that night.
They’d ridden here on his motorbike one glorious evening, scraping enough money up between them to buy a glass of cider each and an enormous, bursting-with-flavour Cornish pasty, which they’d shared.
After they’d eaten, they’d sat outside on one of the picnic benches, slowly drinking the cider, and he’d reached over the table and wiped a bead of moisture from her mouth with his thumb, rubbing softly, slowly, his eyes heavy, his voice low and warm, so warm. ‘I love you, Claudia. I want you. Always. So now you know.’ His eyes had lingered on her mouth and she had known he wanted to kiss her. ‘You’ve got the rest of the summer to get used to the idea of having me around, loving you, wanting you.’
She hadn’t needed the rest of the summer to get used to that. She’d gloried in the idea of him loving her and wanting her. She’d felt exactly the same and had been ecstatic about it.
He’d touched her before, of course, the slide of a hand over her hip, a kiss—nothing heavy—stroking her breasts very, very lightly, as if he wasn’t sure of himself, or of her, making her hold her breath with the wonder of the sensations, of what was happening to her body. After his declaration of love she’d known there would be more; known that neither of them would be willing or capable of holding back.
Neither of them had spoken much about that. They’d ridden back to Farthings Hall, her arms clasped tightly around his body, and she’d known what it felt like to be in a trance. The moon had been up by then and after he’d parked the bike he’d drawn her away from the caravan when she would have gone inside to make coffee, as she always did after one of their evening excursions.
She hadn’t asked where they were going. She hadn’t had to. Somehow she’d known that the moonlit cove would be where she would give herself for the first time to the man she would love for all time.
Only she didn’t love him for all time, of course, she reminded herself staunchly as she trod firmly over the cobbled car park ahead of him. Her love had died the moment she’d learned the truth from Helen. And she’d die herself before she allowed him to know that she remembered anything about this place or had anything but the very haziest of memories about that lost summer.
Small though it was, the Unicorn had a reputation for good, unpretentious, home-cooked food. At a table in a quiet window alcove, Adam handed her the menu. Claudia put it down, unopened. ‘I’ll have a green salad and coffee.’ Her mouth compressed. It would be foolish and wasteful to order anything more when she had the feeling her stomach would reject whatever she tried to feed it.
A sable brow quirked with sardonic intent. ‘Is that how you’ve lost so much weight? Living on a lettuce leaf washed down with black coffee?’
So he hadn’t totally forgotten. He remembered enough about her to be able to compare the gaunt woman opposite with the eighteen-year-old who’d been blessed with all those lush curves. Hearing him as good as admit it gave her a spurt of savage pleasure. He’d tried to give the impression that he hadn’t given the Hall, or her, a second’s thought in all these years, and had just now proved himself wrong.
But then, he was an expert liar. He probably had a first-class degree in the twisted art!
‘We’re here on business,’ she reminded him, unfolding the large linen napkin and shaking it out over her knees as their food arrived. ‘I suggest we stick to that, rather than descend to the personal.’
‘Descend?’ He almost smiled. ‘In the past, when talk reached a personal level, things tended to go up, not down.’ He forked up some of the seafood pie he’d ordered but didn’t eat it, she noticed as she ignored his unsubtle innuendo, applying herself to her salad. She managed to swallow some but gave up altogether when he leaned back in his chair and asked, ‘Your daughter... What do you call her?’
‘Rosie.’ She hated having to tell him, but she could hardly refuse. She didn’t want to discuss her beloved, infinitely precious child with him at all. Ever.
‘Pretty.’ His unsmiling eyes bored into hers. ‘Rosie Favel. It rings a faint bell. Favel? Should I know your husband?’ he persisted.
Claudia sighed. It was none of his business. She would have told him just that, but practicalities had to come before pride. She had the future welfare of her father and her child to consider. She needed to get the best deal she could out of this man and continued rudeness wouldn’t do anything to help in that respect.
She stirred her sugarless black coffee slowly, gathering patience. ‘Perhaps,’ she granted, then took a heartening sip of the hot and excellent brew. He was not to be fobbed off with that, however. His intent, unblinking expression told her that much.
‘You probably saw him around at odd times during the summer you worked here.’ She refused to elevate the couple of months he was at Farthings Hall higher than that, give it more importance. ‘Tony was my father’s accountant. He came around fairly regularly.’
‘That fair-haired guy who always seemed to be hanging around your stepmother.’ His mouth curled derisively and his voice was bitter. Because Helen had shown the young and sexy part-time gardener off the premises, preferring the more experienced attentions of her so-called distant cousin?
Had he seen what she and her father had signally failed to recognise—the ongoing affair between those two? She felt her face go red. The idea was hurtful and somehow very degrading.
‘He has to be twenty years your senior.’ His eyes were cold, as if he despised everything about her.
Claudia corrected him hotly, ‘Twelve, actually. Not that it mattered. He was kind.’
Whatever else Tony had been, or hadn’t been, he had always shown her kindness. It was ironic, really, that she hadn’t discovered how cruelly he’d treated her until after his death.
‘How nice for you.’ Adam showed his teeth. As an attempted smile it wouldn’t rate one out of ten, and his subsequent, ‘So when did you marry your well-healed, ageing Lothario?’ made her grind her teeth.
‘October. Exactly six years ago. Satisfied?’ He hadn’t picked up on her earlier use of the past tense and she frowned, wondering, just for a moment, why she didn’t come right out with it and tell him Tony was dead. And knew the answer: because she couldn’t afford to have him know too much about her situation. ‘Maybe now we can change the subject and talk about why we are here at all.’
‘Gladly.’ He drained his coffee cup. ‘How old is Rosie?’
Her blue eyes clouded with anger. Why the heck couldn’t he leave it? ‘What my daughter’s age has to do with the sale of Farthings Hall escapes me.’ She bunched up her napkin and dropped it on her largely untouched salad, gathered her handbag and swept to her feet. ‘I can only imagine you have no intention whatsoever of making an offer, that you brought me here with the sole objective of causing me as much aggravation as possible because, six years ago, I had the temerity to dump you!’
Claudia stalked out, leaving him to settle the bill, and she was waiting impatiently by the Jaguar when he finally strolled out after what seemed to her to be an inordinate length of time.
‘I liked the outraged dignity act.’ He was actually smiling for the first time that day. Claudia looked quickly away. That smile of his had always been lethal and nothing had changed in that respect except he used it a lot less often. Round her, at least.
‘I hate wasting time, Mr Weston.’
