Free Spirit. PENNY JORDANЧитать онлайн книгу.

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      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘OH, YOU’RE off then, are you, darling?’ Hannah’s mother mourned, as Hannah came rushing into the kitchen, her weekend bag swinging from her shoulder.

      It was a secret sorrow of Mrs Maitland’s that, having produced four sons in succession before the arrival of a much longed for daughter, that daughter should turn out to be a determined career girl. She was proud of Hannah, of course she was, but she couldn’t help feeling a little envious when her husband’s parishioners mentioned family marriages and grandchildren.

      With four sons scattered to the four corners of the earth, pursuing their chosen careers, surely it was only natural for her to wish that Hannah, her only daughter, had chosen to stay at home and settle down? Tom, her husband, laughed at her whenever she voiced this complaint, reminding her gently that Hannah had every right to choose her own way of living her life.

      As she watched her crossing the kitchen, Rosemary Maitland studied her covertly. Even now, after twenty-six years, it still amazed her that she and Tom had produced this ravishingly beautiful creature, with her tall, slender body, and delicately oval-shaped face. Her tawny eyes had been inherited from Rosemary’s own grandfather but, widely spaced and set between thick, dark lashes, Hannah’s possessed an allure Rosemary could not remember her grandfather’s having. Hair as tawny as her eyes, every conceivable shade of brown streaked with red and blonde, which nowadays was confined to a neat, elegant bob, had once curled half-way down her back until Hannah had announced that it was too untidy and not the image she wanted to project as a financial accountant.

      Her daughter’s choice of career was something that constantly amazed Rosemary. Where on earth had she got it from, this flair with figures? Certainly not from her, nor from Tom. Rosemary suppressed a small chuckle, remembering the many hours she and her husband had toiled over their household accounts.

      A vicar’s wife learned young how to manage on slender means, but they had been lucky; a generous bequest from a great-aunt had enabled them to educate all five children privately and to finance them through university.

      ‘I’m sorry I’ve got to rush, Ma,’ Hannah apologised, ‘but I promised Linda that I’d call round. She’s having problems with the Inland Revenue. She’s got an appointment to see them this afternoon and I’ve promised I’ll go with her. You know what she’s like about figures. The mere sight of a column of them turns her into a dithering idiot, which is a shame because she’s a marvellous businesswoman in every other sense.’

      ‘Yes, I’ve heard that the shop’s doing very well,’ her mother agreed. ‘I called in a few weeks ago and was dangerously tempted to buy the most beautiful tapestry cushion, Kaffe Fassett, I believe it was.’

      Making a mental note to check with her friend on what exactly it was her mother had seen, Hannah went over to her and gave her a fond hug and a quick kiss. Her mother’s birthday was coming up soon and the tapestry cushion would make a surprise present for her. Hannah had already bought her main present, a beautiful tweed suit from Jaeger, which she knew her mother would love.

      ‘Give Linda my love, won’t you?’ her mother told her as she followed her out of the kitchen.

      The vicarage was old and rambling and without the benefit of central heating, other than a very primitive handful of radiators that ran off the temperamental back boiler in the kitchen. Since this boiler required a fearsome amount of stoking to keep the radiators even moderately warm, it was the expressed opinion of the Maitland family that it was easier to do without the heating than to try to make it work. Her parents’ life hadn’t been an easy one, Hannah acknowledged, as she walked swiftly over to her car, and yet they were happy, far happier than the majority of her contemporaries’ parents.

      Her car had been a twenty-sixth birthday present to herself, a steel-grey Volvo, practical and sturdy.

      ‘I’m sorry your father isn’t here to see you off,’ her mother apologised, as Hannah got into the driver’s seat.

      Hannah grinned, and for a moment it was possible for Rosemary Maitland to believe she was looking at Hannah as she had been as a teenager, all coltish legs and long, untidy hair. Now all that seemed to be left of that girl was that teasing grin, and even that was seldom in evidence these days. Hannah looked exactly what she was, a very successful businesswoman, dressed and groomed in a way that mirrored her life-style and her ambition, and looking at her, observing the elegant charcoal-grey pinstripe suit and the cream silk blouse designed like a shirt, without any feminine frills or flounces to it, Rosemary couldn’t help feeling a little sad. She was proud of Hannah, of course she was, but she just wished that she would relax a little more; for instance, what had happened to that infamous temper Hannah had had as a child, a temper which her brothers had so often unkindly sparked off by tormenting her?

      These days Hannah was everything that was reasoned and controlled. Too controlled, perhaps. Hannah started the engine and, with a final wave to her mother, set off down the overgrown drive.

      The Dorset village which was home to her parents, and which had been home to her until she’d left for university, was small and picturesque, but that didn’t mean that life for its inhabitants was without its problems. Parents mourned as their sons and daughters, unable to get jobs, moved away from home. Work on the land, which had once been labour-intensive, was now mechanised to such an extent that farm workers’ cottages fell into disrepair as they became vacant, and farmers neither had the inclination