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‘But this time your money isn’t enough,’ one of the officials told Ethan goodnaturedly, glancing at Savannah, who had joined their little group for confirmation of this.
He didn’t need his attention being drawn to Savannah when he was conscious of her every second. His attention might appear to be focused on the RFU official, but he was communing with her on some other level. His feelings towards her were as turbulent as ever, but he could understand now why she was so reluctant to leave the countryside for the anonymous bustle of the opera world. However prestigious that world might be, it lacked the honest goodness of the soil, and the unspoiled beauty of these rolling fields and ancient trees. The delicate tracery of lush, green hedges and dry stone-walls surrounding her parents’ farm created a quintessentially English scene, and one which he was even buying into with his purchase of the adjoining land. But even as a result of everything he could see here Savannah shouldn’t have broken her agreement and let people down.
He was snapped out of these thoughts by officials ushering him into the recently erected club-house for tea. As he turned he found Savannah at his side. He steeled himself. What he had to say to her wouldn’t be easy, and so he greeted her formally before glancing towards the private office where they wouldn’t be overheard. ‘Could I have a moment of your time?’
‘Hello, Ethan,’ she said softly, reminding him of another occasion when his fast-ticking clock had ruled out the space for proper introductions. He felt a pang of remorse for then, for now, for everything that could never be. And what was he thinking? Was he going to take her aside and tell her she’d lost her contract on this wonderful occasion for which she was largely responsible? Was that his way now? The look in Savannah’s eyes contained a disturbing degree of understanding. She knew him too well. She knew that once his mind was made up there could be no turning back, but as she turned to walk ahead of him he did wonder at the flicker of steel in her gaze.
He launched in without preamble, listing all the reasons why breaking her contract to attend the opening of a training facility that had nothing to do with her career was unacceptable. She stared at him throughout with little reaction other than a paling of her lips. He always gave right of reply in these circumstances, and when she didn’t speak up immediately he prompted her.
He was shocked by the way Savannah’s face contorted with fury, and then she croaked something unintelligible at him. ‘If you’d just calm down,’ he said with dignity, ‘Perhaps I’d be able to understand what it is you’re trying to say.’
She made a gesture, like a cutting motion across her throat.
‘That’s a bit over-dramatic, isn’t it?’ he commented with a humourless laugh.
‘I’ve lost my voice,’ she half-huffed, half-squeaked at him.
Every swear-word in the book flew through his head then. He’d been so wound up like a spring at the thought of seeing her again, he hadn’t even paused to consider all the facts. So a sore throat accounted for her no-show in Salzburg.
‘Please forgive me,’ he said stiffly. He couldn’t blame her for the way she was looking at him. He never made mistakes, and therefore lacked the technique to account for them. Or maybe he did make mistakes—maybe he had—and maybe the biggest mistake of all was his underestimating Savannah. She was an integral part of this training project. He’d learned from the officials at the RFU that this training facility was all Savannah’s idea, and that she had come up with the plan of leasing part of her parents’ land to the club so they could have a proper training-facility for the youth squad, as well as all the other local youngsters who wanted to come along and taste the sport. There were scholarships and training programmes and grading examinations the various groups could work towards—funded by him, but all of it dreamed up by Savannah.
More silent swear-words accompanied this thought, with the addition of a grimace and a self-condemning shake of the head. ‘Savannah, please accept my apologies, I didn’t realise…’
If he had expected benediction and fo
rgiveness, he was out of luck. Spearing him a look, she spun on her heels and left him flat.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
HE FOUND her in the cosy farmhouse kitchen where she was standing by the Aga, drinking a steaming glass full of something aromatic. She barely looked up when he walked in, and, other than stirring her brew thoughtfully with a stumpy cinnamon-stick, she didn’t move. ‘Savannah.’
Her eyes were wounded and her mouth was both trembling and determined when she did turn to look at him. She gestured for him to stay away from her, but since when had he ever taken orders? He stopped short halfway across the kitchen when he saw the tears in her eyes, and his guts twisted at the thought of what he’d done. ‘Savannah, please.’
She shook her head and gestured that he should stay away from her.
‘I had no idea. I just got back—I came straight here.’
She shrugged her shoulders, and made a sound that showed more clearly than words that she couldn’t give a fig what he did, and her blue eyes had turned to stone.
‘I should have double checked my facts before wading in, but I just wanted to…’
Her finely etched brows rose in ironic question.
‘All right, then,’ he admitted, raking his hair with stiff, angry fingers. ‘I just wanted to see you. There, I’ve said it.’
She huffed.
‘Savannah, please.’
Lifting her tiny hand, she used it to push him away.
He wasn’t as easy as that to get rid of.
How was she supposed to have a go at him when she couldn’t even speak? Gestures and angry looks only got you so far—and that wasn’t nearly far enough where Ethan was concerned. ‘You can’t just walk in here and act like nothing happened.’ She wasn’t sure how much of that Ethan got, seeing as she could barely force a sound that wasn’t a squeak out of her infected throat.
‘You should be out there, enjoying your success,’ he said, confirming her impression that he hadn’t understood a word of what she’d said. She pulled a face. What was the point going outside without Ethan? The scheme needed him—and not just to give it a popular face. She needed him to take on a fuller role than that, but right now her angry look was telling him: you’re a selfish, egocentric brute, Ethan Alexander, and I never want to see you again.
But Ethan remained undeterred. ‘So, just as a matter of interest, who is taking your place in Salzburg?’
