“Could I have a phone number to ring you back?”
“My boss told me to get the rest of the money, and that’s what I intend to do. No money, no commission. Simple as that. Lady, this is a business transaction. It’s nothing personal.”
“Nothing personal?” I shrieked down the phone. “You make threats against my daughter and say it’s nothing personal?”
“There’s no need to get screechy, lady.” Vincent rattled off his number. “If I don’t hear back from you in exactly fifteen minutes, I’ll take that to mean you don’t have the rest of the money. I’ll need to take steps to extract said payment. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal.” I slapped the phone back in its cradle. I hoped it hurt his ears because he’d given me the mother of all headaches.
“Are you mad, implying you’ll go to the police?” Father hollered. “It’s bad enough having your cop around the place. We don’t want a whole herd of them prying into our private affairs.”
Hannah took one look at my face and hurried to the drawer where we keep odds and ends. She yanked out a packet of headache tablets, popped open the bubble pack and handed me two pills along with a glass of water.
I downed the tablets straightaway, inwardly admitting Father was right. We didn’t want close scrutiny from the law. “Thank you. Have you contacted Alistair today?” I didn’t have time for this drama. I wanted to study the index cards I’d stolen from the photographer.
“Yeah. No good news there. He can sell the goods today, but the price won’t be a good one. He has feelers out with another collector from the States. He seems to think we should wait a week or so and the chance of a better price.”
“Logical. If it wasn’t for the money due, we’d wait. Okay, this is the plan. I’ll ring back Vincent and say we can’t make the rest of the payment until next week.”
“That will make him happy,” Father said.
“I’m going to point out my new boyfriend is a cop who takes a dim view of his woman being harassed.”
“His woman,” Hannah said with delight. If she’d been younger, I’m sure she would have given a feminine squeak. “Oh, that is good news. The two of you look so right together. I can’t wait to have more children in the family.”
“Cut the— Children!” Father roared. “Are you stark raving mad? I thought we’d decided this was a ruse to get rid of our competition. Rumors are circulating in the village about the dagger already.”
“I told you that clinch looked way personal,” Ben said.
“All I said was it would be nice to have more children about the house. Evie needs someone.”
“She has us,” Father said.
Hannah sent a grimace in my direction while I did a mental blink. Living at Oakthorpe with the terrible trio didn’t keep me warm at night. Even Ben gaped at Father this time.
Father cleared his throat and looked at us as if to say, “What?”
Hannah advanced on Father. “Evie has every right to a sex life with a male of her choice. If that man happens to be that hottie Kahu Williams, then good!” She punctuated each sentence with a finger jab at Father’s chest.
Father’s face paled.
“A hottie? Just what do you do down at the pensioners’ hall?” Ben winked at his wife. “Should I worry, sweet cakes?”
Sweet cakes? I was so not going there. Time to change the subject.
“I’m going to contact Beauchamp and try to work out a deal. We’ll offer to pay the rest next week and see what he says.” I picked up the phone and dialed.
“That was longer than fifteen minutes,” Vincent snapped.
I ignored the attitude and put out one of my own. “I don’t appreciate your threats.” Might as well start at the main point of contention.
“If you paid in full and on time, I wouldn’t have to make threats.”
Good point. “Do you work for Beauchamp?”
“I said so earlier, didn’t I?”
“I want to talk to him. Discuss things.”
Vincent laughed with a smug snigger that raised my hackles. If I’d been in the same room, I’d have flattened him or at least made an attempt. Instead, I gritted my teeth.
“That little girl of yours shouldn’t have to suffer because you can’t make good on your debts.”
Fear kicked me in the ribs. The implacable tone of Vincent’s voice indicated a willingness to follow through with his threat.
“I’ll go to the cops.”
“Oh yeah? No, I think you’re going to get the money and pay up because if you don’t you’ll be planning funerals instead.”
Fury whipped me, but fear cut deeper. The man was deadly serious. He’d hurt Amber if we didn’t pay. My curse was short and not particularly original. It didn’t relieve any of my frustration.
“Are you going to tell us what Vincent said?” Father asked once I’d hung up.
“He’s insisting we pay the full amount. I guess he wants his commission.” I pushed back my chair, wincing at the screech of wood against tiles, and stood. “It’s a pity we don’t have any more heirloom silver stashed somewhere.”
“Where are you going?” Father’s voice held an edge of fear.
“I’m going to check online for Beauchamp’s number.”
“The laptop is on in the office.” Hannah hurried from the kitchen before I could protest.
The truth was I wanted time alone to think. No. That wasn’t the truth. I’d already decided what had to be done. It was carrying it out that jammed up my throat. I tugged open a cupboard and pulled out a glass. After filling it with water, I returned to the table and sat. One swallow of water. Two. The dry, choked sensation remained.
Footsteps heralded Hannah’s return. “Here.” She handed over a slip of paper with a phone number written on it. “I looked up his home number for you.”
Richard “The Octopus” Beauchamp.
I wasn’t exactly looking forward to this call. I gripped the number in my left hand and prayed for inspiration.
“What are you going to say?” Father asked, a troubled expression on his face.
Ben and Hannah didn’t look much better. It made me realize how fragile they were despite the gutsy front they presented. I made a silent vow. I’d get us through this mess somehow. I’d make sure they behaved and didn’t get out of line again. Hysterical laughter—a little crazed and carrying irony—screeched through my mind. Huh! Convoys of Hereford cattle would fly over the village first.
“Evie.” Hannah stepped around the table to stand in front of me. She placed a hand on each of my shoulders and studied my face. “Don’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable. The three of us were here, not you. The blame for this debt lies with us.” She squeezed my shoulders. “Really, we realize how difficult your pregnancy was, how it ruined your plans for the future. Make sure any decision you make is for the right reasons.”
The sudden blast of silence in the room was deafening. No one ever mentioned the past. We sort of swept it under the table and ignored it as best we could. Of course, Amber was a visual memory since she didn’t resemble me, but she had such a strong personality it was easy to ignore the circumstances of her conception.
“We don’t need to bring up that subject,” Father said in his stuffy aristocrat voice.
Hannah loosened her grip on my shoulders and turned to glare at Father. “It won’t change—”
“Enough,” I said. “We’re not going to muddle through this mess if we snipe at each other. We’re a family. We need to pull together and act like one.” I didn’t wait for comments. I’d had enough and, besides, I had to confront Beauchamp and sort out terms of payment. The schedule we were trying to keep to at the moment was near impossible.
Taking a deep breath, I dialed the number and hoped for the best.
Chapter Sixteen
The phone rang for a long time before an answer machine picked up. I hesitated before leaving a message. There was no time to waste after I’d hung up on Vincent. Talking to B
eauchamp was a priority.
“This is Lady Evelyn Fawkner.” My voice sounded crisp as I rattled off pertinent details. Someone picked up before I’d finished.
“Hello, bimbo! Bit of cheek leaving a message. You can tell Dicky from me he can stuff his privates where the sun don’t shine.” The person on the other end of the phone sounded drunk and close to tears.
“Certainly,” I said cool as a slice of cucumber floating in a glass of Pimms. “As soon as you tell me your name, I’ll pass on the message.”
“Got a mouth, ain’t cha? Betcha know how to use it.”
My jaw dropped. The cheek. I didn’t like talking to Dicky. The thought of being close and intimately personal with the man was enough to make me puke.
Now if the woman said Kahu… My thoughts screeched to an appalled halt. Oops! I’m not going there.
“Who is speaking?” I infused my voice with hauteur. Father wasn’t the only one who knew how to play the nobility angle when it suited.
“Stay away from Dicky!” The phone crashed down hard enough to make me wince.
Well, that had certainly improved things for the Oakthorpe household. Not. I’d have to ring Beauchamp at his office or maybe make an appointment with his secretary.
I ended up making an appointment for later in the day, and even that hadn’t been easy. His secretary had pit bull running in her veins, and she guarded Beauchamp in a possessive manner. I couldn’t wait to learn if the picture in my imagination matched reality.
Beauchamp Industries was housed in one of the newer buildings in the Docklands area. Lots of chrome, steel and huge plate windows that caught the afternoon sun. I strode through the automatic double doors, ignoring the fact I was way underdressed for a joint this classy. No doubt Pit Bull would frown upon my faded jeans and form-fitting red T-shirt bearing the words Sex Kitten, but she’d met her match in me.
The heels of my boots tapped as I made my way to the receptionist. She sat behind a large black marble counter wearing the city uniform of a black suit. Her autumn-brown hair was blunt-cut at jaw level.
“Yes?” She arched a delicate brow in a silent prod for me to spill the reason for my presence. Her makeup looked impeccable, making me wonder if I shouldn’t have taken the time to run a lipstick across my lips. Once again, I’d failed in my blonde-bimbo disguise. Perhaps I should give it up and take a chance on being me. Now there was a novel concept.
I smiled in a professional manner. “I have an appointment to see Richard Beauchamp.”
Her gaze ran across my face and down my body. Her clear doubt jumped out at me. I didn’t conform to the correct image of Beauchamp’s visitors.
“There.” I leaned over the counter and jabbed the diary with my forefinger. A bite of impatience joined my healthy slice of attitude. I didn’t have time for this crap. “Lady Evelyn Fawkner.”
A gasp escaped her perfectly sculpted lips, and a trace of envy showed in her hazel eyes. I wanted to say, “It’s only a title. It doesn’t make me a better person.” I pushed away my annoyance. Heck, I wanted to get this meeting done. The load of apprehension and uncertainty weighing me down was crippling. “Should I go up?” I gestured at the lift.
“Oh, no!” She glanced at me in horror, making me think I’d committed the worst faux pas imaginable. “Someone will escort you to Mr. Beauchamp’s office.”
“Right.” What sort of business was he running anyway? Apart from locating the phone number and address of Beauchamp Industries, I hadn’t had time to research the company. I’d set Hannah on the job before I left while the other members of the trio were discussing how to find their next case. They’d tasted success and wanted more.
I scanned the luxurious foyer with its marble floors and walls, the ceiling-to-floor windows and the tasteful arrangement of flowers. The surroundings didn’t yield a single clue. I turned back to the receptionist. “What does Beauchamp Industries do?”
“Importing and exporting,” a frigid voice said from behind me.
The pit bull, I presumed. I turned slowly to give myself time to control the smartass quip that sprang to my lips. “That’s interesting,” I drawled and left it at that. My inner child kicked and screamed, but I closed my mouth firmly and didn’t make a smartass reply.
“Lady Evelyn Fawkner?” The pit bull’s lips pursed, the only reaction to my jeans.
I inclined my head, acknowledging she’d found the right person. Heck, I didn’t even flinch when she used the hated Evelyn instead of Eve.
“This way, please.” Her high heels tapped a strict beat on the floor as she glided to the waiting lift.
I followed more slowly and wondered why the woman was so protective of her boss. In truth her appearance had surprised me. I put her age around late twenties, early thirties, and she was attractive with the same cool, classic beauty as Grace Kelly. Jealousy, perhaps? I was no threat. You couldn’t pay me enough to become romantically involved with Beauchamp.
The lift rose to the top floor with stomach-swooping rapidity. After a deep breath to resettle my innards, I followed the secretary into the office suite. With my connections, I’d seen opulence up close, but this was luxury personified. My boots sank into thick woolen carpet while my eyes popped out on stalks at the view. Ms. Pit Bull stopped walking, and I was so busy gawking, I plowed into the back of her.
Color scorched my cheeks. Hello, blonde bimbo. Nice to have you back.
A door opened behind me.
“Ah, Lady Eve. Good to see you again.” Richard Beauchamp swaggered toward me. He grasped my hand and pressed a moist kiss on my knuckles.
Eew! I fixed a vapid smile to my lips, hoping I didn’t crack under the smarmy pressure and say something I shouldn’t. What I needed was a combination of flighty and the brain.
With my smile still intact—just—I rescued my hand before it received another coating of slobber and flicked a strand of blond hair over my shoulder. “Thank you for seeing me today, Richard. I know you’re very busy.” I nodded at his secretary in firm dismissal. “Thank you for your help.”
“This way, my dear.” Richard slid an arm around my waist. It felt like a piece of slimy seaweed, and I found it difficult to restrain my reaction. He paused at the open door and ushered me inside. “Coffee please, Rita.”
“Right away, Richard.” She bustled away with a whisper of silk stockings.
“Take a seat, Lady Eve.”
The view from his office was simply stunning. He overlooked the Docklands area with a panoramic view of the Thames winding its way out to sea. How did he manage to get any work done?
Maybe he didn’t. Despite all the up-to-date computer equipment in the office, his desk backed up the supposition—clean desk pad and a single silver pen. No messy piles of files, but perhaps Ms. Pit Bull had everything neatly filed in folders on the computer, available at the touch of the keyboard.
Richard stepped behind his desk and sat on his executive leather chair. With the massive wooden desk between us, I felt immeasurably safer.
“I wanted to talk to you about—”
A sharp tap on the door interrupted me. Ms. Pit Bull opened the door and an elderly woman in a royal blue trouser suit walked in bearing a tray of coffee. She set it down before glancing at me.
“How do you take your coffee?”
Nonplussed by the ceremony my simple visit attracted, I blurted out, “Black. No sugar.”
A thin lemon-colored china mug appeared in front of me. “Biscotti?”
“Ah, thank you.”
Two small biscotti were placed on a matching lemon plate and set in front of me.
“Your usual, Richard?”
“Thank you, Janice.”
Bemused, I wondered if Richard romanced all the women the way he’d come on to me. These two seemed to adore him.
Finally, Janice arranged everything to her satisfaction and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.
“I wanted to talk to you about the money my father owes you,” I said.
Richard sipped his coffee—white and heavy on the sugar—before saying, “Ah! I wondered if that might be the case. My employee mentioned your particular loan earlier this morning. You realize I don’t concern myself with the day-to-day collection of debts.” He offered a toothy smile along with the lie.
Uneasiness assailed me because the man looked like a crocodile about to take a bite. Too late now. My course was set. I’d come to plea for leniency, and I’d no alternative but to play his little games. “Yes, I spoke with your man this morning. Vincent seemed reluctant to accept part of the payment so I suggested to him that I speak with his boss.”
Beauchamp preened a little, but his eyes remained watchful—the guise of a determined businessman. I had to remember that. He hadn’t reached his position without being hardnosed and ambitious.
“We didn’t have enough money to make full payment this week,” I said in a clear voice, refusing to cower.
“I see.”
That was glee I saw in his expression, a figurative rubbing together of hands. My mind wandered the possibilities and came up with a distasteful outcome.
Sex.
“We can make the rest of the payment when the sale of my mother’s jewels is finalized.”
“Hmm.” Beauchamp scratched his chin, his manner thoughtful. “Seems a pity to sell heirlooms. Don’t you want to hand them down to that pretty daughter of yours?”
I battled to maintain my composure. The man knew exactly what was happening in his monetary empire. I bet he knew word for word the conversation I’d had with his goon. I leaned back in my chair and waited. I wasn’t going to plead. The silence stretched, and I started thinking of it as a game of one-upmanship.
“It doesn’t do to set a protocol like this.”
“Is that a no?”
“Merely thinking out loud, my dear. Merely thinking out loud.”
I wanted to mutter he should get on with it and put me out of suspense.
Beauchamp scrutinized me until an unladylike sweat formed on my back. He sipped his coffee before plucking up a biscotti and toying with it. I gripped the edge of my seat, taking care to keep my hands out of sight. Beauchamp’s mobile rang. He picked it up while continuing to watch me. An urgent need to squirm sprang to life in me.
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