he whispered, and bent his head to kiss her. But her body felt rigid in his arms, and her lips were numb, unresponsive as he tried to coax them apart.
'Is that all the welcome I get?' He sounded amused and slightly irritated at the same time as he let her go.
'I think I'm still in shock.' She tried to smile. 'How did you know where to find me—us?'
'I dropped my stuff off at the house,' he said. 'And Joyce Cummings filled me in on everything that's happened. With Jenny supplying the details, of course.'
'I can imagine,' Chessie said ruefully. She looked round. 'Where is she, anyway?'
'A tactful withdrawal, I'd guess, on the pretext of making more coffee.'
There were used cups on the fireside table, she saw, and a half-empty bottle of wine and two glasses. Her brows drew together.
'So I rush to your side,' Alastair went on. 'Only to find you're out, sampling the bright lights with your boss. Except Jenny made it sound like an act of charity. She tells me the guy's hideous with a disposition to match.'
Chessie bit her lip. 'Jenny could do with employing a little charity herself.'
'Oh, come on, love. You can hardly expect her to enjoy the situation. It's a hell of a comedown, after all.'
He paused. 'But never mind all that. This is hardly the reception I was anticipating.'
He sounded almost reproachful, she realised. He'd been expecting her to fall ecstatically into his arms—and why wasn't she doing exactly that? Because she'd imagined this moment—had longed for it so often. Had cried into her pillow as she'd wondered where he'd been, and what he'd been doing, and if he'd ever thought of her. And now he was here and she felt—blank.
She stepped backwards, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it across the arm of the sofa. 'Alastair, be reason¬able. You disappear from our lives for years on end, then walk in, expecting everything to be just the same. Only, it doesn't work like that.' She couldn't believe how cool she sounded. How controlled.
'Are you cross with me because I didn't keep in touch?' His smile reached to her, coaxed her. 'I blame myself to¬tally, believe me. But it's not easy from that distance. And I've never been much of a letter writer.'
There are telephones, Chessie thought. There is email. If I'd been the one to leave, I'd have kept the relationship going somehow.
'No,' she said. 'I appreciate that. And life has a habit of moving on.'
'But I'm back now,' he went on eagerly. 'And I'll make up for everything.' He shook his head remorsefully. 'Poor sweet, what a terrible time you've had. And having to live here, little better than a servant. It must be a nightmare.'
'Don't believe all Jenny's sob stories,' Chessie said qui¬etly. 'The situation has its plus side as well.' She paused. 'I saw your stepmother earlier. She was in The White Hart having a drink.'
There was a small, odd silence, then he said, 'Yes, I gathered she was planning a visit. I'd hoped to get on with the alterations at the Court without interference.'
'Alterations?'
'Nothing too drastic' He shrugged. 'We'll be converting a couple of the downstairs rooms in the West Wing—in¬stalling ramps—that kind of thing.'
Chessie frowned. 'I don't understand...'
'Didn't Linnet tell you—about my father?'
'She simply said he was still in London.'
'That's perfectly true,' Alastair said stonily. 'Out of sight, out of mind, apparently. She might also have men¬tioned he's in a private clinic, having tests after a stroke.'
Chessie gasped. 'Oh, Alastair, no. How dreadful. When did it happen?'
'A few weeks ago while they were still in Spain.' His face was hard. 'He was flown home five days ago. There's some paralysis, so he'll have to use a wheelchair for a while, and his speech has been affected, but the doctors are optimistic. They think he could recover well with therapy and proper care.' He was silent for a moment. `I just hope that's true.'
'Oh, dear God.' Chessie remembered Sir Robert's tall, robust presence, his
'Is that all the welcome I get?' He sounded amused and slightly irritated at the same time as he let her go.
'I think I'm still in shock.' She tried to smile. 'How did you know where to find me—us?'
'I dropped my stuff off at the house,' he said. 'And Joyce Cummings filled me in on everything that's happened. With Jenny supplying the details, of course.'
'I can imagine,' Chessie said ruefully. She looked round. 'Where is she, anyway?'
'A tactful withdrawal, I'd guess, on the pretext of making more coffee.'
There were used cups on the fireside table, she saw, and a half-empty bottle of wine and two glasses. Her brows drew together.
'So I rush to your side,' Alastair went on. 'Only to find you're out, sampling the bright lights with your boss. Except Jenny made it sound like an act of charity. She tells me the guy's hideous with a disposition to match.'
Chessie bit her lip. 'Jenny could do with employing a little charity herself.'
'Oh, come on, love. You can hardly expect her to enjoy the situation. It's a hell of a comedown, after all.'
He paused. 'But never mind all that. This is hardly the reception I was anticipating.'
He sounded almost reproachful, she realised. He'd been expecting her to fall ecstatically into his arms—and why wasn't she doing exactly that? Because she'd imagined this moment—had longed for it so often. Had cried into her pillow as she'd wondered where he'd been, and what he'd been doing, and if he'd ever thought of her. And now he was here and she felt—blank.
She stepped backwards, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it across the arm of the sofa. 'Alastair, be reason¬able. You disappear from our lives for years on end, then walk in, expecting everything to be just the same. Only, it doesn't work like that.' She couldn't believe how cool she sounded. How controlled.
'Are you cross with me because I didn't keep in touch?' His smile reached to her, coaxed her. 'I blame myself to¬tally, believe me. But it's not easy from that distance. And I've never been much of a letter writer.'
There are telephones, Chessie thought. There is email. If I'd been the one to leave, I'd have kept the relationship going somehow.
'No,' she said. 'I appreciate that. And life has a habit of moving on.'
'But I'm back now,' he went on eagerly. 'And I'll make up for everything.' He shook his head remorsefully. 'Poor sweet, what a terrible time you've had. And having to live here, little better than a servant. It must be a nightmare.'
'Don't believe all Jenny's sob stories,' Chessie said qui¬etly. 'The situation has its plus side as well.' She paused. 'I saw your stepmother earlier. She was in The White Hart having a drink.'
There was a small, odd silence, then he said, 'Yes, I gathered she was planning a visit. I'd hoped to get on with the alterations at the Court without interference.'
'Alterations?'
'Nothing too drastic' He shrugged. 'We'll be converting a couple of the downstairs rooms in the West Wing—in¬stalling ramps—that kind of thing.'
Chessie frowned. 'I don't understand...'
'Didn't Linnet tell you—about my father?'
'She simply said he was still in London.'
'That's perfectly true,' Alastair said stonily. 'Out of sight, out of mind, apparently. She might also have men¬tioned he's in a private clinic, having tests after a stroke.'
Chessie gasped. 'Oh, Alastair, no. How dreadful. When did it happen?'
'A few weeks ago while they were still in Spain.' His face was hard. 'He was flown home five days ago. There's some paralysis, so he'll have to use a wheelchair for a while, and his speech has been affected, but the doctors are optimistic. They think he could recover well with therapy and proper care.' He was silent for a moment. `I just hope that's true.'
'Oh, dear God.' Chessie remembered Sir Robert's tall, robust presence, his
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