own eyes. ‘Mum!’ He reached out to take his mother in his arms, crushing her against him in a fierce hug. She smelled exactly as he remembered, like L’Heure Bleue and the almondy-sweet scent of marzipan. ‘I can’t believe you’re really here. God, it’s been too long.’
‘Two years, to be exact,’ she informed him tartly as she drew back. ‘Don’t you remember? You invited me to spend Christmas at that draughty Scottish estate of yours. Charles was down with the flu. We had dinner at that enormous table with your band and a couple of groupies. It was the strangest dinner, your father would’ve certainly disapproved, but I adored every minute.’ She raised a brow. ‘Do you ever go up there?’
‘No. Too busy. I let it out for grouse-hunting and weddings.’
‘Let me look at you.’ Her gaze swept from his bare feet to the top of his trendily cut hair. ‘You’re looking quite handsome,’ she allowed, ‘but you’re too thin. Not doing the drugs, are you?’
‘No,’ he grumbled. ‘I don’t do drugs, only coffee, and a smoke now and then. Cigarettes,’ he added pointedly. ‘Come and sit down.’ He led her to a rump-sprung sofa in the corner and cleared a space for her to sit. ‘What brings you here? Is everything all right?’ His face clouded. ‘You’re not ill, or anything, are you?’
She waved a manicured hand in dismissal. ‘No, darling, nothing like that,’ she said as she sat down.
‘What, then?’
She fiddled with the clasp of the clutch on her lap. ‘It’s Mansfield Hall. It’s literally falling down around our ears,’ she added, her expression troubled, ‘and your father refuses to swallow his pride and ask for your help.’
Dominic stared at her, perplexed. ‘My help? But what can I do? You know he and I don’t get along. We haven’t spoken in eleven years.’
‘Yes, and that’s eleven years too long, in my opinion.’ Her words were firm. ‘It’s time you and your father ended this ridiculous quarrel.’
‘Mum,’ Dominic said carefully as he settled himself next to her, ‘this thing between me and him is a bit more than a quarrel. A quarrel’s an argument over who left muddy footprints on the carpet, or who ate the last piece of cake. Our…disagreement runs much deeper than that.’
‘What happened? I never understood why you left so suddenly, without even telling me goodbye.’
He stared down at his hands, clasped loosely between his legs, and shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter now.’ Dominic stood up. ‘How about some Cristal, or something to eat? I’ll have Max fetch you a plate of whatever you fancy.’
‘No, thank you. What I’d like,’ she pressed on, ‘is for you to come back to Mansfield. Perhaps if you reached out to Charles—’
‘No. I’m not going back there,’ he said, his voice low but determined. ‘I love you, Mum, you know that; I’ve kept in touch with you all these years, and I always will. I’d do anything for you. Anything,’ he added firmly, ‘but go back home to him. I swore I’d never set foot in Mansfield Hall again, and I won’t change my mind. And there’s an end to it.’
Holly James finished marking up the feature for the April issue of BritTEEN and tossed her pen aside. The new editorial assistant wrote with real flair, but she had a lot to learn about dangling participles.
Holly leaned back in her chair and glanced at her watch. It was nearly nine p.m.; she’d worked yet another twelve-hour day. So much for my plans to meet Alex tonight, she reflected grumpily. She’d never make it to the Groucho club in time.
But as she picked up the phone to call Alex and tell him she couldn’t make it, she was secretly relieved. Because the truth was, she didn’t much like Alex Barrington’s friends.
Oh, they were polite, and polished, and they were all that was agreeable, as Jane Austen might have said, but what had Holly in common with a bunch of barristers and solicitors and back-benchers in Parliament?
Absolutely nothing, that much was painfully clear.
With their endless discussions of legal precedents and Inner Temple gossip, Holly always felt hopelessly out of her depth. And Camilla Shawcross, former barrister and MP for Putney, and thus one of Alex’s associates on the bench, had a real talent for making Holly feel like an empty-headed idiot.
With her stylish blonde hair, jewel-toned suits, and a double first from Cambridge, Camilla was everything Holly wasn’t.
Holly had no doubt that Ms Shawcross was sitting next to Alex at the club this very moment, one slim arm resting on the table alongside his as she talked earnestly of constituents and the home secretary and the goals of the latest Standing Committee.
She shuddered at the thought. What she really wanted was a long, hot bath, some Milk Tray, and a mindless reality program to watch.
But as she stood up to leave, Holly hesitated. It was Friday, quiz night at the pub where she and Kate and Natalie had gone a few times. They’d always had a laugh.
On impulse, she picked up her mobile and dialled Nat. ‘Nat? It’s Holly. What’re you doing?’
‘I’m looking at bridal magazines. Poor Rhys nearly threw his back out bringing a stack of them home.’
‘Have you chosen a dress yet?’
‘Yes! Wait till you see it, it’s gorgeous.’
Weddings, Holly thought with a pang. ‘That’s great,’ she said brightly, ‘really, really great!’
‘Are you okay, Hols?’ Natalie asked. ‘You sound a bit off.’
‘Fine,’ Holly assured her. ‘I’m leaving work, and thought we might go to the pub for quiz night. Have a laugh.’
‘I’d love that! But Rhys just started making dinner.’ She paused and added, ‘Why don’t you come here? We can have a nice long chin-wag, and you can tell me what you’ve been up to.’
‘Thanks, Nat, but I don’t want to intrude. I’m tired, anyway; I’ll probably just go home and go to bed.’
‘Ooh, with that gorgeous new man of yours? That’s a much better prospect than spag bol and a bottle of Valpolicella.’
Holly sighed. ‘No, I’m on my own tonight. Alex is with his friends at the Groucho. Again.’
‘And you don’t want to listen to all that boring legal talk,’ Natalie observed. ‘I completely understand! Well, go home and get some sleep. At least tomorrow’s Saturday; you can sleep in.’
‘I can, but Alex can’t. He’s scheduled a surgery first thing in the morning with his constituents.’
When she first heard Alex say he’d scheduled a ‘surgery’, Holly thought he was having his appendix out. Amused, Camilla had set her straight. ‘A surgery is an advice meeting a MP holds once a month for his constituents, Holly,’ she’d chided. ‘You’re so amusing!’
