by Lynne Graham
Collecting her coat from the cloakroom, she left her cases at the foot of the stairs and went to find Maisie. She ought to be in by now. Maisie listened anxiously to Claire’s not very clear explanation, but her frown disappeared when she grasped that Claire was leaving with Dane. ‘You’ll be well looked after, then.’
Claire breathed in. ‘Maisie, I’m going to marry Dane and then …’ but she never got any further. The old lady’s faded eyes were suddenly suspiciously bright and she gave her a silent, vastly informative hug. Claire couldn’t bring herself to erase that delighted smile on Maisie’s face by adding the truth.
‘Oh dear!’ Maisie dabbed apologetically at her eyes, shaking her grey head. ‘He always kept an eye out for you, that young man. Even when you were little. You’ll be all right with Mr Dane. I can’t tell you how much happier I feel at the idea of you with a husband and a family and a home all of your own where you’ll be appreciated. He’s a very lucky man.’
Claire swallowed the lump in her throat. To listen to Maisie, she was a fit match for the highest in the land. ‘I’ll write,’ she promised. ‘And you’re not to worry about anything, do you hear me?’
‘Bless you, child. Sam and I were more worried for you,’ Maisie confided, blinking back tears. ‘But it’s right that you should be married, so I shouldn’t be acting up like this. Now, away with you.’
Claire was unaffectedly wiping her eyes when she joined Dane in the hall.
‘You’re very fond of each other,’ Dame remarked without any hint of Carter’s disapproval of such a bond.
Claire sniffed. ‘Yes, and I expect she’s feeling terribly hurt that she can’t be at the wedding but … well …’ Reflecting that it wasn’t going to be a real wedding as such, she subsided into awkward silence and she didn’t speak again until they were tucked in the luxurious rear seat of the limousine. Then she asked prosaically, ‘Where will I be staying in London?’
‘I’ll put you up in a hotel until we get everything sorted out.’
‘Oh.’
‘If I took you back to my apartment you’d be slightly de trop,’ he extended drily. ‘I know you. You’d feel awkward.’
He had someone living with him, or at the very least a regular overnight guest, she translated, and nodded, trying to be as cool as he was about it. ‘I’ll pay you back,’ she said and glanced at him. ‘I mean, you do know I can’t settle any bills myself?’
‘I doubt if you’ll break the bank,’ he soothed with a lazy grin.
The car ferried them only as far as Teeside where they caught an inter-city flight to London. It was Claire’s first flight and, to her amusment, Dane seemed shaken by such deprivation. They were collected at Gatwick by another car which dropped them off at the Dorchester. After lunch in a lofty-ceilinged restaurant, she trailed in Dane’s wake to the reception desk, feeling murderously underdressed in her serviceable raincoat.
‘A … suite …?’ she whispered on the threshold as Dane tipped the porter. ‘A room would have done, Dane.’
A long finger flicked her cheekbone, his unsettling eyes softened. ‘Enjoy yourself, Claire. Hannah has made some appointments for you over the next couple of days. She should be over within the hour.’
‘Hannah?’
‘My social secretary. You’ll like her. She’s a nice lady, and Claire—’ Dane shut the door and wandered deeper into the room ‘—don’t worry about the money, and don’t talk about paying me back,’ he warned. ‘You’re family, and it’s a treat.’
‘Treats are for children,’ she argued, scarlet-faced.
His eyes cooled. ‘Don’t make yourself a problem,’ he advised. ‘If I have to take you to Paris and marry you, you’re not going to be dressed like an Oxfam reject. Now that’s blunt. But that’s the way it is.’
Claire all but cringed in front of him. The aching grittiness of tears washed her hurt eyes. He was even ashamed to be seen in public with her, used as he was to beautiful, perfectly groomed women.
Firm fingers tipped up her chin. ‘Do you think I’m blaming you? Adam didn’t give you enough money to feed the household, never mind spend anything on yourself. And if you don’t have a clue how to make the best of yourself, that’s not your fault when you had no other females around to advise you,’ he stressed. ‘But on the other hand, what sort of pride is it that says you have to stay this way when you don’t need to any more?’
She tugged away from him, wishing the ground would open up and swallow her. She reminded herself stoically that Dane was doing her a favour he didn’t have to do in marrying her. Pride goeth before a fall, she intoned to herself.
‘I dare say you’re used to other sorts of women.’ It still slipped out.
He emitted a rueful laugh. ‘Don’t you want to be attractive? You could be, you know. Minus those ugly spectacles and that hideous screwed-up hairstyle, you’ve got definite possibilities.’
Her teeth set. ‘Am I supposed to say thank you?’
‘For God’s sake, Claire, do you think I care what you do?’ He back-tracked ungenerously as he strode back to the door. ‘Send Hannah away if you like. Sit here and feel sorry for yourself. But if you’re a woman you’ll forget that misplaced pride of yours and realise that this is a big opportunity.’
Dear God, what an arrogant, pitiless bastard Dane could be! Her fingers twisted together and then settled on the rear of the upholstered chair where her knuckles showed white. It was not within her power to tell Dane to go to hell. Dane being Dane, he might well do just that. ‘Max is quite happy with me as I am,’ she retorted.
Half-way out of the door he paused, a disturbing smile on his lips. ‘You might want something more than Max once you get some confidence,’ he ventured cynically before the door flipped shut.
So Dane was no more impressed by Max than her grandfather had been. Loyal fury filled Claire. Just because Max didn’t come from a monied background! She hadn’t bargained on the possibility of Dane’s interference. But what trouble could he cause? It was extremely foolish of her to let his comments get under her skin. Just why had she been so agonisingly hurt by his blunt appraisal of her physical lack of attraction? By his standards she was bound to be a Plain Jane, and his opinion shouldn’t matter to her. Surely she had more on her mind than her appearance?
In a few hours she would be with Max after all. Unfortunately he wasn’t on the phone, but it would be a lovely surprise for him, she reflected with greater cheer.
Hannah proved to be a tall, lanky woman with shrewd grey eyes. ‘If you’ll just collect your coat, Miss Fletcher, I’ll take you to the opticians.’
‘Claire, please,’ she corrected. ‘Where else has Dane planned for me to visit?’
Hannah smiled. If she was conscious of the edge in Claire’s voice she ignored it. ‘It’s a little late to go shopping, but I booked you into a beauty salon. That’s a tight enough schedule before dinner.’
‘Where does Dane live?’ she asked as Hannah ushered her into yet another chauffeur-driven car.
‘He has several residences. In London he uses the penthouse on top of the Visconti building. He has a country house in Kent too, but he rarely has time to spend there. There’s a flat in Paris, one in Rome and then there’s his father’s house on Long Island,’ she enumerated.
‘He must travel a lot,’ Claire remarked limply.
Hannah laughed. ‘Dane’s a workaholic when he’s involved in a new project like his current one on Jamaica. It’s a shame the press are still so all-fired keen to dub him with a playboy image. He left that life behind a long time ago.’
His world seemed so glamorous! It also seemed unreal to her and she was still childishly punch-drunk at stepping in and out of limousines as if there were taxis. ‘What sort of project is he involved in?’
‘Resort developments. Of course, Visconti Holdings is an umbrella for many other companies in a variety of lines. Dane’s a strong believer in diversification.’
Sun, sea and sand and beautiful, sophisticated ladies a
bounded at resorts. It figured. No backdrop fitted him better. It was hard to picture Dane behind a desk, slogging away at office work on a gloomy day. ‘I don’t know much about Dane’s life down here,’ she said frankly.
‘He seems very fond of you.’ Hannah was sizing her up openly. ‘Not very many can claim that distinction with Dane. He doesn’t give his trust easily. Then, too many people have tried to take him for a ride because he’s such a wealthy man. Still, nobody’s succeeded in my time,’ she asserted with definable pride.
Dane fond of her? With the same casual fondness one gave a pet dog … possibly. In three long years she had only received Christmas cards from Dane and of course presents in the form of cheques that had left her feeling rather uncomfortable. However, he had known what her life was like at Ranbury and she had had much more pleasure out of a few pounds that she could spend on the small necessities of life. Dane gave very easily. She suspected it had salved his conscience about never even lifting the phone to ask how she was. And why should he do that? She hadn’t been a child any more when he had stopped visiting.
The optician recommended contact lenses, and from there Hannah swept her off to an elegant beauty salon. ‘Enjoy yourself,’ she urged. ‘And Dane suggested I book you in for a make-up tuition. Don’t forget to pick up a full range of their cosmetics … I think this is a marvellous wedding present, don’t you?’
‘W … Wedding present?’ More cowed than enthusiastic, Claire dragged her wide eyes back from the unbelievably svelte beauty who appeared to be a mere receptionist.
‘Shouldn’t I have mentioned it? Is it a secret?’ Hannah looked very apologetic. ‘Dane let drop that you were getting married.’
‘Yes.’ Claire reddened. ‘It’s all a wedding present.’
Before anything more could be said, she was carried off to the wash-basins, her spectacles banished to her handbag. The maestro who embarked on her long, red-gold hair made faces of disapproval, lifting up strands here and there that she had chopped personally. In all, he generally exasperated her. ‘I only want it trimmed,’ she said loftily.
‘I do not trim, I style,’ he retaliated, and someone giggled nearby. Mortified, she shut up and watched morosely as great hunks of hair hit the floor. The make-up session was worse. Tickled and pummelled, she lay there marvelling that anyone could enjoy such an event. At the end of it all she peered myopically at the blur in the mirror and then fumbled down into her handbag for her specs to withdraw them in dismay. Someone must have put a foot on her bag. The lenses were smashed.
‘Well?’ the female artiste prompted.
‘Marvellous,’ Claire said quickly, running wary fingers through her shorn hair. At the hotel she could let herself down by sticking her nose into the mirror.
Out at reception Hannah enthused, ‘My goodness, you look fabulous, Claire. Dane was right …’
Claire gave her full marks for that flattering stunned tone she had managed to inject into her voice and remained unimpressed. Hannah was kind. She wouldn’t even have put it past Dane to instruct his secretary to say something like that.
Unfortunately it was much too late to think of calling on Max when she got back to the hotel. Sighing, she wandered into the bathroom to study her new image. The sleek, chin-length bob with the fly-away fringe gleamed with attractive coppery highlights, shaping an unusual triangular face that seemed all eyes and mouth and no longer quite hers. Wasn’t it incredible what could be done with make-up? She marvelled as she stared at her beautiful face, the huge witch-green eyes flecked with gold and the new sultry cast of her generous mouth easily written off by her critical, unappreciative gaze.
Dinner was wheeled in on a fancy cart. After she had eaten she donned a floral nightgown and curled up on the sofa to watch TV. It was barely nine and she was extremely tired. Falling asleep was simply a matter of closing her aching eyes.
‘Breakfast … lord, you look like a panda!’ a familiar voice mocked and she surfaced in time for Dane to pull her up against the plumped up pillows and plant a tray on her lap.
CHAPTER THREE
HER lips parted company in a soundless gasp. She glanced down at her faded and unutterably respectable nightie and the comfortable bed she now lay in. Dane was already opening the curtains. ‘Do you realise you left your key in the door last night?’ he demanded. ‘I came round to take you out somewhere and there it was. An open invitation to any passer-by.’
‘Did you put me to bed?’ she snapped in strong chagrin.
Dane drew back into her line of vision, his amused smile no longer blurred. ‘Is it my fault you’re a heavy sleeper? You didn’t even stir. Go on, eat your breakfast. I bumped into the waitress on the threshold,’ he explained. ‘Hannah will be here in an hour.’
‘Don’t talk to me as if I’m a child,’ she implored.
He studied her from the foot of the bed. ‘With that mascara and shadow still smeared over you like warpaint, you don’t look a day above eighteen. Why did you let them cut off so much of your hair?’
Her hand brushed the tousled strands anxiously. ‘I like it. Don’t you?’
He grinned at the guileless question. ‘It’s fine, but it makes you look very different. Maybe Max won’t like it.’ His vibrant eyes narrowed, an odd, questioning inflection in his final sentence. ‘Have you contacted him yet?’
‘No, he’s not on the phone,’ she replied, then hesitated, reluctant to discuss Max with so critical an audience. ‘Where were you going to take me last night?’
His bright gaze was lingering on her soft mouth, an odd tension humming in the air that made her feel uncomfortable. He shrugged, breaking the spell and swinging back to the door. ‘I hadn’t decided. Maybe I’ll see you later.’
As always, he looked devastating. No matter how often she saw him his impact assaulted her feminine senses afresh, and yet she was at ease with the sensation. It was an old familiar one. ‘Dane?’
His argent head turned.
‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘It’s no big deal, Claire.’ He sounded rather curt, as if something had annoyed him.
She couldn’t think what and was rather hurt by the brevity of his stay. But he’d only come to check up on her. He’d probably been relieved, too, to find her asleep last night. Taking her out for an entire evening would have been an enormous sacrifice. Still, she understood why he had come up with the idea. Sometimes Dane was quite transparent. His conscience was a little uneasy about sticking her into a hotel alone. She would very likely have felt a dreadful nuisance being trotted out dutifully, the way one organised entertainment for a child. So it was silly to suffer a twinge of disappointment over what she might have missed.
Resolutely she thrust Dane from mind. Tonight she was bound to see Max. Her thoughts centred on him with something akin to relief. Why did it seem so long since the summer before last when Max had begun work at Ranbury? Perhaps because so much had happened since then.
She had grown accustomed to Max’s cheerful greetings when she was out on her daily walks. Their relationship might never have got any closer had not Max literally cannoned into her one day coming out of a village shop.
Spluttering apologies, he had stooped to pick up the basket she had dropped, and before he had straightened again he had invited her out to lunch in a friendly, casual style that had failed to ignite her usual shy discomfiture. She had found him easy to relax with. Away from family and friends he had been lonely. Frustrated by Roy Baxter’s contempt for ‘new-fangled ideas’, he had been eager for a good listener. Her feelings had deepened the more time she spent in his company. He had freely admitted that he was keen to settle down and marry, an attitude she had considered refreshing when it seemed so many men were only interested in uncommitted relationships. Nor had he laughed or looked superior when she had finally confided that he was really her first real boyfriend.
Falling in love had been so very easy. They had seemed to match perfectly, neither of them particularly outgoing and both of them slightly
shy. She had been so happy when he had proposed, but that mood hadn’t lasted beyond her harrowing interview with Adam.
‘Thinks he’s on to a good thing, does he?’ he had condemned unpleasantly. ‘Well, he’ll soon find his mistake.’
The next morning Max had been gone. In his first letter he had explained that he hadn’t wanted to create another scene by coming up to the house before he left. Being fired must have been a most humiliating experience for him. He was not someone to cope easily with stress or hostility. She had always seen that softness in his character and didn’t think it made him any less of a man, though Maisie had been disappointed in him. ‘He should have taken you with him,’ she had said, innocent of Adam’s blackmailing tactics. Claire smiled. Max wasn’t the dramatic type. He’d had nothing to take her to. Still, if he’d asked she might have felt less abandoned at the time. She felt remorseful then for the carping thought that Max had put up a poor fight for her. He wasn’t a slayer of dragons as Dane was, and he’d never pretended to be.
Hannah arrived punctually and suggested they visit Harrods first. Claire kept her own counsel when they entered the vast department store. A large, expensive wardrobe would be of scant use to her as Max’s wife and, as she had every intention of repaying Dane, she very carefully inspected price tags, drawing back in dismay from much of what Hannah admired.
‘But you’d look lovely in this,’ Hannah persisted, displaying a fine, crěpe de Chine dress in an elegant black, white and jade print. ‘It’s the latest fashion, Claire, and you have a lovely figure. It’s a sin not to show it off at your age.’