Читать книгу The Marriage Deal - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 5

A CAR door slammed, and high heels clicked across the paving stones with brisk impatience. As the glass doors of the towering office block swung open, the security guard got to his feet, his usually impassive face registering faint surprise.

‘Miss Landon—we weren’t expecting you back for another ten days …’

He was left gaping after Ashley Landon’s retreating back as it pursued an openly stormy passage to the lift, and with a shrug he returned to his cubicle.

‘Someone’s for it,’ he remarked to no one in particular.

The lift stopped at the sixth floor, and the doors glided open to release the sole passenger. She was a slim girl, slightly above medium height, the sculptured lines of her elegantly bobbed black hair giving emphasis to her pointed chin and high cheekbones. Her clothes were expensive, but sat awkwardly on her body, as if she’d had other things on her mind when she put them on. And the muted beige of her skirt and jacket did nothing for her clear, pale skin, or her green eyes, glinting now like an angry cat’s.

When she reached the door marked ‘Company Secretary’ she flung it open and walked in without knocking with the air of one who has the right, past the startled typist, and straight into the inner office.

Henry Brett was on the telephone, and he looked up frowning at the unceremonious opening of his door, his face clearing instantly when he saw his visitor.

He made a swift excuse to his caller, and replaced his receiver, coming round his desk, hand outstretched.

‘Ashley, my dear, you’re back already. That’s wonderful!’

‘Hardly the way I’d describe the disruption of my first vacation in three years,’ Ashley rejoined crisply. ‘But the signals seemed too urgent to ignore. What the hell’s going on?’

Henry Brett sighed, steering her to a chair. ‘A takeover,’ he said succinctly. ‘Marshalls are making yet another bid for our shares.’

‘They must be mad,’ Ashley said, dropping her bag to the floor beside her. ‘They got a very conclusive answer the last time they tried it, and nothing’s changed.’

‘I’m afraid it has,’ Henry said levelly. He pressed a buzzer on his desk, and spoke into the intercom. ‘Jean, could you rustle up some coffee?’

‘Not for me,’ Ashley cut in.

‘I think when you’ve heard me out, you’re going to need some stimulant,’ said Henry, his genial face sober. ‘I can’t hide it from you, Ashley. This time they mean business, and they could succeed. According to the recent soundings I’ve been taking, they could have a majority of our board on their side.’

There was a brief appalled silence, then Ashley said, ‘Henry, you can’t be serious! Why, last time, every member of the board was solidly one hundred per cent behind Landons.’

‘They were solidly one hundred per cent behind your father,’ Henry said grimly. ‘But Silas has been dead for two years, my dear. And you must remember that quite apart from the fact that his personality could carry anything through, most of the board owed him a great deal. After all, he’d put the majority of them where they were, and that counted—then.’

‘But not any more.’ There was a painful constriction in Ashley’s throat. ‘My God, Henry, I know I’m not my father, and never can be, but I’ve done my best to run the company exactly as he would have done …’

‘No one would deny that.’ Seated on the edge of his desk, Henry sent her a compassionate look. ‘You’ve done everything and more that anyone could expect, but the fact remains …’

‘The fact remains I’m not a man,’ Ashley said with a mirthless smile. ‘And the board—hidebound traditionalists every one of them—have never believed a woman of my age is capable of running a property development company the size of Landons.’

Henry looked embarrassed. ‘Hang it all, Ashley, it was Silas’ own view, and you know it.’

‘Yes,’ she said in a low voice. ‘But Henry, I’ve tried so hard to be the son he wanted—I really have …’

‘No one could have done more,’ he assured her warmly. ‘But it was a responsibility Silas never wanted you to have. It was that damnfool rule of your grandfather’s that only a member of the family could become company chairman that had him hidebound. That was why …’ He stopped in sudden embarrassment. ‘Oh, damnation!’

‘It’s all right, Henry,’ Ashley said in a level voice. ‘I won’t fall apart at the seams if you talk about it. My God, it was over three years ago!’

‘All right then,’ Henry said quietly. ‘That was why he wanted you to marry Jago Marrick. As his son-in-law, Jago would have become chairman after Silas—the strong man at the top the board wanted.’

‘Oh, Jago was that all right.’ Ashley bit her lip. ‘It was as husband material that he failed to meet requirements. But that’s all in the past. He’s settled in the States now, and probably on his way to his second million.’

‘Or even his third,’ Henry said wryly. He paused. ‘But I’m glad to hear you’ve managed to put the whole sorry business behind you. I had to think very hard about bringing you home at this time.’

‘But why?’ She looked at him blankly. ‘This is an emergency. Where else would I be?’

Henry cleared his throat. ‘You see, there’s another factor. Giles Marrick died very suddenly, only a few days after you left for the Caribbean.’

‘Jago’s cousin?’ Ashley frowned. ‘I’m sorry. He was a kind man.’ She stopped abruptly. ‘Oh, I see—Jago came back for the funeral.’

‘And not just for the funeral,’ said Henry with a trace of heaviness. ‘Rumour has it that he intends to stay. He’s Giles Marrick’s heir, of course, so the Manor and the estate now belongs to him, although I believe the widow has some kind of life interest in it.’

‘Yes.’ She managed the monosyllable from a taut throat. ‘At least, until she remarries.’

‘Which probably won’t be long,’ Henry conceded. ‘Good-looking woman, and years younger than Marrick himself, of course.’

‘Years,’ Ashley agreed quietly. Although Jago had explained the position to her during their brief engagement, it had always cost her a pang to think that when he finally owned the beautiful Georgian house, Erica would still have the right to live there—Erica, with her sultry blonde good looks and malicious tongue.

Mentally, she gave herself a little impatient shake. The Manor was no longer any concern of hers. The loss of Landons was.

She said crisply, ‘Don’t look so concerned, Henry. I got over Jago a long time ago. Let’s get back to the main priority. How did you know Marshalls were sniffing round again?’

‘Movement of shares. And then Clive Farnsworth advised me privately that he was being pressed to sell his holding, and warned me that a majority of the board would be in favour of accepting Marshalls’ offer.’

‘It’s unbelievable!’ Ashley made a small sound of disgust. ‘Why, everyone knows what my father thought of them. He said they were sharks—jerrybuilders creating modern slums.’

‘He was right,’ Henry said bitterly. ‘Which is why they want Landons, of course, to confer a cloak of respectability on their operations. It’s the company name they want as well as its assets. But their real ace in the hole is their new managing director, a real dynamo by the sound of him. I gather he reminds some of the older board members of Silas when he was young. That’s the enticement—the kind of strong male leadership they’re used to.’

‘My God, what an attitude!’ Ashley expelled her breath in a small harsh sigh. ‘It belongs in the Ark.’

‘I can’t deny that, but we can’t dismiss it either.’ His gaze met hers squarely. ‘We have a real problem here, Ashley. The board aren’t just a set of dyed-in-the-wool male chauvinists. They’re anxious about our recent performance.’

He broke off as the door opened and Jean Hurst came in with a tray of coffee.

It was what she needed after all, Ashley discovered wryly, as she accepted a cup of the dark, fragrant brew, and sipped it gratefully.

When they were alone again, she said, ‘Was it deliberate? Did Marshalls wait for me to go to Barbados before they made their move?’

Henry looked slightly taken aback. ‘It’s possible. They must know that loyalty to Silas’ memory still exerts quite a hold.’

‘So—we fight.’ She lifted her chin. ‘What am I up against, if it came to a straight boardroom battle?’

‘I think you’d just lose,’ he admitted, and she winced.

‘I can’t bear it! To see everything Grandfather and Silas worked for just—handed over to a cowboy outfit like Marshalls. My God, I’d do anything—anything, to stop it happening.’

‘I hope you’re not contemplating a sex-change,’ Henry made a heavy-handed attempt at humour.

Ashley grimaced. ‘Coupled with an operation to make me ten years older? Don’t tell me that isn’t part of the problem.’

‘You’re just not what they’re used to,’ Henry said tiredly. ‘To most of their generation, women are wives or secretaries, cast in the mould from birth.’ He paused. ‘And I’m afraid many of them see your—repudiation of your engagement to Jago Marrick as a sign of—feminine instability. They worry that it might break out again some time.’

‘Oh, no,’ she said with soft bitterness. ‘My brush with Jago was a one-off thing—never, I pray, to be repeated.’ She put her cup down on the desk. ‘When I broke off my engagement, I don’t think Silas ever really understood, or forgave me. He thought the end justified the means, and that I was just making a silly fuss about some trivial disagreement. He didn’t know …’ She stopped.

‘Didn’t know what?’ Henry prompted sympathetically.

She was silent for a moment, then, ‘Didn’t know how totally unsuited Jago and I were,’ she said stiltedly. She smiled faintly as she got to her feet. ‘I’m going home now, Henry. I need to think. But thanks for the timely message. I’d have hated to have been voted out of existence in my absence.’

‘That’s what I thought,’ he said unhappily. ‘They’re pressing for an emergency board meeting next Thursday. Between now and then I’ll see what I can do in the way of persuasion or pressure to change a few minds to our way of thinking.’ He sighed. ‘But it’s going to be an uphill struggle.’

‘We’ll win,’ she said. ‘We have to.’

Her words evinced a confidence she didn’t feel. Her mood as she drove to her flat was one of dejection.

She’d never envisaged becoming chairman of Landons, but that didn’t mean she was prepared to see the company taken away from her.

Oh, Silas, she thought fiercely, why didn’t you prepare me better?

Perhaps he would have done, if he’d lived to the ripe old age his bounding energy had seemed to promise. If he hadn’t collapsed with a heart attack while exploring a possible site for development, and died in intensive care an hour later, before Ashley could even get to his bedside. Her first act on assuming control of the company had been to complete the deal for the land. Nothing spectacular, but surely a sign to the rest of the world that it was business as usual.

Her flat occupied the top floor of a purpose-built block, which Landons had erected some ten years previously, and was the nearest to a real home she had ever had.

Her mother had, unbelievably, died giving her birth, and Silas, dazed by grief, had instantly sold the house they had lived in together. Ashley’s earliest memories were of a changing landscape of hotel suites, and a shifting population of nannies. Silas travelled the country, and she, perforce, travelled with him until she was old enough to be despatched to boarding school.

She had understood quite early in their relationship that she seemed to make her father uncomfortable, and had assumed it was because of some painful physical resemblance to her mother. Gradually she came to realise that, whether he was aware of it or not, Silas resented the fact that his only child was not the boy he had planned on. Yet he had never made any attempt to alter the situation by marrying again, although he had enjoyed various discreet liaisons over the years, seeming perfectly content with his nomadic existence, the only awkwardness occurring when he was obliged to have Ashley with him.

She had spent many dull hours reading, watching television, wandering round strange towns, watching other people’s lives from a distance, until at last, when she was sixteen, she had rebelled, and insisted on accompanying him on to site. He had been openly reluctant at first, but when he saw she was adamant he had acceded, and slowly a new relationship had been forged between them. He had started by being sceptical about her interest, but he answered her questions with total frankness, and she had learned a great deal simply by being with him.

But he had been by no means preparing her to take over from him. His plans for her future had been very different, as she had suddenly, and painfully, discovered.

In her small elegant bathroom, she stripped and showered slowly, letting the water pour through her hair and down her body. She dried herself without haste, and wrapped in a fresh towel, sarong-style, wandered back to the bedroom and stretched out on her bed.

She felt infinitely weary, but sleep eluded her just the same. There was too much on her mind, she thought, punching the pillow. And if she was honest, the problem about the takeover wasn’t foremost in her thoughts as it should have been.

Jago, it seemed, was back, and possibly planning to stay. She had banked very heavily on never having to see him again, but if he was really going to be around as a permanent feature, she didn’t see how this could be avoided. It wasn’t that large a town. Nor could she leave. This was where Landons had its head office, so she couldn’t run, no matter how much she might want to.

Not that there was any logic in that, she castigated herself scornfully. There was no reason why she and Jago should not meet in a perfectly civilised manner. She’d got over that heartbreaking, desperate, adolescent love for him a long time ago. He couldn’t hurt her again, so what was she afraid of?

The million-dollar question, Ashley thought ironically.

She bit her lip savagely. As a future wife for a man like Jago Marrick, she’d been a disaster, but as Silas’ successor, she thought she had enjoyed a modest success. She had felt desperately isolated at first in her new eminence, but she had listened carefully, and made full use of all the experience and expertise which had been offered.

She sighed. Yet in spite of all her efforts, the board still didn’t trust her, or have any real confidence in her, and all her buried insecurities were burrowing to the surface, nagging and gnawing at her mind. She was not quite twenty-two, after all, and not very old to be doing battle for her share of the market place—a fact of which Marshalls were clearly well aware. Their board obviously regarded the present takeover attempt as no contest, and if she was honest, she could see little way of stopping them.

If it was any other company, she thought ruefully. But stories of Marshalls’ shoddy dealings and poor workmanship were rife in the industry, and they had already brought a libel action against a well-known satirical magazine which had lambasted them over a new shopping centre, threatened with structural collapse. They had won their case on a technicality, but with derisory damages.

Yet they were still wealthy enough, and endowed with sufficient clout to be bidding for Landons. They knew that their only chance of success was appealing to the inherent greed of human nature. And shareholders, in this respect, were just as human as anyone else.

The sudden trill of the phone beside the bed startled her, and she stared at it resentfully, wishing she’d had the foresight to disconnect it. She waited for the caller to get tired of waiting, and ring off, but it didn’t happen. Few people knew she was back, she thought, so perhaps it was Henry calling to apprise her of some new development. And it was clear he wasn’t giving up, so she lifted the receiver.

‘Hello,’ she said grudgingly.

‘So you are back.’ Jago’s voice, low, sardonic, and totally unmistakable. ‘I presumed old Henry would have pushed the panic button by now.’

‘I think you have the wrong number,’ she said wildly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about …’

‘Yes, you do, Ash, so don’t play games. According to the hints and rumours in the financial columns, Landons have a serious problem. I think we should talk.’

‘Well, I don’t.’ In spite of herself, her voice sounded ragged, his deliberate diminution of her name rousing memories she would rather have denied. ‘I don’t need your help.’

‘I thought three years might have matured you, Ash,’ he jibed at her. ‘But it seems you’re still the same prickly schoolgirl, nursing your hurt pride. And for that, you’re prepared to see Landons go down the drain. You amaze me!’

‘That isn’t true,’ she said stiffly. ‘If you have any helpful suggestions, then you should get in touch with Henry. I’m sure he’d be glad to hear from you.’

‘Although you’re not.’ Jago gave a low laugh. ‘Well, I suppose that was too much to expect under the circumstances. But you will be hearing from me, Ash, and sooner than you think. I had the greatest admiration for Silas, and I’m not prepared to see his company go to the wall for the sake of past differences between the two of us.’

‘I like “past differences”,’ Ashley said contemptuously. ‘It’s a good blanket term to cover your mercenary agreement with my father, and your flagrant infidelity!’

‘Oh, it covers a damned sight more than that,’ he said pleasantly. ‘But I’m glad you approve. It’s a start anyway. I’ll be seeing you, then.’ The line disconnected briskly.

He had never, Ashley thought, as she replaced her own receiver, been one for prolonged farewells.

She sat up, nervously hitching up her towel, as though Jago was in the room with her, his tawny hazel eyes observing her state of disarray with that overt sensuality which had so disturbed her during their brief, ill-fated relationship.

He’d called her a prickly schoolgirl, and she supposed he had a certain amount of justification, remembering how she had nervously shied away from any physical advances he’d made to her. Not even the fact that she had fallen head over heels in love with him had been able to mitigate her panic-stricken recoil from any real intimacy between them during their engagement.

And if she had been frightened by the unknown passions she had sensed were tightly leashed in his lean male body, then she had been utterly terrified by the wild unbidden reaction of her own innocent flesh to his lightest touch. And there was no one to help her understand or cope with these new and overwhelming sensations. The sex education lessons at her school had described the mechanics, but said nothing about the emotions which should accompany such experiences, and Ashley’s housemistress had given muddled, embarrassed talks about the problems inherent in ‘leading men on’, quoting current rape statistics, and advising ‘keeping oneself decent for marriage’.

And Silas’ values, she had discovered when she had nerved herself to mention the topic to him, were equally rigid. Purity was what a man looked for in his future wife, he had told her flatly, and she could learn anything she needed to know from her husband when the time came.

When Jago held her close, she felt totally confused, her body at war with her mind, which insisted that such an intensity of emotion must be wrong, even in some way abnormal.

Eventually, it seemed easier to keep Jago at arms’ length. Or at any rate simpler, she amended hastily, because it had never been easy.

She had supposed naïvely that Silas was right, and that once they were married everything would be different. That wearing Jago’s ring, having the right to call herself his wife, would bring about some fundamental sea-change in her. Only she had never had the opportunity to find out.

The wedding had only been a few weeks away when she had finally found out the truth about the kind of man she was marrying. She hadn’t seen Jago for several days, not since they’d spent an evening at the theatre together. Afterwards, he had suggested she go back to his flat with him for a nightcap, and she had shrunk immediately. It was altogether too secluded and intimate an environment for her to cope with, feeling as she did, and she’d heard herself babbling some feeble excuse. That Jago had recognised it as such was evident, although he had said nothing. But his mouth had tightened, and he had driven her home with almost exaggerated care, depositing her on her doorstep with chilly courtesy, not even bothering to bestow the most chaste of goodnight kisses.

Ashley told herself he was being unreasonable, and that she wasn’t going to be the first to make amends, but as time passed without a word from him, her need for reassurance got the better of her pride, and she tried to telephone him. When there was no reply from the flat, she told herself he was probably staying at the Manor, as Giles liked him to do from time to time.

But when she drove out to the Manor that evening, she found only Erica Marrick at home. She was sitting in the big drawing room, stitching at a piece of tapestry set up in a frame in front of her, and Ashley, who had no skill at sewing, watched in fascination as the needle pierced the canvas over and over again.

Later, when Ashley allowed herself to recall that terrible evening and its aftermath, she was to remember above all that shining needle, stabbing in and out, and feel as if it was her own flesh that it was wounding.

‘I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey,’ Erica said, when the usual social pleasantries had been observed. ‘It might have been wiser to ring first, and check where he was.’

Ashley forbore to mention that she’d been trying to contact Jago for two days. She said, trying to sound casual, ‘I suppose you’ve no idea where he could be?’

Erica chose another strand of thread. ‘None at all, my dear. Giles is only Jago’s cousin, not his keeper. Jago’s an adult male. He comes and goes here as he chooses, and we don’t ask any indiscreet questions. Much the best way, I assure you.’ She threaded her needle. ‘Jago doesn’t actually live here yet.’

‘I know,’ Ashley said huskily. ‘But I thought—I got the impression he was spending more time here these days—using the flat rather less.’

‘I hardly think so.’ The needle stabbed again. ‘After all, it’s the one small piece of bachelor independence which hasn’t been eroded yet, and he’ll be anxious to hang on to that as long as possible, I would imagine. He’s sacrificed quite a lot already,’ she added almost casually. ‘I hope he finds Landons is worth it.’

Ashley’s brows drew together. ‘I don’t quite understand …’

‘How wise of you,’ purred Erica. ‘It’s always so much better to respect the conventions in these matters, and pretend the marriage has been arranged—such a telling phrase, I always think—for personal rather than business reasons.’

Ashley felt as if a hand was slowly tightening round her throat. ‘Are you insinuating that Jago is marrying me only to gain a stake in Landons?’

‘Hardly a stake, my dear.’ The deadly needle went in and out, doing its work. ‘After all, you’re an only child with neither the physical nor mental capacity to become a—a captain of industry. Your father, naturally, needs someone he can trust to run the company eventually, and who better than a son-in-law and as you were—gratifyingly ready to marry him, and Jago is extremely ambitious, everyone’s satisfied.’

There was a silence. Ashley said flatly, ‘I don’t believe you.’

Erica laughed. ‘Of course not. Why should you? And you have nothing to worry about. Jago will never forget that you’re Daddy’s daughter, and be less than attentive, but you must remember to allow him—a little leeway now, before the noose tightens for ever. So why don’t you go home like a good girl, and wait for him to call you. I’m sure he will, eventually. He tends to have a fairly strict sense of duty,’ she added blandly.

Some guardian angel must have protected Ashley on that nightmare drive to his flat, because she remembered nothing about it.

All the way there, a voice in her head was whispering, ‘It can’t be true—can’t be true …’

And yet suspicion, once planted, was growing like a weed in the sun, sending out deadly tentacles to smother and choke. She had to see Jago, to confront him, and find out once and for all the real truth behind their marriage.

Because, she had to admit, the romance had been a whirlwind affair. She hadn’t seen a great deal of Jago while she was growing up, but after Silas had decided to seek a permanent home base near the company headquarters, they had begun to come into contact with each other.

At first, she had been full of shy admiration, gauche and tongue-tied whenever he was around. As he shared her father’s professional interests, it was inevitable that they should meet. Sometimes he was kind to her, at others, he teased her unmercifully. Gradually, almost in spite of herself, her admiration turned to a kind of hero-worship, and then, bewilderingly, to something much deeper.

Ashley had found she was aching for a glimpse of him, and agonising when this was denied her. She was ecstatic when he noticed her—once he gave her a lift home from the library, and she lived on it for weeks—and miserable when the passenger seat in his car was filled by one of the leggy blondes he seemed to favour. Not that he was always at home by any means. A lot of the time he was away, pursuing his career, immersed in one of the civil engineering projects for which he had trained at university.

‘He’s going straight to the top, that lad,’ Silas had remarked more than once with unveiled satisfaction.

But Jago’s ambitions and professional abilities counted for little with Ashley. For her, he was the focus of all her romantic dreams, and when, right out of the blue, he had rung and invited her to have dinner with him, she had thought she would die of delight.

But she had lived, and it was the start of an idyllic period in her life. Jago dined her, and danced with her, partnering her at tennis, taking her on picnics, and visits to the theatre and cinema.

And when, after six heady weeks, he had asked her to marry him, she had said ‘Yes’ eagerly, with no thought of dissimulation. ‘Gratifyingly ready,’ Erica had said mockingly, she recalled with a shiver of nausea. But it was no more than the truth. She’d been foolishly, blindly ready to allow herself to be handed over in exchange for the Landon empire.

As she drove, a lot of pieces seemed to be coming together in an increasingly terrifying pattern. She remembered the impatience in him, coiled like a spring, when she had drawn back from the growingly explicit demands of his mouth and hands, so different from the gentle restraint he had displayed during the early days of their courtship.

Before he was sure of her, said a small icy voice in her brain.

If he’d really cared for her, wouldn’t he have been prepared to make allowances for her inexperience? she asked herself.

And more troubling still, he had never actually said in so many words that he loved her. He wanted to make love to her, in any way she would permit, but all he had said when she agreed to be his wife, was, ‘Darling Ash, I’ll try and make you happy.’

She’d been more than content with that at the time, but now it seemed a disturbing omission.

At first when she rang the doorbell at his flat, she thought he was still out somewhere, and she was just about to turn away in defeat when she heard the sound of movement inside.

The door opened, and they faced each other. He looked terrible, was her first thought. He was pale, and his eyes were bloodshot, and he seemed to be wearing a dressing gown, and nothing else.

She said anxiously, ‘Jago, are you ill?’ She took a step forward, to be arrested by the sour reek of spirits on his breath. It was something she hadn’t encountered before with him, and it alarmed her.

In his turn, he was staring at her as if he didn’t know who she was, and then she saw a dawning horror in his eyes.

And in the same instant heard a girl’s voice saying with plaintive impatience, ‘Sweetie, aren’t you ever coming back to bed? Get rid of whoever it is and …’ She appeared from the bedroom, wearing nothing but the coverlet from the bed draped round her, none too effectively.

The hand was round Ashley’s throat again, tightening, squeezing …

The girl came forward to Jago’s side. Her eyes, blue and hard as nails, flicked over Ashley dismissively.

‘They say three’s a crowd, don’t they, darling? Or is that the way you like it?’

Jago slumped against the door jamb with a muffled groan.

Ashley wanted to stamp her feet. She wanted to kick, to lash out with her hands, and tear with her nails, and scream. She wanted to damage them, both of them, physically. Mark them as they had smashed her emotionally.

Nausea rose, hot and acrid, in her throat, and she turned and ran down the stairs, not waiting for the lift, and out into the chill of the night air. She leaned against her car, retching miserably, uncaring who might see her or what conclusions they might draw. Then, as soon as she was sufficiently in control of herself, she climbed into the driving seat, and started the engine. She didn’t go home. She drove out of town, and down to the river, parking in the very spot where Jago had proposed to her, sitting white-faced and burning-eyed until dawn.

When she finally returned home, she brushed aside her father’s reproaches and anxious queries, saying merely that she’d had some thinking to do, and needed to be alone. When she’d added that she was no longer going to marry Jago she and Silas had the worst row of their lives.

‘But you can’t throw him over for some whim!’ he’d raged at her. ‘My God, girl, only last week you thought the sun, moon, and stars all shone out of him! And I need him. I need a strong man to run Landons after I’m gone. As your husband he can become chairman after me. As soon as I met him, I knew he was the right man.’

‘Right for me?’ she wanted to ask, wincing. ‘Or merely right for Landons?’ But she’d never voiced the query.

Her magnificent solitaire diamond ring she’d sent back to Jago by company messenger, with a note stating bleakly that she never wanted to see him or hear from him again.

And nor had she, Ashley thought wearily, until now. Until that phone call, like a bolt from the blue.

Not only was her company at risk. With Jago’s return, her precarious peace of mind was threatened. And that, frighteningly, seemed a great deal worse.