Harlequin Romance March 2021 Box Set by Cara Colter (best sales books of all time .TXT) 📗

manage. I’ll head on up and open the door,’ she added as he started to haul out a computer. And cables.

‘I’ll be right behind you.’

The printer wasn’t heavy, but by the time she’d climbed the stairs she was short of breath.

‘I need to get fitter, Barney.’

But she knew there was nothing wrong with her fitness levels. It was just that the guy downstairs had a habit of stealing all the oxygen from her lungs, and it always took too long for her to get it back.

* * *

Callie’s face when they entered the Russian Tea Room was priceless. The red leather banquettes, dark green walls and twenty-four-carat gold ceiling made a striking statement—and that was before you took into account the priceless artworks on the walls.

‘It’s amazing,’ she breathed.

Owen had wanted the three older women to feel spoiled. He’s hoped it would make them more amenable to answering Callie’s questions.

She swung to him. ‘I will, of course, be paying for this.’

‘Already taken care of,’ he said, and pointed across the room to one of the red leather banquettes against the far wall to distract her. ‘Josephine, Betty and Eliza are already here.’

He refused to question too closely why he’d wanted to cover the cost of today’s expedition. Heaven only knew Callie now had more than enough money to cover the expense for a hundred such afternoon teas, but…

On Saturday night he’d seen something hungry in her—something that had made him want to draw her into the warmth and ease of his family circle.

For the greater part of his childhood it had been only him, his mother and Frances. They had constituted the people he could rely on. On Saturday night he’d realised that for all of Callie’s life it had just been her and her mother. He understood loneliness, and he’d recognised it in her.

It had made him…

He rolled his shoulders, suppressing a frown. It had made him want to pay for today’s afternoon tea, that was all.

Thrusting his disturbing thoughts to one side, he set about the task of introducing Callie to Frances’s contemporaries and smoothing the waters to encourage conversation. ‘Callie never even knew she had a grandmother—Donna never told her—so she’s hoping to get to know Frances through the memories of the people who knew her.’

Over cucumber, caviar and salmon sandwiches, and glasses of French champagne, the older women reminisced about the days when they’d all been girls together—from schoolgirls to debutantes and then society wives. Callie had told him she wanted to discover the identity of her father—that it was the main reason she wanted to meet her grandmother’s friends—but that consideration seemed to go by the wayside as she hung on to their every word as if each one was pure gold…as if she couldn’t get enough of their stories.

‘It all changed, though, when Frances married Richard,’ said Eliza.

‘In what way?’

Callie nibbled a miniature lemon tart as if only mildly interested in that statement…as if it hadn’t sent a quiver through her entire body. Owen suspected nobody had noticed but him.

‘Did you not like Richard?’ she asked.

All three women hesitated. ‘It’s not that,’ Eliza said eventually. ‘He was…very good-looking.’

Callie nodded. ‘I’ve seen pictures. He was movie-star-handsome.’

‘And charming to go with it,’ Betty added. ‘Maybe Frannie had been on her own too long—it took her a long time to get over Tom’s death—but she completely lost her head over Richard. In her eyes, he could do no wrong.’

Callie laughed lightly, but there was no real humour in it. ‘That’s a rookie mistake right there, isn’t it? No one’s perfect.’ She glanced up from pushing a crumb around her plate. ‘I take it you ladies didn’t trust him?’

Again there was the slightest hesitation. ‘It might just be the benefit of hindsight because we now know what came after…’ said Josephine.

‘Frances was too giddy. It made us uneasy,’ said Betty.

‘And Richard’s charm was too practised, too perfect,’ said Eliza.

‘And yet they threw the most wonderful parties, and Frannie was so sublimely happy…’

‘So we kept our reservations to ourselves…’

‘Not that it would’ve done any good to have done otherwise. Frannie wouldn’t have a bad word said against him.’

All three nodded at that. Fresh tea and another tray of perfect pastries and petit fours that looked like works of art were delivered, momentarily halting the flow of conversation.

‘What about my mother?’ Callie asked when the waiter had moved away. ‘Did she like Richard?’

‘Heaven’s no! Donna was the only one to openly criticise him. According to Frannie, she called him a liar and a cheat who was only after Frances’s money.’ Betty bit her lip. ‘She told her mother she was making a fool of herself.’

Owen winced. So did Callie.

‘It was awful. There was the most enormous row and Frannie and Donna never spoke again. After that none of us had the courage to speak out against Richard.’

Callie rested her elbows on the table. ‘So that’s what their rift was about. It—’ She hastily removed her elbows, as if suddenly remembering her manners. ‘It just doesn’t seem enough to cause total estrangement, though.’

‘I’ve often thought the same thing,’ said Josephine, the quietest of the three older women. ‘Your mother was a lovely, bright girl—quick to laugh, but not quick to anger.’

‘Frances had a hot temper, though?’ asked Callie.

‘All I know,’ Josephine said, ‘is that Donna wasn’t at the wedding and Frances never uttered her name again.’

‘Donna was a daddy’s girl, though. Maybe she couldn’t stand the notion of anyone supplanting him in Frannie’s affections.’

‘That hardly seems likely, Betty. Donna was an adult by then. She never struck me as the kind of girl who would demand something so unreasonable of her mother. No, I just think she saw through Richard and refused to stay quiet about it.’

‘Heaven knows, none of us dared ask Frannie for details.’

Owen stared at the older women. He’d known none of this. None. It was as if it had happened to someone else, rather than the Frances he’d known.

A tiny smile touched Callie’s lips. ‘Was Frances such