The Promise by Freda Lightfoot Page B

them to be a part of her life? In truth, Vanessa could no more justify imposing her own views and standards than Georgia could. Surely each generation had to step back and allow the next to make its own mistakes?
    Chrissie shook her head in despair. What a can of worms she’d opened.
    And what had brought Aaran Kemp to Rosegill Hall in the first place? Had he come to the town on holiday and spotted her beautiful mother walking by the lake? Perhaps he’d followed her home, or asked where she lived. What other reason could there be for his suddenly turning up at the door quite out of the blue?
    How Chrissie wished her father were still alive today, not simply to answer these puzzling questions, but because she had loved him so much. She’d adored him. The worst of it was, as a child she’d thought that he adored hermother every bit as much as Vanessa loved him. What little memory she had of those early years were happy ones, of much kissing and cuddling, hardly able to keep their hands off each other, in fact. And then everything had changed. Rows and sulks suddenly became common, father sleeping in the spare room, and long heavy silences that had gone on for days. What could have caused things to go so terribly wrong between them?
    But she wasn’t going to find any answers today, that was certain, and Chrissie was feeling decidedly hungry. Dusting grass from her skirt, she got up and began to retrace her steps down the stony path through the cool shade of the woods. Since it obviously caused her mother so much distress, perhaps she should let things lie and ask no more questions, at least for the present. She should simply enjoy her holiday, plan her own future, and try to think of a different approach.

Chapter Eight
    Chrissie met Ben every day after that. He would take her out on the lake, stopping off at various quiet bays where he’d help her to collect flowers and leaves, wild grasses, seeds, old acorn shells and whatever they could find, always careful never to take a rare plant. ‘Even the most common buttercups and wild geraniums can make a stunning design for greetings cards.’
    ‘You must be very talented. I never saw myself as an artist’s assistant, but I can see the appeal. It’s like treasure hunting, isn’t it?’
    ‘I love it because you never know what you might find, particularly in this quiet backwater where few people come to disturb it.’
    ‘And you were the finest treasure ever to be washed up on Lake Windermere’s shores.’
    ‘You won’t get around me with flattery,’ she teased,attempting to sound fierce. ‘I’m immune to masculine charm.’
    He looked at her with a knowing smile in his eyes and Chrissie was forced to turn away, in case he should see how his words did indeed affect her.
    Lying on the grass, their eyes closed, not speaking, not touching, just soaking up the sun, Chrissie was acutely aware of his nearness. It took all of her self-control not to roll over and rest her head in the crook of his shoulder. How warm that would be, how solid and comforting. Exciting even. She imagined him drawing her close, lowering his lips to hers … She quickly blocked the thought from her mind. ‘Isn’t there something more important you should be doing? Like working?’ she asked, abruptly sitting up, determined to get a hold of herself.
    ‘It’s August, I’m entitled to a holiday too, even if it is in my own backyard.’
    ‘Quite right.’
    ‘Why, don’t you like having me around?’
    ‘No fishing for compliments allowed,’ she said, and he laughed.
    Ben never made any attempt to kiss her, which was something of a disappointment to Chrissie, despite her very firm resolution to avoid all emotional entanglements. One little kiss wouldn’t have created a problem, would it? But then she’d look at him and think that perhaps it was wiser not to risk it. One kiss could lead to another, and another, and then where would they be? Even if she didn’t have Peter waiting hopefully