by Liz Fielding
He couldn’t believe he had been so careless. No, he corrected himself, not careless. Far worse than careless. Just plain stupid. He’d already seen Emerald shinning down a fifty foot drainpipe without turning so much as a hair, irrefutable evidence of her determination not to be stopped. A small ground floor window wasn’t going to cause her any problem.
He wanted to swear, loudly and at length, but he didn’t. He’d already over-indulged on idiotic for one day. Emerald Carlisle had batted her long silky eyelashes at him from that drainpipe and he had been putty in her hands ever since.
Nor was there time to waste berating himself for getting himself into such a jam, for telling himself that he should have ignored those pleading eyes and ratted on her the moment he spotted her behind Gerald Carlisle’s back. What he had to do, without delay, was to get the genie back in the bottle. But first he had to catch the genie.
‘Betty,’ he said, turning to the waitress. ‘I need a car. Right now. So tell me, is that badge you’re wearing just so much window dressing? Or are you about to make my day a happy one?’
CHAPTER THREE
EMERALD could not believe her luck. Talk about out of the frying pan and into the fire.
She’d noticed a telephone in the entrance lobby when they arrived and had decided to put out a reverse charge call for help the moment the opportunity presented itself. Just in case Brodie decided that it was in his best interests to return her to her father.
She’d waited until he went to the washroom and the minute he was out of sight she made for the phone. Except he hadn’t gone to the washroom. He was standing in the lobby talking into his mobile phone; fortunately he had his back to her and didn’t notice her swift retreat.
She had to admit that she was disappointed in him. For a moment there she had believed he was something really special. A Galahad with just enough of Lancelot to add a little excitement.
He had come so close to kissing her.
There was a tiny clench of disappointment in her midriff as she wondered what had stopped him. The thought of her father at their heels? No, she decided, with a certain satisfaction. At that moment the very last thing on his mind had been her father. She should have made it impossible for him to resist…
She swallowed the thought down, hard. That wouldn’t help right now; this wasn’t the moment for self-indulgence.
She had escaped once, she could do it again. Her gaze alighted on the jacket slung across the back of Brodie’s recently vacated seat and she wondered — but not for long. She didn’t have time to waste wondering. It was time for action and she acted, dipping her hand into the pocket. Her fingers tightened around the keys to the BMW. Yes! She glanced towards the lobby. Did she dare take it? Brodie would be livid. Off the scale angry.
The thought sent a little frisson of alarm tingling up her backbone. If he caught up with her… When he caught up with her… She quelled it. This was not the moment for faint heart. Or an attack of conscience.
Right now he was telephoning her father, she reminded herself severely. Telling him where she was.
Yet even as she eased herself through the tiny washroom window, she was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt; she was sure that he didn’t mean to rat on her, he just wanted to reassure her father that she was safe. It was what any knight errant would do after all. But she knew her father a whole lot better than Brodie did. And she wasn’t sure that a father who treated his grown up daughter like a five-year-old deserved to have peace of mind. At least, not one who had locked her in that rotten old nursery.
The real problem was that Brodie was working for her father. He might sympathise, but he’d done just about as much as she could expect. More. She giggled. He hadn’t invited her along for the ride after all, although she had to admit she had enjoyed it while it had lasted.
And she hadn’t finished with Brodie. Not by a long chalk. When this was over…
Emmy reached the motorway and regretfully put all thoughts of Brodie on hold as she moved out into the fast lane to overtake a truck. She’d gained herself a little time, but it wouldn’t take him long to smell the proverbial rodent.
She very much doubted that he was still sitting patiently in the café waiting for her to emerge from the ladies loo. It might take him some time to organise alternative transport. But not that much time. He wasn’t the kind of man to sit on his backside and wait for fate to lend a helping hand; he was a man of action. And with that thought to lend urgency to her mission, she put her foot down and concentrated on getting to London as quickly as she could.
Betty’s badge had not been an idle boast.
‘Is it,’ she had asked, putting a sympathetic hand on his arm, ‘an affair of the heart?’
‘Yes, it is, ‘ Brodie assured her with complete honesty.
‘You’re in love with her?’
That was trickier and he couldn’t bring himself to actually lie to the woman. ‘She’s going to marry someone else, unless I can stop her,’ he said, obliquely.
‘Oh, no. That will never do. Your auras were quite definitely linked.’
Brodie wasn’t sure that was something to be entirely happy about, but Betty clearly expected some response. ‘Linked?’ he repeated, trying to sound happy.
‘There was no mistaking it. You were made for each other.’ He stifled his impatience. He needed transport; what he’d got was a mystic with a romantic streak a mile wide. ‘Now you just wait here, dear.’ She patted his arm absently. ‘I’ll be right back.’ For one awful moment he had thought she was going to fetch a pack of tarot cards, but Betty had something far more practical in mind and when she returned it was to press her car keys into his hand. ‘Go after her. You can let me have the car back when she’s safe. ‘
Brodie had given her the money for a taxi home at the end of her shift, but he still felt guilty about taking advantage of her good nature. The poor woman was probably chewing her fingernails down to the quick right now as their auras evaporated and cold reality asserted itself. She was no doubt wondering if she’d ever see her precious little car again. Wondering what her insurance company’s reaction would be when she tried to explain what she’d done in the event that it disappeared for good. Worst of all, she would have to face her husband’s ridicule for allowing herself to be taken in by a perfect stranger.
He’d just have to make sure he made her day a really happy one when the car was returned. He’d leave instructions for his secretary to have it valeted, the tank filled with petrol and a cheque in the glove compartment to cover the inconvenience. A suitably extravagant bouquet of flowers delivered to the café along with a bottle of something warming for her husband would, hopefully, help sooth her frayed nerves.
Sorting out Betty was a piece of cake compared to Emerald Carlisle. The smile abruptly left his face. That young woman was another matter entirely.
He was making good time, but he didn’t have a hope of catching her. He had called Mark Reed again before he left the café to ensure that there would be someone to keep an eye on her when she arrived home. And, more embarrassingly, to get her address. The file her father had given him was still in the car. He’d thrown it on the back seat when she had come up to sit beside him and he hoped she didn’t notice it, or if she did, would have the good manners not to look at it. And he was praying that she didn’t drive straight down to Dover and onto the first ferry that happened to be sailing.
It seemed unlikely. He could easily have reported the car stolen. She must know that he would be angry enough, but she was also bright enough to know that was the last thing he would want to do. Would she risk it?
No. All she had with her were the clothes on her back and there wasn’t a woman in the world, not even Emerald Carlisle, who would run away to get married without so much as a lipstick to her name.
And then certainty brought a grim little smile to the hard line of his mouth. Just the clothes on her back. A dress to be more precise. An elegant sleeveless creation in French blue linen that
skimmed her figure and flared gently over her hips, a dress for a lady, with nothing as practical as pockets to spoil the line. She had no money, no passport, no driving licence. She had to go home. She had no choice. And he’d be right behind her.
She had, he judged, about twenty minutes start on him, but while she had a much faster car it wouldn’t give her that much of an edge since, under the circumstances, she wouldn’t risk getting stopped by the police for speeding. Maybe. He hoped she was seriously worried by the prospect, but somehow he doubted it. He didn’t think that worrying was something Emerald Carlisle had had a lot of practise in.
Still twenty minutes was a lot of time to make up and she wouldn’t waste too much time packing because she had to assume her father had missed her by now and was moving heaven and earth to find her. He just hoped the man hadn’t worked out how his daughter had managed to disappear so completely.
Emerald pulled into the parking space outside her apartment block. ‘New car, Miss Carlisle?’ the porter asked as he opened the door for her.
She pulled a face. Nothing would induce her to change her bright red MG, not even Brodie’s whisper-smooth monster. ‘It’s not quite my style, Gary,’ she said, handing him the keys. ‘It belongs to a friend. Keep an eye on it will you? His name’s Brodie and he’ll be along to collect it later.’ And he wouldn’t be in a good mood. ‘Will you give him the keys and tell him thank you for me?’
‘Of course, Miss Carlisle.’
‘And I’ll need a taxi in about fifteen minutes.’ Everything was packed, ready. Passport, euros. She just needed time to shower and change. ‘I’ll be away for a week or so. Will you cancel the papers and milk for me?’
‘I’ll see to it, Miss Carlisle. Are you going somewhere nice?’
‘France,’ she said, then, because she only wanted to delay Brodie long enough to allow her to get to Kit first, she added, ‘The South of France. I’ll bring you back a bottle of whatever they produce in the region.’ And she’d send him a postcard, too. Something with a view. Not that she thought Brodie would hang around waiting for a clue.
‘I’ll look forward to it. Give me a buzz when you want me to collect your bag.’
She did. But when she opened the door it wasn’t the porter standing in the hall, it was Brodie.
‘Carry your bag, lady?’ he asked.
She opened her mouth to ask how on earth he’d caught up with her so quickly. Then, realising that it didn’t matter, she closed it again, backing into her apartment as Brodie picked up her bag and advanced on her, shutting the door behind him with a finality that made the tiny hairs on the back on her neck stand on end.
‘I didn’t expect to see you again quite so soon,’ she said.
‘No,’ he said, dryly. ‘But you must have expected I’d turn up eventually. Or did you hope I wouldn’t make it until the wedding?’
‘How on earth did you do it? Did you steal a car?’
‘Like you, Emmy? No. A kind lady lent me hers because she could see that our auras were linked. She didn’t want to see you make a mistake.’
‘Our auras?’ Then, not wanting to go there, she said, ‘I didn’t steal your car, Brodie. I had no intention of depriving you of it permanently.’
‘Is that right? Maybe I should call the police now and leave you to argue the point of law with a magistrate.’
‘You wouldn’t.’ Her challenge had the confidence of experience. ‘My father would… He would…’
‘Would what? Get Hollingworth to fire me? I’m a partner, Emmy and he couldn’t afford to buy me out. Or lose my clients.’ He shrugged. ‘Of course you know your father better than I do. Maybe he’d put up the money. Either way I win.’
‘Oh, well…’ Emerald hated to be bested by anyone but it occurred to her that a display of temper would not be in her best interests right now. So she smiled. ‘I tried, but you were too smart for me.’ He didn’t look convinced. ‘Come on, Brodie. Don’t be sore. It’s over. Let’s have a drink. You could probably do with one.’
‘I probably could,’ he agreed. ‘But not right now.’
‘Coffee, then?’ She headed towards the kitchen.
She wanted him to relax, Brodie thought. No way had she given up. Everything she really needed was in the bag slung over her shoulder. Clothes could be bought anywhere.
The minute he sat down in one of her comfortable armchairs, she’d abandon her luggage and tiptoe out of the front door. While he found himself in sympathy with her determination, he really couldn’t allow her to get away again. ‘Kit Fairfax’s address will do just fine to be going on with,’ Brodie replied.
She stopped, turned in the doorway, that pleading look back in her eyes. It touched something in him, tugging at an almost forgotten sweetness from the time before he had become utterly single-minded, focussed on success to the exclusion of everything else and for a moment he wavered. But only for a moment. It was that look which had got him into this situation in the first place, while he’d still been smarting from Gerald Carlisle’s “other ranks” attitude towards him.
It was the look that had nearly made him lose his head and kiss her.
He told himself that she practised it in front of the mirror and hardened his heart. ‘I’m sorry to spoil your plans, but I have to talk to Fairfax now, Emmy.’
‘Talk him out of marrying me? It won’t work.’
‘Won’t it?’ For a moment, for her sake, he wanted to believe her. Then common sense kicked in. ‘If you believed that, Emmy, you wouldn’t care whether I talk to him or not. If he loves you nothing I can offer him will change his mind.’
‘My father believes that everyone has a price.’
‘And you agree with him? Well, maybe Fairfax will prove him wrong.’ There was a part of him that would like Fairfax to prove Gerald Carlisle wrong. But there was another, more insistent part of him that was determined she wouldn’t marry the man. But as he glanced around at the exquisitely furnished sitting room, the delicate water colours on the wall, the tiny antique treasures in a glass topped display cabinet he thought that Fairfax would be mad to settle for as little as a hundred thousand pounds. He turned back to face her. ‘You know, Emmy, if you’d wanted a speedy wedding you’d have done a whole lot better to fly to Las Vegas. You could have been married before anyone knew a thing about it.’
‘I want a proper wedding,’ she said, defiantly. ‘In the village church with everyone there.’
‘Really?’ Why didn’t he believe that? Because Emerald Carlisle hadn’t done anything to date to suggest she was that conventional?
Even unconventional girls wanted a white wedding.
‘Why didn’t you take Kit with you to meet your father?’ he asked.
She shifted her shoulders awkwardly. ‘I thought it would be better if I paved the way first. And Kit wanted to paint,’ she said. He noted the slightly defensive tone in her voice, stored it away for consideration at leisure.
‘And that was more important than making a good impression on his future father-in-law?’
‘No one without a title would do that.’ She shrugged. ‘Never mind. We’ll make do with a civil ceremony in France.’
‘You’ll have to live there for a month before you can marry.’
She shrugged. ‘That’s not a problem. ‘
‘And provide a stack of documents, all translated into French.’
‘Don’t go all lawyerish on me, Brodie. We’ll sort it out.’
‘Eventually. I’ll find him before then, so you might as well tell me where he is.’
‘And if I don’t?’ she demanded.
‘If you don’t I’ll have no choice but to take you back to Honeybourne Park, where I’m confident your father will keep a very close eye on you until I’ve run him to earth. That’s if he doesn’t turn up here any minute now and save me the bother.’
‘I’ll tell him you helped me escape.’
‘I’ll tell him you stowed away in my car and stole it when I stopped for petrol.’
> ‘You wouldn’t! That’s a downright lie.’
‘I know, but who do you think he’d believe? He’s already had a demonstration of how careless I am with keys. ‘She glared at him. ‘You must see that I couldn’t possibly take the responsibility of leaving you to run loose…’ He waited a moment then, when she didn’t volunteer her lover’s whereabouts, raised his hand in a gesture of resignation. ‘No? Well, as you said, France is a very big place. It might take some time, but I’m sure you’ll be comfortable at home. Locked in the nursery.’
Emmy made a very rude noise. His arrival had thrown her momentarily but it needn’t, after all, be that much of a problem. She wanted him to find Kit, but not until after she had talked to him first.
‘I’ve had an idea,’ she said. ‘I won’t tell you where Kit is. But I’ll take you to him.’ Brodie’s laugh had a hollow ring to it. ‘No, honestly—’ she began.
‘Honestly? As in — “I won’t cause you any bother. Honest.” — honestly?’
She blushed. That was twice in one day; Brodie was becoming a serious problem. ‘I’m sorry about taking your car, truly, but you can’t blame me. When I saw you using your mobile to call Pa—’
‘It’s just as well I wasn’t, or we’d both be in trouble.’
‘You weren’t calling him?’
‘It didn’t seem such a good idea at the time. I can assure you I won’t be so soft again.’
‘Who were you ringing then?’ She was curious.
‘Someone I hoped might have a line on where Fairfax has gone to earth.’
‘That odious little man that my father employs to investigate any man who looks at me twice?’ He didn’t confirm or deny it. But she thought she saw a touch of compassion in those dark eyes. And he hadn’t told. The man might have a disconcerting ability to make her blush but he was still a treasure, Emmy decided. One well worth collecting. ‘And did he?’ she asked. ‘Have a line on Kit?’
‘No, but fortunately your hall porter was not aware that your destination was a secret. The south of France narrows it down, just a little.’