Millionaire's Woman

‘Margaret’s always had a thing for Nick, right from when we were all kids together. She’s Rosie’s age and with our parents all being friends she was always at our house, supposedly to play with Rosie and me but in reality to traipse after Nick and his pals. When Nick married Joanna, well…’ Jenny paused as if not knowing how to go on.

‘Margaret didn’t like it?’ Cory put in.

‘That’s putting it mildly. She was nearly eighteen when we heard Nick and Joanna had done one of these sudden registry office things but even at that age she thought she was the cat’s whiskers. I honestly don’t think it had occurred to her that Nick might not want her. Then Joanna was killed.’ Jenny shook her head. ‘It was a bad time.’

‘I can imagine.’ His shock and grief must have been terrible.

‘Nick came home for a while, more to decide where his life went from that point than anything else, but Margaret was never off the doorstep. It must have driven him mad. It certainly drove him away,’ she added bitterly.

‘That’s a shame.’ He would have needed his family desperately.

‘Then, all of a sudden, she was off to university and seeing this boy and that. I mean she really put it around,’ Jenny said darkly. ‘She got a First, went on to greater and greater things, got married, then divorced, and we all thought she was over Nick. Then a couple of years ago she and Nick had a bit of a fling over the summer. Just a no strings attached type of affair. She actually told me herself that’s what they had decided. She’d got this terrific job at the university—I mean she’s brilliant, quite brilliant—and Nick’s always made it plain where he stands on commitment.’

Jenny stopped abruptly, looking at her anxiously.

‘It’s all right.’ Cory forced a smile. ‘He’s made it plain to me too.’

‘But since then she’s been…odd. She’s trying to get him back, I’d swear it.’ Jenny sighed deeply. ‘So just watch out for her, that’s all I’d say. I wouldn’t trust her an inch.’

‘You don’t like her.’ Cory stated the obvious.

‘Loathe her.’ Jenny shrugged. ‘But she’s Mum’s goddaughter and Mum likes her. Feels sorry for her a bit, I think. The thing is, if someone thinks your child is the bee’s knees you can’t help liking them, I suppose.’

Great. Had Nick’s mother always hoped he’d marry Margaret so everything in the garden would be hunkydory? If so, she’d view all his girlfriends as obstacles.

As Jenny bounced away to rescue Rod as the dance ended, Cory’s mouth drooped. She watched Jenny join Margaret and Rod, who were walking off the dance floor with Nick and his mother, and Catherine had one arm through Margaret’s and the other through Nick’s. It looked cosy. Natural. Happy families.

Nick’s eyes were searching the room and then as he saw her he lifted his hand and waved, leaving the others. She couldn’t see the expression on Catherine’s face as she was obscured by a young couple walking by, but Margaret looked straight at her, her eyes deadly.

Then Nick reached her, taking her in his arms as he murmured, ‘I’ve missed you. We’ve been apart for five whole minutes. Mum’s going now; come and say goodbye till tomorrow.’ All the family were going to Catherine’s for Sunday lunch.

For the next hour or so until the party finally broke up Cory said and did all the right things. She laughed and joked with the others, danced with Nick and avoided Margaret’s lethal green gaze.

On the way home she pleaded exhaustion when Nick asked her why she was so quiet, and, refusing a nightcap—which would be much more than a mere liqueur coffee if Nick’s smouldering gaze was anything to go by—went straight up to her room. And then regretted bitterly that she hadn’t stayed with him.

She sat down on the bed with a little sigh, feeling as flat as a pancake. Which was crazy when she thought about it because nothing had changed. Nick had said he loved her. Fine. He had probably loved all his women, or the longterm ones at least. She knew that, so what difference did it make if he and Margaret had slept together a couple of summers ago and Catherine Morgan would like her goddaughter as a daughter-in-law too? He wasn’t going to marry Margaret any more than he was going to marry her, so feeling upset and jealous and put-out was plain stupid.

It didn’t matter if she was here on sufferance as far as Nick’s mother was concerned. It didn’t matter that Margaret was far more a part of Nick’s life long-term than she was. It didn’t even matter that Margaret was going to be at Nick’s mother’s tomorrow where she’d no doubt be a limpet attached to his side.

None of it mattered. She burst into tears.

One good cry, a scrub of her face and a brush of her teeth later, Cory climbed into bed, the exhaustion she’d spoken of real. It had been a long day

after just a couple of hours’ sleep the night before. She was asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow.

CHAPTER EIGHT

A GOOD night’s sleep worked wonders. Cory awoke wide awake and alert—not a normal occurrence for her—at nine the next morning, and she was in a different frame of mind entirely. Climbing out of bed, she walked across and drew the curtains and immediately bright sunlight flooded the room. It was another gorgeous day. Flinging the windows wide, she leaned on the sill and breathed in the scent of the climbing roses beneath her, their heady, rich scent a wonderful start to the day.

She wasn’t going to let all this about Margaret get her down. She turned from the window, staring across the room. She wished she’d stayed downstairs with Nick last night but there you were, she hadn’t. She groaned softly. No use crying over spilt milk. But today was another day. And she was here in his home and Margaret wasn’t.

That was when the idea came to her. Nick had brought her tea in bed yesterday morning. OK, why didn’t she return the compliment? And once she was in his bedroom…

She hurried into the bathroom, had a quick shower and then brushed her hair until it shone with health. After putting a coat of mascara on her eyelashes and a dab of perfume behind each ear, she cleaned her teeth. She hoped he wasn’t up yet but they had been terribly late last night and it was a Sunday. He was probably still dead to the world.

Her nightie was a floaty negligée type which consisted of very little, another gift from her aunt a couple of Christmases ago. She knew it was one of those horribly expensive designer things but she had never worn it until this weekend. She considered herself critically in the mirror. What the transparent film did to her body would have been enough to make her love her aunt for life if she didn’t already.

Cory sped down to the kitchen with wings on her heels, hoping Nick wasn’t already there. He wasn’t. She made a pot of tea in record time, setting a tray with two cups and saucers, sugar bowl and milk jug, and adding a little plate of biscuits for good luck.