as, and she was looking forward to seeing all her nephews and nieces. At least they wouldn’t ask questions she would rather not answer about Darian—simply because she hadn’t told them anything about him.
It was easier that way.
It began to snow as she left London, and the weather deteriorated still further on the way down, with great flurries of white flakes falling down endlessly from a gunmetal-grey sky. By the time she arrived she was frozen.
Her mother opened the door to her, looking anxious. ‘Thank heavens you’re here!’ she exclaimed as an icy wind blew swirling snowflakes all around the hall. ‘Come in and sit by the fire!’ Then she frowned. ‘And then, my girl, you are going to get some food inside you!’
Why did people keep trying to feed her up? Didn’t they realise that food wouldn’t fill the aching emptiness inside? ‘Lovely,’ she said obediently.
They had just finished a blow-out roast lunch and the noise levels had reached crescendo point. The table was a mass of crumpled napkins and half-eaten pudding, and one of her brothers-in-law was passing around some port which nobody really needed. Lara had her nephew sitting chubbily on her lap, attempting to build a little plastic aeroplane, when Lara’s father frowned at his wife.
‘Did you hear something outside?’
She smiled, fingering the gold necklace he had bought her like a newlywed. ‘No, dear!’
‘Maybe it’s the lorry the necklace probably fell off the back of!’ hiccuped the brother-in-law who had drunk the most port.
‘Will you please shut-up, Jeremy?’ demanded his wife.
The front doorbell chimed loudly and Lara’s father frowned again.
‘Not expecting anyone, are you, darling?’
Lara’s mother shook her head. ‘Today? And in this weather? Of course not.’
There was a pause, and Lara was filled with the strangest, giddiest sense of expectation.
‘Better go and answer it, hadn’t you?’ she said, her heart beating so fast that her words sounded strangled.
Both her sisters turned and looked at her, both sets of eyebrows raised in identical sisterly question.
Even the children were silent.
They heard the door open and the sound of Lara’s father speaking to someone, then a low, murmured reply. Ten expectant faces were turned towards the door of the dining room, listening as two pairs of footsteps approached.
‘Wassamatter, Arnie La-La?’ demanded her nephew, and Lara realised that she was gripping onto him very tightly indeed, instinct and a deep sense of hope and longing telling her who the caller might be.
She wanted it to be…but surely it couldn’t…it just couldn’t…
The world stood still and her heart clenched tightly in her chest as she stared straight up into a pair of rueful golden eyes, vaguely aware of her sisters both sitting bolt upright, making twin sounds of disbelief.
Well, she felt a bit like that herself—he looked so gorgeous. Strong and tall and lean as he stood there, just looking at her. She could scarcely think straight and her hands felt clammy.
‘Darian,’ she breathed.
‘Hello, Lara,’ said Darian softly.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THERE was another pin-drop silence, and Lara wasn’t surprised—because the sight of Darian standing in her parents’ beautiful old farmhouse was slightly surreal—as if they had all been taking part in a black and white film and somebody had just stepped in in full Technicolor.
He wore jeans, and beneath a battered leather jacket was a warm, soft sweater, just like the one he had been wearing the first time she’d seen him. His hair was all ruffled, and sprinkled with snowflakes, and his skin looked even more vibrant and glowing than usual, his eyes shining with health and vitality.
Lara’s mother coughed. ‘Er, aren’t you going to introduce us, Lara?’
‘Yes, do, Lara,’ said Heather, her oldest sister, in a voice which couldn’t disguise her restrained excitement.
‘This is Darian Wildman,’ said Lara breathlessly. ‘He’s a…he’s a friend of mine.’