pleasant enough, and she dismissed him of being any threat to her peace of mind as she felt tawny eyes on her, Lyon much more of a threat than the innocuous stranger could ever be.

      She turned coolly to meet Lyon’s gaze, tensing as he spoke briefly to the other men before coming over to where she stood with her grandfather, the rest of the Falconer family too polite to stare openly, although she sensed quite a few of them giving her sideways glances.

      ‘I hope it wasn’t too much of a shock seeing your grandfather so suddenly,’ Lyon spoke smoothly.

      ‘It was a pleasant surprise,’ she corrected. ‘Although he really shouldn’t have been encouraged to face the strain of travelling,’ she added critically, Lyon as aware of her grandfather’s condition as she was.

      His mouth tightened at the rebuke. ‘If you’re ready to leave now …?’

      Shay nodded coldly, keeping her gaze averted from the rest of the people gathered in the room, although she knew several of them were openly watching her now. ‘My grandfather will travel with me,’ she announced curtly.

      ‘Of course,’ Lyon nodded, as if he had expected it to be no other way.

      ‘Just my grandfather,’ she added pointedly.

      ‘Shay—’

      ‘I trust you have no objections?’ Shay met Lyon’s gaze challengingly.

      He looked as if he had plenty. ‘Not if it’s what you want,’ he rasped.

      ‘Oh, it is.’ She ignored her grandfather’s dismayed expression; not even for him could she be polite to this man she so despised. And the idea of revealing, in front of Lyon, the grief she felt whenever she thought of burying Ricky, was totally unacceptable to her. She wanted her grandfather at her side, no one else.

      The drive to the church was made in silence, the ceremony brief and poignant, the small ceremony outside the greatest test of Shay’s strength. And as the vicar’s words began to rush blackly at her with alarming speed, she knew she wasn’t going to make it.

      And then strong hands grasped her shoulders, tilting her world back on its axis, and Shay turned to Lyon with blazing violet eyes. ‘Take your hands off me!’ she flared vehemently.

      He seemed to pale, his hands slowly dropping back to his sides. ‘I thought you were going to fall,’ he muttered huskily.

      She gave him a look that clearly told him she would have preferred that to having him touch her in any way, turning sharply to go to the graveside and make her silent goodbyes to Ricky, her walk back to the car made alone, her head back proudly as the tears fell.

      ‘You’ve changed, Shay,’ remarked a mocking voice.

      She turned before reaching the door of the car that Jeffrey held open for her, her gaze cool on Marilyn Falconer, the other woman as beautiful as ever. ‘Sorry?’ She arched dark brows.

      Marilyn looked beautiful in the clinging black gown designed to emphasise her voluptuous figure; the fullness of her breasts, her slender waist, and femininely curving hips. At her side was the man Shay didn’t know. He smiled at her in an awkward way, seeming uncomfortable with the situation, and Shay wondered at the emotion from a complete stranger.

      ‘As I remember it,’ Marilyn drawled in her throaty voice, ‘you never used to be averse to my husband’s touch in that way!’ Blue eyes glittered challengingly.

      That the other woman had enjoyed witnessing the encounter between Shay and Lyon was obvious, that she took great pleasure in drawing attention to Shay’s past relationship with Lyon, even at the funeral of Shay’s own husband, showed that Marilyn hadn’t changed at all in the last few years, that she was still a vindictive bitch.

      ‘I really don’t care to discuss it, Marilyn,’ Shay dismissed, looking pointedly at Marilyn’s companion.

      ‘Oh, don’t mind Derrick,’ Marilyn said airily. ‘He’s well aware of your past relationship with Lyon. I take it it is still in the past?’ she added tauntingly.

      Shay felt the colour drain from her face. ‘Very much so,’ she bit out, ignoring the listening Derrick as the other woman seemed inclined to do so. ‘You’re more than welcome to him!’

      Marilyn’s eyes widened. ‘But, my dear Shay, I no longer want him. Didn’t you know that?’

      ‘I—’

      ‘Time to go, Shay,’ her grandfather spoke sternly at her side. ‘If you’ll excuse us?’ He looked coldly at Marilyn and Derrick. ‘What was that bitch saying to you?’ he asked harshly once they were in the car as it moved smoothly down the narrow driveway to the road.

      ‘Grandy!’ she gasped.

      He looked unperturbed at his uncharacteristic display of antagonism for the woman he barely knew. ‘You went as white as a sheet as soon as she spoke to you,’ he said grimly. ‘I couldn’t let that continue.’

      Shay was still inwardly ricocheting from the shock of what Marilyn had just said. Oh, not the other woman’s insensitivity in questioning the relationship between her and Lyon now; Marilyn had never been known for her diplomacy, especially where Lyon was concerned. What shocked her so much was the last claim Marilyn made, about no longer wanting Lyon. Surely the other couple couldn’t finally be going to divorce each other? Six years ago she had believed that would never be possible, Lyon had convinced her that it wouldn’t.

      The Falconer office grapevine had usually been correct, if sometimes slightly exaggerated in its information, but about the relationship between Lyon and his wife they had been completely wrong; the couple still lived together, were still married, and intended staying that way.

      Shay hadn’t been able to understand the sort of marriage they had. A ‘modern arrangement’, they called it, each having their own ‘friends’, bringing those friends to meet the rest of the family at Falconer House, even sleeping with those partners there, but neither having the intention or inclination to end their own marriage. Unfortunately, Shay hadn’t discovered that until her love for Lyon had been such a fundamental part of her life that to rip him out of her heart had been to destroy herself.

      And if the couple were finally to divorce, whose decision had it been to end their ‘modern arrangement’? Lyon had made it plain six years ago that he would never make that choice.

      ‘It was nothing, Grandy,’ she dismissed as she realised her grandfather still looked concerned. ‘Marilyn