His Personal Agenda

by Liz Fielding

Who was he? Really? And as if in answer she remembered what he’d said to her in the darkness of the garden at Delvering. Whatever you hear, whatever anyone tells you, believe this…I will be there for you as long as you need me.

  Was that why he’d walked away. Because he thought she no longer needed him?

  ‘Good grief, Mr Crosby, you’re a stranger.’ The uniformed porter regarded his jeans and denim jacket with disfavour. ‘I wouldn’t have recognised you.’ Then, ‘Are you expected?’

  ‘No, but I’m sure His Lordship will see me.’ He didn’t wait for an invitation to the top floor but walked across to the high speed lift. ‘Let him know I’m on my way up. I don’t want to be kept waiting.’

  He was met at the lift door and escorted straight into the chairman’s office. ‘I hoped I’d seen the last of you, Crosby.’

  ‘All things are possible.’ He placed his briefcase on the wide expanse of desk, opened it and tossed a file at the man.

  ‘What is this?’

  He had to admire the old man. He must know what was coming—he wouldn’t be here unless he had dug up enough evidence to make it stick—but no one would ever have guessed from his arrogance.

  ‘It’s just a pile of paper. Statements. Computer records. Did you know that deleting records from a computer isn’t enough? That they can be retrieved from apparently thin air?’

  ‘Get on with it.’

  ‘Very well. This is a pile of paper that could put two of your directors in jail: one of them your son-in-law. Oh, and when the cover-up you instigated is made public, you’ll have to resign.’ He paused. ‘It’ll all be downhill from there, but maybe the bank will survive. Maybe.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘You don’t want to check that I’m telling the truth?’

  ‘If you’d been prepared to lie, you’d still be a director of this bank.’

  ‘I’m glad you realise that. It makes things so much simpler.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘How much is a man’s reputation worth? His career?’ He didn’t wait for an answer. ‘What price would you put on a year of his life?’

  ‘How much?’

  Matt had thought it would feel good to be in this position. It didn’t. He just wanted it over. ‘I want a consultant’s fee to go through your records and ensure, to my own satisfaction that the fraud has been made good. I want the two directors involved to retire on the grounds of health. I want my name to stop being a dirty word.’

  ‘Then you’d better resume your seat on the board. There’ll be vacancies. And compensation.’

  He’d lived a year to hear those words. He’d thought it would feel like some kind of triumph, but he’d moved on. Not in the last year, but in the last couple of weeks. ‘No, thanks. I prefer working as a freelance consultant.’ He smiled—he could afford to smile. ‘But I’m expensive, as you’ll discover.’ He sat down without waiting to be invited. ‘You’ve heard that Charles Parker is in trouble?’

  ‘He overstretched himself. He’s going to have to sell that site in Delvering at a loss.’

  Matt picked up one of an array of phones. ‘Call him. Make him an offer. And don’t be mean.’

  ‘Why should I do that?’

  ‘You’re going to give it me. As compensation. And for the file. No more, no less, no quibble.’

  He’d shredded his files, donated his books to the nearest library and was throwing his clothes into a bag when he heard a key in the lock.

  It was a bit premature of the landlord to be showing new tenants around. He wasn’t due to leave until the morning. Not that it mattered. He tossed the last shirt into the bag, zipped it up. He was going now. He picked up his bag and his jacket and headed for the door. It wasn’t his landlord. It was Nyssa.

  ‘Hello, Matt.’ She held up his key before putting it on the desk. ‘I thought you might want this back.’

  It had been a week, but the ache hadn’t diminished, and to see her, like this, was as if the sun had come out after a month of rain. ‘You look…’ He’d been going to say wonderful, but it wasn’t true. Her cheeks were hollow and her eyes were thumb-printed with dark smudges, suggesting she hadn’t been getting much sleep.

  She pulled a face, reading his thoughts. ‘I know. I look awful, but it’s been a tough week what with one thing and another.’

  ‘I’m sorry. Truly sorry—’

  ‘No!’ Then, ‘No, Matt. It’s not your fault. I wanted to come sooner but Parker sold the Gaumont the day after the planning meeting. We haven’t been able to find out to whom, or what’s going to happen. If I’d known I could have launched an appeal for funds. As it is—’

  ‘You’ve got the cinema listed, I heard. That’s a start.’

  ‘Yes. It’s a start.’ They stood for a moment, just looking at one another, three feet of unbreachable space between them. ‘I owe you an apology, Matt.’

  ‘You owe me nothing—’

  ‘Mum told me what you did. How kind you were. About the shares. Telling her instead of Parker.’ He wanted to stop her, tell her that it didn’t matter. That he’d do anything in the world for her. But she had to be able to walk away without any emotional baggage. ‘My father bought them donkey’s ages ago. To help a friend setting up a construction company.’

  ‘It was a good investment.’

  ‘But a bit of an embarrassment considering I was arrested for chaining myself to one of their bulldozers when they were building that motorway.’

  ‘You were very young.’

  ‘Eighteen. I didn’t even know what it was all about. I just…well, you know all about that…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I don’t think that would have bothered the newspapers much, do you?’ She didn’t wait for his answer. ‘Well, obviously not, or you wouldn’t have advised my mother to get them sold double-quick.’ She looked up at him. ‘You told me I could trust you. I’m sorry I didn’t.’

  ‘I should have told you the whole truth, right from the beginning.’

  ‘You told Mum. You told me that last day in Delvering. I just wasn’t ready to hear you. Poor Sky—’

  ‘You feel sorry for her?’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  He let it go. ‘Well. No harm done.’

  ‘Thanks to you.’ The silence stretched endlessly for a few seconds…

  Then Matt said, ‘I’ve noticed you’re calling Sophia “Mum” now. So you’ve finally forgiven her for marrying James, then?’

  ‘Yes. You were right. She was lonely after my father died, and she really loves James and he loves her too. They deserve to be happy together—they’re truly wonderful people. I’m thoroughly ashamed of the way I’ve been acting. But I’ve made my peace with them both.’

  ‘I’m glad.’

  There was another tense silence. This time Nyssa broke it. ‘Are you going away?’

  ‘Just for a short break.’

  ‘Right. James told me that he’d offered you a job. And that you turned it down.’

  ‘I’ve been offered several in the last few days. I’m suddenly Mr Popular. But I prefer working for myself.’

  ‘Where are you going to live?’

  ‘I’ve got a lease on a little place. Out of London.’

  ‘Oh. Well, then, you’re all sorted. I’m really glad for you.’ She blinked, sniffed. ‘Look, I have to go…’ But as she quickly offered her hand, in an oddly formal little gesture, nothing could hide the gleam of tears that shimmered over the vivid blue heat of her eyes. ‘Thank you, Matt. For everything.’

  He ignored her hand. ‘And that’s it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s how you pay your debts? With a handshake? I was promised more, Nyssa Blake. Much more.’

  ‘But—’

  His grip tightened on her fingers. ‘You could have sent the key.’

  ‘But—’

  Without warning he pulled her close, so that she was jammed up tight against his chest. ‘But?’ he offered.

  ‘But nothing.’ She r
eached up with her free hand and, holding onto the front of his shirt, she kissed him, then leaned back and looked up at him with a smile that promised him the earth.

  ‘That’s better.’ He released her briefly, stooped to pick up his bag, and with his arm about her waist they headed for the door.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘To pick up your passport and then we’re driving to Paris.’

  ‘Paris? But—’

  ‘For a weekend at the Ritz,’ he said firmly. ‘If we’re going to finally take that shower, I think we should do it in style.’

  Waking in strange places was getting to be a habit. A good habit. As Nyssa focused on the man lying beside her she thought of the memories they had made during a blissful long weekend in the city of love. Boat trips on the Seine. Walking hand in hand through the Tuilleries. Dining in small bistros.

  Making love in the huge bed in a suite of totally decadent luxury at the Ritz.

  It had been worth waiting for.

  Matt’s thick dark hair was feathered across his forehead and she reached out, brushing it back from his eyes, remembering the way he’d held her, his tenderness, his care that, for her, the first time would be special, something to remember with pleasure. For the rest of her life.

  As she touched her fingers to his lips he reached up and caught her wrist, smiling as she gave a little scream of surprise. ‘You’re awake.’

  ‘Ten out of ten, sweetheart. And for being so clever you get to choose your prize.’

  ‘Can I choose anything I like?’

  ‘Ask for your wildest dream.’

  ‘I’ve already got that,’ she said, grinning, and nipped at his chin.

  ‘You are incredibly good for a man’s ego, Nyssa Blake,’ he said, grabbing her and rolling her onto her back.

  Later, much later, lying back on the pillow with her head cradled against his chest, he said, ‘We have to go home today.’

  ‘Do we?’ She snuggled against him. ‘I rather like it here.’

  ‘Yes, well, we’ll do it again next year. For our anniversary.’

  ‘The first weekend in September. I’ll write it in my diary.’

  ‘Not this weekend. Next weekend. It’ll be our wedding anniversary.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Excuse me? Is that a proposal?’

  ‘It lacked something?’ Matt grinned. ‘Okay, how about this.’ He turned to her, took her hands in his and looked directly into her eyes. ‘I love you. I want you to marry me. I want you to bear my children.’ Her expression was all the answer he required. ‘Oh, and in your spare time there’s this old cinema in Delvering that needs restoring—’

  ‘What?’

  He reached beneath his pillow and took out a long envelope. ‘This is for you. I was going to drop it in the postbox as I left the flat, but this seems like a good time to give it to you. Since I don’t have a ring handy.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘A token, a promise, a pledge that all that I have is yours. Body, heart and soul.’ She was staring up at him. ‘Open it. You’ll see that I’m telling the truth.’

  She ripped open the seal and as she quickly scanned the document her hand flew to her mouth. ‘Tell me I’m not dreaming.’

  He reached out, cradle her cheek in his palm. ‘You’re not dreaming.’

  ‘But how…?’ Then she gave a little cry. ‘You traded this against—’

  He covered her lips with his fingers, stopping the words. ‘I chose this instead of revenge. I have no regrets.’

  ‘But the deeds already have my name on them.’ She looked in the envelope. ‘There’s no note. If I hadn’t turned up on your doorstep you would have just sent them to me? Anonymously?’

  He shrugged, then swore. ‘Don’t cry. I don’t want you ever to cry again.’ And he caught her to him.

  ‘I’m not crying.’ She sniffed, found a tissue, blew her nose. ‘Oh, damn. Well, maybe I am crying, Matt Crosby, but only because you are such an utter and complete—’ she shook her head, as if she still couldn’t believe it ‘—hero.’ Then, ‘No, wait.’ She leaned back to look up at him. ‘Is this the little out of-town place you mentioned?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Didn’t I say?’ He grinned, couldn’t help himself. ‘You’ve got a tenant. I gave myself a ninety-nine-year lease on the top-floor flat before I assigned the deeds to you. I’m going to restore it to its original glory, and all you have to do if you want to share is I say, I will.’

  ‘You…!’

  ‘Yes?’

  She was outraged. Charmed. Completely and utterly lost. She lay there, her hair ruffled against his arm, her eyes alight with the love she was feeling for him. ‘I will, Matt Crosby. I will.’

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-7236-5

  HIS PERSONAL AGENDA

  First North American Publication 2002.

  Copyright © 2001 by Liz Fielding.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  Visit us at www.eHarlequin.com