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‘Yes, it’s a regular Tardis.’

‘It’s a good location too. It must have cost a lot of money to buy.’

‘I guess so. It costs a fortune to maintain and heat.’ The front looked out over Hyde Park but as a child the monetary value of such a prime location had meant nothing to her. She remembered sunny days there, going for picnics, curling up on her mother’s lap under a tree as she read her stories, remembered teaching Violet how to do cartwheels and walk on her hands. Remembered dropping her ice cream and trying so hard to be grown up and not cry about it and Violet, chubby legged and her hair in pigtails, toddling over to her.

‘You eat mine too, Cawwie…’

She blinked the bittersweet memories away before they could lance her heart any more.

She’d spoken to Violet only the day before, another stilted conversation but this time it had been stilted on both sides, the question Carrie most wanted to ask she’d found herself incapable of saying: Did you lie about Andreas setting you up?

She hadn’t asked because she was afraid of the answer. She was afraid that even if Violet’s answer was negative, she might not believe it.

‘I’ve lived here since I was four,’ she explained, speaking over the fresh roil of nausea that was induced whenever she allowed those doubts to gain too much space in her head. ‘My stepdad bought it when he married my mum. She got it when they divorced.’ And Carrie and Violet had inherited it when she’d later died. ‘What were the papers you wanted me to look at?’

He pulled a thick envelope out of his inside pocket and held it out. ‘It’s a draft of our pre-nuptial agreement.’

‘What pre—?’ She caught herself and shook her head. ‘Of course. You’re protecting yourself.’

‘Anyone in my position would protect himself but you will see I have made more than adequate provisions for you.’

‘Unless that document says we both walk away with nothing from each other I don’t want to read it. I don’t want your money.’

Andreas stared at her beautiful set face.

Had there ever been a more stubborn person in the history of the earth?

He thought of the thousands of pounds’ worth of designer goods she’d left behind in the Seychelles, giving them to one of Sheryl’s young daughters who was the same dress size. He only knew this because an anxious Sheryl had called him to make sure it was okay for her daughter to have them.

That Carrie had done this shouldn’t have surprised him when he considered she’d spent their last day there sweltering in her own clothes rather than changing into any of the items he’d bought for her. It had still stung though, just as her refusal to take the envelope from his hand and read it also stung. She would much rather overheat than wear something paid for by him. She would rather struggle to pay her heating bill than accept a cash sum from him that would keep her comfortable for life.

If she were starving she would still refuse his money.

And he’d thought they’d been making progress.

She still believed him to be corrupt.

‘Carrie,’ he said, making sure to keep his tone moderate although he wanted to snarl his words at her, ‘I’m only giving you what a court would award you on our divorce.’

‘I don’t want it. I earn my own money.’

He shook his head, incredulity and anger merging like a toxin inside him. ‘You are unbelievable.’

‘Why? Because I won’t play the money roulette game? I’m only marrying you to protect my sister. I don’t want your money. The only thing you could give me that I would want is a time machine that can fast forward the next six months.’

He held the envelope up. ‘You are sure about this? You are certain you want to give up a small fortune?’

‘Yes,’ she answered without any hesitation.

‘I’ll get a new one done, then, that spells out you receive nothing.’ He ripped the envelope in half and let the pieces fall to the floor. Then he stepped over them to the large old-fashioned suitcase by the kitchen table. ‘And now that that is settled, we can go. Maybe some sunshine will make you more agreeable although I doubt anything could.’

CHAPTER NINE

CARRIE OPENED THE French doors of the living room of the lavish Mykonian-style villa she had been given for her stay on Agon and looked out over its beautiful garden. Fruit trees had come into blossom, filling the air with the most wonderful spring scent. She breathed it in deeply, letting it calm her ragged nerves.

The island itself was dazzling, mountainous and overlooked by blue skies, but that was where the similarity with the Seychelles ended. Andreas’s peninsular had been remote, his and the chef’s cottage the only homes for miles and miles. Agon was filled with pristine white homes, its beaches golden where the Seychelles sand was white. There was a different feel to it too, different smells and a much different vibe. This was a rich island and a growing financial powerhouse. Carrie’s villa would befit royalty and if she were in a different frame of mind she would be delighting to find herself staying in such a beautiful place for the next week.

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