Paula's Way E-Book

Anna Jacobs

• Herausgeber: Allison & Busby
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Waterfront Series
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 418

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

An unexpected inheritance is most people's dream, but not for Paula. Having put bad times behind her, she is now happy and secure in Western Australia with her own business. This is a complete contrast to her rootless childhood, and she has little interest in the minor stately home in the English countryside of which she is apparently now the owner. Persuaded to visit the property in Wiltshire, Paula has to confront complications both romantic and financial that will test the old adage that home is where the heart is.

Leseprobe

3

Paula’s Way

ANNA JACOBS

Contents

Title PagePrologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Epilogue About the AuthorBy Anna Jacobs Copyright

5

Prologue

Wiltshire, England

Richard Crawford’s heart sank when he saw who’d sent the email that had just pinged into his mailbox. It was from the private investigators he’d hired and he’d thought he’d finished with them now. They were only going to contact him if they discovered something new.

He felt such a strong sense of impending disaster he hesitated even to open it.

When he’d finished reading the message, he sat frozen for a moment, then swore and thumped his clenched fist on the desk several times. As the anger subsided, he forced himself to re-read the email and its attachments, paying close attention to every detail. But there could be no doubt what this meant, no hope that it was a mistake.

He’d rearranged his whole life to deal with the situation and it had all been in vain.

The stupid thing was that this last-minute disaster was his own fault entirely. The family lawyers had been quite satisfied with the situation and who should inherit: as grand-nephew of Roy’s fourth son, he was the closest relative they’d found alive because it was not the most 6prolific family. It was he who’d called in another team of private investigators because he’d thought the first lot rather slapdash.

After a while, he telephoned the family lawyer to discuss how best to sort this new situation out. Even there he disagreed with Mr Perett. Such important news ought to be delivered to the new heir personally, not sent by letter. Besides, he needed to get away for a while and rearrange his life all over again. What better excuse could he have than this?

Putting the phone down, he went back online, checking flight times and making a booking.

Only when he could put it off no longer did he go and tell his aunt, who did the weeping for him, and some shouting and thumping of tables as well.

7

Chapter One

Mandurah, Western Australia

Paula Grey stood behind the bar on her thirty-second birthday, sipping a glass of champagne and smiling round her small domain. Her life was coming together nicely now and that felt good.

When her cheating husband had been killed two years ago in a car accident just a few days after he’d left her, she’d hit an all-time low. She’d had to reluctantly agree to sell their house because she’d not been earning enough to take over the mortgage on their jointly owned house, which had water frontage. She’d wept into her pillow several times over that.

Then it turned out that Phil hadn’t got round to changing the beneficiary on his life insurance policy and since his new woman had also been killed in the accident, Paula had inherited it all. That had been enough to pay off most of the mortgage and let her stay there.

It had also made her think good and hard about how she wanted to face life from now on. She’d given in to her ex too often and wasn’t going to put up with any unfair treatment from now on, not from anyone.

By sheer hard work she was well on the way to owning 8her own business, something Phil had taunted her about and said she’d never manage.

She’d done this with a partner who had also become a dear friend. She called him Uncle Nick, because he was as near an uncle as she’d ever got. Then, to top it all, after two years of leasing the building which housed their popular little bar, they’d bought it and now had a joint mortgage on it.

Well, he had seventy per cent of the mortgage and she had thirty per cent, and it had been hard even to find that much of the deposit. She’d had to rent out her lovely home and move into the granny flat attached to it for the time being in order to make up the rest of the monthly payment.

Nick came into the bar from the back room. ‘Happy birthday, love!’ He poured himself a red wine and raised the glass in a toast, merely wetting his lips with its contents. The same glass would be raised twenty times that evening, but the last mouthful would not be swallowed until after they closed.

‘No, let’s drink to mortgages and making your dreams come true. They’re much more important than birthdays.’

He clinked glasses again, then stepped back to study her appearance. ‘May I say how lovely you look tonight, young lady? You may have just turned thirty-two, but you’re wearing well and I absolutely love that outfit.’

She chuckled. ‘Not exactly a young lady now, but merci du compliment, kind sir.’ Dipping a curtsey, she spread out the long Indian print skirt and let her bangles clink. A hot pink peasant blouse completed the ensemble and its brightness, together with the rows of sequins on her red bolero, had made one customer blink as he entered the bar.9

Well, Paula didn’t care. She loved bright colours and retro clothes, and bought hers mostly from charity shops. That supported people in need, saved money and got her the genuine articles, which was a triple bonus as far as she was concerned. Her husband had hated her wearing them, saying they should be kept for parties.

Well, she’d hated his navy business suits and white shirts. After his last promotion, he’d tried to get her to iron his white office shirts because she was better at it. She’d refused point blank. She’d given up ironing years ago, didn’t believe it was a worthwhile human activity because the minute you put a garment on, it started acquiring wrinkles.

‘What treat are you planning for your birthday, Paula love? You should at least take a day off.’

Her happiness slipped for a moment or two because her best friend had just moved across to the other side of Australia and it was no fun wandering round shops on her own. ‘I don’t need time off. I enjoy my work. Thanks anyway.’

She gave him a quick hug then took another sip of champagne.

‘No luck with your latest search?’

‘No. I think I must have been created in a vacuum.’ She didn’t understand why, but a few years ago she had started longing to know where she came from, but her search hadn’t ended in success. She couldn’t find her birth family because her father hadn’t kept any relevant information or documents and Tony, as he’d preferred her to call him, had insisted he had no close relatives. He’d passed away over two decades ago.

Her birth mother was still alive but rarely came near 10her and she too said they had no close relatives left.

Paula checked the bar. No customers needed attention, so she raised her glass in a silent toast to her beloved stepmother, who had been a wonderful mother. Jenny had always made a big fuss over her birthday. Sadly she’d died eighteen months ago.

Nick finished checking the shelves. ‘I’d better fetch some more bottles of that fancy new craft beer from the storeroom, Paula love. It’s selling far better than I’d expected. I’ll only be a couple of minutes.’

The street door opened and she set down her glass at once. A guy stood there, letting in a blast of hot air and the faint sounds of voices and traffic from the street. He frowned and stared round as if searching for someone.

Nick always said how important it was to keep an eye on the customers so Paula studied him, as she did everyone who came in. He was about her age, with exhaustion radiating from him, dimming the personality behind the attractive face. It was more than mere tiredness, she decided as she continued to study him; he looked sad, too.

He let the door swing shut behind him, rubbing one temple absent-mindedly. His head must be aching, his dark business suit was badly creased and he definitely didn’t look like a man out for a good time. Perhaps he was meeting someone here? Last business appointment of a long, hard day? She loved to guess about the customers’ backgrounds.

As if he could feel her eyes on him, he turned to stare in her direction then walked towards the bar.

‘May I help you, sir?’

‘I hope so. I’m looking for Paul Grey. I was told he worked here.’11

‘Paula.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

She smiled. He was a Pom with an upper-class English accent. ‘It’s Paula – not Paul. I’m a she.’ She struck a pose and added, ‘Ta-dah!’

He remained unimpressed, so she stifled a sigh and unstruck the pose. ‘May I get you something to drink, sir?’

He was staring at her as if she’d just fallen out of a tree. ‘There must be some mistake. The Paul Grey I’m looking for is thirty-one and was born in America—’

‘Thirty-two today, actually. It’s my birthday. But the America part is right.’

He continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. ‘—and he’s the son of a guy who called himself Tony Grey, who left England and moved to America thirty-five years ago.’

How the hell did he know all that? ‘Look, there is no Paul, but I am the daughter of Tony Grey.’

‘Oh, hell!’ He goggled at her as if she’d suddenly grown a second head so she waited for him to speak.

What did he mean by ‘called himself Tony Grey’? What other mess had her father left behind? He’d been a poor husband and parent, more absent than present in her life, a con man rather than the sales director he always claimed his occupation to be. He’d only taken charge of her when her American mother remarried and dumped Paula on him, telling him she’d looked after their daughter for five years and Tony could take her for the next five.

Give him his due: he’d kept her, though it had been his second wife, Jenny, who had looked after her from then on.

It hadn’t surprised either Paula or Jenny when Tony crashed his car and made his final exit while trying to 12escape from an angry victim of one of his scams.

At nine, Paula had been terrified about what was going to happen to her then but Jenny had adopted her, with her mother’s permission, secured through a lawyer.

Jenny had then taken her to live in her own country of birth, Australia, and Paula had felt instantly at home there. She had become an Australian citizen on her twenty-first birthday.

She shook her head to banish the memories and watched as the guy set his briefcase down on the bar stool and began to fumble through its contents, muttering to himself. ‘It says in this document that …’ He put some papers down on the counter.

Was he doubting her word? Feeling annoyed, she slapped her hand down on top of the documents, fingers splayed. ‘I don’t care what it says on your pieces of paper. I’m the only child of Tony Grey and I’m Paula, not Paul.’

He closed his eyes, muttering, ‘Oh, hell! What next?’ and sagged down on a bar stool, rubbing his forehead again.

He definitely had a headache, she thought. ‘So, what can I get you to drink, sir?’

‘What? Oh, I don’t want anything, thank you. Look, if you really are the only child of Tony Grey, I need to talk to you.’

He was staring at her so disapprovingly, she shot a quick glance sideways to check her appearance in the wall mirror behind the bar. No, her hair was as tidy as the rampant curls ever allowed and she didn’t have a smut on her nose. ‘Just get to the point, will you? The main rush of customers will be upon me soon.’13

‘Very well. I’ve come to tell you that, subject to your being able to prove that you are who you claim, you’ve inherited a house in England.’ He still sounded dubious about her identity.

As what he’d said sank in, the world spun round her for a moment. Even the murmurs of the customers chatting seemed to recede into the distance. Inherited a house!

Then she guessed what was happening and grinned at him. ‘Yeah! And the Queen of England is waiting for me to go to Buckingham Palace and take tea with her. Right?’

He blinked at her, his mouth falling open in shock.

She chuckled. ‘You do it well. You had me sucked right in for a few minutes. This is a new one, isn’t it? I’ve had Strippseygrams and parrotgrams in here before, but—’

‘What in hell’s name are you talking about?’

‘Your act. You do it well. You look exactly like a tired lawyer, even to the conservative tie and worn briefcase.’ She tapped him lightly in the chest with her forefinger. ‘But I wasn’t born yesterday, mate, and I’m on to you.’

‘You’re – on to me?’

‘Yes. But go on. Finish your spiel. Then I’ll shout you a drink and you can tell me who paid you to play this birthday trick on me.’ She chuckled. ‘They’ll get theirs one day. Inherited a house in England, indeed. I should be so lucky. What will people think of next?’

His voice became a lot louder. ‘Look here, Miss Grey—’

‘If this fellow’s giving you a hard time, Paula,’ one of the regulars called, ‘you’ve only to say the word and we’ll get rid of him for you.’

‘No. He’s one of those – you know – birthday jokes, like Strippseygrams.’ She turned back to the guy, who 14looked as if he’d just swallowed a garden rake. ‘Unless you are going to strip for us.’ She studied him, head on one side, and couldn’t resist teasing him. ‘I wouldn’t mind that, actually. You look as if you’re nicely built.’ She blew him a kiss and winked.

His gulp was audible and though the lighting was subdued, she could see his cheeks turn red, which made her chuckle again.

He closed his eyes for a minute before pulling himself upright and eyeballing her as if she had just escaped from custody. ‘I am not a Strippseygram, nor am I delivering a joke message from a friend. I’ve come all the way from England to tell you that you’ve inherited a house.’

Nick came in from the back. ‘Sorry to be so long, Paula my pet. I dropped a bottle of beer. I think I’ve got all the broken glass cleared up now, but watch how you tread when you go in there and—’

The stranger uttered a noise like a cow in labour and hammered on the bar suddenly, ‘Look, will you damned well listen to what I’m saying, woman!’

Nick stiffened, immediately ready for trouble. No one could sort out a drunk as quickly as him. Though he was a big man and innately gentle, when he got that look on his face, few would care to challenge him.

Behind her back, she made a hand gesture to let him know she didn’t need help, then turned again to the guy. ‘Sorry. Go on. You’re clearly determined to do the whole act.’ She was getting rather tired of it now, though.

‘As I keep trying to tell you, Miss Grey, you’ve inherited a house in Wiltshire and – why the devil are you laughing?’

‘Because I love your posh English accent. Oh, hell, I 15can’t keep a straight face, never could. Look, you’ve done your bit and earned your fee. Let me shout you a beer. It is my birthday, after all.’

He started thumping the counter again. ‘I don’t – want – a beer! I just want you to take me seriously.’

Nick was there beside her. ‘Keep your voice down, son.’

‘You keep out of this. I’m trying to tell this crazy female that—’

As he slipped out from behind the bar to stand beside the man, Nick jerked his head to one of his friends who’d lent a hand before. ‘I think Paula’s had enough of your little games now, mate. Please leave this bar.’

The man shoved Nick’s hand away from his arm. ‘Are you all stark raving mad? This is not a game!’

Everyone in the bar had stopped talking to stare. It took a lot to make Paula angry, but she was feeling steamed up now. This fellow must have been born ten cents short of a dollar. Couldn’t he see when a joke had gone far enough?

‘You’d better leave now, sir. You’re upsetting the other customers.’ Nick and his friend linked arms with the offender, one on either side, and walked him swiftly to the door. He looked so shocked and surprised, he didn’t struggle till they were standing on the pavement outside. When he wriggled out of their grasp, Nick let him go but stayed between him and the entrance.

Paula followed them with the briefcase, winking at a table of customers as she passed.

Nick said slowly and clearly, ‘If you try to come back inside, sir, I’ll call the police.’ The skin of his shaven head gleamed under the row of lights over their sign and his voice was deep, rumbling in his broad chest. It was a rare 16customer who argued with him in this mood.

Paula tossed the briefcase down at the fellow’s feet and went back to work, joking with the nearest customer about the tricks people play on your birthdays. In a few minutes it was as if the man had never been there.

Except that she kept remembering him. Poor sap. Only trying to do his job, really. And he’d looked genuinely tired. Pity he hadn’t been able to let the joke go. She hadn’t met a man she fancied this much for ages. Not since she and Nick had started this bar, in fact.

She made coffee, served alcoholic drinks, handed out the small snacks they sold – packets of cheese and biscuits, olives, nuts and the like – and of course she chatted. Some customers liked to talk more than they liked to drink, especially the lonely older ones, and she enjoyed cheering them up and seeing them leave with smiles on their faces.

Things stayed quietly busy for the rest of the evening. Which was exactly what they and their sort of customers preferred. She loved this job, could still remember how unhappy she’d been working in an office, dressing conservatively, going to stupid meetings where everyone except her was trying to show off how with it and eager beaver they were about the project in hand.

Ugh! She wasn’t cut out for the formal life. Or for bureaucracies. No way!

On the pavement outside the bar, Richard Crawford straightened his clothes. People sitting at tables in front of the next-door café were staring at him. On the other side of the road, beyond a car park and stretch of grass, lights were reflected in the water of the estuary.17

He’d never felt as embarrassed in his whole life.

Within a few minutes, the spectators had dispersed and he’d calmed down somewhat. He picked up his briefcase from the gutter, angry at himself. He had been too tired to think straight when he got off the plane from England. After the taxi dropped him at his hotel here in Mandurah, he should have waited till morning to find the heir.

Instead, when he’d learnt that the bar was only a short stroll away, he’d decided to see whether he could find this Paul Grey because he was desperate to get this unpleasant task over and done with.

The private investigators had told him the heir knew nothing about it. There would be questions and explanations to make about what Stovell Abbey was like, photos to show. He could do it, but once he’d handed over the estate, he had to figure out what he wanted to do with his life from now on. That would be far more difficult.

He planned to take a little holiday in Western Australia because he’d only ever visited Sydney and the east coast before. He liked Australia. It was a friendly place – usually.

As a neat little sign over the entrance saying Nick’s Bar slowly changed from red to blue, someone went inside. Before the door closed, he saw her standing laughing with two of the customers. She was lovely in a weirdo sort of way, if you liked bright colours, which he didn’t usually. But they looked OK, well, actually, more than OK with that sun-tanned skin and the dark curly hair. She had a bit of a bohemian air and was tall, too. He didn’t like tiny, pale women.

But, he reminded himself firmly, she was also crazy, the sort of person who jumped to stupid conclusions and wouldn’t listen to reason. If she really was the long-lost heir 18to Stovell Abbey, there was going to be trouble ahead for them all. She might have a lot of difficulty fitting in.

As he turned and walked away, his embarrassment gave way to enjoyment of the warm evening. He’d be back, he’d have to come back, but he’d make sure he kept his temper under control next time.

He wiped his forehead. If this was the West Australian summer, it was hotter by far than he’d expected and he felt sweaty and uncomfortable in a suit. He really should have changed into something lighter for the flight, but he’d had a meeting with the lawyers in London to sort out the final paperwork he needed to give the heir, and it had taken longer than he’d expected.

He’d only just got to the airport in time for the flight and there hadn’t been any chance to change his clothes before his suitcase had been whipped away and he’d been hurried onto the plane to endure the tedium of a seventeen-hour journey to Perth.

He sighed as he went into his hotel room and took a long shower. He’d made a complete ass of himself tonight. What had she compared him to? A Strippseygram, for heaven’s sake! She’d also told him he was nicely built.

He chuckled as he towelled himself dry, beginning to see the humour in the incident now. No woman had ever said anything like that to him before, certainly not one as gorgeous as her.

Well, she would be gorgeous if she didn’t dress like a neon street sign.

He didn’t feel sleepy now. The argument had well and truly woken him up even though he’d felt deep-down exhausted before. He’d been working damned hard over 19the past year. Too hard. And for what? For nothing.

But that wasn’t her fault. He’d go back to the bar in the morning and apologise, then convince her that he wasn’t joking and she really had inherited Stovell Abbey.

He’d escort her back to the UK, help her to take possession of it, then leave. But he still hadn’t worked out what he’d do.

He’d once thought of emigrating to Australia and while he was here he’d have a good look round. He had a few ideas about his future, and the west might be the sort of place he was looking for.

He rang his aunt Marian in the morning. ‘Just letting you know that I arrived safely.’

‘Good. We had a storm pass through last night. The stable roof’s leaking again.’

‘It’s at the top of the list of major repairs needed.’

‘If the new owner lets you spend the money. If you’re still around to see to that sort of thing. Have you met him yet, Richard?’

‘He turns out to be a she, Paula not Paul.’

Silence, then, ‘You’d better marry her, then. It’d be the perfect solution. If you did, we could both stay here.’

He felt indignant at the mere thought of that. ‘I’d not marry someone for that reason. It’d be dishonest and a recipe for disaster. Anyway, I doubt anyone’s going to turn you out. You’re the perfect housekeeper for a large home and the only one who understands the vagaries of that particular place.’

Silence, then, ‘I was joking but actually, it might be a good idea to cosy up to her, Richard. Not if she’s horrible, of course.’20

He changed the subject. Since his aunt’s divorce a few years ago, she’d been very cynical about love. If he ever married, it would be because he cared about someone so much he didn’t want to live without her. He hadn’t been lucky enough to find a woman who affected him like that so far, though he’d had a couple of near misses, but he hadn’t given up hope.

Marry someone for what they owned, indeed! His own Stovell ancestors might have done that in the past, but he would never, ever consider doing such a thing.

His aunt was only joking, surely?

21

Chapter Two

Marian put down the phone. So the heir was a woman! Did she know how lucky she was? This was such a wonderful old house. Marian would sell her soul to live out her days here and continue caring for it.

It was all very well Richard saying the new owner wouldn’t be able to manage without her but that wasn’t true. Anyone could learn to do what was needed in a minimal way, though they’d have to be able to run the place economically, given the state of its finances. There were extras you could contribute, though, if you knew and loved a place. She felt she understood the house’s soul.

She didn’t need or want to go job-hunting at her age. She had enough money to live on because Roy Stovell, the former owner, had left her an adequate income and a brilliant reference, which would get her another job easily.

Since she’d been housekeeper here she’d lived in the housekeeper’s quarters, renting out her own little cottage in the village. She didn’t want to go back to the small rooms and living cheek by jowl with neighbours, whether she liked them or not. She loved the spaciousness of Stovell 22Abbey’s interior. She could give notice to the tenants and get her home back but even more important to her was the need for some meaningful sort of occupation.

She’d made enquiries after Roy died and found that there was a demand for short-term housekeepers, where agencies moved people into and out of jobs, chopping and changing, taking shortcuts, skimping on what they did and serving what she thought of as the Great God Money.

She’d enjoyed being her own boss for over a decade and managing the house she loved properly. She even had a list of minor renovations she had planned to put into place at minimal cost. Richard had told her she had an eye for that sort of thing and if she’d been born now she’d have been able to train as an architect.

She didn’t have any Stovell blood in her veins. Her half-brother had married one of Roy’s nieces.

Roy had been a recluse, a charming man but not sociable. The one thing she’d missed about her marriage was the social entertaining that had been necessary for her husband’s job. She’d been good at that. Even he had admitted as much. He shouldn’t have been unfaithful then, should he?

It was sunny today, even if it was cold, so she decided to cheer herself up by going for a long walk and to hell with everything else. Anyway, it was one of Joan’s days to clean the house, and there was no need to supervise a woman she’d grown up with, a woman who seemed to regard dirt as a personal enemy.

When she went to tell her she was going out, Joan switched off the vacuum cleaner to have a chat. ‘Do you good. Any news from Richard?’

‘Only that he’s arrived safely in Australia.’23

‘Good. Did you hear the latest in the village? Dan Peverill’s back. Buried his wife last year in America, it seems. He’s the one who bought the old hall, so perhaps he’s come back to stay.’

‘Yes, I had heard.’ Of course she had. At least three people had gone to the trouble of phoning her with the news, knowing she’d had a fling with Dan when she was young. That had been over two decades ago, for heaven’s sake. She’d been married and divorced since then, not to mention starting to show signs of ageing like turning grey and putting on a little weight.

Dan would no doubt have changed too. She’d probably walk straight past him in the street. But it puzzled her why a widowed man, who’d spent the last two decades in America, would want to buy a big house like Beechley Hall in a village he’d said he never wanted to see again.

He was up to something, must be. He had never done anything without a very good financial reason and she doubted that would have changed.

She put on a hooded coat and a scarf, and went out the back way, taking her favourite path through the woods. Lost in memories, she didn’t see him till she was quite close then she stopped dead and debated briefly fleeing down a side path. But he saw her before she could do anything and pride alone kept her walking steadily forward towards him.

At first glance he hadn’t changed all that much. He was still lean and looked fit. But when she studied his face she did see changes – well, she thought she did. His once luxuriant hair was thinner, the light brown faded to pepper and salt, and there were lines round his eyes.

Like her, he’d been lost in thought but she saw the exact 24moment when he noticed her and realised who she was. To her surprise the cool expression gave way to a genuine smile.

‘Marian! How delightful to see you again!’ He strode forward, taking her shoulders in a light grip and kissing her cheeks, one after the other, the way strangers often did these days. She always wished they wouldn’t because it meant nothing, only this kiss might perhaps have meant a little more than usual, a reminder of her youth at the very least.

She didn’t know what to say so simply smiled back at him till she realised that he hadn’t let go of her, was studying her face intently.

‘Something’s worrying you, Marian.’

‘That’s a fine greeting after all these years!’

‘I’ve done the kissy-kissy routine. What else do you need as a greeting? Or do you want me to pretend I don’t know you and discuss the weather?’

She felt her own stiffness melting a little. ‘No, of course not.’

‘I know you well enough to read the expression on your face still and it’s not a happy one.’

She sighed, wondering how best to respond.

‘Going for a walk?’

‘Yes.’

He turned to face in the same direction as her. ‘Good. We’ll walk down to the lake together and catch each other up on our news. You can tell me what’s worrying you or if you don’t want to do that, you can bring me up to date on your precious Abbey. Is it as beautiful as ever? Do you love it as much? You must have put down deep roots in Wiltshire because you’ve never moved away.’25

‘Yes, I do still love the Abbey. My nephew’s been doing some renovating and it hasn’t looked as good for years.’

‘He’s wasted his time, though, hasn’t he? Someone else will benefit from it now. He must be disappointed not to have inherited after all.’

She was startled. ‘Word of that’s got out already, even to a visitor like you?’

‘Of course it has. This is Stovell Magna. Rumours breed like rabbits on speed in our village, always have done. Though I don’t exactly count myself as a visitor.’

‘Well, to tell the truth, Richard and I are both disappointed about the new heir. If anyone was perfect as custodian of the Abbey, it was him.’

‘I heard that he once had other plans.’

‘He shelved those.’ She shook her head in a vain attempt to banish her worries about her nephew. ‘Don’t let’s talk about that. I’m sick of answering questions about the new heir. All I know is the latest news is that it’s a she, not a he. You’re the first to hear that.’

He let out a long, low whistle.

‘Now, tell me about America. I was sorry to hear you’d lost your wife so young.’

‘Yes. And cancer can be a difficult way to die. You’d have liked JoBeth and she’d have liked you.’

‘And your children?’

‘Off my hands now – if children ever are totally off your hands. Kelly’s working in IT and got married recently, and Brandon’s struggling to make his name as an actor. He’s good, but so are a lot of other young men his age and it’s a chancy profession.’

‘Goodness! How can he be the son of someone like 26you, who never liked to be the focus of attention, and want to be an actor?’

He shrugged. ‘I’ve got over that attitude now. Had to. But I still don’t approve of his choice of job. It has no financial security whatsoever.’

He offered no further information so she didn’t pursue the point, just asked the main question that interested her. ‘Are you back for good or only visiting?’

‘Surely they told you I’d bought Beechley Hall?’

‘I assumed it was for an investment. You swore you’d never come back to live here permanently.’

‘Well, I’ve unsworn it. I’m here to stay.’ He caught her cynical expression and added, ‘For a while, at least. I’m just waiting to do the final handover for a job in the Middle East, which will only take me a few days, then I’ll take full possession of the Hall.’

‘What are you going to do with yourself?’

‘Update the hall and its grounds. I have a few other plans brewing.’

Which probably meant it offered him some business opportunities, she thought. She’d have cared what they were once; now, she was only mildly interested.

They’d reached the lake so stopped in unspoken agreement and stared at it.

‘It’s as pretty as I remembered. Do you still go boating?’ he asked.

‘No. The boats got too old and unsafe and no one cared enough to buy new ones. The lake is still suitable for boating, of course, if you want to put a boat or two on your end, that is.’ She caught sight of her watch. ‘Is it that time already? I’ve got to get back now and lock up 27after Joan. It was nice catching up with you, Dan.’

He took her hand but didn’t let go immediately. ‘Come and have a meal with me tonight. I’m at the King’s Head in the village and they have a pretty reasonable cook. Evenings can be lonely when you’re in a hotel room, and I never did like sitting around on my own in public bars.’

‘I don’t think—’

He didn’t let go of her hand. ‘Please, Marian.’

She hesitated and was lost. Evenings could be lonely when you were the only person living in a big house, too. That had been the main downside of her job working for a recluse like Roy. ‘You come and have a meal with me instead, Dan. At least that way, people won’t be staring at us and trying to listen in on what we’re saying.’

‘All right. I’ll be interested to see what the interior of the Abbey is like these days.’ He gave her hand a squeeze and let go at last. ‘I’ll bring some wine. Still like Merlot best?’

‘Yes. Come about four o’clock and I’ll show you round the main rooms before it gets dark.’

‘The library has gained quite a reputation. I’ll look forward to it.’ With a wave, he turned and strode away.

She stood and watched him as she had done when they were going out together. He was still attractive. Too attractive for a sensible woman like her. She preferred men who weren’t so charismatic. They were much easier to live with.

Still, it’d be nice to have some company.

28

Chapter Three

The morning after the incident, Paula looked up from putting away the clean glasses and froze. Oh, no! That lunatic was back again. Only he didn’t look like a stuffed shirt this morning, not when he was wearing jeans and a short-sleeved top. He was smiling tentatively, as if unsure of his welcome, as he entered the bar.

When he took out a white handkerchief and waved it in the air in a gesture of surrender, she couldn’t help smiling. ‘It’s all right. I won’t have you thrown out again – unless you start shouting at me, of course.’

‘I’m really sorry about last night.’

She shrugged. ‘We’ll forget about it. You not working today?’

‘I wasn’t working last night, not at being a lawyergram, anyway, or whatever you thought I was. Look, can you come and sit down for a few minutes? I really do need to talk to you and I can show you proof of my identity. In fact, I ought to do that before we even begin our conversation.’

He gestured to a table by the window and she hesitated, then joined him there, feeling puzzled by this talk of proving 29who he was. But he was speaking calmly and quietly so deserved a hearing.

‘I’m really sorry for shouting at you last night, Miss Grey. I didn’t handle things very well at all, did I?’

He gave her another of those crooked, rueful smiles as she sat down opposite him and her heart gave a little twitch. He was a very attractive man. ‘No, you didn’t.’

He offered her a business card and then showed her his passport to prove the card wasn’t a fake.

She handed them back with a nod, feeling more puzzled by the minute. Why was he going to these lengths? If he hadn’t been delivering a birthday message, what had he come to see her for last night?

He was still hesitating so she prompted, ‘You didn’t handle what well exactly?’

‘Telling you some important news.’ He took a deep breath. ‘You see, Miss Grey—’

‘Paula. We use first names in Australia.’

‘Right, Paula it is. And I’m Richard.’ He held out his hand.

As she shook it, she froze, startled by the warmth that seemed to be running through her from it. She pulled hers away hastily. You read about this sort of thing in romance novels, but she’d always laughed at the idea of such a sudden attraction. And what’s more, she didn’t want to be attracted to someone who was just passing through, didn’t want to be strongly attracted to any man ever again, actually. Been there, done that, didn’t win a medal.

He had been avoiding her eyes, fiddling with one of the new beer mats, but now he looked up and took a deep breath. ‘I was telling the truth about one thing last night, you know.’30

‘What?’

‘You really have inherited a house in England, Paula.’

It was a moment before she found enough breath to reply. ‘You can’t be serious?’

‘I am. You’ve inherited a house in Wiltshire.’

She opened her mouth to protest then closed it again, because she’d never been to Wiltshire or as far as she knew had any connections with someone from there. Her father had always joked that he came from here, there and everywhere, and her mother came from Texas, though she hadn’t stayed there, was living in France these days with her third husband.

Only, if Paula had ever seen sincerity, it was painted across the face opposite her. You learnt to judge people fairly accurately when you were running a bar. ‘Who’s left me a house? It must be a mistake. I was born in America and we came to Australia when I was nine. I’ve never even been to England.’

‘It’s not been left to you, exactly, you’re just – well, the next in line, as it were. The heir. The house belonged to your great-uncle Roy Stovell, but he had only the one child, a daughter who died before him. He was one of seven children, though. He lived to be ninety-five but died early last year. He was a nice guy, but he’d never talk about the succession, only said someone else could sort it out after he’d gone. And that has taken a while.’

When he looked at her, she nodded to encourage him to continue.

‘After he died, we had to check out all Roy’s brothers and sisters, looking for offspring. He left us with a list of their names and ages, only all six of them were dead. 31They’d scattered across the face of the globe, so it took a while to trace their offspring.’

‘I’m sure there’s a mistake. Tony, my father, always said he didn’t have any relatives left and was an only child.’

‘I wonder why he said that. Roy’s generation was the largest number of surviving children ever produced by the Stovell family, and the archives go back to the early eighteenth century. It took the lawyers over a year to trace them all, because Roy hadn’t kept in touch. We nearly gave up on your branch of the family. Your father covered his tracks pretty well when he went off to America, probably because he took a few pieces of family silver with him.’

It wasn’t the first time her father had embarrassed her. Would she never be free of him? ‘He was a con man but I never thought he’d be a thief as well. I’m sorry, but I never saw him with any old pieces of silver so I can’t give them back or even hint at where they might be.’

‘We’re not expecting you to do that. It’s water under the bridge.’

‘How did you settle on me as heir, then?’

‘The private investigator had a bit of luck and discovered your mother, who told us you existed.’

‘I don’t see much of her. When I was little I didn’t see her for years, though she sent me the occasional birthday or Christmas cards.’ When she remembered, which wasn’t every year.

‘She knew you’d come to Australia but not exactly where, so we set a private investigator onto it. And voilà! Here I am. It turns out you’re the next in line so you inherit the house.’

She began to feel excited. She might be able to sell it and 32pay off the mortgage on her canal house, not to mention getting rid of her tenants. Now, that would make a very nice birthday present indeed.

‘What’s the house like?’ she asked eagerly.

‘It’s very old—’

Disappointment made her sigh. ‘Oh, only worth block value, eh? How much would that be on the present market?’

‘Block value?’ He looked puzzled.

‘You know, as in house falling down so only worth the price of the land.’

‘You’ve never even seen the place and you want to sell it! My goodness, you’re quick off the mark!’

He scowled and turned into an instant stuffed shirt again, positively bristling at her. She felt a matching anger begin to rise. ‘Look, a house in England is no use to me. Apart from anything else, I have a home and business here.’

‘Well, you have a house in England now as well.’

She gestured around them. ‘I love running the bar and I also love my home here. It’s on a canal development here in Mandurah with water frontage. Fortunately it has a granny flat built along one side that I was able to move into and put tenants in, but I still have some views and one day I’m going to get my home back.’

She let that sink in before adding, ‘So I’m not trudging off with sentimental tears in my eyes to find my family’s English roots, thank you very much. As far as I’m concerned, my roots are here and have been since I was nine years old. So if you don’t mind, I’d like some idea of the market value of this old shack I’ve been left.’

‘It isn’t an old shack.’

‘You’re the one who said it was old.’33

‘Yes, it is. But it’s not a shack. It’s, well, I suppose you’d call it a stately home. Smallish, but definitely part of the national heritage of England. The oldest part is early eighteenth century, with the ruins of the original thirteenth century abbey in the grounds. It was destroyed during the dissolution of the monasteries under Henry VIII. Oh, and there’s a small modern wing at the rear added in the nineteenth century, which is where the housekeeper lives nowadays.’

The bar seemed to spin round and his voice echo down from the far end of a very long tunnel. ‘Say that again,’ she croaked.

‘You’ve inherited a small manor house called Stovell Abbey in Wiltshire.’

She hadn’t a clue where Wiltshire was. She’d thought vaguely about travelling the world for a year or so after she finished uni, because other people seemed to think that was a wonderful thing to do. However, a holiday in Hong Kong had made her instantly homesick, so she’d not made any more attempts to travel abroad. And what with a marriage that failed rapidly and her stepmother’s long final illness, she’d not done any real travelling even in Australia for the past few years.

Richard continued to scowl at her. ‘The Abbey isn’t the sort of place you can sell. In fact, you aren’t allowed to sell it. There’s a family trust and the estate has to be passed on intact to the next legal heir. It can’t be split up at all and it’s heritage listed.’

She didn’t know what to say, felt utterly knocked for six by what he’d said.

‘Are you all right?’34

She sucked in a couple of lungfuls of air but it didn’t seem to help. ‘No, I’m not – not at all.’

She gasped in more air and before she knew it, he was forcing her head between her knees and then Nick was trying to drag him off her and they were both shouting and …

It took a few minutes for her to calm the two men down again.

‘Couldn’t you just go away and pretend you couldn’t find me,’ she begged as Richard brushed dust off his rumpled clothing from where Nick had forced him away from her onto the floor.

‘Certainly not. You’re the heir and you have to come to England to claim your inheritance and … I suppose it’ll be up to you to decide what you’re going to do with it from then onwards if you don’t intend to live there. No one has ever done that before so there’s no precedent.’ He stared at her disapprovingly.

She groaned and buried her head in her hands for a moment, then lifted it to glare at him. ‘Well, I didn’t ask for it and I don’t want it, so I’m not coming.’

‘Paula!’ Nick said warningly. ‘You really shouldn’t take any hasty decisions about something so important.’

She glared at them both. ‘I mean it. I’m not going to England.’ And she did mean it. Definitely.

‘It won’t hurt to listen to him and think about it,’ Nick said quietly.

He had what she thought of as his kindly but stern uncle look on his face so she folded her arms and waited. She realised after a moment that he was staring at her foot, which was tapping impatiently, and she forced herself to sit still and 35pay attention as Richard explained all over again about this stupid inheritance, giving even more details this time.

‘Stovell Abbey was built in the early eighteenth century. It’s a neat, well-preserved manor house with about twenty internal rooms and several outbuildings. It stands on just under thirty acres of land in Wiltshire.’

‘Where in England is this Wiltshire?’

He looked surprised but said, ‘Near Bristol. Know where that is?’

‘I’ve seen it on maps.’

‘Well, if you drive to Bristol from London, Wiltshire is the county on the left, so to speak, just before you get there.’

‘Right. Got it. I’ll look it up properly on a map later. Go on.’

‘The Stovell family has lived in the house continuously for over two hundred years. The last owner was Roy Stovell. He was both eccentric and reclusive, and didn’t produce an heir. He lived there mainly alone, except for a series of housekeepers. He was only interested in restoring and extending the library, and did that so well that it’s heritage listed. But he didn’t care about looking after the land and the interior of the house. He only looked after the exterior because of protecting his precious library. When it became in need of serious renovation a couple of years ago, he hired me to start the most urgent repairs. I trained as an architect and I specialised in restoration of older properties, you see.’

Paula held up one hand in a stop sign. ‘Give me a minute to digest this.’ She frowned for a moment or two then said slowly, ‘It means Tony wasn’t lying about his family background. Which must be the only time on record 36for him to have been telling the truth about his past!’

‘Why do you call your father Tony?’