bells began ringing high on the wall above her head.
Glancing up, she noted with surprise that there was obviously someone at the front door. Certainly Rose, on a shopping trip to Cambridge, wouldn’t be collecting Emily for another hour at least—and she couldn’t think of anyone else likely to be calling at this time of day. However, as the bell was given yet another impatient ring, she realised that she was going to have to go and answer it.
Wondering who on earth it could be, Amber didn’t bother to remove her messy apron as she hurried down the dark corridor, through the green baize door, which separated the kitchen quarters from the rest of the house, and across the stone floor of the large hall.
‘OK, OK, I’m coming!’ she muttered under her breath as someone began banging loudly on the old oak door.
‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting...’ she began as she opened the door. And then, almost reeling with shock, she found herself frantically clutching the large brass door handle for support. With the blood draining from her face, her dazed and confused mind seemed barely able to comprehend the evidence of her own eyes. Because there—standing casually on the doorstep beside Mr Glover, the house agent—was the tall dark figure of Max Warner!
CHAPTER TWO
JABBING a fork into the iron-hard frosty ground, Amber tried to ignore the bitterly cold wind gusting through the large kitchen garden. Saving money by growing their own fruits and vegetables was all very well, but having to dig up leeks and parsnips in the middle of winter wasn’t exactly one of her favourite pastimes.
On the other hand, she’d always found that there was nothing like a bout of hard digging or hoeing to put any problems she might have in their correct perspective. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working at the moment, Amber told herself gloomily, pausing for a moment to brush a lock of golden brown hair from her troubled green eyes.
What on earth was she going to do? It was a question that she had been asking herself, with increasing desperation, ever since she’d discovered Max Warner—together with the house agent, Mr Glover—standing on her front doorstep. Even now, two weeks later, there seemed nothing she could do to calm her tense, edgy body, while her brain appeared to be frozen rigid with fright. In fact, with her nerves at screaming point, she wasn’t able to think about anything, other than Max’s sudden reappearance in her life—which had to be one of the most catastrophic and potentially disastrous twists of fate she’d ever experienced!
She’d hardly been able to believe the evidence of her own eyes. Almost paralytic with shock, the breath driven from her body as if from a hard blow to the solar plexus, it had taken her some moments to realise that it truly was Max, and not an evil figment of her overheated imagination.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Stanhope. It was very good of you to agree to see my client at such short notice,’ the estate agent had murmured pompously, his voice seeming to be coming from somewhere far away. ‘I...er...I hope you haven’t forgotten our appointment?’ he added hesitantly, gazing with apprehension at the young woman, who was staring silently at both him and Mr Warner in such a wide-eyed, unnerving manner.
‘An appointment...?’ Amber echoed helplessly, her mind in a chaotic whirl as she stared past him to where a sleek, glossy black sports car was parked beside Mr Glover’s vehicle on the gravelled drive outside the house. ‘I don’t understand. Do...do you mean you want to see over the house?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Mr Glover gave a nervous laugh, clearly wondering if the young widow was entirely ‘all there’. ‘I made the arrangement with your mother this morning, and...’
‘Oh, no!’ Amber gasped, suddenly realising that her mother was likely to appear on the scene any minute. ‘I’m sorry—you can’t possibly see around the house today. It’s absolutely out of the question!’ she babbled hysterically, glancing nervously behind her as she tried to close the door. ‘I haven’t yet told my mother, you see. She doesn’t realise...she has no idea that the Hall is for sale. You’ll just have to go away, and...and maybe come back some other time.’
Unfortunately, Max Warner had quickly taken a firm grip of the situation. Swiftly placing a well-shod foot in the door, he thanked Mr Glover for his services, smoothly informing the estate agent that he was quite capable of coping with the ‘delicate’ state of affairs at the Hall.
‘There’s no need to worry or disturb Mrs Grant. I’m quite confident that her daughter will be pleased to give me a personal conducted tour around the house.’
Oh, no, I won’t! Amber screamed silently at him as the house agent gave a helpless shrug of his shoulders, walking back down the steps as Max pushed the door open, moving calmly past her trembling figure into the wide, spacious hall.
Completely stunned, Amber could only stare at him with glazed eyes, quite certain that she must be in the midst of some awful nightmare.
‘I should have been in touch with you before now,’ Max told her quietly. ‘But I’ve been abroad and only recently heard the news.’
‘”The news”?’ she echoed blankly.
‘I merely wanted to say that I was very sorry to learn about Clive’s death.’
‘Yes...um...it was a long time ago, of course. So much seems to have happened since then,’ she muttered with a helpless shrug.
‘However, it does seem as though you’ve done very well for yourself, Amber,’ he drawled, glancing around at the old family portraits in their heavy gilt frames and the warm, comfortable effect of copper vases filled with greenery against the highly polished, old oak panelling.
The unexpectedly cynical, scathing note in his deep voice acted as a dash of freezing cold water on her shocked, numb state of mind. Her hackles rising, she was just about to demand an explanation for his sudden appearance—surely he couldn’t really be interested in buying the house?—when her mother floated into the hall.
‘How nice to see you. Have you come far?’ Violet murmured, giving the tall man a welcoming smile.
Amber nearly groaned aloud. This was definitely not the time for her mother to be putting on a performance of her ‘gracious hostess’ routine!
Max took the older woman’s outstretched hand and smiled warmly down at her. ‘It’s some time since we’ve met. However, I think that you’ll probably remember my father, the Reverend Augustus Warner. He was the vicar here at Elmbridge some years ago.’
Violet beamed up at the man towering over her slight frame. ‘Of course, I remember him. And you must be Max. The naughty boy who was always in trouble,’ she added with a twinkling smile.
‘Indeed I was!’ he agreed with a grin.
‘Well—you’ve certainly grown since those days! It looks as though you’ve done very well for yourself,’ Violet told him, casting an approving glance over his expensive, obviously hand-tailored, dark grey suit. ‘Now—I’m sure that you must have had a long drive. How about a nice cup of tea?’
‘Mother! I really don’t think...’
‘Nonsense, dear,’ Violet murmured, ignoring her daughter’s husky, strangled protest as she placed a hand on his arm, leading Max towards the large sitting room. ‘If he’s driven some distance, I’m sure
