They had both enjoyed their time together there—she had certainly enjoyed experiencing the city and then, when he’d joined her in the cathedral, his attitude had been so…so special. It had been a simple, yet magical day and he had been so considerate, so warm, and there seemed to have been that certain thread of familiarity between them which only a couple—a devoted couple—might expect to enjoy.
Irritated with herself for dwelling on things—things which were now of the past—she put on a CD and let the music of one of the Verdi operas swell around her like a comforting tide, filling her mind with its beauty.
The traffic began to thicken as she sped along, hampered largely by various delivery trucks and milk and petrol tankers, but as the distance between herself and Pengarroth Hall—and its owner—lengthened, Fleur felt distinct relief, a lightening of her mood. She was glad she’d decided to invent the excuse to go home early—because, right there in the centre of all her other thoughts, was the uncomfortable memory of Sebastian’s behaviour yesterday morning at breakfast. His suggestion that she had given Rudolph Malone undue attention, or that she had been making up to him, had upset her more than she wanted to admit. It was an offensive, preposterous suggestion, but it was Sebastian’s manner which had been the worst part. He had been almost aggressive—accusing—and she had given him no reason to be either.
Fleur’s lips set in a tight line. That little episode had been a demonstration of the real Sebastian, she thought with a trace of bitterness. He had obviously felt an unusual lack of control in that particular scenario, and he hadn’t liked it. She shrugged. Well, was she surprised? He fitted perfectly into the mould of men to avoid.
Working up in the top fields with Frank as they stood listing and marking the trees needing attention, Sebastian felt moody and annoyed with himself. He’d deliberately left the house early because he hadn’t wanted to stand there in the drive and wave goodbye to Fleur. And he just didn’t understand that, didn’t understand himself. Didn’t understand the minor agony he was going through.
She was just another female. Yes, she was gorgeous to look at, but he’d met plenty like that, and yes, she was highly intelligent, but his law firm had its fair share of bright females. So what was the big problem? The problem was that he felt thwarted. He had expected her—wanted her—to be staying for several more days and instead she’d gone with barely twenty four hours’ notice. It had seemed to him an unduly hasty departure. Especially as he’d made plans to entertain her—as Mia had asked him to—and he’d looked forward to it. He knew he was being petty-minded and he could kick himself for his feelings, his folly. But, unfortunately for him, he’d been drawn to Fleur—drawn to her like a pin to a magnet—from almost the first moment he’d set eyes on her. He knew he should resist these impulses, because it was safer, in his own best interests to remain emotionally unshackled…wasn’t it? So why wasn’t he pleased that she’d gone? He kicked idly at a clod of earth beneath his boot. The damnable thing was that he knew she wasn’t in the least interested in him—and that only fired his longing to have her, to have his own way. He knew it to be one of the frailties—or strengths—of his character that when anything was denied him he didn’t rest until he’d succeeded in getting it. And now she’d gone and he somehow didn’t think it would be easy to entice her back to Pengarroth Hall.
‘So what do you reckon about this one then, Sebastian?’ Frank asked for the third time, and Sebastian looked back at the man quickly.
‘Sorry, Frank—what did you say?’
‘This one.’ Frank tapped a tree trunk with his stick. ‘I think it should probably come down.’
‘Yes. Yes, I agree,’ Sebastian said vaguely, and the older man stared at him, his shrewd eyes narrowing slightly.
‘What the ’ell were you thinking about just then?’ he asked. ‘You were miles away.’
‘Um…sorry, Frank,’ Sebastian muttered, thinking that he’d been about fifty miles away, which was where she’d be by now.
Much later, back at home, Fleur made herself a large mug of tea and started to unpack. As she pulled everything out of her case, she realized that she’d brought one of Mia’s tracksuit pants with her by mistake. She shrugged—it didn’t matter because she’d be sure to meet up with her friend again soon. And Mia would expect a blow-by-blow account of everything she’d done at Pengarroth Hall. She paused for a second, her mind going backwards again. One thing she would not be describing was her ghostly nightmare. She must try and pretend that had never happened—and she was certain that Sebastian would never bring the subject up. Least said, soonest mended, she thought.
As she took the last of her things from the case, she suddenly spotted Sebastian’s handkerchief—the one he’d so thoughtfully passed to her in the cathedral—nestling in amongst her tights. What was it doing there? And why hadn’t she given it back to him straight away, or given it to Pat to go into the laundry? She bit her lip. Well, she’d give that to Mia as well, when she saw her, she thought. There’d be no need for any explanations. But, as she picked up the handkerchief, she held it to her nose for a second. It could only belong to Sebastian, she thought…It had his distinctive smell—a mixture of aftershave or cologne and the pervasive fresh, sweet scent of country air and leaves and bracken. She stared across to her window, where the only sight she could see was the tall brick wall of the building next door…Why had she come home early? she thought. She could still be there in Cornwall, she and Benson could go for a gentle stroll before she sat down with Sebastian to one of Pat’s mouth-watering meals! No regrets, she told herself crossly. She’d made the right decision.
She switched on the television to distract herself, then stood back and looked around her with some distaste. The flat needed a good clean, she thought. It was time to roll up her sleeves and get stuck in. Energetic housework had been the time-honoured way she’d found usually lifted her from any feelings of ennui. She had to confess that for several weeks before Christmas when they’d been so busy at work, and had then gone on to one or two festive gatherings afterwards, she’d not spent much time at home at all. Certainly not enough to move furniture about and do some cleaning and polishing. Counting the weekend, she still had six days left before her holiday was finally over, so that ought to be long enough to bring the place back up to standard. She’d begin tomorrow.
She was about to unwrap the small packet of ham she’d bought for her supper from the deli nearby when the phone rang. It was Mia.
‘What are you doing at home?’ Mia demanded ‘You should still be on holiday!’
Fleur hesitated for only a second…She just could not go on with this deception, not with her friend, anyway. Although she would have to manipulate the truth, just a tad.
‘Oh hi, Mia. How…how did you know I was back?’ she asked—but thinking that there could only be one answer to that.
‘I rang home to talk to you, and was told by Pat that you’d been called back to work. Honestly, what a pain.’
Fleur took a deep breath. ‘Mia—look, I’ll come clean. The lab hasn’t been in touch at all. It was just that I thought…I got the impression that…’
‘What? Don’t tell me Sebastian was being difficult…’
‘Oh, no, no, of course not,’ Fleur replied quickly, ‘but I did think that I might be outstaying my welcome. He’s very, very busy with everything, and I began to think I was in the way…’ The words petered out as she tried to give a rational explanation. ‘And Pat has put in so much effort on my behalf—I’ve never eaten meals like it in my life.’ She patted her waistline as she spoke. ‘But it was a wonderful break, Mia, thanks to your kind
