Fugitive Wife by Sara Craven

and not a church, the battery of press cameras she had to face when she came out with Logan after the ceremony, the fact that her father had kept his vow not to attend, and had not acknowledged her wedding day by so much as a telegram-because she knew that very soon she and Logan would be
    alone together, heading north for the cottage, and the beginning of their life together.

    It was late afternoon when they arrived at the house, a stil, hazy day, with clouds drifting low on the fels, and mist rising. She’d been slightly disappointed because she’d wanted to show Logan how beautiful the cottage could be in sunlight, but he’d laughed when she’d confessed as much, puling her to him and kissing her mouth before he picked her up and lifted her over the threshold in the time-honoured tradition.

    ‘It’s beautiful now,’ he’d said, and there was a tenderness and a promise mixed with the hunger in his voice.

    Or had she only imagined it? she wondered drearily.

    He’d brought the cases in, checked that the necessary food was in the kitchen, and that the cottage was ready for their occupation while she had stood in the centre of the living room, rigid with sudden shyness, because of the unfamiliarity of it al. She was happy, and she wanted him with al her heart and more, but there was a great step to be taken to bridge that gap between the impossible dream and total reality, and the thought of that step and al that was involved in it made her shake inside. She heard his footsteps coming down the stairs and she tensed al over again-she couldn’t help herself, and he came into the room and just stood there, watching her, but making no attempt to come close, to take her into his arms as she had half hoped, half feared that he would.

    He said quietly, ‘There are steaks and the makings of a salad in the kitchen. I’m going off to find champagne somewhere.’ He smiled
    slightly. ‘Unless you can think of a more appropriate drink?’

    ‘Hardly.’ Her voice sounded young and rather breathless. ‘Champagne would be wonderful.’

    ‘It’s al going to be wonderful.’ His gaze held hers for a moment, and she was tempted to say, ‘To hel with champagne. Stay with me,
    Logan.’ But the moment passed and she smiled and nodded brightly.

    He said, ‘I won’t be long.’

    Briony heard the cottage door close and saw his tal figure going down the path to the gate. The mist was thickening and he was out of sight before he was even a , third of the way down the track. She stood at the window, watching, straining her eyes for a last. glimpse of him, as if it was somehow important, then she turned away and went slowly upstairs to start unpacking.

    It was good to have something to do, something to think about as she took their clothes out of the cases and laid them side by side in the drawers of the old-fashioned chest in the bedroom. She found her nightgown, white and filmy, and laid it on the bed, but a protracted search refused to reveal any pyjamas for Logan, and she supposed with a feeling of embarrassment that he never bothered with them. It was just another case of the dream clashing with the reality, and the image of Logan as a romantic bridegroom clad in silk waiting
    chivalrously downstairs while she undressed had never been a valid one, she knew. He had given her this time to herself, to get used to it al, and she should be grateful to him, but when he returned he would expect more than gratitude, much, much more, and she felt both
    uncertain and inadequate. The air was cool in the bedroom, and she told herself that was why she was shivering a little.

    She took a last look round, then headed downstairs to make the salad. She was just going into the living room when she heard someone coming up the path. Logan back so soon? She could hardly believe it, but she flung open the door to welcome him and found herself
    confronted instead by a strange woman.

    Aunt Hes hadn’t mentioned any newcomers to the vilage,