Dawn was breaking, and her window faced east. The sun was red, but getting brighter. There was a gorgeous, luminous quality of winter light in the pale sky; it would be clear and cold today. Becky thought idly about getting her Christmas tree in and throwing another party. A smaller one this time. Last night had been an exceptional success. Whether they had come out of kindness or pure rubbernecking curiosity, her entire guest list had showed up and hadn’t left until the small hours. Exhausted, she had sneaked off to bed at four a.m. She didn’t know why she wasn’t exhausted right now. What had she had, maybe three hours’ sleep?
But deep down, she knew why she woke up so early.
1Kupert. It was excitement about Rupert.
Becky had been so nervous about meeting him - the possible scene, the hostility. Last night she had felt, finally, with Fairfield full of guests, not so ridiculously empty, that she truly belonged here. She was a hostess, and she was letting people into her home. Which Rupert had thought was his home.
But he had behaved so well.
Becky hugged herself and looked out over her-beautiful grounds. Was that the right way to put it … that he had behav6d well? You couldn’t sum up his gorgeous, slim, dark-eyed looks with that, nor his charm, nor the way he’d watched her and made her stomach flip. You couldn’t ignore the way he’d danced with her, so graceful, so
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commanding, as though he had done nothing but waltz from the day he’d come out of the womb. How about the way he’d defended her in conversation, when Aunt Victoria came up and made a snide remark about the cost of the party? He was … so English. The consummate gentleman. And that accent … boy … cut-glass. Becky remembered some of the people fawning on him over the title, and how Rupert put them at ease. She thought she’d fitted into his arms like she’d been made for them. It was good to have her hand kissed. To be made to feel so welcome and so liked. It was as though he hadn’t spent all that money fighting the court case, as though the court case had nothing to do with her whatsoever.
Rupert had looked deep into her eyes when he discussed it with her, so she could feel his sincerity.
‘I can’t lie to you, Becky. I did feel that I had a fight to Fairfield, and it was my father’s wish that I should fight for the house. So I did. I hope you can respect that. But as it’s over, I don’t hold a grudge, and I hope you won’t.’
‘Not at all.’
‘If I had won, you’d always have been welcome here. You’re family.
Even if you are very distant,’ he added, glancing at her breasts. Becky felt her nipples tighten.
‘And you’re always welcome here. Any time. I have eight spare bedrooms.’
‘Actually, you have ten,’ he said lightly. ‘Don’t forget the extra two over the servants’ quarters.’
Then he grinned, and his whole face lit up.
My God, Becky thought, he’s so handsome. And she thanked heaven that the tent was only bathed in a gentle glow so that he couldn’t see her blushing.
‘I hope your dance card isn’t filled already, or else I shall have to rip it
up and get you a new one.’
She smiled. ‘It’s not.’
‘Good,’ lupert said confidently, ‘because now I’ve seen how beautiful you are I shall be monopolizing you all night. I’ve always been selfish.’
He leant over and refilled her champagne flute. ‘Why don’t you tell me about Your childhood?’ Becky shook her head. ‘It was very boring.’
P,.upert took one sinewy hand and pressed it on top of her soft one. ‘Nothing about you could ever be boring,’ he replied.
Becky sighed with pure happiness. She didn’t even feel tired. She’d
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gone from being a lonely cuckoo in the nest to being accepted overnight. And now Rupert.
Maybe she was mad to think he was interested in her, though. These English gentlemen were all notoriously charming. Maybe it was just good manners on his part. Of course, she was beautiful, she knew that. But men decided what was beautiful. Maybe she wasn’t his type of beautiful. Her boobs were tiny. It went with being tall and slim. Becky opened the cashmere robe and examined them critically. They were small and exquisite, with tiny bud nipples, but certainly not curvy. Maybe she should get a push-up bra. But, then, wouldn’t he be disappointed when she took it off?.
Easy, girl. Not even one date, and she was already planning to jump into bed with him. And he hadn’t even called yet.
Becky shook her head and padded into her bathroom to take a shower. She wanted to blow-dry her hair with a round brush in a flip, and pick out her best cosmetics to lose the bags under her eyes. Because if he called, she wanted to be ready for him.
The train up to Hawsham took two and a half hours. Lira paid through the nose for a seat in first class - she thought she could have taken a shuttle to Mexico cheaper - but it gave her a relatively clean seat, an empty carriage and a place to think.
The pain of Rupert’s telegram had softened with distance. Nobody forced him to propose, right? She looked at the ring on her left hand and comforted herself with it. Obviously the business had put him under extreme stress. And why assume that her money was gone? If it was in a business account, she could g& it back. Or even leave it there, and invest in Rupert. After all, Benson Bailey had invested in him pretty heavily, with the comp apartment, the expense account and everything. He must have been good at his job. Why not think he’d make a go of Modern Commercials?
He’d been so great with her parents. Very polite. Even trying to make small talk with Chico. Which was hard.
A man in a neat uniform pushed a trolley of very nasty-looking sandwiches past her and asked her if she wanted anything.
‘No, thanks.’ He was staring, so that was a good sign, Lita wanted to look her best. She’d tried on four outfits before settling on this one - her black lZendi pants in leather, with the off-the-shoulder sweater in white merino on top; it was warm and stylish and it showed offa sexy, but still decent amount of cafd-au-lait skin. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, curly and gleaming, and her lips were painted fire-engine red, matching her nails.
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She didn’t look as though she was afraid of anything. ‘But you could
tell me how long it’s going to be till we reach Hawsham?’ ‘About another twenty minutes, now, miss.’ ‘And will it be easy to get a cab there?’
‘You’re an American,’ he said, in the voice of one making a discovery.
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, Hawsham isn’t a big town, miss, but ask the stationmaster and he’ll give you a number for a local taxi company, all right?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, turning away and looking out of the window.
The guard thought that there would probably be little cards stuck up in the phone booth, but he wanted to do the stationmaster a favour. Check her out. Maybe she was a movie star or something. Gorgeous. l
Lita glanced again at her book. The Pocket Guide to Manor Houses of England and Wales Fairfield Court had a two-page spread. It was beautiful, certainly, if you liked that sort of thing. Lita didn’t. She was all about soaring modern architecture. She thought the canyons of Manhattan were the greatest sight in the world. But she could see why other people would gape in awe at something like Fairfield. It reeked of history, and to Lita, it reeked of hundreds of years of privilege. The owner was listed as a Miss P,.ebecca Lancaster, who had inherited it from her father. Not lupert, then. Some relative, probably a maiden aunt or something. Lita wasn’t bothered if Rupert paid family visits around Christmas. It was just that running back to his homeland was no way to confront teething problems in the business …
She thought she had figured out why P,.upert sent her that telegram, too. Most likely something had gone badly wrong, or was going wrong, with his new company. And he had lost some .money, and he didn’t want to put her through it. He probably thought that asking her to marry a failure wasn’t right. But Lita wasn’t bothered. Even if P,.upert had lost his money, she would still love him. He needed to see that she was there for him. And her money … well …
Lita watched the soft green English countryside roll past her window and wondered about that. P,.upert was probably working on salvaging her money right now. That’s why he had said he had to rush over for a legal matter. He wouldn’t want to show his face to her again until he’d got it back.
Love was all about trust, and she trusted him. She just needed to show P,,upert that he could trust her, too.
She got out at Hawsham, which was a tiny little station, a bit like
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something in Westchester. The station was small and cosy, red brick with a little table on which were mounted dog-eared leaflets for local tourist attractions. One of them, she saw, was Fairfield Court, which was open to the public in the summer. Lira picked it up. It had a little map on the back. She pocketed it, and asked the stationmaster for the number of a cab company.
‘I’ll call one for you, miss,’ he said, wishing he could drive her
himself. ‘Where are you off to, then?’
‘Fairfield Court. It’s in—’
‘Oh, I know where it is. Everyone does. You up for the party, then? I thought that was last night.’
‘It was.’ The guy at the club had said something about a party. ‘I just have business with Lord Lancaster.’
‘Oh, that Rupert Lancaster. Always in the papers, he is. Said nice things about Miss Becky that’s taken over the house. Between you and
me, I think he might be looking for a wife.’
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘You know. Someone suitable, someone like him. That lot stick to their kind, don’t they?’
She muttered something noncommittal and went outside to wait for the car. What did that guy know about sticking to his own kind? Rupert told her it wasn’t where she came from, but where she was going that mattered to him.
The call came at eleven, and Becky was ready for it.
‘Thank you, Mrs Morecambe,’ She took the receiver from the old
woman and tried not to sound too eager. ‘This is Becky.’
‘Becky, it’s Pupert. I hope I didn’t wake you?’
‘Not at all.’ She couldn’t help herself. ‘It’s nice to hear your voice.’ ‘It’s much nicer to hear yours. Look, I’m staying at the 1Lose and Crown in town. I don’t have any meetings back in London until tomorrow. I wonder… if you’re not too tired.., would you like to have tea?’
‘Sure. That would be great. But, look, why don’t you come here?’ She wanted to have him all to herself. ‘Mrs M0recambe can make tea. Can’t you Mrs Morecambe?’
Her housekeeper nodded and smiled encouragingly.
‘It’d be so much nicer. I can get some cakes at the village shop.’ ‘Wonderful. Three suit you?’ ‘Perfect,’ said Becky, because it was.
She hung up and looked pleadingly at Mrs Morecambe.
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‘You don’t want to be bothering with nasty shop-bought cakes, nfiss. I can make a nice cake. Fruit or sponge?’
‘Sponge, please,’ Becky said. ‘I don’t want to put you out, but—’ ‘Nonsense, miss. It’s my job. But don’t you go making that much of a fuss of him. It’s better that the young gentleman should make a fuss of you.’
‘Absolutely,’ Becky said, then ran upstairs to spritz herself with Chanel No. 9. She would set tea up in the drawing room which looked out towards the kitchen garden, and fill a vase with winter jasmine and Christmas roses. This was it, really; there were no soft lights, no music and no alcohol. If Rupert wanted to ask her out, he’d do it today. Becky didn’t think asking her to tea counted, because he could just be being friendly.
She went into the library with a stack of papers on Lancaster Holdings. It was hours until teatime, and she needed something to distract her. Trying to unravel exactly what she owned and what it did would fit the bill nicely.
Lita looked at her watch. It was half past two, and the cabbie said it would take them another quarter-hour to drive out to Fairfield. It was a good time to turn up, after lunch, giving them enough time to recover from their hangovers. Lita wasn’t too concerned. She looked as though she fitted in. They would tell her where she could find Rupert. Lira looked appreciatively at the English countryside, relaxing in her seat. It was pretty, with the villages and little thatch’ed houses and farms dotted around. Hard to see it as the same country as London, yet it was only a couple of hours away. She still preferred Mexico, though. When she’d sorted out this mess with Rupert, maybe they could go travelling
somewhere. Go to Rome, and see the Coliseum.
‘Here we are, miss. Been here before?’
Lita glanced up. She was being driven through two enormous stone
gates down a long, bumpy drive.
‘This will be a first,’ she said.
They took the corner, and Fairfield appeared, imposing and ancient. ‘Nice,’ Lita said. She thought she still preferred Fifth Avenue. The cab ground to a halt in the gravel in front of the door; she tipped the guy handsomely. Better to make sure he would come back if she called him. Then she walked up to the door, which was dark, aged oak, and rang the bell.
Becky heard the bell ring and jumped. She tried to calm herself. It was ridiculous to get butterflies in her stomach like this over a guy she hardly knew. He was ten minutes early, but Becky had been ready for
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him for ages. Her hair tumbled around her neck like a platinum waterfall; her nails were manicured and buffed with a clear French polish, and she’d put blue drops in her eyes to get the red out.
Mrs Morecambe moved towards the hall, but Becky brushed her away.
Tll get it.’
She opened the door, smiling.
There was a young woman on her doorstep. Becky blinked, her mind racing over yesterday’s guests. She was almost certain she didn’t know this one. She was so young and so beautiful Becky would have remembered her. She was also too dark to have been on Becky’s list of pasty white English relatives and friends of the family. No, she didn’t think she knew her.