Читать книгу A Very Private Revenge - HELEN BROOKS, Helen Brooks - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

THE house Jed Cannon had opted to view first was a beauty. Eight bedrooms, six bathrooms, three reception rooms, huge study, enormous sun lounge overlooking the covered swimming pool—the list of attributes was endless. The price took a while to say too, with all the noughts it necessitated...

Tamar met him outside the towering nine-foot wall surrounding the property on the outskirts of Windsor, making sure she was there and waiting in plenty of time. He had offered her a lift when she had phoned earlier with details of the meeting, but she had refused, insisting she would make her own way, due to a previous appointment meaning she would be in the area. It was a lie, and the exorbitant taxi fare was just punishment.

She saw the Mercedes the second it rounded the corner in the far distance, the shimmering heat turning the magnificent car to fluid bronze, but waited until it was almost level with her before she spoke into the little box on the gate, stating their names and the reason for their visit to Greenacres. The gates opened immediately. ‘Hop in.’

Jed Cannon was in the back of the vehicle, a host of papers scattered around him as he worked away on a small computer, and he leant across to open the far door for her, the chauffeur sitting impassively in his glass-partitioned isolation.

‘Thank you.’ It was a little breathless, but the overall authority of him was magnified rather than lessened by the sight of him working, shirtsleeves rolled up and his tie loose round his collar, in the confined space.

‘Where’s your car?’ he asked abruptly as she closed her door and settled down in the luxurious depths.

Her little old banger had failed its MOT the week before, and at present was in a car hospital having major surgery—something she could ill afford—but she wasn’t going to tell him all that. ‘Flat tyre,’ she replied economically. It was true, in a way, but there were about a hundred and one other defects that were being attended to at the same time.

‘And you haven’t got a back-up?’

No, and she didn’t have a Mercedes, a vintage Rolls, and a snazzy little Ferrari either. Unlike him. Perhaps three cars per multimillionaire wasn’t too excessive, but it had still grated when she’d first discovered it, and it rankled even more right now.

‘No, I haven’t,’ she replied shortly, her chin rising a notch. ‘Few working girls have, I should imagine.’

There was silence for a moment and then, ‘I’m sorry, Tamar, I put that incredibly badly.’

His voice was soft and genuine, and as she glanced at him she saw he was truly embarrassed.

‘What I meant was, I would have thought the firm you work for would have provided a vehicle for just such an emergency,’ he said quietly. ‘A car must be pretty essential for your day to day business?’

‘It helps.’ She was flustered, and hot and sticky—she had been waiting fifteen minutes for his car to arrive, so nervous had she been of being late, and there had been no shade from the fierce afternoon sun—but it was the look on his face and the softness of his voice rather than the heat which was making her uncomfortable.

She inclined her head slightly now, her voice mellowing as she said, ‘It just happened that everyone needed their own car today, and there isn’t a pool vehicle-not yet at any rate,’ she added hastily. The last thing she wanted to do was give Jed Cannon the impression that Taylor and Taylor was just a little tinpot kind of business. ‘But Richard and Fiona are working on it,’ she said positively.

‘And they are?’ he asked expressionlessly.

‘Taylor and Taylor.’

‘Right.’

Oh, damn, what was he thinking now? She risked a sidelong glance from under her eyelashes as the beautiful car nosed its way along the winding tree-lined drive towards the palatial house some hundred yards away. Did he think Taylor and Taylor weren’t big enough to handle this kind of property, that they were cowboys, or—?

‘So, most of the ground is at the front of the house, with just the swimming pool and tennis court at the back?’ Jed asked quietly, raising his head from his work and leaning back in the seat as he spoke.

‘Yes.’ Oh, she should have been giving him the sales pitch rather than daydreaming, Tamar cautioned herself irritably, and she went on to list the rare trees and flowers the garden boasted.

She continued to point out each advantageous feature of the property—the genuine solid oak beams in the reception rooms, the wonderful stained glass windows in the entrance hall and on the first and second floor landings, and so on—and by the time they had finished the inspection she had spoken herself almost hoarse.

It hadn’t helped that the owner—an aristocratic and hopelessly dotty old colonel-type, who had more money than sense—had completed the tour with them, helpfully pointing out the rising damp in the study, the crumbling brickwork in the west wing, and the failing filtering system in the pool.

She had sensed more than once that Jed Cannon was being vastly entertained. There was something about the studiously straight face and faintly strangled note to his voice that suggested smothered amusement—especially when she found herself arguing with the owner on the merits of a south-facing garden—and when they stepped out of the front door again, after the requisite sherry and dry biscuits, Tamar really didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh or cry.

She did neither, inclining her head towards Jed as they walked across the scrunchy drive towards the Mercedes and saying, without any preamble, ‘Well, did you like it?’ her voice flat.

‘Very much.’ The silver eyes were positively wicked as he added, ‘And Gerald Biggsley-Brown proved to be a very honest and upright individual, don’t you think?’

She glanced at him sharply, but the handsome face was bland and innocent—too bland and too innocent.

‘Yes, he’s very nice,’ Tamar said primly. Why, oh, why, had she started this? She was way out of her league here. How on earth could she ever get a man like Jed Cannon to fancy her anyway? She must have been mad. But she would tell him what she thought of him; she could still do that at least.

‘Okay, set the ball rolling,’ Jed said easily.

‘What?’

Tamar stopped stock-still in the middle of the horseshoe forecourt, so that Jed had actually walked on a few paces before he realised she wasn’t with him. He turned to face her, taking in the wide dark eyes and partly open mouth with more secret amusement.

‘What did you say?’ she asked again.

‘I said, set the ball rolling—start the negotiations,’ he replied patently. ‘However you want to describe it.’

‘But ... but what about the damp, and the brickwork and...everything?’ she stuttered disbelievingly.

‘Tamar, are you trying to sell me this house or do a hatchet job?’ Jed drawled drily. ‘If you insist, I’ll sacrifice some more of my valuable time to traipse around a few properties, but the end result would be the same. I like this house. I want it at the right price of course—and I shan’t change my mind about that I’ve always prided myself on being a man who knows what he wants when he sees it, and then acquiring it. I’ve seen it.’

‘You have?’ She suddenly realised how hopelessly unprofessional she must sound, and forced a bright, positive note into her voice as she added, ‘Of course you have. This is a wonderful house. The oak beams—’

‘Were pointed out masterfully, along with the stained glass windows, the new fitted kitchen, and, of course, the south-facing garden.’

He was laughing at her, she knew it, but she was too surprised at the easy sale—and what a sale—to be angry. The commission she would make on this one deal was more than she normally earned in months.

‘Now, shall we sit in the comfort of the car while we discuss a few terms and conditions? It must be all of eighty in the shade out here,’ he pointed out matter-of factly.

‘Oh, yes, of course.’ She found herself almost gambolling along at his side before she checked herself sharply. This was Jed Cannon. Jed Cannon. The sale was great, of course it was—‘tasty’ wasn’t the word—but there was more at stake here than filthy lucre. And in one way this had all been too easy. There would be no reason, once the sale was going through, for her ever to darken Jed Cannon’s door again, and that wasn’t at all what she had planned.

Once in the car, he turned to her, after tapping the glass for the chauffeur to drive off, and smiled. She wished he hadn’t It had been bad enough earlier in the office, but here, in this confined space, with the faint smell of expensive aftershave teasing her nostrils and the dark, latent power of the man seeming to strain against a precarious leash, it was positively devastating.

‘Now...’ He leant back casually in the seat, one arm stretched along the back of the leather upholstery and the silver eyes narrowed against the white sunlight. ‘That brickwork...’

He detailed several matters needing expert attention—most of which had been pointed out by the good Gerald Biggsley-Brown, bless him, Tamar thought balefully—before finishing with, ‘They can either be rectified by the present owner before I take possession, or by me, with estimates reducing the asking price by an agreed amount. I’m not fussy. And of course all this is subject to survey and the normal formalities,’ he said crisply.

‘Of course,’ Tamar agreed carefully.

‘And I want this completed fast—no hiccups, no delays. If Gerald can’t get the work done in the next two weeks, I can.’

She didn’t doubt that Jed Cannon could do anything he set his mind to, but two weeks? ‘But the survey and everything?’ Tamar stared at him in disbelief. ‘These things take time, Mr Cannon. Once you’ve reached an agreement with the owner—’

He interrupted her faintly dazed voice coolly. ‘The guy already has the little seaside place he’s moving to—’ Tamar wouldn’t have described Mr Biggsley-Brown’s seven hundred thousand pounds’ worth of beautiful holiday home in that way, but no matter ‘—so he could move out tomorrow if he wants. He said so. There are no mortgage complications on his side or mine, and I can get my people in to do the survey tomorrow morning if necessary.’

How the other half live. How the other half live, Tamar thought bemusedly.

‘I want to get a place near London quickly—there are ... family complications that make it important—okay? So, let’s all pull our fingers out and get cracking.’

‘Yes, right.’ She was still shell-shocked—that was the only excuse she could think of afterwards for her next words, which were a big, big gaffe. ‘But I thought you had an apartment in Kensington anyway?’ she said do-pily.

‘Did you...?’

The metallic gaze had turned to bright steel and was at variance with the almost lazy tone of voice, but Tamar was looking straight into his eyes, and they woke her up like nothing else could have done.

‘Have you been doing some homework on me, Miss Tamar McKinley?’ he asked thoughtfully.

‘No, no, not really.’ She had always been hopeless at lying, her tendency to metamorphose into a beetroot was a dead give-away, and now, as she felt herself burn with colour, she knew she had to retrieve the situation fast. ‘Well...’ She allowed the merest embarrassed pause before she lowered her eyes and said hesitantly, ‘The sort of property you’re interested in does cost a great deal of money, Mr Cannon. The firm prefers a little... investigation in those circumstances, to make sure the client is not disappointed at the last moment by. a buyer who simply can’t meet the required asking price.’

‘How thorough.’ It was cool and even, and as Tamar raised her eyes she couldn’t gauge a thing from the expressionless face in front of her. ‘And this is normal practice?’ he asked softly.

‘In deals of this calibre, yes,’ she said quietly. ‘We like to feel that if at any time in the future you decided to move again, the sort of service we provide would prompt you to contact us before any other firm.’

‘And what else is included in the ... service you provide?’

It could have meant exactly what it said at face value, but there was the merest inflexion in the tone that told Tamar he was flirting with her. Carefully, obliquely, even, but there was something there, and she had to be very very circumspect now. She couldn’t afford to make another mistake like the one she had just made.

She smiled gently, listing all the pros of dealing with Taylor and Taylor one by one, at the same time allowing her eyes to give him just the faintest of come-ons.

The Mercedes pulled up outside Taylor and Taylor—where Jed had offered to take her—at just gone four, and she prayed he wouldn’t suggest coming in and meeting Richard and Fiona. The shop premises didn’t look too bad on the outside, but if he came in and saw just how small the set-up was, he might suspect they didn’t normally deal in seven-figure negotiations. But he didn’t.

Why would he? she asked herself once she was out of the car and raising her hand to him as the dark gold Mercedes glided away into mainstream traffic. Men of his wealth and importance weren’t exactly desperate to meet the minions below them.

‘Oh, wow!’ Fiona met her at the door and it was obvious she had been watching out of the window. ‘That was him, I take it? Jed Cannon? And look at that car! I bet you didn’t even know you were on the road.’

‘It’s a bit different to my little jalopy,’ Tamar agreed, with a rueful grin at Fiona’s avaricious face. She loved Fiona and Richard—she had been at university with them both, and they had helped her through a rough patch in her life then and continued to be steadfast friends—but sometimes the fierce ambition and ruthless intent to succeed that the couple shared left her cold.

They would make a name for themselves in the field they had chosen; she didn’t doubt that for a minute, in spite of estate agents being ten a penny in the London area. And that was good, just fine, Tamar told herself as she entered the office and turned to answer the hundred and one questions Fiona was throwing at her. But there was more to life than work. Richard and Fiona genuinely enjoyed working from dawn to dusk, six, sometimes seven days a week, and, as neither of them wanted children, they had decided to sink all their time and money, along with their hearts and souls, into their joint career.

But she wasn’t like that. She wanted a home of her own one day when the time was right, with a partner who loved her, and a family, dogs, cats...maybe a chicken or two pecking in the backyard and a pony in a field close by for the kids to ride on? It was a pipe dream, or most of it was, at any rate, but if you didn’t dream, what was there? Of course, to form a relationship with a man you had to be prepared to date now and again, and she wasn’t there yet, but she was getting better...

‘Well?’ She came back to the real world to see Fiona positively hopping with eager impatience. ‘How did it go? Did he display any interest? Talk to me, Tamar.’

‘He wants it,’ Tamar said off-handedly, enjoying the moment.

‘He...? He doesn’t! He doesn’t, does he? Really? For definite?’ Fiona gabbled enthusiastically, for once not at all like her normal cool, sophisticated self.

‘Absolutely.’ Tamar nodded, before laughing out loud. ‘And I’m looking forward to a nice long holiday somewhere hot with all that commission.’

‘Oh, you’ve earnt it—you’ve definitely earnt it,’ Fiona agreed happily. ‘If we can get a few more clients like him, we’re laughing. And to think all this came about because you had lunch with Carol at Webster and Hartman! That’ll teach her to boast about how well their firm are doing compared to ours.’

‘I feel a bit mean about that actually—’

‘Nonsense.’ Fiona interrupted Tamar’s subdued voice in her normal forceful manner. ‘All’s fair in love and war, girl, and don’t you forget it. You went out and got those three properties you showed him on our books, didn’t you? It was your enterprise and push that did that. You deserve to make a killing. It’s the first time I’ve seen you so determined about anything for ages.’

‘Ages’ translated into five years, Tamar thought wryly, as she gazed at this bright, attractive friend of hers, who was known for her plain speaking.

‘And anyway, Carol shouldn’t have mentioned Jed Cannon if she didn’t expect us to go for a bite of the same cherry,’ Fiona finished with a decisive nod of her head. ‘I wouldn’t expect you or Tim—’ Tim being the other employee of the firm ‘—to sound off about who we’ve got on our books and who we haven’t. And you told Carol you were going to try for Jed Cannon. That’s more than she would have done if the position had been reversed. No, you did very well. You’ve obviously got the right touch with millionaires.’

‘Obviously.’ But he hadn’t asked for her telephone number, or suggested a date, and she had so wanted to get under his skin a bit before she told him exactly what she thought of him. He had treated Gaby like dirt under his shoe, publicly humiliated her to the point where she had tried to take her own life. At the very least she wanted him to remember her for a while when she did the same to him.

She didn’t doubt for a minute that anything she said would be almost instantly dismissed from his mind, but if she could say something that rankled, it might stop him treating anyone else so ruthlessly. The rumours and counter-rumours flying round the little Scottish community after the scene at the hotel had made getting over Ronald so much harder for Gaby.

Tamar spent the rest of the afternoon pulling things together with regard to Greenacres, and then catching up with her mountain of paperwork, which had got sadly neglected over the last few weeks as she had raced about like a mad thing chasing the three properties of which Fiona had spoken. But it had been worth it. Oh, yes, it had certainly been worth it

She stayed at the office long after all the others had gone home, until, at just gone nine, she felt her desk was clearer and she was in control again. The night was a warm one, and the walk from Taylor and Taylor in Fulham to her tiny flat in Chelsea was just what she needed to unwind from the turmoil of the day. She strolled along in the heavy London air, picking up a hot dog—liberally doused with fried onions—on the way, and reflecting that it was only in the big cities where a woman dressed up to the nines in a designer suit and high heels could wander along eating her dinner out of a paper bag without attracting a second glance.

And she loved it; she really did. After that nightmare time at university, to be inconspicuous was all she asked for. Perhaps that was why she had felt Gaby’s humiliation and pain so fiercely? she thought now. Having been through a terribly public chastening herself, she knew how it felt. Not that her circumstances had been so awful as poor Gaby’s—at least she hadn’t got pregnant—but how did you compare being raped to being fooled into sleeping with someone and then losing a baby when you were openly disgraced? Perhaps they were both as bad as each other, really...

Mike Goodfellow. She could picture one of the lecturers at university now in her mind. Tall, good-looking, married with the requisite 2.4 children and career-minded wife, he had really thought he was the bee’s knees. And when he’d offered her extra tuition on her English essays she had really thought he meant just that.

The assault had been painful—she’d been a virgin—and degrading, but over mercifully quickly, and when she had decided to go public and report him, despite his threats, she had discovered she hadn’t been the first. Three other girls had come forward, and they’d been just the ones still at the university. No one knew how many other girls he had attacked in the past.

Of course the resulting police action and publicity had been tough, and she had certainly learnt who her friends were, if nothing else, but she had been determined not to creep away like a little whipped dog from the moment she had picked herself up off the floor of his room and limped away to get help. He had been so sure she wouldn’t report him, so confident in his ruthlessness. Mike Goodfellow. Never had a name been more inapt...

She’d found it difficult to be alone with a man for a long time after that, but friends like Fiona and Richard had been great, and eventually she had gone on a couple of dates—more to prove to herself she could than anything else. But they had been purely platonic, with nothing more than a brief goodnight kiss.

She’d often felt her heart had gone into cold storage on the man front, and it was that, even more than the rape itself, that she couldn’t forgive Mike Goodfellow for. He had taken away so much warmth, fun, excitement and just plain ordinary living from her in a few short, but terrifyingly brutal minutes. Even now she would freeze, or experience the odd moment of blind panic, if a man looked at her in a certain way, or touched her when she wasn’t aware of them.

He had received a prison sentence, and she understood his wife had left him in the process, but how could he pay for what he had done to her and others? He couldn’t, not really...

It’s in the past, it’s in the past. You’re not letting him win. It was what she had told herself every day for the last five years, but it helped, and she had determined she would carry on telling herself the same thing until it no longer became necessary.

She took a deep breath now, finishing the last of the hot dog and throwing the paper away in the convenient red bin that was positioned just outside the entrance to the terraced house in which her flat was situated, before opening the communal front door with her key.

Once inside, she ran up the two flights of stairs to her little idyll at the top of the house, glad to be home. And the quiet oasis she had created for herself in the midst of the bustle of the big metropolis was home, in a way her aunt and uncle’s house had never been.

She paused after opening the door to her flat, taking a moment to appreciate the light, pretty surroundings and the fact that it was all hers. Her father’s foresight in making a clear, concise will after she was born had meant that on reaching the age of twenty-one she had come into a nice, tidy little nest-egg which had been held in trust for her until that date. It wasn’t a fortune, but it had meant she could afford to buy her own little home when she left university, furnish it exactly how she wanted, and still have enough left over to purchase an elderly little runabout to get her from A to B when necessary.

She had barely taken a step or two over the threshold when the phone began to ring in her red and gold sitting room, and strangely, just as she lifted the receiver and spoke her name, she knew who it was...

‘Tamar?’ Jed Cannon’s husky voice caused an involuntary curling of her toes. ‘I hope you don’t mind me calling you at home?’

‘How...how did you get the number?’ she prevaricated bemusedly. She didn’t know if she minded or not, if she were being truthful, she admitted silently to herself.

‘Telephone directory,’ he said blandly.

‘Oh.’ She wondered how many T. McKinleys there were in the London area. She’d have to have a look later. ‘How can I help you?’ she asked carefully.

‘My people can get in to do a survey tomorrow morning,’ he said without any preamble, ‘and I’ve already checked with Gerald that that’s okay.’

Have you indeed? And it’s Gerald now, is it? She was beginning to get mad.

‘We’ve discussed a rough price for getting the work done, and Gerald’s quite prepared to drop by the required amount Now—’

‘Mr Cannon—’ how dare he, how dare he take over like this? ‘—you are aware negotiations of this sort should be done through the estate agents?’ she asked icily.

‘Who says?’ he shot back quickly.

‘It really isn’t done—’

‘Tamar, I couldn’t give a pig’s ear about what is done and what isn’t,’ he said, with a smooth arrogance that had her telling herself desperately that she had to remember he was the buyer, that this was a huge deal, that she couldn’t afford to get on the wrong side of him and blow it. And that was besides her original plan to worm herself into his life and get him interested before she let him know what was what Which didn’t seem quite such a good idea now, somehow.

‘I’m working within a limited time-scale, and I haven’t got time for pussy-footing about. Right? Now, if you have a problem with that, I’m sorry, but there it is. Although surely the sooner the deal is clinched, the sooner Gerald’s happy, I’m happy, and you get your commission. Yes?’

Blow her commission, the arrogant, supercilious, overbearing—

‘Right?’ he repeated coldly.

‘Right,’ she agreed tightly, her tone saying something quite different. And she had decided whether she minded him calling her at home!

‘Tamar...’ There was what sounded like a long, impatient sigh. ‘Please don’t be difficult.’

‘I’m not being difficult.’ Oh, this was getting ridiculous. What was she doing? She couldn’t afford to argue with him like this, she cautioned herself sharply, forcing a sweeter note into her voice as she said, ‘I’m not, really, Mr Cannon, but negotiations of this sort are what I get paid for, after all.’

‘And in the normal run of things I’m sure they are quite invaluable,’ he said soothingly.

‘Yes.’ Patronising into the bargain, she thought exasperatedly. But at the moment all the cards were stacked well and truly on his side, and all she could do was grit her teeth and play ball. ‘Well, if Mr Biggsley-Brown is happy with what you’ve discussed, I’m sure we will be,’ she said brightly. ‘I’ll have to ring him in the morning and confirm, of course.’

‘Of course,’ he agreed drily. ‘But I’m sure you’ll find he’s very understanding.’

Huh! She narrowed her eyes, frowning across the room. And what was all the mad rush about anyway? Why was it so imperative for him to have a house so quickly? He had a marvellous bachelor pad—a sumptuous penthouse from all accounts—in Kensington. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have anywhere of his own to live.

He was just being awkward—flexing his wealthy muscles and demanding that everything be done yesterday, because that was how he wanted it Ruthless to the last, she thought bitterly.

‘Yes... Well, thank you for letting me know what you’ve done, and I’ll be in touch once—’

‘Are you free for dinner tomorrow night?’ Jed interrupted evenly.

‘Dinner?’

Eager delight was quite absent from her voice, and his own reflected his recognition of the fact when he said, his tone smooth but distinctly cool, ‘It’s something most people do in between lunch one day and breakfast the next.’

Dinner. Tamar was eternally grateful Jed Cannon couldn’t see her as she leant back against the wall and shut her eyes for a moment, before taking a deep steadying breath and saying, the breathless note not at all feigned, ‘I’m so sorry, but I do have a previous engagement tomorrow...’ in the sort of voice which made it clear she would like him to suggest another evening when she could make it.

He did. ‘Wednesday evening?’ he asked expressionlessly.

Wednesday. That would give her Tuesday lunchtime and evening, and Wednesday lunchtime if she needed it, to buy a new outfit, have her hair done, give herself a beauty treatment... ‘That would be lovely,’ she said quietly, hoping she was hitting the right note of cool interest now.

‘Good. I’ll pick you up about eight,’ he said smoothly. ‘I was thinking we might go to Harvey’s, unless you have any objection?’

Tamar just stopped herself saying, Harvey’s? in the same blank, gormless way she had said, Dinner?, and instead managed to sound quite blasé when she answered, ‘No, Harvey’s will be fine.’

Harvey’s will be fine. After she had said goodbye and put the phone down she had a sudden desire to laugh hysterically. Harvey’s was the one nightclub in London that even the rich and famous would kill to get membership for, and there wasn’t one single person of her acquaintance who had got so much as a nose in the door. And he was taking her there! Her, Tamar McKinley!

The urge to laugh vanished instantly as the thought of what she was going to wear surfaced with frightening intent. You couldn’t go to Harvey’s in an off-the-peg dress and shoes, she thought with blind panic. This was going to be an exclusive designer job at the very least. Well, she would have to use the money in her building society account that she had been saving all year for a holiday, and maybe the cash she had put by for her car too. Needs must.

She went straight into her tiny but extremely well fitted kitchen and made herself a very strong cup of black coffee, which she drank down scalding hot in an effort to combat her churning stomach. It helped, and after she had drunk a second cup her natural optimism and determination came to the fore.

Jed Cannon was just a man, when all was said and done. All right, he might be wealthier and better-looking than most, and have enough charisma and male magnetism to send the average woman bandy, but she wasn’t the average woman. She made a deep obeisance with her head to the thought. And he was going to remember her—and Gaby by the time she had finished—for a long, long time.