The Threat of Love

by Charlotte Lamb

  This morning the spring air had the sparkle of champagne; the lake gleamed very blue below the blue sky, there was dew on the lawns, and distances had a gentle bluish haze which held deep tranquillity.

  None of which matched the turmoil inside herself, but she had learnt to outrun her demons so she set a steady pace around the lake, head up, body moving rhythmically, and while she ran she thought about her problems, all of which in the end came down to one man. Gil Martell. Her life had been peaceful until she met him; now it was like living in the eye of a storm and she didn't know what to do about it, or what she wanted to do about it.

  She drew level with the park entrance near her home after her first lap of the lake, and out of the corner of her eye caught sight of a familiar shape. Her heart missed a beat, then she laughed at herself. London was full of Rolls-Royce limousines. Gil would be in bed at this moment, fast asleep.

  She ran on, her skin glowing with the exercise, and was several hundred yards further on when she heard someone behind her shouting.

  Caro instinctively glanced back, and saw Gil, in jeans and a white sweater, coming after her at speed, his long legs covering the ground faster than she could. He was waving a crumpled newspaper, he was obviously in one of his rages, and her heart sank.

  'I want to talk to you!' he shouted. 'Stop running!'

  But she ran faster, the adrenalin pumping round her body. She should have known she couldn't outrun him. He caught up with her on a lonely stretch of the path, out of sight of the lake, behind some great beech trees, and grabbed her by the waist, forcing her to stop.

  The breath sobbing in her lungs, Caro leaned on him. Gil was out of breath, too. His black hair tossed in the wind, his freshly shaved skin full of colour, he glared down at her.

  'Where on earth do you get your energy? You were up half the night, like me. I feel dead, but here you are, jogging in the park at about ninety miles an hour.'

  'I was doing a very easy pace until you started chasing me! And what are you doing here now anyway!'

  'I couldn't sleep,' he said shortly, and she looked down, watching him through her lashes, wishing she knew him better, understood him, could guess what he was thinking.

  'Neither could I.' He had made an admission. So did she, and they looked at each other in silence for a moment, their breathing fast, but then Gil's black brows met and he pushed the crumpled newspaper at her.

  'I got up and made myself some coffee, started to read the Sunday papers, and saw this.'

  Caro reluctantly took the paper; it was one of the popular tabloids, the one which, she remembered, had carried that other photograph, of Gil and the Earl brawling in a nightclub over Miranda. She had a fleeting sense of deja vu; she remembered so vividly seeing Gil's dark face for the first time in that picture and feeling that instant tug of attraction. It hadn't entered her head, of course, that before much longer she would be sharing the limelight of the national Press with him, but there she was, on the front page, with Gil, last night, outside his home.

  Caught by the flash her face showed panic, and to her horror her breasts were clearly visible above the neckline of that low-cut dress, and somehow that slit in the skirt had blown back, exposing a long, shapely thigh.

  'I look terrible!' she moaned. Gil looked as sexy as ever, except that he was scowling, of course, and throwing a hand up in a vain attempt to shield them both from the camera.

  'Is that all you've got to say?' he snarled. 'If you're fishing for compliments, don't bother. How you look isn't the issue here. It's that headline.'

  The big black headline jumped out at her. 'STORE HEIR PLAYBOY TO WED TAKEOVER GIRL' she read with horror.

  'Did you give them that story?' Gil demanded.

  'Of course not!' She read the copy under the picture with frantic and dismayed haste. They had it all there, in a garbled form, of course, but close enough to the truth to be difficult to deny.

  'Caroline Ramsgate, only daughter of empire-building store-owner Fred Ramsgate, last night announced her engagement to Gil Martell, tycoon playboy and heir to the famous Oxford Street store, Westbrooks, which he manages for his grandmother, Lady Westbrook. Is it just coincidence that Fred Ramsgate is currently negotiating to buy Westbrooks? Or could the price of love be another major department store for the Ramsgates without any actual money changing hands? And what does Miranda, Countess of Jurby, until very recently Gil Martell's frequent companion, think about the sudden, surprising switch of his affections?'

  Gil was watching Caro coldly. 'Charming, isn't it?'

  'To both of us,' she agreed, her mouth twisting. 'If we were getting married it would be very hurtful, too. Lucky that we're not.'

  'Luck has nothing to do with it,' Gil muttered, scowling. 'If I ever marry it will be because I want a woman around for life, and not for any other reason.'

  He shot her a hard stare. 'Sure you didn't drop a hint to these people?'

  'I told you I didn't!' she snapped. He was saying again that he wouldn't marry her for worlds, and she felt like bursting into tears, but she couldn't, so she snarled at him instead. 'But I'm pretty sure I know who did, and I think you know, too. Miranda.'

  'Why should she?'

  'A jealous woman is capable of anything,' Caro said, with an irony she hoped he wouldn't suspect. Her own jealousy was like a lead weight on her chest. 'Look, I can't see who else it could be. Except, maybe, your housekeeper...'

  'Mrs Greybury is so discreet she thinks twice about telling me anything!' Gil said drily. 'No, it can't possibly have been her.'

  'Then it's Miranda. Unless she told somebody, who tipped off the papers. But the leak had to come through Miranda.'

  Gil pushed his hands into his pockets, moodily kicking the level turf they stood on. 'I suppose you're right.' He glared at her. 'Why in heaven's name did you have to tell her we were engaged? If you hadn't invented that crazy story, this wouldn't have happened.'

  'You asked me to help get rid of her!'

  'Well, don't give me any more of your help! You always make things worse.'

  'Oh, thanks,' she said, grey eyes bright with hurt.

  Gil looked into her eyes and she hurriedly looked down, her lower lip trembling. He gave a long sigh. 'I'm sorry, don't look like that! I'm just so sick of finding myself in cheap newspapers; they tell nothing but lies, but you can never prove they're lying and it's maddening.'

  'That's no excuse for taking it out on me!' she said, turning away. 'Can I finish my run now, or have you got something even nastier to say to me?'

  He put a hand on her arm. 'Caro-- '

  She slapped his hand down. 'Keep your hands off me!'

  That was a mistake; it was a red rag to a bull and Gil breathed heavily, going dark red. 'You seemed to like my hands on you last night!'

  Caro was so angry that her hand automatically came up to hit him. The blow didn't reach its target because Gil caught her wrist in mid-air and dragged it downwards, dragging the rest of her with it, with such force that her body slammed into his, the impact leaving her breathless. Before she could get her breath back, Gil kissed her.

  Her knees turned to jelly, her eyes closed; she kissed him back with helpless yearning for just an instant, then her mind began screaming and she woke up and realised what she was doing. She opened her eyes and saw that Gil had his eyes shut, which made her feel very odd again, for a second, then she used all her strength to pull free and began to run.

  She thought he would follow her, and her heart was beating like a tom-tom, but he didn't. She didn't look back to see what he did, but as she jogged along beside the lake a few minutes later she glanced across the water and saw through the trees that the Rolls had gone. She told herself she was relieved, but she wasn't sure if she was telling the truth.

  She went home twenty minutes later, showered again, got dressed in a simple but chic olive-green dress and went down to get some breakfast only to find that her father was up, eating his own breakfast, with that newspaper spread out on the table in
front of him.

  Caro stopped dead and Fred Ramsgate turned his head to stare at her. 'Is this true?' He looked stunned.

  Very flushed, Caro shook her head. 'No, Dad. You should know what newspapers are like, they invent most of their gossip.' She sat down opposite him and poured herself a cup of tea from the heavy silver teapot in the centre of the table. She didn't eat a cooked breakfast, merely slid a slice of wholemeal bread into the toaster, very aware of her father's eyes watching her every move.

  'Well, where on earth did they get it?' he not unnaturally demanded. 'What put the idea into their heads? The financial pages have run speculation about a possible take-over of Westbrooks, that isn't surprising, but why did they dream up an engagement between you and Martell?'

  'Well... You see, Gil was being harassed by Miranda—

  the Countess of- '

  'I remember her! Get on with it!' Fred said grumpily, watching her spread her toast with marmalade. 'What do you mean, harassed by her? What was she doing?'

  'Whenever she quarrels with her husband she tries to move in with Gil, and he asked me to help get rid of her.'

  Fred grunted disapproval. 'Chivalrous of him!'

  Caro contrarily resented the criticism of Gil, although she had herself been irritated with him over the way he seemed incapable of dealing with Miranda. 'He didn't want her to keep involving him in her marital problems,' she defended uneasily. 'The newspaper gossip was all lies, both she and her husband are very old, close friends of his, there's no love-affair going on between her and Gil, but she would run to him whenever she quarrelled with her husband, and he wanted her to stop.'

  'He could have tried telling her how he felt,' Fred said drily. 'If they're such old, close friends, surely he can talk frankly to her?'

  'She wouldn't listen,' Caro said with a sudden flare

  of rage. 'She's the most spoilt, selfish, unreason-

  able--- ' She broke off, knowing she had given herself

  away and her father eyed her with frowning concern. She looked down, very flushed. 'It was her who gave that story to the Press, out of spite! You see, I.. .well, it seemed a good idea at the time... it was just on impulse ... I told her Gil and I were engaged. I thought she would go away then, and she did, but she must have told the newspaper and they had a photographer outside Gil's flat, and...' She gestured to the paper. 'There you are!'

  Fred put down his cup with a clatter, almost spilling the tea. 'I can't believe my daughter could do anything so stupid! What on earth possessed you? What did Martell have to say?' His eyes narrowed, and sharp suspicion darted through his face. 'Or was it really his idea? He got you to tell her you were engaged to him, then he leaks it to the papers, and hey, presto! It has to become a fact. Oh, yes, I can see how it would be a very attractive prospect for him. He's a very shrewd fellow, he knows that when I take over I'll change all the top management there, which means he will lose his job, and he must have been going crazy trying to work out how to stop that. If he married you, he wouldn't lose Westbrooks, he would be my son-in-law, with a glittering future in front of him—'

  'No!' Caro almost shouted; she was shaking with pain and rage. 'It was my idea, and Gil was furious with me, he's still furious. You don't know him, he isn't the type to marry for money, in fact, he told me so—he said he wouldn't marry me if—' She broke off, swallowing,

  unable to meet her father's intent eyes, afraid of what he must be picking up.

  It was a relief when the phone on the sideboard behind her began to shrill. She picked it up, thinking that if it was the Press she would just hang up. It wasn't. It was Lady Westbrook, sounding elated.

  'Oh, hello, Lady Westbrook,' Caro said warily.

  'My dear girl, what wonderful news! I am so happy. I couldn't be more pleased. From the minute I met you, I felt instinctively that you were the wife I have always wanted for Gil, a nice girl with a kind heart and good manners, and a sound head on her shoulders.'

  She sounded satisfied with that description, but Caro wasn't—she had to bite her lip because it made her sound so unutterably dull. But she had to explain to Lady Westbrook that she was not engaged to Gil, that the newspaper story was lies. So she took a deep breath, hunting for the right words, and while she was doing so Lady Westbrook happily chattered on.

  'But why didn't you tell me? Why did I have to find out from a newspaper, heaven help us? Your father knew, I suppose?' There was distinct chagrin in her voice—she was an old woman whose feelings had been hurt, and Caro was sorry about that; she liked Gil's grandmother, so without stopping to think she hurriedly reassured her.

  'Oh, no, Dad knew nothing about it!'

  Fred Ramsgate, who had been eavesdropping, leaned over and took the telephone away. T certainly did not! I'm furious.'

  Caro didn't hear what Lady Westbrook replied, but it made her father laugh before giving the phone back to her. He might not like the idea of Gil as a husband for his daughter, but, as Caro knew, he was very impressed by Lady Westbrook.

  'Why ever did you tell Miranda first?' Lady Westbrook asked. 'And then let it break in the Press before you told us? I really don't understand young people, they behave in the strangest way, but never mind, I forgive you. I would forgive anything if it meant that I could die happy, knowing I was leaving Gil safely in your hands.'

  'Oh, please, I'm sorry, but you see I- ' Caro broke in, distressed, but before she could tell her the truth, Lady Westbrook cut across her.

  'My dear girl, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that you and Gil are going to be happy, which makes me very happy indeed. Now, I want to see you both, to give you my blessing. I don't know what Gil was thinking of doing about an engagement ring, but it would make me very happy indeed if you would wear mine. Do you remember it? I must have been wearing it when you came to dinner—a big ruby set with diamonds? Come to dinner tonight, you and Gil, but of course I would like your father there, too. A family party.'

  'Oh, dear, but... you see, I'm sorry, we can't,' Caro

  unhappily began. 'Lady Westbrook, I have to tell you—'

  Lady Westbrook didn't wait for her to get the right words out; she plunged on in the same high-pitched excitement. 'Never mind, how about tomorrow, then? That will give you time to break any other date you had. We have so many plans to make, we must start as soon as possible. Have you had any thoughts yet on the reception? Where do you think? How about holding it in a marquee on my lawns? You can cram hundreds into a large marquee.'

  Caro made desperate, agitated noises, and finally said, T think you'd better talk to Gil.' Let him tell his grandmother the truth.

  Lady Westbrook laughed happily. 'Oh, you don't like the idea of a marquee? Well, never mind, we'll talk tomorrow night and come up with a better one, but I'm sure Gil will like whatever you like, although it is wiser to pretend to consult your man, my dear, you're right. They like to think we want their opinion, but we don't have to do what they suggest, do we? Well, I'll look forward so much to seeing you again. And— Caroline... welcome to the family.'

  Caro put the phone down, close to tears. Her father watched her, his brows low over his eyes. 'I wish I knew what was really going on here!' he said grimly. 'Are you OK, my girl? You can tell me, come on! What's wrong?'

  Caro pulled herself together. 'Nothing, Dad. I'm just tired after doing that long job on the Westbrooks accounts, and then all this fuss and nonsense... and I had a sleepless night last night and...' She turned towards the door in a hurry. T think I'll go and write letters, and listen to some music. See you later.'

  The telephone was ringing again but this time she ignored it and left it to their housekeeper to answer. It was a newspaper, she was told a moment later, wanting to speak to her, but Caro shook her head. 'Tell them I'm out. If anyone at all rings up, tell them I'm out.'

  She was going to ground for the rest of the day. She had an uneasy suspicion that tomorrow was going to be a rough day. In the morning, she was attending the negotiations between the Westbrooks people an
d her father's lawyers and accountants. Damian Shaw would be there, but by now she felt no nervous qualm about meeting him again. It was Gil's presence she was bothered about.

  When she walked into the boardroom where the meeting was taking place, the first person she saw was Gil, and her nerve-endings flickered with disturbing excitement. He was standing by the window talking to one of his grandmother's lawyers, facing the door through which she came, and he saw her at more or less the same time. Caro felt as if she had been hit by lightning when their eyes met; there was an instant flash of electricity between them.

  He looked formidable and distinguished in a dark blue pin-stripe suit, his cream silk tie perfectly knotted, his shirt crisp and immaculate. He might be going to lose his store, but he meant to fight for it, and he wasn't conceding an inch of personal territory as he nodded, unsmilingly, then looked away. A stranger watching might have thought they barely knew each other, or were perhaps enemies. Perhaps they were? Caro grimly thought.

  She sat down at one end of the long, polished table under the rather stolid portrait of her father, which had been presented to him by the board for his fiftieth birthday. The artist had painted her father's best suit, his gold watch-chain and tie-pin, his ruddy skin and jowled jaw, his shrewd acumen and the toughness which made him so good at business, but he hadn't dug any deeper to discover the man Caro knew. Where was Fred's earthy humour, his kindness, and the loving heart which had still not forgotten her dead mother, although so many years had gone by?

  'Good morning, Caroline,' said a voice beside her and she started, looking up at Leonard Ross. Small, thin and grey, Leonard had begun working for Fred as an accountant many years ago and had progressed to a seat on the board, where he was in overall charge of the various buying departments of the stores. Leonard was an expert on the subject of costs and profits and how to lower the first and raise the second.