Jocelyn flushed bright pink, suddenly lost for words, 'All good I hope.'

'All excellent. He couldn't cope without you, says so himself at least twice a day when he's down on the estate. So what brings you here?'

Jocelyn blushed again, unsure of how much she should reveal of her knowledge of the accident. But, before she could answer, he pulled out his earphones, 'Was expecting my daughter Alex, she comes most nights, but she must have got held up.' He paused, 'She's a designer you know, doing a big job for the Spanish government.' He nodded proudly.

Jocelyn was startled for a moment, didn't quite know what to say.

'Really? Sebastian bought you some books, I wanted to drop them in.' It was her turn to pause, 'Your daughter isn't Alex Ryan by any chance is she?'

'She is. Her mum was Spanish so she's a lot better looking than me, but she's a Ryan through and through. Have you heard of her?'

'Senor Marquez's PA is a very good friend of mine. Alex is doing a fantastic job for them apparently...'

'That's good,' Tom smiled sheepishly, 'You always think your children are wonderful it's good to hear that someone else thinks so too.' He pulled himself up in the bed, wincing as he did so, 'So tell me what Sebastian's up to. Are you invited to the wedding?' he raised his eyebrows with a knowing look that made Jocelyn laugh out loud. She could see that they had a lot to talk about, and from his look, he shared a few of her own thoughts as well.

THIRTY.

Clouds were gathering over the city as Caroline headed through the busy Dublin streets, her tiny BMW Z9 cabriolet sports car nipping along the quays, weaving through the coagulating traffic like the bright red dot of a laser pointer at an interdepartmental traffic management meeting. A taxi driver hooted angrily as she cut across him to shoot into the bus lane and down a one-way street. She waved cheerfully at him.

Once she was on the N7 and heading for Kildare, Caroline turned the CD player to full volume and lit a cigarette, putting her foot down, eating up the miles to Kilfenora. Within the hour she was zipping through the village and turning towards the grand gates of Kilfenora House itself.

She slowed down as she turned between the gate posts, heading into dappled shadow; a group of deer almost hidden between the majestic oaks and elms that lined the edge of the drive raising their heads in interest as she pa.s.sed. A few moments later the house came into sight below her, huge, its castellations concealing a barrage of chimney pots, the windows winking. Behind it, the lake reflected the landscape like an oil-painting, the occasional ripple initiated by a gentle breeze that rustled the leaves above her.

Pulling over to get a proper look, pushing her sungla.s.ses up to the top of her head, Caroline shuddered. The house looked like it was laughing at her; like an ugly old woman, cackling at her.

The first time she'd seen Kilfenora House, captured in an aerial photo in Sebastian's study, she'd been bowled over by its splendour, splendour added to by the excitement of becoming Lady Kilfenora, by the pink wave of romantic dreams set in motion by her friend Sophie's wedding and her well-aimed bouquet. She'd been working towards it of course, had focused on marriage as her goal ever since that night with the Chinese Amba.s.sador when she'd realised that her brother's best friend was actually rather gorgeous, as well as being a major catch. And before she'd even set foot in Kilfenora, they had moved from a playful 'if' to a 'when we get married'.

Then she had got inside.

Caroline had heard all about the house of course, about its famous Palm House, how Paxton had been commissioned by whichever Lord Kilfenora it was when he'd seen the splendid Italian Renaissance-style chateau and magnificent gla.s.shouse that Paxton had built for Baron James de Rothschild outside Paris. But, unfortunately, while Paxton might have been busy on Kilfenora's Palm House, it seemed he hadn't been allowed near the main house at all.

Somehow, Caroline expected the splendour of Baron James de Rothschild's Chateau de Ferrieres with its 120-foot gla.s.s-ceilinged central hall, the eighty guest bedrooms, the sculptured columns and decorative painting, but instead, when she had finally found a weekend free to accompany Sebastian to his family home, she had been met by the smell of damp and an even smellier dog, dust an inch thick on the picture rails, and had suddenly, scarily, wondered what she was getting herself into. Still, as she'd told herself at the time, once they were married she could get the decorators in (and an army of cleaners), and give the whole place a facelift, get the awful dog a kennel as far away from the house as possible. And this was their country house, so they wouldn't be spending much time here, could organise house parties for the weekends they came down, and spend the rest of the month in town.

Now, looking at the house again, Caroline knew she could never live here, not permanently she just wasn't made for the middle of nowhere, famous architects or not. Decisively, she flicked the automatic into drive. So that was another thing they would have to sort out if this marriage was to go ahead they'd need a proper house in Dublin. It wasn't exactly Paris or New York but one step at a time...and at least Dublin had an international airport...

THIRTY ONE.

Despite wishing the ground would open up and swallow her, or, if she was lucky, that she might get whisked away by aliens, Alex had to admit that the food smelled fantastic. And, as Sebastian lifted the glistening golden roast from the oven in a cloud of delicious scented steam, her stomach growled audibly. She blushed, putting her hand to her belly, but the unladylike sound had broken the tension.

Sebastian half-turned to look at her, throwing one of his more disarming grins over his shoulder.

'There's no way you can go home with that empty stomach and leave me to eat all this on my own.'

Rolling her eyes, pulling an 'okay if you insist, but I don't want to be here' sort of face, Alex reluctantly pulled out the kitchen chair nearest to her, the sound of its legs sc.r.a.ping on the tiles louder than she had expected. This wasn't what she had envisioned for tonight at all.

'Hey, don't get comfortable yet. There's more white in the fridge, make yourself useful.'

Sebastian's tone was playful, scolding, and Alex had to smile as she pushed the chair back under the table again and headed for the fridge.

'What did your last slave die of?'

Being here in the kitchen, just the two of them, Alex suddenly felt like they were taking up exactly where they had left off all those years ago, joshing each other like she'd never gone away, and the words slipped out before she thought about them. Oh my G.o.d, what had she said? Hiding her head in the fridge, waiting for a caustic reply, I shot him actually, or he's a tough old ox, tried to shoot him you know, but made a mess of it, Alex almost missed Sebastian's actual response, muttered into the steam of the chicken he was attacking with a carving knife, 'Broken heart. Sad but true.'

Alex winced. A broken heart? What the h.e.l.l could she say to that? She bit her lip, knowing there was no answer that could make that one right, no answer she could give right now, right here, that would explain everything that had happened. Light-hearted or not. No matter how much she wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him, to whisper I'm so sorry, I couldn't help it she knew she had to keep quiet.

Alex died inside all over again, the gnarled hand of despair grasping her empty stomach and twisting. Just like the night she'd left, the night she'd arrived in Barcelona and sobbed into her pillow her own heart shattered, torn in two by the two people she loved most in the world.

Now tears welled up into her eyes. Alex brushed them away, reaching for the bottle of wine, rattling it nosily against the fridge door, pretending she hadn't heard. Then, talking into the fridge, pretending she was reading the label, buying time so she could get a grip on herself, Alex said, 'This is very good white. Where's it from?'

Sebastian didn't answer for a moment, then, as she turned, his eyes met hers, 'Bordeaux.'

'Oh.' The word might have been short but its message was long enough to fill a book. This was one of those nights when everything she said would be wrong, she just knew it. Alex tried again, said the first thing that came into her head she needed to move this conversation on, get out of the place she was in or, she knew, she'd find herself trapped, and that sure as h.e.l.l wouldn't help her dad. 'Corkscrew?'

'Usual place, beside the sink. Nothing's been moved in this house for a hundred years.'

Alex breathed a sigh of relief the house...she should have thought of it before...the house was safer ground for them both, much safer.

'Glad to hear it. I'm sure this old place would get really miffed if anyone started moving stuff about. It's like a wonderful old grand dame isn't it, a benevolent matriarch?'

Sebastian laughed out loud, 'It is; and costs as much to run.'

Moments later, sitting opposite him, a steaming plate in front of her, Alex could see that the delicious smells coming from the oven had been a good indication of what was inside, that Sebastian was rather a good cook. She tried to stifle the thought, knowing deep down that admitting a glimmer of admiration for him in any shape could have her backtracking right to where they had left off all those years ago, opening the floodgates to goodness knows what. Shaking out her linen napkin, smoothing it over her knees, Alex listened as he chatted about the food, about free-range chickens, about the best way to roast parsnips. And, despite her misgivings, her efforts to resist, for a moment Alex found herself relaxing again, for a moment forgetting that she needed to stay aloof and focused, forgetting that she had a deal to negotiate.

'So, what do you think?' Sebastian reached for the bottle and leaned over to top up Alex's gla.s.s.

'Fantastic. You're right; I was starving.' Alex smiled, teasing, her eyes meeting his across the table. 'But I didn't think men could cook.'

'Ah,' he filled his own gla.s.s, his face breaking into a shy grin, 'I'm multi-talented. Run a multi-million euro business, cook, and I even paint. No flies on me.'

Paint.

The word hit Alex like a kick in the gut, hauled her out of the familiarity of the warm kitchen and plunged her straight back to the moment she had entered Sebastian's bedroom, to the exact moment she had realised with chilling clarity that the nude stretched across the wall above his bed was a painting of her.

It wasn't a moment she was going to forget in a hurry; neither, come to that, was she likely to forget Caroline's description of her as an overweight tart. Alex put her fork down with a clatter all thoughts of the wonderful meal, of how good Sebastian looked sitting across the table from her, his blue eyes dancing with mischief, of how much she'd missed him, of how much she had longed to sit just like this during those first few years in Spain banished with one word. And she could feel her blood rising.

'I'd noticed.'

Sebastian looked up, surprised at the sudden ice in her tone. 'What?' almost comically, he searched behind him, trying to see what it was that had displeased her so.

'I'd noticed that you can paint.' Alex's voice was low, the words p.r.o.nounced clearly, carrying with them the weight of much more than an observation. It took a moment for Sebastian to register what she meant, then he blushed faintly.

'Thank you. I...'

'It wasn't a compliment.'

'What?'

Alex was glaring now; her words came spitting at him from across the table, 'How could you?'

'How could I what?' utterly confused, it was Sebastian's turn to put down his knife and fork, 'What did I do?'

'You painted me naked.'

Dumbfounded, he looked straight at her, her words. .h.i.tting home like a stream of arrows, each one stinging more than the last, 'But you're beautiful naked.'

Alex opened her mouth, shut it; then tried again, 'That's not the point. You painted me...painted me...' how could she say it, 'having an o.r.g.a.s.m', Alex blushed scarlet, not prepared to go there right now, 'and then you hung it over your bed.'

'I thought you'd like it.' Sebastian sounded devastated, like a little boy who had been sent to the naughty step for daubing his mother's bedroom wall with green marker pen, trying to recreate her favourite corner of the garden.

Accelerating around the last bend of the drive, Caroline sent a shower of gravel into the air as she skidded to a stop neatly beside Sebastian's Jaguar. Jocelyn had been right he was here and now she had the advantage of surprise.

A smile played across her lips as checking her lipstick in her rear-view mirror, taking off her sungla.s.ses and running her fingers through her hair, Caroline adjusted the top of the slinky wrap dress she was wearing, bright white against her tan, pulling her neat b.r.e.a.s.t.s up in her padded satin bra to ensure her cleavage was displayed to its maximum advantage. Sebastian obviously needed a reminder of the benefits of marriage...and tonight he was going to have the ride of his life...Reaching into the pa.s.senger seat footwell she grabbed the neck of a bottle of Bollinger. Sebastian might not like champagne, but he loved Champagne Bellinis and there was a case of peach juice in the larder left over from her last visit. After a few of those he'd be very amenable to her plans.

Climbing out of the car, humming to herself, Caroline glanced at the silver VW Golf parked a few yards away and smoothed her dress, her head spinning with thoughts of the evening ahead. If Sebastian wanted this to work, there was only one way to go, and that was her way. He'd got a lot of making up to do after the fiasco with those flowers this morning, to say nothing of his behaviour over the past few weeks, but at least now he knew it was her birthday, and what's more, had had the day to think about how much he had upset her. So Caroline was quite sure he would be suitably reticent; and tonight she was going to show him exactly what he would be missing if he didn't come around to her way of thinking.

Stepping carefully across the gravel to preserve her custom-made envy green suede Jimmy Choos, Caroline tripped up the broad stone steps to the front door and raised her hand to ring the bell.

The bell.

Searching the broad oak frame on both sides of the panelled door Caroline screwed up her face where the h.e.l.l was the bell? She'd always come here with Sebastian and the door had been opened by one of the staff before they were even out of the car. But there had to be a bell how did strangers get in? Or the postman with a parcel? What about election canva.s.sers or the woman with the census? Caroline looked again, running a manicured finger along the frame in case it was cunningly concealed, then took a step back, looking for a chain or a handle, or something. Anything. This b.l.o.o.d.y house was a disaster fancy there being no bell! Utterly thrown for a moment, she turned around on the top step, working out what to do next.

Was there a back door? Caroline thought of the patio doors in the blue parlour; but they would be locked. She was sure there was a door into the kitchen but that was miles around the back of the house and getting there would mean trekking along the muddy paths of the kitchen garden, and she certainly wasn't going to do that in these shoes. And if Sebastian was in the ballroom, or just about anywhere else in the house for that matter, he wasn't going to hear her tapping on the patio doors like a complete idiot. Caroline shivered as the chill hand of a breeze headed around the corner of the house and straight up the ankle-length skirt of her dress. She hadn't bothered with stockings, had only just had her St Tropez done, and the g-string she was wearing didn't offer a lot of protection.

Maybe she could get in through the Palm House? Tripping down the steps, Caroline headed for the double doors leading into the extravaganza of foliage and fountains, tiled pools and exotic plants. But the ornate silver handle was chill to her touch. And stuck fast. Locked. Nom de Dieu. This was RIDICULOUS!

There was only one thing for it: she'd have to phone the house. It would mean giving up the element of surprise, but at least she wouldn't be left standing in the drive like a gypsy, freezing to death. But (of course) she'd left her phone in the car, which meant another trip across the gravel.

Caroline took a deep breath, trying to control her temper. She needed a cigarette. Badly. After all the effort she'd gone to she was hardly going to go home now, so telephoning really was the only option there was certainly no way anyone would hear her banging on the door of this mausoleum of a house unless she used a battering ram.

Fighting to keep her temper, Caroline turned to head back to her car when she caught a flash of red out of the corner of her eye. More than a flash of red. More like a beacon, its light radiating from the pa.s.senger seat of the silver Golf parked in front of her.

Unable to believe what she was seeing, her anger rising, Caroline tip-toed towards the car to get a better look. Oh my G.o.d. She'd thought she was mistaken, but no, there, on the front seat of the car lay a red leather briefcase. Under different circ.u.mstances, and obviously if she needed a briefcase, Caroline would have been very interested in a case like that herself; the patent crocodile leather soft, beautifully hand st.i.tched, and quite the most gorgeous colour. And, more importantly, quite unmistakable. There was only one person she knew who owned a briefcase like that, and that was Alex Ryan. b.l.o.o.d.y Alex Ryan. What the h.e.l.l was she doing here at this time of the evening? And what the h.e.l.l was Sebastian doing here with her?

Whatever about forgiving him for the flowers, for all those cancelled dinners, there was NO WAY Caroline could forgive him for squirreling himself down here with b.l.o.o.d.y Alex Ryan of all people ON HER BIRTHDAY! Last year Sebastian had whisked her off to the Ritz in Paris for the weekend, had produced a pair of diamond earrings as they'd sat down to a romantic candlelit dinner on the Seine. And this year he'd totally forgotten, his secretary the only one who had remembered to send her flowers. Horrible, disgusting, utterly grotesque flowers. It just wasn't on.

Caroline's legendary temper began to flare, igniting like a forest fire. WHAT THE h.e.l.l WAS GOING ON?

All care for her Jimmy Choos gone, Caroline thrust the bottle of Bollinger under her arm and peered into the car to get a proper look through the windscreen. There was no doubt about it, it was Alex Ryan's. She tried the car door. Locked. d.a.m.n.

Hauling open her own car door, Caroline reached inside for her BlackBerry. It was time she sorted this out, and found out exactly what was going on. She flicked the call b.u.t.ton, putting the phone to her ear.

No reception.

She could almost feel the steam coming out of her ears. b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l this b.l.o.o.d.y house was the END. It had to be the only place left in the entire country where there was no mobile reception. Well that was going to change. They'd need a mast put up if she was going to spent ANY time down here AT ALL!

Throwing her useless phone onto the driver's seat, Caroline reached for her weekend bag, hauling it across from the pa.s.senger seat like a woman possessed. It was time to sort Miss perfect curls Ryan out. Just wait till she saw her, then she'd sort Alex Ryan out for sure. Ripping the bag open, Caroline dug into the clothes tossed inside searching for her makeup bag, her fingertips reaching it with a burst of unadulterated satisfaction. Let's just see what b.l.o.o.d.y Alex Ryan thought of this! Pulling out a steel nail file, Caroline checked the point with satisfaction definitely sharp enough.

Moments later Caroline glanced around her, then bobbed down between the two cars, sweeping her dress behind her, the file held like a dagger in her hand as she jabbed at the valve on Alex's front tyre. A second later, with a satisfying hiss, the tyre began to deflate. Caroline sat back on her heels, her lips twitching into a grin, mentally marking herself one point up. Whatever about Sebastian being a total s.h.i.t and forgetting her birthday, one thing she would not accept was being made a fool of. No way. Next he'd be telling her he was talking b.l.o.o.d.y wallpaper to Miss Alex Perfect Curls Ryan. Ha!

Taking a deep breath, feeling suddenly calm, Caroline stood up, smoothing her dress again. Now it was time to regroup, to come up with a strategy to sort out Miss Ryan, and to do that she needed a stiff drink and a cigarette. And, G.o.d forbid, a pay phone. The pub in the village was only ten minutes away. The perfect place to work out a plan.

THIRTY TWO.

In the warm kitchen of Kilfenora House, Sebastian was in trouble and he knew it.

'But how could you, how could you put that picture of me...like that...over your bed? Where you, where you...' Her cheeks blazing, Alex caught a blonde curl that had escaped from her ponytail, hooking it behind her ear.

Sitting here, like this, Sebastian could see that Alex hadn't changed a bit, was just as hot-headed, just as gorgeous as he remembered. And just like he used to all those years ago, whenever they had a row, in the face of her anger, Sebastian dug his heels in, his voice cold, stubborn. 'Where I what?

Alex didn't answer, she couldn't, was so angry the words weren't forming themselves. s.n.a.t.c.hing her napkin off her lap she threw it on the table.

'Seemed like the perfect place to me.' It was meant to be a compliment, but as soon as the words were out of Sebastian's mouth he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

'The perfect place? Don't you know the meaning of the word private?' the words tumbled over themselves, Alex continued, 'I feel totally exploited, can't you understand that? And you put it over your bed for G.o.d's sake.' Alex trailed off what could she say? He wasn't getting it, probably never would and she was wasting her time trying to explain.

Sebastian was sitting back in his chair, looking at her, not sure what to say, trying to keep his face deliberately blank, his mind in turmoil. He'd painted it straight after she left, had been dragging that picture around with him everywhere he'd ever lived, holding on to the memory, feeling somehow that, through that picture, Alex was closer to him, that she hadn't just disappeared into the mist like a spectre. And he'd honestly thought she would like it, that it captured a point in time, a moment they had shared perfectly, intimately.

The silence growing, Sebastian became aware of the mantelpiece clock ticking, the sound hollow and comforting. It was like an old friend, measuring the years, measuring the time they had been together. And the time they had been apart.

Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, but Alex didn't let him.

'I came here to talk about Dad, about what you're going to do for him.' She drew a deep breath. She hadn't planned to blurt it all out like this, but right now, she didn't want to spend another minute here, so it was all or nothing. 'He can't work and he can't live here if he can't work. You need to think very hard about compensation, for his injuries, for his loss of earnings and for the loss of his home. He loves this place.'

Alex's voice cracked, her emotions tumbling like boulders down a mountainside. Sebastian didn't respond, just nodded. Arrogant b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

'So call me when you've come up with something. You can get me on the office number.'

Alex was at the kitchen door when he finally reacted.

'Where on earth are you going?'

'What? Home of course.' Alex was through the kitchen door, slamming it behind her, the impact sending shock waves through the oak panelling on either side of the door, rattling a bra.s.s warming pan hanging on the pa.s.sage wall so hard that for a moment she thought it would fall. Not that she cared. Right now, she just wanted to get the job for Venture Capital Ireland finished and get back to Spain; get back to her own life, leave him to get on with his, with the lovely Caroline. He'd certainly made his bed there...

Alex faltered for a moment, putting her hand out for the wall in the darkness of the hall. Then she heard him coming after her and the door flew open, 'Don't be ridiculous, you can't go home.'

But Alex was already at the end of the pa.s.sage, walking fast, 'Why the h.e.l.l not, since when did you tell me what I can and can't do?'

'Since you downed a bottle of wine on an empty stomach. There's no way you can get into a car for at least another six hours.'

Her step faltered for a moment, then decisively Alex headed for the front door, 'I'll stay in the village. They've rooms at the pub. I'm sure I can get there without having an accident.'

'No way.' Sebastian strode past her, trying to get to the door ahead of her, but Alex was already there, had her hand on the huge knotted bra.s.s handle, pulling it open. 'What happens if they're full? Or if you get there and change your stubborn pig-headed little mind?'