A Vengeful Reunion. CATHERINE GEORGE

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      He raised an eyebrow. ‘Not much time to spare for your lover.’

      Leonie shrugged, refusing to rise. ‘My weekends are free, and I teach some evenings, not all of them.’

      ‘Is your man in the same profession?’

      ‘No. Roberto’s involved in the family business—luxury hotels.’

      ‘Successful?’

      ‘Very. He’s the heir apparent. Just like you with your outfit.’

      Jonah sipped his coffee, scrutinising her feature by feature. ‘You look very different, Leo.’

      ‘Older, you mean.’

      ‘And colder. Or maybe it’s just the way you’ve screwed up your hair.’

      She returned the scrutiny. ‘You look different, too, Jonah. Harder. And colder, just like me.’

      ‘And what—or who—is responsible for that, I wonder?’ he cut back, the eyes narrowed suddenly to a feral gleam.

      Gloves off, thought Leonie, meeting the gleam head-on. ‘It’s useless to rehash the past, Jonah.’

      ‘Afraid you might call up old ghosts?’ His eyes widened in sudden, stark remorse. ‘Hell, Leo, I’m sorry. I had no intention—’

      ‘I know that!’ She changed the subject swiftly, saying the first thing that came into her head. ‘So tell me why you’re travelling my way.’

      ‘The company’s bought a property not far from your place. We’re developing the site. I’m camping out there for a while until I get proper security set up.’

      ‘What house?’ said Leonie, frowning. ‘There’s not usually much for sale round Stavely.’

      ‘Brockhill,’ he informed her.

      ‘I didn’t know the Laceys were selling up,’ she said, startled.

      ‘They decided the property was too big for them.’

      Leonie felt a sharp pang of regret. ‘Their family will miss the old place. When we were young Jess and I used to play in the gardens there with Theo and Will Lacey.’ She shivered. ‘I’d hate Dad to sell Friars Wood.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because it’s my home, of course.’

      ‘You don’t spend much time there, Leo.’ Cold eyes held hers. ‘And if you marry your Italian home will be a long way from Friars Wood.’

      ‘That’s not the point,’ she said tightly. ‘The house is my point of origin. Home to the Dysarts for nearly a hundred years. I couldn’t bear to think of someone else living there.’

      Jonah glanced at his watch and got to his feet. ‘Almost there. I’d better collect my belongings. Goodbye, Leonie.’ He gave an oddly formal little bow and strolled back to his seat.

      Leonie stared after him, secretly furious that he’d left so abruptly. She should have told Jonah to go the moment she’d laid eyes on him, but now he’d pre-empted her. And called her Leonie, as he’d never done once upon a time. Appalled because she minded so much, she tried to revive her former glow of anticipation. But suddenly she felt tired and travel-weary, and not much in the mood for a party after seeing Jonah again, especially the noisy affair this one was sure to be. Adam had celebrated his actual birthday with fellow students days ago, but tonight they were converging on Friars Wood to celebrate all over again, along with neighbours and friends of the Dysarts. Adam had surprised his parents by requesting a family party for everyone, Leonie had been informed, during her weekly call home from Florence.

      At first, bitterly disappointed, Leonie had been sure she couldn’t make it. A flu bug had almost halved the teaching staff at the International School, making her absence impossible. But when the epidemic had spread to some of the children the principal had decided to close the school for a while until the epidemic was over. Keeping the glad news secret from her family, Leonie had rushed to buy an airline ticket, kissed Roberto Forli goodbye at Pisa airport and flown home.

      When the train was approaching Bristol Parkway Leonie saw Jonah Savage coming towards her along the carriage.

      ‘Is someone meeting you here?’ he asked, pausing beside her.

      She shook her head, wishing she’d given up the surprise idea and asked her father or Adam to meet her. ‘No one knows I’m coming. I’m going on to Newport. I’ll get a train from there.’

      ‘My car’s parked here, if you’d like a lift,’ he said casually. ‘I pass your place on the way to Brockhill.’

      Her first instinct was to refuse anything at all from Jonah Savage. But the plus of arriving home almost two hours earlier than she’d expected far outweighed the downside of a drive in Jonah’s company. ‘Thank you,’ said Leonie, getting up.

      ‘Not at all,’ he said politely, as though they were strangers. ‘Let me help you on with your coat.’

      As he did so the train gave a sudden lurch, throwing her against him, and for the first time in years Leonie Dysart found herself in Jonah Savage’s arms. He released her instantly, poker-faced, took her bag and motioned her ahead of him as the train drew to a halt. Leonie stepped off the train, shivering in the cold February wind, and from rather more than that. She was glad when Jonah set off up the stairs to the footbridge at such a punishing pace it quickly did wonders for both her body heat and her composure as she tried to keep up.

      To Leonie’s surprise Jonah’s car was a well-worn four-wheel drive, very different from the speedy sports models he’d once favoured.

      ‘Practical for your part of the world,’ he said laconically, picking up on her thought.

      ‘Very,’ she agreed, tensing as Jonah negotiated a busy roundabout with well-remembered panache.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ he assured her with a sidelong glance. ‘I’ll get you home in one piece.’

      ‘It just seems strange to be on the left-hand side of the road,’ she snapped.

      Her oblique reference to life in Italy put an end to conversation as Jonah made for the motorway. But when they reached the Severn Bridge a gusting wind buffeted the car rather ominously as they crossed the river, and Leonie gave a deep, involuntary sigh.

      ‘Still nervous?’ asked Jonah, glancing at her.

      She smiled. ‘Not in the least. The sigh was thanksgiving. Once I’m on the bridge I feel I’m home.’

      Jonah’s jaw tightened. ‘If you’re so deeply attached to “home” why stay away so much?’

      ‘You know exactly why,’ she said bitterly.

      ‘Now that, Miss Dysart, is where you’re wrong. I do not. I have no idea why you ran off and left me, nor the reasons for your self-imposed exile.’ He turned a chill, penetrating stare on her for a moment, then returned his attention to the road as he negotiated the descent into Chepstow. СКАЧАТЬ