there, Fleur! Well, my word, you are having a good break, aren’t you, dear? All raring to go back to work, I expect? What? Oh, yes, Mum and I are fine, enjoyed Boston, but it’s good to be back in harness. Holidays are fine but too much of it addles the brain.’
Fleur let him go on, interspersing everything he had to say with casual remarks of her own about Cornwall. ‘Is Mum there?’ she asked.
‘No, she’s gone next door. New grandchild staying there, I believe.’ He sighed, clearly mystified as to why anyone should be interested in babies. ‘When she’s stopped drooling, I’ll get her to ring you, OK? Thanks for the call, and all the best. Let’s hope for a successful year for all of us.’
Fleur snapped the phone shut, smiling faintly. Dad’ll never change, she thought—and anyway, would she really want him to? At least he was consistent—and he was never unkind. Everyone had their faults, but no one was all bad, she mused.
She decided to go to bed. She’d had a lengthy drive and the day had seemed incredibly long. Snuggling under her duvet, she lay there staring up at the ceiling for a moment…It felt quite strange to be back home amongst her own things and she realized how quickly she’d settled into Pengarroth Hall—she’d felt at home there straight away. She wondered whether Pat was still there, or whether she’d returned to her cottage to be with Beryl. That potato cake had been absolutely scrummy, Fleur thought sleepily—she’d have a go at doing that herself one of these days. What was the recipe again…flour and suet and sugar and…?’
With a start, she was brought back from almost-sleep by the ringing of her phone and she sat up quickly. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was eleven o’clock and she frowned—her mother wouldn’t ring at this hour because Philip always said that telephone calls from, or to, anyone should cease after nine p.m., other than in emergencies.
‘Hello?’ she said sleepily—and the voice that answered sent a rush of pleasure right through her.
‘Oh, good—you’re home, safe and sound,’ Sebastian said. ‘Good journey?’
‘No problems to speak of,’ Fleur replied, smiling. It was so good to hear him.
‘I haven’t disturbed you, have I?’ he said. ‘You weren’t asleep?’
‘No,’ she replied truthfully, ‘I wasn’t asleep—though I am in bed.’
There was a pause after that, and Fleur imagined him lounging there alone, probably in the sitting room, fingering a glass of red wine or a whisky. And Sebastian pictured Fleur’s graceful, feminine curves as she lay in bed, pictured her hair spread out on the pillow, imagined the creamy smoothness of her skin.
He cleared his throat. ‘Actually, I’ve been talking to my sister, so I knew you were home,’ he went on. He would like to have said that he’d wanted to hear her voice—but didn’t think that was a good idea. ‘But I thought I’d ring anyway,’ he added.
‘I’m glad you did, because now I can thank you again for my holiday, Sebastian,’ Fleur said. ‘I…I did love every minute of it.’ Well, not quite every minute, she thought, but most of them. ‘I think Pengarroth Hall and the surroundings are just…idyllic,’ she went on, ‘and if I were in your shoes, I’d be counting the days before living there permanently.’
He ignored that last remark because it only reminded him of the distance which would soon separate him from the city life he enjoyed, from the people he was close to…And from any chance he might have found to spend time with this woman—a woman who had slipped so effortlessly into his life and to such significant effect! He still had difficulty in believing it because vulnerable was not a word he’d ever use to describe himself.
‘Oh, we were happy to have you stay…Pat’s gone into a sulk because it’s only me here now.’ He paused. ‘And you don’t need to thank me—it was all Mia’s idea, anyway.’
Fleur froze at that last remark, feeling an uncomfortable chill run through her. Yes, of course it had been Mia’s idea that she should prolong her holiday—plus the fact that he should spare some of his valuable time to act out the genial host. Let there not be any doubt about that! she thought. She bit her lip, wondering what to say after that.
‘Oh, by the way, I very stupidly forgot to give you back your handkerchief—the one you lent me when we were in Truro? I’ll let Mia have it when we get together next week.’
‘Oh, yes…I remember,’ he said casually. ‘But don’t worry about it, Fleur, I’ve got others.’
For some unaccountable reason, neither of them wanted to be the one to hang up first, and Sebastian said seriously, ‘Don’t let them harass you at work, Fleur. I don’t want all that rest and relaxation to be swallowed up now, and ruined by undue pressure.’
Fleur was frankly amazed at his genuine concern. Did he really care whether she was hassled or not? She swallowed and said quickly, ‘No, I promise to do only my fair share, and to be sensible, not to stay on too long after hours.’
‘Well, I hope you mean it,’ he said firmly. It had been noticeable how well she’d begun to appear after the first day or so at Pengarroth Hall, how that winsome, wistful, rather tired look had been replaced by a healthy glow to her cheeks, by a tantalizing sparkle in her large eyes. Cornish air had obviously suited her, he thought.
She stifled a yawn. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better go to sleep,’ she said softly. ‘I know it’ll be a busy day tomorrow.’ She crossed her fingers as she said it. Yes, she would be busy—cleaning her flat!
He paused before answering. ‘Yes, of course. So…I’ll be back in town myself in about ten days…and I’ll be seeing Mia at some point. Perhaps we could all get together for a drink.’
‘Perhaps.’ Fleur smiled. ‘Goodnight, then, Sebastian.’
As he rang off, Sebastian stared moodily into the dying embers of the fire. More than anything in the world at that precise moment, he wanted to be somewhere else. And he knew where that was. He wanted to be with Fleur, wanted to be holding her close to him, to mould her body to his, to possess her…fully…and all his senses rushed at him as he remembered the feel of her mouth on his when they’d kissed the other night. But he didn’t think she’d given it another thought…there’d been no look, no word, not the slightest sign that it had had the impact on her that it had on him. She liked men—oh, yes, he was sure that she liked men. She just didn’t want to be…how could he put it…cornered by anyone in particular. She wanted to be a beautiful Mary Celeste, sailing alone.
He stood up, kicking aside a footstool irritably. There was not the remotest chance that the relationship he wasn’t sure he wanted would ever come to anything. The best thing for him would be to try and forget that he’d ever met Fleur. But how the devil was he going to do that?
CHAPTER NINE
IN HER kitchen on the Saturday evening ten days later, Fleur stood rather precariously on her short stepladder and started to paint the ceiling, wielding the large brush back and forth vigorously.
Having used up some of her holiday, plus more time since, in spring-cleaning the flat, she’d come to the conclusion that the kitchen had gone beyond needing a mere clean-up—it needed redecorating. And, once she’d made up her mind that that was what she was going to do, she’d lost no time in buying everything that was
