and white tiles had been laid, which opened up the hall. A new banister of oak was in the process of being constructed, and the walls were being primed for wallpaper.
‘I’ll show you around,’ he said, taking her by her elbow. She politely but pointedly removed his hand.
‘I’m not going to molest you,’ he grated, with an ill-humoured frown.
‘I never implied that you were,’ Sophie said coolly, looking at him and not blinking, ‘but I would still rather that you kept your hands to your sides.’
He muttered something under his breath, which she pretended not to hear, and began to show her around the bits of the house which had already been done.
It was a sprawling Victorian mansion. Her own cottage could have fitted several times into the downstairs alone. Everything was tasteful and immaculately done. Three of the rooms were already complete and the rest were fast on their way to getting there.
‘It’s rather a large house for one person, wouldn’t you say?’ she asked, as they strolled into the sitting room, which was now virtually unrecognisable from the fairly dilapidated affair it had been previously. She recognised several pieces of furniture, which he had clearly bought from Mrs Franks because, doubtless, they would have been too cumbersome to find a home for in her new premises.
‘Unless,’ she continued, walking around the room and reluctantly liking what she saw, ‘you’re very ambitious about having hordes of children.’
‘Oh, I think a dozen or so should do the trick.’ He looked at her, his eyebrows raised. ‘Does that come under the category of being ambitious about having children?’
‘No, it comes under the category of outright lie.’
He laughed and continued to watch her, which didn’t disturb her in the slightest. Let him watch as much as he liked, just as long as he didn’t touch. She didn’t feel threatened anyway because she knew that he was watching her with frank curiosity, and she suspected that that was because she so snugly fitted his idea of what a country girl would look like. He probably thought that things like make-up and fashionable clothes were difficult to get hold of so far out of London. No doubt he would change his mind when he met Ashdown’s semi-resident in-crowd. Much more his cup of tea.
‘Well,’ she said, when they were back in the tiled hall, ‘thank you very much for the tour of your house. It’s very nicely done.’
‘Why don’t you have a cup of tea before you leave?’ he said by way of an answer. ‘The kitchen is fully operational, as you’d expect with builders in the house.’
‘They do generally like their cups of tea, don’t they?’ Sophie said politely. She looked at her watch, shook her head and said that she had to go.
‘Where?’
‘What do you mean—where?’ The nerve of the man was beyond compare, she thought. Was it any of his business where she was going?’
‘To the library?’
‘No, as a matter of fact.’ Not that it’s any of your concern, her voice implied. When he remained, with his head slightly cocked, as though awaiting more on the subject, she said, clicking her tongue, ‘I have a lot of housework to do.’
‘Housework that can’t wait for half an hour?’ He began to stroll in the direction of the kitchen and, much to her annoyance, she found herself following. By the time she got there it seemed pointless to spend ten minutes pursuing the argument so she reluctantly took a seat at the kitchen table and waited while he made them a mug of tea.
‘Where do you live?’ he asked, sitting opposite her. He had removed his coat, but he still looked incongruous in the half-finished kitchen with his expensive suit. The units had been ripped out, as yet to be replaced, but there was a new Aga where the old one had been and, of course, the counter on which the kettle sat was littered with the evidence of builders in residence—mugs, sugar, a jumbo-sized bottle of instant coffee, an even more jumbo-sized box of teabags and two bottles of milk, both of which appeared to be on the go.
‘Within cycling distance of here,’ Sophie answered. ‘As does nearly everyone in the village.’
‘How long have you lived here?’
‘A long time.’ She sipped from the mug, cradling it in her hands, and hoped that he didn’t intend to pursue a personal line of conversation because she would soon have to steer him off firmly. He might not be interested in her as a woman, but any interest was unwelcome. She wasn’t in the business of dispensing confidences about her private life.
‘That tells me a lot.’
She didn’t answer. ‘You don’t intend to live here full time, do you?’ she asked, making no attempt to apologise for her abruptness.
‘It’s an idea,’ he said casually, ‘Why? Don’t you consider it a good one?’
Sophie shrugged. ‘Well, you can do as you please but, frankly, I don’t think this village is suited to a person like you.’ Which, she thought immediately, had come out sounding far ruder than she’d intended. She could see from the expression on his face that he was less than impressed with the remark.
Why beat around the bush, though? Men like Gregory Wallace—men like Alan—lived in the fast lane. She had brought Alan to Ashdown precisely three times and he had hated it.
‘Like living in a morgue,’ he had said. Lying in bed next to him, still invigorated with the newness of London, the newness of her job there, the newness of the man about whom she had initially been wary but who had eventually swept her off her feet, she had pushed aside the uneasiness she had felt, hearing him say that.
Apart from three years at university and six months in London, she had lived in Ashdown all her life and she had loved it. It was small but, then, so was she. If he hated Ashdown what did he think of her? Really? It had only been later she had discovered that, and by then she was already Mrs Breakwell.
‘A person like me?’ he asked coldly.
‘Oh, sorry,’ she said, finishing her tea and standing up. ‘I didn’t mean to sound rude.’
‘But…?’ He didn’t stand up and when their eyes met she could see that all traces of amusement had vanished. She caught a glimpse of the man who had built an empire, who was worth millions. She wondered, fleetingly, how many women he had bowled over, how many women had responded to that air of ruthlessness which lay so close to that charming exterior. Even though she was immune to that combination, she wasn’t an idiot. She could see the attraction there, as glaringly obvious as a beacon on a foggy night.
‘But,’ she said, slinging her bag temporarily on the kitchen counter so that she could give him the benefit of a reply, ‘you strike me as the sort of man who lives hard and plays hard. Ashdown isn’t the sort of place where either gets done. Life here is conducted at an easy pace, Mr Wallace—Gregory. No clubs, no fancy restaurants, no theatres.’
‘In which case, why do you live here? You’re a young woman, unmarried. Surely the bright lights have beckoned?’
Sophie afforded him a long, even stare.
‘That is my business. Thanks for showing me around your house and thanks for the tea. I’ll be
