The Threat of Love

'Caro has been working in my office so hard all day,' Gil smoothly explained. 'She was looking tired, so I brought her home to dinner.'

Lady Westbrook courteously extended a hand. 'Well, I'm so glad, how nice to see you again, Caroline. I hope Gilham has been giving you everything you need?'

'I've tried my best,' purred Gil, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

'Good,' said his grandmother, innocently unaware of the wicked double meaning of his tone or the teasing glint in the dark eyes. Fortunately, she seemed equally blind to Caro's flushed cheeks, and, pointing to a chair, said, 'Bring that over here, Gil, so that Caroline can come and sit by me, and tell me how her investigation is coming along. Or aren't I supposed to ask that?'

'It's early days yet,' Caro said, furiously glaring at Oil as he carried the chair and put it down next to his grandmother. 'It takes quite a time to get out a full report on a company.'

Miranda was staring, her face puzzled. 'A report on what?' she asked Caro, who did not answer, just looked in Gil's direction, leaving it to him to explain to Miranda.

'Caro's an accountant,' Gil said.

'An accountant?' repeated Miranda, looking down her long, aristocratic nose in disbelief and hauteur. 'A woman accountant?' She made it sound bizarre, incredible. Gil laughed; Caro did not.

'Why not?' she coldly asked. 'Men no longer monopolise the professions, you know. Weren't you a model, years ago, before you got married?'

Miranda did not like the way she had put that. Her eyes glittered. 'I only gave up work two years ago!' she snapped.

Caro shrugged indifferently. 'Well, my point is that at one time women had very few choices of career. Teaching, nursing, acting, modelling, office work—that was about it for women, but these days things are very different. A woman can do any job; all that matters is her ability.'

'Even so, I doubt if many women opt for accountancy, rather than being a model!' drawled Gil, and Miranda laughed softly.

'I couldn't agree more, darling.'

Lady Westbrook cut across this conversation to ask, 'How is your father, Caroline?'

'He's always well,' Caro answered with a wry little smile. 'I can't remember him ever being ill. An occasional cold, perhaps, but nothing worse.'

Susan hurried into the room, looking agitated. 'Dinner is ready now,' she breathlessly told them, and Gil came to help his grandmother to her feet, then took her arm to lead her off to dinner. Caro watched them thoughtfully. They might be at odds at the moment, Lady

Westbrook might plan to sell the store over his head, but it was very clear that Gil was strongly attached to his grandmother, and that she, however angry with him she might be at the moment, loved him dearly.

Caro frowned. In that case, how serious was this split between them? Would the old lady really go through with her sale of Westbrooks?

Over dinner Miranda tried to monopolise Gil's attention, flirting with him, eyes huge and apparently magnetic, smile deliberately alluring, while she ignored Caro, who sat there in silence, eating very little and wishing she were somewhere else. Why had she let him talk her into staying for dinner? She must be out of her mind. Why had he wanted her there? And how serious was his relationship with the lovely Countess?

'I'm staying at the Savoy,' Miranda murmured, her hand lightly brushing Gil's as he refilled her wine glass with some of the light, delicious white wine being served with the chicken. He gave her a frowning look and she fluttered her lashes. 'Well, you told me to choose neutral ground, darling, so I have—a hotel is as neutral as anywhere, wouldn't you say? I left a message at the Hall telling Colin where I was, so he can't say he doesn't know. I've taken a suite—well, why not? I might as well be comfortable, and the windows look out over the Thames through all those lovely new leaves on the trees. London is simply magical in spring, isn't it? I always think it such a green city. The bed in my suite is a four-poster, with the most gorgeous brocade curtains I've seen in ages. You'll love them.'

Lady Westbrook sat up stiffly in her chair, her eyes round with shocked consternation. 'What do you mean, Miranda? Have you left your husband?'

'Yes, I'm afraid I have. Well, what else could I do? After he made that terrible scene in public!' Miranda turned wide-open, innocent eyes on her, but Lady Westbrook was not to be softened.

'You don't have to make matters worse by leaving him!' she snapped.

'You don't know what you're talking about! Gil knows what I've had to put up with from Colin! Ask him! This isn't the first time my husband has embarrassed me in front of all my friends, but it's going to be the last!' Miranda's surface sweetness cracked a little and revealed a hardness underneath; no surprise to Caro, or to Lady Westbrook, from her expression.

'I don't think we should talk about this over dinner,' Gil said impatiently, and Miranda let her blonde head droop close to his shoulder, a fragile femininity in the movement.

'Whatever you say, darling.'

Lady Westbrook eyed Miranda with the look of one who was longing to give somebody a smack; in this case, thought Caro, richly deserved. She wouldn't mind giving Miranda a smack herself. Instead, she ate her small portion of coffee mousse, her eyes riveted on her plate.

The food was good, what there was of it; meant obviously for three, it barely ran to five, and everyone had cheese after the sweet. There was an excellent and very large cheeseboard, and after that they retired to the drawing-room to have their coffee, carried there by Susan on a silver tray which seemed much too heavy for her.

Gil leapt to take it from her as she staggered in with it. 'Sit down, Susan,' he ordered in his peremptory way. 'I'll pour it out. You must be exhausted, after cooking that wonderful meal for us—you're a marvellous cook, were you trained at college? Or did you just pick it up?'

'Oh...thank you... I...I did a cookery course, years ago, yes, but I've learnt far more by just practising, Finding out what works and what doesn't.' Susan sat down, bright pink with pleasure, while Gil lifted the massive silver coffee-pot and began to pour fragrant dark coffee into the small bone china cups, so fragile they were actually transparent; Caro could see the whorl