A Lost Love. Carole Mortimer

doubt it,’ he told her glacially. ‘I don't discuss it with anyone.’

      Brooke nodded with cool dismissal. ‘I'll be in touch with Mr Gardner concerning the will.’ She looked pointedly at the door, waiting for him to open it before leaving with a haughty confidence she maintained until she had unlocked her car and driven down the driveway, raising her hand in only a polite token of acknowledgment to the man who stood so rigidly proud at the top of the stone steps that led into the house.

      He looked very like the first time she had ever seen him in that moment, so darkly arrogant, so commanding, so handsome. Before setting eyes on Rafe Charlwood she hadn't believed such men existed outside of the pages of books or up on the big screen. He had been everything she believed tall, dark, and handsome should be and never hoped to find, had an experience and air of power that had merely added to his already devastating attraction.

      Brought up by an aunt and uncle who had little interest in her, having no desire for children of their own, let alone an orphaned niece, she had been overjoyed when she won a scholarship to one of the famous schools for dance, and was happy there for the first time in years, despite being told that although she had the height and build of a ballet dancer she would never have that elusive talent that would make her into a star, the tutors advising her to concentrate on modern dance. It had been something she enjoyed more than anything else, teaming up with five other girls from the school to do a round of auditions that seemed never-ending, and rarely successful. But after almost a year together, and a change in a couple of the girls, they had finally managed to secure a season with Greg Davieson on his own television show. It had been like the realisation of a dream, the glamorous parties they were invited to being just a bonus as far as she was concerned.

      And then at one of those after-the-shows parties she had seen Rafe. He had been talking with the producer and director, and she learnt from one of the other girls that he was a friend of the former, was the powerful owner of Charlwood Industries. He was a man often in the news for one business merger or another, and at thirty-five he looked his age—and he was also the most handsome and most sought-after man in London at the moment. Jacqui felt sure she didn't have a chance with him, wished she had worn something a little more mature, more sophisticated. She had come straight to the party from the show, just wanting to relax a little. The dress she had changed into was a simple yellow jersey, the colour clashing abominably with her red hair. With a natural colour of mousy-brown, and two blondes already in the group, she had decided on a more interesting shade of auburn. At their first conversation Rafe had told her he much preferred redheads to blondes, and from that moment on she had decided to keep her hair auburn.

      Greg Davieson had introduced them, and to Jacqui's surprise they had spent the remainder of the evening together. When the party broke up at two o'clock in the morning Rafe Charlwood had been the one to drive her home, his home, his apartment in London. For two more weeks they had been together constantly. Jacqui was as yet unsure of Rafe's feelings for her, no closer to knowing the inner thoughts of this man than she had been before she spoke to him, and yet knowing that she was in love with him. She had known it that first night, had given him her innocence without thought of denial, and didn't hesitate on any occasion after that when he telephoned her and wanted to be with her. The night he had asked her to marry him she had been sure he loved her, although he still didn't say the words, not even at the height of passion, but remained a very private and insular man.

      Her life had changed irrevocably the moment she became Rafe's wife—that much she had realised when a whole new wardrobe of clothes had been packed for her in the expensive suitcases they took with them on their honeymoon, her own clothes dismissed by Rafe as unsuitable attire for his wife. She had accepted the change of clothes, although the new ones hadn't really been the style she liked to wear, being smart rather than modern, elegant rather than stylish. But she had been too much in love with the strong man who was her husband to care about the subtle changes he made in her life, and she was overjoyed when he told her only a month after their wedding that he would like her to have his child. She had been ecstatic eight weeks later when she could tell him he was to have his wish. But it was then that even more changes began to happen in her life—the termination of her dancing career by Rafe as soon as he knew she was carrying his child, the way meetings with friends from her past life as a dancer became rarer and rarer, her life at the Charlwood estate becoming almost unbearable as her pregnancy became advanced, and Rafe forbade her to exert herself in any way. He spent more and more time away on business, and she had to contend with Rosemary's bitter jealousy over her pregnancy when she couldn't have children of her own.

      As her pregnancy neared its latter months she saw even less of Rafe, not even having him close to her at night, as he no longer made the trips from his adjoining bedroom to hers, her enlarged condition making it impossible for them even to make love any more. Without that closeness between them any more she became more and more uncertain of herself, feeling the difference in their backgrounds and ages in a way she never had before. She began going up to Loudon to see her old friends.

      The first time she lied about seeing the girls she used to dance with she knew she had made a mistake, but she hated it when Rafe became angry or disapproving, and came to dread those times when she had to listen to him lecturing her on maintaining her position as his wife and the mother of his expected child.

      Her visits to the rehearsals of the show, with her replacement going through the routines with the other five girls, became increasingly frequent, and the lies to Rafe along with them, the excuses becoming easier to make as time went on. But she was sure that with the birth of their baby everything would come right between them again.

      It had been worse. Robert had been taken over by servants as soon as they returned home, so much so that Jacqui felt superfluous, to both him and Rafe. When she asked him if it would be possible for her to begin working again now that the baby was born and he was being taken care of so well Rafe had almost exploded with anger, telling her that if he had wanted a ‘damned showgirl’ he would have taken himself a mistress, not a wife, that it was time she settled down and realised her position as his wife. His last instruction at the end of that argument had been that she wasn't to see or visit the girls at the television studio ever again.

      And for several months she had obeyed him, although it hadn't been without resentment. Rafe's punishment for that had been once again to stop sharing her bed, treating her with a coldness that had made her cry herself to sleep on more than one occasion, her sister-in-law's barbs about her lack of ability to hold her husband's attention past the first wedding anniversary rubbing salt into an already open wound.

      It had been after one of these more than bitchy exchanges with Rosemary that Jacqui had left the estate with a defiance that had sent her to the studio, to an agreement to take the place of one of the girls in the dance group after she fell during rehearsals and twisted her ankle. It had been an impetuous and rebellious act on her part, since the programme was being televised later that evening. After such a defiant gesture on her part it had seemed stupid not to go to the after-the-show party, deciding that Rafe might as well chastise her for really disobeying him. She hadn't expected him to come to the party, to take one look at her laughing and flirting lightly with Greg, and have her locked out of the estate.

      The guard on the gate told her he had instructions not to let her into the grounds, and even her impassioned telephone call to Rafe had met with chilling uninterest. He had told her she would be hearing from his lawyers!

      She had heard from them; she could hardly believe that Rafe meant them to separate and keep Robert himself just because he had seen her at a party with Greg. But Rafe had refused even to talk to her, all his contact being made through his lawyers. Those lawyers had been paid well to produce evidence of her affair with Greg Davieson—and produce it they had, each visit to her friends at the television studio being made to look as if it were a personal one to Greg, the nanny and nurserymaid engaged to look after Robert making it look as if she had no interest in her child. How she had fought against that—but her defence of herself had been weak. Rafe had got his separation, had got his son too, and Jacqui had been awarded a large settlement and told she could see her son when it was convenient to Rafe.

      It was never convenient to him. After five months of trying to see Robert she was ready to have a