by Sara Craven
Storm Force
Sara Craven
www.millsandboon.co.uk
Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
About the Author
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
Endpage
Copyright
CHAPTER ONE
‘BUT, MAGGIE,’ Philip Munroe’s tone was plaintive, ‘do you actually mean you’re leaving me in the lurch?’
Maggie counted to ten under her breath. ‘No, Philip,’ she said courteously. ‘I mean I’m taking some leave. A holiday that I’ve had booked for months, and which you’ve known all about for the same length of time.’
‘But this is an emergency. Kylie St John is flying in tomorrow, and she’ll want to know what we think about the new book.’
‘The readers’ reports and my detailed memorandum are on your desk, attached to the script.’
‘I know that,’ Philip said fretfully. ‘I’ve seen them. They say that the whole middle section needs to be completely re-written.’
‘They do indeed,’ Maggie agreed cordially.
‘But I can’t tell her that. It’s not the kind of news she wants to hear from me.’
Maggie smiled gently, pushing her red hair back from her forehead. ‘Of course not. You have Maggie, the mad axe-woman, to do your dirty work with the authors, then you take them to lunch at the Connaught and kiss their egos better. It’s a great system. Only I’m spending the next three weeks in Mauritius, and you’ll have to wield the axe yourself for once.’
‘But surely you could delay your flight for forty-eight hours. I’ll get my secretary to ring the travel agent and …’
‘I could do nothing of the sort,’ Maggie said tersely. ‘You seem to be overlooking the fact that I am not going to Mauritius alone.’
Philip stared at her. ‘Oh, of course, you’re going with Whatsit. I’d forgotten.’
‘His name,’ said Maggie, holding on to her temper with a superhuman effort, ‘is Robin.’
‘But I’m sure if matters were explained to him, he’d understand.’
‘Why should he? I don’t even understand myself.’
There was a loaded silence. Then Philip tried again. ‘Kylie St John,’ he began, ‘is probably our most successful author.’
‘She’s also extremely temperamental, very tough, and a professional to her fingertips. Don’t let her browbeat you,’ Maggie advised, picking up her briefcase. ‘Now, I’m going home to finish packing.’
‘And is that your final word?’
Maggie groaned. ‘Please don’t sound so wounded,’ she said. ‘This is my first vacation in two and a half years.’
‘Don’t think I don’t appreciate it,’ Philip said warmly. ‘No one’s worked harder than you, darling, to put the firm on its feet. I’ve always been able to rely on you totally.’
‘Good old Maggie—everybody’s friend,’ Maggie muttered.
‘Well—if you want to put it that way.’
‘No,’ she said roundly. ‘This is the way I want to put it, Philip. I am going on holiday with the man I love. You are going to deal with Kylie the Terrible. Call it your baptism of fire,’ she added, as she swirled through the door, and down to her waiting cab.
Traffic was heavy, and she sat back in the corner of the taxi, looking out of the window with unseeing eyes.
It would do Philip no harm to stiffen his sinews and summon up the blood when dealing with some of the formidable ladies on their fiction list, she thought, defensively.
In any case, there was no way she was going to do anything to put her holiday in Mauritius in jeopardy. It had taken weeks of patient and subtle manoeuvring to get Robin to the stage of accepting the idea of a joint vacation anywhere.
She adored him, of course, but sometimes the old-fashioned principles rigorously instilled by his elderly mother were a little hard to take. And Robin loved her, she knew. There was a tacit agreement that—one day—they would be married. Perhaps the romantic surroundings of Mauritius would provide the spur he needed to make their engagement official, she thought wistfully. Especially if Mama wasn’t around to ask why he needed to get married, when he was so comfortable at home with her …
Oh, don’t be such a bitch, she adjured herself impatiently. Mrs Hervey can’t be expected to look forward eagerly to losing her only son to another woman. She’s come to depend on him, perhaps too much.
But I wish I could believe that, underneath, she likes me really, she added, with a little sigh.
She paid off the driver outside the block of flats where she lived, and dived up to the first floor.
Mrs Hervey would have every reason for disapproval if she could see the state of the flat, Maggie had to acknowledge as she dashed into the bedroom. It looked as if a bomb had hit it. She must have packed and unpacked her case at least half a dozen times. She had planned and looked forward to this holiday for such a long time, and bought loads of new clothes. So many, in fact, that they were almost like a trousseau, she thought, crossing her fingers surreptitiously. The problem was choosing the exact outfits to stir Robin to his very soul.
Well, it’s decision time now, she told herself. You’ll have to be at the airport in a few hours.
She was just rolling one of her new bikinis into a neat tube and stowing it into a corner of her case when the front door buzzer sounded.
She straightened, frowning. She wasn’t expecting any callers. Surely Philip hadn’t followed her home to make a last-ditch attempt to persuade her to change her mind?
‘I’ll kill him if so,’ she muttered between clenched teeth.
‘Yes?’ she said curtly into the intercom.
‘Vice Squad. Open up,’ said her brother-in-law’s familiar drawl.
‘Sebastian?’ she squealed, and opened the door. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Hello, Ginger.’ Sebastian Kirby bent and pecked her on the cheek. ‘I phoned your office from the hotel, but they said you’d left for the day. Not ill, are you?’
‘On the contrary, I’m going on holiday.’
‘Really?’ Sebastian’s brows rose, and he looked frankly taken aback. ‘Won’t the hovel be a little bleak in October?’
‘The cottage,’ Maggie said with emphasis, ‘is perfectly fine at any time of year. But, as it happens, I’m not going there for once. I’m heading for the sun. Mauritius, to be exact.’
‘Going alone?’ Sebastian followed her into the bedroom, and picked up another bikini, surveying it with a grin. ‘Very—er, basic.’
‘No.’ Maggie’s tone held a hint of challenge, as she snatched the tiny garment from him. ‘I’m going with Robin.’
‘Good lord!’ Sebastian said blankly. ‘You mean Mummy’s actually let him off the leash at last?’ He encountered Maggie’s baleful look, and flung up his hands. ‘OK. I’m sorry and it’s none of my business. But neither Louie nor I can understand what you see in that stuffed shirt. However, if he makes you happy …’
‘He does,’ Maggie said levelly.
‘Then have a wonderful holiday.’ Sebastian sent her a placatory smile. ‘Why don’t I make us both some coffee?’
‘They’re both blooming,’ Sebastian reassured her. ‘But we both felt it was better for her to stay in New York this time.’ He grimaced slightly. ‘I’m here on business, Mags, trouble-shooting for a major client. Don’t tell me you haven’t seen the headlines.’
‘Headlines?’ Maggie gave him a puzzled look as she took her beaker of coffee, then her brows snapped together in a thunderous frown. ‘Oh, don’t tell me you’re here to rescue that bastard Jay Delaney.’
Sebastian perched on a corner of the dressing-table. ‘That’s a fairly harsh judgement.’
‘Harsh?’ Maggie echoed in disbelief. ‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Seb. He got drunk and raped a girl. You can’t possibly be on his side.’
‘I can and I am,’ Sebastian told her levelly. ‘He may have been accused of rape, admittedly, but that doesn’t mean he’s guilty. No charges have been brought yet.’
‘Of course he’s guilty,’ Maggie said impatiently. ‘It’s perfectly obvious what happened. He’s the big macho television star who’s totally irresistible to women, and for once a girl tried to say no to him. And naturally his over-sized masculine ego couldn’t take rejection. I hope he gets all that’s coming to him.’
Sebastian stared at her. ‘What’s happened to the idea of someone being innocent until proved otherwise? Where’s your womanly compassion?’
‘I’m keeping that for his unfortunate victim.’ Maggie wrestled to close the lid of her case. ‘And if you’re here to try to do a public relations whitewash job …’
‘There’ll be no whitewash,’ Sebastian said quietly. ‘Jay has agreed to “help the police with their enquiries”, to use the classic phrase. I’m here to see that he’s protected from the more virulent attacks of the gutter Press, that’s all.’
‘What a job,’ Maggie said bitterly. ‘Minder to an over-sexed yob, with a three-day growth and sprayed-on jeans.’
‘For heaven’s sake, Mags.’ Sebastian looked shaken. ‘I’ve never known you so bigoted—so vitriolic. You’ve never even met the guy. Have you ever watched his series?’
‘Not if I can help it,’ she said curtly. ‘I don’t belong to the school of thought which says that the world’s problems can all be solved by an undercover agent with a gun in one hand and a woman in the other.’ She gave a small angry laugh. ‘He’s probably started to believe his own publicity, and is convinced he’s above the law in some godlike way. Or does he think because the fantasy girls in the series surrender to him that real women must as well?’
‘We haven’t exactly discussed that aspect of the situation,’ said Sebastian. His expression was edgy, worried. ‘Mags, I’m sure you’re doing him an injustice. The girl who’s accused him is a nightclub hostess—not exactly a defenceless schoolgirl.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Maggie jerkily fastened the straps of her case. ‘And does her occupation give her no rights over her own body, or is anyone rich and famous allowed to use her as the whim takes them?’
‘No, of course not.’ Sebastian gave her a baffled glance. ‘But doesn’t it strike you as just a bit odd that she went to a newspaper to make her complaint, and not the police?’
‘It’s a man’s world,’ said Maggie bitterly. ‘She probably knew when it was her word against Jay Delaney’s that she wouldn’t be believed.’
Sebastian sighed heavily. ‘Ginger, I can’t reason with you when you’re like this. If you were to meet Jay—hear his side of things, you might …’
‘He’s the last person in the world I’d ever want to meet. I find men like Jay Delaney quite repulsive. And I’m glad that he’s come across at least one girl who doesn’t think he’s God’s gift, and is prepared to say so in public. I hope she says it in court.’
‘No,’ said Sebastian with sudden harshness. ‘You prefer a mother’s boy, don’t you, Margaret? A wimp who has to travel half-way across the world to find the guts to go to bed with you.’
‘Seb!’ Maggie’s cry held real distress.
He flushed deeply, and came across to her, patting her clumsily on the shoulder.
‘Oh, lord, I didn’t mean it Maggie. Forgive me. We shouldn’t be quarrelling about this. I shouldn’t have come here …’
‘Of course you should,’ she said quickly. ‘I’d never have forgiven you if I’d found out you were in London and hadn’t been to see me. We’ll just have to agree to differ on the subject of Jay Delaney.’ She paused. ‘I’m only sorry I’m going away. We could have had a meal or something.’
‘How long are you going to be in Mauritius?’ Sebastian gave her a meditative glance.
‘Three whole glorious weeks,’ she sighed. ‘Oh, I can’t wait.’
‘Well, you won’t have to for much longer.’ Sebastian forced a smile. ‘I really hope it all works out for you, Ginger.’ He dropped a light kiss on her hair. ‘Now, I’ll get out of the way, and leave you in peace. Look after yourself.’
‘I always do,’ she called after him.
Presently she heard her front door close and, collecting clean undies and the cool navy dress and jacket she was going to wear on the journey, she went into the bathroom.
She was disturbed by what had happened, she realised, as she lay in the warm water. She had adored Seb from the first moment Louie had introduced them, and they had never had anything approaching a cross word before.
Oh, damn Jay Delaney, she thought bitterly. Why couldn’t he use some other PR company to represent him? And why does he have to be Seb’s personal client? Someone like that doesn’t deserve Seb’s loyalty.
The story had broken first in one of the Sunday tabloids. Jay Delaney had given a party to mark the end of filming for his top-rated series, McGuire. It had started in a nightclub, and had moved back to the hotel where he had a suite. His victim, Debra Burrows, had worked at the nightclub and been invited to the party with some of the other hostesses.
On her own admission, Debbie had had too much to drink, and had gone into one of the other rooms to sleep it off. When she woke it was the early hours of the morning, and everyone else had left. She was alone with Jay Delaney, who had made it clear he expected to have sex with her, and when she refused he had raped her.
‘I begged him to stop, but he wouldn’t. He was like an animal,’ she had told the newspaper. ‘He said he could have any girl he wanted. That I should be flattered.
‘I was such a fan of his. I worshipped him, and I was thrilled when he asked me to the party. But he’s a sham, and a hypocrite. He’s made me feel dirty—used.’
Her pretty bruised face staring from the front page had haunted Maggie ever since.
She thought, ‘There but for the grace of God …’
Now, she drew a deep breath. She wouldn’t spare Jay Delaney another thought, she vowed silently. He wasn’t worth it, nor was any other man who preyed on women.
It was men like Robin who mattered. Men who were kind and tender—and decent.
Maggie stared at the dregs in her cup, asked herself if she wanted more coffee, and decided against it. She took another restive glance at her watch, and sighed.
Where was Robin? What on earth could have happened to him? He was supposed to have picked her up over half an hour ago, and he was usually punctual to a fault. She got up and began to prowl round the sitting-room, her uneasiness mounting. If traffic on the way to the airport was as heavy as it normally was, then they could end up by being extremely late. It was no good thinking they might be able to make up time on the journey either. Robin was a careful driver who didn’t like to take chances.
All in all, the longed-for holiday wasn’t getting off to a very good start. She had tried to telephone his home, but there had been no reply, signifying that he had set out at least.
Could the car have broken down, she wondered apprehensively, or, worse still, could there have been s
ome kind of accident?
She shook herself. I won’t think like that, she told herself determinedly. He’s just been held up, that’s all, but he’ll be here in a minute, and until he arrives I’ll do a last check—make sure I haven’t forgotten anything.
She had just re-packed her handbag for the second time when she heard the buzzer.
‘Oh, thank heavens.’ She ran to answer the door. ‘I was really beginning to worry,’ she told him, smiling, and halted, her brows knotting. The first thing that occurred to her was that he was wearing a formal dark suit, the kind of thing he would put on for the office, instead of the casual slacks and shirt she would have expected. The second was that he looked pale and worried.
Her heart sank. Maybe her fears about an accident were only too justified.
‘Come in.’ She took his hand, drew him into the room. ‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’
He sat down on the sofa. He didn’t look at her. ‘Maggie, I can’t go to Mauritius. I’ve had to cancel my flight.’
‘Can’t go?’ she echoed incredulously. ‘What do you mean? What are you talking about? We’ve been looking forward to it for months and …’
‘I know, I know,’ he cut in. ‘And I feel terrible letting you down like this, but you see—it’s Mother.’
For a moment, she looked at him blankly. She thought, I’m not hearing this. It cannot actually be happening, in nineteen-eighties Britain. This is some terrible joke.
Only, somehow, she didn’t feel like laughing.
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. She said quietly, ‘I don’t think I understand. Are you telling me your mother has imposed some kind of ban on your going—because if so, she’s left it rather late in the day and …’
‘Oh, no.’ He looked horrified. ‘It’s nothing like that. She likes you, Maggie, she really does. No, she’s been taken ill. The doctor thinks it may be her heart. She’s had to go into hospital for tests. I went with her to see her settled in, and I’ve got to go back tonight.’
Maggie swallowed. ‘Her heart?’ she queried. ‘But she’s never had any problem before, has she? Isn’t this rather sudden?’