Was it her fault if she preferred country pursuits and a country life-style? Was it her fault that she lived at home and enjoyed living there? Was it her fault that she was not by nature independent? And yet, hadn't there been more and more occasions over the last couple of years when she had chafed, if only momentarily, at her parents' loving concern?

A frown touched her forehead as she remembered one of her dates challenging her to deny that she lived with and worked for her parents because she was frightened of the risks of going it alone.

Was she? Her chin tilted proudly. No, she wasn't. In fact, already a tiny part of her was actively looking forward to the challenge of working for Kyle. If she was honest with herself, the job he was offering her was exactly the sort of thing she had always dreamed of doing. He would be exhaustingly demanding to work for, his standards almost impossibly high; she knew that, and yet he was offering her an opportunity to show what she could really do, given the chance.

If only this awareness of him as a man wasn't there to disturb her hard-won maturity. She shivered, and then braked to avoid a cyclist, her concentration switching back to her driving.

On impulse, the day before her father's operation, the day when she should have been packing her bags ready to move them into Kyle's guest suite, she got on a train for London instead, and spent the best part of the day wandering around the capital's more exclusive shopping venues, her artist's eye noting the wealth of detail.

Travelling home, she ached to get down to work; already she was imagining just what she would be able to achieve given a sensible budget and a free hand.

There was a nostalgia for the past that was evident in shops as diverse as Laura Ashley through to the very up-market Ralph Lauren. Bath, with its elegant Georgian terraces, Nash terraces and Georgian squares, was almost custom-made for a haunting echo of other eras, in a way that Heather was determined would have nothing about it that was remotely chocolate-boxy, or overdone.

No, her nostalgia would be discreet and subtle.

Full of ideas, she dug deep into her bag for her notebook and pen and started to scribble.

She'd worked all day without a break, and now already it was growing dark.

A cold, silent house greeted her. Meg was being looked after for the day by a neighbour and the cats were fast asleep. Heather realised the moment she walked in that the temperamental heating boiler had gone into a terminal sulk.

Half an hour later, ready to concede defeat, she shivered in the coldness of the empty house. Outside, the first fine flakes of snow were starting to fall. The long threatened snow had arrived.

Having rung the hospital and checked on her father, she put down the phone and sighed. Her mother had been concerned that she wasn't already installed at Kyle's.

Staying in an empty cold house had less and less appeal, and besides, there were so many ideas she wanted to discuss with Kyle. It was amazing how easy it was to push aside her past dislike and resentment once she had accepted that they sprang from within her own personality and, once or twice, as she hurried with her packing, she was amazed to discover a sensation bubbling up inside her that was almost akin to excited antic.i.p.ation.

The very last thing she did was to pop the cats into their travelling boxes, and then go round the house, checking that all was secure.

She was picking Meg up on the way, and only hoped that Kyle knew what he was letting himself in for in opening his home to the four of them.

Her neighbour insisted on making her a cup of tea, and of course she wanted to know all about the state of her father's health, in addition to expressing a very natural curiosity as to where Heather herself was going to stay.

At length, Heather got up to go. Meg, who loved travelling, couldn't wait to jump into the van, and the four of them set off.

She felt rather like a character from an Edward Lear poem, Heather reflected, as the headlights of the van picked out the winding ribbon of road, now whitened by the still falling snow. She had decided to use the quiet back roads into and out of Bath, all too conscious of the van's rather shaky physical state, and not wanting to risk the danger of the motorway with its high-powered and sometimes reckless drivers. Common sense and necessity both made her keep her speed down, and she had no desire to have some impatient and foolhardy driver sitting on her tail, desperate to get past her.

She kept the radio on to check on the weather bulletins, eyeing the thickening flakes of snow with unease. The van hated cold weather at the best of times, and she just prayed it would get her to Kyle's home without breaking down.

She was unlucky. Less than ten miles from Kyle's house, the van's engine coughed, spluttered and then abruptly died.

Cursing under her breath, Heather tried to restart it, but the dull, ominous whine it gave warned her that her task was hopeless.

She had no idea where she was; the countryside was pitch-black, even the stars and moon obscured by the low cloud. She was on a back road, and the chances of being able to flag down another motorist were extremely slim, not to mention potentially dangerous.

Slipping on Meg's lead, she patted the cats' box, and said quietly to the dog, 'You and I are going to have to find ourselves a garage, Meg, old girl. I think we're fairly close to a village. Let's hope that I'm not wrong.'

Once outside the van, she shivered beneath the icy sting of the wind. It was colder than she had thought, the snowflakes stinging her exposed face and hands. Meg whined and made to get back in the van, but Heather tugged gently on the lead. She didn't relish the thought of her lonely dark walk, and Meg would be company, as well as a deterrent to... well, anything.

She had walked less than a hundred yards when she heard a vehicle coming towards her. Meg froze, trapped in the headlights of a mud-splattered Land Rover, which rattled to an abrupt stop.

'h.e.l.lo... having problems?' a cheerful male voice called out. Before Heather could urge Meg away, the driver of the vehicle was climbing out and coming towards her.

She eyed him warily, relieved to discover that he looked quite normal and harmless. He was about her own age, with untidy fair hair, his face weathered and drawn into a grimace against the driving snow. He was only a couple of inches taller than her, and wearing well-padded winter clothes.

He looked like a farmer, Heather thought, pleased to have her guess confirmed when he added, 'I've just been dropping off some fodder for the sheep, and I saw your headlights.'

'My van's broken down. I'm not sure what's wrong.'

'Umm... going far, are you?'

'Marston Old Hall.'

'Kyle Bennett's place?' His interest sharpened. 'He's away at the moment.'

'Yes, I know,' Heather agreed coolly. 'If you could direct me to the nearest garage?'

'There's only one, and it will be closed at this time of night. Known Kyle long, have you?' he asked curiously.

'Most of my life,' Heather told him, her tawny eyes letting him know that she resented his questioning.

Immediately his expression changed. 'Oh, you'll be the daughter of the couple who fostered him, then.'

Heather looked at him suspiciously. What had Kyle told him about her and her parents, and his life with them?

'Mrs Evans, who works for Kyle, mentioned you to my mother. I own Heybridge Farm. We're his nearest neighbours. My mother has her own small business-dairy produce mostly-and, since Mrs Evans is away at the moment, Ma went round this morning to the house with a box of groceries. She tries to mother Kyle a bit, but he's not the type really, is he? When you first mentioned him I thought...'

He coloured and Heather was surprised by her own frisson of awareness. Surely she didn't look as though she might be one of Kyle's women friends? To judge from the photographs she had occasionally seen in the Press, he normally went for glamour types, not untidy, inelegant creatures such as herself.

Her hand went up defensively to push her hair off her face and, as she did, she heard her companion saying boyishly, 'Can't say that I'm not pleased... that you're not...'

'One of Kyle's women?' Heather supplied for him.

'We don't get very many pretty, unattached women round here. Too remote. Most of the ones who don't marry virtually straight after school go off to London or Bath to work and we don't see much of them after that. I can give you a tow to Kyle's place, if you like.'

When Heather agreed, he fixed a tow-rope to her van in a very businesslike manner. His hands were broad, with stubby, capable fingers, reddened by the wind and snow. He caught her watching him and smiled at her, and Heather recognised in his smile his appreciation of her as a woman. She smiled back, flattered by his obvious interest in her.

'There, that should do it.' He gave the knot a testing tug and then walked back to the van with her, checking that she knew how to steer correctly.

His hand touched hers momentarily. The back was covered in fine blond hairs, and she had a momentary memory of Kyle's hands, lean and hard, with long fingers, quick, clever hands, hands that echoed the nature of the man. Hands that it would be dangerous to trust too readily.

'Are you OK?'

Forcing a smile, she nodded.

It didn't take long for David Hartley, as he had introduced himself, to tow her to Kyle's house, but the fact that the snow was thickening to something approaching a blizzard, combined with her realisation that they were the only vehicles using the road, showed her how dangerous her situation had been.

She was sorely tempted to ask him into the house for a cup of coffee, but she was very conscious of the fact that it wasn't her home. He solved her dilemma for her by saying cheerfully that he couldn't stop because his mother would be expecting him in for his evening meal.

'I'll tell her that you've arrived, and no doubt she'll be down to see you in the morning. If you need anything, give us a ring, we're in the phone book.'

He drove off with a cheery wave, having a.s.sured himself that she was able to let herself in.

The house was in darkness, but lovely and warm. Meg and the cats soon made themselves at home in the small s.p.a.ce off the kitchen, which was obviously used as a store for coats and Wellingtons.

Ignoring the rest of the rooms, Heather went upstairs to find the guest suite.

The door had been left open for her, and a fire was laid ready in the grate. She smiled a little wryly at the luxury of an open fire in a bedroom that already had central heating, but appreciated the thoughtfulness of the gesture, nevertheless.

Making her way back to the kitchen, Heather discovered that the fridge was bulging with food. Noting the wrapped cheese and the bowl of eggs, she guessed that the food had been left by David's mother.

An omelette would do her for tonight. Already her stomach was full of nervous b.u.t.terflies in antic.i.p.ation of her father's operation. Tonight she would say a special prayer for his safety and his recovery. And, her conscience prodded her, perhaps she ought to say one for Kyle, too, whose generosity had made the operation possible. There had been no mistaking the relief in her father's voice when he'd talked about the business and how pleased he was that Kyle was taking it over. His only concern had been for her, and her reaction to Kyle's job offer.

She would walk Meg, and then she would have an early night. Not that she was expecting to get much sleep-her father's operation was scheduled for early in the morning and would take up the major part of the day. Once it was over, though, he should start to make rapid progress, or so the specialist had said. She could only pray that he was right. If anything should happen to her father... Suddenly and inexplicably, she longed for Kyle to be there with her. She needed his strength to lean on, she admitted, surprised by the discovery. The phone rang on the wall beside her, and she lifted the receiver hesitantly.

'Heather?'

She gave a small start. 'Kyle. Where... where are you?'

He sounded so close that he might almost have been in the next room. She heard him laugh.

'New York. But I should be back some time tomorrow evening. How's your father?'

'Apprehensive, but determined to go through with it.'

'Good. I spoke to your mother earlier. She knows that they're doing the right thing, but naturally she's worried. I only wish I could be there with you.'

'So do I.'

Was that really her saying that? Kyle must have been surprised, too, because she caught his indrawn breath and startled silence.

'You almost sounded as though you meant that.'

How well she recognised the mocking derision in his voice, but for once she was too tired, too worried to respond to it in kind.

'I do,' she told him honestly, her voice low and pained.

There was another silence and then he said mockingly, 'Can this really be the Heather I know and love, actually wanting my company? What's happened? Caught you at a weak moment, have I?'

His mockery jolted her back to reality. She almost slammed the receiver down on him, and then caught herself in time. The tears that had been threatening cleared as though by magic, her tiredness falling away, her voice suddenly crisp and acid as she responded in kind. 'You must have done, but it's gone now.'

'So you don't want me to fly home on the next available flight to hold your hand, after all?'

His voice was still mocking, but there seemed to be an odd degree of seriousness behind the mockery. Dismissing it, Heather said flippantly, 'No way!' And then for good measure, she added, 'Actually, if I need any hand-holding done, you seem to have a neighbour who'd be quite happy to oblige.'

Heaven alone knew what made her make that silly little boast, however true it might be. There was silence from Kyle's end of the line, and then when he spoke his voice sounded distant and cold.

'I take it you mean David Hartley?' he demanded, his voice hardening.

'Yes, we met when... by chance,' she amended hastily, not wanting to admit the demise of the van or the lateness of her arrival.

'Don't be deceived by that mock-naive farmer's boy air, Heather,' Kyle told her curtly. 'David Hartley is already responsible for the arrival of one illegitimate child, and I dare say he wouldn't be averse to fathering another, not if local gossip is anything to go by.'

All the breath hissed out of her lungs. Surely Kyle wasn't telling the truth? David hadn't looked the type... She paused, confused and disturbed. Why was Kyle telling her this, anyway? She and David Hartley were nothing more than mere acquaintances!

But she had stupidly implied that out of that acquaintanceship a deep intimacy could easily grow, she admitted, angry with herself for her folly, and Kyle had always had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility where she was concerned.

She could still vividly remember the way he had waited up for her long after her parents had gone to bed, after her first adult 'teenage party'.

She was just about to make some comment when suddenly and clearly she heard a feminine voice in her ear.

'Kyle, darling,' it purred impatiently. 'How much longer are you going to be?'

'Heather-'

'Oh, don't let me keep you,' she said acidly. 'And please try to remember, Kyle, I'm not thirteen any more, and I don't need you to act the role of big brother and guardian of my morals.'

With that, she slammed the phone down, her good intentions forgotten. How dared he sit in judgement on David, when he was just as bad? What was she like, the woman who called him 'darling' so confidently?

It was none of her business, she chided herself. Besides, she was probably as anonymously beautiful and plastic as all the other women who had pa.s.sed through his life.

As she went up to bed, she refused to allow herself to think about him any more. She couldn't help wishing, though, that he hadn't telephoned. Hearing his voice had disturbed her, made her all the more intimately aware of the fact that she was now living in his home. It was a disturbing awareness, and one she would rather not have had. Much rather not have had!

CHAPTER SIX.

HEATHER was up early, too keyed up about her father's operation to concentrate on anything, and yet knowing that there was no point in ringing the hospital so early. He wouldn't even be in the operating theatre yet.

She had sent him flowers and a telemessage, and although she ached to be with her mother she understood that this was a time when her parents wanted to be on their own. They had always been very close, a wonderful example of how good and long lasting a relationship between two people could be.

At ten o'clock, when she was making her fourth cup of coffee of the morning, she heard a car outside and immediately rushed to the back door, just in time to see a small Ford car drive up.

The smartly dressed woman who slid from behind the wheel was around her own mother's age; but, whereas her mother's normal expression was one of cheerful enthusiasm, this woman's face was set in rather harsh and disapproving lines.

She smiled thinly when she saw Heather, and introduced herself. 'Vera Hartley. I believe you've already met my son.'

Heather had met enough possessive mothers in her time to recognise the breed, and even though she knew she was being unfair she couldn't help mentally contrasting David with Kyle. Kyle would never allow a mother, no matter how much adored, to run his life for him, where it seemed that David... but no, she was jumping to conclusions, based on information already put into her mind by Kyle. Perhaps it was unfair of her, but her original impression of David as a kind-hearted, attractive young man had been shadowed by Kyle's disclosure about his illegitimate child.

She knew that Kyle would never have misled her on such a subject, and it was disquieting to realise that such an apparently open and friendly person had a very much darker side to their nature. Of course, she would hardly have expected David to disclose such personal information on so short an acquaintance, but she had, nevertheless, a feeling of being let down in her judgement of his character.

There could be a dozen or more perfectly reasonable explanations of what Kyle had told her, but she was old-fashioned enough to find it disquieting to learn that David had been so easily able to dismiss his responsibilities.

Now she suspected she knew why. Vera Hartley looked the sort of woman who would want to choose her only son's wife herself, and weak men like David were notorious throughout history for involving themselves in liaisons that never gained that maternal approval.