A High Price to Pay by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online

Mortimer
    sat up energetically, grasping her daughter's hands in hers. 'Alison,

    he's offering you your home back—your heritage. That's what you
    must think about. And there's Melly to consider.'
    'I know,' Alison acknowledged. 'She was part of the package, as a
    matter of fact.' She tried a smile. 'Oh, all the strings were gold-plated,
    and designed to appeal. No wonder he's such a success in the City!'
    'Then how can you even consider refusing?' Mrs Mortimer
    demanded.
    Alison's chin came up. 'Daddy sold himself to Nick Bristow,' she said
    with terrible clarity. 'Are you seriously suggesting I should do the
    same thing?'
    'But this may be his way of trying to make amends to us,' her mother
    said eagerly. 'Alison, for God's sake—at least consider!'
    Alison looked at her incredulously. 'You—really mean it?'
    'Of course I do!' Mrs Mortimer thumped the coverlet with her fist.
    'For heaven's sake, darling, be rational. You're far too sensible to be
    carried away by dreams of some overpowering romance. It just isn't
    going to happen, and instead you're being offered the chance to
    recover everything we've lost, together with the kind of husband most
    girls would be fighting over,' she added a shade waspishly.
    'Perhaps that's part of the trouble,' Alison said drily. 'Maybe I'd prefer
    a man who wasn't quite so universally attractive.'
    'Now you're being absurd.' Mrs Mortimer released her hands and
    threw herself back on her pillows. She was looking agitated again.
    'Alison, you can't do this to us! It would be too selfish to deliberately
    reduce us all to penury, when it could all be so different—and just for
    a few silly scruples. I feel that Nicholas Bristow is doing his utmost to

    behave honourably in this—dire situation. And the last you can do is
    meet him halfway.'
    'The least?' Alison didn't know whether to laugh or cry. 'To sell
    myself to a man I hardly know just for security? To give up my own
    life—the possibility of a career . ..?'
    'A career!' Mrs Mortimer almost snorted. 'I suppose you mean
    working for a pittance at that estate agent's. And if you're imagining
    for one minute that Simon Thwaite will have any further interest in
    you once we've lost Ladymead, then think again, because the
    Thwaites have always married money.'
    'And Simon will know his duty, even if I don't.' Alison bent her head.
    'Thank you for being so frank. It's just as well I'm not in love with
    him.'
    'If you were, naturally I would exert no pressure, but in the
    circumstances ...' Mrs Mortimer retrieved a lace-edged handkerchief
    and dabbed at her mouth. 'Alison dear, it isn't given to us all to fall
    deeply in love as I did with your father. Very satisfactory
    relationships have been known to evolve from very little.'
    'But how do you build on nothing at all?' Alison asked ironically, it
    will be interesting to find out, I suppose, if nothing else.' She pushed
    her hair back from her face. 'Uncle Hugh said Daddy was a gambler; I
    must be more like him than I thought.' She bent and dropped a light
    kiss on her mother's hair. 'Don't look so worried, darling, you're going
    to have your way. Ladymead will be restored to us, with all the other
    fringe benefits. I'll phone Mr Bristow now and tell him, before I lose
    my nerve.'
    She went down the stairs slowly, clinging to the banister rail as if she
    was afraid her legs would crumple and betray her. She'd left Nick

    Bristow's card beside the phone, and it lay there, staring up at her,
    forcing her to respond—to act.
    Alison swallowed, running the tip of her tongue over achingly dry
    lips, before reaching for the receiver and dialling his home number.
    It was strangely appropriate, in the circumstances, that it was an
    answering machine, and not Nick himself, that replied.
    She waited for the tone, then said colourlessly, 'Mr Bristow, this is
    Alison Mortimer. I've considered your proposal, and the answer
    is—yes. Good night.'
    When she replaced the receiver, her breathing was as