you sure about that?’ he asked now, loath to relinquish the image he had always held of Ella—as someone warm and generous, someone who cared about people more than possessions. She could be arrogant, he knew that, but then so could he, and he knew the feelings she had for him were not counterfeit. His feelings towards her were less easy to analyse. Since his disastrous first marriage, he had avoided that kind of commitment, and although he liked Ella very much, and was fond of her, he was not yet convinced that their temperaments were compatible to that extent.
‘Ask me that question when you get back to town,’ Scott told him blandly. ‘Now, how long are you staying?’
‘I don’t know yet.’ Luke wanted to go on talking about Ella, but obviously Scott had said as much as he was going to for the moment. ‘The whole trip seems to have been pointless. Have you heard from Ella?’
‘There was a cable for you, so I took the liberty of opening it—–’
‘Thanks.’
‘—and in it she mentions she’ll be back by the end of next week. I have her phone number …’
‘So do I,’ retorted Luke shortly. ‘Okay, Scott. I’ll see you in a few days.’
‘My pleasure.’
The phone went dead as Scott hung up and Luke replace his receiver with suppressed frustration. Why should Scott do this to him? Why send him up here on a wild goose chase? His excuse about him needing a break was not enough. Ella was away, finishing the film in Rome; the coincidence was too great, the opportunity too good to miss. And why? To meet a girl who resembled Ella to the extent that there could be no doubt about their relationship. If only Ella had told him herself. The fact that she hadn’t made the situation that much more difficult, putting an entirely different light on the quality of their relationship. He had been completely honest about the facts of his divorce. Why couldn’t Ella have been the same?
WHEN Abby came down to breakfast next morning, Daniel McGregor was alone at the table. Noticing the way she raised her eyebrows at the empty place, he smiled.
‘Mr Jordan is not, I think, an early riser, my dear,’ he remarked, helping himself to more toast.
Abby seated herself at the table and reached for the coffee pot. ‘I don’t consider eight o’clock is early,’ she pointed out.
‘No, not for us, perhaps. But we don’t keep the hours they keep in London.’ McGregor paused. ‘Well? What did you think of him?’
‘What did I think of him?’ Abby played for time. ‘That’s an odd question.’
‘But apt, don’t you think?’ The old man shook his head. ‘I’m not a fool, Abby. I know you wanted to meet him.’
Abby’s cheeks burned. ‘Well, that’s not unnatural, is it?’ . ‘No.’ McGregor shook his head. ‘I understand your feelings. But don’t be bitter, child. Life is too short for that.’
Abby bent over her toast, her long dark hair successfully concealing her features from her adopted uncle. Bitter? Yes, she supposed, she was bitter. But it wasn’t that that had made her want to meet Luke Jordan. Other emotions had long since taken over from bitterness, emotions far more destructive if she allowed them free rein.
‘So?’ McGregor was speaking again. ‘What was your impression?’
Abby frowned. What had been her impression of the man her aunt was reputed to be going to marry? Yesterday afternoon he had seemed amiable enough, and certainly attractive in a hard, masculine kind of way, but during and after dinner he had been broodingly morose, only speaking when spoken to and contributing nothing of his own experiences to the conversation. She had hoped he would talk, perhaps about her aunt, but instead he had concentrated on the food on his plate, and only occasionally had she encountered his gaze upon her in frowning meditation.
Now she shrugged her slim shoulders, and said: ‘He—he seemed withdrawn.’
‘Last evening, you mean?’ McGregor nodded. ‘Yes, I noticed that. Perhaps the man was tired.’
‘He didn’t seem so in the afternoon.’
‘Until after he had met you …’ murmured her adopted uncle thoughtfully.
Abby looked up. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you know he didn’t know of your existence, don’t you?’
‘I—yes.’
‘Mmm.’ The priest wiped his mouth with his napkin. ‘I wonder why Scott refrained from telling him.’
‘You might say the same of Aunt Ella,’ Abby interposed quickly, before she could stop herself.
McGregor sighed. ‘You are bitter, Abby. I was afraid you might be.’ He leant across the table to imprison one of her hands beneath his gnarled one. ‘My dear, Ella has her own reasons for eschewing her responsibilities towards you, and we both know what they are. Who knows? Perhaps she regrets what happened as much as we do—–’
‘I don’t believe that.’
Abby’s tone was flat, and the priest released her hand and rested back in his chair regarding her disappointedly. ‘Abby, Abby! Things haven’t been so bad for you, have they?’
Abby felt a twinge of shame. ‘Of course not, Uncle Daniel. But—without you …’
‘But there was me,’ he replied quietly. ‘And believe me, Ella will have suffered for her thoughtlessness.’
‘Thoughtlessness!’ Abby pressed her lips tightly together. She could think of other words more apt.
‘Well …’ McGregor pushed back his chair and got to his feet, ‘I must go. Mrs Lewis was taken ill again in the night, and I promised I’d go over this morning. If you see our guest, will you tell him I will have to postpone our tour of the village?’
Abby replaced her coffee cup in its saucer. ‘I—er—I have the morning off,’ she volunteered. ‘I could—show Mr Jordan the village.’
McGregor hesitated. Then he shook his head as if dismissing the problem. ‘Why not?’ he agreed. ‘I’m sure the choice of courier will not cause any dissension.’
Abby felt a momentary pang of remorse, and reached for his hand. ‘You’ve always been like a father to me, Uncle Daniel,’ she mumbled unhappily.
The priest patted her head reassuringly, but there was an anxious expression in his eyes. ‘You said that as if you regretted it, Abby,’ he protested, and she forced a smile and lifted her head.
‘I—as if I could!’ she exclaimed, and then coloured anew as a tall figure darkened the doorway.
‘I’m sorry. Am I late for breakfast?’
Luke Jordan stood regarding them both apologetically, lean and disturbing in black suede pants which hugged the bulging muscles of
