Starting Over. PENNY JORDAN

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      During the afternoon when Olivia should have been concentrating on her work she was desperately wondering what she should do—what she could do to put things right. She knew what she wanted to do. She wanted to go straight round to Queensmead and throw herself on Jenny’s mercy, to beg her for her forgiveness, her understanding. But what if Jenny refused to listen to her? What if she was so disgusted, so appalled by Olivia’s selfish behaviour that she refused to accept her apology and explanation and refused to have anything further to do with her? She would be perfectly within her rights to do so; Livvy knew that she had been unpardonably selfish and rude. Olivia’s face went grey-white with guilt as she recalled her own sharply accusing bitter words.

      And what about Maddy? How must she be feeling? Olivia looked at the telephone on her desk.

      Before she could change her mind she reached for it. Less than two minutes later she was through to the hospital.

      ‘We are unable to put you through to Mrs Madeleine Crighton,’ the anonymous voice on the other end of the line announced, enquiring politely, ‘Are you a close relative?’

      ‘No … not really,’ Olivia responded. ‘I’m her cousin by marriage … Is she …’ As her anxiety started to overwhelm her, her voice began to tremble.

      ‘She’s resting at the moment,’ she was told calmly. ‘But if you want us to pass a message to her …’

      ‘Just tell her that I’m thinking of her, please,’ Olivia responded having given her name.

      Would it help Maddy to know that she was being thought about or would it only add to her distress and fear?

      As she replaced the telephone receiver Olivia ached to be able to talk to Jenny. Taking a deep breath she quickly punched into the keypad Queensmead’s number.

      ‘Jenny is staying at Queensmead to look after the children,’ Tullah had said.

      When only the answering machine responded to her call Olivia put down the receiver in silence.

      Bad as her own problems were they were nothing compared to what she knew Maddy and those closest to her must be going through.

      Nick sighed as he drove into Haslewich. Much as he appreciated the company and the hospitality of Saul and Tullah he was itching to return to his own life … his own home.

      ‘No way, little brother.’ Saul had shaken his head when Nick had suggested doing so. ‘I know you, with Mum and Dad away at the moment once you get back to that remote den of yours you’ll be back at work, taking heaven alone knows what kind of risks and if anything should happen there’s no one there….’

      ‘Okay … okay,’ Nick had given in.

      His Welsh farmhouse was remote, two miles down a narrow track with no neighbours nearby. Saul was right, within days if not hours of returning he would be back at work.

      He had been approached to take a potentially fascinating case just before his accident. A young woman was threatening to sue her family for snatching her away from the cult with which she had become involved. Nick had been approached by a friend of the family for his advice.

      But it wasn’t his work that was on his mind right now. It was Sara!

      He was fully aware that his behaviour in the restaurant and more specifically in the restaurant office had been far from exemplary or gentlemanly. It didn’t matter that he had been provoked. He still should not have allowed things, matters, to get so out of hand. An apology was quite plainly in order, or so he had reasoned.

      It was early afternoon and Frances was just seeing the last lunch-time diner off the premises when he walked in. ‘I wonder if I could have a word with Sara?’ Nick asked once they had exchanged greetings.

      ‘Oh, I’m sorry, she isn’t here at the moment,’ Frances told him. ‘She’s taking a late lunch hour. I insisted that she ought to get out and enjoy this unseasonal sunshine we’re having whilst she could. Do you want me to pass on a message?’

      Shaking his head Nick left the restaurant. It was true that the weather was mild, sunny and warm. From where he stood he could see the bright light glinting on the river. He paused to study it. Nick had always loved water. His farmhouse was on a hill overlooking the sea off the Pembrokeshire coast.

      He didn’t own a boat himself but he sometimes crewed for a friend who did. Automatically he started to head for the river.

      Sara paused to laugh at the antics of some ducks as they dived into the water for unseen food. Further downstream she had seen some swans, their stately elegant progress so at odds with the frantic paddling that must be going on beneath their gently floating bodies. Like galleons in full sail they seemed to glide effortlessly over the water. Hers was the only human presence here on the river path and Frances had urged her not to rush back.

      ‘I can’t believe how much work you’ve done already. You really are a marvel … I’m so grateful to you,’ she had praised Sara. Sara reflected on the telephone call she had taken earlier from the frantically apologetic employment agency explaining they had been let down by the girl they had intended to send to the restaurant. It didn’t matter now Sara had told them—the job had been filled. Why had she decided to stay on? She liked Frances yes, but … Unbidden a mental picture of Nick Crighton came into her head. She was not staying because of him! She loathed him. He was arrogant, humourless, contemptible—and worse! Angrily she sucked in her breath.

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