by Penny Jordan
She went with him to the door, trying not to shudder while he embraced her, his tongue flicking over and over the small cut he had made as though he enjoyed the sensation of hurting her.
‘I wish to God I didn’t have to leave,’ he whispered as he drew back from her… and, hearing the sincerity in his voice, but at that moment not caring why he had to leave just as long as he did so, Silver did not wonder, until he had actually gone, what it was that had made it so necessary for him to leave.
Whatever it was, she was thankful for it.
She had gone out tonight determined to let nothing stand in the way of her fulfilling the target she had set herself.
Tonight, if Charles had desired it, they would have made love, and in doing so she would have shown her commitment to her self-imposed goal. Tonight, no matter how much her flesh had cringed and her body had cried out against it, she and Charles would have become lovers, and once they had… once they had there would have been no going back… no change of heart… no shaming weakness.
No childish desire for another man’s hands, another man’s mouth, another man’s body.
But Charles had left her, and only she knew how grateful she was for that fact.
She was trembling as she stood under the shower, washing every last trace of him off her skin. Her bed, when she curled up in it, disconcertingly smelled of Jake, even though she knew that her housekeeper had changed the linen.
Whichever way she turned in the darkness, Jake seemed to be there, his memory tormenting her. Why had this happened to her… why was she suffering like this, when she had suffered so desperately already? It was so unfair… so unwanted, this feeling she had… so unnecessary to everything she had planned for her life. She didn’t want to feel like this, and had she been able to physically wrench her awareness of Jake out of her consciousness she would have done so.
In Rothwell Square Charles stood to one side of his desk, confronting the person waiting there for him, trying to mask his unease.
‘You’re late,’ he was told.
The contempt in the other man’s voice angered him, but he dared not show his anger. To the rest of the world he might be the heir presumptive to one of the country’s premier earldoms, but to this man he was simply someone much lower down the ladder of the organisation they both worked for. Charles hated that knowledge, but he had enough intelligence to hide his resentment.
‘You’re such a fool,’ his visitor told him. ‘Did you really think we wouldn’t know what was going on?’
‘I only borrowed the money,’ Charles blustered. ‘You’ll get it back…’
‘When?’ the other jeered. He had never liked Charles, resenting his upper-class confidence even while acknowledging that he was one of their best pushers. He could see that Charles was sweating; he was enjoying the other man’s fear, but that wasn’t why he was here.
‘We want our money back, make no mistake about that. Other men have lost their lives for taking less than you’ve taken, Charles,’ he warned. ‘You didn’t really think you’d get away with it, did you? The only reason you’re still alive is because you’re useful to us… at the moment. I’ve got a message for you,’ he added abruptly, satisfied by the fear and tension emanating from the other man. ‘We’re prepared to be lenient about the money… to wait for payment, provided you agree to certain proposals…’
Proposals… what proposals? Beneath the swelling sense of relief easing his fear, Charles was still tense.
He had already agreed to make sure that Kilrayne remained empty and in his possession, so that the organisation could make full use of the facilities it offered, and now he wondered queasily how much more was going to be asked of him.
He had told himself that once the earldom was his officially, once he had no need of the income that dealing in drugs brought him, he was going to sever his connections with the organisation, but he was wondering if he would be allowed to do so. He comforted himself with the knowledge that once the money was repaid he could end his relationship with them. They were hardly in a position to blackmail him without risking exposure themselves. There were things he knew…
Seeing the smile, the man watching him tensed, wondering what had given rise to it. He preferred dealing with people who were properly awed by the authority his position within the organisation gave him.
‘There’s something we want you to do for us,’ he said curtly.
‘What?’ Charles demanded. What he needed to do now was to concentrate on consolidating his position with Silver. A wealthy, sophisticated wife, young enough to give him sons, mature enough to realise that marriage need not necessarily involve fidelity. He sensed that, while she would be quite happy to have an affair with him, she might not necessarily want marriage. Charles had always enjoyed a challenge… His mind on Silver, he waited tensely to hear the other’s demands.
‘There’s somebody we want to get to know a little better, and in private, if you know what I mean. This castle of yours in Ireland… Kilryan…’
‘Kilrayne,’ Charles corrected automatically.
The other man shrugged. ‘Kilryan… Kilrayne… what does it matter? What does matter is that you make sure this guy goes there…’
‘What guy?’ Charles demanded.
‘His name’s Fitton… all you have to do is make sure that you get him out to your castle.’
Charles frowned. ‘And how am I supposed to do that? I don’t know him…’
‘You will,’ his companion told him quickly. ‘You’re having a dinner party this weekend.’ He laughed at Charles’s small start of surprise. ‘Oh, there isn’t much we don’t know about our friends… and our enemies. You’ll be having two extra guests. One of them you’ll already know, and she’ll be bringing with her as her partner this man Fitton. Your task will be to make sure you get him interested enough in this Irish castle to visit it…’
‘And if I can’t?’ Charles demanded.
The way the other man smiled made him shiver.
‘I’ll do what I can,’ he promised, and then couldn’t resist asking, ‘And the money…?’
‘Still has to be paid,’ he was told. ‘This is just payment of interest, and nothing so very difficult really… Just a matter of inviting someone to visit you…’
In theory he was right. Charles wondered what manner of man this Fitton was, and what the organisation wanted with him, and then he told himself that it was none of his business, and that all he had to do was make sure the man went to Kilrayne. It shouldn’t be too difficult. He hoped…
Charles waited until he was alone before giving way to his impotent frustration…
What was being asked of him wouldn’t be too difficult to accomplish, but he disliked being put in a position where he was at the beck and call of others… He discovered that he was sweating heavily, and grimaced in disgust. Charles was a fastidious man; the first thing he always did whenever he had made love was to shower; he hated the smell of sex and feminine flesh clinging to him.
He glanced at his watch, wondering if it was too late to go back to Silver. His body burned and ached for release… the kind of release that came only through the kind of sexual violence he liked best.
Regretfully he decided that as yet it was too soon to demand that particular kind of pleasure from her… Later, perhaps…
Two miles away, in the discreetly anonymous surroundings of a busy wine bar, Charles’s recent companion was talking to someone else.
‘I’ve seen Fitzcarlton,’ he announced as he sat down. ‘He knows what he has to do.’ He moved restlessly in his seat. ‘I’m not so sure he’s the right person to use.’
His companion stared coldly at him and told him, ‘I am.’
His nerves crawled a little beneath the pressure of that cold stare, but he still said truculently, ‘You were also sure that Fitton wasn’t going to cause us any more trouble…’ He shifted again in his seat. ‘The man’s blind, for God’s sake… Why go to all this trouble? It would be the easiest thin
g in the world to simply arrange for him to have an accident…’
‘Jake Fitton seems to have an irritating ability to avoid “accidents”,’ he was told. ‘And I don’t like the way he’s surfaced here in London. As far as we can discover, he no longer has any connection with his old… employers… but I think we need to find out a good deal more about what he’s doing before we arrange to dispose of him. We need to be sure that he isn’t passing information on to anyone else.’
‘We know what he’s doing here.’ For once he felt in control of the situation. His superior had been disturbed by Jake Fitton’s arrival in London, disturbed and alarmed, to judge from the personal interest being taken in Fitton’s activities. ‘He’s out to avenge his wife’s death.’
‘So we’re told, but Jake Fitton is an extremely complex man. There might be more to what he’s doing than we know.’
‘You mean he could still be a threat to the organisation?’ He was almost sneering… ‘A blind man… what the hell can he do? He’s a sitting target. One of our men could pick him off tomorrow if—–’
‘No.’
The sharp command silenced him.
‘Before we do anything… anything at all, we need to find out exactly how much he knows and if he’s passed that information to anyone, specifically his old friends in the anti-drugs squad. The reason we’ve had so much success here with our end of the business is because we’ve managed to remain anonymous…’
Because you’ve managed to remain anonymous, Charles’s ex-companion wanted to say, but he didn’t dare. He had never felt entirely at ease with his superior… had never felt that he was totally trusted.
Sometimes he thought that his superior’s determination to maintain anonymity bordered on the obsessional, but there was no doubt that it worked.
The London end of the organisation was the envy of controllers in other parts of the world. He wasn’t really sure how a man like Jake Fitton could threaten such supremacy. His own view was that his superior was over-reacting to Fitton’s sudden appearance in London.
They knew from their own agents what Fitton was after. Vengeance for his wife’s death. He moved in his seat again.
The easiest way to get rid of Fitton was surely to drop a name that he could fasten on… someone unimportant and expendable within the organisation, on whom he could wreak his vengeance… either that or dispose of Fitton himself.
He said as much, watching the anger glitter in his superior’s eyes as the latter said tersely, ‘I’ve told you already why we can’t kill Fitton. At least, not yet. And as for your other idea… whom do you suggest? Whose name do you suggest we put forward… your own?’
He paled and then suggested, ‘We could ask South America for help.’
‘No.’
He realised he had said the wrong thing.
‘London is my territory, my responsibility. I’ll deal with it…’
‘But if Fitton is such a threat to the organisation, shouldn’t they be warned…?’
‘No. The first thing we need to do is to find out exactly how much Fitton knows, and whether he’s passing on information to anyone else…’
‘All this fuss over someone who can’t even see…’
‘Don’t underestimate him,’ the other warned him grimly.
His superior was standing up now and he followed suit, unable to resist saying blandly, ‘As you did?’
The silent warning in the other’s eyes quelled him, and he asked, ‘What else do you want me to do?’
‘Nothing. Fitzcarlton’s been given his instructions…’
‘Yes, and got off lightly, if you ask me. He owes us thousands…’
‘Which will be repaid in due course. For now his co-operation is more important to us than the money. The organisation likes the idea of bringing in extra supplies via Ireland. For that we need Fitzcarlton’s co-operation and his silence. His debt alone won’t guarantee those, but if we can draw him in a little closer…
‘And besides, we need him. We suspect that Fitton knows that Fitzcarlton is one of our pushers and therefore, for the moment at least, where Fitzcarlton goes, Fitton will follow.’
They were outside in the street now, both of them preparing to go in their different directions.
‘So you don’t want me to do anything…’ he pressed.
‘No. You can leave Fitton to me. I’ll handle this in my own way.’
‘I hope you’re looking forward to this weekend as much as I am.’ Charles’s tone suggested that he already knew the answer. Silver gave him a slow smile, marvelling at the ease with which she was deceiving him.
Couldn’t he see how much his touch revolted her… how much she dreaded his touching her? As she glanced out of the window of Charles’s car she touched the small scar on her lip surreptitiously.
Over lunch he had had no opportunity to do anything other than make verbal love to her, and she had encouraged him, forcing herself to give him all the encouragement he needed.
Which wasn’t much. Charles was making no secret of the fact that he was eager to be her lover, but it was too soon yet to be sure she had any real power over him. That would come later, after she had allowed him the intimacies of her body, after she had convinced him that she desired him as much as he desired her.
She wished she hadn’t agreed to go to Rothwell with him. She was dreading the evening ahead. What if he had lied to her and it was only going to be the two of them? She shuddered inwardly. A weekend alone with Charles… Her flesh crawled at the thought.
But the presence of others at his formal dinner party wouldn’t stop him from expecting her to share his bed. He had already hinted at as much, and she had not checked him.
How Jake would mock her if he knew what she was feeling. Jake… where was he now? What was he doing? Jake. Jake… Oh, God, she must find a way of shutting herself away from him, of forgetting that he had ever existed, that she had ever known him.
She was glad that Charles had elected to drive himself to Rothwell; that way at least she was sure of avoiding any intimacy with him.
It had been a shock at first to discover he was driving her father’s Bentley. Somehow she had expected him to be driving something else, but the car had been only months old when her father had died, and besides…
It made her feel sick inside to realise how much Charles enjoyed handling his car… She wondered if he had actually physically enjoyed her father’s death. The anger and pain inside her helped to subdue her physical nausea at the thought of him as her lover. She wished desperately that she could shut herself off from her own personal feelings, but the harder she tried the more impossible it was.
The drive from London to Rothwell was so familiar to her and brought back so many memories, especially of her father. She clung hard to them, using them to suppress her own personal feelings, to remind her of why she was here with Charles.
How ironic it was that Jake should accuse her of still loving Charles. She had thought she hated Charles, but now she was discovering there was none of hatred’s warmth and fire in her feelings towards him. Loathing was a more accurate description of his physical effect on her, contempt and dislike came closer to describing her emotional resentment of him. She could only marvel that she had once actually loved him, and could only blame her illusion on her youth and her ignorance of what he really was.
Illuminatingly, she recognised how much of what she now felt for him was because of all she had learned from Jake. Unwittingly, he had revealed to her the difference between a man’s vices and his virtues.
Only one thing was keeping her with Charles now, and that was her determination to make him pay for killing her father.
She tensed as they approached Rothwell and then turned in through the lodge gates. The drive was sprinkled with weeds; there were gaps in the straight double row of limes that edged the drive where the storm of 1987 had torn up the trees by their roots and forever destroyed the symmetry of their alignment.
Beyond the limes stre
tched the park, no longer as immaculate as she remembered. In fact, everywhere she looked were signs that Charles could not afford to maintain Rothwell to the same high standards as her father had.
When Charles stopped the car, she got out shakily. The sight of the familiar figure of her father’s butler almost made her betray herself. A greeting was on her lips before she remembered that he would not recognise her and that she could hardly acknowledge him by name.
Walking into the hallway brought an odd sensation of déjà vu… It was as though the air here held echoes of too many once familiar voices: her own, her aunt’s, Charles’s, and most of all her father’s.
Nothing had changed, and yet everything had changed. Charles’s obvious pride and arrogance in claiming ownership sickened her. Recklessly she wanted to challenge him there and then, to call down the wrath of heaven on his shoulders and accuse him of her father’s death, but sanity stopped her.
‘I’ll get someone to take your stuff upstairs,’ Charles told her, and her heart missed a beat. Tonight she would be sharing Charles’s room, Charles’s bed. The thought panicked her. To distract herself she asked him about the party.
‘It’s nothing special,’ he told her carelessly. ‘Just a few close friends. A fairly intimate dinner, but not as intimate as I would have liked.’
He came across the hall towards her.
‘Why don’t I cancel the whole thing, and then you and I—–?’
‘What about your friends?’ she pouted up at him, stepping back from him. ‘I was looking forward to meeting them, and you promised me you’d show me your house,’ she reminded him. It would be hours yet before his other guests arrived. She had to keep him occupied, although what difference it could make if he made love to her before or after the party she had no real idea.
She was a coward, she derided herself as he showed her through rooms already familiar to her. A coward and a fool.
He would have taken her upstairs, but she stopped him. Already she felt dangerously vulnerable to the memories being here at Rothwell was reviving.
‘I think perhaps now I should like to see the garden,’ she told him, forcing herself not to shrink back as he came towards her and took her in his arms.