Penny Jordan Collection(6)

By: Penny Jordan

He could have wrung her pretty little neck for that...wrung it     or— He could still remember how she had defied him, flinging herself into his     arms, wrapping them round him, pressing her soft lips against him...

Then, he had managed to resist her...just...that time...

She had always been so passionately intense. It was perhaps no     wonder that the love she had professed to feel for him had ultimately turned to     loathing and hatred.

And now she was coming back. Not just to England but here, to     Haverton, into his home...his life...

What would she be like? Beautiful, of course; that went without     saying... Her mother had told him as much when he had bumped into her—not that     he needed telling; it had been blindingly obvious     even when she was a child that ultimately she would be an extraordinarily     beautiful woman.

‘You’ll know, of course, that Sylvie is working in New     York...for a billionaire...’ Belinda had cooed happily at him, smiling with     satisfaction.

‘He’s totally besotted with her of course,’ she had added, and     though it hadn’t been put into as many words Ran had gained the distinct     impression from Sylvie’s mother that the relationship between Sylvie and Lloyd     was rather more than that of merely employer and employee...

It had come as something of a shock to him later, when he met     Lloyd, to recognise how much older than Sylvie he actually was, but he had told     himself that if Sylvie chose to have as her lover a man who was plainly so much     older than her then that was her business and no one     else’s.

Sylvie... In another few hours she would be here, their roles     in many ways reversed.

‘I despise you, Ran, I hate you,’ she had hissed at him between     gritted teeth when she had first left for New York, averting her face when he     had leaned forward to kiss her cheek.

‘I hate you...’ She had said it with almost as much passion as     she had once cried out to him that she loved him. Almost as much...


FIVE miles or so before her ultimate destination Sylvie pulled the car she had hired at the airport over to the side of the road and switched off the engine—not because she was unsure of where she was going, not even because she wanted to absorb the beauty of the Derbyshire countryside around her, magnificent though it was as it basked warmly in the mid-afternoon sunshine, devoid of any sign of human occupation apart from her own.

No, the reason she had stopped was that she had been tellingly aware for the last few miles not just of the slight dampness of her hands on the steering wheel but, even more betrayingly, of the increasing turmoil of her thoughts and the nervous butterflies churning her stomach.

When she finally met...confronted...Ran, she wanted to be calm and in control of both herself and the situation. She was not, she reminded herself sternly, meeting him as an idealistic teenager who had fallen so disastrously and desperately in love with him, but as a woman, a woman who had a job to do. She would not, must not allow her own personal feelings to affect her judgement or her professionalism.

In the eyes of other people, her job might appear to be an enviable sinecure, travelling the world, living and breathing the air of some of its most beautiful buildings, able to afford to commission its very best workmen, but there was far more to it than that.

As Lloyd had remarked admiringly to her the previous year, when he had viewed the finished work on the Venetian palazzo, Sylvie didn’t just possess the most marvellous and accurate eye for correct period detail, for harmony and colour, for the subtlety that meant she could hold in her mind’s eye the entire finished concept of how an original period room must have looked, she also had an extremely shrewd and practical side to her nature which ensured that with every project she had worked on so far she had managed to bring the work to completion on time and under budget.

This was something that didn’t just ‘happen’. It involved hours and hours spent poring over costings and budgets, more hours and hours tramping around warehouses, inspecting fabrics and furniture, and in many cases, because of the age of the houses, it also meant actually finding and commissioning workmen to make new ‘aged’ copies of the pieces she required. Italy, as she had quickly discovered, was a treasure house for such craftsmen and so, oddly, was London, but always at a price, and Sylvie had surprised herself a little at her ability to haggle and bargain for days if necessary, until she had got what she wanted and at a price she considered to be fair.

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