by Anne Mather
She’d agreed to meet him against her own better judgement, afraid that he would start wheedling and manipulating, working to get her back into the fold.
Remembering how their previous battles had left her emotionally drained.
I can’t start all that again, she thought. I can’t—even if it does make me a wimp. But I’ve just managed to achieve some equilibrium, and I don’t want to be thrown off balance again.
But the meal had gone better than she expected, probably because they’d adhered rigidly to strictly neutral topics of conversation.
All the same, she was sure that he was biding his time, circling round her, looking for a chink in her armour.
And he’d almost found it with Aynsbridge. She’d enjoyed being at the big Sussex country house more than anything else in her life, and when he’d mentioned almost casually that he was giving a small house party, and asked if she’d care to join it, she’d been tempted.
But then she’d seen it—the small, betraying gleam of triumph—and offered her regrets instead. He’d concealed his chagrin well, but she knew it wouldn’t be his last attempt to make her dance to his tune, and that she needed to be wary.
He was sitting at his usual corner table, a buff envelope conspicuous on the white linen cloth. He rose as she approached.
‘You’re losing weight,’ he commented abruptly as Chellie sat down.
‘You’re clearly not eating properly.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘And I have three meals a day, including dinner. Everyone in the house has to take a turn in getting it ready, so some of the meals are pretty weird.’
He grunted, clearly uninterested in her domestic arrangements. ‘You look pale, too.’
‘My Caribbean tan didn’t last long.’ She kept her tone light, but wondered when she saw his mouth tighten and his fist clench on the envelope.
‘So,’ he said, as the soup was served. ‘Still in that deadend job?’
She smiled. ‘It pays the rent—and for my singing lessons.’
His brows snapped together in the old thunderous way that used to frighten her. ‘So you’re still going on with that nonsense?’
‘It’s something I enjoy,’ she returned composedly. ‘And other people seem to enjoy it too. Jordan, who’s teaching me, has managed to fix me up with a couple of gigs. I’ve actually been paid for them, too. And I’m singing at another tomorrow night,’ she added. ‘A private party. Someone’s birthday.’
His frown deepened. ‘Not using your own name, I hope?’
‘I call myself Chellie,’ she said. ‘But I drop the Greer part.’ She paused. ‘Father—why do you hate it so much? My singing?’
He did not look at her. ‘Because it took your mother away from me,’ he said roughly at last. ‘She was never—just my wife, as I wanted her to be.’ He glared at her. ‘Satisfied?’
She was silent for a moment. ‘They say the more you let people go, the more willing they are to return to you.’
‘What Christmas cracker did that come from?’ Sir Clive asked with contempt. ‘And who’s come back to you lately? Not your gallant rescuer, I bet.’
She put her soup spoon down very carefully. ‘No.’
‘You won’t either,’ he said. ‘I had him fired from that company he worked for. Told them I’d see them ruined if he stayed.’ He paused. ‘I dare say he wishes now he hadn’t been so hasty, sending back his share of the money I paid them.’ He smiled grimly. ‘An expensive gesture, that, for someone who lives by his wits. It’ll be a cold day in hell before he earns that much again.’
There was a sudden roaring in Chellie’s ears, and she felt numb. She said, in a voice she hardly recognised, ‘You’re saying—Ash—sent back the money?’
‘Yes.’ He pushed the envelope towards her. ‘It’s all here in the report he submitted before he left, and the final statement from the company. He sent the cheque back himself.’
‘Did he explain why?’
‘Oh, there was a note with some arrogant comment about blood money. I tore it up.’ He paused. ‘Do you want to read the report? See what you cost me?’
She shook her head. Her voice was desperate. ‘Father—the note—did—did it mention me?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘No, and just as well. He’s out of the company and out of your life too.’
‘And that was your doing.’ She closed her eyes, feeling sick. ‘How could you?’
‘I employed him to save you from the consequences of your own criminal foolishness.’ Sir Clive’s voice was harsh. ‘Not to take advantage of the situation and seduce my daughter.’
Chellie stood up, trying to control her unsteady breathing. She said, ‘I have news for you, Father. It was the other way round—I seduced him. And there hasn’t been a day or a night since when I haven’t missed him, or wanted him. And if he was here now, I’d tell him that I loved him.’
As she turned to leave, Sir Clive rose too. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘To find him,’ she said. ‘If it’s not too late.’
‘Then you’re a fool.’ The word cracked at her. ‘And I’ve not time for fools, Michelle, so be warned. I forgave you once, but it won’t happen again.
‘Is this what you call having a life of your own?’ her father demanded scornfully. ‘Chasing a man who hasn’t given you a second thought since you climbed out of his bed.’
‘Oh, but you’re wrong,’ Chellie told him gently. ‘He’s given me much more than that. He’s given me my life.’
She snatched up her coat, and was gone.
Chapter Eleven
‘HERE are those earrings you wanted to borrow.’ Jan wandered into Chellie’s room after a perfunctory knock and paused, frowning. ‘Hey, you’re going to a party tonight, not a funeral. What’s the matter?’
‘I haven’t had a very good day.’ Chellie bit her lip. ‘I’ve been trying to trace someone—an old friend—and so far I’ve had no luck at all.’
‘The old friend being a man, of course?’
‘Yes,’ Chellie admitted. ‘How did you know?’
‘You’ve been crying.’ Jan shrugged. ‘It figures.’
‘Oh, God, does it still show?’ Chellie gave herself a distracted look in the mirror. ‘I’ve been bathing my eyes too.’
‘Well, don’t worry about it.’ Jan gave her shoulders a quick squeeze. ‘Lorna’s got some miracle eye-drops. You’ll be fine.’ She looked Chellie over. ‘And that’s a wonderful dress. I’ve never seen it before.’
‘I’ve never worn it before.’ The silvery material shimmered enticingly as she moved. ‘But tonight I just—thought I would.’
‘So who’s giving this party?’
‘A girl called Angela Westlake—or rather her parents. It’s her twenty-first birthday, and they approached Jordan and asked if he’d play the piano during supper, and whether he knew anyone who would sing.’
Jan grinned at her. ‘If you’re not careful, honey, you could end up famous. Just remember who loaned you the earrings that got you your start,’ she added as she went off to fetch the drops.
Left to herself again, Chellie applied blusher without enthusiasm, staring at herself with haunted eyes. She’d really believed it would be so simple to find Ash. That it would take one phone call.
But when she’d finally screwed up the courage to ring the security company she’d been completely blanked by a frosty woman who’d told her they never revealed details about past or present employees.
Her only other hope was to telephone Arcadie. It was the nearest thing he had to a sanctuary, after all, she reminded herself. He might have gone to ground there while he considered his options. And while he licked his wounds too.
But the international operator had been unable to help either. St Hilaire had no listing for anyone called Howard.
So it was impasse, thought Chellie drearily. She couldn’t afford to hire a private detective to find Ash, or go to the Caribbean and search for herself. Besides, she was unsure what s
he might find at Arcadie. There was still the unresolved question of Julie Howard, who might now have gained a new importance in his life. Or reasserted her former supremacy.
She might have leapt to the wrong conclusion about the money, too. Who said he’d returned it because of some feeling he still might have for her? Maybe—and more likely—it was simply Ash’s way of drawing a line under an episode he now wished to forget. After all, their association hadn’t done him much good, so perhaps he was clearing away the debris of the past.
And maybe it was wiser—healthier—for her to do the same.
She picked up her lipstick, put it down again, and closed her eyes.
If only, she thought, it could be that easy. But it wasn’t. Ash was in her waking thoughts every hour of the day, and at night she tossed restlessly from side to side of the bed, consumed with longing. Burning up for him.
So she wasn’t prepared to give up just yet. Not while there was an atom of hope—another avenue to pursue. And, of course, there was.
Laurent, she thought, her lips quivering into a smile. Laurent Massim. He and Ash sailed together, but they were also friends. He must know where Ash was.
And if he can’t tell me, she thought, I’ll know that Ash really doesn’t want to be found. And, however hard it may be, I’ll stop looking.
She looked at her watch. No time to call the operator this evening, of course. She had a party to attend, a professional engagement to fulfil. But tomorrow would be a different story.
She lifted her chin. I will do this, she told herself. It’s not over yet.
The party was being held in a tall house in a leafy square. It was in full swing when they arrived. They were greeted by the hostess, a tall, attractive girl with a pleasant smile.
‘Hi,’ she said. ‘So you’re Jordan.’ Chellie found herself being given a friendly but minute inspection. ‘And you, of course, must be Chellie.’ The smile widened. ‘It’s good to meet you. If you put your coats in the downstairs cloakroom, I’ll show you where you’ll be performing.’
They were taken down to a large basement room, covering almost all of the lower ground floor, where the supper was to be served.
A mouthwatering buffet was already laid out on long trestles, and there was a large tub filled with bottles of champagne on ice standing by. A number of small tables and chairs had been set out for the guests, most of them facing towards the baby grand piano at the other end of the room.
Jordan tried it softly with absorbed satisfaction as soon as Angela had excused herself and returned to her guests.
‘The programme’s been agreed,’ he told Chellie. ‘All stuff you know, that we’ve practised, and space for a couple of requests. I’m going to supply some background noise while the food’s being served, then you come on.’ He eyed her. ‘You look different tonight—glowing, somehow.’
‘It’s the dress.’ She did a half-twirl.
‘No, it’s more than that.’ He paused. ‘But put some of it in the performance. Don’t hold back, Chellie. Show them what you’re made of.’
‘Don’t I always?’
He shrugged. ‘Sometimes I get the impression your heart and mind are elsewhere.’
‘Ouch,’ she said. ‘Then tonight they’ll get all of me. They’ll have to if I’m to make myself heard over the sound of chewing,’ she added cheerfully.
But, oddly, she found she did not have to compete with the chink of glasses and the scrape of cutlery after all. As she started to sing ‘Out of My Dreams’ from Oklahoma, a concert-hall hush fell on the room, and she was greeted with generous applause at the end.
She saw Angela Westlake standing at the side of the room, smiling and giving her the thumbs up.
‘We usually do requests at the end,’ Jordan announced. ‘But we’ve been asked for a very special song right now—so, if it’s all right with Chellie—here we go.’
Is he going to tell me what it is? Chellie thought resignedly as she smiled her acquiescence. Or am I supposed to guess?
Then she heard the opening chords and felt her heart jump crazily. Oh, no, she thought. Not this of all songs—please.
But the introduction was finishing, and there was nothing she could do but launch herself into the haunting first line of ‘Someone to Watch Over Me’.
She was halfway through the first verse when she saw him, leaning in the doorway, almost unrecognisable in black tie and dinner jacket. Looking at her over the heads of other people as he’d done that other time. That first time.
Except there were no other people. The room might have been empty as she sang sweetly and wistfully for Ash alone, the slight huskiness in her voice adding poignancy to the words, an emotion that came straight from the heart. Holding his gaze with hers.
When she finished there was an almost startled silence, then the clapping began.
As she took a bow, instinctively her eyes sought Ash again, to see if he was joining in the applause—if he was smiling.
But Ash was turning away, walking to the door, pausing momentarily for a word with Angela Westlake and a swift kiss on the cheek.
Oh, God, Chellie thought frantically. He’s going. He’s leaving again, and if he does I’ll never find him. I know it.
She turned to Jordan. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘There’s something I must do—someone I have to talk to.’
She threaded her way through the groups of guests, forcing herself to smile when a detaining hand touched her arm—to murmur her appreciation for the words of praise. When all she really wanted to do was run. Chase after him wherever he was heading.
He was nearly at the top of the stairs when she caught up with him. ‘Ash—wait—please. Speak to me.’ Her voice was desperate.
He turned slowly and looked down at her, the blue eyes grave. He said, ‘You’re wearing the dress.’
‘Yes—something made me…’ She swallowed. ‘You don’t mind?’
‘How could I?’ He smiled faintly. ‘You look so beautiful you take my breath away.’
‘In spite of my grotesque hair?’
‘Maybe because of it.’ He touched the silky strands, his fingers feather-gentle.
‘But I wasn’t asking for compliments. I want to talk…’ She paused, her eyes searching his face. ‘There are things to be said.’
‘But maybe this isn’t the right time,’ Ash said quietly. ‘Your audience will be missing you, songbird. You have them eating out of the palm of your hand.’
She swallowed. ‘I wasn’t singing for them. I was singing for you. You—must have known that. So why are you leaving? Because that’s what you’re doing—isn’t it? You’re going, and leaving me behind.’
‘I must.’ There was a raw note in his voice that she seized on.
‘But why?’
He said gently, ‘Chellie, your voice is going to take you to all kinds of places. I’d just get in the way. It’s better that I go.’
She said with sudden fierceness, ‘If that’s how you feel, why did you give back the money?’
He stiffened. ‘Who told you I’d done so?’
‘My father—who else? He said you were a fool.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’m sure he did. But I didn’t expect him to tell you what I’d done. I thought he’d want to keep that a secret.’
‘I’m sure he’ll wish he had. Because you’re not leaving without me. Never again.’
She lifted a hand, touched his cheek. ‘He made you lose your job, Ash, and I’m so sorry. Because he’ll probably stop you getting another one.’ She bit her lip. ‘You have no idea the kind of influence he has.’
‘I got a good idea from seeing the effect he’d had on you,’ Ash said grimly. He sat on the top step and pulled her down beside him. He said, ‘Chellie, no one got me fired, least of all your father. I was already planning to go—it had all been arranged totally amicably, and then I was asked to do this one last job because it was my kind of thing.’
He shook his head. ‘At first I said no, particularly when I f
ound out what was involved. I had you down as some rich bitch who liked to live on the edge. My least favourite kind of person. But then your father started offering silly money, and I knew the business could do with a cash injection just then, so—for better or worse—I agreed.’
He sighed. ‘I had all these strict rules for myself. Get the job done quickly, and no personal involvement—ever. And I tried my damnedest to stick to them—right up to the end.
‘But with you, the ground was shifting under my feet, and there were no bloody rules. I saw you, and I was lost. Caught up in this incredible, miraculous thing that I’d never really believed in. Knowing that I didn’t have to be paid to keep you safe, because I’d lay down my life for you if necessary.’
He paused. ‘All this I wanted to tell you, my beloved girl, and so much more. And then that dangerous buffoon showed up a day early and my chance went, and everything descended into chaos. I thought that I’d lost you for ever, that what we had was damaged beyond repair. You had every right to be hurt and angry about the way I’d tricked you, and any explanation I could give was only going to sound like some lame afterthought.
‘Anyway, I told myself I’d blown it completely, and consequently nothing else seemed to matter. I made sure Victor got the money for the company, and then I—walked away.’
She said, her voice shaking, ‘But that wasn’t all of it, Ash. You had another reason to leave. There was Julie. You never really told me the truth about her, did you? And I have to know. Does she love you? Are you in love with her?’
‘I should damned well hope not,’ Ash said with asperity. ‘Or my father will have me arrested. Julie’s my young sister, and dying to meet you.’
She drew a deep breath. ‘Your sister? Oh, I don’t understand any of this. You said she was the owner’s daughter. You had her photograph beside your bed.’
‘Beside my father’s bed, actually. He’s the owner in question, and he can be a sentimental old devil, so there’s usually one of me too. But I decided to put that particular piece of evidence away for the duration—in a very safe place—along with your passport,’ he added, straight-faced. ‘Just in case you started putting two and two together at some inconvenient moment. It didn’t occur to me, however, you’d do exactly that and make five. Jools and I are fairly alike, if you look.’