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At last something seemed to be going right in her life. God knew she could do with a change of luck, after the agony of the past weeks. She had forced herself to carry on as normal and had even accepted a couple of dates with David, but she had known she wasn't being fair to him and had finally told him they could only ever be friends.
She had returned to work the day after returning from London, a sadder and wiser woman. She had been forced to accept the unpleasant truth that Luc had no intention of ever seeing her again. All his fine words had been no more than that: just words. She had behaved like the impulsive woman Luc had called her, and that alone had almost destroyed her self-confidence.
The only good thing in those early weeks was that Mr Jarvis had finally found a way for her to make money. It was quite simple. Parisa could not sell the manor house, and the existing covenant stated it could not be converted to an inn or such like. But Mr Jarvis had discovered she could sell the title 'Lord of the Manor of Hardcourt'. Seemingly a law had been passed in 1922 that allowed the title to be divorced from the property, and Parisa could legally sell the lordship of the manor without actually selling the house. Mr Jarvis had
contacted Sotheby's and they had given him the name of a London-based estate agent and valuer who were quite happy to handle the sale.
Four weeks later Parisa had gone up to Norfolk for the wedding. She had pinned a smile on her face and acted the happy bridesmaid. Oddly enough, from then on she had begun to recover. Perhaps it was seeing Moya so happy. It had made her realise life went on. She had made one ghastly mistake. She was not the first girl to be fooled by a charming rogue of a man, and she certainly wouldn't be the last, but wallowing in self-pity was self-destructive. Pious, when she returned home, Mr Jarvis had called her with the news that a buyer had been found for the title.
Parisa smiled slightly as she maneuvered the car round a tight bend. Didi had hated the idea, and advised strongly against it, but Parisa had done it anyway. She was still quite bemused at how easy it had been. Seemingly some foreigners would pay quite fantastic sums for the title 'Lord of the Manor'. Thank God! she said silently. Her troubles were almost over; at least now she could make a start on the more vital repairs to the house, and hopefully provide Didi and Joe with some kind of security in their old age.
Didi she would have to handle delicately; the old lady had never stopped nagging her since the prospect was first mentioned. Well, it was done now, and Didi would have to lump it... School had ended last Friday for the Easter break and today, Monday, Parisa had met her solicitor to conclude the transaction. Her heart felt lighter; at last she was beginning to get her life in order again...
A car horn broke into her musing, and, grasping the wheel firmly, she brought her full attention to the road ahead until she arrived at Hardcourt Manor.
With a smile tilting her full lips, Parisa dashed into the house. 'Didi, good news!' she cried, shrugging out of her short car coat and dropping it and her bag on a convenient chair.
The housekeeper walked slowly from the sitting-room. 'Yes, later, Miss Parisa, but first- '
'No, listen, Didi. I've seen Mr Jarvis, and the deed is done and the cheque is in the bank.' She paused for breath, and also because she was not sure how Didi would take what she had said...
'Never mind that old fool, girl. But why -'
Parisa, getting her second wind, cut in. 'Sixty thousand, Didi. Just think—we can have a new roof.'
'Impulsive as ever, Parisa, darling.' The deep, mockingly familiar voice sounded in her head.
Parisa shook her head. God, was she hearing voices now? She looked across the top of Didi's grey curls, and froze. Outlined in the sitting-room door, the light behind him masking his features, was the tall—very tall—figure of a man...
'That is what I was trying to tell you, Miss Parisa,' Didi said disgustedly. 'Your fiancée arrived hours ago, and I do think you might have told me... I didn't know what Master Luc was talking about at first. It was only after he explained about the holiday and I remembered seeing that lovely ring that I realised Luc was telling the truth, and then the telephone has never stopped ringing all day.'
"He told you we're engaged?' Parisa could not believe what she was hearing.
'Yes, and you should have done so. Hmph! Engaged to be married, and not once did you tell your old nanny, but then I'm just a servant around here. Who takes any notice of me? I was horrified at the idea of your selling the title; you could have told me who was buying it and saved me all that worry.' Parisa silently groaned. Didi was upset. 'Thank goodness your fiancée is more open about his dealings than you are. I'm going to make a pot of tea. You can answer the telephone yourself.' And, still muttering, she left.
Parisa, barely registering Didi's words, clutched the hall table with one hand, to help support her trembling legs. Luc, casually dressed in a black leather blouson jacket hanging open to reveal a white roll-necked cashmere sweater, a lean waist and belted black pleated trousers, was striding towards her. For a second she had the wild thought that she had conjured him up out of her imagination, but as she bravely looked up into his handsome face she knew he was all too real. Blue eyes locked with black, and for a long moment there was complete silence.
It was Luc, but a different image to the one she remembered. He was thinner, his handsome face gaunt, and his bronzed skin held a grayish tinge. His clothes hung loose on his huge frame, and his hair...his beautiful, thick, glossy black hair that she had delighted in running her fingers through...
'What happened to your hair?' she exclaimed involuntarily. It was cropped short, a dark, barely inch-long stubble over his arrogant head.
'I had it cut,' he said flatly. 'But you must have realised it would be.'
'What?' She did not know what he was talking about, and, tearing her gaze away from his, she forced her chaotic emotions under some kind of control. He was here in her home, and what had Didi said? Her fiancée. The swine had told Didi they were engaged.
'How dare you come into my home and tell my housekeeper an outright lie? We are not engaged and never have been. I'm afraid I must ask you to leave.' And, with a regal if somewhat dramatic gesture, she indicated the front door, silently amazed that her voice sounded cool and authoritative, even as her mind spun in crazy disbelief at Luc's presence.
'You did that very well, Parisa. Every inch the Lady of the Manor,' he drawled cynically. 'What a shame the title is no longer yours.'
He must have heard what she had told Didi! 'My personal affairs are hardly your concern, Mr Di Maggi,' she said with an arrogantly arched eyebrow.
'As I was your first personal affair only weeks ago I think I am entitled to be curious.'
Parisa turned scarlet in the face of his open reference to the night they had spent together. Her blue eyes clashed with glittering black and she wanted to throw good manners to the wind and scream at the man to get out, and he knew it. She could see it in the taunting, cynical smile as he glanced at her small hands clenched around the edge of the table.
'A one-night stand does not constitute an affair,' she said bitingly. 'And if you were anything of a gentleman '
'But then you never thought of me as a gentleman, did you, Parisa? You considered me as some kind of low-life,' he snarled, his temper showing. 'What was it, Parisa? The hooray Henries not men enough for you? You fancied a bit of rough for your initiation? Or perhaps it was the ring you wanted to hang on to. Obviously you needed the money.'
