A Very English Affair

By Faith Mortimer

“A VERY ENGLISH AFFAIR”  A New Romance by Faith Mortimer, Best Selling Author of “A Very French Affair”, “On Christmas Hill” & “The Seeds of Time”.

Danielle Collingdale is moderately successful in business but hapless in love. Danielle’s world takes an unexpected upturn when handsome and wealthy Christian Douglas enters her ordinary life and sweeps her off her feet into a passionate affair. Within days, their involvement develops from an ardent romance into genuine love. But the lovers seem fated…because while planning their new life together, a catastrophe threatens their devotion, putting their relationship to the ultimate test.

Will this shocking and tearful discovery tear them apart or can they find the strength to overcome their ordeal and live a joyful life?

NB. A box of Kleenex is essential when reading this novel.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Topsails Charter
• Release date: Jul 8, 2014
• ISBN: 9781501453687

Book preview

A VERY ENGLISH AFFAIR

Faith Mortimer

––––––––

Chapter 1 Danielle

Danielle looked at her watch and gasped. Uh-oh! Owen would never forgive her this time. Once in a week was understandable. Twice, forgivable—since she was the agency owner and had certain responsibilities—but three times...no way.

In quick succession, she shut down her computer, put her dirty coffee cup into the sink in the tiny office kitchen and shrugged into her coat. After checking the rear door was locked, she primed the alarm, turned off the lights and stepped outside onto the wet pavement. If she drove fast, she would make it home in less than ten minutes.

Her brain worked overtime as she went through various excuses: flat battery, a pedantic last-minute customer, lost her car keys. It was no use; she had used them all over the previous six months. Owen wasn’t going to believe one word. She sighed.

She knew it wasn’t completely her fault. She was an organised person. It was just that things had taken off that year, and more business meant more work. Sure, four months ago she had taken on Jane as a full-time member of staff, and her part-timer, Bryony, had increased her own hours, but sometimes there was far more work than they could manage in a ten-hour, let alone eight-hour, day.

That night was meant to have been special. Owen was celebrating his fortieth birthday. He had been quite adamant. ‘No big noisy party, thank you. Being forty is bad enough without having it rubbed in,’ he had complained. So, Danielle had booked an intimate dinner for two in his favourite restaurant, and she was treating them to the best seats at a London theatre the following evening. The trip to the show was a secret; all Owen knew was that he was being taken to see something he had always wanted to see. He would love it.

Danielle edged her car onto the main road and groaned. The entire high street was blocked with traffic. Through her steamed-up windows she heard the wail of an ambulance in the distance and guessed the obstruction was the result of an accident. She nosed the car into the queue of vehicles and while she waited, searched in her bag for her phone. Owen just had to believe her this time.

***

Darling, I’m home. You’ll never believe the carnage in the high street. Four cars were involved in the pile-up. It took two fire engines to free the passengers. Owen? Are you there? She threw her car keys down on the hall table, noticing Owen’s front-door keys lying there, and she wondered where he had got to. She removed her damp coat and hung it over the bannister, shaking raindrops from her long dark hair. With a small sigh of pleasure, she eased off her high heels and then walked in stockinged feet to the living room. All the lights were on, but there was no sign of her fiancé.

Surprised, she peeked into the kitchen and dining room, which doubled as a study, and finding them both empty, ran upstairs. Maybe Owen was in the shower and hadn’t heard her get in. When she reached the threshold of her bedroom, she paused. The doors to the fitted wardrobes were open, as were the drawers Owen used for his t-shirts and underwear. An odd sock lay on the carpet, and the bedside locker on his side of the king-size bed was bare. Danielle felt her blood run cold as she headed towards the chest of drawers.

They were completely empty. She whirled away and rushed over to the tall wardrobes and flung the doors wide. A row of empty coat hangers swung above her head, silently mocking her as they rocked and tinkled against each other. Gone, gone, gone! The thought ran through her head. He’s gone!

Danielle felt her legs go weak and, trembling, edged her way over to the bed. Their bed. She couldn’t believe it. Where had he gone and why? A lone tear trickled down her cheek, and in irritation, she brushed it away as she laid her head on her pillow.

She knew she had become something of a workaholic during the previous months and out of necessity spent more than usual work hours at the travel agency. But her business was her baby, and she was proud of how she had built it up from practically nothing after buying it at a peppercorn price.

Eighteen months earlier, Ruth, the then owner of Wanderlust Travel, had met the man of her dreams. Rich and recently widowed, ‘Silver’ entered her life when he booked a three-month cruise. Over the following few weeks, Ruth and Silver spent a lot of time together, heads down while they explored timetables and travel books, discussing the trip and further destinations. Danielle wasn’t completely surprised when Ruth announced one foul, wet morning that Silver had asked her to become the third Mrs Silver Fox. Chatting excitedly about her engagement, she paused long enough to offer Danielle Collingdale the opportunity to buy the agency, and she jumped at the chance.

It seemed Danielle was to pay the price for working hard. Once again, she was alone.

Chapter 2 Danielle

She lay on the bed thinking about what had gone wrong and how she could have prevented Owen leaving. Of course, they had the usual arguments from time to time, but then who didn’t? It was all part of two people living together. Owen had said time and time again that he understood how she felt about building up the business, even encouraging and praising her over the previous weeks.

Danielle recalled when, three months earlier, she had gone home and in dizzy excitement told him how much the turnover had increased. It was he who insisted they open a bottle of fizz. But not champagne; she didn’t think they should be spending too much of her money just yet, she insisted.

They drank the proscecco, the bubbles gently tickling her nose, and she remembered how they laughed and danced a silly little jig in her living room, ending up in a smooch and making love on the floor. She had never felt so cherished and desired as she had then. How little she had known him. She remembered that night’s dinner reservation...she had to find the energy to telephone the restaurant and cancel.

She stretched out an arm and pulled his pillow to her face, breathing in his familiar man smell. Oh Owen, what went wrong? She felt more tears prickle behind her lashes, and within seconds, she gave in to heartfelt sobs.

Exhausted by her crying, Danielle eventually fell into a deep sleep. She awoke hours later, stiff and cold; the pillow she clutched was damp against her cheek and a weak, rain-streaked morning light was creeping through a chink in the curtains. She sat up, throwing the sodden thing to the floor, suddenly hating the thought of Owen invading her thoughts and space. On impulse, she sprang from the bed and in minutes, had stripped it of linen and threw the whole lot into the washing machine.

That night she would sleep in fresh bedding. She didn’t want to lie in a bed which still bore the tell-tale scent of that rat, Owen, next to her. What sort of man left without saying a word? Worm, more like, and she was made of stronger stuff.

After remaking the bed, she strode from the bedroom into the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea. She couldn’t face food. She walked over to the rain-slicked window and gazed at the road. The heavy downpour overnight had eased to a fine drizzle, and a few gaps had appeared in the dark clouds.

She turned away from the dank morning and walked through to the living room. She realised Owen hadn’t taken all his belongings. He had left a magazine or two here and there, a spine-broken paperback, a bottle of expensive aftershave she had bought him and photographs of their last holiday in Crete together. As she gathered everything together into an empty cardboard box, she realised the items were things which obviously meant nothing to him. She felt like setting fire to the box and its contents but couldn’t quite bring herself to do so. Instead, she pushed them into the deepest and darkest corner of the cupboard under the stairs. She would get rid of it all later.

She still couldn’t believe Owen had left. When she first met him, she believed him to be honest and loving, and learnt to trust him almost immediately. For the first time, she thought he was the one. Curses! Now here she was in her mid-thirties, single and alone again. Love was a bugger!

And not just alone without a boyfriend; Danielle was completely alone in the world. She had no family and few real friends. Friends had come and gone—Owen hadn’t liked many of them. The nearest she had to a friend now was Bryony from the agency. Bryony would be very sympathetic, but her other assistant, Jane, had only been with her four months, and she was a bit of a cold fish.

She glanced at the clock and saw it was still early. She suddenly realised she didn’t need to think about Owen and his feelings any longer and decided to go to work and clear some of the backlog on her desk. One good thing had come out of it: her time was now all her own. Time for a shower, and then she would walk into town.

Danielle stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror and leaned forward. She caught sight of one or two grey hairs in her long dark hair and a tiny sprinkle of fine lines in the corner of her eyes if she looked really closely. She turned sideways. Her bottom was small and firm, her tummy fairly flat—could have been flatter, but she was a woman. Her breasts were average-sized and hadn’t yet drooped. She didn’t think she looked bad for her age. Okay, so her dark-blue eyes were still a tad red and puffy from crying, but a brisk walk in the fresh air would soon cure that.

***

Because it was Saturday, the agency was only open for business in the morning. Danielle spent a good hour sorting out paperwork before she heard the front door open and glancing up, saw Bryony.

Fresh air followed her friend in, accompanied by a few damp leaves, which blew in from the street.

Morning. You’re in early. Owen thrown you out of bed then? she asked with a smile. Would you like coffee now or later? It’s a bit parky out there.

I have a lot to do and coffee now, please—the kettle’s just boiled.

Danielle bit her lip, lowering her gaze back to her computer. She didn’t notice Bryony’s inquisitive stare at the lack of her usual eye make-up and lipstick. She carried on with her task, listening to Bryony’s movements in the kitchen out the back.

Jane’s late, Bryony observed as she handed a steaming mug of coffee to her. She does know you’re leaving early this morning, doesn’t she? By the way, I bought us a doughnut each as a treat today. I’ll just get them.

Danielle started. She had forgotten she and Owen were supposed to be going up to London before lunchtime. Lunch, a walk round town and then on to the theatre. She decided to enlighten Bryony then and there and get it over with. As soon as Bryony returned and sat down, Danielle told her.

Well, I’m flabbergasted. I’m so sorry, and I feel dreadful now after making that stupid remark when I came in. If I’d known... Bryony looked distressed.

"What remark? Oh, that. Don’t worry, you weren’t to know. Anyway, I’m okay really. It just takes a bit of getting used to. I never thought I’d be free and available again, but I’m not going to let it get me down. Men are not worth it." Even if Danielle didn’t have much confidence in her own words, she was determined to have a damn good try.

Bryony gave her a reassuring smile. Well, if there’s anything I can do, please just ask. I haven’t got much on this weekend. Are you sure you don’t want your doughnut? It’s a shame to waste it.

That’s good, as I’ve got a couple of theatre tickets going begging. They’re yours, and no, I don’t want anything for them. My... she pulled a cynical face, my treat. They chatted for a few more minutes while they drank their coffee, skirting the subject of Owen, and Bryony tucked in to her jammy bun. After she had finished, she studied the clock on the wall.

You know, I believe Jane’s forgotten she was supposed to be here this morning. Shall I ring her and find out what’s keeping her?

Danielle shrugged, not caring one way or the other. If you like, but she’s not needed at the moment, as it’s quiet.

Yeah, but she’s got to clear that load of this week’s files on her desk. I don’t see why we should do it all. I’ll just give her a quick call at home. Get the lazy cow out of bed.

Danielle raised her eyebrows. She had guessed earlier that Bryony didn’t much care for Jane. She cleared away the empty cups in the kitchen while Bryony made the phone call. When Danielle re-entered the shop, carrying a pile of cruise brochures, Bryony replaced the receiver and looked down at her desk with an odd expression on her face.

So what’s her excuse? Danielle asked as she restocked the shelves along the wall with the glossy catalogues. When Bryony didn’t answer she turned to face her. Well?

Bryony’s face turned pale, and she raised a hand to her mouth. Um, I think you’d better sit down.

Danielle ignored Bryony’s warning and remained standing, a handful of brochures still in her hands. Why? Is Jane okay? She’s not ill is she? She felt herself go cold all over. Oh no! There was a nasty accident in the high street last night. She wasn’t involved was she?

Bryony shook her head.

What then?

I don’t know how to say this. I rang her mobile, and it was unobtainable, so I tried her home number, which is her mum’s house, apparently. Only Jane wasn’t there because she moved out this week. She and her boyfriend have bought a new flat together, so her mother told me. Bryony flushed bright red.

Really? She never mentioned any of this to me. Had she forgotten she’s meant to be working?

Bryony shook her head. I never got that far. Danielle, I think you should know who her...her boyfriend is.

It was Danielle’s turn to gasp before blanching. Unnoticed, the brochures slipped from her fingers. Owen and Jane! Bought a flat...but he doesn’t have any money, she said without thinking.

***

Danielle was relieved she had left her car at home that morning. A brisk half-hour walk back home would help blow away the cobwebs. After Bryony’s bombshell, work was the last thing she wanted to do. She made a snap decision and had given her friend the rest of the morning off and left the agency soon after. The strong gusts buffeted her along the road, but she enjoyed the stinging wind against her face. It helped wake her up and lose some of the lethargy which threatened to envelop her.

As she turned the corner, she caught sight of her little house, and a familiar warm feeling crept through her. Thank goodness she owned the property and Owen had never paid a penny towards the mortgage. He might have taken away her pride for the time being, but he couldn’t take her house.

She recalled him mentioning getting something bigger and more suitable once they were married, but when she dug her heels in and refused to think about increasing her mortgage, they had quarrelled. Perhaps things hadn’t been the same between them ever since that day. Come to think of it, Owen had rarely put his hand in his pocket for anything much. He always seemed to be owed money elsewhere or had already spent his monthly income.

Anyway, the little Victorian house belonged to her and no one else. Danielle reached the front door and let herself in, picking up a couple of letters which were lying on the mat in front of the door. She glanced at the envelopes; they both looked like bills. Hardly what you could call exciting post. She would open them later.

Chapter 3 Dominic

Dominic stood at the helm of the forty-four-foot-long racing yacht. Although the day’s sail was supposed to be a social cruise and not a competition with medals at stake, two boats made a race! He glanced up at the mainsail and then the huge multi-coloured spinnaker billowing out in front. The light headsail was of a new cross-cut design and was proving to be unbeatable on downwind legs. A rogue wave rose on the aft starboard quarter and dumped a few gallons of seawater overboard. Dominic grinned at his younger brother, Christian, who yelped in surprise at his soaking.

You might have warned me, he complained with a wide smile. His white teeth contrasted with the Caribbean tan he had picked up the previous couple of weeks spent in Antigua.

Dominic just laughed and turned the wheel slightly as the wind changed. The yacht slammed into a trough and then rose like a cork as she climbed the face of the next wave before it curled and crested over.

Tide’s on the change. The sky’s looking ominous, he said, indicating the dark clouds gathering overhead.

Christian followed his gaze. Just as well we’ve finished. Still want to visit Cowes for a drink or shall we head straight home?

Dominic pushed back the sleeve on his water-proof jacket and glanced down at his watch. "How about a quick one? We can go alongside Minerva and invite Ross and his crew on board and then head back in to our berth. It’ll only add another couple of hours to get across to Hamble. It would be a shame to miss seeing him."

Fine by me, only I really don’t want to be late tonight. I’ve got an early-morning conference call booked tomorrow, which I don’t want to miss. There’s a lot at stake.

Course not. It’s not every day a multi-million-pound deal lands in your lap. One way or another, you’re certainly the golden boy of the moment, Christian, and lapping up every moment of it.

Christian pulled a face and threw a playful punch at his brother’s shoulder. You’re just jealous. Nobody voted for you. You’re old and past it, big bro! he jeered.

No way! At least I still get to call my time my own. I’m not quite as wedded to the business as you are. As for being old, I can still knock spots off you downhill on skis or when it comes to running a marathon. Dominic adjusted course while he spoke, never taking his eyes from the scene before him.

They were having one of their usual light-hearted exchanges. Although Christian was the younger of the two Douglas brothers, it was he who was the entrepreneur of the family. At school, Christian had sailed through examinations and left Southampton University with a first-class honours degree in ship science mechanical engineering.  It hadn’t taken him long to decide what he wanted out of life: be a successful businessman and make a lot of money. Christian’s main love was sailing, and it seemed right that he should progress into yacht architecture and design. At thirty-six he was one of the youngest and most sought-after yacht designers in the world. It helped that the boys’ father was a wealthy man during his lifetime and left both brothers a substantial amount of money when he died. Christian invested wisely. He bought into a struggling yacht-building company, which needed capital and yacht-design expertise. Within two years, he had a majority holding, and a further three years saw him as overall owner of Platinum Yachts.

Christian’s life hadn’t all been easy. He had spent so many years dedicating himself to study, designing and building up the business that he had let his personal life slide. He had never had a truly long-lasting relationship with the woman of his dreams—or indeed any woman—and at times he felt he was surrounded by nothing but empty space. His lifestyle was brought home to him only a few days earlier, when he was voted onto the most eligible-bachelor-in-Britain list, much to Dominic’s wicked sense of humour. He hadn’t stopped ragging his ‘baby’ brother since.

Dominic, on the other hand, prided on being his own man. Not as clever academically as his younger sibling, Dominic left school with five GCSEs, all above grade D, and two A-levels in English and Maths. These were all the requirements he needed to get into Royal Naval Officer Training at the Britannia Royal Naval College in Dartmouth. Dominic proved to be an exemplary sailor, with a love of sailing and most outdoor activities. After spending sixteen years as a naval officer, he decided he wanted more freedom, make his own choices. He knew the only solution was to leave the Navy and find outside employment before he became too institutionalised.

He left the senior service and joined Christian at Platinum Yachts—initially as a temporary measure until he felt certain which path was the right one for him. He wasn’t anything like his brother when it came to pushing work to the limit, although he was by no means idle. Dominic’s attitude was more relaxed. He enjoyed working with Christian and appreciated his brother giving him free rein when it came to fitting out, selling and delivering the new yachts. Christian was the architect and owner of the company. Dominic was more of a hands-on manager.

The transitory arrangement worked well, and Dominic was glad. They had always been close. The agreement allowed him time to think about what he really wanted out of life and what his next step should be.

As the yacht neared the Cowes entrance, Christian’s mobile vibrated in his pocket. He looked at the display and called out to Dominic that the caller was their friend, Ross. Both men looked across the water and saw Minerva was already bearing away and heading for her berth up the Medina River on the Isle of Wight. Christian answered the call, and Dominic strained over the rising sound of the wind to hear what he had to say. After Christian had replaced the phone in his pocket, Dominic yelled to him.

What was that all about?

Ross says they’ve developed a problem with their rudder and need to get in before the weather turns. They can manage the boat, but he wants someone to take a look as soon as they’re tied up. He says he’ll catch up with us in the week.

Dominic grunted and switched his attention back to the sea. The waves were getting bigger and the sea more choppy as the wind rose. He saw that the anemometer showed twenty-seven knots of wind. It had shot up, but it was often the way in the Solent. The tides ran fiercely around the north of the island, and conditions often changed in a matter of minutes.

It’s just as well...the weather’s turning. Perhaps I should have headed for home earlier. Time to get the headsail down. We don’t want to tear it. Can you get Rob back up here? And I think we should get our life jackets on, pronto. It’s only going to get worse.

He referred to the third member of the crew, who had been below for twenty minutes. Ever since they had left Yarmouth, Rob had been stricken with a stomach upset and had confined himself to the heads.

A wave hit the bow, and spray flew high and wide as Christian went forward to loosen a rope which had wound itself round a midship cleat. Meanwhile, a pale-faced Rob dealt with the