want to see me any more.’
Margaret stared in horror. ‘Why ever not?’ Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What did you do to offend him, you silly girl? Brian Collins is such a good catch. His father owns half of Pennington—’
‘It’s more a case of what I didn’t do,’ interrupted Sarah.
‘I don’t understand.’
Sarah met her grandmother’s eyes squarely. ‘Oh, I think you do. I know you dislike the word, but sex was to blame.’
Margaret stiffened. ‘Then you have only yourself to blame. You, of all people, know what happens when a woman drops into a man’s arms like a ripe plum!’
Sarah’s eyes flashed coldly. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Grandma. Lack of sex was the problem. I never cared for Brian in that way. So he’s found someone who does. And good luck to him.’
Margaret Parker’s face was a study. ‘I—I see. I apologise,’ she added with difficulty.
‘Apology accepted.’ Sarah turned at the door for her parting shot. ‘And to top it all Brian came clean and admitted he couldn’t see himself as Davy’s stepfather.’
Feeling liberated after the departure of Brian from her life, Sarah rushed home from work the next afternoon to sit out in the garden and make the most of the heat wave. Not bothering to cook, she ate salad, and left the firm’s daily quota of mail until the evening, when it was cooler. Margaret Parker, in conciliatory mood after the misunderstanding over Brian, had added extra salad vegetables to the shopping she’d offered to undertake for Sarah, and never mentioned the subject again, adhering to the rule of non-interference kept to on both sides from the day Sarah had taken Davy to live in the house in Campden Road.
To achieve privacy and independence for both Sarah and herself, Margaret Parker had divided her home into two separate, self-contained apartments before they’d set up house together. Though she would have infinitely preferred a place of her own for herself and Davy, Sarah knew this wasn’t practical, and never forgot that she was a lot better off than many in her situation as a single parent. She had the huge advantage of a low-rent home, a steady, if not lavish, income from her job, and the knowledge that Davy’s education was financially secure at a reputable school. Even if it wasn’t the school of Sarah’s choice. And now Davy had started boarding Sarah enjoyed evenings out with friends made through her job—if she were honest, she enjoyed herself more with Esther and Maggie from the agency than dining out with Brian.
Although Sarah was happy enough with her life she was human enough to yearn sometimes for an extra dimension to it, a feeling which intensified the next morning, when she received a long-expected wedding invitation from Nick Morrell, her closest friend from college days. He enclosed a note, urging her to bring her current man with her and stay for the dance afterwards, and emphasised that the old crowd were all looking forward to seeing her again.
Sarah’s own standing within their group had been unique from the first. She had been afraid beforehand that her fatherless baby would be a handicap where friendships were concerned. But to her surprise and gratitude Davy’s existence had been accepted as part of life by the kindred spirits met at university, both male and female. Nick Morrell had been one of the friends close enough to invite home, to meet her parents and play with Davy, and they had kept in close touch ever since. But now Nick was acquiring a wife things would be a lot different.
Sarah mulled over the invitation as she walked to work, very much aware that if she went to the wedding she would be the only one of her group without a partner. Though even if they’d still been on that kind of footing Brian wouldn’t have served the purpose. Unless they’d undergone a sea change lately, her crowd were a flippant, wise-cracking bunch. Sober Brian, anything but, just wouldn’t have fitted in. But she had a new dress, she reminded herself. And the wedding was mid-week, so no problem with Davy. She was due some time off. All she needed were some shoes and a place to stay overnight. A wedding present was an essential expense whether she went or not. She decided to book a room right away at the hotel Nick had recommended. It could always be cancelled if she changed her mind.
After an even busier day than usual Sarah was glad to escape at last, and, hoisting her bulging briefcase, set off through the crowds thronging the pavements in the afternoon sunshine. Sarah rarely took the car into work in summer, relying on her walk to and from the town centre for her daily quota of exercise. She was hurrying for home, her thoughts on tea in the garden, when a car stopped a little way ahead and a familiar male figure leaned out, formal in a dark suit.
‘Hello, there. Can I give you a lift?’ Jake Hogan asked, smiling.
Oh, yes, please, thought Sarah, and returned the smile warmly as he reached over to open the passenger door for her. ‘How nice of you. Though I shouldn’t, really.’
‘You don’t accept lifts from strange men?’
‘Never!’ Her eyes danced. ‘Though I really meant that the walk is my daily gesture at keeping fit.’
He cast a comprehensive glance at her as they left the busiest part of town behind. ‘It won’t affect you much to skip it for once. You were hurrying,’ he added. ‘Do you need to get home urgently?’
‘Only for tea in the garden.’
‘Pleasant prospect,’ he sighed. ‘I’m on my way to a meeting.’
‘In this neighbourhood?’ she said, surprised.
‘No, not really.’ When he pulled up in Campden Road he switched off the ignition and turned to give her the smile she’d been thinking of rather a lot since the previous Saturday. ‘Actually, my meeting’s in town. But I spotted you hurrying down the street, so I did a quick U-turn to drive you home.’
Sarah felt a rush of secret pleasure. ‘I might not have been going home,’ she pointed out.
‘In which case I would have driven you wherever you wanted to go.’ His eyes crinkled. ‘Or you could have refused politely and waved me on before I got nicked for kerb-crawling.’
Sarah laughed. ‘I was very grateful for the ride. And now I’ll let you get to your meeting,’ she added, undoing the seatbelt.
‘Don’t go for a moment, Sarah,’ he said quickly, and fixed her with the familiar straight blue look. ‘I’m glad we met again, because this is the type of question I couldn’t ask over the phone. You’re not obliged to answer, of course, but there’s something I’d like to know.’
Sarah eyed him warily. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s personal,’ he warned.
‘Go on.’
‘Does your little girl’s father share your life?’
She shook her head. ‘No. He never has.’
His eyes lit with gratifying relief. ‘In that case, Sarah Tracy, will you have dinner with me?’
Oh, yes, please, she thought, for the second time in minutes, then gave him an equally straight look. ‘If you’ll answer a personal question yourself.’
‘As many as you like.’
‘Just one. Are you married?’
He
