Sally Wentworth - Chris

‘So how did you end up in Oporto?’

‘A girl who worked at the time-share development, a Portuguese girl, got a job here and thought there might be an opening for me as a guide. So I used up the last of my money to come here, but it didn’t work out. Most of the tour companies want home-grown guides. I’ve been able to get a little work but it only pays enough money to live on.’

‘So you thought you’d find yourself a rich husband,’ Chris said with irony.

It was natural he should think that, Tiffany supposed, and she had to admit that seeing Calum, seeing this magnificent house, it had also been natural for the possibility of marriage to cross her own mind, too. But how to explain that to Chris? He wouldn’t understand; what man would? To a man it was degrading for a woman to go in search of someone with money and deliberately set out to marry him. There were all kinds of phrases to describe it: running after a man, getting your hooks into one, selling yourself, gold-digging. But when you were in a strange country, without a job, hungry and desperate, it seemed like a very good idea. Especially when there was only one other easy way to make money that was open to an attractive girl. But to Tiffany the latter just wasn’t an option, even though she was as low as she’d ever been. It wasn’t as if she would sell herself short; if she married a man she would give darn good value for money, and be as loving and attentive as she knew how. He would have no cause to complain.

‘Marriage is an older profession than prostitution,’ she pointed out shortly.

He gave her a sharp glance, then said, ‘If I offered you the fare home, would you go?’

Tiffany laughed. ‘What would be the point? I have no place in England to go to, any more than I have here. Getting a job would be just as hard, finding a place to live probably impossible.’

‘Don’t you have any family?’ he asked for the second time.

‘No.’ Tiffany turned and began to stride back along the path and through the garden, not looking to see whether Chris followed her or not, not giving him the chance to ask her any more questions.

They walked back to the house and Chris glanced at his watch. ‘I suppose we might as well get ready for dinner. We meet for drinks in the drawing-room from seven-thirty.’ He stayed by her side as they climbed the wide marble staircase and stopped at a door only three down from her own. ‘See you later.’

There was a Jacuzzi in the bathroom opening off the guest room. Tiffany spent a good hour in it, only coming out when her skin began to wrinkle. She washed her hair again and took her time putting on her make-up and slipping into the beautiful black velvet dress. When she was ready she stood in front of the full-length mirror and knew that she had seldom in her life looked as good as this. Excitement filled her, all mixed up with optimism and hope, emotions that she hadn’t felt for a very long time. But they frightened her. Experience had taught her not to hope because then the disappointment wouldn’t be so great. But it was in her nature to be optimistic, and she looked so good now that it was impossible to stifle it.

It was almost eight when she left her room. There was the sound of voices echoing up from the hall as some guests arrived. Tiffany walked to the top of the staircase and stood there a moment, watching as Calum and his grandfather greeted their guests. It was like watching a film: the richly dressed people, the voices and laughter, the beautiful setting; Tiffany could hardly believe that she was to play a part in it, be a part of it.

Then Chris and Francesca came into the hall, arm in arm, laughing. Francesca let go and ran to kiss an elderly guest on the cheek. Chris followed, but something made him glance up and he saw Tiffany. He stood still, just as Calum followed his glance. For a supremely wonderful moment both cousins seemed frozen, gazing up at her. But then Tiffany smiled and came lightly down the stairs towards them.

Chris stepped back and let his cousin greet her. Calum took her hand and held it. ‘You look enchanting.’ His eyes smiled, were warm.

‘Yes, that dress suits you.’ Francesca came over and put a familiar hand on Calum’s shoulder. ‘Grandfather wants to know who Tiffany is. What shall we tell him, Tiffany?’

Outwardly Francesca was as warm and friendly as ever, but Tiffany’s feminine intuition was tuned as finely as a Stradivarius and she immediately sensed a hidden antipathy in the other girl. Easy to sense but not easy to explain. Is she jealous because I look good? Tiffany wondered. Is she so vain that she doesn’t like it if someone outclasses or equals her in looks? Tiffany decided it must be that, although Francesca, in a stunning silver sheath-dress, was just as eye-catching as she’d been that afternoon. Tiffany could understand feminine jealousy and dismissed it from her mind; she was determined to enjoy herself for once and wasn’t about to let Francesca’s petty emotions spoil it.

Calum took her over to meet his grandfather, introducing her merely as a friend, and then took her into the drawing-room where he got her a drink. She met his other cousin, Lennox, with his wife Stella, who was wearing a rich red maternity gown that really looked good on her. ‘I suppose I would have looked more respectable in a dark colour,’ she confided to Tiffany, ‘but those might give my baby a sombre feeling and I want him to be warm and happy.’

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