Table of Contents Cover Page Title Page About the Author PROLOGUE CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN EPILOGUE Copyright Under the Boss’s Mistletoe Jessica Hart www.millsandboon.co.uk Jessica Hart was born in West Africa, and has suffered from itchy feet ever since—travelling and working around the world in a wide variety of interesting but very lowly jobs, all of which have provided inspiration on which to draw when it comes to the settings and plots of her stories. Now she lives a rather more settled existence in York, where she has been able to pursue her interest in history, although she still yearns sometimes for wider horizons. If you’d like to know more about Jessica, visit her website www.jessicahart.co.uk PROLOGUE ‘I WANT a word with you!’ Cassie almost fell down the steps in her hurry to catch Jake before he zoomed off like the coward he was. The stumble did nothing to improve her temper as she stormed over to where he had just got onto his motorbike. He had been about to put on his helmet, but he paused at the sound of her voice. In his battered leathers, he looked as dark and mean as the machine he sat astride. There was a dangerous edge to Jake Trevelyan that Cassie normally found deeply unnerving, but today she was too angry to be intimidated. ‘You broke Rupert’s nose!’ she said furiously. Jake observed her approach through narrowed eyes. The estate manager’s ungainly daughter had a wild mane of curls, a round, quirky face and a mouth that showed promise of an interesting woman to come. Right now, though, she was still only seventeen, and reminded him of an exuberant puppy about to fall over its paws.
Not such a friendly puppy today, he observed. The normally dreamy brown eyes were flashing with temper. It wasn’t too hard to guess what had her all riled up; she must have just been to see her precious Rupert. ‘Not quite such a pretty boy today, is he?’ he grinned. Cassie’s fists clenched. ‘I’d like to break your nose,’ she said and Jake laughed mockingly. ‘Have a go,’ he offered. ‘And give you the excuse to beat me up as well? I don’t think so.’ ‘I didn’t beat Rupert up,’ said Jake dismissively. ‘Is that what he told you?’ ‘I’ve just seen him. He looks awful.’ Cassie heard the crack in her voice and pressed her lips together in a fierce, straight line before she could humiliate herself utterly by bursting into tears. She had been so happy, she had had to keep pinching herself. For as long as she could remember she had dreamed of Rupert, and now he was hers—or he had been. It was only three days since the ball, and he was in a vicious temper, which he’d taken out on her. It was all spoilt now. And it was all Jake Trevelyan’s fault. ‘He’s going to bring assault charges against you,’ she told Jake, hoping to shock him, but he only looked contemptuous. ‘So Sir Ian has just been telling me.’ Cassie had never understood why Sir Ian had so much time for a thug like Jake, especially now that he had beaten up his own nephew! The Trevelyans were notorious in Portrevick for their shady dealings, and the only member of the family who had ever appeared to hold down a job at all was Jake’s mother, who had cleaned for Sir Ian until her untimely death a couple of years ago. Jake himself had long had a reputation as a troublemaker. He was four years older than Cassie, and she couldn’t remember a time when his dark, surly presence hadn’t made him the kind of boy you crossed the road to avoid. It was a pity she hadn’t remembered that at the Allantide Ball. Now Cassie glared at him, astonished by her own bravery. ‘But then, I suppose the thought of prison wouldn’t bother you,’ she said. ‘It’s something of a family tradition, isn’t it?’ Something unpleasant flared in Jake’s eyes, and she took an involuntary step backwards, wondering a little too late whether she might have gone too far. There was a suppressed anger about him that should have warned her not to provoke him. She wouldn’t put it past him to take out all that simmering resentment on her the way he so clearly had on Rupert, but in the end he only looked at her with dislike. ‘What do you want, Miss Not-So-Goody Two Shoes?’ Cassie took a deep breath. ‘I want to know why you hit Rupert.’ ‘Why does it matter?’ ‘Rupert said it was over me.’ She bit her lip. ‘He wouldn’t tell me exactly what.’ Jake laughed shortly. ‘No, I bet he wouldn’t!’ ‘Was it…was it because of what happened at the Allantide Ball?’ ‘When you offered yourself to me on a plate?’ he said, and her face flamed. ‘I was just talking,’ she protested, although she knew she had been doing more than that. ‘You don’t wear a dress like that just to talk,’ said Jake. Cassie’s cheeks were as scarlet as the dress she had bought as part of a desperate strategy to convince Rupert that she had grown up. Her parents had been aghast when they had seen it, and Cassie herself had been half-horrified, halfthrilled by how it had made her look. The colour was lovely—a deep, rich red—but it was made of cheap Lycra that had clung embarrassingly to every curve. Cut daringly short, it had such a low neckline that Cassie had had to keep tugging at it to stop herself spilling out. She cringed to think how fat and tarty she must have looked next to all those cool, skinny blondes dressed in black. On the other hand, it had worked. Rupert had definitely noticed her when she’d arrived, and that had given her the confidence to put Plan B into action. ‘You need to make him jealous,’ her best friend Tina had said. ‘Make him realise that you’re not just his for the taking—even if you are.’ вернуться Jessica Hart was born in West Africa, and has suffered from itchy feet ever since—travelling and working around the world in a wide variety of interesting but very lowly jobs, all of which have provided inspiration on which to draw when it comes to the settings and plots of her stories. Now she lives a rather more settled existence in York, where she has been able to pursue her interest in history, although she still yearns sometimes for wider horizons. If you’d like to know more about Jessica, visit her website www.jessicahart.co.uk вернуться ‘I WANT a word with you!’ Cassie almost fell down the steps in her hurry to catch Jake before he zoomed off like the coward he was. The stumble did nothing to improve her temper as she stormed over to where he had just got onto his motorbike. He had been about to put on his helmet, but he paused at the sound of her voice. In his battered leathers, he looked as dark and mean as the machine he sat astride. There was a dangerous edge to Jake Trevelyan that Cassie normally found deeply unnerving, but today she was too angry to be intimidated. ‘You broke Rupert’s nose!’ she said furiously. Jake observed her approach through narrowed eyes. The estate manager’s ungainly daughter had a wild mane of curls, a round, quirky face and a mouth that showed promise of an interesting woman to come. Right now, though, she was still only seventeen, and reminded him of an exuberant puppy about to fall over its paws.
Not such a friendly puppy today, he observed. The normally dreamy brown eyes were flashing with temper. It wasn’t too hard to guess what had her all riled up; she must have just been to see her precious Rupert. ‘Not quite such a pretty boy today, is he?’ he grinned. Cassie’s fists clenched. ‘I’d like to break your nose,’ she said and Jake laughed mockingly. ‘Have a go,’ he offered. ‘And give you the excuse to beat me up as well? I don’t think so.’ ‘I didn’t beat Rupert up,’ said Jake dismissively. ‘Is that what he told you?’ ‘I’ve just seen him. He looks awful.’ Cassie heard the crack in her voice and pressed her lips together in a fierce, straight line before she could humiliate herself utterly by bursting into tears. She had been so happy, she had had to keep pinching herself. For as long as she could remember she had dreamed of Rupert, and now he was hers—or he had been. It was only three days since the ball, and he was in a vicious temper, which he’d taken out on her. It was all spoilt now. And it was all Jake Trevelyan’s fault. ‘He’s going to bring assault charges against you,’ she told Jake, hoping to shock him, but he only looked contemptuous. ‘So Sir Ian has just been telling me.’ Cassie had never understood why Sir Ian had so much time for a thug like Jake, especially now that he had beaten up his own nephew! The Trevelyans were notorious in Portrevick for their shady dealings, and the only member of the family who had ever appeared to hold down a job at all was Jake’s mother, who had cleaned for Sir Ian until her untimely death a couple of years ago. Jake himself had long had a reputation as a troublemaker. He was four years older than Cassie, and she couldn’t remember a time when his dark, surly presence hadn’t made him the kind of boy you crossed the road to avoid. It was a pity she hadn’t remembered that at the Allantide Ball. Now Cassie glared at him, astonished by her own bravery. ‘But then, I suppose the thought of prison wouldn’t bother you,’ she said. ‘It’s something of a family tradition, isn’t it?’ Something unpleasant flared in Jake’s eyes, and she took an involuntary step backwards, wondering a little too late whether she might have gone too far. There was a suppressed anger about him that should have warned her not to provoke him. She wouldn’t put it past him to take out all that simmering resentment on her the way he so clearly had on Rupert, but in the end he only looked at her with dislike. ‘What do you want, Miss Not-So-Goody Two Shoes?’ Cassie took a deep breath. ‘I want to know why you hit Rupert.’ ‘Why does it matter?’ ‘Rupert said it was over me.’ She bit her lip. ‘He wouldn’t tell me exactly what.’ Jake laughed shortly. ‘No, I bet he wouldn’t!’ ‘Was it…was it because of what happened at the Allantide Ball?’ ‘When you offered yourself to me on a plate?’ he said, and her face flamed. ‘I was just talking,’ she protested, although she knew she had been doing more than that. ‘You don’t wear a dress like that just to talk,’ said Jake. Cassie’s cheeks were as scarlet as the dress she had bought as part of a desperate strategy to convince Rupert that she had grown up. Her parents had been aghast when they had seen it, and Cassie herself had been half-horrified, halfthrilled by how it had made her look. The colour was lovely—a deep, rich red—but it was made of cheap Lycra that had clung embarrassingly to every curve. Cut daringly short, it had such a low neckline that Cassie had had to keep tugging at it to stop herself spilling out. She cringed to think how fat and tarty she must have looked next to all those cool, skinny blondes dressed in black. On the other hand, it had worked. Rupert had definitely noticed her when she’d arrived, and that had given her the confidence to put Plan B into action. ‘You need to make him jealous,’ her best friend Tina had said. ‘Make him realise that you’re not just his for the taking—even if you are.’ Emboldened by Rupert’s reaction, Cassie had smiled coolly and sashayed up to Jake instead. To this day, she didn’t know where she had found the nerve to do it; he had been on his own for once, and watching the proceedings with a cynical air. The Allantide Ball was a local tradition revived by Sir Ian, who had been obsessed by Cornish folklore. Less a formal ball than a big party, it was held in the Hall every year on 31 st October, when the rest of the country was celebrating Hallowe’en, and everyone in Portrevick went, the one occasion when social divisions were put aside. In theory, if not in practice. Jake’s expression had not been encouraging, but Cassie had flirted with him anyway. Or she had thought she was flirting. In retrospect, her heavyhanded attempts to bat her lashes and look sultry must have been laughable, but at the time she had been quite pleased with herself. ‘OK, maybe I was flirting,’ she conceded. ‘That was no reason to…to…’ ‘To kiss you?’ said Jake. ‘But how else were you to make Rupert jealous? That was the whole point of the exercise, wasn’t it?’ Taking Cassie’s expression as an answer, he settled back into the saddle and regarded her with a mocking smile that made her want to slap him. ‘It was a good strategy,’ he congratulated her. ‘Rupert Branscombe Fox is the kind of jerk who’s only interested in what someone else has got. I’ll bet even as a small boy he only ever wanted to play with someone else’s toys. It was very astute of you to notice that.’ ‘I didn’t.’ She had just wanted Rupert to notice her. Was that so bad? And he had. It had worked perfectly. She just hadn’t counted on Jake taking her flirtation so seriously. He had taken her by the hand and pulled her outside. Catching a glimpse of Rupert watching her, Cassie had been delighted at first. She’d been expecting a kiss, but not the kiss that she got. It had begun with cool assurance—and, really, that would have been fine—but then something had changed. The coolness had become warmth, and then it had become heat, and then, worst of all, there had been a terrifying sweetness to it. Cassie had felt as if she were standing in a river with the sand rushing away beneath her feet, sucking her down into something wild and uncontrollable. She’d been terrified and exhilarated at the same time, and when Jake had let her go at last she had been shaking. It wasn’t even as if she liked Jake. He was the exact opposite of Rupert, who was the embodiment of a dream. Secretly, Cassie thought of them as Beauty and the Beast. Not that Jake was ugly, exactly, but he had dark, beaky features, a bitter mouth and angry eyes, while Rupert was all golden charm, like a prince in a fairy tale. ‘Much good it’ll do you,’ Jake was saying, reading her expression without difficulty. ‘You’re wasting your time. Rupert’s never going to bother with a nice girl like you.’ ‘Well, that’s where you’re wrong,’ said Cassie, stung. ‘Maybe I did want to make him notice me, but it worked, didn’t it?’ ‘You’re not asking me to believe that you’re Rupert’s latest girlfriend?’ Cassie lifted her chin. ‘Believe what you want,’ she said. ‘It happens to be true.’ But Jake only laughed. ‘Having sex with Rupert doesn’t make you his girlfriend, as you’ll soon find out,’ he said. He reached for his helmet again. ‘You need to grow up, Cassie. You’ve wandered around with your head in the clouds ever since you were a little kid, and it looks like you’re still living in a fantasy world. It’s time you woke up to reality!’ ‘You’re just jealous of Rupert!’ Cassie accused him, her voice shaking with fury. ‘Because of you?’ Jake raised his dark brows contemptuously. ‘I don’t think so!’ ‘Because he’s handsome and charming and rich and Sir Ian’s nephew, while you’re just…just…’ Too angry and humiliated to be cautious, she was practically toe to toe with him by now. ‘Just an animal.’ And that was when Jake really did lose the temper he had been hanging onto by a thread all day. His hands shot out and yanked Cassie towards him so hard that she fell against him. Luckily his bike was still on its stand, or they would both have fallen over. ‘So you think I’m jealous of Rupert, do you?’ he snarled, shoving his hands into the mass of curls. ‘Well, maybe I am.’ He brought his mouth down on hers in a hard, punishing kiss that had her squirming in protest, her palms jammed against his leather jacket, until abruptly the pressure softened. His lips didn’t leave hers, but he shifted slightly so that he could draw her more comfortably against him as he sat astride the bike. The fierce grip on her hair had loosened, and now her curls were twined around his fingers as the kiss grew seductively insistent. Cassie’s heart was pounding with that same mixture of fear and excitement, and she could feel herself losing her footing again. A surge of unfamiliar feeling was rapidly uncoiling inside her, so fast in fact that it was scaring her; her fingers curled instinctively into his leather jacket to anchor herself. And then—the bit that would make her cringe for years afterwards—somehow she actually found herself leaning into him to kiss him back. That was the point at which Jake let her go so abruptly that she stumbled back against the handlebars. ‘How dare you?’ Cassie managed, drawing a shaking hand across her mouth as she tried to leap away from the bike, only to find that her cardigan was caught up in the handlebars. Desperately, she tried to disentangle herself. ‘I never want to see you again!’ ‘Don’t worry, you won’t have to.’ Infuriatingly casual, Jake leant forward to pull the sleeve free; she practically fell back in her haste to put some distance between them. ‘I’m leaving today. You stick to your fantasy life, Cassie,’ he told her as she huddled into her cardigan, hugging her arms together. ‘I’m getting out of here.’ And with that, he calmly fastened his helmet, kicked the bike off its stand and into gear and roared off down the long drive—leaving Cassie staring after him, her heart tumbling with shock and humiliation and the memory of a deep, dark, dangerous excitement. вернуться Ten years later ‘JAKE Trevelyan?’ Cassie repeated blankly. ‘Are you sure?’ ‘I wrote his name down. Where is it?’ Joss hunted through the mess on her desk and produced a scrap of paper. ‘Here—Jake Trevelyan,’ she read. ‘Somebody in Portrevick—isn’t that where you grew up?—recommended us.’ Puzzled, Cassie dropped into the chair at her own desk. It felt very strange, hearing Jake’s name after all this time. She could still picture him with terrifying clarity, sitting astride that mean-looking machine, an angry young man with hard hands and a bitter smile. The memory of that kiss still had the power to make her toes curl inside her shoes. ‘He’s getting married?’ ‘Why else would he get in touch with a wedding planner?’ ‘I just can’t imagine it.’ The Jake Trevelyan Cassie had known wasn’t the type to settle down. ‘Luckily for us, he obviously can.’ Joss turned back to her computer. ‘He sounded keen, anyway, so I said you’d go round this afternoon.’ ‘Me?’ Cassie looked at her boss in dismay. ‘You always meet the clients first.’ ‘I can’t today. I’ve got a meeting with the accountant, which I’m not looking forward to at all. Besides, he knows you.’ ‘Yes, but he hates me!’ She told Joss about that last encounter outside Portrevick Hall. ‘And what’s his fiancée going to think? I wouldn’t want to plan my wedding with someone who’d kissed my bride-groom.’ ‘Teenage kisses don’t count.’ Joss waved them aside. ‘It was ten years ago. Chances are, he won’t even remember.’ Cassie wasn’t sure if that would make her feel better or worse. She would just as soon Jake didn’t remember the gawky teenager who had thrown herself at him at the Allantide Ball, but what girl wanted to know that she was utterly forgettable? ‘Anyway, if he didn’t like you, why ring up and ask to speak to you?’ Joss asked reasonably. ‘We can’t afford to let a possible client slip through our fingers, Cassie. You know how tight things are at the moment. This is our best chance of new work in weeks, and if it means being embarrassed then I’m afraid you’re going to have to be embarrassed,’ she warned. ‘Otherwise, I’m really not sure how much longer I’m going to be able to keep you on.’ Which was how Cassie came to stand outside a gleaming office-building that afternoon. Its windows reflected a bright September sky, and she had to crane her neck to look up to the top. Jake Trevelyan had done well for himself if he worked somewhere like this, she thought, impressed in spite of herself. Better than she had, that was for sure, thought Cassie, remembering Avalon’s chaotic office above the Chinese takeaway. Not that she minded. She had only been working for Joss a few months and she loved it. Wedding planning was far and away the best job she had ever had—Cassie had had a few, it had to be admitted—and she would do whatever it took to hang on to it. She couldn’t bear to admit to her family of super-achievers that she was out of work. Again. ‘Oh, darling!’ her mother would sigh with disappointment, while her father would frown and remind her that she should have gone to university like her elder sister and her two brothers, all of whom had high-flying careers. No, she had to keep this job, Cassie resolved, and if that meant facing Jake Trevelyan again then that was what she would do. Squaring her shoulders, she tugged her jacket into place and headed up the marble steps. Worms were squirming in the pit of her stomach but she did her best to ignore them. It was stupid to be nervous about seeing Jake again. She wasn’t a dreamy seventeen-year-old any longer. She was twenty-seven, and holding down a demanding job. People might not think that being a wedding planner was much of a career, but it required tact, diplomacy and formidable organizational-skills. If she could organise a wedding—well, help Joss organise one—she could deal with Jake Trevelyan. A glimpse of herself in the mirrored windows reassured her. Luckily, she had dressed smartly to visit a luxurious hotel which one of their clients had chosen as a venue that morning. The teal-green jacket and narrow skirt gave her a sharp, professional image, Cassie decided, eyeing her reflection. Together with the slim briefcase, it made for an impressive look. Misleading, but impressive. She hardly recognised herself, so with any luck Jake Trevelyan wouldn’t recognise her either. Her only regret was the shoes. It wasn’t that they didn’t look fabulous—the teal suede with a black stripe was perfect with the suit—but she wasn’t used to walking on quite such high heels, and the lobby floor had an alarmingly, glossy sheen to it. It was a relief to get across to the reception desk without mishap. ‘I’m looking for a company called Primordia,’ she said, glancing down at the address Joss had scribbled down. ‘Can you tell me which floor it’s on?’ The receptionist lifted immaculate brows. ‘This is Primordia,’ she said. ‘What, the whole building?’ Cassie’s jaw sagged as she stared around the soaring lobby, taking in the impressive artwork on the walls and the ranks of gleaming lifts with their lights going up, up, up… ‘Apparently he’s boss of some outfit called Primordia,’ Joss had said casually when she’d tossed the address across the desk. This didn’t look like an ‘outfit’ to Cassie. It looked like a solid, blue-chip company exuding wealth and prestige. Suddenly her suit didn’t seem quite so smart. ‘Um, I’m looking for someone called Jake Trevelyan,’ she told the receptionist. ‘I’m not sure which department he’s in.’ The receptionist’s brows climbed higher. ‘Mr Trevelyan, our Chief Executive? Is he expecting you?’ Chief Executive? Cassie swallowed. ‘I think so.’ The receptionist turned away to murmur into the phone while Cassie stood, fingering the buttons on her jacket nervously. Jake Trevelyan, bad boy of Portrevick, Chief Executive of all this? Blimey. An intimidatingly quiet lift took her up to the Chief Executive’s suite. It was like stepping into a different world. Everything was new and of cuttingedge design, and blanketed with the hush that only serious money can buy. It was a very long way from Portrevick. Cassie was still half-convinced that there must be some mistake, but no. There was an elegant PA, who was obviously expecting her, and who escorted her into an impressively swish office. ‘Mr Trevelyan won’t be a minute,’ she said. Mr Trevelyan! Cassie thought of the surly tearaway she had known and tried not to goggle. She hoped Jake—sorry, Mr Trevelyan—didn’t remember her flirting with him in that tacky dress or telling him that she never wanted to see him again. It wasn’t exactly the best basis on which to build a winning client-relationship. On the other hand, he was the one who had asked to see her. Surely he wouldn’t have done that if he had any memory of those disastrous kisses? Joss must be right; he had probably forgotten them completely. And, even if he hadn’t, he was unlikely to mention that he had kissed her in front of his fiancée, wasn’t he? He would be just as anxious as her to pretend that that had never happened. Reassured, Cassie pinned on a bright smile as his PA opened a door into an even swisher office than the first. ‘Cassandra Grey,’ the woman announced. It was a huge room, with glass walls on two sides that offered a spectacular view down the Thames to the Houses of Parliament and the London Eye. Not that Cassie took in the view. She had eyes only for Jake, who was getting up from behind his desk and buttoning his jacket as he came round to greet her. Her first thought was that he had grown into a surprisingly attractive man. Ten years ago he had been a wiry young man, with turbulent eyes and a dangerous edge that had always left her tongue-tied and nervous around him. He was dark still, and there were traces of the difficult boy he had been in his face, but he had grown into the once-beaky features, and the surliness had metamorphosed into a forcefulness that was literally breathtaking. At least, Cassie presumed that was why she was having trouble dragging enough oxygen into her lungs all of a sudden. He might not actually be taller, but he seemed it—taller, tougher, more solid somehow. And the mouth that had once been twisted into a sneer was now set in a cool, self-contained line. Cassie was forced to revise her first thought. He wasn’t attractive; he was gorgeous. Well. Who would have thought it? His fiancée was a lucky woman. Keeping her smile firmly in place, she took a step towards him with her hand outstretched. ‘Hel…’ she began, but that was as far as she got. Her ankle tipped over on the unfamiliar heels and the next moment her shoes seemed to be hopelessly entangled. Before Cassie knew what was happening, she found herself pitching forward with a squawk of dismay as her briefcase thudded to the floor. She would have landed flat on her face next to it if a pair of hard hands hadn’t grabbed her arms. Cassie had no idea how Jake got there in time to catch her, but she ended up sprawling against him and clutching instinctively at his jacket. Just as she had clutched at his leather jacket ten years ago when he had kissed her. ‘Hello, Cassie,’ he said. Mortified, Cassie struggled to find her balance. Why, why, why, was she so clumsy? Her face was squashed against his jacket, and with an odd, detached part of her brain she registered that he smelt wonderful, of expensive shirts, clean, male skin and a faint tang of aftershave. His body was rock-solid, and for a treacherous moment Cassie was tempted to cling to the blissful illusion of steadiness and safety. Possibly not a good move, if she wanted to impress him with her new-found professionalism. Or very tactful, given that he was a newly engaged man. With an effort, Cassie pulled herself away from the comfort of that broad chest. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she managed. Jake set her on her feet but kept hold of her upper arms until he was sure she was steady. ‘Are you all right?’ His hands felt hard and strong through the sleeves of her jacket, and he held her just as he had done that other day. Cassie couldn’t help staring. It was strangely dislocating to look into his face and see a cool stranger overlaying the angry young man he had been then. This time the resentment in the dark-blue eyes had been replaced by a gleam of amusement, although it was impossible to tell whether he was remembering that kiss, too, or was simply entertained by her unconventional arrival. Cassie’s cheeks burned. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, stepping out of his grip. Jake bent to pick up the briefcase and handed it back to her. ‘Shall we sit down?’ he suggested, gesturing towards two luxurious leather sofas. ‘Given those shoes, it might be safer!’ Willing her flaming colour to fade, Cassie subsided onto a sofa and swallowed as she set the briefcase on the low table. ‘I don’t normally throw myself into the client’s arms when we first meet,’ she said with a nervous smile. The corner of Jake’s mouth quivered in an unnervingly attractive way. ‘It’s always good to make a spectacular entrance. But then, you always did have a certain style,’ he added. Cassie rather suspected that last comment was sarcastic; she had always been hopelessly clumsy. She sighed. ‘I was rather hoping you wouldn’t recognise me,’ she confessed. Jake looked across the table at her. She was perched on the edge of the sofa, looking hot and ruffled, her round, sweet face flushed, and brown eyes bright with mortification. The wild curls he remembered had been cut into a more manageable style, and she had slimmed down and smartened up. Remarkably so, in fact. When he had looked up to see her in the doorway, she had seemed a vividly pretty stranger, and he had felt a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. Then she had tripped and pitched into his arms, and Jake wasn’t sure if he was disappointed or relieved to find out that she hadn’t changed that much after all. The feel of her was startlingly familiar, which was odd, given that he had only held her twice before. But he had caught her, and all at once it was as if he had been back at that last Allantide Ball. He could still see Cassie as she sashayed up to him in that tight red dress, teetering on heels almost as ridiculous as the ones she was wearing now, and suddenly all grown-up. That was the first time he had noticed her lush mouth, and wondered about the woman she would become. That mouth was still the same, Jake thought, remembering its warmth, its innocence, remembering how unprepared he had been for the piercing sweetness that just for a moment had held them in its grip. Now here she was again, sitting there and watching him with a wary expression in the big brown eyes. Not recognise her? Jake smiled. ‘Not a chance,’ he said. Oh dear. That wasn’t what she had wanted to hear at all. Almost reluctantly, Cassie met the darkblue gaze and felt her skin prickle at the amusement she read there. It was obvious that Jake remembered the gawky teenager she had been all too well. Those kisses might have been shattering for her, but for him they must have been just part of her gaucheness and lack of sophistication. She lifted her chin. ‘It’s a long time ago,’ she said. ‘I didn’t think you’d remember me.’ Jake met her eyes blandly. ‘You’d be surprised what I remember,’ he said, and the memory of the Allantide Ball was suddenly shimmering between them. He didn’t have to say anything. Cassie just knew that he was remembering her hopeless attempts to flirt, and her clumsy, mortifyingly eager response to his kiss, and a tide of heat seemed to sweep up from her toes. She jerked her eyes away. ‘So,’ she began, but all at once her voice was so high and thin that she had to clear her throat and start again. ‘So…’ Oh God, now she sounded positively gravelly! ‘What took you back to Portrevick?’ She managed to find something approaching a normal pitch at last. As far as she knew, Jake had left the village that awful day he had kissed her on his motorbike and had never been back. Jake’s expression sobered. ‘Sir Ian’s death,’ he said. ‘Oh yes, I was so sorry when I heard about that,’ said Cassie, latching on to what she hoped would be a safe subject. ‘He was such a lovely man,’ she remembered sadly. ‘Mum and Dad went back for the funeral, but one of our clients was getting married that day so I was on duty.’ The door opened at that point and Jake’s PA came in with a tray of coffee which she set on the table between them. She poured two cups and made a discreet exit. Why could she never be that quiet and efficient? Cassie wondered, admiring the other woman’s style. Jake passed one of the cups to her, and she accepted it gingerly. It was made of the finest porcelain, and she couldn’t help comparing it to the chipped mugs she and Joss used to drink endless cups of tea in the office. ‘I had to go and see Sir Ian’s solicitor on Friday,’ Jake said, pushing the milk jug towards her. ‘I stayed in the pub at Portrevick, and your name was mentioned in connection with weddings. One of your old friends—Tina?—said that you were in the business.’ ‘Did she?’ Cassie made a mental note to ring Tina the moment she left and demand to know why she hadn’t told her that Jake Trevelyan had reappeared. It wasn’t as if Tina didn’t know all about that devastating kiss at the Allantide Ball, although Cassie had never told anyone about the second one. Jake raised his eyes a little at her tone, and she hastened to make amends. Perhaps she had sounded rather vengeful, there. ‘I mean, yes, that’s right,’ she said, helping herself to milk but managing to slop most of it into the saucer. Now the cup was going to drip all over everything. With an inward sigh, Cassie hunted around in her bag for a tissue to mop up the mess. ‘I am.’ That sounded a bit too bald, didn’t it? You’re supposed to be selling yourself here, Cassie reminded herself, but she was distracted by the need to dispose of the sodden tissue now. She couldn’t just leave it in the saucer. It looked disgusting, and so unprofessional. ‘In the wedding business, that is,’ she added, losing track of where she had begun. Helplessly, she looked around for a bin, but of course there was nothing so prosaic in Jake’s office. It was immaculate, she noticed for the first time. Everything was squeaky clean, and the desk was clear except for a telephone and a very small, very expensive-looking computer. Ten years ago, Jake would only have been in an office like this to pinch the electronic equipment, she thought, wondering how on earth the rebel Jake, with his battered leathers and his bike, had made it to this exclusive, perfectly controlled space. She could see Jake eyeing the tissue askance. Obviously any kind of mess offended him now, which was a shame, given that she was banking her entire future on being able to work closely with him and his fiancée for the next few months. Cassie belonged to the creative school of organising, the one that miraculously produced order out of chaos at the very last minute, although no one, least of all her, ever knew quite how it happened. Unable to think of anything else do with it, Cassie quickly shoved the tissue back into her bag, where it would no doubt fester with all the other crumbs, chocolate wrappers, pen lids and blunt emery-boards that she never got round to clearing out. She would have to remember to be careful next time she put her hand in there. Jake’s expression was faintly disgusted, but he offered her the plate of biscuits. Cassie eyed them longingly. She was starving, but she knew better than to take one. The next thing, there would be biscuit crumbs everywhere, and her professional image had taken enough of a battering as it was this afternoon. ‘No thank you,’ she said politely, deciding to skip the coffee as well. At this rate she would just spill it all over herself and, worse, Jake’s pristine leather sofa. Leaning forward, Jake added milk to his own coffee without spilling so much as a drop. He stirred it briskly, tapped the spoon on the side of the cup, set it in the saucer and looked up at Cassie. The dark-blue eyes were very direct, and in spite of her determination to stay cool Cassie’s pulse gave an alarming jolt. ‘Well, shall we get down to business?’ he suggested. ‘Good idea.’ Delighted to leave the past and all its embarrassing associations behind, Cassie leapt into action. This was it. Her whole career—well, her job, Cassie amended to herself. She didn’t have a career so much as a haphazard series of unrelated jobs. Anyway, everything depended on how she sold herself now. Reaching for her briefcase, she unzipped it with a flourish, dug out a brochure and handed it to Jake. ‘This will give you some idea of what we do,’ she said in her best professional voice. It was odd that his fiancée wasn’t here. Joss always aimed her pitch at the bride-to-be; she would just have to make the best of it, Cassie supposed. ‘Of course, we offer a bespoke service, so we really start with what you want.’ She hesitated. ‘We usually discuss what you’d like with both members of the couple,’ she added delicately. ‘Will your fiancée be joining us?’ Jake had been flicking through the brochure, but at that he glanced up. ‘Fiancée?’ ‘The bride generally has a good idea about what kind of wedding she wants,’ Cassie explained. ‘In our experience, grooms tend to be less concerned with the nitty-gritty of the organisation.’ ‘I think there may be some misunderstanding,’ said Jake, frowning. ‘I’m not engaged.’ Cassie’s face fell ludicrously. ‘Not…? You’re not getting married?’ she said, hoping against hope that she had misheard. ‘No.’ Then how was she to hold on to her job? Cassie wondered wildly. ‘So you don’t need help planning a wedding?’ she asked, just to make sure, and Jake let the brochure drop onto the table with a slap of finality. ‘No.’ ‘But…’ Cassie was struggling to understand how it could all have gone so wrong before she had even started. ‘Why did you get in touch?’ ‘When Tina told me that you were in the wedding business I was under the impression that you managed a venue. I hadn’t appreciated that you were involved with planning the weddings themselves.’ ‘Well, we deal with venues, of course,’ said Cassie, desperate to hold on to something. ‘We help couples with every aspect of the wedding and honeymoon.’ She launched into her spiel, but Jake cut her off before she could really get going. ‘I’m really looking for someone who can advise on what’s involved in converting a house into a wedding venue. I’m sorry,’ he said, making to get to his feet. ‘It looks as if I’ve been wasting your time.’ Cassie wasn’t ready to give up yet. ‘We do that too,’ she said quickly. ‘What, waste time?’ ‘Set up wedding venues,’ she said, refusing to rise to the bait, and meeting his eyes so guilelessly that Jake was fairly sure that she was lying. ‘Between us, Joss and I have a lot of experience of using venues, and we know exactly what’s required. Where is the house?’ she asked quickly, before he could draw the conversation to a close. ‘I’m thinking about the Hall,’ he relented. ‘The Hall?’ Cassie repeated blankly. ‘Portrevick Hall?’ ‘Exactly.’ ‘But…isn’t it Rupert’s now?’ ‘No,’ said Jake. ‘Sir Ian left the estate in trust and I’m the trustee.’ Cassie stared at him, her career crisis momentarily forgotten. ‘You?’ she said incredulously. He smiled grimly at her expression. ‘Yes, me.’ ‘What about Rupert?’ she asked, too surprised for tact. ‘Sir Ian’s money was left in trust for him. He hasn’t proved the steadiest of characters, as you may know.’ Cassie did know. Rupert’s picture was regularly in the gossip columns. There was a certain irony in the fact that Jake was now the wealthy, successful one while Rupert had a reputation as a hellraiser, albeit a very glamorous one. He seemed to get by largely on charm and those dazzling good looks. She forced her attention back to Jake, who was still talking. ‘Sir Ian was concerned that, if he left him the money outright, Rupert would just squander it the way he has already squandered his inheritance from his parents.’ ‘It just seems unfair,’ she said tentatively. ‘Rupert is Sir Ian’s nephew, after all. I’m sure he expected to inherit Portrevick Hall.’ ‘I’m sure he did too,’ said Jake in a dry voice. ‘Rupert’s been borrowing heavily on exactly that expectation for the last few years now. That’s why Sir Ian put the estate into a trust. He was afraid Rupert would simply sell it off to the highest bidder otherwise.’ ‘But why make you the trustee?’ said Cassie without thinking. ‘It’s not a position I angled for, I can assure you,’ Jake said with a certain astringency. ‘But I owe Sir Ian a lot, so I had to agree when he asked me. I assumed there would be plenty of time for him to change his mind, and he probably did the same. He was only in his sixties, and he’d had no history of heart problems. If only he’d lived longer…’ Restlessly, Jake pushed away his coffee cup and got to his feet. There was no point in ‘if only’s. ‘Anyway, the fact remains that I’m stuck with responsibility for the house now. I promised Sir Ian that I would make sure the estate remained intact. He couldn’t bear the thought of the Hall being broken up into flats, or holiday houses built in the grounds. ‘Obviously, I need to fulfil his wishes, but I can’t leave a house like that standing empty. It needs to be used and maintained, and somehow I’ve got to find a way for it to pay for itself.’ Coming to a halt by the window, Jake frowned unseeingly at the view while he remembered his problem. ‘When I was down at Portrevick last week, sorting out things with the solicitor, she suggested that it might make a suitable weddingvenue. It seemed like an idea worth pursuing. I happened to mention it in the pub that night, and that’s how your name came up. But, judging by your brochure, your company is more concerned with the weddings themselves rather than running the venues.’ ‘Normally, yes,’ said Cassie, not so engrossed in the story of Sir Ian’s extraordinary will that she had forgotten that her new-found career with Avalon was on the line. ‘But the management of a venue is closely related to what we do, and in fact this is an area we’re looking at moving into,’ she added fluently. She would have to remember to tell Joss that they were diversifying. ‘Clearly, we have considerable experience of dealing with various venues, so we’re in a position to know exactly what facilities they need to offer.’ ‘Hmm.’ Jake sounded unconvinced. He turned from the window to study Cassie, sitting alert and eager on the sofa. ‘All right, you know the Hall. Given your considerable experience, what would you think of it as a wedding venue?’ ‘It would be perfect,’ said Cassie, ignoring his sarcasm. ‘It’s a beautiful old house with a wonderful location on the coast. It would be hard to imagine anywhere more romantic! I should think couples all over the South West would be queuing up to get married there.’ Jake came back to sit opposite her once more. He drummed his fingers absently on the table, obviously thinking. ‘It’s encouraging that you think it would make a popular venue, anyway,’ he said at last. ‘Yes, I do,’ said Cassie eagerly, sensing that Jake might be buying her spur-of-the-moment career shift into project management. She leant forward persuasively. ‘I’m sure Sir Ian would approve of the idea,’ she went on. ‘He loved people, didn’t he? I bet he would have liked to see the Hall used for weddings. They’re such happy occasions.’ ‘If you say so,’ said Jake, clearly unconvinced. He studied Cassie with a faint frown, wondering if he was mad to even consider taking her advice. She had always been a dreamer, he remembered, and the curly hair and dimple gave her a warm, sweet but slightly dishevelled air that completely contradicted the businesslike suit and the stylish, totally impractical shoes. There was something chaotic about Cassie, Jake decided. Even sitting still, she gave the alarming impression that she was on the verge of knocking something over or making a mess. Good grief, the girl couldn’t even manage walking into a room without falling over her own shoes! Having spent the last few years cultivating a careful sense of order and control, Jake found the aura of unpredictability Cassie exuded faintly disturbing. He had a strong suspicion, too, that Cassie’s ex-perience of managing a venue was no wider than his own. She was clearly desperate for work, and would say whatever she thought he wanted to hear. If he had any sense, he would close the meeting right now. вернуться ON THE other hand… On the other hand, Jake reminded himself, Sir Ian had been fond of her, and the fact that she knew the Hall was an undoubted advantage. He could at least give her the chance to convince him that she knew what she was talking about. For old times’ sake, thought Jake, looking at Cassie’s mouth. ‘So what would need to be done to make the Hall a venue?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Presumably we’d have to get a licence?’ ‘Absolutely,’ said Cassie with more confidence than she was feeling. ‘I imagine it would need quite a bit of refurbishment, too. You can charge a substantial fee for the hire of the venue, but in return couples will expect everything to be perfect. All the major rooms would have to be completely redecorated, and anything shabby or dingy replaced.’ Cassie was making it up as she went along, but she was banking on the fact that Jake knew less than she did about what weddings involved. Besides, how difficult could it be? She couldn’t let a little thing like not knowing what she was talking about stop her, not when the alternative was losing her job and having to admit to her family that she had failed again. ‘Naturally you would have to set it up so that everything is laid on,’ she went on, rather enjoying the authoritative note in her own voice. She would convince herself at this rate! ‘You need to think about catering, flowers, music; whatever a bride and groom could possibly want. They’re paying a lot of money for their big day, so you’ve got to make it very special for them. ‘Some people like to make all the arrangements themselves,’ she told Jake, who was listening with a kind of horrified fascination. ‘But if you want the Hall to be successful you’ll have to make it possible for them to hand over all the arrangements to the staff and not think about anything. That means being prepared to cater for every whim, as well as different kinds of weddings. It might just be a reception, or it might be the wedding itself, and that could include all sorts of different faiths, as well as civil partnerships.’ Cassie was really getting into her stride now. ‘Then you need to think about what other facilities you’re going to provide,’ she said, impressing herself with her own fluency. Who would have thought she could come out with this stuff off the top of her head? All those weddings she had attended over the past few months must have paid off. ‘The bride and groom will want somewhere to change, at the very least, or they might want to take over the whole house for a wedding party. You’ll need new kitchens too. Loos, obviously. And, of course, you’ll have to think about finding staff and making contacts with local caterers, florists, photographers and so on. ‘There’s marketing and publicity to consider as well,’ she pointed out. ‘Eventually, you’ll be able to rely on word of mouth, but it’ll be important until you’re established.’ Jake was looking appalled. ‘I didn’t realise it was such a business,’ he admitted. ‘You mean it’s not enough to clear the great hall for dancing and lay on a few white tablecloths?’ ‘I’m afraid not.’ There was a long pause. Jake’s mouth was turned down, and Cassie could see him rethinking the whole idea. Oh God, what if she had put him off? She bit her lip. That was what you got for showing off. You always go a bit too far. How many times when she had been growing up had her mother said that to her? Cassie could practically hear her saying it now. Anxiously, she watched Jake’s face. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. ‘We’re talking about a substantial investment,’ he said slowly at last, and Cassie let out a long breath she hadn’t known she was holding. ‘Yes, but it’ll be worth it,’ she said, trying to disguise her relief. ‘Weddings are big business. If you aim for the top end of the market, the house will more than pay for itself.’ Jake was still not entirely convinced. ‘It’s a lot to think about.’ ‘Not if you let us oversee everything for you,’ said Cassie, marvelling at her own nerve. ‘We could manage the whole project and set it up until it’s ready to hand over to a permanent manager.’ It was a brilliant idea, even if she said so herself. She couldn’t think why Joss hadn’t thought of going into venue management before. Jake was watching her with an indecipherable expression. Cassie lifted her chin and tried to look confident, half-expecting him to accuse her—accurately—of bluffing, but in the end he just asked how they structured their fees. ‘I’d have to discuss that with Joss when we’ve got a clearer idea of exactly what needs to be done,’ said Cassie evasively. Joss was much harder-headed when it came to money and always dealt with the financial side of things. ‘OK.’ Jake made up his mind abruptly. ‘Let me have a detailed proposal and I’ll consider it.’ ‘Great.’ Cassie’s relief was rapidly being overtaken by panic. What on earth had she committed herself to? ‘So, what next?’ Yes, what next, Cassie? Cassie gulped. ‘I think I need to take another look at the Hall and draw up a list of work required,’ she improvised. Fortunately, this seemed to be the right thing to say. Jake nodded. ‘That makes sense. Can you come to Cornwall on Thursday? I’ve got to go back myself to see the solicitor, so we could drive down together if that suits you.’ It didn’t, but Cassie knew better than to say so. Having bluffed this far, she couldn’t give up now. A seven-hour car journey with Jake Trevelyan wasn’t her idea of a fun day, but if she could pull off a contract it would be worth it. ‘Of course,’ she said, relaxing enough to pick up her coffee at last, and promptly splashing it over her skirt. She brushed the drops away hastily, hoping that Jake hadn’t noticed. ‘I can be ready to leave whenever you are.’ Jake watched Cassie practically fall out of the door, struggling with a weekend case on wheels, a motley collection of plastic carrier-bags and a handbag that kept slipping down her arm. With a sigh, he got out of the car to help her. He was double parked outside her office, and had hoped for a quick getaway, but clearly that wasn’t going to happen. He hadn’t made many mistakes in the last ten years, but Jake had a nasty feeling that appointing Cassie to manage the transformation of Portrevick Hall into a wedding venue might be one of them. He had been secretly impressed by the fluent way she had talked about weddings, and by the way she had seemed to know exactly what was involved, but at the same time her lack of experience was obvious. And yet she had fixed him with those big, brown eyes and distracted him with that mouth, and before Jake had quite known what he was doing he had agreed to give her the job. He must have been mad, he decided as he took the case from her. Cassie had to be the least organised organiser he had ever met. Look at her, laden with carrier bags, the wayward brown curls blowing around face, her cardigan all twisted under the weight of her handbag! She was a mess, Jake thought disapprovingly. She was casually dressed in a mishmash of colourful garments that appeared to be thrown together without any thought for neatness or elegance. Yes, she had grown into a surprisingly pretty girl, but she could do with some of Natasha’s poise and sophistication. He stashed the carrier bags in the boot with the case. ‘What on earth do you need all this stuff for?’ he demanded. ‘We’re only going for a couple of nights.’ ‘Most of it’s Tina’s. She came to London months ago and left half her clothes behind, so I’m taking them back to her. She’s invited me to stay with her,’ Cassie added. Jake was sleeping at the Hall, and he’d suggested that Cassie stay there as well, but Cassie couldn’t help thinking it all seemed a bit intimate. True, the Hall had bedrooms to spare, but they would still be sleeping in the same place, bumping into each other on the way to the bathroom, wandering into the kitchen in their PJs to make tea in the morning…No; Cassie wasn’t ready to meet Jake without her make-up on yet. ‘I thought I might as well stay for the weekend, since I’m down there,’ she went on, talking over the roof of the car as she made her way round to the passenger door. ‘I haven’t seen Tina for ages. I might talk to some local contractors on Monday, too, and then come back on the train.’ Cassie knew that she was talking too much, but the prospect of the long journey in Jake’s company was making her stupidly jittery. She had been fine until he’d appeared. Joss had given her unqualified approval to the plan, and Cassie had been enjoying dizzying fantasies about her new career in project management. It had been a strange experience, seeing Jake again, and she’d been left disorientated by the way he looked familiar but behaved like a total stranger. In some ways, that made it easier to dissassociate him from the Jake she had known in the past. This Jake was less menacing than the old one, for sure. The surliness and resentment had been replaced by steely control, but it was somehow just as intimidating. But at least she had the possibility of a job, Cassie reminded herself sternly as she got into the car. She had to concentrate on that, and not on the unnerving prospect of being shut up in a car with Jake Trevelyan. He had come straight from his office and was still wearing his suit, but, having slammed the boot shut, he took off his jacket, loosened his tie and rolled up his shirt sleeves before getting back into the driver’s seat. ‘Right,’ he said briskly, switching on the ignition. ‘Let’s go.’ It was a big, luxuriously comfortable car with swish leather seats, but Cassie felt cramped and uneasy as she pulled on the seatbelt. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Jake wasn’t just there, only inches away, filling the whole car with his dark, forceful presence, using up all the available oxygen so that she had to open the window to drag in a breath. ‘There’s air conditioning,’ said Jake, using the electric controls on his side to close it again. Air conditioning. Right. So how come it was so hard to breathe? ‘I was half-expecting you to turn up on a motorbike,’ she said chattily, to conceal her nervousness. ‘It’s just as well I didn’t, with all those bags you’ve brought along with you.’ Jake checked his mirror, indicated and pulled out into the traffic. ‘I always fancied the idea of riding pillion,’ said Cassie. ‘I don’t think you’d fancy it all the way down to Cornwall,’ Jake said, dampening her. ‘You’ll be much more comfortable in a car.’ Under normal circumstances, maybe, but Cassie couldn’t imagine anything less comfortable than being shut up with him in a confined space for seven hours. They had barely left Fulham, but the car seemed to have shrunk already, and she was desperately aware of Jake beside her. Her eyes kept snagging on his hands, strong and competent on the steering wheel, and she would find herself remembering how they had felt on her arms as he had yanked her towards him. Turning her head to remove them from her vision, Cassie found herself looking awkwardly out of the side window, but that was hard on her neck. Before she knew it, her eyes were skittering back to Jake’s side of the car, to the line of his cheek, the corner of his mouth and the faint prickle of stubble under his jaw where he had wrenched impatiently at his tie to loosen it. She could see the pulse beating steadily in his throat, and for one bizarre moment let herself imagine what it would be like to lean across and press her lips to it. Then she imagined Jake jerking away in horror and losing control of the car, which would crash into that newsagent’s, and then the police would come and she would have to make a statement: I’m sorry, officer, I was just overcome by an uncontrollable urge to kiss Jake Trevelyan. It would be in all the papers, and in no time at all the news would reach the Portrevick Arms, where they would all snigger. Village memories were long. No one would have forgotten what a fool she had made of herself over Rupert, and they would shake their heads and tell each other that Cassandra Grey never had been able to keep her hands off a man… Cassie’s heart was thumping just at the thought of it, and she jerked her head back to the side, ignoring the protest of her neck muscles. Comfortable? Hah! ‘Besides,’ Jake went on as Cassie offered up thanks that he hadn’t spent the last ten years learning to read minds, ‘I haven’t got a motorbike any more. I’ve left my biking days behind me.’ It would have been impossible to imagine Jake without that mean-looking bike years ago in Portrevick. ‘You’ve changed,’ said Cassie. ‘I sincerely hope so,’ said Jake. Why couldn’t she have changed that much? Cassie wondered enviously. If she had, she could be svelte and sophisticated, with a successful career behind her, instead of muddling along feeling most of the time much as she had at seventeen. She might look different, but deep down she felt just the same as she had done then. How had Jake done it? ‘What have you been doing for the past ten years?’ she asked him curiously. ‘I’ve been in the States for most of them. I got myself a degree, and then did an MBA at Harvard.’ ‘Really?’ said Cassie, impressed. In all the years she had wondered where Jake Trevelyan was and what he was doing, she had never considered that he might be at university. She had imagined him surfing, perhaps, or running a bar on some beach somewhere, or possibly making shady deals astride his motorbike—but Harvard? Even her father would be impressed by that. ‘I had no idea,’ she said. Jake shrugged. ‘I was lucky. I went to work for a smallish firm in Seattle, just as it was poised for expansion. It was an exciting time, and it gave me a lot of valuable experience. That company was at the forefront of digital technology, and Primordia is in the same field, which put me in a good position when they were looking for a new Chief Executive, although it took some negotiation to get me back to London.’ ‘Didn’t you want to come back?’ ‘Not particularly. But they made me an offer even I couldn’t refuse.’ ‘You were head-hunted?’ said Cassie, trying to imagine a company going out of its way to recruit her. Cassandra Grey’s just the person we want for this job, they would say. How can we tempt her? Nope, she couldn’t do it. Jake obviously took the whole business for granted. ‘That’s how it works.’ He pulled up at a red light and glanced at Cassie. ‘What about you? How long have you been with Avalon?’ ‘Just since the beginning of the year. Before that I was a receptionist,’ she said. ‘I did a couple of stints in retail, a bit of temping, a bit of waitressing…’ She sighed. ‘Not a very impressive career, as my father is always pointing out. I’m a huge disappointment to my parents. The others have all done really well. They all went to Cambridge. Liz is a doctor, Tom’s an architect and even Jack is a lawyer now. They’re all grown-ups, and I’m just the family problem.’ Cassie had intended the words to sound humorous, but was uneasily aware they had come out rather flat. Rather as if she didn’t think it was such a funny joke after all. ‘They’re always ringing each other up and wondering what to do about Cassie.’ But that was all going to change, she reminded herself. This could be the start of a whole new career. She was going to turn Portrevick Hall into a model venue. Celebrities would be queuing up to get married there. After a year or two, they wouldn’t even have to advertise. Just mentioning that a wedding would be at Portrevick Hall would mean that it would be the last word in style and elegance. Cassandra Grey? they would say. Isn’t she the one who made Portrevick Hall a byword for chic and exclusive? She would get tired of calls from the head-hunters. Not again, she would sigh. When are you people going to get the message that I don’t want to commit to one job? Because, of course, by then she would be a consultant. She had always fancied the thought of being one of those. Cassie settled herself more comfortably in her seat, liking the way this fantasy was going. All those smart hotels in London would be constantly ringing her up and begging her to come and sort out their events facilities—and probably not just in London, now she came to think of it. She would have an international reputation. Yes, she’d get tired of jetting off to New York and Dubai and Sydney. Cassie smiled to herself. Liz, Tom and Jack would still be ringing each other up, but instead of worrying about her they would be complaining about how humdrum their sensible careers seemed in comparison with her glamorous life. I’m sick of Cassie telling me she’d really just like a few days at home doing nothing, Liz would grumble. ‘And what’s Cassie going to do about herself?’ asked Jake, breaking rudely into her dream. ‘I’m going to do what I’m doing,’ she told him firmly. ‘I love working for Joss at Avalon. It’s the best job I’ve ever had, and I’ll do anything to keep it.’ Even pretending to understand about project management, she added mentally. ‘What does a wedding planner do all day?’ ‘It could be anything,’ she said. ‘I might book string quartets, or find exactly the right shade of ribbon, or source an unusual cake-topper. I love the variety. I can be helping a bride to choose her dress one minute, and sorting out accommodation for the wedding party the next. And then, of course, I get to go to all the weddings.’ Jake made a face. He couldn’t think of anything worse. ‘It sounds hellish,’ he said frankly. ‘Don’t you get bored?’ ‘Never,’ said Cassie. ‘I love weddings. I cry every time—I do!’ she insisted when he looked at her in disbelief. ‘Why? These people are clients, not friends.’ ‘They feel like friends by the time we’ve spent months together planning the wedding,’ she retorted. ‘But it doesn’t matter whether I know the bride and groom or not. I always want to cry when I walk past Chelsea register office and see people on the steps after they’ve got married. I love seeing everyone so happy. A wedding is such a hopeful occasion.’ ‘In spite of all the evidence to the contrary,’ said Jake astringently. ‘How many of those weddings you’re snivelling at this year will end in divorce by the end of the next? Talk about the triumph of hope over experience!’ ‘But that’s exactly why weddings are so moving,’ said Cassie. ‘They’re about people choosing to love each other. Lots of people get married more than once. They know how difficult marriage can be, but they still want to make that commitment. I think it’s wonderful,’ she added defiantly. ‘What have you got against marriage, anyway?’ ‘I’ve got nothing against marriage,’ said Jake. ‘It’s all the expense and fuss of weddings that I find pointless. It seems to me that marriage is a serious business, and you should approach it in a serious way, not muddle it all up with big dresses, flowers, cakes and whatever else goes on at weddings these days.’ ‘Weddings are meant to be a celebration,’ she reminded him. ‘What do you want the bride and groom to do instead—sit down and complete a checklist?’ ‘At least then they would know they were compatible.’ Cassie rolled her eyes. ‘So what would be on your checklist?’ ‘I’d want to know that the woman I was marrying was intelligent, and sensible…and confident,’ Jake decided. ‘More importantly, I’d need to be sure that we shared the same goals, that we both had the same attitude to success in our careers…and sex, of course…and to little things like tidiness that can put the kybosh on a relationship quicker than anything else.’ ‘You don’t ask for much, do you?’ said Cassie tartly, reflecting that she wouldn’t get many ticks on Jake’s checklist. In fact, if he had set out to describe her exact opposite, he could hardly have done a better job. ‘Clever, confident, successful and tidy. Where are you going to find a paragon like that?’ ‘I already have,’ said Jake. Oh. ‘Oh,’ said Cassie, unaccountably put out. ‘What’s her name?’ ‘Natasha. We’ve been together six months.’ ‘So why haven’t you married her if she’s so perfect?’ Try as she might, Cassie couldn’t keep the snippiness from her voice. ‘We just haven’t got round to talking about it,’ said Jake. ‘I think it would be a good move, though. It makes sense.’ ‘Makes sense?’ echoed Cassie in disbelief. ‘You should get married because you’re in love, not because it makes sense!’ ‘In my book, committing yourself to someone for life because you’re in love is what doesn’t make sense,’ he retorted. Crikey, whatever happened to romance? Cassie shook her head. ‘Well, if you ever decide that doing a checklist together isn’t quite enough, remember that Avalon can help you plan your wedding.’ ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ he said. ‘I imagine Natasha would like a wedding of some kind, but she’s a very successful solicitor, so she wouldn’t have the time to organise much herself.’ Of course, Natasha would be a successful solicitor, Cassie thought, having taken a dislike to his perfect girlfriend without ever having met her. She was tempted to say that Natasha would no doubt be too busy being marvellous to have time to bother with anything as inconsequential as a wedding, but remembered in time that Avalon’s business relied on brides being too busy to do everything themselves. Besides, it might sound as if she was jealous of Natasha. Which was nonsense, of course. ‘I certainly wouldn’t know where to start,’ Jake went on. ‘Weddings are unfamiliar territory to me.’ ‘You must have been to loads of weddings, mustn’t you?’ ‘Very few,’ he said. ‘In fact, only a couple. I lived in the States until last year, so I missed out on various family weddings.’ ‘I don’t know how you managed to avoid them,’ said Cassie. ‘All my friends seem have got married in the last year or so. There was a time when it felt as if I was going to a wedding every other weekend, and that was just people I knew! It was as if it was catching. Suddenly everyone was married.’ ‘Everyone except you?’ ‘That’s what it feels like, anyway,’ she said with little sigh. ‘Why not you? You’re obviously not averse to the idea of getting married.’ ‘I just haven’t found the right guy, I suppose.’ Cassie sighed again. ‘I’ve had boyfriends, of course, but none of them have had that special something.’ Jake slanted a sardonic glance at her. ‘Don’t tell me you’re still holding out for Rupert Branscombe Fox?’ ‘Of course not,’ she said, flushing with embarrassment at the memory of the massive crush she had had on Rupert. Not that she could really blame herself. What seventeen-year-old girl could be expected to resist that lethal combination of good looks and glamour? And Rupert could be extraordinarily charming when he wanted to be. He wasn’t so charming when he didn’t, of course, as Cassie had discovered even before Jake had kissed her. Whoops; she didn’t want to be thinking about that kiss, did she? Too late. Cassie tried the looking-out-of-the window thing again, but London was a blur, and she was back outside the Hall again, being yanked against Jake again. She could smell the leather of his jacket, feel the hardness of his body and the unforgiving steel of the motorbike. In spite of Cassie’s increasingly desperate efforts to keep her eyes on the interminable houses lining the road, they kept sliding round to Jake’s profile. The traffic was heavy and he was concentrating on driving, so she gave in and let them skitter over the angular planes of his face to the corner of his mouth, at which point her heart started thumping and thudding alarmingly. It was ten years later. Jake had changed completely. The leather jacket had gone, the bike had gone. But that mouth was still exactly the same. That mouth…She knew what it felt like. She knew how it tasted. She knew just how warm and sure those firm lips could be. Jake was an austere stranger beside her now, but she had kissed him. The memory was so vivid and so disorientating that Cassie felt quite giddy for a moment. She swallowed. ‘I had a major crush on Rupert, but it was just a teenage thing. Remember what a gawk I was?’ she said, removing her gaze firmly back to the road. ‘I have this fantasy that if I bumped into Rupert now he wouldn’t recognise me.’ ‘I recognised you,’ Jake pointed out unhelpfully. ‘Yes, well, that’s the thing about fantasies,’ Cassie retorted in a tart voice. ‘They’re not real. I’m never likely to meet Rupert again. He lives in a different world, and the closest I get to him is seeing his picture in a celebrity magazine with some incredibly beautiful woman on his arm. Even if by some remote chance I did meet him I know he wouldn’t even notice me, let along recognise me.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Oh, I’m much too ordinary for the likes of Rupert,’ said Cassie with a sigh. ‘You were right about that, anyway.’ Jake looked taken aback. ‘When did I ever say you were ordinary?’ ‘You know when.’ She flashed him an accusing glance. ‘After the Allentide Ball.’ After you kissed me. ‘Before you punched Rupert on the nose. I gather you took it upon yourself to tell Rupert I wasn’t nearly sophisticated enough for him.’ It still rankled after all these years. ‘You weren’t,’ said Jake. ‘Then why were you fighting?’ ‘Not because Rupert leapt to defend your sophistication and readiness to embark on a torrid affair, if that’s what you were thinking!’ ‘He said you’d been offensive,’ said Cassie. ‘Did he?’ said Jake with a certain grimness. It was typical of Rupert to have twisted the truth, he thought. He had been sitting at the bar, having a quiet drink, when Rupert had strolled in with his usual tame audience. Jake had found Rupert’s arrogance difficult to deal with at the best of times, and that night certainly hadn’t been one of those. Jake often wondered how his life would have turned out if he hadn’t been in a particularly bad temper that night. The raw, piercing sweetness of Cassie’s kiss at the Allentide ball had caught him unawares, and it didn’t help that she had so patently been using him to attract Rupert’s attention. Jake had been left feeling edgy, and furious with himself for expecting that it could have been any different and caring one way or the other. And then Rupert had been there, showing off as usual. He’d been boasting about having had the estate manager’s ungainly daughter, and making the others laugh. Jake’s hand had clenched around his glass. He might not have liked being used, but Cassie was very young. She hadn’t deserved to have her first experience of sex made the subject of pub banter. Rupert had gone on and on, enjoying his audience, and Jake had finally had enough. He’d set down his glass very deliberately and risen to his feet to face Rupert. There had been a chorus of taunting, ‘Ooohs’ when he’d told him to leave Cassie alone, but he’d at least had the satisfaction of wiping the smirks off all their faces. Especially Rupert’s. Jake smiled ferociously as he remembered how he had released years of pentup resentment. The moment his fist had connected with Rupert’s nose had been a sweet one, and worth being banned from the village pub for. If it hadn’t been for that fight, Rupert wouldn’t have talked about assault charges, news of the fight wouldn’t have reached Sir Ian’s ears, and he wouldn’t be where he was now. Oh yes; it had definitely been worth it. вернуться ‘IT’S my word against Rupert’s, I suppose, but I can tell you, I was never offensive about you,’ he said to Cassie. ‘And being ordinary isn’t the same thing as not being sophisticated. Believe me, you’ve never struck me as ordinary!’ ‘But I am,’ said Cassie glumly. ‘Or I am compared to Rupert, anyway. He’s just so glamorous. Even you’d have to admit that.’ Jake’s snort suggested he wasn’t prepared to admit anything of the kind. Of course, he’d never had any time for Rupert. Cassie supposed she could understand it. Rupert might be handsome, but even at the height of her crush she had recognised that arrogance in him as well. At the time, she had thought that it just added to his air of glamour. The truth was that she still had a soft spot for Rupert, so good-looking and so badly behaved. In another age, he would have been a rake, ravishing women left, right and centre. Cassie could just see him in breeches and ruffles, smiling that irresistible smile, and breaking hearts without a flicker of shame. Not the kind of man you would want to marry, perhaps, but very attractive all the same. Cassie sighed a little wistfully. ‘Rupert could be very charming,’ she tried to explain, not that Jake was likely to be convinced. They had barely got going on the motorway, and already overhead gantries were flashing messages about queues ahead. Muttering in frustration, he eased his foot up from the accelerator. ‘What’s so charming about squandering an inheritance from your parents and then sponging off your uncle?’ he demanded irritably. ‘Sir Ian got tired of bailing him out in the end, but he did what he could to encourage Rupert to settle down. He left his fortune to Rupert in trust until he’s forty, in the hope that by then he’ll have come to his senses.’ ‘Forty?’ Cassie gasped. Rupert was only in his early thirties, like Jake, and eight years would be an eternity to wait when you had a lifestyle like Rupert’s. ‘That’s awful,’ she said without thinking. ‘What’s he going to do?’ ‘He could always try getting a job like the rest of us,’ said Jake astringently ‘Or, if he really can’t bring himself to do anything as sordid as earning his own living, he can always get married. Sir Ian specified that the trust money could be released if Rupert gets married and settles down. He can’t just marry anyone to get his hands on the money, though. He’ll have to convince me as trustee that it’s a real marriage and his wife a sensible woman before I’ll release the funds.’ ‘Gosh, Rupert must have been livid when he found out!’ ‘He wasn’t too happy,’ Jake agreed with masterly understatement. ‘He tried to contest the will, and when he didn’t get anywhere with that he suggested we try and discuss things in a “civilised” way—which I gather meant me ignoring Sir Ian’s wishes and handing the estate over to him to do with as he pleased. ‘I was prepared to be civilised, of course. I invited him round for a drink, and it was just like old times,’ he went on ironically. ‘Rupert was arrogant and patronising, and I wanted to break his nose again!’ ‘You didn’t!’ ‘No,’ admitted Jake. ‘But I don’t know what would have happened if Natasha hadn’t been there.’ ‘What did she make of Rupert?’ ‘She thought he was shallow.’ ‘I bet she thought he was gorgeous too,’ said Cassie with a provocative look, and Jake pokered up and looked down his nose. ‘Natasha is much too sensible to judge people on their appearances,’ he said stiffly. Of course she was. Cassie rolled her eyes as they overtook a van that was hogging the middle lane, startling the driver, who gave a grimace that was well out of Jake’s field of vision. The van moved smartly into the slow lane. ‘So how come she got involved with you if she’s so sensible?’ she asked, forgetting for a moment that Jake was an important client. ‘We get on very well,’ said Jake austerely. ‘What does getting on very well mean, exactly?’ Ahead, there was a flurry of red lights as cars braked, and Jake moved smoothly into the middle lane. ‘It means we’re very compatible,’ he said. And they were. Natasha was everything he admired in a woman. She was very attractive—beautiful, in fact—and clear-thinking. She didn’t constantly demand emotional reassurance the way his previous girlfriends had. She was focused on her own career, and understood if he had to work late, as he often did. She never made a fuss. And she was classy. That was a large part of her appeal, Jake was prepared to admit. Years ago in Portrevick, Natasha wouldn’t have looked at him twice, but when he walked into a party with her on his arm now he knew that he had arrived. She was everything Jake had never known when he was growing up. She had the assurance that came from a life of wealth and privilege, and every time Jake looked at her she reassured him that he had left Portrevick and the past behind him at last. He didn’t feel like telling Cassie all of that, though. The traffic had slowed to a crawl and Jake shifted gear. ‘I hope this is just sheer weight of traffic,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to spend any more time on the road than we have to.’ Nor did Cassie. She wriggled in her seat. Quite apart from anything else, she was starving. Afraid that she would be late, she hadn’t had time for breakfast that morning, and her stomach was gurgling ominously. She was hoping Jake would stop for petrol at some point, but at this rate they’d be lucky to get to a service station for supper, let alone lunch. The lines of cars were inching forward in a staggered pattern. Sometimes the lane on their left would have a spurt of movement, only to grind to a halt as the supposed fast-lane speeded up, and then it would be the middle lane’s turn. They kept passing or being passed by the same cars, and Cassie was beginning to recognise the occupants. An expensive saloon on their left was creeping ahead of them once more. Covertly, Cassie studied the driver and passenger, both of whom were staring grimly ahead and not talking. ‘I bet they’ve had a row,’ she said. ‘Who?’ ‘The couple on our left in the blue car.’ Cassie pointed discreetly. ‘Have a look when we go past. I can’t decide whether she left the top off the toothpaste again, or whether she’s incredibly possessive and sulking because he just had a text from his secretary.’ Jake cast her an incredulous glance. ‘What’s wrong with getting a text from your secretary?’ |
