Carole Mortimer Romance Collection. Carole Mortimer

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      ‘Why don’t you try explaining them to me?’ Silke suggested gently.

      Her mother looked perturbed for a moment, and then she gave a rueful grimace. ‘God, yes,’ she sighed. ‘Everything has happened in such a rush, I’d forgotten I haven’t talked to you about Hal and me.’

      ‘Well, I know the two of you are getting married,’ Silke said ruefully, never doubting that Henry intended carrying out that decision; he could be as determined as his nephew.

      Her mother actually blushed at the thought of the marriage. ‘At last,’ she sighed self-derisively. ‘God, you wouldn’t believe the years I’ve wasted, Silke!’

      She had a feeling that she would, but nevertheless she waited for her mother to tell her in her own time exactly what had happened.

      Her mother shook her head. ‘I was only eighteen when I met Hal, a very young eighteen at that, whereas he was already thirty-two, and a member of the Winter family. That may not mean a lot to you, darling.’ She looked up at Silke as she spoke. ‘But thirty-five years ago they were a family to be reckoned with: old money, a large family estate, homes all over the world, servants—you name it, they had it! And I was just an office employee of the family firm. But Hal took a liking to me, asked me out, and—well, I was attracted to him,’ she said awkwardly.

      ‘I can understand why,’ Silke nodded; if Henry had looked anything like Lyon as a young man—and she had a feeling he probably had—then she could see how a young eighteen-year-old could be attracted to the powerful self-confidence he exuded, let alone the physical attributes. As she had been attracted to Lyon this morning, for different reasons! But she didn’t want to think about that. ‘So you went out with him,’ she prompted quickly, pushing thoughts of her own reaction to Lyon to the back of her mind.

      ‘Yes.’ Her mother smiled with affection for the man she had just re-met after all those years—and discovered she still loved. Then, as other memories came back to her, she sobered. ‘We went out together a few times, evenings where I was completely bowled off my feet by this fun-filled, sophisticated man. And it was a feeling that seemed to be reciprocated—’

      ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’ Silke chided. ‘Inverted snobbery, Mummy?’ She arched blonde brows.

      ‘You didn’t know Hal’s family, Silke.’ Her mother shook her head, her eyes clouded. ‘There was only his sister really. And her husband. An American. Charles Buchanan.’ Even the way she said the name told Silke that her mother bristled with antagonism just at the thought of him.

      ‘Lyon’s father,’ Silke acknowledged thoughtfully—if the father had been anything like the son, then she didn’t envy her mother all those years ago!

      ‘Yes,’ her mother acknowledged with feeling, her mouth tight. ‘At first, when Hal took an interest in me, they all humoured him, treated it as a huge family joke. But as time went on and they realised he was actually serious about me—! Well, I’m sure you can imagine the opposition they put up to the idea of Hal actually wanting to marry his little office girl, make her part of their family,’ she said with remembered bitterness.

      Once again, if Charles Buchanan had been anything like his son, Silke could imagine it all too easily. ‘But Henry was a grown man of thirty-two. Surely he didn’t buckle under that family pressure?’ If he had, her respect for him would drop a couple of notches—and make her wonder if he was strong enough to go for what he wanted the second time around!

      ‘No, Hal was determined to marry me, no matter what his sister and her husband felt about it.’ She avoided Silke’s gaze now. ‘I—I was the one who did the running.’ There were tears in her eyes now. ‘That was the start of the running. And I’ve been running, in one way or another, ever since.’ She shook her head in self-disgust.

      ‘But why?’ Silke looked at her searchingly. ‘Henry loves you now; he must obviously have felt the same way all those years ago, so why—?’

      ‘Charles and Marie Buchanan were killed in a car accident,’ her mother said flatly. ‘They left behind a six-week-old son.’

      ‘Lyon...’ Silke realised breathlessly; it was difficult to think of that autocratic man as a tiny parentless baby, completely helpless. In fact, she didn’t want to think of him like that; it made him seem human!

      ‘Lyon,’ her mother confirmed with a nod. ‘Hal was named as his guardian.’

      That explained some of this, but by no means all of it. ‘But surely Henry needed you more than ever after being left with such a small baby to care for?’

      ‘Henry needed me; in fact our marriage had already been announced when the accident happened—’

      ‘Then why—?’

      ‘Charles Buchanan’s family were even more powerful than Henry’s.’ Her mother shook her head. ‘A rich Southern family, who weren’t averse to using that power when it came to the Winter-Buchanan heir. And there was no way they were going to let an ex-office girl bring up that heir, so they demanded that the child be returned to them in America.’

      ‘But Henry was his legal guardian,’ Silke reasoned.

      ‘A fact the Buchanan family disputed. They instigated a court case, claimed Henry wasn’t fit to bring up a child, intending to bring up his reckless past... Oh, I knew even then that Hal had lived a far from blameless life,’ she said ruefully as Silke’s brows rose. ‘Just as I knew he would be completely faithful to me now that we had found each other. It was that sort of love, Silke.’ She smiled. ‘All-consuming.’ She sobered, her eyes cloudy once again. ‘But they would have crucified Hal if he had married me, were completely ruthless in their determination to take the child away from him. I was the stumbling-block, Silke, and, much as I loved Hal, I—I couldn’t let him give up his sister’s child for me. Because the Buchanans would have won, Silke, I know it. And that knowledge would have been between us, tearing into a relationship that was already having to survive so many prejudices—’

      ‘You would have survived as a couple, I’m sure of it,’ Silke said with certainty.

      ‘But at what price?’ Her mother shook her head.

      ‘And so you ran?’ Silke frowned.

      Her mother nodded. ‘And so I ran,’ she confirmed heavily. ‘I thought Hal would get over me, that he would find someone—someone more suitable, acceptable, provide a stable home for his nephew—’

      ‘And instead he has continued to love you. God, that’s such a waste, Mummy!’ Her expression was pained.

      ‘I was eighteen, Silke. Eighteen!’ Her mother looked at her pleadingly. ‘I wasn’t mature enough, or strong enough, to believe we could weather that legal storm. I thought it fairer to Hal not to put him through—’

      ‘Mummy, the man has continued to love you for thirty-five years.’ Silke was still stunned by the fact.

      ‘And I’ve loved him too, Silke,’ her mother told her quietly. ‘Through the same thirty-five years, all the running, I’ve loved him too.’

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