HE LISTENED to the limousine crunch across the gravel as it carried Savannah to the airport, waiting for the rush of relief that never came. She had sought him out immediately before leaving to thank him for his hospitality. His hospitality? When she’d left him to go and pack, he’d sat brooding in his study, supposedly finalising a bid for a country home in Surrey, but his thoughts were all of Savannah. He wouldn’t inflict himself on her, which was the only reason he let her go. She was young and idealistic, and in time she’d come to see he was right. He was glad she had gone, he brooded, gazing out of the window at a view that was no longer perfect without Savannah in it. Perhaps if he repeated that mantra long enough he would come to believe it.
He pictured her face and remembered her parting words: ‘You have a beautiful home, Ethan; take care of it. And start painting again.’ She had smiled hopefully at him as she’d said this, adding, ‘You have a real talent.’
For the macabre?
‘Yours is the talent,’ he’d told her.
‘Paint some happy scenes, Ethan, and don’t hide them away—put them on display.’
It was shorthand they both understood for ‘keep the lights on’.
Savannah had done more than bring the palazzo to life, she had held up a mirror to his life, giving him a tantalising glimpse of how it could be. Which was all the more reason to set that pure heart free. He wouldn’t weigh Savannah down with his dark legacy. Savannah deserved better than that, better than him, and with her career going from strength to strength there was no reason why she couldn’t have it.
It was like the bottom falling out of your world twice, Savannah concluded as she closed the front door on the bailiffs. She was still reeling from her parting from Ethan, and had barely been back at the farmhouse in England five minutes when the two men had knocked at the door.
It was like a black-comedy sketch, she decided, crossing the room to put the kettle on the Aga; a very black comedy-sketch.
‘Your parents have taken on too much credit, love,’ the bailiffs had told her when she had assured them with matching determination that they must have got the wrong address. Unfortunately, the two men had had the right address and there was no mistake. They had shown her the legal documents they’d brought with them, and she had checked out the court order line by hateful line. The only reason they’d cut her a bit of slack was because they had wanted her autograph.
Understanding they were only doing their job, she had given them that before going to the bank to take out enough cash to send them away happy.
As she nursed her mug of tea, Savannah could only be thankful she hadn’t got round to spending a penny of the money from her first royalty-cheque before she’d left for Rome. At least she had been able to put that money to good use now. But how could this have happened? She had asked herself this same question over and over again. How could her parents’ world fall apart like this in the space of a few days?
But it wasn’t a few days, Savannah reflected, walking to the window and staring out bleakly at the well-kept yard. It was years of paying for the best teachers, the best gowns, and even the lovingly polished secondhand grand piano in the dining-room. It was years of sacrifice for her. And she hadn’t seen it before. She had grown up taking such things for granted—the golf club, the tennis club, all the right places and all the right clothes—and all these things cost more money than her parents had, or could make from the farm.
‘We’ve seen it all before,’ one of the bailiffs had assured her as he’d taken an inventory of her parents’ possessions. ‘And not just in the leafy lanes where the people with money live, but more and more frequently on working farms just like this one.’ He’d paused then and looked at her as if even he, collecting money from hard-stretched individuals for a living, had never quite got over the calamity that had hit the farming community.
Foot-and-mouth, Savannah reflected bleakly. The disease had devastated the countryside and the people that lived there, killing their cattle, killing their dreams. So many farmers had been forced to adapt or go under. Blinking away her melancholy, she forced her mind round to practical issues.
The court order still stood, and it was up to her to get this mess sorted out before her parents returned from their cruise. Returning to the kitchen table, she sat down to make a list. But as she stared at the page of jottings in front of her she realised she could only raise half the money needed. And if she didn’t come up with a solution by the end of the month the bank would foreclose and there’d be no farm. Heartache reminded her of Ethan. Briefly she considered asking him for a loan, but quickly discounted it because he would never let her pay him back. He might have the riches of Croesus, but that money wasn’t hers to dip into. No. She would find her own solution.
An unexpected phone call provided Savannah with an equally unexpected opportunity, but not one she could take up. ‘I’m the last person on earth who has any influence over Ethan Alexander,’ she explained to the senior official from the Rugby Football Union. But the man from the governing body of English rugby was persistent, and as he went on talking Savannah thought she saw an opportunity that might just turn out to be the saving of them all.
‘And I said no!’ Frowning, Ethan sprang up from his swivel chair and began to pace the long-suffering floor of his study. ‘My rugby days are over. You know that,’ he snapped at the official from the RFU. ‘Yes, what I’m saying is your suggestion is out of bounds. I can’t possibly make it fly for you—and no is my final answer.
‘What?’ Ethan ground his jaw as the man kept on talking. ‘No, I didn’t know that—when did this happen?’ His expression turned grim as he listened to the official’s account of a recent news item he’d missed due to a business trip. He might say no to a lot of things, but he would never turn his back on Savannah.
‘No’ could no longer be his final answer.
Almost exactly a month later Savannah stood on a newly levelled field at her parents’ farm, waiting for Ethan’s helicopter to arrive. She had anticipated this moment, spending many sleepless nights planning for it—planning that had included closing off part of her heart that would never be brought into service again.
Everyone had rejoiced on the day Ethan had agreed to be patron of the rugby academy set on her parents’ farm. Savannah had quietly celebrated, knowing it marked his return to the world. From the moment Ethan had given his agreement, things had moved quickly. Savannah had persuaded her parents to enter into a long-term lease with the RFU for the use of some land, and that money had saved the farm. She couldn’t have felt more passionate about this opening today for all sorts of reasons, and the only anxiety she had was seeing Ethan again. As Ethan’s helicopter cast a shadow over the field, she told herself she could handle it, and what better time than this? Everything was in place, and even the local mayor had accepted her invitation to cut the ribbon outside the new clubhouse. But seeing his face at the controls undid all her good intentions. Ethan helped so many people, and yet the one person Ethan seemed incapable of helping was himself. This would be their first face-to-face meeting since they parted in Tuscany, and she loved him as much as ever. But this was no time to be nursing a broken heart. The project was far too important for that. And now she must greet the guest of honour.
He saw her immediately. Even amongst the crowd of excited children and local dignitaries, she stood out. Savannah had real presence, and the place she still held in his heart drew him to her.
Though she should be in Salzburg giving a recital today, he remembered, not standing on a rugby pitch dressed in a track-suit and trainers with her hair drawn back in a simple ponytail but never looking more beautiful. Right now she was running on the spot, surrounded by a group of youngsters, as if sport was her only passion now.
He was hugely disappointed, but the love he felt for Savannah would never change. He had come because he would do anything on earth to help Savannah and her family, and this scheme she’d dreamed up benefited everybody. Which was so like her. Savannah Ross might be the most irritating woman he had ever met, but Savannah always put others before herself.
The next few hours were going to be tough training for a life without Savannah, but where that was concerned he hadn’t changed his mind. He was still scarred and she was still beautiful—inside and out. Some things never changed.
As he ducked his head to clear the rotor blades he caught a glimpse of her pale face angled towards him at the edge of the field. Was she smiling? He hoped not. He hoped she would only remember the distance he had put between them before she’d left Tuscany. He didn’t want to see a look of love in her eyes. He wanted to know she had moved on.
They would never have worked as a couple, he told himself firmly as he strode towards her. How could he live with someone with no sense of responsibility? Though the fact that Savannah had broken her contractual obligations had surprised him. This youth project was vital, but she didn’t need to be here. She had sacrificed a great career move, and in doing so had put herself at risk of having her contract terminated.
Now he was within touching distance, he registered explosions of sensation. He didn’t trust himself to shake her hand, and was glad when the current manager of the England squad intervened. He moved on with relief, spearheading the group responsible for making this day a reality, conscious that Savannah was behind him. As beautiful as ever, with her skin as flawless as porcelain, and her eyes…
He breathed a sigh of relief as he approached the line of local dignitaries, but as he fell into easy conversation he was conscious of Savannah’s wildflower scent coupled with her breathy laugh. But she’d let his team down, he reminded himself grimly, and anyone who did that let him down. As she’d shunned her engagement to sing in Salzburg to be here, Ethan was under pressure from his team to end her contract.
His heart lifted when he met the first youngster on the scheme, and he recognised the same determination to succeed he’d had blazing from the boy’s eyes. It was more than possible that one of these boys would play for England some day, and he knew then that that even without Savannah’s involvement this was the type of project he would gladly give his last penny to.
‘But this time your money isn’t enough,’ one of the officials told Ethan goodnaturedly, glancing at Savannah, who had joined their little group for confirmation of this.
He didn’t need his attention being drawn to Savannah when he was conscious of her every second. His attention might appear to be focused on the RFU official, but he was communing with her on some other level. His feelings towards her were as turbulent as ever, but he could understand now why she was so reluctant to leave the countryside for the anonymous bustle of the opera world. However prestigious that world might be, it lacked the honest goodness of the soil, and the unspoiled beauty of these rolling fields and ancient trees. The delicate tracery of lush, green hedges and dry stone-walls surrounding her parents’ farm created a quintessentially English scene, and one which he was even buying into with his purchase of the adjoining land. But even as a result of everything he could see here Savannah shouldn’t have broken her agreement and let people down.
He was snapped out of these thoughts by officials ushering him into the recently erected club-house for tea. As he turned he found Savannah at his side. He steeled himself. What he had to say to her wouldn’t be easy, and so he greeted her formally before glancing towards the private office where they wouldn’t be overheard. ‘Could I have a moment of your time?’
‘Hello, Ethan,’ she said softly, reminding him of another occasion when his fast-ticking clock had ruled out the space for proper introductions. He felt a pang of remorse for then, for now, for everything that could never be. And what was he thinking? Was he going to take her aside and tell her she’d lost her contract on this wonderful occasion for which she was largely responsible? Was that his way now? The look in Savannah’s eyes contained a disturbing degree of understanding. She knew him too well. She knew that once his mind was made up there could be no turning back, but as she turned to walk ahead of him he did wonder at the flicker of steel in her gaze.
He launched in without preamble, listing all the reasons why breaking her contract to attend the opening of a training facility that had nothing to do with her career was unacceptable. She stared at him throughout with little reaction other than a paling of her lips. He always gave right of reply in these circumstances, and when she didn’t speak up immediately he prompted her.
He was shocked by the way Savannah’s face contorted with fury, and then she croaked something unintelligible at him. ‘If you’d just calm down,’ he said with dignity, ‘Perhaps I’d be able to understand what it is you’re trying to say.’
She made a gesture, like a cutting motion across her throat.
‘That’s a bit over-dramatic, isn’t it?’ he commented with a humourless laugh.
‘I’ve lost my voice,’ she half-huffed, half-squeaked at him.
Every swear-word in the book flew through his head then. He’d been so wound up like a spring at the thought of seeing her again, he hadn’t even paused to consider all the facts. So a sore throat accounted for her no-show in Salzburg.
‘Please forgive me,’ he said stiffly. He couldn’t blame her for the way she was looking at him. He never made mistakes, and therefore lacked the technique to account for them. Or maybe he did make mistakes—maybe he had—and maybe the biggest mistake of all was his underestimating Savannah. She was an integral part of this training project. He’d learned from the officials at the RFU that this training facility was all Savannah’s idea, and that she had come up with the plan of leasing part of her parents’ land to the club so they could have a proper training-facility for the youth squad, as well as all the other local youngsters who wanted to come along and taste the sport. There were scholarships and training programmes and grading examinations the various groups could work towards—funded by him, but all of it dreamed up by Savannah.
More silent swear-words accompanied this thought, with the addition of a grimace and a self-condemning shake of the head. ‘Savannah, please accept my apologies, I didn’t realise…’
If he had expected benediction and forgiveness, he was out of luck. Spearing him a look, she spun on her heels and left him flat.