that?’ Ashley frowned.
‘A husband, of course. Or were you planning to have children and bring them up yourself?’
‘Don’t talk rubbish!’ Ashley wrinkled her nose. ‘You know what I mean. Besides, I may never get married.’
‘No. That’s true.’ Karen flopped back and folded her arms behind her head. ‘But I want to. I’ve never been particularly interested in a career.’
Ashley nodded. ‘And do you think this—association with Frank is serious?’
Karen shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Sometimes I think so, and then he does something or says something and—well, I wonder.’ She drew the covers up to her chin, tipping her head on one side to look at her cousin. ‘Mum said that Mark brought Jake Seton home with him this evening.’
Ashley was glad of the rose-shaded lamp to hide her colouring. ‘Yes, that’s right, he did.’
Karen rolled on to her side, facing her. ‘What did you think of him?’
‘Who? Jake Seton?’
‘Who else?’ Karen’s tone was dry.
‘I—er—he seemed very nice——’
‘Nice!’ Karen gasped. ‘Love, a man like Jake Seton could never be described as—nice!’
‘Why? Isn’t he?’
Karen gave an exasperated snort. ‘Ashley! If you mean is he charming—intelligent, friendly, even, then—yes. I suppose in those terms, he is—nice. But that wasn’t what I meant. Didn’t you think he was attractive? Oh, I know he’s a lot older than you, but even so …’
Ashley hunched her shoulders under the bedcovers. ‘Yes, I suppose he is,’ she admitted reluctantly. A slight smile touched her lips. ‘Why don’t you marry him if you find him so devastating?’
Karen grimaced. ‘Chance would be a fine thing! Heavens, you don’t suppose I’d be bothering with someone like Frank if I seriously thought I stood any chance with Jake Seton, do you?’
‘You can’t love Frank, then,’ declared Ashley forcefully. ‘Or you wouldn’t be interested in anyone else.’
‘Yes, but the Setons are something else,’ exclaimed Karen defensively. ‘I mean, they really are different. It’s only that Jake and Mark have known one another since they were at school together, and Jake is always so friendly to Mum and Dad that makes him seem approachable somehow. The rest of the family aren’t like him. Oh, they’re friendly enough, I suppose, but in a different way—a less personal way, if you know what I mean. They’re sort of—oh, you know—aloof—lords of the manor—that sort of thing. They know everyone, of course. They speak to everyone. But you’re always conscious of the gulf between them and us—it’s a social barrier somehow.’
Ashley was intrigued now in spite of her tiredness. ‘And you say—Jake Seton went to the same school as Mark?’
‘Only for a short time,’ answered Karen, rubbing her nose thoughtfully. ‘Jake’s a couple of years older than Mark, but he did attend the County Infants for three years before going on to prep school. I don’t know how they became friends, but they did—and it’s stuck—which says a lot for Jake, actually. I don’t think his family approve. So far as they’re concerned, this is one of the local pubs, and if Jake comes here they put it down to the alcohol on the premises, not the company.’
‘And—and Jake is a son of Mark’s employer, is that right?’
‘Not a son, love, the son! He has two sisters, but no brothers. Sir James Seton is his father. I suppose Jake will inherit the title one day. His name is James, really, but he’s always been called Jake to avoid confusion.’
‘I see.’ Ashley digested this. ‘I’m surprised he’s not married.’
‘He will be soon.’ Karen’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘The social occasion of the year is planned for the last week in June.’
Ashley frowned. ‘What do you mean? He’s getting married?’
‘Naturally.’ Karen expelled her breath noisily.
Ashley suddenly found the conversation rather boring. ‘Oh, well,’ she said shortly, ‘you’ll just have to make do with Frank, won’t you?’
Karen watched her cousin roll herself in the covers and prepare herself for sleep. ‘I suppose so,’ she agreed slowly. ‘Don’t you want to know who he’s going to marry?’
‘Not particularly.’ Ashley was abrupt. ‘Oh, Karen, for goodness’ sake, put out the light. I’m tired. I want to go to sleep.’
During the next couple of weeks, Ashley thought very little about Jake Seton. The weather was unusually cold for early March with heavy falls of snow blocking the roads, disrupting bus and train services. The moorland farmers who gathered in the Golden Lion on market days talked incessantly of the shortages of animal foodstuffs and the difficulties of lambing in these conditions. Ashley herself seemed to spend her time hurrying from home to school and then home again, and felt no desire to go out in the evenings as Karen did.
One afternoon, when a watery sun was fighting a losing battle with the freezing temperatures, she was walking home from school with a girl-friend when a sleek, dark green sports car slid to a halt beside them. They were scarcely a hundred yards from the school and at first Ashley thought it was someone who wanted directions. But then the nearside window was rolled down and she found herself looking into Jake Seton’s face.
‘Hello, Ashley,’ he said, almost as if he had expected to see her. ‘Can I give you a lift?’
Susan Knight, the girl who had been walking with her, drew back awkwardly, obviously recognising Jake, and Ashley felt embarrassed.
‘I—we don’t have far to go,’ she replied briefly. ‘Thank you all the same.’
Jake’s lips thinned. ‘I’m going that way anyway,’ he said, thrusting open the door. ‘Get in!’
There was such authority in his voice that Ashley found herself responding to it almost automatically, merely giving Susan an apologetic smile before stepping forward and climbing into the luxurious vehicle beside him. He leant across her to close the door with controlled firmness and for an instant she could smell the heat of his body and a faint trace of Havana tobacco, and felt the hardness of his arm against the softness of her breasts. Then the force of unrestrained power beneath the bonnet of the car was pressing her back in her seat as the car swept forward.
She had been in quite a number of cars during her comparatively short life, but never one like this. Everything about it was smooth and expensive, and even without the scrawled identification along its side she would have guessed it belonged to some exclusive stable of custom-built sports cars.
Within seconds they had reached the end of Castle Lane and turned into the High Street, and Ashley’s fingers tightened on her briefcase as he drew up outside the Golden Lion.
‘Thank you,’ she managed, and looked round for the door handle.
Without
