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also had time to come to terms with a few things too. His
    attitude to her was polite, but briskly businesslike. He still, to her father's
    amusement, addressed her as Mrs Drummond.
    'You're very formal, the pair of you,' he'd chided jovially. But it hadn't
    changed a thing. Natalie was as much a thorn in his flesh as he was in hers.
    But she wasn't driving him out of the only home he'd ever known, she
    thought bitterly.
    At half past twelve, she closed the office and started up towards the house
    for lunch. The furniture van had gone, she saw, and Eliot's Porsche was
    parked outside the fiat.
    As she approached, a girl got out of the passenger seat and stood obviously
    waiting to speak to her. A mass of curling blonde hair hung to her shoulders,
    framing a full- lipped smiling face. She wore a ribbed wool dress, tightly
    cinched at the waist with a leather belt, thus drawing attention to
    well-shaped breasts and rounded hips. Her long legs were encased in
    high-heeled patent leather boots.
    'Hello,' she said. 'I'm Sharon Endicott. Do you think you could show me
    where my things are to go? Eliot was going to, but he went up to the house to
    speak to Mr Slater, and he hasn't come back.'
    Natalie swallowed. She said feebly, 'How do you do. I'm Natalie
    Drummond.'
    The other girl nodded. 'I thought you would be.' She looked around. 'It's nice
    here.'
    'Thank you,' Natalie managed feebly. She still couldn't assimilate that Eliot
    had actually brought his mistress with him. It seemed so—so blatant,
    somehow. And it would go down like a lead balloon with the locals, who
    were a pretty staid lot.
    'Can you show me, then?' asked Sharon. 'I'd like to get unpacked, before
    everything creases.'
    'Yes, of course. But wouldn't you prefer to wait for Mr—er—Lang?'
    'It doesn't matter.' The girl shrugged shapely shoulders, grimacing slightly.
    'He's probably forgotten all about me,' she confided without rancour. 'I
    wasn't supposed to be coming with him today, but I was free, so I thought I
    might as well, and save on the train fare later. I suppose I'm a bit of a
    surprise.'
    You can say that again, Natalie muttered under her breath. Aloud she said,
    'Have you just the one case? Then you go up here.'
    Making no attempt to conceal her reluctance, she led the way up to the flat. It
    was like stepping into a different world from the one she remembered.
    The big sitting-room was russet now, and the woodblock floor had been
    sanded and polished. There were no easy chairs as far as she could see, but
    two large sofas, deeply cushioned in cream hide. She noticed an antique
    writing desk, and a tall cabinet, beautifully inlaid, before she turned towards
    the bedroom.
    The walls here were gold now, a warm shimmering colour that seemed to fill
    the room with sunlight, even though it was overcast outside. There was gold
    embroidery too on the predominantly cream quilted bedspread which had
    been flung over the wide bed. That, and the fact there were curtains hanging
    at the windows, revealed that Beattie hadn't been able to restrain her
    curiosity.
    Natalie said, 'This is where you'll—sleep.' She despised herself for
    stumbling slightly over the word.
    Sharon looked as if she'd been sandbagged as she gazed round her. She said
    slowly, 'Bloody hell.'
    Perhaps their relationship had been confined to the impersonality of hotel
    rooms up to now, Natalie thought. Sharon was clearly shaken to see the kind
    of style Eliot enjoyed at home. She was rather taken aback herself.
    She said, 'Well, make yourself at home. The kitchen's just down the hall.'
    She hesitated. 'I'm sorry you've been forgotten. If I see—Mr Lang, I'll jog his
    memory.'
    'Oh, don't worry about it.' Sharon still sounded dazed. 'The horses come first
    with him, I know that.'
    She didn't sound as if she minded either, Natalie thought, as she went back
    downstairs and emerged into the air. She stood for a moment drawing deep
    gulps of it into her lungs. She felt curiously at cross