The Tycoon's Marriage Deal. Melanie Milburne

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СКАЧАТЬ a look. She cautiously lifted the lid and then gasped. Inside was a stunning handcrafted ring that was set in a Gatsby era style. It wasn’t look-at-me huge but its finely crafted setting gave it an air of priceless beauty. There were a central diamond and two smaller ones either side of it, and a collection of tiny diamonds surrounding them. The sides of the ring were inset with more glittering tiny diamonds.

      Tillie had seen some engagement rings in her time but none as beautiful as this. Hopelessly impractical, of course. She couldn’t imagine thrusting her hands into pastry while wearing it but, oh, how gorgeous was it?

      You can’t keep it.

      Right now Tillie didn’t want to listen to her conscience. She wanted to slip that ring over her finger and step out and parade it in the village to make sure everyone saw it winking there.

      Take that, you cheating low-life ex. See what sort of calibre of man I can hook?

      No one would be casting her pitying looks then. No one would be whispering behind their hands when she walked past them or into their shops, or asking each other sotto voce, ‘How do you think she’s holding up?’ and, ‘Doesn’t she look a little peaky to you?’ or, ‘I never thought Simon was right for her anyway.’

      She took the ring out of the velvet-lined box and held it in the palm of her hand.

      Go on. Put it on. See if it fits.

      Tillie picked up the ring and, taking a deep breath, slipped it over her ring finger. It was a little snug but it fitted her finger better than the one Simon had ‘given’ her. She kept staring at the ring’s dazzling beauty, wondering how much it was worth. Wondering if she should take it off right this second before she got too attached to it. She had never worn anything so gorgeous. Her late mother hadn’t had much jewellery to speak of because she and Tillie’s dad were always so frugal over money in order to help others less fortunate. They hadn’t even bought an engagement ring but instead donated what they would have spent to their church’s missionary fund. Some of that social ethic had rubbed off on Tillie even though she didn’t even remember her mother because she’d died just hours after Tillie was born. But this was the sort of ring to be passed down generations from mothers to daughter to granddaughters and great-granddaughters.

      Although Tillie had grown up in a loving home, largely due to her kind stepmother who was the antithesis of the wicked stepmother stereotype, she had still longed to belong to someone, to build a life together and raise a family. To have that special someone to be there for her, as her stepmother was there for her father, and Tillie’s mother before her. Prior to being jilted, she’d been a fully signed up member to the Love Makes the World Go Around Club.

      Breaking up with Simon after so long together shattered her dream of happy ever after. She had been cast adrift like a tiny dinghy left bobbing alone in the ocean without a rudder or even an anchor. Three months on, it still felt a little odd to go out to dinner or visit the cinema on her own but she was determined to learn how to do it without feeling like a loser. It felt a little weird to be cooking a meal for one person but she was working on that, too—besides, she could do with a little less eating.

      Now she was a fully paid up member of the Single and Loving It Club.

      Well...maybe the Single and Still Getting Used to It Club was more appropriate.

      But she would learn to love it even if it damn near killed her.

      Tillie was about to take off the ring when her phone rang. She picked it up to see the number on the screen was the respite facility Mr Pendleton was staying in. ‘Hello?’

      ‘Tillie, it’s Claire Reed, one of the senior nurses on staff,’ a woman’s voice said. ‘I’m afraid Mr Pendleton’s had a nasty fall coming out of the bathroom earlier today. He’s okay now but he’s asking to see you. Can you come in when you get a chance?’

      Tillie’s stomach pitched. Mr Pendleton was already so frail; another fall would set him back even further. ‘Oh, the poor darling. Of course, I’ll come in straight away—I was on my way in any case.’

      She hung up from the call and went to snatch up her bag and cardigan off the back of the chair, but then she noticed the ring still on her finger. She went to pull it off but it refused to come back over her knuckle. Panic started beating in her chest as frantically as her food mixer whipping up egg whites for meringues.

      She had to get it off!

      She tugged it again, almost bruising her knuckle in the process. But the more she tugged, the more her knuckle swelled until the joint was almost as big as a Californian walnut. And throbbing painfully as if she had full-blown rheumatoid arthritis.

      Tillie dashed into the workroom and shoved her hand under the cold-water tap, liberally soaping up the joint to see if it would help. It didn’t. The ring had apparently decided it quite liked its new home on her finger and was staying put, thank you very much. She let out a rarely used swear word and grabbed some hand lotion. She greased up her finger but the more she pushed against her knuckle, the more it throbbed.

      She gave up. She would have to leave it and get it off later when the swelling of her knuckle went down.

      When Tillie got to the respite centre, the geriatrician on duty informed her that, along with some cuts and bruises and a black eye, Mr Pendleton was also suffering some slight memory confusion as a result of the fall and that he might well have had another mini stroke, which might have caused the loss of balance. She told Tillie not to be unduly concerned about the fact he was acting a little irritable and grumpy but to go along with whatever the old man said so as to not stress him too much.

      When Tillie entered his room, Mr Pendleton was sitting propped up in bed looking sorry for himself with an aubergine-coloured bruise on his left cheek and a black eye. He had a white plaster bandage over a cut on his forehead where his head—according to the doctor—had bumped against the toilet bowl.

      ‘Oh, Mr Pendleton.’ Tillie rushed to his bedside and carefully took his crêpe-paper-thin hand in hers. ‘Are you all right? The doctor said you’d had a bad fall. What have you been doing to yourself? You look like you’ve gone a couple of rounds with a boxer and a sumo wrestler.’

      The old man glowered at her instead of his usual smile of welcome. ‘I don’t know why you bother visiting an old goat like me. I’m ready for the scrap heap. If I were a dog they would’ve put me down long ago like the vet did with poor old Humphrey.’

      ‘I come because I care about you,’ Tillie said. ‘Everyone in the village cares about you. Now tell me what happened.’

      He plucked at the hem of the light cotton blanket covering him as if it were annoying him. ‘I don’t remember what happened. One minute I was upright and the next I was on the floor... I’m all right apart from a bit of a headache.’

      ‘Well, as long as you’re okay now, that’s the main thing,’ Tillie said. ‘I would’ve brought Truffles in to see you but I haven’t been home yet. I came straight from work.’

      Truffles was Mr Pendleton’s chocolate-coloured labradoodle who had not yet progressed from puppyhood even though she was now two years old. Tillie had helped name her when Mr Pendleton had bought the puppy to keep him company after his old golden retriever Humphrey had to be euthanised. But Truffles was nothing like the sedate and portly Humphrey, who had lain in front of the fireplace and snored for hours, only waking for meals and a slow mooch outside for calls of nature. Truffles moved like a dervish on crack and had a penchant for chewing things such as shoes and handbags СКАЧАТЬ