he opened, sounding businesslike, ‘what we need to get done today is sorting out your wardrobe. Fabulous though you look in Edwardian costume, it’s not for every day,’ he finished lightly, with another smile. ‘So, when we’ve eaten it’ll be time to go shopping.’
A troubled look shadowed her face. ‘I really need to go home,’ she said.
Max raised his eyebrows. ‘What for? It’s not term-time—’
‘Yes, but... Well... I really ought to...’
He gave an airy wave of his hand. No way was Ellen going to beetle off back to Haughton and bury herself there again! Not yet—not by a long way! He hadn’t done with her...
Deep in his abdomen he felt an oh-so-masculine response kick in. He’d had to relinquish her last night—anything else would have been inexcusable—but the impulse he’d experienced then, the overriding rush of desire, had in no way been attenuated. His mind was made up—the long, sleepless, frustrated hours of the night he’d just spent had given him conviction of that.
A romance is exactly what she needs. It will show her how wonderful life can be if she just emerges from her shell, tastes all that life can offer now that she knows how beautiful she is. She can start to shed the burden of bitter resentment, knowing that her deep, dark, disturbing jealousy and envy of her stepsister is quite unnecessary.
And with that burden of resentment lifted—well, then she wouldn’t need to keep trying to thwart Pauline and Chloe by refusing to sell her share of Haughton. Wouldn’t need to keep trying to punish Pauline for marrying her father and Chloe for having the beauty she thought she herself was denied.
‘So,’ he said decisively, ‘it’s all settled. There’s absolutely no call for you to head off straight away, so we’ll definitely go shopping.’
She was still looking at him with a troubled expression. She wanted to tell him that even if she didn’t actually need to go back home today shopping for clothes was the last thing she could afford. Her salary was wiped out paying for her living expenses and Pauline and Chloe’s extravagances! But even as she thought it she felt rebellion stir. If they could fund their lavish lifestyle by selling off paintings from Haughton, well, so could she!
In the deep pocket of her robe she could feel the weight of the jewellery she’d worn last night, which she would hand back to Max as she must, however reluctantly...
A stab of anger bit at her, hardening her resolve. Her expression changed as she made her decision. Max saw it and was glad.
* * *
He was even more glad, later that afternoon, when she emerged from the changing room of one of the most upmarket fashion houses, finally looking the way her natural looks deserved.
It hadn’t been completely plain sailing—she’d balked as they’d walked in, a look of near panic on her face, and he’d had to steer her firmly towards the serried racks of clothes.
‘I don’t think there’ll be anything to fit me!’ she’d said nervously, her eyes casting about at the stick-thin customers who all seemed to be Chloe clones.
Doubt had suddenly assailed her. She’d been wearing, perforce, the dowdy old-fashioned suit she’d worn yesterday, and there, surrounded by elegance and fashion, she’d felt her fragile new-found confidence waver. Panic had bitten at her throat.
They’re all looking at me—wondering what on earth a lumpy frump like me is doing here! Wanting me to get out, to stop inflicting myself on their eyesight!
The old, painful, mortifying self-consciousness had come back, drowning her, trying to send a tide of humiliated colour back into her face. The urge to run out of the shop, to take herself off to the station, to rush back down to Haughton, seeking its refuge, hiding there in solitude, safe from condemning eyes, had almost overpowered her.
Then Max had spoken, ignoring her protestation. ‘This will suit you,’ he’d said decisively, reaching for a knee-length dress in warm caramel, soft jersey with a draped neckline. ‘And these.’
He’d taken a teal-blue dress and a tailored jacket off the rack. He’d handed them to her and then started sorting through the trousers, pulling out a black pair and a chestnut-brown pair, before picking up a couple of cashmere sweaters. He’d guided her to the changing rooms.
‘In you go,’ he’d said, and he’d given her the rest of the clothes and a gentle push. He’d had no intention of letting those chains start winding themselves around her mind again.
As she had headed, still reluctantly but obediently, into the changing rooms he’d beckoned to a sales assistant, giving her a particularly engaging smile. ‘We’re going to need a lot more clothes,’ he’d said, nodding at Ellen’s back.
The sales assistant had cast an expert eye over her, taking in the tight, ill-fitting suit. ‘Definitely.’ She had nodded and glided off, returning with a large selection of separates, plus shoes, belts and some costume jewellery.
With a smile at Max, who’d settled himself comfortably into one of the leather chairs conveniently placed nearby for attendant males, complete with magazines about cars and fitness to while away their time while they waited for their womenfolk, she had whisked them into the changing room.
It had taken quite some time for Ellen to emerge...
‘TELL ME,’ MAX SAID, ‘how are you with helicopters?’
Ellen stared. ‘Helicopters?’
‘Yes. I’ve got one on standby,’ he informed her. ‘There’s a property out in the Chilterns I want to take a quick look at, and a helicopter is the fastest way.’
‘I’ve never been in one,’ Ellen said.
Max grinned. ‘Great—a new experience. You’ll love it.’
He bore her off towards the kerb, where his car was hovering. He wasn’t giving her a chance to object, just as he hadn’t given her a chance to run out of that fashion house. When she’d finally emerged from the changing room he’d wanted to punch the air, like he had the night before. And now she had looked—fantastic!
Straw-coloured trousers neatly hugged her trim hips, and a casual cashmere sweater in oatmeal superbly moulded her generous breasts. A long jacket and a swish leather handbag completed the outfit.
Behind her came the sales assistant, with more clothes, and they all totted up to a good half-dozen or more capacious carrier bags.
His driver climbed out of the car to put the bags in the boot as Max helped Ellen into the back of the car.
She was in a daze—no doubt about it. She’d handed over her credit card, wincing at the huge total, but then tightening her mouth in defiance. Another watercolour would have to be sold—but this time she would get the benefit of it.
And it was money well spent—she’d seen that the moment she’d taken in her reflection, seeing not frumpy, lumpy Elephant Ellen but a tall, good-looking, athletic, fashionably dressed woman who could stride through the world with assurance and poise. It was a good
