company, and then astonished her family by announcing that she wanted to move permanently into the Lodge at River House.
‘Why on earth would you want to do that?’ had demanded Julia, the eldest of the three Wilde sisters. ‘It’s so small!’
It was also self-contained, enough distance from the main house for privacy, but near enough to keep a monitoring eye on it. ‘I like it there,’ Harriet had told her. ‘I’ve always used the Lodge to study, anyway. It’s surely not unreasonable at my age to want a place of my own.’
Aubrey Wilde had dismissed the idea instantly. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Why live down there alone?’
Because it would be infinitely preferable to life alone with him at the main house. Julia, the brilliant one, edited a fashion magazine in London, and rarely made time to come back to River House. Neither did the prettier, but considerably less brilliant Sophie, who was too involved with her child and husband, and her social life in Pennington.
‘If you don’t agree, Father, I’ll get a flat in the town,’ had been Harriet’s impassive response. And because she was the daughter who did everything by the book, other than one teenage episode he preferred to forget ever happened, Aubrey Wilde had reluctantly agreed.
It would be a fight to get his agreement tonight. Harriet’s mouth tightened as she wriggled into her favourite dress for morale. As a further boost she released her hair from its severe daytime coil and went to work with a brush. She alone had inherited her mother’s abundant curling mane, and it gave Harriet a kick to know that envious Sophie had to resort to hair extensions and hours at the hairdresser to achieve anything remotely similar. Julia, of course, wore her black locks in a sleek crop that looked as if it cost a fortune to maintain and probably did. Harriet took a few seconds to slap on some make-up, slid on her tallest heels and, feeling about as happy as Daniel on the way to the lion’s den, walked up the steep, winding drive to the house.
When Harriet entered the beloved old house via the back door a mouth-watering aroma scented the vast kitchen, but otherwise it was deserted. No surprise there. From the animated conversation coming from the drawing room along the hall, her siblings were enjoying pre-dinner drinks with their father, with no thought about the dinner itself. Julia and Sophie expected meals to appear without their assistance and, as she did on a regular basis, Harriet gave fervent thanks to the paragon who kept River House in perfect order. Margaret Rogers came in for three hours daily during the week to keep the house immaculate, supplied Aubrey Wilde with a light lunch when required, and stocked his freezer with dinners suitable to heat in the microwave she’d taught him to use. Consequently, he liked to boast that he was self-sufficient. But the actual yoke of householder lay light on his shoulders. Since his early retirement from the bank, Aubrey Wilde spent most of his time on the golf course, in the bar at its club, or at functions and dinners of various kinds.
Harriet checked the fragrant venison casserole keeping hot in the warming oven, then took the first course to the dining room. Julia, tall, faultlessly groomed and commanding, swept in while Harriet was setting out individual salads at one end of the long table she’d laid ready the night before.
‘So there you are at last,’ Julia said tartly. ‘Pa’s been trying to ring you.’
Harriet kissed the air near the expertly tinted cheek she was offered. ‘My last client ran on a bit; I was late leaving the office.’
‘While I’ve come all the way from London, and missed a very important meeting to get here,’ Julia reminded her.
Harriet raised a cynical eyebrow. ‘And spent the entire train journey on the phone, harassing your underlings.’
Julia made no attempt to deny it. ‘So what’s the big mystery? Why are two or three of us gathered together? It can’t be to pray.’
‘It might come to that. I need your backup tonight.’
‘That’s new.’ Julia’s eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not involved with someone unsuitable again by any chance?’
Harriet gave her a withering look and turned to make for the kitchen.
‘I’ll report back to Father that you’ve arrived,’ called her sister. ‘Want a drink?’
‘Not yet, thanks.’ Harriet was well aware that her fashion guru sister was inspecting her rear view in the clinging dress. Not that she cared. Some of the weight she’d lost over James had been regained eventually, but she was still a dress size smaller than Julia and at least two less than Sophie.
Harriet’s lips tightened as she put asparagus to steam. After years of absence from her life, it was the second intrusion of the day by James Crawford, the ‘someone unsuitable’ in her past. A mere technician with a computer firm had been dismissed as totally out of the question for a daughter of River House. And, to Harriet’s despair, her godmother, who until that point had been her constant ally, had agreed with Aubrey Wilde for the first time in living memory.
‘Darling, you’re too young,’ Miriam Cairns had told her. ‘You’re doing too well at university to get serious with anyone. If this young man is as wonderful as you say he’ll wait until you’re qualified.’
But James, unwilling to wait, had persuaded Harriet to share a flat with him near the college while she finished her course.
When Aubrey Wilde learned of the plan he’d lost his temper completely. Crimson with fury, he’d roared that he would get the director of the computer firm, a golfing crony of his, to fire his employee immediately. And if Harriet persisted in her defiance a restraining order would be taken out against the upstart, which would mean arrest if the man dared to come anywhere near Miss Harriet Wilde again. Appalled, she had argued long and passionately, and in desperation finally resorted to pleading. But her incensed father had remained immovable. In the end Harriet had given in, afraid that if she continued to defy him Aubrey Wilde would carry out his threat.
Harriet had been forced to tell James that living with him while she was still studying was not possible. ‘With you around to distract me I would never qualify.’
At first James had laughed, sure she was joking, but when he saw she was in deadly earnest he had done his utmost to change her mind until at last he threw up his hands in angry defeat. ‘So that’s it?’ he said at last, his voice rough with emotion. ‘On your bike, Crawford, and never darken my door again.’
‘Of course not,’ she said in misery, tears running down her face. ‘Things will be different once I’m qualified—’
‘You actually expect me to be fool enough to hang around that long, Harriet?’ His sarcastic smile cut her to pieces. ‘Daddy said no, didn’t he? And like a good little daughter you’re giving in without a fight.’
‘I had no choice,’ she said brokenly.
‘There’s always a choice!’ His eyes glittered with rage and bitter hurt. ‘But you’ve obviously made yours, little girl. So get lost. Run home to Daddy and grow up.’
Harriet had rung him the moment she got home, and sobbed in utter despair when she found his phone had been disconnected and his email wiped. James Crawford, the computer expert, had cut off all means of communication. After a sleepless night, she went to his lodgings first thing next morning, to find that he had already paid up and left. And until that brief encounter today she had never seen him again.
The oven timer went off, jerking Harriet back from the past. She loaded the
