show them to you. It wasn’t a very grand affair. Just a glass of wine and a chance to view the studio.’
‘I’m sure it was very exciting,’ said Lady Elinor, but Rafe could hear the reluctance in her voice. ‘Before long, you won’t be spending any time at Tregellin at all.’
‘I’ll always have time for you, old lady,’ retorted Rafe harshly. ‘Look, I’ve really got to get moving. I’m meeting Liv Holderness at half-past twelve.’
‘Olivia Holderness?’ Lady Elinor’s eyes narrowed. ‘Would that be Lord Holderness’ daughter?’
‘Lord Holderness doesn’t have a daughter,’ said Rafe flatly. ‘Or a son either, as you very well know. Liv’s his wife. She wants to discuss having her portrait painted as a gift to her husband on his sixtieth birthday.’
‘I see.’ The old lady frowned. ‘You seem very familiar with her. I seem to remember Holderness hasn’t been married to her for very long.’
‘Eighteen months, I think.’ Rafe’s tone was sardonic. He knew nothing went on in the surrounding area that Lady Elinor didn’t hear about sooner or later. ‘She’s his third wife. The old guy turns them in at regular intervals for a new model.’
‘Don’t be coarse.’ Lady Elinor was disapproving. ‘And you be careful what you’re doing, Raphael. It seems significant to me that she’d choose a local studio over any number of more famous establishments she and her husband must know in London.’
Rafe grimaced. ‘Damned with faint praise,’ he said drily. ‘Don’t worry, I’ve known Liv for a few years. Her father owns the Dragon Hotel in Polgellin Bay.’
‘Ah.’ The old lady nodded. ‘So she’s one of the Melroses?’
‘The youngest daughter,’ agreed Rafe, wishing the old lady didn’t make them sound like the Doones.
‘So she’s a lot younger than Holderness?’
Rafe nodded. ‘About thirty years, I think. But they seem happy enough.’
‘Well, you keep what I’ve said in mind,’ declared Lady Elinor, unexpectedly getting to her feet and coming towards him. She was tall, though not as tall as he was, and leaning heavily on her cane. She was wearing her signature pleated skirt and silk blouse, with a heather-coloured shawl draped about her shoulders, and her once dark hair was now liberally threaded with grey. She laid a hand on his sleeve and looked up at him with eyes as blue as the gentians that grew higher up the valley. ‘You take care,’ she added, reaching up to kiss him. ‘I may not always show it, but I’m very fond of you, Raphael.’
It was the electric bill that had done it.
It had been waiting for her when she’d got back to the apartment and she’d stared at the figure she owed with wide disbelieving eyes. She couldn’t believe she’d used that much electricity. For heaven’s sake, she’d rarely used the oven and she’d religiously turned out lights as she’d gone from room to room.
But she had used the microwave, she’d acknowledged. And the underfloor heating system was expensive. A neighbour had warned her of that. But seeing what she’d owed in black and white had really scared her. The fact that it had been the heaviest season of the year had been no consolation at all.
That was why, when Cary had rung two days later, asking her if she’d reconsidered, she’d given in to his persuasion. The figure he’d offered her for four days work had been impossible to refuse. She’d known it would pay her immediate bills and leave her a little bit over. Possibly enough to survive until she got a proper job.
All the same, as Cary turned off the A30 just beyond Bodmin on Thursday afternoon, Juliet couldn’t deny the butterflies in her stomach that were telling her she’d made a terrible mistake. She liked Cary; of course she did. Or perhaps she’d used to like the boy she’d known all those years ago. These days, she knew very little about him. His attendance at her wedding hardly constituted grounds for a friendship.
And, despite the fact that he kept telling her she was going to love the area where his grandmother’s house was situated, the idea of being introduced to Lady Elinor Daniels as Cary’s fiancée left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. When he’d first broached the idea, he’d said he needed a girlfriend. Now it had metamorphosed into a fiancée, which was a whole different ball game.
‘Not long now,’ Cary said, taking her silence for tiredness. ‘We could still stop for lunch, if you like. That would give us a break.’
Juliet, who didn’t want to spend any more time alone with him than was necessary, managed a faint smile. ‘We don’t want to be too late arriving,’ she said, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. ‘Besides, didn’t you say your grandmother is expecting us for lunch?’
Cary’s mouth compressed and Juliet got the feeling that he wasn’t looking forward to this visit any more than she was. Which was understandable, she supposed, if the old lady kept interfering in his private life. But, let’s face it, she thought, without Lady Elinor’s intervention he could be languishing in a South African prison. She’d read enough stories about rogue dealers who’d almost bankrupted the banks they’d worked for.
‘I suppose it is a bit late now,’ he conceded at last, and she realised he was responding to her question. Then, pointing away to the west, ‘Have you ever seen sea that colour before? In England, I mean. It’s almost tropical. It reminds me of a holiday I had in Mauritius. God, that was some hotel we stayed in. A whole floor given over to our suite.’
‘Expensive,’ murmured Juliet drily, and Cary turned to glance at her.
‘Yeah, I wish I had that kind of cash now,’ he agreed, without a trace of remorse. ‘That’s why I have to be so careful how I treat the old girl. Without her money, I’d be taking a package holiday in Spain every year.’
Juliet’s eyes widened. ‘Does she know you spend the money she gives you on expensive holidays?’
Cary frowned. ‘Hey, that information’s not for public consumption,’ he said. ‘Don’t you be discussing my financial arrangements with her. If she chooses to sub me sometimes, I’m not going to refuse it, am I? The old girl’s loaded! You might not think it to look at the house, but, believe me, I know she’s got a fortune hidden away somewhere.’
Juliet was feeling less and less enthusiastic about her part in this deception. She told herself that if Cary had been totally honest with her from the beginning, she’d never have agreed to come. Or was she being totally honest with herself? she wondered. Damn it all, she was doing it for the money, too.
‘Tell me about your cousin,’ she said, trying to distract herself. ‘What’s he like? Does he look like you?’
Cary scowled. ‘As if.’ And then, when she was obviously waiting for him to go on, he muttered irritably, ‘He looks like a gipsy, if you must know. Swarthy skin, greasy black hair and an attitude you could cut with a knife.’
Juliet’s brows ascended. ‘You really don’t like him, do you?’
Cary shrugged. ‘I’ve told you what he’s like. Always ingratiating himself with the old woman. I’ve no doubt she’ll sing his praises while you’re here. She does it just to wind me up.’
‘Oh,
