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‘That tasty blond bit who comes down here every summer?’ Lynn stared at her. ‘Lives at the top of the village? Thought he hung around with Carrie Seymour.’
‘Not all the time,’ Rhianna tossed back over her shoulder, as the bell sounded and she walked away.
‘That wouldn’t stop her,’ she heard someone say. ‘Takes after her mother, I dare say.’ And there was more laughter.
And she hadn’t had the courage to turn back and say, What are you talking about? What do you mean?
But even without that her image of Diaz smiling at her across the table had become blurred, as if it had been touched by a hand dipped in slime.
And her precious birthday celebration had been spoiled—tainted, she thought, with a sigh that was almost a sob.
She recovered herself with a start, and slid down from the rock, smoothing her skirt. Bed for you, my girl, she told herself, with a touch of harshness. Before you get maudlin, remembering a time when he could be kind.
Because tomorrow night, when you have dinner with him for the last time, kindness will be the last thing on his mind and you know it.
Ten years on, at least she didn’t have the same problems over her wardrobe, she thought wryly, as she viewed herself in the mirror the following evening.
She’d decided to wear the dress she’d originally planned for that night, a wrap-around style in a dark green silky fabric, which accentuated the colour of her eyes. The skirt reached mid-calf, the sleeves were three-quarter length, and its cross-over bodice revealed a discreet plunge.
She’d slept badly the previous night, and she’d been jumpy all day, thankful for all the tiny last-minute tasks that she’d been able to help with, while all the time she was turning her mind by sheer force of will away from the prospect of the evening ahead of her.
But now the time was nearly here. In less than an hour, she thought, glancing at her watch, she’d be setting off for the Polkernick Arms in one of the taxis that had been ordered.
Where Diaz would be waiting…
She drew a deep breath as she fastened her prettiest earrings—small gold hoops studded with tiny emeralds—into her lobes. She still couldn’t fathom the actual motive behind his invitation. If she was feeling charitable, she might attribute it to his wish to solve the Seymours’ unexpected problem and save them further embarrassment.
But charity isn’t the name of the game, she told herself silently. For either of us.
She took one long, final look, checking that the pink polish on her finger and toenails was still immaculate, and that her make-up was understated but effective.
Then she collected the green patent purse that matched her elegant strappy sandals and went downstairs.
There was the usual momentary hush as she entered the drawing room, and she knew that many of the older people in the room would be looking at her and seeing someone else entirely—her mother, Grace Carlow.
Knew too that someone would be saying in an undertone, ‘But you must remember—all that appalling scandal. That’s why Esther won’t be here. She doesn’t come near the place. Hasn’t done for years now. Poor Moira must be devastated.’
The devastated Moira simply gave her a look and turned away, but Francis Seymour came over to her with a smile. ‘Every inch a star, Rhianna,’ he told her kindly. He handed her a glass of pale sherry. ‘I hope this is to your taste. You look like a fino girl to me.’
She laughed. ‘You guessed right.’ She raised the glass. ‘Here’s to the family gathering. I hope it goes well.’
He gave her a dry look. ‘I would not put money on it, but we shall see.’ He sighed suddenly. ‘Sometimes I wish that Carrie hadn’t been quite so single-minded about her future. That she’d had other serious boyfriends besides Simon. Oh, I’ve nothing against the boy. But she was so very young—hardly more than a child—when she decided he was the one, as, of course, you know, which is why I can mention it to you.’
‘Yes,’ she said. She cleared her throat. ‘I think—I believe that sometimes it can happen like that. You meet someone—and you know. And that’s it—for ever. No questions. No second thoughts.’ She stared down at her glass. ‘So then you have to hope that he feels the same.’
She took another steadying breath, praying that her voice would not shake. ‘And Simon clearly does, which is why there’s going to be a wedding tomorrow.’
‘And you, Rhianna?’ he said gently. ‘When are we going to be invited to your wedding?’
She managed another laugh. ‘Oh, I’m an impossible case. Married to my career, as they say. On the other hand, I might meet someone at tomorrow’s reception. You never know.’
