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not open to the public.’
    ‘Yet,’ said George.
    ‘What?’ I said, thrown by his calm interjection.
    ‘The conference centre is just part of our strategy to turn
Whellerby Hall into the leading venue for events in the north,’ George said,
with a glance at Roly, who nodded encouragement. ‘Eventually, we’ll turn the
east wing into top-of-the-market accommodation for weddings and parties using
the state rooms.’
    ‘George says we’ll be able to ch-charge an arm and a leg,’ Roly
confided.
    ‘Of course, the east wing needs a lot of renovation before we
can do that,’ George added, ‘but as that’s the long-term plan, why don’t we take
advantage of Saffron’s celebrity?’
    My chest swelled with unreasonable resentment as he sat there,
talking persuasively while Saffron and Roly lapped it up. I had had George down
as a lightweight, a playboy down on his luck just playing at estate management.
He wasn’t supposed to be talking about strategies or long-term plans.
    ‘You’ve both been too discreet to mention it,’ he went on, ‘but
I think we all know how famous she is. Saffron Taylor is the ultimate party
girl, and she’s a social leader. Where she goes, others will follow.’
    I closed my eyes in despair.
    ‘We couldn’t ask for better publicity. If Saffron and her
closest friends have a private party up here, you can bet your bottom dollar
everyone else will be clamouring to do the same. We don’t need to do anything so
vulgar as advertise. Word will get round—especially if we ask your friends not
to give away the secret location of the party. Before we know where we are,
we’ll be beating people off with a stick.’
    And so it was decided. I not only had to build a conference
centre, I had to organise a costumed house party for a load of spoiled
socialites.
    I looked out of the window. It had started to rain in
earnest.

THREE
    ‘Make yourself at home, why don’t you?’ I dumped my
briefcase on the worktop and raised my brows at George, who was leaning back in
a chair with his feet on my kitchen table. And if I didn’t very much mistake the
matter, he was drinking my tea out of my mug.
    ‘I knew you wouldn’t mind,’ he said with that smile that never
failed to make my pulse kick, no matter how hard I braced myself against it.
‘I’ve spent all afternoon talking about artificial insemination,’ he said. ‘I
was desperate for a drink, but my fridge is empty, so I came to see what you
had. All I could find was tea, though.’
    ‘Oh, I’m sorry about that,’ I said with mock contrition. ‘I
didn’t realise that I had to keep a supply of booze in just in case you felt
like dropping by.’
    ‘You’ll get used to country ways soon,’ he said kindly,
refusing to rise to my sarcasm. ‘Some beers and a couple of bottles of wine are
always good to have in stock. You never know who’ll stop by.’
    ‘Obviously,’ I said. ‘Is it a country way to break into other
people’s houses too?’
    ‘I didn’t break in. I used a key.’
    ‘You know, it’s a funny thing, but I could have sworn I locked
the door when I left this morning,’ I said.
    ‘You did, and very sensible it was too, but I happen to have a
spare.’ Extracting the key from his pocket, George waved it at me. ‘There’s
always one next door in case you ever lose yours.’
    ‘I’m always careful about my keys,’ I said crushingly, and
George studied me over the rim of his mug. My mug, rather.
    ‘I get the impression you’re careful about everything.’
    ‘I find it easier that way,’ I said.
    Being careful had got me through after Mum had died. Being
careful kept my life under control. Being careful kept me safe.
    If I wasn’t careful, I would find myself tumbling back into
that abyss of grief and loneliness that it had taken such effort to climb out of
all those years ago.
    I had made a career out of being careful, in fact. I loved the
precision of engineering, of putting exactly the right materials together