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  She made her bed before leaving her room, the door to Lucas’s bedroom firmly closed, the lounge empty, the only sounds to be heard coming from the kitchen. Bracing her thin shoulders in expectation Chelsea entered the room.

  A middle-aged woman looked up from the vegetables she was peeling to put into the huge roasting pot on the table in front of her, the woman’s expression becoming as wary as Chelsea’s own.

  ‘Good morning,’ Chelsea greeted lightly.

  ‘Miss Stevens,’ the woman acknowledged abruptly.

  ‘Chelsea, please,’ she returned smoothly.

  ‘Miss Chelsea,’ the woman nodded abruptly, tall and thin, her short curled hair a very light brown colour, beginning to grey at her temples.

  ‘No, I meant—’

  ‘Can I get you some breakfast now?’ Mrs Harvey turned to wipe her hands on the towel, a pristine white pinafore covering her severely styled blue dress. ‘Mr McAdams had his meal some time ago.’

  There was no rebuke in the words for her own tardiness, just a statement of fact. ‘Lucas is here?’ she asked half in anticipation, half in dread, the memory of that sensuous black silk against her flesh, and its reason for being there, still too new for her to be able to look forward to seeing him again.

  The housekeeper shook her head. ‘He always leaves at precisely eight-fifteen,’ her voice was flat as she stated her employee’s movements.

  Chelsea mentally concluded that Lucas lived his life in altogether too precise a manner, that the last seven years had made him cold and unemotional. Or perhaps a woman had brought about the change. Maybe he had once been very badly hurt and now preferred to live his life in this stiffly rigid pattern that allowed no room for a woman to hurt him; Jennifer didn’t sound as if she had penetrated his emotions, just his need for sexual fulfilment. Somehow Chelsea couldn’t even imagine Lucas with ruffled hair and a flushed face of satiation after the throes of lovemaking. Probably even that was an automotive reflex to him!

  ‘I’ll just have a slice of toast and some coffee,’ Chelsea answered Mrs Harvey as she realised she was still looking at her expectantly.

  She nodded. ‘If you would like to go through to the dining-room I’ll bring it through to you.’

  ‘Oh I didn’t mean for you to get it—’

  ‘It’s what I’m here for,’ the woman insisted, her light blue eyes wide with indignation.

  Chelsea shook her head. ‘You’re here to take care of Lucas, not any unexpected guests that suddenly appear,’ she smiled so that the woman shouldn’t once more take offence.

  ‘I’m perfectly capable of getting breakfast for two people instead of one,’ Mrs Harvey snapped as she prepared the coffee perculator.

  The housekeeper had taken offence despite all her efforts, and with a shrug of resignation Chelsea pulled out one of the chairs at the kitchen table and sat down. ‘I’d rather sit in here and eat if you don’t mind?’ Once again she gave a friendly smile.

  The woman looked surprised. ‘I’m sure you would be more comfortable in the dining-room.’

  Chelsea shook her head. ‘This is just fine,’ she insisted, envisaging nothing more dismal than sitting alone in that huge dining-room, where everything was tidily in its place, with not a speck of dust anywhere. At least here in the kitchen the apartment looked lived in, an orderly clutter on the work units as Mrs Harvey prepared the food for the evening meal.

  The housekeeper shrugged. ‘If that’s what you want.’ But she didn’t look very comfortable with the idea of a guest sitting in her kitchen to eat toast and drink coffee.

  Chelsea sipped the coffee greedily, the brandy Lucas had insisted she drink the evening before leaving her mouth feeling like sandpaper, even after cleaning her teeth twice. But Lucas had been right about its effect on her; she had slept soundly. At least, she had thought she had! The hot colour returned to her cheeks as she thought of the black pyjama jacket that lay across her bedroom chair.

  ‘Lucas said you’ve worked for him for five years,’ she burst into speech with the first thing that came into her mind, not wanting to dwell on the memory of last night.

  ‘Yes.’ The other woman had returned to her preparation of dinner after giving Chelsea her breakfast.

  ‘That’s a long time,’ she added conversationally.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I imagine Lucas is nice to work for.’ She tried once again to draw the other woman into conversation.

  ‘He’s a very thoughtful employer,’ Mrs Harvey confirmed abruptly.

  Because he didn’t want to lose his ‘domestic help’? She couldn’t believe Lucas was as unfeeling about people as he liked to appear to be. ‘I imagine so,’ she answered in a preoccupied voice. ‘Will he be home for lunch?’

  The housekeeper frowned at the suggestion. ‘He doesn’t usually—But perhaps with you here?’ she added uncertainly.

  Chelsea shook her head, her hair moving silkily against her slender back. ‘I’m sure Lucas won’t alter his routine for me.’ She stood up to pour herself some more coffee, receiving a disapproving look for her action. ‘Our maid at home doesn’t usually mind my getting my own coffee,’ she excused lamely.

  ‘I imagine a lot of things are done differently in America.’ Mrs Harvey stiffly passed her the jug of milk.

  The middle-aged woman somehow made it sound as if she suspected all sorts of decadence occurred in the other country. ‘I imagine they are,’ Chelsea smiled, having felt the same nervousness herself about an alien country seven years ago when her parents had decided to make the move to her father’s homeland. As it had turned out she loved it over there. ‘So you don’t think Lucas will be home for lunch?’ she persisted.

  ‘I can’t say for certain,’ Mrs Harvey frowned. ‘He doesn’t inform me of his every move.’

  ‘I think I’ll risk it and go out anyway,’ Chelsea decided.

  ‘Oh, I don’t think he expected you to leave the flat today,’ the housekeeper said worriedly. ‘His last instruction was that I was to see that your day here was comfortable.’ The woman looked concerned that she may already have disobeyed that instruction.

  And Chelsea was well aware of the reason Lucas had made it; he didn’t want her to possibly see a newspaper. She had been aware of the absence of all such literature both in the lounge and here, and yet she was sure Lucas was one of those men who read several newspapers as he ate his breakfast. The story of her mother’s death would be front-page news in America once the information leaked out, and she didn’t doubt it would be the same over here. Being protective was one thing, it was the reason she had let Jace send her here after all, but she didn’t intend becoming a self-inflicted prisoner in Lucas’s apartment; she would go insane in a matter of hours, needed to get out, to have breathing space.

  ‘And it has been,’ she assured the other woman warmly. ‘I just need some air.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Don’t worry about me, Mrs Harvey,’ she deliberately interrupted the other woman. ‘It may have been some time, but I used to live here.’

  Light blue eyes widened in surprise at this information. ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes,’ Chelsea laughed softly. ‘I was born here. Have I lost my accent so completely?’

  Mrs Harvey’s expression softened a little. ‘Well, no, I suppose not, not now I think about it. But Mr McAdams said an American guest…’

  ‘I suppose I am now,’ she shrugged. ‘But when I lived here seven years ago I knew London quite well.’

  ‘We’re slow-moving over here; you’ll find it hasn’t changed much!’

  ‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ Chelsea smiled.

  The frown returned to the older woman’s brow. ‘I’m sure Mr McAdams would rather you stayed here today, in fact I’m sure he assumed that you would.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ She stood up. ‘I’ll tell Lucas it was all my own idea.’

  ‘That isn’t the point—’

  ‘The point is, Mrs Harvey,’ cool determination entered her voice, ‘t
hat if I don’t soon get out of here I shall go quietly insane!’

  Compassion entered the light blue eyes. ‘Maybe you should just rest today,’ her voice had softened noticeably. ‘You must be very tired.’

  And suddenly Chelsea knew that the housekeeper was well aware of the reason for her visit. No doubt Lucas had asked the other woman to keep a friendly eye on her. And she just wished everyone would stop treating her like a child who couldn’t accept the truth!

  ‘I’m fully rested,’ she stated stubbornly. ‘And now I intend going out.’ She turned and left the room, sure that the housekeeper would instantly telephone Lucas. But she would already have left by the time he was able to stop her.

  The black silk pyjama jacket caught her gaze as she pulled on her thick sheepskin coat, frowning as she debated whether or not she should return it to Lucas’s room or leave it here. She didn’t doubt that despite having made the bed and tidied the bedroom that Mrs Harvey would come in later and clean in here. And Lucas’s pyjama jacket in her room looked very suggestive, too suggestive to just leave there.

  She picked up the sensuous-feeling garment and crossed the hall to Lucas’s room, entering quietly, the decor in here as she had imagined it would be, stark and masculine in brown and white, not warm and inviting as the room Camilla had decorated was.

  There was little in this room to actually say it was occupied, just a leather jewellery box on the dressing-table and a picture of Camilla next to it, several paperbacks on the bedside table; with no sign of the bottom part of the black pyjamas! The double bed with its brown quilt was already made, the adjoining bathroom that could be seen through the open door was meticulously clean and tidy. Her own untidyness was likely to drive Lucas to drink in a week!

  A week? How long was she going to be here? No time had been set for her visit, but she didn’t intend imposing on Lucas for too long.

  She blushed guiltily as she turned to find Mrs Harvey watching her from the doorway. ‘I—er—I came to return this,’ she indicated the jacket she had left on the chair, her blush deepening as she realised how that must sound. ‘Lucas lent it to me when I realised that in my haste I had forgotten to pack a nightgown,’ she excused lamely, not wanting to have to admit the real reason she had been in possession of half Lucas’s pyjama set, although she knew the explanation she was giving now was even more damning than the truth, giving the impression of an intimacy that just wasn’t there.

  Blue eyes were sceptical, although Mrs Harvey didn’t dispute or question the explanation. ‘I’ve just spoken to Mr McAdams, and he is coming home to lunch after all, so he would like you to be here.’

  The hasty telephone call to Lucas had been expected, so she showed no surprise. ‘What time will he be home?’

  ‘About twelve-thirty—’

  ‘Well it’s only eleven o’clock now, so I have plenty of time for a walk.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I’ll see you later, Mrs Harvey,’ she called out lightly as she quickly let herself out of the apartment, heaving a sigh of relief once she was out in the carpeted hallway.

  The escalator was already coming up when she pressed the button, the young man already occupying it stepping to one side as she entered. Chelsea acknowledged his appreciative gaze with a cool lift of her chin; she certainly wasn’t in the mood for a flirtation. But the man continued to look at her, and she couldn’t help but be aware of how attractive he was, overlong blond hair styled back from a centre parting, twinkling blue eyes watching her interestedly, his tall body athletic.

  And then something occurred to her. ‘Weren’t you going up?’ she frowned, knowing the eighth floor was the top one.

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted, following her out on to the ground level.

  ‘But you came down again,’ she pointed out needlessly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why?’ she still frowned her puzzlement.

  ‘Because you did,’ he told her happily. ‘I couldn’t pass up the opportunity of getting to know Lucas’s guest; he would never introduce you to me himself.’

  ‘Lucas told you I was staying at his apartment?’ It didn’t sound like the Lucas she knew!

  ‘Let’s just say that there isn’t much that can be kept secret in a building like this one,’ he shrugged. ‘I’m John Anderson, by the way.’

  ‘Chelsea Stevens,’ she replied in a preoccupied voice. ‘Do you live here?’

  ‘Why else would I be going up in the lift?’ he gently teased.

  ‘Why else?’ she ruefully acknowledged the stupidity of her question.

  ‘I know this may sound a bit forward from someone you just met,’ he said slowly. ‘But would you like to join me for a cup of coffee?’

  She looked at him frowningly. Why not? After all, he did know Lucas, and there could be no harm in having coffee with him. She nodded wordlessly.

  CHAPTER THREE

  ‘SO how long have you known Lucas?’ She absently stirred milk into the coffee they had ordered in a cafe in the centre of the city, a large noisy cafe that suited Chelsea’s mood perfectly.

  They had taken a cab from the quietly exclusive residential area into the rush and bustle of the shopping areas, Chelsea having forgotten how noisy and crowded it could be after the relative peace and quiet of the beach-side house she shared with her mother. She felt relieved to have John to help her, having forgotten a lot of other things about London too, starting with the fact that she had very little English money with her, only what Camilla had kept from her last trip here, having left on too short a notice to be able to get any pounds from a bank.

  John looked at her with steady blue eyes. ‘I don’t think I did say I know him,’ he said quietly.

  Her frown returned. ‘But you spoke as if you did.’

  ‘Maybe,’ he shrugged. ‘But I’m sure I didn’t say that I did. Relax,’ he soothed as she stiffened. ‘Now do I look as if I have rape in mind?’ he mocked. ‘I would hardly take my “victim” out for coffee first!’

  She smiled ruefully as she realised how ridiculous that thought was. ‘Sorry,’ she grimaced. ‘The last couple of days haven’t been all that easy for me; I’m tending to over-react at the moment.’

  His gaze was steady. ‘I would say that’s understandable in the circumstances.’

  Chelsea knew she paled, her eyes huge blue pools. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘I’m afraid your picture is in most of the national dailies today,’ he told her gently.

  She swallowed hard, looking about her self-consciously. But no one seemed to be taking any undue notice of them, all getting on with their own lives, their own problems.

  ‘Don’t look so hunted.’ John’s hand came out to cover hers as it rested on the table. ‘No one expects to see the daughter of Jace and Gloria Stevens sitting in a London cafe!’

  Her troubled gaze returned to his. ‘And yet you recognised me?’

  He shrugged. ‘I told you, not much is kept secret in a building like the one we just left.’

  ‘Lucas isn’t going to be pleased.’ She remembered the way he had tried to prevent her leaving the apartment; obviously he had known the story had broken and he hadn’t wanted her to run the risk of recognition. He was going to be far from pleased that she had gone out anyway!

  ‘You can’t stay hidden forever,’ John pointed out logically.

  ‘No,’ she acknowledged.

  ‘Just out of curiosity, why are you hiding?’ John frowned, his handsome face puzzled.

  ‘Because of my father’s misplaced sense of protection,’ she grimaced.

  ‘What does he think you need protecting from?’

  Chelsea sighed. ‘The media, I would imagine. You’ve seen the newspapers,’ she shrugged. ‘My mother’s death was a tremendous shock to us all.’

  ‘None of you knew about her condition?’

  ‘No,’ her answer was sharp. ‘If we had we could perhaps have stopped it happening.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘Well I
don’t know that!’ her voice rose sharply. ‘I just think maybe we could.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ John said gently. ‘I’m being insensitive.’

  Not really. He was simply asking the questions a lot of other people would like answers to. And she didn’t really have any. No wonder Jace had wanted her out of the way! She probably would have let him down.

  ‘No, you aren’t,’ she sighed. ‘But I don’t think any of us realised there was anything wrong with my mother, certainly not enough to cause her death.’

  ‘Perhaps it was the divorce that was such a strain on her,’ John shrugged.

  Chelsea’s eyes widened. ‘You seem to know an awful lot about my family.’

  ‘Your father is a very newsworthy man,’ he pointed out. ‘And your mother was once a top model; tragedy is always worth printing when it hurts such beautiful people. It sort of evens things out for the rest of us,’ he said without emotion. ‘Makes us realise that even these so-called “beautiful people” can have it rough too.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ she acknowledged slowly. ‘Do you think it was the divorce that killed my mother?’

  He nodded. ‘I would say it could have helped, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘But it was over six months ago!’

  ‘I’ve heard that its never easy, and after almost twenty years together…’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed dully. ‘Although she seemed to have put her life back together so well.’

  ‘Maybe she had, maybe it was something else that triggered her death.’ The blue eyes probed.

  Chelsea shook her head. ‘Everything was the same as it always was.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Well I can’t be sure,’ she answered regretfully. ‘We lived pretty much our own lives.’

  ‘Of course, you continued to live with your mother after the separation, didn’t you?’

  She nodded. ‘But I saw almost as much of Jace as I would if he had still lived with us, Mom did too.’