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'Let me take you home now.' This time he was asking her, not commanding her, and Dani nodded. She could see that the fire was under control and suddenly she was very cold. Without another word being spoken, they turned their backs on the school and walked to the car, and Dani was grateful for the long, comforting fingers that clasped hers and squeezed reassuringly, and for his silence as they drove the short distance to her flat.

'I feel like a drowned rat,' she murmured as Prentice put on the handbrake and stopped the engine.

'You were nearly a scorched one,' he observed. 'And all for a few . . .'

'Don't start that again!' She shook her head wearily. 'If I agree that I was a little unwise, can we let the matter drop? Please?'

'Unwise?' She heard the short laugh that was totally unamused and closed her eyes. 'Okay.' Without opening them, she felt him get out of the car, shut and lock the door and then heard his footsteps walking around the front of the vehicle. She felt her own door being opened, blinked her eyelids wearily upwards and took the hand that he was extending. Tiredly she let him lead her up the stairs to her flat and her mental and physical exhaustion would not even allow her to make a protest as he ushered her into the living room and firmly shut the door behind them.

'Get out of your wet clothes and tell me where you keep your drinks,' he said. 'You need a brandy.'

'I don't have any.' She wriggled out of the anorak and laid it carefully over one of her chairs.

'Coffee?'

'Thank you.'

'Dani. . .' She heard his voice die away with a sigh and glanced up into his face. His eyes were as dark as the sea at dusk, his eyelids lowered so that the intensity of his gaze was partially screened from her, but suddenly she was tired no longer. It was as if those compelling eyes were giving her new strength, and she drew in her breath as his stare raked over her, realising that her damp dress was clinging to her body.

'Prentice.' Her voice wavered between a warning and a plea to be swamped by the feelings that were suddenly racing through her body, firing her with a sweet ache that could only be eased by his arms and his mouth. 'Please. . .'

'Please—what?' He came nearer, footsteps silent on her carpet, reminding her of a big cat stalking its prey. The green eyes continued to hypnotise her, his
mouth
curved into a smile that was half mocking and half amused, and she knew that he understood her dilemma and was waiting to see what she would do.

Dani swayed towards him and the trap sprang. She was in his arms, her mouth captured by his, her body imprisoned by his power and dominated by his determination. Her lips opened beneath the pressure of his and she felt herself bent backwards—reed against the storm—while his mouth urged surrender and would not let her refuse.

'I must save your life more often if this is how you're going to thank me.' He released her lips and nuzzled his face into the side of her neck.

'You didn't. . .' she began.

'Didn't what?' He kept her prisoner within the curve of one arm and leaned back so that he could see her face.

'I could have managed,' she said primly. The short exchange of words was calming her down, allowing her to regain some semblance of control, and she wondered if he had broken the beautiful enthralment deliberately.

'Oh?' The fingers of his right hand trailed down the side of her face. 'Could you? I wonder.' The soft caress stroked her jaw and slid downwards to her throat. 'You haven't even thanked me, you know.'

'Thank you.' Dani repressed a desire to fidget under the gentle stroking.

'You're so very sweet.'

'Even when I push you into duckponds?' If she kept her voice light, maybe she could shake off this wonderful languor that was sliding insidiously through her veins. Not like this, her heart was telling her. He doesn't love you. He'll never love you.

'Even then. Look at me, Dani-girl.'

Reluctantly she raised her eyes to his again, afraid and helpless because she knew what they could do to her. Slowly, delicately, she felt his fingers move down to the small buttons that fastened the top half of her dress, and undo the top one. Then the second button slipped through his fingers, followed by the third, and Dani held her breath and felt herself being torn in two by her raging emotions. Don't! He doesn't love you, one half of her screamed. But I love him, the other half said in a whisper. I love him so much.

His hand parted the top of her dress, the tips of his fingers gliding over her skin with silken caresses while his eyes gauged her response. She felt every touch, every movement of his hand right down into her bones, and she shivered and sighed as the battle raged inside her; wanting and not wanting, loving and fearing, desperate for some sign from him that he cared for her—-just a little.

The air was cool on her body, and when he bent his head to kiss her throat she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and let two big tears squeeze their way under her lids. It would be enough, for her, if he told her he loved her and lied. She would believe the lie. But then, as his gentle hand touched and stroked and caressed her body, she let the doubts fall away. She would worry in the morning. The night v/as for the two of them and for love.

'Damn!' He had raised his head and was looking at her. At the vehement tone Dani flinched and stared at him, the fragile, sensuous mood shattering at the harsh note in his voice. 'Did you have to cry?' He did not bother to disguise his bitterness. 'Do you hate this so much?'

'But...'

He shook his head and his lips twisted in contempt. 'I must have been mad,' he said. 'I really thought that this time . . .' He broke off and shook his head. 'I don't need a martyr, Mrs Robertson. Dry your beautiful eyes and take yourself off to your chaste little bed. I'm not going to touch you.'

'But. . .'

'I thought you wanted this as much as I did!' He was raging now; thin white lines had appeared beside his mouth and his eyebrows were set in a straight, furious line. 'I thought ... ah hell, it doesn't matter what I thought!'

Prentice swung away from her, every line of his body tense with anger, and before she could even open her mouth to speak to him, the front door of her flat had been dragged open and he had stormed out on to the wooden landing. The door crashed shut with a violence that made the frame shake, and then she heard his footsteps pounding down the stairs.

Dani stood where she was, rooted to the spot with surprise. It was not until she heard the car door slam that she could collect her assaulted senses together and find the strength to move. She ran to the front door, wrenched it open, and stepped out on to the landing.

'Prentice!' Her voice died in her throat as the car engine started.

I love you! She wanted to shout the words down to him, to hurl them defiantly on to his head. 'What would he do? Would he come back up the stairs again or would he remember that she had been married before and turn away.

She clung to the cold, wet wood of her balcony and watched the car roar away.

'I love you.' She said it so quietly that she barely heard the words herself. 'I love you. Damn you!' And the stinging rain caught her confession and washed it away into the night.

The
classroom was bright with paper chains, balloons, streamers and a long, painted mural of the Nativity. Dani straightened her back from bending over to watch Cheryl compose a complicated pattern of pieces of wool and twigs and scraps of material into a collage, and smiled complacently.

They had been so lucky. So very lucky. Dani moved a paint pot that teetered dangerously close to the edge of the table and thrust her hands into the pockets of her painting smock as she circled the tables.

Who would have believed that Prentice McCulloch, the day after the fire, would have seen the Managers of the school and the head teacher and put part of the ground floor of the Manor at their disposal? It was such an extraordinarily-generous gesture that for a while Dani had suspected his motives, berating herself silently for being arrogant enough to wonder if it was done because she was one of the teachers in the school. She knew it was far more likely to be another idea for improving public relations between himself and the village.

It was not. Just offering the Manor made him a friend of the village people, but he had done more than that. The classrooms were made comfortable and bright with quickly hung curtains, and he was giving up even more of the ground floor so that the school Nativity play and carol service could be staged as usual for the benefit of the parents and the villagers.

Dani loved him for what he had done. She loved him despite everything, but the generosity he had shown had made her proud of him too, so proud that she glowed when people spoke of him with genuine gratitude.

The school occupied three rooms on the ground floor of the Manor; a Manor transformed by the skill of the men working on it so that it maintained its character, but in an enhanced and revitalised form. Dani and Emma Rowett now occupied what had been a sitting room, the library and a music room, all newly painted and the oak panelling carefully restored. They were beautiful rooms and Dani loved teaching in them just as much as the children enjoyed coming up to the Manor for their lessons.

'Mrs Robertson . . .' One of the children demanded her attention and Dani bent over Sharon's picture, admiring the reindeer that the little girl had drawn and giving her another piece of paper so that she could draw a sleigh piled with presents.

The door of her classroom opened, and as Dani turned to see who was coming in, the children also raised their heads expectantly.

'Mrs Robertson—' Prentice walked into the room, followed by another, older man. 'I'm sorry to disturb you . . .'

'That's quite all right, Mr McCulloch.' Dani wondered why he was being so formal. They had kept their distance from one another for almost three months and Prentice had seemed to be away for much of the time, yet on the few occasions when they had met, they had still used their christian names. Dani smiled politely and wiped one finger, smudged with red paint, down her smock.

'This is my father.' Prentice came further into the room and Dani raised an inner eyebrow. So this was what Prentice would look like as he grew older. Would that russet hair really turn to such a pure whiteness? It was obvious from whom the man she loved had inherited those sea-jade eyes that attracted her so much, and the nose was the same too. But Prentice's wide, sometimes vulnerable, sometimes passionate mouth had to be a legacy from his mother.

'John McCulloch, Mrs Robertson.' The older man stepped forward and held out his hand. Dani shook it, noting the warm strength of it, and returned the smile he bestowed on her with a certain amount of wariness. This was the man with whom Prentice had grown up and from whom, presumably, he had learned his values and his attitude to the world in general; and to divorced women in particular.

'How do you do.' She had to tilt her head back slightly to look into his face. He was taller than his tall son, and broader, and he radiated relaxed confidence. 'Please excuse the children from getting up. They know they mustn't when there's so much paint around.' She gestured to the work tables and hoped that Prentice would appreciate the newspapers spread over the floor to protect it.

'Quite right.' John McCulloch glanced around him and Dani looked at Prentice as he stood slightly behind and to the left of his father. He was smiling and she felt tentacles of love wind themselves more tightly around her heart. Loving him was so difficult. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to tell him how she felt, but she knew it was totally impossible.

'Actually,' John McCulloch continued, 'I really wanted to see all this for myself. I had no idea my son was a philanthropist.' He turned his head, and father and son eyed one another for a moment - there was amusement on the older man's face. 'It isn't like him to. . .' Something in Prentice's face seemed to make him hesitate. 'Well anyway,' he finished, 'I just wanted to look around.'

'The whole village is very grateful to Mr McCulloch,' Dani said smoothly. 'I don't know what we'd have done without him. Certainly the children couldn't be taught in more beautiful surroundings.'

'Its' a lovely old place,' John McCulloch agreed. 'But I shouldn't have liked to have spent a winter in it before Prentice installed central heating.'

'No,' Dani agreed.

'I'm staying over Christmas,' the older man continued. His eye was caught by Sharon's reindeer and he bent to examine it more closely for a minute while Dani saw the information as a useful opening to address Prentice directly.

'Thank you for your invitation,' she said quietly. 'I'd love to come to your party. I'll write and . . .'

'No need for that,' he interrupted her swiftly. 'I'm glad you can come. I understand a Christmas Eve party was an old tradition before Mrs Desmond became ill.'

'It was.' Dani nodded and turned her attention back to what John McCulloch was saying.

'That's very good, young lady,' the older man was telling the small girl gravely. Then he straightened up and his keen eyes locked with Dani's. 'I understand the children are putting on a Nativity play in one of the big rooms,' he said. 'I'll look forward to seeing it.' He smiled again and Dani was taken aback by the warmth in his face. It was as if he already liked her, perhaps even approved of her, and she did not understand that sudden grin which made his face look young and boyish. On impulse she moved away from the children so that the two men had to follow her.

'Actually,' she said softly, 'I have a favour to ask, Mr McCulloch.' She looked at Prentice.

'What's that?'

'We need someone to play Father Christmas. Usually one of the Managers of the school does the job, but he can't this year.'

John McCulloch laughed. 'Yes, you do it, Prentice!' he said. His voice dropped conspiratorially as he spoke to Dani again. 'Make sure we get the costume and I'll see he does the job.'

So she really did, as she suspected, have an ally. Dani watched Prentice's eyebrows arch upwards.