style="font-size:15px;"> She never expected to see him again after he parted from her at the vicarage gates. She was astonished when his hostess phoned that evening and asked her if she would like to come up and play tennis the following afternoon. Although the Hendersons allowed the annual church fête to be held in the grounds of their impressive home, they were not in the habit of inviting their more humble neighbours to socialise with them.
Molly knew that she could only owe that invitation to Sholto. Indeed, he carelessly confirmed the fact when he came to pick her up. She was less comfortable with the admission when she witnessed the extraordinary deference shown to him by his hosts.
The haughty Hendersons fawned on Sholto as if he were visiting royalty and Sholto did not appear to notice anything amiss in their excessive eagerness to please. That he was accustomed to that sort of attention was obvious but his manners were faultless and that day Molly was blissfully ignorant both of Sholto’s immense wealth and of the way that same wealth could affect other people.
It was far too hot for tennis but the heat didn’t bother Sholto, so nobody dared to complain. Molly ran herself into the ground during a very athletic game of mixed doubles and thoroughly enjoyed herself until she saw her reflection in a window afterwards and cringed at the sight of her wet hair, shiny nose and hot cheeks. Sholto paused behind her, even then able to read her like a book. ‘You look gorgeous, cara. Women who think of nothing but their appearance are very poor company.’
Cousin Pandora spent the afternoon sitting cool as a cucumber on the sidelines and flirting like mad with two different men. She barely looked at Molly but Molly had already realised that Pandora had little time for her own sex. Only the day before she had seen Sholto treat Pandora like a spoilt and wilful kid sister. At that stage, she didn’t see the other woman as even a cloud on her horizon...and she was utterly overwhelmed by Sholto’s apparent interest in her...
Molly woke with a start. The events of the previous night flooded back and she could not believe that she had actually slept. It was already after ten. Scrambling out of bed, she pulled back the curtains. Some time during the night she had heard driving rain lash the window. It was no longer raining and the snow had gone as quickly as it had come.
The skirt and sweater which she had left downstairs now lay on the chair, and with them a new pair of black tights. Where had Sholto got the tights from? She recalled the shop at the garage where she had stopped for petrol the night before. She stiffened at the awareness that he had entered the room while she slept but she was grateful not to be forced to go downstairs in his clothes.
Crossing the landing to the bathroom, she ran a shallow bath. She told herself that it was her imagination telling her that she could still smell Sholto on her skin. Imagination and guilt, she reflected painfully, lathering herself with soap and wishing she could as easily wash away the incredibly intimate ache she could still feel, the starkly unavoidable reminder of his possession.
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