The Innocent Virgin. Carole Mortimer

when, instead of showing antagonism, Brad and Natalie had smiled warmly at each other before kissing and sitting down close together, their hands entwined, as Brad announced that the two of them had been reconciled for three days.

      Abby had been rendered speechless by the announcement. All her carefully prepared questions had become null and void—questions she had spent hours labouring over in an effort to ensure she wouldn’t become the cause of further antagonism between the separated couple, intending to leave it to the two of them to set their own scene with as little prompting from her as possible. Brad’s announcement had made a complete nonsense of them.

      She’d done her best to rally round at this sudden change of circumstances, congratulating them on their reconciliation, asking what their plans were for the future. A baby, for goodness’ sake; after all the public insults they had hurled at each other over the last six months!

      Yes, Abby had done her best to keep the show alive and buzzing, but she had been aware that it had definitely lacked the sparkle and interest she had been hoping for when she’d invited the pair on her show.

      And Gary Holmes’s snort of derision when she’d finally walked off the set had been enough to send her hurtling for the champagne bottle the moment she’d reached Dorothy and Paul’s house half an hour ago.

      ‘Go away,’ she told Max Harding a second time, turning away to lift up the champagne bottle, having no intention of crossing swords with him this evening.

      Instead of complying with her request, she felt him take the champagne bottle from her hand. Her grip tightened but was no match for Max’s superior strength. The fluted champagne glass in her other hand was the next to go, before Max took her by one of her now empty hands and pulled her effortlessly to her feet.

      ‘You need food,’ he told her firmly as she began to protest. ‘Otherwise the headlines on tomorrow’s tabloids will read “Abby Freeman plastered”, accompanied by a photograph of you being carried out of here!’ He didn’t wait for any more arguments as he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and guided her into the adjoining room, where a table was set with a sumptuous buffet supper.

      Not that Abby had been about to argue with him; the way she’d swayed unsteadily as she got to her feet, with the room tilting dizzily, was enough to tell her that food was exactly what she needed. Even if it was the last thing she wanted!

      ‘There you go.’ Max placed a heavily laden plate in her unresisting hand before turning to choose some food for himself.

      Abby’s vision blurred as she looked down at the food. ‘Why are you being so nice to me?’ She sniffed, not sure she was going to be able to hold back the tears for much longer, despite blinking them away desperately.

      He glanced at her, very tall and handsome in a black evening suit and snowy white shirt, although the dark hair was even longer than it had been when they’d met three weeks ago, and the grey eyes were still as mockingly amused.

      ‘I figured someone ought to be,’ he drawled dismissively. ‘You presented rather a lonely figure sitting in there.’ He nodded in the direction of the drawing room.

      Pity. He felt sorry for her. And only hours ago she had hoped to finish this evening on a note of triumph. Euphoria, even.

      ‘Keep your damned pity!’ she snapped as she slammed the untouched plate of food back down on the table, her eyes sparkling deeply blue, twin spots of angry colour in her cheeks. ‘You’ve heard of the phoenix rising from the ashes? Well, watch the show next week and see what a good job I make of doing exactly that!’ She turned on her heel and walked—steadily, thank goodness!—out of the room, unknowingly beautiful in her midnight-blue knee-length dress, dark hair loose about her shoulders. She made her way over to where she could see Dorothy, chatting with a well-known newspaper reporter.

      Dorothy’s parties were always like this—attended by the rich and the famous—although Dorothy herself was one of the least glamorous people Abby knew. Her plain black evening gown was an old favourite with her, her face was homely rather than beautiful, and her figure tended towards comfortable plumpness now that she was approaching her sixtieth year.

      But Abby had known the other woman all her life—knew that it was Dorothy’s genuine warmth and kindness that attracted people to her like a magnet. Her handsome husband of the last thirty-five years absolutely adored her.

      ‘You can’t leave just yet, Abby!’ Dorothy responded with genuine regret at Abby’s excuse of tiredness. ‘I haven’t had a chance to introduce you to anyone,’ she protested. ‘Jenny and I were just commenting on what an absolute triumph your programme was this evening. Natalie and Brad have made complete idiots of themselves these last few months, and I don’t think there was a dry eye in the house—well, certainly not in this one!’ she admitted unabashedly ‘—when they announced that they’re back together and trying for a baby.’

      Abby’s smile was fixed on her face with sickening determination. She knew Dorothy was only trying to be kind by talking like that about her show—the older woman didn’t know how to be anything else!—but Abby really wished she didn’t have to stand here and listen to this. The whole show had been a disaster as far as she was concerned—and as far as Gary Holmes was, too, if his scornful remarks as she’d left the studio were anything to go by.

      ‘Yes.’ Jenny Jones took over the conversation, her manner slightly gushing. ‘The Natalie and Brad reconciliation was an absolute coup for your first programme!’

      Was it? Or was the other woman just veiling her sarcasm for Dorothy’s benefit?

      No, Abby realized, slightly dazedly, Jenny Jones looked genuinely disappointed that she hadn’t been the one to scoop the exclusive.

      Abby brightened. Maybe it hadn’t been such a disaster, after all? Meaning that perhaps Max’s earlier comments hadn’t been out of the pity that she had thought they were either?

      No—there was no need to go that far! If her show hadn’t been the complete failure she had initially thought it was, then she still knew she had only scraped through by the skin of her teeth, and someone as acutely intelligent as Max would be aware of that fact, too. And she would rather listen to Dorothy and Jenny’s misplaced praise, than Max’s mocking condescension.

      ‘My editor is running the story on the front page tomorrow,’ Jenny confided. ‘“Abby Shock: Brad No Longer a Free Man!”’

      Abby gave a pained wince at the awful play on her surname. Although she couldn’t really have expected much else from the dreadful rag Jenny worked for. But she didn’t think Natalie would care for the headline too much, either!

      ‘How clever,’ Dorothy put in lightly at the lengthening silence. ‘I do so wish I could think of things like that.’

      ‘It comes with experience,’ Jenny consoled her slightly pityingly as she laid a sympathetic hand on the other woman’s arm. ‘I—Oh, look, there’s Max Harding.’ Her green eyes were bright with the fervour of the predator as she spotted Max entering the room. ‘I’ve been wanting to speak to him for absolutely ages. If you ladies would excuse me…?’ she added distractedly, not waiting for either of them to reply before striding purposefully across the room in Max Harding’s direction.

      ‘Gladly!’ Dorothy muttered with feeling. ‘That woman is such a pompous bore!’ she added with disdain.

      ‘Dorothy…?’ Abby looked at the older woman incredulously. ‘I’ve never heard you say an unkind word about anyone before,’ she explained at Dorothy’s questioning look.

      ‘No? Well, put it down to my age.’ Dorothy chuckled, easily shrugging off her brief bad humour. ‘My only consolation is that I know Max will quickly send her away with a flea in her ear! There.’ She nodded with satisfaction as she glanced across the room. ‘That has to be something of a record—even for Max.’ She sounded impressed.

      Abby turned just in time to see Jenny Jones beating a hasty retreat from the glacially angry Max. There were twin spots of humiliated colour in the tabloid