sipped his drink, his face etched in stern lines. ‘They say time heals all wounds.’ He grated the words rawly and their eyes met across the room. ‘We will just have to think of the children now—put their well-being first.’
A wave of relief washed over Abigail. Perhaps the question of the children wasn’t going to be as difficult as she had anticipated. At least they both felt the same way.
‘I’m so glad that we are in agreement,’ she said, a note of heartfelt thanks in her voice. ‘I know it will be hard for both you and Margaret to say goodbye to the girls…but you can always visit them on holidays, and England isn’t that far away—’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Greg sat forward in his chair and looked at her as if she had suddenly grown two heads.
‘I’m sorry…Perhaps I should start again.’ She shook her head, realising that in her eagerness to sort things out she had jumped the gun. ‘I think the best thing for the children is for me to take them home to England with me.’
He frowned, then he leaned even further forward in his chair. ‘You can think again,’ he grated roughly.
‘What do you mean?’ With difficulty Abigail held his dark piercing gaze, her relief melting like ice in a microwave. She could feel the cold darts of apprehension trickling down her spine.
‘Let me spell it out for you.’ He almost growled the words, his ruggedly attractive features looking suddenly very grim in the half-light from the table-lamp beside him. ‘The girls are staying here in America with me. This is their home and they are not leaving in any circumstances.’
Abigail’s breath caught painfully in her throat. With extreme difficulty she pulled her senses into some kind of order. ‘Greg, you are not thinking rationally. You can’t possibly give the girls the care and attention they need. As you said yourself, you are working long hours.
Your mother can’t possibly be expected to cope.’ ‘We’ll cope.’ Greg finished his drink in one long swallow and then leaned back in his chair. ‘The girls are American citizens and they are going to remain as such.’
She glared at him, her large blue eyes shimmering with bewilderment and anger. ‘They were living in England up until a year ago…I think they are every bit as English as—’
‘No, Abbie.’ His voice was hard. ‘That’s an end to the subject.’ He put his glass down on the table next to him. ‘They are my brother’s children and they are staying with me.’
‘And to hell with what’s best for them?’ She couldn’t let the subject drop, even though the ominous darkness of Greg’s face should have warned her otherwise.
‘I shall decide what’s best for them.’
She shook her head. ‘No, Greg. I won’t have my sister’s children raised by a housekeeper or a nanny, which is what will happen if they stay with you. They need me, and—’
‘Nobody needs you, Abigail Weston,’ he cut across her firmly as he got to his feet. ‘Except perhaps that poor idiot back in London. I suggest that the best thing you can do is go back to him, where you belong.’
SOMEHOW Abigail got through the funeral. She felt as if she had been through the worst day of her life as she stood in the lounge of a hotel passing pleasantries with friends of Jenny and Mike.
‘You must be Jenny’s sister.’ The glamorous young brunette who had been standing by Greg’s side throughout the service stopped to talk to her on her way across to the buffet-table.
‘That’s right, Abigail Weston.’ Politely Abbie held her hand out.
‘Jayne Carr—I’m Greg’s girlfriend.’
For a moment Abigail was taken aback. So Connie was a thing of the past! In retrospect she supposed she shouldn’t be surprised; no doubt Greg had cheated on the beautiful Connie, just as he had cheated on her, once too often.
With determination Abbie pulled her mind away from the past and from Connie and concentrated on the woman who stood before her. She was heavily made-up, Abbie noticed, with dark kohl pencil around sparkling almond-shaped eyes. Her hair was very short and sophisticated, her body slender to the point of boyishness. ‘Jenny and Mike were dear friends,’ she continued sadly. ‘We are all going to miss them dreadfully.’
‘Yes.’ Abbie nodded and tried to rack her brain to think if Jenny had ever mentioned this woman’s name to her.
Come to think of it Jenny had never mentioned anything about Greg’s social life. The subject of Greg Prescott had been delicately handled after Abbie had made it clear to her sister that she was not interested in him—that she was in love with Charles.
As she thought about that little white lie now, she felt guilty. Her sister had been clearly disappointed. ‘Darling,’ she had said, with that note of deep irritation in her voice, ‘you can’t possibly prefer Charles…Look, why don’t you come over for a holiday and…?’
Swiftly Abbie switched her mind away from that conversation. Jenny had asked her on numerous occasions over the last year to come over to the States, and she had deliberately put the trip off because she didn’t want to see Greg. That fact hurt now. She should have come, and to hell with Greg Prescott.
She glanced across the room and met the subject of her thoughts head on, eye to eye.
Greg looked more attractive than ever today. His dark suit sat easily on his broad-shouldered frame. His hair gleamed raven-black in the late afternoon sunlight.
They had hardly spoken a word since that argument last night. In fact, his manner had been downright abrasive. She glanced sharply away from him, but much to her annoyance she could see him making his way across to her out of the corner of her eye. Desperately she tried to ignore him and concentrate on what the woman beside her was saying, but she broke off in midsentence as Greg reached her side.
‘I see you’ve met Jayne,’ he murmured, putting a rather possessive arm on the woman’s shoulder.
‘Yes,’ Abbie nodded.
‘I was just telling her how close I was to Jenny, darling.’ The woman smiled up at him. ‘I think the poor girl felt a bit lost when she first moved over here with Mike.’
Greg nodded. ‘Well, it was very different for her, but she adapted well. I think she was happy in the States.’
‘Yes…she told me that she loved it,’ Abbie sipped her wine. ‘But then again, I think she was determined to fit in because it meant so much to Mike being back at home.’ It was strange standing here analysing her sister’s life. Dear God, the girl had only been twenty-three. Five years younger than she was. She turned and put her glass of wine on the table beside her. ‘Just excuse me a moment,’ she said hurriedly, as she turned away and headed towards the ladies’ room.
Her heart was pounding and she felt literally nauseous as she splashed some cold water on her face. It took a while for the panic-stricken feelings of grief to subside. She took a couple of deep breaths and then forced herself to repair the
