Cathy Williams - 8 Magnificent Millionaires

Returning to his study, he found it impossible to concentrate on his manuscript. Seeing those bright yellow tulips in the drawing room had foisted a wave of melancholy upon him that he couldn’t seem to shake. It wasn’t that he hated flowers as such—when everything started to bloom again in the gardens there was nothing he enjoyed more than to walk undisturbed through the meandering paths and admire nature at its most lovely. But flowers in the house reminded him of the cloying, desolate atmosphere of Nicole’s home on the day of her funeral. Because it had been raining heavily outside, all the mourners had gathered first at the house and Trevor and Barbara Wilson’s home had been full of bouquets and wreaths, the rooms overflowing with them. Their combined sweet cloying scent had almost made Adrian gag.

Now he found that his body was restless and he had a frustration in him that for once wouldn’t be beaten into submission by applying himself to work. Dreading the melee and intrusion of newspaper journalists tomorrow, he wished he could escape somewhere where he would never be found again. He’d had a fling with Petra Collins in a weak, despairing moment, fuelled by an excess of alcohol at dinner, and now regretted it bitterly. Adrian could only pray that once this latest nonsense had died a thoroughly deserved death, they would all go away and leave him alone for good.

Knowing he had to divert his restless energy somehow, he put a classical CD in the player, sat in his favourite winged armchair where he could gaze out at the melting snow in a landscape that was usually lush and green, and waited for the music to bring salve to his soul.

Unable to sleep, her mind whirring with thoughts of the morning when a barrage of reporters would apparently be gathering on the front steps, Liadan got out of bed, pulled on her white towelling robe over tartan flannel pyjamas and stepped outside into the long, echoing corridor. Thankfully there was a light still burning and she could see her way down the long, sweeping staircase to the lower floor where the kitchen was. Assuring herself that a glass of hot milk would do the trick and help her to sleep, she opened the door and switched on the light. Her heart almost burst out of her chest in fright when she saw Adrian stare back at her in surprise from the comfort of the kitchen chair he was currently occupying. In his hand he nursed what looked like a glass of scotch. His hooded eyes adjusting themselves to the light, his stern mouth lifted in a mocking little smile.

‘Sweet dreams evading you too tonight, Liadan? Perhaps you’d like to join me in drowning my sorrows in a glass of whisky?’

‘I’d prefer some hot milk, thank you,’ she replied primly, clutching at the tie on her robe to make sure it was secure. Adrian’s answering humourless laugh sent goose-bumps flying in all directions across her sensitive skin.

‘Of course you would. You probably think there’s something sordid about resorting to alcohol in moments of weakness, don’t you? Forgive me, Liadan. I don’t mean to offend your obviously delicate sensibilities.’

Upset and annoyed by his careless assumptions about her nature, Liadan came fully into the room, facing Adrian with little shooting sparks of fury in her bright blue eyes.

‘You should know better than to make such casual judgements about people! You don’t like it done to you, so why do you imagine I should tolerate it? You think I haven’t been so hurt that I can’t understand how a person might use a drink or two to try and deaden the pain? Well, think again, Mr Jacobs, because I have.’ Biting her lip to stop it from wobbling, Liadan gulped down a deep breath, then walked towards a line of cupboards on the other side of the room, intent on searching out a milk pan to make her drink.

She wouldn’t think about Michael right now. Nor would she recall the terrible feelings of deep rejection because when it came down to it she hadn’t been able to compete with his faith. But it wasn’t just his rejection that had hurt. There were times before he’d made the decision to leave when she had allowed herself to feel less than worthless. Times when he’d berated or scolded her for not being as capable, or intelligent, or faultless as she might be. Times when he’d suggested that her virtue was tainted for ever because she’d slept with a boyfriend when she was twenty and wasn’t a virgin. Michael hadn’t wanted to sleep with Liadan because she was somehow defiled, unclean in his mind, not just because of his faith.

Behind her she registered the sound of Adrian’s chair scraping against the stone-flagged floor. Her spine tensed, as stiff as a steel post.

‘Liadan?’

‘What?’ She found the saucepan and moved away to retrieve a pint of milk from the amply stocked fridge.

‘If making assumptions is a fault of mine, I apologise. Here, let me do that.’

‘I’m quite capable of—’

‘Your abilities aren’t in question. I just think you ought to sit down and let me make you a drink. Perhaps this would be a good opportunity for you to tell me a little about yourself. What do you say?’

SITTING at the table, her mug of hot milk cradled warmly in her hands, Liadan glanced briefly at Adrian in the chair opposite, trying desperately to come to terms with the strong sensation of intimacy that frighteningly seemed to flow between them.

‘What do you want to know?’ she asked quietly.

‘How long have you lived in the village? It’s strange I’ve never seen you there before.’ If he’d seen her he certainly would have remembered her…

‘I’ve been around. I moved here three-and-a-half years ago. Before that I lived in Dorset with my mother. She lives in Spain now.’

‘Why didn’t you go into the hotel business when you left Dorset? Why did you go to work in an esoteric bookshop, of all places?’ He was smiling, but this time not mockingly. Liadan sensed the tension in her stomach ease a little.

‘There aren’t many hotels in the local vicinity and those I tried didn’t have any vacancies at the time. My friend Mel has a friend called Jennie who owned the shop and was looking for someone to help out. As luck would have it, Mel’s boyfriend owns the local estate agent’s, and he helped me get my mortgage on my cottage when I decided to move here.’

‘And this Mel? She lives in the village too?’

‘That’s why I moved here. We’ve known each other since we met on holiday when we were kids.’ Liadan took a sip of the fragrant creamy milk laced with nut-meg and experienced a rush of surprise that Adrian had made it so perfectly. There was something highly personal about him making it for her—something that very definitely blurred the lines of employer and employee, and made their relationship suddenly far more intimate.

‘So…you’ve been here three and a half years and you’re still alone?’

‘Alone?’

‘No significant other?’ Taking a slug of whisky, Adrian made a face as the fiery spirit scorched the back of his throat, then put down his glass and fastened his slow, deliberate gaze on Liadan’s face with deepening interest. Her throat convulsed a little, and her grasp on her mug tightened.

‘There was someone,’ she admitted softly. ‘We were going to be married but things between us didn’t work out.’

‘You decided the married state wasn’t for you after all?’

Her heart beating an uneasy tattoo and, unsure of how much to reveal, Liadan shrugged the comment aside and forced herself to continue. ‘No. The man I was involved with had a conflict of priorities. It was either me or his calling to the Church. In the end the Church won hands down. I don’t blame him. He had a right to follow his heart.’