He’d brushed the thought of her aside once, but now she seemed to be there beside him as he drove on in the darkness, tormenting him with memories of how enchanting she had been, with her sweet gentleness, her tenderness, her endless giving. He had been twenty, and she seventeen, and they’d thought it would last forever.

Perhaps it might have done if-

He shut off that thought too. Strong man though he was, the ‘what if?’ was unbearable.

But her ghost wouldn’t be banished. It whispered sadly that their brief love had been perfect, even though it had ended in heartbreak. She reminded him of other things too, how she’d lain in his arms, whispering words of love and passion.

‘I’m yours, always-always-I shall never love any other man-’

‘I have nothing to offer you-’

‘If you give me your love, that’s all I ask.’

‘But I’m a poor man.’

How she had laughed at that, ripples of young, confident laughter that had filled his soul. ‘We’re not poor-as long as we have each other…’

And then it was over, and they no longer had each other.

Suddenly there was a squeal of tyres and the wheel spun in his hand. He didn’t know what had happened, except that the car had stopped and he was shaking.

He got out to clear his head, looking up and down the country road. It was empty in both directions.

Like his life, he thought. Coming out of the empty darkness and leading ahead into empty darkness.

It had been that way for fifteen years.

The Allingham was the newest, most luxurious hotel to have gone up in London’s exclusive Mayfair. Its service was the best, its prices the highest.

Rebecca Hanley had been appointed its first PR consultant partly because, as the chairman of the board had said, ‘She looks as if she grew up with money to burn, and didn’t give a damn. And that’s useful when you’re trying to get people to burn money without giving a damn.’