for all I know. We shall have to watch them closely this evening.'
Lisa's mouth curved reminiscently as she thought about James Dalton. He had for a while been her schoolgirl's ideal, with his fair hair and romantically aquiline features.
But his marriage to the arrogant and patronising Celia had soon cured that particular lovesickness, and their subsequent departure abroad had completed the task.
She said lightly, 'Let's say it will be interesting to see him again.'
As she spoke, she glanced up and her gaze slid past Julie to the door where Dane was standing. She had no idea how long he had been there, only that he had undoubtedly heard her last remark and whom it applied to, because his mouth had a contemptuous curl, and she felt the warm blood rush into her face as he looked at her.
Inward rage shook her. How dared he stand there, silently criticising and condemning, as if he honestly thought she might be contemplating a relationship with James, or anyone else for that matter?
She wanted to stand up and tell him so. To scream it at the top of her voice if necessary. To make it clear to him once and for all that any such relationships had invariably been soured and spoiled from the outset because of his brutality.
She could attract men, but that wasn't the problem. All too soon they got fed up with hanging around, being held at arm's length, waiting for a response which didn't exist in her.
And that's your fault, she wanted to cry, her finger pointed in accusation. Everything that was loving and giving in me, you took and stifled. Instead of warmth, you taught me shame. You did it, Dane Riderwood. You, and you alone.
But of course she said nothing. She didn't betray by as much as a flicker that she was even aware of his presence just picked up her cup and asked Julie calmly for more tea.
As she accepted her refilled cup with a word of thanks, another quick glance under her lashes revealed that he had gone again, as silently as he had come.
'Tony's parents would have been here tonight too,' Julie was saying. 'Only they'd already arranged to dine with friends. But I'm sure Mrs Bainbridge will throw one of her famous dinner parties for you while you're here, Lisa.'
'That sounds rather intimidating,' Lisa said, and Julie grimaced.
'It is. I don't really know how I'm going to live up to her. Cordon Bleu cook, president of the Women's Institute, magistrate, winner of cups for flower arranging—the list is endless.' She gave an affected little giggle. 'Tony wants me to call her Mother, but one couldn't possibly. Not Lydia Bainbridge. She's far too formidable. Can you imagine her doing anything as human as giving birth? I expect she ordered Tony and Melanie from a mail order catalogue, as she would her hardy annuals.'
'Formidable, perhaps,' Lisa said slowly, recalling the small upright figure of Julie's future mother-in-law, and the steely elegance which enveloped her. 'But she would have been a far better person to have helped you plan this wedding than me.'
Julie's frown was swift and thunderous. 'No, she wouldn't!' she exclaimed. 'I want someone of my own— someone from my family, not his. Thank heavens Melanie is in America or I'd have to have had her galumphing up the aisle behind me like a carthorse.'
'Julie!' Chas's voice was remonstrative. 'That's most unfair. Melanie's a nice girl, and she's no bigger than either you or Lisa.'
'Size has nothing to do with it,' Julie said rebelliously.
Lisa intervened hastily. 'Just how far have these wedding plans got?' she asked, her brow creasing. 'Wouldn't it have been better to have had it at Easter? It would have given us more time, and the weather would have been more reliable too.'
Julie gave a negligent shrug. 'Getting married at Easter is a terrible cliché. And I hope it does snow. I love it, and I could have a velvet dress.'
'Well, that's one of the things we shall have to think about,' Lisa said. 'I suppose you've asked Mrs Langthwaite to make it for you?
Lisa's mouth curved reminiscently as she thought about James Dalton. He had for a while been her schoolgirl's ideal, with his fair hair and romantically aquiline features.
But his marriage to the arrogant and patronising Celia had soon cured that particular lovesickness, and their subsequent departure abroad had completed the task.
She said lightly, 'Let's say it will be interesting to see him again.'
As she spoke, she glanced up and her gaze slid past Julie to the door where Dane was standing. She had no idea how long he had been there, only that he had undoubtedly heard her last remark and whom it applied to, because his mouth had a contemptuous curl, and she felt the warm blood rush into her face as he looked at her.
Inward rage shook her. How dared he stand there, silently criticising and condemning, as if he honestly thought she might be contemplating a relationship with James, or anyone else for that matter?
She wanted to stand up and tell him so. To scream it at the top of her voice if necessary. To make it clear to him once and for all that any such relationships had invariably been soured and spoiled from the outset because of his brutality.
She could attract men, but that wasn't the problem. All too soon they got fed up with hanging around, being held at arm's length, waiting for a response which didn't exist in her.
And that's your fault, she wanted to cry, her finger pointed in accusation. Everything that was loving and giving in me, you took and stifled. Instead of warmth, you taught me shame. You did it, Dane Riderwood. You, and you alone.
But of course she said nothing. She didn't betray by as much as a flicker that she was even aware of his presence just picked up her cup and asked Julie calmly for more tea.
As she accepted her refilled cup with a word of thanks, another quick glance under her lashes revealed that he had gone again, as silently as he had come.
'Tony's parents would have been here tonight too,' Julie was saying. 'Only they'd already arranged to dine with friends. But I'm sure Mrs Bainbridge will throw one of her famous dinner parties for you while you're here, Lisa.'
'That sounds rather intimidating,' Lisa said, and Julie grimaced.
'It is. I don't really know how I'm going to live up to her. Cordon Bleu cook, president of the Women's Institute, magistrate, winner of cups for flower arranging—the list is endless.' She gave an affected little giggle. 'Tony wants me to call her Mother, but one couldn't possibly. Not Lydia Bainbridge. She's far too formidable. Can you imagine her doing anything as human as giving birth? I expect she ordered Tony and Melanie from a mail order catalogue, as she would her hardy annuals.'
'Formidable, perhaps,' Lisa said slowly, recalling the small upright figure of Julie's future mother-in-law, and the steely elegance which enveloped her. 'But she would have been a far better person to have helped you plan this wedding than me.'
Julie's frown was swift and thunderous. 'No, she wouldn't!' she exclaimed. 'I want someone of my own— someone from my family, not his. Thank heavens Melanie is in America or I'd have to have had her galumphing up the aisle behind me like a carthorse.'
'Julie!' Chas's voice was remonstrative. 'That's most unfair. Melanie's a nice girl, and she's no bigger than either you or Lisa.'
'Size has nothing to do with it,' Julie said rebelliously.
Lisa intervened hastily. 'Just how far have these wedding plans got?' she asked, her brow creasing. 'Wouldn't it have been better to have had it at Easter? It would have given us more time, and the weather would have been more reliable too.'
Julie gave a negligent shrug. 'Getting married at Easter is a terrible cliché. And I hope it does snow. I love it, and I could have a velvet dress.'
'Well, that's one of the things we shall have to think about,' Lisa said. 'I suppose you've asked Mrs Langthwaite to make it for you?
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