When Clare walked into the party, she felt all eyes turn, and heard the sudden lapse in the conversation About the Author Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE Copyright
When Clare walked into the party, she felt all eyes turn, and heard the sudden lapse in the conversation
Her cheeks flushed when she saw the heads of two women close together and heard one passing on the gossip. “Didn’t you know? That’s the girl Jack Straker had an affair with. And there’s a child involved evidently.
It was all in the papers.”
Clare turned toward the door and found herself gazing at the one man she didn’t want to see—Jack Straker. He looked toward her, his expression deeply sardonic. But Clare’s chin came up, set and determined.
There was no way she was going to let Jack have a part in her son’s life. Not after what he’d done....
SALLY WENTWORTH was born and raised in Hertfordshire, England, where she still lives, and started writing after attending an evening class course. She is married and has one son. There is always a novel on the bedside table, but she also does craftwork, plays bridge and is the president of a National Trust group. They go to the ballet and theater regularly and to open-air concerts in the summer. Sometimes she doesn’t know how she finds the time to write!
Have you heard the latest?
Get ready for the next outrageous Scandal
MISTRESS OF THE GROOM (#1918)
by Susan Napier
All will be revealed in November 1997
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A Very Public Affair
Sally Wentworth
CHAPTER ONE
THE house with its tree-framed lawns stood before her, but Clare felt no sense of familiarity, not even of déjà vu. She walked briskly up to the front door, turned the key in the lock and pushed it open. And it wasn’t until she stepped into the hall and saw the black and white tiles that lined the floor, and the beautiful, graceful furniture, that memory came rushing back. She gave a gasp and stood transfixed. It had been six years ago. but the days that she and Jack Straker had been here together—the one night she had spent in his arms—were suddenly complete in her mind, vivid and alive. As was the agony that had followed.
Slowly Clare stepped inside the house, hardly glancing at the antiques she had come to value. In a trance, she walked up the stairs to the small bedroom she had used. The bed was still there, stripped now of its covers, but she could almost feel the force and strength of his hunger for her, the love and comfort she had given in return.
Her heart pounded in her ears as she stared down at the bed. Her breath came in gasping, unsteady sobs, and she didn’t hear another car arrive or the door downstairs open, wasn’t aware that there was anyone else in the house until she heard a man’s voice call out, ‘Hello, there. Miss Long man?’
She whirled with a sick feeling of terror. He mustn’t find her in this room. Running out onto the landing, Clare hardly glanced at the man standing in the hall. She knew it was Jack, would have known that deep voice anywhere. She even still heard it in her dreams, her nightmares. Quickly she went down the stairs to where he stood silhouetted by the light from the open door.
‘Sorry I wasn’t here to meet you,’ he began. ‘I’m afraid I got delayed on the motorway and...’ For a moment Clare thought he wasn’t going to recognise her, but then his voice faded as his eyes widened. ‘Clare? My God! It is you.’
‘I didn’t know this was your house,’ she said defensively. ‘I never knew the address, where it was.’
‘No, I suppose not.’ Jack was still staring at her incredulously. ‘You’ve changed so much. I hardly knew you.’
Avoiding his eyes, unable to even look at him directly, Clare moved past him towards the door and said hurriedly, ‘You’ll have to get someone else to do your valuation.’
Realising what she was doing, Jack reached out to catch her arm. ‘But surely—’
A great fear filled her, a terror close to panic, and her voice rose. ‘Don’t you dare touch me!’
Jack gave an astonished laugh. ‘But this is ridiculous. It was all so long ago, and—’ He broke off, brought up short as she looked directly at him at last and he saw the vehement, naked fury in her eyes.
‘Get out of my way!’ Pushing past him, Clare ran outside to her car, pulling the door open and getting quickly inside.
Coming after her, he called out, ‘Clare, please wait. Look, there’s really no need—’
But she had started the engine and was already reversing to turn. She went to move forward again but had to brake sharply—Jack had moved to stand right in the middle of the driveway. His face looked hard, determined. ‘I’m not going to let you leave like this, Clare.’
Putting her hand on the horn, she held it there, drowning out his words.
With an angry exclamation he came round to the side of the car, but Clare seized the opportunity and shot away, sending the car hurtling out of the driveway and down the lane. Her one thought was to find Toby and get away from here. Because Jack must never find him, never know that he existed. Her breath sobbing in her throat, Clare drove out onto the main road and tore down to the village.
Toby, her five-year-old son and the most precious thing in her life, was playing in the garden of the guest house where she’d booked a room. Grabbing him, desperately trying to keep her voice calm and not frighten him, she said, ‘The job’s fallen through. We’ve got to go. Now! We must pack quickly, quickly.’
‘But,