of a village fair didn’t seem his scene at all. Though he had been interested in the bric-a-brac stall, she remembered. Probably in the hope of snaring a bargain. Mr Hastings owned several fine art shops, and, although no one could confuse Mrs Darcy’s pot dogs and stuffed owls with fine art, just occasionally a piece of crystal or a chipped Crown Derby plate found its way on to the stall.
She had been admiring an old copy of poems by Lord Tennyson when Robert had stopped at her stall. His appearance had surprised her, but Fliss seldom got flustered. Indeed, she was of the opinion that she was one of those people who didn’t have it in them to feel any uncontrollable surge of excitement, and although her golden eyes widened she was perfectly composed.
And, unaware as she was of it, it was that air of cool untouchability that caught and held Robert Hastings’ interest. That, and the fact that she was tall—taller than average—and unfashionably curvaceous, with full, rounded breasts, and long, shapely legs. She also had a mass of sun-streaked brown hair, that hung quite untidily about her shoulders. In short, she was an extremely feminine example of her breed, and if her nose was too long, and her mouth too wide, the overall impression was delightful.
So much so that Robert, a fairly discerning connoisseur of her sex, was instantly attracted, and showed it. Much to her father’s dismay, she was sure, he had spent the remainder of the afternoon hanging round her stall, and when the fair was over he’d spirited her off to the pub for a drink.
Fliss, who seldom drank anything stronger than the communion wine, found herself with a cocktail glass on one hand and an ardent suitor on the other, and for once she was glad she wasn’t easily excited. Another girl might have been bowled over by the fact that probably the most eligible bachelor for miles around was giving her his undivided attention. As it was, Fliss found it all rather amusing, and not at all worrying as her father seemed to think.
And, although Robert might have expected a different response from a young woman without any obvious advantages, he had soon had to accept that, if he wanted to get anywhere with Fliss, he would have to be a lot less arrogant, and a lot more patient. And he had been. To her immense surprise and amazement, he admitted to having fallen in love with her, and, as an abortive affair when she was in college was all Fliss had to compare her own affection for him with, she had come to the eventual conclusion that she must love him too. Certainly she liked being with him. He was warm and affectionate, and he made her feel good.
And, after a winter in which Robert had sustained his assault on her emotions, she had finally agreed to his announcing their engagement. The only disadvantage she had found since that event was Robert was now twice as eager to consummate—as he put it—their relationship; only consummation, as a vicar’s daughter, meant something rather different to Fliss …
‘I should think,’ she said carefully now, desperate to escape the implications of that particular thought for the present, and returning to the subject of the house, ‘that your mother might welcome the opportunity to find somewhere smaller.’ Knowing Mrs Hastings as she did, she doubted this was really true, but she pressed on anyway. ‘I mean, now that your father’s—dead——’ she licked her upper lip delicately ‘—she won’t have to host all those country weekends and dinner parties that Mr Hastings wished upon her.’
Robert stared at her impatiently. ‘You’re not serious.’
Fliss smoothed slender fingers over a bare shoulder, exposed by the bootlace straps of her sundress, and gave a little shrug. ‘Why not?’
‘Why not?’ Robert was briefly diverted by the unknowing sensuality of her action, but he eventually shook his head as if to clear it, and exclaimed irritably, ‘As I shall be running the company from now on, this should have been my house, not my mother’s. And as for entertaining, I should have been hosting all social occasions from now on.’
‘Yes, I know, but——’
‘This was going to be our home, yours and mine,’ he added grimly. ‘We would have carried on the family tradition.’
Fliss had been afraid of that, and she wondered if it would be too disloyal of her to feel some relief that the prospect had been put in jeopardy. Was Robert suggesting they would have lived here with his mother and his twin sisters? Dear God, she couldn’t have done that. It simply wasn’t on.
She also forbore from pointing out that the ‘family tradition’ he spoke about was barely twenty years old. As far as the villagers were concerned, they were still newcomers. Besides, James Hastings’ indiscretions were bound to put a halt to any delusions of grandeur.
‘Well,’ she said evenly, ‘whatever happens, I think we should start married life in a home of our own. Not here. We should choose our own place. Somewhere we can decorate and furnish as we like.’
Robert brought the swing to a sudden halt. ‘What’s wrong with the Grange?’
‘Nothing.’ Fliss realised she had to be tactful here. ‘But this is your mother’s home—at least, for the present. And—and it’s Liz and Dody’s home, too. Haven’t you just said so?’
Robert frowned, the deepening cleft between his blonde brows drawing attention to the fairness of his skin. Even in the height of summer, Robert’s flesh never changed colour. The sun might burn it sometimes, but he never got a tan.
Conversely, Fliss’s skin was of that creamy variety that browned easily. Unlike her hair, which was bleached by the sun’s rays, her arms and legs took on the healthy glow of honey. A fact that dismayed Mrs Hastings, who protected her own skin with almost fanatical zeal.
‘I don’t want to move,’ Robert declared now, his gaze moving over the acres of formal garden to where his sisters still squabbled on the tennis court. And it was true, the neatly trimmed hedges and rose gardens were a delight, particularly at this time of year.
‘Maybe you won’t have to,’ Fliss offered, stifling for the moment her own misgivings about living at Sutton Grange. ‘You’re endowing this woman—Rose Chen—with characteristics you can’t possibly know she possesses. She may be just as upset by the situation as you are. Didn’t you say Mr Davis was of the opinion that she hadn’t known the truth before your father’s will was read?’
Robert shrugged his shoulders. He was a tall man, inclined to sturdiness, and he had played rugby in his youth. In fact he was still a formidable opponent on the field. Yet, for all that, there was a certain weakness about his chin that had nothing to do with his good looks, and a sulkiness about his mouth that was presently all too apparent.
‘You don’t really believe that, Fliss, do you?’ he asked, and although his expression hadn’t changed his voice was softer. ‘Oh, hell, and this was supposed to be the happiest year of our lives. We were getting married at Christmas. I don’t know what’s going to happen now.’
He held out his hand towards her, and, not sorry to leave the concrete rim of the pond, Fliss allowed him to pull her on to his lap. The swing rocked gently now as he nuzzled his face against her shoulder, and she wished there were something she could say to ease his troubled thoughts.
‘There’s plenty of time,’ she comforted, putting her arm about his neck and cradling his head against her breast. Really, she thought, there had been occasions lately when she’d felt more like Robert’s mother than his girlfriend. He could appear totally helpless at times.
Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration, she conceded quickly, feeling his hand invading the camisole neckline of her dress. She shouldn’t mistake petulance for vulnerability. Robert was usually fairly adept at getting what he wanted,
