Bridegroom On Loan. Emma Richmond

come back?’ she echoed in amazement. ‘But why on earth didn’t you tell me? No,’ she corrected herself with a little grimace. ‘Why should you? It wasn’t any of my business, was it? And you wanted to keep the conference centre and your private concerns separate.’ Which was why he’d never invited her to the house. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was because something was between them that wasn’t allowed to be between them.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘She left without telling you she was going?’ Just because it was none of her business, that didn’t stop her being curious.

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Because of the row?’

      ‘No,’ he denied simply.

      ‘Because of a lover?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘And no one knows where she is?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘How long…? I mean, when did she…?’

      ‘Leave? Two months ago. She didn’t take anything with her. Not her passport, her clothes, any money. Or her car.’

      When he said nothing further, she persisted, ‘And?’ Because there had to be an ‘and’, didn’t there?

      ‘And the police dug up the garden.’

      Flicking her eyes to the window, then back to him, a very hollow feeling inside, she whispered in shock, ‘They think you—killed her?’

      ‘Probably not, but her father insisted that she wouldn’t have just walked out. And the police have to cover all possibilities, don’t they?’

      ‘That’s what they said?’

      ‘Yes.’

      A frown in her eyes, she returned her attention to the garden. ‘Why would her father think she wouldn’t walk out?’

      ‘He doesn’t like me, and he didn’t think I was good enough for her. He thinks me cruel.’

      ‘No,’ she denied without hesitation. Whatever else he might be, she would have staked her life on the fact that he wasn’t a cruel man. And how on earth could she not have known that all this was going on? People gossiped, started rumours… ‘Does everyone believe it?’ she asked. ‘That you killed her?’

      ‘I don’t know if they believe it or not, but mud sticks.’

      ‘But there’s no evidence—is there?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘But until she’s found…’

      ‘I’m under suspicion, yes.’

      Genuinely concerned, she said, ‘I’m so sorry, Beck.’

      With a deep sigh, he finished making his coffee. ‘I’ll see if I can find you somewhere else to stay until the roads are open.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘I just told you why.’

      Watching him, she gave a disturbed smile. ‘For my reputation, or yours?’ she asked softly.

      ‘Yours.’

      ‘Oh, I think my reputation can stand it. More to the point, does anyone else have a wood-burning stove?’

      His mouth smiled. His eyes didn’t. ‘No, but you can’t stay here.’

      End of discussion? He spoke so quietly, impassively, with no sign of the strain he must be under, and her staying here had nothing whatever to do with reputations.

      ‘Afraid I might ravish you?’ she asked huskily.

      ‘No, Carenza, I’m not afraid you might ravish me.’

      ‘I’d like to…Sorry,’ she apologised hastily, her face pink. ‘I sometimes have a very big mouth.’

      ‘To go with being a big girl?’

      ‘Yes.’ Being tall and rather generously made was the bane of her life. She’d always yearned to be tiny. Like Helena. No, not like Helena. Sigh deeper, she continued her contemplation of the ruined garden. ‘She was very beautiful,’ she murmured, and she had been. She’d only seen her the once—and once had been enough, she thought with a twisted smile. And no greater contrast to herself could ever have existed. Helena had been small and slender, perfection personified. Shoulder-length blonde hair that waved in exactly the right places. Wide blue eyes, a perfect nose…She’d watched from the window of the conference centre as Helena had tucked her hand into Beck’s arm, smiled at him. A woman sure of her own attraction. Sure of being loved. Carenza was statuesque, and her thick dark hair didn’t wave at all.

      ‘Is there anyone you need to let know where you are?’ he asked quietly.

      She shook her head.

      ‘Just as well,’ he said with slight wryness, ‘because I have no way of contacting them for you. I don’t have a mobile.’

      ‘And I left mine on the hall table. I wasn’t going to be gone long: drive down and collect my notebook, drive home.’

      ‘Yes. The Aga doesn’t have a back boiler, but there should be enough hot water left if you want a shower,’ he continued. ‘Bathroom’s the first door at the top of the stairs.’ Hesitating a moment, he added, ‘Helena left all her clothes here, and although you might not want to wear her things there are whole drawers of new underwear, things she’d bought and never used. There’s no easy way to offer this, but you’re very welcome to take anything you need. It might take a while to find you somewhere else to stay. Her bedroom is next to the bathroom.’

      ‘Thank you. Clean underwear would be nice.’

      ‘Then help yourself. I’ll get us some breakfast.’

      Nodding, she walked out and into the hall, and then up the stairs. She felt ragged and weak. And the strain of being alone with him until however long it took for him to find her somewhere else to stay was going to be enormous. And yet she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

      Halting outside Helena’s room, she hesitated. She’d have been lying if she’d said she wasn’t curious about the other woman’s bedroom. Not theirs, Helena’s. Maybe they didn’t sleep together, but in this day and age it was usual for engaged couples to do so, and Beck didn’t look like a man who was celibate. He looked as though he would be a very competent and gentle lover. Innovative, perhaps…And she really rather despised herself for wanting a man who belonged to someone else. For wanting a man who could be attracted to another woman when he was involved with someone else.

      Feeling like an intruder, she pushed open the door. White. Everything was white. Drapes, bedlinen, carpet, even the furniture was white. The only colour was an ornate, and probably very expensive, turquoise glass lamp. Taking a deep breath, she slowly opened one door of the fitted wardrobe—except it wasn’t a wardrobe, it was a small, walk-in closet. Clothes hung neatly to either side, all covered in plastic. Evening clothes, day clothes, smart, casual. Shoe racks held all her footwear. All neatly paired. Handbags were tucked beside them. Her own wardrobe looked as if the army might have been holding manoeuvres in there. To actually find a pair of shoes involved taking everything out from the bottom of the wardrobe and then stuffing it all back in. Shoes she never wore, shoes that no longer fitted…Looking at all this, she was embarrassed, and vowed that never, ever would she let anyone else look in her wardrobe. Best clear it out in case she disappeared.

      Don’t tempt fate, Carenza.

      Backing out, she closed the door. She would just borrow some underwear, she decided. Helena’s clothes wouldn’t have fitted her anyway. Opening each drawer in the tall cabinet that stood by the window, she stared at all the tiny frilly triangles that seemed to constitute Helena’s underwear. Glancing down at her own ample proportions, she laughed. She might just get into a thong. Selecting one, she shut the drawer and escaped from all