The Man She Should Have Married

Nia stared out of the window.

David Cavendish was three years older than her and, thanks to his athletic good looks and his father’s property empire, he was a favourite of her mother’s.

Her shoulders tensed. She should be used to it by now. Her mother still hadn’t forgiven her for turning down Andrew’s proposal, but her furious lectures and cold-eyed disapproval had now given way to these conversational depth charges.

Mostly Nia let them explode at a safe distance. But today, in the aftermath of Farlan’s rejection, she felt unusually vulnerable.

‘How long is he staying?’ she asked.

She could almost hear the snap of her mother’s spine as she sat up straighter.

‘Two weeks. He got injured playing polo. I told him you probably wouldn’t be able to spare the time, but…’

The unspoken hope in her mother’s voice made her wince with guilt. It might be a little old-fashioned, but was it so bad for a mother to want her daughter to find a husband?

And why shouldn’t she take a few days off?

It would be fun to lounge by a pool…to have a conversation with a man that didn’t feel as if every third word was boobytrapped.

Outside, she could just see the Land Rover’s snow-flecked tyres.

Johnny and Allan could manage the estate perfectly well for a few days, and there was nothing else to stop her from going.

For a moment she let her imagination make pretty pictures inside her head.

Teak loungers clustered round a perfect oval of blue like an oasis in the desert. Ice bumping against a slice of lemon in a tall glass and a light breeze sending ripples across the mirror-smooth surface of the pool.

From somewhere upstairs a door slammed shut. She frowned. That wasn’t a breeze.

A deafening noise filled the cottage. It sounded like the time when she and Farlan had knocked all those books off the shelves in the library, only sped up and a lot louder.

Still frowning, she walked towards the window that looked out onto the garden and the fields beyond.

Her mouth fell open.

A black helicopter, its rotors spinning at an impossible speed, was juddering downwards, whipping the snow upwards like confetti in reverse.

She cleared her throat. ‘Mummy, I’ve got to go. Something’s happening in the field.’

Ignoring her mother’s squawk of protest, she hung up and

, grabbing a jacket from the hooks by the back door, she stepped out into the garden and through the gate.

The blur of the rotors slowed, and then finally stopped.

Silence.

The door popped open and she watched in astonishment as Farlan jumped out into the snow.

Of course—it would have to be Farlan.

But she’d been so distracted it had taken her brain a few seconds to remember he had a helicopter.

She swallowed hard as he walked towards her. He looked pale and serious and very handsome, his black clothes stark against the white of the snow surrounding him.

‘What do you want?’

She was surprised at the strength in her voice, but not by the jolt of heat as his green eyes met hers.