to go now, Mr McGuire.’ She pulled pointedly on the door he still held, relieved when, after only the slightest of hesitations, he decided to let go of it, allowing her to slam it shut. She wound the window down beside her. ‘Just one more thing. If you do intend using the car while you’re here, I shouldn’t go out anywhere tomorrow; it’s Mad Sunday.’
‘Mad what?’ he questioned suspiciously.
‘Sunday,’ she repeated.
‘Well, I realise it’s Sunday,’ he said slowly. ‘But what’s mad about it?’
Tory grinned herself now. ‘You remember all those motorbikes you saw at the Grandstand earlier? Well,’ she continued at his confirming nod, ‘those bikes, and about twenty thousand more, will be circling the TT course tomorrow—with only the mountain road being one-way. Mad Sunday!’
She put the vehicle into gear, released the handbrake and accelerated away, her last glimpse of Jonathan McGuire as she glanced in the driving mirror the totally dazed look on his face.
She couldn’t help smiling to herself. If Jonathan McGuire had come to the island for peace and quiet—and she had a definite feeling that he had!—then he had chosen the wrong week to do it.
And in her opinion, after the hard time he had given her, it couldn’t have happened to a nicer person!
CHAPTER TWO
HER mood wasn’t particularly improved when she got back to the farm to find that Rupert had left a message on the answer-machine!
The machine itself had been her gift to her parents the previous summer, mainly so that she could leave messages on it herself, no matter where she was or what time zone she might be in, ensuring that her parents would always know she was okay.
But Tory had it switched on most of the time when she was at home, enabling her to pick and choose which calls she wanted to take.
She most certainly would not have taken this one from Rupert!
She had specifically told him she did not want him to call her while she was here. But in his usual high-handed fashion he had taken absolutely no notice of her.
‘Hello, darling,’ his charming, educated voice greeted smoothly, enabling Tory to actually visualise him as he sat back in his brown leather chair, leather-shod feet up on the desk, looking immaculate in his designer-label suit and tailored shirt, silk tie knotted perfectly. ‘Just wanted to see if you’re ready to come home yet. We all miss you.’
Tory turned off the machine with a definitive click. Damn him, she was home. And as for missing her—!
Her mouth tightened. No doubt they were missing her, but Rupert especially; she had helped put those leather shoes on his feet, the designer-label suit and tailored shirt on his back. In fact, she was his main meal ticket.
Oh, hell!
She dropped down into one of the kitchen chairs, elbows on the oak table as she rested her chin on her hands. The last thing she wanted was to become bitter and twisted. But what was she going to do?
That was what she had come here a week ago to find out. She was nearer the answer, she realised, she knew what she wanted to do. But if she did it all hell was going to break loose. She—
‘Give us a hand, would you, love?’ her father puffed as he pushed open the kitchen door, arm around her mother’s waist as he helped her badly limping form into the room.
Tory jumped concernedly to her feet, rushing over to her mother’s other side so the two of them could guide her over to one of the kitchen chairs. Her mother’s left ankle was tightly bandaged; a pained expression was on her face.
‘What on earth happened?’ Tory gasped once they had her mother safely settled in the chair.
‘I fell over coming out of the church.’ Her mother was the one to answer, self-disgustedly, looking very summery in her floral pink and white suit with matching pink hat.
‘And not a drop had passed her lips!’ Tory’s father, barely five feet six in height, his face ruddily weathered by the sun and wind, grinned his relief at having got back home without further mishap.
‘Vanity, that’s what did it. I should never have worn these high-heeled shoes,’ her mother said heavily, giving the offending white shoes a glare—the one still on her foot and the other held in her hand—obviously very annoyed with herself for having fallen over in the first place. ‘I don’t remember when I last wore shoes like this. We’ve been stuck at the hospital the last half-hour while they X-rayed my ankle. Nothing’s broken, thank goodness, but it’s a nasty sprain.’
‘I’ll get you both a cup of tea,’ Tory offered concernedly, Rupert’s call forgotten in the face of this family crisis.
No matter how much her father might be smiling with affection at her mother’s clumsiness, it was a crisis. Her mother was as much an essential part of running the farm as her father was, and now that she was no longer mobile…
‘Good idea, love,’ her father replied, also sitting down at the kitchen table now.
The whole family spent a lot of time in this room. All of their meals were eaten around this table, and they often lingered here, after they had cleared away in the evenings, to just sit and chat.
‘How did the wedding go?’ Tory moved swiftly around the room making the tea.
Her mother’s expression instantly softened, her face as weathered by the elements as her husband’s, but rounder, as was her plump body. ‘Beautiful.’ She smiled reminiscently. ‘I do love a good wedding.’
‘Denise looked well enough,’ her father added less enthusiastically, obviously uncomfortable in the shirt and suit he had been persuaded into wearing for the occasion. ‘Although I still can’t say I’m too keen on that young man she’s married.’
‘Wait until it’s your turn, Tory.’ Her mother gave her a knowing look. ‘No man is going to be good enough for you, either!’
‘You have that about right, Thelma,’ Tory’s father agreed gruffly. ‘Because no man is good enough for our Tory!’
Tory gave them both an affectionate smile as she handed them their cups of tea. ‘I wouldn’t worry about that too much if I were you; I don’t intend marrying for years yet.’ If ever!
Not that she had always felt that way. Until a short time ago she had had the same hopes and dreams as other women her age: a husband, children, a warm family home like the one she had grown up in.
But that had all changed now.
As had Rupert. But too late—fortunately! After years of saying marriage wasn’t for him, Rupert had suddenly done an about-face a few weeks ago, and now urged her to marry him every opportunity he had.
Maybe if he had felt that way a few years ago Tory would have accepted, she acknowledged. But not any more. Rupert was no longer a golden-haired god to her. In fact, as she now knew only too well, he had feet of clay. She just thanked goodness he hadn’t asked her to marry him a couple of years ago; then she would have made the biggest mistake of her life by accepting him!
‘Well,
