Trust In Summer Madness. Carole Mortimer

she frowned. ‘I wonder where he’ll stay?’

      Sian served the salad and steak for lunch, putting the hot potatoes in a vegetable bowl in the centre of the table, expecting her father at any moment. He always arrived home from his accountancy office at exactly one-thirty, and she always had his lunch waiting for him.

      She shrugged. ‘The Swan,’ she named the local hotel and public house. ‘It’s the only place he can stay.’ Swannell didn’t boast more than the one hotel, although the one they had was of a good quality. The way Jarrett had been living the last three years it would need to be to get his patronage!

      ‘Mm, I suppose so.’ Bethany chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip.

      Sian sighed. ‘Did it ever occur to you that he might be bringing his wife with him?’

      ‘Wife?’ Her sister blinked her surprise. ‘But he isn’t married—is he?’ she added uncertainly.

      ‘How would I know?’ Sian’s tone was tight.

      ‘Well, I—I just thought you might.’ Bethany frowned.

      ‘Oh, damn! You don’t think he is, do you?’

      ‘I have no idea.’

      ‘Aren’t you interested?’

      Interested? In whether or not Jarrett had a wife? Once upon a time Sian would have been very interested. But not any more. Jarrett could have had a dozen wives the last three years—and with his sex drive that was possible!—and she wouldn’t give a damn. She was engaged to Chris, wasn’t interested in Jarrett’s movements any more.

      ‘No,’ she answered flatly.

      ‘Well, I would have thought in the circumstances—’

      ‘Serve the steaks, Bethany,’ she interrupted abruptly. ‘I just heard Daddy come in.’

      Their father’s arrival home was a welcome interruption to what was turning out to be a painful conversation, and her smile was bright and welcoming as he came into the kitchen. He was a man in his late fifties, his hair still thick, but iron-grey, his eyes the same deep blue as Bethany’s, his frame leaner than it used to be owing to a heart attack several years ago, the doctor ordering him to lose weight at the time, weight he had never regained. Sian took after her mother, the mother who had died while both girls were still at school.

      ‘What a welcome sight for any man!’ her father greeted jovially, sitting down at the table.

      ‘Steak and salad?’ Sian derided.

      His smile deepened. ‘No, my two beautiful daughters waiting for me when I get home. Although no one would think you were sisters. I think I’d blame you on the milk man, Bethany, if you didn’t look exactly like my mother.’

      It was a long-standing family joke about the difference between the two sisters, Bethany being tiny and explosive, Sian tall and cool, but they all laughed together nonetheless.

      together. Yes, they were a very ‘together’ family, and it was something Sian had come to treasure over the years. She had taken care of her father and Bethany since she was fourteen years old, and when she and Chris married they intended to continue living here. Chris had easily fallen in with the idea of staying in the house that was more than big enough for all of them without them tripping over each other every minute of the day.

      ‘Sian’s more likely to be the result of the milkman,’ Bethany teased. ‘He has red hair!’

      ‘So he does,’ their father chuckled.

      Sian was used to this playful teasing, but knew that with her red hair and hazel eyes she looked exactly like her mother.

      As usual lunch was a lighthearted affair, Jarrett King seemingly forgotten by Bethany for a few minutes. Their father left to return to his office at two o’clock, and Bethany disappeared upstairs once they had done the washing-up together.

      Sian followed her up a few minutes later, waiting until her sister had come off the telephone before talking to her. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting back?’ She frowned at the chaos that was her sister’s bedroom, clothes and magazines strewn everywhere.

      ‘Mm.’ Bethany had a self-satisfied smile on her face, unconcerned with the mess about her. ‘I just checked at the Swan. Jarrett’s due there any day now.’

      Sian’s heart gave an unexpected lurch. So soon! Heavens, he could even turn up today. Her hunted feeling earlier while she shopped no longer seemed so far-fetched.

      ‘Bethany, it’s two-fifteen,’ she reminded her sharply.

      ‘So Gloria will have a moan at me for being late.’ Her sister seemed unworried. ‘She knows I’m the best stylist she has.’

      ‘Ex-stylist, if you don’t stop messing her about,’ Sian warned. ‘You were late this morning too.’

      ‘I needed those denims. And they weren’t ironed.’

      ‘I’ve already told you I haven’t had time to do the ironing yet—’

      ‘Sian, don’t you ever regret being a slave to Daddy and me?’ Bethany frowned. ‘You’ve been taking care of us for the last eight years, and you never moan or complain.’

      Sian’s smile was tight. ‘I didn’t realise I was a slave, I thought I did it because we’re family.’

      Bethany stood up to hug her. ‘We are,’ she smiled. ‘But don’t you ever feel like a break? Don’t you ever want to just say “to hell with you” and just leave?’

      ‘When you were an audacious little brat of thirteen I felt like it a lot of times,’ Sian laughed as Bethany blushed. ‘But I’ve never really considered leaving you and Daddy.’ She was suddenly serious. ‘Mummy—well, she expected me to take care of you both.’

      ‘But you were only fourteen yourself. Didn’t you—’

      ‘Bethany,’ she interrupted patiently, ‘Gloria may be very forbearing where you’re concerned—and that may be because you’re her best stylist,’ she mocked gently. ‘But—’

      ‘Who does your hair for you!’

      ‘You do,’ Sian laughed as her sister rose to her bait. ‘But even Gloria has her breaking point. You’re going to be at least half an hour late already.’

      Bethany grimaced. ‘And I have Mrs Jones’s blue rinse to do,’ she groaned.

      ‘So much for a client’s secrets!’

      Her sister laughed. ‘Careful, or I’ll tell everyone about that grey hair I found amongst all that red last week!’

      ‘It was blonde,’ Sian pretended indignation.

      ‘If you say so,’ Bethany taunted. ‘As you pulled it out we’ll never know—until you get two grown back in its place, that is.’

      ‘Get back to work!’ Sian laughed.

      ‘I’m going, I’m going,’ Bethany picked up a magazine and handed it to Sian. ‘I found that magazine with the article about Jarrett in,’ and she hurriedly left the room, running down the stairs, and the roar of the Mini’s engine soon told Sian her sister was on her way back into town.

      She held the magazine in her hands for long timeless minutes without looking at it. She was afraid to look at it! And she was afraid of Bethany’s single-minded interest in Jarrett; she knew better than anyone how he could hurt her young sister with his cruelty and indifference to anyone’s wishes but his own.

      Finally she had to look at the magazine article; she couldn’t stop herself any longer, her breath catching in her throat at the familiar figure in the photograph, the long muscled legs, the lean thighs only just covered by the green bathing trunks, the taut stomach and powerful chest, the whole of his body deeply tanned, his chest covered with a fine sheen of dark blond hair. Lastly she looked