* * *

He stopped the Range Rover at a certain point. She could see why. It offered a sublime view of Radclyffe Hall. It sat high on a hill overlooking the beautiful countryside and the rolling hills.

It was an extraordinary moment for Cate. She felt a disconcerting prick of tears, blinking them back before he saw them. Whatever she had been expecting, the postmistress’s “great white elephant of a house” in an advanced state of decay, it surely wasn’t this. She couldn’t remain in the vehicle. She threw open the door and jumped out onto the lush green verge, holding a hand to her sunstruck eyes.

He joined her, staring down at her as though faintly perplexed. “Not what you expected?”

Her tone was soft, almost reverent. “Wow, oh, wow! To be honest I’m a bit in shock.”

“Why exactly?” He sounded as though he really wanted to know.

She almost told him why. It was on the tip of her tongue. The moment when she would confide her adoptive mother was Stella Radclyffe that was. Only caution, grounded in childhood, took over. She didn’t know it then but her secret history was in the making.

“Well, it’s some house, so grand. Georgian, I think. The symmetry, the balance, the adherence to classical rules. Chimneys rising to either side of the gabled roof.” One-storey wings had been built to the left and right of the imposing central building most probably at a much later date.

“Correct,” he said briefly, his eyes glittering. “The hall was built in the late fifteen hundreds by Thomas Willoughby-Radclyffe of Cotswold stone. It’s stood for over four hundred years but for a long time now it’s been in great need of repair. The house and the estate—it’s been reduced to around three hundred acres with tenant cottages—belong to Lord Wyndham. He hasn’t enjoyed good health for some time now. In fact he’s quite frail.”

Four hundred years?

Shock wasn’t too strong a word. Why had it been so important to Stella to cover up her past? “Do you know Lord Wyndham?” she turned to ask, her eyes on his profile. Oddly enough she was getting used to that aquiline beak.

“I’m working on a large project there at the moment,” he said by way of a response. An evasion if ever there was one. “The restoration of the hall’s once famous gardens, particularly the rose gardens. It had become something of a wilderness, quite a challenge, but Lord Wyndham hired a world-famous landscape designer, David Courtland.”

She was fortunate she had grown up with a passionate gardening team, Stella and Arnold, who had passed on their passion to her. “I’ve heard of him.” She nodded. “I’m assuming you’re the gardener?”

“You could say that.”

“A pretty posh one, if you don’t mind my saying so.” Her amazing lime-green eyes flashed mockery.

“Don’t mind in the least. If you’re very good between here and the hall I’ll let you see over the garden. It has a number of ‘rooms’ but Dave has begun a new project. He’s in London for a couple of days.”

“Leaving you in charge? Call him Dave, do you?” she asked provocatively.

“The first strike against you,” he clipped off.

“Ah, come on.”

“Get back in the car.”

“Certainly, m’lord.”

And so it began. The great star-crossed love affair of her life.

The present.

HUGH SAUNDERS stood up to perform the introductions, a delighted smile on his lean, tanned face. Each member of the team and their specific function was acknowledged. Handshakes all round. Murphy Stiller’s habitual glare was replaced by a sunburst. When it came to Cate’s turn she actually considered fleeing the room, like a woman teetering on the brink of a major crack-up. For all the little niggles of nameless anxiety the last thing her mind had focused on was this momentous blast from the past. Would he now confound her and say, “But I know you, surely? It’s Catrina Hamilton, isn’t it?” all the while pinning her with his blazing blue eyes?

He did no such thing. Not a muscle on his striking face moved. He calmly took her hand. God, was she bound to him for ever? Even that brief, cool contact evoked such grief, such remembered pain she almost moaned. This time it seemed he had no mind to be cruel. All that came was the usual rhetorical “how do you do?” requiring no answer. Somehow she was able to resume her seat. She had to cast out her devils. And fast. At least her blood was coursing around her body again. A few fraught moments, then she was able to regain enough composure to not put her job in jeopardy.

As CEO, Hugh Saunders dealt with matters mostly but when he turned for her input she was able to contribute from a wealth of research. Her brain was on autopilot. Not for the first time in her career but never when she was in such a high emotional state.

“Absolutely right, Cate.” Hugh spoke with approval. Always rely on Cate to give clear concise answers, he thought. Nothing routine. Outside the box. She was one classy young woman, with high-grade diplomacy skills. He admired her capacities and shrewd gut instincts. Gut instincts he considered important. They provided an edge. Even more importantly, never once in his experience had she attempted to capitalise on her beauty.

For some reason Murphy Stiller had suffered a collapse of her usual supreme confidence so Cate was invited to speak out more often. It might have been a triumph despite Murphy’s periodic grunts. Murphy was looking a bit as if she wanted to kill someone, preferably Cate. Cate for her part was falling back heavily on experience. Wyndham’s questions when they came were brusque, very explicit. It was obvious to everyone seated around the table he was well acquainted with big business, Money Business. They all knew it was conducted in a certain way, bland enough on the surface, underneath extremely tough. He wasn’t relying on his advisors. He was managing his own negotiations. While the team was taking the fifth Baron Wyndham’s measure he was taking theirs. In the course of the meeting it was revealed he had substantial investments in the mining sector of Chile and Canada. Although the vast State of Western Australia was the usual target for their investors, Cate suggested Queensland as an excellent alternative. Mining drove the Queensland economy just as it did W.A. The traditional bases of wealth created over several generations were being overtaken by mining magnates, some of them surprisingly young. These men were fast rising to the top of the Rich List, rubbing shoulders with the multibillionaires.

Eventually the meeting broke up. Discussions had been intense. A follow-up meeting was scheduled for midweek.

Cate was still concerned he was going to expose her. As what, for God’s sake? No one on the planet outside Stella knew Lord Wyndham was the father of her child. Not a single soul since dear Arnold had passed away after two very painful years of battling lung cancer. Her adoptive father always had smoked too much.

Hugh’s up mood was infectious. They were moving out of the boardroom, when he suddenly brought up Wyndham’s other interest. Buying land on some beautiful Whitsunday island.

“Just a moment, Cate.” For some reason Cate was moving away too fast.

“Yes, sir.” She turned back.

“Cate here might very well have the answer to your Barrier Reef island retreat,” he told Wyndham.

“No.” Wyndham responded suavely.

“Cate works hard at everything she does,” said Hugh. “She has managed to build a very good relationship with a lady, Lady McCready actually, now in her mid-eighties, who owns a small but fabulous Whitsunday island called Isla Bella.”

“After one of Italy’s great gardens perhaps or simply a beautiful island?” he asked without looking at Cate.

“Lady McCready did confide she and her husband named their island after a trip to Italy,” Cate said. “They loved Italy and the wonderful gardens.”