else was up, and yet trying to suppress the foolish and humiliating little hope that he would still want to see her. She quickly packed her few belongings into the suitcase and went silently down the stairs.
Mary was placing a pile of newspapers on a tray, and looked up, her eyes hardening with disapproval when she saw Kelly.
‘Will you be wanting breakfast, miss?’ she asked grudgingly.
Kelly shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I—I’d like to get away just as soon as possible. Will you please—’ she swallowed. She must be courteous; she still had her pride ‘—thank Randall for his hospitality?’
‘Yes, miss. Though I don’t know when I shall be seeing him next.’
‘I’m sorry? But he’ll be down for breakfast before he goes back, surely?’
‘Oh, no, miss.’
Kelly’s heart started thundering with the implication behind the cook’s triumphant statement.
‘Just that Lord Rousay’s already gone back to London. Left here at dawn, he did. Driving that car of his as though the devil himself was chasing him.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Kelly, in a small, empty little voice, as the fairy-tale disintegrated.
And she had never set eyes on him again.
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