a tap on her door and she went to it, fully expecting to see Dami standing there, either carrying a tray or pushing a trolley. At least she wouldn’t have had to come any distance. There was a service elevator, as there had to be in such a mausoleum. Only in the end it wasn’t Dami.
Bryn’s brilliant black eyes studied her. ‘Hi!’
‘Hi!’ Her heart rose like a bird’s. How did one repudiate love? Even when one knew it was paramount to do so?
She yearned for him to lean down and kiss her. Not her cheek, as was their custom, but her mouth. Wasn’t that her most exquisite dream? Only she knew it wasn’t good or wise.
‘What are you doing here?’ She hoped her naked self wasn’t there for him to see in her eyes. ‘I thought you’d be with Carrie?’
He answered question with question. ‘May I come in?’
‘Of course.’ She stood back to admit him. ‘I’ll leave the door open. I asked Dami to get me a cup of tea. Would you like one?’
‘Dear God, no,’ he moaned, walking to the window and looking out over the vast lawn. ‘I wanted to see you. ‘He turned around to regard her, catching her in the act of trying to fashion her long lustrous hair into yet another knot. ‘Leave it,’ he said, his tone more clipped than he’d intended. ‘I like seeing your hair down instead of always dragged back.’
Her hands stilled at his command. For that was what it was. A command. ‘Gosh, it’s not that bad, is it?’ she asked wryly.
‘Of course not. I’m sorry. I tend to feel a bit strongly about it.’
‘Really?’ She couldn’t have been more surprised. ‘So I’ll leave it loose, then?’
‘Damn it, yes. It suits you.’ Loose her hair was the very opposite to the sleekness she achieved with her various coils. It sprang away from her face, full of volume. Swirls of hair cascaded sinuously over her shoulders and down her back to her shoulderblades. Yet she obviously considered wearing her hair loose hugely inappropriate on the day of her grandfather’s funeral.
‘Okay. I get the message. I must remember you don’t like my hair pulled back. It’s just that I don’t like to go down to the will-reading—’
‘What has leaving your hair down got to do with the will-reading?’ he interrupted. ‘It’s beautiful hair.’
‘I thought you preferred blonde?’ It just flew out. She hadn’t meant to say it at all. Now she was embarrassed.
‘Blonde hair is lovely,’ he agreed. ‘But it doesn’t get the shine on it sable hair does.’
‘Don’t tell Carrie that.’
He gave a half smile. ‘Carrie thinks she has the best head of hair in the entire world.’
‘Well, she’d have to come close.’ Francesca leant over to re-align an ornament. There was the sound of tinkling from the corridor. Silver against china. In the next instant Dami appeared in the open doorway, carrying an elaborate silver tray normally associated with very tall butlers and banquets.
Bryn crossed the room to take the tray from her. ‘I’ll take that, Dami. It looks too heavy for you.’
‘I think maybe a little bit,’ Dami admitted, and blushed. ‘Shall I fetch another cup?’ She looked anxiously from Francesca to Bryn.
‘No, that’s fine, Dami,’ Francesca smiled. ‘Mr Macallan doesn’t want tea.’
‘I can only drink so many cups,’ Bryn groaned.
‘You would like something else?’ the maid asked.
‘Nothing, Dami. Thank you.’ Francesca shook her head. Even Dami was staring at her flowing mane with what appeared to be outright admiration.
By the time she had closed the door Bryn had poured a cup of tea for her from the silver pot. She had seen it countless times before. It was part of a valuable five-piece Georgian service. The matching lidded sugar bowl was there, and beside it a silver dish with lemon slices. The bone china tea cup and saucer had an exquisite bleu celeste border and a gold rim, as did the matching plate, holding an array of delicate triple-layer sandwich fingers, all very elegantly presented.
‘Come along,’ Bryn said, as though it was his duty to get her to eat. ‘I notice you didn’t touch a thing downstairs when everyone else was most enthusiastic. You’d think the whole country was going to be hit by famine in a matter of days.’ He glanced back at her. ‘Leave your hair alone.’
‘Goodness, you’re bossy!’ she breathed.
‘I have to be. I know you grew up thinking your hair had to be tied back in plaits. It was Carrie’s golden mane that was always on display. Even Elizabeth knew better than to present you as a foil for her daughter.’
‘Oh, hold on!’
‘It’s true.’
‘Okay, it’s true. No secrets from you,’ she said with a helpless shrug. ‘Elizabeth spent a lot of time brushing my hair as a child and telling me how beautiful it was. “Just like your mother’s!” She always said that, smiling quietly, before hugging me to her with tears in her eyes. She and my mother had become the closest of friends, she said. Growing up in this strange house only Elizabeth affirmed my value. Then she had to make her own escape.’
‘Well, the Forsyths tend to stomp on people,’ Bryn said, very dryly. ‘It took a tremendous amount of guts for your father to get out. He was never forgiven, of course.’
‘I used to think I bore the brunt of that. The father’s sins visited on the daughter?’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘It’s always puzzled me why Elizabeth married Uncle Charles. All right, I know he would have been very handsome—he still is—and a Forsyth with all that money. But he’s so … shallow.’ She gave a little shamed sob. ‘No, I’ll take that back. I’m sorry. Not shallow. But not a lot to him. Or not a lot that shows.’
Bryn shrugged. ‘You know why. Your grandfather drained the life out of him. There’s a word for your grandfather, but I can’t use it on this particular day. He made his own son feel forever anxious and insecure. He made him feel he would never be good enough to take over the running of the Forsyth Foundation, let alone Titan. Oddly enough, Charles is now acting as though a huge load has been lifted from his shoulders and dropped onto someone else’s. Did you notice?’ He shot her a laser-like glance. ‘He even tried chatting up Elizabeth. He sounded as though he was actually aching for her company.’
‘I can’t think she can be aching for his,’ Francesca said sharply, then winced. ‘Oh, what would I know? Maybe Uncle Charles knows something the rest of us don’t?’ She finished off one of the sandwiches, then used the edge of a linen and lace napkin to brush away a crumb.
‘He could know the contents of the will,’ Bryn mused aloud. ‘But it’s inconceivable he might be bypassed. Or is it?’ He spoke as though the thought had just occurred to him.
‘What are you saying?’ Francesca stared back. ‘By tradition Uncle Charles will take over from Grandfather, won’t he?’
‘Well,
