Читать книгу A Yuletide Seduction - Кэрол Мортимер, Carole Mortimer - Страница 8

JANE almost choked over her morning mug of coffee! As it was, her hand shook so badly that she spilt some of that coffee onto the newspaper that lay open on the breakfast-bar in front of her, the liquid splashing onto the smiling countenance of the man’s face that had caused her to choke in the first place!

Gabriel Vaughan!

But then, nothing seemed to have gone right for her since meeting the man the evening before. It had been past one o’clock in the morning when she’d discovered her van wouldn’t start, and a glance towards the Warners’ house had shown her that it was in darkness. And, in the circumstances, Jane had been loath to disturb the already troubled couple. Besides, she had decided, if Richard Warner had any sense, he would be making love to his wife at this very moment—and she certainly had no inclination to interrupt that!

But it had been too late to contact a garage, and there had been no taxis cruising by in the exclusive suburb, and finding a public telephone to call for a taxi hadn’t proved all that easy to do, either. And when she’d come to leave the call box after making the call it was to find it had begun to rain. Not gentle, barely discernible rain, but torrents of it, as if the sky itself had opened up and dropped the deluge.

Tired, wet and extremely disgruntled, she had finally arrived back at her apartment at almost two-thirty in the morning. And opening her newspapers at nine o’clock the following morning, and being confronted by a photograph of a smiling Gabriel Vaughan, was positively the last thing she needed!

This was the time of day when she allowed herself a few hours’ relaxation. First she would go for her morning run, collecting her newspaper, and freshly baked croissants from her favourite patisserie on the way back. She had made a career out of cooking for other people, but she wasn’t averse to sampling—and enjoying—other people’s cooking in the privacy of her own home. And François’s croissants, liberally spread with butter and honey, melted in the mouth.

But not this morning. She hadn’t even got as far as taking her first mouthful, and now she had totally lost her appetite. And all because of Gabriel Vaughan!

She would never see him again, she had assured herself in the park earlier as her feet pounded on the pathway as she ran, slender in her running shorts and sweatshirt, her hair tied back with a black ribbon. As far as she was aware, the man had only paid brief visits to England over the last three years, and just because he had rented an apartment for three months that didn’t mean he would actually stay that long. Once his business with Richard Warner had reached a suitable conclusion—to Gabriel Vaughan’s benefit, of course!—he would no doubt be returning to America. And staying there, Jane hoped!

But this photograph in this morning’s newspaper—of Gabriel with a dazzling blonde clinging to his arm—had been taken while at a weekend party given by a popular politician. It seemed to imply that his rare visits to this country in recent years had in no way affected his social popularity when he was here.

Jane stood up impatiently, her relaxation totally ruined for this morning. Damn the man! He had helped ruin her life once—she couldn’t allow him to do it again, not when she had worked so hard to make a life and career for Jane Smith.

Jane Smith.

Yes, that was who she was now.

She drew in a deeply controlling breath, forcing back the panic and anger, bringing back the calm that had become such a necessary part of her for the last few years, reaching out as she did so to close the newspaper, not taking so much as another glance at the photograph that had so disturbed her minutes ago.

She had a job to do, another dinner party to arrange for this evening, and the first thing on her list of things to do was to check with the garage she had called earlier, and see if they had had any luck in starting her van. If it wasn’t yet fixed she would have to hire alternative transport for the next few days.

Yes, she had a business to run, and she intended running it!

Despite Gabriel Vaughan.

Or in spite of him!

‘Hell, I hate these damned things! If you’re there, Jane Smith, pick up the damned receiver!’

Jane reached out with trembling fingers and switched off the recorded messages on her answer machine, quickly, as if the machine itself were capable of doing her harm. Which, of course, it wasn’t. But the recorded message of that impatient male voice—even though the man hadn’t given his name but had slammed the receiver down when he received no reply to his impatience—was easily recognisable as being that of Gabriel Vaughan.

She had telephoned the garage before taking her shower, had been informed that it would be ready for collection in half an hours’ time, once they had replaced the old and worn battery. Then she’d showered quickly before switching on her answer machine as she usually did when she had to go out.

She had only been out of her apartment for an hour, but the flashing light on the answer machine had told her she had five messages. The first two had been innocuous enough—enquiries about bookings, which she would deal with before she went out to collect her supplies for this evening’s dinner party. But the third call—! He didn’t even need to say who it was—she could recognise that Transatlantic drawl anywhere!

It wasn’t even twelve hours since she had left the Warners’ home; the damned man had left no time at all before trying to contact her again!

What did he want?

Whatever it was, she wasn’t interested. Not on a personal or professional level. On a personal level, he was the last man she wanted anything to do with, and the same applied on a professional level. For the same reason. The less contact she had with Gabriel Vaughan—on any level—the better she would like it.

That decision made, she decided to totally ignore the call, pretend it never happened. After all, he hadn’t left a name or contact number, just those few words of angry impatience.

Having so decided, she reached out to switch the machine back on. After all, she had a business to run.

‘Jane! Oh, Jane…!’ There was a short pause in the fourth message, before the woman continued. ‘It’s Felicity Warner here. Give me a call as soon as you come in. Please!’ Felicity had sounded tearful enough at the beginning of the message, but that last word sounded like a pleading sob!

And Jane didn’t need two guesses as to why the other woman had sounded so different on the recording from the happily excited one she had left the evening before; no doubt Richard had been to his meeting with Gabriel Vaughan!

Maybe she should have tried to warn the other woman last night, after all, once she had realised who Richard was dealing with? But if she had done that Felicity would only have wanted to know how she knew so much about the man. And it had taken her almost three years to shake off the how and why she had ever known a man like Gabriel Vaughan.

But Felicity sounded desperately upset, so unhappy. Which really couldn’t be good for her in her condition—

‘Don’t you ever switch this damned thing off, Jane Smith?’ The fifth message began to play, Gabriel Vaughan’s voice sounding mockingly amused this time—and just as instantly recognisable to Jane as on the previous message. ‘Well, I refuse to talk to a machine,’ he continued dismissively. ‘I’ll try you again later.’ He rang off abruptly, again without actually saying who the caller had been.

But Jane was in no doubt whatsoever who the caller had been, remembered all too well from last night when he had called her ‘Jane Smith’ in that mocking drawl. Two calls in a hour! What did the man want?

Some time in the last hour—if Felicity’s cry for help was anything to go by—he had also spoken to Richard Warner!

The man was a machine. An automaton. He bought and sold, ruined people’s lives, without a thought for the consequences. And the consequences, in this case, could be Felicity’s pregnancy…!

Once again Jane switched off the answer machine. She didn’t want to get involved in this, not from any angle. And if she returned Felicity’s call she would become involved. If she wasn’t already!

She didn’t really know the Warners that well. She understood they had been guests at several other dinner parties she had catered for, which was why Felicity had telephoned her for the booking last night.

Over the years Jane had made a point of not getting too close to clients; she was employed by them, and so she never, ever made the mistake of thinking she was anything else. But somehow yesterday had been different. Felicity had obviously been deeply worried, had desperately needed someone she could talk to. And she had chosen Jane as that confidante, probably because she realised, with the delicacy of Jane’s position working in other people’s homes, that she had to be discreet, that the things Felicity talked to her about would go no further.

Jane never had been a gossip, but now there was a very good reason why what Felicity had told her would go no further: she simply had no one she could possibly tell!

Her life was a busy one, and she met lots of people in the course of her work, but friends, good friends, were something she had necessarily moved away from in recent years. It was an unspoken part of her contract that she never discussed the people she worked for, and Jane guarded her own privacy even more jealously!

Her life had taken a dramatic turn three years ago, but determination and hard work meant she now ran her own life, and her own business. Successfully.

That success meant she could afford to rent this apartment; it was completely open-plan, with polished wood floors, scatter rugs, antique furniture, and no television, because not only did she not have the time to watch it, but she didn’t like it either, her relaxation time spent listening to her extensive music collection, and reading the library of books that took up the whole of one wall. It was all completely, uniquely her own, and her idea of heaven on an evening off wasn’t to go out partying as she would once have done, but to sit and listen to one of her favourite classical music tapes while rereading one of her many books.

But somehow those last three messages on her answer machine seemed even to have invaded the peace and tranquillity of her home…

Much as she liked Felicity and felt sorry for the other woman, she simply couldn’t return that beseeching telephone call.

She just couldn’t…!

She was tired by the time she returned to her apartment at one o’clock the following morning. The dinner party had been a success, but the reason for her weariness was the disturbance in her personal life over the last twenty-four hours.

The answer machine was flashing repeatedly—one, two, three, four, five, six, she counted warily. How many of those calls would be from Gabriel Vaughan?

Or was she becoming paranoid? The man she had met the evening before did not look as if he had to chase after any woman, least of all one who cooked for other people for a living! And yet on the second of those last recorded messages he had said he would ‘try again later’!

Jane sighed. She was tired. It was late. And she wanted to go to bed. But would she be able to sleep, knowing that there were six messages on her machine that hadn’t been listened to?

Probably not, she conceded with impatient anger. She didn’t like this. Not one little bit. She deeply resented Gabriel Vaughan’s intrusion, but at the same time she was annoyed at her own reaction to it. She was not about to live in fear ever again. This was her home, damn it, her space, and Gabriel Vaughan was not welcome in it. He certainly wasn’t going to invade it.

She reached out and firmly pushed the ‘play’ button on the answermachine.

‘Hello, Jane, Richard Warner here. Felicity wanted me to call you. She’s been taken into hospital. The doctor thinks she may lose the baby. I—she—Thank you for all your help last night.’ The message came to an abrupt end, Richard Warner obviously not knowing what else to say.

Because there was nothing else to say, Jane realised numbly. What had Gabriel Vaughan said to Richard, what had he done, to have created such—?

No!

She couldn’t become involved. She dared not risk—dared not risk—She just didn’t dare!

But Felicity had called her earlier today, feeling that in some way she needed Jane. And, from Richard’s call just now, the other woman had been proved right! Could Jane now just ignore this call for help? Or was it already too late…?

She couldn’t change anything even if she did return Richard’s call. What could she do? She would be the last person Gabriel Vaughan would listen to—even if she reversed her own decision about never wanting to speak to him again.

But what about Felicity…?

It was almost one-thirty in the morning now—too late to call either Richard or the hospital; she doubted the nurses on duty at the latter would volunteer any information about Felicity, anyway. She would go to bed, get a good night’s sleep, and try calling Richard in the morning. Maybe Felicity’s condition would be a little more positive by then.

Or maybe it wouldn’t.

She absently listened to the rest of her messages, curious now about the other five calls.

They were all business calls, not a single one in the Transatlantic drawl she had quickly come to recognise—and dread—as being that of Gabriel Vaughan. And after those two calls this morning within an hour of each other his silence this evening did not reassure her. It unnerved her!

‘She’s—stable—that’s how the doctor described her condition to me this morning,’ Richard Warner told Jane in answer to her early morning telephone query about Felicity. ‘Whatever that means,’ he added disgustedly.

‘What happened, Richard?’ Jane prompted abruptly.

This call was against her better judgement; it came completely from the softness of emotions that she must never allow to rule her a second time. But she couldn’t, she had decided in the clear light of day, simply ignore Felicity’s and Richard’s telephone calls.

‘What do you think? Gabriel Vaughan is what happened!’ Richard told her bitterly—and predictably!

Gabriel Vaughan seemed to just sail through life, sweeping away anything and anyone who should happen to stand in his way. And at the moment Richard Warner was in his way. Tomorrow, next week, next month, it would be someone else completely, any consequences that might follow Gabe’s actions either ignored or simply unknown to him.

‘I would really rather not talk about it, Jane,’ Richard added agitatedly. ‘At the moment my company is in chaos, my wife is in hospital—and just talking about Gabriel Vaughan makes my blood-pressure rise! I’ll tell Felicity you rang,’ he added wearily. ‘And once again, thank you for all your help.’ He rang off.

And a lot of good her help had done them, Jane sighed as she replaced her own receiver. Gabriel Vaughan had happened—who else…? What else? He was a man totally without—

Jane almost fell off her chair as the telephone beside her began to ring. Eight-fifteen. It was only eight-fifteen in the morning; she had deliberately telephoned Richard Warner this early so that she could speak to him before he either left for the office or the hospital. But she wasn’t even dressed yet herself, let alone taken her run; who on earth—?

Suddenly she knew exactly who. And, after her recent calls from the Warners, and her conversation with Richard just now, she was in exactly the right frame of mind to talk to him!

She snatched up the receiver. ‘Yes?’ she snapped, all of her impatience evident in that single word.

‘I didn’t get you out of bed, did I, Jane Smith?’ Gabriel Vaughan returned in his mocking drawl.

Her hand tightened about the receiver. She had known it was him—it couldn’t have been anyone else, in the circumstances!—but even so she couldn’t help her instant recoil just at the sound of his voice.

She drew in a steadying breath. ‘No, Mr Vaughan,’ she answered calmly, ‘you didn’t get me out of bed.’ And, remembering what she had once been told about this man, she knew that he had probably already been up for hours, that he only needed three or four hours’ sleep a night.

‘I didn’t—interrupt anything, did I?’ he continued derisively.

‘Only my first coffee of the morning,’ she bit out tersely.

‘How do you take it?’

‘My coffee?’ she returned, frowning.

‘Your coffee,’ he confirmed, laughter evident in his voice now.

‘Black, no sugar,’ she came back tautly—and then wished she hadn’t. In retrospect, she could think of only one reason why he would be interested in how she liked her first cup of coffee of the morning!

‘I’ll make sure I remember that,’ Gabriel Vaughan assured her huskily.

‘I’m sure you didn’t call me to find out how I take my coffee,’ Jane snapped, sure that he remembered most things.

Except that other her, it seemed But how long would that last? Three years on, and not only did she look different, she was different, but Gabriel Vaughan had a very good reason for remembering everything that had happened three years ago, leading her to believe that his memory lapse where she was concerned would not continue. She had no doubt there would be no flirtatious early morning telephone calls then!

‘You’re wrong there, Jane Smith,’ he murmured throatily now. ‘You see, I want to know everything about you that there is to know—including how you take your coffee!’

Jane’s breath left her in a shaky sigh, her hand tightening painfully about the receiver. ‘I’m an extremely boring individual, I can assure you, Mr Vaughan,’ she told him abruptly.

‘Gabe,’ he put in smoothly. ‘And I very much doubt that, Jane,’ he added teasingly.

She didn’t care what he doubted. She worked, she went to bed, she ran, she shopped, she read, she worked, she went to bed Her life was structured, deliberately so. Routine, safe, uncomplicated. This man threatened complications she didn’t even want to think about!

‘Are you aware that Felicity Warner is in hospital, in danger of losing her baby?’ she attacked accusingly.

There was a slight pause on the other end of the telephone line. Very short, only a second or two, but Jane picked up on it anyway. To her surprise. Three years ago nothing had deterred this man. And she couldn’t really believe that had changed in any way.

‘I wasn’t aware that Felicity was pregnant,’ he finally rasped harshly.

‘Would it have made any difference if you had known?’ Jane scorned disgustedly, already knowing the answer to that question. Nothing distracted this man away from his purpose. And she couldn’t help feeling that he had been playing with the Warners by accepting their dinner invitation two evenings ago…!

‘Any difference to what?’ he returned in a silkily soft voice.

‘Let’s not play games, Mr Vaughan.’ She continued to be deliberately formal, despite his earlier invitation for her not to be. ‘You have business with Richard Warner, and that business appears to be affecting his wife’s health. And that of their unborn child,’ she added shakily. ‘Don’t you think—?’

‘I’m not sure you would like to hear what I think, Jane Smith,’ Gabriel Vaughan bit out coldly.

‘You’re right—I don’t,’ she snapped tersely. ‘But I think it’s way past time someone told you about your lack of thought for the people lives you walk into and instantly dismantle! Your method of dealing with people leaves a lot to be desired, and—’ She broke off abruptly, feeling the icy silence at the other end of the telephone line as it blasted its way in her direction. And at the same time she realised she had said too much…

‘And just what do you know about my “method of dealing with people”, Jane Smith?’ he prompted mildly—too mildly for comfort!

Too much. She had said too much! ‘You’re a public figure, Mr Vaughan.’ She attempted to cover up her lapse.

‘Not in England,’ he rasped. ‘Not for several years,’ he added harshly, all his previous lazy charm obliterated in cold anger.

‘Strange; I’m sure I saw your photograph in my daily newspaper yesterday morning…’ she came back pointedly; she had to try and salvage this conversation as best she could; she’d already been far too outspoken.

The last thing she wanted to do was increase this man’s interest in her! Ideally, she would like him to forget he had ever met someone called Jane Smith, but she would settle for disinterest—which wasn’t going to be achieved if she kept challenging him!

‘Of course, that was a social thing,’ she added lightly. ‘You were a guest at a party.’

‘I’m a sociable person, Jane,’ he drawled dryly. ‘Which was actually the reason for this call…’

He was going to ask her to cater a dinner party for him! There was no way she could work for or with this man. Absolutely no way!

‘I’m very heavily booked at this time of year, Mr Vaughan,’ she told him stiffly: Christmas was now only two weeks away. ‘My diary has been full for weeks, some of those bookings made months ago. However, I could recommend another catering firm who I’m sure would be only too pleased to—’

Gabriel Vaughan’s husky laugh cut in on her businesslike refusal. ‘You misunderstood me, Jane,’ he murmured, that laugh still evident in his voice. ‘I was asking you to have dinner with me, not trying to book your services as a cook—impressive as they might be!’

Now it was Jane’s turn to fall silent. Not because she was angry, as Gabriel Vaughan had been minutes ago—where had that anger gone…? No, she was stunned. Gabriel Vaughan was asking her for a date. Impossible. He just didn’t realise how impossible that was.

‘No,’ she said abruptly.

‘Just—no?’ he said slowly, musingly. ‘You don’t even want a little time to think about it?’

She doubted too many women had to do that where this man was concerned; he was handsome, single, undoubtedly rich, sophisticated, witty—what more could any woman want?

All Jane knew was that she did not want Gabriel Vaughan!

‘No,’ she repeated sharply.

‘Then I take it I was right earlier in assuming there’s someone else in your life,’ he dismissed hardly, a chill edging his tone.

Jane frowned. When earlier in this conversation had he assumed there was already someone else in her life? They hadn’t even touched on the subject.

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she snapped.

‘It’s occurred to me, Jane, that you have an unhealthy interest—as far as Felicity goes—in Richard Warner’s affairs. And I don’t just mean his business ones!’ he added harshly.

‘You’re disgusting, Mr Vaughan,’ Jane told him angrily. ‘Other women’s husbands have never held any appeal for me, either!’ She deliberately threw his words to Felicity two evenings ago back in his face, then slammed down the receiver, immediately switching on the answer machine.

She didn’t think Gabriel Vaughan was the sort of man to ring a woman back when she had angrily terminated their telephone conversation, but on the off chance that he just might she had no intention of answering that call herself.

He had just implied she was having an affair with Richard Warner!

How dared he?