More Than You Know Read Online Free PDF

think of the money he’d make if he reroofed the whole of Summercourt. Of course he’s going to say that.”
    Sarah took a deep breath.
    “I don’t agree, Adrian. He’s a careful builder, a proper craftsman, and I would put a lot of faith in anything he had to say. And looking at those ceilings, I think the time has come.”
    “But, sweetheart, we can’t afford it.”
    “Well, we could if—”
    “If what?”
    “If we sold a bit more land.”
    There. She had said it.
    “But I wouldn’t even consider it,” he said. “We’ve always agreed that we’ve kept the absolute minimum necessary to ensure the place is safe, so there’s no risk of it being spoilt.”
    “We need the money, Adrian; we really do. It only need be a few acres.”
    And then it did all sound dreadfully bad, and she was horrified to find herself near to tears. He went over to her, put his arm round her shoulders. “Hey,” he said, “don’t cry. You know I can’t bear you to be upset. It’ll be all right, darling. Look, leave it with me; I’ll find someone to help us.”
    “But, Adrian—”
    “I’ll talk to Bert Chapman, see what he says. He’s a bit more realistic about these things than Travers.”
    Bert Chapman was what her father would have called a spiv. He botched everything, cut corners, and employed people who had no real idea what they were doing.
    She opened her mouth to say so, but Adrian was already moving into the next hideously predictable phase of the discussion.
    “Oh, Sarah,” he said, his face suddenly infinitely sad. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’ve been pretty useless to you, haven’t I, in lots of ways. Never brought any money in.”
    “Don’t be silly.”
    Of course, she’d known when she fell in love with him that he had no money and only a modest job in the city. Which he’d given up on his fiftieth birthday, because he was finding it so exhausting doing the journey up there every day, and a friend of his had offered him a partnership in his company, selling guns and fishing rods by mail order. But that had gone bust, taking Adrian’s investment with it. Of course, he had a small pension. But he was terribly extravagant, spent a lot of money on shooting, on wine, clothes …
    “I’m not being silly,” he said now. “I feel bad about it. And I hate to see you so worried.”
    “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help that.”
    “Sometimes,” he said suddenly, “I think your father was right. You should never have married me. How much better you’d have been with Johnny Robertson; how many millions is he worth now?”
    “I have no idea.”
    “I think you do,” he said, and his eyes were very sad. “Oh, Sarah, I’m not surprised you’re disappointed.”
    “I’m not disappointed,” she said quickly.
    He ignored this. “But there Charles was. So you didn’t have much choice, did you?”
    “I didn’t want a choice.” And she hadn’t, in spite of her mother’s grief, her father’s rage at her announcement she was pregnant. She had wanted to marry Adrian. Had insisted on marrying Adrian.
    She reached up and kissed him.
    “I’ve been very happy,” she said, “as you know; we both have. It’s all been lovely.”
    “I hope so. Certainly it has for me.” He picked up the paper again, clearly feeling the matter settled. “Anyway, darling, I’ll get Mr. Chapman in early next week. Don’t worry anymore.”
    She would, of course, but silently. These discussions just made matters worse.
    As she went into the house, the phone rang.
    “Mummy?”
    “Hallo, darling. How are you?”
    “Very, very well. I’ve got the most wonderful news.”
    Engaged? thought Sarah, her heart leaping. To that nice Barrett boy, perhaps. That would solve an awful lot of problems; he was so rich, so … so suitable in every way. “What’s that, then?”
    “I’ve got the most amazing and brilliant job. It’s everything I hoped for—in fashion, not just secretarial—oh, Mummy, I’m so