Читать книгу The Reluctant Groom - Emma Richmond, Emma Richmond - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

MONTHS passed, the house was sold, her mother ensconced in her new bungalow, and slowly, slowly, Abby came to terms with the fact that Sam wasn’t coming back. That she would never see him again. Apathy turned to anger, and then acceptance, a determination not to let him change her life. But she didn’t forget him.

Touring the house for the last time, her footsteps echoing, his image was clear in the kitchen, where he had leaned against the work surface mocking her. In the study, the hall, and she wanted to cry. Not only for him, but because she suddenly realised how much this house meant to her. She’d grown up here. Arrived here as a small child, presumably bewildered, upset, and then happy, laughing, getting into mischief... Until the age of fourteen.

With a deep sigh, she crossed the empty lounge and hall, and walked into the study. All the furniture was gone, the smaller pieces to her mother’s bungalow, the large either sold, or to her sisters. All Abby had wanted was her father’s desk and chair. The chair he had sat on to write his last instructions. In pain, already in the throes of the heart attack that would kill him, he’d rung the ambulance, and then taken time to write to his youngest daughter, asking her to deliver a letter to a Nathan Tabiner. In Gibraltar. Personally. He hadn’t said it was urgent, or imperative, which was probably just as well, seeing as she hadn’t done anything about it yet. Or not much. She had found out who he was—the head of a fund management company—which had given her no comfort at all. Fund management sounded like ‘debt’ to her. Although, she’d tried to reassure herself, if it had been a debt, surely they would have written by now, sent an invoice or something. Well, she would soon know; as soon as she’d finished here she was intending to go out and see him. She was a free agent, she assured herself. No job to worry about, no need to rush back. She could take a little holiday after she’d seen Tabiner.

Turning her head, she stared at the empty bookcase. The contents had been sold. She stood before it for a long time, thinking of her father, of Sam, wondering, and was then angry with herself. How foolish to keep thinking of a man who didn’t want her. Ironic, wasn’t it, that as soon as she’d allowed her vulnerability to show, someone had come in and stamped all over it? But at least the debts were paid. As far as she knew.

Forcing herself to leave, she closed the front door behind her for the very last time, glad, at least, that James was being kept on by the new owners. She walked round to the estate agents to leave the keys.

She’d decided to drive instead of fly, because she’d thought that the long journey would give her time to think, plan her future, allow her to see sights she’d only read about. Which she did, but she must also have eaten or drunk something that didn’t agree with her, because by the time she reached Gibraltar’s border, and the queue that stretched for miles, she felt extremely ill.

She should have found a hotel, rested first, but foolishly didn’t, and by the time she found Tabiner’s offices she was forced to sit for some time trying to quell the uneasiness in her stomach. Or maybe it wasn’t food poisoning, she tried to tell herself, maybe it was nerves.

Just do it, Abby. It doesn’t have to be a debt.

Taking a deep breath, she climbed out of the car, and, head held high, she walked slowly into the offices.

Chaos greeted her: dust sheets, ladders, two painters, one of whom was talking to the receptionist. It was left to the doorman to ask her business.

‘I’m here to see Mr Tabiner,’ she pronounced, with all the appearance of quiet confidence.

‘I’d better take you up to Greg Hanson; I’ll get Sally to ring through and tell Mr Tabiner you’re here.’

It was that easy.

After Greg Hanson’s initial surprise at her entrance, and a lengthy silence, because he looked as though he didn’t know what to say to her now, she stared from the window, and waited. A shy man, she guessed, but she was in no fit state to offer him comfort. Not so long ago she would have taken his behaviour for granted, because she knew the effect she had on most men. Had deliberately sought those reactions, and squashed them. All he would see was a tall blonde, with cool grey eyes; he would have no knowledge of the turmoil within. Despite feeling like death warmed over, she knew she looked totally in command of herself. Dressed in an elegant lightweight, thankfully uncrushable suit that matched her eyes, she stared at the yachts in the marina below.

‘He shouldn’t be much longer,’ he murmured. The poor man sounded almost desperate.

Turning her head, she gave a faint smile.

‘I could get you a cup of coffee—or something.’

‘No, I’m fine. Really. Have you worked here long?’ she asked, merely for something to say.

‘Five years,’ he said cautiously.

Her smile enigmatic, she returned her attention to the view, wished Tabiner would hurry up. Wished it were over. ‘Tell me about him,’ she encouraged. When he didn’t answer, she turned towards him again, forced amusement into her eyes when all she really wanted to do was run away. ‘Not allowed?’

‘No. Yes. I mean...’ Flustered, he muttered inarticulately, ‘What’s to tell? He’s a private man, self-contained. He’s always polite, always remembers people’s names, their families—’ Breaking off, he gave an embarrassed shrug, ‘I don’t know what he’s like! I’m his legal adviser, friend; he’s terrifyingly clever—and I can sometimes surprise him into a smile.’

She wondered if she would be able to. It sounded very much as though Greg Hanson didn’t know him at all. Not a good sign. She didn’t much like the sound of ‘terrifyingly clever’ either. If he didn’t hurry up, she was definitely going to run away.

The door opened behind them and they both turned. Greg with a nervous start, because he hadn’t heard him coming, and Abby with nervous relief—until she saw who it was. Sam Turner.

Tension leapt between them, immediate and stifling. She didn’t speak, didn’t think she could have spoken just then, just continued to stare in blank shock at the man standing in the doorway. Disbelief turned her bones to jelly.

She was vaguely aware of Greg Hanson speaking, introducing her perhaps, but she found herself quite unable to drag her eyes away from a man she had never expected to see again.

‘How did you find me?’ he asked softly, but with considerable menace.

Mind still blank, disbelieving, fourteen years of practice came to her aid. She gave a derisive smile.

‘And, more importantly, why?’

She didn’t answer for a moment, just continued to stare at him, and then she drawled softly, but with a shake in her voice that she hoped wasn’t apparent to anyone else, ‘I wasn’t actually looking. I had absolutely no idea you were here.’ Taking a deep breath, she continued forcefully, ‘So why are you? You vet Mr Tabiner’s guests, do you?’

He went very still, his eyes hard, and definitely hostile. ‘What?’

‘I said—’

‘I heard what you said,’ he interrupted impatiently. ‘Why do you want to see him?’

She heard Greg make some inarticulate sound, and ignored it, as—apart from a silencing wave of his hand—did Sam. Leaning forward slightly, suddenly furiously angry, not only at her own reaction to him but at his arrogance, she whispered derisively, ‘It’s a secret.’

Mouth even tighter, he said flatly, ‘Then make an appointment.’

‘Who with? You?’

‘No.’

Tilting her head slightly to one side, she continued to regard him with cool mockery, and the effort it took was enormous. She couldn’t think what to ask, what to say, and so she settled for, ‘You know Mr Tabiner?’

‘Yes.’

‘In what capacity?’

‘It’s none of your business.’

She gave a dismissive smile. Turning to Greg, she asked, ‘Mr Tabiner is coming?’

‘He’s not here,’ Sam put in curtly.

Returning her eyes to Sam, she murmured insolently, ‘Mr Hanson said he was.’

‘Mr Hanson was mistaken.’

‘I see.’

‘Good.’ Without looking away from her, he requested flatly, ‘Greg, leave us, would you?’

Hesitating only momentarily, Greg asked quietly, ‘Should I let everyone know that Mr Tabiner is no longer in the building?’

‘Please.’

He nodded, and left.

‘You have the necessary clout to give orders to Mr Tabiner’s staff?’ she asked, with the same sweet insolence.

‘Yes. Now tell me the truth.’

Still staring at him, eyes speculative, she asked, ‘You think I followed you?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Why would I follow you, Sam?’

‘I have no idea.’

With another small smile, she asked, ‘You work here?’

‘No,’ he denied stonily.

‘But you being here is not a coincidence, is it?’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘No.’

‘What makes you think so?’

A letter, she could have said, but had no intention of doing so.

‘And if your business with Tabiner is legitimate,’ he countered, ‘why so secretive?’

‘Perhaps I’m taking a leaf out of your own book,’ she murmured. ‘You were secretive, weren’t you, Sam? Did you come to the house to look for something?’

‘Such as?’

‘Oh, I don’t know...’ she murmured vaguely, and realised that he was fencing as much as she was. Why? Just what was the connection between him and Tabiner?

‘I came to the house,’ he informed her stonily, ‘to look at your father’s collection of Crimean War memorabilia.’

‘So you said, but I did wonder,’ she lied, ‘when you left so quickly, whether you might not have, um, appropriated something—valuable. A first edition, maybe?’

‘No,’ he denied coldly. ‘I took nothing.’

‘Then why the sudden departure? No explanation, no reasons...’

‘I’d finished my research.’

‘Liar,’ she accused with soft hatred.

Turning away, he dismissed flatly, ‘Go away, Abby.’

‘But I might wish to make an investment.’

He gave a scoffing laugh. ‘I doubt it.’

‘Why? Don’t you think I might be able to afford to do so?’

‘Oh, yes, I imagine you can afford it. How much do you have to invest?’ he derided. ‘One million, two?’

‘No,’ she denied with a brittle smile, ‘but they take lesser amounts, don’t they?’

‘Yes,’ he agreed tersely. ‘What do you want? Roll-up? Five-year investment?’

‘Perhaps,’ she agreed unhelpfully.

‘And you chose this particular fund management because?’

‘Because they’re the best,’ she said reasonably. ‘And I do so like to choose the best.’

‘I believe you.’ Walking past her to the window, he stared down at the marina, much as she had done earlier. ‘And if that’s your car down there,’ he murmured in a voice that grated, ‘it’s illegally parked. Go away, Abby. There’s nothing for you here.’

‘Isn’t there? Now I wonder why I don’t believe that? And I still need to see Nathan Tabiner,’ she concluded.

‘Then do as I said. Make an appointment.’ Glancing at his watch, he added, ‘Tomorrow. His secretary will have left by now.’ Without giving her time to answer, or argue, he walked across to the desk. Pressing the intercom, he asked the doorman to come up, and when he arrived, only seconds later, instructed him in a voice that brooked no argument, ‘Take Miss Hunter back to her car. Straight to her car.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he agreed confusedly.

Elegant and unhurried, she gave Sam one long look of derision, and left. He kicked the door shut behind her.

Returning to the window, he continued his blind contemplation of the yachts moored below.

The door opened behind him, and without turning, without looking, he instructed heavily, ‘Don’t say anything.’

‘No,’ Greg agreed. ‘Who is she?’

‘No one.’ No one, he repeated silently to himself. How he wished that were true. ‘Her name is Abigail Hunter.’

‘A blast from the past?’ he asked cautiously, and with a limp attempt at humour.

‘An old family friend,’ Sam corrected untruthfully.

Joining him at the window, Greg glanced down at the red car parked below. ‘You didn’t seem very friendly.’

‘I was taken by surprise.’

‘That must be a first.’

‘Don’t push your luck, Hanson.’

‘sorry.’

‘And don’t keep apologising.’

‘No, but if she’s a friend of the family,’ he continued thoughtfully, ‘how come she doesn’t know who you are?’

‘She does know who I am. She knows me as Sam. Everyone knows me as Sam.’

‘But she was looking for Nathan Tabiner.’

Yes, and she mustn’t find him, because he suspected he knew very well why she was looking.

‘So how come she doesn’t know you’re one and the same?’

He didn’t answer, merely continued his vigil. Eyes bleak, he watched her emerge from the building and walk across to her car. ‘Why was she allowed up here?’

‘Presumably because there’s nowhere to sit in Reception, and perhaps because the security guard didn’t yet know your rules.’

‘Then sack him.’

‘No,’ Greg denied mildly. ‘He only started today.’

“Then why wasn’t he informed that no one, but no one, ever gets to see me without an appointment? That is mandatory—’ Breaking off, he gave a bleak smile. Mandatory. That was what she had said to him.

Intrigued, Greg continued to watch his friend. ‘I’ll make sure he knows them now,’ he agreed absently.

‘Good. And if you discuss this with anyone,’ he warned, ‘you’re fired.’

‘Promises, promises.’

Turning only his head, blue eyes hard and bright, he didn’t smile. Couldn’t have found a smile just then if his life had depended on it.

Greg frowned. ‘Sam...?’

‘Leave it.’

Puzzled, he glanced down through the window. ‘She’s leaving,’ he murmured helpfully.

‘Yes,’ Sam agreed emptily.