by Penny Jordan
He had been curt and derisive with her, sparing her nothing, making her see herself as a spoiled, petulant child, determined to make everyone dance to her bidding. She had hated him even more for that, because she had seen in his coolly deliberate criticism the seeds of the truth, and that had hurt.
She had reacted wildly, close to the point of tears at what she considered her parents’ betrayal of her in choosing to let him come up and torment her, when they should have sent him packing and spent the evening coaxing her out of her black mood.
‘If you have the slightest bit of feeling for your parents, you’ll get dressed and come downstairs right now,’ Kyle had told her, getting off her bed. ‘It’s time you grew up, Heather, and stopped trying to use emotional blackmail to get what you want. OK, so you and I are always going to be poles apart, but for your parents’ sake we should at least try to appear to get on.’
She had hated him for his calm, reasoned argument, for the realisation that he was showing more concern for her parents than she was herself; and all the nebulous and real fears she had experienced in the years since he had become an adopted member of her family had exploded inside her.
She’d refused to get dressed, and in the end her parents and Kyle had gone out without her.
Nearly demented with rage and jealousy that this should happen on her birthday, she had flown to the medicine cabinet and extracted a full bottle of aspirin.
She hadn’t really wanted to die, just to punish those who should have loved her more than they did Kyle…much more.
If it hadn’t been for the fact that Kyle had persuaded her parents to return home half-way through the meal, she would not be here today.
She’d been unconscious when they’d found her hysterical note. She had been rushed to hospital, and brought round by the unsympathetic and very angry hospital staff, who quite rightly felt that their time was far too valuable to be spent on one silly, jealous teenager, when there were so many other people in greater need of it.
She had said many bitter and angry things in her letter: accusing her parents of wishing she had been a boy, accusing Kyle of trying to steal their love away from her, and finally saying that, since she wasn’t wanted or loved, she might as well end her life.
During the counselling she had received after her release from hospital, she had come to understand that it had not been Kyle she had hated so much as the threat she’d thought he represented; and that it was her own nature that was responsible for her feelings, rather than anything he had done.
She had been angry and resentful at these assertions, and then later, when she had come to understand the reality of them, very penitent. But by then it was too late. Kyle had disappeared, leaving only a note saying that in the circumstances, although he would always love and be grateful to them, he felt it would be as well if he didn’t see her parents again.
His absence was never mentioned, but Heather knew how much her parents missed him. Her mother could have leaned on Kyle’s strength, while her father could have turned to him for financial advice. If only…
But life wasn’t a fairy story. It wasn’t possible to simply close one’s eyes and wish.
There was another way, though. Her mouth went dry at the very thought of it. It had been in her mind since her father had first been taken ill. She kept trying to dismiss it, to find another way out of her dilemma, but deep down inside she knew there was no other way.
Call it reparation for an old wrong, call it a test she had to face before being able to call herself fully adult, call it what you liked, it all boiled down to the same thing.
She had to go and see Kyle; she had to ask for his help on her parents’ behalf. She had to humble and abase herself before him; she had to have his help.
She was out for longer than she had intended, and when she got back the phone was ringing again. She raced to answer it, tensing as she heard her mother’s familiar but anxious voice.
‘It’s all right, darling. There’s not been any change. Your father is still holding his own, but Mr Frazer has confirmed that he will have to have an operation. There’s one surgeon in particular who’s highly skilled in this particular surgery, but he’s very much in demand. He’s in New York at the moment, apparently, but he’s due back at the end of the week. I’ve told Mr Frazer that we can’t possibly afford a private operation, but he’s asked me to talk to Mr Edmondson anyway. If only your father hadn’t had to let his medical insurance lapse.’
Heather clutched the receiver, echoing her mother’s thoughts, but money had been so tight this last year. She wondered if her mother knew about the bank mortgage her father had taken out on the house so that he would have some capital to inject into the business. The bank was already pressing for its payment, and once they knew her father was ill…
She shivered inwardly. Added stress at this particular moment in time was the very last thing her parents needed. She couldn’t forget that, when she’d found her father, he had been slumped across his desk where he had been studying a depressingly long list of outstanding debts.
‘I’m going to stay here tonight. The hospital has found me a room for as long as I need one. How are you…are you coping?’
How like her mother to be concerned for her, Heather reflected. How on earth had she ever managed to convince herself that her parents didn’t care? All right, so maybe they would both have loved another child, especially a boy. They had loved Kyle, she acknowledged that, but their love for him had never diminished their love for her, although she herself had been too jealous and angry to see that.
‘I’m fine. I’m working on the decorations for the church hall. I’ll have to go to our suppliers tomorrow, I’ve run out of some stuff I need,’ she added on sudden impulse. ‘I’ll be out for most of the day, so don’t worry if you can’t reach me.’
‘Well, just be careful if you’re driving,’ her mother warned her, accepting her lie at face value. ‘They’re forecasting heavy frost for tonight, with snowfalls in the morning.’
Heather felt guilty as she hung up. She hated lying, but she needed time for what she had in mind, and not just time to accomplish her self-imposed task, but time to psyche herself up into carrying it out.
CHAPTER TWO
HEATHER slept badly, waking well before dawn and then lying in bed watching the darkness give way to light. An ominous faint pink flush tinged the sky, a threat of snow to come. Her sleep had been tormented by dreams that were made up of old memories and fears: Kyle’s arrival, and the shock of his reality. He had been so much bigger than she had expected, and so very aggressive towards her. That aggression had been his only means of defence in an alien situation, she knew this now from her counselling. He had grown up in one of the toughest areas of London, deserted by his father and then left to the care of elderly grandparents when his mother had died at twenty-five from the results of an illegal abortion that went wrong. He had probably never known real kindness in his life before her parents came into it, she realised with hindsight. He was only one of several grandchildren cared for by his grandparents for one reason or another, and whereas the others had living parents he had not, and after his mother’s death his grandparents had been more than happy to hand him over into state care.
He had been in and out of several children’s homes since he was five, and had earned himself the reputation of being hard to control, and below normal intelligence.
What on earth had made her parents pick him out as a potential foster child, Heather still didn’t know. To talk about him now was to enter forbidden and mined territory. Her parents missed him still; she only had to remember how her father had asked for him in those first minutes after he had recovered consciousness to know that, but out of love and fear for her they pretended he did not exist. It was a constant ache within her that she had allowed her own insecurity and jealousy to be the cause of so much hurt to them, but it was too late to go back now, too late to re-write the past.
But not too late to alter the fut
ure, she reminded herself, shivering a little as thoughts she didn’t want to contemplate filled her mind.
Just as he had known she hated and resented him, so Kyle seemed to know that her parents genuinely loved him. It had soon been discovered that, far from being backward, he was actually of above average intelligence. Her father, delighted with the quickness of his brain, had organised special coaching for him; and when he won a scholarship to a local public school, they had been intensely proud of him.
Her last memory of him had been the fateful night of her seventeenth birthday. He had filled out during his time at university, his shoulders broad enough now to match his six-foot-odd physique. His skin had still been tanned from his working vacation abroad, and his black hair had curled strongly into his collar. He had brought into the femininity of her room a male essence that she had instinctively disliked. She could vividly remember how her whole body had almost quivered in response to it, as hatred for him filled her.
It was no good re-running the past, she couldn’t alter what lay there, and there was no escape to be found down those avenues. There was something she had to do, a debt she owed her parents that must be repaid. A debt of love and sacrifice which she was surely now mature enough to give back.
She looked down at the piece of paper beside her bed. Yesterday she had looked up the head office address of Bennett Enterprises. To her surprise, it was in Bath. Less far away than she had thought. She had written it down, but there had been no need, it was practically burned into her brain.
She had it all planned. Her stomach muscles tightened tensely. What if he refused to even speak to her? What if he wasn’t there?
Already she was looking for ways out, but for her parents’ sake she had to go on.
She showered and dressed, agonising over what to wear to create the best impression, to show him how much she had grown and matured.
In the end she plumped for an elegant black jersey wool dress. It had been expensive and looked it, she admitted ruefully, as she zipped it up. It had been a ‘thank you’ present from someone for whom she had done some interior decoration schemes some months ago. She had enjoyed the challenge of the unexpected task and had flatly refused to take any money. The dress had been a surprise present, and one she had not had the heart to give back. It suited her, showing off her lean, narrow, feminine waist and the soft curves of her body.
Over it she wore a loose silk-effect coat with huge silver buttons and odd lace appliqués. It was the handiwork of a fellow art college friend, and against the rich darkness of her red hair she knew the black looked good.
For once her curls had obeyed the dictates of her brush, and lay smooth and controlled. Too nervous to eat, she made herself a cup of coffee, estimating how long it would take her to get to Bath.
The van they used for company business was her only means of transport, as her mother had their one and only car. The van was old but reliable, and she was used to driving it.
The threatened snow started to fall just before she reached the outskirts of Bath, reminding her that the brakes on the van needed checking. Grimacing faintly at the thought of the additional expense, she found somewhere to park.
There was just time for a calming cup of tea before she bearded the lion in his den. She headed for a favourite tea shop with a Dickensian ambience that surrounded its customers like a comforting favourite blanket.
The waitress recognised her, and gave her a beaming smile. Most of the customers seemed to be tourists, mainly Americans, Heather judged from their accents.
She poured her tea and drank it piping hot, trying to suppress the ever-increasing weight of memories.
When Kyle had been accepted at Oxford she had taunted him with the fact that his London accent would make him a laughing stock. It made her shudder to realise what a bitch she had been, but she had still been a child, and children did not fight by the rules. In point of fact, by that time he had had little trace of the very shrill Cockney accent he had had on first coming to them. Kyle, giving as good as he got, had said nothing at the time but, during their evening meal that night, in full earshot of her parents, he had mimicked her own voice, complete with the soft Dorset burr she had picked up at school. Of course, she had been bitterly humiliated, just as he had intended. She had still had to learn in those days that Kyle could outmatch her in almost every skill there was.
She realised her cup was empty and gave a faint sigh. It couldn’t be put off any longer. Resolutely she got up and paid her bill.
Outside, it was still snowing. Her coat wasn’t really designed as a protection against winter weather, and she shivered a little as she hurried in the direction of Kyle’s offices.
She knew roughly where they were and, given that she was familiar with the nature of his work from the many newspaper articles published on him, she shouldn’t have been surprised by the carefully restored Georgian façade of the building, nor the discretion of the small brass plate outside, announcing that within were the offices of Bennett Enterprises Limited.
Even in his choice of name for his company Kyle had to be different, she thought wryly. Any other young man starting out as a speculative builder and developer would have chosen something like Bennett Builders Limited, but not Kyle; even then he had seen his building company only as a cornerstone on which to build and expand.
Now his company was known as one of the most forward-thinking and responsible building firms around. His architects were called in whenever important restoration work was required, his expertise sought when the planners were at their wits’ end on how to appease both the conservationists and the needs of an ever-growing population.
Recently he had branched out into sheltered accommodation for retired people, and by all accounts was proving as successful in that field as he had been in so many others.
At twenty-nine, he had a reputation for being one of the country’s shrewdest and richest entrepreneurs.
For almost a moment Heather dithered, longing to turn tail and run, and yet held there by a stubborn desire to do what she knew was the right thing. This was her chance to make amends. To show that finally she had grown up and that the lessons learned from the months of counselling she had undergone after her attempted suicide had brought some return. That finally she had come to accept that love could be shared; that Kyle never had and never could be a threat to her own place in her parents’ hearts.
In the end, it was the cold that drove her inside the building; that and the fact that she was attracting curious looks from busy passersby.
Inside, her heels tapped noisily on the black and white marble-tiled floor; so noisily, in fact, that she was rather surprised that every one of the five doors leading off the rectangular entrance hall did not immediately open.
On either side of the hallway, between the two sets of doors, stood elegant console tables with matching mirrors hung over them. The Georgian period had always been a favourite of hers, and Heather recognised the value of the antique mirrors almost at a glance.
Attractive dried floral displays, in keeping with the winter season, decorated the tables, but it was only when she headed rather nervously for the stairs that one of the doors actually opened.
She must, she realised, as a uniformed commissionaire politely enquired her business, having triggered off some sort of silent alarm.
She told him rather hesitantly that she had come to see Kyle Bennett, and then felt ridiculously foolish when she was forced to admit she was here without making an appointment. Plainly, that was simply not the sort of thing one did when approaching the head of Bennett Enterprises, and she felt a tiny surge of well-remembered resentment start up inside her.
She almost turned to go, but then remembered why she had come here in the first place. Almost in desperation, she said hurriedly, ‘Look, if I could write a note, could it be sent up to Ky—to Mr Bennett?’
That small slip in almost using Kyle’s Christian name was making the commissionaire eye her even more suspiciously, and
she stiffened when she realised that the man suspected that she was one of Kyle’s cast-off girlfriends.
Even as a teenager he’d seemed to have had a fatal fascination that attracted members of her sex, and since he had become successful the gossip columns had regularly mentioned his name, connecting it with a variety of pretty socialites and would-be models-cum-actresses.
Surely one glance at her had been enough to inform the commissionaire that she was scarcely the type to attract the great Kyle Bennett, Heather thought bitterly.
‘Mr Bennett knows my…parents,’ she told him coldly. ‘If I could just write that note…’
‘In here, miss.’
The commissionaire obviously believed her, because his manner relaxed slightly as he showed her into one of the empty downstairs rooms.
Obviously a waiting-room of sorts, it was decorated with watered-silk wall hangings, the Georgian panels painted in a chinoiserie design of birds and branches. Two deep-cushioned settees were covered in the same pastel watered silk as the walls, a cheerful open fire burned in what Heather suspected must be the original Adam grate, and the commissionaire escorted her over to a pretty early Victorian writing-desk, fully equipped with notepaper and pens.
She wrote quickly, before she could change her mind, feeling the desperation and dislike building up inside her as she did so. When she had finished, she studied what she had written for a second.
‘Kyle, I need to talk to you about Mum and Dad. Please don’t ignore this note.’
And she sighed it with her full name.
She sealed it before she could give way to any second thoughts, and handed it to the waiting man.
Once he had gone she was seized by a wave of dread, so strong that she was actually half-way to the door before she realised what she was doing. She couldn’t leave now. She had to see this thing through. What was she frightened of? Making a fool of herself in front of Kyle, laying herself open to his mockery and contempt? Was her own pride really so important that it mattered more to her than her father’s life?