Sara couldn’t speak. She was too shocked and worried. How could Cressy even think about going out when Tom… She bit into her bottom lip, unaware that she had torn the tender flesh until she tasted blood.
‘It’s just as well you’ve got your grandmother to turn to,’ Cressy said casually as she started the car. ‘There’s no way you could stay in London now, is there?’
Hard eyes locked with Sara’s pained, bewildered ones, and all the objections she wanted to voice died unsaid.
‘I’ll write to my grandmother tonight,’ she said quietly, but Cressy shook her head and stopped the car.
‘Sara, don’t be such a fool. There isn’t time for that. You heard what that fool Robbins said. He wants to get rid of Tom. He wants you to take him away. And I thought you loved him,’ she added cruelly. ‘If you really did, you wouldn’t hesitate. Is your pride really so much more important than Tom’s health?’
There was nothing Sara could say. Numbly, she shook her head, while one part of her cried out in desperation that she could not simply turn up on her grandmother’s doorstep without an invitation.
She tried to reason, even to argue with Cressy, but the other girl wouldn’t listen.
‘Look, we’ll drive down and collect Tom on Friday, and then go straight up to Cheshire.’
Sara was too exhausted to protest. All she could think of was Tom’s white face; all she could hear was the specialist’s dire warnings about the necessity for a quiet, secure country life.
If her grandmother wasn’t wealthy, if there had been some past contact between them… But what was the point of ‘ifs’? She was caught in a situation not of her own making, and the strong sense of loyalty and responsibility bred deep in her wouldn’t allow her to abandon Tom now, when he needed her most.
‘Almost there.’
For the first time in weeks, Cressy sounded cheerful. Sara averted her head and stared blindly out of the window. She felt sick with nerves, desperately afraid of what was to come, and she wished she had done anything other than agree to Cressy’s plans.
She had even suggested telephoning her grandmother, but Cressy had forced her to concede that a telephone call was not the best way to introduce herself to a grandmother whom she had never seen.
In the back seat, Tom was humming cheerfully. Even today, she might have found an alternative but, when they arrived at the school to collect Tom, Dr Robbins had detained her to tell her than Tom’s school fees had been paid for the year, and that there would be a refund to come to her. It was as though he knew how desperately short of money they were, Sara had reflected unhappily.
By the time she got to Tom’s bedside, Cressy was already sitting there, and she had been greeted with Tom’s excited, ‘We’re going to live in the country, Sara, with your grandma, and Cressy says that I might be able to have a dog…’
Sara had been appalled. She had been literally shaking with anger and fear as she sat down on the other chair. Cressy had had no right to tell him such things! Her grandmother might turn them away, and as for a dog… She grimaced to herself. There was no way that Tom, with his asthmatic condition, could have such a pet.
All the way up the motorway, Tom had been asking eager questions about their destination. Questions which she was completely incapable of answering.
‘Ah! Here’s our turn-off…’
As Cressy slowed down for the motorway exit, Sara found she was actually pressing her body back into her seat, as though she could will the car to turn round and drive back down to London.
The countryside around them was flat, with hills to the east and the west. The fields were full of early summer crops, the landscape broken up by the sprawls of half-timbered farmhouses and outbuildings.
It was easy to see why this part of the country had once been so rich in arable wealth.
‘Not far now…’
They drove into a small, picturesque village, and past large, turn-of-the-century houses with privet hedges and curling driveways. There were more trees here, and they grew denser as the road narrowed. Their directions had come from her father’s solicitor’s office, like all Cressy’s information.
They approached a pair of wrought-iron gates guarded by a small, obviously empty lodge. Tom’s eyes widened as Cressy turned in between the open gates.
The drive skirted a large, informal pond, green lawns stretched away into the shade of massive trees, and then Sara saw the house.
Tudor, without a doubt, it was larger than she had expected, and older. Its small, mullioned windows reflected the sunshine, and as she wound down the car window the harsh cry of a peacock made her jump.
‘What’s that?’ Tom demanded nervously.
She told him, watching his eyes, round with excitement, as he tried to catch a glimpse of the shrieking bird.
Cressy stopped the car.
With legs that felt as though they had turned to cotton wool, Sara got out, taking Tom by the hand.
The front entrance looked formidable, a heavy oak door, closed and studded against intruders. Before she could reach for the bellpull, the door opened, and a man strode out, almost knocking her over. She had an impression of angry, dark blue eyes and a very tanned face. A firm male hand grasped her, steadying her, and just for a moment she clung to the supportive weight of his arm, aware of its strength beneath the immaculate darkness of his expensive suit.
‘What the devil…’ His voice was crisp, authoritative and faintly irritated. ‘The house isn’t open to tourists,’ he told her, brusquely releasing her. ‘You’re probably looking for Gawsworth.’
He had already released her, and she stepped back from him, sensing his impatience. He had dark hair, very dark, and there was something about him that made her shiver slightly, some frisson of awareness that passed through her body as she watched him.
‘We aren’t looking for Gawsworth.’
Ah, now there was no impatience, Sara acknowledged, observing his entirely male reaction to Cressy’s blonde prettiness. She walked towards him, all smiling confidence, sure in her ability to draw and hold his attention.
‘Luke, you forgot your briefcase.’
Sara looked eagerly at the woman who had opened the door. Although well into her sixties, she was tall and upright, her silver hair immaculately groomed, her clothes elegant and understated.
This, then, must be her grandmother!
She smiled at them politely and then checked, the blood draining from her face.
‘Sara… Sara, it is you, isn’t it?’
Sara could only nod, dry-mouthed. Her grandmother had recognised her. But how?
And then all hell seemed to break loose around her as the man turned to study her, his eyes frozen chips of winter sky, his whole body emanating dislike and contempt as he asked savagely,
