Wanted: White Wedding. Natasha Oakley

you liked the kind of woman who would eat you up and spit you out.

      He stepped out onto the forecourt, pausing for a minute to gauge how blocked-in her car was. The faint hope he’d had that it might be possible to guide her past faded as he took in how far Pete had driven the van in.

      Daniel walked towards her. ‘I’m sorry about this.’

      ‘Just get it moved.’

      He looked back at Bob. ‘See if you can find Pete and get the keys—’

      ‘You don’t have a spare set?’

      ‘Why would I? It’s not my van,’ he replied calmly, taking in the angry flash of her blue eyes. Then he turned back to Bob. ‘I think you’ll find him in Carlo’s. If not he’ll have gone on to that place in the arcade for one of their all-day breakfasts.’

      The older man nodded and ambled off towards Silver Street. Beside him, Freya made a small guttural sound of pure irritation.

      ‘It shouldn’t be too long,’ Daniel offered. ‘Would you like to wait inside?’

      ‘What’s the difference? It’s as cold in there as out here.’

      ‘You’re welcome to use the phone if you need to call someone,’ he added seamlessly.

      ‘I’ve got a mobile.’

      Quite deliberately he let the silence stretch out between them. She could be as difficult as she liked, but she wasn’t going to get a reaction out of him. After a moment it seemed she made a conscious decision to relax. Though by other people’s standards she was still as tense as a bowstring.

      Spoilt, he thought, watching the small frown disappear from the centre of her forehead. A woman who’d had her own way far too often and easily. She spun round on her ice-pick-thin heels and walked over to perch half a buttock on the low brick wall behind her car.

      His eyes travelled to the sleek grey Audi he’d heard so much about. ‘Nice car.’

      ‘I like it.’

      Daniel smiled. It was a ‘statement’ car, not one chosen simply to get you from A to B. It was a car which would always be noticed. Would inspire envy. She had to know that. Would surely have anticipated the reaction it would produce when she drove it into the village. Even in Fellingham, which had its fair share of London money.

      It made him wonder whether this was all some kind of game to her. Did she like the idea of wafting back to her old stamping ground and giving the gossips something to talk about?

      Because they were talking. Everything she did and said would be dissected. Everywhere she went…

      Did she even care?

      Daniel took in the dark smudges under her eyes and the tight hold to her mouth. She cared. He had no idea how he knew that so certainly. ‘How long are you planning on staying?’

      ‘I’ve not decided.’

      ‘Nice to have the freedom to choose.’ Daniel sat down on the wall beside her, perversely determined to make her speak. ‘Is Margaret still planning on moving to a warden-controlled place?’

      He was aware of the slight hunch to her shoulders and the short delay before she replied. ‘Quite possibly.’ Then, ‘You know, you really don’t need to wait with me.’

      ‘It’s not a problem.’

      ‘I’m sure—’ She broke off with a swift frown. ‘Bob, was it?’

      Daniel nodded.

      ‘Well, I’m sure Bob will manage to find the driver of that thing,’ she said, pointing at the white van, ‘and get it moved some time before lunch. You go on doing whatever it is you need to do.’

      Daniel stretched out his legs. ‘Pete’s on his break, so you’re going to need me to reverse it. Unless…you’re happy to do it yourself?’

      ‘I’ve no problem with that.’

      He fought down an unexpected desire to laugh. She’d do it. A vehicle she didn’t know, and a tight bend out on to a narrow road…

      He’d kind of like to see that. It was a shame Bob would refuse to hand over the keys. Pete would have him lynched if there was even the slightest scratch put on his baby.

      ‘Pete might have a problem with it. That’s his pride and joy.’

      ‘Then why make the suggestion?’

      Fair question. Why had he? Daniel studied her face for a moment.

      Because he liked to see the challenging tilt of her chin, the determination in a face that otherwise looked as if it could be the model for a porcelain doll…

      Freya Anthony had the darkest lashes of any woman he’d ever seen. Though maybe they looked like that because her skin was so fair. Purple smudges beneath blue eyes. Intelligent eyes. Guarded.

      Hurt.

      He recognised that because he’d felt it. There was always an unspoken connection between people who knew what it was to suffer.

      Daniel shook his head. An affinity between two souls who knew life wasn’t perfect. Could never be perfect. And for some reason he knew this carefully packaged blonde understood that. She knew it with the same bone-deep certainty he did.

      ‘If we’re going to be sitting here a while, shall I bring us out a couple of coffees?’

      ‘No.’ Then, as though some semblance of politeness was dragged out of her, ‘I’m not thirsty, but that’s no reason for you not to go and get one for yourself if you’re determined to babysit me.’ She stood up and tapped her foot against the tarmac.

      Daniel’s eyes travelled to the caramel suede of her boot, the impatient movement of her foot. ‘No problem. I’ll just sit here and wait with you.’

      ‘How long have you known my grandmother?’

      The question surprised him. Or rather the antagonistic tone of it did. He shrugged. ‘A few years—’

      ‘How come?’

      His eyes moved back up to her face, taking in the pinched look. Daniel sat back as far as the wall would allow. What exactly was her problem? Something had really got under her skin. And that something appeared to be him.

      Maybe she was the possessive sort? Perhaps she wasn’t happy to discover Margaret had filled the void left by her family, if not well at least adequately?

      ‘Margaret takes an interest in other people’s lives,’ he said slowly. ‘People like her for it.’ He watched her process that—make some kind of judgement. Her foot moved again, and she spun round so he couldn’t see her face.

      ‘How much longer is this Bob going to be? This is completely stupid.’

      ‘That’ll depend on how difficult Pete’s been to find.’

      Her head snapped round, her long earrings swinging. ‘I’ve got things I need to be doing.’

      Daniel felt a smile twitch at the side of his mouth. Unreasonable and spoilt was the only way to describe Freya Anthony’s behaviour.

      Very similar, in fact, to the way his daughter behaved when he vetoed something or other ‘everyone else’ was doing. Only Mia was fifteen, and had considerably more excuse for behaving like a brat than a woman in her late twenties…however beautiful.

      Oh, hell! The thought of his daughter had him reaching inside his coat pocket for his phone. He’d forgotten to turn it back on, which meant her school wouldn’t have been able to contact him if…

      What did he mean if they tried to call? Given the morning they’d had, it was an inevitability. It was a little over three years since Anna had died, and he’d never missed his wife as much as he did right now.

      Anna