Читать книгу Mistaken Mistress - Margaret Way - Страница 8

LANG and Owen left the meeting together.

“That went well,” Lang remarked with satisfaction, moving through the lunchtime crowd with such smooth confidence people found themselves quite happy to go around him.

“If it did it was thanks to you,” Owen admitted with open affection. “I thought I was a tough negotiator but you’ve overtaken me. Nowadays you’re the key player.”

“But isn’t that the way you want it?” Lang glanced sideways at his partner’s face. Although Owen looked as fit as ever, indeed he looked what he was, a handsome highly successful man in his prime, the old punch was gone. For the past six months it seemed Owen was no longer driven by his vast business interests. Somehow he had removed himself from his life in the fast track, his focus clearly elsewhere.

It was odd. Perturbing. As were the monthly trips to the state capital Brisbane, the reasons for which Owen had never divulged. Not that he had to. Owen Carter answered to no one. Not him, his former protégé, now his partner, not his wife, Delma. Last month when he had taken over Owen’s role at a business meeting in Singapore he’d found himself unable to contact Owen for a vital forty-eight hours. Their normal practice was to keep one another abreast of all that was happening but on that occasion Owen had simply gone A.W.O.L. But to where?

Lang had seen it as a big shift in the balance of their relationship and it upset him. Over ten years ago, straight from university with an honours degree in commerce and the university gold medal, he had applied for a job with Carter Enterprises, which he quickly secured over a dozen older, highly qualified applicants. He loved the thrill of big business and the high-flying ventures as much as Owen did. He knew he could handle anything Owen threw at him. Which Owen did, the work amounting to quite an overload. But Owen had liked him. Trusted him. They understood one another. Nowadays he had become honorary “family.” Owen was allowing Lang to operate at the very top level virtually without input from himself.

There had to be a story. They’d all noticed the big change in Owen but not even Delma had come close to asking what it was all about. If Owen hadn’t looked so marvellously fit they might have suspected illness. The only other possible reason for all these mysterious trips away was a love affair, which was quite absurd. In the twelve years Owen had been married to Delma, a very attractive woman some ten years his junior, Owen had never looked sideways at another woman though there were plenty that looked longingly at him. The fact was, and Delma admitted it, she had masterminded a strategy to land Owen. Why not? He was handsome, rich, available. Who was he going to leave all his money to? He needed a wife and heir and Delma had convinced him that she would be perfect.

The marriage had turned out to be durable but not, in Lang’s perceptive eyes, what one could call happy. Strictly speaking, it hadn’t been a love match. A fact never outwardly acknowledged by either of them but always running on a subterranean current. With a less than ardent husband always preoccupied with business Delma had taken to mild flirtations. Never too overt, Owen for all his calm detachment wasn’t the man to cuckold. But recently Owen had become a man of mystery. To track him would have been the greatest insult but Lang found himself frequently pondering exactly what was going on in Owen’s life. Owen was a married man with a wife and young son. He was highly regarded in big business and the tropical north where he lived. Why would a man like that want to complicate his life with a secret affair? Providing, of course, the mystery in Owen’s life was a woman.

Whatever Owen’s story, his early life before coming north, he never spoke of it. Otherwise he spoke of anything and everything with his partner. Lang always felt Owen had suffered some terrible blow in his youth. Something he had never dealt with. Owen would probably go to his grave with all his secrets intact.

Now Lang walked at Owen’s side totally unaware of the attention his own looks attracted. Lang was and always had been very casual about such things. Achievement was what mattered. He had gone after it traumatized by his father’s financial crash, which had literally lost the family farm, though farm hardly described Marella Downs. A ten thousand square kilometre run on the western side of the Great Dividing Range, Marella was a most valuable property. Forsyths had lived there for well over a hundred years, a long time in this great southern land, until his father becoming increasingly desperate after a series of financial busts and industry reversals had finally lost it.

His father had since died, unable to handle not adversity, but the burden of guilt he had placed on himself for losing the family heritage. His father had never lived to see him gradually overcome all the terrible setbacks, but his mother had. Barbara Forsyth resided at Marella Downs once more.

He’d made it his life’s business to buy back the farm. There was no way now he could run the station. He was too heavily and financially involved with Carter-Forsyth Enterprises. His sister, Georgia, and her husband, Brad Carson, his good friend from childhood, managed the station very efficiently indeed. When it was time, Brad wanted to buy him out. But that was a good while off yet. Meanwhile the Forsyths were back on Marella Downs with the next generation taken care of in the form of one Ryan Forsyth Carson, aged six. His nephew and godson.

Lang and Owen lunched at the club, a beautiful old building that looked out at the Botanical Gardens. Both men relaxed over an excellent meal, which was served with quiet flourish by the waiter who usually attended to them. They talked easily. It had been their way from day one, but Owen studiously avoided talking business, which in itself was extraordinary despite the six months of change. Instead he concentrated on their outside interests like their mutual obsession with boats, sailing and big game fishing. They had the glorious waters of the Great Barrier Reef at their doorstep after all.

A few acquaintances walked in, toting briefcases. Greetings were exchanged. One man crossed the plush ruby carpet in long strides, patting Owen rather fulsomely on the back. “How’s it going, Owen? You look good! Been making some frequent trips to town, eh?” The snapping gaze was transferred to Lang. “Hi there, Lang, nice to see you again.”

He spoke some more but Lang barely heard him. He was focusing on something suggestive in the man’s manner. To Lang’s sharp eyes it assumed a ribald touch, “nudge, nudge, wink, wink.” That disturbed and angered him on Owen’s behalf.

“What was that all about?” he decided to ask when the man had gone off to rejoin friends. It had taken time to shake off his early awe of Owen, but these days he was much too self-assured, too successful to be intimidated by him.

Owen returned his direct glance unwaveringly. Probably it would take an earthquake to shake Owen Carter’s composure. “Does it matter? Silly sort of fellow. Anyone would think I’d turned up with a voluptuous blonde.”

“Always supposing a woman would be admitted to these hallowed halls,” Lang returned ironically.

“Actually they can come for dinner.” Owen slewed around to see where the other man had gone. “Wives and partners of members.”

“About time they changed the rules.” Lang was of the strong opinion women shouldn’t be excluded from anywhere they cared to go.

“I’m not averse to that.” Owen smiled, signalling their favourite waiter. He allowed himself a whiskey, rattling the ice cubes against the rim. “Will you see Arthur Knox for me this afternoon, Lang?” he asked, apology in his dark eyes. Apology and something else. Something that would have been in someone else, excitement. “I have things to do.”

“No problem.” Lang gave him the only answer possible. Arthur Knox was the senior partner of Knox Frazier, and Carter-Forsyth’s taxation lawyer. “Will we meet up for dinner?” Both of them were staying at the same hotel.

For once Owen’s eyes were veiled. “I’d have liked that, Lang, only I got talked into having dinner with old Drummond. Remember him?”

“Judge Drummond?”

“That’s the one.”

It was all too pat. In fact it sounded like Owen had rehearsed it.

Out in the street again, the pavement bouncing with heat, they said their farewells. Lang realised it was later than he thought, so he moved off in the direction of Knox’s legal offices. Many pretty girls, long legs flashing in short skirts, had passed them as they’d stood outside the club. Owen hadn’t turned his head to look at a one of them. So why now was he worrying Owen had somehow got himself heavily involved with a woman? A woman moreover who already had a firm grip on him. This was trouble. No doubt about that. A bloody foolish middle-aged fling? With a marriage to be ripped apart? Young Robbie who was certainly overindulged and overcosseted by his mother nevertheless adored his father. A broken marriage would wreak havoc in the child’s life. He, too, would become involved. Even asked to take sides.

Women! One way or other they caused a lot of pain.

Too many people recognised him at the hotel so Lang sought the anonymity of a restaurant rather than the dining room of the hotel, where he usually ate whenever he came to town. The very charming receptionist had recommended a restaurant to him and most obligingly made the reservation. He had toyed with the idea of room service but found the food was vastly better in the main dining room, which had a well-deserved reputation for fine cuisine. Besides, he was hungry after a long day of talking and listening. Talking to their Malaysian counterparts in a big building venture; listening to their own legal adviser.

Dressed in a lightweight Italian suit made of the finest Australian wool he took the lift to the elegantly opulent foyer then walked out onto the street. The doorman at the ready asked if he wanted a cab but he felt it ridiculous to take one over a short distance. He could walk. The receptionist had given him precise directions. She had also given him a subtle come-on, which he wasn’t about to avail himself of. One man’s indiscretion was more than enough.

The restaurant was new or it had been totally refurbished. From his walks around the city he didn’t remember it at all. Very obviously up-market. Maybe too much so. He wanted to be quiet. He had lots to think about. The very smooth maître d’ found him a nice secluded table having ascertained privacy was what he wanted. The restaurant was not quite full—Tuesday was an off night—and the tables mainly held discreet businessmen in well-tailored suits, and their partners, girlfriends, wives. The restaurant itself was lovely with luxuriant, flattering lighting falling on elegant tables and chairs, fine china and flatware, gleaming wineglasses. Leafy small trees in huge copper pots were set at intervals along the floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed a view of the river and the city’s night-time glitter.

Seated at a window table but lightly screened by one of the small decorative trees, Lang decided on lobster for an entrée followed by baby lamb Roman style. He was walking back to the hotel so he ordered a very dry martini right away followed by a bottle of fine wine. Not bad at all, he thought, looking around. A very nice place. Close enough, too, to the hotel. He wondered how Owen would enjoy his evening. Gordon Drummond, though very learned in the law, was an austere man of austere habits. He lacked a sense of humour. Not the most entertaining of dinner companions.

The lobster was superb. Queensland seafood was renowned. The lamb was just as good. He was contemplating dessert, maybe the terrine di gelato al spezie con pan alle spezie. Fluent in Italian—tropical North Queensland and the sugar industry owned a great deal to its Italian migrants, he knew that meant a three-spice ice cream with spiced bread and red wine syrup. Like most men, he had a sweet tooth. The waiter was hovering, ready to take his order, only as he looked up he encountered a sight that transfixed him.

Uncertainty became an inescapable reality.

Being ushered to a table was Owen, radiating power, his tanned handsome face glowing with pride. Preceding him was the most beautiful young woman Lang had ever seen and he’d seen plenty of good-looking women. Tallish, very slender, she had masses of silky sable hair, curling loose to her shoulders. The centre part pointed up the perfect oval of her face. Her skin in the soft lighting had the perfection of a white camellia. But the most breath-taking feature was her eyes. From a little distance they looked purple. Surely no one had purple eyes, or were they a very dark blue? Above the eyes arched finely marked brows. Her features were small. It was a style of looks that put him in mind of the young Vivien Leigh of Gone With the Wind fame, but for all her beauty and the cool chic of her dress it wasn’t admiration he felt. It was condemnation. Pure and simple.

So this was Owen’s mystery woman. The catalyst that had released Owen from the traumas of the past. Lang stared at her for endless moments. Without actually looking for Owen’s mystery woman, he had found her. She had to be the answer to the great change in his friend. He had never seen naked emotion plain on Owen’s face. But he saw it now. Owen had fallen head over heels in love with a woman young enough to be his daughter. The thought filled him with dismay. The sight turned the fine wine he was drinking to vinegar.

How could Delma contend with this? Delma, herself a striking-looking woman, who worked with what God had given her. He couldn’t fail to know Delma had never felt totally secure in her marriage, indeed she trusted him enough to confide in him, though God knows Owen gave her every material thing she and the boy wanted. Everything it seemed except his heart. It was Delma who worked to keep the marriage alive. She was an excellent hostess and a high-ranking committee woman on just about every committee in town. Now everything was threatened just as he feared. He had never seen Owen look so happy, so triumphant, like a man in possession of some grand secret.

Or could it simply be the seven-year itch? An affair that started brilliantly and could only end badly? Owen was a fine-looking man. He had a full head of dark hair, good strong features, a Celtic nose and fine dark eyes. Sadly he had never deeply loved his wife yet love was written all over him now as he moved to a secluded table for two along the glassed wall. Owen was infatuated with this girl. Totally seduced. A blind man would have felt his deep involvement.

Lang exhaled a deep troubled breath. How was he going to get out of here without Owen seeing him? God, he couldn’t remember a worse situation. Owen wasn’t only his partner, he was his friend and mentor. He couldn’t bowl right up and take Owen to task. That would be a massive invasion of Owen’s privacy, an invasion Owen, a proud man, wouldn’t take too kindly, even from him. All he could do was wait for Owen to confide in him, yet Owen hadn’t said a word for the past six months. Obviously he was planning something and he didn’t intend telling anyone about it until that plan was finalised.

Seated at their table, Owen had his back to him, broad shoulders square beneath the jacket of his expensive suit. He was free then to observe the way the young woman’s eyes were focused on Owen as he spoke. Not once did her gaze wander casually around the dining room as most people’s did. It was as though she in her turn was spellbound by him. Once Owen must have said something funny. He heard the sweet peal of her laughter. God, what was going on? For all his suspicions had prepared him, he was shocked to actually see Owen with this girl.

Now she was touching Owen’s jacketed sleeve. Owen hungrily caught her hand, held it. Where and how had he met her? Don’t do it, Owen, he thought. You’re a married man with a child. She’s much too young for you. Early twenties at the outside. Owen had ordered champagne. The best. He saw the waiter take it from the ice and refill the glasses. It seemed vaguely indecent to watch them like this, but he couldn’t look away. They clinked flutes before they drank. Toasting one another, the girl’s beautiful eyes smiled at Owen over the glass’s transparent rim. Her glance was sparkling, young, tender. She probably made Owen feel like he was twenty-two again. Only he wasn’t twenty-two. He was more than double that age. Dangerous and irresistible yet a beautiful young woman made some men want to be young again. Only the Owen he knew was acting out of character.

They seemed to have a lot to talk about. He watched Owen catch her hand often. He saw the strength of the grasp.

Suddenly he felt disgusted. Disgusted with himself for sitting there like a voyeur, and disgusted with Owen for betraying his wife and ultimately his son. He was even more outraged at the girl. She had to know Owen was married. He had to have told her. So deeply involved with each other, wouldn’t she have asked? Or was it possible Owen had lied to her? Told her perhaps he was a widower or divorced. Or was it she simply didn’t care? Owen was a very rich man.

Their appearance together put quite a blight on his evening. Lang signalled a waiter, asked him if there was a discreet way he could leave the restaurant, his manner suggesting there was someone he preferred not to see on his way to the main entrance. It was easily arranged.

He paid with his card, waiting for the waiter to return, drumming his fingers on the table.

One could have thought her hearing was so acute she caught the sound. Either that or the quality of his gaze had somehow alerted her. The acuteness of her sensibilities caught him off guard. Those beautiful luminous eyes looked directly into his. They widened at what they saw there. Her mouth parted on a little gasp as though she had read the condemnation of his thoughts without his saying a word. The colour over her cheekbones deepened. The little smile that illuminated her face had completely disappeared. He saw all this in an instant of stunning clarity though he narrowed his eyes as if the fall of light in the dining room was too bright. He found to his self-contempt he could sympathize with Owen’s blind infatuation with this girl. She was not only beautiful, she had a look of exquisite refinement. Fresh. Innocent. Unflawed. Qualities at variance with her character. He made no attempt to look away, unable in that instant to soften the hostility he knew must emanate from him. All sounds in the dining room appeared to be absorbed by the density of the atmosphere between them. He swore he caught her fragrance. Yet there was no defiance in her expression, no challenge. Instead she looked so vulnerable his gaze might be damaging her.

And then she looked away. Broke the connection as if the impact was too great. She turned her dark head to stare out into the star-studded night, the city’s glitter reflected in the broad, deep river.

For a moment he’d worried Owen, so clearly protective of her, would turn around so he could follow her fraught gaze. But Owen, mercifully, was still studying the menu. The waiter returned. Lang rose abruptly, unwilling to admit to himself he had found that brief exchange unnerving. There were some women who haunted a man. She was one of them. He followed the waiter to a rear exit, which took him through the busy steaming kitchens, the chefs hurling instructions to assistants who scurried to oblige. He’d have climbed onto the roof rather than encounter Owen and his beautiful dinner companion.

As he made his way out into the back alley, he couldn’t help but make comparisons between the girl and Delma. Delma had the style and the particular confidence of a mature woman, but the young face he’d looked into was quite unforgettable.

He slept badly, sure of two things. Owen was never going to release his hold on this girl and two, there was little if anything he could do about it.

He was coming out of the shower when the phone rang. Swiftly he grabbed the hotel’s white bathrobe and shouldered into it.

Owen’s deep dynamic voice greeted him.

“How’s it going, pal?”

“I can’t wait to get home.” The simple truth.

“Sure you love the place.” Owen chuckled, obviously in high good humour. “Listen I know I’ve been asking far too much of you for quite a while now, but there’s a couple of things I need you to do today. I want to take a quick trip to the Gold Coast. A guy there has a motor yacht I want to take a look at. From all accounts it’s pretty fine.”

“And what’s wrong with the Delma?” he asked, trying to temper the faint sharpening in his tone.

“Nothing. Nothing. I could put it on the market today and someone would snap it up. This yacht is handmade by Italy’s finest craftsmen. Highest quality materials, all the latest equipment. I’d like you to come along as well—we always look at boats together—but this trip we’re so pushed for time.”

Of course, he thought dismally. Owen intended taking his girlfriend along. Spend the day exploring the delights of the oceanfront. Why the hell couldn’t the man speak?

“So what is it you want me to do?” He had little choice but to ask. Owen was the senior partner.

“You could see Rod Burgess for me,” Owen said. “You can handle the man better than I can anyway, and maybe pay a courtesy call on the old patriarch, Brierly. He still has a stake in a few of our property developments, as you know. Again he’ll be pleased to see you. One aristocrat to the other. My polish is superficial. Yours isn’t.”

“Don’t you believe it,” he clipped off ironically. “Anyway since when did so-called polish have anything to do with success in business?”

Owen laughed. “I know, I know, but old man Brierly really liked you. Do it for me, pal? I want you to know the best thing I ever did was take you on as a partner.”

“And I salute you as my mentor. What time do you expect to be back? Our return flight is booked for 9:00 a.m. Means we have to be at the airport by…”

“Don’t fuss, don’t fuss,” Owen chortled, hugely happy. “By the way, I have some great news for you.”

God here it comes. His first reaction was a deep biting anger. Why? When it was all said and done he had no right to interfere in Owen’s life.

“It’s everything I’ve been seeking,” Owen was saying, his voice thick with emotion. “For all of my life it seems.”

“Sounds like it’s been making you very happy?” He tried to keep the sadness out of his tone. Who was he to sit in judgment on Owen? Owen had been almost a father figure to him; yet the muscles in his neck tensed as he waited for Owen to continue.

“The answer is a great big yes!” Owen’s deep voice boomed down the line. “But I’ll have to defer the telling. It needs time. Lots of time. I’ve wanted to tell you for ages, but the timing hasn’t been quite right. This has altered my life, Lang. I didn’t think it was possible to know such joy. I want to shout about it to the world. I want it proclaimed.”

“Can’t you tell me some of it now?” he as good as begged.

“I’d love to, mate, I know you’re the man to fully understand. I love you like a son, which you’re not, thank God. I’ve got plans for you. I know why people respect you like they do.”

“Hey what’s all this about?” Owen was throwing out question marks galore.

“Life’s too short not to say what we really feel,” Owen exclaimed, his emotions uncharacteristically showing. “Listen, pal, there’s a knock at the door. I’ll go. I’ve hired a car. See you tonight. We’ll have dinner. I want you to meet someone. Righto, righto!” This was obviously directed to the person at the door. “See ya, Lang,” Owen spoke briskly into the mouthpiece.

“See you,” Lang repeated. “Go with God.”

Now why had he said that? It sounded so sombre. Almost final. He sought an answer even as he hung up. Maybe it was a releasing of his own acute tension. Maybe it was because he feared for his friend. A man like Owen, a middle-aged man so much in love, could be badly damaged if things went desperately wrong. He was absolutely certain Owen had suffered emotional trauma in his youth. The poor man could be fooling himself he had found the answer to his life’s happiness. There was Delma. There was Robbie. With a divorce a shattered Delma would move away with Robbie. A child needed his father. He should know.

Was it so strange Owen was acting the way he was? Beneath the tightly controlled facade Owen was a passionate man. It was just that he was sorry, so sorry. Sorry for all of them.

Except the girl.

She was kidding herself if she thought snaring a much older married man, a very rich man, was her right. No one could blame her for falling in love but when the outcome was going to cause so much lasting damage it was time to muster real character.

His meeting began with Burgess, a very successful tourism entrepreneur whose operations extended from the Queensland Gold Coast with its glorious beaches and luxury resorts, to their part of the world, the tropical north of the state over a thousand miles away. Rod was delighted to see him, and after a while steered the conversation away from business to talk cricket. Rod was mad about the game and he’d heard he’d been a dab hand with the bat in his university days.

They parted on the most amicable of terms, Rod sending his best regards to Owen. “Tell him from me, his best years are to come!”

A prophecy?

He decided to grab a bit of lunch before seeing Sir George Brierly. Owen had some information he’d like to show the old man in his room. He’d borrow Owen’s key from reception as soon as he got back to the hotel. All his nagging worries seemed to be getting the better of him but his working philosophy was to keep going and concentrate on the job ahead. It wasn’t like him to feel morbid. A good strong cup of black coffee would clear his head. The coffee Rod served at his office was pretty darn terrible when he thought about it. There was no excuse, either. The coffee plantations of North Queensland were turning out very fine quality coffee, but he’d felt a little hesitant to point that out to Rod who drank his down with every appearance of pleasure. Obviously Rod was a tea drinker.

Reception handed over Owen’s key without a murmur. The management knew both of them well. Knew they were close friends and business partners.

In the lift he used the security key to get himself to the top floor. This was the first time Owen had bothered with a suite. Owen, like himself, usually settled for a deluxe room. After all, they spent precious little time in it. His dark thoughts were returning. Was this Owen’s little love nest when he came to town? Surely not? Owen wouldn’t expose himself or his young love in this way.

He opened the door, seeing the empty space before him; the suite was commodious, comfortable, stylish, a home away from home for the businessman under pressure. He went to the desk along a wall hung with a large genuine oil painting, a seascape, of considerable merit. The hotel liked to trust its up-market guests. He spotted the folder at once. It contained coloured photographs, designs, architectural drawings still in the planning stage for a challenging new project, some twenty-five spacious luxury villas they intended to build along the Hibiscus coast shoreline. The resort would include a private marina, seafront pool and twenty-four-hour security. Last year they’d won platinum in the Best of the New Millennium Awards. He was riffling through the folder when he heard a sound from the master bedroom beyond. He hesitated, frowning. Was it possible the suite was being serviced? With the large folder in his hand he walked to the corridor calling out, “Hello?”

Even as he did it, the warning bells rang. He knew in a very few moments he was going to come face to face with the love of Owen’s life.

Hell and damnation. He wasn’t ready for it.

She emerged from the bedroom looking disturbed before she even caught sight of him. She’d been dressing. That was clear. She’d probably spent the morning in bed. He took in the silky black masses of waves and curls tumbling to her shoulders, little tendrils still damp from the shower. She wore no shoes on her narrow feet. Up close he saw her eyes were lotus-blue, like her dress. Nor could he stop noticing, like last night, she was trembling. If he were truthful with himself he’d have to admit there was something approaching violence in the emotions that shot through him. He didn’t want it, but he couldn’t stop it. He despised this girl but he knew now he wanted to see her again. The full realisation shocked him.

“You!”

The word was a little cry, a reminder of the night before. If possible she was more agitated than he was.

“I’m sorry.” He knew his voice was curt to cutting. “I didn’t realise anyone was here. Lang Forsyth.” He introduced himself. “I’m Owen’s partner.”

“Yes.” There was such stillness about her. She might have been a painting. “Owen has told me so much about you.”

“How fascinating!” He recognised that as acid. “I must go now.” He had to get out of there before he told her what he thought of her. That would be much too much. The end of everything with Owen.

“Please…” It was an appeal and it stopped him briefly. “You were at the restaurant last night.”

“I wanted to be private. There’s no reason for you to tell Owen. I had no wish to disturb you.”

“You looked at me as though you hated me?”

The luminous gaze momentarily disarmed him. “How could I do that? You’re a total stranger.”

“Except you do have a reason. Your reaction was so strong.”

He gave a harsh laugh. “What the devil are you doing here in his suite? Half dressed.” He marvelled at the colour and texture of her skin.

“I’m a kept woman, is that it?” Such control for such a small-boned, small-breasted, willowy creature.

He knew his eyes were ice-cold. “Forgive me if I can’t be as civil as you’d like. All I can think of is what’s going to happen from now on?”

“You don’t want me in Owen’s life?”

He shook his head. “Definitely not.”

“But I am in it, Mr. Forsyth,” she said with no trace of triumph. “My position has been confirmed. Owen loves me.”

“Infatuation,” he cut in. “Owen is totally swept away by your beauty.”

“He’s seen it before.”

He couldn’t account for that. “What are you talking about? What tricks are you playing?”

“No tricks,” she said gently. “If you’d allowed me just a little time to justify my actions…”

He turned decisively to go on his way. “I’m sorry. You’d need all the time in the world.”

“You’re on dangerous ground, Mr. Forsyth,” she warned from behind him.

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?” He caught hold of the doorknob. “You’ve propelled yourself into Owen’s life but it’s not my relationship with Owen that disturbs me the most. Or the fact that our relationship might end. It’s Owen himself I’m worried about. Owen and his family.”

“Such pure motives. How high-minded you are.”

“While you are not.” He let her see his contempt.

“I think you’d better go now.”

How her flush accentuated the whiteness of her skin. “I intend to. From something Owen said to me earlier I think he was planning for us all to meet over dinner. That may not be possible.”

“I’ll allow Owen to persuade you,” she said quietly. “I have no desire to myself.”