The Perfect Match Read online

  'It's a family tradition my mother has continued,'

  Chrissie informed him, going on to explain to him a little of her parents' current way of life and the reasons why neither of them could be in Haslewich. 'To be truthful, I'm rather glad that my mother didn't come. The impression I've had from...from certain people is that my uncle wasn't particularly well liked.'

  'No, I'm afraid he wasn't,' Jon agreed after a telling but brief moment of hesitation. 'He was a drinker and like all those who suffer from any kind of addiction, when he was in the grip of it, nothing and no one else mattered.'

  'I understand what you're saying,' Chrissie returned quietly. 'And my mother...' She stopped and shook her head. It was obvious that Jon was well aware of what the situation was and she was thankful that there was no need for her to explain to him what manner of man her late uncle had been.

  'There's no need for your mother to feel that her presence in Haslewich wouldn't be welcomed or that she will in any way be held responsible for her late brother's behaviour. There are very few families who can't count at least one black sheep amongst their number,' he added with a wry smile that warmed Chrissie's heart.

  'I think my mother would like to come back. She often talks about the farm.'

  Jon Crighton was an extremely likeable man, Chrissie reflected, all the more so because one could somehow sense that at heart he was basically a sincere and self-effacing person, one who would draw other people and their problems to him. He went on to tell her that he would do his best to expedite all the legal matters with regard to supplying her parents with a list of her late uncle's creditors.

  'Although,' he added a touch hesitantly, 'from what I gather from my wife, it seems that you are not in any particular hurry to leave Haslewich.'

  To her chagrin, Chrissie discovered that she was blushing as well as smiling as she made some inar-ticulate response to Jon's gentle teasing.

  Half an hour later, their meeting concluded, Jon watched her as she walked across the town square.

  She was an attractive and pleasant self-possessed young woman and he could well understand why Guy Cooke should be 'smitten' with her as Jenny had claimed.

  'Oh good, you're on your own.'

  The sound of his wife's voice from the open door-way of his office had him turning round to welcome her. 'I thought when you phoned earlier you were going to be tied up for the day at Fitzburgh Place with the fair,' he commented.

  'I was, but I decided to give myself a break, come home early and then perhaps go back later this evening. Is there any chance that you might be free to take me somewhere rather nice like the Grosvenor for afternoon tea?' she suggested.

  'Mmm...' Jon pretended to give the matter some serious consideration before offering, 'I'm not so sure about the Grosvenor. We'd have to drive over to Chester and then back again, but there is this rather special little place I know where we could be all alone and where, if we're very lucky, we might be able to share rather more than afternoon tea.'

  Jenny looked at her husband suspiciously. 'If you mean what I think you mean,' she began warningly,

  'you're going to be out of luck. For one thing, I haven't been out shopping and we don't have a thing to eat other than last night's leftovers and for another...' She continued, overriding Jon's attempt to break in.

  'I don't mind passing on the food,' he murmured.

  'Jack and Joss will be at home.'

  'Ah,' Jon sighed at this mention of the boys. Joss was his younger son and Jack was Jon's brother David's child. He had been living with Jon and Jenny since the breakup of his own parents' marriage.

  Jack's married sister, Olivia, and her husband, Caspar, and their two young children lived close by and it had been Jack's own wish that he live with his aunt and uncle.

  'Whom are you watching with such interest?' Jenny asked, walking over to the window to look through it.

  'Ah...Guy's lady love. I'd forgotten she was coming to see you.'

  'Mmm...she's nice. I liked her, and from what she's been telling me, her mother is nothing like her late brother. It seems that her mother and her uncle never really got on, but despite that, her parents apparently want to have a list of Charlie's main creditors so that they can pay off his debts.'

  'That's very generous of them.'

  'Very,' Jon agreed.

  'But why has she come to Haslewich to deal with things and not her mother?'

  'I rather suspect from what she didn't say that her mother, obviously knowing her late brother, feels that the residents of Haslewich might not make her very welcome, but as I pointed out to Chrissie, every family has its black sheep, and sometimes more than one of them, as we know all too well.'

  Jenny looked up at him. 'I do wish David would get in touch with your father. It would mean so much to him, and apart from that card he sent at Christmas, he hasn't contacted Ben at all.'

  'I know,' Jon agreed, placing his hand on his wife's shoulder and drawing her in against his body. 'Dad's Christmas card had a Spanish postmark, but David seems determined to keep his actual whereabouts a secret.'

  'Perhaps it's for the best,' Jenny suggested, looking up at her husband. 'After all, if he did come back, what could he do? He couldn't come back to work here...not after...'

  'No, he certainly couldn't do that,' Jon concurred sombrely.

  'Do you still miss him?' Jenny asked gently. The brothers were twins, even if...

  Jon shook his head. 'No, not really, not in a personal sense. But I do wish for Dad's sake that things could be different. He's been a changed man since David left.'

  'He's getting old, Jon,' Jenny commiserated.

  'Aren't we all?' Jon grimaced, thinking of the changes that the past few years had brought. Since that fateful night of the brothers' shared fiftieth birthday party and David's near fatal heart attack, both of them had become grandfathers, he through his son, Max, who was now married with two children and David through his daughter, Olivia, but whilst he saw his grandchildren regularly and enjoyed their company, he doubted that David even knew of his grandchildren's existence.

  'Olivia was telling me the other day that Tiggy has decided that she wants to divorce David,' Jenny commented.

  'Yes, I know,' Jon agreed. 'In fact, Olivia and I were discussing it only the other day. Tiggy's new man wants to marry her and he's pressing her to do something about ending her marriage to David.'

  Jenny looked at her husband, unable to stop herself from asking, 'Do you...?' She bit her lip, wondering if it was wise to remind Jon that there had been a time when, if only fleetingly, he had been tempted to break his own marriage vows over his twin brother's wife, just as she had, oh so briefly, been tempted to respond to Guy's need for her.

  But Jon, it seemed, had read her mind because he immediately shook his head and took hold of both her hands as he told her quietly, 'The only regret I have is that I was ever foolish enough to risk losing you,'

  he admitted truthfully.

  'Oh, Jon,' Jenny whispered as she went into his arms and leaned her head against his chest. 'I do hope that everything works out for Guy with Chrissie. He's head over heels in love with her...'

  'And she with him if the way she looked this afternoon when I mentioned his name is anything to go by,' Jon assured her.

  'Well, she certainly looked as though she loved him when I saw them together, but...' Jenny nibbled at her bottom lip.

  'But what?' Jon gave her a rueful look. 'Do I detect just a hint of the protective mother sheep anxious for her vulnerable little lamb there?' he asked her.

  Jenny shook her head and grimaced. 'All right,' she agreed apologetically, 'perhaps I am being overly anxious and Guy is far too masculine to ever be called a lamb type but, well, they've known each other such a short time and if you'd seen the way Guy was looking at her...'

  'You said yourself at Christmas that you'd like to see him married with children of his own.'

  'Yes. I would, I do,' Jenny concurred. 'You're right.' She laughed. 'I admit i
t, I am being overpro-tective and Chrissie seems as head over heels in love with him as he is with her.'

  She put her hand through Jon's and snuggled up to him, returning the loving look he was giving her as he looked down at her.

  'Hello there...'

  Chrissie gave a small start and then smiled as she realised that the woman addressing her in the street was Guy's sister.

  She had another woman with her, some years younger than she was herself and who, Chrissie suspected from her rather strikingly handsome face and thick, dark curly hair, was probably another member of the family.

  'I enjoyed meeting you last night,' Frances commented with another smile before turning to introduce her companion, explaining, 'Guy brought Chrissie over for dinner last night.' She looked at Chrissie.

  'Natalie is another member of the Cooke clan.'

  'Do you know Guy well?' Natalie asked abruptly, ignoring Chrissie's outstretched hand and frowning rather fiercely at her as she waited for a response.

  Her glowering intensity made Chrissie feel uncomfortable and unsure of just how she ought to answer, but before she could say anything, Frances was replying for her, looking at Chrissie with teasing warmth as she informed Natalie, 'Not as well as Guy intends to make sure she does know him, if the way he was looking at her last night is anything to go by.'

  'Oh, it's like that, is it?' Natalie responded dispar-agingly, flicking a disdainful and dismissive glance in Chrissie's direction. 'Well, Guy is always falling in love—and out of it even faster. He's a dreadful flirt.'

  'Natalie,' Frances objected, frowning at her companion and giving Chrissie a rueful look.

  'Well, it's the truth,' Natalie continued, ignoring the warning Frances was trying to give her. 'Guy's always been susceptible to a certain type of woman and, of course, we all know how he was over Jenny Crighton.'

  'Natalie,' Frances protested rather more sharply.

  'I'm not lying,' Natalie insisted with a scornful toss of her head. 'Guy can be a lovesick fool at times.

  Look, I've got to go,' she said, ignoring Chrissie completely as she bent to brush Frances's cheek with her lips and then turned on her heel to walk away.

  'I'm sorry about that,' Frances apologised uncomfortably after she had gone. 'Natalie doesn't always realise...she's...' She glanced unhappily into Chrissie's pale, set face and sighed.

  Natalie could be the limit at times. As a family, they were used to her disruptiveness and her acid remarks. She was and always had been the kind of person who enjoyed hurting and discomforting others.

  Frances tried to tell herself it was because at heart Natalie felt insecure herself rather than because she possessed a mean and spiteful nature, but sometimes Frances did wonder.

  And, of course, it didn't help that the whole family knew that Natalie had had a bit of a thing about Guy for years. Not that he had ever been remotely interested in her in that way. She simply wasn't his type.

  Guy had a distinctly chivalrous, protective side to his nature that instinctively drew him towards the kind of femininely gentle woman whom he could take under his wing and protect. Even if she had been his type physically, which she wasn't, Natalie's personality was far too brash and abrasive ever to appeal to Guy.

  But family loyalty and the sheer complexity of the situation prevented Frances from explaining things to Chrissie. She would, however, have to go and alert Guy as to what had happened as it was quite plain that Natalie's remarks had upset Chrissie.

  'I'm not sure how long you're going to be staying in town,' she said gently to. Chrissie now, 'but it's rather fortunate that I've bumped into you like this because I was planning to get in touch with you to ask you round for a meal. I don't know how much Guy has told you about our family, but it's rather a tradition for us that we all get together one Sunday in the month. Because so many of us work in the pub or catering trade in one way or another, getting time off together isn't always easy, so we take it in turns to host our monthly Sundays. It's my turn this month and we'd love it if you could join us.'

  'Thank you, you're very kind,' Chrissie replied in a slightly stilted voice.

  She wasn't so naive as not to have been aware that Natalie had been slightly malicious in talking about Guy the way she had, but Chrissie had seen, too, how Frances had reacted to the other woman's comments and had sensed that there was just enough truth, specifically in what Natalie had said about Jenny Crighton, for Frances to feel uncomfortable.

  Guy was bound to have had other relationships in his life, Chrissie realised, but why hadn't he been truthful and honest with her about his relationship with Jenny Crighton instead of concealing it from her? 'Guy is always falling in love—and out of—it,'

  Natalie had said scornfully.

  Five minutes later, retracing her steps towards her late uncle's small house, she was forced to ask herself how much she really knew about Guy.

  A stiff, chilly wind had risen whilst she was in Jon (Brighton's office and several ominous grey clouds were now obscuring the sun, warning her that she had been too trusting and optimistic in coming out wear-ing just a thin cotton dress. Just as she had been too trusting in believing Guy?

  Chrissie looked a little apprehensively at her watch.

  Another hour and Guy would be here. The bright, sunny promise of the morning had given way to a cold, wet evening. The cottage, without the benefit of central heating, felt cold and smelt damp, and for the first time since she had arrived in Haslewich she was conscious of a feeling of alienation and loneliness.

  It didn't help that her parents would now be well on their way on the first leg of their trip to Mexico and that she was unable to even pick up the phone and hear the comforting sound of a familiar and loving voice.

  But surely she had all the comfort and love she needed here with Guy. Guy, the man whom only this morning she'd been making plans to spend the rest of her life with. Guy, the man who suddenly in the space of a brief conversation had become almost a stranger to her.

  She was being silly, she warned herself. There was bound to be a simple explanation for Guy's omission in telling her about Jenny Crighton. All she had to do was to ask him for it.

  Guy was just leaving the local delicatessen with the purchases he had made for his supper with Chrissie when he saw Jon and Jenny crossing the square.

  'Mmm...you've been in Lawfords,' Jenny commented enviously when she saw what he was carrying. 'Lucky you, their food is wonderful but a little bit pricey when you've got two hungry teenage boys to feed. No need for me to ask whom you 're planning to share your feast with,' she added teasingly.

  'No need at all,' Guy agreed dryly.

  'Chrissie seems a lovely girl, Guy,' Jenny remarked warmly. 'But I can understand why she feels a little bit wary about going public with the fact that Charlie was her uncle. Of course, the family virtually dis-owned him years ago, we all know that. Oh, and by the way, you'll never guess what. The police apparently suspect that there may be a woman involved with the gang who've been doing the break-ins locally.'

  Jenny saw the way Guy was frowning and shook her head.

  'It sounds odd, I know, but it seems it's often easier for a woman to get inside a target house and check to see what's there that's worth stealing. She then passes this information on to the rest of the gang.

  'Heavens, is that the time!' she exclaimed as the church clock chimed the hour. 'We'd better go. Enjoy your dinner party.'

  Guy was still frowning as he watched Jon and Jenny walk away. Chrissie was Charlie Platt's niece?

  Then why hadn't she told him so? Why had she deliberately concealed the relationship from him and given him to believe that she was simply acting for the family, rather than being a closely related member of it?

  He could remember quite vividly how, when he was a child, Charlie used to lie to him and pretend that he wanted to be his friend, that his malicious and cruel bullying of him had simply been a mistake. Guy could remember, too, how Charlie had taunted him when he had fallen for his li
es and believed him. The wariness and cynicism, the hardness he had begun to develop as a means of protecting himself from the likes of Charlie Platt had stood him in good stead as an antiques dealer. It was a business where it paid to be cautious and a little bit suspicious at times, to thoroughly check the ownership of goods offered to him for sale rather than to automatically assume that the would-be seller had the right to dispose of them, but it had simply never occurred to him to be suspicious or wary where Chrissie was concerned.

  He had taken her completely on trust, believed her every word utterly, and he had never even thought of questioning or doubting her. His response to her had been so immediate, so intense, so emotional, that it had left no room for logic or rational thinking.

  But she had obviously not felt the same, had she?

  Otherwise it would never have occurred to her to withhold from him the fact that she was Charlie's niece.

  To withhold from him. He grimaced to himself, his face suddenly bleak and cold.

  Even now, he was still trying to make excuses for her. She hadn't simply withheld the truth from him; she had deliberately deceived him. There had been plenty of opportunity for her to tell him the truth, to explain to him just what her real relationship with Charlie was.

  But her deceit seemed so out of character for her.

  One of the things that had struck him most forcibly about her had been her naturalness, her openness, her warmth, but quite plainly they were only illu-sory ... manufactured.

  As he crossed the square and headed for his own home, he tried to reason with himself that he was overreacting, that he was judging her, condemning her, without allowing her a fair hearing. There could, after all, be some perfectly logical explanation of why she hadn't told him the truth.