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‘And now she’s finally caught up with him,’ Chris teased, interrupting his mother who was dabbing the emotional tears from her eyes as she hugged Poppy.

‘How long have you known?’

‘When did all this happen?’

‘Have you made any plans yet?’

Poppy stood like someone in a trance as her family’s happy congratulations fell on her like blows, whilst at her side James was as still and cold as stone.

‘I told you you’d never be able to keep this to yourselves,’ Chris reminded them gleefully when Poppy’s father had gone to open some champagne.

‘Now I know why you looked so disappointed when I arrived without James.’ James’s mother smiled as she hugged Poppy a second time. ‘Oh, Poppy, I can’t tell you how pleased I am... I thought that James—’ She broke off and shook her head, smiling at Poppy through her tears.

What was wrong with them all? Poppy wondered dizzily as her father started to hand round glasses of champagne. They all knew that she loved Chris and yet they were behaving as though... as though her relationship with James was somehow expected...a foregone conclusion.

She heard her father proposing a toast whilst someone else congratulated James and asked him when they were to be married.

‘Well, you won’t want to wait long, will you?’ interrupted Sally. ‘And, after all, it isn’t as though you need to look for a house or anything; you can move straight into James’s...’

Could she see just the tiniest hint of relief in Sally’s eyes? Poppy wondered achiligly as Chris turned to hug her. He didn’t kiss her, she noticed. Did he suspect the truth...? Did he know that he was still the one she loved?

‘So when did all this happen?’ Poppy’s mother asked her when the excitement had finally started to die down a little.

In Italy, Poppy was about to say, but James got in before her, saying firmly, ‘Last Christmas.’

Poppy turned her head to stare at him. Last Christmas they had had one-of the worst quarrels they had ever had, when he’d accused her of trying to make Sally uncomfortable at the family’s Christmas party by ‘mooning about’, as he’d put it, over Chris.

She waited for her mother to laugh and accuse James of lying but instead she simply smiled and said that they had done very well to keep it to themselves for so long.

‘We didn’t want to steal Chris and Sally’s glory,’ James fibbed smoothly.

‘So now we’ve got another wedding to plan; when do you...?’

A wedding... Poppy gave James an appalled look and told her mother quickly, ‘Oh, no, we can’t—’

‘We can’t quite make up our minds when,’ James overrode her smoothly.

‘Well, at least you won’t have to look for a house,’ her mother continued, repeating what Sally had said earlier, giving James a rueful look as she added, ‘I thought at the time that it was rather odd for a single man to be buying what was obviously a family home. I suppose I should have guessed then; Poppy has always had a weakness for those Victorian houses down by the river.’

Whilst Poppy bit back her shocked response—that she had had nothing to do with the choice of James’s present home—James himself responded with a calm, ‘Yes, I know; I remember how as a little girl she used to insist on taking the long way home from school so that she could walk past them.’

It was true, she did love the magnificent terrace of large Victorian houses whose long gardens backed onto the river, and had even fantasised about living in one, but with Chris, not James.

She had been angry when James had bought one of them, resentful almost, refusing to go to the small house-warming party he had given.

All through lunch Poppy was conscious of the interest they were causing. She herself didn’t have any appetite, she had lost weight since her return from Italy but then she was so stressed, so on edge that it was no wonder she didn’t want to eat.

‘I want to talk to you.’ Poppy tensed as she heard James speaking quietly in her ear.

‘We can’t... not now. Not here.’

‘I’m leaving in half an hour,’ James told her, glancing at his watch, ‘and when I do you’re coming with me.’

‘No,’ Poppy protested. ‘I can’t... What will people think?’

‘They’ll think that we’re in love and that we want to be on our own to—’

‘Stop it,’ Poppy hissed, her face starting to burn. ‘Why did you have to say... to let them think...?’

‘Why the hell do you think?’ James demanded grimly.

Poppy’s flush deepened as she remembered that all too betraying ‘James!’ and the way she had virtually flung herself into his arms.

‘Where are we going?’ Poppy asked James after she had fastened her seat belt. She had tried to get out of leaving with him, using the excuse that her mother would need her to help clear up, but James had refused to listen and now here she was, seated next to him in his car, wondering why on earth she had been so stupid as to allow the curious glances of a few people to drive her into seeing James as an ally... a refuge.

‘Where do you think?’ James asked her drily as he turned the car in the direction of his own home.

‘Not there,’ Poppy protested as she realised where they were going.

‘Why not? Where else is there where we can talk without being overheard?’

‘We don’t have to go to your house. You could just park the car and... say...’

‘Oh, yes, and have anyone who saw us—and certainly someone would—put it about that the pair of us are so hot for each other that you’ll let me have you in the back of the car?’

‘Stop it,’ Poppy demanded, hot-cheeked. ‘Don’t talk about me like that. I would never...’ She stopped, the words of denial choking in her throat. How could she tell James that what he was saying made her feel cheap? It was too late to argue with him any more. He was already turning into the road to his house, which was right at the end of the terrace and had a large expanse of garden to the side of it as well as to the rear.

The houses, three storeys high, possessed cellars as well as attics, most of which had been converted into garages and storage spaces respectively. As James parked his car in his garage, she shivered a little, dreading the interview ahead.

‘This way,’ James instructed her, opening the car door for her.

As she followed him up stone steps and through a door into the main hallway she tried not to betray any interest in the house which she had so far refused to visit, even though her eye was immediately taken by the elegance of the plasterwork ceiling and the generous proportions of the hall and stairs.

The rich mahogany of the panelled doors gleamed softly in the early evening sunlight and Poppy had to suppress an urge to reach out and touch them to see if the wood felt as warmly alive as it looked. Disconcertingly, she remembered that the last time she had felt such an urge to touch something that something had been James—the sleek warmth of James’s body.

A fierce shudder galvanised her body, causing James to frown as he watched her. The stairs and hallway had been carpeted in a natural cord matting which provided the perfect background for the richness of the rugs laid over it. If this had been her home she would have added some feminine touches such as a huge bowl of flowers on the circular table, Poppy decided, but otherwise she couldn’t fault James’s taste.

‘In here,’ he told her, opening one of the doors.

Poppy blinked as she stepped through it and was momentarily blinded by sunlight. The room was huge, running the whole length and half the width of the ground floor, with windows overlooking both the front and the back, and James had furnished it with a mixture of antique and modern furniture which somehow melded magically together to make it look both elegant and welcoming.

‘Now,’ James began as he followed her into the room and closed the door behind him, ‘do you mind telling me exactly what you’re playing at?’

‘I... I don’t know what you mean,’ Poppy said.

‘Oh, come on,

Poppy, don’t give me that. What the hell were you doing coming up to me like that and making it obvious that—?’

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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