Seductive Stranger

She determined to seize the first opportunity which came her way to talk to the surgeon who had performed the operation. Why hadn't they told her about this? Why keep it a secret? But then, she hadn't asked them exactly what sort of operation they had performed—she had been in a state of shock herself, of course.

'But how on earth did it happen?' she asked.

'They said I'd got typical steering-wheel injuries,' David said cheerfully. 'When we crashed, I was sort of impacted into the wheel.'

She winced. 'Don't!'

David wasn't listening; he was too fascinated by the details of his accident, in fact, I was lucky we didn't hit the wall harder, or I might have crushed my ribcage altogether. As it was, I came off lightly.'

'Lightly?' she grimaced, her eyes ruefully admiring. It was typical of David to shrug off his accident. He wouldn't even take that seriously.

She smiled at him, then asked with anxiety, "What did your mother say? Didn't she ask why I hadn't rung?'

'She asked if you were badly hurt, were you in hospital . . .' David grinned. 'You know my Ma. I told her you'd been in hospital too, but they'd just discharged you. I said you'd be calling her later, but I'd wanted to talk to her myself first.'

She smiled at him. 'You're so tactful!' He had pleased his mother by saying that, and made sure that Mrs Henley wouldn't be angry with Prue for not ringing earlier.

'I know, I'm a marvel,' he said modestly, winking.

'She did start of by saying they ought to come over, but I said I'd be out of here any day and we'd be on our way to Paris.'

'And she didn't argue?' She was amazed, knowing his mother.

'She tried to,' David admitted, eyes amused. 'But I told her she was a silly old chuck and I was fine. So when you talk to her, don't tell it any other way, OK?'

'OK,' she said, because he did look miles better than he had the day before, and she was feeling guilty about David, she wanted to please him. 'Anything I can get you, darling?' she asked, looking at the flowers on his bedside locker. Those must be the ones Lynsey Killane had brought him; they were hothouse carnations, pink and cream and white. At this time of year, no doubt very expensive.

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David saw her looking at them and grinned. 'Hey, some gorgeous-looking bird brought those in! She said she knew you, your father's a neighbour, or something? Is that right?'

Prue nodded. Lynsey Killane.'

'That's her!'

Her family owns my father's farm,' she said, and David stared blankly.

'Owns it? I thought he…'

'No, he isn't the owner, he's the tenant. The Killanes have several farms; they run the biggest, and have tenants on the others. My family have been their tenants for several generations.'

So your father can't leave the farm to you?' David asked, looking at her with sympathy.

'No, the farm will go back to the Killane estate! Maybe if I had been a son, they might have let me take over from my father, but as it is . . .'

She shrugged.

'Pretty feudal stuff, isn't it?' David said and she nodded wryly.

'I couldn't put it better myself! Feudal is the word.' It fitted more than the situation, come to that—it described Josh Killane perfectly! From the minute she'd met him, Prue had resented his manner; he was overbearing and dictatorial—and loved to act the part of a feudal overlord. Nobody seemed to have told him what century this was!

it must bug you,' said David, and she started.

'What must?'

'Knowing that your father can't leave you the farm!' he said, surprised by her bewilderment.

'I wouldn't want it, anyway,' Prue said. 'I'm no farmer—but I suppose it isn't very fair after all the years Dad has spent farming the land.' She wasn't too agitated about the injustice, however, because she had never wanted the farm or thought at all about what her father might or might not leave her in his will.