short- sleeved with a scooped neckline. Her hair still felt
slightly damp, but she thought she looked good, and hoped Crispin
would approve. But it wasn't Crispin who was waiting at the foot of
the stairs, his eyes fixed on her as she descended.
' "She walks in beauty like the night",' said Flynn, and managed to
make it sound like an insult. 'Going somewhere, Miss Beaumont?'
'As a matter of fact—yes. If it's any concern of yours,' she added for
good measure.
'I'm concerned with the welfare of everyone in this house,' he said.
'Even yours, my pretty fly-by-night. I suppose I don't need to ask
whom all this glamour is aimed at?'
Sandie lifted her Chin. 'You don't need to pry at all,' she said. 'But at
least you won't be obliged to be civil to me over dinner.'
'Believe me, Miss Beaumont, I should have felt no such obligation.'
Her foot itched to kick him smartly on the shin, but common sense
told her that she would make little impression against his riding
boot, so she contented herself with a look of icy disdain before
sweeping past him into the drawing-room.
'Nicely done.' His voice followed her sardonically. 'When the
concert platform fails, you could always try the comedy stage.'
Sandie was still shaking inwardly with temper when she drove away
from the house with Crispin ten minutes later.
'There you are,' said Crispin, pointing as they negotiated the narrow
twisting road. 'As the song says, you can see the sun go down on
Galway Bay, or very nearly. Another time I'll take you up on the
Sky Road out of Clifden. The sunsets are spectacular from there.'
'O'Flaherty says it's going to rain again tomorrow.'
'Well, that could happen. One thing about the climate here, it's never
dull.' Crispin paused, 'I hope you like seafood.'
'I love it.'
He laughed. 'A girl after my own heart!'
Sandie gave a constrained smile in response. She said, 'Crispin,
shouldn't we talk—about Franeesca?'
'Oh dear, that sounds terribly—and unnecessarily- serious.' His tone
was still light. 'Save it for the restaurant, my sweet, I need all my
attention to keep the car on what passes for a road round here.'
He took her to a hotel standing in its own grounds, the dining room
windows looking over sloping lawns to the calm waters of the bay.
Crispin ordered platters of Dublin Bay prawns and lobster, and a
carafe of white wine, and when they'd been served, he said, 'Now,
what's troubling you, my lovely Alexandra? The fact that I'm
married—or simply that I didn't think to mention it?'
She summoned a smile, her fingers closing round the fragile stem of
her wine glass. 'Both, I suppose. Perhaps I'm just being silly, only—
I wish you'd told me.'
Crispin was silent for a moment, his brows drawing together in a
frown. He said at last, 'I guess it didn't occur to me to say anything
because I didn't think it mattered. It no longer does—to me. It's all
over—an episode in my life I'm doing my best to forget.' His mouth
tightened. 'I suppose Flynn told you, damn him to hell.'
The denial was on her lips, but she suppressed it. If Crispin was
going to be angry, it was better hisanger fell on its usual target,
rather than the twins, she reasoned confusedly.
She said, 'It's not really important who told me. I just wish that it
had been you.'
He looked at her ruefully. 'Call it a sin of omission. Or perhaps it
goes deeper than that. Maybe I was afraid that if I told you I still had
a wife—even if the marriage only exists in name—you might not
have come here.'
Sandie looked down at the table, feeling the colour rise in her face.
'It's not really any of my business..'
'Oh, come on, sweetheart, you know better than that!'
Her heart began to pound in painful excitement, as it did whenever
Crispin's voice took on that note of tender teasing. But there were
other things she had to know before she could surrender to the
hopeful joy inside her.
'Your wife—Francesca—she was a pianist too?'
'My former
slightly damp, but she thought she looked good, and hoped Crispin
would approve. But it wasn't Crispin who was waiting at the foot of
the stairs, his eyes fixed on her as she descended.
' "She walks in beauty like the night",' said Flynn, and managed to
make it sound like an insult. 'Going somewhere, Miss Beaumont?'
'As a matter of fact—yes. If it's any concern of yours,' she added for
good measure.
'I'm concerned with the welfare of everyone in this house,' he said.
'Even yours, my pretty fly-by-night. I suppose I don't need to ask
whom all this glamour is aimed at?'
Sandie lifted her Chin. 'You don't need to pry at all,' she said. 'But at
least you won't be obliged to be civil to me over dinner.'
'Believe me, Miss Beaumont, I should have felt no such obligation.'
Her foot itched to kick him smartly on the shin, but common sense
told her that she would make little impression against his riding
boot, so she contented herself with a look of icy disdain before
sweeping past him into the drawing-room.
'Nicely done.' His voice followed her sardonically. 'When the
concert platform fails, you could always try the comedy stage.'
Sandie was still shaking inwardly with temper when she drove away
from the house with Crispin ten minutes later.
'There you are,' said Crispin, pointing as they negotiated the narrow
twisting road. 'As the song says, you can see the sun go down on
Galway Bay, or very nearly. Another time I'll take you up on the
Sky Road out of Clifden. The sunsets are spectacular from there.'
'O'Flaherty says it's going to rain again tomorrow.'
'Well, that could happen. One thing about the climate here, it's never
dull.' Crispin paused, 'I hope you like seafood.'
'I love it.'
He laughed. 'A girl after my own heart!'
Sandie gave a constrained smile in response. She said, 'Crispin,
shouldn't we talk—about Franeesca?'
'Oh dear, that sounds terribly—and unnecessarily- serious.' His tone
was still light. 'Save it for the restaurant, my sweet, I need all my
attention to keep the car on what passes for a road round here.'
He took her to a hotel standing in its own grounds, the dining room
windows looking over sloping lawns to the calm waters of the bay.
Crispin ordered platters of Dublin Bay prawns and lobster, and a
carafe of white wine, and when they'd been served, he said, 'Now,
what's troubling you, my lovely Alexandra? The fact that I'm
married—or simply that I didn't think to mention it?'
She summoned a smile, her fingers closing round the fragile stem of
her wine glass. 'Both, I suppose. Perhaps I'm just being silly, only—
I wish you'd told me.'
Crispin was silent for a moment, his brows drawing together in a
frown. He said at last, 'I guess it didn't occur to me to say anything
because I didn't think it mattered. It no longer does—to me. It's all
over—an episode in my life I'm doing my best to forget.' His mouth
tightened. 'I suppose Flynn told you, damn him to hell.'
The denial was on her lips, but she suppressed it. If Crispin was
going to be angry, it was better hisanger fell on its usual target,
rather than the twins, she reasoned confusedly.
She said, 'It's not really important who told me. I just wish that it
had been you.'
He looked at her ruefully. 'Call it a sin of omission. Or perhaps it
goes deeper than that. Maybe I was afraid that if I told you I still had
a wife—even if the marriage only exists in name—you might not
have come here.'
Sandie looked down at the table, feeling the colour rise in her face.
'It's not really any of my business..'
'Oh, come on, sweetheart, you know better than that!'
Her heart began to pound in painful excitement, as it did whenever
Crispin's voice took on that note of tender teasing. But there were
other things she had to know before she could surrender to the
hopeful joy inside her.
'Your wife—Francesca—she was a pianist too?'
'My former
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