turned off the ignition and got out. Her car needed a service, but she couldn’t afford it. Her salary was wiped out simply paying for the essentials at Haughton—from council tax to electricity bills—and, of course, for the inessentials. Such as the weekly deliveries of hothouse flowers from the local florist, and Pauline and Chloe’s regular visits to the local county town for their endless hair and beauty appointments. Their other extravagances—replenishing their wardrobes, their lavish social life and their foreign jaunts to luxury destinations and five-star hotels—were all funded by the stripping out of anything of value still left in the house, from paintings to objets d’art.
She hefted out a pile of schoolbooks, becoming aware of the sound of a vehicle approaching along the drive. As the sleek, powerful car turned into the courtyard dismay flooded through her. She’d hoped so much that Max Vasilikos had decided to buy somewhere else and abandoned his attentions to Haughton. Pauline and Chloe had finally lapsed into giving her the silent treatment, after having harangued her repeatedly about her stubbornness in refusing to do what they wanted her to do. Now they had taken themselves off again on yet another pricey jaunt, to a five-star hotel in Marbella while Ellen was just about to begin her school holidays.
Their departure had given Ellen cause for hope that Max Vasilikos had withdrawn his offer—in vain, it seemed. She watched him approach with a sinking heart—and also a quite different reaction that she tried to quash and failed utterly to do so. She gulped silently as he walked up to her, his handmade suit sheathing his powerful frame like a smooth, sleek glove. The dark eyes in his strong-featured face were levelled down at her. She felt her pulse leap.
It’s just because I don’t want him here. I don’t want him going on at me to sell Haughton to him!
That was the reason for the sudden quickening of her breathing—the only reason she told herself urgently. The only reason she would allow...could possibly allow—
‘Good afternoon, Miss Mountford,’ he said. His voice was deep, and there was a hint of a curve at the corner of his sculpted mouth.
‘What are you doing back here again?’ she demanded. It was safer to sound antagonistic. Much safer.
Safer than standing here gazing gormlessly at him in all his incredible masculinity and gorgeousness. Feeling my heart thumping like an idiot and going red as a beetroot again!
Her hostile demand met with no bristling. Just the opposite. ‘I wanted to see the rhododendrons,’ Max returned blandly. ‘They are indeed magnificent.’ He paused, smiling his courteous social smile. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me in?’ he said.
She glowered at him from behind her spectacles, her thick eyebrows forming that monobrow as she did so, and she was once again, he noted with displeasure, wearing the unspeakable baggy tracksuit that totally concealed her glorious body. Mentally, he earmarked it for the bonfire.
‘Would it stop you if I didn’t?’ she glowered again.
‘I doubt it,’ he said, and then reached forward to remove half of the tottering tower of schoolbooks from her arms. ‘After you,’ he said, nodding at the kitchen door.
She cast him a burning look, refusing to say thank you for relieving her of much of her burden, and stomped indoors, dumping her load on the kitchen table. He deposited his share next to it.
‘I hope you don’t have to get all these marked for tomorrow,’ he observed.
She shook her head. ‘By the start of next term,’ she said shortly.
‘You’ve broken up?’ enquired Max in a conversational tone. He knew perfectly well she had, as he’d had her term dates checked, and had timed his visit here accordingly.
‘Today,’ she said. She looked across at him. He seemed taller than ever in the kitchen, large though the space was. But then, she knew a man like Max Vasilikos could effortlessly dominate any space he occupied. ‘You’ve wasted your journey,’ she said bluntly. ‘Pauline and Chloe left for Marbella yesterday.’
‘Did they?’ he returned carelessly. ‘I’m not here to see them.’
Ellen lifted her eyes to him, glaring. ‘Mr Vasilikos, please don’t go on at me any more! Can’t you just accept I don’t want to sell Haughton?’
‘I’m not here to talk about Haughton. I’m here to help your charity.’
Astonishment showed in her face and he went on smoothly.
‘I’m confident I can increase your funding, enabling you to run camps more frequently. A national children’s charity I support—for advantageous tax reasons—takes on new projects regularly. Yours I’m sure would be ideal for it.’
She was staring at him with an expression of extreme suspicion. ‘Why would you do that?’ she demanded. ‘Do you think it will change my mind about not selling Haughton?’
‘Of course not,’ he returned equably. ‘My only concern is the deprived children. Is that not yours, too?’ he countered, with precise gentleness and a bland look in his eye.
She took a breath. ‘Well, if you can get us more funding we won’t say no,’ she managed to get out. There was something about the way he was casting a long look at her that threatened to bring the colour rushing to her cheeks.
‘Good,’ Max said. Then blithely went on. ‘The thing is, though, you’ll need to come up to London with me today—make a personal presentation. Time is very short—they have to spend the last of this year’s money before the end of the financial year coming up.’
He was hustling her, he knew, and it was deliberate—he wanted to give her no excuse to get out of this.
‘What?’ Consternation filled Ellen’s voice. ‘Impossible!’
‘No, it’s quite all right—it won’t inconvenience me at all,’ said Max in a smooth voice, deliberately misunderstanding the cause of her objection. He glanced at his watch. ‘You go off and get ready while I take another stroll around the gardens—admire those rhododendrons!’ He smiled at her, completely ignoring the fact that her mouth was opening to object yet again. ‘I’ll give you twenty minutes,’ he said blandly, and was gone.
Ellen stared after him, open-mouthed. Consternation was tumbling around inside her—shot through with aftershock. Slowly she gathered her composure back, by dint of piling her marking neatly into class rows. Did Max Vasilikos really imagine she’d waltz off with him to London for the day, to pitch for more funding for her camping project?
More money would be really helpful right now. We could double the numbers at the half-term session—buy more tents and sleeping bags. Run another week in the summer holidays...
The problem was, though, she thought, as she descended to earth with a bump, that in order to get her hands on the funding she’d have to sit next to Max Vasilikos all the way to London, enclosed in his car. Would she be a captive audience for his determination to wrest Haughton from her?
But the reverse will be true, too. If he goes on at me, then he’ll also have to listen to me telling him I’m never going to agree to sell. Never!
Yes, that was the way to think—and not about the way the image of Max Vasilikos, seen
