by Anne Mather
‘Well, thanks.’ Joanna realised she’d been in danger of taking her frustrations out on him. ‘I’ll tell you all about my trip tomorrow.’ Or as much as was sensible anyway. ‘Okay?’
* * *
It was the hotel phone that awakened Matt.
His own mobile phone was in the pocket of the trousers he’d taken off—well, kicked off in the other room, actually—the night before. If it had rung earlier, he certainly hadn’t heard it.
Groaning, he blinked, taking stock of his surroundings. Then, realising that Joanna wasn’t beside him—was she in the shower? —he rolled over to snag the phone at her side of the bed.
‘Yeah?’
‘Matt? Oh, thank goodness, I’ve reached you at last. I’ve been ringing your phone for ages but you didn’t answer.’
Matt recognised his sister’s voice at once. ‘What’s the urgency?’
Sophie clicked her tongue. ‘Well, when you didn’t come home last night, we were all concerned. But then, this business with Dad—’
‘What business with Dad?’ Matt dragged himself up against the pillows and forced himself to focus on what she was saying. ‘What’s happened?’
Sophie sighed. ‘Oh, Matt, we had a call from Andy Reichert in the early hours.’ Andy Reichert was his—now his father’s—second-in-command. ‘He’d phoned Dad last night, and he’d been concerned when he couldn’t reach him. Apparently, Dad hadn’t been too well during the afternoon, so, as a last resort, Andy went to the office.
‘He found Dad slumped over his desk. He called 911, naturally, and Dad was rushed to hospital. It’s another stroke, Matt. A more serious one this time. No one knows what the eventual outcome will be, but right now it’s touch and go.’
* * *
Three weeks later, Joanna had accepted that Matt wasn’t going to contact her. Whatever had happened in Miami, he’d evidently decided there was no point in pursuing her to England.
She’d found it hard to accept at first. She’d been so sure he’d want to see her again. Foolish, perhaps, but after the night they’d spent together, she’d actually been tempted to give him a second chance.
Still, maybe that was just her hormones talking. Whatever, she’d finally convinced herself that maintaining the status quo was in her best interests and his. She’d been in danger of losing sight of her reasons for going to Miami in the first place. Was she so easy to deceive?
Evidently so.
She hadn’t heard from Matt’s solicitors either, though in the last week, and with David’s encouragement, she’d consulted a firm of divorce lawyers here in London. She’d given them Matt’s address and had assumed they’d contact him on her behalf, and she’d waited on tenterhooks for his response. But nothing had come of it. Yet.
A second interview was planned for the beginning of the following week, and she’d decide then what she was going to do. There didn’t seem much point in delaying the inevitable. Which meant she had to tell her mother what was going on.
Glenys Carlyle—or Glenys Avery, as she was now—lived in Cornwall with her second husband. Lionel Avery was a wine merchant she’d met at a night club in London fifteen years ago, just after she and Joanna’s father had separated.
Although he was almost eight years her junior, they seemed happy together. And despite the fact that Joanna had initially resented her mother for leaving her father, time, and the fallout both before and after her father’s death, had strengthened their relationship.
She’d been fourteen when her parents split up, and whenever the topic had come up, her father had always blamed his ex-wife. It was true, her mother had been the one to walk out on the marriage, but it was also true that Angus Carlyle was not the easiest man to live with.
After Glenys and Lionel were married, her mother had invited Joanna to live with them. But Joanna had felt she couldn’t leave her father on his own. Okay, she’d acknowledged that Angus Carlyle had his faults, but she didn’t feel she could abandon him completely.
And she hadn’t. But she found herself wondering now if that had been her first mistake.
* * *
Matt landed in London at about seven p.m. He’d used the company jet to fly to England, rather than try to book a seat on the scheduled flight, but he hadn’t been able to relax. Too much was going on, both in his business and his personal life. His pilot hadn’t been too pleased at being hauled out of bed in the early hours of the morning either, but he’d known better than to cause a fuss.
Matt had received the divorce papers from Joanna’s solicitors a few days ago, and since then he’d been agitating to get away. But he had responsibilities. Since his father’s second stroke, he’d had to take over again as CEO of the company, and it had been impossible for him to drop everything to fly to London.
A company car was waiting for him at the airport, and he gave the driver Joanna’s current address. Although he still owned the apartment they had shared in the city, she didn’t live there. After their break-up, she’d found her own apartment not far from the gallery. With Bellamy’s help, no doubt, Matt thought dourly, as the limousine transported him swiftly through the busy streets.
Colgate Court was a small development of one-and two-bedroomed serviced apartments, with the amenities common to such accommodations. Matt scowled when he got out of the car, reflecting that if Joanna had been willing to use the money he’d deposited regularly in her bank account, she could have afforded somewhere a lot better than this.
But it was adequate, he conceded, bending to inform his driver that he’d ring him if he needed him again. Then, fastening a couple of buttons on his cashmere jacket, he strode quickly towards the entry.
Matt had never been inside the building before, but he had checked the place out after attending her father’s funeral. He’d wanted to know where she was living, particularly as Joanna had apparently changed the number of her mobile phone so he couldn’t reach her that way.
A man was standing in the lobby of the building, looking out at him. The door to one of the ground-floor apartments was ajar and Matt wondered if he was the caretaker for the building. The outer door was locked with the usual keypad beside it, and after ascertaining which apartment was occupied by Mrs—no, Ms—Carlyle, he scowled at the anomaly and pressed her bell.
There was no response and his scowl deepened. He’d been fairly sure she’d be at home at this hour of the evening. Perhaps the man would know. He hesitated only a moment before knocking at the door, and after a second’s hesitation the man came to open it.
However, he regarded Matt rather suspiciously, as if he wasn’t used to dealing with visitors after dark. Especially a tall, intimidating visitor, who was regarding him with a definite air of impatience.
Matt’s skin was darkly tanned, too, after his convalescence in Florida, and he had an unconscious arrogance that apparently aroused the man’s defences. ‘Can I help you?’ he asked offhandedly, and Matt got the feeling that he was hoping he’d say no.
‘You already have,’ Matt replied, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jacket. Then, without waiting for an invitation, he stepped inside, causing the man to back up in alarm.
Adopting his most unthreatening tone, Matt continued, ‘I’m here to visit with my wife, Mrs Novak? Um, that is—Ms Carlyle,’ he amended shortly. ‘Do you know if she’s at home?’
The man frowned, and tucked the newspaper he’d been carrying under his arm. ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he said, with evident satisfaction. ‘I’m only the caretaker here. Sorry.’
Matt knew an almost uncontrollable desire to swear, but instead he said stiffly, ‘I’ll go up and see for myself. The third floor, isn’t it?’
The man took a heavy breath. ‘I can’t let you do that. You can ring her bell again, if you like, but—’
Matt controlled his annoyance with an effort. ‘She might h
ave been in the bathroom when I rang,’ he protested.
‘She might indeed.’ The man sniffed and Matt sucked in an impatient breath.
‘Mrs—Ms Carlyle is my wife,’ he said curtly. ‘I need to speak with her.’
‘Do you now?’ The man cleared his throat. ‘Does she know you’re coming?’
Matt’s hands curled into fists in his pockets. He wasn’t used to being treated in this way. ‘No,’ he snapped tersely. ‘Not that it’s any business of yours. Now, if you’ll—’
But before he could go on, the door to a lift he’d barely noticed before swept open at the other side of the lobby. Footsteps crossed the faux marble floor, halting uncertainly when he turned.
‘Matt!’
Joanna was standing just a few yards from the lift. She was carrying what appeared to be a basket of laundry, and he guessed she’d been on her way to speak to the caretaker. Why else bring a basket of laundry down to the ground floor?
But now she’d halted and was staring at him with disbelieving eyes.
She was so beautiful, he thought. Her streaked blonde curls shone like gold, as if the sun were hidden in their heavy masses. Her eyes were wide and startled as she gazed at him, twin orbs of a deep blue, surrounded by long darkened lashes.
‘Hello, Joanna,’ he said, resisting the urge to glance triumphantly at his companion. ‘Perhaps you would tell our nervous friend here that we’re acquainted?’
CHAPTER EIGHT
JOANNA MOISTENED LIPS that had suddenly become as dry as the desert. ‘Um—yes, Mr Johnson,’ she said, with evident reluctance, Matt thought. ‘I know Mr Novak.’
‘Novak?’ The older man frowned. ‘He said his name was Carlyle.’
‘No, you’ve assumed that,’ Matt contradicted him shortly, getting tired of this fruitless exchange. ‘However, she is my wife.’ He arched his dark brows at Joanna. ‘Am I right?’
Joanna hesitated, but, aware that the caretaker was watching their exchange, she said, ‘For the present.’
She heaved a breath, and then spoke again to the man. ‘Actually, I wanted to tell you I’m going away tomorrow for a few days.’ She might wish she hadn’t chosen this particular moment to give the caretaker this news, but it was too late now. She’d been on her way back from the laundry in the basement and it had seemed the ideal opportunity. ‘Would you mind keeping an eye on the apartment for me, Mr Johnson?’
‘No problem, Ms Carlyle,’ he said, annoying Matt anew with his familiarity. ‘I hope you’re going somewhere warm. It’s been so cold these last few days.’
‘Hasn’t it?’
Joanna managed a smile before heading back towards the lift, with Matt following her. But although he evidently expected her to press the button, she stopped and turned to face him instead. ‘Well?’
‘Well?’ he said blankly. ‘Well, what?’
‘I assume you came here to talk to me. So, go ahead, talk.’
‘Not here.’ Matt’s patience was shredding. ‘I suggest we go up to your apartment.’
Joanna squared her shoulders and glanced at her watch—the slim Patek Philippe watch, he’d given her, Matt noticed, reassured that she hadn’t abandoned it along with everything else. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said stiffly, ‘that’s not convenient. You should have given me some warning that you were coming to England.’
‘As you warned me you were coming to Miami?’ suggested Matt tensely. ‘What’s wrong? Do you already have a visitor? Is my arrival inconvenient?’
Joanna pursed her lips. ‘No—and yes,’ she replied, shifting a little nervously. ‘What do you want, Matt? It’s a bit late for a social call.’
‘Is it?’
Matt was sardonic, and Joanna gave a weary sigh. ‘It is when I have things to do.’
‘Because you’re going away?’
‘Yes. You’ve just heard that I’m going away tomorrow.’ He noticed she was avoiding his gaze. ‘I still need to tidy the apartment and finish my packing.’
Matt scowled. ‘Where are you going?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘More to the point, who are you going with?’
Joanna smoothed the laundry in the basket. ‘Does it matter? We decided some time ago that our relationship is over.’
‘Did we? Was that before or after you got me into bed?’
‘I didn’t—’ Joanna broke off, wondering what he’d say if she told him she’d been expecting him to contact her for the past three weeks. ‘I hope you’re not anticipating another one-night stand.’
‘I’m not.’ His voice was harsh.
But, in truth, his feelings for her hadn’t changed. Yet why would he expect a warm welcome? It had taken him three weeks to come and find her and she didn’t know why.
As if sensing his frustration, she finally pressed the button to summon the lift. When the doors opened and she stepped inside, he followed her. She definitely didn’t want to cause a scene. Besides, ridiculous as it seemed, she was glad to see Matt.
But unfortunately, that reminded her of how he’d looked the last time she’d seen him, naked in bed. And she definitely shouldn’t be thinking about that now. He did look a little weary, however, but he was still a disturbingly handsome man.
In charcoal pants and an olive-green buttoned sweater, a black cashmere jacket accentuating the powerful width of his shoulders, he was achingly familiar. His attractive features were in no way diminished by the hard line of his mouth. A mouth that had always—always—been fascinating to her. She even found herself wondering if the reason he hadn’t contacted her was because he’d had a recurrence of his illness.
God, why did she care?
‘So, are you going to tell me where you’re going?’ he asked, as she pressed the button for the third floor. ‘Or is it a state secret?’
Joanna sighed. ‘I’m going to Cornwall,’ she said, trying to keep focussed. ‘I’m going to spend a few days with my mother and Lionel. It’s some time since I’ve seen them.’
‘Really?’ Matt’s tone was even. ‘Does Glenys know you want a divorce?’
‘We haven’t discussed it, no.’ Joanna spoke quickly. She’d been avoiding that conversation in fact. Her mother knew they were separated, but Joanna had never debated the reasons with her. Glenys had always been fond of Matt, and Joanna had known she would likely take his side if she told her what Angus had said.
Matt’s brows arched enquiringly. ‘Why haven’t you told her before now?’
Joanna drew in a breath. ‘Because, I haven’t,’ she said shortly, catching herself before she admitted the truth. ‘I’m taking the morning train to Truro. I intend to tell her while I’m there.’
The lift stopped at the third floor before Matt could answer. But, just in case she had any notion of scurrying into her apartment and locking him out, he took the basket of clean laundry out of her hands.
‘Let me,’ he said, with restrained courtesy. ‘It’s the least I can do.’
Joanna made no response. What would be the point? If he’d taken the trouble to come here, he evidently had something to say.
‘I could come with you,’ he offered, as she fumbled in the pocket of her tight jeans for her key. ‘I’d like to see Glenys again.’
‘You’re joking!’ Joanna cast a startled look over her shoulder. ‘Don’t you have work to do?’
Matt wasn’t deterred. ‘Perhaps I’d enjoy a break. I have been to Cornwall before.’
Of course, he had. When Joanna and Matt were first married, both Glenys and Lionel Avery had made them very welcome in both their London home and the house in Padsworth.
These days the Averys lived permanently in the small fishing village not far from Truro. Although Lionel still commuted to London once a month to check on his wine-importing business, he and Glenys had made a very comfortable life for themselves in Cornwall.<
br />
With some misgivings, Joanna opened the door into the apartment and Matt followed her inside. He had never been to the apartment before, and she would have preferred to keep it that way. Apart from the fact that it was small and rather shabby, there were no disturbing images to upset her here. No lingering memories of the life they’d once shared.
Now that would change. Now that he’d filled the place with his masculinity and his magnetism, it was never going to feel the same again. The small foyer that gave onto a studio-type space, serving as both kitchen and living room, was dwarfed by his presence. She could only be grateful he’d have no reason to go into her bedroom or its adjoining bath.
For his part, Matt looked about him with interest. Cream walls, a terracotta-coloured carpet, a green sofa with a matching easy chair. It didn’t bear any resemblance to the luxurious apartment they’d once shared in Knightsbridge, but it was cosy. And Matt guessed that for Joanna it represented independence.
He looked at her now as she snatched the basket of clothes out of his hands, and stood with it in her arms. Even when she was wearing frayed jeans and a skimpy tee shirt he found her fascinating. But her mood was less so, and she regarded him with wary eyes.
‘I don’t want you to come to Cornwall with me,’ she said stiffly. ‘Mum and Lionel would get the wrong idea.’
‘And that would be?’
‘That I’ve changed my mind about the divorce,’ she declared staunchly.
‘But you’ve just said they don’t know anything about it.’ Matt’s tone was dry. ‘So they could hardly get the wrong idea.’
Joanna pursed her lips. ‘They’ll know soon enough.’ She paused. ‘And I haven’t changed my mind, so there’s no point in pretending otherwise.’
Matt regarded her narrowly. ‘At the risk of another argument, I’d say you’re pretty good at giving people the wrong idea.’
‘Because of what happened in Miami?’ Joanna could feel her cheeks burning. ‘That—that was a one-off. It won’t happen again.’