Читать книгу Claiming His Wedding Night - Lee Wilkinson - Страница 8

IT WAS a lovely early June day. After a miserably cold spring, a cloudless blue sky hailed the start of summer in the city.

The dust and heat and the oppressive air that trapped and held the exhaust fumes hadn’t yet built up. Instead, a light balmy breeze played hide and seek, fluttering flags and awnings, and giving London the air of being en fête.

In spite of the financial problems that at present beset JB Electronics, the bright sunshine lifted Perdita Boyd’s spirits and put a spring in her step as she walked along Piccadilly.

Tall and slender, with a natural grace of movement, even in a business suit, her hair in a no-nonsense coil, she turned male heads.

Considering herself to be somewhat nondescript, with eyes of palest turquoise and hair the bleached gold of ripe corn, she would have been surprised had she known what an impact she made.

Even the elderly, and somewhat crusty, bank manager she had been to see earlier that morning, whilst refusing to give JB Electronics a loan, had smiled at her and sighed for his lost youth.

After leaving the bank, attempting to gather herself and regain some shred of optimism, she had called in at the nursing home where her father was recovering from recent heart surgery.

John Boyd had been sitting by the long windows that looked out over the well-kept grounds.

He was a tall, nice-looking man of just turned fifty five, with a good head of thick grey-blond hair and a slight gap between his top middle two front teeth that gave him a boyish appearance.

As she’d crossed the room to kiss him, he had queried, ‘No luck, I take it?’

Sitting down opposite, she shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. While the bank manager was sympathetic, he was also adamant that they could offer neither a loan nor a bigger overdraft.’

John sighed. ‘Well, as the Silicon Valley set-up is in an even bigger mess than we are, that means we’ve no alternative but to negotiate with Salingers.’

‘It won’t be easy. They’re a tough lot. They have us over a barrel and they know it.

‘Even so, we can’t afford to let them have the controlling interest if we can possibly help it. We need to keep it down to no more than forty-five per cent of the shares.’

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Go up to fifty per cent if you have to. When are you going to see them?’

‘I’m going to their Baker Street offices first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘That’s good, we’ve no time to spare. Who will you be seeing?’

‘I’ve an appointment to see a Mr Calhoun, one of their top men.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard of him. He’s a tough nut to crack, by all accounts.’

Wanting to take the worried look off her father’s face, Perdita hastily changed the subject. ‘Oh, by the way, Sally mentioned that she’d like to pop in later, if that’s all right with you?’

‘It’s fine by me.’

‘She said something about getting her own back.’

He grinned. ‘She has a pocket chess set, and the last game we played, I beat her.’

Then seriously, ‘I take it she’s looking after you all right?’

‘Can you doubt it?’

‘Not really. Sometimes I wonder how we ever managed without her.’

When their previous housekeeper had left to get married, Sally Eastwood, an attractive English widow of forty-five, home from the States after her American husband died, had taken the post.

Hard-working and sunny-natured, in the ensuing six months Sally had proved to be an absolute gem. Born and bred in Lancashire, she had soon become part of the family.

A tap at the door announced the lunchtime trolley.

‘Well, I’d better be on my way,’ Perdita said, stooping to kiss her father’s cheek.

‘The best of luck for tomorrow, lass,’ he said, touching her hand.

Then, obviously trying to hide his anxiety, ‘I don’t hold out much hope of reaching an agreement straight away though, heaven knows, we need to.’

‘If there does seem to be any chance of an agreement, will you need to consult Elmer first?’

‘No. He’s given me carte blanche to do whatever is necessary to save the company.’ Then, quickly, ‘When you’ve been to see Calhoun, you’ll let me know how things are going?’

‘Of course.’

She and her father had always been very close, and Perdita knew how much he hated being hors de combat at this crucial time.

Her face soft and concerned, she went on, ‘I know you’d much rather you or Martin were doing this negotiating, but—’

‘That’s just where you’re wrong, lass,’ he broke in firmly. ‘You’ve got what it takes, and I think your chances of pulling it off are appreciably better than mine. Or Martin’s, for that matter.’

Martin, who lived with them in London and ran the Technical Information side of the company, was the only son of Elmer Judson, John’s American business partner. As well as being the apple of Elmer’s eye, Martin was also a lifelong favourite of John’s, taking the place of the son he had never had.

So for him to say that she had a better chance of pulling it off than either himself or Martin was high praise indeed.

Pleased by his vote of confidence, Perdita had walked back through the park. Feeling hungry, and lured by the sight of an empty bench in the sun, she had sat down to eat the sandwiches that Sally had packed for her, before continuing back to work.

Once back at the company’s Calder Street offices, she would grab a quick cup of coffee before starting the afternoon’s work.

While her father was convalescing, and Martin was in Japan on urgent business, Perdita was to all intents and purposes, running the firm.

Whilst coping with the extra pressure of work, she was struggling to make the final preparations for her wedding to Martin, which was now only six weeks away.

He had bought her a beautiful diamond solitaire, and their engagement had been officially announced early that spring, bringing in its wake an absolute whirl of activity.

But things were finally coming together. The church and the caterers had been booked, her dress was being made by Claude Rodine, and yesterday, after consulting her father, she had made the final arrangements for a marquee to be erected on the lawn of their home in Mecklen Square.

Now, all that still remained to be done was…

Her train of thought was suddenly and violently derailed by the sight of a tall, well-built man with dark hair leaving a taxi that had just drawn up outside Piccadilly’s Arundel Hotel.

Brought up short by the shock, Perdita stopped dead in her tracks, scarcely aware that another pedestrian following on her heels had to sidestep abruptly to avoid walking into her.

No! It couldn’t be! It just couldn’t! She had to be mistaken.

But, as the man paid the driver and turned to head for the hotel entrance, she knew that she had made no mistake. She could have picked out that clear-cut, handsome profile from a million others.

‘Oh, dear God,’ she breathed.

Jared.

Jared who, after all this time, still had the power to stop her heart.

He had reached the entrance when, as if sensing her presence, he paused and looked back.

Always in the past, on entering even a crowded room, he had known precisely where she was without having to look.

Now, as he turned his head and their eyes met, she felt as if she had been kicked in the solar plexus.

While she stood and gazed at him, rooted to the spot, he smiled slowly, mirthlessly.

That smile made her blood run cold. The moment she had dreaded, and felt in the depths of her being was inevitable, had arrived.

Adrenalin surged through her and, though she knew it was hopeless, knew he wouldn’t let her go so easily, she turned blindly to run.

As he moved to intercept her headlong flight, a taxi that had pulled up alongside her to drop a fare started to draw away.

Dragging open the door, she scrambled in anyhow and, weak-kneed and trembling, her heart thumping like a sledgehammer, sank onto the seat.

‘Where to?’ the driver asked laconically, swinging out into the traffic stream.

Though all her attention was fixed on the man standing gazing after them, instinctively cautious, she answered, ‘The top end of Gower Street.’

For the entire length of Piccadilly the traffic was heavy and slow-moving and, as the taxi crawled along, the blood drumming in her ears, she kept glancing over her shoulder.

There was no sign of any pursuit but, even so, it was a few minutes before her heart stopped pounding and she could breathe properly again.

She was safe.

At least for the time being. But suppose he had finally managed to track her down? Suppose he knew exactly where to find her?

She shuddered at the possibility.

Still, if he had, she thought, rallying a little, what could he possibly do?

But, recalling his smile, cold chills began to run up and down her spine, and she was forced to admit that her attempt at bravado had failed miserably.

The Jared she had fallen in love with had been passionate and caring, with a strong sense of justice and fair play. Even then, however, he had been quite capable of setting aside conventional or so-called ‘ethical’ standards and being ruthless.

She shuddered again as the word ruthless brought a return of her previous panic.

Gritting her teeth, she told herself firmly that she mustn’t lose her head. It would all depend on why Jared was in London. It might have nothing to do with her.

He might be over from the States on a business trip of some kind. Or perhaps he was here on holiday? His mother had been born in Chelsea and he had always had a soft spot for London.

But neither option seemed logical. The Arundel was the haunt of the rich, and the last time she had had news of him he had been virtually penniless.

Of course he might not be staying at the Arundel, but just lunching there.

She took a deep steadying breath. And it was quite possible that seeing each other had been merely an unlucky chance. A case of her being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

If she hadn’t been passing the hotel at that precise moment she would no doubt have remained in blissful ignorance of Jared’s presence in town.

But, even more important, he wouldn’t have known for sure that she was living here.

Three years ago, when she and her father had returned home from California, John had taken every precaution to keep their exact whereabouts a secret.

He had changed both the name and address of the company, bought a different house in a different location, and had their home telephone number listed as ex-directory.

In short, he had made it as difficult as he could for Jared to find them.

Difficult, but not impossible…

‘This OK?’ The driver’s voice cut through her jumbled thoughts.

‘Oh, yes…fine, thanks.’

Gathering herself, she paid him, added a tip and climbed out.

As he drove away, she started to walk on. It was about a quarter of a mile to the Calder Street offices, but she had been afraid to be dropped any closer in case Jared had managed to get the number of the taxi.

Her legs still felt shaky, and she wished Martin was here in London rather than in Japan.

Whilst she had struggled to forget Jared and all the pain his perfidy had caused, Martin had been her anchor, her safe harbour, and she missed his reassuring presence.

He was an attractive man, tall and sturdily built, with fair hair and cornflower-blue eyes. A man she felt sure would make a good husband and father.

Even so, it had taken three years of patient, undemanding devotion on his part to finally get her to accept his proposal of marriage.

Now she would be glad when the wedding was over and they were man and wife. She would feel safer. Be—almost—able to believe that she had finally managed to escape from the past.

But though Martin had admitted that he had first fallen madly in love with her when she was just seventeen, she knew she would never again feel the kind of passionate love she had felt for Jared.

Nor did she want to. It was too traumatic. It had brought nothing but bitter disillusionment and heartbreak.

Or so she told herself.

In truth, it was simply that having once given her heart she had nothing left to give, just a void where her heart should have been.

All she felt for Martin was gratitude for his unfailing support, and an almost sisterly affection.

But, even so, he still wanted her and she was satisfied that she could make him happy and, while he would never rock her world, neither would he cause her pain.

When John and Elmer were told the news the two men had been highly delighted.

‘I’ve always known how he felt about you,’ Elmer had told her, ‘so I wasn’t surprised when he decided to follow you to England. I’m just pleased that his tenacity has finally paid off. There’s no one I’d sooner have for a daughter-in-law.’

While her father had said gladly, ‘I can’t tell you how pleased I am that you’ve finally decided Martin’s the man for you. Dangerfield couldn’t be trusted and would never have amounted to anything; I was beginning to think you’d never get over him.’

Only Perdita knew in her heart of hearts that she hadn’t got over Jared, and she never really would. Hadn’t she spent the last three years trying?

Reaching the glass and concrete tower block that housed JB’s suite of offices, Perdita exchanged greetings with the security guard before taking the lift up to the second floor.

In the outer office, Helen, their attractive blonde secretary-cum-PA, glanced up from her computer to ask hopefully, ‘Did you have any luck?’

Perdita shook her head. ‘Unfortunately not.’

Helen, who’d been with them for the past three years, sighed. ‘How did your father take it?’

‘Very well, really. I think he’d resigned himself.’

‘So now your only hope is Salingers?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Then you’ll just have to charm their Mr Calhoun.’

‘I didn’t manage to charm the bank manager,’ Perdita said wryly.

Helen grinned. ‘Perhaps you just weren’t his type.’

Once in her own office, Perdita disposed of her handbag and hung up her jacket before sitting down at her desk.

But, though she had a great deal of administrative work to get through, try as she might, she couldn’t concentrate. Jared was once again occupying her thoughts to the exclusion of all else.

She found herself rerunning the little scene outside the Arundel over and over again in her mind, wondering how it might have ended if the taxi hadn’t been there at just the right moment.

But it was, she told herself sternly, so she must avoid dwelling on other possibilities and try to dismiss all thoughts of Jared from her mind.

Only that was easier said than done.

His dark face and the memories it brought flooding back refused to be banished and by four-thirty she had achieved very little in the way of work.

She had just decided to give up and go home when the phone rang and Helen told her, ‘Mr Calhoun’s secretary would like to speak to you. She’s on the other line.’

‘Thanks.’

Fearing the worst, Perdita picked up the receiver and said, ‘Perdita Boyd speaking.’

A woman’s voice, sounding cool and efficient, responded, ‘Miss Boyd, I have a message for you. Unfortunately, Mr Calhoun has been forced to cancel your appointment.’

Knowing only too well how urgently they needed the lifeline Salingers had appeared to be holding out, Perdita’s heart sank like a stone.

Trying to keep her voice level, she asked, ‘Can you tell me the reason?’

‘Mr Calhoun needs to fly to the States tomorrow morning,’ the secretary told her crisply. ‘The only way he can find time to see you is if you can meet him at the airport and talk to him over breakfast.’

Unable to hide her eagerness, Perdita agreed, ‘Yes. Yes, I can do that.’

‘In that case, if you’ll give me your home address I’ll arrange for a car to pick you up at six-thirty tomorrow morning.’

Perdita gave her the address and thanked her before ringing off.

Feeling like a condemned woman who had been granted a last-minute reprieve, she phoned her father to tell him of the change of venue.

Then, having pulled on her jacket, she collected her bag and made her way through to the outer office, where Helen was just preparing to leave.

‘Problems?’ the other woman enquired, her face sympathetic.

‘Just a change of plan, thank the Lord.’

Perdita explained briefly what that change of plan involved, adding, ‘So it could have been worse. I only hope he’s not in too much of a hurry to really listen to me.’

‘Amen to that. Well, if you want to get off, I’ll lock up.’

‘Thanks. See you sometime tomorrow.’

The phone call had temporarily driven thoughts of Jared from the forefront of Perdita’s mind but, as she started to walk home, memories of the past came flooding back in a relentless tide.

She had been born in the States, but her American mother had died soon after and her distraught father had taken her back to England with him.

After she’d left school, in order that she should see something of the country of her birth, her father had taken her over to California for a prolonged visit.

Elmer, who owned a large house near Silicon Valley, had insisted that the pair of them stay there with himself and Martin.

Perdita had been in San Jose for only a matter of days when she and Jared had met at a party. She had fallen in love with him at first sight—love like a deep, fast-flowing river that she had plunged straight into without stopping to ask herself if she might drown.

Right from the start, it had been like sharing a self with him. They had completed each other, filled each other’s lives and hearts. She had thought of them as soulmates.

But in the end that whole concept of closeness, of belonging together, had proved to be just an illusion. A lie.

He was tall, dark and handsome—a hackneyed phrase but a true description—a charismatic man who had always attracted the opposite sex like buddleia attracted butterflies.

But, with eyes only for her, he had never seemed to notice them. Even so, in the early days of their relationship she had had to struggle hard to hide her jealousy when one of them had touched him or smiled at him.

When one day she had admitted as much, he had kissed her and said, ‘There’s no need to be jealous, my love. I’m a one woman man, and you’re that woman. There’ll never be anyone else for me.’

Wanting desperately to believe him, she had almost succeeded, until that awful night in Las Vegas and the nightmare that had followed.

She remembered his tight-lipped silence when her father—who was still recovering from his recent heart attack—had called him a swine and a heartless Casanova, and peremptorily ordered him out of the house in San Jose.

Remembered only too well how Elmer Judson and Martin, both big, heavily built men, had advanced on him threateningly when he had refused to leave without her.

But, even then, Jared hadn’t said what she had dreaded him saying, the one thing that would have shocked her father and stopped the other two men in their tracks.

Perhaps he had expected her to say it.

But she hadn’t.

And a melee had ensued.

Jared was young and fit and more than able to defend himself, she knew, but, with a bruised cheek and a split lip, he had never once hit back.

Even so, it had taken the combined efforts of both Elmer and Martin to throw him out, while she had stood like a statue, tears spilling out of her eyes, and watched, ignoring his repeated pleas of, ‘Come with me, Perdita.’

The final blow had been when her father had reneged on a promise to help finance Dangerfield Software through a crisis.

That last minute failure to honour an agreement that had been previously signed and settled had forced Jared into near bankruptcy.

Even then he hadn’t stopped trying to get her back. After weeks of unanswered letters and phone calls, he had appeared in the Silicon Valley offices of Judson Boyd and asked to speak to her in private.

Still raw and bleeding from his betrayal, and knowing only too well that there was nothing he could say that would alter things, she had shaken her head and asked him to leave.

Standing his ground, he had once again sworn he was innocent and accused her of refusing to listen to him, of lack of trust, of never really loving him.

The latter had brought stinging tears to her eyes. But, fighting against the surge of emotion, and flanked by her father and Martin, she had told him that he was wasting his time, that she never wanted to see him again.

When he would have argued further, he had been ‘escorted’ from the premises.

The last few bitter words they had exchanged had been over the phone.

When she had felt able to, she had rung him to repeat that everything was over between them, that she wanted to be free of him, and that she and her father were leaving the States for good.

It was then he had warned, ‘Don’t think I’m letting you go so easily. Sooner or later I’ll find you, wherever you are.’

Now, just thinking about it, made her shiver.

But, though it was still so vivid in her mind, it had been almost three years ago. Surely after this length of time he would have moved on?

In all probability he was married. When they had once talked about their future together, he had said he wanted children so he might even have started a family.

She could only hope that his life was now settled and stable, and that he had forgotten the past.

But suppose he hadn’t? Suppose he was here in London because of her? Suppose he had finally managed to track her down?

Becoming aware that her unhappy thoughts had gone full circle, she brought herself up short. It was high time she stopped thinking about Jared and started to concentrate on tomorrow, and what was bound to be the most important meeting of her life.

The next morning, after a virtually sleepless night when she had spent hours lying awake trying not to think about the past, Perdita was up at five-thirty.

Her head throbbed dully and she felt like death warmed up—an expression of her father’s that until that minute she hadn’t fully understood.

Glancing at herself in the bathroom mirror, she grimaced. Just when she had wanted to look her best and radiate an air of efficiency and confidence, she looked like something the cat had dragged in.

Oh, well, she would just have to see what ravages a spot of make-up could hide.

Showered and dressed in a smart charcoal-grey business suit, small chunky gold hoops in her neat lobes, her blonde hair taken up into a fashionable knot, she checked her appearance in the cheval glass in her bedroom.

Her skin was flawless, so normally she needed very little in the way of cosmetics. Now, just a light coat of foundation hid the slight shadows beneath her eyes, while a pale lip gloss and a hint of blusher bestowed a healthy glow.

Her brows and lashes were naturally darker than her hair and needed only a touch of mascara to define them even more.

After a critical survey could find no real fault with her appearance, she picked up her bag and headed for the stairs, just as Sally’s voice called, ‘The car’s here now.’

‘Coming.’

The housekeeper, who had insisted on getting up to see her off, was waiting in the hall. With a quick hug, she said, ‘I only hope everything goes well.’

Then, looking oddly flustered, she added, ‘I really do have your best interests at heart.’

Returning the hug, Perdita said, ‘Thanks. I’ll give you a ring and let you know how it goes.’

A little awkwardly, Sally told her, ‘I won’t be home. I promised I’d pop over and have breakfast with your dad. I thought it might help to take his mind off things. Or, at the very least, give him someone to talk to. I hope you don’t mind?’

Touched by her concern, Perdita said warmly, ‘Of course I don’t mind. On the contrary, it sounds like a great idea.’

Outside, it was another lovely sunny day, the air as cool and sparkling as champagne. At that time in the morning the square was still quiet and in the central gardens dew sparkled on the grass and the beds of early summer tulips.

A dark blue limousine was drawn up by the kerb with a uniformed chauffeur waiting to open the door. As she crossed the pavement, he said a cheerful, ‘Good morning, miss.’

Perdita returned his greeting and, trying not to feel like someone about to try and successfully negotiate a minefield, climbed in and fastened her seat belt.

Traffic was very heavy and the journey seemed to be taking so long that she began to worry about being late. If she missed this appointment, the consequences would be disastrous.

On tenterhooks, she breathed a cautious sigh of relief when they finally reached the airport environs and a few minutes later drew up in an area she didn’t immediately recognize.

A smartly dressed sandy-haired young man was waiting for them.

Before turning to lead the way into the terminal building, he greeted her with a smile and a courteous, ‘Good morning, Miss Boyd. My name’s Richard Dow and I work for Salingers.

‘I’m pleased you were able to make it in time,’ he went on as they crossed the VIP lounge. ‘The traffic seems to get worse.’

To her surprise, Perdita found herself escorted through heavy glass doors and out onto the tarmac apron where a private executive jet stood close by, its immaculate white and blue paintwork gleaming in the bright sunshine.

As though sensing her surprise, Richard Dow said, ‘Didn’t Mr Calhoun’s secretary mention that Salingers executives usually have breakfast on the plane?’

‘No. No, she didn’t…Not that it matters,’ Perdita added hastily. ‘It’s just that I was expecting…’ The words tailed off as they reached the plane and she was ushered up the steps.

A white-coated steward was waiting in the doorway to welcome her aboard. ‘Good morning, Miss Boyd. My name is Henry. If you’d like to follow me?’

Short and nimble, his black slicked-back hair gleaming, he led the way through to a small but luxuriously furnished lounge where a table was set for breakfast with damask linen, crystal glasses, a bottle of Krug on ice and a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice.

Pulling out a chair, he deftly settled her at the table. ‘If you would like a glass of champagne and orange juice while you’re waiting? Or a coffee, perhaps?’

Her head still aching and intent on keeping a clear brain, Perdita said, ‘A cup of coffee would be nice, thank you, Henry.’

Having assembled brown sugar and cream, the steward took a glass jug of coffee from a hotplate and filled her cup.

Then, indicating a nearby bell push, ‘If you require anything further, Miss Boyd, just ring for me.’

She thanked him and, silent-footed, he disappeared through a sliding door in the bulkhead.

Relaxing a little now that she was sure the meeting was going ahead, she sipped her coffee and surveyed the quiet luxury that surrounded her.

There were two soft leather armchairs, several bookcases, a comprehensive in-flight entertainment centre and a small leather-topped desk.

Salingers did their top men proud, she thought, taking in the sumptuous carpeting and the two striking paintings by Joshua Lorens that she recognized as originals rather than prints.

With this kind of money at their fingertips, they should have no trouble bailing out half a dozen struggling companies. So all she had to do was persuade them that buying into JB Electronics would be a good investment in the long run…

Deep in thought about the coming meeting, it was a moment or two before she realized that the plane was moving, taxiing slowly across the apron.

Perdita had half risen to ring for the steward before it occurred to her that the area was getting busy and the pilot was probably just moving up to accommodate another plane.

Sinking back into her seat, she picked up her cup and was about to take a sip when the bulkhead door slid aside and a well dressed man walked in. A tall, broad-shouldered, handsome man with crisp dark hair and silvery-grey eyes.

Every trace of colour draining from her face, leaving the blusher standing out like a circus clown’s make-up, she set down the cup with a clatter, splashing coffee into the saucer.

Staring at him, wide-eyed and speechless, she wondered wildly if all the strain of her father’s heart surgery and the company’s financial problems, coupled with the little scene outside the Arundel, had affected her brain and she was imagining the whole thing.

‘Hello, Perdita,’ he said softly.

Though she hadn’t heard him speak for three years, she would have known that deep, attractive voice anywhere. It could have called her from the grave.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked hoarsely.

‘Standing in for Sean Calhoun.’ Jared’s tone was neutral, almost pleasant, but his grey eyes were as cold as the Atlantic in winter. ‘So, if you want to save your father’s company, you’ll have to negotiate with me.’