‘Well, you might start off by telling me where Will and Max are?’ he prompted cautiously.
‘Assuming their bodies aren’t hidden under the kitchen flagstones, after all?’ she came back scathingly.
‘Assuming that, yes,’ he conceded with a humourless smile.
May Calendar gave a derisive shake of her head. ‘They aren’t.’
‘Well?’ he pushed impatiently a few seconds later when she added nothing to that remark.
She gave him a considering look, green eyes narrowed, her thoughts unreadable even to his experienced eye. ‘Will is in London. Max is in the Caribbean,’ she finally told him economically.
Jude drew in an impatient breath. ‘And your two sisters are where?’
‘March is in London. January is in the Caribbean,’ she informed him with a challenging lift of her chin.
‘How coincidental,’ he drawled dryly.
In fact, he had already known exactly where Max and Will were, and who they were with; he had just wanted to see if May Calendar was willing to tell him as much. She obviously was!
‘Not really—March and January naturally wanted to be with their fiancés,’ she told him with satisfaction.
So Jude had gathered when he had received first a telephone call from Max over a week ago telling him of his engagement to January Calendar, and then a second telephone call from Will a couple of days ago telling him of his engagement to March Calendar!
To say he was surprised by the fact that his two friends were engaged to marry anyone, let alone two of the Calendar sisters, was an understatement.
The three men had been to school together, had worked together for years; despite relationships with numerous women over those years, Jude had always assumed that none of them would ever make the commitment to falling in love, let alone getting married. Obviously he had been wrong.
And that was something else he didn’t admit to too freely!
He stood up abruptly. ‘You asked me what I wanted a few minutes ago,’ he rasped. ‘I want exactly what Max was sent here to do before he fell in love with your sister, and that was to buy this farm!’
Her head tilted defensively. ‘And I’m sure he’s told you that it isn’t for sale!’
Jude’s eyes narrowed icily. ‘Yes, he’s told me.’
‘And?’
The challenge was evident in her voice, as was the underlying tone of resentment. Both of which were going to get him precisely nowhere, Jude realised.
He forced himself to relax slightly, his smile lightly cajoling. ‘May, surely you’ve realised, after the last few days of managing on your own here, that you just can’t do it?’
She stiffened angrily, green eyes flashing with the emotion. ‘What I can or cannot do is none of your business, Mr Marshall. And I don’t remember giving you permission to call me by my first name, either,’ she added churlishly.
He bit back the angry retort that sprang so readily to his lips, at the same time marvelling at the fact that this woman had managed to incite him to such an emotion. Usually he kept his emotions tightly under control, having found that this gave him an advantage over— Over what? His opponent, he had been going to say…
Was May Calendar really that?
Looking at her, tired from hard work and a sleepless night, her face ethereally lovely, much too slender than was healthy for her, it was difficult to think of her in that light. In fact, he was starting to feel guilty for having added to her obvious problems of the day.
Which was a highly dangerous direction for him to have taken!
‘Look, maybe this isn’t the best time for the two of us to talk,’ he dismissed lightly. ‘You’re obviously busy, and tired, and—’
‘And coming back tomorrow, when I might be neither of those things, isn’t going to change my answer one little bit,’ she assured him scathingly. ‘I’ll tell you what I first told Max, your lawyer, and then Will, your architect—this farm is not for sale!’
Jude frowned at her frustratedly. She really was the most stubborn, intransigent—
‘Certainly not to someone like you,’ she continued insultingly. ‘We don’t need a health and country club where the Hanworth Estate used to be, Mr Marshall,’ she scorned. ‘Or the eighteen-hole golf course you intend to make of this farmland!’
She had done her homework, at least, Jude acknowledged admiringly—because that was exactly what he intended doing with this land once it was his. Unless, of course, Max or Will—
No! He didn’t believe either man, no matter what his romantic connection with this family, would have betrayed the confidence he had in them. In fact, he knew that they hadn’t, had already turned down Max’s offer of resignation because of a ‘conflict of interest’, and viewed the two sets of plans Will had drawn up for this latest business venture, one including the Calendar farm, the other one not doing so.
He shrugged. ‘That’s only your personal opinion—Miss Calendar,’ he added pointedly.
She shook her head. ‘I believe, if you cared to ask around in the area, that you would find it’s the general consensus of opinion, and not just mine.’
He didn’t have time for this, Jude decided as he zipped up his jacket impatiently, better able to appreciate exactly what sort of brick wall Max and Will had come up against in their efforts to secure this farm for development. But May Calendar was going to find that he was made of much sterner stuff than either of his two friends and work colleagues, that he wasn’t so easily distracted by a helpless female—or, indeed, three of them!
‘We’ll talk about this some other time, Miss Calendar,’ he dismissed uninterestedly, pausing at the door to add, ‘It’s enough for now that we have introduced ourselves to each other.’ And that she now knew what sort of opposition she was up against.
Because Jude had no intention of giving up on his plans for the property he had already bought in this area, plans that included the Calendar sisters’ farm.
No intention whatsoever!
CHAPTER TWO
WELL, that was certainly a turn-up for the book, May acknowledged as she dropped down weakly onto one of the kitchen chairs after Jude Marshall’s abrupt departure.
He was the very last person she had expected to see today—or, indeed, at any other time.
Jude Marshall, and the corporation that he headed, had become something of an elusive spectre in the background of the sisters’ lives the last couple of months, ever since they had received a letter from that corporation with an offer to buy their farm. A farm that, as far as any of the Calendar sisters was concerned, had never been for sale.
That initial letter had come from America, which was why they had all assumed that Jude Marshall was American, too—and why, when he’d spoken in that precise English accent on his arrival a short time ago, May had made absolutely no connection between her unexpected visitor and the man whose very name the three sisters had all come to loathe the last two months.
Jude Marshall was a surprise in more ways than one, May acknowledged frowningly. She hadn’t expected him to be so arrogantly good-looking, for one thing, or have him moving capably about her kitchen making her a much-needed mug of coffee, for that matter!
He was also, she acknowledged less readily, completely right about the strain of running the farm on her own the last few days since her sister March had gone off to London to meet Will’s parents, and her younger sister January had telephoned from the Caribbean to say that she and Max had decided to stay on for an extra week. January had sounded so happy and carefree that May hadn’t liked to tell her youngest sister that, with March away, too, she was managing here on her own, brightly assuring January that everything was just fine here, and wishing her and Max a wonderful time.
Something she certainly wasn’t having herself!
This last few days on her own had been a learning experience, was indicative of how it would be once March and January were married and living away from the farm. Not good, May knew.
But that was stil
l no reason to give in to Jude Marshall’s pressure to sell the farm to him, she decided with a determined straightening of her spine. Having now met the man, and seeing firsthand just how arrogantly assured he was, May was even more determined not to do that!
Although she didn’t feel quite so confident later that evening when she staggered back into the farmhouse, too tired to even bother to cook herself an evening meal.
The coffee remaining in the pot from this morning was stewed and only lukewarm, but it was better than nothing.
No, it wasn’t, she decided after the first mouthful, putting the mug back down on the table with a disgusted grimace.
She was so tired, so utterly exhausted, resting her head down on her folded arms as she sagged tiredly onto the kitchen table. Just a few minutes’ rest and she would be all right again, she told herself. Just a few minutes…
‘Come on, May, it’s time to wake up,’ a gently intruding voice cajoled. ‘May?’ A gentle shaking of her arm accompanied this second intrusion.
She had been having such a nice dream, she frowned resentfully, had been lying on a golden beach, the sun warm and soothing, with a tropical blue sea lapping lightly against the sand at her feet. But the stiffness in her folded arms as she slowly woke to consciousness, aided by the ache in her back, told her only too clearly that it had unfortunately been just a dream!
‘May, if you don’t wake up in a minute, I’m going to assume that this time you really have had a heart attack—and commence emergency mouth-to-mouth resuscitation!’ that intruding voice drawled mockingly.
Jude Marshall’s voice!
She recognised those clipped English tones only too easily this time, raising her head to glare at him resentfully, very aware that she probably looked worse now than she had this morning, still in the same clothes, still as dirty—and, to add to her disarray, she probably had crease marks on her face now from having fallen asleep in such an uncomfortable position!
He grinned down at her unconcernedly. ‘I thought the mere suggestion of my having to carry out mouth-to-mouth resuscitation might revive you!’
She gave an irritated sigh. ‘What do you want, Mr Marshall?’
‘You seem very fond of asking me that.’ He raised mocking brows. ‘A fine way to talk to someone who has brought you dinner,’ he admonished derisively, holding up a plastic carrier bag. ‘Chinese take-away,’ he explained economically. ‘Having seen how tired you were this morning, I didn’t think you were going to be in any fit state to cook yourself a hot meal this evening.’
May frowned up at him, still not quite awake, but aware enough to view his kindness—and the man himself!—with suspicion. The fact that his surmise had obviously been a correct one wasn’t in question—but his response to it certainly was.
‘And why should that bother you, Mr Marshall?’ she prompted warily, her sleepy state fast disappearing now as she frowned up at him suspiciously.
‘Stop dithering, woman, and tell me where the plates are so that I can serve this stuff before it goes cold!’ He put the bag down on the table in front of her.
‘Second cupboard on the right,’ she supplied somewhat dazedly. Plates, he had said. In the plural. Surely this man didn’t intend sitting down to dinner with her?
But as he set out two places on the table along with the two big plates, and then commenced to put out the cartons of Chinese food, it appeared that was exactly what he intended doing!
‘Er—Mr Marshall—’
‘Could we get something clear right now, May?’ He straightened, looking down at her with narrowed eyes.
She stiffened warily, wondering exactly what he was going to say. ‘Yes?’
He nodded abruptly. ‘I’m sure you have your reasons for being deliberately rude to me—I’m sure you think you have,’ he stressed firmly as she would have protested. ‘But I have no intention of sitting down to dinner—a dinner that I actually brought here, remember?—with someone who insists on calling me “Mr Marshall” in that unfriendly tone.’ He raised dark brows pointedly.
May’s cheeks warmed at the accusation. She was being deliberately rude, there was no denying that. But he was being deliberately friendly, which was just as unacceptable!
‘Okay?’ he prompted determinedly.
May looked up at him unblinkingly, wanting to tell him to go away, and to take his dinner with him. But the smell of the food was so tempting, her mouth watering at the mixture of aromas that was wafting up from the array of cartons he had put out in the middle of the table. If she told him to go away, he would probably take all this wonderful food with him!
‘Okay,’ she accepted abruptly. ‘Although—’
‘Okay will do for just now,’ Jude cut in derisively. ‘Eat,’ he added curtly, sitting down at the place opposite her.
She couldn’t remember the last time someone had ordered her about in this way. Probably not since her father had died a year ago, she recognised frowningly. But anyone less like her father—or, indeed, a father-figure—than Jude Marshall, she was less likely to meet!
For one thing she was completely aware of him as the two of them helped themselves to the food, of the slender strength of his ringless hands, the dark hairs that began at his wrist and probably covered his arms and chest, of the way his dark hair fell endearingly across his forehead unless pushed back by an impatient hand, of the piercing intelligence of those silver-grey eyes, of the dark shadow at his jaw that implied he probably had to shave twice a day, but had omitted to spend time on that second shave today.
Because he had chosen to drive out here and bring her dinner instead? Probably, she acknowledged slightly dazedly. In fact, she found it difficult to believe at all that she was sitting here eating a Chinese take-away with Jude Marshall, of all people!
‘This is very good, thank you,’ she told him huskily, the hot, tasty food more welcome than she had even imagined. And it had been supplied by Jude Marshall, a man she considered to be her enemy…
He looked across at her, eyes gleaming silver with amusement. ‘How hard was that to say?’ he mused dryly.
‘Very,’ she confirmed with a rueful grimace. ‘I hope I’m not keeping you from something? Or someone?’ she added frowningly.
‘Nothing that can’t wait.’ He shrugged dismissively.
May gave him a quizzical look. Did that mean there wasn’t someone waiting for him back at his hotel? Or that the person that was waiting for him wasn’t important enough for him to bother rushing back to?
Jude frowned as he saw her looking at him. ‘What did I say now?’ he prompted impatiently.
‘Nothing,’ she dismissed abruptly, deliberately turning her attention back to her food.
Although she was completely aware of the fact that he was still looking at her. If she was honest—and she usually was—she had to admit she had never been so aware of another person in her life before.
Just as she felt sorry for whoever—possibly?—might be waiting for him back at his hotel; it would be awful to be so unimportant to this man that his having dinner with a scruffy female farmer took priority. Even with the buying of this farm as the incentive.
‘I spoke to Max earlier this evening.’
May looked up at him sharply, but his bland expression was completely unenlightening. She moistened her lips before speaking, choosing her words carefully, deliberately infusing a lightness into her tone. ‘Did you tell him the two of us have met—finally?’ she couldn’t resist adding dryly.
Jude sat back, regarding her derisively. ‘Should I have done?’ he drawled.
He was doing it again—answering a question with a question.
Because he knew damn well that she would much rather Max, and consequently January, didn’t know of his presence in the area, or that he had already introduced himself to her—but especially that she was managing alone here on the farm.
January had had a pretty awful time of things at the beginning of the year, had been caught up in the sick workings of a stalker’s m
ind, May much relieved when her sister had become engaged to Max, even more pleased when he’d suggested taking her away for a few weeks’ holiday to get over the experience.
But she had no doubts that, were January to learn of Jude Marshall’s presence here, of the fact that May was alone on the farm, her sister would insist on coming back on the next available flight!
‘Well?’ she prompted impatiently.
Jude gave a rueful shake of his head as she neatly turned the tables back on him. ‘You’re right—we could go on like this all night, returning a question with a question!’
‘Not all night, no,’ May assured him scathingly. ‘Tonight I intend going to bed early, very early—and alone,’ she added so that there should be no more mistakes concerning that particular subject! ‘In fact—’ She broke off frowningly as a knock sounded on the door, shooting Jude Marshall an accusing look.
‘January would hardly knock to come into her own home,’ he easily read the accusation in that look—and the reason for it.
Which still didn’t tell her whether or not he had mentioned to Max that he had decided to come here himself as he and Will had failed to acquire the Calendar farm for him. But, then, even on this short an acquaintance, May already knew that Jude Marshall was decidedly economical in providing any sort of information about anything.
May stood up as a second knock sounded on the door. ‘We’ll talk on this subject more once I’ve dealt with my visitor,’ she warned before moving hurriedly to the door, intending to make it very clear to this man before he left this evening that January was not to be worried by the situation here.
And ‘situation’ it certainly was rapidly becoming, she decided dazedly as she opened the door to find David Melton standing on her doorstep.
Keen on amateur dramatics, May had joined the local society a couple of years ago, only to be spotted by David Melton, a renowned film director, when he’d come to visit his sister’s family for Christmas and spotted May as she’d performed in the local pantomime.
To her surprise he had offered her a part in the film he was to shoot in the summer, if the screen test he offered proved to be successful. It had. But, for very personal reasons of her own, May had decided to turn down his offer…
The Deserving Mistress Page 2