Marrying A Millionaire. Laura Martin

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘MUMMY, tell me about our new house again!’

      Cathy placed the last of her cooking utensils into the large cardboard box and sat back on her heels, glad of the diversion. She had been up since first light, making sure everything was organised for the move, and felt absolutely exhausted, even though it was barely three in the afternoon.

      ‘Well, it’s old, and it has four little windows at the front which look out onto a narrow lane, and there’s a square of grass at the front and a much larger piece at the back…’

      Robbie slid onto her lap and linked his arms around her neck. ‘Tell me about the tree!’

      Cathy smiled, cuddling him close. ‘There’s an apple tree in the front garden, just below your bedroom window, and soon it will have fluffy white blossom on it and later on there will be apples which we’ll be able to pick any time we like.’

      ‘And no one will tell us off?’

      ‘No one will tell us off,’ Cathy agreed.

      ‘And we can pick the apples even if it’s dark?’

      Cathy laughed and kissed her son’s cheek. ‘Yes, even then.’

      ‘I’m going to climb that tree, right to the top!’

      ‘We’ll see.’

      A worried look flickered across Robbie’s young face. ‘And will there be friends for me to play with?’

      ‘Oh, yes!’ Cathy’s expression was deliberately reassuring, for she knew this was an aspect of the move which was worrying Robbie greatly. ‘There must be quite a lot of children in the village because they’ve got a lovely little school with a brand-new play area and a pond—’

      ‘And if I don’t like it we can come back here?’

      Cathy pushed the curtain of fiery red hair back from her face and looked around the dismal kitchen, with its damp walls and cheap melamine units. If she had to endure even so much as another day in this box in the sky, then she felt she’d go stark raving mad.

      She looked out of the window. From this position on the kitchen floor all she could see were grey lumpy clouds; there wasn’t a tree in sight—no buildings either, come to that. Cathy heaved a sigh. Presumably somebody somewhere had thought it clever to put people in boxes instead of houses, and stack them so high that the tenants could actually feel the building swaying in the wind, but she couldn’t for the life of her imagine why. A handy way of solving the housing problem, she supposed—except of course that living like this created more problems than it solved—far more.

      Cathy thought of the graffiti and the litter and the smell which accompanied every journey to this, the twelfth floor; then she looked down at her son, snuggled on her lap. He would be able to read soon, and in no time the paint-sprayed words would begin to mean something and his sweet, mischievous innocence would be tainted before its time.

      ‘’Cos Dale says it’s really boring in the countryside,’ Robbie continued. ‘He says there are no shops and if you want sweets then you have to walk miles! He says—’

      ‘Well, when we’re settled in you can invite Dale over and show him how good the countryside really is, can’t you?’ Cathy announced, before Robbie could repeat any more of his friend’s little insights into country life. ‘Don’t worry, you’re going to absolutely love it, sweetheart,’ she told him with a cheerful smile. ‘We both are.’

      Daniel turned the collar up on his jacket. Hell! It was cold. He really needed to get the heating system mended on the Land Rover; three weeks of freezing March winds was as much as he could take. He drove past the garage which looked as if it had been caught in a time warp, with its singular petrol pump and its pre-war signs advertising anything from chocolate to washing powder, and mentally vowed to book it in first thing in the morning.

      It was quiet in the village this evening; several lights were shining in the row of old cottages which lined the green, but few people were braving the rain on this cold, raw evening. Damn! Must get the brakes looked at too. He pressed his foot down hard on the pedal and the Land Rover came to a halt—eventually. Daniel regarded the van which blocked the lane for a moment—a rental vehicle, by the looks of things. The back was up and there was a small quantity of furniture inside which was getting wetter by the minute. Not exactly the best of times to move house.

      He glanced towards the cottage. A single bulb dangled dismally from the ceiling in the front downstairs room. He knew the house—he knew all the properties in the village. It was rather run-down, in need of a total overhaul. The place had character—provided, that was, you could overlook the rotten windowpanes and moss-covered roof, and sundry other things that were doubtless in need of repair.

      He exhaled a breath, regarding the vehicle with irritation. The lane was blocked and there was clearly still a fair amount of moving in to do. He’d have to turn around and take another route, which