drawl, her accent cut glass. ‘I haven’t seen you before,’ she went on, looking Alanna up and down. ‘I suppose you’re a friend of Joanne, who seems to have vanished, so tell her, will you, that I’m still waiting to hear from that journo chap of hers. It’s been weeks, so not impressed. Not impressed at all.’
And with a nod, she walked on.
‘And that,’ said Joanne appearing from nowhere. ‘Is dear Felicity.’
Alanna stared at her then began to smile. ‘Were you hiding?’
Joanne grinned back. ‘I’ll say. Ducked down behind the sofa when I saw her coming. She’s apparently campaigning to be nominated Businesswoman of the Decade or something and when she heard I was dating someone from the Chronicle she started pestering me to get him to interview her about her amazing success. Another glass ceiling smashed, etc.
‘Chris’s response was that all advertising has to be paid for, but I don’t relish having to tell her so.’
Alanna nodded. ‘We have the same problem promoting authors. There has to be a story apart from the one they’ve written.’
‘Whereas Felicity’s story comprises one word—“Me”,’ Joanne said gloomily. ‘I can hardly tell her that either.’
‘No,’ Alanna agreed. ‘But how about saying he’s now considering doing a composite piece featuring all the candidates for the award. Equal publicity for all.’
‘Making her just one of a crowd. That will go down like a lead balloon.’ Joanne gave a sigh of relief. ‘Alanna, I can see you’re going to be a real asset to this family.’
Only for a few hours more, Alanna thought, crossing her fingers behind her back.
She’d expected Gerard to return and join her at some point, but seeing him standing, stony-faced behind his grandmother’s sofa, soon convinced her that this was not going to happen. A view substantially reinforced when the places flanking Mrs Harrington became occupied by Felicity Bradham and a tall grey-haired man that Alanna guessed was her father.
The party reached a climax when a large birthday cake was wheeled in on a trolley, and ceremoniously cut by Niamh Harrington so that slices could be distributed to the departing guests.
In its wake came an enormous basket of flowers—‘Paid for by all the locals, including the tenants,’ Joanne whispered. ‘Feudal or what!’—and presented by Lord Bradham, who then led the company in singing, ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow’.
Despite all evidence to the contrary, Alanna said silently, reminding herself, as people began to leave, there was now only the family dinner to endure.
As she’d expected, she was seated once again about as far from Gerard as it was possible to get, and if she’d been falling in love with him, that would have rankled.
But, under the circumstances, it was probably no bad thing, she thought, noting with amusement that Felicity had been seated next to him.
Besides, her placement meant that she was in the same congenial company as the previous evening, which delighted her, and away from Mrs Harrington’s watchful gaze, which pleased her even more.
Now all she had to do was try to appear oblivious to the presence of Zandor who was seated between Caroline Healey and Gerard’s mother on the opposite side of the table, but not, thankfully, in her direct eyeline.
The meal began with chilled avocado soup, continued with poached salmon mayonnaise, followed by duck in a rich cherry sauce, and completed with individual vanilla and honeycomb cheesecakes.
Gerard had explained that after the dessert there would be a pause before coffee was served, so that a birthday toast could be drunk before his grandmother opened the gifts waiting on a side table, Alanna’s photograph frame among them.
An offering that would almost certainly find its way to a charity shop in the near future, she thought with a mental shrug.
An expectant silence fell as Gerard rose to his feet, glass in hand. He spoke briefly and affectionately about his grandmother then proposed the toast to her health adding, ‘And, of course, many happy returns of the day.’ Words that were echoed round the table as everyone rose to drink before singing a chorus of ‘Happy birthday to you’.
After which they all resumed their seats but with one exception.
Gerard, still standing, cleared his throat and smiled round the table.
‘Now I have another toast to propose. And, I hope, another happy surprise for Grandam’s birthday.’
He paused. ‘Earlier today, Alanna and I became engaged. And I would like you all to welcome my fiancée to the family and drink to our future happiness.’
The shock wave that ran through the room was almost tangible, and if anyone else had been involved, Alanna might even have found it amusing.
As it was, she had a curious sensation that she’d been turned to stone.
She wanted to leap to her feet, shouting, ‘No, it’s not true. I never agreed to it. I never would.’
But she seemed to be pinned, silent, to her chair.
Nor was she the only one. Niamh Harrington was rigid, her fresh colour fading to reveal two harsh spots of blusher.
While across the table...
In spite of herself, Alanna found she was looking at Zandor, her nerve-ends tingling as she saw the harsh line of his mouth, and met the stark brilliance of his gaze which went beyond shock to anger and something terribly, unbearably like pity, mingled with contempt.
And saw too the faint shake of his head, as if emphasising silently his earlier warning: ‘It’s never going to happen.’
A challenge issued and accepted as Alanna felt rage and resentment take swift and uncontrollable possession of her.
How dared he look at her like that? she thought as she got to her feet. What damned right had he—or anyone else in that room—to judge her? Or ordain her future?
Well, to hell with the lot of them.
She walked, forcing herself to seem quietly, happily self-possessed, to where Gerard stood, and slipped her hand through his arm.
‘Darling,’ she said softly. ‘How naughty of you. I thought we were going wait—to keep it our little secret for a while.’ And lifted her smiling face for him to kiss her on the mouth.
In the next instant, the ongoing silence was broken by Maurice Dennison, rising from his chair.
‘Congratulations, my boy, and every good wish to you, my dear,’ he said heartily. ‘We couldn’t be more happy for you both—could we, everyone?’
And as he glanced round the table, the others stood in turn, murmuring ‘To Gerard and Alanna’ as they drank. With Zandor, the last one of all, merely raising his glass in a negligently token gesture.
Which Alanna knew was intended to fool no one—least of all herself.
‘I
