by Liz Fielding
And, when everyone else had gone home, the sofa was big enough for two.
‘Make yourself at home—put your feet up while I warm some of C&F’s finest “home-made” soup.’
‘Well?’ Jordan enquired. ‘How was your first day shadowing Romana Claibourne?’
‘Interesting. And long.’ He yawned.
‘You spent the evening with her?’
‘Only in the line of duty.’ Niall looked at the silver-framed photograph on the dressing table, saw Louise’s sweet face smiling up him.
Duty had ceased the minute the car drew up in front of his house, he knew. And it was Louise’s house. He’d never invited another woman across the threshold. To rest on her sofa. Eat from her plates.
But Romana had looked pale and tired and he’d been sure she wouldn’t take the trouble to eat when she got home. Of course it was entirely possible that there would have been someone there ready to put a hot cup of cocoa into her hands before tucking her up in bed. But she’d said yes, which suggested not. Maybe.
Maybe she’d just been taking the opportunity to get beneath his skin, find out what made him tick. He tried to convince himself that that was what he’d been doing. It wasn’t true. He hadn’t wanted to say goodnight.
He stared at Louise’s photograph, trying to wipe out the image of Romana that intruded between them, feeling the dull ache of guilt that every day Louise was a little fainter, a little further from him. Then he laid the photograph down, unable to bear what now seemed to be only reproach.
‘Duty?’ Jordan prompted. ‘Were you at the charity gala? I caught it on the late-evening news. I didn’t see you in the line-up to be presented to royalty.’
‘Neither was Romana. She was behind the scenes, ensuring everything ran like clockwork.’ Niall tucked the telephone beneath his ear as he unfastened his cuff-links. ‘I was at her side. Observing.’
‘So?’
‘It was a highly successful evening. Well-organised and very entertaining. Romana Claibourne is not quite as dizzy as she looks.’ She hadn’t fluffed her hair once during the entire evening. Well, not intentionally anyway. Once or twice he’d seen her make a move to twist a curl, only to realise belatedly that there was nothing to twist. He found himself smiling at the way her pretty new haircut had framed her face as she’d slept. The smile faded as he recalled the silk of her skin beneath his fingers.
‘Pity,’ Jordan said, reclaiming his wandering attention.
‘No, the pity is that you weren’t there, too. India looked every inch the chief executive,’ he said provokingly as he tugged at his tie, releasing a ghost of the scent Romana had been wearing. He lifted it to his face to catch the lingering traces, recalling the way she’d held out her wrist to him. Recalling the way her hand had felt in his as he’d taken it from her mouth after her tongue had run away with her. Not quite as dizzy as she looked. Well, that would be impossible. Just averagely dizzy. ‘You should have been at her side.’
‘India Claibourne will keep,’ Jordan said sharply. ‘What are you doing tomorrow?’
He grimaced at the phone. ‘I’m on playground duty.’ Where the playground was, he realised belatedly, he had no idea. Unsurprisingly, Romana had omitted to tell him. He’d have to phone the store first thing. Ask Molly to fax him through the programme for the rest of the week. He did have business of his own to fit in somehow…‘Shadowing isn’t all balance sheets and boardrooms.’ Then, changing the subject, ‘I took a look around the store this afternoon. You’re right. It needs ripping out and refitting from top to bottom.’
‘Of course it does.’ Distracted by his hobby-horse, Jordan forgot all about playgrounds. ‘Peter Claibourne has been living in the past. Worse, he’s been neglecting the future.’
‘Maybe he knows more than you think. It’ll be an expensive business,’ Niall warned.
‘Progress is never cheap. Keep in touch.’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘WELL?’ India demanded, the minute they’d left the traffic of London behind them. ‘Tell me about Niall Macaulay. What’s he like?’
What was he like? All through the night Romana had been wrestling a maelstrom of confusing impressions. Coldness. Cleverness. A sarcastic misogynist who thought women should be seen and not heard—and he wasn’t even too sure about the ‘seen’. A man of stunning presence, who could turn a woman’s head without raising a sweat. A man it would give her enormous pleasure to bring to his knees and force to admit that she was his equal. She’d been so sure she had the man taped. And then, in a heartbeat, he’d overthrown all her opinions by telling her about his wife.
‘What’s he after?’ India demanded.
‘What? Oh…’ Romana was certain of only one thing. That Niall Macaulay had no interest in running a department store, no matter how grand it was. Since she preferred to be driven by someone whose mind was entirely on the task, she wasn’t about to tell her sister that. Instead she said, ‘Please, Indie! Keep your eyes on the road. And slow down!’
India glanced at her. ‘What’s up with you this morning?’
‘Nothing.’ Just a firm belief that she’d lived dangerously enough for one week. ‘I didn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all.’
India glanced at her again, this time with sympathy. ‘I haven’t slept properly since the lawyers dropped the “golden share” bombshell. So, tell me, what happened last night?’
‘Last night? Nothing happened last night!’ As her sister’s head swivelled, her ‘trouble’ antennae now on full alert, Romana realised she’d said it too quickly, too emphatically.
‘Not so much as a dropped tray. I was just too wound up to sleep. Or tense, maybe. I seemed to spend the entire night reliving that moment when I jumped into space. Bouncing up and down.’ She felt queasy just thinking about it. Which served her right for being economical with the truth.
‘You didn’t have to do it, Ro.’
‘Didn’t I?’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe not. It made all the newspapers this morning, though. Even the broadsheets.’
‘I saw. It would have been quite brilliant if it hadn’t been for Niall Macaulay with his arm around your shoulders under the headline “Claibourne and Farraday Jump for JOY”. Whatever were you thinking about?’
‘I thought I’d impress him with my PR skills. As you said, it made all the newspapers.’
‘It provoked speculation about the Farradays in the morning papers,’ India grumbled. ‘Made them noticeable. I don’t even want to hear that name, Romana. I certainly don’t want to read it.’
‘It’s difficult to avoid,’ she said, trying to make light of it, trying not to remember the way she’d felt when he’d stood at her side, her body pressed tightly against his. ‘Since it’s over the front door.’
‘Not for much longer. Once this nonsense is sorted I’m going to rebrand the store and change the name to Claibourne’s.’ She turned to Romana. ‘Sharp, snappy and modern. What do you think?’
Romana stared at her sister’s determined profile and realised she’d had this all worked out. She’d probably been working on it for years. No wonder she was so mad at Jordan Farraday for throwing a spanner in her carefully oiled works.
‘I think,’ she replied, carefully, ‘that you shouldn’t even be thinking that, let alone saying it out loud. Have you told anyone else?’
‘No. It’s between you and me for now.’
And she’d rather not have known. ‘Keep it that way. In fact I think you should forget all about it, put it out of your head until you’re in a position to make it happen. Believe me, if Jordan Farraday finds out what you’re planning…’ She didn’t think she had to spell it out, but her sister’s face was set in stubborn mode. ‘Promise me, Indie.’
‘All right! Just keep them out of the news.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ she promised. But she wasn’t offering any guarantees.
She’d spent weeks setting up publicity to ensure a high profile for the store during charity week. Now she’d opened Pand
ora’s box, and the Farradays would be fools if they didn’t use it to their own advantage. She didn’t know about his cousins, but she was quite certain that Niall Macaulay wasn’t a fool.
India lifted one hand from the steering wheel in a gesture of apology. ‘The store is more important than some stupid inter-family feud that’s been simmering for a hundred and fifty years. I’m hoping the Farradays can be made to see the sense of leaving things the way they are—’
‘Hardly likely if they find out you’re planning to take their name from above the front door.’
‘If we do end up in court we can at least show that we’re competent, successful, forward-thinking.’
‘Competent isn’t a problem. Successful…’ She shrugged. ‘Niall is well aware that sales haven’t been exactly buoyant in the last couple of years. As for forward-thinking…’ While their father had left the day-to-day running of the store to India for years—the only reason things weren’t a lot worse—he had stubbornly resisted the modernisation plans she’d commissioned, insisting that the attraction of the store lay in its time-warp atmosphere. It was certainly great for encouraging tourists, but they were running a store, not a heritage site.
‘I don’t need you quoting Niall Macaulay at me,’ India snapped, betraying her own unease. ‘Just make sure that he sees us as an unbeatable combination.’
‘I’ll certainly try.’ Romana thought it better not to mention that while Niall had been heating up soup, giving her a potted history of his house, she’d fallen asleep on the sofa in his warm kitchen. That he’d woken her only when the car arrived to take her home.
She’d come from a deep, deep sleep, not sure where she was, and the first thing she’d seen was his face as he leaned over her, had been aware only of his hand on her shoulder.
And for a moment she’d seen someone other than the dour, cold man who’d been dogging her footsteps all day. Someone she might like. More than like.
Great impression she must have made on him. From the haste with which he’d removed his hand she just knew that she’d snored. Or dribbled. Probably both.
She emitted an involuntary mew of delayed embarrassment.
Her sister glanced at her. ‘What?’
‘Nothing. Just something in my throat.’ She made a point of clearing it.
At least she wouldn’t have to face him this morning. She’d never got around to telling him the location of the adventure playground they were opening. And he hadn’t asked. Presumably he didn’t find the prospect of twenty or so sets of sticky fingers grabbing at his perfectly creased trousers especially appealing.
Smart man, she thought as India turned into the car park, slotting her Mercedes coupé between a black Aston Martin convertible and the Mayoral Rolls. The guests were prompt, at least.
Maybe Niall would give the celebrity auction a miss, too. He hadn’t looked too impressed by the idea, and he must have pressing concerns of his own to deal with. There was no way he could spend every minute of the working day at her back. Which should have been comforting. But oddly wasn’t. His ascerbic remarks seemed to set her up, give life an edge…
She left India talking to a group of local VIPs and headed for the big log cabin built to provide a warm, safe environment for indoor play. Today it was also stacked with supplies of free goodies, including the sweatshirts so despised by Niall, and tenanted by the caterers booked to provide refreshments for both adults and children.
Molly was already there with some of her staff, making sure that the C&F flags were flying the right way up and the banner was straight. She’d also grabbed all spare hands to fix bunches of balloons to anything that was fastened down. One of the spare hands, she realised—a fraction too late to get her face under control—belonged to Niall Macaulay. No prizes for guessing who’d come in the Aston, then. Dark, dangerous and sexy, it suited him down to the ground. He straightened as she approached.
‘Niall, I didn’t expect to see you here.’
‘I’ve been here since ten-thirty—which, according to the schedule, is when you should have arrived.’
‘Blame India,’ Molly said. And from behind Niall’s back she winked. ‘She’s such a sedate driver. Nothing will persuade her to go over fifty, even on the motor-way.’
Romana pulled her lips hard back against her teeth to stop herself from breaking out in hysterical laughter. Whether at Molly’s outrageous lie or at the sight of Niall wearing jeans and a Claibourne & Farraday sweatshirt.
The jeans, she couldn’t help but notice, clung to his thighs in the most photogenic manner, and his hair looked as if it had been recently combed with his fingers. Nothing could have been further from the image that had so impressed itself upon her only twenty-four hours earlier.
‘Schedule?’ she asked, forcing herself to keep her mind on the job. ‘What schedule? I didn’t even give you the location of the playground. I don’t believe you actually asked…’
Niall wasn’t fooled. She’d hoped to evade him this morning. He didn’t blame her, but this game was being played to win and he didn’t plan on coming in as runner-up. ‘I rang your office first thing. You weren’t there.’ He waited for some response, then, when none was forthcoming, ‘Of course you did have a very late night,’ he added, as if that explained it.
Her cheeks flushed a particularly fetching shade of pink. ‘For your information,’ she declared, ‘I was at the Savoy at seven-thirty this morning, ensuring everything was under control for this evening’s fashion—’ She stopped, horrified at the gaffe she’d just made. ‘Show,’ she finished lamely.
In her haste to correct any suspicion that she’d been lying in bed until ten o’clock, she’d let slip that which she’d been at such pains to hide. That far from being at home with her feet up in front of the TV tonight, she’d be preventing mass hysteria behind the scenes at a full-scale fashion show.
In other words, she’d lied to him.
‘Would that be the Wedding and Honeymoon Fashion Show?’ he asked, just in case she was in any doubt that he knew she’d lied to him. ‘Molly kindly faxed me an entire list of the week’s activities,’ he explained, before she could answer. ‘Despite all appearances to the contrary, I do have a business life of my own to fit around yours.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. Well, there really wasn’t anything else she could say. She’d lied. He knew she’d lied. She knew he knew… ‘I really didn’t think you’d want to come.’
‘No?’
Holding the list of events in his hands that morning, Niall had known exactly what she’d been thinking. But he neither wanted nor needed her sympathy. That he wanted something was evident from the fact he’d cut through management waffle this morning and a meeting that had been scheduled to last all morning had been got through in an hour. Just so he could be here. At the time he’d told himself it was essential for the Farraday claim that he kept a close eye on Romana Claibourne. The minute he’d set eyes on her, he’d known he was fooling himself.
‘I just thought…’
‘Tell me,’ he said, stopping her before she told him why she’d decided not to burden him with a fashion show dedicated to weddings and honeymoons, ‘did you manage to get more than the hour’s sleep you snatched at my place? When you finally got home this morning?’
Molly’s mouth dropped open in a most satisfactory way. And from Romana’s expression he’d effectively dealt with any warm feeling she might be harbouring towards him.
‘One of your balloons is escaping,’ was her only response, and the chill emanating from her was like opening a refrigerator door.
Mission accomplished. Keep it impersonal. Keep it distant.
No more late-night suppers. No more touching.
Grabbing Molly by the arm, Romana dragged her into the cabin. ‘Don’t say a word,’ she hissed. Molly opened her mouth. ‘Not one! I fell asleep on his sofa, all right? This is business, pure and simple, so you can stow your lurid imagination. He was just being pathetically male.’
Whic
h, on reflection, surprised her. Even supposing something had happened between them, Niall wasn’t the kind of man to chalk his conquests on the men’s room wall. So had he chosen, quite deliberately, to annoy her? He must have anticipated her reaction, so why would he do that when he had the most to gain by being friendly, winning her trust? She shook her head. Fat chance of that happening.
Seeing that Molly would burst if she didn’t say what was on her mind, she said, ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, speak before you go pop.’
‘I have just one question.’
‘Well?’
‘What were you doing on his sofa?’
Niall put his head around the door. ‘A television crew from the local station is looking for you, and a busload of kids have just arrived. I thought you’d probably want to know.’
‘Saved by the bus…’ Molly murmured.
‘Just bring those sweatshirts.’
‘Can I do anything to help?’ Niall asked.
Romana wasn’t impressed. He’d shown his true colours and she knew now that her first impression of the man had been spot-on. Right now his eagerness was only to see her make a fool of herself for him all over again: this time with the television cameras rolling.
‘Stick to what you came for, Niall. To watch and learn. Just keep from under my feet while you’re doing it.’ She didn’t wait for a response, but went in search of the TV crew to brief them about getting pictures of India cutting the ribbon to open the play facility and ensure they got plenty of pictures of happy kids having fun.
As if that wasn’t enough, she also had to ensure that they didn’t get any of the pretender to the boardroom of Claibourne & Farraday.
Niall decided he’d be more usefully occupied helping the children into their sweatshirts, but couldn’t take his gaze off Romana as she handed out press packs, answered questions, introduced India and one of the local worthies to journalists. Seemingly doing a dozen things at once without looking in the slightest bit flustered. It was a master-class in keeping calm under pressure.