The Seduction Game

by Craven, Sara

  Tara gasped. ‘That’s nonsense,’ she said warmly. ‘I know them all well, and there’s no reason—’ She halted abruptly as something occurred to her.

  ‘Well?’ Adam prompted.

  She fidgeted with the papers in front of her. ‘When I got back yesterday my secretary had left very suddenly, and no one seems to know why.’

  ‘You’d been on good terms with her?’

  ‘The best. I trusted her completely.’ She spread her hands. ‘I was even going round to see her, to persuade her to come back.’

  ‘Did she know you’d be at Silver Creek?’

  ‘No—no one did.’ She paused, frowning. ‘That’s it—that’s what’s been nagging at me. Becky didn’t know either—I made up some story to put her off the scent, but she turned up anyway.’

  ‘And she wasn’t expecting you to be with me,’ Adam said slowly. ‘She was joking about it afterwards, telling me how different I was from the image she’d formed.’ His mouth tightened. ‘I think you should call her, Tara.’

  She nodded. Lifted the phone and dialled.

  ‘Darling,’ Becky carolled when she heard her voice. ‘Are you still on Cloud Nine? I would be.’

  ‘Beck, listen,’ Tara said urgently. ‘How did you know I’d be at Silver Creek?’

  Becky laughed. ‘Why, from the boyfriend, of course. The one you’re keeping under wraps. He rang me in a terrible state because he was supposed to be joining you at the house and he’d lost the address and directions you’d given him.’ She sighed gustily. ‘You know what I’m like about directions. No wonder he didn’t make it.’

  ‘Did he say his name?’ Tara felt hollow inside.

  ‘Do you know, I can’t remember?’ Becky thought for a moment. ‘Tell you what, though,’ she added cheerfully, ‘I’d stick to Adam like a limpet. Mystery Man sounded rather too charming for his own good. Smarmy, in fact. But maybe I’m being unfair.’

  ‘No,’ Tara said. ‘No, you’re not. I’ll see you soon, love.’

  She replaced the receiver and looked at Adam, swallowing. ‘He rang her—spun her a story about joining me.’

  ‘On a number he could have got from your database, presumably. If it was made available to him.’

  ‘You think Janet—helped him?’

  ‘Someone did.’ His face was grim. ‘Tara, if you’re going to see her I’m coming with you, and no argument.’

  She wanted to protest, to tell him she could handle it.

  Instead, she heard herself say, ‘Thank you,’ as she reached for her bag.

  Janet’s house looked deserted, the door firmly closed, the curtains half drawn.

  ‘I don’t think there’s anyone there,’ Tara said as they walked up the path.

  ‘I saw someone at the bedroom window.’ Adam rang the bell. As they waited they could hear faint sounds of movement inside the house, but no one came to the door.

  Tara bent and called softly through the letter box. ‘Janet, it’s Tara Lyndon. Please talk to me.’

  There was another pause, then the front door opened slowly. Janet looked terrible. She’d clearly been crying, and her plump face was pale and strained.

  ‘Oh, Miss Lyndon,’ she whispered. ‘Are you all right? I wanted to tell you—really I did—but he said he’d make me sorry—and Mum’s here on her own all day—and I was so frightened.’ She looked past them, her gaze flitting anxiously up and down the road. ‘He’s not there, is he? Sometimes he comes and sits in his car and watches the house.’ She motioned them into the house. ‘You’d better come in.’

  ‘Who is he, Janet?’ Adam asked gently. ‘Who’s been scaring you?’

  Janet touched her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘Tom Fortescue,’ she said.

  As Tara gasped, Adam looked at her gravely. ‘You know him?’

  ‘He was a client,’ she said tautly. ‘He was hoping I’d recommend him for an important job. But I didn’t.

  There was something about him that didn’t add up for me.’

  ‘I thought he was so nice,’ Janet said wretchedly. ‘He came back after you’d gone, and asked me to have dinner with him. We had this lovely meal, and he said he wanted to see me again. That I was real—genuine.’

  Tara took her hands and held them tightly. ‘And so you are, love. Go on.’

  ‘He rang me at work and asked me to meet him for lunch. But I waited for ages where he said, and he didn’t come. When I went back to the office he was there—at my desk. He’d managed to get into the computer and made himself a copy of your report about him.’

  She looked miserably at Tara. ‘He said it was all right. That you’d helped him get this marvellous promotion and he wanted to keep the report as a memento. That he wanted to thank you in a special way. He was smiling and smiling, but I knew, deep down, that he didn’t mean a word of it, because I knew what you’d said, and that he’d been turned down.’

  She began to cry again. ‘I said I’d tell Security what he’d done, and that’s when he started to threaten me. He said he’d tell Marchant Southern that I’d helped him, and I’d be sacked. That I’d never work in any confidential capacity again. And Mum’s only got her pension. She depends on my money...

  ‘And then he started phoning me at home. He said he was going to teach you a lesson—give you more misery than you’d ever imagined. And if I tried to warn you, I’d be next. Wrecking your car was just for starters, he said.’

  She looked piteously at Tara. ‘I was at my wits’ end. I just wanted to hide. I think he’s crazy.’

  ‘It’s going to be all right,’ Adam said, putting a firm hand on her shoulder. ‘You don’t have to worry any more.’

  ‘And your job is still there for you,’ Tara added. ‘Take a few days off, and come back when you feel you can cope. And when we’ve dealt with Mr Fortescue,’ she added grimly.

  ‘And how are you, personally, going to deal with Mr Fortescue?’ Adam asked as he frowningly watched her unlock her flat door a short time later.

  ‘I don’t have to,’ Tara said briskly. ‘It’s a Marchant Southern matter now. I’ll hand the whole thing over to Leo.’

  ‘Will it be that easy?’ His voice was disturbingly gentle. ‘You’ve had a hell of a few days.’

  Tom Fortescue, she thought, is the least of my troubles.

  ‘The worst part was not knowing who it was—or why it was happening,’ she said quietly. ‘Now that I know, he’s no longer a threat—just a sad, unpleasant creature. I can handle that.’

  ‘Did it really never occur to you it might be him?’ he asked curiously.

  She shook her head. ‘No—I’d just interviewed him, decided he wasn’t—right in some way, and made my report accordingly. It was the last thing I did before I went on leave.’

  And then I met you, she thought achingly. And falling in love drove every other coherent thought out of my head.

  She turned, smiling resolutely. ‘Well, thank you for your support. Once again, I’m—grateful.’

  ‘Do I take that as my dismissal?’ There was amusement in his voice, and something else, less easy to define.

  Far better—safer—to say a bald yes and walk inside and shut the door. Instead, she heard herself saying ‘Would you like some coffee?’

  ‘I think we both need something,’ he said drily. ‘And I’d like to be sure your gallant words aren’t just bravado.’

  Tara busied herself with the percolator, listening to him talking softly to Melusine. It occurred to her, rawly, how at home he seemed in what, up to then, had been very much her personal space. Her throat muscles tightened.

  ‘Do you want cream?’ Keep it friendly, she thought. And practical. Forget the lover. Play the hostess.

  ‘Black will be fine.’

  He got up from the sofa to take the tray from her. She saw that he’d removed his jacket and tossed it over a nearby chair, and loosened his tie.

  He said, ‘I like what you’ve done with this room.’

  Stupid to glow at his praise, she thou
ght. ‘I need some more pictures.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said lightly. ‘I’ll have to paint you another one. But this time without additions.’

  She offered a constrained smile and poured the coffee.

  As she handed him his beaker his fingers closed gently round her wrist.

  ‘Relax, darling,’ he said quietly. ‘I’m not going to leap on you, however much I may want to.’

  ‘Please don’t say things like that. You have no right.’ She kept her voice cool, and steady.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’re perfectly correct. I—sometimes have difficulty—remembering, that’s all.’ He sighed, swiftly and harshly, as he released her. ‘God what a mess I’ve made of everything.’

  She drank some coffee. It tasted bitter and burned against her throat. ‘Have you tried—talking to her? Explaining?’

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted tautly. ‘But I can’t seem to get through to her.’

  ‘It may take time. You’ll just have to be patient.’ Tara bent her head. ‘She must hate me.’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t think she has it in her to hate anyone.’

  ‘What a paragon.’ The words escaped her before she could control them, and she winced at their bitchiness.

  ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘I certainly wouldn’t say that’ There was a note of tenderness in his voice that transcended even passion. He sounded like a man who’d found his woman and would fight to the death to get her back, and to keep her.

  If Caroline couldn’t hate, then Tara would have said she herself didn’t have an envious bone in her body. But suddenly she knew differently.

  Adam put his beaker down and leaned forward. ‘Tara—I think we need to talk.’

  ‘About Caroline?’ She tensed, knowing she couldn’t bear any more revelations. ‘I think we’ve said enough...’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘About Jack.’

  ‘Jack?’ For a moment she stared at him in total bewilderment, unable even to remember who Jack was. Then, as her mind clicked into gear, hot colour rushed into her face. ‘What has Becky been telling you?’

  ‘Only some of it,’ he said. ‘I hoped you’d tell me the rest.’

  ‘What is this—a mutual counselling session?’ Tara raked her hair back from her face with an angry, defensive hand.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I just—need to know.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, tautly. ‘But a couple of hours in bed doesn’t give you the right to—pick over the bones of my life.’ She stood up.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Our making love was a really terrible mistake, wasn’t it?’ The blue eyes looked up at her with a kind of anguish. ‘But I wanted you so much, and I could have sworn you wanted me too. I knew it was wrong, but I thought I could make it right—somehow.’

  ‘I think you’d better go.’

  ‘May I stay?’ he said. ‘If I promise faithfully not to talk about anything personal?’

  ‘You don’t belong here,’ she said stonily. ‘You don’t belong in my life.’

  ‘Except,’ he said softly, ‘that we still have unfinished business—you and I.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ She shook her head.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said. ‘You’re going to find me an architect—remember. Fellow professionals—we can meet on that level, surely?’

  ‘Why not?’ She lifted her chin. ‘It shouldn’t take long. I’m very good at my job.’

  ‘I,’ he said gravely, ‘could not even begin to list your many general and particular talents.’

  He reached for his jacket, then paused, taking a flat square package from the pocket.

  ‘I brought this for you. A memento of our brief association to replace the painting you tore up.’ He paused. ‘If you want to dump this too, I recommend the Serpentine.’

  He walked across and put it into her unresisting hand.

  ‘Goodnight, Tara.’ He put a hand on her cheek, cupping the side of her jaw, letting his thumb stroke its vulnerable line.

  She felt his touch reverberate along each nerveending and explode in every bone. As Adam lowered his head she lifted her face mutely to receive his kiss.

  His mouth was achingly cool, breathlessly tender. And the hand that touched her face was trembling suddenly.

  Take me, she screamed silently. Insanely.

  She wanted to feel his hands on her breasts—parting her thighs. She yearned to fall with him to the softness of the carpet—draw him into her—know the velvet steel of his possession once more.

  Adam lifted his head and stepped back. His smile was polite—the departing guest expressing thanks for a pleasant time.

  ‘Call me,’ he said, ‘when you’ve drawn up a suitable short-list, and we’ll talk. See you around.’

  She had been standing, watching the closed door, for quite some time before she remembered the package she was holding. She tore off the wrapping, screwing it into a ball which Melusine pounded on joyfully.

  It was a compact disc. ‘Delius’, she read. ‘A Walk to the Paradise Garden’.

  Only, she thought, there was no paradise. Not any more. Not ever. And her face crumpled like that of a hurt child.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LEO listened with obvious shock to all Tara had to tell him about Tom Fortescue.

  ‘It all fits with the feedback I’ve been getting about him,’ he said, frowning. ‘People who’ve crossed him would suddenly find important files deleted from their computers, deals screwed up, whispering campaigns against them—all kinds of covert nastiness.

  ‘But this time he’s overreached himself. I suppose he got away with it so often he became arrogant—and careless,’ he added coldly. ‘But his luck’s just run out. It’s a police matter now. I presume Janet will be willing to make a statement?’

  ‘I think so.’ Tara sighed. ‘I’m afraid she’s been badly frightened—and hurt, too.’

  ‘Bullies always pick on the vulnerable,’ Leo said. ‘Fact of life.’ He eyed Tara narrowly. ‘And you still don’t look your usual vibrant self, my pet. Has this nonsense hit you that hard?’

  Tara shrugged, and murmured something evasive. ‘And Adam Barnard—what about him? Are we going to find him his architect?’ His gaze became speculative. ‘He asked for you personally, you know.’

  ‘I’m a clever girl,’ she said, secure in the knowledge that Leo would not recognise the underlying irony in her words.

  ‘How did you meet him?’

  ‘He has a place near my parents’ house on the river.’

  How simple that sounded, she thought, and how casuaL And that was the way she had to see it. The way she had to reduce the situation to its essence. Then, maybe, she could learn to bear it.

  ‘Have you met his partner?’ Leo asked. ‘Gorgeous creature.’ He shook his head. ‘If I wasn’t an old married man...’ He went off, chuckling, leaving Tara sitting rigidly in her chair, staring ahead of her.

  Correction, she told herself, as pain slashed through her. It would be a cold day in hell before she could bear any of it.

  Time went on. Days passed, and became weeks. Tara immersed herself in work, interviewing clients wanting to expand their workforce, and nervous hopefuls who needed to move onwards and upwards in their chosen fields.

  Sometimes marrying one to the other was so easy, she thought. But finding someone for Adam was proving a problem—probably because she so badly wanted to get it right.

  The short-list she’d assembled was sound, but it lacked some vital spark. She could happily recommend any of them, but she needed a star. She wanted Adam to tell her that she was the best—that she’d done a terrific job.

  She’d almost given up hope when Charlie Haydon came to see her. He didn’t have half the experience of some of the candidates, but he was almost touchingly keen, and his portfolio was slim but impressive.

  ‘I joined an old-established firm because I thought that was the thing to do,’ he confided. ‘Trouble is they’re not just established, they’re rooted in concrete—and Seventies
concrete at that. I’m getting nowhere, and I want to design good buildings. I know I can.’

  When he’d gone, Tara added him to her short-list, and drew a small but perfectly formed star beside his name.

  She rang Adam’s work number, and was put through at once.

  ‘Adam?’ She kept her tone cool and crisp. ‘I’ve got four people for you to interview. Three men, one girl, and I have a really good feeling about one of them. When would you like to interview?’

  ‘The sooner the better, I think. Can you set something up for the beginning of next week?’ To her relief, he sounded equally businesslike, although just the sound of his voice made her quiver inside.

  ‘Yes, of course, although it may have to be spread over two days.’

  ‘That’s no problem.’ He paused. Then, ‘How are you now, Tara?’

  ‘Oh—fine,’ she lied brightly.

  ‘Any news of Tom Fortescue?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes.’ Tara bit her lip. ‘The police went round to interview him and he lost it completely—tried to attack them. They arrested him, and his parents turned up to bail him out. Apparently he’s always had problems, and had psychiatric treatment when he was a teenager. They thought he’d grown out of it. Now he’s had some kind of breakdown and is in hospital.’

  She sighed. ‘Somehow I feel responsible.’

  ‘No,’ he said forcefully. ‘Think of the threats he made, not just to you, but to Janet and her mother. He was stopped just in time. He was beginning to enjoy his own power. God knows what he might have felt justified in doing.’

  She shuddered. ‘Yes,’ she said almost inaudibly. ‘Yes, I know you’re right.’

  ‘Really?’ There was sudden laughter in his voice. ‘While I’m ahead, can I invite you to a party?’

  ‘Adam...’

  ‘It’s strictly business,’ he interrupted. ‘It’s to celebrate the relaunch of Woman’s Voice magazine at the West Lane Hotel.’

  ‘So why will you be there?’