by Anne Mather
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ he countered, and Joanna gave him an exasperated look.
‘All right, then,’ she said tightly, turning her back on him. ‘But you’re going to have to wait. I haven’t even registered yet.’
‘So you said.’
Matt sounded thoughtful, but after a few moments she heard the unmistakeable sound of him walking away. Oh, well, she thought, telling herself she was relieved. It was what she’d wanted. She wouldn’t have liked him leaning over her shoulder while she filled in the forms.
When someone touched her arm a few moments later, she swung round, firmly believing Matt had decided to return. But instead it was someone called George Szudek. The Hotel Manager, or so it said on the badge he was wearing on his lapel.
He was a stocky individual, with a bald head and a full beard and moustache. He greeted her with a smile and gently urged her across the lobby to the open door of his office.
‘Mrs Novak,’ he said politely, guiding her into the room. ‘I believe I can be of some assistance to you and your husband.’
CHAPTER FIVE
JOANNA REALISED SHE should have anticipated something like this when Matt disappeared. Because, of course, her husband had been waiting for them in the manager’s office.
Matt had been standing by the windows, looking out on the manicured golf course at this side of the hotel. His hands were thrust into the pockets of his pants, his shoulders broad beneath the heat-dampened silk of his shirt.
And despite herself, Joanna felt a pang, not unlike the pang she’d felt when Matt and his father had first walked into the Bellamy Gallery all those years ago.
David had been hosting another of those evenings for new artists, and apparently one of his flyers had found its way into the lobby of the Novaks’ hotel. Matt had told her his father had persuaded him to come; light relief after a day of boardroom politics. But he’d told Joanna that as soon as he’d seen her he’d been very glad he had...
* * *
Joanna looked round the gallery with a feeling of pride. The place was full, patrons and visitors milling about, helping themselves to a glass of wine or a canapé, offering silent and not so silent opinions of the paintings on display.
And she’d arranged it all, she thought with pride. She’d sent out the invitations, arranged for flyers to be placed in hotel lobbies, made the event sound so attractive that any visitor to the capital might be intrigued by its originality.
The young artist they were showcasing, Damon Ford, was a minor celebrity in his own right after winning a gold medal in athletics at the last Olympics.
But in spite of this success, Joanna believed that his art was the real attraction here. His work was an abstract palette with no perspective in visual reality. It wasn’t to everyone’s taste, but in a world where fantasy had become so popular, Damon’s imagery struck a chord.
‘A good turn-out.’
David Bellamy, the man who owned the gallery and her boss, spoke the words with some satisfaction.
‘You’ve done good, Joanna. Damon should be pleased.’
Joanna smiled. ‘Oh, he is. I spoke to him a few moments ago, and he’s really excited to see his work enjoying such success. It depends whether anyone buys anything, of course, but I saw the Arts Editor from the Evening Gazette just now and he seemed very impressed.’
She looked eagerly about her. Yes, she thought, her instincts had been right. Damon was that unusual thing: an artist who cared, not just about his work, but also about pleasing his public.
Her eyes scanned the crowd as they had been doing all evening and came to rest on two men who had just come in. They were both tall and dark, but the younger man was slightly taller than his companion, with the kind of dark penetrating gaze that sought Joanna out and found her—staring at him.
Oh, God, she thought, looking away, embarrassment filling her face with what she was sure was unbecoming colour. An unfamiliar fluttering began in the pit of her stomach, and she pressed a nervous hand to her midriff. He would think she was trying to attract his attention, when nothing could be further from the truth.
Nevertheless, she managed to appear composed when the man in question pushed his way through the crowd to join her.
‘Hi,’ he said, with the kind of lazy smile that brought goose bumps out all over her skin, ‘I understand you’re the artist here.’
His accent revealed he was from the other side of the Atlantic and Joanna was taken aback. ‘Oh—oh, no,’ she said hurriedly. ‘No, I’m not the artist. I just helped to organise the event.’
‘That’s what I meant,’ he said easily. ‘This is some classy affair you’ve put on.’
‘Do you think so?’ Joanna couldn’t help being flattered. It was one thing for David to say she’d done a good job and quite another for one of their guests to compliment her.
‘Sure.’ He glanced about him. ‘So—do you want to show me where can I get a drink around here?’
* * *
Nevertheless, she’d quickly realised that it was not the time to be thinking about the past. Matt had heard their entrance and swung round to look at them, and, although she’d been tempted to turn on her heel and march back out of the door, defiance, and the knowledge that she’d only embarrass the manager, had kept her where she was.
In consequence, the man was now opening the door of an invitingly lamplit suite on the eighteenth floor, ushering them both inside, just as if Matt was staying the night.
‘If there is anything else I can do for you, Mr Novak,’ he said, irritating Joanna anew by addressing Matt, ‘you have only to let me know.’ He handed him the key card. ‘I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable here.’
‘I’m sure we will,’ agreed Matt, his hand compelling Joanna forward, a silent warning not to argue. ‘Thanks for your help, George. I won’t forget it.’
The manager lifted a self-deprecating hand, and, with another smile in Joanna’s direction, he stepped out of the room and closed the door firmly behind him. And the minute the door was closed, Joanna moved abruptly out of Matt’s possessive reach.
‘I suppose you expect me to be grateful,’ she said, aware of the disagreeableness of her tone. ‘Well, okay, I appreciate not having to stand in a queue, but I would just as soon be in one of the standard rooms.’
Matt snorted. ‘How did I know you were going to say something like that?’ He strolled across the sitting room to where sliding glass doors opened onto a private balcony. ‘You might like to step outside and admire the view,’ he added, glancing back over his shoulder. ‘You can hear the ocean from here.’
‘And feel the humidity,’ retorted Joanna, making no attempt to join him. The manager had carried her bag upstairs and now she picked it up to carry into the adjoining bedroom. But the realisation that Matt would probably follow her if she did had her setting it down again. ‘Please, close the windows and go.’
‘‘Aren’t you going to offer me a drink? I’d have thought it was the least you could do after the efforts I’ve made on your behalf,’ remarked Matt tolerantly, but he did at least part of what she’d asked and slid the window closed.
Efforts I didn’t ask you to make, thought Joanna uncharitably.
Glancing round, she saw the small fridge, masquerading as a polished cabinet.
‘Help yourself. You’re paying for it.’
Matt crossed the room and plucked a can of cola from inside the cabinet and inclined his head. ‘Thanks.’
‘My pleasure,’ she said, her tone indicating the opposite. Then, she added, ‘You’re not going to change my mind, you know.’
‘Okay.’ Matt shrugged. ‘But as you said, we’ll talk about it in the morning.’
‘Is there any point?’
‘I hope so.’ Matt raised the can to his lips and took a drink, and then looked ar
ound the room. ‘This reminds me of the suite we occupied the first time I brought you here.’ He took the step that allowed him to glance through the bedroom door. ‘Yeah, I remember they had to come and change the bed because we’d made love in the shower and we were still soaked when we—’
Joanna’s lips tightened. ‘Stop it,’ she said, unable to deny the images his words had created. She took a steadying breath. ‘Is—is your father enjoying his return to work?’
‘My father?’ If Matt was disconcerted by her segue into another subject entirely, he didn’t comment upon it. ‘I think he was fairly keen to take over when I was incapacitated, if that’s what you mean. My mother less so.’
Joanna draped a hand over the back of a chair. ‘So what’s new?’ she murmured drily. ‘Adrienne likes her men to be where she can keep an eye on them.’
‘Which would account, I suppose, for her keeping your emails secret. She’d have known I’d have flown to England in a heartbeat if I’d known you wanted to see me.’
Joanna, whose eyes had been glued to the muscles moving in his throat, dragged her gaze away. ‘I assume that goes for the messages you supposedly sent me?’
Matt rolled the cool can sensuously against his throat. ‘There’s no “supposedly” about it,’ he declared, and Joanna’s eyes were drawn to him again. ‘I was beginning to think that you might not want to come and see the invalid.’
‘If I’d known...’ Joanna began and then broke off.
What if she had known Matt was ill, she wondered, what would she have done? Truthfully, she didn’t know.
But Matt wasn’t inclined to let her get away with it. ‘If you’d known—what? Dare I hope you might have been concerned enough to make the trip for that reason and that reason alone?’
Joanna had to be honest. ‘I really don’t know.’
‘You’d have been too busy?’
‘No. But I wouldn’t have thought you’d want to see me.’
‘I see.’ Matt considered her response, and then offered a segue of his own. ‘Tell me, is Bellamy still playing a prominent role in your life?’
Joanna swallowed. ‘Please, leave David out of this.’
Matt’s eyes glittered. ‘So tell me, how do you fill your time? Going to the theatre? Visiting the gym?’
‘I have friends,’ said Joanna curtly. ‘And occasionally we eat out together. Not David,’ she added, seeing his expression. ‘Other friends. And I’ve spent some time with Mum and Lionel.’
‘Have you?’ Matt was impressed. ‘I thought you didn’t get on.’
Joanna hesitated. ‘Things are different now.’
‘Since your father died?’ Matt enquired sardonically. ‘Yes, I can believe that. You know, I always felt sorry for your mother. Angus had virtually cut her off from her only offspring. And all because he was jealous.’
‘Don’t say that.’
‘Why? It’s the truth. He never forgave Glenys for leaving him and he used you to get his revenge.’
‘No!’
Matt shrugged. ‘Have it your way,’ he said wearily. ‘One day you’ll come to your senses and see the truth. That explosion off the Alaskan coast wasn’t the fault of NovCo. We didn’t become as successful as we have by cutting corners on our equipment.’
‘Nor did Daddy,’ she countered hotly and for a moment Matt was inclined to let it go.
But, dear God, she’d believed Angus’s lies for over a year, and Matt was damned if he was going to let her go on believing her father was an angel.
‘So did Angus tell you we paid the hefty penalty the Alaskan authorities demanded out of the goodness of our hearts?’ He shook his head. ‘It was to protect you, Joanna. I know you don’t believe me, but your father had been cheating his workforce for years.’
Joanna felt a shiver of apprehension slide down her spine. What if she was wrong? What if her father had been lying? She wrapped her arms about herself, needing the protection. ‘I don’t want to talk about this, Matt.’
‘No, I bet you bloody don’t.’ Matt was angry now and he didn’t think before grasping one of her arms and jerking her round to face him. ‘You can’t accept the truth when it’s staring you in the face.’ His hot breath fanned across her cheek. ‘Damn you, Joanna. I swore I wouldn’t do this, but I care about you.’
Joanna lips parted. She hadn’t expected him to say that. Her heart was racing and she could feel the perspiration trickling down her spine. ‘I’m only here because I want a divorce,’ she insisted doggedly. ‘Not to rehash old grievances.’
‘You’re afraid to face the truth,’ retorted Matt harshly. ‘You’re letting your father ruin your life.’ His lean fingers dug into the bones of her shoulders. ‘Wherever he is right now, I bet the old devil is clapping his hands at your naivety.’
‘Daddy said you only married me to get control of his company.’
Matt’s eyes narrowed. ‘You and I were an item long before Angus decided to use me to get him out of the hole he’d dug for himself.’
* * *
Joanna and Matt married only six months after they’d met at the gallery showing. Matt knew her father didn’t approve of the speed with which they’d got together—nor did his mother, if it came to that—but he and Joanna were in love and nothing else seemed to matter.
And those first few months they were deliriously happy.
They honeymooned in Fiji and then moved into the apartment Matt had acquired on the Upper East Side of New York. They had an apartment in London, too, but it was the New York apartment that they regarded as home.
And it was a beautiful apartment, overlooking the East river, with plenty of room for themselves and a family when it came along. They had staff in both places, but Joanna liked looking after her husband herself. And the dinner parties she gave accrued many compliments from friends and business colleagues alike.
Matt suspected the fact that Joanna didn’t get pregnant during the second year of their marriage was a significant contribution to the problems that came after. He knew she wanted a baby, and he wanted it too, but two things happened in swift succession to make it even harder for them to have their wish.
To begin with Oliver Novak had a stroke, which meant Matt had to spend more and more time controlling NovCo. And then Joanna’s father’s company was found to be in financial difficulties, necessitating a buy-out that Matt organised on Joanna’s behalf.
Matt knew Angus Carlyle resented having to ask his son-in-law for help, but Matt thought it was worth it to see the relief in Joanna’s face. Even so, he found it hard to keep the real circumstances of Carlyle Construction’s problems from her. Particularly as he guessed Angus would find some way to pay him back.
Having a baby still eluded them, however, and making love became a mechanical thing, subject to times of the month and temperatures, and not the joyful declaration of their love for one another that it used to be. They argued more when they were together, and Matt knew his wife was retreating more and more into her shell.
Her father being diagnosed with lung cancer was devastating. It meant Joanna moved into the London apartment on a permanent basis, unwilling to leave her father on his own when he had no one else. Matt didn’t like to think it, but he sensed she was relieved to move out of the New York apartment. In London, she didn’t have to face any of the albeit well-meaning questions about her possible pregnancy that she’d had to face from their friends in New York.
The disaster in the Alaskan oilfield came only weeks after Angus’s cancer diagnosis. Matt hadn’t thought at that time that it would prove the straw that broke the camel’s back. But then he’d had no idea that Angus would use the accident to destroy their marriage. He would never have believed a man in his position could be so completely cruel.
* * *
Who was it who said that no good deed ever went unpunis
hed? Matt thought now, putting his memories of the past aside. He’d been a fool, and he knew it. But, God help him, he wanted Joanna to see the truth.
CHAPTER SIX
‘WHY DON’T YOU just accept the situation and move on?’ Joanna was saying now, and Matt gave a weary shake of his head.
‘Move on to what?’ He was annoyingly persistent.
‘I don’t know. Another woman, perhaps.’ Although that thought still had the power to upset her. ‘The—the one who’s been keeping your bed warm since we split up. You can’t pretend you’ve been lonely since I walked out.’
Matt’s eyes darkened. ‘How would you know that?’
‘I read the tabloids, Matt. I’ve seen the pictures of you with other women. You’re not exactly back-page news.’
Matt arched a mocking brow. ‘Jealous?’
‘Of course not.’ Although she had been, if she was totally honest. ‘Naturally I was interested,’ she added, trying to sound offhand. ‘You have your own life to lead. I—I never expected you to live the life of a monk.’
Matt shook his head. He had the feeling she was never going to admit to the chemistry that still flared between them. Ignoring her resistance, he cupped her nape with his free hand, tipping her face up to his.
‘Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you,’ he grated roughly. ‘Tell me you don’t want to feel the thrust of my body taking possession of yours, and I’ll let you go.’
Joanna sucked in a breath; he was much closer now and twice as provocative. ‘You’re crazy!’
‘Am I?’ Matt rotated his hips against hers and she felt the unmistakeable hardness of his arousal. He took the wrist he was holding and wound it behind her back, pressing her even closer. ‘You used to like me to do this. You used to like it when I laid you out on the bed and licked my way down—’
‘Don’t say any more!’
Joanna could hardly get the words out. Against her will, her legs were trembling, and she was unable to prevent the muscled power of his thigh from forcing its way between hers.