Читать книгу Pagan Enchantment - Кэрол Мортимер, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 6

‘HEY, how did—Merry?’ Vanda frowned as Merry rushed straight past her into her bedroom, closing the door behind her. ‘Merry?’ Vanda knocked on the door anxiously. ‘What happened? Was it just an approach after all?’ Anger entered her voice.

Merry sat numbly on the bedroom chair, her thoughts racing—and all of them telling her it had all been a terrible mistake, that what Gideon Steele had told her couldn’t possibly be true of her!

‘Merry, can I come in?’ Vanda requested gently, softly opening the door as she received no answer. ‘Oh, love!’ she groaned as she saw Merry’s pale face, coming down on her knees in front of the chair. ‘What did he do to you?’

‘Do?’ Merry repeated dazedly. ‘Nothing. He didn’t do anything to me.’

‘Then why—Damn!’ Vanda swore as the doorbell rang, standing up to go and answer it.

Merry looked panic-stricken. ‘I don’t want to see him. I won’t see him!’

‘All right, love,’ the other girl soothed. ‘I’ll tell him you haven’t got back yet. I’m not an actress for nothing!’ She closed the bedroom door firmly behind her, a determined glint in her eyes.

Merry heard the flat door being opened, the murmur of voices, and then silence. She would never be able to thank Vanda enough for getting rid of Gideon Steele. She needed time to think right now, to get her thoughts together—to forget what he had told her.

She looked down at the carpet as the bedroom door opened once more. ‘Thanks, Vanda,’ she murmured, ‘I didn’t want to talk to him again. You see, he has some wild story—–’

‘It isn’t wild, Meredith,’ his husky voice interrupted her.

‘You!’ she gasped, looking up at Gideon Steele with wide green eyes, her hands clutching convulsively at the arms of the chair. Vanda hadn’t managed to put him off after all!

‘Yes,’ he sighed wearily, slightly pale beneath his tan. ‘Can I talk to you?’

She doubted this man requested very often, he was the type who did things without asking anyone’s permission. But she didn’t feel in the least warmed by the fact that he was asking her now. What he had done to her had been cruel and thoughtless. He should have made sure of his facts before confronting her with such a ridiculous story. As it was, she was in no mood to listen to anything further he might have to say.

Some of what she was thinking must have shown in her face. ‘I think we have to, Meredith,’ he encouraged softly, closing the door behind him.

Her head went back, her eyes defiant. ‘If you want to apologise—–’

He shook his head. ‘I can’t apologise for telling the truth. I can apologise for the way I told you. I had no idea you didn’t know about your adoption.’

She stood up, moving about the room with agitated movements. ‘I wish you’d stop saying that,’ she snapped. ‘You can’t know how wrong you are,’ she gave a scornful laugh. ‘I’m so like my father that what you’re telling me is ridiculous. Ever since I can remember people have remarked on the similarity.’

His hands were thrust into his trousers pockets, his height dwarfing the tiny bedroom. ‘Maybe they were just being kind—or maybe you do have the same colouring.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve heard that adoption societies try to do that, match the child up with at least one of the parents. Any facial similarity would have to be a coincidence,’ he shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen two people more alike than you and Anthea.’

‘Your stepmother,’ she said bitterly.

‘That’s right,’ he nodded grimly. ‘When you walked into the restaurant today it was like seeing Anthea as she must have looked twenty years ago.’

‘Maybe I do bear some resemblance to this woman—–’

‘It isn’t just a resemblance, Meredith,’ Gideon Steele shook his head. ‘Look, I can show you a photograph if you like,’ his hand went into the breast pocket of his jacket.

‘No!’ she stopped him in the action of taking out his wallet. ‘I don’t want to see any photograph.’ She turned away, absently twisting the signet ring round on her right hand, the ring that had been a birthday gift several years ago from her parents. ‘It won’t make any difference,’ she told him stiffly.

‘Scared, Meredith?’ he taunted gruffly.

‘Certainly not!’ She spun round, an angry frown between her eyes. ‘I have nothing to be frightened of,’ she said haughtily. ‘It’s quite simple, you have the wrong girl,’ she repeated her earlier claim.

‘The right one,’ he corrected softly, running an agitated hand through the darkness of his hair, revealing several streaks of grey beneath the darkness. ‘God, I had no idea it was going to be this difficult!’ he scowled.

‘What did you expect?’ Merry shouted angrily. ‘That you could calmly walk up to some unsuspecting girl and tell her that her parents aren’t her parents any more, and that some unknown woman is? If you thought that you’re a fool!’

‘Meredith—–’ he began warningly.

‘I don’t care,’ she exclaimed furiously. ‘You had no right barging into my life with such a story! If I were of a nervous disposition—–’

‘Which you obviously aren’t,’ he drawled hardly.

‘Luckily for you,’ she snapped. ‘But if I were I could have been totally destroyed by what you just told me. As it is, I think you’d better go back to your source—Harrington, I presume,’ she added drily. ‘And tell him it’s back to the drawing-board. Why do you want to find this girl anyway? Has your stepmother died and left her the family fortune?’

His mouth twisted derisively. ‘Would it change your mind if she had?’ he taunted.

She gave an angry gasp. ‘How dare you! I have no intention—–’

‘Calm down, Meredith,’ he mocked. ‘Anthea is still very much alive. She would just like to see her daughter.’

‘Whom she abandoned as a baby, by the sound of it!’

If she had expected an angry defence to her scorn she was mistaken, Gideon Steele only nodded abruptly. ‘Anthea hasn’t denied that. But it hasn’t stopped her feeling guilty for the last twenty years, for wanting to see her daughter.’

‘Has she ever stopped to consider that perhaps her daughter doesn’t want to see her?’ Merry snapped.

‘I only said she wanted to see her daughter, I didn’t say she had made any attempt to do so. My stepmother has no idea I’ve sought you out. She certainly doesn’t know I’ve found you.’

‘But I keep telling you you haven’t,’ she said exasperatedly.

His mouth was a thin determined line. ‘There’s a sure way of settling this, Meredith—–’

‘Please call me Merry,’ she invited irritably. ‘I prefer it. And how can this be settled?’

‘Talk to your father—–’

‘No!’ she almost shouted, glaring at him.

‘Then you are frightened—–’

‘I am not!’ she snapped. ‘I just don’t think it’s fair to put something like that to my father. He’s never really got over losing my mother, all he needs is my asking him if he’s really my father!’ She gave Gideon Steele a disgusted look. ‘I won’t do that to him.’

‘Then take my word for it—–’

‘I won’t do that either,’ she told him coldly, giving the impression she would never take his word for anything. ‘I’ve already told you, I’m not the girl you’re looking for, so why don’t you leave me alone?’

‘Ordinarily I wouldn’t have bothered to find you in the first place,’ he said harshly. ‘Anthea’s past is her own affair—and my father’s if she chooses to tell him about it. But she told us both about you last year.’

‘Why?’ Merry frowned.

‘If you aren’t her daughter why are you interested?’ His eyes were narrowed.

She flushed. ‘You involved me in this, I just wanted to know all the facts.’

‘If you aren’t the Meredith Charles I’m looking for then I don’t see the necessity of acquainting you with them.’ He moved to the door. ‘As you suggested, I’ll go back to my source. And I suggest you go to your father.’

‘I—–’

‘I’ll be back, Meredith,’ he warned. ‘And if necessary, I’ll bring Harrington and the dossier to prove the truth to you.’ He swung the door open. ‘I’d advise you to be prepared. Go and see your father, Meredith,’ he said softly. ‘After all, what real harm can it do? I’m sure there must be some way you can ask Malcolm Charles if he is your father without being blunt about it. I’ll be seeing you, Meredith,’ he promised before leaving.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Vanda hurried into the room as soon as Gideon Steele had left the apartment, ‘but he just wouldn’t take no for an answer.’ She grimaced. ‘And he isn’t the sort of man you can argue with.’

‘No,’ she agreed vaguely, pulling her suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe. ‘I’m going to see my father for a few days, Vanda. I—If Mr Steele should come back, you don’t know where I’ve gone, all right?’

‘Are you that frightened of him?’ Vanda asked in an awed voice.

She gave a taut smile. ‘I’m not frightened of him. I just—I don’t like him.’ And she didn’t, she didn’t like his self-assurance, his arrogance—and most of all she didn’t like the things he had told her.

‘He didn’t offer you a part, then?’ Vanda sat on the bed as she watched Merry pack.

Only that of his stepsister, she thought hysterically. It was unthinkable that a man like that should be any sort of relative of hers, no matter how remote. ‘No,’ she answered calmly enough. ‘And as the play has folded I thought I’d go and see Dad for a few days. He gets a little lonely without my mother.’

In fact her father seemed sprightlier than ever. His job in the nearest town at the branch of one of the countries leading insurance agencies kept him very busy, filling most of his evenings at least.

He met her at the station, hugging her before taking her case out to the car. ‘I couldn’t believe it when I got your call,’ he smiled at her, his hair still as black as her own, his eyes more hazel than green; he was still a very handsome man, despite being in his late forties.

Merry listened to all his chatter about the locals in the little village she had lived in most of her life, knowing all the two hundred or so inhabitants by name, and most of their pets too! After the impersonality of London it always warmed her to return to Wildton, and she waved to several of the neighbours children as they played in their gardens.

‘Nothing’s changed,’ she said with pleasure as she followed her father into the small bungalow that seemed so empty without her mother’s bustling presence in the kitchen.

‘You have,’ her father said softly, putting her case in her room, filled with the posters of pop stars she had put up when in her teens still on the walls, the patchwork quilt on the bed, the bookcase full of the romance novels she still devoured by their hundreds, an old guitar propped in the corner of the room.

She looked sharply at her father. ‘What do you mean?’

He shrugged, a sad smile to his handsome face. ‘When you left two years ago you were still a little girl, now you suddenly seem grown up.’

Merry’s bottom lip quivered, and suddenly she was in his arms, sobbing into his shoulder as if she would never stop. She felt safe in her father’s arms, safe and secure, with Gideon Steele pushed firmly to the back of her mind.

‘Hey!’ her father finally chided, holding her at arm’s length. ‘Surely growing up isn’t that painful?’ he teased, his gentle strength comforting her.

‘I’m afraid it is.’ She wiped her cheeks with the handkerchief he gave her, her smile rather weak.

‘A man?’ he prompted softly.

‘I—Yes,’ she decided, knowing the truth was too much to even think about. ‘A man.’

‘Now I definitely feel old,’ he smiled. ‘My daughter’s first unhappy love affair!’

‘Oh, Dad!’ she sniffed, smiling broadly. Everything seemed so normal when she was with her father, when she could feel his love, could see their similarity in looks, that Gideon Steele’s suggestion now seemed as ludicrous as she had said it was. Seeing her father’s gentle love for her she was ashamed of ever doubting him.

It was an enjoyable time- at home, and yet she was aware of a subtle difference in her own behaviour. She was unsettled, irritable, and it wasn’t just because of her lack of a job when she returned to London. She found herself watching her father with a keenness she had never felt before, felt anger at herself for noticing that the similarity between them was only superficial, their colouring going a long way towards giving the impression of father and daughter. There was also the fact that both her parents were tall. She had always credited her own diminutive height to one of her grandmothers, but now she had an uneasy feeling inside her. She was starting to believe Gideon Steele’s fantastic claim!

The day she came home from an afternoon’s shopping and found him sitting in the lounge with her father she knew that he, at least, was convinced there was nothing fantastic about it.

‘A friend of yours from London,’ her father smiled as she came in, carrying two cans of beer through to the lounge.

Merry wouldn’t, even in her wildest dreams, ever call Gideon Steele a friend. Although he gave every indication of being one as he stood up to greet her.

‘Meridith!’ He gave her a warm smile, accepting one of the cans of beer from her father. ‘Thanks,’ he accepted gratefully, turning back to Merry. ‘I’ve just been telling your father how we met.’

She swallowed hard. ‘You have?’

She had known he was here before she entered the house, had seen the Ferrari outside and knew no one else could own that black monster. He was several inches taller than her father, more powerfully built, and looked extremely fit in the fitted black shirt and black trousers. He seemed to dominate the whole room—and the people in it!

‘Yes,’ he continued to smile. ‘It’s the only good thing Harry Anderson has ever done in his life, I should think.’

‘Harry?’ she echoed sharply, wondering what on earth he had been telling her father. Of course, her father already knew about Harry, she had told him all about the disastrous play. But what could Harry possibly have to do with Gideon Steele and herself?

‘He sounds an atrocious person,’ her father grinned.

‘Oh, he is,’ Gideon nodded. ‘Not the sort of man Meredith should associate herself with.’

‘I—–’

‘And a waste of her acting talent,’ he added softly, eyeing her mockingly as he drank the beer straight from the can with obvious enjoyment.

‘Really, I don’t—–’

‘I’d better get going.’ Her father looked at his wrist-watch. ‘Time for work, I’m afraid,’ he told Gideon ruefully.

The other man nodded. ‘I understand.’

And Merry knew how he understood! If he had done enough research on her to know her background then he also knew that her father was an insurance agent, that he spent most of his evenings visiting clients, usually able to catch people in at that time of day.

‘I’m sure Merry will be pleased to get you some dinner,’ her father continued goodnaturedly. ‘I’ve had mine, love,’ he kissed her absently on the cheek. ‘See you later. You too, I hope, Gideon?’

Merry looked sharply at Gideon Steele. It hadn’t taken her father and him long to get on to a first-name basis. And there was still the puzzle of what he had told her father about how they met.

‘I’m not sure yet, Malcolm,’ he answered easily, his gaze firmly fixed on Merry.

‘I understand,’ her father nodded. ‘Don’t be too hard on him, pet,’ he advised Merry before leaving the room.

Colour flooded her cheeks at the assumption her father had made that Gideon Steele was the man from her ‘first unhappy love affair’, and her blushes deepened as she saw the derision in Gideon Steele’s eyes.

‘What are you doing here?’ she snapped ungraciously.

He shrugged and sat down again, perfectly relaxed. ‘I told you I’d be back once I was sure of my facts.’

Her breath caught in her throat. ‘And now you are?’

‘I’m sorry, Merry, but yes, I am.’

There was no doubting his sympathy, or the look of regret in the deep blue eyes, and the emotions sat strangely on such a harshly determined man.

He stood up to pace the room, having discarded the empty beer can in the bin. ‘I went back to Harrington, told him to check on all the facts. They led straight back to you, Merry. I really am sorry,’ he repeated deeply. ‘I gather you haven’t spoken to your father?’

‘No! And I’m not going to,’ she added fiercely.

‘But you do believe me?’ he prompted softly.

She wetted her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue, wishing she could say no, but knowing it would be a lie. A man like Gideon Steele was unlikely to be wrong once, let alone twice! If he said she was adopted, that her mother was really his stepmother Anthea, then she had to believe him. But it changed nothing for her, made no difference to the love she felt for her parents. Anthea Steele had given her up when she was a baby, so she had no claims on her now, moral or otherwise.

‘Yes, I believe you,’ she answered in a cold voice.

‘So you’ll come and see Anthea?’

‘No.’

‘Good God, girl—–! She’s your mother!’ he ground out, his mouth a thin angry line, the tautness of his body telling her of the control he was exerting. ‘She brought you into the world—–’

‘And just as soon deserted me, by the sound of it!’ Her eyes glittered deeply green in her own anger.

‘She was very young, she’s only thirty-eight now—–’

‘I don’t care how old she was. She gave me up, she can’t come along twenty years later and try to claim a family love. It would be disloyal to my father to even acknowledge her existence.’

Gideon Steele shook his head. ‘I’m sure you’re doing your father an injustice. He seems a very reasonable man.’

‘Whether he is or not is not a subject for discussion.’

‘Drop that haughty act with me, Merry—–’

‘It isn’t an act, Mr Steele,’ she snapped. ‘I am not interested in meeting your stepmother, because as far as I’m concerned that’s all she is. My own mother paced the floor with me as a baby, fretted for me when I started school, worried about me when I was ill, encouraged me through my exams, waited up for me on my first date, celebrated with me when I got into drama school. Can your stepmother do any of that?’ Her scorn was unmistakable.

Gideon Steele drew in an angry breath, a pulse beating erratically in his lean cheek, his shirt pulled tautly across his chest as he thrust his hands into the back pockets of his trousers. He looked lean and powerful in that moment—a man far from beaten in this argument.

‘I’m not suggesting you welcome her with open arms,’ he rasped. ‘Or that she could ever take the place of your adoptive mother—–’

‘She never could!’

He looked impatient with her vehemence. ‘As I said,’ he drawled hardly, ‘I’m not suggesting that. What I am saying is that maybe you could be friends. Anthea would like that,’ he added softly.

Merry studied his softened expression with suspicion. Could he possibly feel more than a maternal love for his stepmother? He said Anthea was thirty-eight, that made her only four years older than he was, and it also made his father a lot older than his wife.

‘Did she marry your father for his money?’ she asked suspiciously.

His mouth tightened. ‘What sort of question is that?’ Anger oozed out of him.

Her head went back. ‘Did she?’

‘They’ve been married for twelve years,’ he revealed abruptly. ‘I think my father would have realised by now if that were the case.’

‘Twelve years?’ she repeated softly. ‘Then she’s had all that time to think about wanting to know her daughter, so why now? Why doesn’t she just have another child and forget all about me?’

‘I’m beginning to think she would be better doing that myself!’ he rasped.

Merry flushed at his rebuke. ‘I’m sure she would.’

‘And will you forget her too?’ he taunted harshly. ‘Don’t be stupid. Merry. Now that you know of her existence it would be impossible to ignore her. As for why she would want to see you now, I can tell you that she’s always wanted to see you, but that she tried to be fair to you and not interfere in your life while you were still a child.’ His derisive expression showed that he still thought that was so. ‘Last year, when she was in hospital, she told us about you. I think she just wanted us to know that she had a daughter, a daughter she loved.’

‘In hospital?’ Merry repeated sharply. ‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘Why are you interested?’ he mocked.

Merry glared at him. ‘I’m not—–’

‘She had a nervous breakdown,’ he cut in steadily. ‘She’d been living on her nerves for years, and she just suddenly folded up. We finally discovered it was because of you, because of the guilt she still felt for giving you up.’

‘But that was last year?’ she frowned. ‘Surely she’s well now?’

He sighed. ‘Surperficially, yes. But she’s been on pills ever since, and my father fears that she’ll have another breakdown.’

Her mouth twisted. ‘Wouldn’t producing me give her rather a shock? You said she knows nothing of your search for me?’

‘I wish I could believe your concern for her was genuine,’ he snapped angrily. ‘But I know damn well it isn’t.’ He took a card out of his breast pocket and wrote on the back of it. ‘If you ever find yourself with a little compassion to spare call me at this number. But don’t call me otherwise,’ he rasped. ‘Anthea couldn’t cope with your derision and hate. Now walk me to the door, like the polite little girl you’ve obviously been brought up to be,’ he derided hardly, throwing the card down on the coffee table and following her out of the room.

Merry faced him awkwardly at the door, his contempt for her not missing its target.

‘Think it over carefully, Merry,’ he turned to warn her. ‘You could be turning away the love of a woman who needs you, much more than you realise.’

‘She has your father, she has you,’ she told him coldly. ‘I can’t see any possible reason for her needing me, a child she hasn’t seen for twenty years.’

His eyes were glacial. ‘Can’t you?’ he rasped coldly. ‘Then your adoptive parents have failed you.’

‘How dare—–’

‘They haven’t taught you forgiveness,’ he cut into her anger. ‘Goodbye, Meredith. I hoped it wouldn’t be like this.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry.’

She closed the door as he left, but she didn’t move herself. She knew that his regret hadn’t been because he had come here to confirm what he had told her four days ago, she knew it was because he was disappointed in her lack of maturity in accepting what he had told her.

‘He’s wrong, isn’t he, Merry?’ her father questioned quietly behind her.

She spun round, guilty colour flooding her cheeks as she saw her father sitting down partway up the stairs. ‘You heard …?’

‘All of it,’ he nodded. ‘I came back for some papers I’d forgotten. I overheard—I couldn’t help but listen.’

She swallowed hard. ‘Is it true?’

Again he nodded. ‘He was wrong, wasn’t he, Merry?’ he persisted. ‘Your mother and I did teach you forgiveness, didn’t we?’

It was a double-edged question, and she knew he was asking for forgiveness for himself as much as for Anthea Steele. ‘Oh, Dad!’ She ran to him, the tears falling unchecked down her cheeks as she threw herself into his arms.

For a moment he just held her, letting her cry, stroking her hair as he had done when she was a child and needed comforting. ‘It’s all right, baby,’ he finally spoke to her, his own voice thick with emotion. ‘And you are still my baby, Merry, no matter who brought you into this world.’

She looked up at him with shadowed eyes. ‘Why …?’

‘I know,’ he sighed. ‘We should have told you when you were still a child, but we kept putting it off, and putting it off, keeping you as our very own little girl, I think. Then we decided that your eighteenth birthday would be time enough to tell you, when you were old enough to understand that we loved you even though we hadn’t managed to conceive you. But you know what happened just before your birthday,’ he added sadly.

‘Mummy died,’ Merry said shakily, the memory of the horror of that night three weeks before her eighteenth birthday still as vivid. Her mother had been knocked over by a car and killed.

‘Yes,’ her father acknowledged heavily. ‘After that I couldn’t tell you, didn’t have the courage to without your mother. But you are still our daughter, Merry,’ he told her firmly.

‘That’s what I told Gideon Steele—–’

‘But you do have a real mother,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘And right now she sounds as if she needs you. Your mother did all the things for you that you claimed she did, and that forged a bond of love between you that’s so strong it will never be broken. But she didn’t bring you into the world, that was left to some other woman—to Anthea Steele.’

‘But—–’

‘Let me finish, Merry,’ he spoke strongly. ‘Your mother and I love you, you know we always will. Gideon’s stepmother, your real mother, could only have been seventeen when she became pregnant with you. Seventeen, Merry! Do you remember what you felt like at that age—imagine the trauma of expecting a baby when you were no more than a child yourself?’

She thought back to when she had been seventeen, to when she had been in her last year at school, taking her ‘A’ levels. She couldn’t have coped with a baby at that age.

‘You see?’ her father prompted gently as he watched the different emotions flickering across her face.

Merry remained adamant. ‘Then she shouldn’t have got pregnant! She—–’

‘If she hadn’t your mother and I would never have had you to love,’ he pointed out softly. ‘Your mother had every test possible, and she couldn’t have children of her own. Adoption was our only way of ever having a child then. If it weren’t for Anthea Steele, we would never have had you as our daughter.’

Hurt still warred with reason, her pain reflected in her deep green eyes.

‘I think Mrs Steele needs you, Merry,’ her father said softly. ‘I think she’s needed you for some time, for her sanity.’

Fresh tears flooded her eyes, falling softly down her pale cheeks, confusion, and also a reluctant curiosity, reflected in her eyes.

Her father was quick to note the latter emotion, and nodded slowly. ‘No matter what happens you’ll always be our daughter,’ he assured her intently. ‘But I don’t feel it would be disloyal to me to see your real mother. In fact, I’d feel rather proud if you did.’

‘P-proud?’ she repeated shakily.

He smiled. ‘If I do say so myself, we’ve done rather a nice job of bringing you up. I’d like Mrs Steele to see that her sacrifice wasn’t for nothing.’

Merry frowned once again at his choice of words. ‘Sacrifice?’

Her father nodded. ‘You don’t think she found it easy to give you up, do you? Because it wasn’t,’ he shook his head. ‘No woman could give her child up without causing herself pain. And it’s a pain that has obviously never left Anthea Steele.’ He stood up, taking Merry with him. ‘Think about it, darling,’ he advised. ‘I’m not pressurising you to see her if you really don’t think you could cope with it, but I would be very pleased if you could. All right?’

‘All right,’ she nodded tearfully, once again thinking what a wonderful man her father was.

He smiled, wiping away her tears. ‘The stairs is a ridiculous place to have had this conversation,’ his smile deepened to a grin, ‘but I’m glad we’ve had it.’

‘So am I,’ Merry said, and meant it, giving him a quick kiss and a hug before running up the stairs to her bedroom.

A few minutes later she heard the front door close, and knew that her father had gone to work as usual. She could hear the local children playing outside as usual, the occasional car as usual. Only she seemed to have changed. She was no longer just the daughter of Sarah and Malcolm Charles, she was also the daughter of Anthea Steele, the stepdaughter of Samuel Steele, and stepsister to Gideon Steele. Just knowing that changed the whole fabric of her life, made her want to know exactly who she was, and what Anthea Steele was really like.

But she didn’t run headlong into meeting her real mother. She gave herself time to think, to consider the consequences of such a meeting, for them both. For herself she didn’t feel she would be too deeply affected if such a meeting didn’t work out—after all, she still had her father, no matter what. But if Anthea Steele were in the emotional depression her stepson claimed she was then it could have a disastrous effect on her.

Finally it was the curiosity that made her seek out Gideon Steele at the telephone number he had given her. It turned out to be a hotel, and it took several minutes to put through to his room. When there was no answer the hotel telephonist came back on the line.

‘Could I take a message for Mr Steele?’ she offered politely.

Merry chewed on her bottom lip, not sure she would be able to find the courage to call Gideon Steele again. ‘Could you tell him Miss Charles called,’ she said breathlessly.

Now if he still wanted her to meet his stepmother it would be up to him to contact her! Nevertheless, she made the concession of turning down the invitation Vanda passed on about a party at one of their friends’ flats. After all, there was no point in leaving a message that she had called him if she then went out for the evening herself.

By ten o’clock she was beginning to wish she had gone with Vanda; the lateness of the hour seemed to indicate that Gideon Steele had gone out for the entire evening too.

She was in the process of changing to go to the party after all when the doorbell rang. She zipped up her skin-tight red velvet trousers as she ran to answer the door, her red and gold interwoven top also figure-hugging.

Her eyes widened as she found Gideon Steele standing outside the door. Once again his suit was superbly tailored, blue this time, contrasted with a lighter blue shirt, and there was a weary look’ about his eyes and mouth as he raised dark brows at her appearance.

‘Mr Steele …’ she said weakly.

‘You called me—–’

‘I expected you to call back, not just turn up here!’ She was instantly on the defensive, something about this autocratic man making her feel that way whenever she met him. ‘I was just on my way out.’

‘And I thought the outfit was for my benefit,’ he drawled.

Merry flushed. ‘Hardly!’

He gave an impatient sigh, his face darkening to a scowl. ‘Could we talk about this inside?’ he snapped.

She opened the door to him warily, taking her time about closing it again, allowing herself time to collect her thoughts together. Why couldn’t he have just telephoned her? It would have been so much easier talking to him on the telephone, to have agreed to meet Anthea Steele if she hadn’t had to speak to him face to face. She wouldn’t put it past this arrogant devil of a man to know that, after all, he must know the reason she had called him. There could only be one reason!

He was waiting for her in the lounge, his impatience barely concealed as he tapped his fingers on the old stone fireplace that now housed an electric fire, drawing attention to the artistic sensitivity of his hands.

‘I’m to take it you’ve changed your mind about meeting Anthea?’ He finally spoke, impatient with her silence.

Dull colour flooded her cheeks at his directness. ‘Yes,’ she bit out.

He nodded, as if she could make no other answer. ‘You’ve spoken with your father?’

‘Yes.’

His scowl deepened. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything else but “yes”?’ he snapped tersely.

Merry shrugged. ‘There isn’t anything else to say, you seem to know all the answers.’

He raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘Does that mean you can’t at least make a token show at conversation?’

She flushed at his rebuke. ‘It’s all been said. I’ve spoken to my father, we’ve agreed that it isn’t disloyal to him and my mother if I meet my—your stepmother.’ She bit her lip at the angry flare in his eyes as she corrected herself. Anthea Steele wasn’t her mother, and never could be.

‘Very well,’ Gideon Steele rasped tautly. ‘When do you want to meet her?’ His eyes were narrowed.

‘I—I haven’t really thought about it.’ The decision to see her at all had been hard enough. ‘When do you think …?’

‘There’s no time like the present—–’

‘Not now!’ Merry gasped her protest. ‘Not tonight. It’s ten-thirty!’

‘So late!’ he taunted mockingly. ‘You’ve just admitted that you were on your way out, so it isn’t that late after all. But as it happens, I didn’t have right now in mind. I think tomorrow would be a good time.’

It was all happening too fast, was like a snowball rolling down a hillside, getting bigger and bigger as it went—and it threatened to knock her off her feet when it came to an end!

‘Too soon?’

It was the taunting softness of his voice that brought the spark of rebellion into her glittering green eyes. ‘Of course not,’ she answered lightly. ‘Tomorrow will be fine.’

‘Good,’ he nodded his satisfaction, his expression grim. ‘Do you have a valid passport?’

Merry blinked dazedly. ‘Passport?’ she repeated incredulously, not able to keep up with his lightning change of subjects.

‘Yes. Do you?’ his impatience was barely contained.

She frowned. ‘As it happens, yes. I went to Austria with some friends last year. Why do I need a passport?’

‘Anthea and my father are in the middle of a Mediterranean cruise at this moment. Tomorrow morning I’m on my way to join them for the last two weeks. You may as well come with me and meet Anthea then.’

‘Oh, but—I can’t—That’s ridiculous!’ she protested. ‘I can’t just up and leave tomorrow morning for two weeks!’

‘Why not?’ he queried softly. ‘You aren’t back in work yet, I already checked that out. Your father wouldn’t mind, and you’ve already agreed to meet Anthea. So what’s your problem?’ he raised dark brows over eyes the colour of a storm-tossed sea, supremely confident, not understanding that although he might live the jet-set life that she didn’t. She couldn’t possibly just go off with him tomorrow to heaven alone knew where!

‘You’re the problem,’ she told him heatedly.

‘Expecting me to just up and leave at a moment’s notice for—for—–’

‘Athens,’ he supplied calmly.

‘Athens,’ she repeated pointedly. ‘I can’t just—–’

‘Why not?’ he interrupted.

‘Well, because—I just can’t! I don’t have a seat booked on the plane—–’

‘It’s a private jet.’

‘I’m not booked on the ship—–’

‘It’s family owned, there’s always room for the family—and friends,’ he added with a drawl.

So Vanda had got it wrong, it was shipping the Steele family were involved in—or was it shipping and airlines? He said it was a private jet. Probably both, she thought ruefully.

‘Settled?’ he taunted.

She could think of no further objections to make, and her mouth set in a thin disapproving line.

‘The ship will be an easier place for you and Anthea to become acquainted,’ he continued at her silence. ‘It will be more relaxing for you both.’

‘You think so?’ she said stiffly, knowing that at any other time she would have been thrilled at the idea of a Mediterranean cruise. But not in these circumstances.

His icy blue gaze raked over her. ‘I’m hoping so,’ he said pointedly. ‘On the way over here I also gave the problem of upsetting Anthea some thought.’

‘Yes?’ For some reason she suddenly felt wary.

‘You were right about it being a shock for her to have you suddenly produced before her. That wouldn’t be a good idea. My proposal is that you become my girl-friend for two weeks so that you can get to know each other naturally.’