Into Temptation

by Emma Abbott

  What had he been about to say, before they were interrupted? Obsessively she pulled apart his words:

  Let’s not pretend any longer. That’s what he had said wasn’t it? And, ‘I haven’t been entirely honest with you.’

  What did it all mean? Had he been about to say that she… that she meant something to him…? The way he had touched her, so reverently, his eyes so resolute. The way, just a few minutes earlier, he had kissed her. Oh God, did she dare hope?

  Somehow she managed to get through the next twenty-five minutes. Then, unable to wait a minute longer, she decided to go back and wait for him in the little salon. She walked back in – and saw that he was already there, his back to her. Her heart soared. And then, one horrific, sickening second later, she realised that he was not alone.

  He was with a woman. Cassie. And they were kissing, her long fingers tangled in his black hair, his hands on her shoulders.

  Amber clapped a horrified hand to her mouth in a desperate attempt to stop up the silent scream that was forming deep inside – and fled.

  * * *

  Amber picked up the newspaper and read again the now-familiar words of the article mid-way down the society section. It was headlined ‘Jack Ward’s Cinderella Accountant’.

  ‘There was furious speculation at last night’s London Children’s Foundation ball as to the identity of the latest lovely young woman on the arm of its handsome, unwed president.

  Jack Ward, highly eligible young scion of the powerful Ward Hotels group and owner of the Ward Grand, where the illustrious event took place, seemed unable to take his eyes off her for a minute, sealing his affection with an impromptu kiss on the dance floor.

  But all was not well. Guests reported a heated lovers’ tiff, followed less than an hour later by the mysterious lady’s premature departure. Well-placed sources at the Ward Grand tell me that when the clock struck the proverbial midnight, Mr Ward’s date disappeared into the night like a latter-day Cinderella.

  So exactly who was the mystery lady, and has she managed to finally pull off what so many before her have failed to do, and conquered the heart of the handsome hotelier?

  It would appear not to be the case. I can exclusively reveal that the young woman in question is no new flame of Ward’s, but merely one of his employees – an accountant based at his Guernsey operation.

  It seems she was stepping in for the divine Alicia Jamieson, who had been due to accompany Ward as hostess of the event, but was forced to cancel at the last minute. Speculation about whether the film star and the tycoon are about to become an item has been swirling for weeks. They were spotted having an intimate candlelit dinner together at New York’s fashionable Janvier restaurant just a few days ago.’

  Amber threw the newspaper onto the floor and leaned back in the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest, the pain still so raw she could hardly breathe.

  The moment she had seen Jack standing there in the little side room, Cassie’s fingers locked in his hair, she had turned and run straight upstairs, too shocked even to cry. She had automatically divested herself of everything that was his: she had pulled off the dress, the shoes, brushed out her hair, and rubbed off every trace of make-up. Then she’d changed back into her own clothes, thrown her few things into her suitcase, gone back down and handed the Chopard diamonds to the astonished duty concierge, then got the doorman to hail her a taxi.

  ‘Take me to a Gatwick hotel please,’ she’d told the driver. ‘Any hotel. It doesn’t matter.’

  It wasn’t until she was finally in bed in her small, characterless room that she finally began to cry. And once the tears started, they just wouldn’t seem to stop. She’d got the first flight back to Guernsey that morning, and gone straight home.

  She was an idiot. Not just any old idiot, but the biggest, blindest, most credulous idiot on the planet. Why had she done it? Why, for those few, short minutes of madness, had she allowed herself to believe that she might mean something to him?

  Of course she didn’t mean anything to him. That was abundantly clear, just as it should have been all along. He was a lying, duplicitous bastard, just like his father. He’d said it was all over with Cassie, and yet there he was, kissing her as brazenly as it was possible to kiss someone.

  And he had his sights set on Alicia Jamieson too.

  She should have kept her distance. It had been a mistake to allow him into her heart. A mistake? Hah! That was an understatement. It was the biggest mistake of her life! One that would be with her forever, not only in the form of her new, dead-end job, but her new role as mother in a one-parent family.

  She rubbed her hand gently over her abdomen, where Jack’s baby was growing, and felt a tug of emotion. Whatever she felt for his father, this baby would be loved, and cared for to the best of her ability.

  She went to her room and flicked on her laptop. She’d sent Jack an e-mail earlier that morning: a succinct, utterly to-the-point message asking him once more to release her from her contract. No way could she go back and work for him now. Not after all this.

  She clicked on her inbox – and saw that he’d replied:

  I will release you from your contract, on one condition: I have another assignment for you. Tonight. It’s just a small affair, but it’s imperative that you be there. I take contracts of employment very seriously, just like any other contract. If you don’t turn up, I will be forced to take the steps I described. A car will come to collect you at eight. Jack.

  Furiously she hit the delete button.

  So, he was going to make her carry out one last assignment was he? How utterly like him not to let her go without a fight, to have to throw it in her face that he was still the one in charge, calling the shots.

  Oh how her fingers itched to fire off another message, telling him to go straight to hell! But she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. If she didn’t do what he wanted, he’d take his revenge. That was the mercurial sort of man he was.

  And what, she wondered angrily, was the assignment going to involve this time? What was she going to have to pretend? The girlfriend thing was old-hat now. Did he perhaps want her to make out to be his long-lost sister instead? She smiled bitterly. Probably it would simply be some dull cocktail affair or other, or very likely a party at Les Crêtes restaurant – according to last weekend’s local paper he’d decided to go ahead with his plan to buy it.

  She sighed – a deep, world-weary sigh that seemed to go all the way down to the marrow of her bones. Oh it was going to be sheer torture to see him again.

  But it would be for the last time. After tonight, finally, she would be free.

  Several hours later, at eight o’clock precisely, the doorbell rang. Amber stepped into the sleek black car waiting outside. She had put on a simple, elegant black shift dress, one of the new outfits that Jess had helped her to buy: not too dressy, but not too dowdy either – suitable for a day in the office or an after-work party. And she had teamed it with her father’s birthday necklace, and a pair of strappy black sandals.

  The car followed the coast road for a mile or so, then turned inland and began to climb uphill. She looked out of the window, watching the little fields and rows of granite cottages, childhood memories returning and making her smile. She knew these little lanes like the back of her hand. She’d grown up just up a mile or so further up the hill, and must have climbed just about every tree in the neighbourhood hereabouts.

  The driver turned right, still climbing higher, then, after a little while, left, into Le Fourchet Lane. Amber felt a sudden thud of horror. No! It couldn’t possibly be…! A minute or so later, her worst fears were confirmed. The driver turned – into the driveway of Le Fourchet Hotel itself.

  ‘Here we are madam,’ he said, bringing the vehicle to a halt in front of the main entrance, and jumping out to open the door for her. She stepped out, disbelief burning in her chest. Jack had brought her to Le Fourchet? But he knew how she felt about the place!

  A smartly liveried doorman pulled op
en the door, and, for the first time in many years, she went inside. Her breath caught. The place had changed beyond all recognition. The original Georgian panelling and windows had been faithfully restored, and the whole place opened up, the original double-height entrance hall – which during the previous century had been divided up into two floors – exposed once more. The whole place was positively bathed with late evening light.

  It was all so familiar – and yet so different. She walked, as if in a trance, through the internal archway into the grand drawing room, which had come in for similar expert attention, its antique white and sienna marble fireplace stunningly restored.

  Everywhere she looked there were beautiful things: opulent hangings at the windows, antique clocks, bookcases, an escritoire – and what looked to be an original Georgian piano in the corner. Jack had been right, she saw with utter clarity: the changes he had made were all for the better. She fingered the necklace her father had given her, her heart heavy. If only he’d had the money to do this…

  Then, all at once, before she even saw him, before she even heard the slightest sound, she knew that he was there, standing behind her, waiting.

  Jack.

  She turned and looked up at him, that handsome, haughty face, those bold, dark blue eyes – and felt that now-familiar yearning pulling at her heart. She didn’t try to extinguish it. It was too late for that now – she felt what she felt. She could only hope that once she never had to see him again, the flame would gutter, and die.

  He was dressed in a dark navy suit, with an open-necked, pale blue-grey shirt, the hint of chest below the collar smooth and brown.

  ‘I told you that you ought to see Le Fourchet again,’ he said. He raised his brows speculatively. ‘Well?’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, simply and truthfully. ‘Your people have done an amazing job.’

  ‘Come,’ he said, ‘there’s something else I’d like you to see.’ He led her back out to the lobby, and through to the restaurant. Again her senses reeled: the room was spectacular. Where the space had once been dark and enclosed, it was now gloriously light and open. The entire back wall – which formed part of an ill-judged Edwardian addition – had been demolished, and replaced by a series of tall French windows, which opened onto a terrace, providing a fabulous view out across the sea to Herm and Sark. The chairs and tables were all new – minimalist and pristine. But oddly, she saw with surprise, there were no guests… Just a couple of waiters, standing back politely against the wall.

  ‘Does the restaurant also meet with your approval?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s stunning,’ she said. ‘But where are the other diners…? And the rest of the staff?’

  ‘We’re the only guests tonight.’

  ‘What?’

  He smiled in answer. ‘This way.’ He ushered her through one of the French doors, and out onto the terrace. A waiter stood unobtrusively at the side of a table set apart from the rest at the top of a little row of steps, on a private patio that was shaded by a giant elm – an elm where she and Jess had once had a tree house. The table was laid for two.

  ‘Will you join me for dinner?’ asked Jack.

  Amber, heart thumping, mind heavy with confusion, walked up the steps, and sat down on the chair the waiter smoothly pulled out for her. From the drawing room, the soft sound of piano music drifted over. What was going on?

  ‘Wine, madam?’

  ‘No thank you, just water, please.’ The waiter disappeared.

  ‘So,’ Jack began, before she could say anything, leaning back in his chair and lifting his chin, ‘our time together is almost at an end.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. The waiter returned with their drinks.

  ‘And how does that make you feel?’ Jack asked, once the waiter had withdrawn.

  Make her feel? It made her feel miserable beyond words. Because from now on there would always be this gaping, bleeding hole at the centre of her. But she could never share that fact with him. ‘I feel glad to be moving on,’ she said instead. ‘It’s time for a new challenge.’

  ‘And you have no regrets?’

  ‘Regrets?’ Oh why was he doing this? ‘I… Look Jack, what’s going on? What’s this all about? Did you bring me here just to rub my nose in the fact that you’ve transformed Le Fourchet beyond all recognition? I thought you had an assignment for me. Is this one of your games? Because to be quite frank, I’ve had quite enough of those, I…’

  ‘This is no game,’ he said, cutting in smoothly. ‘And I do have an assignment for you. A very important one, which I expect will take up a great deal of your time. I brought you here tonight to give you this.’ He slid a small white envelope towards her, across the pristine white tablecloth. ‘Open it.’

  She glared at him briefly. Then, with a sigh of impatience, she picked it up and slipped in her hand – felt something cold, hard and metallic. Drawing it out, she saw it was a key – a large, elaborate iron key that she recognised immediately: it used to hang in her father’s office. It had long been redundant, but years ago it had served as the front door key to Le Fourchet. She gaped at Jack, bewildered.

  ‘It’s yours,’ he said. ‘The key, and Le Fourchet. Your assignment is to take it over.’

  She shook her head, not understanding.

  ‘I’m giving the hotel to you. Or rather, I’m giving it back to you.’ He leant down and picked up another envelope, a larger one, from which he retrieved a number of papers, which he passed to her. ‘These are legal documents that I’ve had drawn up by my solicitor. As you see, I’ve had ownership of Le Fourchet transferred into your name.’

  She stared down at the amazing papers, numb with disbelief, heart now clanging. Jack was giving her Le Fourchet? ‘But why?’ she breathed.

  ‘Because it was taken from your family dishonestly. I thought a lot on what you said. At first I refused to even contemplate that it might be true. But it preyed on my mind. Eventually I decided to go back and look up the transaction, just to prove to myself that you were wrong. I spent several days in London last week going through all the original correspondence. And I was shocked – and extremely chastened by what I discovered. You were right Amber: my father made yours a promise that he had no intention of keeping. The pretext on which your father was dismissed was entirely trumped up. I have no doubt that my father fully intended to get rid of your father from the outset. He saw him as a liability, a spanner in the works, getting in the way of his plans. If your father had had the slightest inkling of what mine had planned, he would clearly never have sold.’

  He got up, and walked the couple of steps to the edge of the terrace, looked out over the fabulous view, his tall figure silhouetted in the dying light. ‘It was arrogant of me to dismiss your concerns,’ he said. ‘But you will appreciate, Amber, that it’s a very difficult thing indeed to entertain the idea that someone you love and admire above all others could possibly do something so unworthy. My father wasn’t the man I thought he was. But now, in giving back to you what he took, I hope to go some way to right the wrong my family did to yours. The hotel is yours to do with as you wish. You can entirely change the décor, extend it – even cancel the plans for the casino, if you want. You don’t have to take that appalling new job. You’re your own woman now. You can get on with your life and never have to see me again. Which I’m well aware is exactly what you desire the most.’

  Her heart contracted – just as if he had taken it in his smooth brown hand and squeezed it. Oh what a gesture! And what an admission! She knew how much this must have cost him. She could see the pain clearly depicted in the posture of his body, as he stood there with his back to her, looking away. She must mean something to him, she must, for him to do something like this!

  Moved more than she knew was possible, eyes brimming with sudden tears, she got up and went to him. ‘Oh Jack, thank you,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s the most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me.’ She laid her head, gently, against his back – and heard his strong heart begin
to beat faster as she did so. Oh she would willingly stand here forever, her body aching with its burden of painful love. She had to tell him; she couldn’t keep it a secret any longer: she had to tell him, now, before he walked out of her life forever. That he was wrong that she never wanted to see him again, that, in spite of it all, that she loved him – even if he flung it back in her face…

  But before she could say anything he turned, took hold of her arms, and sought hungrily for her mouth with his. She groaned.

  Finally he released her. ‘Why didn’t you come back to the room last night?’ he asked. ‘Why did you run away?’

  ‘I did come back,’ she countered, reeling from the force of his kiss. ‘And I saw you with Cassie. You were kissing her. I… she had her hands in your hair. I… I couldn’t bear it.’ She raised her eyes to his face, eyes that she knew were a window to her pain – and the reality of her feelings for him. No point in dissembling any more. ‘That’s why I ran away.’

  ‘I wasn’t kissing her – she was kissing me,’ he said forcefully. ‘She came hunting for me and threw herself at me. She was drunk, and practically hysterical, begging me to take her to bed. The woman is deranged! If you’d lingered a second longer you’d have seen me push her away, and tell her once and for all that it’s finished. Amber it’s not her I want. It’s never been her, or anyone else. It’s you! That’s what I was waiting to tell you last night. But you never gave me a chance.’

  Her chest hurt; she couldn’t breathe… ‘You want me?’ she repeated after a moment, ‘but I thought…. what about Alicia?’

  ‘Alicia who?’

  ‘Alicia Jamieson. She was supposed to be hosting the event with you. It was in the newspaper. It said you two are involved – that you had dinner in New York.’

  He closed his eyes and let out a low groan. ‘There’s nothing going on between Alicia Jamieson and me. Newspapers routinely put two and two together and reach anything but four. Alicia is due to take over from me as the new president of the London Children’s Foundation later this month. That’s why I met up with her in New York – to discuss the details of the handover. She knew six weeks ago that she wasn’t going to be able to host the ball with me, and told me so. There was only one woman I wanted with me last night, and that was you.’ He took her face, exquisitely tenderly, between his hands, as if it were something infinitely delicate and precious. ‘When I asked you to play along at us being an item – well, I suppose that’s because I wanted it to be true. I should have said what I meant, been upfront. But I couldn’t be entirely sure of your feelings. Even though we take to each other very well – extremely well – in bed, you’ve hardly been able to make your dislike of me more clear.’