A Second Chance For The Millionaire. Nicola Marsh

looking. His features were more regular, less interesting, she thought. Most women would have called him handsome.

      He greeted Darius with a friendly thump on the shoulder and stood back to survey him with pleasure.

      ‘I’ve been abroad,’ he said. ‘I just got back yesterday to find that nobody had seen hide nor hair of you for ages. Where did you vanish to?’

      ‘Herringdean. I’m the unexpected owner of an island off the south coast. This lady—’ he drew Harriet forward ‘—lives there and has been kind enough to be my guide and friend.’

      Jackson beamed and engulfed her hand in his. ‘I don’t know how you put up with him,’ he said.

      ‘Neither do I,’ she said, liking him immensely.

      ‘Did I hear right? Herringdean? The Herringdean?’

      ‘I don’t know of any other,’ she said.

      Delight broke over his face. ‘You’ve got fulmars there, haven’t you?’

      ‘Yes, plenty of them. They’re beautiful.’ Light dawned. ‘Hey, I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? On television?’

      ‘I’ve done a programme or two,’ he agreed. ‘But never one about fulmars. Could you and I have a talk some time soon?’

      ‘Of course we can.’

      ‘Then you can really have a deep discussion about fulmars,’ Darius observed. ‘I don’t know how you can bear the suspense.’

      Laughing, the other two turned on him.

      ‘They’re birds,’ Harriet said. ‘Very big and lovely. They look like gulls but they’re really petrels.’

      ‘Fascinating!’ said Darius, who wouldn’t have known a gull from a petrel if they’d attacked him together.

      ‘They nest high up on cliffs,’ Harriet continued, ‘and they’re one of the beauties of Herringdean.’

      Darius regarded her with comic irony. ‘And I’ve owned these fabulous creatures all this time and you didn’t tell me?’

      ‘Nobody owns fulmars,’ Harriet said. ‘It’s they who own the world, especially that bit of it called Herringdean.’

      Jackson looked at her with appreciation. ‘I see you’re an expert,’ he said. ‘Don’t waste yourself on this fellow. Let’s go and have that talk now.’

      ‘Yes, be off while I make some duty calls,’ Darius said.

      She was briefly afraid that the exchange might have offended him, but he kissed her cheek, saying, ‘Take care of her, Jackson.’

      Now she remembered Darius saying that his brother was a naturalist. ‘Not an academic. He just works a lot with animals and charities. Does TV a bit, goes off on expeditions. You’d find him interesting.’

      And she did. Jackson knew his stuff, and as she also knew hers they plunged into a knowledgeable discussion that pleased them both.

      Darius did his duty, going from acquaintance to acquaintance, saying the right things, avoiding the wrong things, smiling mechanically, performing as expected. Nothing in his demeanour revealed that he was intensely conscious of Harriet and Jackson sitting at a side table, their heads close together, each so absorbed that they seemed to have forgotten the rest of the world.

      Gradually, he managed to get near enough to eavesdrop but what he heard brought him no comfort. He couldn’t discern every word, but Jackson clearly said, ‘It depends whether you’re talking about northern fulmars or southern fulmars…’

      His last words were drowned out, but then Harriet said, ‘It’s a pity that…any old rubbish…almost makes you want to…’

      Jackson asked a question and she replied eagerly, ‘That’s always the way with Procellariidae, don’t you think?’

      ‘What?’

      Jackson looked up and grinned. ‘Here’s my brother. Perhaps you’d better return to him before he goes out of his mind.’

      He touched Darius on the shoulder and departed. Darius drew Harriet’s arm through his, saying, ‘I hardly dare ask what you were talking about. What the blue blazes are procellar—whatever?’

      ‘Procellariidae. It’s just the name of the family that fulmars belong to, just like crows and magpies are Corvids—’

      ‘Are they really? You’ll be telling me next that wrens are dinosaurs.’

      ‘Oh, no, wrens are Troglodytidae.’ Her lips twitched. ‘There, and you thought of me as a silly little creature who didn’t know any long words.’

      ‘Well, if I was foolish enough to think that you’ve made me sorry. I feel as if I’ve been walked over by hobnailed boots.’

      ‘Good,’ she teased. ‘Serve you right.’

      She was looking up at him with gleaming eyes, and he couldn’t have stopped himself responding, however much he wanted to. But he didn’t want to. He wanted to take her hand and follow her into the world where only she could take him—the world of laughter and good fellowship that had been closed to him before but now seemed to open invitingly whenever she was there.

      A few yards away Jackson watched them, unnoticed, a curious expression on his face. After a while he smiled as though he’d seen something that satisfied him.

      Harriet had tried to prepare herself to cope among Darius’s family. She told herself that she was ready for Mary, for Freya, even for Amos. But it was the children who surprised her. After doing their social duty, Frankie and Mark effectively took her prisoner, corralling her into a corner and sitting one each side, lest she have ideas of escape. Like all the best hostage-takers, they provided her with excellent food and drink, but there was no doubt they meant business.

      First she had to tell the story of Darius’s rescue, suitably edited for their childish ears. Then they wanted to hear about other rescue trips, listening in awed silence, until Mark said breathlessly, ‘But aren’t you scared?’

      She thought for a moment. ‘Not really.’

      ‘Not even when it’s terribly dangerous?’ Frankie persisted.

      ‘There isn’t time to be scared. There’s always so much to do.’

      Frankie looked around before leaning forward and whispering, ‘It’s more fun when it’s dangerous, isn’t it?’

      Harriet hesitated, aware of a yawning pit at her feet. She must be careful what she said to children. Especially these two. Frankie’s gleaming eyes showed that she already had her own opinion of the joys of danger.

      ‘No,’ Harriet said, trying to sound firm. ‘And that is a very irresponsible point of view. Danger has to be taken seriously.’

      ‘Yes, Mrs Connor,’ Frankie said, straight-faced.

      ‘Harry. My friends call me Harry, like yours call you Frankie.’

      United by the bond, they shook hands.

      She liked them both enormously, but with Frankie she also had the connection of like recognising like. As a child, she too had felt that danger could be fun. Truth to tell, she still often found it so, as long as it was only her own. Other people’s peril had to be taken seriously, but there was a ‘ping’ about fighting for one’s own survival that most people wouldn’t understand, and certainly not sympathise with.

      Her father had lectured her about being sensible. Now she had passed on the lecture to the next generation, just as she would have done with a child of her own, she thought wistfully.

      But she had no children and probably never would have. Darius’s offspring would have to be her consolation.

      ‘Go on about Herringdean,’ Mark begged. ‘Why did you join the