Wish For The Moon. Carole Mortimer

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      She gave him a warm smile, blowing him a kiss before hurrying to her bedroom.

      She and her grandfather were so close, and that closeness was another reason she was in no hurry to think about marriage; she was all her grandfather had now, since his son, her father, had been killed five years ago while racing his car at over a hundred miles an hour. She and her grandfather had been drawn together after the tragedy, their affection for each other something really special. A husband would surely try to intrude upon that special relationship; Giles had already shown signs of impatience at the amount of time she chose to spend at home.

      After years of knowing exactly what was right to wear for each and every occasion, she was suddenly at a loss as to what one wore to have lunch with a pop-singer, disgarding one outfit after another in her wardrobe as either too formal or too casual. What could she wear to have lunch with Quinn Taylor and his manager?

      It wasn’t like her to be so indecisive. Surely she wasn’t as affected by the man’s expected arrival as everyone else seemed to be? Certainly not, she instantly answered herself, she was just irritated at having to put herself out for the man!

      She chose her outfit at random from the row of day clothes in the full-wall-length wardrobe and was just zipping the green skirt over her slender hips when she heard the sound of a car in the driveway; she tucked the matching pale green blouse into the narrow waistband before moving to glance out of the window. If it was Quinn Taylor he was early, but perhaps no one had bothered to explain to him that it was just as rude to arrive early as it was to arrive late.

      The Rolls-Royce that had just come to a stop in front of the house was certainly impressive enough—if one were the type to be impressed by such an obvious show of wealth, which Elizabeth certainly was not.

      She watched curiously from the window as instead of the chauffeur alighting from behind the wheel as she had expected, a tall dark-haired man in his late thirties, instantly recognisable as Quinn Taylor, stepped out on to the gravel driveway. Even if he hadn’t been, it was obvious that the short, slightly plump man who was getting out of the passenger side certainly wasn’t the singing star, which meant he must be the manager, Bruce Simons.

      The shorter man walked around the car to join Quinn Taylor, pointing across the grounds to the west lawn where work was visibly in progress.

      Elizabeth observed them curiously, noting that Bruce Simons seemed slightly ill at ease in the brown suit he wore, obviously especially for the occasion, pulling at the restriction of the collar of the tan shirt as it obviously irritated him.

      Quinn Taylor turned to grin at him as he said something, wearing his navy blue suit with ease, even from this distance his eyes distinguisable as a deep startling blue. He seemed relaxed, confident, motioning to the other man that they should go into the house now.

      Elizabeth stepped back from the window as they turned towards the house; the last thing she wanted was to be caught staring at them like some star-struck idiot!

      She should be getting downstairs, her grandfather wouldn’t be pleased if she weren’t downstairs at his side to greet their guests. One thing she had learnt about her grandfather over the years, he granted her every indulgence, but good manners meant everything to him. He was going to expect her to be especially polite to a man he admired so much.

      She brushed the shoulder-length bell of her hair with quick strokes, aware that she looked coolly elegant, her eyes sparkling brightly.

      Petersham was just showing their guests into the drawing-room as she descended the stairs, and she turned coolly towards them as she sensed someone’s gaze on her, her gaze meeting, and clashing, with that of Quinn Taylor.

      His eyes widened speculatively, a slow sensuous smile curving his sculptured lips. And then, as he continued to meet her challenging gaze, puzzlement darkened his eyes.

      Elizabeth finished descending the stairs with confident dignity, crossing the entrance-hall to smile politely at their guests. ‘Thank you, Petersham,’ she dismissed the butler lightly. ‘I’ll take our guests through to my grandfather. Would you like to come this way, gentlemen,’ she invited politely, her smile bright—and completely meaningless, sensing that Quinn Taylor’s gaze was still on her. ‘I’m Elizabeth Farnham, by the way,’ she told them distantly as she ushered them into the room where her grandfather stood waiting for them. ‘Mr Simon, I believe you know my grandfather already.’ She smiled at the plump man, aware that he had been the one to do all the negotiating with her grandfather. ‘Mr Taylor, my grandfather, Gerald Farnham,’ she introduced. ‘I don’t believe you need any introduction yourself,’ she added drily, moving slightly away from the group to observe them uninterestedly.

      Her grandfather was obviously enthusiastic about meeting the singer for the first time. As she had suspected, he was a secret fan, mentioning several of the entertainer’s songs that he particularly liked.

      ‘I’m afraid our introduction was a little rushed earlier.’ A silkily soft voice broke into her rueful musings.

      She looked up to find Quinn Taylor had left the other two men talking quietly together to cross the room to her side. She met his gaze questioningly, smiling politely.

      ‘Elizabeth Farnham,’ she provided again as he looked at her searchingly.

      ‘Elizabeth…’ he repeated softly, shaking his head. ‘No, it doesn’t—fit,’ he murmured slowly.

      She gave a lightly dismissive laugh. ‘I can assure you it suits me very well,’ she challenged.

      He looked slightly embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry.’ He gave a tight smile. ‘I didn’t mean to appear rude. It’s just… You remind me of someone, it’s almost as if I should know you, and yet the name Elizabeth doesn’t ring any bells in my memory.’ He shook his head, staring at her intently.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she drawled dismissively, moving to join her grandfather, putting her arm through the crook of his, glancing back curiously at Quinn Taylor. He still stared at her. ‘Mr Taylor seems to think I may have a double somewhere,’ she told her grandfather with a light laugh.

      He turned to the younger man. ‘I refuse to believe there’s another woman as beautiful as Elizabeth anywhere in the world,’ and he gazed down at her proudly.

      Quinn Taylor strode fluidly across the room. ‘I didn’t say you have a double, Miss Farnham,’ he bit out, obviously not appreciating her mockery at his expense. ‘I said you remind me of someone.’

      ‘Surely it’s the same thing?’ she dismissed uninterestedly. ‘I can assure you that if we had met before I would surely have remembered it—even if you are so ungallant as to suggest you can’t remember where you met this woman I look so much like,’ she added challengingly.

      Impatience flickered in his eyes, at himself—and her. ‘Perhaps I was mistaken,’ he rasped. ‘You don’t appear to be the sort of woman a man would easily forget.’

      ‘I certainly hope not,’ she drawled huskily.

      It was a most unnerving feeling having someone watch her so closely as she ate, and yet she knew, without acknowledging it, that Quinn Taylor watched her constantly during lunch.

      Just as Mary watched him. The poor girl helped serve the meal in a complete daze, even dropping the spoon on the floor when Quinn Taylor turned to thank her for taking his empty soup bowl away. The accident cost Mary a quelling glance СКАЧАТЬ