The Millionaire's Chosen Bride
He stared pensively out of the window for a second. Whether she was brilliant behind the wheel or not wasn’t particularly relevant anyway…all he knew was that she was certainly a very intriguing woman—at any rate, she’d intrigued him more than anyone had done for a very long time!
He swept out of the car park, smiling briefly to himself, painfully aware that his present, overpowering sensation was one of wanting to cover those dainty, seductive lips with his own! He snorted derisively. Fat chance of that ever happening! he thought.
As she made her way back to her hotel, Melody felt such a strange mix of emotions she could have screamed. She should have been thrilled and excited at her purchase that morning, and of course she was, yet she realised Adam did have a point about the time she’d be spending at the cottage—actually living there, and buying her bread from the little bakery, fetching her newspaper from the shop. She knew only too well that people like her were a serious irritation who did little to help the local economy.
After she’d driven for a mile or two she pulled in to the side of the road and took the local map which the hotel had given her from her handbag. Although she’d told Adam that she’d have no difficulty finding her way back to the Red House, the fact was she didn’t have a clue where she was. But she hadn’t wanted to extend her association with the man by accepting his offer that he should shepherd her back. Although he was, without doubt, the dishiest male she’d met in her whole life, she felt that this was not the time to prolong an unlooked-for acquaintance. At this staggeringly unexpected point in her life it would be better to be alone, to think clearly for herself.
The route they’d taken from the village to the pub was unknown to her. All these country roads looked exactly the same as one another, and her hotel was an isolated building that didn’t seem to belong anywhere special. Melody sighed as she traced the minute, incomprehensible wiggles on the map with her finger. If the worst came to the worst she could always go right back to the village and set off again from there, she thought. But surely there must be a more direct route from where she now was to the Red House?
Feeling that she’d better go back to the pub, she turned the car around and began to drive cautiously along the empty road. Suddenly, rounding a corner, she spotted a woman cyclist ahead of her. Good, she thought. A local who would obviously know where the hotel was.
Pulling up slowly alongside, she opened the passenger window and called out.
‘Hello—sorry to bother you, but I’m trying to find my way back to the Red House Hotel. Can you direct me? I’m hopelessly lost!’
The woman—dark-haired and attractive, probably in her mid-thirties, Melody assessed—had an open, friendly expression, and immediately got off her bike—an ancient vehicle with a basket on the front in which were several boxes of eggs. She looked in at Melody.
‘I’m afraid you’re a bit off-course,’ she said, frowning slightly and shielding her eyes from the sun for a second. ‘Look, your best bet is to go to the crossroads a mile up the road in front of us, take the left turn, then go on until you come to the smallholding on the right. You can’t miss it. There are always two white horses in the field in front. Turn down that road, go on for another mile or so, then the road sort of doubles back on itself before you must take the next right turn. The Red House is there, more or less in front of you. Or should be if I’ve got it right!’ the woman said, laughing.
Melody repeated the instructions slowly, hoping she’d find the place before nightfall. The woman’s last remark didn’t sound particularly convincing! Especially with the added, ‘Good Luck!’ that she heard as she drove away.
Anyway, she thought, her present confusion would do nothing to spoil the excitement of the day. Soon, soon—when the necessary formalities had been completed—she would be given the keys to her cottage and would be able to revel in really looking around. She would go upstairs and open the door to the little bedroom at the back. The room in which she’d been born.
CHAPTER TWO
MUCH later in the afternoon, Melody drove up the winding drive that led to the B&B called Poplars, a large Victorian building, and followed the sign to the visitors’ car park.
She got out of the car and went towards the large front entrance door. As she entered, a stocky, bearded man came through to greet her, two chocolate Labrador dogs padding behind him. He grinned cheerfully.
‘Ah—Mrs Forester? You booked by phone?’
Melody smiled back. ‘Yes, that’s right.’
He held out a work-roughened hand. ‘I’m Callum Brown. I own this place with my wife Fee—or rather, it owns us! I saw you come up the drive, and as you’re our last guest due to check in today, I gathered it must be you. Now—shall we fetch your things?’
Together they went across to the car park, the dogs trotting obediently behind Callum. Melody bent to pat them. ‘I love dogs,’ she said. ‘What are they called?’
‘Tam and Millie,’ Callum said, glancing down at them fondly.
They went back inside, and Melody stood for a few moments at the desk in the hall to sign in.
‘Your room is number three, on the second floor,’ Callum said. ‘I’m afraid we don’t run to a lift, so I’ll take your cases for you.’
‘No need for that, Callum. I’ll do the honours. It’ll be a pleasure.’
Melody swung around in amazement. She’d recognised the voice straight away, and now found herself staring once more at the man who’d paid for her lunch.
‘What…what are you doing here? I mean…’ she began rather stupidly.
‘Staying with friends—as I told you I was,’ he replied easily. ‘But I didn’t realise that Poplars was where you’d transferred to. Anyway,’ he added, ‘let me make myself useful.’ He took her room key from Callum and picked up her cases.
‘D’you two know each other, then?’ Callum asked curiously.
‘Yes, we do. We met at the auction this morning,’ Adam said. He paused, then, ‘Let me introduce you properly. Mel is the new owner of Gatehouse Cottage, Callum.’
‘Well…congratulations,’ Callum said slowly. ‘You’ve bought a very desirable property.’
Just then the cyclist whom Melody had spoken to earlier breezed into the hall.
‘Oh, hello again!’ the woman said to Melody, and Melody’s heart sank. She hoped that nothing would be said about their afternoon encounter—but no such luck. ‘You must be Mrs Forester,’ the woman went on. ‘The guest who managed to book our last room? I’m so glad that you obviously found your way back to the Red House! It was lucky that I was just on my way home after collecting the eggs from the farm.’ She turned to the men. ‘Mrs Forester got herself hopelessly lost this afternoon, trying to get back to her hotel, and she took a surprising risk asking me for directions! I’m saying that before either of you two do,’ she added.
She smiled at Melody, whose face had slowly turned crimson as the woman was speaking. Why did it have to be this particular person she’d asked, a friend of Adam’s? What an opportunity for him to gloat, she thought.
‘Yes…I did find it, thanks,’ she murmured, looking away quickly.
Without saying anything further, Adam led the way along the hall and up two narrow flights of stairs. He glanced back at her over his shoulder. ‘I didn’t realise you were married,’ he said bluntly.
‘I’m not,’ she retorted.
After that there was silence, then he said casually, ‘You’ll like it here. Callum and Fee are wonderful people. This place is almost always full—though they always keep a room for me at this time of year.’
‘You must be a very special friend,’ Melody said flatly.
‘Oh, we’ve all known each other for yonks,’ he replied, stopping outside her room and inserting the key.
Melody knew at once that she was going to be happy here. As she’d expected, it was furnished in a cosy way, with a large double bed, comfortable furniture and a very small en suite shower room in the corner—obviously a desirable extra which had been recently added on.
‘A lot of work’s been going on here,’ she observed, dropping her handbag onto the bed.
Adam had put down her cases and was standing at the window, looking out. ‘They’ve made a huge difference to the place,’ he said. ‘Callum does all the renovations himself, and Fee keeps the domestic side going.’
‘But she must have help, surely?’ Melody said.
‘Oh, a girl comes in each morning to help with the breakfasts, and another one arrives later to help with the laundry and cleaning.’ He paused. ‘And Callum’s very hands-on…they’re a fantastic team. And still very much in love even after ten years of marriage,’ he added, a trifle obliquely.
Melody looked at him quickly, wondering whether he was or ever had been married. There’d been a distinctly cynical ring to his remark, she thought. ‘How long have they owned the place, then?’ she asked.
‘Thirteen years,’ Adam said. He turned to look out of the window again. ‘They were born in the village, and never want to leave the area.’
The significance of his words wasn’t lost on Melody. She was being got at again, she thought irritably. She raised her chin defiantly. It simply was not possible for everyone in the world to live and work in the place of their birth, to stay in one place and do the right thing—much as she acknowledged that the thought of really belonging here, living here all the time, provoked a definite feeling of envy! Her job at the bank was fluid, high-powered and fast moving. At twenty-eight, she was one of the youngest members of staff to hold the position she did, and she was proud of her progress—if only for her mother’s sake.
She was very well aware how vital it was—especially for a woman—to study and work hard, to dedicate yourself to what you were good at. Success brought not only prosperity, but security and peace of mind. You’d never need to rely on anyone else, ever. No, whatever this man thought of her motives, she thought, there was no way she could ever live here permanently. The only option was for this to be her bolthole as often as she could get away. Gatehouse Cottage was hers, the ideal solution for her particular way of life, and if Adam disapproved—tough! Anyway, wasn’t it time for him to make himself scarce and give her some peace to shower and change? she thought.
As if on cue, he went towards the door. ‘The couple of pubs in the village do pretty good food,’ he said casually. ‘Especially the Rose & Crown.’ He paused. ‘If you’d like me to come with you—as this is your first evening here—I’d be very happy to oblige.’
‘Oh—that’s okay, thanks,’ Melody said quickly. How embarrassing!Just because they’d met already, there was no need for him to feel responsible for her, she thought. ‘After that lovely lunch I shan’t need to eat until later on. In any case,’ she added, ‘I might go for a walk first, to get an appetite.’
Tilting his head in acknowledgement of her remark, he left the room, and Melody closed the door behind him thankfully. The man’s presence unnerved her, she thought—but why? Was it just because she had bought the cottage? Or because he’d made it clear what he thought of holiday ownership? Or was it because he had managed to awaken feelings in her that she was absolutely determined would never affect her life ever again? Her work was her soul mate now, and always would be. Work absorbed the mind totally, and carried no risk of hurting her, of wounding her heart. It was a totally abstract thing that demanded only cold dedication. Work didn’t have feelings.
Shaking off all these somewhat intense thoughts, she unpacked her cases, grateful for the huge wardrobe complete with wooden hangers, and then had a long, hot shower, shampooing her hair vigorously. She hoped that by the time she was ready to go back downstairs no one would be about and she could slip out unobserved. She needed to be by herself and take stock of her situation. Perhaps she’d go down to Gatehouse Cottage later and have a really good look at the garden. It had obviously been neglected lately, she realised, but she’d seen the potential at a glance. The gooseberry bushes were heavy with fruit, and the ripening apples and pears on the trees indicated a busy harvesting time later on. Melody hugged herself in renewed excitement.
It was a warm, sultry evening, and she decided to wear a cream, low-necked blouse and a long multi-coloured ethnic cotton skirt. She dried and brushed out her hair, tying it back in a long ponytail, and slipped her feet into open-toed silver sandals.
She went cautiously downstairs. It was quiet and deserted, with a delicious smell of cooking reaching her nostrils— making her realise that, after all, she was hungry enough to find the pub which Adam had talked about sooner rather than later.
She was just letting herself out of the building when a door in the hallway opened and Fee appeared, her cheeks flushed.
‘Oh, there you are, Mrs Forester… We were wondering whether you’d like to have supper with us this evening.’ she said ‘You’d be more than welcome.’
Melody was taken aback at the suggestion, but managed to say quickly, ‘Oh—please call me Mel…all my friends do. And I appreciate the offer, but really I’d hate to intrude. I’m sure you’re looking forward to the end of the day and some time to yourself.’
‘You wouldn’t be intruding,’ Fee said. ‘Adam’s been telling us a little bit about you, and we realise you’re a complete stranger here.’ She paused. ‘Actually, it’d be good to have another woman on the scene to chat to for once, instead of having to listen to Callum and Adam going on and on about boring men things.’ She smiled. ‘To have a nice gossip! And, since you’ll be taking possession of the cottage, we could fill you in on how everything ticks in the village. I’ve roasted a wonderful piece of lamb,’ she added. ‘Because if I dish up one more salad meal I’ll have a mutiny on my hands! What’s the matter with men and salad?’ she said.
She nodded her head in the direction from which male voices could be heard, and Melody found herself unable to resist the genuine invitation she’d been offered.
‘Well—if you’re absolutely sure,’ she began hesitantly.
‘Wonderful!’ Fee said. ‘Come on through. It’ll be ready in about twenty minutes. Just time for an appetiser!’
Although she’d really have preferred to do her own thing tonight—mainly because she didn’t particularly want to spend more time in Adam’s company—Melody knew it would have been churlish to refuse Fee’s suggestion. Besides, the smell of roasting meat was extremely tantalising!
She followed the other woman along a narrow passageway that led to the kitchen, where Adam was already sitting comfortably with his long legs stretched out in front of him, while Callum was busy uncorking a bottle of wine. Both men looked up as they came in, and Adam got slowly to his feet.
‘Ah, good,’ Callum said easily. ‘I want your opinion on this wine, Mrs Forester. I bottled it two years ago, and we haven’t tried it yet.’
‘Look—please call me Mel,’ Melody begged. ‘Do you make your own wine, as well as everything else you do?’ she added, impressed. She bent to smooth the glossy heads of the dogs, who were fast asleep sprawled in front of the Aga.
Callum grinned. ‘Oh, my wife beats me about the head if she finds me shirking,’ he said. ‘And we can’t let all the plums and damsons go to waste.’ He eased the cork out gently. ‘Besides, what we don’t keep for ourselves we sell off at the village fête. It disappears even quicker than Fee’s fruitcakes!’ He threw her a quizzical glance. ‘I don’t expect you’re used to the sort of daft things we get up to,’ he said. ‘Like pig roasts and skittle championships, and tugs of war at the annual Harvest Fair. Not your usual scene, from what Adam has been telling us. Still, I’m sure you’ll get used to it, in your own time.’
Melody looked away. What exactly had Adam been saying about her? she wondered. That she was never likely to fit in here, never be ‘one of them’? She began to feel uneasy.
Adam pulled out a chair for her to sit, glancing down at her, admiring her casual, summery appearance, and the feminine hairstyle which seemed to add something to the package, he thought. Or maybe it took something away—whatever it was, it held more allure for him than the rather sharp-edged look he’d observed that morning.
Callum took a sip of his wine. ‘Mmm,’ he said, rolling his tongue around his mouth in extravagant appreciation. ‘I think you’re all going to approve of this. How shall we describe it? Fruity, nutty, saucy, suggestive…?’
‘Shut up, Callum,’ Fee said. ‘Give us all a glass, for goodness’ sake. Why do we have to go through this ridiculous rigmarole every time you open a fresh bottle? Just let’s drink it, then can you come and carve the meat, please?’
Melody took a few tentative sips of the wine and realised that it was the most delicious she’d tasted in a long time. ‘This is fantastic, Callum! It beats champagne by a mile,’ she added, taking another generous mouthful.
‘Oh, I’m afraid we don’t have much experience of drinking champagne,’ Callum said easily. ‘Though I think we had sparkling wine at our wedding, didn’t we, Fee?’
Melody bit her lip, feeling her colour rise. She hadn’t meant to give the impression that she was a connoisseur—though it was certainly true that she was offered plenty of expensive wines in her career. What sort of impression was she giving these people? Especially after her extravagant purchase that morning, she thought desperately.
The episode passed as Callum got to work with the carving knife, while Fee put bowls of vegetables and a large plate of crisp brown roast potatoes in front of them. Adam sat down next to Melody, and conversation paused significantly while they all helped themselves to the mouthwatering food. And although Melody felt uneasy, and somewhat out of place sitting here with these complete strangers, she couldn’t help enjoying the feeling of being made welcome. And it wasn’t long before the wine kicked in, making her feel warm, tingly and relaxed.
It was nearly ten o’clock before she decided to call it a day, and she realised how good it had felt to be with people who were not involved with work. Even though the staff often called in at a wine bar on the way home, or had the occasional meal together, it was always a case of talking shop. This had been different.
After thanking her hosts profusely, she stood for a moment outside, breathing in the soft evening air, and as it was still not quite dark she decided to go for a short stroll. This was the sort of thing you could do in a quiet retreat like this, she thought, as she walked noiselessly down the drive—there was no sense of danger lurking around every corner, no dark-hooded yobs hanging about, and the only sounds were the occasional baaing of a sheep or the hoot of a night owl.
She wandered along the few hundred yards towards Gatehouse Cottage. Not that she would be actually given the keys until the day after tomorrow, when all the financial arrangements had been completed—but it would be good to just stand in her very own front garden and plan the future. And not only that, she realised. The future was one consideration, but she also wanted to visit the past—a past which she had not seen fit to talk about to the others. It was not important to anyone but her, after all.
It took only three or four minutes to get to the cottage, and she paused before silently opening the small wooden gate and going up the path.
She peeped in through one of the windows—which was in need of a good scrub, she noticed—and stared in at the sitting room. She couldn’t see much in this light, but, cupping her hands around her eyes, she could just make out its shape, and the open grate in the corner. She’d have a log fire there one day, she promised herself. On a grey morning that room would spring to flaming life.
Suddenly something wet touched her ankle, followed by a snuffling sound, and Melody jumped, letting out a faint cry of alarm. She sprang back and turned quickly to see one of the Labradors gazing back at her solemnly. Then Adam’s voice sounded through the darkness.
‘I knew I’d find you here,’ he said quietly. He paused. ‘I volunteered to give the dogs their nightly stroll,’ he went on. ‘Tam didn’t frighten you, did he?’
‘No, of course not!’ Melody lied. She swallowed nervously. ‘My instinctive thought was that it might have been a fox…or a badger…’
‘Well, would that have worried you?’ he asked casually.
‘No…it was just…I didn’t expect to have company—of any sort,’ she said.
Melody’s instinctive sense of irritation at being followed had been replaced almost at once by one of mild relief at not being down here alone, and she bent quickly to pat the animals. Although she’d convinced herself that this quiet rural paradise was her dream, in fact she felt slightly wary at just how solitary it was. The silence was deafening, and with no street lights at this point the darkness was very dark indeed. She’d already made a mental note to have a security light put over the front door.
After a moment, she said casually, ‘I didn’t think I’d be able to get to sleep very easily—especially after that rhubarb crumble and clotted cream,’ she added, as she came to stand next to him. ‘So I thought a walk seemed sensible.’
‘Well, you haven’t had much of one,’ he said. ‘From Poplars to here, I mean.’ He paused. ‘I could take you for a slightly longer one, if you like…’ He glanced down at her feet. ‘Will you be able to walk in those sandals?’
‘Of course I can. As long as we aren’t going to cross a river.’
‘No rivers,’ he replied shortly. ‘Just half a meadow and a couple of small copses. It’s a favourite track behind Poplars and back again. The dogs will lead the way.’
They fell into step, and Melody was struck again at how this was such a long way from her flat in a busy street where the sound of traffic never stopped. She looked up at Adam. ‘I really can’t believe my luck,’ she said simply. ‘Although if you’d bid one more time I’d have stopped.’
He waited before answering. ‘Do you mean that? Was I that close?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Melody said at once. ‘It was touch and go—but you stopped at just the right moment!’ There was a short silence, then, ‘Anyway,’ she went on happily, ‘you said you didn’t want the cottage for yourself, didn’t you? After you’d told me that I didn’t feel so bad about it! But I hope the friend who was interested will find something else soon.’
‘Oh, it’s too late now,’ Adam said briefly.
He glanced down at her, and by now Melody had grown accustomed to the light, so she could make out his features and rather dark expression. ‘Too late? What do you mean?’
He waited before going on. ‘I was bidding for Callum and Fee,’ he said. ‘They really wanted to have the cottage—it’s been their ambition for years. Poplars and the Gatehouse were originally linked—as you’ll have noted from the agent’s blurb—and it was their aim to own both so that one day, when they retire, the cottage would be their family home. The hard-earned profit they’ve made on the guesthouse allowed them to go for it.’
Melody swallowed. Now she felt worse than ever! She’d unwittingly thwarted the plans of that lovely local couple…and not a word had been said about it during the meal. Well, what was there to say? she thought. What could they have said? They’d lost the chance, and business was a chancy thing—everyone knew that.
‘But…but…they wouldn’t have lived in the cottage, would they? Not while they were running Poplars?’ Melody said, trying to quell her feelings of disquiet.
‘No. Not yet. But in the meantime they intended renting it on a long-term lease to any local couple who needed a place to live. We’re so desperately short of affordable housing for the younger generation and they’re all moving away. In another ten or fifteen years the village will just be full of older people and tourists. And part-time owners like yourself.’