Married In A Moment

She felt annoyed. ‘Violette,’ she informed him stiffly. ‘Her name’s Violette.’

‘Violette?’ he echoed—much in the same vein as if she’d told him they’d called the child Rover.

‘They chose the name, not me!’ she snapped, and wondered if the stress was getting more than she could take, because her sense of humour seemed to be twitching for a smiling release at his reaction to the baby’s name. She did not smile, however, but informed him, ‘Your brother Russell and his wife are looking after Violette white—’

‘Your sister left a four-month-old baby with that hard-nosed, money-grubbing bitch!’ he interrupted on a snarl.

Ellena blinked in surprise—all too evidently Gideon Langford had little time for his sister-in-law. She recalled that Justine had called Pamela a bit of a shrew; the one and only time she had spoken with her herself, she hadn’t taken to her, either.

‘Your brother left the baby too!’ she defended. ‘Anyway, as well as paying Pamela, Justine also engaged a temporary nanny.’

‘Huh!’ he grunted, and Ellena started to actively dislike him. ‘I phoned Russell just before I left—he didn’t say anything about looking after Kit’s infant!’

‘That’s hardly my fault!’ she flew, her emotions all over the place, her temper seeming to be on a very short fuse. ‘Since you’re a family who only visit every six months, it’s a wonder to me you tell each other anything.’

The chill factor went down another ten degrees as Gideon Langford favoured her with an icy look for her trouble. ‘You know nothing!’ he rapped curtly.

‘I know...’ she went to explode. But then was suddenly so overcome by the events that had taken place that she came to a full stop, words failing her. She swallowed hard, emotion threatening to overwhelm her.

She turned swiftly about, her grief private, not to be shared. She looked down at the windowsill, concentrated hard on it, striving with all she had for control.

So hard was she battling not to break down that she momentarily forgot she wasn’t alone in the room. A reminder of Gideon Langford’s presence arrived, though, when, just as if he knew of her every thought and feeling, he moved behind her and took hold of her.

She felt his firm grip on her upper arms and began to like him again, even though all the evidence pointed to the reverse. ‘Hang on, Ellena,’ he instructed low in her right ear, using her first name, making them more friends than the enemies they’d been a minute ago. ‘They’re not dead. I won’t believe they’re dead.’

She swallowed hard, but did not turn around. ‘I can’t believe it either,’ she said huskily.

For a minute more Gideon held her in that steadying grip. Then he was saying, ‘We have to think of leaving.’

‘I don’t want to leave—I can’t,’ she answered.

‘Yes, you can,’ he countered. ‘I’ll instruct everyone you can think of to contact me the moment they have the barest hint of news.’

She tried to be sensible. ‘You’ve business to get back to, I expect.’

‘It seems incidental,’ he replied—and Ellena knew that she really did like him. He had a multi-million pound conglomerate to run, but it meant nothing to him when his youngest brother was missing.

She realised, common sense giving her a nudge, that they could achieve nothing by staying. ‘When do you want to leave?’ she asked, and felt him give her arms a small squeeze of encouragement.

‘As soon as you’re ready,’ he answered, letting go his hold and moving away.

Ellena turned and looked at him. The icy look he had served her with before had gone, and, for all he was unsmiling, he seemed less harsh than he had been. ‘I’ll just get my things together, settle up here, and...’

‘I’ll settle,’ he stated, and, when she looked likely to proudly protest, ‘You’re family,’ he said, and went, not knowing how warmed she felt. For, apart from Justine and Violette, she had no other family.

It took her next to no time to gather her belongings together. But in that short period Gideon Langford had settled their account with the hotel and organised their flight.

They were on their way back to the small airport when she realised he’d found time to speak with other people too. ‘The minister from the local church was kind enough to call,’ he informed her quietly as they reached their destination. ‘He wondered if we would like him to carry out a service for Kit and Justine.’

‘You thanked him, but said no I hope,’ she answered jerkily.

She realised that she and Gideon Langford must be pretty well near on the same wavelength when he replied, ‘I did. It sounded too final.’ He, by the sound of it, was not ready to admit to that finality yet—and neither was she.

In contrast to the silence that had existed between them on the journey out, they had been in the air around ten minutes when Gideon Langford looked across the small aisle at her and enquired, ‘You mentioned your sister has money of her own; does that mean that neither of you has to work?’

‘Justine never did get the hang of working,’ Ellena replied truthfully. ‘Though the way she’s spending, she’ll be lucky if her money lasts her longer than a couple of years.’

‘It was an inheritance?’

‘Money our parents invested for both of us to have when we reached twenty.’

‘You’re—how old?’

Ellena stared at him from frank blue eyes. Nothing like asking! He’d be demanding how much the investment was next. ‘Twenty-two,’ she answered. ‘I received my money two years ago.’

‘But you’ve still some of it left?’

Was there a purpose behind his questioning—it escaped her if there was. ‘Some of it went—cars for Justine and me, clothes, and... But, yes, there’s still a little left,’ she owned.

‘From your remarks about your sister not getting the hang of working—and that’s not criticism,’ he slipped in, causing her to realise she must have bridled a touch without knowing it, ‘Kit is very much the same,’ he soothed any ruffled feathers. ‘But, to get back, I take it that you do know the meaning of the word “work”?’

‘I enjoy my job so much I hardly think of it as work,’ she owned.

‘What sort of work would that be?’

He had a certain kind of charm, she realised. Sufficient, anyway, to have her put her present worries to the back of her mind for a short while. ‘I’m an accountant,’ she answered, and, because that sounded, a little like showing off, ‘Though I’ve only recently qualified.’

‘Who are you with?’ he wanted to know.

‘A. Keyte and Company,’ she replied, and, realising it was a very small business compared with the enormous accountancy firm he must deal with, she added, ‘It’s only a tiny company, but I love it there.’ Agonising thoughts and worries were soon back as she relayed, ‘I rang Andrea this morning. She said to take as much time as I...’ Her voice tapered- off. Ellena looked away from him as she fought for and gained control of her emotions. ‘Anyhow, much as I enjoy working for her, I may have to look elsewhere.’

‘You have some problem?’

She glanced across at him again. He had seemed so much on her wavelength about almost everything, it surprised her that he wasn’t this time. ‘Well, I’ll obviously try to make some arrangements that will mean I don’t have to leave my present employer, but if all else fails, I shall have to try and find a firm that has crèche facilities. V—’

‘You’re thinking of taking that baby to live with you?’ He seemed astounded at the very idea!

But that he should be astounded at something which, to her mind, was a foregone conclusion, annoyed her. ‘Naturally, I’m taking her,’ she stated forcefully. Adding, for good measure, ‘That baby is my niece!’

Only to be left staring at him open-mouthed when, ‘And mine!’ he stated quietly, purposefully.

Ellena closed her mouth, but was still staring at him incredulously, still not believing the deliberate intent behind his quietly spoken words. She just could not take in that he seemed to be saying that he wanted charge of Violette. Then her feeling of shock gave way to a feeling of fury—fury born of panic. Over her dead body! ‘You can’t possibly want her!’ she erupted furiously. ‘You’ve had nothing to do with her. I’ve seen her most every weekend!’ she staked her claim. ‘In the week, too, if her parents needed a babysitter,’ she tacked on for extra strength. ‘Why,’ she hurried on, barely pausing for breath, ‘you didn’t even know of Violette’s existence until I told you about—’

‘So now I do know,’ he cut in calmly. ‘And I have as much right as you to...’

‘No, you haven’t!’ she denied. ‘You don’t know her, you don’t love her, you...’

‘You live in a flat near Croydon.’ When had she told him that? She was too het up to remember. ‘I have a house in open country.’