In the Millionaire's Possession Read Online Free PDF Page B

what about you? ’ Helen was suddenly eager to change the subject. ‘ Have you heard from Simon? ’

    Her friend ’ s face lit up, her blue eyes sparkling. ‘ The dam ’ s nearly finished, and he ’ s coming home on leave next month. Only two weeks, but that ’ s better than nothing, and we ’ re going to talk serious wedding plans. He says from now on he ’ s only accepting contracts which allow accompanying wives, so I think he ’ s missing me. ’

    Helen smiled at her teasingly. ‘ You can ’ t leave, ’ she protested. ‘ How are the locals to give dinner parties without you to cook for them? ’

    ‘ I promise I won ’ t go before I cater for your wedding reception, ’ Lottie promised solemnly. ‘ So can you please fix a date? ’

    ‘ I ’ ll make it a priority, ’ Helen returned.

    She was in a thoughtful mood when she walked home that night. There ’ d been a shower of rain about an hour before, and the air was heady with the scent of damp earth and sweet grass.

    She was delighted at Lottie ’ s obvious happiness, but at the same time unable to subdue a small pang of envy.

    She wished her own life was falling so splendidly and lovingly into place.

    Yet Nigel seems to be managing perfectly well without me, she thought sadly. If only we could have talked today — really talked — then maybe we ’ d have had Lottie ’ s romantic kind of evening — and night — after all. And he ’ d have bought me a ring, and a dress, and taken me to Sussex. And he ’ d have told everyone, ‘ This is my brand-new fiancée. I simply couldn ’ t bear to leave her behind. ’

    She ’ d started the day with such optimism and determination, yet now she felt uneasy and almost frightened. Nothing had gone according to plan. And miles away, in a glass and concrete box, her fate had probably already been decided.

    I need Nigel, she thought. I need him to hold me and tell me everything will be all right, and that Monteagle is safe.

    She walked under the arched gateway and stood in the courtyard, looking at the bulk of the house in the starlight. Half-seen, like this, it seemed massive — impregnable — but she knew how deceptive it was.

    And it wasn ’ t just her own future under threat. There were the Marlands, George and Daisy, who ’ d come to work for her grandfather when they were a young married couple, as gardener and cook respectively. As the other staff had left George had learned to turn his hand to more and more things about the estate, and his wife, small, cheerful and bustling, had become the housekeeper. Helen, working alongside them, depended on them totally, but knew unhappily that she could not guarantee their future — specially from Trevor Newson.

    ‘ Too old, ’ he ’ d said. ‘ Too set in their ways. I ’ ll be putting in my own people. ’

    You ’ ll be putting in no one, she ’ d told herself silently.

    I wish I still felt as brave now, she thought, swallowing. But, even so, I ’ m not giving up the fight.

    Monteagle opened to the public on Saturdays in the summer. Marion Lowell the Vicar ’ s wife, who was a keen historian, led guided tours round the medieval ruins and those parts of the adjoining Jacobean house not being used as living accommodation by Helen and the Marlands.

    Her grandfather had been forced to sell the books from his library in the eighties, and Helen now used the room as her sitting room. It had a wonderful view across the lawns to the lake, so the fact that it was furnished with bits and pieces from the attics, and a sofa picked up for a song at a house clearance sale a few miles away, was no real hardship.

    If the weather was fine Helen and Daisy Marland served afternoon teas, with home-made scones and cakes, in the courtyard. With the promise of warm sunshine to come, they ’ d spent most of Friday evening baking.

    Helen had been notified that a coach tour, travelling under the faintly depressing title ‘ Forgotten Corners of History ’