Читать книгу The Marriage Takeover - Lee Wilkinson, Lee Wilkinson - Страница 7

HER prayer was answered.

‘So there you are, Cass…’

The familiar voice sent a flood of relief surging through her, and she looked up eagerly to see Alan crossing the terrace.

Freshly showered and shaved, his evening jacket immaculate, his dark hair expertly styled, he looked every inch the rising young executive.

Sounding more than a little put out, he added, ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’

‘Come and join us,’ Lang Dalton invited blandly, his air now that of a civil host. ‘What will you have to drink?’

‘Sweet vermouth, please, with ice and lemon.’

Rising to his feet, Lang queried, ‘Would you like a refill, Cassandra?’

Catching Alan’s flicker of surprise at the use of her Christian name, she answered awkwardly, ‘No, thank you. As a rule I don’t drink at all.’

When the tall figure had crossed to the bar, Alan came and sat down opposite her. His good-looking face aggrieved, he complained, ‘I hung about for what seemed an age… In the end I was forced to ask the houseboy where your room was.’

Seeing his dignity had been wounded, she began, ‘I’m sorry, I—’

But he was going on, ‘When I found it was empty, and there was no sign of you, I began to wonder where the devil you’d got to.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, ‘but I—’

She broke off as, having passed Alan his vermouth, Lang Dalton came and sat down again beside her.

‘There’s no need for Cassandra to apologize,’ he said coolly, obviously having overheard the low-toned conversation. ‘The fault was mine. I asked her to have a private drink with me…’

Alan looked startled.

‘I wanted to sound her out about something before I spoke to you. In the event I didn’t get round to it.’

His brown eyes holding a hint of anxiety, Alan asked, ‘What did you want to speak to me about?’

‘As we’ll be dining shortly, I’d prefer to leave any business discussions until later,’ Lang Dalton told him. He continued decidedly, ‘I make it a rule never to talk shop at the table—whether or not there are other guests present.’

As though picking up a cue, Alan remarked, ‘I haven’t seen any of the other guests around… But perhaps they’re not arriving until tomorrow?’

‘On this occasion there are no other guests. I decided to dispense with the social side and concentrate on the business in hand.’

As he finished speaking, Manuel appeared and announced that dinner was served.

‘Shall we go in?’ Lang got to his feet and waited courteously for Cassandra to lead the way.

The long, polished dining table looked a picture, with fine napkins, cut glass, and a centre-piece of fresh flowers.

It was set for three.

As their host moved to the head of the table and seated Cassandra on his right, Alan queried politely, ‘Your wife isn’t dining with us?’

Lang glanced at him and, the muscles in his jaw tightening, made no reply.

Obviously nonplussed by the other man’s silence, Alan pursued, ‘Perhaps we’ll have the pleasure of meeting her tomorrow?’

‘That isn’t likely.’ His expression a mixture of cold fury and naked pain, Lang added curtly, ‘My wife died nearly six months ago. Surely you knew that?’

Thrown into confusion, Alan stammered, ‘N-no… I— I’m sorry… I had no idea.’

Sitting still and silent, Cassandra could only feel bitterly sorry for him, and angry that Lang Dalton had allowed him to make such a blunder.

A black-coated butler appeared and began to serve melon boats with a compote of chilled summer fruits.

In a strained silence, and never having felt less like eating, she picked up her spoon and began to eat. After a while, glancing up unwarily, she encountered her host’s intent gaze.

Cassandra’s eyes instantly dropped, but not before he’d read in them anger and resentment and an unspoken accusation.

Speaking expressly to her, as though Alan weren’t even present, he said with a hint of steel, ‘You appear to blame me for the…er…faux pas?’

Refusing to be intimidated, she answered quietly, ‘I do.’

‘Well, that’s honest, if not particularly prudent. May I enquire why?’

Knowing she had nothing to lose, she lifted her chin and looked him in the eye. ‘While we were on our way here I asked Alan what you were like…’

Without looking at him she was aware that Alan was sitting transfixed, while, one blond brow raised, Lang waited.

‘He said you were known to have principles, and to be scrupulously fair… If that’s true, I think you’ll admit it would have been rather more ethical on your part, and prevented any such mistake, if you’d mentioned your wife’s death earlier.’

There was dead silence for perhaps ten seconds, before Lang Dalton admitted soberly, ‘You’re quite right, of course.’

Turning to Alan, he added, ‘Please accept my apologies. At first I presumed that it wasn’t a genuine blunder, merely a rather clumsy attempt to conceal the fact that you knew about Nina’s death and the circumstances.’

Then to Cassandra he said, ‘In my own defence I must say that in spite of strenuous efforts to keep things hushed up I could hardly believe the story hadn’t leaked out…’

He stopped speaking as a maid appeared and began to clear away the dishes, while the butler produced the next course.

Lang Dalton was a surprising man, Cassandra thought; despite his arbitrary manner and his undoubted arrogance, he’d been big enough not only to admit a fault, but to apologize.

And clearly Alan’s assessment of him as being hard and lacking in emotion was a false one. Judging by that look of stark pain, he’d loved his wife very much, and was still devastated by her death.

Nina—he’d called her Nina—must have been quite young, much too young to die, and in what appeared to have been tragic and singular circumstances.

Circumstances that had obviously caused tongues to wag. From Lang Dalton’s reaction it seemed clear that he’d been the victim of some vicious gossip, which had left him angry and embittered, suspicious of the most innocent remark.

She could only feel sorry for him.

Having served them from a seafood platter and filled the long-stemmed glasses with a fine white wine from the Napa Valley, at a nod from his master, the butler departed.

When they were once more alone, their host remarked a shade drily, ‘Now, as I’ve made light conversation virtually impossible, I think I’ll break my own rule and get down to business, and the reason I invited you both here.

‘George Irvine, who worked for my father before me, is retiring at the end of next month, so I need a new head of West Coast Finances…’

Looking as if he couldn’t believe his ears, Alan echoed, ‘A new head of West Coast Finances?’

‘And before I begin to make a decision I wanted to know how your fiancée would take to the idea of moving to the States. Sometimes there are family commitments…’

Alan said quickly, ‘My parents died last year, so I’ve no family. Neither has Cass…or at least none who are close.’

Lang Dalton gave him a cool glance, and went on, ‘The finance department is based at Seguro House in Los Angeles, where the two main problems are traffic and smog.

‘Some people love LA, others dislike it intensely. Despite its glamorous Hollywood image, my wife hated it. That’s why I transferred my administrative centre to San Francisco…

‘I understand you’re getting married shortly, and how a wife feels about her husband’s job, and its location, can make a great deal of difference to—’

His voice thick and eager, Alan broke in, ‘I’m quite sure Cass would love to live in LA. Wouldn’t you, darling?’

‘I would prefer Cassandra to make up her own mind,’ Lang said repressively. ‘The States Western Seaboard is a long way from England, and it isn’t easy to leave a country one’s always regarded as home.’

Then, addressing her directly, he said, ‘No doubt you’ll need time, a proper chance to think it over.’

In answer to Alan’s appealing glance, and bearing in mind that so far nothing had been said about a job for her, she said carefully, ‘I can tell you now that if Alan is offered a job in the States I would be very happy to come with him.’

His mouth wry, Lang Dalton suggested sardonically, ‘Home is where the heart is?’

‘Trite, but true.’

Though he gave no obvious sign, with an insight that surprised her Cassandra knew her calm answer had nettled him.

Looking at Alan, Lang said briskly, ‘In that case, tomorrow morning, if you’re agreeable, you’ll be flown to LA. It would be advisable to spend a couple of days going through the finance department offices. That way you’ll be able to see at first hand just what the post entails.

‘I’ve asked the executive staff to be prepared to go in this weekend, so you can meet the people who, if the promotion goes through, you’ll be working with. It will give you a good chance to size each other up…’

Watching their faces, Alan’s open and blazing with excitement, the older man’s cool and shuttered, hiding his thoughts, Cassandra felt the first prickle of apprehension.

Lang Dalton had said ‘You’ll be flown to LA…you’ll be able to see at first hand…’ No mention had been made of her going.

But she was just being over-anxious, she assured herself firmly. He had told Alan to make her his PA, he knew they were a good team, and he had invited them both to California.

As though sensing her tension, Alan asked, ‘What about Cass? Will she—?’

‘I’m afraid any deal doesn’t include a job for your future wife, though the rise in salary should more than compensate for that.’

Alan tried again. ‘Only Cass is the best PA I’ve ever had—’

Frowning, Lang broke in, ‘George Irvine already has a very experienced PA who has been with him on a part-time basis for a number of years. Miss Shulster knows all the ins and outs of our West Coast financial dealings, the kind of companies and projects we are willing to lend money to. Though she only comes in for four hours a day she should prove invaluable…’

Seeing that the younger man looked about to argue, Lang added with an air of finality, ‘She has an invalid mother to care for and support, so I have no intention of disturbing the status quo. If you feel you can’t fit in with the present set-up then we’ll forget the whole thing.’

‘Oh, no…’ Alan cried hastily, ‘I’m quite sure I can fit in… And Cass won’t mind, I know. She’s never been a dedicated businesswoman.’

His expression unreadable, Lang Dalton lifted his wine glass and took a sip, before saying with a touch of irony, ‘Really? Yet I seem to recall from her career résumé that at university Cassandra studied market-forces and economics and graduated with a first class honours degree…?’

How in heaven’s name had he remembered a thing like that? she wondered dazedly. Surely he couldn’t come up with such detailed information about all his personnel?

Once again she felt disturbed, threatened.

‘Or perhaps I’m mistaken?’

Looking uncomfortable, Alan began, ‘No, that’s quite right, and I don’t mean Cass isn’t excellent at her job, but she’s…’

‘Expendable?’ Lang suggested softly.

‘Certainly not… What I meant was she isn’t career-minded, it isn’t that important to her…’

He floundered to a stop. An only child, spoilt and pampered, he wasn’t used to having to explain himself.

‘You mean that you think she would be willing to sacrifice her career for yours?’

Looking a little put out at such blunt speaking, Alan admitted, ‘Well, yes, but I—’

Lang glanced at her. ‘Perhaps we should allow Cassandra to speak for herself?’

Irked, both by Lang Dalton’s intervention and by being discussed as if she weren’t present, Cassandra murmured sweetly, ‘You’re too kind.’

Ignoring the gleam of amusement that appeared in his dark blue eyes, she went on, ‘Alan’s quite right. I thoroughly enjoy my job, but I’m far from being a dedicated career woman…’

Lang regarded her, a frown drawing his well-marked brows together. He’d expected someone shrewd and calculating, hard and self-centred. This apparent willingness to put Brent’s interests first had come as a surprise.

Crisply, she added, ‘There are other important things in life.’

‘Such as?’

‘Perhaps because of my upbringing, I believe that taking care of a home and a family are of equal importance.’

There was a tense silence, before, his face curiously set and hard, Lang turned to Alan and said abruptly, ‘Very well. I’ll give instructions for the helicopter to be ready first thing in the morning.’

With a grateful glance at Cassandra, Alan asked, ‘It will be okay for Cass to go to LA with me?’

‘I think not.’ Lang’s answer was decisive. ‘This will be business all the way, and I’ve never believed in mixing business and pleasure…

‘Not that there would be much time for pleasure,’ he added drily.

Seeing Cassandra’s stricken face, Alan began, ‘Oh, but couldn’t she—?’

‘I’m sure your fiancée can bear to part with you for just a couple of days.’ Lang’s tone was caustic.

As Alan looked at Cassandra helplessly, the butler returned with the final course, and a tray of coffee. Her stomach churning, Cassandra refused the chocolate and cream confection, while Alan, who had a schoolboy greed for gooey gateaux and trifles, accepted a liberal helping.

Waving away the rich sweet, Lang allowed his cup to be filled with black coffee, before turning to say to the younger man, ‘All the arrangements have been made for you to spend the night at Seguro House, in the executive suite. I just need to finalize them…’

Then, with a bite, he added, ‘That is, unless you’ve changed your mind about going? It’s up to you.’

Alan finished swallowing a mouthful of chocolate and cream, and after a brief hesitation said, ‘I’d prefer to leave it up to Cass.’

Cassandra drew a deep, uneven breath. Usually she was sensible and well-balanced, but there was nothing remotely sensible or well-balanced about her reaction to being left alone here with Lang Dalton.

But wasn’t she exaggerating, getting worked up about nothing? They wouldn’t be alone. There was a houseful of servants.

As if a houseful of servants made one iota of difference! She still dreaded the thought. And Alan must surely know how she felt?

But, in all fairness, no man in his right mind would turn down an opportunity like that. He’d done the best he could in the circumstances. Given her a chance to veto it.

A chance he knew quite well she wouldn’t take.

Just for an instant she felt resentful.

Glancing up, she discovered Lang Dalton was watching her intently.

Leaning towards her, he said softly in her ear, ‘You look like Ariadne must have looked when she was about to be abandoned in Naxos.’

All at once Cassandra was convinced of two things—he was well aware of what she was thinking, and he wanted her to blame Alan.

Well, she wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.

Allowing herself no time to change her mind, she turned to her fiancé and, with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, exclaimed, ‘Darling, of course you must go!’

For a moment he looked surprised at the warm response. Then, a little lamely, he said, ‘You know I don’t like to leave you.’

But she’d seen the relief in his eyes.

‘Don’t be silly. It’s only for a couple of days.’

Lang smiled grimly. A lot could happen in two days. In less time than that he’d been known to make or break a multi-million-dollar deal and, on matters that adversely affected the environment, apply enough pressure to change the modus operandi and ensure the results he wanted.

‘Don’t worry,’ he told Alan urbanely. ‘While you’re away I’ll show Cassandra something of the area, and make sure she doesn’t get bored.’

If that statement of intent was meant to reassure, as far as Cassandra was concerned it failed dismally.

And Lang knew it. ‘Of course if you’re really not happy with that arrangement…?’

‘I’m quite happy,’ she assured him mendaciously.

‘Well, if you change your mind before the helicopter leaves, and feel you can’t bear to be abandoned after all, I might be prepared to stretch a point…’ But his derisory smile suggested that it would be the behaviour of a child.

Which it would.

‘Thank you, but there’ll be no need.’

Lifting her chin, she met his eyes, and saw in their depths a gleam of triumph, of satisfaction.

It was almost immediately masked. But she knew without a shadow of doubt that he had got exactly what he wanted.

Remembering her premonition, she gave a shiver, suddenly convinced that, for some obscure reason, this whole thing had been carefully planned, that both she and Alan had been ruthlessly manipulated.

Such a notion had obviously never crossed Alan’s mind. He tended to be inward-looking, self-absorbed, and she guessed that a lot of the byplay had gone over his head.

Off the hook, looking eager and excited once again, he turned to Lang and remarked, ‘I heard through the media that you’re considering putting money into the Rio Palos Dam project…’

As they drank their coffee, the two men talked business, while Cassandra tried hard to dismiss her fears. No doubt when she’d had a good night’s rest she would be able to think clearly and laugh at her own foolish fancies.

Alan had slept during the interminable flight, but Cassandra, still new to flying, and perturbed about the visit, hadn’t even managed to doze. Tiredness was making her skin feel as though it was drawn tight over her facial bones, and there was a dull ache between her eyes.

Making a great effort, she sat straighter and tried to concentrate on the conversation, but after a while she began to feel oddly light-headed, the male voices seemed to ebb and flow, and waves of fatigue washed over her.

‘You look absolutely shattered.’ Lang Dalton was on his feet by her side. ‘Why don’t you go to bed?’

‘I think I will, if you don’t mind.’ To her own ears her voice sounded dazed and befuddled.

As she rose, Lang pulled out her chair and said, ‘I’ll see you to your room.’

‘Thank you, but there’s really no need,’ she assured him.

Alan stood up and, a shade abstractedly, kissed her on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, then, darling. I’ll see you in the morning before I go.’

Leaving the two men to resume their discussion, she made her way through a house that was pleasantly cool and airy, full of evening sun and the scent of flowers.

Though she made a conscious effort to walk straight, from time to time she staggered a little, like someone who was inebriated.

As soon as she reached her room she put on her nightdress, cleaned her teeth, and, falling into bed, went to sleep the instant her head touched the pillow.

Some sound disturbed her, and she stirred and groaned. She had slept very heavily. Her head was muzzy and her throat dry.

Struggling to open eyelids that felt as though they’d been fastened shut with Velcro, she saw a strange room with bright sunshine filtering through the light muslin curtains.

For a few seconds she was utterly confused and disorientated. Then memory opened the floodgates, and along with recollection came a rush of anxiety, a return of the foreboding she’d expected sleep to banish.

Though she couldn’t begin to guess at the reason, she remained convinced that, while making sure Alan went to LA, Lang Dalton had contrived that she should remain here… And, to all intents and purposes, of her own free will.

He was a brilliant tactician, she thought broodingly. Having put her in a position where her pride insisted she couldn’t take it, he had tauntingly offered her a chance to change her mind.

Well, that had been a mistake on his part, she decided abruptly. Even if it made her look foolish, she was going to take it!

She would make the excuse that she had resolved to seize this opportunity to see something of LA, in case it was going to be her future home.

Once the helicopter had dropped her, she could book herself into a hotel for the night. There would be no need for her to go anywhere near Seguro House. That way no one could accuse Alan of mixing business with pleasure.

Lang Dalton had said the helicopter would be ready ‘first thing in the morning’. What time was it now? A glance at her watch only served to confuse her; she had omitted to adjust it to the time difference.

So how long had she got? At a guess she must have nearly slept the clock round, so probably not long, she thought with sudden urgency. But all she needed to do was throw a few things in her overnight bag before Alan knocked. She could always skip breakfast.

Jumping out of bed, she hurried to the bathroom.

Having showered and dressed at top speed, and pulled a brush through her long hair, she began to pack some changes of clothing and a few essentials. She had barely finished when she heard the unmistakable sound of a helicopter.

Just in the nick of time, she thought with relief. Any second now Alan would be knocking at the door.

But no knock came, and it took a moment or two of stunned disbelief before the unwelcome fact finally sank in that the engine noise, rather than approaching, was moving away.

No, no, it couldn’t be. Alan wouldn’t leave without seeing her, without saying goodbye.

Her heart suddenly racing, she pressed a button set into the side of the nearest arch, and the glass panels slid aside.

Hurrying out onto the patio, she shielded her eyes from the brightness and looked up into the cloudless sky. The helicopter, silver against the deep blue, was heading south-west towards the coast and the urban sprawl that was Los Angeles…

‘Good morning.’ Lang Dalton’s low-pitched, attractive voice made her jump. ‘You’re up and dressed earlier than I’d expected.’

Bare feet leaving wet prints, he was coming towards her, tanned and fit-looking, wearing well-cut navy swimming trunks, a towel slung around his neck. His thick blond hair was wet and rumpled, a single lock falling over his forehead.

‘That isn’t…?’ Her voice shook betrayingly, and she stopped speaking abruptly.

Following her gaze to where the helicopter had become a rapidly dwindling speck, he said, ‘I’m afraid so,’ adding with a kind of mocking concern, ‘You look upset. I do hope you hadn’t changed your mind about going?’

‘No, I hadn’t changed my mind,’ she lied jerkily, and felt almost sure that he didn’t believe her. ‘But Alan promised he’d…’ Once again she was forced to stop.

‘See you before he left?’ Lang finished for her. ‘You’ll have to forgive him. He didn’t have a moment to spare. In fact he was forced to go without any breakfast.’

A drop of water ran down his lean cheek and he lifted the towel to wipe it away before continuing, ‘The helicopter arrived over an hour early. Some last-minute problem had cropped up that meant McDowell, my pilot, was needed back in LA urgently.’

But surely Alan could have found just a few seconds to say goodbye?

As though reading her thoughts, Lang went on smoothly, ‘Brent and I agreed that as you were obviously jet-lagged it would be a shame to wake you for what would have necessarily been a very brief farewell.’

Brent and I agreed… Cassandra bit her lip vexedly. Reading between the lines, what it amounted to was that to make sure she didn’t change her mind and take advantage of his offer Lang Dalton had tried to prevent Alan from waking her.

And Alan, no doubt feeling uncomfortable about leaving her, and possibly fearing some kind of last-minute reproach, had taken the easy way out.

Aloud, she said, ‘How thoughtful of you both.’ And, feeling caught, trapped, wondered despairingly how she was going to get through the next two days.

But somehow she would have to, and with the best possible grace…

As though applauding her unspoken decision, Lang smiled at her, and said briskly, ‘However, as you are awake, you’ve time for a swim before breakfast.’

The blue, sparkling water looked very inviting, but she found herself oddly unwilling to appear in front of him in a swimsuit.

‘I’m not sure what the time is,’ she prevaricated. ‘I forgot to alter my watch.’

Glancing at the slim, waterproof Rolex he wore on his left wrist, Lang told her, ‘It’s just after six.’ Then, with a glint, he said, ‘And I can recommend that swim.’

Making a big deal of adjusting her watch, she half shook her head. ‘I’m really thirsty. I think I’d rather have a drink.’

‘Why not have both? There’s some freshly squeezed juice waiting.’ He indicated a table by the pool-side that had been set with a selection of fruit and cereals, a jug of orange juice and two tall glasses.

As she hesitated, his sardonic smile making it clear that he had recognized the reason for her reluctance, he added, ‘I’m going in now to shower and dress. Afterwards I’ve got a couple of things to take care of, so you’ve a good half-hour before I join you for breakfast.’

‘Thank you; in that case I think I will.’ She was pleased that her voice was steady.

Watching him walk away, his carriage easy, athletic, she gritted her teeth. He was the most complex, demoralizing, disturbing man she’d ever met.

Going back into her room, the first thing she noticed was the overnight bag that now wouldn’t be needed.

Oh, if only she’d wakened sooner! Agitated and jumpy, nervous as a cat shut in the wrong house, she sighed. But it was too late. There was nothing she could do but make the best of things.

Stripping off her clothes, she pulled on her black swimsuit and looked in the cheval-glass. It fitted her slender, long-legged figure to perfection, and by modern standards was quite modest, but her heightened sensibilities made her feel half naked.

A cautious peep showed the patio was deserted, and, with a rueful grimace at the stupidity of her own behaviour, she ventured out.

She helped herself to a glass of the delicious, sweet-tart juice, and drank it thirstily before slipping into the pool.

The water was blissfully cool and refreshing, and she swam several leisurely lengths while the tension slowly drained out of her.

Turning on her back, she floated motionless, her hair fanning out around her, her eyes closed, the Californian sun warm on her face.

‘About ready?’

Lang’s voice startled her, and her head went under. She gulped in water, and for a second or two thrashed about wildly.

A strong hand caught one of her wrists and drew her to the side. Then, crouching, he took her under her arms and hauled her out with what seemed to be effortless ease.

While she coughed and spluttered, he set her on her feet and steadied her until she’d blinked the water from her eyes and got her breath back. Then, picking up a short white towelling robe he’d tossed over a chair, he held it for her.

‘Thank you,’ she said huskily. Pulling the robe around her, she knotted the belt and used the cowl collar to wipe her face and dry the dripping ends of her hair.

A hint of amusement in his voice, Lang suggested, ‘Perhaps in future you should avoid the deep end, rather than risk drowning.’

‘I can swim perfectly well,’ she informed him indignantly. ‘I would have been in no danger of drowning if you hadn’t startled me.’

She hadn’t meant to sound quite so accusing, she thought belatedly, but the shock had momentarily put out of her head the need to tread warily.

‘I’m sorry. Trying to drown you wasn’t my intention. Believe me, I much prefer you alive.’ Then he said softly, ‘You see, I have plans for you, Cassandra.’

‘Plans?’ A little chill of alarm ran down her spine. ‘What kind of plans?’

‘You’ll have to wait and see. I’ve always believed that anticipation hones the…’ There was a brief pause before he added, ‘Pleasure. Now, are you ready for some breakfast?’

He had changed into lightweight trousers and a blue open-necked sports shirt. Conscious that he was studying the slim length of her bare legs, and feeling very much at a disadvantage, she stammered, ‘I—I was hoping to get dressed first.’

A hand beneath her elbow, he urged her towards the table and the appetizing smell of coffee. ‘This is California. Even up here, where the air’s cooler, you’re already wearing more than you need.’

Seeing nothing else for it, she sat down, hiding her legs under the table.

Smiling a little, he took his own seat and poured coffee for them both, before asking, ‘Would you like to start with some cereal?’ When she shook her head, he helped her to scrambled eggs and thin slices of crispy bacon.

Sitting in the sun, a balmy breeze rustling the palm fronds and wafting the scent of frangipani, the mountains making a majestic backdrop, they ate in silence, Lang looking relaxed and easy, Cassandra anything but.

What had he meant by plans? she wondered uneasily. It had sounded almost like a veiled threat…

Oh, don’t be a fool! she scolded herself crossly. What possible reason could a man in his position have for threatening her? Until the previous day she’d never even met him, let alone given him any cause to want to harm her.

Lang Dalton was her boss, nothing more or less. A wealthy, influential, highly respected entrepreneur, not some kind of bogeyman.

Probably plans had been a reference to some quite innocuous outing. He’d told Alan that he would show her ‘something of the area’.

When, eating abstractedly, she’d done justice to the meal, Lang refilled her cup and, his voice casual, said, ‘Oh, by the way, your fiancé wrote you a note while he was snatching a quick coffee.’

Why hadn’t he mentioned it before? she wondered vexedly.

As though in answer to that thought, he added with an ironic smile, ‘In the general excitement, I’m afraid it almost slipped my mind.’

Feeling in the pocket of his shirt, he produced a folded piece of paper and handed it to her.

Confirming Alan’s haste, his almost painfully neat writing had degenerated into a scrawl.

Cass, darling, sorry to leave without seeing you, but in the circumstances it seemed a shame to disturb you. While we were talking last night, Mr Dalton told me where he planned to take you, so enjoy your weekend, and I’ll catch up with you in Las Vegas Sunday evening.

Love, A.

Looking up, Cassandra asked blankly, ‘Las Vegas?’

‘I thought you might like to see the place,’ Lang said easily. ‘We can drive over to Nevada—you’ll find the journey itself is a pleasure—and stay a couple of nights at the Golden Phoenix… I’ve arranged for your fiancé to be flown straight there from LA…

‘Apart from the fact that Vegas is well worth seeing for its own sake—it was a frontier outpost and railway town before becoming a gambling mecca—it’s surrounded by some magnificent desert scenery.

‘Death Valley lies to the west, and from nearby McCarran International Airport there are flights that offer a bird’s-eye view of the Grand Canyon.’

‘That sounds wonderful,’ she admitted, feeling both excited and relieved. A trip to Las Vegas in a chauffeur-driven car, and staying at a hotel with plenty of people, had to be a great deal easier than remaining here with only Lang Dalton for company.

‘I’m glad you approve.’ So far so good, he thought, and asked softly, ‘Are you anything of a gambler, Cassandra?’

‘No. Are you?’

He smiled thinly. ‘Not in the usual sense. I have been known to play for high stakes, but only when the odds are stacked in my favour.’

Something about his answer made her feel uneasy, but, telling herself that she mustn’t start imagining things again, she asked, ‘When do you plan to start?’

‘As soon as possible. How long will it take you to get ready?’

‘Ten minutes?’

Nodding his approval, he rose to his feet and pulled out her chair.