Cat Carlisle Book 2. Terry Thomas Lynn

give her a list of projects that will take years. I’ll come for a good long stay at Christmas. How about that?’ Lydia said.

      ‘Perfect. We’ll have an old-fashioned country Christmas, like we used to do when my parents were alive. Maybe you’ll like it so much, you’ll stay.’

      ‘Don’t get your hopes up.’ Lydia smiled to take the sting out of her words. ‘Revisiting the past leads to inevitable disappointment.’

      ‘Thanks, Lydia.’

      She looked at Cat in surprise. ‘For what?’

      ‘For letting Annie and me stay here these past few years, for standing by me.’ Cat would miss her aunt, their artsy friends, the hours of intellectual conversation with people who didn’t judge her. She would miss London, but she had Annie to think about. ‘I wish you’d come with us.’

      Lydia patted Cat’s hand. ‘Don’t be afraid of him. Thomas Charles is not Benton Carlisle. The man loves you. Take a chance, love. Follow your heart.’

      ‘I can’t,’ she said.

      ‘Why? Just tell me. I’ve watched you mope around this house since April. You love him. Why won’t you let yourself be happy?’

      ‘Because we’ll go along fine for a while. Then, slowly but surely, he’ll be telling me what I can and cannot do. Or he won’t, and he’ll ask me to marry him. Then what? I’ll have to say no. I’ve grown accustomed to my freedom, Lydia. Do you realize that I have yet to live in my own house, with furniture and paint and curtains that I pick out for myself?’ Cat shook her head. ‘Surely you of all people can understand that.’

      ‘That’s not it, and you know it. What are you afraid of? He’s a decent man, Cat. He’s foolish over you.’

      ‘What happens if he changes?’

      ‘Thomas? Don’t be absurd. He’s solid as a rock, that one.’

      ‘Ben changed.’ Cat met Lydia’s eyes. ‘Ben seemed solid, too. Ben loved me. He was kind, and tender, and utterly devoted.’

      ‘For how long, three years?’ Lydia gave her head a tiny shake. ‘He didn’t change, love. I knew what he was made of when I first laid eyes on him. Tom isn’t like Ben. I wish you’d just take my word for it. You’re about to turn 40. You’re lonely. I don’t want you to look back on your life with regret of a chance not taken. Of course, you could always take him as a lover. Just think, you could sneak around some quaint country village, spending the night in each other’s beds and creeping to your own house in the gloaming.’ Lydia spoke before Cat reacted. ‘Never mind. I know that’s not your style.’

      Cat giggled.

      ‘In the end, you’ll do what’s best. Just keep your mind open. A solid relationship with a good man shouldn’t feel like a prison sentence.’ Lydia stood. She put her hands on her lower back and stretched. ‘We’ll leave it for now. At least he’s back and that cloak of doom that’s been hanging over you has lifted. You’re working together again. That’ll have to do for now.’

       Chapter 2

      Phillip Billings sat in his solicitor’s office, waiting for his mother’s will to be read, thinking of Lady Penelope Blythedale, the bitch who tried so hard to ruin his life. After today, he would be a man of independent means. Oh, how he wished he could travel to Edinburgh and flaunt his newfound wealth. He could just imagine the look on Lady Blythedale’s face, as he drove by in a brand-new fancy car. He sighed out loud, not realizing that his cousin and her daughter – who also sat in the chairs opposite the solicitor’s desk – looked at him strangely.

       About time my luck has changed. Lady Fortune will now be sitting on my shoulder!

      The past two years had been difficult. Granted, he did play a small role in the collapse of the life he had so carefully created. So what if he had taken his boss’s wife as a lover? Lady Penelope had made the first move, after all. These were modern times. And women – especially women of means – took lovers just as frequently as men. In addition to being married to Phillip’s employer, Lady Penelope Blythedale, a blond socialite with money and connections, had a voracious sexual appetite that nearly wore Phillip out. Nearly. Had Martha, Penelope’s young maid, not been so eager, he would have been faithful to Penelope. Sleeping with Martha – in his own bed, no less – had been a mistake. Phillip realized that. He would never forget the look on Penelope’s face when she caught them in flagrante delicto.

      Lady Blythedale – Phillip was only allowed to call her Penelope when they were in bed together – shopped and lunched with her lady friends on Wednesdays. In a natural series of circumstances, Martha and Phillip had started having their weekly trysts during this time. Soon the affair escalated, fuelled by delicious secrecy. Wednesday afternoon soon became a standing date. They would spend their afternoons in Phillip’s opulent bedroom, tangled in the sheets, drinking expensive champagne – all paid for by Lady Blythedale. Someone must have told her about the affair. Why else would she have come home early and burst into the room? He cringed at the thought of the ensuing row, the crystal glasses thrown against the wall. Martha scarpering away, grabbing her clothes as she ran. Phillip spent about three seconds wondering what would become of poor Martha, sure in the knowledge that a reference would not be forthcoming.

      After Martha had fled, Lady Blythedale had tossed a beautiful chair, covered in sky-blue silk, at a closed window. It crashed through and fell two storeys to the courtyard below. She surveyed the wreckage and cast a knowing glance at Phillip. The look in her eyes had chilled him to the bone. Without a word, she turned and walked out of the house. He thought about going after her, but changed his mind. She would come around. They always did. He would go to her house with champagne and a token of his affection – charged to her account, of course. Phillip had no money of his own and had become accustomed to the lifestyle that Lady Blythedale had provided him. She really had been very generous. He lived in the gatehouse on her vast property, had access to any number of her automobiles, and enjoyed a generous allowance which she deposited into his bank account every week like clockwork. They had too much invested in their affair to let it go. Surely this one indiscretion would be forgiven. He’d talk her around. Once he told her how things stood, Phillip felt certain she would forgive him.

      Phillip had showered and dressed. After arranging for one-dozen long-stemmed red roses to be delivered to the big house – where Lady Blythedale resided – Phillip walked up the long curving driveway. No one seemed to be home. After knocking for a good fifteen minutes, he started to walk around the back of the house where a burly gardener intercepted him.

      ‘She wants you off the property,’ the man said.

      ‘This is too ridiculous. It was a simple misunderstanding. Please go and tell her to at least speak to me. I can explain.’

      ‘She doesn’t want to see you. Doesn’t want you here. Now get off the property before I throw you off.’ The man’s hands were clenched into ham-sized fists.

      ‘What about my things?’ Phillip had whined.

      ‘They ain’t yours. Paid for with her money, weren’t they? The locks on the gatehouse are being changed right now.’

      Given no other choice, Phillip had left. At the bank, he had tried to cash a cheque, only to discover that his account had been closed. Luckily, he had enough money to lodge for a night or two at a cheap hotel.

      The next day, the police had come to question him about a diamond necklace that Penelope had claimed had been stolen. Not wanting trouble with the police, he left on the next train south, where he wound up at his mother’s house two days later, with only the clothes on his back.

      During his absence his cousin Beth and her daughter, Edythe, had moved in with his mother, Win. Beth’s husband had died, leaving the woman alone with a daughter and little money. Phillip imagined that