was his terminology, I might add. Not mine. He did not feel it was altogether healthy and furthermore that it was out of character. Seacrest might be just the sort of tonic his father needs. He can take as large or as small a part in the proceedings as he feels able to, but Rafe would want you to make Andrew a part of it. Humour him, if necessary.’
‘I see.’ She glanced at Crystal, who nodded. ‘I suppose that’s fair.’ They clearly didn’t have any choice in the matter.
‘Rafe was over here looking for a place for his father when he heard about the car crash from one of the locals. He told his father about it, who immediately wanted him to make himself known to you.’
‘I see,’ she said again, although she wasn’t altogether sure she did. ‘And has Rafe found somewhere for his father?’ If this Andrew expected to stay at Seacrest she could see the project was going to be made more difficult with a very sick man to consider.
‘Yes. A day before he heard about your parents’ accident he put in an offer for the Haywards’ place at the edge of the village. Made them an offer they couldn’t refuse, apparently.’
Marianne knew the house, a great thatched whitewashed cottage with a dream of a garden. ‘I didn’t know the Haywards were thinking of moving.’
‘There wasn’t even time for a For Sale board to go up. When the estate agent contacted Rafe he offered an amount to seal the deal immediately, which knocked anyone else out of the water.’ Tom’s voice was wry when he added, ‘I think he’s a lot like his father.’
Oh, dear. In that case she wasn’t going to like Andrew Steed one little bit.
‘How about we do lunch today, the four of us? You and Crystal and me and Rafe Steed? Iron out any wrinkles before we commit ourselves properly. I want you to be completely happy about all of this, Annie. Your father would expect me to guard your interests as best I can. I’ve already informed Rafe Steed he will need another solicitor to represent him as you are my client.’
This was all happening so fast. Marianne swallowed hard. But what was the alternative to agreeing to Rafe Steed’s amazing proposal? Losing everything, that was what. ‘Lunch would be fine,’ she said weakly.
‘One o’clock in The Fiddler’s Arms, then. To be honest, I’d like to get this sorted before Rafe changes his mind,’ Tom said, and she could tell he wasn’t joking.
When Marianne put down the telephone the two women stared blankly at each other for a second before Crystal gave a whoop and a holler that made Marianne jump out of her skin. ‘I’ll never say again there’s not a Santa Claus. Who would have thought this could happen? It’s unbelievable.’
Yes, it was a bit. Marianne let Crystal have her moment of joy but her main feeling was one of trepidation. It was a wildly generous offer and she was grateful to Rafe Steed—eternally grateful—but something didn’t sit right. She didn’t know what, but she’d bet her bottom dollar there was more to this than met the eye.
A little while later, as she walked up to her bedroom to get ready for the lunch date, she was no nearer to finding an answer for her inward unease. Whatever way she looked at this she couldn’t lose, could she? It was a win-win situation. On one side of the scales she lost everything, on the other she kept a fifty per cent stake in Seacrest and in the future might even be able to buy the Steeds out if all went well. OK, it might take years, decades even, but it was a possibility and one she would work towards.
Opening the bedroom door, she walked over to the wardrobe. She needed to look businesslike, she told herself firmly. Cool and businesslike and in control. She always left a selection of clothes at Seacrest for holidays and weekends with her parents, but they were much less formal than her things in London. She must have something that would do. She glanced at the charcoal dress and black jacket, which were still where she had thrown them on the night of the funeral.
No. She couldn’t bear to wear them again. Silly and emotional perhaps, but that was the way she felt.
The June day was a warm one, the sky blue and cloudless with just the slightest of breezes whispering over the garden and through the open window. Pulling out the most sombre dress in the wardrobe—a sleeveless sheer twisted tulle dress with attached dress underneath in pale brown—Marianne quickly divested herself of the jeans and vest top she was wearing.
Hair up or down? She surveyed herself critically. Up. More tidy and neat.
It only took a few seconds to loop her shoulder-length hair into a sleek shining knot, and she spent the remaining five minutes before she left the room applying careful make-up to hide the ravages a night spent crying had wreaked. True, her eyelids were still on the puffy side but only the most discerning eye would notice it.
By the time she joined Crystal, who was waiting for her in the hall, Marianne was satisfied that her overall persona was one of cool efficiency. Tom’s last words, although spoken lightly, had hit a nerve. With salvation just a lunch away, she didn’t want to blow this. She needed to instill in Rafe Steed the assurance that she could cope with whatever was necessary to get Seacrest up and working as a successful hotel.
‘Annie. Crystal.’ Tom stood up as they approached him and his companion in The Fiddler’s Arms lounge bar, the tall dark figure at his side rising also.
Marianne kept her eyes trained on the middle-aged face in front of her until Tom had hugged her briefly. Then she forced herself to turn polite eyes to Rafe Steed. ‘Hello, Mr Steed,’ she said carefully. ‘I didn’t expect we would meet again so soon.’
‘Likewise, Miss Carr.’
His voice was just as she remembered—silky, cold—but his face was as unrevealing as a blank canvas.
In spite of herself she was slightly taken aback and that annoyed her more than his coolness. She had expected… What had she expected? she asked herself silently. Some shred of warmth? Enthusiasm? Something, for sure.
Clearing her throat, Marianne said flatly, ‘I appreciate the fact you might be interested in a business proposal involving Seacrest, Mr Steed.’
His eyes were very blue and very piercing. ‘It’s a little more than a might, Miss Carr.’
‘Good, good,’ Tom intervened, his voice brisk. ‘But, in view of the circumstances, I think we can do away with such formality and move on to Christian names?’ Crystal nodded her agreement. Marianne’s inclination of her head was less enthusiastic and Rafe Steed could have been set in granite. However, when he next spoke it was to Marianne that he said, ‘I think our table is ready in the restaurant. Shall we?’ and he took her arm in a manner that brooked no argument, leaving the other two to follow them as he walked her out of the lounge bar and through wide-open doors into the inn’s restaurant.
Taken aback, Marianne didn’t object but she was unnervingly conscious of the warm hand on her elbow and the height and breadth of him as he escorted her to a table for four in a secluded spot at the edge of the room. Once seated next to Crystal with the two men facing them across the table, she tried to relax her taut muscles but it was difficult. She didn’t think she had ever felt so tense in all her life. Part of the problem was that she could feel Rafe’s eyes moving over every inch of her face although she purposely hadn’t glanced at him, pretending an interest in the room in general.
‘So, Marianne…’ He brought her eyes to his as he spoke, the deep voice with its smoky accent giving her name a charm she’d never heard before. ‘What would you like to drink?’
‘Drink?’ She flushed as she realised she must sound vacant. Praying he hadn’t noticed, she said quickly, ‘A glass of wine would be nice.’
‘Red or white?’
‘Red.’ Why had she said that? She never drank red. Was it because she felt he had expected her to say white? But that was ridiculous. He probably hadn’t been thinking any such thing.
She watched as Rafe raised a hand and a waitress immediately appeared at his side. She had lunched at this particular pub many