In the Millionaire's Possession

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Book: Read In the Millionaire's Possession for Free Online
Authors: Sara Craven
gets me out of the house while Jeff is writing his sermon, ’ she added conspiratorially. ‘ Apparently even a pin dropping can interrupt the creative flow. It ’ s just as well Em ’ s got a holiday job, because when she ’ s around the house is in turmoil. And it ’ s a good job, too, that she wasn ’ t here to spot the coach party star, ’ she went on thoughtfully. ‘ You must have noticed him yourself during tea, Helen. Very dishy, in an unconventional way, and totally unmissable. What Em would describe as “ sex on legs ”— but not, I hope, in front of her father. He ’ s still getting over the navel-piercing episode. ’

    Helen stared at her, puzzled. ‘ I didn ’ t notice anyone within a hundred miles who ’ d answer to “ dishy ”— especially with the coach party. They all seemed well struck in years to me. ’ She grinned. ‘ Maybe he stayed away from tea because he felt eating scones and cream might damage his to-die-for image. Perhaps I should order in some champagne and caviar instead. ’

    ‘ Maybe you should. ’ Mrs Lowell sighed. ‘ But what a shame you missed him. And he had this marvellous accent, too — French, I think. ’

    Helen nearly dropped the cash box she ’ d just been handed. She said sharply, ‘ French? Are you sure? ’

    ‘ Pretty much. ’ The Vicar ’ s wife nodded. ‘ Is something wrong, dear? ’

    ‘ No — oh, no, ’ Helen denied hurriedly. ‘ It ’ s just that we don ’ t get many foreign tourists, apart from the odd American. It seems — strange, that ’ s all. ’

    But that wasn ’ t all, and she knew it. In fact it probably wasn ’ t the half of it, she thought as they walked back to the house.

    She always enjoyed this time after the house had closed, when they gathered in the kitchen to count the takings over a fresh pot of tea and the leftover cakes. And today she should have been jubilant. Instead she found herself remembering that sudden conviction that unseen eyes had been upon her by the lake, and it made her feel restive and uneasy — as well as seriously relieved that she hadn ’ t yielded to her impulse by stripping off and diving in.

    Of course there were plenty of French tourists in England, and their visitor might well turn out to be a complete stranger, but Helen felt that her encounter with Marc Delaroche in the Martinique had used up her coincidence quota for the foreseeable future.

    It was him, she thought. It had to be…

    As soon as Mrs Lowell had gone Helen dashed round to the Great Hall and looked in the visitors ’ book, displayed on an impressive refectory table in the middle of the chamber.

    She didn ’ t have to search too hard. The signature ‘ Marc Delaroche ’ was the day ’ s last entry, slashed arrogantly across the foot of the page.

    She straightened, breathing hard as if she ’ d been running. He might have arrived unannounced, but his visit was clearly no secret. He wanted her to know about it.

    She simply wished she ’ d known earlier. But there was no need to get paranoid about it, she reminded herself. He ’ d been here, seen Monteagle on a better than normal working day, and now he ’ d gone — without subjecting her to any kind of confrontation. So maybe he ’ d finally accepted that she wanted no personal connection between them, and from now on any encounters they might have would be conducted on strictly formal business lines.

    And the fact they ’ d been so busy today, and their visitors had clearly enjoyed themselves, might even stand her in good stead when the time came for decisions to be made.

    At any rate, that was how she intended to see the whole incident, she decided with a determined nod, then closed the book and went back to her own part of the house, locking up behind her.

    Helen awoke early the next morning, aware that she hadn ’ t slept as well as she should have done. She sometimes wished she could simply turn over and go back to sleep, letting worries and

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