Millionaire's Woman

by Helen Brooks

  He got out of the car, flexing his shoulders wearily. He rapped on the doorknocker instead of ringing the bell and waited, shivering, until light shone through the fanlight. After a moment Kate opened the door, her face guarded.

  ‘Hello,’ he said quietly. ‘May I come in?’

  Without a word she led the way into the sitting room and switched off the television, eyeing her visitor without visible warmth. ‘You look tired, Jack.’

  ‘The traffic was heavy. I rang my father during the journey and heard he’d seen you today.’ He gave her a wry, weary smile. ‘So I took a chance on finding you in.’

  Kate’s feelings were mixed at the sight of him, her undeniable pleasure marred by anger with Jack for taking it for granted he could just turn up any time he fancied without ringing first. She knew that he’d made a note of her number last Sunday. He’d been leaning on the counter right next to the phone. When the phone call never happened she assumed Jack had no interest in reviving their relationship and had resigned herself to the idea so determinedly that she resented him now, for coming back to unsettle her again.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ she asked politely.

  ‘Could I possibly have some tea?’

  ‘Certainly. Sit down and take a look at the room while I make it.’ Kate went off to the kitchen, thankful that she hadn’t changed from the tailored black trousers and sweater of the afternoon. Strands of hair were escaping from its coil, and her face could have done with attention, but Jack looked too tired to notice. He was probably hungry too, if he’d driven from London. But he was out of luck if he expected a meal. A visitor was no part of her plan for the evening. She’d hung her new curtains, stood back to admire, and then eaten supper early so she could settle down in her finished sitting room to watch the gardening programme Jack had interrupted.

  Kate returned with a tray and put it on a small Pembroke table between a pair of cane-sided Louis chairs cushioned in faded russet velvet.

  ‘I like the room,’ Jack told her, standing tall in the middle of it.

  ‘Milk?’ she asked, though she knew exactly how he liked his tea—or had done, once.

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Do sit down,’ she said, handing him a cup. ‘Try the modern chaise. It’s better suited to someone your size than the chairs. They belonged to Aunt Edith,’ she added, ‘which is why they look so much at home here.’

  He smiled a little. ‘So do you, Kate.’

  She nodded. ‘Surprising, really. Until I was handed the key I hadn’t been inside since I was a small child. My aunt leased it out to pay her way when she installed herself in a retirement home. I used to drive down from London once a month to see her. Aunt Edith was quite a character—a bit deaf, but with faculties in good shape otherwise right to the end. We got on well together, but when I was told she’d left her house to me I couldn’t believe my luck. And the moment I set foot in here again it was love at first sight.’

  ‘I remember it well.’

  She frowned. ‘You knew my aunt?’

  ‘I’m referring to emotion, not property.’ Jack looked her in the eye. ‘For me it was love at first sight when I bought that poppy.’

  Her stomach gave a lurch she covered with a hard little smile. ‘It was for me, too. Such a shame that kind of thing doesn’t last.’

  His answering smile set her teeth on edge. ‘How long was it for you, Kate? Until you got off the train in London?’

  ‘No,’ she said, pretending to think it over. ‘Surely that was about the time you started sleeping with Dawn. It ended for me when I heard you’d married her.’

  His face darkened. ‘I’ve explained that.’

  ‘So you have. You were lonely, she was willing and I’d gone. All the way to London—a mere two hour drive in that car of yours! I was devastated when you wouldn’t even meet me to say goodbye, Jack,’ she added with sudden heat.‘ I know I was the one who actually ended it, but I still couldn’t accept that it was over between us. I missed you so much I was ready to pack in my job and find work at home instead. I came back, just before Liz and Robert moved,to tell you that. And heard you’d married Dawn.’

  Jack’s mouth twisted. ‘With hindsight I realise I was a quixotic fool, but at the time I felt I had no option. She swore her father would throw her out in the street when he found she was pregnant, and she had no money other than the small wage he paid her. So because the child could have been mine, I did the “decent thing”,’ he added with bitterness.

  ‘Past history now.’

  His eyes met hers. ‘Only where Dawn’s concerned; not for you and me, Kate. Have dinner with me tomorrow.’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Not a good idea, Jack.’

  ‘Sunday, then.’

  ‘I meant any night.’

  He put down his cup and leaned forward, his long hands clasped loosely between his knees. ‘What harm would there be in two old friends sharing a meal?’

  ‘Because we were never just friends.’

  ‘True,’ he agreed. ‘That very first time, after lunch at the pub—’

  ‘The establishment run by Dawn Taylor’s father.’

  ‘That’s the one. You thought you’d been shameless.’

  Kate fondly believed she’d kicked the habit of blushing, but with Jack’s eyes holding hers she felt the annoying warmth rising in her face. ‘I thought I’d had a terrible nerve,’ she corrected, and felt the colour deepen at his look of triumph.

  ‘You remember! I had to fight to keep my hands off you.’

  She thawed a little. ‘Did you?’

  Jack nodded. ‘We had something very special, Kate.’

  ‘I don’t deny it,’ she agreed soberly. ‘But the past tense says it all. We’re different people now, older and hopefully wiser. Enough to know we can’t go back.’

  He looked sceptical. ‘You came back here to live. You knew you risked running into me again.’

  She shook her head. ‘No risk to me, Jack. I thought you were married, remember, and father of several children for all I knew.’

  ‘And now you know I’m neither?’

  Kate thought about it. ‘I suppose the odd dinner would be pleasant. But nothing more than that, Jack. Relationships are altogether too much work.’

  He nodded in grim agreement. ‘I gave up on them the day my divorce came through.’

  ‘So what do you do for—’ She paused. ‘Feminine solace?’

  ‘You mean sex?’ he said bluntly. ‘I steer clear locally. But I spend regular time in London these days. I’ve got a flat near my offices there.’

  ‘You mean you pay for your pleasures?’ she said, equally blunt.

  He looked affronted. ‘Hell, no. I’ve never needed to. Besides, I have strong objections to sharing in that context. I just want your company over dinner, Kate,’ he added. ‘No strings.’

  ‘No feminine solace involved?’ she said lightly.

  ‘Just the pleasure of your company would give me that, Kate.’

  She looked at him thoughtfully. He’d asked to see her again, just as she’d wanted. If she was going to turn him down flat, now was the time to do it. Instead she found herself nodding in agreement. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Good,’ said Jack briskly, and stood up. ‘I’ll call for you tomorrow. Seven-thirty?’

  ‘Make it eight.’ Kate went to the door with him. ‘It was good to see your father again.’

  ‘Dad thinks you’ve matured into a very beautiful woman.’

  ‘How sweet of him! I like your dog, by the way.’

  ‘I’ll bring Bran to visit one day.’

  ‘Please do. I thought your father looked great, Jack.’

  He nodded. ‘I hope I look half as good at his age.’

  ‘The resemblance is so strong you’re bound to.’ Kate smiled up at him, and Jack bent and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

  ‘See you tomorrow. Thanks for the tea.’

  Jack Logan drove home in triumphant mood. So Kate was willing to settle for friendship
. He could wait until she was ready for more. He’d felt her stiffen slightly as he kissed her cheek, as though she’d been afraid he meant to do more than that, so the wait was unlikely to be long. She could say what she liked about relationships, but the chemistry between them still existed, alive and kicking, even after all these years apart.

  His mouth tightened. The long parting would never have happened if he hadn’t been such an idiot about Dawn. He should have questioned his paternity, or just offered to pay child support. But when Kate Durant preferred a London career to marriage with Jack Logan it wasn’t only his heart that suffered. So he took what Dawn offered to massage his ego, and then paid for the privilege in the way he knew would hurt Kate most. It was years later before he realised how hard his marriage must have hit her when he heard that she was living with some banker in a pricey Dockside loft. But that was in the past. Now the banker was long gone, and so was the successor she wouldn’t talk about. Jack Logan had developed patience over the years,and Katherine Durant was a woman worth waiting for.

  Alone in her sitting room, Kate sat staring into space, sure she’d made a big mistake. Jack had finally asked to see her again and, instead of turning him down flat, she’d heard herself agreeing—just as she’d done the first time. But she had to eat. And it was only dinner, no bed and breakfast involved. Surely they could be friends again. Not that there was any‘again’ about it. They’d never been just friends.

  That first night in the cinema they’d sat together without even holding hands, yet by the time he’d stopped the car on the way home she’d been desperate for his kisses and anything else Jack Logan had to offer. She’d never been keen on the physical side of relationships up to that point, and frustrated, angryboyfriends had never stayed the course very long. With Jack it was so different she’d felt as though she’d die if he didn’t take her to bed. And when he did she thought she’d died anyway, and gone to heaven. She smiled wistfully at the memory. Because they’d both lived at home with relatives the opportunities to repeat the experience had not been plentiful. But when either Tom Logan or the Suttons went out for the evening they’d dived into Jack’s bed or hers the moment they were alone together.

  That particular form of high-octane rapture happened only once apparently. She had never experienced it again.

  When Jack Logan came for her, formal-suited and prompt at eight the following evening, Kate was ready in clinging wool crêpe the colour of vintage cognac. Long-sleeved and starkly plain, the dress relied on superb fit and a vertiginous neckline for its impact. And Jack’s face told Kate that the dress, by no means new,was still worth every penny of the outrageous price she’d once paid for it.

  ‘You look wonderful,’ he told her.

  Resisting the urge to tell him he did too, she thanked him politely. ‘Would you like a drink before we go?’

  ‘I’ll wait until we get there.’ Jack held her long black trench coat for her, and looked on in approval while she set her alarm and locked her door. ‘I’m glad to see you’re safety conscious.’

  ‘Big city habits.’ She smiled, impressed, when Jack opened the passenger door of his car. ‘A Jensen, no less!’

  ‘Classic cars are my hobby these days,’ he told her, as he slid behind the wheel, ‘and in common with Bran, a lot less trouble than humans.’

  Kate laughed. ‘You mean women.’

  ‘If the cap fits,’ he agreed, eyes crinkling.

  Instead of making for the town centre as she’d expected, Jack drove in the opposite direction. ‘Country pub?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve organised dinner at home. I thought you’d like to see my house.’

  He was right about that! ‘The one no woman sets foot in?’ she asked lightly.

  ‘Molly Carter sets foot in it regularly, twice a week when I’m away, more when I’m not.’

  ‘I came across pictures of it in a magazine once, with a big article about you,’ she told him, remembering her shock at finding his face in her Sunday paper. ‘My colleagues were deeply impressed when I mentioned—very casually—that I knew you.’

  ‘Did you say how well?’

  ‘No. Not even Anna knew that.’ She hesitated, then asked something she’d been burning to ask for years. ‘Jack, did you pass your mother’s ring on to Dawn?’

  ‘No,’ he said shortly, and turned down a narrow road towards a pair of handsome, wrought-iron gates. ‘These are original,’ he told her as he aimed a remote control.

  Kate sat tense in anticipation as the car moved slowly along a narrow drive lined with trees. At the end of it Jack circled round a lawn to park in front of a long house with light blazing from rows of tall windows.

  ‘Two hundred years ago it was a flax mill, but when I came on the scene it was practically a ruin,’ Jack told her. ‘At first I thought it was too far gone for restoration.’

  ‘But you could see what it would become,’ said Kate with respect. ‘Or what it could go back to.’

  ‘Exactly,’ he said with satisfaction. As she got out of the car Kate’s eyes lit up at the sight of a familiar figure in the open doorway.

  ‘Tom!’ she said in delight.

  ‘I thought you wouldn’t mind an extra guest, Kate,’ said Jack dryly.

  Tom Logan kissed her affectionately. ‘I said he was mad to want his father along when he’d asked a beautiful woman to dinner, but Jack insisted.’

  ‘Quite right, too,’ she assured him, fleeting disappointment replaced by relief. Jack was obviously not expecting feminine solace in return for dinner.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘WELCOME to my humble abode,’ said Jack, the mockery in his smile telling Kate her relief was written on her face. ‘I’ll take your coat.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ said his father. ‘You show her the house.’

  Kate had pored greedily over the photographs in the magazine article but seeing the house with her own eyes was a different experience. A faded Persian carpet softened the granite flags of the entrance hall,but the main impression was light. The crystal-strung candles of twin chandeliers poured light down on walls and banisters painted pristine white. Kate stood utterly still for a moment then crossed the hall, drawn by the only painting on view,a portrait of a hand some, rakish man in Regency dress over a fireplace obviously original to the building.

  ‘How very grand. He wasn’t in the photographs. Is he an ancestor?’ she asked, and Jack shook his head, grinning.

  ‘Dad thought the chap looked a bit like me, so he bought it at auction.’

  Jack led her across the hall into a long room with more white walls and rows of tall windows, but the light was softer here, from lamps shaded in neutral silk. An antique desk lived in harmony with large-scale modern furniture, but it was the dimension of the room that silenced Kate.

  ‘Say something!’ urged Jack.

  ‘It’s breathtaking. All this space!’ She smiled as she waved a hand at the windows. ‘You’ve got something against curtains?’

  He shrugged. ‘No neighbours, and the windows are draught-proof, made to my own specification to blend with the house. I had some blinds made for the bedrooms, but otherwise I let in as much light as possible.’

  Kate gazed round her in awe. ‘The photographs didn’t do it justice. My place is a doll’s house by comparison.’

  ‘But equally attractive in its own way.’ He took her arm. ‘Let’s join Dad. It’s time I gave you a drink.’

  The entire evening proved far more relaxed for Kate with Tom Logan there than if she’d spent it alone with Jack. The food was simple—a casserole of fork-tender beef slow-cooked with vegetables, herbs and wine and eaten at the kitchen table, with Bran casting a hopeful eye on the proceedings from his bed.

  ‘It’s cosier in here for just three of us.’ Tom smiled affectionately at Kate. ‘And it’s not the first time we’ve eaten together round a kitchen table.’

  ‘No, indeed. I used to love meals at your house.’ She pulled a face. ‘There was more formality at ours. My sister br
ought out the best china if Jack so much as ate a sandwich with us.’

  ‘Which wasn’t that often,’ Jack reminded her caustically. ‘Our relationship was cut painfully short.’

  ‘Now then,’ said his father sternly. ‘You can’t ask a girl to dinner, then throw the past in her face. You’re not on firm ground there yourself.’

  ‘How very true.’ Jack gave Kate an ironic bow as he got up to take her plate. ‘My apologies. How about organic ice cream straight from Addison’s farm shop?’

  ‘Perfect,’ she said lightly.

  After the meal Tom Logan took Kate into the living room while Jack made coffee. ‘So, what do you think of the house that Jack built?’ he asked as he put logs on the fire.

  ‘Impressive,’ she told him, gazing round the room. ‘It’s nothing like my preconceived idea of a mill house, much more of a home. But very definitely a man’s home. Other than that muscular bit of sculpture on the desk, there are no ornaments, no photographs—just one solitary landscape and the art deco mirror over the fireplace.’

  ‘It needs a woman’s touch,’ said Tom slyly, and laughed at the look she gave him. ‘Just teasing!’

  She grinned. ‘I can just picture Jack’s face if I suggested cushions and a flower arrangement.’

  ‘I heard that,’ said Jack, coming in with a tray. He set it down on the massive slab of rosewood used as a coffee table. ‘You find my taste austere?’

  ‘It suits the house.’

  ‘Which doesn’t answer my question.’

  She began pouring coffee. ‘My opinion doesn’t matter. You’re the one who lives here.’ She smiled at him as he added a sugar lump to his father’s cup. ‘But actually I like your house very much, Jack.’

  ‘It’s a big place for one man,’ observed Tom Logan, and looked round as Bran padded into the room. ‘Is he allowed in here tonight?’