Читать книгу A Deal To Mend Their Marriage - Мишель Дуглас, Michelle Douglas - Страница 7
ОглавлениеTHE FIRST PRICKLE of unease wormed through Caro when the lawyer’s gaze slid from her to Barbara and then down to the papers in front of him—her father’s will, presumably. The lawyer picked up a pen, turned it over several times before setting it back to the table. He adjusted his tie, cleared his throat.
Even Barbara noticed his unwillingness to start proceedings. Turning ever so slightly, her stepmother reached out to pat Caro’s hand. ‘Caro, darling, if your father has disinherited you—’
Caro forced a laugh. ‘There’ll be no if about that, Barbara.’
It was a given, and they both knew it. Caro just wanted all the unpleasantness over so she could put it behind her. Her father was about to utter the last words he ever would to her—albeit on paper. She had no expectation that they’d be any kinder in death than they had been in life.
‘Mr Jenkins?’ She prodded the lawyer with the most pleasant smile she could muster. ‘If you’d be so kind as to start we’d both appreciate it. Unless—’ she pursed her lips ‘—we’re waiting for someone else?’
‘No, no one else.’
Mr Jenkins shook his head and Caro had to bite back a smile when the elderly lawyer’s gaze snagged on the long, lean length of Barbara’s legs, on display beneath her short black skirt. At thirty-seven—only seven years older than Caro—Barbara had better legs than Caro could ever hope to have. Even if she spent every waking hour at the gym and resisted every bit of sugar, butter and cream that came her way—which, of course, she had no intention of doing.
The lawyer shook himself. ‘Yes, of course, Ms Fielding. We’re not waiting for anyone else.’
‘Come now,’ she chided. ‘You’ve known me my entire life. If you can’t bring yourself to call me Caro, then surely you can call me Caroline?’
He sent her an agonised glance.
She made her smile gentle. ‘I am prepared, you know. I fully expect that my father has disinherited me.’
She didn’t add that the money didn’t matter. Neither Mr Jenkins nor Barbara would believe her. The fact remained, though, that it had never been money she’d craved but her father’s approval, his acceptance.
Her temples started to throb. With a superhuman effort she kept the smile on her face. ‘I promise not to shoot the messenger.’
The lawyer slumped in what had been until recently her father’s chair. He pulled off his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘You have it all wrong, Caro.’
Barbara clasped her hands together and beamed. ‘I knew he wouldn’t disinherit you!’
The relief—and, yes, the delight—on Barbara’s face contrasted wildly with the weariness in Mr Jenkins’s eyes. Cold fingers crept up Caro’s spine. A premonition of what, exactly...?
Mr Jenkins pushed his spectacles back to his nose and folded his hands in front of him. ‘There are no individual letters I need to deliver. There are no messages I need to pass on nor any individual bequests to run through. I don’t even need to read out the will word for word.’
‘Then maybe—’ Barbara glanced at Caro ‘—you’d be kind enough to just give us the general gist.’
He slumped back and heaved out a sigh. ‘Mr Roland James Philip Fielding has left all of his worldly goods—all of his wealth and possessions—to...’
Caro braced herself.
‘Ms Caroline Elizabeth Fielding.’
It took a moment for the import of the lawyer’s words to hit her. When they did, Caro had to grip the arms of her chair to counter the roaring in her ears and the sudden tilting of the room. Her father had left everything...to her? Maybe...maybe he’d loved her after all.
She shook her head. ‘There must be a mistake.’
‘No mistake,’ the lawyer intoned.
‘But surely there’s a caveat that I can only inherit if I agree to administer my mother’s trust?’
Her father had spent the last twenty years telling her it was her duty, her responsibility...her obligation to manage the charity he’d created in homage to her mother. Caro had spent those same twenty years refusing the commission.
Her father might have thought it was the sole reason Caro had been put on this earth, but she’d continued to dispute that sentiment right up until his death. She had no facility for figures and spreadsheets, no talent nor desire to attend endless board meetings and discuss the pros and cons of where the trust money should be best spent. She did not have a business brain and had no desire whatsoever to develop one. Simply put, she had no intention of being sacrificed on some altar of duty. End of story.
‘No caveat.’
The lawyer could barely meet her eye. Her mind spun...
She shot to her feet, a hard ball lodging in her chest. ‘What about Barbara?’
He passed a hand across his eyes. ‘I’m afraid no provision has been made for Mrs Barbara Fielding in the will.’
But that made no sense!
She spun to her stepmother. Barbara rose to her feet, her face pinched and white. Her eyes swam but not a single tear fell, and that was somehow worse than if she’d burst into noisy weeping and wailing.
‘He doesn’t make even a single mention of me?’
The lawyer winced and shook his head.
‘But...but I did everything I could think of to make him happy. Did he never love me?’ She turned to Caro. ‘Was it all a lie?’
‘We’ll work something out,’ Caro promised, reaching out to take Barbara’s hand.
But the other woman wheeled away. ‘We’ll do nothing of the sort! We’ll do exactly as your father wished!’
Barbara turned and fled from the room. Caro made to follow her—how could her father have treated his young wife so abominably?—but the lawyer called her back.
‘I’m afraid we’re not done.’
She stilled and then spun back, swallowing a sense of misgiving. ‘We’re not?’
‘Your father instructed that I give you this.’ He held out an envelope.
‘But you said...’
‘I was instructed to give this to you only after the reading of the will. And only in privacy.’
She glanced back at the door. Praying that Barbara wouldn’t do anything foolish, she strode across and took the envelope. She tore it open and read the mercifully brief missive inside. She could feel her lips thinning to a hard line. She moistened them. ‘Do you know what this says?’
After a short hesitation, he nodded. ‘Your father believed Mrs Fielding was stealing from him. Valuables have apparently gone missing and...’
And her father had jumped to conclusions.
Caro folded the letter and shoved it into her purse. ‘Items may well have gone missing, but I don’t believe for one moment that Barbara is responsible.’
Mr Jenkins glanced away, but not before she caught the expression in his eyes.
‘I know what people think about my father and his wife, Mr Jenkins. They consider Barbara a trophy wife. They think she only married my father for his money.’
He’d had so much money. Why cut Barbara out of his will when he’d had so much? Even if she had taken the odd piece of jewellery why begrudge it to her?
Damn him to hellfire and fury for being such a control freak!
‘She was significantly younger than your father...’
By thirty-one years.
‘That doesn’t make her a thief, Mr Jenkins. My father was a difficult man and he was lucky to have Barbara. She did everything in her not insignificant powers to humour him and make him happy. What’s more, I believe she was faithful to him for the twelve years they were married and I don’t believe she stole from him.’
‘Of course you know her better than I do—but, Miss Caroline, you do have a tendency to see the best in people.’
She’d been hard-pressed to see the best in her father. She pushed that thought aside to meet the lawyer’s eyes. ‘If Barbara did marry my father for his money believe me: she’s earned every penny of it several times over.’
Mr Jenkins obviously thought it prudent to remain silent on the subject.
‘If my father’s estate has passed completely to me, then I can dispose of it in any way that I see fit, yes?’
‘That’s correct.’
Fine. She’d sell everything and give Barbara half. Even half was more than either one of them would ever need.
* * *
Half an hour later, after she’d signed all the relevant paperwork, Caro strode into the kitchen. Dennis Paul, her father’s butler, immediately shot to his feet.
‘Let me make you a pot of tea, Miss Caroline.’
She kissed his cheek and pushed him back into his seat. ‘I’ll make the tea, Paul.’ He insisted she call him Paul rather than Dennis. ‘Please just tell me there’s cake.’
‘There’s an orange syrup cake at the back of the pantry.’
They sipped tea and ate cake in silence for a while. Paul had been in her father’s employ for as long as Caro could remember. He was more like an honorary uncle than a member of staff, and she found herself taking comfort in his quiet presence.
‘Are you all right, Miss Caroline?’
‘You can call me Caro you know.’ It was an old argument.
‘You’ll always be Miss Caroline to me.’ He grinned. ‘Even though you’re all grown up—married, no less, and holding a director’s position at that auction house of yours.’
In the next instance his expression turned stricken. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mention that bit about you being married. It was foolish of me.’
She shrugged and tried to pretend that the word married didn’t burn through her with a pain that could still cripple her at unsuspecting moments. As she and Jack had been separated for the last five years, ‘married’ hardly seemed the right word to describe them. Even if, technically, it was true.
She forced herself to focus on something else instead. ‘It’s not my auction house, Paul. I just work there.’
She pulled in a breath and left off swirling her fork though the crumbs remaining on her plate.
‘My father has left me everything, Paul. Everything.’
Paul’s jaw dropped. He stared at her and then sagged back in his chair. ‘Well, I’ll be...’
His astonishment gratified her. At least she wasn’t the only one shocked to the core at this turnaround. To describe her relationship with her father as ‘strained’ would be putting it mildly. And kindly.
He straightened. ‘Oh, that is good news Miss Caroline. In more than one way.’ He beamed at her, patting his chest just above his heart, as if urging it to slow its pace. ‘I’m afraid I’ve a bit of confession to make. I’ve been squirrelling away odd bits and pieces here and there. Things of value, but nothing your father would miss, you understand. I just thought... Well, I thought you might need them down the track.’
Good grief! Paul was her father’s thief?
Dear Lord, if he knew her father had written Barbara out of his will, thinking her the guilty party... Oh! And if Barbara knew what Paul had done...
Caro closed her eyes and tried to contain a shudder.
‘Paul, you could’ve gone to jail if my father had ever found out what you were doing!’
‘But there’s no harm done now, is there? I mean, now that you’ve inherited the estate I don’t need to find a way to...to get those things to you. They’re legally yours.’ His smile faded. ‘Are you upset with me?’
How could she be? Nobody had ever gone out on a limb like that for her before. ‘No, just...frightened at what might’ve happened,’ she lied.
‘You don’t have to worry about those sorts of what-ifs any more.’
Maybe not, but she still had to find a way to make this right. ‘It’s only fair that I split the estate with Barbara.’
A breath shuddered out of him. He glanced around the kitchen pensively. ‘Does that mean selling the old place?’
What on earth did she need with a mansion in Mayfair? She didn’t say that out loud. This had been Paul’s home for over thirty years. It hit her then that her father had made no provision in his will for Paul either. She’d remedy that as soon as she could.
‘I don’t know, Paul, but we’ll work something out. I’m not going to leave you high and dry, I promise. Trust me. You, Barbara and I—we’re family.’
He snorted. ‘Funny kind of family.’
She opened her mouth and then closed it, nodding. Never had truer words been spoken.
‘Will you be staying the night, Miss Caro?’
Heavens, where Paul was concerned, Miss Caro was positively gushing—a sign of high sentiment and emotion.
From somewhere she found a smile. ‘Yes, I think I’d better.’ She had her own room in the Mayfair mansion, even though she rented a tiny one-bedroom flat in Southwark. ‘Hopefully Barbara will... Well, hopefully I’ll get a chance to talk to her.’
Hopefully she’d get a chance to put the other woman’s mind at rest—at least about her financial future.
* * *
‘Mrs Fielding refuses to join you for breakfast,’ Paul intoned ominously the next morning as Caro helped herself to coffee.
Caro heaved back a sigh. Barbara had refused to speak to her at all last night. She’d tried calling out assurances to her stepmother through her closed bedroom door, but had given up when Barbara had started blasting show tunes—her father’s favourites—from her music system.
‘You will, however, be pleased to know that she did get up at some stage during the night to make herself something to eat.’
That was something at least.
‘Oh, Miss Caroline! You need to eat something before you head off to work,’ he said when she pushed to her feet.
‘I’m fine, Paul, I promise.’ Her appetite would eventually return. Although if he’d offered her cake for breakfast...
Stop thinking about cake.
‘I’m giving Freddie Soames a viewing of a rather special snuffbox this morning.’ She’d placed it in her father’s safe—her safe—prior to the reading of the will yesterday. ‘After that I’ll take the rest of the day off and see if I can’t get Barbara to talk to me then.’
As a director of Vertu, the silver and decorative arts division at Richardson’s, one of London’s leading auction houses, she had some flexibility in the hours she worked.
She glanced over her shoulder at Paul, who followed on her heels as she entered her father’s study—her study. ‘You will keep an eye on Barbara this morning, won’t you?’
‘If you wish it.’
She bit back a grin, punching in the combination to the safe. Ever since Paul had caught Barbara tossing the first Mrs Fielding’s portrait into a closet, he’d labelled her as trouble. ‘I do wish it.’
The door to the safe swung open and—Caro blinked, squinted and then swiped her hand through the empty space.
Her heart started to pound. ‘Paul, please tell me I’m hallucinating.’ Her voice rose. ‘Please tell me the safe isn’t empty.’
He moved past her to peer inside. ‘Dear God in heaven!’ He gripped the safe’s door. ‘Do you think we’ve been burgled?’
Something glittered on the floor at her feet. She picked it up. The diamond earing dangled from her fingers and comprehension shot through her at the same moment it spread across Paul’s face.
‘Barbara,’ she said.
And at the same time he said, ‘Mrs Fielding.’
She patted her racing heart. ‘That’s okay, then.’
‘She’ll have been after those jewels.’
‘She’s welcome to those jewels, Paul. They’re hers. Father gave me Mother’s jewels when I turned twenty-one.’
He harrumphed.
‘But I really, really need that snuffbox back—this instant.’
She sped up to Barbara’s first-floor bedroom, Paul still hot on her heels. She tapped on the door. ‘Barbara?’
‘Not now, Caro. Please, just leave me in peace.’
‘I won’t take up more than a moment of your time.’ Caro swallowed. ‘It’s just that something has gone missing from the safe.’
‘That jewellery is mine!’
‘Yes, I know. I’m not referring to the jewellery.’
The door cracked open, and even the way Barbara’s eyes flashed couldn’t hide how red they were from crying. Caro’s heart went out to the other woman.
‘Are you accusing me of stealing something? Are you calling me a thief?’
‘Of course not.’ Caro tried to tamp down on the panic threatening to rise through her. ‘Barbara, that jewellery belongs to you—I’m not concerned about the jewellery. Yesterday I placed a small item in the safe—a silver and enamel snuffbox about so big.’ She held her hands about three inches apart to indicate the size. ‘I have to show it to a potential buyer in an hour.’
Barbara tossed her hair. ‘I didn’t see any such thing and I certainly didn’t take it.’
‘I’m not suggesting for a moment that you did—not on purpose—but it’s possible it was accidentally mixed in with the jewellery.’ Behind her back she crossed her fingers. ‘I’m really hoping it was. Would you mind checking for me?’
Barbara swept the door open and made a melodramatic gesture towards the bed. ‘Take a look for yourself. That’s what I took from the safe.’
The bed didn’t look as if it had been slept in. Caro moved tentatively into the room to survey the items spread out on the bed. There was a diamond choker, a string of pearls, a sapphire pendant and assorted earrings and pins, but no snuffbox. Her heart hammered up into her throat.
‘It’s not here,’ Paul said, leaning over to scan the items.
Caro concentrated on not hyperventilating. ‘If...if I don’t find that snuffbox I’ll...I’ll lose my job.’
Not just her job but her livelihood. She’d never get another job in the industry for as long as she lived. In all likelihood legal action would be taken. She’d—
Breathe! Don’t forget to breathe.
Barbara dumped the contents of her handbag onto the bed and then slammed her hands on her hips. ‘Once and for all—I haven’t taken your rotten snuffbox! Would you like to search the entire room?’
Yes! Though of course she wouldn’t.
Her gaze landed on a tiny framed photograph of her father that had spilled from Barbara’s bag. An ache opened up in her chest. How could he have treated Barbara so badly? She understood Barbara’s anger and disappointment, her hurt and disillusionment, but she would never do anything to intentionally hurt her—of that Caro was certain. She just needed to give the other woman a chance to calm down, cool off...think rationally.
‘Did you not sleep at all last night, Barbara?’
Barbara’s bottom lip wobbled, but she waved to the chaise lounge. ‘I didn’t want to sleep in the bed that I shared with...’
Caro seized her hands. ‘He loved you, you know.’
‘I don’t believe you. Not after yesterday.’
‘I mean to split the estate with you—fifty-fifty.’
‘It’s not what he wanted.’
‘He was an idiot.’
‘You shouldn’t speak about him that way.’ Barbara retrieved her hands. ‘If you’re finished here...?’
‘Will you promise to have dinner with me tonight?’
‘If I say yes, will you leave me in peace until then?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Yes.’
Caro and Paul returned to the study to search the room, in case the snuffbox had fallen during Barbara’s midnight raid on the safe, but they didn’t find anything—not even the partner to that diamond earring.
‘You didn’t take it by any chance, did you, Paul?’
‘No, Miss Caroline.’
‘I’m sorry. I thought I’d just check, seeing as...’
‘No offence taken, Miss Caroline.’ He pursed his lips. ‘She has it, you know. I’m not convinced that the second Mrs Fielding is a nice lady. I once saw her throw your mother’s portrait into a closet, you know.’
Caro huffed out a sigh. ‘Well... I, for one, like her.’
‘What are you going to do?’
She needed time. Pulling her phone from her purse, she rang her assistant.
‘Melanie, a family emergency has just come up. Could you please ring Mr Soames and reschedule his viewing for later in the week?’
The later the better! She didn’t add that out loud, though. She didn’t want to alert anyone to the fact that something was wrong—that she’d managed to lose a treasure.
Her assistant rang back a few minutes later. ‘Mr Soames is flying out to Japan tomorrow. He’ll be back Thursday next week. He had asked if you’d be so good as to meet with him the following Friday morning at ten o’clock.’
‘No problem at all. Pop it in my diary.’
Friday was ten days away. She had ten days to put this mess to rights.
She seized her purse and made for the door. Paul still trailed after her. ‘What do you mean to do, Miss Caroline?’
She wanted to beg him not to be so formal. ‘I need to duck back to my flat and collect a few things, drop in at work to pick up my work diary and apply for a few days’ leave. Then I’ll be back. I’ll be staying for a few days.’
‘Very good, Miss Caroline.’
She turned in the entrance hall to face him, but before she’d swung all the way around her gaze snagged on a photograph on one of the hall tables. A photograph of her and Jack.
For a moment the breath jammed in her throat. She pointed. ‘Why?’ she croaked.
Paul clasped his hands behind his back. ‘This house belongs to you now, Miss Caroline. It seemed only right that you should have your things around you.’
Her heart cramped so tightly she had to fight for breath. ‘Yes, perhaps... But...not that photo, Paul.’
‘I always liked Mr Jack.’
‘So did I.’
But Jack had wanted to own her—just as her father had wanted to own her. And, just like her father, Jack had turned cold and distant when she’d refused to submit to his will. And then he’d left.
Five years later a small voice inside her still taunted her with the sure knowledge that she’d have been happier with Jack on his terms than she was now on her own terms, as her own woman. She waved a hand in front of her face. That was a ridiculous fairytale—a fantasy with no basis in reality. She and Jack were always going to end in tears. She could see that now.
Very gently, Paul reached out and placed the photograph facedown on the table. ‘I’m sure there must be a nice photograph of you and your mother somewhere.’
She snapped back to the present, trying to push the past firmly behind her. ‘See if you can find a photo of me and Barbara.’
Paul rolled his eyes in a most un-butler-like fashion and Caro laughed and patted his arm.
‘The things I ask of you...’
He smiled down at her. ‘Nothing’s too much trouble where you’re concerned, Miss Caro.’
She glanced up the grand staircase towards the first-floor rooms.
‘I’ll keep an eye on Mrs Fielding,’ he added. ‘I’ll try to dissuade her if she wants to go out. If she insists, I’ll send one of the maids with her.’ He glanced at the grandfather clock. ‘They’re due to come in and start cleaning any time now.’
‘Thank you.’ She didn’t want Barbara doing anything foolish—like trying to sell that snuffbox if she did have it. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
* * *
Despite the loss of the snuffbox and all the morning’s kerfuffle, it was Jack’s face that rose in her mind and memories of the past that invaded Caro, chasing her other concerns aside, as she trudged across Westminster Bridge.
The sight of that photograph had pulled her up short. They’d been so happy.
For a while.
A very brief while.
So when she first saw his face in the midst of the crowd moving towards her on the bridge, Caro dismissed it as a flight of fancy, a figment of her imagination. Until she realised that blinking hadn’t made the image fade. It had only made the features of that face clearer—a face that was burned onto her soul.
She stopped dead. Jack was in London?
The crowd surged around her, but she couldn’t move. All she could do was stare.
Jack! Jack! Jack!
His name pounded at her as waves of first cold and then heat washed over her. The ache to run to him nearly undid her. And then his gaze landed on her and he stopped dead too.
She couldn’t see the extraordinary cobalt blue of his eyes at this distance, but she recognised the way they narrowed, noted the way his nostrils flared. She’d always wondered what would happen if they should accidentally meet on the street. Walking past each other without so much as an acknowledgment obviously wasn’t an option, and she was fiercely glad about that.
Hauling in a breath, she tilted her head to the left a fraction and started towards the railing of the bridge. She leaned against it, staring down at the brown water swirling in swift currents below. He came to stand beside her, but she kept her gaze on the water.
‘Hello, Jack.’
‘Caro.’
She couldn’t look at him. Not yet. She stared at the Houses of Parliament and then at the facade of the aquarium on the other side of the river. ‘Have you been in London long?’
‘No.’
Finally she turned to meet his gaze, and her heart tried to grow bigger and smaller in the same moment. She read intent in his eyes and slowly straightened. ‘You’re here to see me?’
His demeanour confirmed it, but he nodded anyway. ‘Yes.’
‘I see.’ She turned to stare back down at the river. ‘Actually...’ She frowned and sent him a sidelong glance. ‘I don’t see.’
He folded his tall frame and leaned on the railing, too. She dragged her gaze from his strong, hawk-like profile, afraid that if she didn’t she might reach across and kiss him.
‘I heard about your father.’
She pursed her lips, her stomach churning like the currents below. ‘You didn’t send a card.’
He didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘You send me a Christmas card every year...’
He never sent her one.
‘Do you send all your ex-lovers Christmas cards?’
She straightened. ‘Only the ones I marry.’
They both flinched at her words.
In the next moment she swung to him. ‘Oh, please, let’s not do this.’
‘Do what?’
‘Be mean to each other.’
He relaxed a fraction. ‘Suits me.’
She finally looked at him properly and a breath eased out of her. She reached out to clasp his upper arm. She’d always found it incredibly difficult not to touch him. Through the fine wool of his suit jacket, she recognised his strength and the firm, solid feel of him.
‘You look good, Jack—really good. I’m glad.’
‘Are you?’
‘Of course.’ She squeezed his arm more firmly. ‘I only ever wanted your happiness.’
‘That’s not exactly true, though—is it, Caro?’
Her hand fell away, back to her side.
‘My happiness wasn’t more important to you than your career.’
She pursed her lips and gave a nod. ‘So you still blame me, then?’
‘Completely,’ he said without hesitation. ‘And bitterly.’
She made herself laugh. ‘Honesty was never our problem, was it?’ But the unfairness of his blame burned through her. ‘Why have you come to see me?’
He hauled in a breath, and an ache started up in the centre of her. ‘Hearing about your father’s death...’ He glanced at her. ‘Should I give you my condolences?’
She gave a quick shake of her head, ignoring the burn of tears at the backs of her eyes. Pretending her relationship with her father had been anything other than cold and combative would be ridiculous—especially with Jack.
‘You don’t miss him?’
His curiosity surprised her. ‘I miss the idea of him.’ She hadn’t admitted that to another living soul. ‘Now that he’s gone there’s no chance that our relationship can be fixed, no possibility of our differences being settled.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I didn’t know I still harboured such hopes until after he died.’
Those blue eyes softened for a moment, and it felt as if the sun shone with a mad midday warmth rather than afternoon mildness.
‘I am sorry for that,’ he said.
She glanced away and the chill returned to the air. ‘Thank you.’
The one thing the men in her life had in common was their inability to compromise. She couldn’t forget that.
‘So, hearing about my father’s death...?’ she prompted.
He enunciated his next words very carefully and she could almost see him weighing them.
‘It started me thinking about endings.’
Caro flinched, throwing up her arm as if to ward off a blow. She couldn’t help it.
‘For pity’s sake, Caro!’ He planted his legs. ‘This can’t come as a surprise to you.’
He was talking about divorce, and it shouldn’t come as a shock, but a howling started up inside her as something buried in a deep, secret place cracked, breaking with a pain she found hard to breathe through.
‘Are you going to faint?’
Anger laced his words and it put steel back in her spine. ‘Of course not.’
She lifted her chin, still struggling for breath as the knowledge filtered through her that just as she’d harboured secret hopes of reconciling with her father, so she had harboured similar hopes where Jack was concerned.
Really? How could you be so...optimistic?
She waved a hand in front of her face. The sooner those hopes were routed and dashed, the better. She would never trust this man with her heart again.
She lifted her chin another notch against the anger in his eyes. ‘You’ll have to forgive me. It’s been something of a morning. We had the reading of my father’s will yesterday. Things have been a little...fraught since.’
He rubbed a fist across his mouth, his eyes hooded. ‘I’m sorry. If I’d known, I’d have given you another few weeks before approaching you with this.’ His anger had faded but a hardness remained. His lips tightened as he glanced around. ‘And I should’ve found a better place to discuss the issue than in the middle of Westminster Bridge.’
She had a feeling her reaction would have been the same, regardless of the where or when. ‘You’ve just been to my flat?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘I was going to catch the tube up to Bond Street.’ It was the closest underground station to where she worked. ‘But...’
‘But the Jubilee Line is closed due to a suspicious package at Green Park Station,’ she finished for him. It was why she was walking. That and the need for fresh air. ‘I’m on my way to the flat now. We can walk. Or would you prefer to take a cab?’
* * *
Jack didn’t like Caro’s pallor. Rather than answer verbally, he hailed a passing cab and bundled her into it before the motorists on the bridge could start tooting their horns. The sooner this was over, the better.
Caro gave the driver her address and then settled in her seat and stared out of the side window. He did the same on his side of the cab, but he didn’t notice the scenery. What rose up in his mind’s eye was the image of Caro when he’d first laid eyes on her—and the punching need to kiss her that had almost overwhelmed him. A need that lingered with an off-putting urgency.
He gritted his teeth against it and risked a glance at her. She’d changed.
It’s been five years, pal, what did you expect?
He hadn’t expected to want her with the same ferocity now as he had back then.
He swallowed. She’d developed more gloss...more presence. She’d put on a bit of weight and it suited her. Five years ago he’d thought her physically perfect, but she looked even better now and every hormone in his body hollered that message out, loud and clear.
After five years his lust should have died a natural death, surely? If not that then it should at least have abated.
Hysterical laughter sounded in the back of his mind.
Caro suddenly swung to him and he prayed to God that he hadn’t made some noise that had betrayed him.
‘I hear you’re running your own private investigation agency these days?’
‘You hear correctly.’
Gold gleamed in the deep brown depths of her eyes. ‘I hear it’s very successful?’
‘It’s doing okay.’
A hint of a smile touched her lips. She folded her arms and settled back in her seat.
‘Calculating the divorce settlement already, Caro?’
Very slowly her smile widened, and his traitorous heart thumped in response.
‘Something like that,’ she purred. ‘Driver?’ She leaned forward. ‘Could you let us out at the bakery just up here on the right? I need to buy cake.’
Cake? The Caro he knew didn’t eat cake.
The Caro you knew was a figment of your imagination!
