His Cinderella Mistress

And he needed time, time on his own, to decide exactly what he was going to do next.

Although maybe walking back to the hotel hadn’t been such a good idea, he decided ruefully, after trudging through the snow and ice for half an hour in order to get there and needing to lie in a hot bath for an hour or so in order to thaw out.

The telephone rang in his suite as he lay in the bath, but, guessing it was Jude once again, he chose to ignore it. The walk earlier hadn’t done anything to help him with the confused thoughts that were tumbling around inside his head!

‘Don’t you ever go home?’ He smiled at John as he walked into the bar a couple of hours later, having decided that a drink was what he needed to thaw him inside as well as out.

The barman grinned. ‘I thought this was home!’

Max laughed softly as he ordered his drink. At least John always gave him a warm welcome—which was more than could be said for anyone else in the area!

Although, on reflection, it was pretty sad that the only person here to show him a friendly face was the hotel barman!

John placed the requested glass of whisky in front of him. ‘I’m surprised you’re still here?’

Max shrugged. ‘My business is taking a little longer than I anticipated,’ he understated.

He had still come to no real decision about his own future plans, having left his mobile switched off so that Jude couldn’t reach him, knowing he needed to think this through without any outside interference.

John grimaced. ‘This snow can’t be helping. I—uh-oh,’ he murmured ruefully. ‘Here comes Meridew on the prowl again,’ he explained softly as Max looked up at him questioningly. ‘I obviously haven’t been in the last couple of evenings, but apparently he’s been wandering around all week like a bear with a sore head!’

John moved to begin dusting down the shelves behind him, obviously intent on looking busy while the manager of the hotel was ‘prowling’ around.

‘Mr Golding! I trust you are still enjoying your stay with us?’

Max turned to look at Peter Meridew, his gaze narrowing as he saw the other man’s bandaged right hand. ‘Of course,’ he assured the other man smoothly. ‘Been in the wars?’ He indicated the bandaged hand.

The other man’s face became flushed. ‘Just a sprain,’ he dismissed abruptly. ‘Well, if there’s nothing I can do for you…’ He turned to leave.

‘I didn’t say that,’ Max called after him softly, a terrible suspicion starting to form in his mind.

Josh had said earlier that he recognized the voice of his attacker, from somewhere, and hadn’t Peter Meridew had cause to have words with Josh and his friends for their rowdiness on Saturday evening, plus there was the fact that the manager seemed to be around a lot whenever January was singing in the bar…? Add that to Peter Meridew’s bandaged hand, and what had you got—?

Circumstantial evidence was what you had, Max, old lad!

And as a lawyer he ought to know better.

‘Yes?’ the manager prompted brightly.

Yes—what? He had called out to the other man instinctively, and now he didn’t know what to

say to him.

‘Er— I’m probably going to book out within the next couple of days,’ he improvised. Lame, he knew, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say on the spur of the moment.

‘No problem, Mr Golding,’ the manager assured him. ‘Just call down to Reception on the morning of departure and they will have your bill waiting for you when you come down.’

‘Thanks.’ Max nodded with a dismissive smile.

‘Sorry to hear that,’ John murmured once the manager had left. ‘In this job I very rarely get to meet the same people two nights in a row, let alone for a whole week,’ he explained ruefully.

Max grimaced, knowing that his own job wasn’t much better. Apart from Jude and a couple of other regular employees, he rarely saw the same person twice either; the Calendar sisters, because of their reluctance to sell, were the exception rather than the rule.

‘So what’s the real story on Meridew’s hand?’ he prompted lightly.

‘Well—’ John gave a knowing grin ‘—he says he sprained it putting in some cupboards at home, but we all think that Mrs Meridew either hit him or threw something at him!’

Max raised dark brows. ‘There’s a Mrs Meridew?’