Free Persuade Me by Juliet Archer Page B

box; and a little boy in distress; and a pale, haunting face …
    He stared at the face next to him, bright with amusement and admiration. Yes, admiration. This girl fancied the pants off him and all he had to do was give her a word of encouragement. Oh, he was tempted; he could do with someone warm and willing in his bed tonight. But he’d never cheat on Shelley.
    So he calmly put out one hand and retrieved the orange as quickly as possible, much to the girl’s disappointment. In an effort to console her, he tucked it back under her chin, grabbed her by the shoulders and expertly transferred it – without using his hands – to her sister, who was waiting on his other side.
    Later, after he’d left the party, he stood at the back door of Sophie’s cottage, staring into the whispering darkness of the garden. For the first time since he’d arrived in England, he allowed himself to think long and hard about Shelley. On his part, the relationship was pretty sterile: hardly a word of affection, let alone commitment. He knew she wanted – and deserved – more.
    When he returned to Australia, it would be different. He’d open up, tell her about the past, make plans for a long, leisurely holiday together. It would make her happy. As for himself …
    But why wait another few weeks? He’d start tomorrow, with the phone call.

Chapter Twelve
    Rick woke with a start. It took him a few seconds to realise that the insistent buzz from the bedside table was his mobile. He fumbled for the light switch. Six-thirty; and it was Shelley’s number showing on the display.
    ‘Hi,’ he said, smiling into the phone.
    ‘Hi, I hoped you’d pick up.’ She sounded nervous.
    ‘Where’ve you been? I’ve missed you.’ His smile broadened. ‘Especially last night.’
    A pause. ‘Why last night?’
    ‘Because that was when I knew just how much you mean to me.’
    Silence.
    ‘Shell?’
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘I just wanted to say–’
    ‘Whatever you wanted to say, it’s too late.’
    He must be doing this all wrong; her voice was like ice cracking.
    ‘Too late for what?’
    ‘Us.’ Before he could speak, she went on, rushing the words out as if she couldn’t wait to be rid of them, ‘I wanted to tell you before it – well, it’s probably in all the papers already. I’ve met someone else and I’m going to move in with him. You and me – that’s over, so don’t even think about trying to change my mind. And you know what? Maybe it was over as soon as you went back to England.’
    Then she hung up.
    The call had lasted barely a minute, but he lay in bed for a long time afterwards. It was as if he’d been floored by a single punch, all the more lethal because he’d never seen it coming.
    He wondered who she was with, and when, and where – but not why. That was the easy bit. It wasn’t just about his failings and her needs and the demands of both their careers. They were the context, not the cause.
    The cause was only a few hundred yards away, visiting her spoilt brat of a sister at Uppercross Manor.
    Harry crept into Anna’s bed shortly after eight o’clock. He lay still for precisely five seconds, then whispered in her ear ‘Tee-Anna up’ and started his wriggling routine. This had been perfected over many mornings and was carefully designed to wear down the strongest resolve. Anna lasted less than half a minute.
    She got up, struggled into a faded pink dressing gown – one of Mona’s cast-offs that she used whenever she was here – and wondered why her head felt like cotton wool. Ah yes, Ollie had called for her several times in the night. She looked for her slippers but couldn’t find them, checked on Ollie – who was sleeping peacefully – and went down to the kitchen with Harry.
    Charles was already up and dressed. He took one look at the dark circles under her eyes and apologised profusely for her broken night. Then he made a fresh pot of tea and insisted on getting Harry’s breakfast ready before he went up