by Julia James
Flavia knew what that meant. Had known the moment she’d arrived, forcing herself to drive the strange hire-car from Exeter airport through the driving rain eastwards along the A30 into Dorset.
Had known the moment she’d phoned Mrs Stephens back from Palma.
‘It’s your grandmother …’
Guilt had struck instantly.
I should never have left her—never!
With her head she could tell herself all she liked that she might just as well have been in London, dancing attendance on her father, as out in a paradise she had never dreamt of—but guilt still clawed at her with pitiless talons.
To have been so selfish! To have thought nothing at all of simply disappearing off with Leon! Living out some kind of self-indulgent idyll just because … just because …
She felt the words twist inside her, trying to get out even as she tried to crush them back in. But she couldn’t hold them back.
Just because I’ve fallen in love with him …
The words sheered across her mind, forcing themselves into her consciousness, jolting through her like an electric shock. But it was a shock that she had to disconnect at the mains—right away. Now. It wasn’t something she could give any time to at all! Not now—not now! Guilt stabbed at her yet again. Worse than ever.
How can I be thinking of myself now? How can it matter a jot, an iota, what my feelings for Leon are when I’m sitting by my grandmother’s bed?
Watching her dying …
The vice clamped tighter around her heart, and she could feel her body rock slightly to and fro with anguish. Her hands were clasped around one of her grandmother’s hands—hers so strong and firm, her grandmother’s so thin and weak. Unmoving.
The pulse at her grandmother’s wrist was barely palpable, her breathing light and shallow. The palliative care nurse who had been there when Flavia had arrived, breathless and stricken, had talked her through how the end would come, though she had not been able to say just when it would come.
‘It might be tonight—or tomorrow—or a few days. But I doubt it will be longer,’ she’d said, her eyes full of sympathy. ‘She is easing away from life.’
Tears had filled Flavia’s eyes, and she’d turned away, heart seizing. ‘I should have been here!’ she’d said, her voice muffled with emotion.
‘It would have made no difference,’ the nurse had said kindly.
Only that I would not have felt so guilty like this, Flavia thought as she sat now in her midnight vigil.
The last weeks of her grandmother’s life and her granddaughter had been cavorting on a beach, immersed in a torrid love-affair, thinking only of herself! Caring only about herself! Not caring anything about her grandmother—the woman who had raised her, who loved her, who had always, always been there for her!
Yet when the end of her life had been approaching, her granddaughter had not been there for her—she had deserted her for her own selfish self-indulgence.
Guilt stabbed at Flavia again, and self-hatred.
If she had gone to Leon simply to save Harford, simply to ensure her grandmother could end her days in her own home, and every moment with him had been an ordeal, then she might not have felt like this! Then she might have justified her absence, told herself she’d only been doing it for her grandmother’s sake.
Lie, lie, lie—
Every moment in Leon’s arms had been a moment in paradise! Every hour of the days she’d spent with him had been for her sake—her own selfish, heedless sake—not her grandmother’s! Even now, here, at her grandmother’s deathbed, she was still thinking about him! Still aching for him and missing him, wanting to be with him!
Just because she’d fallen in love with him …
No! Don’t think about that! It doesn’t matter and it isn’t important! Only this is important—now—with Gran—the last time on earth you’ll be with her …
Silently, tears spilled from her eyes, wetting her cheeks. Her heart ached with sorrow and grief. She clutched her grandmother’s hand as the life ebbed slowly from her, hour by hour, during the long reaches of the rainswept night. Keeping her last vigil at her side.
Leon was watching the rain. It was pounding down on the pavements far below, streaking down the plate glass windows of his office. Darkening the sky.
His mood was dark, too. Emotion swirled, opaque and turbid. A single thought burned in his brain.
Where is she?
Where had she gone—and why? Why?
What the hell has happened to her?
She had simply vanished—disappeared! The only communication he’d got back after all his non-stop voicemailing and texting had been a bare, curt message.
Leon, I have to go. Sorry. Urgent family matters.
That was it. Nothing more. Nothing since. Just nothing.
Frustration bit like a fanged snake. What the hell was going on? Where was she? Why was she not talking to him? What had happened? He didn’t understand—he just damn well didn’t understand!
Part of him was desperately trying to find an acceptable reason for her total silence. Maybe she was out of range again. Maybe her phone had broken, got lost, been stolen. But if that were so, he knew there was no reason why she shouldn’t have got in touch with his office via another phone. He was not exactly anonymous! And he’d given his office explicit instructions to put her through any hour of the day or night.
But she hadn’t got in touch. Hadn’t communicated with him in any way whatsoever.
It was as if she no longer existed.
Or as if he didn’t …
Emotion gripped at him again. Where the hell was she? What the hell had happened to her?
Why is she doing this to me?
That was the worst of all—the question that was like a kick in the guts, a knife in his lungs, stopping his breathing. There had to be a reason—a good one!—why she had disappeared. There just had to be …
For the thousandth time he reread the only clue he had— ‘urgent family matters.’
What urgent family matters?
The only family he knew about was her father, so did Flavia’s disappearance have anything to do with Alistair Lassiter’s sudden journey to the Far East? But why not tell him? Why simply cut him out of her life—cut him stone-dead? As if there were nothing at all between them!
Why is she doing this to me?
The question tore at him again. That was the heart of it! That was what was eating him alive. Flavia, who had been as close to him as a heartbeat, who clung to him in trembling ecstasy, hugged him in spontaneous affection, held his hand with absolute confidence and familiarity as they walked along, was now treating him as if he didn’t exist! Her silence was deafening—devastating.
Frustration gripped him in its vice. How the hell could he find out where she was, why she had disappeared, what was damn well going on and why? As if cold gel oozed through his veins, he was chillingly conscious of just how little he knew about Flavia. Oh, they’d talked and talked at Mereden and Santera, talked about anything and everything—easily, naturally, as if they’d been doing it all their lives—but what they hadn’t talked about had been their personal lives.
I thought there would be time for that—much more time!
Instead, all he’d ever told her had been the bare bones of where he’d grown up, how he’d come to Britain and found a way to make something of himself. And as for Flavia—what had she told him about herself?
Very little. They hadn’t talked about her father, and apart from saying she lived in the West Country, she’d said nothing else. He frowned. The West Country covered a fair amount of territory. He’d already run a search under her name for everywhere west of Salisbury, but nothing had come up.
She could be anywhere! Anywhere!
He strode back to his desk, his mood black and bleak. Those turbid emotions swirled inside him again—part frustration, part anxiety. And one more emotion as well. He knew what it was—knew it but did not want to identify it. Did not want t
o name it.
But it was there all the same. Like a knife piercing into him.
Hurting him …
He sat down in his chair, closing his eyes. The pain sliced again.
I thought we were happy together. I thought we’d found something in each other that was special—binding us together. Making everything good between us.
That was what made her disappearance, her obdurate silence, so impossible to understand. That she could have gone from the warm, ardent, wonderful woman she’d been to someone who could just walk away without any desire to communicate with him, to let him know what was happening.
If she has things to deal with, I can understand that! I don’t demand she comes back to me immediately. I don’t expect her to cut out everything else from her life! I only want to understand what those calls on her are—to know she’s all right …
It was the blankness that was destroying him. The impotence. He wanted to know where she was, discover what she was coping with and why.
Where is she?
The question rang again in his head, as unanswerable now as it had ever been.
Grimly, he got out his work. He’d been working like the devil, trying to drown out his emotions with hard labour. Give his teeming mind something to grip on to. At least he didn’t have the business of whether or not to proceed with bailing out Lassiter to contend with. Alistair Lassiter had gone as silent as his daughter …
No. Don’t think about either of them! Don’t speculate pointlessly, frustratingly, about whether Flavia’s disappearance has anything to do with her father. Just focus on something else—anything else.
But for all his harsh self-adjurations the only question he was interested in kept surfacing.
Where is she and how can I find her?
Then, like a gate opening in his mind, something struck him.
Her passport.
She’d got her passport couriered to the airport so she could fly to Santera.
Couriered from where?
His hand moving faster than his mind, he seized up his desk phone. His instructions to his PA were immediate. The courier company the concierge at Mereden had put in touch with Flavia would know exactly where they had fetched her passport from.
He sat back. Relief filled him. Finally he could make a start on finding her …
Within the hour he had his answer. Five minutes later, anticipation leaping in him, having keyed in the address, he was staring at an aerial image on his computer screen of the house Flavia called home. His first reaction was immediate.
No wonder she prefers it to London!
It might not be the largest country house he’d seen, and it certainly wasn’t what the British called a stately pile, but the substantial Georgian greystone dwelling was lapped by several acres of lawned gardens, girdled with woods and set amongst the fields and rolling hills of deep English countryside.
A little jewel of a place, he could see.
Is that where she is now?
For a moment longer he stared at the image, as if he might see Flavia suddenly appear, walking out of the house. Then, with a start, he reached for his phone, ready to dial the number that went with the address. He felt his spirits leap, buoyed by searing hope. In less than a moment she might be answering the phone, speaking to him—
His office door opened. Leon’s hand froze. His PA was standing there, hovering and looking harassed.
‘I’m so sorry to disturb you, but Mr Lassiter is in my office—’ she said. ‘He is asking to see you. I know he doesn’t have an appointment, but …’ Her voice trailed off and she looked uncomfortable.
Exasperation spiked in Leon. God, the man had lousy timing, all right! For an instant he felt like telling him to get lost, but then, with a steadying intake of breath, he subsided. OK, he might as well see the man. For all he knew Lassiter might have come here about Flavia.
Fear struck him. Was that why Lassiter was here? Had something happened to Flavia? Had she had an accident? A disaster?
Even before he’d nodded at his PA, Lassiter had walked in. His expression, Leon could see instantly, was not that of a man come to report bad news about his daughter. There was an air of confident jauntiness that immediately set Leon’s teeth on edge. So did Lassiter’s equally jaunty greeting, and the way he took a seat without being invited.
Leon’s expression lost any sign of the alarm it had momentarily held, and darkened. ‘We had an appointment,’ he said icily, ‘made at your insistence, for which I specifically flew back to this country—and you failed to show.’
Lassiter was unabashed. ‘Yes, sorry about that, old chap,’ he answered airily, sounding not in the least apologetic. ‘I had to fly to the Far East.’ He paused minutely. ‘Bit of a turn-up for the books on my side, as it happens.’
He looked expectantly across at Leon, who remained blank-faced. Beneath his impassive expression, however, he was wishing Lassiter to perdition. The last thing he wanted was to have to focus on his bail-out proposal. All he wanted to do—urgently—was get his office to himself and phone Flavia’s home. Impatience burned in him. But he crushed it down. Like it or not, Lassiter was here, and Leon would have to deal with him first.
Lassiter had pursed his lips. He was looking, Leon assessed, sleeker than usual. Smugger than he had been in their previous exchanges, when his predominant attitude had veered between ingratiating and blustering. Leon waited, irritation suppressed, for Lassiter to continue.
‘Yes,’ went on Lassiter, as though Leon had made some encouraging remark, ‘looks like there’s another interested party out in the Far East. Made me a very tempting offer, I must say.’
He looked expectantly across at Leon, whose impassive regard remained undented. Lassiter was doing nothing except wasting his time and increasing Leon’s irritation.
‘Very tempting,’ Lassiter went on after a moment. He looked hard at Leon. ‘They’re not interested in taking any equity. Just offering me a generous line of credit for further expansion.’
‘Then I can see the attraction for you,’ agreed Leon.
Flavia’s father went on staring, clearly trying to read Leon’s reaction, and equally clearly taken aback by his statement of agreement.
‘So you can see,’ he went on, ‘why I’m giving them serious consideration.’
‘Yes, I can,’ was all the response he got.
Leon’s deliberate impassivity triggered Lassiter into showing his hand completely.
‘So why would I accept your offer if I can avoid losing equity by taking this new one that’s come up?’
‘Why indeed?’ Leon agreed again. Then, with a slight lift of his hand, as he was getting bored now, as well as irritated, he simply said, ‘I thought I’d made it clear that my deal is the one we discussed. It won’t change. If this new offer means you don’t accept mine, so be it.’
He’d kept his tone neutral, and the flash of anger in Lassiter’s pouched eyes at being unable to hustle Leon into renegotiating his proposal left him unmoved. Any turnaround by him would be on his terms, not Lassiter’s, and if Lassiter had found another white knight abroad, with less stringent conditions, good luck to him. To his mind, to bail out Lassiter without the control that equity would afford would be financial madness—Lassiter would just squander any loans and continue unabated in his lucrative but exploitative African ventures.
His gaze rested, unimpressed, on Alistair Lassiter.
It’s a miracle Flavia isn’t like her father—
The thought formed in Leon’s head as he levelled his gaze on Lassiter. Flavia’s warm sympathy for his pro bono work in South America, and her heartfelt indignation at the economic exploitation so many people suffered, was a complete contrast to her father’s callous attitude that profiteering out of the impoverished Third World was perfectly acceptable.
Thinking of Flavia made his eyes flicker automatically to the image on the computer screen—the beautiful house in the tranquil Dorset countryside that she lived in and called home. Was s
he there now? Would a single phone call put him back in touch with her at last? His eagerness to reach for his phone and do so was almost overwhelming. He just had to get rid of Alistair Lassiter first.
He sat back pointedly, indicating there was nothing more to debate. Then, both to expedite Lassiter’s departure and because he had no wish for his relations with Flavia’s father to be unpleasant just because he wouldn’t budge on his rescue package, he said, his tone cordial enough, ‘I wish you luck with your alternative offer, and I hope you get the business settled soon. There’s a great deal of good value in the company—you hardly need me to tell you that—but I have my own ways of operating, and I always want to take equity.’
There. That was surely sufficiently conciliatory to give Lassiter a face-saving exit. As he finished speaking, for an instant he thought he saw another flash of anger in the fleshy face, but a moment later it was gone. In its place was a resumption of the smiling bonhomie that Leon was used to seeing.
‘Well, old chap,’ he replied, his manner bland once more, ‘I’m sorry you’re going to let go the opportunity I’ve offered you, but there it is. Looks like the other lot get the deal.’ He made it sound as though it were Leon’s loss, and he got to his feet as if regretfully.
As he did so, he nodded towards the computer screen on Leon’s desk, and Leon realised, to his annoyance, that Lassiter must have been able to see it.
‘Ah, I see you’re taking a look at Harford. Beautiful place, isn’t it? Flavia’s devoted to it. Comes to her from her mother’s side.’ He smiled, as if jovially. ‘But of course you’ll know all that by now, won’t you?’
There was a knowing look in his eyes, but Leon would not be drawn. His personal relationship with Flavia was not something he would discuss with her father.
Lassiter’s expression lost its smile. ‘Of course,’ he went on, shaking his head, his voice rueful, ‘sadly—like so many of these upper-crust county families—they ran out of money some time ago. That’s why, if I’m absolutely honest about it,’ he confided, ‘Flavia’s mother was so ready to snap me up—self-made as I am. Because I could help finance its upkeep. I still do. It’s cost me a fortune over the years, but Flavia adores the place—would do anything to keep it.’ He paused. ‘Anything at all.’