Helena Beaumont is on a mission - to find out if Tate Ainsley really is swindling her father.But the man she's come back to Barbados to investigate is not the playboy she's expecting - in fact, if only she could trust him, he'd be everything she could wish for. It's going to be quite a challenge - pursuing information about Tate's affair while he is pursuing her and tempting her to distraction.She's facing quite a dilemma - return to London and leave her father to his fate, or stay and follow her heart… right into the arms of the enemy!
Helena swallowed hard and tried to find her voice, but it seemed to have deserted her.
Tate’s hand moved from her throat, down over the smooth bareness of her shoulder. “Do you hear me, Helena? I want you…I know you want me.” He moved closer; she could feel his breath against her heated skin. “Tell me you want me…”
“I…” She tried to deny him…she tried desperately to speak…but her voice wouldn’t function. Her heart felt like a wild caged creature inside her as his lips came closer to hers. She moistened their dryness, heat and sudden longing sweeping through her in a wild, sweet rush. “Yes.” She breathed the word into the tropical heat of the night; it was just a whisper of intense longing. “Yes…”
was born in Zambia where her parents happened to live at that time. Educated in Ireland and England, she now lives in a village near Blackpool, Lancashire. Kathryn is a professional beauty therapist, but writing is her first love. As a child she wrote adventure stories, and at thirteen was editor of her school magazine. Happily, ten writing years later, Designed With Love was accepted by Harlequin®. A romantic Sagittarian, she loves traveling to exotic locations.
STEPPING off the plane into the hot shimmering sunshine of Barbados was like stepping from a black and white photograph back into colour. Drab grey London felt like another planet away.
Helena felt a tug on her heartstrings. She loved this island, she was relieved to be home…and yet there was a murmur of disquiet as she remembered how she had felt when she had flown out of here five years ago.
Briskly she tried to dismiss the shadows of remembrance and headed off to collect her luggage. The past was forgotten; all that mattered now was sorting out her father’s problems.
She could still hardly believe that her father had managed to get himself into such a financial mess. Lawrence Beaumont had always been a very shrewd businessman. Helena’s heart thudded nervously as she remembered the phone call from Paul last week. It had been that call which had panicked Helena into booking the first available flight home. She had never heard her brother so worried—he was usually so calm, so laid-back.
She picked up her suitcase and headed quickly for Immigration. The formalities didn’t take long, and once through the barriers she scoured the crowds anxiously, looking for her brother’s friendly smiling face. There was no sign of him anywhere. She frowned and glanced at her watch. He was late—not a fact that should have surprised her when she thought about it.
Her eyes searched around the airport again, and it was then that she noticed a familiar figure striding confidently through the crowds. Her heart lurched with surprise. The figure was tall and undeniably handsome—she recognised Tate Ainsley immediately.
He was wearing a tropically light business suit, which looked expensive and very stylish on his broadshouldered frame. His hair was still jet-dark, despite the fact that he must be in his late thirties now.
What on earth was he doing here? she wondered frantically. It was six years ago now since her father had married Tate’s sister Vivian. While Helena liked Vivian…Tate was an entirely different proposition. She had always felt uneasy around the man, and if what her brother had told her on the phone was true then her mistrust of him was well-founded.
Her apprehension soared as he looked around and then started to move in her direction. There was no doubt that he was walking towards her as vivid blue eyes the colour of the Caribbean Sea sliced directly into hers. ‘Hello, Helena.’ His voice, deep and attractive, made a few women nearby glance over at him with interest.
‘Tate! I’m surprised to see you here.’ Her voice was slightly strained as she strove to be coolly polite.
‘Not half as surprised as I was to hear you were coming home.’ His eyes flickered briefly over her long dark hair which was pulled severely back from her creamy skin, emphasising the lovely bone structure of her face and the striking green eyes.
So he had heard that she was coming home! It was surprising how news travelled so quickly on this island; she had only faxed her father a couple of days ago with the news. She wondered how many other people knew she was here…she wondered if Cass knew…
Immediately the thought flickered into her mind she swept it aside angrily. She didn’t want to think about him…if she started to think about him she might run back through the doors behind her straight onto the first available plane to London.
‘How long are you here for?’ Tate asked now.
She shrugged, unwilling to divulge anything much to this man until she found out the exact circumstances at home. ‘Long enough to be of some help to my father.’ She fixed him with a rather pointed look. ‘I gather there have been a few problems at home?’
‘A few problems’ was putting it mildly. Paul had been beside himself with fear when they had spoken. Apparently bad investments.. bad management…had put the Beaumont estate in a state of near ruin. And according to Paul it was all this man’s fault.
If it was Tate’s fault he certainly didn’t look worried. He just grinned. ‘Nothing we can’t handle.’
Anger bristled through her at the arrogance of such an answer. Paul had told her in no uncertain terms that the situation was serious. Obviously Tate didn’t want her to realise this…it was probably m his best interests to keep a cool faade.
‘Well, I suppose the figures will speak for themselves, won’t they, Tate?’ Her tone was brisk and businesslike. Let him stew on that, she thought, with a gleam of satisfaction. She was nobody’s fool, and she wasn’t going to be palmed off with glib comments.
‘I suppose they will.’ He sounded most unconcerned, as if he found her frostiness merely amusing. His lips twisted in a half-smile that lit up his rugged features.
He was too attractive, she thought warily. Of course, he was not her type. There was a ruthless look about him—a light of harsh determination in his sea-blue eyes. It wasn’t hard to remember who his ancestors had been…what they had been. Her gaze fell on the jagged scar that ran down the side of his face and she shivered involuntarily.
‘Well, it’s been nice bumping into you, Tate, but I really must dash.’ She glanced pointedly at her watch. What she wanted was to get home—the sooner she found out exactly what was going on, the sooner she could start to take Tate Ainsley down a peg or two. ‘I’m supposed to be meeting someone—’
‘I know.’ His smile widened even further. ‘That someone is me.’
She frowned, totally perplexed. ‘But Paul promised to pick me up from the airport—’
‘Paul couldn’t make it. Your father asked me to come.’
‘I see.’ This piece of news totally astounded Helena. She had thought Paul would be here come hell or high water.
‘Well, it’s really very kind of you to put yourself out like this.’ She didn’t know what else to say—she was totally confused by this turn of events. Paul had told her that Tate Ainsley was the enemy, that he was out to ruin their father, so why was he allowing the man to pick her up like this? Why wasn’t he here, filling her in on events?
‘It’s my pleasure.’ His voice echoed the dry amusement in his eyes. ‘After all, we are practically family’
‘Hardly,’ Helena muttered swiftly. Was that the angle Tate was playing with her father? she wondered grimly. Was he giving him dodgy financial advice under the guise of being a concerned member of the family?
Helena found it hard to believe that her father could have been so naive as to be taken in by such sentiments. In the past Lawrence had always treated Tate with suspicion. Yet the fact that he had asked Tate to pick her up pointed towards how friendly he must now be with the man. It was all very puzzling.
‘So where is Paul anyway?’ There was a hint of brisk annoyance in her tone that she tried very hard to disguise.
Tate shrugged. ‘No idea…Probably with some blonde bombshell, if I know your brother.’
Helena glared at him, her green eyes glimmering deep emerald. Much as she had to admit deep down that this could very well be true, she was far too loyal to let it pass without standing up for her young brother.
‘It’s five years since I’ve seen Paul—I’m sure he would have been here if it was at all possible.’
‘If you say so.’ Tate picked up her bag, his attitude one of insouciant unconcern.
He headed for the exit, and Helena followed him with a feeling of reluctance. Just what was going on? she wondered nervously. Where on earth was her brother?
Paul was not renowned for being reliable. He was a tennis coach with a lot of skill, and he was also something of a ladies’ man. If a pretty young girl fluttered her eyelashes at him he was capable of forgetting what day it was, let alone that his sister was waiting to be picked up. Yet she didn’t think that was the reason why he hadn’t turned up today. His tone had been far too serious when they had spoken on the phone.
He had been the one who had insisted that he collect her when she had mentioned getting a taxi. He had said that he wanted to talk with her before she saw their father, that there were a lot of facts he wanted to arm her with first. What were the facts? she wondered for the millionth time. Apprehension knotted tight in her stomach.
The sunshine was blinding outside, the heat overwhelming. Tate led the way with long strides to where a very expensive Mercedes convertible was illegally parked on double yellow lines.
Helena’s mouth set in a firm line as she noticed this fact. Was Tate a man with little regard for authority? Did he think that because he was wealthy and powerful he was above the law?
‘You’re lucky you didn’t get a ticket,’ she said grimly as he opened the boot of the car and put her case in.
‘They allow you a few minutes to pick up from here, and your flight was exactly on time.’
‘In London you would have been clamped.’
He grimaced. ‘It’s no wonder you look stressed…living in London must be hell.’
He said the words with a teasing light in his eyes, and despite herself she had to smile.
‘Welcome home to sunny, laid-back Barbados.’ He reached out a hand and touched the smooth curve of her cheek in a gesture that made an instant flow of angry reaction flow through her body. ‘Is it really five years since you left?’
With complete disregard for the fact that her expression was now one of extreme displeasure, his gaze moved over her in a more leisurely appraisal. He took in the slender curves of her body, the classically elegant blue suit.
‘You’ve certainly changed,’ he murmured contemplatively. ‘What happened to the young skinny schoolgirl who left?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snapped with agitated impatience. ‘I was nineteen when I left—hardly a schoolgirl.’
He shrugged. ‘You’ve grown up, though…London has given you a very sophisticated air.’
It was true that London had given her a certain polish. The naïve and fresh-faced young woman who had left Barbados had blossomed into a successful career woman.
‘What do you do for a living these days?’ he asked nonchalantly as he opened the car door for her.
‘I’m a financial adviser with a leading bank.’ She met his blue gaze directly, trying to see if there was a flicker of unease in them. ‘I go through people’s accounts, and if there are any discrepancies, any problems, I always find them.’
She spoke the words succinctly—she wanted this man to know that she was a professional and damned good at her job. She wanted to wipe the look of complacency from those handsome features.
‘Really?’ He didn’t look in the slightest bit perturbed—in fact, he looked vaguely amused.
‘Have I said something funny?’ She frowned with annoyance.
‘Not at all.’ He watched as she settled herself in the comfortable leather seat, his gaze flicking briefly over her long legs. ‘It’s just that you don’t look like any financial adviser I’ve ever met!’ He closed the door on her before she had a chance to reply to that.
She watched in brooding silence as he walked around towards the driver’s side of the car. That was the kind of chauvinistic remark she would have expected from Tate Ainsley. He was a tough kind of man…a man’s man, with a hard edge. In those respects he was probably a bit like her father—Lawrence also was the type who thought that women had no place in the world of finance.
‘So what exactly is it that brings you back to Barbados?’ Tate enquired casually as he got into the seat next to her and started up the engine.
Helena hesitated. She didn’t know what this man was up to, and until she did she needed to choose her words carefully. ‘I was overdue for a visit,’ she answered simply. ‘And when Paul mentioned my father’s money problems I thought it was best if I came right away.’
‘So Paul’s been filling you in, has he?’ There was a note of mockery in Tate’s voice now that didn’t escape Helena’s attention. Before she could say anything, however, Tate went on more seriously, ‘Has he told you that Lawrence hasn’t been well?’
Helena’s heart skipped a beat anxiously. ‘No…no, he hasn’t.’ She shot a worried look at him. ‘What’s wrong with him?’
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ Tate said soothingly. ‘He’s just tired and a bit stressed out.’
‘About what, exactly?’ Helena demanded, a hard edge to her tone. By the sounds of things she hadn’t returned a moment too soon. Why hadn’t Paul mentioned anything about her father’s health?
‘Just overwork,’ Tate said lightly. ‘Vivian asked me to warn you. She’s anxious that nobody upsets him in any way.’
Helena frowned. ‘I certainly have no intention of upsetting my father.’ Her voice rose sharply. Who did this man think he was anyway?
‘No, of course not.’ Tate’s voice was calm. ‘It’s just that he’s very touchy at the moment. You know Lawrence—can’t stand for anyone to tell him he’s over-doing things, He flew off the handle when the doctor suggested that he should take a vacation. And I believe he had words with Paul last week over something and nothing.’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve heard about that.’ Helena was quick to intercede. She wanted Tate to know that she was well aware of why Paul and her father had had words.
Something and nothing, indeed! Her brother had told her exactly what had happened, and the argument had all been due to Tate. Apparently Paul had told his father straight that Tate was leading him financially astray, and to Paul’s astonishment Lawrence had taken extreme exception to the remarks.
‘I don’t think it was over something trivial, though.’ Helena turned accusing eyes towards Tate. ‘I rather thought that it was over the fact that Pop has been taking some bad advice.’
Tate slanted a glance towards her, but instead of looking worried he merely shrugged. ‘I haven’t a clue what they argued about. But, as I said, your father is suffering from the effects of stress and overwork. I’ve been trying to take some of the strain off him by sending over one of my secretaries to give him a hand.’ He shook his head. ‘But Lawrence is a stubborn fellow who doesn’t easily accept help.’
Helena was startled by this statement. Tate sounded as if he was genuinely concerned about her father. His words certainly didn’t sound like those of a man who would deliberately give misleading advice to wreck her father’s finances. But then Tate was probably a very cunning man, she reminded herself sharply.
She ran contemplative green eyes over the man beside her. She knew that Tate was ambitious and determined, and that he had a reputation for being a hard-headed businessman. According to Paul, Tate had been phenomenally successful in the five years since she had been away, but due to over-extending himself with over-ambitious plans he was suffering severe financial losses…losses he was making up by duping her father.
‘Well, it’s just as well I’ve come home,’ she answered him coolly. ‘I’m very experienced with financial problems. I’ll be able to help out—go through Pop’s accounts with a fine-tooth comb.’
‘I’m sure Lawrence will be very relieved.’
She glanced across and met his blue eyes head-on; there was a laughing gleam in them that made her temper rise sharply. ‘I can assure you that if there are any problems…any discrepancies in my father’s accounts, I will be able to find them,’ she told him in no uncertain tone.
‘Oh, I’m sure you will.’ He shook his head, the amusement on his handsome features not dying for a moment. ‘It’s just that knowing Lawrence as I do, I’m sure you’ll have your work cut out getting him to even open his accounts for you.’
Her hands curled into tight fists in her lap. So now she knew why Tate was so unconcerned by her comments. He was aware of her father’s outlook on women in the workplace and was obviously banking on the fact that she would get nowhere near her father’s books.
‘Oh, he’ll open them for me.’ Somehow she managed to inject far more confidence into her tone than she was feeling.
‘Lawrence will be disappointed when you start trying to talk business with him,’ Tate reflected as he turned the car down quiet country lanes, through rolling green countryside. ‘He’s under the impression that you’re coming home to tell him that you’re getting married.’
Her eyes widened in complete astonishment at that statement. She hadn’t told her father the real reason for this visit for the simple reason that she knew it would have annoyed him. Lawrence was a proud man, and he would have been severely embarrassed if he’d thought that Helena was coming home because Paul had told her that he was in a financial mess. But why he should think that she was getting married completely baffled her.
‘What on earth has given him that idea?’ she murmured, with a perplexed shake of her head.
‘Might have something to do with the fact that you haven’t visited in five years and now you are suddenly descending out of the blue with very little warning.’
Helena frowned. Was it her imagination, or was there a note of censure in his tone? ‘I haven’t been home because I haven’t been able to get sufficient time off work,’ she said stiffly. This wasn’t true, but she was damned if she was going to start delving into her personal life to answer his nosy questions.
‘So your reasons for not coming home before now are nothing to do with Cass?’
The outrageously personal question took her breath away. ‘Certainly not!’ It was appalling how the mere mention of Cass’s name could send a sharp frisson of electricity through her body. That man had hurt her so much that it was painful just to think of him. ‘I—I don’t even know what you mean by that statement,’ she muttered nervously.
He laughed at that. ‘Come on, Helena, I saw you crying your eyes out over him…remember?’
Helena’s heart thudded wildly at the reminder of such a distressing moment. With difficulty she closed her mind on the memory and summoned an air of indifference. ‘That’s all a very long time ago. I’d forgotten about it until you mentioned it.’
‘Oh, I see.’ The amusement in his tone very nearly threatened to snap her composure. At that moment she would dearly have loved to tell him to go to hell.
‘So is there someone else?’ he continued on casually.
With great difficulty she refrained from telling him to mind his own business. ‘I’m not coming home to tell Pop that I’m getting married,’ she said stiffly. ‘Does that answer your question?’
‘Not really.’ He grinned. ‘But it will do for now.’
He turned the car through the gateway to her home, distracting her thoughts. Her eyes moved eagerly over the fields of sugar cane shimmering in the heat of the sun. She had dreamt of this moment for five long years. This was the place dearest to her heart, the place where she had grown up. She had missed it terribly.
When the large plantation house came into sight through the tall palm trees, she felt like crying for a moment. Memories of childhood stirred deep inside— memories of her mother, of happy days.
‘Glad to be back?’
Tate’s voice made her try to pull her emotions tightly m check. She nodded. ‘And relieved that it looks just the same as I remembered it.’
Tate pursed his lips. ‘Nothing stays the same forever.’
She frowned, wondering what he meant by that. ‘This house has remained relatively unchanged for generations.’
‘That’s not strictly true. Beaumont House used to receive all its income from sugar—jut as the Ainsley estate did. Now the sugar trade has declined and the plantations have turned towards other investments.’
‘I hardly need a lesson in the economy of the island, Tate,’ she told him crisply. ‘I’m well aware that the sugar trade has declined.’
‘Then you know that there have been big changes on estates like Beaumont,’ he pointed out calmly.
‘I know my father has diversified—he did that a long time ago.’ She looked at him sharply. Was he making excuses? Was he trying to tell her that her father’s problems were down to the economic climate, not to mishandling? He was cool, she had to give him that. Just what game was Tate Ainsley playing? she wondered cautiously.
‘Up until now he has done very well from his investments,’ she continued succinctly. ‘I sincerely hope that he hasn’t changed his business tactics.’ She couldn’t resist the dig. She knew damn well that her father had changed his tactics to suit Tate…with disastrous consequences. Let him try and explain himself out of that.
Tate merely laughed. ‘There speaks a true banker. “Play it safe” being the banking war cry. Let me tell you that remaining static in this economic climate is like trying to tread water in a hurricane. You have to move boldly forward with the times if you want success.’
Green eyes collided directly with his deep blue gaze. She didn’t care for his mocking tone. ‘Bold’ was a word that seemed to sit well on Tate Ainsley’s shoulders. She was willing to bet that he took some very unorthodox risks in business. ‘You can only move boldly forward if you have the means and the safety nets in place to do so,’ she told him pointedly.
He smiled at that. ‘Well, you would say that. I rest my case—you’re a member of the “play it safe” brigade.’
‘And what way do you play, Tate?’ she asked directly, an edge of incrimination in her tone.
‘Have dinner with me tomorrow night and we can discuss strategy if you like,’ he offered casually, completely unruffled by her tone.
The invitation caught her off balance, as did the gleam of taunting mirth in his deep eyes. Was he deliberately baiting her? she wondered with annoyance, because he seemed to be enjoying putting her on the spot.
‘I don’t think there would be much point in us discussing business strategy,’ she told him calmly. ‘Comparing your ideas and mine would be like comparing a fox’s idea of how to survive the winter with a squirrel’s.’
He laughed at that. It was a genuine, warm sound in the sweetly fragrant air. ‘I take it I’m the fox?’
‘What do you think?’ She grated drily, meeting his blue eyes with a look that told him most definitely that he was.
Yet underneath her stiff, instinctive antagonism to his approaches in business she had to admit in that instant to finding something very appealing about the roguish gleam m Tate Ainsley’s eye…The idea was fleeting and ludicrous, and she instantly dismissed it with severe anger. What was the matter with her? she wondered furiously. Hadn’t she learnt her lesson where men like Tate Ainsley were concerned?
She was extremely relieved when Tate pulled the car to a halt outside the house, putting an end to their conversation. As soon as the car engine stopped, the front door of the house opened and her father came out onto the wooden veranda, closely followed by Vivian. Hurriedly Helena reached for the doorhandle and stepped out to run towards him.
‘Helena, thank heavens you are home.’ Lawrence Beaumont came down the steps, and she was embraced in strong arms and held tightly.
She closed her eyes and clung to him. ‘It’s good to be home, Pop. I can’t tell you how good.’
It was a few moments before she had gathered her emotions together enough to pull away and look at her father calmly. He didn’t seem any different. A little tired, perhaps, and there was a drawn look about his face that hadn’t been there before.
Lawrence was now in his early sixties, but he still had a rugged attractiveness. His sandy-blond hair was still thick, and his body powerfully built.
‘You’ve hardly changed.’ Helena smiled through a glimmer of tears.
‘Well, that’s more than we can say about you,’ Vivian put in as she came down to join them.
Helena turned with a smile and reached to kiss her stepmother.
‘You look fabulous,’ Vivian said truthfully as they broke apart.
‘So do you.’ Helena’s eyes moved wistfully over the other woman. Vivian was wearing a speedwellblue summer dress that emphasised her superb figure. Her skin was pale and she had smouldering red lips and dark eyes. Her hair was a soft, natural blonde.
Vivian was just thirty-three years of age—it was six years since she had given up her modelling career to marry Helena’s father, but her looks certainly hadn’t diminished. If anything she was more beautiful now than she had been before.
‘Thanks for collecting Helena.’ Lawrence went to give Tate a hand with her luggage, but he waved him away.
‘I can manage,’ he said, smiling. ‘Your daughter travels light.’
‘I hope that’s not an indication of how long you’ll be staying?’ Lawrence asked, turning anxious eyes onto Helena.
‘Give me a chance to unpack before I start talking about leaving,’ Helena prevaricated with a smile.
Her father nodded, and together they moved into the house.
Overhead fans made a soft whirring sound and sent a delicious waft of air over Helena’s heated skin as she stepped into the wide hallway. The doors through to the lounge were open, and her eyes moved over the soft gold furnishings with delight. Everything was exactly as it had been when she had left.
The house was furnished almost exclusively with antiques, and stepping through the doorway was like stepping back in time to the colonial era. The floors were polished wood, and they creaked underfoot like a ship’s galley. Crystal lights made a soft tinkling sound in the gentle breeze from the fans.
‘Leave Helena’s luggage by the staircase, Tate,’ Lawrence said briskly as he moved into the lounge. ‘Come through and join us for a drink of champagne.’
‘Champagne?’ Helena watched as her father marched to where an ice-bucket and glasses had been left ready and waiting for them. Champagne hardly fitted in with the picture her brother had painted of financial troubles.
‘Tate very kindly brought it over earlier, ready for your homecoming.’
‘I see.’ Helena didn’t really see at all. Why on earth should Tate bring champagne over to welcome her home?
She glanced across and met his deep blue gaze. He was watching her, a strange, almost hooded expression in his eyes. Whatever his reasons, Helena thought in that instant, she doubted they had anything to do with generosity.
She watched as her father poured out five sparkling glasses of the frothy liquid. ‘Is Paul joining us?’ she asked hopefully.
There was a moment’s awkward silence. ‘I’ve told your brother not to come here until he gets a civil tongue in his head,’ Lawrence said in a gruff tone
Helena’s heart sank. The argument between Paul and her father had obviously been even worse than she had thought. She had hoped that they might have patched things up for her homecoming.
‘The other glass is for Mary,’ Vivian put in swiftly. ‘She’s been so excited about your return; she’s been dashing around all day, fussing and flapping to make everything perfect.’
‘She’s done everything bar kill the fatted calf,’ Tate added, a hint of dry amusement in his tone.
Was that a dig implying that she was the errant stray daughter, finally back to the fold? Helena glanced over at him, wondering again at his motivations.
‘Ah, here’s Mary now,’ Vivian said with a smile as the door swung open and a plump black woman came rushing into the room.
‘Oh, Miss Helena, you’re home!’ Mary’s voice was filled with excitement. ‘I didn’t hear the car…and I’ve been listening out for it for what seems like hours.’
‘Mary, it’s so good to see you.’ Helena smiled and went to embrace the woman who had been more than just a housekeeper at Beaumont House over the years.
When Helena’s mother had died Mary had been a close friend to Helena. She had comforted the griefstricken nine-year-old and had taken over the running of the house, becoming a mother substitute to both her and Paul when Lawrence Beaumont had been unable to cope with his own feelings of grief, let alone his children.
‘Let me look at you.’ Mary’s round face beamed with good nature as she stepped back from her. ‘My Lord, you look as pretty as a picture.’
‘Doesn’t she just?’ Much to Helena’s embarrassment, Tate was the one to agree with this statement. He lifted the champagne glasses and handed one each to Helena and Mary. ‘I’d like to propose a toast,’ he said, holding Helena’s gaze with steady blue eyes. ‘Welcome home, Helena. May your visit be a long and memorable one.’
Helena had a feeling it was going to be more than just memorable. She had a very strong feeling that it was going to be unforgettable.
‘Hear, hear.’ Lawrence topped the glasses up once they had taken a few sips of the golden liquid.
The sound of the telephone ringing made Mary put down her glass and hurry from the room.
‘Will you stay and have some dinner with us Tate?’ Lawrence asked.
Helena noted that her father’s voice wasn’t just polite—he sounded as if he genuinely would have welcomed the other man’s company.
Tate glanced at his watch. ‘I’d love to, but I’ve got an important meeting in an hour. I really should be leaving now.’
About time, Helena thought grimly. It should be Paul joining them for dinner, not Tate Ainsley. What on earth was her father thinking of?
Lawrence nodded, obviously disappointed. Then he turned his attention towards his daughter. ‘So, Helena,’ he said bluntly, ‘put me out of my misery. Have you come home to tell us you’re getting married?’
Helena tried very hard not to blush. So Tate had been right! He seemed to be very much privy to her father’s personal thoughts, she observed with concern.
‘No, Pop,’ she said with a shake of her head. ‘I’ve come back to see you—there’s nothing more to it than that.’
‘Thank heavens for that,’ Lawrence said fervently. ‘Not that I don’t want you to get married—on the contrary, I think it’s high time you tied the knot and gave me some grandchildren to bounce on my knee—but I don’t want you marrying somebody miles away in London…I want you to marry someone closer to home.’ Her father’s voice was heavy with implication.
Helena felt sure that her face was crimson as she met Tate’s coolly amused glance.
She pulled her eyes away from him, angered by his air of arrogant amusement. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Pop,’ she finally managed to say in a tightly controlled voice, ‘but I’m married to my work. I’m a career girl.’
Lawrence shook his head, looking totally disgusted with such a statement.
She was extremely relieved when they were interrupted by Mary corning back into the room. ‘Phone for you, Miss Helena,’ she said cheerfully. ‘It’s your brother.’
‘You can take it in my office,’ Lawrence said grimly, his very tone of voice conveying how displeased he was with Paul.
Helena put down her champagne and hurried towards the hall. She was extremely anxious to talk to Paul. Perhaps now he could shed some light on the exact situation here.
Her father’s study was a room Helena had always felt comfortable in. The walls were lined with books and Lawrence’s huge desk looked out over splendid gardens which were ablaze with tropical colour. She perched on the edge of the desk, but her eyes were barely taking in the view outside—all her thoughts were centred on Paul at the other end of the line.
‘Sorry I didn’t make the airport. Vivian rang me this morning and said that Pop wanted Tate to pick you up.’ His voice was low, and he sounded utterly depressed.
‘What’s going on, Paul?’ Helena asked gently. ‘Pop seems to be very angry with you…more than I ever could have imagined.’
‘Well, I told you.’ Paul’s voice was aggrieved now. ‘It’s that Ainsley fellow, poisoning his mind. I suppose he’s still there?’
‘Drinking some champagne that he brought over,’ Helena informed him wryly.
‘Hell, the man has nerve. Over a million down the drain, and he’s got Pop—’
‘A million what…dollars?’ Helena’s heart missed a beat. ‘I don’t follow this at all, Paul.’
‘If you want it bluntly, Tate has talked Pop into investing all that money into buying shares in an emerald mine.’
‘An emerald mine?’ Helena wondered if her brother was kidding for a second. It was like some kind of joke.
‘Ridiculous, isn’t it?’ Paul grated heavily. ‘The biggest laugh is that Pop invested the money ages ago and he hasn’t had a bean—or should I say a gem?— in return for it yet. But still he refuses to believe he’s being duped…the man is totally convinced that it’s a great business opportunity.’
‘But where did he get all that money to invest?’ Helena asked, totally bemused. She knew for a fact that her father hadn’t got that kind of cash to play with.
‘He’s sold nearly everything—all his other business investments, and that prime piece of land by Bounty Bay.’
Helena felt suddenly heartsick. That land had belonged to her mother’s family…it had been in the family for generations and was of great sentimental value.
‘Who did he sell to?’ Almost before she asked the question she knew the answer.
‘Who do you think?’ Paul spat out venomously. ‘Tate Ainsley, of course. He’s wanted that land for years, and he got it for a song compared to what it was worth. I could have got twice as much money from another buyer who told me he was very interested.’
Through the open window Helena could see Tate and Vivian walking towards his car. Tate was laughing at something the other woman was saying. He looked tremendously handsome—the sun was glinting off his jet-black hair and he had a laid-back, devil-may-care look about him.
So, well he might laugh, Helena thought contemptuously. Obviously he thought he had the Beaumont household exactly where he wanted it.
Her mouth set in a firmly determined line. No wonder Tate was working so hard to keep in her father’s good books—no wonder he was bringing over champagne and acting as if he cared about Lawrence’s health. He was probably hoping that if he hung on a little longer he would acquire Beaumont House for a knock-down price, the way he had acquired everything else.
‘He hasn’t been turning his particular brand of charm on you, has he, Helena?’ her brother asked anxiously. ‘You aren’t fooled by him, are you?’
‘Of course not,’ she told him in a strong voice. ‘I’ve got Tate’s measure now, and I can assure you that he’s not going to get away with fooling anyone for very much longer.’
HELENA couldn’t sleep that night. Thoughts of Tate Ainsley and worries about her father whirled incessantly in her mind. As soon as the first rays of sunlight slanted through her bedroom window she got up and went downstairs to make herself an early-morning cup of tea.
She was moving silently across the hallway when a sound from her father’s study stopped her in midtrack. Surely her father wasn’t working at this hour? With a frown she went to investigate.
Lawrence Beaumont was seated behind his desk, wading his way through a pile of paperwork.
‘Pop, you’re supposed to be taking things easy!’ she said with dismay.
‘Good morning.’ He looked up and smiled at her, completely undeterred. ‘I am taking things easy. You know the old adage—“early to bed, early to rise”…?’
Lawrence had retired to his study soon after dinner last night, and it had been midnight when she had heard him coming up to bed. However, she refrained from saying so. Instead she erred on the side of diplomacy and said, ‘You’re working too hard.’
‘And you’ve been talking to Vivian.’
She had been talking to Vivian last night. Her stepmother was extremely concerned that Lawrence wouldn’t slow down.
‘Who has been talking to your doctor.’
‘Lot of nonsense.’ Lawrence waved his hand scornfully.
Helena came further into the room, closing the door behind her. She was wearing a tennis skirt and a short white T-shirt. ‘You and Viv having a game this morning?’ Lawrence asked conversationally. Helena knew it was his attempt to change the subject.
She nodded. ‘In about half an hour—before the sun gets too hot.’ She looked at him more pointedly. ‘It was going to be an early-morning ride, but Vivian tells me you’ve sold the horses.’
Lawrence looked a little uncomfortable. ‘Yes, well…Tate made me a good offer.’
Helena very much doubted that. She sighed and sank down in the chair opposite to him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Pop? All the times I have phoned, and you’ve never said a word.’
Lawrence looked at her blankly.
‘Your financial problems.’ Helena’s voice was gentle now. ‘You should have told me. I can help.’
‘Everything is under control,’ Lawrence muttered quickly ‘No need for you to worry. No need at all.’
‘But, Pop, Paul says—’
‘Has Paul been filling your head with nonsense?’ Lawrence’s tone grew suddenly angry, and his face started to redden.
Conscious of his health, Helena tried to defuse the situation and calm him down. ‘He just suggested that you had a few problems, that’s all.’
‘Knowing Paul, I’m sure he didn’t stop there.’ Her father leaned across the desk. ‘I hope you haven’t repeated anything he has said? It would break Vivian’s heart to hear the scurrilous comments that boy has made.’
‘No, of course not.’ Helena shook her head. She had no intention of upsetting Vivian—she knew how much the woman loved her brother. She had, however, tried to ask her stepmother about the financial difficulties they were in, but it had soon become clear that Vivian didn’t know anything about the business.
‘Look, Pop.’ She dropped her voice to a reasonable tone. ‘Paul just said you were having a few difficulties, and I thought that I could go through your books and help you out. After all, I am—’
‘Thanks for the offer, Helena, but everything is under control.’
‘But I can—’
‘Helena, I don’t want to hear another word.’ Lawrence’s tone was ominous. He leaned back in his chair and glanced at his watch. ‘Tate is sending his secretary over this morning anyway. So I’ve got all the help I need.’
Apprehension darted through her at those words. Why was Tate going to that trouble? Was his secretary his spy in the camp? ‘I suppose Tate will be coming over as well?’ she asked carefully, then couldn’t help adding, ‘You never used to trust him.’
‘That was before I really knew him.’ Lawrence met her eyes firmly. ‘Tate Ainsley is a fine man.’
Unless she could prove otherwise, there was nothing more to be said. Helena stared at her father, feeling helpless and frustrated. There were a million things she would have liked to say at that juncture, but she didn’t dare for fear of raising his blood pressure. It was obvious that he wasn’t going to let her help him. He was just so damned stubborn.
But what could she do? She couldn’t let Tate Ainsley win—she couldn’t just stand by and watch him ruin everything her father had worked so hard for.
‘What time are you expecting him?’ she asked coolly. Her choice was clear. She couldn’t risk upsetting her father…but Tate was an entirely different matter.
Helena didn’t linger after her tennis match with Vivian. She headed straight around the side of the house, intending to shower and change and be back in her father’s office before Tate arrived. She came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Tate’s car parked on the drive.
He was standing on the front steps, deep in conversation with a young woman who was dressed very stylishly in a buttercup-yellow suit, her long blonde hair arranged fashionably around a perfectly made-up face. Helena recognised the girl immediately.
Antonia Summers had been in her class at school. She hadn’t been a very popular girl, and Helena remembered vaguely that she had been an incredibly jealous type. Of course, that had been a long time ago, and the girl had probably changed a lot since then. Helena also remembered that Antonia had once had an almighty crush on Tate.
They both looked over towards her as she moved forward. ‘Good morning, Helena.’ Tate’s eyes swept over her, encompassing her short white skirt and the cropped T-shirt with one sweep of his eyes.
Helena cursed the fact that she was so scantily clad. She hadn’t even done her hair this morning; it was scraped back out of the way in a ponytail.
‘I think you know Antonia, my secretary, don’t you?’ he continued smoothly.
So the girl was now working for Tate…what a small old world, Helena thought drily. She smiled politely and said hello.
‘Been playing tennis?’ Tate asked nonchalantly.
Helena nodded. It took all her inner strength just to be civil to this man. ‘I was going to go riding,’ she muttered with rancour, ‘except that Pop has given away the horses.’
‘I’ve bought them,’ Tate corrected her with equanimity. ‘But don’t worry, they are being very well looked after.’
Helena was about to make a sarcastic reply to that but she was interrupted by Antonia.
‘I just can’t believe you are home,’ she interceded with a smile. ‘Does Deborah know?’
For a moment Helena’s heart missed a beat at this mention of the girl who had once been her closest friend. There had been a time shortly after Helena had left Barbados when she hadn’t been able to think about Debby without feeling tearful.
‘Probably.’ With difficulty Helena kept her voice steady. ‘You know how news travels out here. Everyone knows everything almost before it happens’
‘Well, I saw her only last week, and she didn’t mention you,’ Antonia continued blithely. ‘She’s still seeing David Cass, you know. There were rumours a while ago that they might get married.’
‘Really?’ Helena tried to put a brisk indifference into her voice, but it was very hard when she could feel a cold hand stealing around her heart, squeezing it unmercifully hard.
She couldn’t believe that Debby would consider marrying Cass—the thought was repellent to her. For a second her composure slipped, and there was a fleeting look of anguish on her gentle features.
She glanced back at Tate. He was watching her with a look of deep contemplation in his blue eyes. Had he noticed her consternation? The notion that he had made her tilt her head up in a defiant gesture. She was damned if she was going to let anyone see how hurt she was over Debby Johnstone and Cass. That particular nightmare was over, she told herself forcefully.
‘Well, I hate to interrupt this girls’ reunion,’ Tate drawled laconically, ‘but might I suggest that we go inside? I have a few business matters I want to discuss with your father, Helena, before I leave.’
For a second Helena was so relieved that the subject had been turned away from Cass that she didn’t even care why Tate was here. It was only as she turned to lead the way into the house that her priorities reasserted themselves. What manner of business was Tate here to discuss anyway? Her mouth set in a grim line as reluctantly she knocked on her father’s study door.
‘Ah, Tate!’ Her father stood up immediately the other man entered, his face wreathed in smiles. ‘Nice to see you—and you, Antonia.’
Helena stepped in and closed the door behind her firmly. Invited or not, she intended to stay and hear exactly what was going on.
‘I didn’t think I would need you today, Antonia, but…’ Lawrence swept a hand ruefully towards the other desk at the far side of the room, which had an in-tray stacked high with correspondence. ‘As you can see, it was a forlorn hope.’
‘Don’t worry, Mr Beaumont. I’ll make short work of it,’ Antonia assured him as she stepped across to take her seat.
‘Meanwhile—’ Tate tapped the folder that he was carrying ‘—I’d like to discuss those business proposals we spoke of last week.’
‘Wonderful.’ Lawrence sat back down behind his own desk and waved Tate towards the chair opposite. ‘Helena, be a dear and get us all some coffee, will you?’ he said, glancing briefly at his daughter. ‘Mary has gone into Bridgetown for some shopping.’
Helena’s face fell. She wanted to hear the nature of the business Tate had come to discuss, not make coffee.
Tate looked across at her, and his mouth slanted in a lop-sided grin as he took in the angry gleam in her eyes. ‘Black with no sugar, thanks, Helena.’
Helena would have liked to tell him to get his own damned coffee, but courtesy and respect for her father forbade such a thing. With a dry nod, she turned to leave. She really had no other alternative.
Never had a pot of coffee been made so quickly. Helena fairly ran around the large kitchen, throwing everything on a tray. She returned to the study a few minutes later and entered the room without knocking on the door.
She was just in time to hear Tate requesting her father’s signature on some document that he had placed before him. Horror welled up inside Helena as she watched her father calmly pick up his pen to comply without question.
Helena put the tray down on the desk with rather more force than she had intended, and the china cups and saucers rattled noisily in the silence. She had to say something—she couldn’t just watch while her father signed a document that might be another dreadful mistake.
‘Shouldn’t you have professional advice before you sign anything, Pop?’ she said, quietly but firmly.
Lawrence looked up, his pen poised over the paper, an expression of annoyance clear on his lined face. ‘I think I’m capable of making my own decisions, Helena,’ he said swiftly.
It was galling to be spoken to so curtly. She had, after all, been specially trained to advise businesses in difficulty.
‘I rather thought I could be of help to you in here,’ she said with gentle emphasis.
‘I’ve told you, Helena, I’ve got all the help I need’ Lawrence smiled at her, totally ignoring the pleading look in his daughter’s eyes. ‘You go off and enjoy yourself.’
Conscious of Tate watching her, she forced herself to smile. ‘Very well,’ she acceded reluctantly. ‘I’ll see you later.’
She was quite literally fuming when she walked out of the room. How could her father be so blind as to trust Tate Ainsley with such implicit faith? And what were the documents that he was signing? All sorts of dreadful possibilities flew through her mind. Her father could be signing away Beaumont House, for all she knew.
She wandered through to the kitchen to tidy the mess she had made whilst making the coffee. It was probably best to keep busy, she thought as she wiped over the counters and put things away. Best not to think about what mistakes her father might be making.
For a brief moment she considered having a quiet word with Antonia. Perhaps she would shed some light on what was transpiring? As soon as the thought crossed her mind she dismissed it. Antonia worked for Tate, and if past history was anything to go by the woman adored him. There was no way she would get anything out of that woman…except maybe some gossip about Debby and Cass.
Helena stopped what she was doing and leaned against the kitchen counter. Was it true that Deborah was thinking of marrying David Cass? The question returned with sudden force to haunt her.
Debby had once been like a sister to Helena. For a moment thoughts of their friendship filled her mind. They had supported each other through the ups and downs of growing up, had always been firm friends…until Cass.
‘May the best girl win,’ Deborah had once said laughingly, when they had both admitted to being wildly attracted to him. And then, when Cass had asked Helena out, she had shrugged and said laughingly, ‘Well, luck was on your side this time.’
The words echoed hollowly inside Helena, evoking memories that she wanted so much to forget. She had dated Cass for five months. Five months of being wined and dined, and still she hadn’t known the real man beneath the urbane smile.
‘Helena?’ Tate’s velvet deep voice cut into the painful intensity of her thoughts, bringing her abruptly back to the present with a start. She turned sharply, and as she did so her arm caught the sugar bowl on the countertop, making it fall with a resounding smash onto the stone floor.
‘Bit like the price of sugar,’ Tate noted wryly as he came across to help her tidy up the mess. ‘Plummeting all the time.’
Helena’s hands trembled as she tried to pull herself sharply together. It was horrifying that just the thought of Cass could do this to her. Her nerves were stretched, her heart pounding. She just prayed that Tate wouldn’t notice how agitated she was.
She frowned across at him. What was he doing in here anyway? she wondered. Presumably he had finished his shadowy business dealings with her father for one morning…Perhaps he now thought that he could try and sweet-talk her before he left, try and dampen down any suspicions she might have about him?
She bit down on the softness of her lips. Well, the man was in for a rude awakening if he thought he could twist her around his little finger, she told herself heatedly. She knew his type, and she was well able to stand up to him.
‘I can manage to pick up the pieces, thank you,’ she told him tightly as he crouched down beside her. ‘It’s something I’m quite good at—which is probably just as well, seeing as I will be doing a lot of it around here once the dust has settled.’ Her voice was sarcastically dry as she got in the dig that she would probably have to pick her father’s finances off the floor once Tate had finished with him.
‘I gather your father hasn’t been too accommodating about opening his accounts for you,’ Tate said nonchalantly.
She glared up at him. He had come to gloat, she thought furiously. ‘Whatever gives you that idea?’ She ground the words out furiously. She certainly wasn’t about to admit any such thing to him.
‘It seemed pretty obvious.’ He smiled. ‘Don’t take it too personally, Helena. Your father means well— it’s just an old-fashioned quirk of his that he feels women—’
‘I don’t need you to tell me about my own father,’ she cut across him, her voice rising with her increasing fury. Lord, this was the final humiliation. The man was robbing them blind, and he knew damn well that she was virtually powerless to do anything because her father was too damned stubborn to let her help. He was laughing at them…it was infuriating, it was maddening.
She had to grit her teeth to keep from saying something that she might deeply regret. ‘There are a lot of things you don’t realise about me, Tate Ainsley,’ she told him tightly. ‘And one of them is that I can handle my father.’
‘I’m sure you can.’ Tate’s voice was suddenly serious. ‘But just a word of caution, Helena. Lawrence is not a well man. His blood pressure is very high, and the doctors have told him to avoid stress—’
‘Thank you for your concern, Tate.’ He obviously thought he could scare her into backing away from the situation. Well, he could think again. Her eyes met his with determination. ‘I’m not going to upset my father…I’m going to help him.’
‘As long as you understand the situation,’ Tate said smoothly.
Oh, she understood, all right. She understood that Tate Ainsley was a scheming, dishonest rat.
Her hands trembled violently now, rage mixing with anxiety as she gathered up the broken crockery with swift disregard for the sharpness of the pieces.
The next moment she had cut her wrist on a jagged bit of crockery as she leaned across it. Bright red blood spilled onto the sugar, and she groaned in annoyance at such a stupid accident.
‘Obviously you’re not as good at picking up the pieces as you thought,’ Tate grated sardonically.
She glared at him, her eyes bright with dislike.
‘Here.’ Before she could pull away or say anything he grabbed hold of her hand and led her over to the sink, to plunge her wrist under some running water.
The sensation of the cool water running over the cut was soothing, but Tate’s hold on her arm was anything but reassuring. His closeness was totally unnerving.
‘I’m fine now, thank you,’ she said briskly, annoyed with herself for being so clumsy and so stupid. ‘You can let go of me.’
‘I think you need a plaster.’ Tate completely ignored her words. ‘Does Mary keep a first-aid kit in here?’
‘There used to be a box in the far cupboard,’ she said with a shrug.
He released her and went to investigate. ‘Looks like some things don’t change,’ he said as he came back with some plasters and antiseptic. ‘Mary always was the organised type. I could do with her at the castle.’
‘I suppose you could. You seem to be intent on taking just about everything else here.’ The bitter accusation spilled out before she could even think about it.
One dark eyebrow lifted at that statement, but he didn’t look ruffled by it. ‘Perhaps you’re right,’ he said calmly. ‘I have Lawrence’s horses, some of his land…’ He let his voice trail off, and his eyes slid over Helena with cool contemplation, from her long bare legs to the malachite colour of her eyes. ‘But forget Mary,’ he drawled huskily, ‘I think I’d prefer someone with longer legs…someone who looks good in a tennis skirt.’
The sheer audacity of that statement took her breath away. Her cheeks flared with furious colour. The man had nerve, she had to grant him that. Not only was he admitting to taking the Beaumont estate to pieces, bit by broken bit, but he was making a joke of it by luridly intimating that he would like to take her as well…
‘I like seeing you speechless.’ Tate grinned as he caught hold of her arm and took it out from under the water. ‘I shouldn’t enjoy it quite as much as I do, but I have to say there’s just something about the way your skin flushes up, and your sexy lips pout, and your eyes glimmer such a beautiful shade of dark green that makes it incredible fun to wind you up.’ As he was speaking he placed some cotton wool soaked with antiseptic firmly over the wound on her wrist.
She gasped, but it was more from the effrontery of his words than the stinging antiseptic.
‘You have a barefaced nerve, Tate Ainsley,’ she muttered between clenched teeth as he put even more antiseptic on her arm, so that it throbbed violently. ‘And let me tell you that I wouldn’t be interested in you if you were the only man left in Barbados.’
‘Why’s that?’ he asked with lazy indifference. ‘Don’t I come up to Cass’s high standards?’
She ignored that remark, and the unpleasant feeling it stirred up. ‘Because you are a conceited, arrogant type and—’
‘I think your father feels I might be good for you.’ He cut across her, unperturbed.
‘Yes, well…in my opinion my father doesn’t seem to be thinking very clearly when it comes to you.’
He slanted a wry glance down at her. ‘Interesting comment. Care to enlarge on it?’
‘Well, for one I didn’t like the way Pop just signed that document of yours without so much as reading over it,’ she said quickly. ‘That’s just a recipe for disaster.’
‘Your father knew what was in that document,’ Tate said simply as he took out a plaster and stuck it very firmly over her skin.
‘Even so, he could have read it again,’ she said firmly.
‘Perhaps Lawrence just trusts me?’ Tate lifted one eyebrow enquiringly. ‘Which seems to be more than can be said of his daughter.’
She carefully avoided answering that. She would have to be very sure of her facts before she could accuse him outright. Instead she went on briskly, ‘It’s nothing personal, Tate, but as a financial adviser I have seen people come to grief by signing things they either don’t read or don’t understand.’
‘Well, Lawrence is neither illiterate or stupid,’ Tate said drily.
Was he justifying himself? Helena wondered in that instant. Was he saying that if Lawrence lost out in these deals it was just his own fault?
‘Neither were the people I’m referring to,’ she told him crossly. ‘Just trusting.’
‘Well, you have no need to worry about Lawrence.’ Tate’s voice was dismissive and offhand. ‘He’s my sister’s husband—I’m hardly going to rip him off.’
‘I’m afraid avarice is no respecter of family ties…especially the delicate ties of marriage.’
For a moment he stared at her, a strange expression on the lean, handsome features, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that she had just gone too far. ‘If you’re trying to insinuate—’
‘I’m not trying to insinuate anything,’ she cut across him hastily, a trickle of apprehension curling down her spine at the note of warning in his voice. Tate was not the type of person you threw wild accusations at—she realised that very clearly. She was going to have to tread very warily with him. ‘I’m just concerned that my father has relaxed his high standards m his business dealings. Paul says he has made a lot of mistakes lately.’
‘I’m afraid Paul is a bit of a lame dog where helping your father is concerned,’ Tate said, his manner scathing.
‘I beg your pardon?’ She spluttered the words indignantly. How dared he speak about her brother in those terms?
‘You heard.’ Tate wasn’t even slightly bothered by the look of burning resentment on her face. ‘How’s the wrist now?’ he continued casually. ‘Does it feel better?’
‘No, I do not feel better.’ She deliberately misunderstood him. ‘In fact, I feel downright distressed that you could talk like that about my brother.’
‘It’s easy, believe me.’ He pulled out a kitchen chair for her with a rapid movement that made her jump. ‘And if you’re feeling so overcome with distress perhaps you had better sit down while I clear away this mess of yours.’ He turned his attention to the rest of the broken china on the floor. ‘I daren’t leave you to it—you might amputate your arm.’
‘Ha ha!’ She rasped the words abrasively.
She made no attempt to sit down, but stood watching him with a feeling of helplessness. Something about Tate was totally unnerving: he made her feel at a loss as to what to do with herself, never mind what to say to him.
He worked efficiently, clearing up the sugar and carefully wrapping the broken pieces of crockery before depositing them in the bin.
Her eyes darted to the table, where he had placed the orange-coloured file that he had brought with him. Presumably her father had signed whatever it was he had wanted him to sign. So why hadn’t Tate left for his next meeting instead of wasting his time in here? Her lips twisted in annoyance. There was an ulterior motive, of course. A man like Tate Ainsley didn’t do anything unless there was something in it for him.
‘Have you finished your business with my father?’ she asked him crisply.
‘Until tomorrow.’ He turned and caught the look of annoyance and anxiety in the bright gleam of her green eyes and he sighed.
‘Look, what I said about Paul…’ His lips twisted drolly. ‘It’s nothing personal. In fact, I quite like Paul. It’s just that I think he needs pulling firmly into line as far as your father and his business are concerned.’
‘And I think that is none of your damned business,’ she said, with a tense angry note in her voice. She knew Paul and her father had argued over Tate, and she strongly suspected that Tate had inflamed the situation, turned Lawrence’s mind in his favour.
‘Probably not.’ He shrugged, totally insouciant. ‘But I only give advice when asked.’
‘Meaning that Pop asked your advice about Paul?’
‘Yes, he did, as a matter of fact.’
She was incredulous. This was getting absurd. Her own father asking someone like Tate Ainsley for advice on how he should deal with his son!
‘Look, Helena.’ He came to stand next to her. ‘I realise you are concerned about your father, about Paul. But everything will sort itself out, I’m sure of it.’
‘Well, that’s very reassuring.’ Her voice was filled with sarcasm. ‘You appear to be an absolute authority on my family—in fact, you seem to know more about them than I do.’
‘Well, that’s hardly surprising,’ he answered coolly. ‘You did take yourself off for five years.’
She flinched as if he had struck her, her eyes widening with hurt. He made it sound as if she had abandoned them. It had torn her apart to leave her home, her family. Every day in London she had thought about them, missed them. But she had been too afraid to return…it had taken a crisis to get her back.
‘I didn’t want to leave Barbados.’ She spoke the words impulsively, without thinking. ‘It certainly wasn’t the easy option.’
‘So why did you go?’
She met the deep blue of his eyes and came back to earth with a sharp jolt.
‘A broken heart?’ He ventured the words gently.
‘No!’ Her answer was sharp, perhaps too sharp. ‘Look—’ she made a deliberate attempt to calm her voice to a moderate tone ‘—I don’t want to discuss personal issues with you. What I would like to ask is what kind of business are you conducting with my father?’ She angled her chin up firmly as she held his gaze.
‘I hate to remind you, Helena, but your father appears to think that his business doesn’t concern you.’
It took every grain of strength to contain her rage at those words. ‘Well, I think anything that concerns my father concerns me.’
‘Obviously that is a point you will have to take up with Lawrence.’ Tate shrugged. ‘It would hardly be ethical for me to discuss his business behind his back.’
‘Cut the dramatics, Tate.’ She ground the words unevenly. ‘You’re talking to his daughter, not a rival business person.’
‘Ah…but, as you so succinctly pointed out, avarice is no respecter of family ties.’
Having her own words quoted back to her was the final insult. Helena could feel her skin turning from pale ivory to vivid scarlet as she reached boiling point.
‘Your sister may have married into my family, Tate Ainsley, but as far as I’m concerned you are still an outsider,’ she told him with brittle fury. ‘And I care about my father too deeply to let all his affairs rest in the hands of a relative stranger.’
One dark eyebrow lifted slightly. ‘You mean you want to get to know me better?’ he drawled laconically. ‘If you hadn’t just told me that I was the last man on Barbados that you would be interested in, I’d think you were fishing for a date.’
The laughing gleam in his eye filled her with a desire to hit him hard across that handsome, infuriating face.
‘That’s all right with me.’ He shrugged. ‘We’ll just forget all that you’ve said and start again, shall we?’
‘I don’t know what the hell you are advocating, but I certainly don’t want to go out with you on a date,’ she told him in no uncertain terms, her green eyes flashing fire at him. ‘I want to talk to you about—’
‘Fine…dinner tonight, then.’ Tate glanced at his watch. ‘I’ve got to dash, Helena, I’ve got an important meeting.’
‘I haven’t finished,’ Helena grated furiously as she watched him stroll over and collect the file from the table.
‘It will have to wait until this evening, I’m afraid.’ He sounded anything but afraid; he sounded totally, arrogantly sure of himself.
At that moment the kitchen door opened behind them, and much to Helena’s annoyance her father came in.
‘Ah, Tate, I’m glad you haven’t gone,’ he said cheerfully, his bright eyes moving from Helena’s flushed features towards the other man’s face. ‘There was one last point I forgot to clear with you.’
‘OK, Lawrence,’ Tate drawled easily. ‘I was just arranging what time I should pick your daughter up for dinner tonight.’
‘Dinner, eh?’ Lawrence’s face lit up. ‘Well, that is good news.’
Helena cringed, her skin burning with a rage that was almost feverish.
‘Eight o’clock, Helena?’ Tate watched her, his expression challenging and amused.
She didn’t answer. It was just unbelievable that she could have allowed Tate to manoeuvre her into such a corner.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.