Free Running From the Storm by Lee Wilkinson Page A

themselves. But the sheer importance of the Gracedieu sale made her wonder if that was the right thing to do; would it be better to adopt a bolder, more positive approach?
    She sighed. It would almost certainly depend on what kind of man her new client was. And that she didn’t know.
    In the past it had always helped her to find out as much as she could about potential purchasers, especially the more important ones.
    But Julie had taken this particular phone call while Caris had been out, and the only information the girl had been able to supply was that the new client was a Michael Grayson, and it had been his PA who had rung to make the appointment.
    A few cautious enquiries on Caris’s part had merely established the fact that Michael Grayson was the big boss of Grayson Holdings. Which didn’t give her much to go on.
    After eating a takeaway sandwich and drinking a cup of coffee, she freshened up in the small cloakroom.
    A glance at her watch told her it was a quarter to one. Her appointment wasn’t until two-thirty, but even for the more routine viewings she liked to be early. It gave her a chance to relax and go over all the relevant facts and figures so she had them clear in her mind before her client arrived.
    Having checked her appearance, she put all the necessary paperwork into her briefcase, collected her mac and shoulder bag, and braced herself for the task that lay ahead.
    Looking up from her computer, Julie said, ‘The best of luck. I hope you get a quick sale, though I won’t hold my breath. People think twice before spending that kind of money.’
    Then more positively she went on, ‘Mind you, it only takes one.’
    ‘I’ll hold on to that thought,’ Caris promised a shade drily as she headed for the door.
    Her hand on the latch, she added, ‘I’m hoping to be back before your boyfriend calls for you, but if by any chance I’m not will you lock up?’
    ‘Of course.’
    ‘Then I’ll see you on Tuesday. Take care and have a good weekend.’
    ‘You too.’
    Making her way out to where her car was parked, Caris found the sullen sky was pewter-grey with threatening black clouds looming on the horizon. But it had stopped raining, for which she gave thanks.
    When she turned on the ignition the car engine, which normally started straight away, coughed, hesitated and died. Afraid that it wasn’t going to start, she tried again and again, getting more and more flustered.
    She was just about to give up and go for a taxi when it finally sprang into life. Breathing a heartfelt sigh of relief, she put it into gear, let out the clutch and headed out of town.
    Gracedieu, an extensive area of undulating parkland, was about seven or eight miles beyond Spitewinter and still relatively isolated despite the housing developments that were creeping ever closer.
    Once Caris had left the main road, the rolling countryside was pretty, the quiet lanes pleasantly green and leafy with late spring.
    Any other time she would have enjoyed the drive, but once again memories of Zander and the past were crowding in, filling her mind.
    But she wouldn’t dwell on the past. She wouldn’t! Making a determined effort, she turned her thoughts to the afternoon ahead and the possible outcome.
    Reaching South Lodge, she jumped out to open the tall, black wrought-iron gates with their gilded spikes and ornate hinges.
    Presuming that Michael Grayson would be coming in the same way, she left them open. Sliding behind the wheel once more, she drove between stone pillars topped by crouching lions.
    Gracedieu, though well-built and elegant, hadn’t been lived in for a number of years and looked forlorn and deserted, its garden a wet tangle of weeds and shrubbery.
    As her small car climbed the long, winding drive—now somewhat neglected and overgrown between glossy banks of budding rhododendrons—she thought how different it must once have looked, with enough gardening staff to care for it.
    The manor house itself stood on fairly high