dead for eleven months… And, bearing in mind Griffin’s earlier comment to her today about wearing black for a year, it all began to make perfect sense.
‘Your mother believes the wedding date is disrespectful to Charles’s memory,’ she guessed knowingly.
Once again Griffin gave her that sideways glance. ‘Don’t tell me you agree with her?’
‘No, of course I don’t,’ she answered impatiently. ‘You have a very strange opinion of me, Griffin.’ She frowned, remembering some of his earlier remarks concerning her father and Charles. ‘I’m very pleased for Charlotte and Stuart.’ She had always been very fond of the other couple; in fact Charlotte was the only member of the family that she had continued to see for coffee occasionally after Charles died.
‘Because they’re getting married—or because they’re moving far away from my mother?’ Griffin muttered grimly.
Dora shook her head at him. He really was the most disrespectful man! ‘I’m sure your mother means well, Griffin,’ she reasoned evasively; she had been more than aware, during her brief engagement to Charles, that Margaret would make a formidable mother-in-law…!
‘Are you?’ Griffin looked at her with narrowed eyes. ‘I wish I had your confidence,’ he added disgustedly. ‘Whatever, the wedding is going ahead as planned in four weeks’ time.’
‘How did you manage that?’ Dora wondered curiously. If his mother could stop speaking to him for a month simply because he appeared on public television in what she considered amounted to a role of entertainer, how much deeper would her response have been to Charlotte thwarting her wishes?
‘Bribery and corruption,’ Griffin bit out grimly. ‘But it’s done now, and—well, that’s why I’m here today.’ He searched in the pockets of his leather jacket. ‘To personally bring you your wedding invitation. Sorry.’ He grimaced as he finally found it. ‘It seems to have got a bit crushed in my pocket.’ He handed her the dog-eared envelope.
Dora looked blankly at the envelope, making no effort to take it. Her invitation? Not just to the wedding, but back into the midst of the Sinclair family…!
‘It isn’t going to bite,’ Griffin mocked as he still held out the envelope.
She hadn’t seen Charlotte for several months now, both of them having other commitments, otherwise she would probably already have known about the hastily arranged marriage. And it was very kind of the other woman to invite her to her wedding, but, in truth, Dora felt her own involvement with the Sinclair family had ended with Charles’s death. And the way Griffin had just breezed in here today, on the basis of delivering this invitation, proved to her she was right to have made that decision!
She shook her head. ‘I doubt I’ll be able to make it.’
‘Why not?’
She gave Griffin an irritated frown. ‘In view of your mother’s initial reaction to the wedding date, and the reason for it, I would have thought I was the last person she would expect to see there!’
He raised blond brows. ‘Scared, Izzy?’ he taunted.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Griffin,’ she snapped dismissively. ‘I was trying to be sensitive to your mother’s feelings.’
‘In view of the fact that she is never ‘‘sensitive’’ to other people’s feelings, I wouldn’t bother!’ He pushed himself up off the desk, instantly making the shop look small once again. ‘Besides, now that we’ve settled her initial—misgivings, she’s thrown herself into the wedding arrangements with a vengeance! Charlotte’s ‘‘quiet wedding’’ has been turned into a social circus!’ he explained disgustedly.
All the more reason, Dora would have thought, for her not to attend. Oh, she still had all the social attributes Charles—and his mother!—had found so suitable for her future role as Charles’s wife: she found it easy to converse with people from all walks of life, on most subjects—themselves, she had learnt, was usually a pretty safe bet for most people!—she was attractive enough, in a quiet and unassuming way, and, best of all, she was sure, there was no hint of scandal attached to her name.
She just didn’t particularly relish her role now as ‘poor Charles’s fiancée’, the object of pitying curiosity. And surely her father’s recent death was excuse enough not to accept.
‘In view of the fact that none of the family were aware of your father’s death, he was, of course, included in the invitation.’ Griffin seemed to have read at least some of her thoughts. ‘But don’t give that another thought; it will be simple enough for you to come to the wedding as my partner for the day.’
Now Dora did stare at him. His partner? ‘I don’t think so, Griffin—’
‘Well, I do,’ he returned in a voice that brooked no argument. ‘Now, could you ring through the sale of these books?’ He indicated the pile he had accumulated when the elderly lady was in the shop, having put them down on the desk. ‘I have another appointment in an hour.’
Dora frowned. ‘Surely you don’t really want all these books?’
He grimaced. ‘As well as not talking to me for a month, my mother decided to clear out the bedroom she keeps for me at the house. The ‘‘clearing out’’ included throwing away a collection of classics I had had since I was a boy,’ he told her grimly. ‘I’m attempting to replace them.’
Mother and son never had really got on, Dora knew, but even so!
Griffin might dismiss his mother’s behaviour now, but she was sure he had been far from pleased at the time. ‘If you can remember some of the others that are still—missing, I might be able to get them for you,’ she offered helpfully. Books had always been a big part of her own life, and she could imagine nothing more awful than losing any of the collection she had amassed over the years, and still read over and over.
‘Thanks.’ He nodded. ‘I’ll make a list and give it to you.’
She wished he wouldn’t watch her so intently as she totalled up the books; he made her feel nervous, and she had trouble concentrating at all.
But he continued to watch her with those knowing green eyes, and it seemed to take her for ever to get through the twenty or so books he had picked up.
‘You must have had quite a library,’ she said lightly as she stacked them into carrier bags, having noted that some of them were copies of books she had in her own library at home.
‘And there you were thinking I couldn’t read!’ he drawled mockingly.
‘You’re being ridiculous again.’ She looked up at him with calm grey eyes, able to breathe again now that she knew he was on the point of leaving. ‘I am aware of the fact that you’ve written several books of your own.’
His mouth twisted derisively. ‘I’ll lay odds on there not being any of them in here, though.’ He looked about him pointedly.
She stiffed at his deliberate mockery. ‘We do have travel books—’
‘But not by Griffin Sinclair,’ he said with certainty. ‘Your father didn’t approve of me any more than I liked him!’
He was right, of course;
