A Forever Family: Falling For You. Shirley Jump

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СКАЧАТЬ and he will no doubt take full advantage of the excellent fishing in the famous trout stream for which the Park is named.

      Henry North started his own motorcycle courier service upon leaving school and he swiftly fulfilled his early promise, rapidly expanding his business to compete with major freight companies at home and internationally. When his company was floated on the stock exchange three years ago, his personal fortune was estimated to be in nine figures.

      Rumours have been flying around all week, suggesting that the estate will be transformed into a leisure facility but Mr North, 33, divorced, is keeping his plans for the estate under wraps for the moment. He did however confirm that it would, like all his investments, have to ‘work for its keep,’ which sounds promising for local jobs.

      —Maybridge Observer, Monday April 24

      * * *

      ‘Excellent job, Claire.’ Brian leaned back in his chair. ‘Obviously we went to the internet, but it was pretty thin considering who he is and we missed the local connection. Of course you live on the estate. Did you know him?’

      ‘He’s a bit older than me,’ she said.

      ‘Of course. You must have been just a kid when he left. You did well to get hold of the school photographs so quickly.’

      ‘Thanks.’ She handed him her expense sheet for Friday. Her fare—cheap day return, receipts for copies of his birth, marriage and divorce certificates, as well her lunch in the café near his office.

      She’d felt like a proper reporter as she’d struck up a conversation with the girl clearing the tables, pretending that she’d been offered a job with the company. As she’d hoped, most of his staff ate there at lunchtime and, no surprise, the women talked about their good-looking, eligible boss.

      ‘I kept my expenses to the bare minimum,’ she said, as his eyebrows rose at the amount. ‘Worth it simply for the information that he’s unattached, I’d say. How many copies is a front-page photograph of a good-looking, eligible millionaire in the neighbourhood going to be worth?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘Women buy the local newspaper,’ she pointed out.

      ‘True, but how often can we use him on the front page? Until we know what his plans are he’s not going to be headline news.’

      ‘You don’t need headline news. I’ll give you stories,’ she promised. ‘All you need on the front page is a photograph and a caption leading on to page two. It’s how they use the royal family to sell papers.’

      ‘Shame he doesn’t have a title to go with all that money, but you can’t have everything.’ He grinned, signed the sheet and handed it back to her. ‘With the way circulation is falling, anything is worth a try, but no more trips to London.’

      * * *

      The phone rang once, twice, three times. He checked his watch. Ten on the dot.

      He picked up the receiver, sat back in the leather chair worn smooth by generations of Cranbrook men. ‘What do you want, Claire?’

      ‘And good morning to you, Hal.’

      ‘Is it good? I hadn’t noticed.’

      ‘Shame on you. I was earthing-up my potatoes as the sun rose with a robin for company.’

      He was at his desk dealing with the reports and emails that, these days, seemed to multiply faster than he could deal with.

      ‘I hope you weren’t late for work again.’

      ‘I was, but only because the bus was late. Any news on my bike?’

      ‘I’ll chase it up. If that’s all?’ he prompted, knowing full well it wasn’t.

      ‘How about an update on your plans for the future of Cranbrook Park?’ she asked, in a clear, bright musical voice that was inextricably tied into a burning sense of injustice, of longing for something beyond his reach. Was Robert Cranbrook right? Was this the end rather than the beginning he’d envisaged? ‘Just a little hint?’ she prompted. ‘Something I can use in tomorrow’s paper?’

      ‘It’s none of your business?’ he offered. That ‘boy’ in the Observer’s headline had been too reminiscent of Cranbrook’s bile.

      ‘No…I’m going to need more than that.’

      Was she laughing?

      ‘It’s none of your business, Claire Thackeray?’ he offered, restraining the urge to join her.

      ‘Okay. We’ll leave that for now but I was hoping you’d explain to our readers why you’ve blocked off the public footpath beside the Cran?’

      ‘Do your readers care?’ he asked. ‘No one has complained.’

      ‘Clearly you don’t read our letters page.’

      ‘I don’t read the Observer,’ he lied, ‘but I have no doubt that “outraged of Maybridge” is an inside job.’

      ‘How cynical you are. People do care.’

      ‘No comment.’

      ‘So that’s a “no comment”, a “no comment” and a “no comment,” then. Okay,’ she said—definitely laughing— ‘That’ll do nicely.’

      ‘Claire… How’s your foot?’

      ‘I’m scarred for life. You’ll be hearing from my lawyers any day now. How’s your, um, rod?’ she asked.

      ‘I refer you to the answer I gave earlier.’

      ‘It would make a great story. Millionaire Landowner Mown Down by Tenant. Archie has form, you know. He ran some quad bikers into the stream last year. I’ll send you a link to the article.’

      ‘You wouldn’t rat on Archie,’ he said, as an email popped into his inbox. ‘How do you know my email address?’

      ‘No comment and no comment. It’s a good picture of him, don’t you think?’

      He clicked on the link, looked at the photograph of Archie, the picture of sweet innocence as he peered over the hedge.

      ‘Believe nothing that you read and only half what you see,’ he replied and thought he caught a sigh from the other end of the phone.

      ‘Any progress with my bike?’ she asked.

      ‘Ask Gary. He’s working on it.’

      ‘I will and, Hal?’

      ‘Yes?’

      ‘Thanks for giving him a chance. The offer of a cake is still open. Any time.’

      ‘Just stop ringing me and we’ll be quits,’ he said, hanging up before he relented.

      The estimate for re-leading the roof dealt with the smile.

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